This Fool's for U, Odyssey of Oceania, Firepit Fish-n-Chips

“While civilization has been improving our houses, it has not equally improved the men who inhabit them. It has created palaces, but it was not so easy to create noblemen and kings.”
― Henry David Thoreau

Def: A snipe hunt, a form of wild-goose chase that is also known as a fool's errand, is a type of practical joke that involves experienced people making fun of credulous newcomers by giving them an impossible or imaginary task. The origin of the term is a practical joke where inexperienced campers are told about a bird or animal called the snipe as well as a usually preposterous method of catching it, such as running around the woods carrying a bag or making strange noises such as banging rocks together. Incidentally, the snipe (a family of shorebirds) is difficult to catch for experienced hunters, so much so that the word "sniper" is derived from it to refer to anyone skilled enough to shoot one.

It’s another Sunday, the sky offers no reason to rise from my bed, but I woke up anyways . . quite stiff (not that kind of stiff) and consumed by the plethora of tasks awaiting my attention. Much like my series of “the Social dinners”, this personal journal (I can’t call it a damn blog anymore . . blog is too close to “blah” it sounds harsh as if conceived from Germanic tongue) is sort of, evolving at a natural pace (not a painted turtle, nor a marsh hare – probably a black footed ferret?). Nothing being left to certainty, I’ve started today off with a little coupon of my screenplay/book that I am writing . . . curiously, I implore you to share your honest comments, critique and/or suggestions.

Summertime Camp – takes you back huh? Much like the story of the Snipe, my favorite part of camp was the opportunity to re-create oneself – imagination absent of any limitations. Nobody hanging around that needed forgiving, Nobody around to remind you of that time you unloaded two pints of pee in the middle of 2nd grade show-n-tell, Nobody maliciously chanting the childhood nickname “coweyes” Nope – Nobody at all that could cling to any past memory for sake of judgment, persecution, jealousy . . Simply as fresh of a start as the linear army of sweet corn shoots pushing up through the recently churned, charcoal black soil, unfolding each Kermit colored leaf in exploratory wonder of the gratuitous Midwestern sunshine.

Similarly, as adults we may choose to cling to comfortable associations in an endless effort to domesticate our Odyssey, but occasionally. . an opportunity presents itself to change course, uproot ourselves, navigate towards an unknown horizon in search of Oceania by moving to a new city, state or even country? Speaking for my own inter-wiring nest of co-axial cables – I enjoy “change” be that physical location, mental form or emotional state. (Noteworthy: I’ve not necessarily enjoyed the catalyst for change but the modus operandi involved by virtue of circumstance & elective choice).

Los Angeles has been nothing more the another chip wedged into my Southern California stint as a bewildered farmboy, an eager apprentice, an accomplished chef, a seasoned entrepreneur, a proud home-owner, a lover, a friend, a volunteer, a sideline society cheerleader. . .perhaps, the time has finally come to breakout the ferocious appetite of a Husqvarna 240e chainsaw and gnaw down this Western Sycamore chapter? (could the minted aroma of a more native Eucalyptus be the cause of coaxing?). The tarot card of “the Fool” finally in play . . . unsettled in every way, yet so sanguine . . . I’ll marinate on it, at least until the next crescent moon.

Ironically, my least favorite part of camp was the flavorless, pre-manufactured Sysco fashioned foods. I’m biased as any when it comes to what goes into my mouth . . . but really? How difficult is it to actually make pancake batter from scratch??? Ask anyone who’s gone camping with Chef Scotty and you’ll see how my bad-ass rolls out more than just a Coleman Green Valley sleeping bag? Local spiny Lobster Pot Pie anyone? Potato Chip encrusted Northern Pike with Brandied-caper sauce, How about Baja nabbed, Thai coconut curried Green lip Mussels? Yeah, that’s right baby . . . this fool brings the delight of epicurean funk to any outdoor firepit. This recipe is uber-simplified for limited groceries and/or capabilities. Enjoy!

with Culinary Blessings,  Chef Scotty


Firepit Fish-n-Chips Recipe

• FOR THE FISH:
• Half of a 5-ounce bag of kettle-cooked salt and vinegar potato chips
• 1 (5- to 6-ounce) freshly caught fillets, 1 to 1 1/2 inches thick
• Salt, for seasoning
• 2 teaspoons mayonnaise
• FOR THE DIPPING SAUCE:
• 1/4 cup mayonnaise
• ¼ cup Dijon mustard (NOT ballpark dammit!)
• 1 hit of brandy (we Wisconsin folk like our Christian Brothers & Korbel)
• 1/2 squeeze of fresh lemon juice (if you got it)
• 1/4 tablespoon spice mix (&/or salt-n-pepper)
• Dash or two of Tabasco

1. Heat the campfire good and plenty with volcanic red carbon coals. Place the potato chips in a gallon-size ziplock bag (or garbage bag double lined) and use a rolling pin (flashlight?) to crush them.
2. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil and spray it lightly with cooking spray (rub oil, butter or Vaseline if you have to). Arrange the fillets on the foil and season them lightly with salt.
3. Smear a teaspoon of the mayonnaise over the top of each fillet, then sprinkle on the crushed chips, completely covering the top of each piece.
4. “Bake” the fillets on the rack balanced on the embers (or put on the top oven rack if at home) until they are just cooked through, about 10 minutes. 5. While the fish is baking, stir all of the sauce ingredients together in a small bowl until well blended. Serves 4 hungry campers.

Naked Steamroom Scenes, Wabi-sabi Living, Caper//Berry?

"It smells of listeria, masturbation, pelican entrapment's and pursing lips" The translucent steam bellowed from the exhaust vents as if in harmonious unison with his concentrated breath. Exhaling with fixated urgency he meticulously shuffles the February snow white, starched towel to conceal his plausible loins. Satisfied with the Belize tropical rainforest vibe, the steam solenoid valve shuts off . . particles of H2O silently evaporate, exposing the fleshful expressions of nine thirsty Spartacus followers, their Donatello bodies chiseled out of vanity, their peerless faces no more hidden than an Easter egg. Without any such Catholic reverence he inaudibly thinks, "Why in God's name am I in here?"

Wabi-sabi (侘寂?) represents a comprehensive Japanese world view or aesthetic centered on the acceptance of transience. The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of beauty that is "imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete".[1] It is a concept derived from the Buddhist teaching of the three marks of existence (三法印 sanbōin?), specifically impermanence (無常 mujō?), the other two being suffering (dukkha) and emptiness or absence of self-nature (sunyata).

Characteristics of the wabi-sabi aesthetic include asymmetry, asperity (roughness or irregularity), simplicity, austerity, modesty, intimacy and appreciation of the ingenuous integrity of natural objects and processes .. . an assortment of adjectives that are applicable to my own bio(with the exception of simplicity, and I'm certain others would have me throw-out modesty)! I was first introduced to the culinary application of "Wabi" in 1999 by my Executive Chef, Michael Fennelly - it's stuck with me ever since!

Plating with a keen eye is a necessity of any great chef and can magnificently transform ones perception from something of simplicity to that of insatiable anticipation. Take Veal Piccata for example, most notably garnished with a sunburst slice of lemon, twisted nest of pasta, and one careless toss of parsley confetti. Lacking any noticeable height differential, dull in color as a dead date palm frond, absent of innovation procured from a recipe that was likely conceived in the same birth year of Jesus Christ. How's one suppose to elevate this dish to any such Gutzon Borglum stature? If he could slice up a granite mountain into four 60 foot tall presidential profiles . . can't we glorify this Romanesque hand-me down meal?

For starters . .
1.) form the lubricated pasta in anything cylindrical (pam spray the inside of a water glass, line with a grilled strip of eggplant, zucchini or red bell pepper & firmly pack the pasta inside, then reverse it onto the plate in the upper left-hand corner)

2.) slice a lemon medallion 1/8 thin and place at the crest of the pasta (think a lemon eye looking up at the stars)

3.) next, gentle spoon 4 oz (a shot glass full) of sauce (strain out any shallot or capers ie: no chunks!) vertically from the left 1/3 of the plate to the right edge. Then - take your thumb, place your fingerprint in the middle of the sauce and repeat the same motion . . moving from left to right

4.) now for the placement of dead calf, cut in half at a diagonal & corner the two up one verticle (up with sliced side down on plate) & the other horizontal (sliced side flush against the base your verticle piccata) You'll likely have to utilize the solidity of the pasta to brace this carnivorous-loving configuration.

5.) final touches: nip the bottom of 3 large caper-berries, erect two in close proximity to the upper right of the plate with the last one standing alone in the lower left.

6.) optional: take 3 full length Italian parsley cuttings (root attached if possible) and utilize as the 3 "poles" of Lakota tepee ... the direction should split around your veal cutlet configuration (or - easier yet, just picture it flat and "walk them around the furthest edge of the plate, over-lapping each stalk)

Perfection? Probably not . . but I guarantee your plate looks better than 98.2 percent of the Italian restaurants dispersed throughout our chummy little Earth:) No recipe today, just a touch of culinary trivia . . .

Culinary Trivia:
Some confusion exists regarding capers and caperberries. The two are not interchangeable though they both derive from the same plant, Capparis Spinosa, which grows throughout the Mediterranean, and is now being grown in places like California. To clarify, the round, lemony, small capers are not the berries. These tiny pealike bursts of flavor are actually immature buds of the caper bush.

