Bruegel the Elder-The Corn Harvest (Dutch 1530)
Finally, after several weeks of restorative hard work and creative (culinary) brainfarts, I've emerged on the far side of the ephemeral blur.
The kind folks at Girasole have redoubled their creative generosities by allowing me to make their soup of the day on two occasions: the former resulted in a orange-accented chorizo red pepper stew--whose citric compliment to the unctuous sausage one hairdresser described as "inappropriate"--I thought the brilliance was a sunny catharsis at the onset of winter, and apparently Chris, who showed the cosmetician the door, agreed; the latter, a quite refined (and subversively French) cream of mushroom soup. The process resulting in the mushroom took about two active man hours, and at least eight times that when including stock simmering, and two separate vegetable roasts (scallions and the titular creminis). I even thought to call it a veloute, but thought better of it. Way too cosmopolitan. Not that these folks are rednecks by a long stretch, but their appeal is expeditiously in fare for the gut. Judging by their noisy lunchtime crowds (Who the fuck eats out lunch on a Tuesday!?) I'd say they just about have it nailed. I added a third and final roast of creminis and rehydrated porcinis and called it, prosaically enough, Cream of Mushroom Soup. A secret infusion of cognac--once again, geoculinarily at odds, gave a final and improving stroke of subdued light, as if having passed through stained glass.
If this gambit pays off in the figures I may be asked to produce more batches down the line. Of course there's a very real possibility that in the name of Margherita I'll be run off, with my tricolore lying on Walnut Street...
There's always Gooski's!