Some folks have very strange hobbies:
We headed to the restaurant with high hopes – eight of us in total, led into a cement cell of a room, Drake pumping through invisible speakers. It was sweltering hot, and no other customers were present. The décor had the of chicness of an underground bunker where one would expect to be interrogated for the disappearance of an ambassador’s child.
Earlier that day, we’d seen a statue of a bear, chiseled into marble centuries ago, by someone who had never actually seen a bear. […] And this is a perfect allegory for our evening. It’s as though someone had read about food and restaurants, but had never experienced either, and this was their attempt to recreate it.
I can honestly say I’ve never had a dining experience to match that. Arguably that’s a sign I’ve not led a sufficiently adventurous culinary life.
Another course – a citrus foam – was served in a plaster cast of the chef’s mouth. Absent utensils, we were told to lick it out of the chef’s mouth)
I think I can live with that.
[Via Daring Fireball]
That really doesn’t sound like a taste combination that should work, and yet…
Wish I could find out for myself.
Vesna Jaksic Lowe on Raising My Daughter to Be an Octopus Lover:
I pour some stew in a bowl for my daughter. She is eighteen months old and has never tasted it before. I have no idea what to expect. She tries the potatoes and eggplant first, cringes, and spits them out. Then she starts downing the octopus tentacles with both hands. The thick, dark sauce drips down her white tank top with a picture of a ladybug, the pink swim diaper, and her bare, chunky legs. I have a hard time chopping the limbs and filling her dish fast enough.
“Hoba! Hoba!” she screeches with excitement, using the short word for ‘hobotnica,’ or octopus in Croatian.
My family friend says, “She’s Croatian alright.”
I smile at my daughter and pat her back with pride, but also feel a tinge of sadness. We are only here for vacation – we live in New York, an ocean away from my hometown and my friends’ octopus catches.
A very good essay on raising a child in a foreign land and culture. My culinary instincts regarding seafood very much aren’t hers, but I do hope she succeeds in raising a child who feels comfortable with her Croatian heritage.
As a dedicated “meat and potatoes man” can I just say a loud “Hell no!” to this monstrosity:
Do be sure to read the entire recipe to the end. Just do not, under any circumstances, consider ever eating the end result.[note]But if you do, please be sure to blog about it so we can learn from your mistake.[/note]