This is certainly my most exhaustive Photoshop effort to date. This silly thing took at least five times as long to make as the gnocchi, and isn’t half as delicious. For this recipe I used Ile de France goat cheese, the second installment of product they wanted me to eat and write about. The last cheese they sent me I basically ate straight, so I thought it better to cook with this one. The cheese had a creamy texture and showcased that distinctive goaty taste. The flavor carried through to the gnocchi, and was exceptional. I liked this cheese better than the last one they sent, it had a little more personality. I also found the packaging more pleasing, this time with a picture of a goat rather than a picture of cheese. Still a bit flashy for me but a step in the right direction. This company is bringing some great cheese into the country. I hope some more of it finds its way to my doorstep. I chose gnocchi because I have always wanted to try it. I’ve seen Perez and before him Arturo making these things three times a week for the past eight months. I had the process memorized just by seeing it done so many times. I won’t include a detailed recipe because I’m quite sure there isn’t one. You basically knead the ingredients into a dough, form it into a wiener, and you’re good to go. You’ll have to forgive the penis humor, faithful readers, but I gotta be me.

I eat good at work. At about nine-thirty, or ten o’clock, I’m about to get fed. One night Perez made me this slider, it had foie torchon and a fried quail egg. I practically inhaled it. Arturo loves to cook for everybody. One morning when we were all hungover he cooked up some rib tacos with black bean sauce. Perfect hangover food. One night, at the end of service, he brought me this tasty pork loin dish, it had this great spicy salad on it. Niell also cooks for me sometimes, like stuffed chicken breast and bacon shallot mashies. I asked him what he could throw together for me real quick and he shows up with a perfectly seared, feta stuffed goodness with smooshy taters. It made my night. He made me a big fat steak one night, too. Still another night, Tony 2 Fingers had a duck tit mac-e-chee for me, with stinky blue cheese. He’s always got some project going for me to taste, like a bacon wrapped terrine. One night I ate this delicious duck confit, Perez made that one, too. But you know, I get hungry. Doing what I do, you can catch an appetite. The kind of appetite that requires a healthy portion of mayonnaise, butter, duck fat or cheese. I wonder what my cholesterol looks like these days. I imagine a delicious looking sludge pumping through my veins, a river of fetid creaminess that would make a good sauce were I to mount some butter. Ah, gluttony…GIMME A RIB!!

Another Spirit dinner hosted by Kelley Swenson and Timothy Davey. The two passionate mixologists poured Italian bitters, and Jack and Anthony were cooking in the street. The sun sunk low in the sky and filled The Cleaners with an ethereal light. At the door we were handed a tall orange cocktail which refreshed us thoroughly. We sat at he head of one side of the large L shaped table. Godfather footage was being projected onto the wall. The Chefs laid down some sweet courses and the bartenders offered educational interludes with the drinks. A bright and fresh tuna tartare with rhubarb and pine nuts, a tea smoked duck breast that I can still taste if I think about it. A Compari cocktail that I knew Tony 2 Fingers was drinking in the back. Jaybill and I enjoyed the food and cocktail pairings, the conversation at the table was nerdy, and laughing, we sipped our drinks. Third course was a trio of scallops, Foie, and pork belly paired with three shots. This was a really fun dish. The richness of each of the items washed down with a syrupy spirit. The infused herbs and vegetables in the bitters trumped us. My head was buzzing with delight. I felt an elation that would last the rest of the night. As our lamb T-bone floated over, I floated in my seat. Elbows hit the table, and the tiny bones were chewed clean without looking up. I almost forgot my drink as I took a breath. Delicious!! A weird sensation coursed through me as I thought about my day so far. Getting to work and spinning ice cream and baking cookies, I picked mint as Jack and Tony prepped. I helped Jack set up the Foie mousse, and when my brother met me at the restaurant I carried it down the street. A few months ago I was thinking about getting out of this business, and now I’m carrying little votives of pureed Foie Gras across Burnside. Attending a nerdy white tablecloth foodie dinner where I actually know a few people. Chef introducing me to the crowd as I sit there half-drunk, waving. “That’s right…I make the cookies!” Jack waved me over to verify mint plouche placement. We fell into a methodical rhythm of plating. I smiled as Chef scooped, and Tony and I sandwiched the cookies onto the plates. I returned to my seat and gulped at my mini Fernet cocktail. I took a bite of the ice cream sandwich. I slowly nodded my head. Then we peaced.

