Carnal Food

The Modern Museum

2012-01-29T10:52:00.000-08:00

Around the world themuseum is a monument, an institution like the library and the postal system,denoting a level of societal achievement. It can lend a small town in Nebraska a place in a travel guide. It can elevate a nation intohistory. A museum-goer may carry asmall ball of pride and harbor a pinch of superiority at the time well spent.

The museum is a collectionof objects of scientific, artistic, cultural, or historical interest arrangedand displayed in accordance with a logical method and made available for publicviewing through exhibits. The word ‘museum’ is of Greek origin, and meant aspace dedicated to the muses - "a place where man's mindcould attain a mood of aloofness above everyday affairs." (Abridged definition taken from both Wikipedia and Dr. Wilson's Cabinet of Wonders) To that end it was a place to mediateupon the world and practice the arts. The first museum may have been an Athenian institute created by Plato ormerely a hill in Athens upon which an old man sat and sang until there he died, wasburied, and thus created a sanctuary. And in that dual originstory we find both the beauty and the problem with the museum. What is a museum meant to do?

Consider the museums ofyour lifetime. Though they maypreserve beautiful paintings or historic carvings or awe inspiring fossils themuseum can be a drool, potentially depressing archive of the past ensconced ina pristine and grand manner. Likea mortuary of human and natural spectacles, some sort of continual funeralwithout a burial in sight, the museum preserves the past in an antiseptic manner. Perhaps inevitably so. Perhaps there is no other way.

Walking the halls we hoversomewhere out of time, induced to drowsiness by the atmosphere, as if a magicalspell poured in through the vents, a potion that frays the fabric of time untilwe stumble about in a waking dream state. Like Rip Van Winkle we doze off and awake to find years have passedexcept in the case of the museum the years roll backward upon the rails notforward.

In this state we are not taken away on flights of fancy, but instead we are led down a road of rigorous delineation of the world as if everything has its proper place. Here theworld is separated and catalogued. The museum portrays a world of progress from age to age and culture to culture that ticks along like clockwork. All the chaos and uncertainty and ambiguity of the world becomes domesticated in these halls. It’sas if we wish to enclose Nature and History in a series of labelled Ziplock bags, as if we believe a statelyinstitutionalized palace could hold them in all their wonder.

All this certainty lendsauthenticity and authority. Whocan argue with the art masters, the scientific pioneers, and the world explorers when all in oneplace? Who can question the answers of learned experts, recorded voice-overs, brochures, andcaptions neatly printed on foam core and mounted with the utmost attention to tidiness?

Somehow this is the worldwe are more at home in though it is something fabricated, only a model of the world as it is. We can lounge in the well ordered and catalogued room with sharp distinctions. We breath easily in the home that works along well governed laws with no alternate answers.

The question is: Is it Real?

Next up: The Cabinets of Curiosity, the originalmanifestation of the museum. Anddon’t worry this is going somewhere culinary and delicious.

In the Search of Wonder

2012-01-14T09:36:00.000-08:00

This year We are about toembark upon a long tale. It hasmany twists to it, and at times will appear confusing and even ridiculous, butthe terminus will warrant the journey. It must begin somewhere which is here for lack of a betterstarting point.

“Whenever we encountersome truly novel phenomenon, one that reinvents the margins of our world, anold hankering is awakened. At such moments we are like explorers of an unknowndimension: everything appears fresh to our eyes, each idea seems unprecedented,virgin, strange. In the face of this newly made universe, we may be tempted toexclaim, ‘It cannot be!,’ yet our protests soon lie buried under an avalancheof wonder.”

- Dr. Wilson’s Museum of Jurassic Technology

There are things we do notunderstand in the World. Weapproach them with anxiety unaware of what will happen. We prepare ourselves for the Unknownand that ‘avalanche of wonder’.

There are those who seekthis ‘Wonder’. In their adventuresthey blaze a trail for others to follow. This may result in an epic tale such as The World Travels of Marco Poloor a universal theory of relativity as with Albert Einstein. Or as in the case of Auguste Escoffierit may be an enduring approach to all things culinary: recipes, kitchenorganization, the creation of the chef profession. All of which have transformed our world today. Whatever our specialty may be, we adorethose who embark upon the ‘margins of our world’ and elicit that state when‘everything appears fresh to our eyes’. It may be said that Chef Nordo Lefesczki, despite his crank and quack,is one such pioneer currently blazing his trail with the Carnal Food Movement.

There are those who recordthe Wonder. When such Luminariesexist there must be a way to record and share the achievements. It may be as simple as a universityphysics book or a painting that now hangs in the Louvre, an index of WorldRecords or an urban myth that travels the globe on the lips. In the case of Chef Nordo it is aCabinet of Curiosities set to appear in Seattle in May of 2012. For a few short weeks a selection ofthe Cabinet’s exhibits will be open to the public. This is an extremely rare opportunity, one that people waitfor, a once in a lifetime affair.

As we all know, food is aprecious and overlooked necessity to life. And it is Chef Nordo’s goal to rekindle the wonder of theworld of food in everyone through his crafts of cooking and storytelling. It could be said this Cabinet includesevery idea, fact, myth, and imaginative spark ever to be inspired by our food. Café Nordo is the stage for ChefNordo’s stories. The Cabinet ofCuriosities is the repository of all that knowledge.

Someone must keep thisknowledge alive. Here, it isstored.

Down a rabbit hole. Swept away by a tornado. Tumbled into Slumberland.

Visited by the spirits ofPast, Present, and Future.

This is the only way todescribe what Nordo has in store for us in his next and most outlandishendeavor yet. Stay tuned as weexplore this Cabinet of Curiosities in anticipation of its Grand Opening inSeattle 2012.

Part 3- Tomorrow's New World Order

2011-11-13T13:01:00.000-08:00

And here, before we launch into the New Year, the final chapter of the Petra Proudhurst papers.

What are we to do with this knowledge of the Space Age? Do we waste it letting it rot in thelaboratories of the world? Or dowe step boldly forward with this knowledge and ensure a better future? The choice is obvious.

As the leaders of the world it is our responsibility torespond to the challenges of the future and focus our resources and imaginationon solutions. I say let ourimaginations shine. We cannotstand idly by and expect our dreams to come true under their own power. The future is not a gift but anachievement.

I look into the laboratory and see a future in which strugglefor sustenance has vanished.

I envision supermarkets overflowing with the foods of theworld. Piles of fruits andvegetables in the heart of winter. Aisles of canned soups and packaged dinners. I see jars of cured meats for .45 and cans of tropical fruit5 for a $1 from Kansas City to Singapore. A fully nutritious meal for a family of 4 will be prepared in under 15minutes. And for desert, individually wrapped pies for the whole family. Now you can have your cake and eat ittoo.

In the future, supplements will counter deficiencies invitamins and minerals. Artificialflavors will provide the spice of life to any dish. With advances in food preservation the daily trip to thegrocery store will not exist. Thepantry will be the breadbox of the home.

As this new technology expands around the globe there willbe the inevitable excess of grain. Imagine cheap breads for every child. A limitless food source for our livestock. Meat prices will plummet and the foodof kings will be for every man. With new food resources social equality willsimply grow on the tide of abundance. It is simply a matter of vision and willpower.

Man has worked with nature from its beginnings to create amore hospitable world. It is ourmagic touch to use our imagination to improve our world. It is not a utopia but it is a step inthat direction. Now is the time toact. Do not hesitate.

I am confident in the engineering of today for a bettertomorrow.

The struggle against Convenience Food continues.

Secrets Part 2

2011-11-06T13:06:00.000-08:00

Frontier ofthe Future

The world today is made, is powered, is penetrated throughand through with science. Let uslook into the face of the future. We see the long shadows of problems that already extend across the landtoday. Increasing populations,diminishing resources, pollution of sea and air. Is this the prospect we face? Or through knowledge and understanding can we shape ourfuture into one more befitting the human dignity and spirit.

We look to the frontiers of the future with confidence thatman will master nature through understanding. And it is to this end of understanding that we scientistslabor today.

19 years ago, in 1943, Mexico faced droughts that threatenedmillions with starvation because of a virus; stem rust. My mentor, Norman Balroug, plantgeneticist and pathologist, arrived with radical ideas straight from thelaboratories of Dupont. Immediately, he setup a facility financed by the Ford and RockefellerFoundations. Under his hand we developeda wheat variety resistant to stem rust using multiple pure lines asparents. This alone savedthousands of acres of crops. ButNorman did not stop there.

He began breeding varieties that absorb more nitrogen and sogrow more grains. He introducednitrogen fertilizers that doubled the yield on a single stalk. But these plants bent and broke undertheir productive weight. Fieldafter field toppled over as if a hurricane had swept through. I had the great opportunity ofwitnessing his most brilliant moment. He brought over Japanese dwarf wheat with a thicker stem, the Daruma,and melded that wheat variety into the population. The result, a sturdy, productive plant.

Doctor Balroug created the first high-yield variety plant,resistant to disease, responsive to fertilizers, accepting of pesticides, andthus began the Green Revolution. Today, Mexico exports wheat to the rest of the world.

We have isolated the beneficial genes of wheat, corn, andrice and cloned them. GA 20increases oxygen intake. Rhtreduces height. Sd1 dwarfs therice plant. The earth is a machine. It can be improved as any other machine provided you have the righttools. We have developed thesetools, and they promise a wealth of results.

Tests have begun in India in the Punjab province that willtriple food production there. InSoutheast Asia the new rice strain, IR8, has left our laboratory and enteredthe farmer’s field. Beginning thisyear, Standard Oil of New Jersey will supply the farmers of the Philippineswith seed packets complete with individually developed pesticides and nitrogenpellets. In the same packet. Imagine.

There is an old Byzantine proverb that says, “He who hasbread has many problems. He whohas no bread has only one problem.”

Human ingenuity has taken the head seat at the table andpresented us with a new range of tools so that we need not worry about that oneproblem. We can alter the verystructure of life to suit our needs. This is opportunity, plain and simple, to save our tomorrow. We havecreated answers to our challenges. We have created a global agriculture industry the world will neverforget.

Thank you.

Secrets Part 1

2011-10-12T11:05:00.000-07:00

Found among the files. Stuffed into the corners. Crumpled and stained with coffee. These pages hint at when and where our secrets began.

The year is 1962. Our world is waiting for something new,bulging at the seams.

It is theage of superpowers, a chess match between the United States and the SovietUnion. In May of 1960 a US spyplane was shot down in Soviet airspace broiling tensions. The pilot is still in captivity. Last year the Bay of Pigs invasion fellflat and embarrassed the newly elected President Kennedy. As the construction of the Berlin Walldivided Germany, the Soviet Union sent the first man into orbit and claimedtechnological superiority. Neither side will budge. Today, the game involvesthe entire world without a checkmate in sight. What is the next move? Is there a game changer, a single swipe that guarantees success?

It is the age ofcommercialization. AT & Tlaunched Telstar, the world’s first communication satellite, and television hasbecome king. In the comfort of ourliving rooms we see what to buy to make life better. Everything is for sale; it just takes the right pitch.

It is the Space Age. The Boeing 707, launched 4 years ago,shrunk the world. Britain andFrance promise to develop a supersonic passenger plane to cross the Atlantic in3 hours. Mariner II reached Venusand sent us the first signals from another planet. The goal is for man to set foot on the moon that luminescentball in the night sky.

There is another age, onethat most people are less aware of. It is the age of agriculture, or as we in the industry call it, theGreen Revolution. Food problems havehaunted mankind since the beginning. The food needs of growing populations were always met by expandingcultivated land. Not 50 years agothe intellects of the world foresaw mass starvation. But investments in scientific research have led to dramaticbreakthroughs.

The storyof English wheat is typical. Thisancient crossbreed of wild wheat and goat grass became the first mass scaleagricultural product. Farmed byhand and planted once a year it yielded a meager crop. Over 10,000 years humans developed theplow, the seed drill, and rotation crops so that yields increased 4 fold. Today,new plant breeds, inorganic fertilizers, and modern pesticides have tripledthat in 20 years. Today, industrial countries have eliminated the threat ofstarvation.

The world is on the verge ofa new age; the Age of Tomorrow. Let us project ahead to an age of prosperity in which technology ushersin an era of leisure. With newtextiles, new building materials, new colors, new flavor enhancements, new hairproducts, new fuels nothing is impossible. Never before has humanity made such progress in understandingthe world. We stand on the edge oftomorrow.

2011-09-22T18:27:00.000-07:00

It's been a long and dreary spell without Nordo around these parts. The months have dragged on with nothing to look forward to. The world wobbles along on its axis without direction. We've waited for a message, a note, a blip on the screen. Nothing.

Then without warning he returns. With unabashed style he flies in on a Pan Am plane direct from Honolulu with wild tales, even wilder dishes, and armed with blistering opinions on the state of the world through the eyes of a chef, or a celery stalk, his totem vegetable.

It looks as though Nordo may have gotten himself into the trouble while abroad. A stable of international spies on his tail, he seems to have stumbled upon something no one wants the public to know. Perhaps it is too incendiary, too incriminating. Perhaps it would upend the dining table and flail the entire modern meal on the carpet. What ever the secret is you can be sure it involves what is in the supermarket aisle.

Rushing down the tarmac he cradles a suitcase in his hands and constantly peers over his shoulders. Beads of sweat drip from his brow. He pulls up just short of running us over.

"We got them now," he pants. "We got them. Everyone will know what they've done."

Check out the website (Cafenordo.com) for details on the shows, buy tickets, and stay tuned for behind the scene updates on the drinks, the food, and the disastrous state of the global food industry!

Freedom from Industrialized Foods

2011-04-27T18:05:00.000-07:00

Things have been slow in the Carnal Food Movement. Nordo has seemingly retreated into his kitchen for deep deliberations on the future. But occasionally, we do receive some bits of news from him. Apparently, the world has been weighing heavily on his shoulders. Monsanto has been buying up seed and grain companies left and right and a sugarcane company in Brazil, and the world of artificial foods continue to grow. He wrote me the entire ingredient list of a Stouffer's Salisbury Steak frozen dinner. The gravy alone had over 40 ingredients. It must have taken hours. He sent this out only a day ago in a missive titled "The Need for A Holiday Celebrating Freedom from Industrialized Food".

Mythologue #1

As the story goes there was a time that people subsisted on very unnatural things.

It was the age of petroleum when the black tar was used to fuel everything under the sun- machines, medicine, men, and women.

Trucks, who drank the stuff, rumbled over highways, poured from the stuff, and transported to every store boxed confections, extruded from the stuff, each one carefully packaged in the stuff.

Long oily worms of the stuff were pulled free and spun into new types of fabric.

Vats of the stuff were applied to the skin in order to lubricate, hide blemishes, and provide an attractive sheen.

And, as the story goes, people bored into the inner workings of Nature itself. They cracked cells open and unraveled the strands of life.

Strands were twisted and rewoven to create new lives that died in a year.

To be bought every year.

Strands with bar codes. And strands with trademarks.

Strands with ingrained poisons for pests.

Strands with new colors and new flavors contrived so that our foods became infused with preservatives and would grow around the world in great fields of regularity.

People found that they could create another world, a synthetic manufactured world entirely controlled. People would never want and never need to fear the whimsical cycles of Nature.

