“In most books, the I, or first person, is omitted; in this it will be retained; that, in respect to egotism, is the main difference. We commonly do not remember that it is, after all, always the first person that is speaking. I should not talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well. Unfortunately, I am confined to this theme by the narrowness of my experience. Moreover, I, on my side, require of every writer, first or last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and not merely what he has heard of other men's lives; some such account as he would send to his kindred from a distant land; for if he has lived sincerely, it must have been in a distant land to me. Perhaps these pages are more particularly addressed to poor students. As for the rest of my readers, they will accept such portions as apply to them. I trust that none will stretch the seams in putting on the coat, for it may do good service to him whom it fits.”
― Henry David Thoreau,
― Henry David Thoreau,
February 7th, 2012
Touchdown, not the Superbowl sort, I’m referring to the American Airline’s Boeing 777 as it skidded onto Fort Meyers runway. I occupied seat number 30 which happens to be the last damn seat in the back of the plane. One truly gets to know the back of people’s heads really good; wondering what their faces would reveal, were they smiling as they slept at this late night flight or embarking on some colloquial conversation with their neighbor? Looking out the window, I pondered, “how I hope this trip will spark my engine, or at least service the charcoal lined carburetor?” Deliver Me, by Sarah Brightman seemed to be an appropriate theme song for my arrival, only the damn airlines played some variety of soothing naturescape tunes with a visual of a streambed on those mini pop down monitors. Mom & Dan would be waiting for me outside, but the first priority was not the bathroom, nor my luggage . . . yes, you guessed it! My red & white pack of cowboy killers, otherwise known as Marlboro Reds, ready in hand – I belted outside and felt the rush of humidity wrap me up like a wool afghan around a senior citizen. My lungs gratified as I serviced my addiction.
Speaking of veteran homo-sapiens, I was now in the retirement region of Southwestern Florida and to tell you the truth . . . excited about the many characters awaiting my acquaintance. When I was no more than a mere four foot, restless rugrat I used to look forward to my Mom’s turn at hosting her little Friday night bridge group. I gradually took over the entire preparations of those evenings appetizers, well that is other than the cheese platter. You see I was a bit embarrassed at what Momma would make knowing that her card comrades had hosted a plethora of homemade Midwestern delectable’s when the rotation had turned to their household. Not such the case at Casa Wagner. . that is until a young Chef Scotty stepped in. And did the ladies ever appreciate my banana cream pie with real whip cream, Dungeness crab-cream cheese almond dip, Chinese chicken-ginger purses . . . yeah, I made Mom look good even if her ego was a bit bruised by my efforts to appease.
The conversations with these folks were far my intriguing than that of my Nintendo infatuated, parachute pants wearing, Guns-n-Roses punk friends. And if I’m not mistaken, the ladies found me to be quite the mysteriously interesting boy . . . and indeed, Mom would have to send me upstairs so that the conversation and attention could refocus upon the maître’d of the evening. I would retreat for the moment as commanded, but return to display some dessert center piece and fluff up the appetizer trays. And then, the exchange of words would commence all over again until at last, Mom suggested my bedtime be adhered to. I was a strange child although Mom taught me to understand it as “unique.”
I’m still that same kid, still that same person who marches to a different beat, still that encapsulated individual living for giving pleasure to others and seeking approval of my parents. Perhaps this a bit of what I am reconnecting with out here in Florida, with my Mom & step-dad and soon to be with my brother & nieces and father in Wisconsin. I’ve gone through serious doubts in humanity over the last few months – loyalty a question to address, but not now, not at this time. This hour is for me to simply let go of expectations of others, embrace my Buddhist compassion and center my ambitions for a successful return to California.
The recipes that I provide you from here out are all geared up for a Valentines dinner. I have no romantic dinner to offer my Aussie love a far and distant removed, my first love bound to his ignorantly egotistic husband . . I have not any such love, but that of my family on this upcoming V-day. Maybe that has more significance than any other as my family will and has undoubtedly been there for me through thick and thin. No expectations there either – they are their own persons as I am my own. In fact Momma told me that she and my sister had both agreed they would have been fired by me had I not been of the same blood (I found that quite humorous). It’s too hot and humid for soup . . but I think rain will fall on the day of Cupids calling. This is a classic of mine that I invented in Culinary School back in 2001.
I featured my Coconut curried Sweet Potato Soup as a staple of my menu at Eden . . . perhaps it will inspire a few of my former employees to reconsider the meaning of loyalty . . or possible not. It matters only in the evolution of their existence and my acceptance of compassion towards any outcome that transpires. I am ultimately alone even when surrounded by the chatter of superfluous archetypes and descendants of Wagner and Bowen ancestral lines - the realization of peace can be discovered within and only within . . I search for sustainability now.
With culinary blessings,
Chef Scotty
Recipe: Coconut-Curried Sweet Potato Soup
Qty: Yields 40, 9oz portions / recommended reducing this recipe unless you have a family reunion on the horizon or intend on stocking up your freezer – which isn’t necessarily a bad idea
Ingredients
- 15 pounds orange-fleshed sweet potatoes
- 1/2 cup vegetable oil
- 8-1/4 onion, chopped
- ½ cup ginger, minced
- 5 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 stalks of lemongrass, chopped, cut against grain
- 4 kefir lime leaves, whole
- 1/2 cup red curry paste
- 8 (15 ounce) cans or one #10 can unsweetened coconut milk
- 25 cups or 1 ½ gallon vegetable broth
- 1-3/4 cups and 1 tablespoon lemon juice
- 3 tablespoons sea salt
- 4 cups chopped fresh cilantro
Directions
1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C). Place the sweet potatoes directly on the rack and bake until tender enough to easily pierce with a fork, about 45 minutes. Remove from the oven and allow to cool.
2. Heat the oil in a large saucepan or soup pot over medium heat. Add the onion, ginger, garlic, lemongrass, kefir lime leaves; cook and stir until tender, about 5 minutes. Stir in the curry paste and heat for 1 minute, then whisk in the coconut milk and vegetable broth. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer for about 5 minutes.
3. Remove the skins from the sweet potatoes and puree adding a little water as needed to achieve a smooth product. Add to the soup and cook for 30 more minutes. Stir in lemon juice and season with salt.
4. For Plating, ladle soup into bowls and garnish with choice of: lemongrass spear, 3 inch pieces of cilantro, crème fraiche swirl, broken chunk of fresh coconut, fried ginger
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