Morsels

When I was a kid and my father was away at a conference or the like, mom would gleefully serve tacos, grilled cheese — let’s see, I’m trying to remember all the other meals that he didn’t like that we got to eat? My memory is not serving me so well but what I think the food had in common was its ease of preparation and that we always sat at the kitchen table instead of in the dining room. When we were together as a family, dinners were much more of an elaborate affair, elbows were in their proper place and the like. Which is all to lead up to the fact that Dennis doesn’t much like clams and he is off in Florida at a conference and… Arthur is just now driving up from OU in anticipation of Clam Spaghetti. And I am very happy. I am looking forward to seeing my boy and feeding him good, homemade food. I won’t even care if he puts his elbows IN his spaghetti!

so I emailed this particular adventure to my painting teacher this morning and then felt it was wasteful to just put it in one, lone email. While at Wegman’s, provisioning for the week up here (NY house) I was struck by how pretty the mackerel were. They looked like a very nice (still) subject for a still-life. Only I wanted three and they were largish fellows. So the whole thing was going to cost me over ten dollars, which seemed extravagant. I already had a pound and half of wild haddock, two pricey cheeses, fava beens, spicy sprouts and other very important food stuffs in my basket.  Instead, I bought three herring (and as I said to Jeff my teacher this is where it begins to sound like an episode from Monty Python - a herring!!)

Well, I did buy them and they are still wrapped in their pristine white wrapping paper, lurking in the fridge. We are 4 days into the whole saga and I am fearful. You know they are just a stinky mess and they were so pretty and shiny. Just four days ago my biggest worry over them was how to arrange them and on what in order to compose my still-life. Now, I’m afraid the whole thing is lost and they area going to have to get tossed in the woods. Maybe I should plant them like the indians did and see if corn grows. Maybe I should put them in the pond and hope to attract a heron?

The moral? If you have an inkling to paint something dead a la olde Masters, do it right quick. Course it makes me wonder exactly how they managed. Those rabbits and pheasants look so fresh.

Here is a picture of the last painting I finished. It’s a view of a storm coming in over Squirrel Island which sits at the mouth of the bay in Maine. Ann Sexton lived there and went mad which must have shaken that old community up a bit.

Squirrel Island Storm

Doesn’t that sound yummy? I always check the new Williams-Sonoma catalogues when they come in the mail not because I need any of the stuff in it but because their often have really good recipes. This catalogue came with two that I want to make — the Roast Pork with Pears and a skillet lasagna. I just made the pork and it looks wonderful. Only change I made to the whole thing was to cut a pocket into the pork roast to stuff the filling in as opposed to slicing it in half and then tying it up again.

I never, ever have kitchen twine! I don’t know why but you can ask my poor sainted mother who has had to secure turkeys, geese and large roasting chickens with metal skewers instead of sensible kitchen twine. Maybe its the whole idea of cooking string?

In fact, I think it is that very much indeed! I just flashed on a set of terrible cautionary tales by Hilaire Belloc that we had when I was a kid. They were, I now know having just looked him up on wikipedia, supposed to be satirical. Whoops. I didn’t get that part when I was 6. Here’s the bit about Henry King who ate bits of string so you can understand why I’m not big on cooking string (though perhaps if one cooks it, it doesn’t kill you?). Poor little Henry. There was another little guy who was bad and got eaten by a lion.  The part where just his head was left used to scare me silly.

Ok back to the recipes. And I will at some point try the skillet lasagna, which is billed as the ultimate one-pot dinner. So you know it must be made. For tomorrow night I am making the tuna daube I have posted about before. I started it on the stove and am finishing up in the crockpot.  A good sunday is one where I know I have manage to pull together at least a few meals for the week!

Title ought to be that less and less is fishy but there’s really no clever way to say this…I don’t know if anyone has noticed that I am not posting fish or seafood recipes lately. And no, it’s not because all of a sudden I am a rabid carnivore and am jawing away on meat every night. It’s because I am so concerned about eating fish and seafood. We are over-fishing almost everything. And what we aren’t over-fishing might have unacceptable levels of toxins. Clothilde from Zucchini and Chocolate has a really good post about this. Even better are the comments. Particularly moving are the people from all over the world reminiscing about when you could reach your hand into the water and scoop out a particular fish or drop a line and be sure to catch another. The point being that they are simply gone.

