To Eat

Today I woke up far too late in the day and decided to go sit outside. The Blue Ridge in the Summer is full of this sort of day - long, humming with a thick humidity, and just bearable under the shade of a large tree. So I took my place under the beautiful Oak behind my house. Sitting there, contemplating plans for what to make for a late Sunday dinner, I began to notice a bird hopping rather closely. This little specimen, brown and common, moving it's head jerkingly from side to side seemed to have been searching for a place in the shade like me. However, what it had in mind was not sedentary comfort but something more essential. The bird flew this way and that, just above my tree, attempting to corner some type of flying black bug into it's mouth. When it finally succeeded, looking as pleased as any creature can, it simply flew on, leaving me with just my tree.

So I realized, this is the way it has always been.

I started reading Michael Pollan's book In Defense of Food the other day and have since had many a revelation. One such was about the history of food. Why do we eat what we eat? Well, of course, just as the bird, to survive. But once humans got involved, it got a little more tricky. We eat to live, yet we eat to show our bones, ironically. The food we make, or at least should make, represents the taste buds of our families, our history, the landscape and, these days, our ability to climb over the lonely mausoleums of fast food drive-thrus and frozen, fat-free, lemon-scented pasta dishes. To approximate Pollan, we have lost the real, engaging reasons to eat among all the muck. Myself included. After the bird, and the brooding, I thought I would put down the frozen pizza, walk away from the oreos, and make something with the fresh-picked, local blueberries that my friend had brought over three days before from her friend's farm. Buckwheat pancakes with a fresh blueberry compote it is. So, tonight, not so late in the day, there will be pancakes coupled with a sweet satisfaction.

It takes only a moment with a little bird and the old predator-versus-prey power play in my back yard to remember myself in this seemingly chaotic and confusing thing that human beings have to do everyday - to eat. But, now, to eat with a belief in eating, and, thus, with a belief in a history as thick as this Blue Ridge humidity.

The Flipside of Failure

When beginning any recipe, whether self-invented or reproduced from some resource, the cook needs to understand that to transform raw ingredient to higher edibility is to undertake a complex and variable task that human beings have been doing since the beginning of time. And, furthermore, that since that first human heated or seasoned, the ingredients have been getting the best of us. Today, with the invention of preservatives as well as with the question of survival being put on the back burner, the result of a cooking "failure", in most, is the exclamation of expletives paired with a vow to never try again. And this is precisely the place where most stay -- in exasperation turned to indifference. I've talked to many people, from ages 6 to 60, that will, after making something, quickly put it down as "nothing" or as "just from a box". We think that cooking should be saved for the chefs and baking saved for the bakers. However, what they don't know is that there is such a freedom in the humble understanding that with the will and a little time, they can make anything they want. And, more importantly, that it doesn't need to be perfect. From any "failure", when considered, comes knowledge that can't be learned from any book or magazine.

To explain. The other night, a late one I might add, filled with too much italian vocabulary and, incidentally, too many cups of coffee, I decided to make new potato and red onion soup with thyme. This, I will tell you from the get-go, is a pretty bad pairing. I did it because the colors looked amazing and I thought "if baking potatoes and leeks work, why not this!". Needless to say, I was a little delirious. I shortly realized after cooking the onions in butter and then adding the potatoes, chicken broth and thyme, that red onions don't hold up under all that pressure. They get slippery and too sweet and, the potatoes, hard as rocks after 40 minutes of simmering. I, in a fit of passion, added some white wine vinegar and took the flavorless broth to a place much like a really acidic dog's breath. Alas, I dumped the inedible soup and took a seat at my counter stool to brood. Just when I began to think the age-old thoughts about failure as simply an end and the self-piteous why-do-I-even-try self-lecture, I stood up. I took note that now I know, for sure, that this combination is not a match. Also, I learned, contextually, about the textures of the red onion and the new potato as well as what happens when you add vinegar to chicken broth. I knew something that I didn't know before and not because i made a gourmet, applaudable soup but because I made a gross, flippant late-night soup with all the wrong ratios.

So, to wrap up a more metaphysical post, a "mess-up" can lead to a better dish later. And that the flipside of failure can lead to the fulfilling difference between a boxed cake or canned soup and something that you truly put yourself into.

Got Goat Cheese?

So, I was in Foods of All Nations the other day and came across something that I cannot even begin to describe. This miraculous addition to my culinary exploration came in the form of none other than local honey infused goat cheese.

Firstly, goat cheese is something to be worshiped in its own right. With a texture unlike anything else and an incredibly fresh taste, goat cheese is supreme. Goat cheese functions interestingly in American culture. It occupies a status much like feta does as the average joe's infrequent attempt at an exotic nacho or salad and carries a serious WOW factor. If something has goat cheese as a filling or topping, its gotta be rich. So, needless to say, HONEY goat cheese might just take the cake...literally! I was thinking what to make with the cheese that would really highlight its richness and so the first thing I thought about was cheese grits, where creaminess is key. Then I decided to go a little further with fried grit cakes with peppery bacon.

