Let's just say Amsterdam, in a parallel foodiverse. A purple-haired girl drops a guilder in the juke and presses L-17. The first strums of Led Zeppelin's "Ramble On" float out of the speakers. An old black couple emerge from the kitchen's swinging doors wiping their hands on their cook whites and begin to dance like Yanomami curanderos. A waiter bops across the ancient wood floor like Chuck Berry and sets down two spankin' eggs poached in home-brewed sea-salted raspberry vinegar water. The oeufs are sharing crumpets with fresh Sockeye pillows under a quilt of Hollandaise. An Autumn wind has blown dried dill and parsley onto the plate. Home-made pickles abide like coins of the realm with which to pay for the moment. A cat in a window sill arches its back, kinx it's tail to the left and starts kneading the ledge. It's gonna be außergewöhnlich!
Michael Hawes was born in Texas, raised in Louisiana and lives in British Columbia.