Unravelling Rapture & Blue Demons in Pursuit of Something

“One is not born into the world to do everything but to do something.”
― Henry David Thoreau

 

February 13^th, 2012

At last, I feel words form to my thought . . something dignified.  I believe in God, despite my renouncement of his lacking of late, my everyday curse as one of the living.  This is the second morning that I have risen before that of the Sun.  The sky is so beautiful transcending every shade of blue, maybe the blue of yesterdays poem alludes to the same.  Where the Earth meets “the floorboards” of heaven it is topaz adorned with silhouettes of swaying date palm fronds, then tiffany to majorelle, duke to navy and almost gray but really prussian melded with anubis and dotted by the stars of the Almighty . . . I search, a turn of the head, to capture and gaze at the iridescent moon as it encapsulates my new mood that stirs within.  Yes, I believe in God still . . . Buddhist by nature, by choice . . belief by blood or so it seems.

 This awakening of realization stems from an intercourse in recent fiction – I speak not of the bible or distant church bells that resound here on Marco Island but a book that I’m reading of witches, demons & man in his many incripulous faults and deeply wedded loves.  My reading is titled, Lasher by Anne Rice and whilst it is the primary subject of my thought, knowing each character and hanging on the suspenseful climax, one that I speculate and anticipate with the turn of each page; there is an abundance of Christian symbolism at this time.  I passed over the Grammy’s last night and in it’s place, settled on watching Angels & Demons.  You know the movie with Tom Hanks and the plight of the Vatican’s own meddling of affairs nearly causing the destruction of Rome.  It was this movie and the immediately following cinematic Sci-Fi Channel special that captivated this audience of one (plus dog, but he didn’t offer any input on the channel selection).  The secondary movie, I can’t seem to recall the name, heralded the return of Arnold Schwarzenegger (no longer a California governor and his fortunes divided by divorce – he has returned to Hollywood in true form of action/thriller) in yet another movie with Roman priesthood battling Satan’s return in attempt to breed his spawn with some once in a thousand year born child named Christine.  Of course, it was Arnold who portrayed some Rambo meets Saint Michael character but that is far from the topic of importance here.

All of this religious mumbo jumbo has stirred something more spiritual than a splash of vermouth over iced down Tanquerey gin (I openly admit to having three last night and oh, were the artisan blue cheese stuffed olives delish!).  Whitney Houston’s death, the daughter of one Emily “Cissy” Houston, renowned as one of America’s great gospel singers; the abandonment of Prop 8 and the ongoing battle of belittling the authenticity and legality of legal gay marriage; the conflicted republican GOP racey religious overtones sporting a “Royal Rumble” between Mit “the Mormon” Tyrant,  Newt “the Grinch” Gingrich & Ricky “the Papal Slave” Santorum (again, I leave Ron Paul alone); and my own acceptance of faith and fate spooned over an attitude that hasn’t quite settled on the next move . . . fearing the right as much the wrong.  Am I a Fallen Angel?  

In many ways, I identify with the actors and characters of my recent entertainment escapade – that is to say, “the good guys” with their many flaws flanking their intentions as members of the righteous wing.  And I’m not ashamed to say that I too can find my own corrupted soul entwined with the likes of less angelic heirs . . . perhaps it is the blend of the two that allows one the fortitude to strike out against the hand of evil; the saintly all too reserved, too faithful, too passive as the innocence of a nested dove amidst a torrential storm.  No, no . . I am not passive that is for certain, but I have definitely taken my time these passing months, I’ve taken no real assertive steps in any direction for the very fear of making the wrong choice. 

Is any choice the wrong one?  Or is it simply another path of lessons that unfold in perfect triangular fashion as a Star Spangled Banner Flag is passed to the widow of a soldier no more?  Death comes to us all, it is merely the mode and hour that has to be determined – I have no fear of that darkening moment.   I fear having failed to live life to my fullest potential; I fear my own neglect, whether coherent of unconscious, of my pre-ordained destiny to “change the world” . . that is to be an open-ended concept that continually evolves or shall I say revolves; I fear what most do not . . . I know myself, I know the coming of change has accountability and responsibility that few have but elected to embrace . . . I know, I know . . . I know nothing right at this moment, but that God would have me be something more than that of late.

