FIRE THE MARKETING DEPT.

The spacing here leaves a great deal to interpretation.
Can't decide? Try the Plates.

BROWNIES & BRAIN POWER

This afternoon, I’ll be up to my elbows in Alchemy’s brownie mix, as they’re being featured on onegoodie.com through the weekend. And looking at the One Goodie website this morning, I had that feeling again, the artisan thing, the weird dichotomy of the creator, the did I really make that? moment. I’ve had the same feeling as a writer. Last year, I re-read my thesis novel and found myself engaged. It made no sense! Engaged as a reader in my own writing?

The something-funny with food is easier to nail down. As an artisan, you become, at once, connected and unconnected to the idea of the food as food. Of course, following procedure regarding cleanliness and packaging, etc…, you’re aware that what you’re making is a “consumable,” but you rarely think of the fact that when it leaves your hands it will become a part of folks daily lives: beside them as they’re wearing pajamas, stirring a pot of a curry on the stove; a signifier of what their kids will remember as dad’s cooking; a part of their pleasure of eating dinner in the evening.

When Chris and I were shopping for a house a couple of years ago, we had the strange occurrence of opening cabinet doors (checking out the space, of course) and finding Alchemy spices. Sort of surreal. It’s in these moments that it takes extra brainpower to process the fact that your hands created that blend, labeled that bottle (which now, gasp, looks like a real grocery item!). Kind of like raising a kid, maybe, and finding at some point that they’re their own person; on the store shelf or in someone else’s kitchen, even things you’ve created cease being yours and actually become “products,” unto themselves.

Which reminds me of a story that my college writing professor Dr. S.S. Hanna told; attending a fiction reading, one evening, Hanna was surprised to see the author turn his novel sideways, mid-reading. The author was, of course, including an edit he’d made in the margin of his published book! A wild twist on separation anxiety or, perhaps, pure denial? It makes you feel small after all; regardless of all your concern and care, once something can stand on its own, it's completely beyond your grasp.

BTW, my husband Chris and our friend Blythe kayaked out to what they thought was an unpopulated island last spring and found an organic farm, completed with sheep, chickens, and an airstream trailer. Pretty wild! Here’s an article about the Williams Island crew:

http://www.timesfreepress.com/news/2008/sep/25/farming-williams-island/

Compare this to the touted Outstanding in the Field experience, a “restaurant” staged in the fields of working farms and charging $200-plus per plate (well, five plates, really) for food that is enjoyed at its source (shouldn’t that be less expensive given the zero-carbon-footprint thing?). While the table settings are idyllic and the food, most certainly, is delicious, I’m awed to see each coming dinner marked “sold out.” The experience is, most assuredly, not an authentic farm experience: it’s polished to a sheen with sterile table cloths, china, and servers. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure it’s lovely. But farm-to-table in the truest sense? I think not.

LOTS

Excesses, it seems, are my M.O. this week. Last night, I canned a bushel of heirloom tomatoes (which melted into 12 quarts). I had considered simply freezing them, but satisfaction-wise there is nothing as fulfilling as rows of home-canned veggies. For both the sake of pleasure and pure, unadulterated conceit, I will store these in plain sight, where guests will be forced to ask, “Did you can those?” (That’s right, bitch, I’m totally stocked-up for winter. What about you?)

Up for tonight, apples. Our good friend Mike found a bountiful apple tree on the property of an abandoned house (location: for a multitude of reasons, undisclosed). On Tuesday, after some pub food and beer, he announced that he had “something” to “unload” on us and “could we go to your car?” Illicit substances? An abundance of marked bills? Paraphernalia? No, a backpack-full of apples. Gatherer Mike was taken with considering the miniscule carbon footprint of the hand-harvested, local fruit. Canning and saving seemed to honor his eco-conscious concern and be a good nearly-carbon-neutral approach, so when Christmas comes around, our dessert will be both succulent and sustainable.

But wait a sec, that’s too idyllic; I’m lapsing into food-writing la-la-land here. About halfway through the peeling and coring, I had forgotten about going green and Mike’s generosity and ailing Mother Earth, all I could think of was the poor bastard who had to sell industrial-strength apple corers to make ends meet. What’s the emotional sell? Door-to-door or phone sales? Key marketing points? And who, exactly, is the audience?

Housewives? At $140-a-pop, Mrs. McCafferty had better be baking more than a few apple pies. And she’d better have some muscle behind those pin-curls as well. Generally, it takes not one but two whacks in order to propel the apple over the blades and into the waiting receptacle. When it comes to the third blow, and you begin thinking, “Damn, I’m glad this thing doesn’t have feelings,” it’s time to change your technique.

Restaurateur? “No really, chef, give it a try. Just insert the apple, then smash the f**k out of it with this handy, maneuverable top part.”

