As in “Who doesn’t love a…”
Following are recipes for three recent hits at work, a fave repeat I call my Cowboy Breakfast Bowl, his slightly healthier cousin, Quinoa Pesto Breakfast Bowl, and the set of sultry septuplets that live next door, Breakfast Roasted Ham Bowls.
Last night I led a cooking class for twenty-one people. This might have been class number thirty-six or fifty-two or twenty-eight, I’ve lost count. Public classes, private parties, corporate team building, ingredient-focused, allergenista-friendly, I’ve done all sorts. Cooking classes are one of my favorite things to do. I always get a strong sense of fulfilling my purpose in life, whatever that is. Lol. I get to connect with people and watch them connect with each other as we all participate in fighting for, and then accomplishing, something remarkable together. Everyone loves food. Food is sexy. Cooking is the new black, or maybe it’s the old, classic black that never goes out of style. Seems the majority of folks actually enjoy cooking to some degree, or at least have a romantic notion of being a cook. There’s always plenty of fun to be had.
Fuck depression. Depression is the Donald Trump of disease. Doesn’t give a fuck who gets hurt as it crashes its way through peoples’ lives; indiscriminate, ruthless, deadly. Robin Williams, Kate Spade, and now Anthony Bourdain. Folks battling depression smile on the outside and inside they’re in a world of pain. But, to be successful in this miserable world, ya gotta buck up and make it work. Put on a happy face. I’m sorry, Chef. I’m sorry that in the face of having a lifetime dedicated to making extraordinary contributions to millions of passionate food enthusiasts across the planet, depression just didn’t give a shit and closed its cold, bony-ass fingers around your heart. Sixty-one years old?? Jesus. Depression, go fuck yourself.
You will be missed, Chef. You will NOT be forgotten.
Always on the lookout for crowd pleasers, these three recipes fit the bill quite nicely. Beef, chicken and a lovely chopped salad full of surprises. Rave reviews all around.
21 September
Paris, despite a relentless onslaught of techno-goblins, was glorious. My friend Mary, who happened to be in Paris when I was, told me yesterday that Mercury has been sitting square in retrograde for the last few days (Mercury being the god of communication, retrograde being the definition of “No way, Jose.”). Small frickin’ wonder. So many techno-dead ends, computer breakdowns and communications false starts could not have been my fault, right?
Right. Whatever.
I always wanted to experience a three-star Michelin meal. I promised myself on this solo adventure that I would be generous with myself. As I said in the last missive, I couldn’t gain access to the two restaurants in San Sebastian that are at the top of most food enthusiast’s lists – Mugaritz and Arzak. So I opted for door number two – Akelare. Still in the top 10% and boasting three Michelin stars of its own.
It’s been nearly three years and this was the one place I didn’t take copious notes about the food. Sorry. But I did get some good pics. Here are some images from the meal, starting with my approach to the restaurant, then the ambiance inside, and finally the presentation of the food. I even took some amateur movies. What it lacks in drool-worthy prose, it makes up for in visual sumptuousness.
(This is a long one, but worth the read. Grab a cup of tea and enjoy.)
September 2017
Some background. This culinary adventure has been in the making for nearly two years. When I first heard about San Sebastian, Spain, I had no idea this sleepy little former fishing village had such an esteemed culinary reputation: more Michelin stars per square meter than any other city. For such a small corner of the culinary universe, San Sebastian has some highly-talented, world-celebrated chefs with truly inspirational relationships to food; a passionately gastronomical culture.
Bullseye Records of Canada
