Leave me out of the kraut!

*This was written a few days ago, but I was busy in the mountains of Austria, and as a semi-nod to the brilliance of the Nolte/Murphy combo, I had to leave the “48 hours” bit in.

** I like it when my absence is justified, though. It’s like mercy killing of time. Kind of. And better still when I’m doing things that I can tell my kids about one day, such as my time in Austria. Because we all know there are things that you can’t tell your kids about; dominatrix basements, that goat-on-chicken action you saw during your fifth grade field trip to the farm, or even real mercy killing. Kittens tied to bottle rockets? That’s just poor form.

Real post begins here: In the past 48 hours, I have gotten chased by cows and chickens (the sheep ran away, probably due to some inherent fear of what a lonely Scotsman is capable of,) pulled Portobello and Porcini mushrooms from their wooded homes, and eaten some serious amounts of meat. Never in my life have I eaten so much food that I took from the earth with my bare hands. A week in Austria brought me more of a physical connection to my food than I have ever experienced, other than that cherry-pilfering incident in Puglia, to which I still thank Charlotte and Jessie for their desire to “muddy up a bit.”

But back to Austria. We ate apricots, plums, apples and pears straight from the trees; blackberries required a bit of bloodshed, but so be it. “Of the earth” is certainly an unspoken battlecry in Austria, where people are fanatical about their local products, and even the smallest cheese producer or sausage-maker deserves a visit, because they are probably dedicated to not just their craft, but also to preserving local traditions.

The irony of all this is, Slow Food probably wouldn’t have the same success here that it has in England, Italy, or even the United States. Austria is as close to a natural, organic country as I have ever seen, which I can say after seeing the food culture of more than 20 countries in my lifetime. Milk producers have formed a consortium, producing “bio-organic” milk, as they call it, and fiberboard cows colored red and white (for the country’s flag) dot the small cities, as testament to the pride the local farmers have in their products.

As I sat down to dinner with a few Austrian and American friends, I marveled at what lay before us. Bread, cheese, yogurt, butter, honey, tomatoes, mushrooms, cured ham, cider, and schnapps, ALL from within 20 kilometers of where I sat. It was ridiculous. I’ve sat at my own table, eating venison or striper, caught by my step-dad, but that was just the meat. This was a revelation. Why can’t everything be like this?

The Trinidude

I first met Michael back in cooking school, nearly a decade ago now. Despite being born in England, he’s Trinidad through and through. Trinidad is one of those countries where it’s difficult to figure out the proper name for someone who comes from there. Italy? Italian. France? French. Connecticut? Connecticutter (a bit more interesting.) But Trinidad? Trinidadian? Trinadese? So we’ll call Michael a Trinidude. This Trinidude has the ultimate Caribbean laugh, that deep belly laugh that comes out as an accent to pretty much whatever he says. His O’s last longer than if they were covered with Honey Nut, packaged by General Mills, and stuck in the basement for a few years.

So, seeing him 9 years later, as the hot-shot pastry chef of Bibendum, a fine dining French restaurant in London’s posh South Kensington, it makes me realize: I’m glad I stayed friends with him. Because friends get free food, or more specifically, free desserts.

Now don’t get me wrong. Mikey’s a fantastic guy, and I would doubtlessly be friends with him even if he wasn’t a chef. But when I gave up the pastry track after 3 days, and he stuck with it, I knew that he’d end up with a ton more pastry skill than I ever would. So is it wrong to reap the benefits of someone’s skill, when you still see it with the awe and magic that comes with your own inexperience, and is something that it no doubt deserves anyways?

I stopped by to see him today at Bibendum, and typical of a chef on a Saturday afternoon, he was literally up to his elbows in prep for his chocolate walnut torte, which I was lucky enough to try as an ending to my own light lunch. 9 Duchy of Cornwall oysters were as meaty and briny as the waiter described, and I have to admit a touch of respect for a place that offers only a well made mignonette and sliced lemon with their oysters, instead of the gloppy and ubiquitous cocktail sauce that does little more than make the over-cooked shrimp at your holiday party barely edible. In lieu of champagne or a pale ale, the home-made ginger beer was a nice peppery compliment to the shellfish.

And then the torte. It was a dense chocolate, with some sparse chopped walnuts floating throughout. A soft banana ice cream sat on a small bed of what I can only guess was raw chocolate nibs, and was creamy, but with enough body to please a man who has subsisted on only gelato for the past 8 months.

Overall , it was a very enjoyable experience. The layout of Bibendum’s oyster bar allows covered, open-air seating, and is great for people watching. It does a good job at representing a lighter, more casual companion to the fine dining restaurant upstairs, and Mikey and his works lend itself to helping create such an overall positive experience.