yeah, yeah, yeah

so, i've been off the page for a couple of days. so? i've read some of my foodie compatriots, some of those seasonal folk doing egg nog and cookies, estonian blood sausage, greek goddess dip, deviled eggs and cheese straws. cheesus! why not drag in those angels on horseback? our much loved minimalist already lasciviates on some dream lover's notion using lipton's onion mix diddled on sour cream scooped up with ruffles. what gives? and yes, i do like the occasional quiche, thick with mushrooms and woodsy sage. but for new years? worse, a reworked julia child? thereupon called "end of the year" decadence? and those late up to date, anciently recent roman recipes, of rubbed parmesan, sun dried tomato sauce, sardines recherchez, banana chips, obama-nish hawaiian ring'a'ding'dings, pineapple topped pizza, and, ach gott, forgive me, the many ways of the sweet potato. 
speechless i am, sick to my stomach, hardly able to keep stuff down and wondering what the hell is happening to my food world when lipton's makes for a comeback. i love the old greeks, like a lot, but enthralling venus into a dip? there's gotta be other allures, past a fig leaf's seduction. i know, ubi mel, ibi apes, and it is after all that honeyed season, but ain't we got other stuff roasting, the afore mentioned bing's chestnuts aside? crackers and crudités: puke! ginger and miso: gross! green cuisinart whirlies: tripple yuck! is that really all there is?
so i absented myself from food. forgive me. may the stove freeze over, kitchen gods deeply offended by me doing fontina melts,

i sat glass in hand, fireside, and i rambled through a fat "frank - the voice", never mind "witchcraft", or that fabulous rendition of cole porter's begin the beguine. was this done, my knowledgable friend, when he was still signed to the dorsey? as that may be, yet, with all that flaming of dames and the rat pack bit, it is true, i just about frisbeed his records. fabulous renditions of songs, but what  a creep...
instead i sucked up to keith. mick, life and all, more melteds, well, it's only rock'n roll, but i loved it, three feet off the ground, i was, his riffs on the blues, on guitars, on his mum, he, amazingly gentle for a man of such hard back beat. i got out my muddy waters, the chuck berry, the bo diddley. my pretty baby, she was a bird. what riffs. as keith says: there's always that lost chord, nobody's found it...yet. i loved the way the man embraces clapton, django reinhardt, bb king, jimmy reed, everly brothers, little richards, in one docile bear hug. little red rooster, indeed, even rt. 66 and satisfaction, gawd, drugs and all, what licks, what a groove. 

so, here's food again: 
half shell oysters, full bellied shigokus, keeping upright in a madeleine pan.
furthermore, and reaching way back into the past to that german childhood, in those days we had zwetschgen (a kind of roman plum) cooked over a wood fire, for hours, when the mess turned up a deep blueish black. very little sugar added, excepting the fruit's, hence i had: mecklenburger pflaumenmus. 

the aroma and flavor are with me still, and so, what might i do today with that thick, darkly fragrant jam? i do an equally dark, torched, but rosily pink of the middle pork loin. a dab of the jam on a dollar of pork. ruby basil potatoes aside. it's a rainin' in portland, what else, so no charcoal fire porch side. instead a scorching high flame under my steel pan, meat in, the sizzle a virtual blaze, a torching butane hiss searing the top. 

once blackened, the meat's center virtually cold, off went the pan to a two-twenty oven finishing the loin to a rosy tender.

for desert, as so often, a pear, in a syrup of sake, a touch of red wine for color.

now, for a new years, champagne, of course, but what kind of eats? traditionally it'd be monkfish, on a bed of bitter greens, a rough dressing, like freshly grated wasabi married to soy, set on a lemon preserve. a midnight adventure, but what of the cat? our newly adopted black feline. the naming of cats is a difficult matter, it isn't just one of your holiday games... 

so, we wish you a delicious new years, a happy one, even one of superlative delights. yes?