I hope that's me

There's a few times where special things happen that most of would like to say at some point, " I hope that's me." At 6 years old, we see a superhero or princess on tv or in a storybook, and we say " I hope that's me" with an innocent aspiration that one day, we will fly above the earth or wave a wond and wear a crown. At 13, we see our first crush with someone else during lunchtime, and we think, " I hope that's me." From 15-17 years old, we watch movies like Fast and the Furious or Can't Hardly Wait, and say " I hope that's me" in anticipation of that car, or that guy; the new mustang, being popular, and wearing the right clothes has your head spining. As highschool comes to a close, you begin to think about your future, what you'll be, what will make your parents proud, and what will give you the life you've always dreamed about. Even though you'll think about those things, its not until voting for your prom king and queen that'll have you wishing, " I hope that's me." Before you know it, you're like Asher Roth and you love college, and road trips to Daytona and endless games of beer pong have you saying, " I hope that's me."

Then one day, all of a sudden you're stuck in an early morning class getting over last night's festivities, and the beaming sunlight through the classroom window reminds you of the days when you were little, and you splashed around having fun in an inflatable pool full of dad's hot air, and it made you think how much he loved you to fill up that pool with his breath, and that made you think " I hope that's me" one day.

At 23, you're graduated and it's the first day of your first job as what you studied to be, and you look at your boss and you plan in a few years, " I hope that's me." Now you're 25 and head over heals with enough sense about life, and they get a cold, someone's got to run and get them nyquil and soup, you say to yourself, " I hope that's me. " Now, every Valentine's Day comes around, and someone's got to get all dressed up for an unforgettable night and your heart says, " I hope that's me." Now, you go to your first wedding as an adult, and you look at the happy couple starring into eachother's eyes as they say I do, and all the moments flash in your mind, how you met, the magic that lays between the both of you, and as he lifts her vail the world stops for a second, your soul says, " I hope that's me."

A few years ago, when I went to my first Chef's Congress in New York City, I was merely 21 years old, I remember seeing all the star chefs representing their restaurants. They were proud, shining of their craft, it was something that made them stand out from the masses. I remember walking and tasting all of their dishes, and wondering, how much work and effort did they undergo to get there? I remember standing there as an outsider, as a fan, as a student, and thinking that my admiration at that point was a testament to their passion, and I stood inspired for the rest of my life. They were successful at the riskiest business in the country, and I thought that day at 21 years old, " I hope that's me."

I am so grateful for all I have seen and done in my life up to now, and excited for what's to come, but that only leaves one thing to hope for. When I am old and gray, sitting on a front porch on a swinging bench, remeniscing of all the crazy wonderful stories my life allowed me to experience, laughing to tears at some of them, holding a Pellegrino water bottle in one hand, and looking at the person who allowed me to share the most beautiful lifetime possible, the person who gave me a reason to be better, the person who gave a definition to the things we hope for. As we swing, as we'll remember everything, I'm thinking now, " I hope that's you."

Sublime Wavelength

I'll never forget the first time I didn't eat with you. Yes, I said I "didn't" eat. I think it was nachos....

Have you ever stopped to think about the sublime moments in life, the ones that seem too good to be true, 10 feet off the ground, or you have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming? Being a chef, of course some of these moments revolve around food in some form. Nonetheless, to me, food cannot be completely spectacular without someone great to share it with. Something I like to call a sublime wavelength. There is something remarkable about the euphoric suspense of experiencing a new restaurant, a new dish, something foreign or strange, an exalted wine, or something noble and close to home that everyone is raving about. You know that feeling...you know what I am talking about.

I love all kinds of foods; I'm into all types of Asian cuisine, I consider myself a hotdog conisseur, and well, if it's Mexican, it's got me all over it. Like a little kid at Christmas, I anticipate a great meal, like a child anticipates Santa Clause. While this might spell out nerd for many people, for me, its quite brilliant to spend a couple of hours with someone and get one-on-one time. It's usually around a table, sharing something good, that great conversations rise. Some famous philosopher once said that you'll get to know a person's best qualities sitting around a dinner table - and well, I agree. Around a dinner table, you'll see if someone is daring, you'll see if they are conscientious, if they are well mannered, if they have a sense of humor, if they're cultured, and if you're sharing a bottle of wine, you'll see their views on anything from politics to love and everything in between.

