I knew heritage was important, but I don't want to eat it.

I read this in the food and wine section of SvD this morning on the topic of the chef of the year competition:
"Temat i år var Det svenska arvet och en av de två tävlingsuppgifterna var att kreera en modern restaurangrätt på en given huvudråvara - svensk biffrad med ben från Gotland."
Which in English is "The theme this year was The Swedish heritage, where one of the two competition tasks was to create a modern restaurant dish from Swedish steak with bones from Gotland."
Really? I knew Gotland was rich in archaeology, but I didn't think the Fornsalen museum was open to lending their precious bones to a bunch of chefs. Next time I'm back on the island I'll have to check that the hedgehog woman is still there.

What's up?

I don't know what anybody does in January. It's a useless month. So is February. Apart from possibly Valentine's day. Actually, no, Valentine's day is useless too. To my husband: if you can't get with it enough to take me out to dinner for no reason other than that you love me very much, then skip Valentine's day too. Anyway, it's not like I'm going to be available to go out: I work in a restaurant, and the 14th of February is the only night really worth its name to keep open during the first two months of the year. I also know that come the 14th, I'm going to be in a much better mood, because I'm secretly a romantic. Roses, Champagne and chocolate, bring it on. I know the kitchen will.
I'm just a bit pissed at the moment because there's 2 cm of snow in Lund that melted and then turned to ice. Somehow Gatukontoret have taken leave of absence and so the only way to get anywhere (to Malmö, perhaps) is by boot-skating and hoping that Skånetrafiken missed the weather report and that the trains are running. I'd happily forgotten what it felt like to be risking life and limb to get to work due to the incompetence of our dearly beloved bureaucrats.

Also, what's with the fact that it's 2012 and we can't rub together 2 female chefs to compete for chef of the year?

Oh. Hang on. I'll give you a good reason to get out of bed during these cold, benighted months: Afternoon tea. On Sundays. 12-16. Vicky and myself blend the tea ourselves. I add the scientific credentials to the mix. We can book up really quickly so be sure to give us a call beforehand.

Nadal and Becker

We used to joke about Chef Andé looking like Boris Becker. It has now been brought to my attention that the White Guide Öresund 2012 has credited us with employing another tennis pro, namely "Nadal". I do not know how an organization that compares itself to the meticulous Michelin Guide can make the somewhat ridiculous mistake of renaming Igi Vidal "Igy Nadal" throughout their review of our restaurant. Especially since they manage to get it right in the fact-box accompanying each review. And I certainly can't fathom why they would employ someone who doesn't know St Marcellin cheese, re-christening it "Saint Mazzala" (which, incidentally, sounds like the patron saint of fusion italian/indian food). Finally, it is completely beyond me that this ambitious, expanding guide is apparently lacking a proof-reader.

Maybe we're being had. Maybe this is just a typo in our (and 38 of yours, dear readers) copy. Maybe this is the work of foodie terrorists. I don't know. But I'm looking forward to finding out.

I stole the sentiment from Andrew Eldritch

My favorite band, The Sisters of Mercy, has a very interesting home page. They have very interesting songs too, for those of you who read Byron and enjoy Bauhaus beats. Well, they have a drum machine called "Doktor Avalanche". He has an "Agony Aunt" page on the web, and the first question is as follows:
Dear Doktor, I am unattractiv, sexually immachure, lazy, stupid and meen. What career would sute me best? [sic]
Journalism. If you fail there, try music journalism.
Well, I'd like to add restaurant critic to the music journalism option. Mainly because I'm reading more and more comments such as "we had a duck-liver terrine, which was very good, but ethically questionable" in both broad-sheet and less respected media.
Duh. That ticks the boxes of lazy and stupid. Yes, there are many foie gras producers that force-feed their animals, but there are also many that don't. We source ours from a little french lady who hand-feeds her ducks and geese. It's quite a lot more expensive, but it's quality is better by astronomic proportions. If you want to know about how your starter has been raised - ask. If you want to avoid any ethical issues, order something else. If you disagree with the slaughtering of animals for food - boycott all and any places that serve meat. Do not make a dim presumptive statement that puts a restaurant's sourcing in question in print. That is, unless you're positive that you're actually eating an endangered species/a product of brutal handling - but that still brings into question why you ordered it in the first place.

So. I have to read these dim reviews because I'm in the business. But for the rest of you, maybe a boycott should be considered?

Those anthropological observations

What better place to be an anthropologist than in a restaurant? Nowhere else are there such rich pickings of how humanity handles itself. I'm quite sure that every myth about men, women and beasts originated in a restaurant. "What do women want?" Freud famously asked - well, I'm sure it's not a coffee with Mozart liqueur.
For this year, maybe we should look at not the people we're serving, but rather what we serve, from an anthropological standpoint. In the spirit of the New Year. You know, new beginnings, new ideas, new resolutions, new trends. Why do we serve what we serve, and how is it defined? How does it behave on a plate, in a glass, on a table, in the room? Maybe we shouldn't be so terribly materialistic nattering on and on about produce and production, and put more effort into understanding the anthropological roots of a dinner experience. How does red meat behave around root vegetables? What is the social order of two wines, and what are their differences? What are the ancestors of the modern soup course? And, of course, there should be an extensive discourse analysis on how two food items speak to one another, and how they form relationships. How the flavours mix and marry, so to speak.

Or, we can get our asses into chefs jackets and waiters suits and go to work, doing what we do best. See, all these resolutions that pop up when you're about to buy a new calendar, they're mostly nonsense. Just like the narrative above. If you haven't figured whatever it is you want to change out by now, chances are you're not going to during the cold hard moth of January, even if you did find inspiration in a nice glass of champagne around midnight on the 31st.
So, I give you the same resolution we've had since we started: we promise to have fun this year, and find lots of new ways to tickle your tastebuds. We promise to start every evening anew, because we like the amuse bouche to be just that - amusing. And we promise to make every meal exceptional.
Nothing new under the sun, then. Let's do it all over again.