4 AM idea:

I want to have a mods and rockers party.

<3

It's 4:30! Ridiculous. I'm wide awake--I feel like running, kickboxing, cooking, or jumping into a pile of leaves. I'm not even wired on anything, just very much alive.

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoID=1203357539

I kind of want to start a movement like this in Pittsburgh, but I need a partner. Who wants to make giant FREE HUGS signs and fill the world with love, starting in Oakland?

punk rock

cioppino

this is what hell is like.

The other night I went down to the X on Walnut Street, a 24-hour gym, to see about a membership. Chef mentioned the place to me and it seemed attractive, being open for business when I am at my most active: one in the morning. I had a free workout and not only was I satisfied with the equipment selection, I think I may be hooked on weightlifting again. I feel wonderfully sore today, knowing I'll be a little bit stronger when it goes away; not only that, just toning up after not having worked out like that in a long time really did something for my posture, ability to breathe deeply, etc. We often joke at Soba that we should all chip in for chiropractic sessions, and that a potential chiropractor might say, after examination, something along the lines of, "What the hell have you guys been doing? Standing up for eleven hours straight, hunched over, every day?"

Finished cleaning up around 1:30 tonight. Pretty rough day, but I brought home some treats aside from the usual leftover staff meal: several pounds of fishheads to make a nice fumet with, and the remnants of a bottle of Chartreuse liqueur from a co-worker. As far as sweet liqueurs go, it's rather nice (and smooth for 55% alcohol!).

Oh, and I cooked for Al Franken tonight. You know one of those, "Hey, Al Franken's on the books tonight," nights. I suppose it's a nice thing about this industry: occasionally you feed your heroes.

Yesterday, while I had a rack of shortribs braising on the stove of my studio, I headed downtown to wander around, something I hadn't done in awhile (plus, Dunkin' Donuts is a guilty pleasure). At the Barnes and Noble, I bought a copy of the Escoffier Cook Book--something that, considering my classical French training at the culinary institute, should have been my bible long ago. An excerpt:

Filets de Soles Victoria

Fold the fillets, and poach them in fish fumet.
Arrange them in an oval on a dish, and garnish the centre with three oz. of the meat from the tail of the spiny or Rock lobster, and one oz. of truffle in dice per every four fillets.
Coat the fillets and the garnish with sauce Victoria, and set to glaze quickly.

Heavy shit. Maybe my mother is right in saying that I'm a purist, but I love all the French stuff, the right and only way to do something authentically, a standard in exactness for cuisine to be followed, to be expanded and built upon further only when mastered.

Shortribs, during braising.

Liberty Avenue close to sundown.

Anonymous cooking student.

Somewhere around tenth street.

Shortribs with rosemary demi-glace, broccoli beurre noisette, cremini mushroom ragout with shallot and chive.

what?

If I were a stone, I would be: obsidian
If I were a tree, I would be: a live oak
If I were a bird, I would be: a mexican eagle
If I were a machine, I would be: a motorcycle engine
If I were a tool, I would be: a wooden spoon
If I were a flower/plant, I would be: chervil
If I were a kind of weather, I would be: snow
If I were a mythical creature, I would be: atlas
If I were a musical instrument, I would be: a fender telecaster
If I were a land animal, I would be: a cougar
If I were a color, I would be: crimson
If I were an emotion, I would be: lust
If I were a vegetable, I would be: broccoli
If I were a sound, I would be: rain on a tin roof
If I were an Element, I would be: fire
If I were a car, I would be: an MGB
If I were a song, I would be: born to be wild, steppenwolf
If I were to trade places with another person for a day, it would be: a soldier
If I were a movie, I would be: waking life
If I were a food, I would be: daube de boeuf bourguignon
If I were a place, I would be: sixth street bridge
If I were a material, I would be: iron
If I were a taste, I would be: espresso
If I were an object, I would be: a french knife
If I were a word, I would be: military-industrial complex
If I were a body part, I would be: a hand
If I were a facial expression, I would be: squinty and serious
If I were a comic/cartoon character, I would be: batman
If I were a shape, I would be: a triangle
If I were a number, I would be: 1
If I were a month, I would be: january
If I were a day of the week, I would be: tuesday
If I were a time of day, I would be: five o'clock
If I were a direction, I would be: north
If I were a piece of furniture, I would be: a dining room table
If I were a sin, I would be: lust
If I were a historical figure, I would be: dwight eisenhower
If I were a liquid, I would be: rum
If I were a method of death, I would be: shot on the street
If I were a planet, I would be: mercury
If I were a scent, I would be: mussels steamed in white wine
If I were a sea animal, I would be: a yellowfin tuna
If I were an insect, I would be: a mantis
If I were a language, I would be: french
If I were a country, I would be: germany
If I were a body of water, I would be: a river
If I were a Greek god/goddess, I would be: hephaestus