As the story goes people willingly turned a blind eye to the darker side of their creations, and they relinquished power over their world to anonymous companies and unscrupulous individuals. Due to the chemical tinkering strange and unsightly creatures began to appear, and the Synthetic Garden was born.

Nordo.

I'm sure something is brewing. Keep posted.

Around and Around In Glass

2011-03-03T08:58:00.000-08:00

There are percolations heard in Nordo's kitchen. Something seems to be brewing. Perhaps another show is coming...?

But for now, a small tale from a restaurant.

A female finger rubs the rim of a glass. It tingles. She amiably smiles over the rim at her gentleman as her foot, clad in a t-strap heel, bounces in time with the piano. He utters a comment, and she laughs tilting her head back. The glass is an elegant bowl on a long thin stem and empty.

A waitress in a flouncy black dress whisks the glass away in mid stride. The woman and her gentleman barely notice. The waitress approaches the kitchen. “Corner.” A waiter jerks to a stop, and she speeds by without pause. Pans rattle, and a spoon clatters to the floor.

The glass held high in the waitress’s hand rounds the bar station, its lipstick stain evident from across the kitchen. Turned upside down, it is placed in a dish rack. “Need more white wines”, she commands.

The glass is rearranged in the rack. Another two, four, six surround it. “They happen when they happen,” is the response. The rack is pushed into the washer. The door clicks closed, and the sterilization clears away any residual memories.

The waitress gazes up at the ceiling. “You can always tell when something isn’t right at a table.”

“The looks?”

“No, the way they hold their glass. Tight.”

Steam whistles out from the dishwasher and the door pops open. The rack is pushed out. The glass is hot to the touch.

“While you’re here, take these to the bar.”

“Got it.”

The glass clinks against another repeatedly as the kitchen door swings open raising a veil on the bar sounds. As alcohol slides down the throat, laughter bubbles up to the ceiling. The waitress passes table nine.

“I know, but there can be no regrets.” The lady intones.

“No. No regrets.”

“We make choices.”

“Yes. Choices.”

“Another round?” The waitress announces herself.

The lady and the gentleman size up the evening’s progress. The lady speaks first giving the slightest lift of a question for him to respond to. “Of course, another round.”

“Let it flow,” he complies.

And the waitress moves on with a smile. “Two more Sauvignons. Table nine.”

“Got it. They’re on a tear.”

The bartender reaches for the rack and grabs the glass by the base. Spun right side up it comes to rest on the bar. Another is set beside it. The pale yellow liquid slips into the bottom of the bowl, one finger, two fingers, three fingers, and a splash for good luck. Rounded out, the glass is full.

“Good pour.”

“Someone just got lucky.”

The waitress swirls the glass and watches the wine tickle the rim. “Someone may get lucky.”

From across the room the lady waves off her man. He responds with a quick word. She locks her eyes on him. The waitress pauses, the glass hovers in the air above the table.

“Why do we always go round and round on this?”

“Why are you so damn stubborn all the time?”

“Someone has to be right.”

“Sauvignon blanc,” the waitress whispers.

Without recognition, the lady grips the glass under the bowl. She takes a long drink.

“Thirsty?” A derisive drawl elongates the question.

“In need of drowning.”

“I could help with that.” And he tilts his glass with a, “Here’s to you.”

Tables stand empty with dirty plates, rumpled napkins, and credit card receipts. The evening’s volume fades, the remaining voices easy to distinguish.

“I don’t care what you think.” The words slip around in a slur, her voice raised in pitch. The glass sloshes overhead full with the words.

“I didn’t ask if you did.”

They repose and sit behind their respective walls.

“Done for the evening?” The waitress breaks the blanket of silence. The man stares ahead as the woman looks away from the man. She rubs the rim of the glass. Three seconds pass.

“Yes. I am done for the evening. I am done with all of this.” As the lady rises, the glass tips, and slowly falls to the table. It spills a dark wet spot onto the tablecloth. She walks to the door and out into the night.

“I guess I’ll take the check.” He raises his glass and gulps down the remaining wine.

It is quiet. The waitstaff nod to one another over tasks. A long stem rose rises in the center of each table. . A spoon, knife, and two forks lay upon a napkin. The glass is placed to the right and up from the napkin. It stands empty waiting.

Dan Barber's foie gras parable | Video on TED.com

2011-01-03T21:46:00.000-08:00

"The great blessing for chefs and for people that care about food and cooking, is that the most ecological choice for food is also the most ethical choice for food, whether we're talking about brussel sprouts or foie gras. And it's almost always, (and I haven't found an example that proves otherwise,) the most delicious choice."

Dan Barber's foie gras parable Video on TED.com

Watch this video of the incredible Chef Barber of Blue Hill in NY, discuss the most delicious and controversial of foods after visiting a farm in Spain that makes truly humane foie gras. Fascinating!

Sauced Closes Its Doors

2010-12-08T19:09:00.000-08:00

The last patrons of the bar left, the glasses were washed, the plates dried, and the doors locked for the night. Mike and Charlotte sat in the back seat of the patrol car together for one last time. Val locked the doors with her keys, vowed to take a few days off from the business and never hire another blonde again. Saul smoked a few cigarettes as he stood on the platform, waiting for the Chicago bound train, the Ephemera vial safe in his valise. The stories had been told, the files closed, and the broken hearts laid to rest.

Another successful venture complete, Nordo tucked away Murray’s recipes for a later day. His first foray into the world of alcohol and intrigue had been a complete success. Now, winter hovered on the horizon, and it seemed appropriate to hibernate and contemplate the next great venture. The future is a wide open palette of possibilities. Maybe he will return to New York and take the city by storm, perhaps Chicago needs another three star establishment, or maybe, just maybe, he’ll settle down in Seattle for a while. Who knows?

I believe the bar will be back and maybe sooner than later. The style, the music, and the drinks seemed to touch the heart of Seattle. The Northwest likes to drink fine cocktails while being swept into an era of mystery with shocks of sexual tension. Seems like a fantastic combination to me. I will never forget the beautiful women belting on stage as the audience swooned in the dim lighting of the lounge. Another world had opened up, and those who made it in the doors fell in, swallowed by nostalgia and intrigue. The world was not a better place then than now. But we can always dream. It was like peaking into a speakeasy of the day. If life could always be like that maybe we’d all feel a bit grander. Or, at least, drunker. Let’s all romanticize the darker side of life, shall we?

Nordo feels proud of this one. He feels that he and his crew captured the essence of what it is to drink, to be in the bar of bars, to stay late into the night and stumble home, to fall for the woman at the next table, to throw caution to the wind, and forget the troubles of home, to watch the stars reel overhead, to feel high, and rich, and larger than life. It’s all in the love of alcohol.

That’s how life goes sometimes, you can either sip it or shoot it.

Peeking Into the Kitchen

2010-09-23T10:50:00.000-07:00

The test kitchens have been wonderful, tipsy, stumble down the road affairs. Our guests have left with bright smiles and bleary eyes. The cocktails are that good. And the food, well, it’s been luxurious re-imagined bar food that pares with the history of the cocktail. Chef Nordo has outdone himself. But, he is not satisfied. He's been lumbering about, grumbling under his breath, turning in tight circles in the kitchen since a person or two mentioned the heat of the stuffed pepper and the extreme tartness of the preserved lemon. “Can’t these people take an adventure?” “What do they want, Applebees?” And so on and so forth. He never quite stops.

Today we take a peek into the menu.

We begin with a nut dish. The tumeric lime glaze sparks and then blends with the tart sweetness of the champagne cocktail called “The Slippage”. And this begins all the trouble for the evening.

Our second stop lands us in the land of botanicals and alchemy. Alcohol has been a medicine for humans since time immemorial. In the pursuit of purity, it was the Arabs who thought to distill wine and in the process discover alcohol itself. Known as “Aqua Vitae” a tablespoon a day was thought to give long life. It was the cure all. And in that spirit we serve The Secret Kiss, a combination of gin and yellow chartreuse. The aromatic concoction buoys the flavors of the Pickled Plate. Beets, cucumbers, quail eggs, and olives rest in a dill custard as an homage to all things preserved and fermented. The guests have been pleasantly surprised.

Next, we come to the American cocktail. This great invention of our country has inspired two centuries of tastes and sordid moments. We have reveled in our love of spirits, discovered the joy of ice, brought vermouth into the vocabulary, and finally arrived at the classic cocktail in the 1870’s with the Manhattan, the Sazarac, and the Martiniz. In this tradition we serve up a quiet ember of a drink- A Box of Nails- and pare it with the challenging Fried Food Platter. The two bite and soothe, bite and soothe.

We end the evening in a dream. Our final drink, The Violet Hour, pays tribute to the soft edges of time and color that is the cocktail hour, and when combined with the Raspberry Cloud meringue we hover in a final few moments of bliss. Enough said.

And that is our evening. A few more tweaks and few more twists, and this case is closed.

The Violet Hour

2010-09-08T16:57:00.000-07:00

The violet hour, when the sun sets on the outside world and shadows lengthen with mystery, when a laugh can last a lifetime, and affections glow brightly. There’s the bar buzz at your back, and anybody who walks through the door could be somebody you want to know. It’s the cocktail hour. Time stands still.

Today Americans drink approximately 1/2 oz of distilled spirits a day per man, woman, and child. But back then, when the cocktail was born, it was 2 oz of liquor per day. The country was full of jitterbugs. It was drank at breakfast, as a medicine, at lunch break, and after dinner. Rum was the gold of the New World and the taxes on it’s production caused more furor and trouble than any pitiful English Tea. Alcohol. It made fortunes and bought votes.

The cocktail was the first American export around the world. Before we were known for our authors, our art, our steel, our textiles, or what have you, we were known for our drinks. It was something we were great at.

And what makes a good cocktail and not just some swill covered in syrup or water? The key is balance. Balance of mood. Of setting. Of ingredients. The soul of the spirit must be soothed before it can easily glide down the throat and coat the brain. It’s in the mixing, and in that there is something, magical.

Once inside the violet hour, the world outside may be an illusion and all of us here larger than life.

Looking for the American Bar

2010-08-22T17:42:00.000-07:00

What does it take to follow the illustrious Chef Nordo around in search of the perfect cocktail, the perfect bartender, and the perfect bar food? First, you have to resign yourself to lost evenings and foggy, thunderous hangovers. Then, you have to accept the nacho plate, the jalapeno poppers, the atomic chicken wings, the chili dusted nuts, the fried oysters, the deviled egg, the pickled... and so on and so on. Who knows where you may wake up and what dribble of sordid ranch dressing may cling to your chin. I believe that Chef Nordo has a wooden leg. Or two.

Do not worry though. You do not have to follow in these footsteps. Your experience will be of the finest quality using only the best spirits, the finest ingredients, and the re-imagined essence of what bar food should be. Nordo will not stoop to hack pop-art. As always he will strive to provide the highest level of satiation and satisfaction. If you leave a little pickled and wake up in the arms of a co-worker, well, that is your decision and hopefully a nice addition to a wonderful dining experience.

What lurks in the laboratory besides a mess of cookbooks, food magazines, and scraps of paper with crudely drawn renditions of food? Well, in honor of our brothers in Siberia who have given us such wonderful foods that accompany alcohol, we labor on a pickled plate in the zaruski fashion. We begin with a home made cream cheese. (Note: Do not mistake half and half for buttermilk. Once the half and half is in you must add the buttermilk, and well, this is not low fat cream cheese.) Why most of us just buy such things like cream cheese once you endeavor to make your own is beyond us. Learn your food we say. What else are doing with your time?

Now, the roasted beets. Florescent pink and full of juice, hands are stained red with the blood of vegetables. Some are thrown on the stove with vinegar, salt, and sugar to create a pickling concoction while others are sliced into long rectangular spears. Up next is the darling quail egg. Very difficult to peel, we need tiny elf fingers, they are pickled in a beet bath until these little fuschia gems literally glow on the plate. Now, remove the pickled salmon from the fridge and slice thin sheafs of flesh. Almost all the ingredients are on hand.

But there is the coup de grace- a carrot saffron sheet. Here shines the genius of the modern kitchen. Imagination and experimentation collide. Once the juice of the carrot is boiled and slowly whisked with gelatin and agar agar it is poured over an acetate sheet. With small shifts of the sheet the substance pools outward into a thin (1/16") puddle. Chilled for no less than 15 min. this sheet can then be pulled free, and like delicious gummy rubber that tastes like the essence of carrot, it can be sliced, rolled and wrapped about a pickled beet slathered in cream cheese. Perfection. It is carrot incarnate.

Next, the salmon wraps a barely pickled cucumber. The quail eggs are stood on end. And over the entire setting a dill and lemon sauce is applied for dipping. Toss some fresh dill, a few fried capers, and voila. I think we have stumbled upon something here. Something clear but potent, standing tall beside a cocktail, and intriguing to eat. We have a winner in the lab.

We cannot wait until this mixture of vegetable tartness can mingle with a dry gin cocktail.

Next up: Why is we drink and what is the magic of a proper bar?

Cafe Nordo Returns to Seattle!

2010-08-08T16:23:00.000-07:00

Apparently Mr. Nordo Lefesczki loves Seattle. He's returning this fall with another grand premiere. Maybe the rest of the country just doesn't get how cool this guy is. Regardless, he's back, and we're happy to say he's got yet another new idea under his hat. This guy never stays with the same format. He's always out to impress. This time his restaurant becomes a bar, his imagination is tackling the world of bar food, and he's wrangled a master of cocktails to work with him. And, by the press release you'll see below, he's obviously got a wacky story of intrigue to accompany his inventions.

Stay tuned for more salacious details. As we get behind-the-scenes information on the food and the production you know we'll pass them along. We just love the Cafe Nordo dirt here at this blog.

In a secret gin-joint within Theo Chocolate Factory the incomparable Chef Nordo Lefesczki teams up with “America’s Best Bartender” Murray Stenson to bring Seattle an evening of sizzling entertainment, creative food, amazing cocktails, and smokin’ music that harkens back to another era.

This fall, Café Nordo returns to Fremont with “Sauced”, one part historical tour of mixology, one part film noir style thriller, shaken and served up with a dash of surreal. Fedoras nod to the beat of original jazz tunes performed live, as four of the top performers in Seattle deliver salty one-liners and perfectly poured classic cocktails to an intimate audience. Paired with each cocktail is Chef Nordo Lefesczki’s interpretation of bar food, deconstructed, reconstructed, and then deconstructed again. As per the laws of Café Nordo, only the finest local, sustainable ingredients are served, and local craft distilleries provide the booze.

With Billie Wildrick (most recently seen in Candide and On The Town at the 5^th Avenue Theatre) as the bombshell lounge singer, Mark Siano (“One of Seattle’s top cabaret acts” – Seattle Gay Scene) as the washed up bar owner, and Opal Peachey as the cocktail waitress on the edge, and Ray Tagavilla (Seattle Magazine Spotlight Award Winner) as the bartender with a secret, Sauced delves into the sexy, dirty, soul-baring darkness of humanity under the influence. Under the “beguiling” (Seattle Times) spell of Annastasia Workman’s original jazz score, performed live by the Café Nordo House Band, audiences sip and taste as a story of mystery and betrayal unfolds all around them.

