Dawg Füd and Other Sundries

Dawg Füd and Other Sundries 

Since last we saw each other, I moved to Tampa and started a dog food company, Cigar City Stogie’s.

While production at Cigar City Stogie’s has pretty much ceased, being that shop local does not mean pet store owners are shopping local. But that is of no matter now. I still continue to fill orders for loyal customers. 

As we are in the midst of a pandemic I am going to show you how you can make a treat for your dogs yourself. Follow the bouncing ball of pictures and knowledge and you can pass some time and have a happy doggo.

Our first treat will be a four ingredient recipe for a doggie chicken dinner. In this batch I used:

10# of chicken breasts -If you have a meat grinder you can use chicken quarters, bones and all, but we will keep this simple.

2 large bunch’s of kale

1 large (29 oz) can of hominy, white or yellow

3 large sweet potatoes 

That’s it.

You want to put this all in a large pot. I use a pressure cooker, but anything with a lid will work, it will just take longer to cook. Fill the pot about 1/3 of the way up the ingredients. Cover and cook until everything is cooked. A pressure cooker takes about 2 hours on full bore. If using a regular pot, 4 or 5 hours until the chicken is falling apart.

From here you can grind it or mash it up by hand (once it has cooled off some) and then jar it in a pressure cooker or freeze in ziplock bags you can pull out as needed.

Any questions, shoot me a message.

Another fun, and very easy treat if you have a food dehydrator. Go down to your local meat market, find the Latino section of town or Asian and find the store. Go to poultry section and pick up chicken feet. Throw them in the dehydrator for a couple days. Presto, instant shelf life friendly dog treats. And that’s one to grow on.

Cracked Corn and Fuzzy, Part I

Cracked Corn and Fuzzy, Part I

The French Connection 

Sitting in the Charles de Gaulle airport for 6 hours after not sleeping for twenty four I felt a bit more like a character out of Casablanca waiting for a flight to freedom then Henry Miller escaping the stagnation of America. Slightly nauseous from the extensive odor of perfume both sold and worn we managed to find a safe haven at an airport brasserie at which to enjoy a pint and a croissant.

My first croissant in France.

This was to be a momentous occasion and at first I thought perhaps a croissant from an airport would be a strumpet of the craft. In actuality, it was quite good, buttery, and flaky. Thus so far it has been one of the better croissants I have had. Or perhaps I was just deranged from jet fuel.

I am sitting in a villa in Bouc Bel Aire currently, no croissants at hand, by a pool, under the Provencal sun. This is where the French want to live. This is where you want to live. From a meteorological standpoint, the weather is perfect, warm sun and light breeze. Bouc Bel Aire is situated nearly equidistant between Aix de Provence and Marseilles, a sleepy bedroom community for those who work in either of the two. Our hosts, Pascal and Marianne, work respectively in both towns. Pascal works for the aviation department while Marianne works as a swimming instructor for the city. Being both public jobs they make a decent living with many benefits that come of working for the state in France. Marianne is fairly shocked by the fact that Americans may or may not get vacation and at most it is only two weeks.

Aix and Marseilles are very different cities while being in fairly close proximity. Marseilles is ancient; it smells ancient and looks ancient, old stucco buildings smothered in graffiti that is not particularly good. As an American I can appreciate inspired graffiti, this is not what Cézanne would have wanted to see Marseilles adorned with. At times Marseilles seems to be a movie set of the futuristic world we have obliterated ourselves into. The buildings crumbling into themselves while fresh laundry hangs on the lines which run window to window. The mini trash strike doesn’t help the situation with refuse overflowing the forlorn receptacles it was intended for. And then there is the shit. A warning to those hoofing it about the streets and alleys of Marseilles, do not wear opened toed shoes and always keep one eye to the ground. The amount of dog scat is, well, impressive. It did not seem as if there were enough dogs in the city to generate the mother load of excrement that adorns the avenues.

