Monthly Archives February 2010

Feb 28, 2010 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

Implode (Hello, Lucy)

It was complicated.
The relationship with the foie gras.
Particularly Mr. Vongeritchen’s creation.
The coffee colored brûlée, adorned in a dress of sour cherries, pistachio accompaniment, and white port gelée, was culinary refinement.

Too extraordinary for mortal consumption.
Too profound for a mere man.

And though the caramelized organ, jubilantly absorbed in the recesses of his glands, the process of gavage troubled him.

Yet, they were all gorged.
Even the lighting was tired.
And so they lounged within the opulence of a dim dining room, vacated by guests, their three courses and dessert washed down by a Château Lafite Rothschild.

Claire listened to Neil, swirling rouge wine in her glass, as he told a tale that required the use of large hand gestures.

Maxwell observed his wife, adoringly.

“That is the last time I publish a book that has anything to do with icebergs, penguins, or Antarctica.”

They all laugh.

Though Benjamin could not deter his gaze from Lucy.

Neil turned to him.

“I understand you’ve done some traveling yourself.”

Benjamin, neatly shaven and clothed in materials mended by Tom Ford, rejoined the conversation.

“I’ve seen some places.”

“It’d be hard not to, consorting with these two.”

The Mulberry’s smile. Maxwell strokes his wife’s hair.

“Indulge me.”

“Malaysia. Thailand. New Delhi.”

He paused.

“The Vedda still hunt and gather their own food, but are increasingly being driven from the land.”

Lucy was intrigued. Her full, red lips, contorting into a smile.

Her husband was curious as well.

“The most magnificent thing you’ve ever seen.”

Benjamin turned toward the blonde siren with the scarlet mouth.

“Your wife.”

Implode. Part XIII – DK



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Feb 27, 2010 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

Innocence

Because everything is magic when you’re young.

An aspiring princess holding court at the Piazza di San Marco.
Venice, Italy. On an aftternoon, when time stood still – DK


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Feb 26, 2010 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

Implode (To Dine at Jean Georges)

 
His face had begun to itch.
It was uncomfortable now.
The chestnut whiskers had run their course.
Three years. And counting.
Still, he could not bring himself to eradicate the hairs from his person.

Instead, he found himself mesmerized by the platinum and jasper pendulum Claire had bartered for in Shanghai.

Fascinated, even.

He followed the globule’s synchronized movement with his hazelnut eyes.

Claire observed, whilst drying a lime colored ceramic bowl with a tangerine cloth. She was hospitable, by nature.

But she was still disappointed in Maxwell.

Unbeknownst to her, she was in his thoughts a few blocks away, reclined in the Mulberry Forseti, as the sun washed in through the large French windows of his office.

Neil Horowitz sat across from the Platonist architect, awaiting his next vision.

“His name is Ben. He’s been away for some while.”

Neil, with his contemporary spectacles in harmonious accord with his face, listened attentively.

“Apparently, before he left, he parted with his finances.”

Neil digested his colleague’s story.

“And he’s staying with you?”

“I’m going to help him piece together a dialogue of his travels.”

“Interesting. There may be a book there.”

Maxwell focused on the assortment of customized pens on his desk.

“What are you doing tonight?” Neil continued.

“I have some sketches to complete. As well as some paperwork for the restaurant.”

“Brilliant. When does she want to open?”

“Soon. Very soon.”

Neil stood and prepared to exit.

“Lucy and I are going to Jean Georges at seven. You and Claire should join us.”

Maxwell thought momentarily.

“I’d love to. But Ben…”

“Bring him along. I’d love to meet him.”

Implode. Part XII – DK



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Feb 25, 2010 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

Milano

Have we talked about Milan?

The beauty and architecture of the fashion capital of the world.
Milan, Italy. On a leisurely morning stroll – DK



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Feb 24, 2010 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

Magic

Because nothing in the world, should be so beautiful.

Carousel illuminating the Piazza della Repubblica.
Florence, Italy. On a warm and magical evening – DK



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Feb 22, 2010 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

Implode (The Art of Patience)

 
“Let me tell you a story…”

And that was how Claire Mulberry learned to filet a fish, as Kaito Matsumoto intricately demonstrated the art his family had plied for 5,000 years. On a Bluefin, captured in the subarctic waters of the Tsugaru Strait, the master chef was patient and skillful in his craft.

“Remember the sea.” he told her.

His incisions were precise and executed with deftness.

“Because everything is significant.”

The incised cuts of meat were lucid. Nearly impalpable.

“Even the urchin.”

His hands were soft, peaceful, devoid of malice. The juxtaposition with their rapacious nature, bewildered.

“Do not seek glory. Seek instead to become one with all…”

Claire observed, attentive to the culinary sage.

“Glory will find you.”

And from the small fishing village in Hokkaido, to the large loft in the village of SoHo, Claire was finding it difficult to become unanimous with her surroundings, though the black grouper was a skillful 2 cm. filet, by her own hand.

