Day 23: Reconnections

I didn’t get much sleep last night, a grand total of four hours.  So even if I was hungry, I wouldn’t have had time to eat.  So much for that; like so many other things in life that were “meant to be done”, breakfast became a victim of time.  I would have loved to have another Elvis, or maybe even another stab at the Jellvis whose first appearance was marred by home-made Jam courtesy of one of my mom’s friends in the Catholic Women’s League.  Marred because the jam, while tasty and possibly infused with the grace of God (does that make it tastier?), was a little runny, causing the maiden Jellvis to be a little soggy.  I have to wonder what the Catholic Women’s League thinks about an atheist eating their wares.  Will my consumption of the jam leave a black mark on their records?  Enough of that; and back to the Elvis and its iterations…I’ve come up with one more: the Coconutellvis.  I named it last night over dinner with my cousin and it stems from one of my favourite sandwiches, a peanut butter, nutella and coconut butter sandwich.  It doesn't have a name...but it's a fucking masterpiece.  I indulge in one every now and then when I’m in a dirty food kind of mood.  The way I envision it, the Coconutellvis has to be a double Elvis with the middle slice being spread with coconut butter on one side and nutella on the other.  Double the bacon; double the banana; double the honey, and double the risk of a fucking heart attack…or at the very least, a cavity.  I’m not sure it will crack my firm “top 5 sandwiches list”, but it might make the second tier of the “top 10”.

Sandwiches…they’re my holy grail of food.  Versatile; portable; tasty…ephemeral.  I’m so dedicated to the sandwich that it figures into my answer for the old question “What would you do if you won the lottery?”  Simple, I’d open a sandwich shop where the art of the sandwich would be the top priority and profit would be a secondary concern.  There would be no substitutions since I, as the sandwich expert, would know what was best for you.  It would be the kind of place where vegetarian sandwiches would come with bacon for no reason other than that pigs love vegetables.  And anyone who protested would be summarily dismissed and branded a food loser on their way out…with an actual branding iron!

Related  to sandwiches was today’s lunch.  I met up with my friend Burm and set out in search of something to eat.  A second night in a row of eating out had deprived me of the joy known simply as “leftovers”.  There wasn’t much pork on offer, and the endless examples of “ham and cheese” sandwiches did nothing for me.  They were the very definition of sandwich boringness.  The other option was sweet and sour pork which seemed to be available at every Asian restaurant.  I ultimately settled on pork souvlaki on a pita, and as I sat down and took a bite Burm knew exactly what I was thinking.  There was no joy in eating it.  The taste, the texture, it all seemed to be lacking.  He hit the nail on the head when he proclaimed it as “fuel, not food”.  If it wasn’t my month of pork, I would have been better off with a vitamin pill, a doughnut and a glass of water.

Dinner was part experimental, part traditional, and all special.  Mike, my ex-brother-in-law (ex-wife’s sister’s husband), was coming over.  We’ve been in contact over the past couple of years, but haven’t actually gotten together.  There’s a legitimate reason for this… Mike is likely the busiest person on the planet.  As a dedicated family man and recognized expert in his chosen field of work, he’s either occupied at home with his young children, or travelling the globe on business.  He’s one of the smartest guys I know, and I think most who meet him aspire to be like him in some way with the exclusion of his cholesterol problem.  We were joined by my brother Marco who paid an impromptu visit and brought gifts of pork back ribs.

We all caught up over what once began the typical meal for Mike and me: a cheese and salumi platter.  Unfortunately, the cholesterol problem forced Mike to turn down the salo, but the home-made salami went quickly as did the prosciutto and cured bacon.  We talked of family, business, culture, travel to far off lands, wrecked cars, broken hearts, allegiances and obligations, battles won and lost, building houses and tearing down walls, and as was always a hot topic for Mike and I (and Marco as well)… the love of food .

We destroyed the platter before I got a chance to take a photo

The ribs cooked on the barbeque as we turned to the next course of Barese sausage, which was followed by my inside-out experiment.  Bacon wrapped scallops are quite common, but what if I managed to switch that around and make scallop wrapped bacon?  I set to work fileting large scallops into long thin slices and proceeded to wrap them around bacon rolls that I had baked in the oven.  They were finished off on the barbeque for a couple of minutes and what emerged tasted exactly like what you’d expect, except that with a full slice of bacon, the emphasis was on the pork instead of the seafood.

Inside out: scallop wrapped bacon

 

Shredded carrot and fennel salad: an afterthought.

Somewhere in the middle of things, Marco had to leave, but Mike stuck around.  The hours slipped away as the wine glasses were filled and refilled, first with a South African pinotage that Mike had been holding on to for a couple of years, then with a Italian ripasso that had spent some time in my cellar.  Before we knew it, it was 1:30 and Mike had to go as well. We committed to doing this more often; and definitely sooner rather than later.