Today is going to be a busy one, and out of concern that I won’t have time to do my blogging later tonight, I’m on it first thing this morning. However, I’m not really at my best in the early morning, and I’m still getting over this super weird dream. So in the spirit of dreams helping to connect one to the greater myths and themes and issues of their life, I’ll share it with you. If anyone out there is a gifted dream interpreter (or even a willing hack or bored amateur), feel free to have at it.
Okay, as I remember it, I was at a cooking competition, and we were offered our choice of meats with which to prepare a meal. I decided to go with the Monarch Butterfly. I’d never heard of this, so I was possibly making the task uneccesarily challenging (not being familiar with the flavor or cooking times), but I suppose I was feeling ballsy. We were also given an assistant, and I recognized mine as Hung, the winner of the third season of Top Chef.
So, just to give you the scene, we were in a little outdoor kitchen, kind of like something you’d find at a fair or carnival. The butterfly meat was quite large and pale – like a razor clam or a split breast of chicken. I decided to cut the butterfly meat, bread it, and cook it in butter – like cutlets. I put Hung in charge of tending to the frying process, as I went to work on some other items. At some point, I look over and it’s very clear he’s pulled the meat while it’s still raw, as it’s clear and pinkish in the spots that don’t have breading on them. I felt frustrated as – c’mon already, he’s the winner of Top Chef! He can do better than this! – but I put it all back in the pan to finish cooking and didn’t comment.
It’s at this point it occurs to me that I’ve never seen a butterfly large enough to produce such a giant piece of meat. I start grilling Hung, “Where are these butterflies from? Are they endangered? Is it okay that we’re eating them?” However, before he could get back to me with a response, a man comes up and introduces himself. His last name is so complicated I have him repeat it four or five times and then finally say back to him, “Mocha Chocalata ya ya?” This suddenly sets off a bout of singing at all the competing outdoor kitchens, and some of these people are really damn good.
I’m watching this for a while, and then I walk back over to my outdoor kitchen where I find that Hung has burned up several pans and thrown them in the trash and all the spatulas and tongs and turners are completely ruined with the handles completely melted off or bent in two or the like. Needless to say, I was pretty ticked off at the guy, but there wasn’t time to get into it with him. Besides, what was done was done.
I now turned my attention to my (thankfully not ruined) butterfly cutlets. I was considering making a hollandaise sauce flavored with lavender and honey, although I still had no idea what the meat tasted like and if that would be any good. However, I liked the idea of it, as it seemed an appropriate garnish for a paleolithic butterfly.
Then I woke up.