I remember one summer that Maine was beset upon by divers harvesting sea urchins. Say what you will about them (I think they taste vile but I remember my parents savoring them when we lived in Provence, scooping out the raw innards from the spiny little fellas). Anyway, the Japanese prize them, as we all know. And this summer — it was years ago now; maybe 15? as I say, we were beset upon by divers hauling loads and loads of urchins out of the water. There was no control, no catch limits. And in that one summer, the population was decimated. I know it sounds alarmist. But it’s not an exaggeration. Used to be, you could stroll along the beaches and pick up beautiful, delicate urchin shells, bleached by the sun. The best ones were the tiniest. I used to like to collect them in varying sizes and then line them up like little Russian Nesting Dolls, the large down to the smallest I could find. After that summer, I might be lucky to find one. They used to cover the rocks. Now, when I see one it’s an event. And when the urchins went, so did the starfish. And probably there are other species I just don’t know enough to track. My point is that eating the fish, the way we fish right now is mostly irresponsible. I hate to say that because I could eat fish every day. But it’s true. I say mostly because there are sustainable raised or fished fish that are ok. Here is a competition for recipes around those fishes and the results. Note what one chef says, that the situation and what we know changes so you have to stay on top of it. Note what another says (this is lovely).. I paraphrase: If you have ever wondered whether or not we are connected to the sea, taste your tears.

I have written before about the ease, joys and taste benefits of a small stove-top smoker. Tonight, I picked up some golden trout and smoked it over hickory chips (I sprinkled the trout with a little salt and some Tony Cachere’s Cajun spice mix and then made a smoked trout hash. It was easy, cheap and good. We have left-overs and I think I might either re-fry the whole mix and top with a fried egg this weekend or maybe make pan-fried fish cakes out of the mixture — depends. But I am definitely not letting it all go to waste.

Funny (or not so) but the situation with the market has encouraged me to think about saving every last bit of food and figure out how to transform and stretch. Our economic freefall  is really predicated yes on fear but also on the fact that this country and us consumers have been borrowing ourselves into an inflated frenzy, buying what we can’t afford (saying, oh but I deserve, I WANT) - caps on unexpectedly but actually appropriately…well, it’s ok to hunker down, pull in a bit. In fact, I think there’s a relief to it. Some of that acquisitiveness is rooted in a little insecurity, even pain. ‘course there’s the other part of me that is romantically rebellious, that has always connected with Hemingway in France drinking flinty white wine, slurping oysters and not giving a damn. That part of me is tempted to eat caviar, drink aforementioned champagne and etc… it’s the end of the world. Let’s enjoy ourselves.

Or as some say..life is short — eat dessert first.

Tomorrow we drop Arthur off and I have been intermittently exhausted, pissy or just plain old sad (the latter when I am by myself and there’s no one to witness my foolishness, least of all Arthur). We drove two cars last night up here (finger lakes) to rest today and then carry on tomorrow. So, he and I had about six hours in the car to ourselves and that was nice. I drove the last part and looked over at him at one point.

I will miss taking care of you. (me)

You can any time (A)

I know but it’s not the same (me, duh).

But of course there is supper tonight and that’s a nice chance to care for him. I asked him what he wanted and he couldn’t think of much, probably because his mouth is still really hurting from the wisdom tooth extraction. So I thought what I might have wanted my mother to cook for me. And all that came to me were left-overs. She used to make a beef and tomato sauce with olives and herbes de provence that she would serve over noodles. The beef from a pot au feu she would have made earlier in the week. Why that and not, say, lobster, another quintessential Wing meal? Because left-overs mean home, they mean continuity.

So I picked the next best thing… something Arthur loves and something that reminds me of home as well: “Grandma Fish.”

Which is really my mom’s version of Fish Meuniere. A dish named for the miller’s wife who would have had lots of flour around and ample fresh fish as well, living on a stream or some body of running water with a mill. It’s a basic dish — dredge some smallish pieces of fish (no more than 5 ounces each) in seasoned flour and saute in butter. Finish the sauce with lemon juice and white wine. Voila! We eat it every summer in Maine, using the wonderful fresh haddock that you can get there.

I am also making him roasted beet salad with butter lettuce and a sprinkling of blue cheese. He loves beets (nature’s candy!).

This will all be fine. I just have to stop feeling mournful about the fact that when I peruse the stands at the farmer’s market or wander the aisles at Heinen’s or Wegman’s, I am no longer shopping for four.