The day of our first jaunt through Marseilles we awoke to the news that the US had successfully assassinated the evil Osama Bin Ladan. My first thought was regarding how this would affect my travel plans. The second was that we were getting dropped off in Marseilles in the predominantly Muslim section of town. The Arabic community here serves a dual function; they do the underpaid “Mexican” jobs we have in the United States while also having a similar disdain that is placed upon the African American community. It is a heavy load to bear. Suffice to say, being a fat American I stand out like the proverbial raisin in the sugar bowl and this caused me a bit of concern regarding a personal jihad on my pasty ass. As in America (and probably anywhere else) it is pointless to listen to other people’s opinions regarding certain matters. Nobody seemed to notice us as we walked through their neighborhood, except for the young children trying to beg a couple Euros off us. I will say this about the panhandlers of Marseilles; they are much less intrusive but more effective then in America. The silently supplicating woman is definitely more powerful then the guy who reeks of malt liquor and drools on you.

We made our way to the Vieux Port where many personal pleasure boats lay anchor. It has, for lack of a better word, a board walk which runs along either side of the port with an array of restaurants serving overpriced food and drink. In the distance you can see atop perhaps the highest peak in Marseilles the Notre Dame church with the Virgin Mary and “kid”. I say “kid” because after some deliberation my traveling companion and I decided that there is a reason they make tourist trams to tour the city and opted to take one. Our pre-recorded tour guide, fluent in French, German, and English, pointed out some important historical facts of the area and noted the statue of “Mary and Kid”. 

Marseilles is very beautiful. The architecture is quite stunning especially when you realize that there has been civilization here for thousands of years. As we ascend the roads to the church, through paths etched through limestone long before Plymouth rock was official, we look out to islands inhabited by castles and prisons, the setting for “The Count of Monte Cristo”. We finally wind our way up to the church and all its majesty. I find it quite moving while my cohort makes some sacrilegious gesticulations by the holy water in the basilica. Fortunately I was standing between her and the 200 year old woman weeping and lighting candles and I didn’t need throw her off the mountain as penance, as much as I may have wanted to. Back down the mountain in our little train, it is now time to eat.

To eat, this why I came to France. Yes, charming villas, museums of legends, local color, etc. No, to eat. The café culture of France is prolific, with outdoor seating spilling out to the streets in every direction. Public workers and bourgeoisie bohemians (bobos) sitting side-by-side, resolutely smoking and quaffing the local wines. We walked through a neighborhood well concentrated with restaurants until we found one slightly farther from the street accordion player. The accordion, while a formidable instrument, is not one that serves as great background music for a conversation when played amplified. We found a restaurant with a three-course prix-fixe for 19.5 euros and one of the few not serving bouillabaisse. While Marseilles has the claim to fame of being the Mecca of the dish our host informed us that unless you see fish carcasses these days it is very likely to have come out of a bag. It seems, so far, that much of what Americans idolize and idealize about French cuisine is disappearing at an unfortunately rapid rate.

We settle in at 29 Place aux Huiles, ready for some sustenance. Jean greets us, stating firmly, when we explain in sad broken French that we don’t really speak the language that well, that “no one is perfect”.  As Marianne has been feeding us quite thoroughly since our arrival with copious amounts of cheese, pate, vegetables and assorted delectables we decided to split the prix-fixe, knowing the evening is sure to be another Olympian repast.

“My poor American friends,” Jean says “I will take up a collection for you. I’ll call Barak.”

Putting his blue tooth in his ear as he walks back inside the restaurant he begins “calling”.

           

“Barak, hey it’s me Jean. I have some Americans here, yeah, they can’t afford to eat, only to drink.”

