All That Jazz

I’ll admit to having the strangest week ever.  Well, not ever ever, but ever.

Part of it must have to do with the fat, thick white asparagus spears tasting faintly of walnuts flown in from Holland and poached in butter to appear then on my plate.  Another part has to do with a single black Oregon truffle.  And of course we’re talking fresh porcini and blond morels, also Oregon-ites, that deepen the flavors of everything that they make contact with.

Sort of Terri Lynn Carrington and her interpretation of “Money Jungle.”

But more visceral.

And what’s strange is what’s unspoken, untasted, and hidden beneath the surface.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s