There is no state of mind more predisposed to gluttony and culinary experimentation than being stoned. In all my years I have never seen a sober person spread condiments on a tortilla and consider it not only food, but delicious food. I have not seen sober people bake brownies so packed with chocolate that there was nary room for flour. I have not seen sober people transmit recipes in the following manner:
“yeah, like, so, you, ahh….. you put the uhh… the dry stuff in the wet stuff.”
“then what dude?”
“you, like, uhh,
bubble bubble, inhale, exhale,
you put it in the hot box.”
“you mean the oven?”
I will pony up some of my indiscretions. Back in the day when I was a teenager, before I had status and before I had a… anyway, after one of those post high school marathons (not the running kind) I remember (vaguely) discovering taco bell hot sauce and cinnamon twists went well together. The maple syrup dipped samosa. The hummus so inundated with garlic that neighbors complained.
With gluttony and experimentation come those rare moments of genius. Chocolate-covered avocado. Fuck it, we can assume whoever decided a deep-fried snickers bar was a good idea was higher than Rick James in a blimp. Ketchup and rice.
Chefs are the gluttonous types too. Jeremiah Tower, perhaps one of the most innovative chefs in the early days of ‘California’ cuisine, who cooked for Alice Waters at Chez Panisse before opening Stars in San Francisco in the early 1980s, (before he-who’s-name-shouldn’t-be-spoken-but-rhymes-with-schmuck took over) includes recipes for pot butter in his book California Dish, and writes of a meal he made for friends:
Pirozhki — Vodka Wyborova
Proscuitto and figs — Niersteiner Spiegleberg Spätlese Kabinett ‘66
Roast Beef, sauce madère – Château Beychevelle ‘62
Spinach Cream puree
Pommes de terre château
Watercress salad vinaigrette
Fraises, crème Carême — Korbel, brut California
“The consommé cleared the palate, and this one, from marijuana stems soaked in a rich chicken stock, provided another level of stimulation. But not stoned: the brew takes 45 minutes to reach the brain, by which time we were on to dessert, tasting strawberries and cream as we’d never tasted them before.”
Note the wine pairings. This dude doesn’t fuck around.
I want to hear about your stories. Feasts of embarrassing proportions, brilliant discoveries; I will even accept those who will not admit their indiscretions (i.e. I once “saw someone” standing naked in front of my fridge eating a stick of butter.)