In addition to the tiny buds, caperberries are also harvested, and some may prefer their taste to the stronger caper buds. The berries on the caper plant are oblong, semi-green fruits, about the size of or slightly larger than a table grape. Though they still have some lemon taste, they are much milder than caper buds. You can include sliced caperberries in recipes calling for capers if you want a dish that is a bit less acidic. The substitution doesn’t work well in reverse—generally when a recipe calls for caperberries, using capers instead will provide too much acid in a dish.

With Culinary Blessings,

Chef Scotty

Warren G's Word, I had to defend a dream? & What a Jerk Rub

Warren G once rapped, "where rhythm is life and life is rhythm" My brain is a wee bit like the scrambled eggs I made this morning . . effortlessly light, fluffy and a little sweet-n-spicy by the pleasant addition of fresh basil. Saucy smarts & all, I'm gonna stretch at yet another Chef Scotty explanation of a comprehensive supposition relevant to the conceptualization of a dream. (somehow, the usage of big words reassures me that the neurons are moving-n-grooving up there!)

Contextualization (sociolinguistics), the use of language and discourse to signal relevant aspects of an interactional or communicative situation

Contextualism, a collection of views in philosophy which argue that actions or expressions can only be understood in context

I call to order: Simon Cowell & the X-factor judge panel for their blatant manipulation of a young child's dreams and talents that should have landed her in the semi-finals (or should I be saying semi-trials?) Let me give some background on the subject matter before grasping at the larger picture & tying it to my own interpersonal experiences.

Shaunna Murphy from Popwatch writes, "If my throbbing head and bleary eyes prove anything, it’s that one cannot exist in close proximity to Rachel Crow’s tears without experiencing a major X Factor hangover. Other symptoms include emotional emptiness, lack of faith in humanity, and an irrational hatred of Nicole Scherzinger."

First, let me explicate that I've never before watched the X-factor in all of it's glory as a Simon made Schwarzenegger, star studded & steroid pumped-up version of "American Idol" Second, I must confess that I only caught the last 15 minutes of the superfluous show and that in itself will be my only participation in this Mormon conceived incestuous drama and mockery of morals. So, you're asking, "what in the hell happened" The rundown is this - two finalists for the last spot had a sing-off for the last spot amidst the semi-finalists:

1.) Rachel Crow - an adopted 12 year-old, pint sized Aretha Franklin
2.) Marcus Canty - think Usher at the age of puberty (actually age: 20)

It was clear beyond belief that Rachel had skooled her opponent like Obama crashing a Republican GOP jerkoff, but before the judges could spit out some honesty ...[commercial break] I'm convinced that devoid of any cameras, in those flashing minutes before America's couch surfers could return to the scene of the crime, Kernal Cowell handed-out his deliberation to his employed minions. Abolished democracy in full-color; Simon & Paula each voting for Rachel (as expected), then LA Reid kindly furnishes a coagulated load of bullshit in the statement "I'm a man of principle & have to stick with my man (Canty)" Then the final judge, who would pull a Paris Hilton poor performance.... (I assume she sings better than her acting)

"I can't make this decision," Scherzinger blubbered. "Please, I can't make this decision because I've been up there and I know how it feels. I love and adore both of you, so I have to go to deadlock."

According to the show's policy, the deadlock put the decision in America's hands - and ultimately, Crow was out. (think about it? who is the largest demographic calling in these votes - thousands of mini barbie wannabe's adoring their handsome usher munchkin) Point Subsequently, little Rachel broke down . . and I mean, tears belted out equivocal only to her contralto pulsating lungs. Watch the re-run and you can see Simon's Oxford weathered face failing to conceal his guilt, shield his shame, camouflage his incorrigible iniquity!

Like the 1968 general elections in Guyana, this shit was rigged! A superstar's talents expensed to the checkbook of profiteering power - "hell, there's really only room for one at the top; seeing how it's my ladder (foot to face), you can get off . . . oh, let's see . . how's about right here!"

Which brings us to my very own little fanatical version of "The X-factor" Similarly, this epic episode of my life prescribes a talented individual with a dream (although this particular dream possessed adolescent maturity beneath a bench mark of 10 years involving sweaty palms, soiled fingernails & boundless sacrifice) as well as a character of insatiable greed that was able to conduct "the Louisiana Purchase of 2010" at the very nominal price of people's integrity (many of those individuals previously considered to have had homogenous traits to a certain Scotty).

“Life is full of beauty. Notice it. Notice the bumble bee, the small child, and the smiling faces. Smell the rain, and feel the wind. Live your life to the fullest potential, and fight for your dreams.” -Ashley Smith

Eloquently put Ashley, but since when do we have to fight for our dream? Should not a dream appear in some form of inspiration and properly manifest by way of ardent (pause: I'm parched it's time for a leftover cranberry merlot sauce to metamorphisize into a martini) diligence and vehement belief? By its very definition, to fight:

1. To attempt to harm or gain power over an adversary by blows or with weapons.
2. To strive and or struggle vigorously and resolutely to achieve an objective
3. To contend with physically, in battle or boxing
4. To try to prevent the development or success of.
5. A physical conflict or quarrel between two or more individuals.
6 A confrontation between opposing groups in which each attempts to harm or gain power over the other, as with bodily force or weapons.

Perhaps fight could be replaced with . . "and fly for your dreams"? Leave the ground (they are likely to transport you anyhow?), ascend upward and finagle the seasoned winds of time . . maneuvering turbulence and dodging locusts as best as possible . . your dream likely not to be stationary and a bit of a whimsical chase? Isn't anything that anyone passionately loved worthy of effort . . but "fight" . . . it isn't right it if you have to fight - trust me, I've learned this one through and through!

A more germane concern regarding the acquisition of one's dreams would be - how do I accomplish this on my own? Seriously, how many of us are able to bring a dream to fruition simply from our own efforts? The truth is - in the pursuit of our dreams, we very often have to share our most deepest Magellanic visions, exposing our inner-self to another; our vulnerability served up on a silver plate in exchange for their contributions; be they in the form of capital, talent, influence, or experience. A cloaked "dreamsnatcher" only needs a glimpse of the gold before setting the hook of deception . . the dreamer entranced like that poor damn "moth drawn to a flame" Look how well sharing a dream worked out for Rachel? Shit, look how well it worked out for me? No worries . . I can't sing for shit, but a do dance like a nobody's watching; I do have more creativity in my left earlobe than Botswana has mosquitoes; I do have unparalleled determination that could move Ayer's Rock to the left flank of Lake Michigan . . . and I do believe I desire another one of those cranado-berlot marlinite's!

"What a Jerk Rub"
*find the pleasantry in pain . . it's there, you just got dig for it!

Yield: About 1 cup
Ingredients:

1/2 cup ground allspice berries
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
6 to 8 garlic cloves
4 to 6 Scotch bonnet peppers, seeded and cored (wear gloves!)
1 Tablespoon ground thyme or 2 Tablespoons fresh thyme leaves
2 bunches green onions (or sub any regular onion)
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
Kosher salt and black pepper to taste
2 Tablespoons oil to moisten

Preparation:
Place allspice, brown sugar, garlic, Scotch bonnet peppers, thyme, scallions, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, pepper, and oil in a food processor and blend until smooth.

Courting Money, Dilema's of Randomomity, Bold Biscuits

My hair . . . haven't conversed with my ex in weeks (I seem to have been drawn to Libras & hairdressers my entire life!), and the hair is not quite sexy, William Baldwin slick back, nor is it that cute, shave 6 years off, short-haircut. It's something in between. Fear not, I'll get it whacked one of these days and in the meantime - I make every effort to avoid the morning mirror and like an infant dodging brussel sprouts .. leap laterally for the showerhead to rinse away my Ichabod Crane shame.

December 8th, 2011

Not a whole lot to report today ... finances are forever I concern as the legal bills bleed me dry. I mean, seriously? How and the bloody f' is any normal human being suppose to scrape up funds in the ballpark of $400 an hour? What's even more loco is that the damn Culinary Schools are charging this puppy-eyed, bewildered children 45k for an education that will make out at a 50k salary (and that's after you've slaved in a kitchen for one salt shake above minimum wage for . . oh - 4-5 years). I'm no expert, but isn't the average education of a lawyer around 160k?

You do the math: 45k in 2 years = max potential of 50k after 5 years
160k in 6 years = max potential of 160k upon graduation

*Please forgive as I'm probably not exact with my figures here (I despised algebra almost as much as my teacher, Mrs. Vaughn with her plump thighs, purple fetish, caked on mascara and . . wait . . was Mrs. Vaughn a Tranny?)

Enough with the muddled money worries! I bought a mega-millions lotto ticket this afternoon so it's all good! I've already put my order in for a 1971 jaguar convertible with a cobalt blue custom paint job. So excited!

Mr. Wilson on the other hand has erected a freshly manicured spruce in the already clutter f'd living room (not totally true - the sacrilegious conifer did force Mr. W. to shove his sorry excuse for an armchair into the dining room (which is now further clutter f'd). hmmmm, how am I to add my wit & yet maintain this sense of Buddhist compassion? Suggestions anyone? Really, these blogs are suppose to be somewhat of an open forum? I promise to be nice:)

Perhaps, my meeting this afternoon with Eric Rutherford "event planner extraordinaire" (whom I met while catering Matthew McConnaughey's 40th Birthday Party)triggered some further anxiety as I rehearsed my most recent past and current disposition - or lack thereof? As a Taurean, we generally regard stability as any random aquatic species regards H20 . . we breath with it! Our strength and weaknesses often associated with stubbornness, determination, strong morals & ethics, disciplined . . hmmmm. Ok - I must fess-up that I was actually born on the cusp of Aries . . . in the Chinese year of the Dragon. (note: no cute furry bunnies, swinging monkeys, two-headed persons . . just a lot of horns baring "king of the hill" attitude).