Seattle’s own Sultan of the Sauce, Murray Stenson, lends his expertise by designing the evening’s flight of cocktails. In July, Stenson won the highest award for mixology in the US, “The Best Bartender in America,” voted by his peers at the 2010 Tales of the Cocktail festivities in New Orleans. Currently at the Zig Zag Café, and formerly at Il Bistro, Stenson’s blend of historical knowledge, originality, and craftsmanship garnered him national recognition in The New York Times, Playboy Magazine, and Salon.com.

After two acclaimed five-course dining experiences, Café Nordo tipples towards its third Seattle installment, changing the form but not the experience. The first, The Modern American Chicken, won Café Nordo a Seattle Times Footlight Award for Excellence in Local Theater, and introduced audiences to Café Nordo: “A fricassee of satire, zany antics and enlightened food consciousness, ‘Café Nordo has a unique spin on dining, wine-ing and watching…with kinky sincerity, the show spoofs chef-cult madness but sincerely honors the consumption of a well-cooked meal” (Seattle Times). The second, Bounty! An Epic Adventure in Seafood (“Fun filled and action packed” – Northwest Wining and Dining) treated audiences to “preternaturally fresh” (Seattle Times) seafood along with the science and folklore of the Salish Sea. Through sizzling entertainment, creative food, amazing cocktails, and smokin’ music, Sauced harkens back to a different era. A much cooler era.

For more information visit www.cafenordo.com

USS Nordo Docks at Port

2010-06-27T17:44:00.001-07:00

The sails are furled, the deck swabbed, and the food stores emptied. Bounty! An Epic Adventure in Seafood has come to an end. It was another success for Chef Nordo and his production crew. From the decks of a 1896 sailing vessel cruising the Salish Sea to the dystopia of the Kodiak Island Resort audiences were enthralled with the food and the stories of our delightful oceans.

Once again Chef Nordo impressed with his unique vision of food. His relentless passion to serve quality foods both local and sustainable while simultaneously exposing the importance of food in our lives gave us another menu that shocked and satisfied. Here are a few pictures of the delicacies served at Cafe Nordo's Bounty!.

Perhaps, if we consciously choose our seafood each and every time we sit down to eat and remember that our sea life cannot be taken for granted, we will ensure an abundance of magic and food for generations to come. For all of those who came, Thank You, and for those of you who missed it, well, I'd like to say there will be something else like it in the future, but Bounty! proved to be a experience unlike anything else Seattle has seen.

Keep an eye out for more Cafe Nordo culinary adventures in the fall. And as the next story develops we will chronicle it here at the Carnal Food blog.

And Chef Nordo has been heard mumbling something about a one time event/fundraiser for the whole community to enjoy- Roast a Critic!!! We can only dream.

The USS Nordo Sets Sail

2010-05-31T16:45:00.000-07:00

We are at the mid-point of our voyage. Only 9 shows remain.

My lord, it’s been too long since the last entry. Oh the things that have gone on here at Cafe Nordo. In that time the incredibly absurd voyages of the USS Nordo have set sail entertaining Seattle audiences with the ocean's delights. The voyage is just now half done with 9 trips left. Each night a new group of adventurous souls travels with us through the wonders of the Salish Sea to arrive at the most hip apocalyptic beach resort yet conceived- Hotel Kodiak. I won’t give away any endings but you should know that our party hosts (despite their peculiar physical condition) serve up a wicked rum shot with dessert, can do a mean marimba, and have plenty of SPF 190 on hand to fend off those scorching rays of our new sun.

Check out this review from the Seattle Times and enjoy the following production shots that give just a hint of what's hidden inside Cafe Nordo.

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/thearts/2011949663_cafenordo26.html

And look out for the continuing adventures of our Chef. What is the next diabolical plan?

The Siren's Tale

2010-05-01T17:02:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was a sea, a sea that swallowed sailors, and their cries echoed between the waves and the sun like all the forlorn cries of gulls fighting for a bit of dead fish. Between its waves, waves towering like the gaping maw of cliff sides, the sailors cried their pitiful cries and disappeared, sunk to the bottom like so many rocks, with no more in their eyes than rocks, until they touched the sandy bottom and became the roots of kelp. Sailors love the sea and seas love to swallow sailors.

Isabella sees them all. She watches them from her undersea garden. They find more waves, and more rocks, and more kelp to sleep in. They find more to name and more to net and they never cease. They are a hoard.

The gulls who swim in the sky urge us into the waves. They chide us to charge on, swim on. They are the jokesters laughing at us. And we fly wild into the sea no longer made of water, into the waves that tear us apart into strips of wind, into the rocks bare and parched in this new sun’s heat. Along the dark horizon, where the ships sit like tiny toys on the dry seabed and the great nets unravel, the bodies of all the sailors will be revealed and their water soaked souls will sing. These laments are the songs of love and loss on the Salish Sea.

Nordo In the Beginning

2010-03-26T20:29:00.000-07:00

Nordo In the Beginning 1

(Manuscript founds under an old fryer in the Haight district of San Francisco. Fryer was used for fries as well as falafel. The pages were in such poor condition and stuck together in a mass that it took 4 scientists 10 years to transcribe it.)

1 In the beginning God created the stomach and the kitchen.

2 Now the refrigerator was formless and empty, the crisper and cupboards were bare, and a great hunger roiled in the depths.

3 And God said, "Let there be fat," and there was fat. 4 God saw that the fat was good, and he placed the fat in a skillet on high heat, whisked, adding butter and a small portion of cornstarch. 5 God called the fat “gravy”. And how the combination of animal juices and butter created a substance to love. And there was mashed potatoes and gravy—the first meal.

6 And God said, "Let there be fermentation in the yeasts and separate the liquid from the solid." 7 So God made the wheat ferment as it lay in the sun and caused the sugars of the liquid to differ from the sugars of the solid. And it was so. 8 God called the solid “bread”, and he called the liquid “beer”. And there was a pint of ale and a bowl of pretzels—the second meal.

9 And God said, "Let the times of the day separate, let the day be divided into three meals and a few snacks between, so that a variety of tastes may be consumed." And it was so. 10 God called the first "breakfast," and the second he called "lunch," and the third he called “dinner.” He allowed the times between to be filled with every array of chip and cookie, every precut carrot and celery stalk, and as an added bonus he made another time, after dinner, in which sweets would taste good and this he called “dessert.” And God saw that it was good.

11 Then God said, "Let the land produce vegetation so that the bowels may be regular and the vegetarian may annoy the omnivore: let seed-bearing plants and trees that bear fruit grow, according to their various kinds." And it was so. 12 The land produced corn, wheat, arugula, spinach, grapefruits, brussel sprouts, collards, squash, and all other amazing varieties of edible plants. And God saw that it was good. 13 And though all these wonders existed, there was an iceberg lettuce salad dotted with cherry tomatoes and strings of grated carrot—the third meal.

14 And God said, "Let the water teem with fish to hook and net." 15 So God created the salmon, the bass, and the cod, the great tuna and the farmed tilapia- all the great creatures of the sea and every living and moving thing with which the water teems, according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. 16 God blessed them and said, "Be fruitful and increase in number the many ways of being prepared each to its own kind whether in a can with oil, or rolled with sticky rice, or slightly braised with a dash of lemon and a sprig of rosemary.” And God, in his infinite wisdom slathered the flesh of a cod in batter and dropped it into the boiling oil. Vinegar was the finishing touch. 17 And God saw it was good, and there was fish and chips—the fourth meal.

18 And God said, "Let the land produce living creatures according to their kinds: livestock, that move slowly along the ground, each one easy to round up and herd, with little brains and even littler desire to flee, each according to its kind." And it was so. 19 God made the wild animals into the livestock according to their kinds, and so the lumbering cow, truly a package of meat waiting to be eaten if ever these was one. And the cow was kept in a pen, fed, and culled, skinned and packaged between Styrofoam and plastic wrap so that all the men and women of the earth may eat the top sirloin. And God saw it was good. And He said, “Let the process be so simple that all that man requires is a grill and a bag of self lighting coals.” And it was so. And there was the fifth meal- steak off the grill.

20 And God said, "Let there be different culinary styles with variable ingredients and methods to separate the Mexican from the Italian, and the Indian from the Chinese, and let them be served as traditions to mark restaurants, 21 and let them be revered and give the earth a great variety of flavors." And it was so. 22 God made many great traditions —the great Mexican to govern the taco and the great Italian to govern the pizza, the great Indian to govern the tandori, and the great Chinese to govern the dim sum. He also made the perogis, the spatzens, the Denver omelettes and the tapas. 23 God set them along the avenues of the Midwest, 24 to satisfy during both the day and the night, and to separate full stomachs from hunger. And God saw that it was good. 25 And there was the ethnic restaurant—the sixth meal.

26 Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let them hook the fish of the sea and shoot the birds of the air, let them lord over the livestock at their mechanized troughs and determine which of all the creatures of the earth are worth consuming and which are only for show. Let them lord over all the grills and ovens of the earth, let them know the use of the spatula and make good with the Quisinart- TM."

27 So God created man in his own image, male and female he created them. And so man, a little hairier than needed with a paunch and dirty fingernails, in his greasy white apron and floppy hat, stood in the kitchen of a diner with a cigarette dangling from his lips, and he burped. And knowing that this one could never do the job well, He created the lady and put her in something pink and above the knee, gave her a husky voice and an order ticket, and she smiled a weary smile.

28 God blessed them and said to them, "Be numerous and roam the earth in search of something fried; fill the diner booths of the world and drink too much cheap, black coffee."

29 Then God said, "I give you every slice of bacon and every serving of hash browns, every hamburger patty and every sausage link and every shred of meat unusable for that patty and that sausage link ground up and made into a hot dog. I give you the chicken breast fried and covered with gravy, the grayish lima beans and fruit cocktail in the can. They will be yours for food. 30 And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air and all the creatures that move on the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give corn for food whether or not that animal is suited to it." And it was so.

31 God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was the diner for every other meal.

Nordo In the Beginning 2

1 Thus the stomach and the kitchen were completed in all their vast array.

2 By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he sat down in front of the television with a plate of water crackers and sharp cheddar cheese, and he rested ^[a^] from all his work. 3 And God drank a six-pack of light beer on the seventh day and became drunk, and so he slept well and snored after all the drinking that he had done.

On the Deck of USS Nordo

2010-03-10T23:05:00.000-08:00

“Damn it, man, can’t you pull with your back. Use your body not just your pinky. We haven’t left the harbor yet and you’re proving yourself worthless.

“What’s gotten into you? You lost the will to live, son? Why, I’ve seen overweight Midwestern children with more heart. You’re not going to last long on this ship.

Captain Nordo barks orders at us, his lackeys. The intensity of his gaze makes up for the bone chilling breeze on this March day on the Salish Seas. We have come far, beyond the San Juans and after a couple days of hard sailing we near the warmer waters of Desolation Sound. Here, where the tidal waters of Puget Sound and the Stait of Georgia collect and become trapped amongst the numerous inland islands we hope to find the answer of all our questions. Captain Nordo drives us in his need to know. He’s heard the rumors of a place Jacques Cousteau called one of the best places on planet Earth to dive and explore the wonders of the underwater world. It’s known as God’s Pocket.

God's Pocket hides within the reaches of Desolation Sound. How appropriate is this? Is there a clearer example of poetic justice? How do we create such obvious examples of our human condition? I digress into idle threads of thought, but the air is so clear and the waters so endless how can I not let my thoughts reach for an ending, a shore that demarks the end of a grand journey?

“Stop your worthless daydreams and pay attention.”

Will he ever relent?

“Bring her about and into the wind. Get ready to jibe. We’re setting course for that small rock of an island as a place to anchor.”

A frigid spray off the waves soaks the clothing upon my back. We bound up and through and slap down in the troughs with such force that we all nearly topple over. The sea has turned turbulent as we’ve neared our destination. As our captain frets and pounds the deck with the soles of his boots, cursing our incompetence and the weather in a single breath, he seems to have asked for a challenge from the invisible forces that surround us. And he would like it no other way. Without a challenge can there be a victory? Without a falling though time and space can there be a dream? Without the specter of an ocean system strangled under our hands can there be joy in finding a truly pristine seas?

“This is the spot. Heave to.”

The ropes are pulled and coiled. The sails are reefed. The tiller tied taught.

Why can’t we spend our lives searching for the best food on the planet? Why not spend our energies on finding the best ways in which to eat and therefore live?

The breeze passes by kissing our checks with lips of ice. I shiver but there’s no discomfort that could ruin this moment. The sun fights to break through the clouds.

“For god’s sake will do something besides staring up at the sky like a damn idiot? We’ve got work to do. You think these people can eat daydreams?”

Experiment #4- The Island and the Carnage

2010-02-26T22:26:00.000-08:00

We cruise the Asian market. Sea cucumber, clams from around the Sound, oysters, mussels, whole rock fish with the wild look of death in their eyes, the large suckers on the amorphous body of an octopus (local), squid clean and white.

We jump to the third course and have no desires to work on the Big Bang. Tonight’s deal: Mollusk Island. The Siege of Land by the Sea Creatures. Clams will scale the ocean floor. Squid will wrap their tentacles about the foliage of the land.

Gibberish crowds our heads. Seafood, Sailors, and Sea Monsters in the Salish Seas. Sea Monsters Ravage the Salish Seas. Seafood and Sailors: The Evolution of Sea Monsters. When will the answer appear, perhaps in a message wrapped in the Styrofoam packing of an Asian delicacy.

Back at the laboratory we dequill the squid and debeard the mussels. Debearding kills the little guy. They fight back a bit and everyone once in a while the tongue extrudes from the shell with the tug at the beard. Brutal. Polenta sits aside waiting to be the sand of the island.

Butter in the pot. Shallots (whole medium) and onions (whole small) swim in the butter. 3 small leaks are added. A fennel bulb follows. We’re going for it. This will be the broth of the sea, a light green that will become the Sargasso seas. 2/3 a cup of white wine gives it a kick. The root vegetables will be the vegetables of the sea, the seaweed landscape hugging the contours of the island. 3 cups of fish stock. One package of squid ink. Ohh. Maybe not so good. A bit grey for an ocean.

Once boiling the squid, the mussels, and the clams are thrown in. Covered. And just like that it’s done. The bivalves are cooked. Seafood is the test for cooking just the right amount of time. Good seafood is all about perfect timing needing just a bit of love on the stove and nothing more.

Now for the staging (plating). The island is placed in a large bowl. The bivalves are beautiful with root vegetables clinging to them. The bivalves and squid bodies are piled around the island, the veritable creatures of the sea crowding the land under the seaweed bed of onions, shallots, and fennel.

We’re not overwhelmed. Again, our attempts at telling the perfect story give only minimal successes in the culinary realm. First, too much squid ink, we don’t need a black/ grey sea, and it was so beautiful before adding the ink. Maybe we’re trying to be too cute. Two, squid bodies are a bit tough. This will take study. The clams and mussels do well, and the polenta is a good island, but somehow the whole thing is unappetizing and just not interesting enough in flavor. And here we run into a tough question. How do we improve upon the fruit of the sea?

We are happy in concept and lacking in execution, but that is the name of the game here in the laboratory, and so we move on to another experiment that proves to be a challenge.