Starry-eyed, hippie-type entrepreneurs? This is where they got Chris and me. Fresh out of grad school, we thought it sounded fun to travel to markets and festivals selling apples with caramel sauce and peanuts. But there’s the residual splatter/spatter (yes, think crime scene here) that makes the whole things less attractive to the consuming public. “Oh, I’m sorry, little boy, but that seed lodged in your cheek is totally lucky. Good thing you had your eyes closed.”

I’m well aware: this may unleash a storm of salesmen on my door step, whispering “Are those the people who bought the apple corer?” So let just me say now, we’re not in the market for grave plots; vacuums; large tubs of popcorn; international orphans needing sponsorship; meat, fish, or pre-seasoned poultry products; encyclopedias; human-grade dog food; or...No? Fruit you say? Well, come on in. I know just what to do with that.

LE CREUSET LOVE

All my life, I’ve heard folks prattle on about their cookware crushes. A French butter keeper? I’ll take it or leave it. Mandolin? Give me a good chef’s blade, and I’m happy. Fancy double-boiler? A pan and bowl, please.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s a lot that I appreciate: good knives, appropriate tools, even my pizzelle maker is valued come holiday time. And I adore my All-Clad copper; it’s perfectly practical and lovely to look at—who could ask for more? I certainly didn’t think that I could—until my Le Creuset came along.

There are three distinct rationales for why my 7.5 Quart Dijon-Hued French Oven is flawless.

1. The light interior. While cooking demands effort from each of the senses, sight is high on the handy-in-the-kitchen list. I like a clear view of how things are browning, crisping, caramelizing, and nothing is as lucid on the flame as the creamy white of a Le Creuset interior. Dimly-lit kitchen beware: I can now cook into all hours of the evening.

2. The even-keeled convection. Let those flames lick. My Le Creuset will distribute them across the surface with ease. Lamb chops on one side, okra on the other—each has its share of heat, and nothing comes out black-n-blue.

3. The practicality. A serious piece of cookware in a pretty enamel coat. Isn’t that what most women are after anyway?

4. The clean-up. Bring on your ugly, your fond and your sear, your sticky balsamic and brown-sugar salmon. My Le Creuset will take nothing more than the coarse side of a kitchen sponge to wax spotless.

I know, I know, it’s the expense, but, at some point in your life, they’ll be a perfect moment: it will start with a glance across the showroom; then a touch, maybe (accidental or intentional?); you’ll think of a thousand reasons why you shouldn’t, but none will matter. When you take her home, she’ll be everything you expected yet full of surprises; and, at some point, a lifetime won’t seem like long enough.

DUCK CONFIT: LESSON ONE

• Everything is important; nothing is waste: bones, fat, skin, drippings.
• Low-n-slow isn’t just a pork thing: the fat yields slowly and eases the duck meat to succulent perfection.
• Think Waits’ Alice: gothic but sophisticated, raw yet refined, as lovely in process as product.
• Rich food isn’t necessarily rich food (luxurious/$$$).
• Though generally the thinking is otherwise, time can be not only ally but enrichment to meats.
• A little duck fat is not enough.
• In the food world, the things that sound the fanciest are often the simplest; and the simplest are often the finest ala William Carlos Williams This is Just to Say.
• Old as history; new as yesterday.

P'DOGS

Tonight amid duck confit and lamb kebabs preparations, I needed fuss-less, folky fare to balance my food equilibrium. Ta’da: P’Dogs!

P’Dogs (short for Panini dogs) are a close cousin of the Waffle Dog, specialty of a short-lived Chattanooga hot dog shop. In a way, P’Dogs are health food. Deep-fried hot dogs in cheesy cornbread batter too much for your diet? Then try these hot dogs in cheesy cornbread batter that are toasted—not deep fried—to chewy perfection on a hot Panini press. Not enough to soothe your health-conscious soul? Then dip them in veggie-rich, spicy remoulade, and, hot damn, you’re golden.

P’DOGS

1 cup flour
1 cup cornmeal (not self-rising)
1 ½ tsp. salt (less if you’re using a salty seasoning)

1 ½ tsp. cajun seasoning (preferably Alchemy Bayou Ya-Ya)
1 tsp. baking soda
¼ tsp. baking powder
½ cup sharp cheddar cheese
1 ¾ cups buttermilk
8 all-beef hot dogs with natural casings (or veggie dogs, of course)
½ cup cornstarch
Wax paper
16 wooden skewers

· Preheat your Panini press; I set mine to medium-high to achieve a crunchy, chewy exterior.
· Mix the first six ingredients (dry ingredients) thoroughly.