Mid-forties, tall, lean, bespectacled, and goateed Jean was the consummate picture of the French waiter. He knew it too. With the international stereotype of this character well known he did his best to oblige us with a French dining experience that exists primarily in movies. As he solidly put down a fork or plate he would look over his glasses at us with mock disdain, roll his eyes and walk away. Our conversations usually ended with a sharp jab at us as we played the part of the naïve Americans. Towards the end of the meal he came out of character and made some suggestions for our stay. Very adept at his job we could see him sizing up each table, domestic or foreign, and being what they wanted him to be for their experience. The people of Marseilles have a reputation in France for being lackadaisical, looking to work as little as possible and enjoy the Provencal sun as much as possible. It would take much more time to deem whether this is an accurate portrayal of the citizenry but from watching Jean in action he definitely breaks many stereotypes, neither an ostentatious maître d' nor an idle layabout.

As our food arrived we realized our decision was the right one as each course was fairly substantial and had we each ordered the meal we would have been in rough shape by the end of the day. We began with a duo of rabbit; rillettes and a sort of rabbit porchetta, boned and rolled in its skin. This came with a salad of microgreens and fresh vegetables. Second was a dourade, or sea bream, fillet, perfectly sautéed, served with roasted tomatoes and fennel, adorned with a light aioli. To finish, an interesting take on a tiramisu concept. A parfait of mocha sabayon, sweetened and whipped mascarpone, and chocolate cake crumbs.

The meal was well executed and quite delicious. We enjoyed it with two bottles of rosé, the first a recommendation by Jean, lower in price but quite good, crisp and light. For the second we chose a slightly more expensive bottle, a fuller body than the first with more fruit yet not sweeter. Provence is renowned for its rosé although Pascal informed us later that it is not his favorite wine to drink and that it is typically a “tourist” wine. Even for Parisians who come here Provence means rosé, though, and the cafés do a hefty business in its commerce. Upon perusing the local supermarket it seems, unlike Pascal, many locals here take quite a fancy to it as well.

Food Karma and Failure

Some people can't cook.

"How is this supposed to be encouraging?" you may ask.

Of the total amount of kitchen failures that have occurred since Prometheus gave us fire, I would fathom an estimate of .0001% happened because of an inherent condition of being entirely inept in the kitchen. The vast majority are due to a lack of presence to the task at hand. But there is another factor which must be addressed before we discuss the things you can change. Food Karma.

I first discovered the existence of food karma while working as a line cook many years ago. I am certain at some point you have had a dinning experience go so incredibly awry that you vowed never to return to the establishment responsible for your misery. There is a fair chance you were the recipient of bad food karma. What you, the customer, can not see is the machinations of this force in effect. As the cook you do, but are unable to stop them.

Example: Broiled sole with buerre blanc, braised endive, potato gratin.

(I know it is pretty pedestrian but it will do for an example)

1st round: Sole fine, buerre blanc breaks, 3 trys to not break one, fish now over cooked

2nd round: Sole fine, sauce ready, gratin from the first round still passable, no cleaned endive, even better, chef didn't order endive, get server who is ticked off because it's taking forever to go to the table to ask what you would like as a substitute.

3rd round: You chose spinach, cook makes spinach, we are now at a 30 minute ticket time for a dish which should have taken 10. The sole goes on the plate though it's not quite hot enough since it has been sitting on a sizzle tray atop the broiler, the gratin is trimmed of the over cooked crunchy bit and put on the plate, spinach goes on, sauced out the door in a mere 45 minutes. Serve angry, customer angry, cook needs a smoke.

While all of the problems here could have been avoided, the difference regarding food karma is that while this one plate has been a source of woe, 50 others went out perfectly fine. It's the plate that just won't go away. No matter what you try to do to correct the situation it just snowballs because the universe just doesn't want the customer to be satiated tonight.

Also, brunch is a serious conduit for food karma, so be warned.

And as a total aside: Why do people who would make reservations for 12 for dinner feel it's o.k. to walk in for brunch with 12 people along with 7 other similar parties of 6-14 all at 11:45 and expect to get their eggs in 10 minutes? If you have more then 4 people for brunch make a damn reservation, your server will appreciate it, the kitchen will appreciate it and it will generate good food karma for you.

