29 September 2007

Salsa Witch Doctor

So in the end I made salsa. For a first try I think it came out fine, but nothing compares to Jorge’s salsa. His is the best and he adamantly refuses to share his recipe. When I was at the restaurant I relished the salsa making days. I would see him, Jorge, collecting ingredients in the walk in, then inspecting and preparing them meticulously. Browning dried small chilies on the stovetop, getting the massive cauldron ready, he was like a witch doctor.

Next thing I knew the cauldron would be bubbling away, green onions, tomatoes, and fresh chilies bobbing to the surface. Because I was usually so busy tending to my tables the salsa creation was like a puzzle; one time I would see him do something, the next time something else. I was stuck in a thick salsa mystery. Jorge loved my frustration and refused to divulge a damn thing.

Even though I am pretty sure I have everything, tools ingredients and all, to make salsa identical to Jorge’s I am lacking the courage. I can honestly say that I have no idea, even though I saw pieces of the salsa puzzle put together many times, how to make that salsa. What ingredients are browned and which are boiled? How long does the boiling process take place?

Truthfully, I am not afraid of messing up the recipe. I am absolutely terrified of producing something lacking the deliciousness, thickness and perfect spiciness of Jorge’s salsa. Once it hits your toung tounge your senses stand at attention, saluting the perfect spicy sauce. It is overwhelmingly good. And usually before you know it, it is covering everything on your plate. Behold the power of the salsa witch doctor.

24 September 2007

A Rare Breed

I sit here, at the old l’ordinateur, and wonder exactly what it is I am doing. Typing…? In front of me to the immediate southwest sits a delightful cocktail. Homemade. Now, this is a rare occurrence. Rare because typically, in my world, cocktails are good only if they are not homemade. Nothing makes a drink more delicious than a powerful mixologist standing in front of you with cheap bottles of booze, for sale at a cost. Whether the cost is your dignity or the bulk of your wallet is dependent on you somewhat, and the other two quite heavily.

But I digress. The issue at hand is the pile of fresh organic chilies that sit behind me in a large, stainless steel bowl from IKEA. Not the chilies of course, the bowl is from IKEA. The chilies are from my dear friends mother. She is a woman who is living the life of my dreams. A staunch German breed, this family’s humor is found in the more jovial (younger & feminine) generation. I have known the father for over ten years, have exchanged less than 20 words with him, never seen him smile, and find him miserably attractive. I don’t even want to attempt the mental reconstruction of the grandfather. The mother, however, lives on a vineyard, which her husband molds into expensive, exquisite wine while she annually invests herself in all sorts of rare and idiosyncratic projects. The dinosaur nativity scene is my personal favorite.

But she has of late been growing rich, luxurious, waxy chilies and has given me more than I can handle. Salsa? Marinated chilies? Chile rellenos? Salsa? I have no clue as to what to do with this bounty of the harvest.

I think maybe I will try the salsa. FYI, I am of French blood (it might go badly).

22 September 2007

Jobby, Job, Job

How strange it is; the search for a job, employment. What kind of hunt is this? It is certainly not equivalent to the pursuit of food or shelter (in the caveman sense), or love, or a perfect physic, a great outfit, the perfect cocktail…or is it?

I feel that I spend my days trying to convince people that I am a smart play, a safe bet. I am something like a long-term solid hand at the poker table. Why is it that it is such a risk, to choose the 5 cards that comprise me as an employee? Others have taken it and won the game at hand. Where is the breeding ground of this reluctance, the tuber of this bizarre employment discord?

Perhaps it is my age. Yes, I am 24. Yes, I have something of an “any-sort-of-girl”—“probably-not-very-special” look going on. But, come on, just have a freakin’ conversation with me. Maybe even read this blog. Doesn’t blogging count in this modern world? I had the understanding that blogging, myspacing, friendbooking or whatever is “up-to-date-cool” was the thing to do, the best way to make friends, the object worth staring at all day.

The fact is, it’s not. The thing to do, obviously, is to know people. The goal is to have connections that are as strong and bulky as a shipyard steel rope. Please, just meet me. One day, down the pipeline of this life (job), maybe you will win the poker game too.