Food, adventures, disasters, music, and bullshit.

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It has been over a week since I returned to reality, and my head is still a crazy jumble of ideas, tastes, sounds, and new friends.  I was unable to form a coherent sentence for at least two days.  All of the people who had been hearing me chatter on and on were treated to a blissful smile and a bit of drool when they asked me how it went.  I am an aggressively bad photographer, in fact, I don’t even own a functional camera.  So, I was delighted to see that so many of the people attending Eat Retreat came prepared to document the experience beautifully.  I have been forwarding their pictures and write-ups to my friends as evidence that my giant grin is justified. 
 
The entire Eat Retreat experience hardly seems real.  Did I really shuck oysters while watching a whole pig get prepared for the spit?  Did I sit around a campfire making s’mores and listening to fantastic live music?  Did I really eat all of that delicious food?  Yes yes yes, and it was even more awesome than it sounds.  Although impressive, it feels inadequate to describe my experience strictly in terms of what I consumed and what immensely talented person prepared it.  I will spare you the list and direct you to some ridiculously good food photography.  Cooking, eating, and drinking were certainly central and highly enjoyable aspects of the weekend, but as many of my eloquent new friends have stated, we were all charged with finding a reason for our gathering beyond the sheer pleasure of eating like an idiot.      
 
My little journey officially began on Friday when I loaded 90 pounds of assorted seafood into my trunk, tried to scrub the fish smell off of my arms, left work, and headed north.  I had been corresponding with the event organizers and some of the Saturday night meal team about sourcing the seafood for our weekend.  Rough seas made this task a bit more stressful than anticipated, but one brave little fisherman pulled some Black Cod out of Bodega Bay that very morning and caused me to dance a joyful little jig right at my desk.  I had my loot and I was on my way.  The road to Anvil Ranch was one of those epic drives that makes me feel wise in my decision to live in Sonoma County (See also, any drive between Petaluma and the ocean).  Anvil Ranch itself exceeded the expectations raised by such a beautiful drive. 
 
From the minute I arrived, I felt completely at ease.  I was greeted by big hugs from our lovely organizers and was offered help in every step of getting my raw bar up and running.  I had the wonderful experience of getting to know thirty-two new friends by discussing the ocean goodies that I had laid out for tasting.  It was thrilling to look around the courtyard and see ten different conversations happening, all of which I would surely find interesting.  The exchange of ideas was continuous throughout the weekend.  The scheduled classes happened organically and seemed to materialize just as I showed up to attend.  One moment I was learning how to make yogurt, hummus, and jam and the next I was tasting and learning about beer.  Every discussion felt inspired.  Even the casual discussions felt like they were the seeds of a possible new venture.
 
The practical skills I gained have already been put to good use.  My little pet yogurt mother and I are getting along quite well and there is jam making in my immediate future.  Sometimes, as a seafood quality control manager, I feel like I am just doing the government’s bidding, adjusting the time tested processes that make good food to make federal regulators happy.  For me, the purpose beyond gluttony was a sense that  it is my duty to use my passion to effect a change in my local food community.  Eat Retreat gifted me with the drive to look up from my Hazards Guide and use my connections to make a difference.  I left on Sunday with a renewed sense of passion for my work and a clear idea for the direction that I would like my company to take.  
 
We built a new network of colleagues, people who will inevitably collaborate and support each other in all of our new endeavors.  The next step is focusing the creative energy of this community towards doing some tangible good.  I can’t wait to see what we do.          

First things first, I know this video has made the internet rounds but DAMN IT that is one disgusting cake.  Sandra Lee is a monster.  More about that here.  The best part of the article:  “As a matter of fact, the more tasteless the recipes got the more she liked them, the faster she approved them, and I could get home and drink some medium-priced wine after our meetings. She’s not a good role model for abstinence.”  Sandra Lee is in the same category as George W Bush for me.  I HATE what she stands for, but I would love to have one of her bizarrely colored cocktail creations and watch an episode of Designing Women with her. 

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     Sometimes I feel like I work in an Antarctic research station:  One crappy toilet, no heat, no A/C, a constant fishy odor, and the records are stored with bottles of motor oil.  Okay, so maybe it’s more like a trailer park leasing office than an Antarctic research station.  Because my work environment is so unique, I am always caught off guard when the “real world” intrudes on our little seafood producing and selling colony.  Today was the craziest day at my job EVER. 

     Commercial Dungeness Crab season started officially and with it began the intricate bargaining dance.  We were the plant that tested the crab for all of the fisheries in the area.  We cooked 100 lbs from each port and then picked the meat from each batch to determine the yield.  This yield helps the fisherman and the buyers negotiate a price.  This process was very interesting to the local media this year and our plant was mobbed by news crews and fishermen who wanted to be there when we got our results.  My day included lots of yelling, awkward questions from reporters on the phone, watching my boss get interviewed by news crew after news crew, and me losing patience with every fisherman working on the north coast.  I was sworn to secrecy in regard to the specific outcomes of the testing, but every one openly agrees that this will be a good year for crab in Northern California.  I got to taste a little bite or two and it was delicious.  We are all in for a treat.  Crab feed any one?  

I am preparing for a series of cooking demos that I will be doing in various test kitchens over the next month and I am scared shitless.  What if I CUT OFF A FINGER?  What if I SWEAR ACCIDENTALLY?  What if I SOUND LIKE AN IDIOT?  Should I rehearse the demos like I would an opera aria?  Is off the cuff better?  Ugh.  While obsessively watching cooking shows and knife skills tutorials I came across this gem.  Brian Boitano farts rainbows and bleeds glitter.  70% of these outtakes are seriously homoerotic.  I mean, he STARTS by pretending to smoke a banana.  I think I’m in love…

Pretty things on sale!

There are some good Christmas presents for your foodie friends.

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I have not been writing too much for this blog lately, but for good reason.  The only team I care about in any sport EVER is in the World Series and it is a little bit like being newly in love.  I cannot wait to jump around the living room screaming when they finally win it all for the first time since 1954.  My evenings have been planned around watching the playoff games with my family, and I listen to sports talk radio all day at work.  I usually listen to NPR, then some This American Life, then some more NPR, followed by some afternoon Bjork.  I am a creature of habit.  San Francisco is the happiest place on earth right now.  Truly.  My friends and I were walking to a bar to watch the game on Saturday, wearing our black and orange, and we passed very few people who were not similarly attired.  This, found over at Rocketshoes says it all.  I LOVE this, but I hope we kick the shit out of the Rangers tonight and end this thing.  I don’t know how much more suspense I can take. 

"How can a nation be great if its bread tastes like Kleenex?"

- Julia Child

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