First, I took a cup of grits (a grain made from coarsely ground corn) and put it with 3 cups of boiling water. The grits soak up the water over a 15 minute simmering period. While this was simmering, I cooked up 3 pieces of thick-cut, Niman Ranch bacon (although, some local bacon would be much better if its around) and gave them a rough chop. After the grits were cooked through, I took them off the heat and then mixed in: 2 Tbs. butter, about 1/4 of a cup of honey infused goat cheese, the bacon bits, and salt and pepper to taste. I add a fair amount of salt as I grew up eating grits real salty. Then, I let these cool and formed them into cakes about 1 inch thick and 3 inches across. I heated oil in a cast iron skillet on medium high heat and then cooked them in batches for 3-4 minutes on each side until nice and browned.

I served them with some fresh thyme sprigs and learned the real meaning of the word luscious.

The Roots

Vegetables. They make up, or at least should make up, the majority of the human diet. However, the American dinner table picks favorites these days. Broccoli, in all its glory, sure thing. Corn and peas, certainly. Definitely the usually frozen, chopped spinach and, for some more adventurous families, asparagus. But, contrary to popular belief, there are many more highly edible vegetables that we pass by in the grocery store or farmer's market.

I read an article by Molly Wizenberg in Bon appetit the other day about the winter doldrums as well as how to beat it with some overlooked, great winter vegetables. The main focus of the article was the celery root, or celeriac, a root vegetable that Molly Wizenberg tells me bears a wonderfully fresh taste similar to the more common celery found in chicken salads and vegetable soups. So, I went to my local grocery store and, somewhere lodged between the rutabaga and leafy kale, I found it: a rotund, moldy-looking cabbage with short, green stalks sprouting from the crown. And I immediately asked myself how and with what does one get into this armed prison of thick, rough skin. Even with my doubts, I took it home and tackled it with my paring knife.

What I found was, as Molly informed me, a beautiful, beautiful soul.

Somewhere between the taste of celery and the hearty texture of new potatoes, the celery root made for a great addition to my vegetable repertoire. It has some nutty and almost sweet undertones which pairs well with sweet fruits, nuts and cheeses such as gorgonzola or blue cheese. So I took a recipe that Molly suggested and changed it a bit.

*I took the celery root and, after peeling, I cut it into long, thin strips, about 3 inches long. Then did the same to 3 washed, firm Anjou pears. I think that the colors look nice when mixed loosely together. Then I made a simple dressing with: 2 Tbs. olive oil, 2 Tbs. white wine vinegar, 2 tsp. crushed fennel seed, 1/4 tsp. of nutmeg, 1 Tbs. fresh lemon juice and some good pinches (to taste) of fresh ground black pepper and kosher salt. I whisked this together and poured it over the mixed pears and celeriac. Then I put a good amount of gorgonzola cheese on the salad and loosely mixed it all together to make Ta Da! a bangin' winter salad.

It was complex, nutty and slightly sweet, proving to me that, although beautiful bunches of spinach and broccoli can make the meal, sometimes the roots are where it's at. And can be a wonderful addition to any Wednesday night.

Ode to the Leek

A harmony of deep green, baby-grass-light green and glowing white, infinitely layered, too big for the vegetable drawer. Yes, you called it, the leek. This sprouting bottomed, oniony, winter vegetable has my utter adoration. The leek is overlooked, or even, in some cases, unheard of as anything less than obscure. However the results, when washed and cooked properly, are phenomenal.

The other day I was watching Ina Garten, per usual, and she reminded me of my task, ever put on the back burner for some more exotic endeavor, of conquering the homemade soup. In a world where condensed is king, the homemade soup has, for many, been virtually left in the dust. My roommate couldn't understand why I would attempt anything other than microwaved Campbell's, my friends were a tad unbelieving, and I, paring knife in hand, was ready for an adventure filled with long hours of simmering, a cacophony of herbs, and a ton of chicken broth. Then, I thought of the leek. And after that inspiration came the omnipresent (at least in my family) leek and potato soup. However, this simple, savory soup carries with it the question: where's the meat? Let me tell you, there is no need. What I found, through some experimentation and a little help from the internet, was that a simple but nonetheless hearty leek and potato soup could be crafted with some basic ingredients and less time than I thought.

I went to the grocery store and purchased the following: 3 healthy lookin' leeks, 3 large baking potatoes, 1 Qt. organic free-range chicken broth, fresh rosemary and a big ole' garlic bulb.

Then, I dove in. In a large soup pot I put about a 1/4 a stick of butter until fully melted. Then sliced 3 cloves garlic thinly (so you can really have something to bite into) and put that in with the butter. Next, I sliced the leeks, using only the light green and white parts, in 1/2 inch thick slices and added that to the garlicy butter for 5 minutes until semi-translucent and aromatic. I cut the potatoes choppily as to give it a rustic look, all the while keeping them about the same size and added that to the pot along with 1 qt. chicken broth, 4 big sprigs of rosemary, leaves attached to stems, and a few good pinches of kosher salt and freshly ground pepper. I brought the whole mixture to a boil and then turned down the heat to low and let it simmer for about 30 minutes or until the potatoes are fork-soft and everything tastes right. To finish, I put freshly ground pepper and salt to taste and topped with FRESH grated parmesan.

With some focaccia or tortilla chips... that was a superb dinner.