Ever since your publication of “You Don’t Know Jack” [Gastronomer, June 2002], I’ve had trouble sleeping. What has been keeping me awake nights is the turmoil over whether or not to expose your “Gastronomer,” Joe Pastoor, as the fraud he is. I have made the decision to come clean. (And C.J., if you’re reading, please don’t make our family’s disgrace any greater by publishing any of this in your column.) Joe Pastoor (The Rake’s Gastronomer) lured us to the Mall of America one Saturday in April, with promises of sampling delicious deserts at Á La Mode. After Joe selected a sampling of tasty delights, which he had promised to share with me (his wife) and our two daughters, he started acting twitchy and nervous. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that he had left his keys at the cash machine. Joe asked if I would mind taking both of the children and going to look for his keys. We did so, to no avail. When we returned empty-handed, there was Joe with keys in hand, surrounded by three empty plates. “Sorry honey, but I guess I had my keys in my pocket all along,” said Joe. Contrary to his claim that these treats were shared by all, Joe had dispatched the apple crisp, cheesecake, and giant (really big) chocolate chip cookie all on his own. Oh, and one more thing: Unless you consider Joe’s stomach a storage locker, the white-chocolate raspberry scone never stood a chance.
Mrs. Joe (Gastronomer) Pastoor
St. Louis Park
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