Going to an exotic or interesting place can mean traveling without leaving your seat. I know I am not the only one that imagines themselves in Japan, while they're in a great Japanese place or in Italy when they're eating a rustic Italian dish. All jokes aside, sharing a great dining experience with someone special can be phenomenal and unforgettable. I remember one time we sat outdoors in this small but highly reccommended posh-posh restaurant, the sun was beaming off the blue sky making it warm on a winter day, we ordered Japanese oysters and a lobster po'boy. No oysters have ever been that good, but I still don't know if it was the setting, the company, or the oysters? But I sure feel lucky to ask myself that question. Another time, we were oceanfront in a cantina, eating the best chicken wings on earth, I'm at a loss for words here. And I can't forget the time, we picked up stone crabs and champange to eat at the very edge of Key Biscayne. See what I mean about a sublime wavelength? Grab someone who's on the same wavelength as you, go out there and enjoy the great restaurants your city has to offer, taste things you've never tasted before, don't be afraid to get to know your server just a little (you might learn something - atleast about the menu - if not, they'll entertain you somewhat.)

But most importantly, next time you're out somewhere, it could be at a burger joint or a 5-star place, don't forget to pay attention to who's sitting right across from you. Pay attention to their stories, their reactions to the foods, what they pick off the menu, if they smile at the server, because there is something magical about sharing a meal, trust me. In a fast paced world where our minds are on everything but what actually matters, there's one thing we can keep slow and special, Baucchus and Robert Mondavi both couldn't be wrong about the finest things in life.

A million bites later, a thousand stories ago, and hundreds of restaurants under our belts, I still remember the first time I "didn't" eat with you. I think it was nachos....and it was the beggining of foodie oddessy....a sublime wavelength.

"Whatever you're on, I would like some too?...please share!"

Fortunate, lucky, priviledged...all of the above. It was a day out of a movie, a novel, a song, whichever. It seemed like a good choice to start the day by basking around in a zero-edge rooftop pool in between sunbeams and clouds with a cold beer; something that should be somewhat illegal for a Monday.....followed by an enchanting nap in the sand- oceanside with the sounds of the waves, birds, far away conversations, and the salty air embrassing your skin. And here come the cinematic effects: we were only awakened by flawless, unspoiled ocean rain moving in.

Mondays don't mean the typical "back in the grind" begining of the work week, I hate life, shoot me I'm going to work, Monday. While most of the country's population dreads mondays, to me they mean rendezvous, tryst, bliss therefore, this dinner would not fall short of any of these. Let me tell you about this dinner...

It could have been the zen mood from the perfect beachside siesta, the anticipation of a four star meal, or the decor of the gothic cathedral meets modern luxury. I don't know what it was, but we were on such a natural high that the server came up to our table and closely whispered, " whatever you're on, I would like some too. Please share. " . As we made our way around a bottle of Champagne, three appetizers, one soup, two special entrees, dessert, and 20 year old Port, I couldn't help myself, the smiles and giggles were abundant and superflous. It was obvious to our server that we were having a wonderful time, so much that it was contagious to him as well. Steak Tartare, Lamb Spare Ribs, White bean Dim Sum, Lobster Bisque, Soft shell Crab, Indonesian Prawns, Basil Mashed Potatoes, Ginger-candied Carrots, pickled Green Onions, Marbled Chocolate and Grand Marnier Soufle, all of this entwined with conversations of flavors, greek philosophers, and one of my all time favorite activities ---- people watching. As we looked around, no one in the dining room seemed as happy as we were to be there. You could easily say the party was definetely at our table. Some of the customers even looked dreary and upset to be dining at a beautiful four star restuarant. Some, I guess need a makeover- a life makeover that is. As for me, I was sipping that last bit of Port extremely slow because I didn't want the magnificent dinner to end.

Fortunate, lucky, priviledged? Yes. Blessed, thankful, grateful? Even more. I felt so blessed because for that moment, for that span of time, during that dinner, we were feeling so happy/so good that it poured right out of us and became infectious to others. Almost envied. That's why we were asked, "whatever you're on, I would like some too." The way I see it, life is to be lived that way, enjoyed that way, and shared with someone that way...so that others might ask you what it is that you're on?

