If you’re a fan of Fatty ‘Cue, romance novels, Scotch or all of the above, you might want to check out chef Zak Pelaccio’s Alimentary Canal column on Food Republic. Pelaccio, chef and founder of the exalted Fatty ‘Cue empire, writes like the love child of Huster S. Thompson and Julia Child: a pinch of professional chef, a dash of zen master, and a healthy handful of debauched sensuality (“It isn’t tea unless it has Scotch,” he muses). Here are a couple choice passages to get your blood moving:
From “A Perfect Tea”, his latest, a chronicle/reverie of an autumn day spent considering, and cooking, a steak:
“A coarse battuto of the anchovy, garlic and parsley was spooned on top of the butter and set upon with cleaver and hunger. I swayed in a near affected style as I smashed the butter on the wooden cutting board with the broad side of the cleaver, relishing the smooth texture as it gave way to gentle pressure, pale yellow fat mottled with small slices of anchovy, specks of parsley and chunks of garlic. I smashed and swayed and smashed and swayed. I chopped fast and slow and I chopped gratuitously. Hypnotized, I molded the butter into compact squares and then had at it until the flattened, amoeboid shapes courted the edge of the board and woke me from my daydreams.”
And another, from “The Art of Pasta Con Ricci Di Mare”:
“The memory exists almost as a hallucination: a slightly stooped septuagenarian produce-stand owner barking at me like a drill sergeant, his face inches from mine, alive with Fellini-esque animation as the warm and relentless sirocco blows his wispy dark grey hair from one side to the other and carves, ever deeper, the lines in his face. ‘How much onion do you add to the pasta?’”
We knew the man’s food could transport defenseless diners to all kinds of degustatory dreamlands, but the writing too? The life itself? C’mon TV people. We’re ready for the Zak Pelaccio Show. If only Barry White were still with us to narrate.