Leather Storrs: The Shapes of Inspiration

Leather Storrs: The Shapes of Inspiration

Inspiration is a maddening, inconsistent and surprising muse. Rolling Stone Keith Richards, in his rambling, drug fueled autobiography “Life,” recounts an opium moment with Mick in the basement of Jagger’s Manor. Mick’s gardener was outside the window stomping loudly and when Keith asked after the sound Mick replied that it was Jack. Jumping Jack. In an instant they penned the pounding classic “Jumping Jack Flash”. Unfortunately, these lightning bolts are the exception rather than the rule in the creation game. The inspiration I get from our gardener is dirtier and curt: “If you want the rest of the Kale, take it. I’m replanting that bed tomorrow.”

In the kitchen, surplus is always a driver of ideas. The end of season green tomatoes get turned into chutney. The thigh-sized squash becomes a boat for shepherd’s pie. The green coriander seeds of bolting cilantro and the seeds of tired nasturtium get brined like capers. We hate to waste and the money’s in the margins so we try to capture seasons and extend the shelf life of volatile ingredients. That excess of kale, for example, spawned a fantastic reinterpretation of “Wakame,” the Japanese seaweed and sesame seed salad. I sliced the kale into ribbons and marinated it with garlic, rice vinegar, sriracha and fish sauce. Fresh cilantro and thai basil gave it sparkle and toasted sesame seeds provided a sturdy base line. It wasn’t “new” exactly, but it was fun and smart and most importantly, delicious.

When it comes to creating dishes, there’s no telling how and when an idea will bloom. Even failure informs the process. I invented a dish called “Apples Carl Sagan” because I could not tame an apple pie. The crust was wet, or tough. The apples were hard, or too soft, or bland. The filling wept, the presentation was sloppy and the pie was only good the day it was made… So I took it apart. I poached apple halves in apple syrup. I made a simple pie crust and baked it in little discs. I made brittle little cookies and then stamped out the centers to make rings. I made almond praline and ground it up. I reduced the apple syrup with cider vinegar. The apple half sat on the crust next to a scoop of vanilla rolled in the praline. The cider syrup made an ellipse on the plate, uniting the “planets” in orbit. The cookie ring perched jauntily on the ice cream ball, evoking Saturn. My friend Charlie Redd pushed it over the top with the silly, wonderful name. We’ve sold billions and billions (sorry Carl).

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Unfortunately, the success of the name for my busted apple pie has gotten me in trouble. I’ve fallen for the food pun at the expense of flavor. “Lucky Charms” was a colorful pile of pink radishes cut into hearts, turmeric potatoes stamped into crescents, carrot stars, thai basil cut into clovers and eggplant diamonds made blue by cooking the eggplant with an iron nail. A coconut broth poured over at the table finished the joke. They can’t all be gold, but that neat Kale salad went by the name “Mockame,” and at least I got a little chuckle.

Of course every jaded Chef will tell you that it’s all been done before. Which is why robbery remains one of our greatest muses. So beware! If I eat it at your restaurant and I love it, I’m going to take it, rub it a little and serve it as my own.

Leather Storrs is an Oregon native who has served 20 years in professional kitchens. He owns a piece of area restaurant Noble Rot, where he yells and waves arms. He quietly admits to having been a newspaper critic in Austin, Texas and Portland.