Gastronthropologist.

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.