So, food karma aside, people seem to have problems with attention. As an instructor I have had the opportunity to observe otherwise entirely intelligent and capable people completely maraud the kitchen with their lack of focus. It seems they think that cooking is an endeavor which can be undertaken with half presence to the task. I also know for certain that as much as people like to goo over celebrity chefs, most people when confronted with a living, breathing cook think that we do this because we weren't smart enough to go to college. If that monkey can do it, anyone can, right?

Here are some key ways to minimize the possibility of failure:

Starting with your recipe, read it thoroughly and visualize the steps you are going to take.

Understand what it is you are doing. If you don't recognize a technique look it up.

Check your ingredients, that you have all of them and they are of good quality. I recently spent the better part of the afternoon making tamales only to find upon eating one that my masa had gone off. Much sadness.

Know the difference between a Tbsp and a tsp.

Don't screw around. If the recipe says beat until stiff peak, beat until stiff peak. If it says boil for 2 minutes then shock in ice water, don't run the beans under tap water, shock them. Trying to take shortcuts while cooking when you don't understand the importance of the step doesn't cut it.

Leave it alone. As little poking, prodding, flipping, peaking, pinching as possible.

Stir when you need to stir. While keeping a watchful eye on dishes is critical, especially those which might scorch or stick, when sauteeing, continuous motion isn't necessary. Let it cook.

Taste it. Taste it. Taste it.

Don't over salt, don't undersalt. Start with a little and go from there, you can always put in more but you can't take it out.

Overall - Pay Attention

There are obviously a multitude of small things to be mindful of but if you just start with the intention of being mindful overall success should be less likely to elude you.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

As the leaves fall down and pile up, harbinger of colder days and even colder Bostonians, there is still peace in my heart as it is finally that time of year. 

Chowder Time

So, since I actually put pen to paper while making my last batch, I offer my own take on this most wonderful of concoctions.

First get you some slab bacon or salt pork, you are going to need 1/2 cup, small dice. Toss this into your chowder pot with 4 Tbsp of butter. Low and slow is the mantra for chowder, don't burn the butter. While the pig is cooking you are going to want to dice potatoes, 2 cups worth, and boil them in lightly salted water til they are just barely tender, drain and rinse in cold water. Once most of your fat had rendered, add 1 cup diced leeks, 3/4 cup diced celery, 2 Tbsp fresh picked thyme, 3 cloves of chopped garlic. As the veggies become softer 4 oz of brandy into the pot, flame and add 1/2 cup of flour.  Mix this all about constantly stirring lest the flour scorch. Once you have everything nice and pasty, add 3 cups of clam juice, this can be the liquor from the 4 cups of chopped clams as well as bottled clam juice. Point being, 3 cups of juice by hook or by crook. Add aforementioned clams and potatoes to the pot as well as 1 tsp of cayenne. Cook low and slow still, stirring to prevent scorching.  

Once the chowder has thickened, you have the choice of what form of dairy you want to add. I strongly suggest 2 to 3 cups of light cream. Some use heavy cream while others use milk for thinner chowder. I like mine somewhere between milk and mayonnaise so I suggest the light cream. Your call.  

Lastly, taste it for salt and pepper, once again your chowder, your call.

Actually, lastly is bowling it up and liberally adding oyster crackers. Get Westminster crackers if you can find them, they are good and from Vermont which naturally makes everything better, including chefs.

Conquering the Cantaloupe

Conquering the Cantaloupe

            Every year I seek out at the height of cantaloupe season the archetypal melon, the apogee of cantaloupemanship, and eat it. I note the sweet, luscious aroma of the skin. The succulent flesh, laden with juice, passes between my lips as I attempt to savor all the nuances of this perfect specimen of C. melo melo var. cantalupensis. And every year I reach the same gastronomic conclusion - I just don’t like cantaloupe. There is one exception to my disdain for this muskmelon that we will address later in the chapter; otherwise I have no fondness or sympathy for the creature.