At any rate, I require some sense of organization, affirmative foundation & following some carefully thought-out plan of attack to properly function. Unfortunately, I've made every attempt to lay no brick boundaries and pave no concrete career path all in anticipation of a global settlement. The resolution evades me and thus forth . . I remain immersed in a cesspool of legal rhetoric Confusion before Conclusion - or is it vice-versa? I'm lost . . let's just get on to the damn recipe.

This recipe really pays tribute to a very nice, New England lady who might have just been a tad bit crazy. Crazy only so much as any other sudo-metaphysical healer type can be . . not a bad crazy, just . . looney - that's a better word for it! I can't seem to remember her name (probably for the best) but she looked very much like Cruella de Ville and favored an obnoxious perfume that uniquely resembled a combination of mothballs, chrysanthemum & sea urchin - needless to say, she never caught me by surprise! She did however bring me these delectable biscuits hailing a good amount of cracked pepper . . I've made my usual Chef Scotty fornications.


PEPPER'SPRAY BISCUIT DOUGH RECIPE

5 cups AP flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tbp baking soda
2 Tbsp powdered sugar (or regular)
3 Tbsp each: caraway, fennel and anise seed, black peppercorn and granulated onion powder- finely ground (or whatever:)
1 teaspoon cayenne
2 Tbsp Salt
1 cup cold vegetable shortening (or if you're ME/use all butter)
10 Tbsp cold unsalted butter
4 to 5 tablespoons ice water

Combine the dry ingredients, spices, salt & such in a bowl. Add the shortening & butter in small chunks and work it in with your hands until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Add the water, 1 tablespoon at a time, working it in with your hands. Add only as much as you need to make a smooth ball of dough. Wrap it in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. Remove the dough from the refrigerator and place it on a lightly floured surface then do your thang! (ie: form the biscuits or roll out your pie savory pie dough before baking at 375 degrees)

*recipe used for lobster pot pie crust
*recipe used for pepper biscuits-n-lobster gravy

What's Love got to Do with Food?

So, one of my latest blogs, jogged on about the past, present & future in reference to “presents & presence.” I woke up to a welcoming "yesterday fog" and at some random break in the dawn ended up in conversation with my sister about the parking tickets that I am currently indebted to the City of Los Angeles in excess of $279.00. I agreed to pay them promptly and after insulating my veins with copious amounts of caffeine, I departed my temporary beach residence and was rather unsurpleased (new word I created – I like it) to find a crisp new parking ticket on the Banshee’s dashboard (my sis’s car with a rather unpleasant squeal evoked from a rather antiquated fan belt).

My point here – life is like parking tickets . . . our neglect for the signs of our past (torturous accumulated fees & choice to evade public notice) cause consequence only noticeable in the present with hope that we’ve learned from these past experiences to perhaps influence our decisions of the future! Or: Notice & Obey the damn signs . . . which brings me to our proceeding in-depth discussion on the merits of love, free-will & destiny?

December 7th, 2011

I’m typing - yes, but I’m simultaneously watching “The Adjustment Bureau” which is rather appropriate to this personally provocative perspective on serendipity. For the few followers, (although many more to join) you might find my writings on this most recent introduction to Melbourne love a bit redundant – but I do believe I can properly defend my intentions . . . keep an open mind & enjoy the ride

How we met:
Conscious decisions are the recourse of one’s actions . . . although I cannot be certain of the subconscious or higher-conscious influence – it is presumable that they also have some stake in making the “what is” versus the “what could have been.” I myself, made seven conscious decisions on that brisk Autumn Thanksgiving Day that brought me to my barren knees and broke open the yolk.

1.) I opted to pass on a local Thanksgiving with my Sister & her Family –said no
2.) Mr. Wilson asked me if we were should have a bunch of friends over for a Chef Scotty T-day dinner –said yes
3.) I was presented with an opportunity to work a Thanksgiving event for another Caterer & badly in need of funds – I said yes
4.) Unrest with the pay & poor communication from the caterer – I seriously gave thought to cancelling. I vacillated for two days but ultimately opted to hold my word -yes again
5.) Having worked the event, exhausted after 2 thanksgiving dinners . . . wanting sleep, but having some instinctual inclination to conclude the evening with a cocktail; I proposed to my event assistant(Princess Whitney) that we go out to the Abbey - big yes to martini
6.) I led the way in driving – then Whitney sort of channeled ahead as if she new exactly where to park. She swooped into the parking lot directly across from the Abbey, normally a tow zone - I questioned her judgment yet she insisted it was cool and after deliberating the ramifications decided my quench was more important - yes
7.) We ordered a stiff cocktail (which took forever) and wanting to sit outside with a view of the patio bar & an ashtray of convenience; I insisted that we procure one of the two upper cocktail tables. Immediately one emptied and we moved in for the kill! Too late! Some rather large, Leo like Lesbians proclaimed their domain. My eyes focused on it's twin sister table which had a trio of full drinks & full pack of Marlborough Lights, but no obvious residents . . We pounced like new born cubs on a wounded gazelle. Gloating over our prized acquisition, rehearsing the agony of cleaning 132 dishes and yet fully aware that these unknown people would be coming back ... we kept alert. Sure enough, a few minutes later three gentlemen returned -surely we'd have to forfeit our treasured table! One look at the blue eyed, sandy blond haired foreigner and it was imminently clear - to hell with good manners -we would hold our post with conviction . . . my eyes translating, my heart pounding, my words . . well, . . . floundering at best.

Our acquaintance pre-ordained? Fate? Destiny? Maybe/Maybe Not. But that was quite a few distinctive choices that led to me meeting an extraordinary man. And from that point, the chain of coincidence & choice continued well beyond our initial introduction. Our fairytale future is still under the hand of scribe. The infamous Disney ordained ending "and they lived happily ever" only a forethought . . the finality left up to each as individuals and yet to be played out! As an excerpt from my Matt Damon amorous flick shares, “I can go through this door by myself and you’ll never see me again or with you by my side . . . and that’s all I’ve ever wanted since the day I met you.”

It’s always our choice, our elective choice that sculpts the clay in the image of our destiny. Quite honestly, I don’t believe I’ve ever paid as much attention to the words within all of these love ballads & cinematic dramas. I guess, I've never really had anything permanent to relate it with! (I mean, I’ve had puppy love, love at first sight, learned love, abusive love, family love . . . but, not this “true love" thing that Hollywood exploits ...who new that it actually does exist?)

Taking a step back further into the nature of these writings; Food is the very premise for my career as a Chef (and this blog) but certainly not the sustenance of my soul. We must admit that food has risen above any primal resource of survival and affectionately been elevated to a stature of creative entitlement as an artists median to be interpreted . . . ingredients painted upon canvas and displayed as cuisine if you will. And while one would think my words might be better appropriated to proper spice etiquette or lessons on Polynesian cooking . . . it is my endearing endeavor to explore all of life’s lessons utilizing all of my native born talents which translate well beyond that of a twinkle toed, Midwestern bred culinarian!

Case in point, isn’t Love a necessity of humanity? What is life without love and how does or will that affect one’s perception of such things as food, tastes & desires? A whole new scenario is beset upon my feet and thus calls for proper evaluation of ones feelings, sensations and potential reformation of core ideals. Be it shared or solitary - the deck has been shuffled, the game no longer fully understood and the players of ego, spirit & emotion all blindfolded to any previously known omen - God life is grand isn't it?

"Most just follow the plan as proceeded by the chairman but every now & then there is someone who knocks down all of the obstacles put in your way – the chairman’s plan forced to be re-written in the image of ones will"

The only recipe I offer today is an assignment of awareness . . . it's all in the details whether past, present or future . . .. wear your heart on your sleeve and keep venerable eyesight. Fear not the pain of loss - it's unavoidable in all of it's manifestations, but choose a life of brimming with possibilities, hopes and desires. There are no guarantees in life only the certainty of choice . . . I believe this foreboding true love simply awaits our discovery.

“The mirror reflecting the image of ones sightless self, the shadow casting the image of ones obscured perception . . we each march to the beat of our envious heart, unbeknownst to the trumpet swan's courting”

with Culinary Blessings

Chef Scotty

Twas the Twilight before Pavlova

“Twilight” lives up to it’s conflicted “Trueblood” love triangle where Bella still . . . yes still, is holding out on earning her batwings & poor wolfboy is sitting on the roadside licking up Bella’s leftover leche. . . I simply can’t be the only one annoyed with her selfishness; but then again, as a recent convert to the church of “true love”, I shunt be encumbered with local rationalization vs woman’s hormonal emotions. (no offense ladies: after all, I openly admit that I voluntarily purchased my ticket by myself, teared a bit during the Edward’s wedding speech “let’s start with forever” and immediately following my exit - checked my i-phone for any incoming Aussie messages

December 6th, 2011

Speaking of woman’s hormones, My endearing mother asked me yesterday if I “was ready to stop believing so much in people” in reference to recent events in my life revolving around my never-ending lawsuit over my businesses in San Diego. To that – I fluently responded, “it’s who I am Ma, it’s an integral part of who I am . . . I know that I should stop, shield my heart, or be more careful at exposing myself to disappointment, to judgement, to manipulation; but I like who I am!” Therefore, I cannot garner the will to alter my “god-given gift” (& then I pointed out that perhaps the Nun’s were right – I should have been a priest or a monk . . . lol – can you imagine? The Church service would entail Maxwell/Hip-hop grooves, sips of 98 pt. wine spectator approved decadence, prayers of Nam Myoho Renge Kyo and an afterparty with Grandma busting out her Spin moves as Grandpa approvingly noshes on a tapas bar of nouveau fusion foods.)

