SeaBacon, Fried Jalapeno's, and the Lamb Fat & Russet Potato Adventure...

Found a recipe for a french sauce, emulsion, of hard boiled egg yolk, olive oil, garlic and something else. Exciting stuff. I'll probably add some tarragon and call it a bearnaze. I am fascinated with mayonnaise alternatives, and this sounds like the replacement that I have been searching for. Put it on everything. It's off the bone.

Bringing two things for sharing tonight, both articles in appearing in today's Times online eating section:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/01/magazine/01food-t-000.html?_r=1&hpw

Interesting piece on a Northern California family, former restauranteurs, chutney enthusiasts, living together on a large apple orchard, and just doing amazing things with food. On the vanguard of organic certification after purchasing the place, the gentleman later began grafting heirloom varities of apples (over eighty resurrected varieties) to the trees he hadn't out right replaced. Had about 2,000 trees, mostly red delicious which are subject to the marketplace and widely consumed. Wisely developed and filled a market niche. I'd have to eat the apple.

And this one:

http://travel.nytimes.com/2009/11/01/travel/01journeys.html?hpw

The other is a story on a writers experience at the lone north american Cordon Bleu School, in Ottawa. If you've ever wondered about Cordon Bleu, this is some real shiz. It details her experience, and the draw for me was the writer's early mention of striding out of the school with a sizable portion of lobster and sauce, playing quite specifically to a reoccurring fantasy of mine. Let's about real shiz for minute. I've considered burgling lobster trucks and seafood shops, walking quickly away into the shadows doublefisting some fat fresh canadian superclawed steamers. Astonishingly, I had to defend killing them last night. No problem there, as there is no logical argument to be made, save for overfishing. Go local if you can. Put the meat in butter. It's off the bone. Lobster Lobbying.

But I want to talk about the squid I fried in a light crispy coating of flour (and nothing else, too easy. It's off the bone), and how I came upon it at sea. I was charter fishing for salmon, chasing the mighty Chinook. What happened was, the boat hit a cabal of renegade Humboldt squid, and we started hoisting them aboard studily for about five minutes, something that has never happened to any one on any boat that I have ever been on. They're legal. I couldn't believe my good fortune, to be rolling back home with and entire squid on ice. And they're almost easier to clean fish; the head is seperated from the tentacles and the propulsion cone head, and the flute is simply a tube that is gutted vertical. And then you have steaks about 3/4 inch thick. Too easy, right out of the ocean. And it was huge, probably 12 pounds of meat. They are aliens. When we got them aboard, it was sad for a split second, and it reminded me of E.T., because are unimaginably awesome. They gnash, writhe about, and change colors with a freaky alien skin. It is as if the skin is hypercolor tee-shirt that is hyperventilating. Astounding...Everyone aboard came over to examine the defeated sea monster. Make no mistake, they are extrordinarily adroit predeators, and after I encounterd this curious lifeform, I support harpooning the larger ones. I can't believe that giant squid exist, because maybe the pictures of them ensnaring large merchant ships with those spiked tentacles are arccurate depictions of eaarlier marit-times. I'm especially worried that they will continue to adapt to this planet and eventually establish a social hierarchy alongside of the sexual hierarchy. We should be as worried about this as we are about climate change. They are not from this planet. Which goes to show you, that I will eat everything in this dimension, and perhaps even other space demons. Because this was so delectable. Off the bone.

Seabacon. So, I smoked some of it. Brined some fillets with extra Old Bay seasoning. It was good and I made a marinated squid salad. But then I had the crazy epiphany over the stove when I was about the fry some other regular squid meat. So I added just a few strips of the smoked seabacon, in with the other stuff (fried rather quickly in vegetable oil, dusted only in flour). It immediately petitoned to have the flavor added to the periodic table of elements. Really rich, deep, unique. The crunchy, perectly cooked seabacon was born. No seasoning needed out of the pan, just let drain and momentarily cool. Probably the most intuitive and creative meal related improve I have ever attempted. Off the bone. This is some real shiz.

