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.