We go for opening a sea urchin. But, there’s a slight problem that brings the whole world of life into focus. It’s alive and still moving. The spines slowly rotate and twitch. It’s trying to live, and yet, we are hoping to cut it in half. We know it can’t scream, but… This is very difficult. We look longingly at each other.

Yvette starts sharpening the knife and we send good will to the urchin. May he go to sea urchin heaven so that we can eat its gonads. This is all very carnal.

A lot of crunching is involved. It crunches. The spines still move. We bisect it and pour out the juices. There’s a lot of strange organs in here. We see the delicious tongues of meat. Oh my god. It smells a bit like a sewer line. This is very surreal. The first thing we pull out looks like the mouth, the extruded stomach inverted into the body. This is all a bit harrowing. Yvette has a concerned look on her face. A killing has occurred.

But oh, it’s delicious. The five loaves of meat are buttery and smooth. A treat. This is the crux of understanding life.

Experiment #3- The Invertebrate Salad

2010-02-07T09:52:00.000-08:00

Tossed amongst the waves, carried by the currents of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, pushed west and east, north and south, a clear bottle with a small note made its way into the Puget Sound. It washed up on the shore of Alki Beach where the pioneers of Seattle first landed. The cork had done its job; the note within was pristine and dry.

The USS Nordo has set sail. A heartfelt meal of the sea is being prepared. Keep the lookouts on patrol. She will drop anchor in Seattle in early May. Nordo willing.

The laboratory is cooking. Tonight’s experiments promise a breakthrough in the science of oceanic evolution. We descend below the surface, pop open a bottle of dry, white Spanish wine (my personal favorite) and begin our work. On tonight’s menu:

The Invertebrate Salad

The Big Bang (once again)

We tackle the salad- our second course in the evolution of the seas, an homage to the greenery and the spineless of the seas. First, blanch seaweed in salty, as salty as the sea, water. What was once brown becomes a deep, pine forest green. Cucumbers are thinly sliced and pickled in rice wine vinegar (8 oz.), 1/2 cup salt, 1/4 sugar, and thinly sliced ginger. Placed in the fridge for a few hours, it waits while we get our second experiment underway.

We go for another attempt at the Big Bang. If God had this many failed attempts at his Big Bang Amuse Bouche then what grotesque mistakes must be floating about in the matrix of alternative universes. (Shudder) We abandon the previous theories (see experiments #1 and #2) and go for a gelatin. A stock is made from mussels. 1lb scrubbed and bearded. 3 garlic gloves peeled and smashed. 1 large peeled shallot. 4 sprigs of thyme. 3 small bay leaves. 1 1/2 cups of dry white wine. Once boiled (covered) remove the mussels as they open. Strain, add an equal amount of blanching liquid from the seaweed (see above) and 4 grams of squid ink, and bring to a boil. This may be the concoction of the cosmos.

Place in a shot glass half full and cool in an ice bath to set the gelatin. Place remainder of liquid into fridge for now.

Once shot glass gelatin is half set add roe and top with remaining squid ink mixture from the fridge to cover the roe. Cool in fridge. Let sit for some time. We will wait 20-30 minutes before checking. 6:30pm. if this works a thickened substance of the sea will hold the roe in suspension as a surprise.

Back to the Invertebrate Salad. Plant life clings to the ocean floor. Transparen breathe in and out, propelling themselves through the ocean, and the sea cucumber pulls itself along the ocean floor sucking at the detritus. Sound appetizing? I think so.

The salad dressing will be as such- 1/2 cup of rice wine vinegar. 1/4 cup of soy. 1/2 teaspoon of peeled and minced ginger. Cat hair (optional). 1/2 cup of sesame oil. The mixture is placed on 1lb. of seaweed and marinated. On second thought, perhaps the marinade is a bad idea as the seaweed may lose all texture. Too late. It's doused.

Yvette lays out a school of pickled-cucumber-jellyfish upon the plate. A small mound of seaweed is spread atop the jellyfish cucumbers and finally, a sea urchin gonad is laid on top of the mound. The soft orange of the urchin contrasts well with the varying greens of the plate. We sit to taste.

The salad is amazing. The green hues are vibrant in both look and taste, full of bite and tang, while the silky and delicate tongue of the sea urchin provides richness to the whole ordeal. Perhaps the tang of the seaweed (the vinegar) is too strong for the urchin and the two should be separated, but the melting meat with the cucumbers is a match made in heaven. The sesame is a good touch but the vinegar needs to be pulled back. That may be the only adjustment. The first Invertebrate Salad is a wonderful experience- sharp, strong, rich, sexual, full of vitamins. We toast our first success of the wonders of the ocean. The sea urchin is the foi gras of the sea, a smooth tongue of deliciousness.

We end our evening's experiments with The Shot. The Big Bang. The Primordial Ooze. After nearly 3 hours we sit down to sample. The shot glass is briefly warmed in a bowl of nearly boiling water so that the gelatin does not grip the glass. Turned upside down, the two layers separate and one glob of black gelatin falls, then a few roe, then the second layer follows, and it splatters out upon the plate. The squid ink has coagulated and floats about in the gelatin like a Rorschach test, all stringy and randomly coagulated. The roe barely glow. And we taste. The sea. The salt. The sea. The salt. And not so good. We’ve made progress and almost attained the consistency of what we all know to be primordial ooze, but the flavor cannot be just fish. No. We need the flavor of life itself exploding in the mouth, the flavor of innovation and triumph, the flavor of champagne perhaps. We need a surprise so that the trepidation at throwing back a shot of black, gelatinous ooze rewards with a glorious, clean, exhilarating blast of life. We will discover the right flavor and come the time of the show, we will present a great neon menagerie of amino acids and DNA, and we will giggle, and we will prance across the palette. Wait and see. Fingers crossed.

Experiment #2- In Search of the Primordial Ooze

2010-01-22T14:56:00.000-08:00

We channel Jacques Cousteau, part the Salish Seas, and search for that from which all life sprang. We wish to create a dish that says, “I am the beginning of life,” and from this point evolution may take its course.

We attempt a sabayon of the savory variety. This may be the consistency we want for the ooze- creamy, with body, but melting in the mouth. Typically, a sabayon is wine (either white or port), sugar, and egg yolks heated and whipped so that air can enter and increase its size up to 4 times. Used for desserts it is akin to a sweet custard, at least once the French got a hold of it, but originally the sabayon was a foamy way to serve wine and such spices as cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg could be added. But, with a savory version flavored and colored with squid ink, we will create an ooze with a garnish of fluorescent salmon roe for that otherworldly quality of the cosmos. The first step is the milking of the squid for ink. As before the head is separated from the tube with a gentle tug, and the quill extracted to expose the pearly sac of ink we need. Next the beaks are removed and the body cut into sections.

These squid are full of guts. They are a bit gross. Note: 1/2 lb of squid is sufficient for ink.

We contemplate on how to make what is usually a sweet dish into something savory. Do we remove the sugar from the process? Will that kill the rising of the sabayon? Do we add lemon and salt to complement the ocean flavor of the squid? These are the questions.

Quick work. The squids have been milked.

Having never made a sabayon before I attempt to record the chaotic system of Yvette. First we harvest the ink from the sacs using hot water. A sabayon is equal volumes of sugar and yolks adding wine at any time during the process. According to the patron saint of cooking, McGee, it is the lack of moisture that prevents the yolks from rising. It does NOT say that sugar is needed for it to rise, and if anyone would include that in his instructions it would be McGee.

So, in our first experiment: 3 eggs is 1/4 cup. So normally a 1/4 cup of sugar would be used. We will try a 1/8 cup of sugar with a 1/2 cup of wine. We cook it in a glass bowl within a pot- for equal cooking surface. And wow. It’s foamy immediately. Bananas. And after a few seconds a smidgen of squid ink is added saving some in case the experiment is a bust. Color is not taking. We need 100% squid ink perhaps. We need uncut squid ink. And it’s too sweet and salty. Too much sugar for sure. Another egg is added to solidify the mixture. So, we need less sugar and uncut squid ink. Also, the roe needs to float, as of now it sinks, and then maybe we have it, but that is many steps away from now.

A moment to ponder: Will our food glow under a black light? We need to experiment with this after some substance abuse. Another night.

We taste the savory sabayon with salmon roe. Noses wrinkle. The tongue squirms. It wants to flee. A big, “No”. Failure. With the roe it is confusing and feels just wrong. No one puts sweet foamy wine mixture with roe. Damn.

We will try it w/ no sugar. Wine, salt, yolks, ink. And nothing else. If this is going to work we need to have no sweetness, and it must be denser. And then perhaps other flavors such as salt, lemon, or ginger. Or perhaps we add soy; it’s dark, it’s salty, it goes with seafood.

1/4 cup yolks. 1/4 cup wine. No sugar. Dashes of soy sauce. Note: heating the squid ink and water does not work as the ink separates into tiny globules in suspension.

Remember this is compacting the Big Bang into a champagne glass meant to be spooned. Isn’t that ridiculous.

We taste the second attempt. The texture and density are what we are looking for, but too bad it tastes like shit. So close, in a way. Wine and soy sauce do not mix. It sticks to the tongue like it has hair on it. How do we do this? What do we want to enrobe our roe in? A fish ooze. Perhaps, it should have no wine but instead fish oil or a fish stock or a clam juice. Could it be an herbal mixture? Would that work?

These are questions that only the inquisitive light of the Calypso can answer. The beginning is always the hardest. Isn’t it? To soothe our damaged egos we listen to some John Denver. Some other day we will journey further on into the world’s darkest mysteries and attempt to illuminate what only the bravest palettes have discovered. Good night.

A post note: We drift off into sampling sea tangle, salsify, and other not so relevant items found at Oujimaya. Sake meant to be warmed, meaning not very refined, can only be found in magnums. Is this a problem? Sake: the silent buzzer.

Squid Jigging and Cleaning

2010-01-12T14:35:00.000-08:00

The New Year finds a new project in the bowels of Café Nordo. 2010 promises more challenges and hopefully, greater achievements, in the odd fusion of theatrics and food, gastronomy and social commentary, that is the realm of Chef Nordo Lefeisczky.

At Pike Place Market we take the first steps of yet another journey into the absurd world of absurd foods. Plunging into the depths of the sea and seafood we find ourselves standing before hills of ice with fish and crabs of all sizes layered between. We are full and not much looks good. The evening began with a local microbrew, a dozen oysters, an ahi poke, and mussels. These were provided by a local restaurant and were not cooked by us. “Let’s go to a restaurant on the docks and learn about seafood there,” we had said.

So, we decided on something rare and out of our comfort of cooking- the squid. Cheap, slimy, a creature of the depths with a good maritime history, we jumped in with both feet. An abundant little creature, it lives in the NW though not in enough numbers to make an industry. We catch a squid with a jig, and so we go jigging for squid. Those are the terms.

An abundance of squid live off the coast of California. The squid we eat, the smaller ones, feed near the surface as the cold ocean depths rise brining plankton. A good industry has taken hold there and can bring in as many as 70 tons a year, but with ocean temperatures changing (squid like water in the 50’s) the herds have migrated south and the industry had some abysmal years in the 90’s. Recently, California witnessed an invasion of the larger Humboldt squid, who generally prefer deeper, colder waters, and some confrontations with divers have been reported. It’s popularity has risen across the country but mostly as deep fried calamari and sushi and only secondly as an entrée.

A Squid Fact: The pinker the squid and the less distinct the black spots the older the squid is. A fresh squid is more translucent. An old squid tends toward purple with mottled black spots. Ours are old. We didn’t know.

Back at the lab, we open the book and read the instructions.

Grab the body in one hand, grab the head in the other, and pull the squid apart taking the intestines w/ it. Easy. It slips off like a glove. And there is the beak nestled in among the tentacles that must be squeezed off and discarded. It seems to be attached to a long milky white tube. Called a quill, it resembles a segmented and transparent reed that could only live in the ocean.

Hey there’s an ink sac in here. Yep, a pearly, grey spot w/ blue streaks that should be gingerly extracted and placed in a bowl. Our first mess- ink everywhere. It says carefully cut it away, and well we may not have been careful enough. The cutting board is stained black. With enough of these we could turn any course into a black void of deliciousness; that is the goal anyways. The Italians use this to flavor and color pasta. (other squid oil uses of web.) When done correctly this is known as milking the squid.

Remove the tentacles from the head just below the large scary eyes. Don’t cut into the eyes. They squish in an unsightly way. Squid have the largest eyes in the oceans, and so there’s a lot to squish.

We first try the tentacles in a glass jar and pour boiling water over them. They wilt and curl upon themselves, but don’t dance and flail as hoped. The steam smells of the sea. We split the tentacles. Chewy. Squidy. Watery.

We remove the fins and peel off the brownish pink skin to reveal what we know as a calamari tube ready to be cut and breaded if that was our goal. Our first squid has been cleaned. What have we learned today? Squid cleaning.

And now, we have squid on the brain.

Cafe Nordo Leaves Seattle

2009-11-29T15:34:00.000-08:00

The show is over. The ovens are cooling. The chef hat is off and on the floor. The performers have taken off their makeup, and the fine china has been boxed. The restaurant is packed in the truck, and everyone is ready to move on to the next city. It must be exciting to traipse around the country brining good food, good wine, and great amounts of joy wherever you go. I wish the cast and crew of Cafe Nordo good luck.

As Nordo was piling the last of his books and utensils into the trunk of his car he promised to return with more bravado, more heart, more mystery, and of course, more food. He said he has already begun negotiations to bring another food adventure to Seattle in the Spring. Perhaps, as the Modern American Chicken winds up its tour, another evening, as yet unnamed, will debut here in the Northwest. That was his implied message. He truly loved the people and the art here, and he talked incessantly of creating a meal to commemorate the bounty of the Northwest and its distinct history. I can only hope.

So, good-bye Cafe Nordo. Seattle will be waiting.

And I thought what better way to end this portion of the blog with words from one of the cast of Cafe Nordo itself- Cochin the Sous-Chef. On closing night I asked her for a few words that I may include here as a cap to the story of the Modern American Chicken in Seattle.

“Tell All”

by Cochin

As I smear petroleum jelly on my eye makeup residue and bleach the colorful yolk and pate stains from my chef's coat, I'll tell you straight up: we at Cafe Nordo do not go in for histrionics. “Performance” was never the goal of the Modern American Chicken.

Wink, nudge, right? You're finding that hard to believe after watching Rosecomb and Lou have at it, surrounded by champagne bubbles. Our Maitre'd is an Oscar statue in and of himself, for goodness sake! And yet, that is who these people are. They are not actors, but ordinary folks who have worked damn hard to grab your attention...and slowly lower it to the plate in front of you.

To the food.

Everyone asks, where IS Nordo? At one point during our Seattle tour a fiery mouthed woman slammed her knife and fork against the table inciting her entire section to shout “WE WANT NORDO!” How can I explain? If Nordo were to perform for you, it would not BE Nordo. Our chef demands the best...perfection. Nordo the man? Hardly. Nordo the meal...that's another story.

When I enter the dining room at Cafe Nordo the lights shine bright, the room is flooded with music, glitter, a show. Irony, personified. Really! Nordo will tell you. I would very much prefer skipping out with him after plating the panna cotta. I'm happiest off the floor; drinking wine as we squeeze the pate into the chou, moving through our tiny, bright kitchen in a dance that can only be appreciated by those who range the fire; who are bound by temperture, by texture, by the pink of your tongue as you open your mouth.

