Month: August 2014 (Page 2 of 2)

Photo of the Day: Lamb Tongue at Restaurant Amador

I miss working in the kitchen at Amador, and wish I had been able to stay there longer.

I miss working in the kitchen at Amador, and wish I had been able to stay there longer.

“A little more than two years.” That is how I reply when anyone asks me how long it has been since I have had my hands on some lamb tongue. To many people it will sound odd, but when one works daily with items on a menu you become one with them, and discover their nuances and feelings. These things have identities and personalities, and the more you handle them, smell them, feel them, the more they open up to you, the more they give you. And the more you miss some of them when they are taken off the menu or you no longer work with them.

One of my tasks at Amador was prepping lamb’s tongue. Christian, another cook with whom I worked closely at this Michelin Three Star-restaurant located in Mannheim, Germany, showed me how to slice it thinly and use a round to cut it into the shape required for the dish. Not every piece was usable, because we sought a particular, even coloration. Gray does not look good on a plate, and Chef Juan Amador wanted (and wants) nothing but perfection.

Photo(s) of the Day: Girona

Youths of Catalunya

Youths of Catalunya

Boys

I was in Spain, and had driven from Barcelona to Girona, stopping for an impromptu lunch at Can Fabes along the way. Friends were preparing to open a wine bar/restaurant, Mon Oncle, in that little city with the river winding through it, and I wanted to visit them on my way to Provence. Mon Oncle is in an ancient square in Girona, and if you sit at one of its tables you will eat and drink well. It is run by good people. The boy on the left is the son of two of the owners, and he and his friend were busy with an iPad as the adults around them swept and cooked and composed menus.

Photo of the Day: Tokyo

An offering of love.

An offering of love.

I was wandering the streets of Tokyo, having just arrived that morning from New Delhi. I was hungry, and tired, but in love with the sunshine and the crowded sidewalks. I knew I wanted a beer, and I knew I wanted to find a quiet place in which to sit and gather my bearings. I saw in the distance a sign on the second level of a small building. On the sign was a pig. I steered toward the pig and walked up a flight of stairs and into a small restaurant whose walls were covered with advertisements for beverages and films. I took a seat at a table near the wall, and was happy to see the stovetop in the middle of the table. I speak no Japanese. The woman in this photograph speaks no English. That was no obstacle. Not at all.

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