            We all have a cantaloupe in our lives. I’m cool with that and do not expect you to overcome your own personal cantaloupe. What I do expect you to do, if you want to become a proficient cook, is to exorcise the demon of prejudice from your palette. This is going to require a little reprogramming of your conventional mores and an awakening of your sensual self. It won’t hurt, I promise.

            First we need to examine the causes of discrimination in the human psyche. It seems many of people’s food issues can be traced back to their childhood so let’s start there. Perhaps the most common and hardest to eliminate is when it stems from learned behavior as in this hypothetical:

           
Example Only: My father never liked mushrooms, never cooked them, I don’t like mushrooms. 

             Another reason people may have disdain for certain food is from having a less than joyous experience. On my 3^rd birthday I thought my mother was making my favorite dish, her rotelle with meatballs. When I sat down it was a perfect al dente rotelle topped with her delicious marinara and…octopus. I was a bit dejected and the octopus was a bit overcooked. For many years I avoided cephalopods all together until working under Chef Steve Singleton in Knoxville where he convinced (well, ordered) me to try his sautéed calamari. I was a convert on the spot. Incidentally, cephalopods (calamari, octopus, cuttlefish) are one of the trickier dishes to prepare so be gentle with yourself if you don’t have the greatest success the first few times. Undercooked – chewy. Overcooked – chewy. I have had dishes prepared by “high end” chefs who still botch it. Don’t give up.

            Now that we are done blaming your parents let’s get back to discrimination. How many times have you heard someone say they don’t want to try something simply because they think it’s “weird” or “gross”? I have had to convince (order) plenty of cooks over the years to eat a variety of things, summing up this chapter for them in one brief and blue sentence. In a professional setting it is imperative that you develop this nonattachment, or change professions. There is no one to chastise you, aspiring gastronome that you are, when you render such a reaction. And that perhaps makes it that much more difficult. You, and you alone, must overcome the unfounded prejudice in your soul that keeps you from trying tripe, sweetbreads, or whatever your own bogey might be.

            Since this a personal undertaking, fueled only by your own desire to succeed, I can only offer some suggestions which might help you along the way.

            First, start small. Rather than go out and buy a pound of sheep’s brains and be determined to ecstatically consume them, try things that you don’t necessarily find unappealing. A dish from a favorite restaurant you just never thought about trying. If you have enjoyed most everything you have sampled before there is a good chance they will pay the same attention to the quality of this dish. Many people become set on a particular offering and rarely branch out to the rest of the menu. The “law of diminishing returns” essentially states that the more you have of something the less you enjoy it. So break the law!

            Another fun place to expand your culinary consciousness is ethnic markets. Once again, don’t go buying the most bizarre items you can find (unless you’re into that) since you may not be familiar with traditional preparation of the product. You will only do an injustice to you and the conch.  Realistically assess what you have an aptitude for doing and go from there. Maybe a salad made with some Asian vegetables you are unacquainted with or a smoothie with some funky Caribbean fruit. If you need ideas, check out the “Books I Can’t Live Without” appendices at the end of the book or visit you local library. The library is a wonderful place to explore new cuisines and cultures and, well, it’s free which makes it that much more wonderful.

            When it comes to more exotic foods though the challenge becomes greater and the trepidation more daunting.  If you are particularly suspect of eating something like eel, with all your preconceived thoughts about eel bouncing around in your head, you probably are going to have a hard time enjoying it. That’s o.k. because the first step is not necessarily to enjoy the food but rather to understand the food. The more practice you get in learning to understand the food the more likely you are to enjoy the food.

            To get the food into your mouth, except a few precepts. First, it isn’t going to kill you. Secondly, other people eat this and enjoy it. Third, you will be a better epicure for it.

            Now open mouth and take a bite. Clear your mind. Don’t squint your eyes and scrunch your nose. Chew. Think about what is going on on your palette. Breathe. Swallow.

            Not so bad. Or maybe it was. Good work in any event.

