Gastronthropologist. Look it up. You won’t find it in any
dictionary or any google search, but believe me, the do exist. Even with out
any web presence whatsoever, they find each other. And they have formed a well-maintained
ungroup or dis-society. I call it that because even though they are the only
ones like themselves in the world, they are the most elitist of all elitists.
They focus all of their mental powers and financial fortitude upon a most
singular of passions. This is to completely accurately recreate all recipes
specifically indigenous to their geographical origin. And I don’t mean they
use Mexican rice in Mexican dishes. Ha! They’d scoff at such a concept. ‘Amateur
clowns’ they’d call somebody who spoke of such. These are people who have wept openly
at episodes of Iron Chef and consider “those sorts” to be culinary rapists.
Y’adonna found her way into this mis-collective after she
found a hand written recipe in the back of a copy of Marqis De Sade’s ‘Justine’.
The recipe had addresses of shops in and around France where the exact ingredients
were to be purchased in order to make ‘THIS’ particular soup and not just a
soup very similar to it.
She was intrigued by why somebody would go thru such trouble
over soup. But as I said, she was intrigued; so she tried to make the soup. She
headed off to her local whole foods and gathered ingredients. She sauntered
home to finish out her meal. And when it was time she had a bowl…’not
impressive’ was an understatement. She thought, …maybe there is something to
getting fresher ingredients so she went to local farmers markets and tried
again….still no magic.
‘What am I doing wrong?’ she pondered. Then she decided that
she was going to try the soup the way she saw it in the book. She’d contact
these addresses and see what could be done to get the soup worthy to be hand
written in the back of a book of such repute. She began to research on the
internet and soon found some of the ingredients easily and had them shipped to
her from France .
However some of the more rural addresses had no web locale and she had to begin
communications via post. Over the course of time she found that there were
other recipes like this and other people like her who sought out specific
components for such foods. She began to network as best she could. Some people
were more helpful than others. They told her how to recreate weather conditions
for specific climates of the world and who to ask in order to get somebody to
send her soil from a particular locale in order to grow her own spices or
produce if it couldn't handle being shipped or if it was not in season or no
longer produced by a certain grower. Over time she became well (rather widely)
known in this un-group because, as u will often see with the ultra elite, these
elitists were super specific in their tastes. Basque gastros only dealt with
Basque recipes. Aleutian experts only dealt with Aleutian dishes. Yet Y’adonna
so loved the experience that she sampled recipes from all over the world. And
because of this she acquired the nickname “T.T.” For some it stood for ‘tourist
tongue’; some for ‘taste-bud traveler’ and others it was even ‘tainted tongs.’ She didn't really care either way what she was called. She’d gotten over that when
she was younger. Nobody ever pronounced her name correctly and so she was used
to being called all sorts of things. In her opinion ‘T.T.’ was one of the more
tame titles. Ha, she thought, that could
be another one… anyway it took years to get all of the ingredients together for
that very first recipe she’d found hand written in that book. Some she had to
have shipped at a certain time in order for them to arrive at her abode at the
same time as other components and some things she had to grow on her own after
having local soil and even local rain water bottled and shipped to her. But she
finally had it all and in her post simmering. She had her favorite soup bowl
and spoon also shipped from France
for this most special of occasion. And when it was all cooked and all ready ready
rich with butter, broth, and onions, the luscious, unctuous soup slithered down
her throat. At last she had created ‘THIS’ particular soup and not just a
soup very similar to it. At last she had tasted De Sade’s Justine soup and at
last knew without a doubt that it had been worth…it…all.