The other stuff that I caught when destiny attacked my line tasted great too. I got a good tip from Bittman, a video tip in the online Times. I never thought I could do it until that video demystified it for me. Easily far superior to any restaurant calamari I have ever had. The tender tentacles and portions off of the filet were both softer, less rubbery, than any $11 dollar appetizer prepared the same way. Just better, fresher quality product. I had several meals off of the seamonster, and a good amount of the seabacon, an excellent deal given market prices for this particuklar seafood.

The jalapenos get fried the same way. This pairing just makes incredible sense when you taste the flover togerther. The squid is sweet and the jalapeno's earthy complex flavor profile and heat (which cooks out, largly, especially if stripped of the seeds - big mistake though) are nicely juxtaposed, and inviting to the eye. I cannot see eating the same preparation without them. Of course lime, salt, and pepper are favored seasonings for this. I suspect that an overnight marination in tequila, along with these other flavors, would be an interesting take. It could also be terrifying.

About the potatos: the come from my home in the columbia basin, where potatos raise themselves, and the symbiotic miracles of the Columbia River and irrigation, open skies and heavy sun and heat, ensure prodigious growth. They can be found all over the state, as russets are known as bakers and mashers. When I think of potato, it is this variety that comes to mind, because it is the most potatoiest of them all, very starchy, even dry, unlike the yukons and the reds. So, they are local and quite familiar to me, and I always buy a bag to send the cash back home. The perfect potato for frying, as well.

The lamb fat was siphoned into a coffee mug and left in the fridge for two weeks or so. A cup of animal lard. On the blackmarket, lamb fat trades higher than ore, wood, wheat, an is required for settlement building and drawing of development cards. It was as though it belonged in the skillet, melting slowly, spiced with garem masala and rosemary, from a lamb kakob feast. Potatos in lamb fat.

Kimchee Sermon; Vol. 1 -- The Afterschool Special

Microphone check. I did that up there, did it big with the napa cabbage and the bok choy, and grated a Wall street bonus worth of carrot. Also used an obscene amount of ginger, and crab paste, which was not listed in the kimchee gospel sacred text. It suggested shrimp paste, which is purple. I'm fine with that, just sayin' that the stuff is actually purple. But yo check it out the crab paste was dope crizzle essence, and just as tangy as all that. Think about what crab paste is. Crab paste is a concentration of crab force. It is the flavor of that most revered ocean beast (apologies to the white whale) thrown over a cliff into more of itself, and then left to get awesome in the sun, and mixedtaped with spices. The flavor gods have forsaken all others. The rest are heretics, naysayers, soothsayers, false flavor prophets, harlequins, and those left behind when the flavor rapture happens. Don't let that happen to your kimchee.

Kimchee requires time and distance, like the exploratory career of Marcus Whitman, early northwestern pioneer. This makes it more of an activity. Rounding up the traditional ingredients across town, paying for them, and then having to roll an embarrassing six deep with napa cabbage heads back home, and then spending a small eternity shredding stuff, peeling and chopping other stuff, and then slicing and doing many other sharp sounding things. I thought it was a magic secret, something guarded culturally, forbidden flavor knowledge, not for outsiders. I've made many a pilgrimage to the Asian Deli, an inevitable journey of renewal and rejuvenation for the shelves in the refrigerator, a bevy of new conspirators in slow decay, personified whenever I close the door. Its a united nations of flavor in there. Speaking of which, I understand that Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon, while on his visit here recently, has been highlighting the worldwide human rights tragedy of the volume of incidences of maternal death, calling for greater awareness and response, and collaborating with the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation. The secretary of the flavor united nations is Dill Clinton, and he's pontificating once again about how reduce our reliance on store bought kimchee. The ghetto dope of kimchee going wop-wop.

The draft resolution reads:

Be it resolved, that you first need to make, produce, or get to the store and buy the following ingredients: Crabpaste, freedom sauce (or fish sauce), baby bok choy, napa cabbage, cucumber (You know), carrot(s) to the 5th power, ginger, one vampire's quota of garlic, a quorum of Sgt. Peppers (red thai chiles, I used pickled ones that I did not pickle, regrettably), salt, and lemons.

Whereas, you first need to render these ingredients, proportionally. There should be considerably more cabbage & choy than anything else.

Whereas, you need to make a brine and and put all of the cabbage & choy into said brine, and leave over night, for whatever. Thenst, you hereby drain and thoroughly rinse the cabbage & choy, reserving some of the brine.