            The one cause for discrimination I have yet to determine a remedy for is that of the elusive texture issue. I do not have texture issues so I find it hard to understand them.  I do think some of it stems from improper preparation of dishes where they are under cooked or over cooked. My mother in law feels that fresh spinach “squeaks” on her teeth. She is a grown woman and I sure as heck am not going to argue with her about what she perceives. Everyone is different and to that end we all have validity in our opinions. If you have a texture issue I can only suggest buying some crazy straws and a blender.

                        My one way of enjoying cantaloupe? Thin slices of prosciutto del parma wrapped around segments of melon. The sum of this delight is greater than its parts and leads us directly into a fun filled chapter on perception. In the following pages we will get closer to understanding how to understand the elements that make up the experience that is eating.

A place for my stuff

In the beginning...

Since everyone and their cat has a blog nowadays why shouldn't I? Not that I feel like I will be the next Internet sensation, which is all well and good, but it seems like a good place to put forth some things I have been working on. To start, I offer a few chapters of "Learning the Unteachable Lessons", a book long in the making. 

A Brief, Albeit Mildly Important, Introduction

            I skip reading introductions. Often I will return to the introduction at some point, to glean what the author’s original intent was, but not always. I suppose this might make me a bad reader and I beg the forgiveness of those authors to whose works I never returned to peruse the introductions, especially now as I attempt to woo you, the reader, with one. Brevity being what it is, I will try to be succinct.

            Many a friend and relative have uttered to me this phrase:

                        “I wish I was a better cook.”

            To my recollection none of these people lacked the facilities to be proficient in the culinary arts. I use the term “proficient” as there probably exists in the highest echelons of any art or trade some natural aptitude for the craft that lends itself to genius. Proficiency is an entirely noble goal, for which I personally strive, as it indicates a consistent and pleasurable return from one’s endeavors. And this is what this book is about.

            These “unteachable lessons” are meant to guide you toward achieving a proficiency in cooking. I guarantee that you have within you the ability to cook a solid meal, bake a fine loaf of bread or make a tasty dessert. First, though, we must explore some essential kitchen existentials before we can start to figure out what exactly all this cooking stuff is all about. Some are tangible physical boundaries, others more ethereal in nature.

            Beyond that, I believe much of what you might discover along the way reflects itself in your day-to-day life, whether it be at work, at home or in love. These basic tenets of learning to cook also apply to learning to live.

            But this is the extent of my introduction. Let’s just get to work.

           

Gumbo, Patience and a Few Biscuits

            I have always wanted to be a magician. I have a fairly good banter, a decent amount of showmanship but very little patience when it comes to learning the slight of hand. Unfortunately the latter makes all the difference in convincing the audience you’re not a hack. But I haven’t stopped trying and hopefully someday you might see me in Vegas.

            I am telling you this because I want you to understand that I know the difficulty in applying patience to something you want to be able to do RIGHT NOW. I want to be able to do card tricks RIGHT NOW but I can’t. It makes me frustrated and I put the cards and the book down and there they sit for several months (unless I can find someone to play cribbage with) until a rainy day presents itself and I take them up again. This is the way many people approach cooking. They see a recipe on a food show or read one in a magazine and they want to make it for dinner tonight. They haven’t cooked an entire meal in quite some time and they follow the recipe and it just doesn’t come out particularly well. They get frustrated and decide THEY CAN’T COOK and that is the end of that until something entices them to try again.

            First, a little secret about recipes in newspapers and such. Let me start by saying, so as not to be lambasted by friends and colleagues alike, there are many fine outlets from which to get recipe ideas. The providers undergo the most intensive formulations in state of the art kitchens so that you, the consumer, will be able to recreate the most glorious of culinary masterpieces in the comfort and privacy of your own home. That being said many recipes, quite frankly, suck. I have probably contributed such a recipe myself at one point and here is the reason. It is 5:30 pm on a Saturday and a media type person calls you and wants a recipe for <insert dish here> to be scaled down to feed a party of four with ingredients that are easily attainable from your local market to be printed tomorrow. Now, few chefs will turn down such an opportunity for publicity so they (we) try to cobble together a practical and useful recipe in five minutes. I think you see the point. What the chef is unable to impart to the reader is all the technique needed to know to produce the dish and hopes the directions will mean something to the reader. So if your last culinary mishap was somehow related to such an article we will let you slide. For now.

