Mom, who worked full time, did not
have the inclination to make such treats and so I began to teach myself how to
cook. We did have some interesting
“treats” during my exploration. Most
were positive but a few the dog wouldn’t even eat! I have come a long way.
If you were to ask me to pick my
favorite or most distinct food memory, I would be hard pressed to pick between
two. In an odd way they are
entwined. As one of my favorite author’s,
Khalil Gibran, once wrote, “When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and
you shall find it is only that which have given you sorrow that is giving you
joy.” I do believe I would not have
enjoyed either memory as much without the other. The first part of my memory is the failure or
“sorrow” and was something that I have been teased about for most of my life.
When I was about twelve, I gave my
hand at the family spaghetti recipe. Mom
and Dad had been out working on the farm all day and I wanted to treat
them. The recipe had been written by my
great aunt and I followed it best as I could.
Unfortunately, Aunt Lilah’s handwriting and word choices were not familiar
to me and so when it said 3 gloves garlic, with no discernible measurement (at
least to me), I compared the other spices the recipe called for and decided
that she had forgotten the capital T she used for tablespoon. I then pondered over the use of two spices in
one line of the recipe. I figured she
must have been saving space and each was three tablespoons.
I assembled it all together as best
as I could, have observed Mom make the dish several times and put it on to
simmer. Since we lived in the country
and I wasn’t old enough to drive, I also tried my hand at backing French bread
from Mom’s trusty “Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book”. I shouldn’t toot my own horn, but the loaves
turned out perfect.
As an hour had gone by, I tasted the
spaghetti sauce. Oh my! It didn’t taste a thing like Mom’s. I consulted the recipe again. I decide that I would do as Mom did, dump and
hope or sprinkle in more spices. So I
grabbed a bottle here and there; sniffed it; and if it smelled “italiany”; gave
it sprinkle or two. I let it simmer for
a while longer and tried again. By now
the house spelled like fresh baked bread and spaghetti sauce, well sort
of.
Over the next hour, no matter what I
did to the sauce I could not get rid of the odd scent or unpleasant taste. After receiving a call from mom and dad to
let me know they were almost home, I put on the noodles to boil and set the
table. I cut the wonderfully smelling
bread and was pleased to see how flawless it looked. I had everything prepared and the dishes on
our linen clad oak family table when mom and dad came tripping in, wet and
dirty and attempting to not stumble over the excited family dog. Mom looked at the table and exclaimed “Wow”. Dad added, “Looks good, “as he passed through
to take a quick shower. By now Mom had
an odd look on her face; she had finally gotten a hint of the odd smells coming
from the sauce.
Sighing, I finally gave in and asked
her to taste it to see what I had left out.
With a small taste and a shudder Mom looked at me and asked what recipe
I had used. I quickly grabbed Aunt
Lilah’s recipe and showed her. She began
to question how I had followed the recipe.
When I got to the part about not knowing how much cloves and garlic to
put in, Mom began to laugh. I was
puzzled by this reaction.
“You put cloves in the sauce,
Betsy?” she asked. I nodded quickly and
explained my rational on how I figured out the measurement to use.
“I did what you do as well; I tasted
it and then grabbed the spices, smelled them and sprinkled more in after it had
been cooking for several hours.”
“It’s not cloves and garlic, it is
cloves garlic. Perhaps I should have
edited the recipe to put in cloves OF garlic, but it was how I learned the
recipe and I never figured you would have attempted this on your own. I am sorry, Betsy, but there is nothing we
can do to this sauce to make it taste good.
Where did you get the bread from?”
Sighing at the loss of my sauce, I
told her that I had made it and had followed the recipe in “Better Homes and
Gardens New Cook Book” to a T.
By now, Dad was done with his shower
and came out to eat dinner. Mom shook
her head at him and they both enjoyed a good laugh over my mistake.
“Betsy, let’s go into town and get
tacos for dinner. We can keep the
noodles and bread for dinner tomorrow after we make another batch of sauce up
together.”
Disappointed, I agreed. At least we were going for my favorite food,
Taco Bell (at that time a rare treat).
As we waited for Mom to shower, I got changed. Coming back into the kitchen, I found Mom and
Dad laughing hysterically. Dad had
placed some of the sauce (he hated things going to waste) into the dogs bowl and
after a quick sniff and lick; the dog had refused to eat my sauce. It wasn’t even good enough for our dog, which
routinely cleaned her self and enjoyed horse bonbons and road-kill.
To this day, that memory comes back
vividly whenever I smell my spaghetti sauce or the scent of ground cloves. Thank god we did not go out to Italian food
when we were in Las Vegas for it may have clouded the joyful memory that I hold
dear to my heart. Without the failure of
my attempt to make spaghetti for my family, I would not have such a great
contrast for my most enjoyable memory to be compared with.