· Next, toss cheese in with the dry ingredients and, following, add buttermilk. Stir until just combined.
· Insert the skewers into the hot dogs (2 per dog, side by side), pushing them to within one inch of the tip.
· On a large piece of waxed paper, spread the cornstarch and roll each skewered-dog in the cornstarch until thoroughly cover; tap off excess.
· Empty the batter onto another sheet of waxed paper and thoroughly cover each dog in its entirety.
· When press is fully preheated, introduce the dogs and cook for seven to eight minutes apiece.
· Yep, a bit of batter will puddle at the bottom, all toothsome and crusty and golden. Enjoy it dipped in rich, mustardy remoulade.

· Nota Bene: We order our hot dogs from Chicopee Provisions.

REMOULADE

½ cup onion (one medium yellow), chopped
½ cup green onions, chopped
½ cup celery, chopped
¼ cup, 2 T spicy mustard
¼ cup lemon juice
¼ cup fresh cilantro
2 T horseradish
2 T ketchup
2 T roasted red pepper
1 T sirachi or hot sauce
1 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
¾ cup olive, vegetable, or canola oil

· Add all ingredients except oil to food processor and process until moderately homogenized and smooth but with lovely specks of cilantro-green and pepper-red throughout.
· Add oil slowly—a thin, even drizzle—as if making mayonnaise.
· Serve immediately or store, refrigerated, in tightly-sealed container.

HOW TO BECOME A FOOD SNOB

A hundred small choices.

1. Belgium beers
2. muddy espresso
3. good farmstead cheeses (from farmers that moonlight as academics)
4. tellicherry peppercorns
5. freshly-ground cinnamon
6. nutmeg grated on a rasp
7. rosemary that you snip just before you eat it
8. fresh basil
9. melted sweet onions
10. roasted garlic
11. Wagyu beef
12. heritage pork cooked low & slow over a fire
13. vinegary, homemade BBQ sauce
14. tomatoes with names like Old Ivory Egg
15. fish that your dad caught
16. spicy boiled peanuts
17. hot dogs with natural casing that pops
18. gelato
19. Jack Daniels
20. drunken mushrooms with dry red and fresh herbs
21. lamb from a farmer with whom you’ve shaken hands
22. muscadines
23. vegetables grilled on a fire
24. olive oil that tastes of green apples and warmth
25. twenty-five year old balsamic
25. tart, homemade yogurt
26. La Chouffe
27. lobster rolls in Narragansett
28. fried sage leaves
29. perfect salads
30. fresh lemonade with rosemary
31. homemade pierogies
32. warm chocolate chip cookies
33. chocolate pot de creme
34. raw tuna with avocado and spicy mayo
35. Royal Reds at the Gulf
36. baba ghanoush
37. flat bread made in unauthorized kitchens and hidden behind the grocery counter
38. briny dolmas (lamb/rice/hot/ cold)
39. coconut-milk curries
40. homemade paneer
41. avocado
42. chocolate ganache and fruit
43. crispy fish tacos
44. homemade birthday cake
45. dark rye bread with sweet butter
46. Mexican-style shrimp cocktail
47. chorizo and eggs
48. chip wagon poutine
49. buffalo burgers
50. hot baguettes
51. bacon fat
52. duck confit
53. just-mixed vinaigrettes
54. dijon
55. artichokes
56. crunchy slaws
57. maple syrup
58. red beans and rice in New Orleans
59. butter
60. a freezer full of bones for stock
61. lots and lots of cilantro
62. ribs at Dreamland (but only the one where the roof leaks)
63. sesame and walnut oils
64. vanilla powder
65. kielbasa
66. crispy apple fritters
67. wild rice from a reservation
68. sexy, sexy bulgur
69. homemade pasta
70. basil pesto on homemade pasta
71. remoulade
72. gouda that crunches with saltiness
73. pilaf
74. eggy tapioca
75. wood-fired pizza
76. tacos from a road-side trailer
77. crisp, juicy roasted chicken with mustard
78. perfect mashed potatoes
79. lamb stew
80. pork and sauerkraut with applesauce
81. lobster pot pie
82. cornmeal-dusted hot fish
83. risotto
84. homemade mayonnaise
85. crisp, tart apples eaten out-of-hand
86. filet with herbed compound butter
87. roasted asparagus
88. corned beef and cabbage
89. coconut cake
90. plantain chips
91. crispy carnitas
92. jasmine rice
93. ricotta
94. toast with butter
95. salsas made from market veggies
96. ‘nana pudding & chocolate mousse pie
97. roasted peppers and Asiago
98. funnel cakes
99. scrambled eggs with lots of black pepper and ketchup
100. a thick, medium-rare Kobe burger with onion rings

Chris adds:
101. salmon caught from the Kenai River, blackened, and eaten outdoors within four-hours of its final swim
102. sausage
103. fried chicken (beside velvet wallpaper) at Lamar's