marca verde

So aside from musing on the meaning of alcoholism and drug addiction, I've been up to a lot lately. Last Thursday I worked a huge catering gig downtown--a 500 person fundraiser for the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust. It was a pretty smooth (and surprisingly easy) operation until it came time to clean the place up. Imagine doing dishes for such an event in a cold alley with no running water, stacking wire racks of plates and glasses up on wooden platforms for extraction by the rental company in the morning.

Today I woke up earlier than usual to go read the paper at Starbucks (quite possibly one of my favorite things to do, ever, in the world). Also, I walked through Whole Foods and found unusually cheap blue Stilton. Exquisite.

Earlier in the week, I played a new sport called Frisbee Golf, which involves frisbees, and adheres to golf-like rules. It's golf for hippies. Hooray! I became stuck in Schenley Park with no ride as a result of this sport, and was an hour late to work.

Earlier, yea, even earlier than that, I went out to meet friends for a grand scrabble tournament. When only my friend, the server Jacque, showed up at the meeting-place, we had a lovely chat and proceeded to look for a scrabble board for ourselves. When that proved unsuccessful (American society is breaking down, and bookstores no longer sell Scrabble), she taught me the fine art of soapmaking in her Victorian home North of the city. I learned that chemical burns from lye are bad, and I was convinced to join the fan club of an amazing cat.

hooray, cooking!

Forgive my literary hiatus, but I've been busy making dinner for thousands of people. It is sad, also, that these days it is a challenge to conjure up anything at all to write. Mostly I come up with, "Today I worked for the greater part of the day, came home and drank tea, then went to bed." But then again, I enjoy the seemingly mundane. I woudn't be doing it if it were monotonous.

Tonight I went down to the bar for a bit after work. As usual, the whole restaurant crew was there, singing and celebrating and unlikely to remember any of it the next day. I had a drink and chatted with some colleagues for awhile but didn't stick around long. It was, in the most literal sense, not my scene. Not that I don't get along with my co-workers or that I haven't had my share of drunken revelry (Ole!), but it's no secret that I'm not a big drinker, and I don't do marijuana. There are those who seem to live merely to be drunk, high, etc, or only seem happy when they are. It really saddens me that some people live to experience that, a state of mind that's simply different from what they usually feel like, as if the everyday isn't worth really living through. Not to mention I'm a smart motherfucker, and I'd like to stay that way. Whether it's a six-pack of Coors Light a or a bottle of vodka, it will destroy you. There are men who have taught me this.

Don't get me wrong. I love my wine, my beer, my spirits (though perhaps in more of an Epicurean sense), and perhaps in some cases it is true, as the Marquis de Sade said, "Conversation, like other bodily functions, goes better with lubrication." But I don't drink to escape my life. I drink because a good Chardonnay, a Straub or a nice bottle of rum are wonderful parts of my life. Despite the obvious physical pain, occasional anger, arguable social isolation that what I'm dedicated to brings me, I'm rather fond of it and if it ever becomes something I merely have to get through every day in order to feel better afterwards, I'll quit.