A blessing or a curse to know oneself? In moments of doubt, I find myself jealous of those that live only to please themselves, those who would be considered ignorant to the failings of homo–sapiens, those that look at the world from what it can do for them . . . not what they might contribute to the world! Best to go with the positive, agreed?

And in knowing oneself, I’ve also been crowned with a very early knowledge of this so called Scotty destiny to make a difference in the world. More specifically, defending Mother Earth in some capacity which to my own fault – I‘ve seemingly neglected, giving way to personal trials of temptation. Striking out one inning after another, but still in the game I am. I’ve got a new set of bats that I’ve pumped & primed to launch the next pitch right out of the stadium . . . just waiting for the right moment of realization to present itself! Unless, of course it’s already occurred, passed & gone . . in which case, I might be sitting at “home plate” for quite some time - “the beginning & the ending” forever eluding my conscious awareness. As a find baseball sequentially boring beyond a debate of algorithmic Algebra, let’s hope that pitch hasn’t already passed. (let it be known: if this metaphor had taken place at Lambeau Field with a six-pack of Leinenkugels in reach, I just might have been tempted to sit-through the undefeated season in anticipation of collecting my 2011 Superbowl Champ Ring)

So, back to food . . yes, I am fully aware that my Midas Touch to cuisine has not exactly been the focal point of recent entries. With a diet of peppermint imposter Oreo’s, bushels of coffee elixirs, a 6” sub-on-the-way & dare I admit . . . that Velveeta nacho concoction at the Movies last night washed down with a gallon of corn-syrup induced Root Beer . . . Can you blame my epicurean neglect? Really, you are welcome to launch darts of accountability at this hypocritical chef, but while your lining up that bullseye with my bullshit of a mouth . . . here’s a recipe to consider:

The Pavlova, named after a famous ballerina & somewhat of an ongoing controversy between New Zealand & Australia, is a dessert that is both light & airy. Traditionally topped with fresh whipped cream & mixed berries, I implore you to abide the recipe for fear of a gummy outcome . . . fitting to my mood for food . . . maybe I’ll make a morello cherry crepe for breakfast

Pavlova Recipe w/culinary blessings by Chef Scotty

Ingredients
Meringue:
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar OR 2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
1 1/2 Tbsp cornstarch
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
3/4 cup (6 ounces, about 6) large egg whites, preferably room temperature
Pinch salt

Method
1 Place rack in the middle of the oven and preheat the oven to 275°. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper. Pour the vanilla and vinegar (if using) into a small cup. Stir the cornstarch into the sugar in a small bowl.

2 In a large bowl of a heavy-duty mixer, fitted with whisk attachment, whip egg whites, cream of tartar (if using) and salt, starting on low, increasing incrementally to medium speed until soft peaks/trails start to become visible, and the egg white bubbles are very small and uniform, approximately 2 to 3 minutes.

3 Increase speed to medium-high, slowly and gradually sprinkling in the sugar-cornstarch mixture. A few minutes after these dry ingredients are added, slowly pour in the vanilla and vinegar (if you didn't use cream of tartar.) Increase speed a bit and whip until meringue is glossy, and stiff peaks form when the whisk is lifted, 4 to 5 minutes.

4 Pipe or spoon the meringue into 8-10 large round mounds that are 3 inches wide on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper or a silicon liner. With the back of a spoon, create an indentation in the middle of the mound for holding the filling once meringue is baked.

5 Place baking sheet in the oven. Reduce oven temperature to 250°F. Bake for 50-60 minutes, or until the meringues are crisp, dry to the touch on the outside, and white -- not tan-colored or cracked. The interiors should have a marshmallow-like consistency. Check on meringues at least once during the baking time. If they appear to be taking on color or cracking, reduce temperature 25 degrees, and turn pan around.

6 Gently lift from the baking sheet and cool on a wire rack. Will keep in a tightly sealed container at room temperature, or individually wrapped, for up to a week if your house is not humid.

Makes 8-10 pavlovas.

Shark Skewers, Soulful Sands & Dancing Hummingbirds

In my last entry I promised some culinary inspiration & I do believe that it surfaced beyond forethought . . Lemongrass salt cured Lake Trout, Shiraz drunken Tofu with Fig-Peppercorn Jam, Pink Shrimp Sushi with Creole Aioli, Caper, Lemon Zest & Asparagus, Coho Salmon Sushi with Mango, Jalapeno, Pickled Ginger, Mint & Cilantro, Fire-Roasted Shishito Peppers, Chinese Black Bean & Toasted Garlic stoked Shrooms, Gingerized-Coconut Shark-n-Pineapple Skewers . . . it was a Pearl Harbor Party Theme. Nothing over-the-top amazing in my book but appropriately pleasing to a Pacific Rim palette.

December 5th, 2011

Christmas Time is upon us . . the soft enchanting melancholy floating through the air coercing one to flash their credit cards and lavishly expense intentions of thanks in the form of a sapphire bracelet, the newest Tonka toy, the softest cashmere sweater, the conventionally obscure kitchen appliance. Ironically, I have only enjoyed financial freedom in this season . . oh, perhaps 4 years of my young adulthood. Funds always pressed to afford the luxury of keeping a flourishing business (or in my case: rebuilding another one). At least this Christmas of 2011, I'll have the time necessary to embark upon a more meaningful shopping spree.

I'm sitting here at my friends home just a few steps from the Marina del Rey beach contemplating my next move. The chess pieces all but positioned and awaiting my anticipated response. I guess I've always been fortunate to have a bounty of opportunities thrown at my feet, at last I believe I need tread not lightly, nor shall I break-out in blinded sprint but pace myself with calculated awareness. I found this poem that I wrote in 2001 that is appropriate to my disposition today.

"Soulful Sands"

Call your legend or serve proclaimed title!
No longer shall thee breed contempt, nor string chords of maddening melancholy.
The sands lay with fondness as one grain joins a blanket of virtue,
Reseeding waves washing away forgiveness, the lost rediscovering their purpose.
What is to become, need only be righteous by intent.

Take from it what you "will" - Recent events in my life have instilled a respective trust in a higher power that functions whence one has put forth proper intention. No longer the captive of "sink or swim" . . My instinct for survival has conceded to a joyful reluctance in following happiness (in all of it's many forms). The hummingbird guiding my way with it's forever combative wings carrying it to the neighboring blossom, sipping the sweet nectar and then on to the next fruitful flower . . . OMG - am I've diverted to a state of philosophical fantasy, where's my sense of humor at????

Maybe I'm just winding down from the towering heights of true love? Laughter somehow escapes me at this moment - maybe it's just the shitty coffee tainted by faux-Baileys? A recipe for adventure: chinese 5-spiced shark skewer

Marinade for Chinese 5-Spice Shark & Plum Skewer
Prep: 5 minutes
1 cup plum wine
2 Tbsp. ginger, fresh, minced
1/4 cup ketjap manis (Indonesian sweet soy sauce or sub barbecue sauce)
1/2 cup sesame oil
1-1/2 tsp. cilantro, fresh, chopped
1-1/2 tsp. Chinese five spice blend
1-1/2 Tbsp. sea salt (or to taste)
1 Tbsp. fresh black pepper

4 lbs Thresher or Mako Shark (sub sustainable fish when possible)
4 lbs Fresh Plums, Peaches or other Stonefruit

Mix all ingredients well. Coat each piece of shark completely - do not just pour marinade over the fish. Turn shark every 15 minutes while marinating.

Marinate for 30 minutes. Soak bamboo skewers in water (substitute wooden chopsticks or sugarcane spears) and assemble skewers by alternating pieces of shark with plums (or substitute any fresh stonefruit)

Grill on each side for two to three minutes and serve.

with Culinary Blessings,

Chef Scotty

Bathing Custard of Aphrodite & Contemplation

December 1st, 2011

Getting back into the groove with my scribbles . . emotional highs surging within in my heart and courageous mountains having been eclipsed by the unavoidable sunset upon the an all too near horizon: I bid farewell to my love affair last night.

Definition of Water Bath or Bain-Marie (bahn mah-REE)

A hot water bath or bain-marie are used to cook custards and baked eggs in the oven without curdling or cracking, and also used to hold sauces and to clarify butter. Water baths are most often used for egg-based dishes. The proteins in the eggs are very heat sensitive and only need to be warmed to cook thoroughly. They will start to get firm at only 145 degrees. Cooking them with a slow, gentle heat keeps the eggs soft and smooth.

At last, I must tackle this towering pile of papers beckoning my attention - I've been remiss for last seven days, but it's obviously more than a few days work so I'll attempt to navigate back towards my daily routine and chip away as an astute beaver intent on bamboozling the rush of the river. Reflection being of great importance in this moment - after-all, how often does one pleasantly fall to the honorable cause of insistent love.

