bitter

I love bitter.

"It's herb poached halibut and braised cardoons," he said, setting the dish before us with more than a bit of hopeful pride. You could tell he wanted us to like it as much as he did. Then, he got shy, and took care to mention the dishes bitterness several times. To make sure, i guess, that we knew, that he knew, it was bitter---"it's supposed to be like that," i finally said in an attempt to relieve his awkwardness and inability to express, in words, his own dish. "Yeah," he said and slinked back to the kitchen. Not quite sure enough to wait a moment and watch us take a bite.

It was bitter. Deliciously so, and I sopped up every bit of broth chasing around soft pieces of cardoons, and forking just the right amount of sweet, fatty, halibut to balance out my bite. I was sad to see the dish end and when he finally came back from the kitchen I couldn't resist squeezing his hand and trying to thank him, a little bit unable to explain, in words, my own reaction to the dish.

money is just something you throw off the back of a train

I road into the city today to get a new NYC license. I have to say Monday morning at the DMV is pretty much like you'd expect. The lines where long but moving OK, people behind desks seemed tired and maybe a little daunted about facing the week but went through the repetitious work repetitiously.

I hadn't eaten breakfast and upon leaving the building got down on the banana and nuts at the bottom of my backpack and promptly started to think about what else I could get to eat for $2.30 which is what I had to spend for the day. I'm not sure at what point over the summer I spent all of my money i just know it's gone.

The $2+ in my pocket got me thinking about food access. I spent most of my weekend working with a woman who takes farm fresh produce and a bit of meat, cooks it, and delivers it to people for hundreds of dollars. The food we got to work with was delicious. The broccoli a beautiful grassy green, the cherry tomatoes like little drops of sun, the wheat in our scones freshly milled, and the cream in our polenta organic. It wasn't too hard to make things taste good. It felt good to share this bounty with someone. I felt good about the state of food in Brooklyn and my belly.

Then it was Monday, I was out of the kitchen and needed to feed myself on two bucks. Two bucks doesn't seem like enough money to expect to eat on. I kept wishing I had five because that seemed like enough to at least get a decent snack. Then, I walked past the Chelsea Papaya and saw a sign "hot dogs, all-beef, $1.35," I love hot dogs. It's tough to reconcile but I do. A few moments later one loaded with relish, mustard, and ketchup was mine and I still had a dollar in my pocket.

Moments after finishing the dog I felt a little regret about what I just eaten and the need to find a bit balance. I wandered further east down 23rd walking past signs for dollar menus and slices and meal deals. Somehow all the food options seemed a bit sinister like cartoon smiley faces run amok.

I made it to Union Square and decided to hit up the farmers market for some apples. My dollar bought me two shiny Cortlands and for the moment my head and my mouth where quiet.

Reading Michael Pollan

I feel a little late to the game as I make my way through Michael Pollan's, "The Omnivore's Dilemma." The book has been in print long enough to be discounted in paperback at Barnes and Noble and I have to wonder why I didn't pick it up sooner.

I find Michael's writing very thought provoking and information dense. It isn't that he speeds through issues, more the scope of his arguments merits conversation and when you're alone in your bed with a book there just isn't much talking.

I work as a cook in a popular Manhattan kitchen. I was drawn to this particular kitchen because of it's focus on using carefully chosen, sustainable produce and meat. In the kitchen we often refer to the dining room as the beast. We, as cooks, need to feed the beast and the beast is always hungry. It's a bit mind boggling how much food we make every day. This is carefully constructed, thoughtful food, and the plates come back empty.

I've been thinking about meat a lot lately. How it relates to my health, the health of my community, the health of our global community. This topic comes up in many ways throughput my day:

We get whole pigs, half cows, legs and saddle of venison, chickens, lamb shoulders, and tons of fish in everyday. This meat comes, from many different sources, telling many different stories. Some of it I feel pretty good about. I know the farmers who've grown it. I've been to their farm. I don't feel great about everything.

The thing is, working with whole animals is tough. At least, large whole animals like cows and pigs. I'm slowly gaining a new found love for chicken. Ours are sourced from a great local farm that chooses the breed carefully and raises them humanely without the use of growth hormones or antibiotics. When you get in a whole chicken, none of the animal is waste. We use the breast and thigh on our chicken dish, The wings and legs go to feed the staff, the liver go to mousse, the bones to stock, it's a pretty beautiful thing.

The other great thing about chicken is that as they grow they are consuming far fewer calories in the form of corn or other foods as they come up to slaughter weight. What I am realizing lately is: Meat is a luxury. I find myself often wondering not how can it cost so much, but how can it cost so little. For each calorie that goes into feeding a chicken could, in reality, go, much for efficiently toward feeding a person. Eating meat means is the privilege of the wealthy.

I have a lot more to say on this topic but time for more coffee and a little bit more NYT.