Culinary
& Inn Review: The Daily Nazarene, June 32 AD
I guided my tired and thirsty camel off
the Roman Road somewhere near Nazareth and headed for my favorite restaurant—Isaiah’s
Falafel Palace—but that and every other eatery in town seemed to be closed. I
was so famished that I lifted my hands up to the heavens and cried, “Oh Lord of
Abraham, bring this lonely traveler some sustenance.”
Just at that moment there was rumble
beneath my feet and a flock of doves circled around me singing an ever-so-sweet
song. Out of nowhere a young man with very long hair and a celestial glow in
his eyes was suddenly standing before me. Twelve other young men attended him.
I had heard some rumors about this Nazarene youth and his ability to feed the
masses. I stood transfixed wondering what savory delectable would be on today’s
menu.
He placed his warm hand on my cheek and
said, “Brother, are you in need of a miracle?”
Nodding my head, I replied, “I just
traveled all the way up from Jerusalem and I’m really beat and so hungry—do you
know any place open and perhaps a modest inn where I can lay my head?”
The young man first looked to the sky and
then said; “Fear not, for I shall make a table before you with a selection of
nourishment.” And faster than you could say Anno Domini there appeared a roughly
hewn board filled with fishes and loaves. “Oh this is great,” I replied, but I also
desired a little libation to go with my repast.
The bearded anointed one then asked for
my water sack and said, “I shall change your water into wine and may you both
be blessed.” I handed him my leather sack and he laid his hands on it and
placed it down on the table with my meal. He then put his hand on my shoulder
and said, “Brother, my friends and I must be off now to bring salvation to
mankind. Please enjoy your meal and when you need to lay your weary body down,
get thee to my home and thou mayest sleep in my shop, but please try not to
awaken my mother as she is a light sleeper.” I invited them all to stay but I
could tell they were on a mission and I sat myself down to dine. As I watched
them disappear on the road south I took an educated guess that those twelve men
must have been his line or sous chefs, as feeding the starving masses of Judea must
take a lot of work and preparation.
However, shortly after I sat down to
enjoy this “miracle” feast, my excitement soon turned to disappointment. Let’s
start with the wine; yes a Golan Heights merlot is a lovely treat, but for heaven’s
sake not with fish. I was hoping for perhaps a nice Coastal Plains chardonnay
or at least a very dry Negev fumé blanc. Granted, his choice of the North Coast
merlot is a favorite among the scribes and Pharisees, and its hints of fig and
pomegranate are exciting, yes, enticing, with perhaps a fatted calf or a ram,
but it’s simply not served with seafood.
Which brings us to the fish. While the tilapia
zilli had some zest to it, I felt that the anointed one was a little too generous
with the cumin and the cayenne. Indeed, while this piscis was no doubt compassionately
net caught in the Sea of Galilee, I was really in the mood for more of a salt
water creature, say a swordfish or perhaps a nice filet of broiled leviathan.
Not to be too critical of my heavenly host, but I could get tilapia anywhere,
and if indeed it’s all a miracle, why not surprise the diner with something
different from the usual catch of the day?
Now let’s talk about the bread. Yes, it
was warm and yeasty but it was not gluten free. One would surmise that anyone
who could walk on the water, bring sight to the blind, and raise the dead could
come up with a gluten-free alternative to the usual Judean loaf.
The dessert was lacking as well. I sure
hope he didn’t commit that lemon cake recipe to stone. There were lemon peels
in the cake and little bits of date pits as well. I don’t mean to be
disrespectful, but perhaps this young man should just stay with his worldwide
salvation thing or carpentry and leave the restaurant business to those with a
little more sensitivity.
Things didn’t get any better when I went
to bed down at his home. The place was full of sawdust and there were nails and
odd tools all over the floor. When I finally made myself a little pallet out of
straw and was dozing off, in walked his mother. She then kept me up all night worrying
that her son was hanging around with the wrong crowed. Every time I tried to doze
off she said something to the effect of “So my son, he’s running around with
these twelve men—how is he ever going to get married like that? What kind of mishegoss are these young men up to?”