In Beaune, France, I visited real pastry shop. Near our hotel there was a spot with delicious smelling individual pastries, all smart and clean and made similar modular molds and built in frames. I bought a triple chocolate mousse cake. The delicate chocolate garnish on top caught my eye, and the barely gelatine-ized mousses melted easily in my mouth. I felt myself getting closer to Paris as I ate my little cake in the park. My mecca of food and cooking was on the next horizon. I felt it all deep-like. We visited the local cheese shop, the smell of moldy funk filling the air, the streets. Viva fucking France, Man!! For lunch, we wandered an open air market We bought cheese, bread, tapanade, and fruit. We ate by the merry-go-round and people watched. Our dinners were good in Beaune, everything from snail shaped foie to burger and fries and carpaccio. We played cards at night and talked while drinking local wine. We woke early one morning and boarded a train to Paris. I knew soon I would be eating at Pierre Herme’s shop, the epicenter of my pastry dreams. A few days later, in a jewelery shop style setting, precise desserts were handed to me by white gloved employees who openly mocked my poor French. OK, maybe they didn’t have white gloves, but I couldn’t get my mind around this perfect pastry shop. I could barely take it in. I was all jittery, starstruck. Perfect soldier-like rows of macrons and chocolate masks. 60 euro boxes of truffles and what looked like loaves of quick-bread. I ended up buying a chocolate dome called Plentitude and two macarons. The two cookies we ate while walking through the Tuileries Gardens outside the Louvre. One cookie was olive oil, the other salted caramel. Kate found a huge wrought iron spider. Later, inside the Musee Dorsay, I ate the chocolate mousse dome. We saw several great paintings and cool sculptures. I saw paintings by Van Gogh and Degas. Pierre Herme’s mousse cake left a more lasting impression than either. Fractal shapes of uber-thin chocolate fit into a seemingly random pattern, covering the dome. Underneath, a glossy ganache coated a luscious dark chocolate mousse and a crisp cookie base. I went back a second time, and bought more delicious stuff. More macarons of course, and in Luxembourg Gardens, I ate another dome. This one had a creamy salty caramel center and milk chocolate mousse. A chocolate macaron made a base for the tempered chocolate hemisphere. I have got to get me one of them molds. I also visited Laduree in Paris, and had a fine meal. Seared Foie with crisp brioche and foie fat. Veal Sweetbreads with parsnip puree. Kate had Scallops with Black Rice. My first taste ever of sweebreads left me drooling and the foie was cooked perfectly. Kate cleaned her plate and we ordered dessert. An opera cake sort of, and a chocolate passion fruit tart. Both were cleanly executed and delicious…but I still had Pierre Herme’s in tongue-memory. The macarons we bought on the way out weren’t nearly as good. I could feel myself getting fatter and I didn’t care.

We ate twice at the Stockhorn in Zermatt, Switzerland. We arrived in town on the Glacier Express in snow storm. Big flat flakes blew everywhere. An overgrown golf cart picked us up from the station and brought us to the Albatross Hotel. After checking in, we inquired about the local fondue joint. A short walk from our hotel landed us in a stinky cheese cellar. Travel weary and eager to relax, we ordered wine and beer. Shortly afterwards, a salad and charcuterie plate arrived at our table to our delight. The meat was fatty without being greasy and had nice spice. Steaming and stinky, our cheese fondue was delivered next with toasted bread. Garlic and white wine filled the air, and a slight aroma of vinegar. Drool flooded my mouth as it wafted into my face. There was more melted cheese than we could possibly eat but dammit, we had to try. As we dipped towards the bottom, our pores oozed with oily cheese. I knew the best cheese was burned to the bottom of the crock, all crunchy and dark. I chiseled with my fork to get those last few bites. After eating our fill, we waddled back to the hotel in hopes of hot tubs and glasses of proseco. The following day the hotel served a buffet style breakfast. I ate three croissants, scrambled eggs, bacon, cottage cheese, two kinds of dried meat, yogurt , and buttered bread. Afterwards, we frequented swiss bakery fuchs, where the smell of chocolate lured us into to melty heaven. We sat around our hotel most of the day, sporadically venturing out for snacks. We wanted to catch a glimpse of the Matterhorn, but as much as it teased us we never did. We watched old Frank Sinatra movies and BBC sitcoms while drinking and playing cards. Our hotel room in Zermatt was one of the nicest we stayed in. Later that night we wandered down to the StockHorn again. We sat in the upstairs dining room this time, with a great view of the fire place. Here all the proteins were cooked. A server would bring up little plates of raw meat from the kitchen. Dude would then toss them all into a bain of marinade for a few minutes , then throw them on the grill. I ordered beef tenderloin (44 francs,) and sure enough, right into that sticky sauce, then onto the grill. As we watched it leave the flames, a server dished out sides from a chafing dish near the grill. Au gratin potatoes and sauteed veggies met the steak on the plate. It all came to the table moments later with a crock of garlicy compound butter. Kate and I split the perfectly temped beef and side salad. As the night got rolling, dude flew through his orders, a blur of motion. A little intercom on the mantle kept him in touch with the kitchen. This guy cooked fifty or so steaks plus chicken, as we ate and watched. The night winded down and we drank more wine. We walked dreamily back to the hotel for more chocolate and sleep. The following day we would travel to France.

