Chocolate Tart and Frank Zappa
Say cheese, Frank.
"I remember it like it were now."
— Francesco Luciani
It was last Thursday. Just one week ago. Like it were now. I was wondering if Rachel would ever post again. I'll just pop over for some inspiration. Eureka! A chocolate tart.
What if my conversions are incorrect?
“How you get there is between you and the dough. This is a case in which the journey is not as important as the destination.”
— Dorie Greenspan
Diner's Journal/The Baker's Apprentice: Galette
My conversions were correct.
I threw away my fear of working with dough that day.
The crust, sweet. The chocolate, dense. Pure pleasure. Yes, I will be making this again.
"I think that's Dweezil." I said.
"That's not him." He said.
"I think it is." I said.
We were just finishing our morning walk when I suggested walking a few blocks more. "Let's see if they have anything set up."
A proud group of Lithuanian's (the Lithuanian's LOVE Frank Zappa) were in town. They had brought with them a bust of Frank Zappa. Yes, Baltimore is Frank Zappa's birthplace. I did not know this. But, it makes sense.
While I'm not a Zappa fan, I do adore the Valley Girl song. I truly do. It's a guilty pleasure, I admit.
It would be hours before the dedication and concert, but a small crowd was gathered. A band was on stage. A sound check was in progress. A scruffy man, dressed in all black was bent over his guitar.
The band serenaded us along with an adoring crowd of ponytailed middle-age men and hippi mothers wearing floppy hats and long flowing skirts twirling with their babies. "Hey...What's new in Baltimore...What's new in Baltimore."
We stood. We watched. We burned under the blazing sun.
"We'll come back later." He said.
"Okay." I said.
The crowd had grown. The dedication was starting. The Zappa's, the Lithuanians, Baltimore's mayor, they all took their seats on stage.
I looked at Roberto and pointed towards the stage. "That WAS him! We were watching Dweezil this morning." I said grinning.