Saturday, August 13, 2005
A find for frog
When I was on my hiatus, I spent some time in the wilds of Pennsylvania, not a place I necessarily expect to happen upon a fabulous culinary find, but that just goes to show you what comes of assumptions: they get busted. And how.
Midway during my week, I was whisked away to a fantastic farmhouse and served an amazing lunch: corn on the cob purchased that morning from a nearby farm, perfectly ripe melon, a platter of sliced vegetables drizzled in oil and spices, and roasted pork from a recent pig roast that we ate slathered in homemade barbecue sauce on grilled multi-grain buns.
But the find, for me, was dessert: a platter of peaches and slices of smoked gouda. The cheese quickly became, for me, nothing more than a vehicle for aged balsamic vinegar. It was like nothing else I've eaten and I haven't stopped thinking about it yet.
Midway during my week, I was whisked away to a fantastic farmhouse and served an amazing lunch: corn on the cob purchased that morning from a nearby farm, perfectly ripe melon, a platter of sliced vegetables drizzled in oil and spices, and roasted pork from a recent pig roast that we ate slathered in homemade barbecue sauce on grilled multi-grain buns.
But the find, for me, was dessert: a platter of peaches and slices of smoked gouda. The cheese quickly became, for me, nothing more than a vehicle for aged balsamic vinegar. It was like nothing else I've eaten and I haven't stopped thinking about it yet.