            That being said, before we can address technique we need to return to the more fundamental obstacle of learning card tricks and cooking, patience. Patience is not something you learn but rather practice. In cooking, this ingredient is more precious than salt and more valuable than saffron.

            On the most basic level you must be patient with yourself. Cooking is not easy but it is not hard either. Food is a wonderful middle ground for creativity and precision. There are basic “rules” to follow but you are allowed an amazing breadth when it comes to personal panache. My friend and fellow chef Nick and I have debated the nature of cooking for close on to a decade now. We go back and forth as to whether it is an art, a trade, or a craft. We finally decided, I think, that it is all three bound as one. With each of these three, though, you must practice, practice, practice and expect to not do so hot all the time. Perseverance is the physical manifestation of patience.

            O.K., so now you’re persevering. Cooking takes time. Not a long time, unless you are making kim chee, but time. Water has to boil in order to blanch, dough needs to rise for a good crumb, egg whites need to be whipped to a stiff peak for a perfect meringue. It is these necessary steps in production, which if overlooked or shortchanged, mean the difference between success and failure and in the big, mean, nasty kitchens of the industry and denotes whether you are a hack. You can be an egomaniac. You can be an alcoholic. You can be a sociopath. You can be all three. No one respects a hack.

            Being a cook, a good cook, is a life-long journey. There are certain skills you can acquire fairly quickly such as making basic vinaigrette. It requires a little patience but not much. In general a ratio of 1 to 3 vinegar to oil will suffice to make a fairly tasty vinaigrette. Start with your vinegar (say ¼ cup balsamic) in a bowl. From there add a teaspoon of whole grain mustard. Whisk. Slowly add, a few drops at a time whisking constantly, your oil until you have added the entire ¾ cup. A pinch of salt and you now have balsamic vinaigrette. The patience lies in the slow addition of the oil, creating an emulsification (big weird word number one) a fully combined liquid which doesn’t separate immediately. It will though, just shake it up.  From here you now have the basic gist of making a dressing. Pick your vinegar, try some different herbs in there, it is yours to play with. Other skills take longer to acquire, often years.

            Living in Knoxville, Tennessee for a number of years I grew very fond of biscuits. Even more specifically of biscuits and gravy. The gravy is fairly uncomplicated and you can find my own recipe at the end of the chapter but the biscuit is the challenge. For years I tried and tried to make buttermilk biscuits and they never came out quite right. Too flat, too hard, too doughy, and too dry. But each time I made them I noted what I did differently and each batch got better. I consulted French bakers and old southern women alike to try to understand the principals that would lead me to the quintessential biscuit. This enduring patience has brought me to this, while it could still be better in my mind, a damn good biscuit.

Buttermilk Biscuits

makes 12

1/2 tsp baking soda
1 cup buttermilk
2 cups all purpose flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/2 cup cold lard or butter
rendered bacon fat for greasing the pan

Preheat you oven to 400 degrees. Combine the soda and buttermilk to dissolve the soda. Whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt in a mixing bowl. Using the larger holed side of a box grater, grate the lard or butter into the flour mixture. Add the buttermilk and mix til just incorporated, the more you work the flour the tougher your biscuits will be. Liberally grease a cookie sheet with your bacon fat. Like lots. At this point you want to scoop out 12 portions of dough onto the cookie sheet so as they will touch each other on the sides (3x4), dusting the portions with a little flour and lightly pressing them down to approximately 3/4 to 1 inch in height. Bake in your oven for 12 minutes or until lightly browned.

