About Bert
Bert claims he was born in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, but he claims a lot of things, and it's best to take his "statements of fact" with a grain of salt. We suspect he was hatched on another planet.
He may be a bit of an odd bird (last Halloween, Bert got dressed up as an eel and scared the bejeezus out of our local goldfish population), but we're fortunate and happy that he decided to settle here. Everyone has quirks - the heart is what matters, and Bert's heart is as true as they come.
Moreover, Bert seems to have an uncanny knack for recipes. He's traveled quite a bit, in some rather exotic places. Everywhere he's gone, he's paid close attention to the food he's been served, and no matter where he is Bert tends to get served food that most of us never encounter - local specialties from all over the world.
There's something about his personality that encourages complete strangers to open their doors to him and invite him in for lunch or dinner. According to him, even chefs and restaurateurs will stop him in the street in far-off lands and drag him into their dining rooms just to make him taste the local specialty that they just finally perfected. Bert tastes with his whole brain. He collects every bit of information that his eyes, nose, and tongue deliver, and files it away
somewhere in his darkest recesses. Later, when he gets home, he somehow outputs all that information with his hands, and voila! Before you know it, he's replicated these magnificent dishes that most of us only dream of. Then, in an even greater display of virtuosity, Bert figures out a way to put that taste in a bottle, and all the rest of us just execute his orders. You should see him when he performs these transformative acts - it's like he's in an altered state, totally removed from his usual slouchy self.
This past summer, Bert spent his vacation as he usually does, about fifty yards from our kitchens in the Connecticut River. He ties a giant truck inner tube to a tree overhanging the banks, jumps in, and basically stays there for a week. He somehow got it written into his employment contract that we have to bring him refreshments while he's on vacation, so our productivity rate kind of dwindles a little during that week as we shuttle back and forth from the kitchen to the river with platters of cold cuts, local crusty bread, and jars of our Vermont Epicurean Maple Horseradish Mustard. We won't get into what he drinks when he's not working.
About midway through the week this year, just as we were preparing to bottle a batch of Cinnamon-infused Vermont Maple Syrup, a piercing yowl came from the direction of Bert's inner tube. We all came pouring out of the kitchen to see what had befallen our friend. When we reached the riverbank, we found that sure enough, he'd been bitten. Only it wasn't a snake or an otter or a porcupine, but a big old trout, and its teeth were still stuck in the fleshy part of Bert's thigh. Luckily for us, Bert is a limber kind of guy. Right before our eyes, he twisted himself around and bit the fish right back, holding it there between his teeth until some of the more quick-witted among us came to his aid and wrestled the trout to the ground. Ernestine went and got her fishing rod, and we all took the rest of the afternoon off to enjoy an outdoor feast of pan-fried trout with Horseradish Mustard vinaigrette.