I am a warrior, often meek in merit, but none the less . . I am fighting everyday with the devil within and by circumstance, or fate . . the demon of Eden.  A chef by trait, by passion, by celestial gift – I am hardly content to settle for such selfish preoccupations of simply garnering a wage.  Money is not the root of all evil, it is what we do with it that harbors such ill elections.  My choices however are limited by the unfortunate absence of funds and therefore the struggle couples and leads me further astray, perhaps to turn my sight in oblivious pursuit to be loved by another . . that escape is ever so appealing.  But at last, I recognize the angel sent to me this past November – a mere memory of what can be, could be, will be . . .  and yet that I need find myself before the latter love can ever fully be honored.  Again, I wonder how much of this makes sense?  I know that I believe in God again and tomorrow my Valentine might just be that of the cross embroidered into my plight of possibilities rendering on the stove. 

With Culinary Blessings & Love,

                  Chef Scotty  

A Valentines Menu

Seared Sea Scallop with Saffron Beurre Blanc & Sun-dried Tomato n’Artichoke Risotto Cake

Wild Rocket Salad with Parsnip & Ciopolleni Confit, Corn Shoot, Baconized-Black Raspberry Vinaigrette, Shaved Ossau Iraty & Pink Peppercorn-Pistachio Praline

Sorbet of Scarlet Champagne

Caramelized Shallot encrusted Lambchop wth Sangiovese-Cocoa Demi-God Sauce, Fingerling Potato-Fennel Gratin, Nasturtium Confetti

Coconut-Cardamom Panna Cotta bathing in Rosewater Seduction Sauce

Upon the Eastern Sunrise of Smoked Salmon & Absurdities

“I would rather sit on a pumpkin, and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion.”
― Henry David Thoreau

January 17th, 2012

Speechless as of yesterday and today.  I guess I should mention Martin Luther King Day and all of the wonderful contributions he made to the once great United States of America (I say once because it would be foolish to claim global superiority – there is no #1 when assessing happiness as a peoples inhabiting a land chiseled out by imaginary borders).  Drifting a wee bit to the left, straggling to the right . . . wobbling onward in search of something better.   Nothingness stills my ambitions.  

Tomorrow I do my part in civil duty as I testify on behalf of an employee who having been in a reckless car accident; injured his back severely and was able to work only a limited basis.   Of course, having heard his pleads for any work whatsoever, I hired him knowing his condition would prohibit him from working a normal work shift.  Do I always try to do the right thing?  When it comes to others I’d like to believe so and yet when it comes to my own needs, wants, desires . . . I seemingly have this dilemma of taking out any misfortunes and “do gooder” discrepancies upon myself.  I am my own worst enemy in that respect.  Does it make it even more unfortunate that I fully comprehend my self-inflicting actions?  

No, I haven’t been chanting, nor attending to my muscular definition . . . chipping away at work but forever receding into this God-forsaken realm of “What next”  Have I really forfeited my will to the hand that would beat me?  Where is the Water Dragon fierceness that I so desperately yearn for?  Will I put aside my petty childish beliefs and grasp manhood with all of it’s accountability & responsibility.  Like a hot air-balloon not yet inflated, I sit on the ground with all the potential in the world to rise above skyscrapers, ascend upwards into the heavens above, caress the outskirts of divinity.   Maybe it would help my cause if I were to empty the small quarry of stones weighting down my thatch basket? 

New day, I’m on the Amtrak train returning from San Diego, it’s another beautiful Wednesday and my ‘tude has improved.  I had to go to court on behalf of an employee, do the right thing ya’ know?   He was in tears, so I guess I said the right things . . good practice anyways, testifying that is.  It won’t be long before I have my own drawn out trial, but that’s for another day and worries that can wait a few months.  For now, I have work on my mind and I’ll rest assured that karma will take care of the rest.

