Cafe Nordo Leaves Seattle

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

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

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!

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!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.