burnunit: (Default)
[personal profile] burnunit
So. You know that moment, the conclusion of the This American Life episode with the story Bullet in the Brain by Tobias Wolff?

When the cynical critic Anders is shot—I give nothing away telling you this, the title is Bullet in the Brain after all—we are taken into the flight of "ion transports" amid his synapses and we are treated to his memories. After recounting some of the things he could have remembered in that electric moment, Wolff conveys to us the haunting beauty of that last, endless, most unexpected memory:
This is what he remembered. Heat. A baseball field. Yellow grass, the whirr of insects, himself leaning against a tree as the boys of the neighborhood gather for a pickup game...
this builds up to the chanted last words—and they are what I'm remembering here, of course. Unbelievable in their lyric power. I won't give that away so you'll have to listen to or read it yourself (ah, here's a link to the text, thanks Google) . The moment slows things down to "brain time" and there's suddenly time to elevate an instant into an eternity of hoping and being. That voice echoes in my brain sometimes, when I think of my own memories and the timelessness of experiencing this memory or that one.

I had a wonderful gustatory weekend. It began with a chicken pot pie made by [livejournal.com profile] mrs_lovett that gave me an honest-to-goodness "Ratatouille moment" upon tasting it: a total collision of my past and present, and the flavor of warm night in the one story yellow ranch style perched on the cliffs next to the church in Hot Springs. Looking out of our pool of light, I remember the nights most vividly, living on the edge of prairie and mountains. The darkness of the countryside punctuated first by a nearby truckstop, then tiny homesteads, the municipal airport, the stockyards beyond. Small bursts of light in the darkness, and the play of headlights across a window one way, the sweep of the airport signal the other. Light crossing the dark and then dark again. The heartbeat of a great world larger than this world, larger and breathing, calling, "go. and go. and go." The sound is the creaking-open oven door, the rattle of aluminum against the wire racks. The kitchen fills with a rich crust smell, though a hint of burning (some drips making their way past the pans). It's warm and contained here, everything sensible, everything safe from the outer dark. The flavor of peas and cream and chicken—it was a cheap pot pie then, not scratch made, plain old Swanson's with the processed chicken and everything! But the flavors were all together and a great peace stole over me. This returned on Friday night, and again with a bite of the leftovers. I'm going to have some more this week. It's wonderful. Just a Fanny Farmer recipe. Just ...good.

All this is by way of leading up to the eight course dinner we enjoyed at
Chef's Tasting Menu
cocktails
I had The City of Light, a gin-and-cointreau piece that is definitely something to write home to mother about. If your mom is Joan Crawford, that is. This is a potent drink and made me feel instantly sophisticated, happy, and loose. In other words, I think it did exactly what a cocktail is supposed to do! Leann had a lovely Cobra Verde which is a lot like a margarita only... denser and more...focused. Our hostess had a "Honeyscrisp" something or other that was basically an appletini to the extreeeeme and Josh had a (mumble mumble). The "honeycrisp surprisetini" was a harbinger for the meal because it was like a freakin apple jamboree Saturday. The words "apple jamboree" might terrify you—should, in almost all circumstances. I assure you, that is not the case at La Belle Vie.

Gruyere gougere! teensy, puffy, cheesy deliciousness. What are these? a pre-amuse? A snack. A cocktail snack. These were warm and inviting. They made me very happy, it wasn't just the booze. They made me feel like I was being shown a little touch of homeyness, a little hint as if to say, "this is all in your reach. you could do this." (I make a very good gougere, seriously) or perhaps they were something else, something like the crafty chef saying "this is the last thing you're going to taste tonight that you'll be able to do at home. please, set aside all expectations and let us show you something amazing." It was the last familiar stop on the near coast of the great wild continent. The port at the edge of the world.

amuse bouche
Seriously, these guys understand the idea of an amusement for your mouth. Tiny brioche and tomato consomme. I mean tiny. Like they took a normal piece of bread and cut it in eighths, then stood them on their edges and sliced into two even thinner slices. Then put cheese inside and grilled it to perfection, cut them in half and stood the teensy triangles on edge. Then set a cup of tomato soup next to it. It was totally childhood comfort food. But the broth was ethereal, more like tomato water (only not gross like the words "tomato water" sound) and sunk in it were tiny quarters of cherry tomatoes. The word "essence" sprang easily to our lips throughout the meal, and this was no exception.

first
Sautéed Langoustine with Sweet Corn Flan and Shellfish Broth
vin: Haton, Champagne, Brut, Damery, France

Look, when I said "crafty chef" earlier I meant it; this course is something that is basically impossible for me to do. I have no fucking idea what goes into a sweet corn flan, nor how they get it to hold together perfectly in its little dome of perfection, nor do I have any experience making langoustines. Furthermore, if I made a shellfish broth, it'd probably be all gritty, whereas this was smooth and soft. The effect of this is a seafood boil, classed way way up.

It was like a giant summer picnic condensed into a single moment, into five bites. I don't even have a lot of experience with authentic seafood boils! I've had plenty of seafood (boiled and otherwise) and I've had them served altogether from a pot with sweet corn and potatoes. I've had plenty of langoustines, shrimps, lobsters and crayfish. I have eaten picnics on the seashore and the shore of Great Lakes. So there's these things in my experience, plus a certain amount of romantic imagery in my head, and I'm familiar with though I haven't had direct experience of the "go clamming, drag in some lobster pots, build a fire on the beach and toss it all in a canning kettle with kelp and corn on the cob, dump it on a gingham tablecloth, eat with your fingers" variety of seafood boil. Do you know what I mean?

Well, this course actually brought these things together: my memory of wonderful picnics of seafood or at seaside—the sound of the surf, the hypnotic sight of waves and boats bobbing on waves, the quality of light late in the day with the water turning a little gray and the sky erupting in color. That, along with the flavors of late summer. I will always hold in my heart the sensation of sitting with Leann on the edge of Lake Superior over several occasions we have been there during the change from summer to fall. Either on the North with explosions of water on the rocks and the comfort of feeling so much is possible together; or the South, standing in the cool sand imagining ourselves doing anything we want while hundreds of shades of gray steal over the air and the sea and the land. I can taste that on the fringes of this appetizer, in the soft velveteen space between flan and broth. I can taste summer on waters edge in the rich langoustine and the tart tiny greens. And in a large bite of the whole dish I can taste these memories combine with my own imagination of putting such a feast together somehow by humbly laboring at the romantic seashore and picnicking among the dunes.

Maybe we could do all this as a home cook. But in five bites that fit in a single bowl? How? Wizardry. Also, champagne would help. Oh! Here it was, bubbling, sharp, cool. One step ahead of us again, La Belle Vie!

SO. That's just two courses. I'm writing up the other six this week.

(no subject)

Date: 2008-09-30 06:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] joshuwain.livejournal.com
Oh, my...

You really are an Epicurean poet; that conjures the most wonderful tastes in the mind's eye! I wish I could have been there; it sounds spectacular and truly memorable!

Profile

burnunit: (Default)
burnunit

May 2009

S M T W T F S
      12
3 456789
10111213141516
17181920212223
24252627282930
31      

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags