Just Cured - Experience Fine Foods

The streets are freshly scrubbed; the sidewalks are clear; the parking lanes are empty; the crowd barricades are erected and set in place. It is dawn on the first official day of Spring in Cincinnati — not mid-March, rather the first Monday in April. Preparations are in place for the start of another baseball season and the Findlay Market Opening Day Parade.

My reverse walk of the parade route is notable for its peaceful solitude, interrupted only by the occasional police cruiser moving slowly, blue lights flashing and the whir and clank of the trucks towing the parking stragglers. The Market is equally quiet with the core parade organizers enjoying a hot breakfast before things get hectic.

Soon, horses and motorcycles, cars and bands, and people of all ages and backgrounds will queue up in the streets of Over the Rhine. Soon, the quiet will be broken with shouts and horns communicating frantic instruction. Soon, the whistle kicking off the parade will blow.

The streets that were so empty a short hour ago will soon be packed with fans young and old. Some will be here for the baseball. Others will be here for the party. More will attend to support their neighbors and community.

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And all will gather to welcome Spring’s arrival in the place they call home.

I have read this tired phrase in innumerable thriller novels.† As I have little experience with firearms, I have always considered the phrase to be a writer’s crutch.† Yesterday, I learned firsthand the report of a gun is very similar to the ring of a bell, each with an ascending start, a definite sustained center, and a decay to the ambient sounds.

Late yesterday morning, I left my production facility for a short walk and placed a call to a friend and colleague.† Wind noise interfered with our conversation, so I ducked into the narrow confines of Republic Street just north of Green.† As we continued our conversation, I heard first one loud bang, followed immediately by several more loud reports.† It took me just a beat or so to realize that I was hearing gun fire.† My brain told me I heard four shots in rapid succession; the newspaper this morning told me there were six.

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The shots were fired on Race Street just south of Green, perhaps 50 yards from my location.† I was quite surprised I could discern that the shots came from south of me around the corner rather than north.† I waited in my protected alcove for half a minute or so to determine if the shooter was heading my way.† I saw no one leaving the scene heading my direction, so I walked around the corner onto Vine Street as I completed my conversation.

As I replaced my phone and turned, I saw a young man I know fairly well holding a towel over his face and being helped into a borrowed car.† Marcus had been shot in the face for the offense of waiting for the bus in the wrong place at the wrong time — on the day after he ran the Flying Pig marathon.

A few minutes later, the neighborhood was awash in police cruisers, motorcycles, bicycles, and Segways, followed by camera crews, television reporters and other associated media.† I returned to the place I had stood a few moments earlier.† It was now occupied by a police cruiser securing the crime scene by blocking Green Street.† I handed the officer inside my business card, pointed out where I was standing, and told her what I heard and saw.

As I walked away from the cruiser, the bells of St. Francis church began to ring the noon Angelus.† Reflexively, I slowed my pace and whispered “The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary, and she conceived of the Holy Spirit.”† The peal of the bells bore sharp contrast to the report of gunshots, yet their similarities were eerie.

Just south of the crime scene tape on Race Street, I noticed a makeshift street memorial.† As I had never seen it before, it must be of recent vintage, bearing witness to some other tragedy only a few feet from the most recent.

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They say that violence is senseless.† It may be, but it is also calculated.† Calculated to exact retribution, to warn, to change behavior of a person or an entire community.† I wonder of the intended and unintended consequences of what I witnessed yesterday.

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Street Memorial, Race Street north of Liberty

On Friday, February 27, I will be co-hosting the second monthly wine dinner held at City Cellars on Race Street downtown.† I will prepare a four course meal for guests, and guests may purchase wines to pair with the menu from City Cellars’ extensive inventory.† I will have a number suggested pairings — or guests may go wild with their selections.

Now, I need to come up with a menu.† In recognition of the start of Lent that week and the desire of many to eat less meat, I am considering a meatless meal that doesn’t constitute a sacrifice.† Of course, there will be Just Cured salmon on the menu.

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I will post details, such as the full menu and cost very soon.† Make reservations through City Cellars, and please consult the City Cellars web site for additional information.

The masthead photo on the current issue of Soapbox Media’s newsletter and website is a landscape of Just Cured smoked salmon loin, parsley and a Just Cured EpÌ.† Thank you Scott Beseler for the fantastic photo — and for using it at Soapbox.

On the continuing topic of dining, and fine dining, in Cincinnati (on which I will write more in a day or so), the Soapbox issue contains an interesting article entitled “Foodie Feudies.”† The author takes readers on a tour of interesting dining options in Cincinnati, most run by independent chefs or restaurateurs.† His conclusion is that the dining scene in Cincinnati is vibrant even though the loss of Pigall’s is “regrettable.” 30mg prevacid

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After a quick read of the article, I have two initial reactions.† First, several of the chefs (or the restaurants they run) mentioned in the article (at least four by my count) are alumni(ae) of the Maisonette, Jean-Robert at Pigall’s or both.† I doubt the restaurants named in the article (even collectively) have the capacity to provide the sort of training that their fine dining uncles provided.

Second, I have visited all but one or two of the named restaurants.† While they are, in fact, interesting and enjoyable on their own merits, the greatest strength of the best of the lot is a subtle one.† Those restaurants have each implemented parts of the fine dining playbook, intentionally ignored other parts, and made something that works very well.† Diners enjoy one of these restaurants over another in large part based on how those diners value the fine dining pieces embraced or ignored.† Exposure to the fine dining environment provides the context with which to evaluate those other experiences.† Context that is only available in the likes of New York, Chicago, San Francisco, London and Paris is going to be out of the reach of many diners and the next group of aspiring restaurateurs.