Rest In Power Quincy.
Composer, Producer, Arranger, Player, Innovator, Bad Ass Motherfucker Quincy Jones has left the world one superlative, iconic, genius short. 75 years of shaping air to our liking from Basie, Ellington, Sinatra and Miles to Ray Charles, Michael Jackson and Joy Division. They sought him out as did hundreds of others too many to list, but a few good ones if i were going to list would be Leslie Gore’s “It’s My Party” or Austin Powers Soul Bossa Nova or the soundtracks to Roots, The Color Purple and Sanford and Son. Moody’s Mood For Love or We Are The World get honorable mention as well.
They broke the mold with this guy who as a seven year old child growing up in Chicacgo was stabbed in the hand with a switchblade and took an ice pick to his head for walking down the wrong block. Who often quoted his father and took to heart his mantra “Once a task is just begun never leave until it’s done. Be the labor great or small do it well or not at all.”
When someone of this stature dies we get introspective. At least I do. How does anyone create so much beauty, so much quality? Not only having their finger on the pulse but setting the trends? Someone who contributes more than they consume and leaves the campground better than they found it. That makes you smile when you think of them. Can you say anything better about anyone?
That’s Q.
Illness makes you introspective as well. Having been dealing with an acute medical issue recently (L5 S1) an already hypochondriac me buys trouble and automatically thinks the worst, all the more reasons to avoid doctors and try to walk it off- until I can’t walk. When I couldn’t ignore it any longer I was forced to acquiesces. So far my greatest fears have not materialized and I’ve been been the recipient of a better diagnosis from the Dr. than I gave myself.
Great pain? Yup. Treatable? T’is. Feeling better? Aye.
I share this because as a result of the latter I haven’t done much regarding writing and publishing this week that was spent laying whimpering in a recliner or jacuzzi. Because of my peccadillo I’ve been quite introspective. On top of it I had a wine dinner to do this weekend. My wife never stops helping or anticipating my needs so she worked from home Friday and found time to shop and clean and prep on my behalf. Not allowing me to lift a pan and rolling a chair into the kitchen so I could supervise while she rocked. Or the world’s longest heating pad (on high) waiting for my aching ass and shins on the above mentioned recliner. Or missing her own Dr. appointment because she spaced while helping me and forgot about it.
Let it be known she has the cleaning gene but not the cooking, and dislikes all things food outside of eating and even then, under great scrutiny.
Knowing this it’s hard to accept her help. I’m way better as a giver than needer. Our friend Mary came to my aid at the dinner acting as my hands for the most part. I’d demo the plate and she’d do it x15. Thanks Mary.
So I’ll leave you with this. Count your blessings, Express your love and appreciation. Don’t buy trouble. Whatever you do, do well- and always leave them smiling.
Chef/percussionist/writer/reprobate and lover of all things beautiful & delicious, Chef Alan Lake’s culinary career includes East Bank Club in Chicago; Sunset Marquis in W. Hollywood; Izakaya Hiwatta in Ichinomia Japan and legendary nightclub Purpur in Zurich, Switzerland. Working all around the world for over four decades, he's won numerous awards, professional competitions and distinctions. He’s the author of Home Cookin'- The Stories Behind The Food and The Garlic Manifesto- the history of garlic going back to 10,000-year-old Neolithic caves and contains facts, fiction, folklore, myths and legends (besides 100 recipes).
A lifelong musician that plays 70+ percussion instruments, he coined the term “Jazzfood” to describe his cooking style i.e. “solid technique coupled with tasteful improvisation.” He views his food as he does his music and writing and has been known to bust a pout if subpar in any way.