            Now that we have nearly exhausted the multilevel dilemma of patience, I have a little exercise for you. One of my favorite dishes to make is gumbo. There are few concoctions that evoke such feelings of nostalgia and romance as a good bowl of gumbo. Imagine yourself outside Lafayette, tying off your piroux on the bayou and relaxing to the sounds of water lapping against the side of your boat, a glass of Bordeaux or Dixie Beer, your chéri at your hand and a pot of gumbo on the fire.

            So what makes a good bowl of gumbo? As with any dish the freshest possible ingredients will make your creations infinitely better. My indispensable 1966 copy of Larousse Gastronomique (I strongly urge you to find a copy) suggests using eggs no older than the morning’s laying for many dishes. If only it were that simple. Thankfully we have many farmer’s markets across the country which I whole-heartedly suggest you utilize whenever possible. Specialty shops for produce and dry goods exist in many towns and even the larger chain stores have begun to realize the demand for fresher and healthier ingredients. To that end you should be able to source out some good stuff.

            In the end, though, the defining characteristic of your gumbo is your roux. And what defines the character of your roux? Yup, patience.

            What is roux you may ask? Simply, roux is a combination of flour and fat (butter, oil, or lard) cooked together over low heat to create a thickening agent for stocks, soup, stews, and such. When preparing a roux for gumbo, we want to take the roux to a very dark color. The “darkening” comes from the cooking, or carmelization, of sugars in the flour. It is this dark roux that creates the essential flavor of gumbo as well as many other Cajun dishes.

            Sounds simple enough. Butter. Flour. Cook.

            Well, roux burns. Quick. Once it burns you can’t use it and you have to start again. The closer it gets to being adequately dark the quicker it will burn so attention is mandatory. If you don’t take it all the way to dark, the gumbo won’t achieve the “manna from heaven” aspect that we are striving for. Trust me, this is all worth it.

            First, take care of the vegetable and meat prep ahead of time; this makes things less frantic when the roux is ready to go. Melt your butter in a large pot over medium heat. Add the flour. Begin stirring with a wooden spoon. Reduce heat to low-medium. This does take some time so be prepared to commit at least ½ an hour to the roux. As you stir your kitchen is going to blossom with the most wonderful smell, something resembling that of shortbread cookies baking. Keep stirring. As the roux cooks, you will begin to notice the change in color. It will morph from the lighter blond roux, to reddish, to reddish brown, to lighter brown, to a dark rich brown. 

            Once you have successfully achieved the dark brown stage you can add what in Louisiana is known as the Holy Trinity – a vegetable base of onions, peppers, celery, and garlic, (garlic being the holy part.) In French cooking such veggie mixes used for stocks and soups is known as mirepoix, substituting carrots or parsnips for peppers, one of those terms that gets thrown around and not always demystified.

            From here add the rest of your ingredients, except salt and garnish, stirring frequently on medium heat. Be careful to stir around the edges of the pot and the very bottom so the roux doesn’t settle out as it cooks and scorch. After all your patience, this is very frustrating. Trust me, I know.

            Once the meats have cooked through, reduce the heat to low and allow the dish to cook for another 20 minutes. Now it is time to season. I am giving a very baseline amount of salt here, add it, stir thoroughly, and taste. It takes a minute or two for the salt to really get infused before you taste it accurately but if you like more salt, go for it.

           
Spooned over some fluffy white rice and garnished with fresh tomatoes and scallions 

you can sit back, relax, enjoy your gumbo and relish your admirable display of patience.


For the Roux~


1.5 sticks of butter
2 cups flour


For the Rest


1 cup diced onion 
.5 cup diced celery 
.5 cup diced green pepper
4 cloves gralic, sliced
.5 pound sliced andouille sausage
2 large boneless chicken thighs or breasts (or a combo of both)
1 pound of shrimp, peeled and deveined (or not if you like crunchy shrimp)
1.5 cups sliced okra (frozen is o.k. if you can't find fresh)
1 Tbsp oregano, dried
1 Tbsp basil, dried
1 Tbsp cayenne
6 cups chicken stock
salt and pepper to your liking