Whereas, if you skip the draining and rinsing step, your kimchee will be nearly inedible for most, nay, all palates. It gets crazy salty, like a spoonful of Morton's.

Whereas, you should respect the heat of the peppers, otherwise people will cry when they taste it. Yeah that really happened. The first response was muffled choke. The salt hijacks your taste buds like a somali pirate, holding them for ransom until you develop stockholm syndrome (like I did), or swill some anything in sight, and then the heat punches you in the throat, like Norris. The flavor secretary's mission is to promote harmony through properly seasoned cuisine. And he's into some other stuff too, like online poker. He's also in a fantasty football league too. But that's when he's not serving in his capacity as flavor delgate and diplomat, dining dignitary, cooker of things, eater of the night, extreme maker of hummus, freelance smoked salmon consultant, sultan of blue cheeses, one man taco testimonial.

Whereas, you combine the ingredients together while offering, softly, a tender memorial for Swayze, singin sweetly she's like the wind, as a blessing signifying the ceremonial commencement of kimchee construction. Proceed to coat everything evenly with the flavor thrillogy of all that spice. Put in a large jar for fermenting, this mixture and some brine, and some water. Taste the bok choy and the mix and make sure that this isn't a throat busting salt shot in every bite. add lemon juice and layer also, and continue mixing until everything is integrated. Make sure the mixture has a small level of holy fluid over it, and seal this hypothetical jar with its corresponding sealing device.

That's pretty much it. It turned out to be strong, but the flavors mellowed with age, and it was arguably consumed prematurely. Traditionally this jar of live culture goodness is thus buried in a yard with the spirits of beloved pets and reptiles, and allowed to ferment for months, or whenever. I'm not trying to google any specifics right now. The process was chopping intensive, and it wasn't that difficult wrangling ingredients. I enjoy the rhythm of chopping vegetables, almost as much as the smooth crooning of Swayze. I wanted to do this, it got done. No one was banished this time.

Aesthetically it is very pleasing. I enjoyed it mostly because I prepared it, because I learned by trial and error, kale and brimstone, that you have to must obey the legend of the salt and the heat. This is a religious flavor edict: just be patient and taste everything. A reoccurring theme in the gustatory gospels. When I bought from the convenience store shelf, I always liked what I was tasting, but it was bitter and not as good as I seemed to remember it tasting years ago (it had been awhile). I wanted to resurrect that mysticism, ascend to another realm of flavor, reach the dimension traveling back through time. Maybe I just wanted it to taste good again.

It was entirely worth the effort to make as much as I did. Tasty food on the cheap, and a good side dish for nearly anything with Asian spices. Dope money with chicken and rice. The longer it sits, the better it gets. Make a fine brine. The things are very comfortable after they have had time to get to know each other, relaxing and conversing in the wavy pale light of the bottom-lit fermentation hot tub. But for me, after eight weeks, it's just now getting to where I had wanted it to go. We learn from the gospel, written by The Rev. Luther Vandross of eating.

Chantrelle

Chantrelle is the name of a lovely autumnal forest mushroom, growing in abundance here on Endor, a lush, richly fertile, magnificently wooded rain forest.
Chantrelle is also the name of the beautiful French village girl.

I found a recipe from Giada. It was for a raw mushroom salad. I asked Chantrelle if she wanted to try it and she said something in French, but I didn't know what she meant by it. She was too busy texting to respond appropriately. I have always been a proponent of mushroom, and over the years, I've come to know many, and I have cultivated an appreciation for all. Here on Endor, with the crisp change of seasons comes the woodsy harvest of these prized mushrooms, flaxen trumpets of fall. I guess people are trufflin' right now this time of year too. I gots to get into that, but I have always thought I needed a pig. But, you don't. Then yesterday I heard about the micro pigs. And that wasn't good, because Chantrelle really wants one or five. And not because she's into truffles. So, I told Chantrelle that with the national economic downturn, things were looking troublesome for me and for the blog, and that we'd have to sell the replica General Lee I had purchased, the one from the television series Dukes of Hazzard. Chantrelle loved that car.