Turning back the big hand, I find great solace in having had the opportunity to play a tourist myself. Venturing up & down our scenic California coast in casual search of touching formidable destinations stretching from the partially glamorous metropolitan Los Angeles to the scenic views of Laguna Beach to the passive still watered harbors of San Diego. Serving as a very unofficial liaison for the most charming sort of chap, this impromptu trip proved to be astonishingly fluid . . as if two leaves following the same current . . destination quite unknown, comforted by sight of each other and more often than not . . gently bumping into each other along their travels as if to remind one another that although appearing separate from another they shared equal relevance of buoyancy, breathed from the same crisp autumn air and that ultimately . . they would unite in final company in some forethought embankment if only they channeled the course together; absent of fear and entrusting the driftwood passage so intimately played out by Gaea's hand. So far so good:)

The memories held dearly close, reluctant to piece the conscious thought of his absence with the subconscious possibilities yet to be determined . . and yet ever so ardent to return to the kitchen with the caressing touch of renewed passion. After all, isn't that what this journal is to represent? My corresponding life experiences translated into culinary innovations, discoveries and revelations?

Tomorrow I will cook an uncharted meal for thirty of Mr. Wilson's close friends and colleagues. No maps, no recipes, no grocery lists . . 100% inspiration of the moment beginning at the crest of the Eastern sunrise. For now - I give you something sweet, decadent yet harmoniously balanced by a floral spectrum of rosehip & lavender. Enjoy the divinity of one's heart healed yet simultaneously struggling to understand the outcome . . as if questioning whether one's heart should remain pure, untouched by the finality of a flickering torch or whether to fully embrace the lasting flame who's pain yields a bitter-sweet finale . . the two flavors united as one and forever cast within the shallow ramekin.

A Divinity Duet in Creme Brulee

Ingredients:

4 cups heavy cream
1 tablespoon dried lavender flowers
1 tablespoon dried rosehip buds (or sub 1 tsp rosehip water)
8 egg yolks
3/4 cup granulated sugar, divided


Preparation:

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Butter (6-ounce) custard cups and set them into a glass baking dish. If cooking custards in a metal pan, cover the bottom of the pan with a layer of newspaper to ensure an even temperature on the bottom. Place custard cups in a shallow ovenproof roasting or baking pan.

In a large, heavy saucepan over medium heat, add cream, the lavender flowers and roeship buds; heat just to a simmer. Remove from heat and allow lavender flowers to infuse with the cream for 5 minutes. Strain cream mixture through a fine mesh strainer to remove lavender flowers.

In a large bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and 1/2 cup sugar until light and creamy. Slowly add the strained cream to the egg mixture, blending well. Divide custard mixture among the custard cups.

Bring the water for the water bath (see definition on right) to a light simmer on top of the stove; carefully pour hot water into the baking pan to come half-way up the sides of the custard cups. NOTE: The most common mistake people make in baking a custard is not putting enough water in the hot-water bath. The water should come up to the level of the custard inside the cups. You must protect your custard from the heat.

Baked 60 minutes or until set around the edges but still loose in the center. The cooking time will depend largely on the size of the custard cups you are using, but begin checking at a half hour and check back regularly. When the center of the custard is just set, it will jiggle a little when shaken, that's when you can remove it from the oven.

Remove from oven and leave in the water bath until cooled. Remove cups from water bath and refrigerate at least 2 hours or up to 2 days.

When ready to serve, sprinkle approximately 2 teaspoons of remaining sugar over each crème brulee. For best results, use a small hand-held torch. Hold the torch 4 to 5 inches from the sugar, maintaining a slow and even motion. Stop torching just before the desired degree of doneness is reached, as the sugar will continue to cook for a few seconds after flame has been removed.

If you don't have a torch, place crème brulees 6 inches below the broiler for 4 to 6 minutes or until sugar bubbles and turns golden brown. Refrigerate crème brulees at least 10 minutes before serving.

Makes 6 to 8 servings (depending on size of custard cups).

The Platypus, Tree of Gratitude, Presence

November 30th, 2011

The Thanksgiving Feast has passed as have numerous days of negating my obligation to this journal . . but I assure you, it has been for a very, very good cause.

Where does one start with giving thanks? I have so much to be thankful for and while I've always made a practice of saying thanks, good job, way to go!!! It seems that there are always those that you can never do enough for. Worse yet, there are some individuals who go through live expecting that which they believed to be owed to them. Silly it seems to be - it's quite clear when someone is doing there best and that alone should be enough. Reminds me of a favorite quote by James Thoreau

"I do not call one greater or one smaller, that which fills it's period and place is equal to any"

In retrospect, I have been immensely blessed with so many beautiful people in my life & if I was to include them here that list would undoubtably extend the length's of 3 Douglas Fir's. The trials and tribulations "growing pains" of my whimsical life simply would not have been manageable without the many branches of friends & forever stablizing roots of family foundation to uphold me these many years. As of recent, I have seemed to eclipse yet another major arcana card game and perhaps leaped some bounds beyond the fictional white picket fence in finally embracing (with thanks & appreciation) the benefit of all these often torturous storms. That revelation being . . . my outer bark has thickened to weather any circumstance, by trunk has grown sturdier, my leaves ever brighter and branches more resilient with each season passing.

I am the tree of my own life and amidst a forest I stand solitary confident yet comforted by my Earthly sisters and brothers a foot and above. I fear none as those that have tried to fervently take saw & axe to my base have all but failed . . . cut me down & I'll my soulful roots will simplly shoot anew. I am the tree of my own life and for that . . I am grateful to myself, that's right me, Scotty, Chef whatever you want to know me as:)

Hold on tight, as I try and pull these thoughts together . . the platypus was my favorite animal in the world since the playful age of 7 years old. I guess as a somewhat oddity myself, I've always related to this estranged marsupial native to to Eastern Australian streams and waterways . This nocturnal, egg-laying, duck-billed, beaver-tailed, otter-footed mammal is my "totem" in the spirit of Native beliefs and appropriately in a time where I have had the priviledge of nuturing my body, mind and soul (do to my excommunication from my San Diego businessess) . . it has reimmerged, bringing forth an uncennsored emotion that has all but eluded me for well over a decade . . .

On Thanksgiving Day, preparing two separate meals and having man-handled more dead turkeys than I care to remember (not to mention the some dozens of little rugruts running around on their little "fruit pie high") . . I accompanied my wonderful server (the glamorus Ms. Whitney) to a local establishment to partake in some much needed Vodka. Our expectations were set at bar exhausation and as the olive surfaced a little too quick to reveal an empty martini glass - we sort of stumbled upon an outdoor table that was mostly vacant (ie: no people just a few half cosnumed libations & a full pack of Marlbrough lights). Engrossed in our conversation of cranberry merlot memories, Whitney & I held our post in claiming this table until at last - the inhabitants returned to stake proprietorship of the table.

The gents were cordial and with Whitney's polished Mariah Carey diva demeanor we quickly settled into conversation . . or at least she did - I was enamored with the Aussie name Laurence and couldn't quite foam up any vocabulary. You can probalby deduce from here: I've spent the last five days with this Melbourne native sharing a constant state of unlimited affection, easy conversation typical only to the best of friends and a 7 day speed tour of Southern California . . yes that's right, he will be departing, leaving, going away . . in 7 days and my outlook is never been fuller!

In some feabile manner, I'll try to pull all of my scrambled 4 shot expresso thoughts together here . . . life whether one is aware of the "why's, how's, when's & where's" is really about enjoying the present as the action. Taking full awareness of the immediate surroundings (the sounds, smells, touches & tastes) and the spontanaity as one unwrap's each gift of the present with eager appreciation and gratitude - regardless of what is finally revealed within.

Life is also remembering those gifts of the past (did you really expect that to find a diamond ring in that big ass box? . . but, think about how much love & comfort that stuffed animal provided you through your childhood years). Treasured memories in full color, laughter shared & tears spilled . . . the things that stay with you forever as a watermark shadows the image of first sight or a footstep marks the path behind a journey of softened waves nipping at ones heals.

Finally, life is very much the unknowing pleasures that come from admiring the shiny wrapping & ribbon bow mindfully holding the unseen. The future always an outcome of our karmic actions and an expression that really is nothing more than the "cause & effect" of the thse truths held dear to our hearts. Admire those gifts not for what you expect to discover within but for their actual "presence" as opposed to "presents"

I am grateful for my seven days - it's seven more than I would have had should I have not acted on the moment. The storms have yielded a heart of gratitude that fears no loss, cherishes each challenge and fully embraces those days of glorious sunshine . . and for that, I am so very, very thankful. Thank you Laurence for showering me with a seven day stretch of enlightened love.

With Christmas approaching and countless Americans draggin dusty cardboard boxes chalk full of holiday decor out of their garages . . remember, what the gift really is . . remember what the thanks is all about. No recipe today or this week - the food isn't important - it's the moments & memories that are shaping before your very eyes . . so keep them open!

with Culinary Blessings,

Chef Scotty

Awakening the Kundalini via Kelp Noodles

Barn Owls, "Cosmic Alarm Clock" Venus, Taurus, Water Dragon, Soulivinlove . . . I do believe that the journey in rediscovering "the aloof childhood me" and melding it with the "experiences of an audacious adult character" are quite underway. Can anybody really ever claim to fully comprehend without having undergone circumstance and at what capacity has "one" self-attained this paradox of enlightment. (excluding all esoteric monks, golden retrievers & those Mr. Rogers)

Kundalini is described as a sleeping, dormant potential force in the human organism.[6] It is one of the components of an esoteric description of man's 'subtle body', which consists of nadis (energy channels), chakras (psychic centres), prana (subtle energy), and bindu (drops of essence).

