When I cooked at the Tabard Inn the mid-eighties I had a reputation among the cooks for being able to make lunch specials out of seemingly incompatible odds and ends. As we cleaned out our reach-ins first thing in the day, drinking coffee, blasting music, shouting “I’ve got a some coulis-this and eggplant-jam-that”, the lunch specials codified in our fertile cook’s minds. “I’ll take it!!”, said I, not to anything, but to lots of things, and they all came together in a lunch collage that made perfect, edibly-understood LUNCH.
Dr. Evermor makes sense to me, other than what looks like a missing e. My mind is dogged by the lack of that e. Good for me perhaps, so says Oprah, to be outside of my comfort zone. Little does she know though, that I have never found a comfort zone. That in itself, must be one. For Dr. Evermor too, one might surmise.
The lunch special last August at the good doctor’s was made of seemingly incompatible odds and ends. Trash, refuse, leftover, orts, till they are brought together. Imagination’s fairy/troll sanitation worker works magic on the stuff, and it is new. Newer than new.
We had been out to Dr. Evermor’s before, but we wanted to go back. Fresh blood was along, and we knew we would see it with fresh eyes.
The sanctuary is outside Madison, WI. Not a very long drive. A quiet 4-lane. Seems to me that Wisconsin traffic has not kept pace with the east coast. They are not, I repeat NOT, doing their duty in producing greenhouse gases. Sheesh. What shirkers.
We walked and smelled the rust and the sun and the clover-grass. Minerals standing on vegetables in the form of animals. Marvelous to marvel over, on and in. Smaller than a bread box and bigger. Very largely hugely manificently bigger.
The boy may have been born Korean and raised by a mother who is half (the wrong half) Jewish, but he speaks the universal language of brats. All communication is conveyed with a wide-open mouth and a mustard grin.