This cold mushroom salad concept has a significant measure of appeal. The flavor of a mushroom is very nuanced for me, and it is difficult to articulate the gustatory experience because of the complexity created, I think most importantly, by the environment in which they grow. How do you describe earthiness? Because these mushrooms taste like anything but dirt. These have rich, subtle, lavish flavors.
Chantrelle enjoys them sauteed in butter and not much else.

I bought button mushrooms, chantrelle mushrooms, Parmesan cheese, a lemon, and used some decent olive oil for this, and some shallots and parsley. I sliced the mushrooms thinly, working to creates sheets out of the stems. And this is too easy, because all you have to do next is finely chop the parsley, ditto for shallots, mix them up with the mushrooms and some lemon juice (to taste), and then shave some Parmesan on the top and salt and pepper the salad. Go lite on the liquid and a little heavy with oil, as it coats the mushroom easier. I was very judicious with my seasoning also because these flavors, are naturally strong, and the salty undertone substance provided by the Parmesan complement this perfectly. Chop really finely, I always work for translucent. Time consuming but worth it every time. It's dual purpose is to allow main ingredients, mushrooms in this case, to stand up. But, I stepped away a moment ago, and have turned my attention completely to vampires right now. Do you have any thoughts on vampires? Because I do, frequently, and always have, and I just watched a funny show this afternoon that kept mentioning vampires. Daywalkers are the spookiest.

My affection for Giada makes Chantrelle jealous, and she makes ridiculous insinuations that I refuse to acknowledge out of respect for myself and dignity, generally. This happens during the few periods of the day when Chantrelle isn't sending these things called text messages, through that handheld space communicator device she uses. I cant figure out what powers the device, but I have reached an understanding that it has multiple capacities, and can meld seamlessly with other channels of communication in the next realm or two. I doubt that they are that powerful. What I enjoy about Giada is that her food is simple and the flavors are large and classic. And she comes strong with the cheese. I want to eat everything served in that kitchen. Here on Endor, we celebrate with extra cheese every night.

This was one of the easiest salads I have ever made, yet it is also the one I think about the most now, when my brain is successfully evading psychic vampires and vampire thoughts. I made it twice in one week. And I want some right now. Its fall, and Chantrelle and I are embarking on a tour of the fall foliage. The leaves will remind me of the color of the mushrooms, of Chantrelle's hair. Foliage is a dumb word and I don't like saying it. Its only a matter of time before I learn how to find the truffle here on Endor. I wished I might of engaged a bit more scholastically the subject of mycology, but I've not always harbored an impulse to forage for mushrooms. Forage, I will. But, I can't afford a micro pig. That, and it don't seem right. Because you could have a macro pig instead, and not a snotty bacon tease scampering round and biting ankles, and eating the Doritos that fall gracefully to the floor, the autumn leaves of nacho cheese. Respect.

Yes we canned!

Gustatory greatness awaits all of those seeking to enter into the convenant of the realm of the fresh and local produce. Give praise to fresh asparagus and it's compatriots of fall...

Years ago, in days of yore, in hundreds of reverse fortnights, I would stand before my grandmother's pantry in wonderment, looking upward at things I could not yet reach, a kodachrome of vivid natural color, an aurora borealis of garden bounty, which beckond me. The reflecting glass of old Ball jars and metallic lids would flash at me as I opened the swinging doors, and light would reflect back onto my face, signaling me to look upward and notice the kalidescope of sweet and sour delights. The impulse was to climb on top of the washing machine and force open these briny secrets, and drain the contents as quickly as possible, and allow consequence to take control shortly thereafter. I was willing to get caught, because I was that hungry. My grandmother's canned peaches were never a waste of time.

One of my foremost goals aimed at expanding my gustatory repertoire was to learn how to can and pickle some of the food I had been growing since early spring. I planted beets and carrots, trusting that the carrots would grow, but worried about the beets intially. Until they became the hardiest crop in the garden. Beets are the Mr. T of the vegetable world. You can eat the entire plant, and it all tastes exactly like dirt tastes, with subtle undertones of Splenda. Yet my appreciation grows. This is a food that colors other foods richly, has incredible texture(s), is a prolific grower, has high sugar content, and vitamin rich greens, and is culturally relevant in Europe, especially if you have seen Eastern Promises, as I have.

