Last night was the Brad Mehldau Expe­ri­ence at Zankel Hall, which I’m happy to see got a rather good review in the Times. The concert was pretty much a straight run-through of his double album (more on this in a bit) Highway Rider, for a quintet of soloists and chamber orches­tra. Matt Cham­ber­lain’s drumming was partic­u­larly reve­la­tory to me; I’m not a jazz connois­seur by any means, but it seemed to me that he was having an espe­cially wonder­ful time on stage, foiling and delight­ing with every turn of phrase. Cham­ber­lain doesn’t move the way I’ve seen other good drummers move; he doesn’t look loose or relaxed at all, rather more like a spring-loaded puppet with fewer joints than most humans. Whereas another drummer would flick his wrist, Cham­ber­lain moves his entire arm, like a martial artist; it doesn’t look partic­u­larly comfort­able to me, but I was enthralled by the visual effect of it, and by the incred­i­bly complex layers of rhythm and timbre it produced. 

Brad had let his grey hair grow out a bit, and also gotten thinner and put on a small velvet suit, which gave him a crazy-but-dapper profes­so­r­ial quality, a profes­sor who was also possibly a charis­matic and success­ful cult leader. His playing was char­ac­ter­is­ti­cally inven­tive and virtu­osic, includ­ing what sounded like an impro­vised fugue (!) some­where in the last few move­ments (I don’t think it’s on the CD). I’m not even sure I remember how to write a fugue, much less impro­vise a completely natural and bad-ass sounding one, in a jazz piece. As good as it was, Highway Rider tested the limits of my concert-sitting abil­i­ties; six years of attend­ing New Music New Haven has over-sensi­tized me to long concerts, and around the two hour mark I start to panic and wonder if my bike is still doing OK. Speaking of which, Carnegie Hall really needs some bike parking. It doesn’t have to be an eyesore; it could actually be an oppor­tu­nity to class things up. Hire a black­smith to do some wrought-iron grille work! Or hire David Byrne. Or teach David Byrne how to smith.

I opened the refrig­er­a­tor today and found myself face to face with a large cauli­flower, and nothing else. I’d picked it up at the Ft. Greene farmers’ market last weekend (which I like because it doesn’t over­whelm me). The main chal­lenge with turning a cauli­flower into an entire meal is that, frankly, it’s cauli­flower. But this is a happy story, with a deli­cious ending, good enough in fact to post it up here. 

Roasted cauliflower

Take a head of cauli­flower and hack it into medium bits. Toss it up with a fair bit of chopped garlic, smoked paprika, salt, olive oil, and (this is key) Moroccan preserved lemon. Spread it out on a baking sheet and roast at 425º for half an hour or so. While that’s happen­ing, toast up some pecans in a skillet with a bit of chili powder. Once the cauli­flower has browned parts (see fig. 1) take it out of the oven and put the pecans on top. Let the whole mess cool— it seems to get better and sweeter at room temperature.