On Saturday I rolled into work and found out I’d be doing an off-site catering event. I scrambled to get my prep done so I could be off to the Portland Indie Wine Festival. We were serving Chef’s delicious Cauliflower Panna Cotta with Dungeness Crab Salad and Trout Roe. We got there a little late and by the time we set up our table, throngs of people surrounded us. The panna cotta was flying off our display at such a rate at first we were totally going down, even though we had brought about six hundred of them. It was all we could do to keep up. After the initial rush, we noticed people were setting our little appetizer cups into their wine glasses so they could walk, talk, and eat. There was some cool stuff at this event, but the general consensus was that we had the best food. Some folks came back three or four times. We sold every single one we brought, and after cleaning up, we took a quick cab back to the restaurant to help with a busy night of service. Kate and her friend showed up for happy hour, and I knew Jaybill and Keri were coming in for his birthday dinner. With 80 something on the books we were in for a fun night. While the boys cooked their assess off, put up a multi-course (eight?) tasting dinner for my brother and his wife, I played gopher-boy for the line and plated desserts. I brought Kate a dessert sampler platter, and my brothers table had three dessert courses. They were gushing with satisfaction at thier meal. The following day, Chef threw a party at his house for Cinco de Mayo. I got up early and made empanadas with sausage and cheese. I started drinking PBR early and by 4:00, I was completely shnaukered. The sun was out, Salty Dogs were poured, and I made a dipping sauce from all the available items on the buffet. Guac, , sour cream, ceviche, bean dip, and who knows what all went in there. I got hella sick and stunk out the bathroom. It was a nightmare of clogged sinks, overflowing toilets, no paper, and people were pounding on the door!! I was embarrassed, but party kept on, and among friends all was well. We’ll remember this party. I fell of early, and Kate picked me up and we hit up Kennedy School for burgers and cheesecake.

In Malcesine (Mal-CHEE-see-nay,) Italy, we had the most amazing pastries. I think technically they were cookies, made from some kind of short dough, but there they called them Balls of Snow. Sure I had pizza and pasta, but it wasn’t until I ate these things that I knew I was in for some really interesting food. Balls of Snow are apparently only available in Malcesine, and can be a little tricky to eat. From what I could taste, this was a butter cookie of some sort, that while still warm from the oven was slathered with a filling and rolled into a ball. Then once cooled, a topping or glaze was added. After I started stuffing my face, it didn’t matter, they were brilliant, and fun to eat. I had other pastries in Italy, none that really stick out in my mind. Eating there was all about showcasing fresh ingredients, and this really came through on the savory side of things. In Limone, I had pizza that was so simple, yet so perfect, it left me speechless. Well, more like slurping, but you get the idea. One of our best meals was in Bellagio, at a little place called Barchetta. We walked up this little stairway/sidewalk, sat in the sun and had the lunch of a life time. We had bruscetta, then I had the Gorgonzola Gnocci, and Kate Spaghetti Carbonara. We washed it down with a 4 euro carafe of wine and were absolutely sated. I went inside to pay the bill and tipped the cook directly for an amazing meal. It was so good, that night we went back for dinner. At 7 pm, the dining room above the street opens up, and they serve even more good food. We shared a plate of Pan Fried Lake trout over Parmesan Rissotto, and of course more cheap wine. Our dessert was creme brulee (below,) but not in the traditional presentation. The custard was quenelled onto the plate and bruleed in a free-form way…on the black plate it looked sharp. Kate looked at me with that special look she’s got, and we knew we’d had another great meal. It was just enough to push us into a full fledged food coma. We slept like babies that night. Fat babies.