The carrots did what they do. It seemed that only a little soul lifting, optimistic, Gun & Roses style patience was required. That means hardcore patience, like super reflective, and burned out from struggles on the road...struggles with strippers and heroin, junkies and gambling debts, and baby mamas and stuff. The ilk. Truth be sold, I enjoy nibbling carrot greens. I decided to pair these with some ginger for the pickling process. I picked 3/4 of the harvest and canned them same day. The brine consisted of vinegar, sugar, and salt. And just carrots and ginger. I sampled the brine to taste, because that is the only way to operate, and even solicted the services of an amateur brine consultant, who gave the requisite parochial blessing. It was determined that the stuff was, "leave it alone tasty".

Back to the beetboxing. I found a recipe online for pickled beets, and secured a pirates ransom in cloves. Whole cloves, in a bag, and not a little bit. They run about $27 a pound in bulk. I thought I would need them all for the beets. I was wrong, big bowl of wrong wrong. I used about a 16th of what I had purchased. The silver lining, is that now I have mad cloves, yo. Very similar to the carrots. I boiled them both for a minute in thyme, a few minutes, in a liquor of vinegar and salt and sugar. The vinegar gave me an instant thizz face. But the beets had that swizz taste, a flavricious lambaste, of lamb paste, a pate part-tay, not a pitty party, or even a pithy party, hearty-har-hare...? Mind you now, that canning is an easy and rythmic process, prone to enjoyment, nay jubilation. Especially when you have a garden from which to draw, full of tasty and nutritious scooby snackz. Like tomatoes, and cucumbers, and fruits and whatever. You can pickle and conserve near anything. Nigh? Nigh anything? Anyhow, my grandmother, and my friend-of-pickled-beets colleague both found them very enjoyable. I detected a twinge of envy, but decided not to exploit those weaknesses. But, being a werewolf can be disconcerting at times. Conflicting emotions, and a sizable amount of catholic liberal orthodox werewolf guilt, do not alleviate my burden by any measure. This is the most complex kind of guilt, of course.

The pepper jelly pictured above should be classified. It is that tasty. I succumbed to a thought planted in my brain, a needy thought, a thought requiring expression. It was talked about in the midst of another canning episode(potentially discussed in another post), that because we were in posssession of some garden fresh peppers, we might as well craft some pepper jelly while the pectin was in abundance. I did, at that suggestion, of course make some pepper jelly. And while it was decent, and will certainly be used, it was 'not the stuff'.

Day two finds me at the store collecting peppers, three of a kind: red bell, green bell, and pablano. I recall that there was recipe at home delineating some rudimentary guidelines, which I had previously ignored. I thought, perhaps this explains the lucklusterness of last night's wine pepper jelly showing. Or, is it as yet to be appreciated? Time will tell indeed. Anyway, a housewarming party on Saturday night evolved into the flavor litmus test for the pepper jelly. Many ate it, few abstained. All were positive, some understandably incredulous, as I could hardly fathom the complexities of flavor myself. It was sweet, nuanced, sour, visually appealing, the latent heat that never shows in mild peppers, dynamic and delicious. I ate half of a jar myself. I have three remaining. All natural and no preservatives, local ingredients, cheap and amazing. Only online poker is more exciting. Or, ALF re-runs.


I wanted to share a great article today on what must be the best tomato sauce. It is certainly the finest looking tomato sauce I've ever seen. The article is in NY Times and was written by Andrew Scrivani - Nice interactive feature there with photos and captions of an old school, super traditional canning sesssion from some old world italians:

http://bitten.blogs.nytimes.com/

live blogging OYSTERFEST!!

I didn't do it. I was busy having the time of your life, knee deep in oyster shells and garlic butter, and self-satisfaction. I was very pleased with everything. May all of your days be dipped in the bronze of clarified butter. The raw pacific oysters have never tasted so briny. I contend that the best foods in life come from the sea.

Would you believe that Oysterfest is the second seafood specific superbash I have attened this summer? The first was SHRIMPFEST, in Brinnon, up Hood Canal. SHRIMPFEST celebrates the spot shrimp harvest, which sounds like an incredible thing right? I thought so much. After paying for parking and entering the grounds, we walked booth to booth and looked around, and realized that there was one tent selling shrimp, and they were not even cooking it up. That's right. It was the single most disappointing moment in the history of shrimp festivals. What a colossal travesty. No shrimp at SHRIMPFEST. What? I've twisted my brain thinking about how the world does not make sense anymore. Because there were no shrimp at ShrimpFEST. This is three months removed...I remain befuddled.

