Day 5 - Wherein I Conform To Your Close-minded Definitions.

I didn't arrive where I am today by what one would call a direct route. I have wandered, swerved, taken the long way, and driven down more than my fair share of dead ends, but all of that is what makes me the guy I am today. This way of living has given me a different thought process than most people - after all, most people will choose the cubical and live and die in it. I'm a creative guy. I think out of the box - whatever the fuck that means. I like thinking about what things mean. I can write you a song, and sing the fuck out of it, on stage, with zero fear. See:



That's me, playing songs, on a stage with no fear.

I can make pretty food. See:



That's a pretty plate.

Hell, I can paint you a pretty painting. See:



That there is a pretty painting.

Sometimes when I'm getting serious about cooking I look like this:



That's me, looking serious.

And other times I look like this:



That pig has wings, and they flap if you pull a string.

The point is that the one thing you can count on from me is that I am likely to surprise you. That's not always a good thing, but sometimes it is, and when it is, it's a hell of a lot of fun. When it's not, well... Things tend to go sideways and people get hurt. That's why I have kind of polarizing personality where people either really like me, or really don't, and in the end I'm sorry when they don't, but being sorry is not the same thing as giving a fuck.

I do like to tease people though, and it's fun for me to get a rise, which I why one of the things I'm enjoying about this salad project is that I get to post pictures of crazy as things and ask if it's salad or not. Some people seem to get the joke, but others seem to really be either confused or actually mad at some of my suggestions.

I'll post a frittata and ask if it's salad. "Salad?" Folks don't always like it. Others think it's hilarious and point out that chopped egg and broccoli with some cheese could very easily fit the description of salad. And you've got to know I'm just straight up trolling you when I post this, and ask if it's salad:



That's my five year old's afternoon snack, or at least what's left of it, but you know, some people seem to take the suggestion seriously. But what if I made a salad of wheat berries with parmesan tuiles, and coupled it with pears - which were originally on the plate. Would that not be salad? So, perhaps my son's snacks can serve as inspiration for future salads, because there's a long way to go on this stupid project, and I'm going to get weirder and weirder.

You've been forewarned.

The weirdness will come, but today is not the day for it. I figured it might be a good idea to let you all know that I do, actually, know how to make a salad. Here it is:



That's a proper salad, and no one can argue that it isn't. That's mixed greens, sautéed mushrooms, shaved carrots, avocado, blue cheese powder, and my ass kicking, balsamic, soy, sesame, vinaigrette.

I've said it before, and I'm sure I'll say it many more times in the coming year, hater's gonna hate. But they can't hate on that. You could put that sucker on any menu, anywhere, and it would stand up to muster by anyone's book. You might get some questions about the blue cheese powder, but it's easily explained. So, I will.

I buy smoked blue cheese - Moody Blue, to be exact - and I store it in the freezer. By the time you get to the end of a container there is just a frozen powder left, so that's what that is. Still, if I wanted to, I could make an actual blue cheese powder, and so could you. VERY easily. In fact it's one of the easiest of the so called "molecular" recipes. Want to impress your friends? Do this: go to Modernist Pantry - tell them I sent you, they're great people - and buy yourself some N-Zorbit-M. Don't be afraid, that's just a trade name. I don't know why they do that as it just scares the hell out of people when they use weird names, but all you're buying is maltodextrin. Still scared? That's just tapioca starch, but the food world likes crazy names. You've been eating this stuff for years. It's how we turn cheeses into powders to put on things like chips. Get it? You're gonna love it.

Don't be afraid of the weights. You're going to think, "What? Seven bucks for 50 grams???" But this stuff is VERY light. Like snow, in Colorado, in January, at the top of a 14,000 foot peak, light, and a little goes a long way. You buy it right here: http://www.modernistpantry.com/tapioca-maltodextrin.html

Start off easy with pure fat. Make some bacon, and save the grease, then put some of it in a bowl. Not much, like a tablespoon's worth. Then put some of the maltodextrin into the bowl and mix it around with the grease. Keep adding the powder until the stuff turns into a texture like sand, then add some more, and rub it between your hands. It will turn into a powder that when you put it on your tongue will instantly disappear leaving only the pure taste of bacon! How cool is that? You're a vegetarian? Use a really nice olive oil, and you'll get Olive Oil Powder! It's very fun.

So, to make blue cheese powder, start by melting some blue cheese powder in some cream. Once you've done that, repeat all the steps above, only this time with the blue cheese cream. At the end you'll have blue cheese powder.

OK then, I've made a salad which no one can refute as anything other than a salad. I ate it for lunch, and it was, OK, but we're all going to need to get on the same page if this is going to last the year. We're going to need to get weird together. We're going to need to think outside of the box, and push the envelope, and seek out synergistic alignments of non-traditional food pairings, or whatever the hell you want to call it.

Let's all try our best to think of what the good Dr. Hunter S. Thompson would do when put in a situation like this. No, I'm not saying we should cut up a box of grapefruits and pour a vial of LSD on them! I'm just sayin' that's the guy who said, "When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro."

I'm a pro, and you're gonna get a full dose of that this year.