With Culinary Blessings,

                   Chef Scotty

Smoked Salmon-n-Cream Cheese Omelette

Copious amounts of bacon have been in my diet for the past few days & this morning I used the leftover 4 pieces of bacon in my hash-browns accompanied by this omelet.  Everything was bumped up an AM notch when Mr. Wilson splurged on good beans (we've been out of coffee for eons!). 

 Ingredients

• 6 large eggs
• 2 tablespoons half-and-half or water
• 1/4 teaspoon fine salt
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 2 ounces cream cheese, cut into small bits
• 2 ounces thinly sliced smoked nova salmon or lox, cut into 1-inch long thin strips
• 2 tablespoons finely diced red onion
• 2 teaspoons drained small capers
• 4 lemon slices
• Snippets of fresh dill, for garnish
• Equipment: 8-inch seasoned omelet skillet (like black steel or cast iron)

Directions

Preheat the broiler and arrange the oven rack in the highest position.

Put the eggs, half-and-half, salt and pepper in a bowl and whisk until frothy.

Melt the butter in the skillet over medium-high heat. Pour in the egg mixture and let sit until the bottom starts to cook. Using a rubber spatula, slowly push the cooked egg from 1 side of the skillet to the other, allowing the raw egg to reach the bottom and cook--this creates fluffiness and keeps the bottom from burning.

When the omelet is cooked on the bottom and the top is still runny, place the skillet just under the broiler with the oven door open and the handle sticking out, and broil until the omelet rises and browns lightly, about 1 minute. (Alternatively, flip the omelet in the skillet and cook briefly, to finish.)

Scatter the cream cheese and smoked salmon over the omelet; then sprinkle with the onion and capers. Broil again to warm the topping, about 30 seconds

Transfer the omelet to a cutting board, and cut into 4 triangles. Divide the omelets among plates and garnish with the lemon slices and dill

It's on the Books! Penny for your Worries, Worshorseshire Sauce

“I do believe in simplicity. It is astonishing as well as sad, how many trivial affairs even the wisest thinks he must attend to in a day; how singular an affair he thinks he must omit. When the mathematician would solve a difficult problem, he first frees the equation of all incumbrances, and reduces it to its simplest terms. So simplify the problem of life, distinguish the necessary and the real. Probe the earth to see where your main roots run. ”
― Henry David Thoreau

January 15^th,  2012

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dlr90NLDp-0

It’s still Friday the 13^th but a lot of some nothing has happened – but it’s good stuff.  The judge has set a trial date, which means . . . . there is an end to the madness.  My mind is now reprieved of the constant weight of this overshadowing debacle – or so I shall like to think as the Gregorian Chant settles those background noises with stern secular clarity; the orators channeling angelic influence . . . or simply a monk & num medley of a chorus reciting Latin?   

Freedom comes in many forms but it is more a state of mind in our American society than any environmental precedence (ie: tyranny in 3^rd world countries).  I guess I could highlight the numerous “viral marketing” articles regarding the freedom of homosexuality with the GOP going on but really, I don’t see it as that big of an issue.  Maybe that makes me a moron amongst my people but I see our global warming and destruction of the planet as the number one cause to action.  After all, depleting our resources & raping Mother Nature is ultimately nothing more than tearing down the foundation of earth, walls of trees, the foliage of furniture coverings . . . and with no home – it really doesn’t matter what creed, color, sexual orientation you’re sporting – we’ll all be dead!  So long as we’re on this topic, I’ve always believed that this “gay gene” (whether habitat or humanity) is nothing more than a reversed state of natural selection.  In case you don’t remember that term from Biology 101:

NATURAL SELECTION:  the process by which forms of life having traits that better enable them to adapt to specific environmental pressures, as predators, changes in climate, or competition for food or mates, will tend to survive and reproduce in greater numbers than others of their kind, thus ensuring the perpetuation of those favorable traits in succeeding generations.

Compare survival of the fittest.

