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Burn Down Master's House

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Clay Cane

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“She'd ordered the curated wild Alaskan sea cucumbers, sprinkled with artisanal milk thistle foraged at dusk from Springdale Farms and served in a sea of pureed stinging nettles. At least Sam thought that's what it was. She'd eaten the entire cucumber slice in one bite. "Are you sure you wouldn't like something, sir?" The waiter, dressed in a grain sack with cutouts for his head and arms, hovered at Sam's shoulder. "No, thank you." Sam rubbed his belly and let out a small burp. "I shouldn't have had that second Reuben on my way over. Or maybe it was the Cobb salad. I'm so full I couldn't even handle an amuse-bouche of fermented sardine foam or dihydrogen-monoxide consommé.”

Smart AssGastronomieHaute CuisineCucumber
Book:The Marriage Game
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“The plate the waiter now set before her looked like an abstract painting: vivid green shot through with bright-coral slashes. "Taste!" he urged. It was clearly a fish but so sweet she did not recognize it. Looking at the color, she hazarded a guess. "Salmon? Or maybe not. It doesn't taste like salmon." Troisgros looked very pleased. "That is because it was caught just this morning in the Allier, our local river. But also because we preserve the color by slicing the fish very thinly and searing it for just a few seconds." "So it's almost raw?" She wasn't sure about this. "In Japan they eat their fish raw." She took another bite; the herbal sauce flirted with bitterness. "The flavor is so green I feel I'm eating color." "Sorrel." He gestured to the waiter, who removed the plates and then set a single small bird surrounded by sliced fruit in front of each of them. "Sarcelle aux abricots," he announced. "Sarcelle?" Stella did not recognize the word. "It's a freshwater duck," said Jules. "I can't remember the word in English." "Teal," Troisgros supplied. Stella closed her eyes and tried describing the flavor. "It tastes wild." She began to dream herself into the dish as if it were a painting, imagining a golden field in the sunshine, feeling the air rush past, hearing the sound of her own wings. Circling in a great joyous arc, she spotted a tree covered in tawny fruits, breathed their perfume in the air. "I wanted---" the chef was watching her--- "to give you the essence of the animal. To let you taste what the duck ate on her flight through life.”

DuckColorfulFrench FoodVisualizeGastronomieRaw Fish
Book:The Paris Novel
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“La Lauze est l’un de ces restaurants à la mode depuis quelques années à Paris. Sièges anguleux, ambiance en nuances de gris avec la signature bien en vue du designer au coin d’un comptoir patiné pour paraître authentique, et une assiette dressée autant pour le goût que pour les réseaux sociaux avec son voile de curry, son trait de jus de bette- rave et sa compotée de carotte bleue, comme si une sculpture de Niki de Saint Phalle s’était échappée du centre Pompidou pour se soulager dans votre hors-d’œuvre. On appelle cela la « bistronomie », je suppose qu’elle finira par envahir jusqu’à Limoges, et le boudin aux pommes jettera les armes aux pieds des légions gustatives du XXIe siècle, tel Vercingétorix devant Jules César.”

CuisineRestaurantMangerModeGastronomieAssietteCuisine Française
Author:Fabien Maréchal, L'Attendeur (de Première classe)
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