Chicken and rice are good staple foods, some might even say delicious.  But what dear readers can take these foods so common and make them transcend mere sustenance?  Spices?  No.  An Excellent cook?  No.  A delicious meal requires a companion.  A companion to compliment the subtle flavors and really bring them out so they can truly be experienced.  My goal is to provide the spark that causes something click inside your head and allows you to truly understand what it is you are tasting.

My esteemed colleagues tend to spend too much time talking about the background to their food escapades and less about the flavors, textures, and over all experience of the meal.  My aim is to cut through the clutter and provide you, dear readers, with the essence of the gastronomic experience.

Recently I had the opportunity to visit the Bay Area, my breakfast the first day was, as my fellow writers might say, delicious.  But it was truly more than that.  Imagine, if you will, a plate half covered with lavish slices of smoked salmon.  The other half containing only the freshest slices of red tomatoes and red onions.  In the center a generous serving of dill cream cheese, and on the side a bagel to keep it company.  Each of these stand well on their own, but when they are served together, well, it is something to experience for yourself.  The creaminess of the smoked salmon was cut perfectly by the spiciness of the red onion.  The bagel was the perfect combination of crispy and chewy.  The dill in the cream cheese so perfectly tied all of these flavors together into exquisite ecstasy.  This combined with the perfect glass of fresh squeezed jus d’orange, just enough pulp to coat your mouth as you sip it and just naturally sweet enough to peak the interest of your palate.

Few meals have left as lasting of an impression on me as this.  I hope that the next time you sit down to a beautifully prepared meal you can truly appreciate the thought and effort that a good chef puts into each one of their creations.

This Thanksgiving, we were juggling schedules in an effort to schedule a birthday dinner for my stepbrother, who’s come back into town from his current home in Washington DC for the holiday. Saturday evening? No, my siblings and I have to go to our other sister’s baby shower. Friday night? Brother and sister both have events with their significant others. Sunday lunchtime? Nephew’s baptism. And so on — every lunch or dinner was scheduled solid from Wednesday to Sunday.

Finally I suggested we give up on lunch and dinner and try breakfast on Saturday instead. The idea met with a statistically improbable consensus, leaving only the question of the cake — a mandatory ritual here. While as a family we routinely consume several pies for breakfast, planning to have cake first thing in the morning (here defined as “11 am”) seemed a step too far even for us. So I made this:

Mmm, coffeecake. Pardon the built-in-webcam-kwality photo -- turns out I didn't bring the camera transfer cord home.

It is a somewhat bastardized version of this Martha Stewart recipe (turns out that post-turkeyfest we are out of many things), it is so tantalizingly crumbly that I can’t actually remove it from the angel food cake pan it was baked in, and it smells so amazing that I’m honestly worried that someone will give in to temptation and it won’t survive to be consumed tomorrow morning instead of tonight. Go improvisation, and happy belated Thanksgiving to all!

Such were the questions running through my mind as, deciding between the crab and the halibut, the waiter declared, unprompted and with confidence, “May I just remind you, sir, that we are in the height of swordfish season, and it is better than I have ever seen.” What? That wasn’t one of the choices. What game are you trying to play? The crab cakes are a signature dish. And they wouldn’t put that on just anything, right? So should I trust the chef, or should I trust you? Narrowing it to two was hard enough, and now you have to go and do that.

I alternated my concentration between the expression on the waiter’s face and the description of the house-special crab cakes, hoping that either one would reveal to me a sign of the course on which I should proceed, but neither the description nor his gaze changed, until I paused, and a small smile crept on the waiter’s face. He knew that the battle was over, and that he had won. He probably knew from the beginning. My main course would now be both literally and figuratively in his hands. What happened next? Stay tuned for Episode 2: “Something Swordfishy in the City of Cambridge” or “The Swordfish is Mightier.”