Saturday was marked by the celebration of the OYSTERFESTIVAL, my new second birthday and personal anniversary of enlightenment. It was celebrated simply through attendance. The weather was fine, with sun at times, that October crisp was in the air. It was Drizzly Adams. Getting there early was the right decision. It allowed us to beat the crowd and get to the vendors early and quickly. Entering OYSTERFEST was evocative, nostalgic, of a christmas morning, but for the tastebuds. It is all for non-profit and community re-investment. So there is an incentive to drink heavily.

Here is what happened to me this year:

11:20 - Arrive at OYSTERTFEST.
11:23 - Find ATM.
11:30 - Finish the last of 3 grilled oysters, with garlic butter.
11:35 to 11:37 - Eat a cornonthecob with garlic butter and parmesan cheese.
11:42 - Discard empty container of five alarm chili.
11:50 to 11:55 - Annihilate 3 raw Kumamoto. Drain a bottle of Pail Ale.
12:04 - Watch a man shuck a dozen oysters at ludicrous speed, shattering Carl
Lewis's 29 year-old olympic record for Oyster shucking.
12:20 - Oysters Rockafeller, filthy rich flavor, and the right amount of east coast
establishment, preteniousness. Terrifyingly delectable. The good life.
12:27 to 12:26, or 12:27ish - Set my own new world record for fastest bacon wrapped
oyster disappearance. It was a happening. I did about three in what
must've been a mere rift in time. It was so fast that it was either
illusory, a lucid dream, or that I traveled shortly back in time through a
motion vortex of my own creation, and then traveled back and convinced
myself that it didn't happen just so I might repeat the entire experience.
12:39 - Order the local favorite, the pan-seared or other grilled oysters, with the
cracklin's and the spices. I do not know what savory seasoning they put in
the flour, but it does me right every bite. Same as last year, when I had 12
of them.
12:58 - Trudge back to car defiantly, with fist raised, shouting.


Are you hungry for a tasty piece of irony? There was shrimp all over this place. It was a like a coconut shrimp explosion, like they were just giving it away. The line was notiably and considerably longer than any of the others. Here is why: the shrimp were enormous, prolific, and golden fried crunchy. And fairly economical. I doubt they were local, but they may have been frozen spot shrimp from the canal...the ones that were missing at SHRIMPFEST. I have never seen so many people holding shrimp or queing up for fried seafood. It makes crazy sense for me, but I was still somewhat astonished given the variety of tasty options at the bivalve bonanza. All of the oysters were local and donated. But, the best seller of OYSTERFEST was shrimp. It was as if a crazy seafood pinata full of coconut shrimp and cocktail sauce made everybodys day brighter. People were ordering for groups and hauling back these treys piled high. One lady had the nerve to walk right next to me, lifting up her share as she sqeaked past. I almost grabbed one with my teeth. She don't even know about it. See, this is proof that the world is not all that it seems, and possibly that other dimensions and realms exist, places where logic regins and things make sense, simple things. When is the next shrimpment due? Makes me think linguine. Yeah, I'm doing that this week.

I almost talked myself into a hat specifically assigned for OYSTERFEST volunteer staff. It made me want to join the rotary, to be a part of all that gustatory glory.
The band pictured above is from last year. The smoothest electronic keyboard around. Wild stuff. Reminded me that I need to re-kick the smoove jams on my keyboard sometime soon, to retain these naturally smoove rhythms.

What a magnificent thing this festival of oysters is. I swore a sacred oath with myself, and drew up legal documents to sign, that I did then sign, that essentially have me committed for the first Saturday in October for the next several decades, to one purpose and one location only -- celebrating the best food ever at Oysterfest.

Oysters are my favorite food. No hesitation there. Imagine if you liked pizza, and that there was a pizza festival? There almost certainly must be. Or how about a donut fest, or a cotton candy pillowroom, or trees that grew biscuits and gravy? How would you respond, if you found the actual kool-aid man, at an actual kool-aide lake?
Imagine if the sky cried mary, and hailed down peanut butter cups. Peanut butter cups filled with liquor.