November 6th & 7th, 2011

Slitter, splot, splat, dot . . it's raining it's not pouring & this old man crawled is arse out of bed . . well, somebody else's bed to be exact! Rising to the occasion, I rolled on some deodorant and confronted the brisk jet stream in pursuit of Melrose's Sunday morning Farmers Market. The burden of attending only hampered by my neglect of caffeine and the minimalistic two 1/2 hours of sleep, I scored 1 case of bosc pear, a case of organic cherry tomato, 20lbs of sunchoke, lemongrass & 6 loaves of baguette at unimaginable prices. I was so entranced in conversation with the soaking wet vendors that I completely lost track of time: 9:33am!!! Shit - I pawed at my I-phone in fervent intent to call Bishop and ensured him I would be ready for pick-up at 9:40. As a child is to raw cookie dough, I couldn't miss our monthly SGI kosen-rufu Sunday service!

The pleasantry of arriving late granted us the esteemed privilege of sitting in a separate room upstairs (kind of like watching the Superbowl in the parking lot). Now, I am fairly recent to the practice of Nichiren Buddhism . . and I am definitely old enough to know that I shouldn't be laughing during service, let alone cracking jokes . . but humor has it's merits:) SPACE in TIME/EVAPORATED VORTEX . . .

It's been a while since I've posted so - I'm gonna just forfeit this saved blog & start anew:)

hugs, apologies - new entry in the works/back to balance

Vegan Farts are Mean!!! Raw Religion vs. Bacon

Sister Mary Cleo's antique, nor longer quite noir 1997 pathfinder is both my temporary means of transportation and as of today, a very efficient gas chamber. Mean farts referring to my afternoon consumption of Agape conceived raw/vegan desserts resulting in the proficient amount of flatulence generated in myhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif lower abdomen. Painfully aromatic ... Can these windows go any lower?

November 5th, 2011

Veganism: is the practice of eliminating the use of animal products. Ethical vegans reject the commodity status of animals and the use of animal products for any purpose, while dietary vegans or strict vegetarians eliminate them from their diet only.

It's raining & I'm galloping onward in my self-discovery & planning of "Sunday Funday" activities. Yesterday marked the "kick-off" of Agape''s 25 year anniversary celebrations (see: ) and I participated as a "celebrity chef" judge sharing the table with an eclectic cast of Hollywood characters including:
-Vanessa Williams: actress with amazing hair!(no not the glorified & de-crowned Ms. America),
-Deborah M. Pratt: Magnum PI actress, illuminated aura, "Quantam Leap" persona
-Chef BeLive: rockstar Raphael of raw/vegan creations, granola a la sophisticato

Dr. Lana Bettencourt, was the common denominator amongst our little tribe. I had hired this Nubian reiki master to work on my energy a few weeks past and it was at that time she requested my participation in judging a "healthy dessert" competition. Now, most of us would agree that the words "healthy" & "dessert" http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif are two very distant relatives . . kind of like Ernie & Bert. The contest included four dishes: some vegan sweet potato hash of thing (I think "Sweet Thang" would be an appropriate title), raw chocolate avocado mousse, "snarfberry" granola bars & our crowned winner of . . . hmmm, a "dulce de raw" composition neither perfect nor entirely flawed. Searching for some moral reprieve, I desperately sought after Chef BeLive's confirmation that indeed; "These desserts were comparable to 4 year old's audition as a mezzo-soprano Opera singer" Regardless, the clock now read 3:15pm and I was famished beyond the state an Aboriginal prefect!

Surrounded by angelic beings hocking everything from enlightened eco-friendly products & holistic services, both Chef Be'Live & I traversed into culinary affiliated conversation Harmonious entropy would properly describe the next ten minutes. Having made each others acquaintance, it was clear that our paths would carve future footsteps within the forest floor . . the exact implications yet to manifest.

Tender exhaustion settling into my quivering hamstrings, I bounced out of there like a wombat in heat. The radio partially blasting to the tunes of Maroon 5, I was suddenly jolted upward by a reversible geiser of gas ...moments later, the smell would consume my olfactories with a feverish disdain. Then . . Bam!!! Another roaring pearl of potency . . Good god!!! Flailing for the window controls I nearly swerved off Stocker Street and into one of those antiquated oil wells. The unrelenting farts would continue to tear away at my pair of True Religion jeans for more than 8-miles. You're asking yourself, "What in Allah's creation could cause such a inhumane chemical reaction?" Vegan-Raw desserts is the only explanation.

After managing to shimmy, slide & dodge traffic in an frantic effort to reach home; (where a large assortment of over-the-counter pharmaceuticals promised some possibility of temporary relief) i guzzled pints of club soda & determined that my body yearned for protein. Silverlake's Thai mecca restaurant, Rambutan proved to have cordial service and authentic dishes at a modest price. The fact that only one other table, shared our cosy little abode reflects that indeed, our capricious economy stills impacts even the most basic of necessities - eating (out).

Done for the day, I suited up into those perfectly worn, non-society approved yet ever so damn comfortable bedtime clothes . . . that's when the phone rang. Captain Nemo was back from his South American trip & was feeling frisky for Ketel One Vodka, swarms of barflies and . . shit - shit - shit!!! So, off to the Abbey () we went in gregarious fashion and no, Scotty didn't drink but he did dance, maybe fondle a go-go dancer and quite possibly . . not return to his own bed that night? Tack on an extra hour of sleepy time for day light savings & stay tuned for Sunday's wrap-up.

with Culinary Blessings,

Scotty


Raw/Vegan Chocolate Blowballs

1.5 cups shredded coconut
3/4 c maple syrup (or agave to be technically raw)
3/4 c cocoa powder
Dash Vanilla Extract
Optional: 1/4 c coconut oil (I used it and encourage it!)
Optional: 1/4 c chia seeds, candied or raw ginger and/or chopped, raw almonds

Mix all the ingredients together by hand, roll into balls & toss into the freezer ... you're done. :)












NOTE: All characters names have been altered to protect their privacy

Pumpkin Quartet, The Secret & Unrealistic Simplicity

Our weekly Thursday dinner party (yet to earn it's proprietary name) is now going on it's fifth evolution and appropriately our first course featured a very commercialized squash: A roasted pumpkin soup recipe with four variegated condiments from that same pumpkin, intended to compliment, intrigue & twinkle your toes & twist ones tongue:)

Simplicity: which means to be simple, usually relates to the burden which a thing puts on someone trying to explain or understand it. Something which is easy to understand or explain is simple, in contrast to something complicated. Alternatively, as Herbert Simon suggested, something is simple or complex depending on the way we choose to describe it.

November 3rd, 2011

I know, I know . . you're recalling that this dinner voyage was originally chartered to the Sun of Tuscany (ie: Italian). "Epicurean simplicity" being the spinal cord of my most recent blogs & each vertebrae representing the supportive behaviors, techniques, thoughts, imagination & passion necessary to keep a balanced, upward and onward perspective. Abstaining from any superfluous cooking, I am quite proud of the following menu:

1st Course - Pumpkin of 5-Elements
Roasted Pumpkin Soup with four condiments: Thai Pickled Pumpkin Julienne, Basil-Pumpkin Salsina, Curried Pumpkin Chutney & Ancho Chile Candied Pumpkin Seeds

2nd Course - Crescione de Mare
Warm Watercress Ensalata with Garlic Confit Risotto Cake, Green Lip Mussels, Clams, Heirloom Tomato, Organic Asparagus Tips & Basil Beurre Blanc

3rd Course - Fennel Cracked Pig
Fennel-Black Pepper encrusted Pork Tenderloin with Tamarind-Cider Demi, Lemon Thyme-Brie Mashers, Wilted Dino Kale a la Vino Rouge

4th Course - To Die and Gone to Heaven dessert sampler
Poached Pear-Frangipane Strudel Tower with Spiced Caramel,
Toasted Pecan-Peach Bread Pudding Wedge with Balsamic Reduction,
House Churned Buttermilk Ice Cream, and
Gingerized Chocolate Tartlette with Alaea Sea Salt

Whatever obtuse thought is going through your head - let it evaporate with my assurance that this phonetically descriptive menu did in fact uphold some semblance of minimalism. The flavors melded together . . neither too much of this, nor too little of that - welcome to the wonderful world of "Borderline"

Enough with the vittles on to our beautiful contestants . . . Jennifer (Princess Charming, Personal Duchess to a certain celebrity, Flexibly Vegan), Jim (Real Estate Entrepreneur, Fellow Buddhist, Phoenix in the Rising), Randy & Steve (Married with Two Pug'able Children, Yin & Yang, On the Run yet Content by Couch) & Stan (A Shipley Sort of Chap, Pillar of Stability, Landlord, Profession put to the Point) . . . COME ON DOWN! (as Rod Roddy would say). With the seven Ikea stylized seats occupied we can finally uncork our guests offerings, both content & libations:

-2010 Rombauer Vineyards, Chardonnay: Gold medallion for this varietal/butter baster
-2008 Blackstone, Merlot: dependable as a Volkswagon Jetta/soothing to the palette
-2009 Hearst Ranch Winery, "Babicora" Malbec: enchantingly deep tannins/berry blaster
-2007 Swanson, Merlot: unopened/enchanting me with envious premonitions

In true "Social" spirit, our guests (estranged to each other) engaged in colloquial conversation with a tendency towards philosophy & sociology. Naturally, there was great interest in navigating Jennifer to disclose some sort of personal introspection of her boss. Our interrogation failed to progress as Jennifer meticulously thwarted our questions and navigated the attention in the direction of Jim. From Jim it went to Buddhism & from there it Leap frogg'd over to "The Secret" before cascading into the merits of ones monetary worth (ie: lawyers vs. architects vs. caterers) . . . no tears were shed, laughter dominated persuassion & blissful belly's forfeited the evening at 11:13pm in dire need to lay horizontal.

