veggie porn

Picking up where your Uncle Merv left off in our story about the lovely day that Beth and I enjoyed at Rancho la Puerta, we find ourselves back at La Cocina Que Canta (the kitchen that sings), having just met the jubilant  Executive Chef  Denise Roa. She was warm and welcoming and proud. She spoke with reverence about the ranch, the kitchen, her sous chef, intern and assistant, and especially the garden. 

We began our visit with a short talk in the kitchen, where we learned about the history and set up of the cooking school while surreptitiously eying the various stations that were prepped for our eventual hands-on learning. 

Then Chef Roa moved to the rear of the butcher block to demonstrate a few techniques and knife skills that would be helpful for us later, and we could see her hands and board through the handy dandy mirrors that hung beneath the light fixture.

Cool, right?

Then we stepped outside to check out the garden. We started with a quick detour to visit the chickens who produce the eggies for beautiful brekkies and all manner of culinary delights. I took some photos of the chickens, but I don't know why. Chickens are really ugly.

The garden was not ugly.

Doesn't it make you want to break out into a patriotic ballad?

I could sing a song about this lettuce, too.

Some of the tender greens had little blankies to keep them warm on cold nights

We tasted lots of stuff and saw strange and unusual variations of familiar herbs and greens. Not to mention a funny cat named Lizard who appears to have sprouted a quite erect tail on Beth's leg.

I loved that garden. It was visually stunning and so obviously well tended.

I kept being struck by the urge to fill my frame with all the variations of green, but then I'd look up

And looking up offered an entirely differently study in space and perspective, it was glorious to be there with the food and the earth and the sky and the mountains and MYYYY COUNTRY TIIIIIIIS OF THEEEEEEE .... oh wait, this was not technically my country. 

Inch by inch, row by roooooow, gonna make my garden grooooow...

It was a pretty nice garden.

Eventually, we headed back inside to get our hands on the fruits (as it were) of that glorious land. We had been given personalized aprons, so we were obviously well qualified to operate this range.

It's the Vulcan's great gramma.

Beth and I made a righteous rajas con queso taco filling with mushrooms, roasted corn, roasted poblanos, onions, garlic, and probably some other stuff. we got to do every step of the work, removing corn from the cob and charring the peppers over an open flame.

Here's what it looked like before we added the queso fresco...and incidentally what it still looked like when we all sat down to eat and remembered that there was another step to our abandoned assignment.

It's not that we forgot, per se. It's just that there were so many other fun things to do

Like making tortillas! And making tamales!

And look at the reluctant chef giving a lesson on skewering marinated shrimp onto rosemary stalks

It was really fun and festive and cool, and yeah maybe they gave us wine right around the time we forgot about our rajas.

We watched the sous chef prepare her family recipe for frijoles while every inch of food, every utensil, every pan and bowl and surface was whisked away into oblivion and the surfaces were wiped clean and shiny and we were called to the table for our meal.

cue angel choir, accompanied by a mariachi band

We had all just met that day, but we had plenty of shared experiences to chat about.  I suggested that we go around the table and tell about what each of us made. Because I am, you know, me.

I know what you're thinking. You don't like flan. No one likes flan. It's  jiggly and confusing. This flan, however? I wanted to marry it and make a million flan babies. I  don't remember the flavor or technique or any of that nonsense, it's not like I'm going to make flan. But I do know that it was floating in a happy river of agave syrup.  And til death do us part.

I was sad when our lovely day came to an end.

Love my girl Beth, and all those other strangers.

Our ride back to the US was easy breezy, we were full and happy and a little buzzed and someone else was driving. And it's not like our helpful guide asked if Beth and I were on a mother-daughter outing or anything. Or that he thought I was the mother.

Adios, with besos from your Uncle Merv