Thanksgiving 2005

a feast for friends

Guest of Honor : Robert Creeley

Nec laudas nisi mortuos poetas: tanti non est, ut placeam, perirei

This menu dinner was planned and sketched out in December of last year. I asked for and kindly received permission to write this before his death. It was not intended as an ultimate tribute, as it must unfortunately become. Thus, I am committing myself to making this years trivial menu series into something that I may not be able to accomplish. Therefore, I apologize, and it is rightly needed as my poetic acumen is stridently contrasted to what is needed. So I humbly ask you to read this in the spirit it was conceived and not as the crowning achievement it should be. Thank you, Geoffrey Gatza

Thanksgiving Feast 2005

Soup

Velvet Corn & Crab Soup with Crab Stick

Appetizer

Angry Dragon Roll with Eel & Kabayaki Sauce

Salad

Buddha's Harmonized Vegetable Feast for the Minor Gods

Intermezzo

Fuji Apple Wonton with Vanilla Consomm

Entre

Cranberry Capon Seared on a Hot Stone with Wasabi Dipping Sauce

Dessert

Giant Fortune Cookie Filled with White Chocolate Mousse, Mandarin Oranges, Pineapple & Lychee Fruit, Tangerine Sorbet & Ginger Syrup

Soup

Velvet Corn & Crab Soup with Crab Stick

Parrhesiaii
Something was hidden in there, I tried to hold back my tears. When I opened my hand, I couldnt see the paper anymore. Closing off my mind a tube whistled crystal warnings again. Crashing ashore the sand gathered itself into the bricks of a fort. Without footmen our coach kept going, right past the platform. I am lost on the Elizabethan stage, Im told to stand and deliver! I do nothing but run towards the dark womans long plaid skirt. The brown flowers wring their hands telling me I cannot remain. I flew to the first yellow square on the Bellmakers map of the sea.

I have three eyes that convey my functional corporate identity. You are a humiliated victim parking your broken car in traffic. Tobacco spills into your coffee cup and you are loathe to drink, I drink from the cup of warm tobacco and think of tamarinds. Ping! The new glimmer of power shopping affords me an identity, understanding the motivating emergent meaning of, say, indulgence. There are many corners where I bury my head to find peace and quiet to unwind within the calm and charm of a small townhouse hotel a chic relaxing place where tea is elegantly served in flower pots.

Old habits die hard. There are those great artisans in France, who are unwilling to give any concession from the search for perfectionism, seeking out pure flavors of shoe daubers.

Do you want to dance with me? It is still moonlight and the harpies have sharpened their yaws to yawning flashes of golden dawn patrols strafing khaki memories of you kissing your beloved wedding rings. When will I be back again to face those indictment charges? Loathe to go but inspiration springs itself as a diamond bracelet or lit match handcuffed to a stick of dynamite insisting on a shortcut through a mine. So what do you do? You move onward in hopes that the stars on TV are more heroic than they portray and in their image you proceed, stumble over a series of small trials which follow one another in dizzying speeds blowing in both direction, letting the dog in and the owner out for dinner dates with an unforgivable fools, really, with that guy who is guilty of tax fraud but indicted on charges of inciting that monster robot attack in L.A.

Appetizer

Angry Dragon Roll with Eel & Kabayaki Sauce

Bonfires

Remember, remember the fifth of Novemberiii

A tawdry laundry worker gazing out a window Sees the lemon crisped sun slip from the sky Her cheeks show passion for autumn fading For the chilled ire in her hands. November is orange Ginger flavored cookies that Nancy always bakes this Time of year, rounded little fires like those on bonfires Eve, burnt red flowers brown sugar, walnuts, tangerine peel, Dried gunpowder kegs, broken jaws, and treason!

Her lavish heart seethes in found leisurely pursuits. Thoughts of him, he in that black hat, charred White skin smelling of leaves. She enjoys a good Pyre now and again, peaks the eye teeth to drool Memories of Yule logs, spitted roasts, puddings, Spotted dick, this very bad man, this pale twisting Wretch to be killed, should be killed with a bag On his head, percussions, keenness no less

But there are no cookies. There is no fire.

salad

Buddha's Harmonized Vegetable Feast for the Minor Gods

Thunder Dragon
Bestow situations upon all gleaners Award senior citizens their watches In a haze of wired cathedrals a misguided cube of heroine reaches for the bin of stored arms and a small cotton ball it is the space left by an object when it is missed that renders space negative as a spectacular lapse of judgment visually, emotionally and spiritually When the god of literature was taken prisoner, it was Lei Jen Zu who went to his father, Thunder Dragon; He gave him magic apricots that would transform him into a green horned dragon As a dragon Lei Jen Zu saves Robert Creeley for him to write, in the eyes of time, the world is an endless cycle of limitations.

Intermezzo

Fuji Apple Spring Roll with Vanilla Consomm

Asymmetry
Brevis esse latoro obscurus fioiv.

Not here yet but in time no question we will get there.