By coincidence with this evenings references to "the Secret", I am attending Agape International Spiritual Center's 25 year anniversary event (think Rev. Beckworth & Dr. Lana Bettencourt) on Saturday, November 5th and will be the celebrity judge for their dessert contest. Can you hear Simba now .. The Circle of Life!

with Culinary Blessings,

Chef Scotty


SOUP DE SQUASH RECIPE

Original Recipe Yield 7 - 10 servings

Ingredients

7 cups veggie stock (ie: boil water + onion & vegetative fridge leftovers & sachet)
1 sachet (2 bay leaf, 8 peppercorns, bundle of thyme, 1 allspice berry)
1 tablespoon kosher salt/adjust as needed
4 cups roasted squash flesh (be it pumpkin, butternut, acorn ...etc.)
1 teaspoon chopped ginger
1 cup chopped onion
1 dash of cayenne
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon organic apple cider vinegar

OPTIONAL:
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream or coconut milk
1 tablespoon spice mix (ie: garam masala, curry powder)

Directions

Make stock with mirepoix/veggies, salt & sachet then strain and add pumpkin, onion, ginger, garlic, and cayenne. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, and simmer for 30 minutes uncovered.
Puree the soup in small batches (1 cup at a time) using a food processor or use hand-held blender.
Return to pan, and bring to a boil again. Add vinegar. Reduce heat to low, and simmer for another 30 minutes, uncovered. Option to stir in heavy cream/half-n-half, Almond or Coconut Milk. Option to add spice blends of: Chinese 5-spice, Garam Masala or Curry

The Emerald City, Green Lantern & Feijoa's

What do all of these have in common? . . .

The word "green" is closely related to the Old English verb growan, "to grow". Several colloquialisms relate to this word as well: money, someone who is inexperienced, sustainable practices & products and the environmental movement.

November 2nd, 2011

It's 8:57pm and I've finally settled in to scribble down my illustrious thoughts of the day. I must confide ... I am earnestly enjoying my new founded interest in politics via the liberally oriented "The Ed Show" featured on MS NBC at 8pm weekly (Rachel Maddow follows & is quite lovely as well). In confessing a pinch of ignorance, I truly have not actively participated in our local, state or national politics since the days of puberty, garnering a drivers licenses or midnight cow-tipping. I think it a bit of an oddity that it took a cataclysmic whirlwind of occupational corruption to evoke such attention but no matter ... I'm more informed as a participating citizen, responsibly forking at his slice liberty pie.

Folding another "emerald" nugget on to my personal improvement plate ... I've taken up reading of the enjoyable, fantasy, step outside of reality & don't look back till your eyes are drooping & your mouth is drooling. Spying master Stan's vast array of books resembling only the likes of Alexandria, I finally stumbled upon something not of architectural or historian content! Son of a Witch, by Gregory Maguire (also the author of Wicked and better known to most as the Tony Award-winning Broadway musical)shall mark my endeavor to read something for pure pleasure (lord knows I have a bounty of Buddhist books to get through ... but at least, I'm attempting to fit into the phrase "baby steps")

Reciting more memories of enjoyment, I watched "The Green Lantern" last night! Eagerly anticipating this movie since it's debut some 7 months ago, I nestled into the ugliest couch in the world (someday I'll post a photo but for now let's just name this sofa atrocity, Melba Moo) with some less than hygienic meal of Dominoes Pizza & sparkling Sprite.

The movie was about as enthralling as most comic book adventure films go - I shant share any of the storyline details accept that I was mildly disappointed to discover that Ryan Reynolds merely snapped his fingers to change outfits and had no need to strip off his everyday wear before dressing in his elm leaf green super suit (i.e.: some skin would've been nice). The Green Lantern has always been my favorite superhero character since the appearance of my first tooth (alright, Flash is hella cool too!). Harnessing the power of will to do good in the Universe? Could have been the first imprint of moral fiber indoctrinated into my little peanut of a brain!

Ironically, I had in my possession a 4-inch Green Lantern figurine that I "planted" in the open dirt of Eden's patio (my San Diego restaurant/nightclub/bistro that I built from dream up) The last "Social" (google "the Social/Chef Scotty") & first Eden dinner was held that magical night of possibilities and I thought it appropriate that all participants write out their dreams and place them amidst the freshly churned soil at 1220 University Avenue to be sealed in faith & secrecy. I felt no need to write my wishes on a form of papyrus as my dream had come true! Instead, I selected my little iconic green man as a symbol of what I had accomplished and my solitary promise to assist others in achieving their dreams through the realization of my own. Sealed beneath a cast of concrete & mortar, The Green Lantern still shines bright with possibilities even though that dream has drifted far from its origination. Some persons find integrity as an obstacle rather than a pendulum of magnificent proportion.

Speaking of proportion, the Feijoa is not exactly Gilligan's ideal of a substantial, tropical delight but it is exceptionally full of unique flavor. ^pause^ *chomp* +lick+ :smell: ummm, otherwise known as the Pineapple-Guava, this green, egg-sized, ellipsoid-shaped fruit has a mildly sweet, aromatic flavor. The flesh is juicy and politely reminds one of a mild dewy morning, ripe with lilac and sweet peas. Indebted to give you a recipe, I simply must insist upon an evening of contemplation ... this little guy has potent possibilities but it calls for a refined approach & Morimoto technique. It's season is just wrapping up here in California - so make certain to hit up your nearest farmers market and invite the Feijoa into your very own pleasure pantry.

with culinary blessings,
chef Scotty

A masked man & broken pumpkin promises?

Mask as a Adjective has these synonyms:
disguise, guise, camouflage, show, semblance, pretence, cover, cover-up, false colours, false flag, concealment, cloak, facade, veil

November 1st, 2011

Recent events in my life have manifested an overwhelming need of self preservation. A calling if you will . . for unlimited transformation instigated by a series of harsh circumstances. One often finds such potential for growth from the coming of obstacles, difficulties & unforeseen challenges . . . it's realizing it in the moment that evades many of us.

Stepping out of character was all to welcoming last night - Halloween seems to breath such lust for lost inhibitions. Adorning some Diesel leather pants, a black crocodile skin belt, a rather tight Tee, samurai sword and Venetian midnight mask (intending a sort of a shadow/sexy theme); I set out upon West Hollywood's parade of omnivores - a true collage of participants. You know our society is making leaps of liberty when you see a 93 year old grandma shoving a stroller with a grin of fascination amidst an audience of fairytale meets soft porn. Hanzel & Gretel-like children meandering the forest of flesh, hawkers, stalkers, glitter & ostrich feather, cartoon characters & blood suckers, scarlet stilettos, robotic stilts . . really boring, amazing, unthinkable, unforgivable costumes including every shade of chartreuse imaginable.

Love this childhood memory lane holiday - for once it gives everyone a chance to truly TAKE OFF THEIR MASK and wear their true colors!

Not much to report on broken pumpkin promises (ie: no culinary trivia or recipe today). I'd like to claim some better reason . . . but after having passed my "Buddhist Exam" I naturally felt inclined to celebrate//thus bringing a screeching halt to two full weeks of alcohol free living!!! A notoriously horrific blend of Irish Whiskey & $22 tall Margaritas & late nite hotdog consumption has me feeling slightly immersed in shall we say . . a pool of bio-plasmic nausea. Ironically, I did drag my crying remains of a body to the gym for a 9:30 heart attack spin session with Guy ... excreting ounces of "Rita O'Brien" sweat. Needless to say, I am selfishly craving a bounty of electrolytes, quality sleep & conscious awakening to a fresh day full of love, financial abundance and candy corn!

Till manana - Chef Scotty signing or shall I say sighing out!!!

Purple People Eater of Pie & Buddahhood

Absent minded me - forgot to put a title for yesterdays blog, but not today! I know you're wondering about the name of curried karma preserves, what is he thinking? Well let me explain . . .

October 31st, 2011

Gohonzon (ご本尊 or 御本尊), is the object of devotion in many forms of Japanese Buddhism. In Japanese, go is an honorific prefix indicating respect and honzon means object of fundamental respect, veneration, or devotion. Generically used, gohonzon can refer to any such object of devotion, whether a statue or set of statues, a painted scroll of some sort, or some other object; or the word—then usually capitalized when romanized—may be used specifically to refer to the moji-mandala (文字曼荼羅 "script," or "written with characters" mandala) that is the object of veneration in various Nichiren schools.

Fastrack blogging this morning, as I have yet to rinse off yesterdays sins and make like an Olympic bolt for my Monday morning SGI district gathering here in West Hollywood. Coffee first ...
Holly mother of mold!!! These beans have a slightly frosted crust formation, perhaps the title of "Starbucks Aged Sulawesi" is beyond authentic? Let's give her a try, cause this sleepytime Chef needs caffeine in a bad way ... kapukayuckeynitwaywopologetic (ie: flipping awful!) An experience summarized only by opening your grandma's 1920's cedar chest and popping one of those "gobstopper" mothballs into your mouth. We're gonna have to fallback to the predictability of jasmine green tea on this ghost, goblin & dragqueen day of dead.

