Fork Fest Review
Don’t try this at home
So I’m sitting passively in this writing group, wondering where my urge to write has gone. I’m listening to housewives and attorneys, striving to be more than they are – to turn their everyday tasks of doing the shopping, writing the briefs, changing grandpa’s diaper and saving the guilty from doin’ too much time (let us all pray for Martha) into great works of fiction.
One woman decides to mix metaphors, describing her mess of a home as “lasagna.” She didn’t preface this with any anecdotes of her cooking skills, but instead just barreled in with the following sentence: “The lasagna was all over the house. Piles of it, buried, layer upon layer of clothes and papers and…”
Imagine a house buried in lasagna. Think how long it would take to drown even a single room in lasagna and on that note I can only say (I have to kiss a lot of ass here, as she’s paying the rent) that Carole’s lasagna was both consuming of time and space and above all, it was yummy.
Le or La Menu
Now I don’t know about you, but I prefer (inasmuch as I’ve ever had) my red chard on toast to be warm – so I was hoping that the chard would be tossed, warm and bathed in olive oil, onto the toast, but no. Still, the chard on toast was pleasing to the palate and above all, green. Can’t get enough green in the diet these days.
The escarole and frisee salad had me thinking of noc-noc jokes, but I will spare you. I like this salad combo – it’s like eating a tumble weed or a scrub brush and seems like it'll just clean you right out, but sadly, no.
The lasagna (I pucker up again) tasted mighty good and so it should, having taken so long to make, not to mention the rain-soaked journey we had to endure (no, you won’t need an umbrella) in order to get those big green sheets of pasta.
I think I was absent for the making of the chocolate pudding, just like I was absent for my first job in the City… I somehow wangled a job in the kitchen of the Magic Pan on Sutter (conveniently located across fromWilkes Bashford for my off-hour shopping) and my department was desserts. We had these lovely troughs of chocolate pudding which I would scoop into dainty, over-priced, little cups. I made a lot of mistakes and naturally I had to eat all of those mistakes. (I kept finding reasons to eat all the London broil also.)
Carole, of course, did not make lots of extra puddin’ so I had to enjoy what I could get. Not bad.
(yes, more anecdotes from Bob)
The scrumptious walnut cookies. I can only think back to my recently departed grandmother, who farmed her own walnut orchard and preferred to be known as “Aunt Elva,” never Granny. She drove a mud-encrusted Cadillac whose back seat and trunk were always packed with burlap sacks of walnuts, and we always seemed to bring a sack back from our trips to the country.
Imagine the scene: Elizabeth Taylor presiding over a tense dinner party. There’s a debate over the choice of beverage and suddenly Ms. Taylor sprays a piping hot pot of java all over the table and screams “Everyone gets coffee,” and then for no reason she turns and smacks Michael Jackson with the empty pot. The heat melts his face and… I don’t know about you, but the high point of my evening was either having Theo nibble my toes or watching Carole gracefully distribute coffee to everyone. Yes Corrinne, you had to be there.
Ski or Ska or zke
Don’t ask. Anyway, I was delighted to see an ad for Karl’s photographic talents in this year’s Asian American Film Fest Catalog. I was just breezing through it and saw his picture of a certain Cuban intersection and my first thought was, that’s not Asian (all in mere zillionths of a second, mind you) but why do I know that picture?
On the K&K Ranch
Carmine and Hideo, who love roughing it at the Pope Valley Pottery barn, or farm or ranch have graciously volunteered* (did ya ever see the “Puffy Shirt” episode?) to carve a series of switch-backs up to “Level One” where they will then survey, dig and pour a large concrete deck and barbecue facility. Work will begin as soon as the summer temps begin to climb. Buy ’em some gloves and wish ’em well.
*Okay, just kidding and until next time (at Karin’s!! ) happy festing, or festering or whatever you’re into.