Thats a veal chop, a thick, beautiful veal chop, yes, product of misery, but sooooo good, I cannot stay away, at least I honor the veal, I treat it reverently and with respect, worshipfully, even, honoring the soul of the animal whose death allows me to live. Thats my line of bullshit and I am sticking with it, sometimes I even believe it.

Its a pan-seared veal chop cooked to medium rare, then set aside, while olive oil and butter were added to the pan with chopped garlic and diced shallots, followed by sliced shitake mushrooms, canellini beans, and a cut-up potato. After sauteeing, browning, sweating and all that mysterious stuff has gone on among these ingredients, I added a cup of veal stock, a large pinch of saffron, and a diced tomato of the orange variety. Then the waiting veal chop went back into the barely simmering stew for just a few minutes, not to cook further, just to heat to a proper serving temperature. Its a flavorful comfort-food stew with lots of provencale influence, italian influence, the broth drenched with flavors and herbs, caramelised pan searing residue and browned garlic and shallots, basil and thyme (did I mention the thyme?) and black pepper and a tiny touch of cayenne (everything has some cayenne in it) and garlic and the smoky woodsiness of shitake mushrooms and the lovely texture of the beans and the smooth creaminess of potatos, and the saffron, the mysterious saffron flavor gently suffusing all. Yum. But its also got this sinful, enormous, beautiful, sybaritic, self-indulgently rich, ethically repugnant and amazing veal chop sitting there in it as well and each bite of the tender veal is bathed in that same broth and you just don't care, you don't, because you really are reverently, respectfully, worshipping it as you eat it. At least thats how I eat it.