Basically the theory in my mind:  if we don’t breed our numbers of infestation will go down thus forth potentially lessening our individual consumption of the planets resources.  If that fails, Mama Tierra will likely unleash a virus that doesn’t come by choice (ie: AIDS), more like the bubonic plague!  All of this, on the edge of the Mayan 2012 prediction and I have to wait to get my dividends out of my businesses.  -Sigh-  I have to trust in the universes schedule and align myself with a sense of purpose.  Let go of this provocative journey Scotty!  Ditch the 1,283 suitcases of weighted baggage, bolt from the airport, and find yourself a lookout above common ground to etch out some semblance of a plan.  Disoriented Putz would be a fair assessment of me in my most recent isocracie – I have seemingly misplaced the “S T”  in “S T A B I L I T Y”

Adding on to the previous entries a wee bit late -  it’s now Sunday & I do believe that I just certified my prior assumptions in naming myself as an idiot.  Excuses are really not in repertoire of rationalizing ideas, henceforth I will simply do as I always do . . . forgive myself, let an occasional laugh waft through my surrounding silence in honor of my foolishness and rest up – this is a process well beyond allocating “sleepy-time” and essentially involves multiple applications of recalibrating my mind, balancing out my body & stabilizing the many voices within that compose the essence of my soul.

At least my primary goal is beyond apparent – money, dividends, greenbacks, collateral, funds, capital, coin, mullah . . . my brokenness has reached that most humbling point when one must assess their coinage & either convert to bills (albeit one of those fancy machines at the grocery store) or shucking off those last layers of pride and with an assortment of copper pennies, nickels, dimes and even a few of those now cherished quarters and marching (on foot no less) to the convenience store in pursuit of the life’s only true necessity – cigarettes.  Regrettably, this is not the first time in my adult life that I have sunken to such a state of pathetic worth.  I count at least 5 times in the last ten years that I’ve had to succumb to currency as the primary means of payment; this most embarrassing disposition is at it’s pinnacle of shame when one has no alternative but to pull-over to a gas station (riding on fumes), and finagle $1.33 out of the interior car crevices . . and then throw down that change in front of a line of customers (hope that you at least drive a shitty vehicle & are still sporting your pj’s).  Obviously, the lesson here is more simple than not . . . I’ve been here before, humbled to the righteous core and yet I survived, thus forth one would presume that this too – I shall survive.

With Culinary Blessings,

               Chef Scotty

Chef Scotty’s “Worshorseshire” Sauce:

An experiment in it’s own right – Worcestershire sauce is a staple in our Western World (not an easy to task to accomplish with such a difficult name).  My version is bumped up a wee bit but still relevant to the original recipe.

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 6 cups coarsely chopped onions
• 4 serranos, with stems and seeds, chopped
• 2 tablespoons minced garlic
• 2 tablespoons freshly ground pepper
• 4 (2-ounce) cans anchovy fillets (or an 8-ounce can), drained of oil
• 1/2 teaspoon allspice berry
• 2 tablespoons salt
• 2 whole, medium lemons, skin and pith removed
• 4 cups dark corn syrup
• 2 cups 100 percent Pure Cane Syrup
• 2 quarts distilled organic apple cider vinegar
• 4 cups water
• 3/4 pound fresh horseradish, peeled and grated
• 3 pint-sized canning jars

Combine the oil, onions and jalapenos in a large stockpot over high heat. Cook, stirring, until slightly soft, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the garlic, pepper, anchovy fillets, cloves, salt, lemons, corn syrup, cane syrup, vinegar, water and horseradish and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the mixture barely coats a wooden spoon, about 6 hours. Strain into a clean container.

Worcestershire Sauce may be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 1 month, or processed as directed below and kept for up to 1 year.

Sterilize 3 pint-sized jars and their metal lids according to the manufacturer's instructions. Spoon the hot mixture into the jars, filling to within 1/2-inch of the rim. With a clean, damp towel, wipe the rims and fit with a hot lid. Tightly screw on the metal ring. Place, without touching, on a rack in a large, deep canning kettle or stockpot of rapidly boiling water; water should cover the jars by 1-inch. Boil and process for 15 minutes. Using tongs, remove the jars, place on a towel and let cool completely before storing. Test the seals and tighten the rings as needed. Store in a cool, dark place for at least 2 weeks before using. After opening, store jars in the refrigerator.