Fight 4 Taste

 Yes, there are many hurdles ahead, but this is my declaration that I AM DOING THIS.  Appropriately so, I was at the Miracle Mile Listen Center (regional thrift store) and scored one of the most important books in the world to a professional chef, and what was to be my next printed acquisition on Amazon, The Flavor Bible, for one dollar!  This means I have the CIA official textbook, The New Professional Chef, Salt Fat Acid Heat, and now this one.  These are in the top 6 all-time required chef references.   In other news, I was had, sort of.  Let's just say, "I see cooking stuff"

 Yes, there are many hurdles ahead, but this is my declaration that I AM DOING THIS.  Appropriately so, I was at the Miracle Mile Listen Center (regional thrift store) and scored one of the most important books in the world to a professional chef, and what was to be my next printed acquisition on Amazon, The Flavor Bible, for one dollar!  This means I have the CIA official textbook, The New Professional Chef, Salt Fat Acid Heat, and now this one.  These are in the top 6 all-time required chef references.   In other news, I was had, sort of.  Let's just say, "I see cooking stuff"

 Someone told me the other day that I am the kind of person people write books about.  There is no doubt there have been times, especially in Port Aransas, in which I can see that.  I have this lingering wonder what the name of my book would be called. "Blind Date" is what keeps coming to mind. Why? In 1984 I read a book, from the late 70s called Blind Date. The book was about a Russian who immigrated to the United States. The things that stood out in that book were the wild shifts in the main character's life, just like mine.  A friend from Russia eventually makes it to New York and invites him to his humble little studio apartment for dinner.  Our main character notices that the recipe has an odd taste and inquires about what is in it.  "I found the Smiling Dog brand canned meat at the grocery store just like they have back home in Russia," says the host proudly. In the 1970s there was a brand of canned dog food called Strongheart, which featured a german...

 Every now and then, I feel like I might be losing my identity.  It started innocently enough today while I was in my 8th hour of splitting wood this weekend. I was listening to the Splendid Table podcast episode 758: Summer Parties with Nicole A. Taylor.  She is the author of the new cookbook, Watermelon and Red Birds and also The Up South Cookbook: Chasing Dixie in a Brooklyn Kitchen. Her segment was on the foods of Juneteenth and took a turn into southern potato salad. Her enthusiasm for this beloved side dish came through with a fireworks-ish delivery.   She points out that the supreme potato salad-making artist is a "special person" who can read flavors off the back of their hand. "And it always tends to be that very special person that's super funny, or super stylish, they have a personality because potato salad is its  own conversation and it tends to match that person." She sold me on the idea that if I go somewhere and I hear people asking, "w...

  Dropping Noah off at school on a beautiful June morning, I've returned to face the ten dump truck loads of dirt that I volunteered to take. I need them, but I need them to take the forms that I need them to. That is okay. It is my famous "Give a Mouse a Cookie From Hell" scenario. This needs to happen, but you can't spread dirt till you stack firewood in the shed, you can't do that until the rest of the splitting happens, you can't do that unless until ... And So It Goes. I suspect that deviously, my garage is probably involved, I just know it is!  Work time begins soon. I could sit and watch the news, but I don't want all that negativity in my life on such a beautiful morning. Lately, for me, it is been about understanding that I can finish things.  I have learned that having too many unfinished projects damages me into thinking that I am succeeding at nothing. It is a house of cards.  So what about the kitchen? I am years beyond just going to stores an...

Rice is life. About that stuff that went down last month. I was walking on a long journey to places I did not know or understand. I knew I was not eating. I knew I was not sleeping. Somehow I felt that the momentum of my entire life could push me through the valleys of cold depth that I was traveling. It never occurred to me that this defies logic and also physics. I did not care. I supported this corner of the world with the things I had acquired. And I foolishly thought that they could endure. All along the way, I never lost my inspiration and that was the one thing I was very pleased to find. After all, I have spent so much time being equally unimpressed with everything under the sun.  Racing toward the western horizon with my foot on the floor. 2 AM had just passed, then it happened without warning. The engine stops. I feel my emptiness wrap around me as it catches up to my lost momentum, like dropping from the speed of sound in which it suddenly overtakes me. I did not know th...

 I woke up Monday to learn that my friend Jim McLean died of COVID-19. Jim was a friend from the early 80s when I used to camp at lone Oak campgrounds in East Canaan Connecticut. I was close friends with his sister and he was close friends with my cousin Gary. His poor family is now having to carry on without him. Damn these people who have politicized a vaccine!  It’s been a hard week.  On Wednesday, we had to put our Bogey down. I just can’t believe he is gone. I hate this. He was so much more than a pet to our family. I need downtime now. Before the frenzied race to winter begins in the fall.  Tuesday. I really did not sleep last night. Tormented by the thoughts of Jim’s beautiful family having to move on without him. There appears to be an obstruction in my ability to write on this trip. It came so easily when we were at Killington. I dare say that some of the paragraphs written were some of the best stuff I have done. I will be patient though as I think it will ...