This is why: I'm just a tool for the Chef. It's his perogative to pull the hair net from my head and push me in front of the crowd. The way Nordo explains it, my “performance” is merely another sort of prep work. I am preparing you, the diners, for his Henrietta. It was my pleasure.

Till next time Seattle. Thank you.

The Modern American Chicken Photo Album

2009-11-15T13:31:00.001-08:00

Well, with only 3 shows and less than 50 seats left, Cafe Nordo: The Modern American Chicken is coming to a close in Seattle. It's been wonderful for Nordo. He's been impressed with the courage and joie de vie of the audiences. I've witnessed the bright faces of Seattlites as they leave the restaurant full of meat and wine, and Nordo has never been happier. It's been a good fall in the Northwest. It's been a good run at Cafe Nordo.

And in commemoration I decided to put up a few photos. Press shots. Food shots. Set shots. Just for posterity.

The People:

Wired and weird cast.

The family portrait with Henrietta.

Wyandotte coming to grips with Henrietta.

Cochin in her Egg Moment.

Henrietta looking for a seat at the table. She never did get it.

The Place:

The tables.

The world of Cafe Nordo.

The behind the scenes of Cafe Nordo.

And Finally the Food:

(pictures courtesy of Culinary Fool food blog. Thank you.)

The shot of Parsely with cream fresh and lemon curd.

The Salad. The Nest. The Shell. And the Egg.

Little Chicken Dumpling swimming in the Soup.

Henrietta in all her Glory.

The Ever Bloody Desert.

Enjoy.

Seattle Loves Cafe Nordo

2009-11-12T13:22:00.000-08:00

Thank you Seattle. These following words by Misha Bersen of the Seattle Times put us on cloud 9. She seems to have understood what we wanted to do, and she had a good time.

And at the end of the piece she alludes to Cafe Nordo returning to Seattle? For a sequel? Really? We can only hope.

ps. Don't fail to notice how we did in comparison to our much larger uncle, Teatro Zinzanni.

Pull up a chair for decadent dinner-and-show combos: newcomer Café Nordo and veteran favorite Teatro ZinZanni

Hungry for dinner and a show? Café Nordo and the new show at Teatro ZinZanni will feed your need.

By Misha Berson

“Dinner and a show." That phrase has been around at least since the ancient Greeks munched figs and olives at their marathon drama fests.

And despite the economic squeeze, more au courant dinner theater can still be a hot ticket in Seattle — but not the kind serving canned peaches and cottage cheese. We checked in on two nouvelle versions: a decade-old favorite, and a fresh upstart.

Café Nordo

The disciples of the mystery chef Nordo want you to play with your food — and, frankly, to worship it.

A fricassee of satire, zany antics and enlightened food consciousness, "Café Nordo" has a unique spin on dining, wine-ing and watching.

A squad of wired, weird waitstaff usher you into the Theo Chocolate Company's Fremont warehouse.

There producer Terry Podgorski and director Erin Brindley (both of the now-defunct Circus Contraption) set up a shabby-chic dining tent for an elaborate ritual.

From the divine opening shot of parsleyed broth, to the delish chocolate-blueberry panna cotta dessert, each course of the sit-down dinner is served with a song, a dance, a poetic sermon about the food and genius of the elusive Nordo Lefesczki, alleged founder of the "carnal food movement."

With kinky sincerity, the show spoofs chef-cult madness but sincerely honors the consumption of a well-cooked meal — the piece de resistance of which is a succulent roast chicken dubbed Henrietta. (Saying grace to the fowl you're about to eat is, well, only fair.)

Also included: wine and convivial chatter with the strangers at your table.

Café Nordo's popular debut run ends soon. But the creators are pondering a sequel for next spring.

"Beaumont and Caswell"

My, how time trapezes by when you're having fun.

One Reel's lovingly decadent dinner-cabaret attraction, Teatro ZinZanni, has been a Seattle fixture since 1998. And despite the economic pinch, the constantly evolving show is still a swell way to romance, mark a big occasion, or just blow some bucks on a good time.

The newest edition, "Beaumont and Caswell," stars two returning ZinZanni faves: statuesque funnygal Christine Deaver and invincible drag artiste Kevin Kent.

Will or won't the Noel Coward-esque vaudevillians they play marry for a third time (or is it a fourth)? That burning question is answered over a pleasant dinner peppered with bawdy interactive comedy, skill acts (by raffish acrobats Les Petits Freres, contortionist Vita Radionova and elegant aerialists Erika & Andrew); and the hot-mama R&B song stylings of Francine Reed.

The costumes (designed by spangle diva Beaver Bauer) are more spectacularly garish than ever. And the leisurely extravaganza doesn't come cheap.

But One Reel has added some lower-priced brunch shows and matinees, to spread the love.

Yes!

What the Seattle Press is Saying!

2009-10-21T17:26:00.000-07:00

Check it out. Here's some of the meat others are serving up over Cafe Nordo.

““I would definitely go again…The show would be worth seeing again and the food, … was of good enough quality that I would pay to eat more... The entertainment value and great people I met however, make me say that I felt this was certainly worthwhile.” – The Gastrognome

“The entire affair is sort of like ethical consumerism on crack: these days, everyone's concerned that their food is grain-fed, organically grown, ranged freely, and ethically slaughtered. Carnal Food takes the idea a step further and seeks to emotionally and intellectually engage you with the life and death of your food in deference to the near miraculous process which got it onto your plate, recounted in performance even as you eat it. It's fun, a little disturbing, occasionally bordering on the perverse—latté activism infected with a viral strain of radical Marxism, intent on reconnecting you to your means of production over fine dining.” – The SunBreak

A temporary dining room has been installed in the warehouse of Fremont's Theo Chocolate (the same site that housed Circus Contraption), and its Oriental carpets and backlit scrims make a setting that's warm, elegant, and close to magical…When the salad arrives, you sense a chef who somehow intuitively understands what you want and is lovingly, slowly creating it just for you… …The shot of soup is a lovely amuse-bouche, a puree of fresh herbs and chicken broth, topped with crème fraîche...” – The Stranger

"One could be critical and complain that it's all a bit self-conscious and pretentious, but that would miss the point. This is about self-conscious and pretentious attitudes toward food and drink. (Just look at this pompous website.)” – The Seattlest

As always, some of the reviews, or parts of them, ruffle our feathers. Sometimes, they can't get the facts straight such as how many days we're running or who the name of their server was, but one cannot be too hurt by a reviewer. They are only human after all. They have their own failed projects to glum over and personal needs to fulfill, and like Edward Albee said, "If Attila the Hun were alive today he'd be a drama critic."

Cafe Nordo Opens in Seattle!!!

2009-10-16T11:59:00.000-07:00

Yes. Chef Nordo has done it again. His roving restaurant successfully landed in Fremont last night to the rave reviews of its diners. After a long month and a half of preparations in the the warehouse space of Theo Chocolates an otherworldly realm of sights and sounds, flavors and words came into being. A community was created, and they lavished themselves with the finer aspects of life. I believe some taste buds were opened and some minds bent.

On a quick side note: I apologize for the lame upkeep of the blog. For you see, once Nordo arrives in town, there are no extra hours to spare. His attention to detail is insatiable. But enough of the groveling. Nordo would be ashamed if he knew, but he will never take the time to read this.

Our crack staff of Seattle pulled the night together. Never have 4 better servers taken the floor together. And our Maitre D' entranced the audience with his breadth of knowledge even when he seemed to have given in to the lures of wine. And our sous-chef, with beauty and grace, led the diners into the inner world of the kitchen and the science of food. All of them made Nordo proud. He professed wanting to take each and every one of them with him.

By the end of the night he was beaming, and proclaimed that this dinner, The Modern American Chicken, and its presentation in Seattle, may be his finest work yet. We hope he will leave with this feeling and be ready to return.

And finally, our bird, Henrietta served her purpose well. Thank you, Henrietta.

More will come. I simply could not hold back my enthusiasm any longer. Do not miss this unique opportunity. To all of you out there, make your reservation. Do not hide behind your closed doors and pull the sheets over your head. Do not be afraid. Come out. Taste it. Experience it. Firmly grasp life in your hands and know it.

Nordo is Here!!!

Under the Chef

2009-09-12T20:24:00.000-07:00

And once again, our alternate contributor to this blog, The Peach, brings us her story of Nordo. We are honored to have her fill in a a picture of the man for us.

Under the Chef

Nordo is always talking about how food inspires art. How our dining influences the way we see the world. Yes, he employs the royal we. We, are his audience, his guests, his canvas. Hovering above the range, this leads to many a metaphor. On our good days I am his paintbrush. His lens. When Henrietta has not been properly brined or the Expediateur forgets the garnish, I become his black spot, a paint by number. Such is the dichotomy of Sous and Chef. It is nothing without mutual respect.

This is a relationship steeped in culinary tradition, our initial meeting was anything but. I first laid eyes on Nordo Lefeski in a bar. A strip club, actually. That may make it sound seedier than it is...a strip club in Las Vegas. As ubiquitous as a coffee shop in Seattle.

I had a room at the Bellagio and a thousand dollar chip, courtesy of a lucky hand at 21. I ducked into the bar to celebrate my good fortune: for once, a convention weekend would yield something beyond blisters and a bruised ego. For I was not ensconced in this artificial Olympus for pleasure. Please! It was the much touted gala convention for the James Beard Foundation. As Sous Chef to Homoro Canto - Chicago's premiere gastro-scientist at Moto Cuisine – this stolen drink was not on the menu. Though a king of innovation, Canto preferred rubbing elbows with celebrities to slaving in the subterranean vat that is a four star casino kitchen: silently molding, freezing and sculpting thousands of ketchup foam fries for the fois gras of the industry.

So to me, sheepishly starched in my formal whites, the “honor “of convention Chef de Cuisine.

Fortunately Las Vegas knows no last call. But before I could so much as scan the cocktail specials, a waitress oiled in pink glitter plunked a drink on top of my winnings.

“It's someone's lucky night in more ways than one” as she eyed my blood stained sleeves and dark circles. “The gentleman sent this over.”

As if I had stepped onto the sound stage for a Douglas Cirque film; a handsome man buys a young lady a drink. I certainly wasn't dressed the part. And it wasn't your typical French 75 but Glenlivet. Neat.

“A beautiful woman should never look like she needs a drink. You need a drink.”

That was his approach ,but beautiful was all I needed to hear. As he signaled the waitress for two more it all came out – my struggles at the restaurant, “A sous chef is middle management! All powerful to the line cooks, a spittoon for the Chef.” There were the 90 hour work weeks, the midnight sick calls. The misplaced credit and shifted blame. I did what no good under chef should ever do...I gossiped.

Nordo had disguised himself in the tux (as I later found) but he did not disguise his opinion of my boss.

“It's no wonder you're unfulfilled...working with a science project instead of Food.” I would later learn what the capitol 'F' meant to him.

“It may not be steak and eggs to you, sir” I shot back “but it is certainly an experience for the diner. And that is what I wish to create.”

Nordo calls this exchange my first interview. Hardly fair, as I did not grasp the weight of our conversation until the following afternoon, having escaped from the scullery to join the crowd for the piece de resistance of the convention...a demo from the mysterious chef who toured the continent in a refrigerated truck, bringing his food philosophy to the masses in a onslaught that was compared to that of the Merry Pranksters.

Resplendent in white, wielding his knife. He winked at me, the bastard.

Microkitchen #3- The Philosophy of a Chicken

2009-08-30T10:28:00.000-07:00

Hello.

It’s another evening of chickens and delight. The Carnal Food Movement experiments with its 3^rd Microkitchen at Chez Erin. The word of Nordo’s arrival is beginning to spread. Here and there his message is seeping into the world of Seattle. A stir is a foot.

Tonight we move ahead with our menu. The soup will once again be changed. We will serve homemade saffron pasta stuffed with chicken pate and shaped to resemble a small chick. It will lie upon a bed of leaves and grass (actually peppers and snow peas shaved) and swim in a bright yellow broth. All this seems to fit the story very well. It’s rolled out and cut, stuffed and pinched.

Other than this the meal will be same as before. Nordo cannot have unfettered change. It curls his toenails and causes the hair on the top of his feet to quiver. Do not alter the perfections in the universe for your own satisfaction.

The amuse bouche continues to open up the dinner well. The green of the pasture and the crème fraiche seem to set the right tone for everyone. The clarity and brightness delight.

On to the salad. Tonight there is a lively debate. There are those who say, “ Maybe too much sauce.” And those who say, “No, we love our sauce.” And so the world turns on the head of another debate. Some one suggests that we use the odors of pine or cedar to bring the diner into the coop. And another says we need a stronger leaf other than spinach, maybe arugula, to fold it into the chiffonade. The dish was amniotic- yielding, like a pillow, fitting the early stages of life.

(On a side note: The nest was baked to perfection by Chef Mom who can always pull us through in a pinch. Thanks Mom.)

“It’s so exciting to have food on your plate that you don’t know what to do with. It’s like nothing that you’ve seen before.” The interactivity of the food is the fun. It should be done. Don’t explain it. Let it be discovered and it will create imagination!

With so much debate we know things are on a good track tonight. We have them in our paws.

The Soup: Rainwater broth. Very matzo. The soup is more modern, somehow. This, I don’t understand. How is a soup modern? The chick shape is good, totally gotten. More obvious dirt and leaves and worms, please. These people are such gluttons. Pasta could be thinner. The vegetables should be good, American farm staples. Ah, everyone’s a critic.

We celebrate. We have a winner. We have succeeded in telling the story of our chick in a puddle just after the rain. Cute.

After a brief break we serve Henrietta. We picked a timid cutter of the bird. But, she rises to the challenge and leaps beyond her boundaries.

Entrée- this is so visceral. Like guts. “I feel that I have slaughtered this.” This time the cherries were not in the body of the bird, but instead served on the plate, pre-chicken, w/ the sauce drizzled, and everyone seemed to like it visually though they thought they should eat them and they were very hot. “Too much fire.” They say we need to deal w/ the bitchiness of the masses and dumb it down. They do not know whom they are dealing with. Nordo will NOT dumb it down for the masses. Make them eat it. True, there could be a bowl of cherries, a bowl of violence, as it were, and so, the cherries could be dumbed down and easily digested by the masses, but with the option of more pain, more violence. Nordo says do both. Do not dumb it down and give the option for more violence. That is Carnal Food.

The sausage is the key. The guts were there. The guts were seen. The guts worked.

Red wine w/ chicken works, because it is a rich chicken. Medium body pinot grigio.

The spiciness is the chop of the cleaver, while the vegetables are the viscera.

(A side note: The basics of the chile. The spice is in the ribcage of the chile. From there it slowly creeps out. It could take over the world if it wanted to as it seeps throughout the tissues of all living beings.)

There’s never any chicken left.

And finally…

Dessert. Is the violence over done? Perhaps the entrée should be a little more traditional in its presentation so that the murder of the dessert is clearer. Do we doubt our murder scene? Never.

What is beyond the eating of the chicken? What is beyond the death of the chicken? What do you want people to leave with? What is the last line? What is the cycle? How do you go back to the egg?