Greenstreet, Serendipity, and Airplanes

I do not know if it was the steamy sunshine of the morning, the red velvet antique couches, the sparkling mimosas, or the idea of it being a holiday and everyone's carefree attitude that attributed to all the serendipity in the air. Maybe its one of these or its all of these that made breakfast, brilliant at Greenstreet Cafe this morning. Incredible, starving, insatiable, magical adorned the place and reflected how I felt upon entering.

A twenty minute wait meant going to the whimsical bar decorated with tiny white clay men doing some type of ballet or gymnastic excerise (pretty interesting if you ask me) to order mimosas. They were simple and perfect consisting of the "just rite" juice to champagne ratio. As I looked around, while the drinks were being made, I couldn't help but think that this is an ideal place for those who have lost touch with their sense of wonder. Was I in a scene from Alice in Wonderland? except this scene had omlettes and pancakes in it?.....

Now, fifteen minutes to kill meant sitting on the antique red velvet couches with mimosas in hand, an experience all its own, but this one would be different because instead of people watching, it seemed as if we were yorkie watching. Yes, you read correctly...yorkie watching. Almost everyone had a miniature yorkie by their side. Someone even had three. When the fifteen minutes were up, we were escorted to our petite, wrought iron table, outdoors, reminiscent of those somewhere crossed between central park and Paris. There, we sat surrounded by bustling servers, vacant conversations, and great food.

Hmmmmm, what to order? Honestly, I couldn't even pay attention to the menu because all my other senses were so occupied. The final verdict - a goat cheese and tomato omlette accompanied with a bagel and the best cream cheese I've ever had. The food took quite a bit but that didn't matter, it could have taken all day if it were up to me, that moment spelled out "happy to be here" in every form, and in every language. There are many moments in life that go unnoticed, ignored, or taken for granted but this one was just one of those that couldn't go in that direction. Breakfast was taken to completely new level, unexpectedly. After devouring the delicious omlette and bagel, we were off to whatever the rest of the day would bring us.

All of a sudden, B.O.B's new song "Airplanes" comes on the radio during the ride home..." Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars, I could really use a wish right now, a wish right now, a wish right now. " As the song went on and on, I asked myself, " Could I use a wish right now?" the answer that rushed to my head as I looked to my right, "no."

I do not know if it was the steamy sunshine of the morning, the red velvet antique couches, the sparkling mimosas, or the idea of it being a holiday and everyone's carefree attitude that attributed to all the serendipity in the air. Maybe it was one of these or maybe it was all of these that made breakfast, Brilliant.

Wafel, not Waffle!

These days, I find myself craving a Belgium Wafel. The real kind if you know what I mean, fairly odd-shaped, crispy top, and perfectly decadent. The American waffle can be sort of limp, dense, and too sweet; the Beligium wafel prances around between airy, crisp, and it finds the precise balance between sweet and salty, making the maple syrup (its partner in crime, it's Bonnie) stand out impeccably.

There's something nostalgically pleasing about a warm, buttery Belgium wafel drizzled with pure maple syrup, and homemade whipped cream, and maybe, just maybe some fresh ripened strawberries.

For the sake of novelty, Belgium wafels translate into sitting in a picturesque outdoor cafe in Brussels, in wrought-iron chairs, a glass of good Champagne, the somewhat cool/somwhat caressingly, warm Belgium breeze, and those fabulous wafels. But for those not on that side of the globe and Brussels might seem like a far shot, tomorrow is Sunday.... some celebrate daylight on Sundays with a big breakfast --- Belgium Wafels sound like a great idea to me! Ok, if I could only find my waffle iron.....I might just be Crate and Barrels first customer tomorrow morning. LOL.

What we talk about ...when we talk about food

There's one question besides the predictable, "what do you eat?" that I get in every single social circle or interview - that is, "What do you talk about, when you talk about food?" Pondering this question, I had the chance to sit with four well-suited people at a Bertolli Dinner about a month ago; all of which were about 15 years my senior; all of which you could say were worldly jaded veterans of many high end restaurant meals and were no strangers to comped vintage bottles.

