The Meadowlark Collection
On a school bus tripped out as a kitchen, a small team of interns, a master chef and a visionary ringleader assembled for the summer. Local farmers who offer up the bounty of summer. A table set for 42 with white linen, vintage Limoges, wild flowers, under a stream of small lights. Cocktails with small flowers. Goat cheese from Margaret’s 8 goats. The promise to cook from the bounty of the field the table is set by, knowing that the menu will change as the wind blows. The site of the dinner’s performance after everyone had disappeared into the night, packed up like nothing ever happened. The only evidence being a full stomach, new friends, memories of a feast, compost as beautiful as a Jackson Pollock, sparks disappearing into the night and some pictures that I took.
Veronica introduced me every night to the guests as a storyteller, and made a 43rd plate that I took behind the bus, out of sight, photographed, and devoured. I wanted to take in the view from the fields of the mountains outside of Boulder. I wanted to FEEL the summer. I wanted to explore the light changing with the day and with the seasons. Wanted to get my camera smoked inside the grill, and let it disappear inside a pot of steaming fresh peas. Veronica believes that having music playing does not allow you to use your ears when cooking, so I sang to myself. There are no pictures of finished plates. There is no real narrative. There is not even any meat – though there were amazing dishes flowing from the huge smoker all summer. This is just part of the story I was singing to myself in the fields outside of Boulder in the summer.