This is our wine fueled, philosophical portion of the evening. So, what is the story that takes it back to the egg, back to the beginning, and what does the diner take back into their life from the dinner of Henrietta? Something simple, something bright white, something that takes us back into the cycle of life and thus, creating more eggs and more life. Seeing life as it is, full circle. In this way, the dessert will not seem like an afterthought but a beginning of something else.

This is good.

A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to Work Today

2009-08-24T12:07:00.000-07:00

A Nordo Interview:

Friday, August 21, 2009. 12:02 pm. Nordo and I had scheduled a business lunch to discuss his upcoming venture in Seattle. Moments before we were to begin the walk to his apartment, he informed me that he had a quick employee interview to conduct. I tried to excuse myself, but he insisted I stay. He sat me on the couch, instructed me to tell the interviewee to sit opposite the desk, and left out a side door. Two minutes passed before a young man, no more than 22, entered. He wore a white shirt, black tie, and black slacks. He held his hands nervously and eyed me, obviously wondering if I were Nordo. “He said he’d be right back. Take a seat,” I said and gestured toward the chair. The man fumbled his hands over one another and sat.

Nordo must have been listening. He promptly entered, sat at his chair, and eyed the young man.

“Can you fit me in your mouth?”

“What?”

“Can you fit me in your mouth?’

“What exactly do you mean?”

“It’s a culinary koan.”

Nordo looked down at his papers and scribbled something with a pencil.

“Coddled or over hard?”

The young man could barely contain himself. His hands violently rubbed the other. “I’m sorry but I don’t know what you want?”

“I advise you to answer. Not answering will not get high marks. Coddled or over hard?”

“Uh, coddled.”

Nordo wrote.

“Peep or cluck?”

“Peep?”

Nordo raised his left eyebrow. “Ahhh,” he intoned and wrote again.

“Pick or Peck?”

The young man went to answer, leaned forward, hesitated, sat back, went to answer, hesitated, and said as he leaned forward again, “Definitely peck.”

“Are you sure?’

“Yes. It is peck.”

“Okay.” And Nordo jotted a long line of words as the young man fidgeted in his seat.

“In what direction do you move around a table?”

“Counterclockwise…”

“That’s anticlockwise.”

“What direction is that?”

“Anticlockwise.”

The two men eyed each other in a silent contest. The young man broke first.

“Do you want to see my resume?”

“No.”

“You do have a position open, don’t you?”

“Yes. Don’t talk too much.”

“Okay.”

“Rule #1. Senseless talking causes indigestion. Questions cause diarrhea.”

“Okay.”

“This next section is very important. I suggest you answer with your gut reaction. Don’t hesitate. No flinching. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Are you over 180 degrees?”

“Yes, I am done.”

“Good. Are you brined?”

“Only in kosher salt.”

Nordo shot back.

“Can you spread your wings?”

“Everyday.”

“What are fluorescent lights?”

“I’ve never seen one.”

At this point Nordo is nearly spitting on the young man.

“Free Range and Grass Fed.”

“Why the chicken crossed the road.”

“Yes. Nice. Nice.” Nordo triumphantly bobbed his head up and down. “Nice. You have promise. Come back next Tuesday at 2pm. Can you do that?”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“Tuesday? At 2pm?”

“Yes. Yes. It will be surprise. Think ‘Salt’.” Nordo spoke the word with a lilt and a flick of his wrist.

The young man planted his hands on the chair and stood wearily. Confused he motioned toward Nordo, but retracted when he noticed that Nordo had returned to his papers, ignoring him. He tripped over the chair and bumped into the sofa before turning back.

“Do you want my name?”

“No. Later. For now you are ‘New Guy’.”

“Okay.”

And the young man left gently massaging one hand with the other.

Finally- Tis True Nordo Is Coming to Seattle

2009-08-15T11:49:00.000-07:00

I can hardly believe my eyes. It has actually come true. Check this out.

August 15, 2009

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

Erin Brindley And Terry Podgorski of Circus Contraption have left the Circus behind in order to give Seattle what it deserves: an infamous, notoriously antisocial, part-genius, part-sociopath, questionably-sentient culinary pioneer and conveyer of dangerously delicious food, Chef Nordo Lefesczki.

Nordo Lefesczki, Carnal food movement founder and Executive Chef of the roving experimental restaurant Café Nordo, makes his Seattle debut with “The Modern American Chicken”, a five course pre-fixe culinary experience. This October, Nordo’s team will create an intimate temporary restaurant in Fremont at the warehouse of Theo Chocolate, where for only seventeen evenings diners will experience this culinary rebellion. The menu bears witness to the life and death of a chicken, from the sweetly ignorant Country Egg on a Field of Wild Greens to the Beyond-it-all, Heaven or Hell Roasted Chicken, crispy-skinned and fiery with habanero cherries.

Your dining experience will be enhanced by musical and theatrical evocations of our Chicken’s time on earth, but please, do not refer to Café Nordo as Dinner Theater. Chef has been known to shut down entire restaurants at the mere whisper of such a term. Believe us—you will want to finish your meal.

Before inquiring after a vegetarian option, please consider two things: Our chicken is a vegetable, if she is what she eats, and Chef Nordo carries a large knife. Dietary restrictions? Certainly you have a shrink who will care. Nordo Lefesczki is a man of vision, not compromise. We will promise you that the meal will rely almost exclusively on the bountiful Northwest fall, and Nordo is intensely passionate about local, sustainable, and seasonal food. Cheat on your tofu; our chicken will convert you.

With only one seating per night, and only seventeen nights, tickets will sell out quickly. Act fast to experience this completely original food event.

"The much clamored-for ticket to the pre-fixed wonderment that is Cafe Nordo administered a fierce dose of culinary comeuppance to the stuffier of Houston's foodies." - The Cypress Times-Gazette

"Like a house of mirrors, Chef Nordo Lefesczki simultaneously laughs at and outdoes his peers with the sheer audacity of his food, his wacka-doodle-drank-the-kool-aid servers, and his ability to transport his patrons out of their comfort zones and into his strange and original mind. A chicken will never again just be a chicken." - Dover Journal

"Chez Panisse meets Medieval Times. On Acid." - Black Valley Post

"A complete farce...(with) ridiculous arrogance permeating from all levels of the establishment. The fact that the food was outstanding does not make the insult worth it." - Salt Lake Intelligencer

Tickets are available, in advance, from Brown Paper Tickets and include five courses and include a wine flight.

The Modern American Chicken at Café Nordo

Produced by Ripple Productions, Pod Productions, and Theo Chocolate

October 15 – November 21 (No Seating October 31)

Thursday – Saturday

Arrive at 7:00 PM, first course served at 7:30

$85 includes five courses with a flight of wine

21+

Tickets available at www.brownpapertickets.com

For more information www.cafenordo.com

Or email ChefNordo@gmail.com

Microkitchen #2

2009-08-01T11:44:00.000-07:00

A Guest Author is introduced for this blog. A guest from last night's Microkitchen. Welcome- Peachy.

(Conner note: One major change occurred in the menu. We redid the soup and created a liver dumpling akin to a grandmother's recipe. The dumpling will arrive dry, in a bowl, and the broth will sprinkle down from above like rain.)

Last night at Chez Erin.

There is a profound difference between a dinner party and fine dining. So, why am I experiencing the tingle of luxurious anticipation I associate with a 3 for 30 at Carmelita? Simple; Nordo is on the move.

Though it may come as a surprise to some, I once aspired to wear the white hat and apron. Upon graduating, I took a summer internship in San Francisco at Greens Restaurant under Nordo Lefeski. I quickly discovered my career passions lay outside the restaurant industry. Nevertheless, Chef Nordo's whimsical (at times demonic!) food philosophy and deft hand with the amuse bouche made a lasting impression on my senses. When he confided his plan to leave the industry for a “more ferocious” approach to dining I insisted he contact me, should he find himself in the Northwest.

Imagine my surprise to receive a facebook message from Nordo, just last Thursday, inviting me to be the guest for a dinner party he was throwing. “I'm forcing the kind people who live at 421 Harrison to let me dirty all of their dishes, and spread my word to a handful of interested parties”.

My interest lies in Nordo's latest plot: The Modern American Chicken. I can picture your reaction. Chicken? Nordo has done extensive work in regional cuisine, his recipes surrounding the “ghost chili” are testament. But Chicken? It's so...everywhere. However, since I was clearly in the presence of food genius (not to mention the intimidating bottles of wine resting nonchalantly on the windowsill of the Capitol Hill apartment) I did as Nordo always says. I went with it.

Highlights included the appearance of that famous chili in a Ranier cherry reduction, whispering arrival of “Henrietta”.When the dessert was brought out, two women at the other end of the table began laughing uncontrollably. That's something unique to dining in a person's home, a feeling that was enhanced by Nordo's decision to hang a white sheet between the kitchen area of the cozy one bedroom and the dinner table. “You must experience the intended presentation. Do feel free to ask questions.”

Though there was a master chef behind a curtain, most of our questions were answered by a laconic young man in a pastel purple shirt, who drank but did not eat, and poured the wine. Nordo is opening a limited run restaurant in October. Judge the meal, and spread the word.

From the first course to the fifth it be came abundantly clear that this was not so much a meal as a story. A poem about a chicken – that would soon be edited to perfection.

By the end of the evening my dinner companions had agreed – the only flaw was found in the third course - the soup was to be as light and fluffy as a baby chick caught in a rainstorm. Apparently fluffy canceled her reservation. I blame the worms! our chef howled from the kitchenette. The man in purple rolled his eyes mouthing the refrain of the evening.

“Just go with it.”

A Menu Our Way

2009-07-19T16:40:00.000-07:00

The Menu for the 23^rd of July, 2009

The Modern American Chicken

We begin on a small farm, in a field of bright green grass with hints of scattered dandelions.

***

In a pine coop bathed by a ray of morning sunlight, Henrietta, our bird, stretches for the first time. She lays in a soft, ochre nest, enshrined in a speckled brown shell.

***

As Henrietta pecks at feed and chatters with the others, she discerns that some of her kind never leave the egg while others, like herself, are destined to become ripe, full birds. Friends come and go on the farm; none stay too long. Still, she has no idea of how millions of her kin live.

As a thunderstorm roars and the rain begins, laughter drifts through the farmhouse window as Henrietta scratches amongst the dirt and leaves.

***

It is a good life of feed and open spaces. There are no sawed- off beaks here or boxes of wire or chemical needles.

Still, nothing lasts forever and everything has its place. And so, one Friday morning, just before 6 am, Henrietta is removed from her coop and taken to the barn where, after a few swift maneuvers, she lays headless upon the butcher’s table. Her innards splay outward, a rich and red sauce.

***

Not wanting to waste one bit of such a lovely animal, even her giblets, are a display of beauty. They are gathered by the butcher and carefully set aside.

Thank you, Henrietta.

A Good Scolding for Our Times

2009-07-05T17:14:00.000-07:00

Here, folks, are some wise words from the heartland of this country and author Garrison Keillor. He has been talking about this country for decades now and knows a thing or two about potato salad. Read this and remember the next time you walk into your local big box grocery store needing a quick something to fill at the potluck table just what food and family are all about.

http://www.salon.com/opinion/keillor/2009/07/01/potato_salad/index.html

Microkitchen #1

2009-06-26T11:47:00.000-07:00

We have stepped from the closet- or the kitchen as it were- and are ready to face the public. But, we did pick some nice, friendly ones for this first time around.

While friends await in the yard, on the grass, yapping, the eggs are on the way. White wine and red. Fine china and platinum. A black table clothe. White checkered napkins. Henrietta, a blue bruised bird, sits on her haunches.

This will be our first experiment. Nerves are on edge. Perhaps we never thought that we would make it this far. Some chickens end up in the terrible hell of manufactured food while others are born into the pristine path. This is our story, our story of our bird Henrietta, and how we wish to eat. We follow in the steps of Nordo and the Carnal Food Movement. Wish us luck.

What follows is a picture book of the meal followed by the essential, reduced reactions of the diners.

Our Amuse Bouche- a parsley shot, chilled and peppered.

The green is great, a theme, to follow through out the life of a chicken. Very clean and fresh. Just like the farm and fields should be. "I feel cleansed."

Our Appetizer- A Fresh Spinach Salad with a Nest of Wheat and Goat Cheese Dressing

The presentation and all flavors of the appetizer are phenomenal. The poached egg is the way to go. Drama versus sinister. Light, citrus cooking in lieu of story w/ violence. The dichotomy of cooking and dining are present in the meal. And here, we begin w/ the new life of the egg and nest.

A delicious soup followed (of which no pictures survived- sorry). It was a chicken broth, akin to your standard Chicken Soup variety, but with vibrancy. Snow peas, green beans, and lemon were the flavors of freshness and life.

Our Entree- Henrietta In All Her Glory

She may not be as grotesque and shocking as we would have liked, but she was delicious and not a bit of her remained. They were in love with her. They fawned over her. As she spilled out upon the platter the diners cooed in anticipation. Those present want to be taught by Nordo. "We need to be with Nordo," they demanded.

The world is an endless parade of chickens. And everyone relates their favorite chicken stories.

City chickens. Canabalistic chickens. Viscious chickens. Racist chickens. Wild chickens. Sinister chickens. Horns outside of their cheeks. Valet hens. The chicken is a metaphor for the world!

We work up to the disgusting desert. It is the strong end of the story- the bloody, murder scene. The chicken is beautiful. Her giblets are the coup de grace. And they react with horror and pleasure. The burly quiver at the sight while others chuckle and cluck with delight. The story comes to its proper end.

Thank you Henrietta.

We have succeeded. It is high time for a glass of wine and a toast. The feedback is good and intelligent. Changes will come and adjustments made, but for now, we sit back fat and satiated.

11 pm. Done.

"I feel so dirty. I‘ll have to go to confession after this meal."

Day 7: The Soup that Would Not Be

2009-06-16T10:46:00.000-07:00

Here we are again: another day in the life of a chicken. It never gets tiring in the world of chickens. There are so many wondrous discoveries in the world of Henrietta. Today, as she sits on the counter and watches with delight, and as we enjoy the first true day of sun and heat in the Northwest, we tackle the courses that are the story before and after the great chicken massacre. A massacre is not very interesting if there is not a gain of love before and a loss of love after.

So, today, another exploration in the soup course. We would like something green, akin to grass, to invoke the fields of the farm and the pleasant days of when chickens randomly cluck about the yard.

Yvette is a little punchy this evening so excuse her manners. She wants

Celery

1 little clove of garlic

onion

softening as leaks are chopped. Yvette slightly burns her onions and garlic while relating the story of her former chef/boyfriend and how is living w/ a 23 year old bi-polar traffic accident, and he may marry her. So, if the soup is a bit burnt, it will be solved next time. And so, he marries to not be alone, but no, he’s too talented for this, and she cannot feel sad, but we may have his input in the project. This is all very real.

A splash of wine is added. Vihno verde in honor if Portugal. For sordid tales on the inside story of Portugal please send 19.95 to 3400 Phinney Ave. N, Seattle, WA 98122.

So, can we save him and bring him to Seattle? There are plenty, a plethora, of 23-year-old bi-polar women who are single and desperate for a Texas swagger in the Northwest. He has attitude.

