Mostly I have been busy lately.
I have been helping to run a top restaurant (again), I have been producing jingles (as usual), and I had a photoshoot last weekend:
Courtney is my favorite person to shoot because I could tell him to stand on his head at the edge of a cliff, naked with a swarm of bees, and he would do it ... and more importantly, he would make it look phenomenally interesting and all I would have to do is click. L.A. beckons and we will have known him when.
After a few years of apprenticeship in the restaurant business, I decided to look around for whatever next opportunity was available. After all, they couldn't ALL be assholes, right?
Feeling the same yen for opportunity, my boss/owner transitioned from active work to retirement in pretty much the same week.
Within hours I landed at a Pan-Asian restaurant of some local reknown and repute.
Having never worked in a professional kitchen before, I was immediately assigned to the kitchen. An Asian kitchen. Well, the cooks were Mexican, but all cooks are Mexican. If the cook isn't Mexican, worry.
After a torrent of work over the ensuing few months, in which I learned an amazing amount, an opportunity arose in management, and I was hastily bundled off to the back office.
Within weeks the Assistant Manager was no more and I was asked if I could fill-in for him over the ensuing weeks while a replacement person with suitable experience was found. Once again it was a torrent of work during which I learned an amazing amount.
And now since hiring of the new person has been accomplished, I can now settle-in to marketing and doing the things I do best. Although, I use the phrase "settle-in" loosely.
That is, until the next crisis ensues.
And that's why I haven't written.
Last Saturday I spotted the elusive Gull-Winged Mercedes.
This was fortuitous but not altogether surprising, as they are usually only sighted on weekends during beautiful weather.
Known nesting places are usually raked-gravel mews behind absurdly high thick hedges in the better zip codes, and they are known to winter mostly in temperature-controlled storage.
Like eagles, they do not flock, but they can be seen in the company of birds with similar plummage. Actually, their owners usually do most of the preening.
While most people will be familiar seeing them in the background of Ralph Lauren print ads, they also can occasionally be seen roosting in close vicinity of five-star restaurants, golf and yacht clubs, and the front valet lot of the Meyerson.
One of the fine Mexican establishments I frequent in desolate areas of town gave me a whole takeout-cupful of their salsa habanero, and I had been using it on my signature cheeseburgers as a perfect finishing accent, when eventually and sadly it ran out.
I picked up a bottle of alleged "habanero" salsa and it seemed to be mostly food coloring and vinegar ... tasty for some uses, but not for the signature cheeseburger.
My Mexican friends have served habanero salsa at many parties, and despite the blatant warning of its bright yellow-orange coloring, it has the exactly right amount of fieriness that never overwhelms.
So, I decided to make my own.
Putting aside that habanero chilis are reputed to be the hottest in the world, chilis can vary in hotness not only from species to species but even from chili to chili. There is no way to predict it, only to respect it. Not having calloused hands, for instance I always wear gloves when chopping them, I always makes plans to handle chilis on days when I am not wearing my contact lenses, etc. The oil can linger for six hours or more.
For authenticity, I went directly to Rick Bayless as one never needs to go further. His recipe calls for roasting six to seven habanero chilis with a few cloves of garlic (roasting enhances and mellows flavors), then blending with a little water and salt, and voila.
I let it mix and mingle in the fridge overnight and then gave it a taste by dipping a little bit of a chip in it, not scooping up a chunk, but just a light film of salsa on the chip.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
Clearly, this was made from a more than potent set of chilis!
I dipped the tip of my little finger in it and gave it another taste.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
I can count on my hand the times in my life I have had something that spicy in my mouth, usually by accident, that burns not like chilis, but like particularly angry battery acid; a fire than no balmy creamy drink or emetic can quell.
Hm.
Undeterred, I made the signature cheeseburger, and in the critical layer I added five drops, DROPS MIND YOU, of the Death Salsa. The background sensation of warmth and well-being during and after the consumption of the burger rivalled that of ... well ... you make up the metaphor.
Clearly I was on to something.
Martin, my friend who, beyond that fabulous distinction, is also an accomplished classical cellist, connoisseur of fine food, wine and women (if his stunning girlfriend is any indication), is of Mexican descent and therefore shares my passion for the cuisine. Who better to appreciate my creation?
Friday night I brought him a couple of ounces carefully wrapped in a bag, like an illicit substance. "Try this," I said, "But be careful, because THIS is AUTHORITATIVE."
I went on a little about it just to make sure my point was clear, and that night he went on his way to make dinner, eager to try out the Death Salsa.
