Jefferson, the late President of the United States, once commented: ‘I cannot live without books.’ This is definitely true of him to be described as an elegant literary wonk. However, pure personally, stacks of wisdom scrolls, which will likewise feed our minds on legacies of human golden ages for thousands of years, seemed not to speak louder, a near miss though, than delicacies, which feed me not only with my yearning for gastrological arts but countless memorable schmecks of good times, well, also schnapps sometimes.
Try imagining a full plate of, say, spaghetti, with tomato ground beef sauce covered with warm thick coat of dewing cheese. Churning the sturdy firm and elastic spaghetti noodles, then take a gentle sniff with your eyes closed, and you will suddenly be one of the most exhilarated Venetian crooning sweet melodies of hometown ‘O, sole mio!’. Either gulping or nipping through, you can easily be accosted by the irresistible fragrance of Italian culinary craftsmanship, melted down with the fantastic Lombardia... It opens your timid appetite, and your embrace with this kaleidoscopic world.
The latest thumbnail of my blog is a witness of the said legend, an almost vanishing tale of cuisine pursuit, created by a will-be chef named John, a great master of shaved ice whose adeptness at icy hors d’oeuvre is by far second to none. I would be quite pleased and inspired when Johnny would stride proudly into his kitchen on his goose steps instead of follow the parabola traces of Gauss and Leibniz. What is worse, he might well at the same time have to follow them both! He then is not only a great chef who commands well at numbers but an incredible mathematician who cooks all under his precise calculation. He really deserves a 19 feast, I wonder.
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