strange fruit

Lately, I have found myself making strange food. Now, for the two people who might read this, ‘strange food’ is nothing new for El Gastronero. The strangeness in recent creations, however, is palatte, not palate. In honor of the beginning of the 2005-2006 NBA season, I made a dish that is a functional metaphor for this season’s Los Angeles Lakers. Now please, follow me through this one:

Ingredients:
2c. polenta: polenta is the culinary equivalent of Smush Parker + Kwame Brown’s haircut. Let it cool and cube it up to match the angular disaster that are Chris Mihm’s arms and legs when he attempts to rebound.

1/2 head radicchio: Radicchio brings the royal purple of Abdul-Jabbar/Shaq dynasties, but as you sautee de-stemmed strips, it releases a dark maroon/black substance that MUST resemble the venom of the ‘black mamba.’ “The black mamba can strike with 99% accuracy…” At least Uma Thurman probably isn’t a whiney, dynasty destryoing, tights-wearing bitch. OK, so she hasn’t had a chance to destroy a dynasty, but I can’t speak for the rest of that.

I really hope Tarantino sues him for biting his lines without credit. I mean really, did he think the average basketball fan would miss that reference? Mamba should go fuck him up. C’mon Uma, it’d be better for your career than a new set of tits.

1 can tomato paste: okay, so this is a cheap one, but Lamar Odom’s bloodshot eyes. Add it to the 1/2 soft radicchio, drained of its Mamba Juice, with some water and onion, put down to braise @ 400 for 10-20. Remember, handle the pan with care, unless you’re as high as Lamar–you’ve already numbed the pain.

salt and pepper: aka the new song/dance team starring Luke Walton, Von Wafer, Sasha Vujacic and Brian Shaw. Watch for their new dance routines at the end of the bench. Inside sources tell the Gastronaut that Sasha has finally figured out how to shake it ‘like a polaroid picture.’

basil and onions: just two of the vegetable sacrifices made by Phil Jackson–to whatever fake eastern deity he made up this week–to insure Andrew Bynum’s development into a pre-tween. I don’t care what you say, there isn’t any religion that endorses facial hair and ties like that, Phil. Soul patches belong in Eddie Murphy movies and 70s midget porn.

There you have it– a pan of delicate, delicious Laker Purple, offest by cubes of golden baked polenta. My dish can’t drain buzzer-beaters, throw nasty screens, or run the triangle offense, but it is a sumshy homage to lakers dynasties of old, and it is not a tights wearing bitch.