Without mentioning any names, I sat with the author of the bestselling book of the account of being Mario Batali's "kitchen bitch" (all you foodies out there know what book I'm talking about), one of the editors of Maxim Magazine, one of the judges from Top Chef, and one of the CEO's of Bertolli Olive Oil. As we sat in this dimlit restaurant ordering, criticizing, and enjoying almost everything on the menu, it seemed for a brief moment that the world was divided in two - those who were "food crazy" and those who were not. Afterall, I get excited about the orgasmic combination of balsamic braised onions and goat cheese. Some don't understand the enthusiasm but for me, enthusiasm for what you truly enjoy is great.

While the conversation ping-ponged between food politics, environmentalism, domestic cookery, and downrite cookbook nerdery, all I could think about was "cravability" . What is the fundamental reason why we enjoy eating, why we plan out celebratory meals, and why we can't stop thinking about that special bite? The answer is cravability. We enjoy the food we crave, the most. Despite the culinary scene's new developments in molecular gastronomy, I'm a firm believer in that we eat what we crave, what we like, what we enjoy. It's not in our nature to enjoy a steak in the form of nitrogen, bacon in the form of gelatin, or strawberries in the form of powder. While I admire these culinary scientists, Grant Achatz alike.. I bat for the team of Julia Child, Cindy Pawlcyn, and Emeril Lagasse - The craftsmen that make you lick your fingers, role your eyes back, and never let you forget how great it is to taste something like that.

I distinctly remember, Rick Moonen's sustainable seafood movement came up at the table, and I had to interrupt. Were we really talking about sustainable seafood for 20 minutes straight? Bored out of my mind, I blurted out, "So, what's the best salmon you've ever had? Tell me the details.." I got the guts to break the ficticious intellectual ice, and ask what was really on everyone's mind. We have five foodies together, now tell me, "The best you've ever had."

It might seem like an easy task to conjure up what five foodies would talk about in a roundtable discussion about food, but its not. One thing is for certain, if you're ever caught in a roundtable discussion about food with me, I won't participate in food politics, but I will ask you "what's the best you've ever had..." and I will share with you as well, what's the best I've ever had.

So.....what do I talk about when I talk about food?

The kind of food that makes you lick your fingers, role your eyes back, and make you never forget you tasted something like that.

Best/Worst First or First Best/Worst

From the beginning there has always been three questions of ultimate intrigue. The best? The worst? Your first? This could be in regards to a movie, a lover, a meal...or any memory at that. And anyone who wants to get to know you, will somehow ask you these three questions at any given point.

However, what happens when your best/worst/first transpire at the same time? Sparks...fireworks...and a whim of breathlessness as when these three collide, its a result of stolen moments, acts of defiance, and perhaps a recipe for the most unperfect perfection. Unperfect perfection??? you might ask. Try downing four refreshing watermelon - strawberry vodka drinks that invigorate your tastebuds as they serve as thirst quenchers in the 100 degree sun, poolside. So crisp and delicious and yet, weapons of mass destruction. The drink was called "Summer Affair. " That it was...illicit, forbidden, intoxicating, and mouthwatering. All joking aside, the scene could not be any better-neither could the company. The sun was bright and beautiful bouncing off the pool chairs and clear blue water, the noise of the tourists having fun, and the heat making you crave the "summer affair" in every possible way. Was it the music or was it the heat? But there was something so unexplainably good about that icy-cold fresh burst of watermelon dabbed with a touch of strawberry. The freshness lingered in your mouth. As time progressively passed, the sun changed points, I found myself saying "ok" to another one. It was simply too easy to say yes to something that good. It was as if the words were escaping me. It seemed natural and effortless to sip it inbetween bits of good conversation. The scene was flawless, the sun was striking, and the "Summer Affair" turned out to be my best/worst first - never having drank more than one drink poolside in my entire life. Nonetheless, that Best/worst first was worth it all because it reminded me for a second, that sometimes the best comes unexpected, and it might leave a consequence or two (splitting headache or upset stomach lol), but that just might be the marks of remembrance of something great. Perfect doesn't exist, but unperfect perfection...that was my "Summer Affair."