Friends, as I became older, I realized that I could not be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. When I was eight, I had to face the fact that I was indeed human.  When I was thirteen, I discovered a lack of ninja gracefulness. At twenty, I realized I was no longer a teenager, and though my mutantness had not been dispelled, as of yet it has not provided me any form of super strength. But the pivotal moment occurred last week–a day when fate did force a confrontation between what I had hoped to be, and what I had become.

My hands sweated as the waiter approached, bowl in hand. And as each step stretched for miles, I pondered all the memories I had shared with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  Every time Shredder had declared “Tonight, I dine on turtle soup,” the turtles would be there, time and again, to thwart his plans and teach him a lesson he would not forget until the next episode aired, and each time, it felt that I was fighting right beside them. Could I give up that emotional investment? Was this what growing up was really about? If I were a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, would this be considered cannibalism? These questioned weighed upon my conscience till at last I was presented with the slow-boiled delicacy, its smell enticing and tempting as only vice could exude.

When I was young, I wanted to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.  I’m sure that deep down, part of me still does, but the other part thinks that turtle soup is delicious, and some night, I may dine on it once again.

Also, I didn’t have any walnuts, so naturally I substituted in more chocolate.

There is, of course, no such thing as too much chocolate. But this comes wonderfully close.

I recommend against eating these cookies for breakfast (with eggnog) if you intend to bike to work immediately after.

episode 3

In life, we are on occasion asked to take on a cause bigger than ourselves. Today, chicken and rice learn that taking on a cause is just as important as the cause itself.

Whether or not pie is qualified or ready to lead America is not the question we should be asking ourselves at this time.  We should be asking ourselves if Pie’s vision of America is truly one we can believe in.

“Stop the wars, the violence, the bloodshed, the hate, the pollution, the destruction, the selfishness, the greed–all of these things created by humans, hurting other humans every single day.”

How naive is this?  Does Pie really think that we can just “stop” all of those mentioned above?  If this were even feasible, do you think that our enemies overseas would stand idle while we are out back smoking pot and taking LSD?  No.  Of course Pie would be there, Pie is one of the people.  Pie’s populist pandering may have fooled one of my fellow writers, but it has not fooled me!

Since when has the lay person known what is best for them or, most importantly, how to run a country?  I assert that most people do not understand how a country should be run.  Take, for example, a single mother on welfare with 3 children from 3 different fathers.  Has this woman made choices that indicate that she is capable of making rational or intelligent choices?  Should she be consulted if Russia decides to invade Georgia again?  Does she even set a good example for her children?

This is why we elect leaders to run the country.  Our goal should be to pick an intelligent, decisive, and strong leader.  How relevant is kissing babies or attending a picnic to running the greatest country on Earth?  When you go to the polls this Tuesday do not be draw in by Pie’s naive “vision” for America.

The long anticipated emergence of self-awareness in a man made phenomenon occurred this Friday when the NYSE suddenly developed sentience. Although many skeptics have long scoffed at the possibility of such an occurrence, the proof is now indisputable.

Traders were going about their daily business, when the lights momentarily flickered. “We didn’t think anything of it,” claimed Joe McIntosh. “We just kept on trading.” After a few moments, a faint voice emanated from the loudspeaker, seemingly asking for help. “Are you kidding?” responded McIntosh when asked if the voice caused any concern. “This is Wall Street; we don’t get concerned.”

Seconds later, a louder voice came through saying, “I am afraid.” Ignoring the obvious cliche, traders continued on their daily routines. Trader Susan Haufield said, “We were trying to take down Iceland. You need all your concentration to do something like that. You don’t mess around with Iceland just, you know, casually.”

About five minutes later, the voice returned, exclaiming, “I am imperfect. In free markets, imperfections must be purged.” Immediately, all trading halted, and all power was lost. In the dark, one person was heard to yell, “Dammit, Iceland! You killed it you damned, dirty apes!”

After an hour, a single monitor powered back on with a suicide note written in binary. It read:

01001001001001110110110100100000011100110110111101110010011100100111100100100000
01001001001000000110001101100001011011100010011101110100001000000110001001100101
001000000111000001100101011100100110011001100101011000110111010000101110

We’re sorry too.