Winter Dinner Sketch

I am crushing coriander seeds with the back of a Henckels hand-me-down pairing knife inside a ceramic shot glass that says Puerto Rico and drinking a glass of Chilean Sauvignon Blanc while Mstislave Ropovich plays Bach’s Cello Suite Sarabande in the background. There’s been a self-imposed lull in my cooking, so far I’ve sautéed sliced brussel sprouts in cider vinegar and added to them chestnuts toasted in maple syrup. The oven is done roasting cubes of butternut squash and a solitary parsnip, which the grocery lady mistook for a turnip. The squash I’ve pureed with a little plain yogurt and milk. I think that’s where the coriander is going but I can’t quite tell yet. I am unemployed.

Mose Allison’s “ever since the world ended” comes on. “Things that used to seem so splendid, don’t really matter today. It’s just as well the world ended, it wasn’t working any way.” Then suddenly, the player skips to Jorge Luis Borges. He recounts Zhuang Zhou: A man dreamt that he was a butterfly and upon waking up, he didn’t know whether he was a man dreaming of a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was a man.

Unhappily, the future is made of tricks, Borges continues. I think about the past. Now Cheikh Lo sounds through the Carvin. I fire up the broiler and smear two fillets of flounder with lemon zest and mustard oil. I season two fat scallops with sea salt and fresh pepper. I light a flame under my mini cast-iron, wait for it to heat up, and then throw diced shallots on to sauté. The scallops will go on barely two minutes a side and the flounder will take four minutes in the broiler. Cheikh Lo burns Bambay Gueej. I do not burn the scallops.

Piling a mound of brussel sprouts on one plate and coating another with a swatch of curried butternut puree, I feel relaxed. The flounder, just beginning to flake, slides on top of the shredded greens, parsley and Dijon echoing the sprouts. I place a scallop in the eye of the butternut and radiate parsnips from the center.

I try not to get discouraged about winter. The roasted parsnips are a delight, their rootedness like aftershave, masculine but sweet. The lemon and mustard glaze brings the flounder out, daring the unassuming fish to feign grandeur. Bonnie “Prince” Billy sings ‘I see a darkness’. And I can’t help but feel the meal is confused. Every element of dinner is wonderful, but the seared scallop is feeling out of place in the curried butternut yogurt. The brussel sprouts want boar roasted in the Black Forest. Still I am content. I’m not disillusioned but I’m getting there.