As evidenced by last weeks WE and countless publications besides, the notion that 2012 could bring about the end of the world has captured the popular imagination. Being a rather dedicated Gregorian boy, I must confess to some doubts about the Mayas long-count calendar, or more specifically, all theapocalyptic fuss that it has been generating.
The Mayans would have us believe that humanity only began on August 11, 3114 BC (back when one of their deities arranged some stones in a very particular way), and that their mega-epoch ends on December 21, 2012. Theres no evidence to suggest that they believed the world would end on the latter date (the cycle would begin anew), but Id sooner dive inside a plastic bag to mate with eels than trade reason with the many millenarian whackjobs that this extinct calendar has so inspired.
But Im all for sport, and will pretend in this column (and this one only) that our genus did not achieve modernity some 50,000 years ago (it was all the more recent work of the Mayas magnificent Raised-Up-Sky-Lord); that Charles Darwin was a loony (the splendid beard being a dead giveaway); that the Bronze Age was a fiction conjured by fame-starved archaeologists (entirely possible); and that despite all evidence to the contrary the end is indeed nigh (as in 11 months from now). In such unfortunate circumstances, what, in the name of Woody Harrelson, would I do?
I wouldnt panic, for starters. Im the guy on the plane thats going down who is convinced that he is going to make it, so Im certain that Ill survive whatever cataclysm is on the horizon. A comet striking Boston? No problem (seriously). A reversal of the poles? Piece of cake. A direct hit from a gamma ray burst? Id dodge it. How? I dont know. As a food writer, I seldom deal in hypotheticals, and so Im rather out of my depth on this one.
Id definitely need to fatten the hell up. Id do this not only to store up calories to burn through the lean times, but also because I dont expect there to be many restaurants come Christmas Eve (major bummer). I reckon an extra 80 pounds should do the trick, and that 11 months is enough time to pack them on (no one as skinny as me would make it through a new Ice Age, let alone a nuclear winter).
Id start by asking my mother to lay a good foundation with the most wondrous of her many dinner inventions, the Andrew Special of paillard chicken breasts layered with prosciutto and asiago cheese. These she rolls into fat joints and then bakes them in a shallow bath of shaved asiago, cream and a few secret ingredients that, when combined and properly molten, arrive at the consistency of heaven if it were made of perfect Hollandaise. Id pair it with a bottle of 1990 Penfolds Grange (since this is a fantasy), and then take a good nap.
Id then hit Deacons Corner in Railtown every morning to craft a game plan. Id refine said plan there until it was watertight. If I were to ever tire of the diners chicken fried steak with country gravy, Id take instead the Lumberjack Breakfast at Sophies Cosmic Cafe or the fricasse of short ribs with fried egg and applewood smoked cheddar at Café Medina. For lunches, Id move between the Reubens at Red Wagon and the porchetta at Meat & Bread. At dinner, Id bounce from pork belly at Bao Bei to shoyu ramen (extra fatty) at Kintaro to poutine at Boneta. If I were to permit myself a final meal in Vancouver, Id do the extravagant works at South Granvilles West with friends and family. Wed have as many courses from pastry chef Rhonda Viani as we would from executive chef Quang Dang, with not a few drinks from barman David Wolowidnyk. Then wed all run out without paying.
Aside from getting corpulent in a furious hurry, the plan would include working as a stagier at Big Lous Butcher Shop so I could learn how to deal with whole animal carcasses; securing a berth on the last ferry to Â鶹´«Ã½Ó³»Island; and buying a heavy-duty generator so I could listen to Kings College Cambridge Choir sing Miserere Mei Deus and watch Brideshead Revisited whenever the chips got especially down.
For supplies, Id load up on the following: salmon candy from Granville Island; jerky from Sebastian & Co.; Ouma rusks from Serengeti Foods; preserved fruit and pickled vegetables from Farmers Markets; a lot of cured meat from Oyama; 10 lbs of Stumptown coffee from The Everything Cafe; a case each of R&Bs Red Devil Pale Ale and Sandhills Small Lots Petit Verdot; two bottles of Makers Mark (one for drinking and the other to clean the inevitable wounds); and I imagine quite a lot of 30-30 ammunition for an 1894 Winchester Repeater.
Wed take both cars to Tofino, where wed use the ancient Jaguars twin gas tanks for storage (Road Warrior style) and the old Westfalia for living in. The van sleeps four and already comes complete with water purification tablets, bedding, pots, plates, first aid kit, you name it. Come December 21, wed be in fair enough stead to make a stand. If the apocalypse took us anyway, at least wed have eaten well and found ourselves at the very end surrounded by all the things and the folks that we hold most dear.
