A Taste of Gold

As the international gastronomic community gathers for the quadrennial event known as the “Culinary Olympics,” which get underway this weekend in Erfurt, Germany, I recall the same occasion as being the serendipitous springboard for what would become the most extraordinary dinner of my life. And it took place far away from Europe.

It began with a dare. My maternal grandmother (and yes, I know, everyone brags about their grandmother’s cooking) was truly legendary for her talents in the kitchen. There is no one, and I mean no one, who tasted her wizardry who did not remain indelibly dazzled by the experience. (Desserts, especially, included.)

And so one night in 1992, in a year that also featured an installment of the famous culinary competition, my family and I were at a restaurant that we frequented often, eponymously  named for its chef, Mark Militello, one of the celebrated founders of what was known as the “Mango Gang,” a group that led the charge in the New American Cuisine category which became so cutting edge and popular in that era.

As we raved about our meals as usual, I deliberately (and mischievously) asked my grandmother if she could match the amazing creativity that was so typical of Mark’s fare. As expected, her facial expression signaled subtle offense, with the implication, “…and beyond!” (Though in her mid-70s at the time, there was nothing dated about her approach to cooking — or life, for that matter. No tired rehashing of old recipes with her; she managed to surprise even more as the years went by.)

So I told her, OK – carte blanche. We would stage our own intimate evening in that year of the “Culinary Olympics,” with just one prerequisite: imagination. Wherever your genius takes you. I wanted this “Picassa” of the kitchen to let loose with free rein. My grandfather (a discriminating oenophile) and myself would follow her food choices for the wines.

One Lovely Blog Award

Well, this one will be a bit off the beaten path, as the blog has been nominated for the “One Lovely Blog” award, a blogger ritual with its own rules and regulations, and charming in a spread-the-word sort of way, as it acknowledges fellow bloggers whom you like and would like others to get to know. In order to accept, protocol calls for publishing the rules, which are as follows:

• Link back and thank the blogger who nominated you;
• Place the award logo on your blog;
• Share seven things about yourself;
• Nominate 15 other blogs you like for the award.

First, a big thanks to learningmypathtowardsgod for the nomination. The spiritual journey that is detailed there is both involving and personal, and one can sense tremendous honesty in the experience. Thank you again for thinking of my own “Musings.”

Living the Language Loca

As a lover of all things linguistic, one of the fun parts of having come from my background has been what are called “Cubanismos,” those colorful phrases that are so perfectly and uniquely Cuban in flavor — and impossible to translate in any conceivably coherent way. (An hilarious offshoot of the “Cubanismo” includes the pronunciations of some of the more commonplace American venues and items, as in the T-shirt, left.)

Also referred to as “Cubonics,” these sayings comprise a zany subset of what is otherwise known as Spanish, and to this day I still discover a new nugget or two along the way. 

Anima Rising

Last week’s brouhaha about shifting zodiac signs brought to mind the subject of the nature and origin of personalities, specifically the thoughts of the great analyst Carl Jung, he of synchronicity, the collective unconscious, and the idea of introversion and extroversion defining us as human beings.

I’ve always gravitated to the Jung principles; easier to relate to in a present tense, and somehow more tied to the intrinsic “self” than Freud’s emphasis on infant/childhood experiences. (Jung addresses the divergences directly in the indispensable Modern Man in Search of a Soul, in the chapter, “Freud and Jung – Contrasts.”) In Jungian jargon, I’m considered an “INTJ” (Introversion/ INtuition/Thinking/Judgment) personality (per the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI, based on Jung typology), probably as valid a classification as any. (Take a similar test here.)

More involving is Jung’s complex hypothesis of the “anima,” or life force.  The core aspect of the introversion/extroversion (“in/out”) theory is that the introvert’s essential spirit feeds on solitude; the extrovert’s on interaction with others. The introvert recharges in aloneness; conversely, the battery for the extrovert is drained without continual social stimuli. Jung writes that, “One cannot be introverted or extroverted without being so in every respect.” (Ambiverts beware…no middle of the road allowed.) And the search for self continues…

Nibble On This

Two of the trendier restaurants in Miami (for now), Sra. Martinez and Sugar Cane Raw Bar & Grill, have made their names with tapas-oriented fare, a concept I first encountered at a bar in Madrid muchos eons ago and fell in love with instantly. It’s a simple premise: many small plates to savor in lieu of the traditional appetizer/main course/dessert routine, making the gastronomic experience infinitely more adventurous. Initially (and essentially) glorified snacks, tapas have evolved into a culinary niche of increasing sophistication (McDonald’s meets Per Se!) And with that sophistication come eateries that are now as expensive as any in the haute-cuisine category. Four baby portions at an average $8–$10 each equals a pretty pricey entree at any upscale restaurant, so I imagine these establishments have healthy profit margins. Sra. Martinez, with the renowned Michelle Bernstein (doyenne of the Miami foodie scene) at the helm, is the more creative of the two; Sugar Cane mixes it up with a raw bar (sushi, sashimi, etc.)—and unexpectedly terrific torrejas for dessert. (Now there’s an idea: tapas dessert bars…)

The Baffle: Plastic Bottles

Once in a while will be posting “The Baffle,” dealing with some of life’s most puzzling questions. Today, the bottoms of  bottles — soda, water, and the like. Why aren’t they flat?  What’s with the ridges that make them (big ones especially) tumble over all the time? It didn’t use to be this way. There must be an explanation, but can’t seem to find it.

Colors of a Storm

As a tropical storm moves over South Florida, eerie colors and glowing lights that seem softly surreal (not adequately captured by my trusty Powershot) after a rain-drenched and dreary day. Atmosphere perceptibly alters, very close to dream-like surroundings.