Monday, October 4, 2010

It’s not just Dinner—it’s Fork Fest

Fork Fest Review
It’s not just Dinner—it’s Fork Fest

July 2005 

At Ease, Burger Boy

On the 9th of July forkers and festers were  treated to another barefoot extravaganza at Corrinne’s spotless abode, located within the concrete corridors of XXX Folsom. On hand were the usual and then some––the then some being a few new members by the names of Sandra “my yard’s not too big” Huang and John “the Boss” Bosque.

As most members know, getting into the Fork Fest Fold is no easy feat. Both Sandra and John were grilled heavily (on an even heat with special hickory stick coals) as to the ins and outs of food, food lore, gossip, gossipers and something else, like… Name Your Favorite Olive Oil.

Poor Mr. Bosque—put under the hot lights by none other than our whip wielding hostess, kept blubbering, “Bertoli, Bertoli, I don’t know anything, I swear.”

“Pope Creek, Mr. Bosque,  Say it.” “Pope Creek” (big sob)

“How many trees on Pope Creek Ranch?…What’s in the blue building?… How many phone lines run across the property, Mr.Bosque. How many?”

The questions went on long into the night, each followed by a mellow sip of red wine and extra admonishment for his lack of dish washing skills,

“You call that scrubbed, mister?”

Dr. Huang proved to be a totally different creature, brushing off our queries with a flick of her lustrous (go ahead, think lustrous) hair and a smile that left our interrogators baffled. Skilled infiltrator?

“How many dinner clubs do you belong to?…What is the average attendance at a Fork Fest affair?…Who hosted the last party?” Huang spit the answers out like a bad merlot, forcing us to play her hand—she was in—but will she host?

Talk about the Table

Toast to Lance with #7 . . . Lalala . . . I propose a whole line of unwholesome, or at least controversial products all labeled Angwin: Angwin Devil’s Brew Beer, Angwin’s Eighth Day Condom, Elmer Fudd’s stupid book of fishing, “Angwin for Bass.”

I’m not writing anymore songs about doggies getting clipped if no one wants to sing them. So there. What else? (well, I am the only one sitting here, so….)

Portion Control, No Way

I don’t know about you, but just saying roast pork gets my juices flowing. Go ahead, try me out on this and watch me drool. Corrinne’s  pork was no exception and I piled it high until I was about to explode. Delicious. Enough and then, not enough said.

But before the roasted pork took me over the edge there was the heirloom appetizers, or was that considered the salad dish? Heirloom tomatoes layered with mozzarella and pistachios. And before that came the tasty acorn squash soup.

Plated up there with the pork was the polenta. The polenta was there, next to the pork—what can
I say—pork… slow roasted, spiced just right, only enhances the polenta or the potatoes but it never lets them shine. The polenta had to dance in the pork’s shadow.

Then there was the chocolate cake with Crème Fraîche, or as we say it round these parts, Crème Fresh. Oh la la. To chocolate cake and dollops of whipped creamy stuff. Yes sir.

By this time I do not remember the Fruit Galette (more French fluff) so if Carole a.k.a., “Caole” (very French, oui?) wants to elaborate then…merci.

Mint to Say

Thanks to Carmine and Hideo for the mint tea idea. Bought a bowl (with ridges) bought a pestle (wood) got some mint and Carole’s muscle. She grinds it, brews it, serves it up, hot, sweet and subtle and… the tea’s not bad either.

Other Stuff

Let’s see… if you’re up for it, check out Bob’s stories on and

Next dinner: 10th Avenue, probably August 20th.

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