Our congresswoman, Stephanie Tubbs Jones died suddenly today. She was 58 years old and in her prime. Our first African-American congresswoman in Ohio, the first African-American on the powerful  Ways and Means Committee. As a friend said tonight, if you were to use a word for her it would be “first”. Our community has lost an ally and a friend. She was the kind of person who was always bigger than the room that she was in — but not in an egotistical sort of way. Those who knew her or were around her can attest to the fact that that larger than life aspect was not about dominating the scene. She simply shone.

What has all this to do with food? I imagine, as her family grieves that they will gather and as the community expresses itself, that food will play a part. We gather together and bring casseroles. It is one of the ways that we let one another know that life goes on — that those who are left must be fed. And it is one of the ways that those who remain can express themselves.

My own transition (Arthur heading off) feels still large but also more natural (? not sure if that is the right word) — still, I spent Sunday running myself ragged what with shopping for college supplies –and I mean down to the cough syrup for the maybe cold in late September. Followed by the continued packing and accompanied by the cooking of… pesto, slow-roasted tomatoes and peach butter. So, yeah… not exactly convenience food. I mean, I am at the point of considering curing all our own meats. Obviously, working through something.

But back in the real world, the peach butter turned out to be a success. Using the crock-pot was excellent and once I bought some sugar and added it, along with a little cinnamon, allspice, vanilla paste and candied ginger, everything came together.

For the slow-roasted tomatoes, I followed Amanda Hesser’s recipe from her excellent book, The Cook and the Gardener.

Basically, you preheat the oven to 250 degrees and coat a baking sheet with olive oil. Then you slice Roma tomatoes in half, seed them and brush them with the best olive oil you have available, sprinkle with thyme and salt and pepper and then roast them in the oven until they are beginning to caramelize. I cooked them in this way and then chopped the results until the tomatoes were a little more maneuverable than those unwieldy halves I had previously popped in the oven. I then put the mixture into ice trays. So that in December, I will have sweet, unctuous tomatoes to add to my sauces and soups.

And the weak winter sun will feel a little warmer, I will have muscled my through a fall without my boy and we will have gotten a little more used to the world without those we rely on — Stephanie, thank you. We will miss you.

The other day I bought really nice, fresh wild halibut at Heinen’s but we ended up not being hungry for dinner that night (it was Sunday last — Arthur’s graduation party and we were all full of chips and hummus and etc) So, I took out my stovetop smoker, put some alder chips into the bottom and smoked the fish that night. Then the next, I heated it gently in olive oil and served it with diced fresh tomatatoes, garlic and basil and then fresh green beans and a warm potato salad beside it. I made deviled eggs with capers and topped them with black olives. Basically, the idea was to take all the bits from a salad nicoise and “re-compose” them into another sort of dinner. The fish was really lovely — light, smoky and the fresh tomato topping was a very nice counterpoint. So, here is the recipe.

We are in the Finger Lakes and about to have buffalo burgers with blue cheese topping. I will post that tomorrow. Happy Fourth. There’s nothing like independence….

The French don’t really have bacon. Our second or third day in St Didier, Wes and I went to the charcuterie for a fine gigot d’agneau which we managed to get the butcher to butterfly by making slicing signs and then spreading our hands out as if asking for alms… a plat, I think the butcher said.

And were there and it was uncrowded so we had time to glance around and see a lovely pate de campagne so we got a bit of that and then I saw the bacon or what seemed to be bacon and now I can’t even remember what it was called … but it was fume and we wanted some so get a bit but then it didn’t seem to be enough so we asked for more. I ought to have noticed the butcher’s surprise.

But it all fell into place once Wes started cutting into the “bacon” the next morning. There were no sharp knives in the house as it was anyway but still — there was never meant to be a thin slice coming off of that tranche. No way.

The bits of meat sizzled were nice though not so crisp and salty. In fact — the meat was clearly something that they use small bits of to season lentils or to sprinkle over frisee with a poached egg, etc.

Luckily, we had scrambled eggs with shaved bits of truffles from our truffle man whom we found again in the little Beaucet market. This time he was not under an old stone arch but rather out in the nice sun. And I could see that he actually carried his truffles in an old medicine bag, not a fishing tackle box as previously reported. Who knows, in those parts, maybe truffles are considered medicinal.

In any case, that morning, as the wind blew cool and strong (like Maine after a thunderstorm has passed and the sky is bluer than it has a right to be) our eggs and truffles and hard-won meat bits were a fine cure for last day blues.

The night before we made the night before: Baby Calamari Fritters.