I tried to comfort her by replying, “Oh
Mary, it’s just, you know, a stage he’s going through, a sort of messianic
thing, you know. Perhaps it’s an attempt to bond or gain approval from his father.”
Mary tilted her head and replied, “He
should stay here and learn the carpentry business and all will be well.” When
she finally left I still couldn’t sleep because of all the bugs in the straw.
However, I was awakened by heavenly smells emitting from Mary’s kitchen, where
she was preparing my very favorite morning eye opener—shakshuka—and though her harissa
was a little on the pungent side, the repast was a most pleasant way to greet
the dawn.
All in all a questionable evening meal and a
most uncomfortable night at the inn; however, the company was interesting and
breakfast was great, so I’ll give my dining and lodging experience here in
Nazareth three stars.
Art Review for The Paleolithic Post,
April, 15,000 BCE
Anyone worth his or her horsehair brushes
or bone tubes for shooting out dyes against cave walls was in attendance during
the recent full moon exhibit at Lascaux. It was quite the exciting show as many
of the artists in attendance had gone far beyond that whole bison and horse thing, which is so Lower
Paleolithic.
There was one artist in particular—I do believe
his name is Unk—who is part of the new vanguard of cave painting, as he enjoys employing
his own blood on his images from time to time. This exciting new technique adds
a titillating sense of realism to those old cold stone walls. I would advise, however,
not getting too close to Unk while he is working since he has been known to
bite and actually devour those he feels are too critical of his work.
There was a major buzz or perhaps “grunting”
going on for a young new artist who had recently worked his way up to Lascaux
from Pech Merle. Nomina Dubia was completing his latest work of a nude holding
an animal horn. The horn was incised with rows of mysterious lines that kept
his fans guessing—were the lines a lunar calendar or a woman’s menstrual cycle? Nomina would
not grunt either way, which created a greater sense of excitement about the new
work. Nomina has recently signed on with the Flint & Stone Agency and his
work will be soon be touring throughout the greater Dordogne area.
Perhaps the most
wonderful surprise of the show was my terrific culinary experience at the new
upgraded restaurant. Yerk & Saltina have not only changed the name of the
eatery from “Paleos” (which is so way too obvious) to the charming “Chow At
Lascaux.” This talented couple has changed the bill of fare as well. In the
past Yerk and Saltina were legendary for their mastodon ribs. However, I for
one felt that consuming these meaty bones directly extracted from the carcass
of a recently slaughtered beast was a bit challenging, but not anymore.
Last vernal equinox
Saltina attended a workshop up north given by (might I say) a more evolved tribe
who referred to themselves as the Parisi. They have this technique in which they
strike small rocks together over dried leaves, thus creating an event that they
refer to as “fire.” Before consuming any meat, they immerse the fresh carcass
within the flames, and the results are the taste of legends. Saltina was a
little taken aback when one of the Parisi mentioned that they have been using
these flames for hundreds of thousands of lunar cycles. One of the Parisi
referred to her as “sort of Neanderthal,” but since Saltina is indeed a
Neanderthal she didn’t mind at all.
Saltina’s new and
exciting innovative fire technique is now all the talk of the Midi-Pyrenees.
One no longer has to chew and chew raw meat for sustenance.
So the next time
you have the pleasure of dinning at Chow At Lascaux, be sure to order the ribs,
which have been immersed in these roaring flames of the earth. For a few stones
extra Saltina will gladly add her “gatherer special” rub of lichen and earthworms,
which, when all cooked with the ribs, is simply a joyous festival for the
palette.
The open cave
exhibition runs for two lunar cycles, and Chow At Lascaux is open from sunrise
to sunset except during earthquakes and the occasional invasions from nearby
hostile tribes and stampeding hoards of angry mastodons. I give both the show
and the eating experience four stars.
Be sure to catch the next show at
Lascaux: Charcoal—How Much Is Too Much?