“Maxwell, I am disappointed in you.” she said in a soft whisper.

Their guest had yet to remove his coat. His boots remained an aberration to their floor.

Maxwell stood close to his wife, his eyes fixed on the simmering filets.

“He has no family. No place to go…”

Claire lavished the grouper with Italian parsley and flavorful spices, evocative of carnival in its native Brazil.

She pouted, which Maxwell found deliciously irresistible.

“Claire Madison…”

“You don’t even know where he’s been! What kind of person disappears for five years?”

Maxwell observed his wife, who maintained a steady pace in her work. She removed the filets from the heat and prepared to lather them in a white truffle cream dressing.

He sighed.

“What would you have me do?”

No words.

“What should I have done?”

Claire stopped and looked at her husband.

“You should have spoken with me!”

She gathered herself.

“And besides… he does have family.”

Aware of her uncharacteristic volume, both Claire and her husband turn, to find their guest, now standing in their kitchen.

Maxwell consulted his drink.

Claire inhaled deeply.

“I just have one question.”

Benjamin was patient.

“Do you like truffle?”

Implode. Part XI – DK



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Feb 21, 2010 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

Sorrow

Perhaps he can make amends.
Lovers on steps… sul Via Alessandro Manzoni.
Milan, Italy. On a Tuesday morning, in pursuit of inspiration - DK


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Feb 19, 2010 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

Implode (Impetuosity)

 
They were both artists.
Both gifted, at the manipulation of a thing.
Of transforming the modest into magnificence.

But he was better.

“Claire, you remember Ben.”

As evidenced in her inability to protest, for there he was. She turned toward the wooly-haired gentleman, whose boots had sullied her immaculate floor.

“Ben!”

She did not know what to say. She was not skilled at idle chatter. She was not thrilled.

Maxwell looked at his wife, her face glowing pink, en route to rouge.

“Ben’s going to be staying with us for awhile, dear.”

She was angry. In their three years of friendship, four years of dating, and one year of marriage, he had never made a decision so impetuously.

So swift.

It was the first time, in her recollection, that he had not considered her.

Implode. Part X – DK



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Feb 18, 2010 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

Implode (The Chef of Mulberry Street)

 
They were truffles.

White truffles.

From the Northern Italian countryside.

Giancarlo Franceschi, a farmer, poet, and ex-partisan of the Italian Resistance, met Claire and Maxwell on one of their excursions through Italy, en route to Switzerland. Whilst sipping café classico at a quaint trattoria, a chocolate Sussex spaniel befriended the lady Mulberry, the allure of almonds and cocoa proving too much to bear. Giancarlo, in his tweed jacket, linen pants, shirt, twill cap, and oak walking stick, would arrive to find his beloved Rocco nibbling on an almond biscotto. Through Rocco’s discerning nose, Claire gained another purveyor of taste in Mr. Franceschi.

They corresponded through letters. Giancarlo did not subscribe to the advances of the technological world, choosing instead to believe in the character of a thing. They discussed spices, flavor combinations, soil types, gradient variations in terrain, and a host of other variables. Though she studied under Lenôtre, Claire’s conversations with the warrior-poet inspired and proved more useful than decades spent in a French kitchen.

It was upon a stroll through the hills of Alba that Giancarlo slew his quail dinner, but it was Rocco’s nose that unearthed the half-kilo truffle, harboring at the foot of an oak tree. Together, they embarked into town toward the post dispatch to ship the mushroom correspondence, though it was Rocco who signed the parcel.

Now, as the white truffle cream sauce simmered on the stovetop, Claire’s thoughts wandered toward the travels of another.

“Where has he been?”

Maxwell introduced ice to his whiskey.

“I’m not certain.”

Claire extinguished the flame and removed the pan from the stove.

“I thought he was…”

She paused, mindful of her husband’s affectivity.

She tried to rephrase, but could not find the words.

“Where is he staying?”

Maxwell looked up from his glass, his eyes bearing the traits of its contents, inhaling his wife through his gaze.

Claire knew that look.

She did not know that Benjamin stood patiently in the midnight foyer, admiring their chocolate walls.

Implode. Part IX – DK



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Feb 16, 2010 | Post by: Devon Knight No Comments

La Colazione

Because everything, should contribute to taste.

Farmer’s market on the Corso Umberto.
Venice, Italy. On a morning stroll through the labyrinth of corridors.

(I am particularly fond of the ivory haired gentleman in blue, who simply cannot decide…) – DK



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  • A NOTE ON IMPLODE

    With regard to <em>Implode</em>, certain details, locations, occurences, et al. may not resonate along your cerebral palate if read out of context. For this reason, it is recommended following the episodes in chronological order, as they appear, which requires a bit of time travel.

    The first experience occurs in January 2010 with <a href="http://vaionyva.com/2010/01/implode-the-birth-of-max-mulberry/">The Birth of Max Mulberry</a>.

    Thank you.
    Grazie.
    Merci.

    For allowing me to be apart of you,
    If only for a moment.

    - DK