Entre

Cranberry Capon Seared on a Hot Stone with Wasabi Dipping Sauce

Tiger Lu
Noli simul flare soberequev

In this sacred grove grew a certain herb round which at any time of the day, and probably far into the night, a grim figure might be seen to prowl. In his hand he carried a drawn sword, and he kept peering warily about him as if at every instant he expected to be set upon by an enemy. He was a chef and a murderer; and the man for whom he sought was sooner or later to murder him and hold his kitchen in his stead. No one is able to flee from death or love. Such were the rules of the kitchen. And Tiger Lu, head chef of the famed bistro Prominence, realized himself, charmed. Anything we haven't envisaged before is marvelous. And Tiger Lu is marvelous. This chef insists that he can produce any culinary effect he desires merely by imagining it: from the second he infers whatever magic he does to a material object will affect equally, differently each person with whom the comestibles entertain.

He digests his food in complete ignorance of the intellectual and physiological processes which are essential to the one operation and to the other. In short, to him magic is always the art, never a science; the very idea of theory is lacking in his undeveloped mind. Tiger Lu is a self-taught chef who grew up in the white linens and felicitous service of his parents restaurant, Goblin Market. His technique is becoming folklore; his signature dishes are aesthetically simple carefully crafted cuisine uniting excitable flavors through his often-indulgent ingredients which elevate the experience upwards of nirvana. His carpaccio, gleaming with black truffle oil illustrates this, as does his misto di pesce alla griglia. Crisp, chic, austere, rich, luxuriantTiger Lu covers all angles with modern global accents striving constantly to climb new heights. The atmosphere is defiant, sleek, sophisticated in gentrified inflections courting a knowledgeable clientele, and as such, have no qualms about serving innovative dishes like soft-shell crab with yuzu wakame salad alongside a perfectly articulated Dover sole (de-boned and plated tableside), and a delightful lamb loin thats been flower roasted.

It is for the philosophy student to trace the yarns of yearning which underlies the chefs practice; to draw out the few simple threads of which the tangled skein is composed; to disengage the abstract principles from concrete applications; in short, to discern the spurious scallion behind the spice. THE questions which we have set ourselves to answer are mainly two: first, why did Tiger Lu, slay his predecessor? Second, why before doing so had he placed an ancient velvet amaryllis in the toque of his dead predecessor? In the old heathen days chefs seem to have exercised powers akin to high priests. Emperors of China offered public sacrifices to his chefs, the details of which were regaled in ritual cookbooks. The King of Madagascar held great festivals at the new year, a ram was sacrificed for the good of his kitchen. The chef stood over the sacrifice to offer seasonings and bid thanksgiving to the gathered crowds, while his assistants slaughtered the animal. In the Gallas of Eastern Africa, the king sacrifices on mountain tops the immolation of human victims; a union of temporal and spiritual power, dedicated to the chefs of that delightful region whose ancient capital is now buried under the rank growth of deep amber forests.

To Tiger Lu the world is, to a great extent worked by supernatural agents, that is, by personal spirits acting on impulses and motives like his own, fallible like him moved by appeals to their pity, their hopes, and their fears and passions. In a world so conceived he sees no limit to this power. The course of nature is his own primal advantage. Prayers, promises, or threats may secure him the finery of cuisine and an attentive staff. And if a god should he be, as he sometimes believes, to incarnate his own person, then he need appeal to no higher being ever again; he, the savage chef, possesses all the powers necessary to further his own well-being and that of his fellows. In dizzying speeds Rambutan, Mangoes, and lychee roll off the tip of the tongue. Come in, come buy The sweet taste of tropical islands Mangoes are a luscious symbol Of sweet love. Come, come inside. From the sky falls a roasted Buddha in a glorious amber hoisin explosion Mandarin sizzled fried rice, Taiheiyo, Anago, Hamachi Yellowtail, Abandon yourself in pan-roasted mahi-mahi.

Suzuki Striped Bass. Uni, Hotate, Botan Katsuo and Tako Sheets of Satay Chilean Sea Bass Wok Roasted Asparagus Lime & Thai Chile Stuffed Shrimp Crispy Tuna Sashimi Roll with Edamame Tuna Tartar with Ginger Juice & Wasabi Oil Rice is sown by women who, in sowing, let their hair hang loose down their back, in order that the rice may grow luxuriantly and have long stalks. Garlic and ginger may serve to avert not only wizards and wolves but death itself. I shall light a candle for you when you come by. Place it on the snowy windowsill, all the doors in the house, all the drawers, all the boxes, all the cupboards are thrown wide open, the keys taken out, and a bag of potatoes will dangle from a beam, whereby a sure, certain, and easy passage into eternity can be secured through a velvet amaryllis.

Dessert

Giant Fortune Cookie Filled with White Chocolate Mousse, Mandarin Oranges, Pineapple & Lychee Fruit, Tangerine Sorbet & Ginger Syrup

Noble Treasures from the Sea

Fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangiturvi

From Milk Magazine:

20 Questions with Robert Creeley

MM: RC:

What word of advice to the world? Stop killing people as a means of solution.

Endnotes

If only dead poets are praised, I'd rather go unsung. ii (n): The practice of asking forgiveness before speaking in this manner. iii Written 11/05/05 the 400th anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot. iv When I try to be brief, I speak gobbledygook. v Don't whistle and drink at the same time. vi Fortune is glass; just when it gleams brightest it shatters.