It's all in the verbage

I was reading Food Arts magazine and came across the following
wine description:

"Jean-Louis Chave Selection Cotes du Rhone Mon Cooeur 2008"

Now come on, that ALONE sounds like a good time...

It went on futher:

"This CdR delivers serious intensity, its dark berry fruit aromas swirling with smoke, tar, and espresso. On the medium-bodied palate, the fruit reveals licorice and spice, with pepper and toast permeating the finish with soft tannins and ample acidity-"
Score:90 Cost:210 Cases:2600

That alone, to the educated palate, is like a free glass of wine. I was there, experiencing that glass of what would be like a bottle you grab when a child is born or someone comes home from a war.

Awesome.

I then realized that food in this day and age had become encased in vivid descriptions and imagery, such as

"Tonight we have a fabulous salad of miniature wild shiitake mushroom charlotte with balsamic roasted shallot and red rasberry vinaigrette with a raw wilted salad of catskill fiddlehead ferns and dandelion shoots in lemon and maple roasted garlic.

Now I want to be completely honest with you. I just made that up.

But the words are from my heart, and they represent something I would want to serve to exite someone, yet keep it real and grounded in peasant cooking, as I often like to do.

I never got that expression. Peasant cooking. But thats what a Charlotte is considered, because by taking old bread and baking it in a muffin form pan or a ramekin with butter rubbed on the sides, you've got a shell to fill with WHATEVER you have at hand. Thats the spirit. Over the years in my own kitchens I started calling it "Rustico".

But what occured to me whilst I was fantasizing of a picnic at the perfect time with this wine, which by name alone sounded like a front row seat to a Steely Dan concert in the 70's (hence the smoke and tar) and yes, the perfect cheese, which for me would have to be some French raclette left to melt in the sun and spread on a fresh wild apple wedge (there I go again, making stuff up), was that what if food were to be described in a simular manner to a fine wine, something like this:

The chicken pot pie underpromised and overdelivered homey flavor like a parcel arriving just in time for Christmas with a creamy yet tangy bechamel which lingered long enough in the song of flavors to suggest another sip of smoky egg nog spiked with fresh grated nutmeg. The perfectly roasted vegetables carried notes of love and care, gently suspended and cradled within the sauce, guarded yet complimented by gentle strength yet fragility of the non-judgemental crust which carried me back to childhood like an unexpected ride to the candy store with my grandma.

This is what I would do if i was marooned on a dessert island.

I would not need a "Spalding"

I have an active imagination. Add to that a sincere desire to make dreams come true, and your close.

Put some amazing ingredients in the hands and the rest sounds something like this:

Maple-pecan pretzel crusted free-range pork tenderloin with red potato and leek mash and blueberry merlot compote topped with thyme whipped creme fraiche.

Love,

Tenzo