He made fish, I think, and opened the package and sniffed ... roasted chili and garlic ... mmmmm ... wonderful ... and he started to add it parsemoniously to his dish as instructed, when he thought, "Why be stingy? ... How bad could it be? ... After all, I'M MEXICAN!"
So he didn't exactly slather it on, but he spooned-on a goodly amount.
He took the first ample bite and chewed and relished the flavors and thought, "Okay, a little heat, this is nice, kind of a background thing, I really don't know what the big ..."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
I think it took awhile to get over, LOL.
I agree with every damn thing Obama does.
It's as simple as that.
Tired of not being covered for your pre-existing medical condition? Solved!
Hate pissing away our blood and treasure in foreign wars? Ended!
Tired of Wall Street stealing you blind? Reformed!
Oval Office redecoration? Lovely!
It took eight years for this country to be destroyed and it won't be fixed in two, so I don't know what people are bitching about.
UNLESS ...
We've just become soft.
Doughy.
Morbidly Fat and Happy.
We've forgotten how to suffer and be Americans.
We liked getting our yearly $300.00 checks from Bush/Cheney, even though China was picking up the bill. It was kind of cake for the masses. Moon cakes. On a credit card.
We loved fighting wars we didn't have to fight. Shared sacrifice our ass; It didn't have to be our kids. Put that on the card too.
And we adore sucking down a Mexican joint at wine and dine parties with our yuppie friends, never mindful that it costs a few decapitations and mutilated children for the high. Sorry, still cash only.
And that's just off the top of my head ... complain about this President and you betray to everyone just how limp and wimpy you really are ...
My God what happened to you man ... where's your pride?
Faced with pangs of hunger for something more than a baloney sandwich, yet not possessing the strength to prepare anything more complicated, I decided to go simple and messy.
The most difficult part was mixing the dipping sauces ... I chose to make classic seafood cocktail with LOTS of horseradish, creamy tartar with plenty of relish, capers, lime juice and cilantro, and for a Mexican touch, guacamole.
Chef at the restaurant thinks I put too much garlic in my guacamole ... for that matter so does my family in Mexico ... of course this is nonsense; you can never have too much garlic in anything ;-)
The boiling water was salty-salty with a helping of San Francisco Bay seasoning, and I picked up a sourdough boule, just in case any sauces were leftover and wanting of attention.
All in all, it was a most satisfying dinner, whipped together pretty quickly and effortlessly. The most time was spent waiting for the photographer and food stylist.
A couple of weeks ago we had a tornado in Dallas.
In fifty years I have never seen a tornado in person before, and considering where I live you would think it would be as casual as seeing cows.
Once in Mexico I was indoors and suddenly out of nowhere a cold wind blew through and everything in the garden stood up on its hind legs. Laundry, dust, scrap paper, all of it suddenly whirled-up in the air. I ran outdoors and a funnel passed over the house, and I excitedly pointed up in the air and said, "Tornado! Look!"
"Noooooo Gringo," they said, as lackadaisical as if they'd seen a cow, "It's a remolino." Cold air comes down from the mountains in the afternoon and mixes with the hot desert air in the valleys and creates these 500 foot high whirlwinds.
With civil defense sirens going off that Wednesday and the thickness of the air and the lowness of the scudding clouds, I knew I was going to see a twister. I had even been following it on radar and knew where to look. I saw the wall cloud, but buildings and things were in the way from my vantage point and I couldn't see anything.
As it turns out, it was a very very polite tornado, mostly kicking up dust and debris, then casually flinging an 18-wheeler into a warehouse, and no one was hurt. It was the perfect tornado for Dallas: All of the drama and none of the commitment.
After what has arguably with few exceptions been the dullest forty-five years of car design, finally some cars are coming around that get my blood pumping.
I nabbed this pic from the Mercedes Facebook page (figured they wouldn't mind) ... but it doesn't near do it justice. Someone keeps pulling up in front of the restaurant in an SLS AMG just like this one, and the valets do their duty and park it as conspicuously as possible so that mere mortals can bask in its glory and walk away swearing a new purpose in life.
If car companies designed cars like this all along they wouldn't be mere bankrupt companies, they would be nation states.
Step up!
This is Kenneth Special K.
He is a dancer who specializes in "popping", the sort of jerky robotic-like movements in some flavors of hip-hop dancing. Lucky for me, he also likes to model.
In person he really seems to be like any goth guy with tats and piercings. On the street he wouldn't get a second look, but in front of the camera he blossoms and becomes something else much more compelling.
We had a lot of fun during the photoshoot and hope to do more soon.
