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.

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.