Leaks are in and sweated (to sweat is to cook gently, heating coarsely cut vegetables in oil or butter, with frequent stirring and turning, to insure that any liquid will evaporate)

Parsley goes in and simmers for three or four minutes before the zucchini is added to soften. And then the chicken stock- 2 cups- slowly added – a 3^rd. Will it be green enough? Will it work without the starch of the potato?

The flavor, before blending, before straining, is brighter, greener, and cleaner. More like eating grass. Which is a good thing. Cats do it.

The nest bakes at 375. Check out Day #3 for details. For experimentation sakes we alternate the drier bits on the top of the wetter bits and vice versa. We’ll see which method brings us the best nest. After 5 minutes, only 1/5 of the way through the process, a little browning is occurring that closely resembles burning. Um. Maybe it was less than 375.

After 25 minutes the nests are not nests. They are muffins. Tasty-cheesy-feed-for-your- grandchildren-muffins. But they are not nests. Being distracted by the cheese Yvette sees no reason to care. She wants in for breakfast every morning for the rest of her life.

The soup is simple and good but too thin. A light green super model of a soup but as with a super model not really female. Pseudo-female. Femalesque. I don’t think I can write this on the web site and keep any credibility. How do we thicken this so we can have more body?

As far as the nest goes- in the first experiment we neglected to keep track of the number of wheat bales from the wax paper bag. So we tried 2 on the first attempt. Disaster. Nothing like a nest. On the reexperiment we try 4. The 6 nests go in. 25 minutes.

So the soup needs to be thickened. A roux may be needed. Cornstarch is a chemical sin to be avoided. We need a subtle thickener. First up a roux- butter, flour, whisk, and slowly add it to the soup. The roux makes it a creamy soup without the cream. But it’s butter. All butter. And so it’s not clean or green. But how can we thicken what we had? The zucchini is wrong. The leaks are the body. And we think it can take an egg well as it floats in its green cream. But is it what we want?

The 2^nd nests are brought out. Approval on the nestiness. We have success. Once again the nests are what we keep us going. We have degrees of nestiness. We like the deeper, fluffier of the varieties. We move to considering the sauce- a goat cheese base with a hollandaise accent underneath. Hollandaise #1 down the sink. After much deliberation we have 2 sauces on the burner. Most of the nests have been nibbled on. They could use a bit more cheese to wheat in the ration but otherwise delectable. And they look good. But we need to wait for final judgment until the sauces are done.

Euchk. Bleuchk. Euhh. The goat cheese sauce. Over salted. 2^nd Hollandaise is down the drain and even though she has made hollandaise since the first day that she learned to cook (which was not yesterday) she has not had these problems. We may have a jinx in the air. And yes we do. The third hollandaise is down. We are crestfallen. We have fallen into a bear trap of culinary farces. We are done for the night. We will try no more.

This process is fraught with peril. Disappointment lies in wait around every corner.

Trying to Salvage:

What we did learn. Goat cheese sinks to the bottom. It will not ride on the top of a hollandaise. It needs more thought.

The strained parsley soup was close to clean and magical before we embarked upon this twisted road of corrections that has led up to any normal, home made soup of no consequence. If we go back in the process, add less chicken stock, just enough liquid to cover the vegetables, simmer, whir, and strain we believe we can create a thin but good elixir of green. The nest was mostly a success and we need more hollandaise. Don’t forget the zest or the cracking of the egg.

Whew.

2009-06-08T20:22:00.000-07:00

Who is this Chef Nordo?

Chef Nordo Lefesczki is the inspiration for this blog. Nordo travels the country attempting to change the landscape of American cuisine with his simple, often bare, but eccentric restaurants. He is not necessarily a kind nor well-behaved man, but rather a relentless agitator against the poor, poor health and lack of imagination in our very vitality- our food. Nordo rails. And we want to help him.

What is going on here?

We're cooking! Call it cooking with a joie de cynicism. The food industry the world over is atrocious. It is the darker side of our human nature to corral, suppress, control, and kill for our own needs even if, in the end, it damages our world and ourselves. On the other hand, food should exhibit all the best characteristics of humanity including its humor. Don’t perceive yourself somehow superior or removed from nature because if you do you are ignorant, arrogant, and, well, not who we need to make this a better world.
Don’t let the sarcasm or brutality turn you away, it is only a way to prod your spleen and get your attention! Imagine the long naked carcass of a steer slid onto a hook...pretty brutal. And remember, nothing was ever gained by staying under the blanket. Along the way, we hope to explore food, learn about food, let food inform us, and find ourselves about a fire or an oven, with a well-loved and well-done leg of meat slowly roasting while a bottle or two of finely fermented grapes makes the rounds. The stars are high above, and as we take from the earth we offer thanks.

Do you think that chickens should have their beaks sawed off so that they cannot peck the eyes out of other chickens while they spend their stressful lives in boxes?

No. Of course not. A good animal to eat is not an uncared for animal full of stressful hormones, without the touch of natural light, without the proper foods, without the ability to run and fight. Our chickens are not square so that they pack better. The food industry is one reason to learn about your food so that you avoid the poisons of modern living. One must care for one’s food or it is garbage.

Do we agree that 1.8 billion tons of chicken shit should be dumped in the Chesapeake estuary system from the thousands of farms that provide Americans with cheap meat?

No. God no. Fuck no. Regulate that shit. Make the manufacturers refine it and account for it. Make the price of the bird go up to reflect all its costs, both economically and environmentally. We cannot feed ourselves on engorged, force fed box chicken and ignore the dead zones of over oxygenated oceans that strangle our fish and lay one of our best food resources- the oceans- barren.

Do we believe in vegans?

No. We call them houseplants.

What is Nordo’s take on foam and other such fancified modern machine food schticks?

That’s difficult. It is of course ridiculous and without style and most likely without nutrition and does make one think of the 80’s like puffy, over sprayed, stiff bangs or bubble skirts, but, on the other hand, there is a good joke in almost everything and a good joke always has its place. And besides, who says Nordo has taste? He disdains taste.

What is Nordo’s personal philosophy?

Break a gourd and let the waters spill on the ground each morning. Is this useful or not useful? No one knows.

Day 6: On to Another Course- The Soup

2009-05-29T11:16:00.000-07:00

On a cold and rainy April day we huddle in to experiment with a hitherto untouched course of the meal- the soup. It’s all we can bear to do. The grey skies have gone on too long.

After a numerous sighs and many long silences in which we stare off, we force open a bottle of wine and decide to give it a try. Here, in this course, we wish to be sober and respectful and create an introduction for Henrietta’s corpse of an entrée and woo the diner into a comfort zone. We need confidence if we are going to pull the diner along with us throughout the course of the meal. Tonight we try a watercress soup for the vibrancy of green foliage in which a poached egg will float – ile flottante. Simple, elegant, distinct and introducing the themes of pastoral bliss as well as the hues of the entree. All good cooks must show respect for tradition and the diner’s experience especially if one w ants to shock them bloody later.

Watercress Soup

tbspish of butter

1/2 yellow onion

shallot

celery

salt

in a pot to soften. Once softened 3 sliced leeks are added. These leeks are flattened, like a leak drawn two dimensional on paper. What is up with this? Is this grown in a box, a skinny rectangular box, for space concerns while being shipped? Odd and untrustworthy. Meanwhile the potatoes are being diced into 1/2 inch cubes. We are using baby dutch yellows today. 1 and 1/2 lbs are added. A splash of venho verde for good luck. After a few good minutes together in the pot and a couple of colorful pictures 6 cups of chicken stock are added.

Two bunches of watercress is a nebulous measurement. A cup of parsley. A shake of Tabasco. And time to ignore it.

Once the potatoes soften the soup is blended until smooth. BZZZZ. And water is begun for the poaching of the egg. The first taste. Hurumph. Springy. Good. And starchy. Tastes like all her soups, so she says. It’s an excellent potato and leek soup but it wants more watercress. Amazing. Is there no limit. 3 bunches next time and less than 5 minutes.

We sit down to a sage soup speckled w/ dark green bits of leaves, a few coils of lemon zest, and an island of egg.

It’s a little gritty and too starchy. Less potatoes please- down to 3/4 lb. Lemon zest works well. It goes on top of the egg. Again, more watercress and less potatoes and less it pop.

Not exactly what we wanted. Until next time.

Sorry for the drollness of this entry. The April weather is wearing.

Ye Olde Campfire

2009-04-24T12:13:00.000-07:00

Yet another reason to know about your food. Yet another reason to take responsibility for your food. It makes you what you are. It will make us into who we will be.

Check out this link and read an interview with Richard Wrangham, a primatologist and anthrpologist looking into the food of our ancestors.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/21/science/21conv.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=richard%20wrangham&st=cse

Day 5: Henrietta III- The Bird's Condition

2009-04-14T09:19:00.000-07:00

Well, Day 5 was a long ass day. There were successes and setbacks. The innards were our crowning glory but the bird, well, she tried. We'll leave it at that.

Here's how it went.

She may not be our prettiest Henrietta but she may be the most delicious, we hope. 425 degrees at 8:42 PM on a Monday here in sunny Seattle. And we pause to enjoy our wine.

And she’s done. 9:20. Turned over at 9:10. Juices are clear. A bit grey Henrietta III. “This one’s cracking me up. But she’s really quite beautiful turned over.” Well put. Henrietta is resting as the sauce is commenced. She Experiment #3 for details.

Henrietta emerges from the oven. She is gorgeous. Unfortunately, the sauce did not make a wonderful showing tonight but we will live. It is time to eat. A little red table wine from Italy. She's very brown this evening and lacking cheese. Extra juicy done as well. Meaning, as we dig in a little further, maybe not totally done. Meaning, as we near that intersection of the thigh and the body were bits of blood remain, put it back in. Henrietta III needs another turn under the sun.

So, while waiting, we discuss the bird's service, her entry, her introduction at the table. The bird should be served whole with a piercing of the spear of Longinus thereby exposing the inside so everyone can watch the waiter slice the bird serving by serving. Or, better yet, the plate should be served as a beautiful, girly, feathery thing waiting for something to crawl onto it, curl up and go to sleep. But, it is empty. What, the diner will wonder, could ever come and rest on this, such a lovely plate. Then comes the bird. She bears a single cut across her hindquarters. The waiter presents. Speaks. Cuts and removes the hindquarters to let the innards free. And the knife is turned over to someone at the table who looks moderately responsible and they are left to their own devices. We are very happy with the innard’s concoction, but is it disgusting? Is it shocking? Does it look too good? Can we cause them to recoil in fear.

So, we ask, should the innards be bigger, more graphic and therefore distinct. Perhaps the bird needs to be nestled in a clean, cutting, savory whip cream bed. Or perhaps, a light, spring green bed of cilantro inspired or wasabi or basil whip cream. So subtle. A perfect nest for a carcass. But what about the cheese? It may not be brie after all. Who knows? And if greens are present they shouldn’t be in this dish, but as another, and that may be the missing link between the soup and the entrée or the amuse bouche and the soup, and they must be greens that are crisp and with an edge, not soggy and limp in flavor.

If there is a fifth course it should be a salad- fennel, clean, and bright- chicken themed, something crisp such as a corn salad w/ a crisp cute green leaf. And we could use an amuse bouche to cleanse the palate at the beginning at the day. We are missing the spice that binds it all, but thyme did a good job. Impressed with thyme.

These are our revelations and deep conversations into the night. Our conclusions: Cherries done one day in advance with 3 times the heat. They were plump. We were impressed with the cherries. The pomegranate sauce will be done a day before. Mix the cornstarch in hot water please and bake the bird longer.

We can't say this was the most exciting or illuminating of sessions, Day 5, but we find ourselves ever closer to something grand. Wish us, and the bird, luck.

Day 5: After a Long Hiatus- Henrietta III

2009-04-08T12:38:00.000-07:00

If we must explain why the entries are so late in coming perhaps it was because of a secret, underground, hidden from the world of urbanites, cooking seminar in the wilds of Borneo. Without television, internet, or cell phone service we were at the mercy of our guides and focused on the intense honing on one’s cooking skills concerning the ‘boar of Borneo’- Sus Verrucosus. You try hanging from a gigantic tree in a tiny hammock and shooting wildly at raging sow. But, that's as much as we can say. We are bound to delicious secrecy.

We return to our endeavors. Life simply intervened, and we put our dreams on hold, begrudgingly. But tonight, we have returned to the kitchen for another exciting foray into the world of Carnal Food as inspired by Chef Nordo. Our menu is coming together, and soon we should be able to describe it in its entirety. The future seems bright. We have solicited yet another sister, Henrietta #3, for the evening.

By the way, as an aside, a note for the converted, there is rumor afoot, in the undercurrents, and among the niches of the ether, that insinuates that Chef Nordo himself may be presenting a dinner locally, here, in Seattle. My guess, he will land in Fremont. It suits him. With any luck we will hear of it in time to get a seat at the table. Perhaps it will be a mere evening of food in which only the privileged partake. But, if we are lucky, Nordo will settle in for a bit, appreciate the flavors of Seattle, get to know us, and we can get to know him.

Tonight, we try new innards. Cherries are in the works, and we have the stones to go for habeneros. No more pansying about with serranos.

The brining is only 8 hrs this time. Our first mistake: do not brine frozen bird. The pomegranate molasses simmers for 50 min. Red peppers are broiling before. Red onions will be browned slowly with thyme and sausage (still an inferior small link breakfast sausage soon to be replaced by a quality, skinny German sausage) to be added after carmelization occurs. We need the angel hair of sausage. Meanwhile, cherries will be infused w/ the habeneros. At the moment is it wine based or balsamic? Balsamic is so strong but maybe the secret. Or, could it be chicken stock? TBD. All the bits will be mixed w/ brie cheese for that gooey innard consistency, and Henrietta will be stuffed.

The process begins again. This is good. We feel happy to be back.

One habanero is the answer for tonight. We want little cherry fireballs on the tongue. 12 oz. dried cherries. 2 cups balsamic. 1 cup water. 1 little blistering pepper. On simmer until reduced to just cherries. Balsamic it is. That is the decision.

Henrietta #3 is a very organic chicken complete with innards and a few straggly feathers. She is a pleasant mauve rather than a lavender having more tones of the greys. And it is time to debone once again.

And we are definitely making progress. The wishbone has been extracted in one piece for the first time. Unable to remember the process exactly and without instructions we proceed pulling the meat from the bones bit by bit. Everyone on the internet opens the bird down the middle. We call this weak. Henrietta is in her squat phase. As Yvette proceeds there is the loud pop of ligaments snapping. She is becoming an expert at chicken deboning.

“I’m getting good at this now.” Chuckles of glee. “Come here lady.” It's all a bit sadistic.

Mid-deboning the peppers are removed and placed in a bag to steam. As well, the cherries seem done. With caution they are popped in the mouth. Good and not quite enough bite. Maybe 2 peppers next time. Another cherry. And another. And there’s the heat. Habeneros do win the flavor contest for peppers.

Success. Yvette lords over Henrietta triumphant. Time for the stuffing. After 45 min of browning the onions, the sausages were added on medium to low heat- nestled in a nest of onions. The diced roasted red peppers and spicy cherries are mixed. A cubed ½ lb. of brie thrown in for good measure.

