Some photographs should not be looked at late at night.
The photographs of this midnight bruschetta were exactly that kind.
They came from Outlaw Chef Damjan Bistričić, a cook from the Istria region of Croatia. On the Istrian news site istarski.hr, he writes a recipe column called "Nedjeljna škola kuhanja" — Sunday Cooking School.
Every time a photo arrives from Outlaw Chef, we are in trouble.
On the baked bread, the cheese has melted. The blueberries bleed their purple juice, and the cherry tomatoes glow red.
Even through a screen, you can almost smell it.
And among the photographs he sent, there was the familiar Higonokami.
Oštrim kuhinjskim nožem.
Whenever we translate Outlaw Chef's recipes, we pause at the same place.
"Oštrim kuhinjskim nožem" — with a sharp kitchen knife.
The phrase appears in his recipes again and again.
When he squares off an apple, when he splits a pepper lengthwise, and this time, when he cuts the ciabatta in half.
That is all the recipe says. But one look at his photographs, and it is clear what that "sharp knife" is.
A Higonokami.
A blade resting beside the cutting board as if it has always been there. The Higonokami from Ichizo Honpo.
Out of a Daydream
His cooking always begins in a moment of reverie.
Last time, it came from a dream as he dozed at the table in his front yard.
This time, the idea arrived with a huge yellow moon in the night sky.
A sultry, humid night of Indian summer, somewhere around eleven o'clock.
"I stand leaning against the back window, looking out at my park." Right above the palm tree, the tallest resident of his yard, hung an enormous yellow Moon. Pale yellow, and in its shape it reminded him of bread — a corn ciabatta.
"What if I cut a ciabatta in half, brush it with olive oil, add a little bacon, gorgonzola, gouda, cherry tomatoes and a bit of rosemary, and bake it all briefly in the oven?"
The answer came at once.
Not calculation, but play. That, too, is a shape of his "Art Brut Cuisine."
He closes the window and turns on the air conditioning, then puts on a series just for something humming in the background. He walks into the kitchen, open to the living room with no wall between them, and sets the oven to 200°C.
He has one goal.
To put the bruschetta into the oven at exactly midnight.
At the Hour You Shouldn't Eat
Eating late at night is bad for you. Many of us grew up being told so.
He calls it a "taboo meal" — "one that many avoid, thinking it's harmful because other people told them so, when in fact it is very healthy for the cheerfulness of the free human spirit."
On the ciabatta brushed with olive oil, he layers strips of bacon, cherry tomatoes, cheese, and blueberries. Finally, a pinch of rosemary.
Inside the oven, the cheese begins to melt. It bakes for just a few minutes.
The salt of the bacon, the sweetness of the blueberries, the bitterness of the gorgonzola.
Lifted by the freshness of olive oil and rosemary, and rounded out by the corn bread, the play of salty, sweet, and bitter "will stir a positive restlessness in your spirit."
Close at Hand, at Midnight
Halve the cherry tomatoes. Halve the blueberries. Cut the bacon into strips, and the two cheeses into small cubes.
Each is a very small task.
Of course, this is not a dish where the Higonokami is the star. The star is a slice of bread born from the moon, and everything layered on top of it.
But when you halve something small, or trim cheese to the size of a fingertip, a small blade that fits in the hand is at just the right distance.
In the garden by day, in the kitchen by night. As always, the one blade close at hand.
You can also watch the cooking in this reel.
Original article (in Croatian):
istarski.hr — "Složio sam bruschettu i točno u ponoć ubacio je u pećnicu"
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