He is a mage, nay, a warlock… A well-dressed and striking warrior robed in Tyrian purple, adorned with deep charcoal locks and sporting long lemongrass legs. Dark and mysterious as steel bluing, his defenses are impenetrable as shark skin, polished manzanita wood and black abalone shells melded into one. With power rising through his body from bare toes dug deftly into soft slate colored soil for purchase, to fingertips crackling with the thunderbolt of Zeus, he releases heaps of fresh pineapple acidity, bursts of Rwandan espresso beans, mountains of pasilla peppers and vats of achiote paste from his lofty cerulean heights. On winds of lavender and violet he distracts, and through gusts of Macha and anise powders he blinds. Taking his time he perfects his latest diabolical brew, like the best tonkotsu broth, with stewed spiced venison on the side, pepita green mole, and soy cured shoyu tamago; a most vengeful concoction he will delightedly serve only his most favored of enemies. He is as dangerous as the feared blue glaucus, shimmering like raku fired ceramics, ever changing, ever evolving, searching out the secrets of life, of desire and pleasure in the luscious loganberry, the aptly aged gouda, ogo-nori, ginger, cardamom and cassis. No culinary weapon will go untried, no mystical machination untested.  

notes by clay selkirk, all-around cowboy