Instructions. First — go to the market at Isle Sur La Sorgue and find the fishmonger with white hair and piercing blue eyes… he is just past the tablecloth and herb stand and before the olive stand. To the left.

Then ask him how to clean the inch-long whole baby squid and let him smile and choose a little shiny beauty. The have him pop it’s poor head off with his thumb - voila! (sort of reminds me in retrospect of that stupid little rhyme we used to say as little kids and that always upset me “mama had a little baby and it’s head popped off”). ‘Course he didn’t show us the itsy cuttle bone that ahd to be cut away. But that was ok because we had my uncle Kinloch to sweetly clean them later (as a nice surprise) while Dennis and I went into town for une pression (beer).

Here’s the recipe — couldn’t be easier except for the finding of those little fellas. We also ate a lovely Frutti Di Mare which Susanna mostly made. I will post her recipe soon.

Well so… I can’t get to the supper part without relating our wonderful day of wine tasting over near Seneca Lake. It’s over an hour from the house but well worth the trip. Really, the best wines in the region are over there. We had our friends Dan and Greg with us so I didn’t want to take any chances with new wineries (kind of silly, I know). So, we went to Lamoureaux Landing which has a beautiful, modern tasting room perched high above the vineyards and in the distance the long, shining lake. Our experience there was better than last time we were there with seester, Wes and my parents. That time the pouring was perfunctory and not knowledgeable. Then it was on to lunch. I had called Standing Stone, (I think it is, so far, my favorite winery in the region) and asked for recommendations for lunch and they suggested Dano’s which turned out to be a truly inspired suggestion.

You can read more about it on their website but Dano’s is a traditional style Viennese restaurant called a heuriger. According to our very nice waiter, the heuriger is a place where locals gather to eat spreads, roasted meats, charcuterie and the like with local wines. The space was really lovely, modern, open and filled with artwork and interesting details like the rust-colored stained concrete floor. Dano, the chef and proprietor, was out among the tables and he came to see us. When he heard we were from Cleveland, he was delighted and said that the friendliest people come from Cleveland. I think that’s really true — it’s something you hear all the time from people who have just moved to Cleveland. I remember my own experience, moving there after fifteen years in the New York City region — you just couldn’t get a person riled up. And when they can’t understand something you’ve said they say “sorry?” as if it’s their fault. So endearing.

Anyway, Dano, who it turns out danced ballet for fifteen years before getting all chef-y was a pretty delightful, slightly unbalanced character. His chef coat was dotted with bits of meat juice or blood — very authentic and impressive. He sauntered his way to us and announced that everything was for sale except his four daughters but his wife? She could be parted with for fifty dollars. She seemed pretty grouchy (who wouldn’t be with a husband trying to sell you off?). Turns out that she is an award-winning pastry chef and that the artwork on the walls was hers. All we knew as dove into the artisanal bread basket and the two spreads we had ordered (pumpkin oil and bacon) was that she had made the spreads. So we decided in a hazy, heuriger wine moment that perhaps if we whisked her away and kept her for a bit while she made approximately $50 worth of the delightful spreads (wholesale, natch) that it might be a solid and worthy proposal on Dano’s part.

He makes the bacon and smokes the sausages and cures the pork (all from locally raised animals). We had bockwurst, smoked Hungarian Sausage, goat cheese and artichoke heart tart, celery root remoulade, cucumber dill salad and smoked trout with beet horseradish salad. It was a great find and we will be bringing friends and family along in the future.

Then is was off to Standing Stone where we thoroughly enjoyed the setting and the wines. We had planned on stopping at Chateau Lafayette Reneau, which is supposed to have very good wines but I wanted to make sure we hit Hermann Wiemer’s spot and we wouldn’t have had time for both. He makes such a wonderful Dry Riesling. I also bought a Pinot Noir Rose which was very good. Actually, I think we came home with almost two cases of wine (how the heck did that happen?)

So home again and I made The Spicy Tuna salad with Curry-Peanut Dressing. This is from the Le Bernardin Cookbook and is really a great salad, full of layered, complex tastes. I wanted something light after our day of wining (not whining!) and our relatively hearty lunch.

Greg made mojito’s with vodka (neither one of us, it turns out is much of a rum fan). They were great and only slightly slowed down our inspired cooking.

The sun went down behind the house, we poured some of Wiemer’s elegant Dry Riesling and the frogs in the pond chirupped in approval. tra-la.