“That does what I wanted it to do. A little burny and sweet.” She’s excited. It’s the first good stuffing.

Day 4- Henrietta II

2009-03-12T12:22:00.000-07:00

So today, we try our second bird. We will not distract ourselves with any other part of the meal other than the chicken. It is the essence of the meal- the coup de grace. Other courses can wait their turn.

It seems we may have our shit together this time, in a relative sense, and after brining overnight, Henrietta II is ready to be turned inside out. Here’s how the brining changed.

Blended the blueberries

Added 1 small orange habenero

Peppercorns

Also blended the brine a bit

In the brine for 21 hours. And like a dyed easter egg Henrietta is lavender. On account of the blending of the blueberries, we guess.

Innards:

Roasted beets at 425 – timer first set for 30 minutes + 10 minutes, small ones should be ready after that while the bigger one will be kept a little undercooked. One beat is diced and the other two are blended to a paste.

The shredded cabbage, the roasted pepper peeled, cup of corn, no pomegranate this time around, smaller sausages (the breakfast kind), habenero (how much? How far can it go ?) ¾ of a pepper finely diced. Done.

Does cooking the pepper increase the heat or decrease the heat? We must research the Scottish bonnet.

The nerve is up to debone the little lady.

This is going much better. We have figured out which end is up and where the wish bone is and how the wings are detached from the breast bone. We have learned something about anatomy, and Yvette seems too excited over the prospect of diving into the bird that she has forgotten about her wine. The flesh is being peeled back to expose the screaming dead head of the chicken’s ribcage. If you ever do this you’ll know what we mean. Think of John Carpenter’s the Thing. A few more bones were removed than required. Henrietta 2 is a bit more ripped, a bit flatter, a bit sadder, but she'll pluck up.

For the best instructions we have found yet for boning a whole chicken w/o cuts or slices check out: (we cannot find the site now and will have to address this later. Sorry.)

The victim is ready to be stuffed and trussed.

Henrietta is resting after 40 min at 425. She looks good. It's a veriable murder scene as her red innards pop forth. Chicken porn. In the process of discovering Carnal Foods we have created Chicken Porn.

We have poured the sauce and cut into the bird.

On first taste. The meat is moist, we have passed the first hurdle. Could be too sweet. An interesting combination. But, sadly, after a few bites we find it underwhelming.

The chicken is good. The heat works. The peppers, the cabbage, and beats serve the purpose. For texture they are an excellent basis. But, we have no unifying flavor. It’s a bathtub of innards without any sensation and breakfast sausage, besides being underdone, is in every way terrible and does not deserve a place at the table. We knew this already, but skinny and voluptuous german sausages are not easy to find.

Henrietta needs more bite. More thrust. She’s trying but…

Till another day. Thanks.

St. Lawrence- Our Patron Saint

2009-03-02T12:07:00.000-08:00

Patron Saint of Librarians and Cooks

This man had it. He deserves the praise of all cooks for keeping his head under extreme duress. Early Carnal Devotee.

try this link:

"This side's done, turn me over and have a bite."

Day 3: Beyond the Feather Experiment

2009-02-26T21:27:00.000-08:00

#3 was not all a bust. Also that day...

Another try at the pomegranate sauce- the vehicle for the feathers to stick to Henrietta's skin as well as the sweetness to her peck. 1/2 lemon. A bit of sugar. And yet another unknown amount of juice. Did we ever make a sauce before with the molasses? Yes, we did, and we burned it. (See Experiment #2 - The Distressed Chicken.)
The molasses is quite good. Successfully sweet. Following the heating instructions seemed to work. Do not overheat while drunk. This time, only moderately drunk, we did not overheat. Excellent combination with the chicken meat encapsulating the best flavors of Thanksgiving. The salty bird and the sweet berry.

And now: the sauce. Browning shallots and garlic in pan drippings. Deglaze pan w/ 1/2 cup of port. Add 2 tbls of molasses. Beef stock is on. The first tastings are phenomenal- an original sweet and sour sauce. Good and gelatinous. Maybe stretch it w/ a bit more stock or port? And when a piece of the chicken is dipped in the sauce it is perfect in deep blood hues and a huge success!

The next nest experiment- 1 egg, 1/2 cup of buttermilk, 1 cup parmesan. Far more batter like. Involving much more active soaking process. The nests go in.

And the nests- 25 min- very nesty. Photo worthy. Another success. The key is more parmesan than buttermilk.
An Egg filling theory. Goat cheese and milk (should be cream) w/ truffle oil and truffles and pepper. Rich. Creamy. White. Maybe too silty and too much on top of each other but otherwise farmy and country. Looks good in the egg. And if there’s a hole in the bottom, which there was this time, the creamy cheese slowly effuses and soaks into the nest. And when the nest is lifted the shell opens way to a diluge of sauce that overspills the egg and drips sinously downs the sides and onto the plate. Needs something to cut through the richness. Adding zest? Good Choice. A very good morning, wave out the window at the sun, country breakfast kind of feel.

The plate of the nest needs a good line of cilantro pesto across the plate as a seat.

So, to summarize #3. A triple disaster with the feather experiment. Three weak attempts at art. No heart to try w/ fourth piece of chicken at this point. But we end with a triple whammy of nests and chicken sauce and egg cream. The nest is under control. Chicken needs work. Feathers are at zero.

Day 3: Cosmetics and Fashion

2009-02-20T20:51:00.000-08:00

The Feather Experiment

Dressing Henrietta for Her Big Day.

Today's idea is to quarter a chicken and experiment with 4 methods to "outfit" Henrietta so she springs off the platter with a lively cluck. We begin.

Shopping at Pike Place Market: with the cheese shops and the pepper shops and the butcher and grocer of greens and the wine tasting at the shop with proscuitto. $50 or so. Mostly we spend money on wine and cheese of very fine qualities that have nothing to do with Henrietta. Using Henrietta’s much smaller and younger sister for experiments. She is quartered.

Back in the kitchen, there's a little trouble with the quartering. Not in the groove yet.

Again w/ the beer straws. We need beer straws when working with raw chicken. And more practically- new, sharp knives.

Method #1- The pancetta method. Layers of thin pancetta (5 to quarter bird) and in at 425. What shape will the meat take? Curly? Feathery? Looks like a small, flayed cow head.

Method #2- The ratty old filo approach. We recommend buying new filo. We have unbehaving filo. Broken up into squares 6 or 7 pieces thick. Smoshed. And that’s it. What will happen at 425?
Yvette wants to know, what is the point of the feathers? My opinion. It is to add life, the bird should look as if it is cared for, fluffiness is needed. This is a fine meal rooted in contorted love . Hence the greens. At least as a bed. But Yvette has an aversion to spinach and all its ilk. Slimy turns her off. She’s willing to try as long it is bacon or tastes like pancetta. We have a small impasse.

15 min later Method #1 looks like a very dead thing.

Method #3 -The radicchio method. Cook a blank chicken- no flavor. Saute garlic and pancetta in olive oil. Add chicken stock. And steam the veggie.

Method #1 looks like food in Portugal. Smells Portuguese. Meaty.

Method #2 has promise. Country Style Greek Chicken. Fluffier and with a pastry shell. I wonders aloud to Yvette, do you really want to serve that? Yvette looks stunned, perhaps offended.

Method #1 produces an amazing chicken. Moist. Salty. Wonderful. Awesome meat on meat. Yvette is amazed with herself. But may not be the right thing. Not quite the look. It would be too much with the stuffing planned.

Method #2 is very lifelike. Crusty. But buttery. And it insults my intelligence, Yvette's words. Philo as feathers=the shortest distance between two points is not always a straight line.

And Method #3 is bad in every way it could be bad. Bitter greens. It is unaminous. Radicchio is not what we want here. A sad, sad state of affairs. Terrible. The greens must be more raw and less murdered. It must be a good green and with more crunch. And for the sake of politics, it may need to be a bed of greens for those who like such things. This is called reaching across the aisle.

I hate them all, Yvette says. A bust.

Experiment #3 - Cosmetics and Fashion- could be called Good chicken with Bad things done to it. Its not the chicken’s fault.

The Ortolan

2009-02-04T20:44:00.000-08:00

http://www.esquire.com/features/The-Last-Meal-0598

Legendary article about the eating of the Ortolan...perhaps the original carnal food.

So hedonistic that you need a napkin over your head to hide from God.

Not that we eating a tiny songbird. Unless it's delicious.

Another informative article about the Ortolan:

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9801EFD81231F932A05751C1A961958260

Day 2 - Second Experiment - Distressed Chicken

2009-01-26T20:54:00.000-08:00

Henrietta! Our beautiful chicken.

Hello. Today we begin another attempt at following Chef Nordo down the path of Carnal Food. This is the first attempt at the main entree. To create a shockingly visceral chicken embued w/ fantastic flavors.

Day Two ($68- pomegranate juice, shallots, knives sharpened, largest beet in the world, and lots of wine- again. Yvette's already drunk. Wish us luck.)

Brining the bird Henrietta- 4 hrs this time
1.5 gal water
10 oz pom juice
1 cup frozen blueberries
2 cups kosher salt
1 cup sugar
2 crushed bay leaves
pinch of all spice
3 peeled elephant garlic cloves
4.56 lb chicken
Makes one very pink chicken.

The plan:
Roast Red Pepper
Debone Henrietta from the inside out, leaving the body
Seed pomegranate
Stuff chicken
Cook chicken
Make pomegranate molasses
Serves 4?

Yvette's first deboning of chicken:
First interesting point is to snap the wish bone from the shoulder joints. Reach into the pink carcass and grab hold and twist. Snap. Very intimate. We apologize Henrietta. Yvette needs a straw for her vinho because her hands are all chicken-y.

Henrietta makes many squishy, biological sounds as we cut the sinews freeing her wings and go in for cracking of the collarbones. It’s quite indecent.

After easily popping our the collar bones and shoulder blades we peel Henrietta back to expose the skeleton. She resists. She’s shy and scared. Yvette scrapes and pulls.

“Let me in.” I feel faint.

“What the fuck is that piece of bird? I’ve never seen anything like that before and I’m swimming in bird juice. Jesus Christ. She’s peeled.”

Bird inside out. Bird is flat. Yvette’s hands are pruned. It’s a bad fisting movie.

Stuffing:

Cup of corn. Cup of beets. 6 sausage links. 1/4 cup pom seeds. Cabbage.

Foreseeable problem w/ stuffing- nothing to hold it together. No breading. Henrietta fits nicely in her dish. She looks a little bruised.

Into the oven. 400 deg.

And now for the molasses. Pomegranate. 1/3 cup of Lemon Juice. 1/4 cup of Sugar. Yvette recommends not squeezing lemons directly after skewering oneself. It reduces for an hour, no boiling, just simmer. A cup of this molasses will last eons.

After just over an hour the molasses is extremely bubbly, fluffy molasses, cooked until bubbly, very, very bubbly for a very long time, and very fluffy. Will it harden like candy or flow like molasses? We do not know. We believe it may have been cooked hotter than instructed but it was good. It may be burnt but I say not so. Close. It clings to your teeth immediately when it hardens.

Very thick. And probably burnt.

The bird has browned too quickly. Henrietta needs tinfoil booties. Seems antithetical to the brining.

A second nest experiment is done. No quantities from day one. 375 deg. 15-20 min. Cup of buttermilk. 1/2 cup parmesan. 1 egg. Salt. 2 soaked loafs until dripping then squeeze? Too saturated? Looks like a fucking muffin. Not a nest at all. We were either high last time or it was much, much drier. Much more like shredded wheat. Failure.

Day #3- will be the feathers.

And now the sauce. 3 tblsp of chicken grease. 1 minced big ass shallot. 2 cloves garlic. Soften shallots and garlic with compliments. 3/4 cups red wine and 1 cup white wine. Whisk. Few minutes. 2 cups beef buillon. 2 tbls of pomegranate molasses. 7 teaspoons of Henrietta’s oil. Cornstarch done in a haphazard way. 3 applications of cornstarch. No method.

Meanwhile the chicken is in a little tub of grease. (See above). And the chicken is freed of the oven. Henrietta is beautific.

Do the innards need to be more gelatinous? And how do we cook/ present the chicken?

And the bird is bathed in sauce. Too brown perhaps. No blood. Sans feathers. On first cut Henrietta is genuinely disgusting.

Beets good. Cabbage good. Roasted peppers good. Pomegranates a bit lost. Corn lost. Henrietta unforgivably dry. Intestines work. Need to present intestines as spilling, redden the sauce, and find a feather feature. Hernrietta needs to be pulled apart and left out on the plate.

And Max says puree the beets. Yes. And smaller sausages. Yes. And shredded cabbage. And more hot peppers. Yes. Yes.

Maybe.

Today was a grand experiment full of pluck and vinegar. An excellent stabbing.

S&M Dining

2009-01-06T11:32:00.000-08:00

Why do Seattle's Hottest Chefs Want to Be the Boss of You?

Hey, these people are trying. It's a bit pansy for our tastes but they're looking in the right direction. Not everyone can be carnal.

http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/content?oid=856084.

Day 1 - First experiment. A chicken's nest.

2008-12-29T19:55:00.000-08:00

Day One- First Experiment- The Distressed Nest

Hello all.

This is our first attempt to create a true Carnal Food feast. After happening upon the amazingly bizarre Chef Nordo we have embarked upon this adventure in food. Well, I hope you find it entertaining. Let the cooking begin. We find ourselves at a local supermarket after a long day of work.

Spent: $80 (mostly wine- 2 bottles and Le Fin du Monde and a shredder)

The goal is to create a nest appetizer. To remind us of where the chicken came from.

First possibility for the Bird’s Nest- shredded pear and parsnip (w/ yams instead) latkes
Yvette needs a Quisinart w/ the shredder attachment. Egg has been beaten and horseradish to come. 2 ounces w/ dos huevos. It’s funny but we have no idea what it will do. Eyes are watering.
Baked into egg nest shape. Add egg shell filledsour cream and a dollop of saffron yoke to counter the horseradish’s sting.

Too wet. Too many eggs. Go for one. Thicker latkes. Light brown. Not too much horseradish. Crying is good. Latke hits the floor. Cat hair slinger.

Celery leaves are a stupid waste of time. Perhaps scallions?

Try the egg thing. First try a success.

Latke is not strong enough. Saffron does not come through. But pear is good. But is not life altering. Sour cream and latke. Maybe a saffron/hollandaise.

Second possibility: Shredded wheat soaked in one egg, butter milk, parmesan, and salt and baked in a muffin tin. Looks like a shaggy muffin. Quite nesty. A bit nesty. Pretty nesty. Top view- very nesty. Eggshell fits very nicely...looks like it was born there.

Does not need to be egg in the eggshell. Just something delicious. The nest has great consistency, turned to bread, with shredded wheat. Baked 10 min at 425. A vehicle for any type of savory flavor.

First thoughts of what to fill the empty eggshell with going nowhere- pomegranate seeds and rich balsamic sauce???

Needs to be a clear, sharp, distinct flavor to go with the homey, earthy nest.
No simple ideas. Chutney? Pork sauce? Let it percolate.
A winner!

And so concludes our first Carnal Food Experiment. Thanks for listening.