Scars of a Chef- biography of Rick Tramonto

I just finished reading, Scars of a Chef, a biography of the famous Chef Rick Tramonto. Serious foodies and plain old Food Network lovers, such as me, will devour the book for its mouthwatering descriptions of dishes ranging from the family style, Italian Sunday dinners of Chef Tramonto's youth to the intricate, painstaking restaurant creations that continue to hold him in place as one of the world's top chefs. This is Rick's story about his enrollment in the school of hard knocks and his unlikely rise to success. Success as the world defines it, complete with fame and fortune, followed by that which often accompanies worldly success- complete failure. But there is a greater story here. A sweeter story of that Hound of Heaven, as described by John Stott in his testimonial, Why I Am a Christian. The Hound of Heaven, our good and loving God, who patiently waits, but relentlessly pursues the hearts of His children.

I'm a natural cheerleader for those who overcome the odds, escape family dysfunction and earn their way by hard work and perseverance, so I was quickly caught up in the storyline of the kid who wasn't much for school and lived less than a happy childhood, but held great promise for a career in cooking. I did feel sad for all the joy the young man, Rick, gave up in exchange for momentary alcoholic and drug highs, as he fully immersed himself in partying. I breathed relief for the grown Chef Tramonto when he swore off his addictions, but felt disappointment in the way he trampled others, even those he loved, as he strove to build his empire of fine dining. But what impressed me the most was when, after not having seen her for years, Rick Tramonto took the opportunity to apologize to his childhood friend, Eileen, upon whom he had unleashed words of fury years earlier when they worked together in one of his many restaurant ventures. She accepted his apology. This was a single instance of reconciliation that symbolized the beginning of Rick's relationship with God.

Tramonto describes the freedom found in forgiveness:

"I smiled as a weight I hadn't even realized I'd been carrying slipped off my shoulders."

How much pain just melts away with two little words sincerely spoken- "I'm sorry". And how much clearer we see when blinding pain is removed.

God uses the teeny, tiniest spots of softness in the heart, created by moments like these of apology and forgiveness, to plant an awareness of Him, his Redeeming Love, his Mercy and Grace. With that awareness of God's presence in his life, Tramonto turned and became the pursuer of the God who'd been there all along waiting to give Tramonto the gift of Life.

Scars of a Chef point to the scars of a Savior, the only One who can fill the deepest desires common to every man and woman, which have nothing to do with fame or fortune or cooking. You have to read all the way to the end to discover Rick Tramonto's true message. 

Feast on The Word of God. There the most beautiful banquet ever prepared has a table reservation in your name.

Photographing Food

Some blogging photographers (that almost sounds rude, but I mean nothing more than bloggers wielding cameras) possess an innate ability to digitally capture the minutest of detail in a way that extracts extreme depth of feeling from the viewer. If you have no idea what I am talking about, please venture off to Belgium and tell me you don't come away craving caviar or smelling roses or hearing the ocean in seashells. If you've already been there, brace yourself for what is about to happen next here:

I wanted to share a recipe on my blog, to try to be helpful and add dimension, you know. I decided I'd better make the recipe first, to be sure it was appealing. I chose Turkey and Veggie Meatballs with Fennel (or onion, if you happen to shop where I shop) from the January/February 2006 issue of Diabetic Cooking, page 46.

I diced and chopped (you can get a good view of what that looked like back in Belgium, return there if you want to see it again) and rolled the turkey burger into 1 inch balls. Then I fried them in 1 teaspoon of oil for 11 minutes, turning frequently.

I placed them in a nice, mustard colored serving dish, sat it on a pottery barn knock off, plaid placemat on my granite-look-alike formica in my Brady bunch kitchen and....to make sure you get a birdseye view...

Stow the snacks, you don't want to be swallowing when you see this....

Okay, freeze......what are you feeling right now....come on, be honest, you can't hurt me, I'm already dying of food photo failure laughter....tell me. Do I take it to the Network, or not?

Kibbles and bits, make mine Biggie- anyone-

Roof and Re-doo

I.T.-ologist and I went biking around the neighborhood looking at roofs on Friday night. What color roof do most red brick houses with white shutters have? That was the million dollar question of the evening. We're getting a new roof and wouldn't you know black is not the only roof color out there. I never noticed that before. I notice when the sun leaves a sky full of deep red-orange. Or when the mailman forgets to put the flag down. Oil on the driveway doesn't escape me. I found a wooley bear crawling in the corner of the garage last week.

But I never noticed that my row after row of suburban neighbors had anything other than standard black roofs. We biked by tan roofs and black with red and white alternating shingles. There were green roofs and a blue sparkley one. Some were black fading to grey and then to white and back to black. One even looked sort of like the pattern on the wooley bear. Many matched the color of the brick on the house or contrasted perfectly with the siding.

Anyway, we're having a hard time picturing any other color on the top of our house besides the black that is already there.

We tabled the decision and pedaled on over to the Frosty Treat.

There, a boy about 8 years old cut in front of me while I was making another really big decision- vanilla ice cream in a cone or turtle sundae. The girl inside bent down and peered out the window at him. He held up a yellow square of ice cream on a stick. I assume it once looked like this, but his had two hollow spots where the eyes were missing and his red part was beginning to frown.

He said to the ice cream girl, "Can I have a re-doo?" It didn't immediately register with her what he was saying and she asked him to repeat. He said, "A re-doo. This isn't what I expected."

I couldn't wait to hear how she was going to handle this, but the boy's mother, just noticing he had gone up to the window, rushed to her rescue and told the ice cream girl that she'd already explained to her son that they don't do re-doo's and that he had to live with his choice. I felt sorry for the kid and I really wanted to see what the ice cream people train their employees to say at times like these. But I also had to hand it to the mother for taking advantage of the teachable moment- think carefully about your choice, then stick with it and make it work.

This whole incident made me just a bit nervous. I wasn't going to be able to get a re-doo. I ordered the turtle. It was exactly what I expected and so was the spare tire that appeared around my waist as I ate it.

Over at the picnic table area where I sat packing on the pounds, while I.T. ate his humble little vanilla in a small cone, I saw the Sponge Bob boy. He wasn't eating the yellow melty square pants. A little girl not too far from him was licking away at that. He was enjoying blue moon in a cup with a spoon. I smiled at his ingenuity.

I'm guessing this boy knows the color of every roof in his neighborhood.

So, any thoughts on what color roof looks best on a red brick house with white trim?

Heidi