Food


As I posted earlier this month in Sushi Guarded by Carabineros, the thought of a really good Japanese meal has been slowly devouring a corner of my mind, not growing into an obsession, but seeding itself to grow into a real full-time monomania sometime soon. On my visit to Pomaire, I had recommendations from some Japanese acquaintances that rated a few restaurents, in their words, “OK” or “Pretty Good”. If a discerning Japanese palate gives a green flag to a restaurant, I’ll take it that my westernized tongue will probably find it pretty good.

“That guy is like a wizard,” my Dad said.  “He’s about five-five, and dances around with his razor sharp knives with such precision.  He could just about do it with his eyes closed.”  My Dad raises organic beef cattle, and “whats his name” drove his mobile slaughterhouse into our field yesterday morning to butcher two bulls.  See post from 8/9. 
    The steer was our own, entirely organic free range and grass fed from our property.  The bull was a breeder brought to our farm a few months ago from Lifeline Farm, a dairy bull used here just for breeding.  Of course, the bull had his few weeks of sexual exertion, kept up his end of the bargain by impregnating three of our cows, and headed to his next appointment on our dinner plates as steak.  The dairy bulls tend to be tougher and the meat tastes a bit thicker.

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