About 5 years ago I traveled down to
Las Vegas with a friend for a five day vacation. We had planned it all out, we wanted to see
and do it all: nice meals, shows, shopping, gambling, and of course, people
watching. Sky was the limit. I never thought my strongest memory would be
our last meal, more specifically the salad from that meal.
It was the fourth day of our
whirlwind of a vacation. We had just
been to the first showing of "Zumanity" and had reservations at Le
Cirque in Bellagio, where we were staying.
It was their lasted sitting. Both
of us were looking forward to this meal, giving all of the reviews we had
read. We were not disappointed!
You walk into the restaurant and are
greeted politely. We were seated in the
lounge and offered drinks while we waited for our table to be prepared. Soon, we were seated. Stepping into the dining room was
overwhelming. There was so much to take
in. The ceilings were done in red and
yellow silk and created a circus top.
Those tones were carried throughout the room in the stripped upholstery
and the rich carpet. First you notice
the table with its place settings in a whimsical circus motif. After you take a few breathes, you begin to
notice the rich woods and the circus murals painted in the alcoves along the
walls. Finally, when the Bellagio’s
fountains begin, your scenic experience is complete, now it is time to move on
to the beautiful aromas and flavorful tastes.
We were blessed and spoiled with our
waiter. His name was Tom and he was a
combination of an elegant butler and a soccer dad. I have been back four times since to visit
with him and enjoy the wonderful food.
Tom was prim and proper but tempered with the heartfelt friendliness and
the desire to help you have the best Le Cirque experience. With his guidance we made our selections for
the meal, accented with the beverages and spiced with the wonderful
ambience.
I wish I could find a way for you to
see my memory beyond the words I am attempting to use to paint this wonderful
picture for you. To be honest, after the
Salade de Homard (Le Cirque Lobster and Avocado Salad with Truffle vinaigrette)
arrived, the rest of the memory really is just a pleasant haze. That salad!
It was amazing! No, more than
that it was the supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
salad.
Now this is when I should say I am
an extremely pick foodie. I dislike a
great many foods and most of them are not because of the flavor but the
textures. The top of that list is
avocado, asparagus, dumplings and tapioca.
How did I ever get talked into trying a salad that had avocado and asparagus
in it I will never know. Yes I do, it
was Tom’s charm and persuasion. I should
also say, I love, adore, crave and extol lobster; and I enjoy truffles, not
just the chocolate kind, but that unique fungus that has such a rich, earthy
smell and taste.
It arrived on another one of their
wonderfully whimsical plates. Unique was
the first word that popped into my mind.
This was not just a salad but a work of art. An orange sauce had been artfully placed on
the plate which the salad sat upon. On
the bottom was pieces of avocado, asparagus and artichoke heart (oh another one
of those I am not fond of the texture) in a truffle vinaigrette gel that
solidify the bottom into a one inch cylinder of green ambrosia. Next up is a layer of marinated lobster and
slivers of black truffle. Then a layer
of the fresh greens, light tossed in the vinaigrette. All of this is topped with a lobster claw and
another sliver of black truffle. The
scent was incredible and very difficult to describe, rich and earthy with a
hint of sea and the armor of fresh greens.
I was a bit put off on how to eat
it. But after the first bite, it did not
matter, each forkful was a dream. Each
bite was enjoyed fully and slowly.
Little did I notice, I was closing my eyes with each bite and savoring
the flavors on my tongue. Cutting the
lobster and truffle slivers in smaller pieces, I tried to fit each individual
essence on my fork, and they were the smallest bites possible taken to be able
to prolong my experience. My companion
began spending more time observing me than enjoying his own vanishing
salad.
Finally, I heard a slight clearing
of a throat and looked up to see a dark haired man donned all white with our
waiter stand slightly behind him.
Blinking I came out of reverie and focused on the restaurant around me. It was very quiet.
Smiling at me, the chef asked, “Is
your salad alright?”
Licking my lips, I nodded. “Yes, it is wonderful! Please pass my compliments to the chef.”
“Thank
you, I will gladly accept them. Please
enjoy the rest of your meal with as much appreciation as you are the
salad," he said as he stepped away from the table and made his way back to
the kitchen.
It
soon settled on me who he had been and my face flushed bright red. Later our waiter said that my enjoyment of
the salad had made the chef’s month. All
the rest of the food was delicious including the extras that were sent out from
the kitchen for our enjoyment. What was
to be three course meal turned into a seven and about two hours of pure foodie
heaven.
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