Today is something special as I will be taking the "test" to receive my Gohonzon "object of devotion" or perhaps better known as "that little scroll of paper that Tina Turner (aka: Angel Bassett) & her friend were chanting to in the movie "What's Love got to do with it!" (definition above)

Just returned from the chanting, gym, Zico coconut water consumption and now ... finishing the contents of my blog. So yesterday, I visited the Melrose Pl/Av farmers market and to my delight I managed to find a new chocolate purveyor (Chox Chocolates), a raw sugarcane vendor (drinking some gingerized elixir as we speak), fresh fuyu persimmons, fuji apples, free-range eggs, pineapple guava, organic veggies and ... some fantastic purple sweet potatoes!
This last little jewel of a tuber inspired me to create a "purple people eater" sweet potato pie whilst incorporating the disastrous lemon verbena shortbread into a magnificent crust!

Many of my ChileCo catering patrons & Eden employees/guests have tasted the delight of my Southern meets Mexican Sweet Potato Pie with Cayenne candied Pecan Crust! Honestly, it whoops the orange right out of it's more popularly spiced sister, "pumpkin pie" Now, the Chef Scotty original recipe is really quite sacred to my culinary heart . . I offer something of a relevant comparison below that will delight your sweet tooth in every whimsical way :)


This recipe seemed to fit in line with my newly sensible yin-yang balanced approach to cooking as it involved limited ingredients/flavors & sensations. The key really is to use True cinnamon (also named Ceylon or Canela)which may be indentified by it's quill being full to the core versus it's peppery more conventional cinnamon brothers of Indonesian, Saigon or Cassia/Chinese cinnamon which one may easily differentiate & recognize as a quill that is a curl of bark. (the picture should help ... I've no idea where it landed on this blog page). Well ... that's likely enough epicurious trivia for one day . . and I'm terribly behind on my Nichiren Buddhist study - I'm going to be the first practicing student to flunk this test!

with Culinary Blessings of Spirited Sort,

Chef Scotty



Scotty's Sweet Potato Pie

Original Recipe Yield 1 - 9 inch pie

Ingredients

1 (1 pound) sweet potato
1/2 cup cream cheese or yogurt (if yogurt add 1 more egg)
1 cup white cane sugar (or blue agave if you desire)
1/2 cup sourcream
3 eggs
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon (canela/mexican cinnamon to be exact)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 tbsp of fresh lemon juice
*add a pinch of cayenne at your discretion
1 (9 inch) unbaked pie crust (or better yet crushed gingersnap cookies with a
few tablespoons of sugar and melted butter)

Directions

1.) Boil sweet potato whole in skin for 40 to 50 minutes, or until done. Run cold water over the sweet potato, and remove the skin.

2.)Break apart sweet potato in a bowl. Add softened cream cheese, and mix well with mixer. Stir in sugar, sour cream, eggs, cinnamon, vanilla & lemon juice. Beat on medium speed until mixture is smooth. Pour filling into an unbaked pie crust.

3.) Bake at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) for 55 to 60 minutes, or until knife inserted in center comes out clean. Pie will puff up like a souffle, and then will sink down as it cools.

The little gypsy fairies that liven within my "eye"phone embellished my little morning with the absence of any alarm . . thus, having to rely on my own consciousnesses to awake me at 6:42am. Regardless, I am present, with a cup of joe & ready to continue:

October 30th, 2011

rev·e·la·tion

(rv-lshn)
a. The act of revealing or disclosing.
b. Something revealed, especially a dramatic disclosure of something not previously
known or realized.
c. A manifestation of divine will or truth.

Yesterday, a beam of fluorescent light bestowed upon me a great idear! (as the Germanic people say) Unfortunately, I am not quite ready to relay this inspiring daily revelation to my ever so little flock of followers . . but in the coming days - all shall be known:) For now we talk, shop & inscribe our first recipe!

As recently mentioned, I have a yearning to simplify my little rotisserie lifestyle including the culinary ignition that drives my passion from within. Practice makes an honorable arms reach towards perfection, henceforth I took up the nominal task of making some shortbread. Simple deed involving the baking "holy trinity" of butter, flour & sugar. Who could really f'this up right?

Well . . as usual, I didn't utilize a recipe and having a devilishly inherent tendency to improvise (theoretical improvement), I decided to infuse a portion of the butter with a delectably herb called "Lemon Verbena" as well as add two "bakers rack" essentials of baking powder & baking soda. Strike 1: although I've often added an additional flavor note to this rustic tea time cookie; I had never attempted to infuse the butter . . it worked but added an undesired "nutty browned butter taste" Strike 2: The bp & bs resulted in levitating the shortbread which inhibited the ability to cut the shortbread whilst still warm (ie: causing it to collapse!) NOTE: just like biscotti - this medieval "burrebrede" need be sliced up before the sugars have officially cooled & hardened.

Somebody please b'slap me! 3 ingredients . . that's it, simple, short & concise makes nicey, crispy, cookie. Bottles of beeswax, I've managed to jack this one up! The "revelation" being that life may be categorized into cooking: completely capable of fixing/adjusting to some degree or another), baking: a chemical equation that equates to a very precise "cause & effect" in other words "dare to dabble" = "dancing with the devil" and finally, abstinence: foregoing any kitchen encounter and relying on the Russian roulette method of "others efforts"

All is not lost, this debacle of a pastry gone wrong will now be pounded with persuasive frustration and transformed from crumble to Einstein like innovation via lemon verbena-shortbread crust for a sweet potato pie. Even in the afterlife of baking there is hope for reincarnation! *see recipe below

with Culinary Blessings,

Chef Scotty


RECIPE: SCOTTISH SHORTBREAD

Original Recipe Yield 2 dozen

Ingredients
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/3 cup white sugar
• 3/4 cup butter
• OPTIONAL: add 2 tbsp’s minced lemon verbena/lavender/cardamom or fennel seed
Directions
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (180 degrees C).
2. Blend all ingredients well. Dough will be stiff.
3. Press into a 9 x 9 inch buttered dish. Prick top with a fork.
4. Bake until pale golden brown on the edges. Cool and cut into squares.

The requisition of oneself - going within.

Not entirely sure what that title means but it makes one ponder . . and that is exactly the state that I have found myself lately. At last, the blogging shall begin:

October 29th, 2011

An inspiring day of warm sunshine bestowed upon me as I wrestled with deeply rooted dreams of a rattlesnake taped to my arm, stolen hot dogs & unattainable taxis. 11:38 and I finally carve my latent body from the sheets & stumble in the direction of the French Press. The day beckons my morning (now afternoon) chant of "Nam myoho renge kyo/" re-writing my bio for an upcoming Agape 25yr celebration event (I am to judge the desserts as a "celebrity chef"), creating some organizational structuring for an upcoming high-end charitable catering event (check out www.theBeautyBook.org) and partaking on a culinary experience at the Tasting Room ..wait scratch that - the only reservation available was 9:30pm!

Recent events in my life (namely the third major transformational moment of my adulthood life) have birthed a renewed outlook on what I previously perceived to be my life. This journal will facilitate as a means of understanding all sensations of myself as an individual, friend, brother, son, artist, chef and entrepreneur and perhaps enlighten my daily surroundings with a more balanced sensibility. It is my endeavor that this rediscovered integration of living balanced will ultimately allign my desires without conscious forethought . . so far so good . . but this is obviously a lifelong path painted by inquisitive canaries and yielding only the mirage of Oz . . the destination only to be discovered within.

Reflecting back to Thursdays little "Casa Shipley" dinner party (grafting new culinary roots & prescribing to my infatuation with flavors) I realized that I my sensibilities are still a bit off the mark. Playing with too many elements & fairing far from the mark of perfection . . innovation - yes, tranquil bliss on the palette - no. Cuban mofongo duck with plantain/black bean/sheep feta terrine, curried sweet potato soup with pignolia corn fritter, grilled antipasti via baby octopus, langoustino eggroll w/Chinese pomegranate molasses "sweet-n-sour", poached pear-n-frangipane strudel with cardamom goat buttermilk ice cream . . . all too much going on! I must say that all things considered - it was the goat ice cream the championed all other consumables (& created by using a small hand-held mixer to aerate the custard base . . every 30 mins for about 5 hours . . tedious doesn't describe this method but at least the results equated to reasonable fruition). Next thursdays menu demands the practicality of quality versus quantity - better known as "traditional Italian cooking" Reprogramming my little neurons in a multitude of facets these days.

The alarm will sound at 6am sharp tomorrow . . the forecast likely to be a determined respect for discipline:) (meaning I get my ass up, peel my eyelids back with a cup of Trader Joe's cafe & scribble more memories, thoughts & intentions)

with Culinary Blessings,

Chef Scotty

No excuses & All the need:)

Well at last it has occurred to me that I have a need to express myself . . anyone wondering what the catalyst might be?? lol Look towards the Western sunrise as the Brown Pelicans glide overhead and let loose an aresnal of recycled fishy poo cause Chef Scotty's about to drop his most intimate thoughts & revealing tidbits that will pleasantly spitwash your Prada sunglasses of superficial sight & jive to the echo of your own beat!

with Culinary Blessings,

Chef Scotty