Ramps

It is that time of year again...

Ramp season.

Restaurants across the city have these little bastards plucked from the dirt and whisked to their kitchens, by secret sources.

Foodies swoon and blather on about the delicate scarcity of this amazing wild onion.


Seriously, can we all just chill out on the ramps?

I mean, they are fine.  Nothing wrong with them...

Do we really need to fetishize a fucking wild onion?




Also, I was having a nosh at one of the local joints.
I will skip naming it, because the owners seem nice enough.  The whole deal has struggled pretty much since opening day, with maybe four chefs in a year, or so.  It has the vibe of one of those spots that you know you'll read about closing down, because you haven't really felt the need to visit it, in three months.

Anyway, I am sitting there, at the bar and next to the most recent guy hired to turn things around.  He was there, chatting up some new vendor.  Food vendor.
"Oh, it'll be a whole new menu, next week." he says.
That is a line I have heard a dozen times, in this place, but it all still seems the same...
As he keeps talking, I realize that the vendor sitting with him is starting some line of pickles, or pickled stuff at least.
New cook guy actually says "Just let me know, next week, what you can do.  We'll take anything you've got."

Which made me snort up some beer, because I immediately thought of this...