COOKING FOR BEN Part 1

I am standing in an unfamiliar kitchen with boxes and tubs of food all around me. I'm not sure yet where the pots and pans are and I can't seem to find the cutting boards. I have turned on a switch that says "oven warmer" and there is the unmistakable smell of burning fabric coming from somewhere near the stove.

This is just like the old days, hearkening eerily back to my time spent as a caterer. Recently, I have been taking my "Chef of the Jungle" act on the road. I have been donating my services and cooking skills as one part of a community effort to raise money to pay the hospital bills of a dear friend.

Ben Vaughn, one of the true "good guys" in our oceanside/jungle's edge paradise was brutally beaten while confronting some robbery suspects. Beaten to the point that he needed to be air-vacced to Costa Rica's only hospital with a brain trauma unit, where he spent nearly three weeks, much of it in intensive care.

Like so many of us here, Ben didn't carry nearly enough of the insurance necessary to cover the

monstrous medical costs that follow catastrophic injury. In response to the financial needs mounting from his shocking attack, this coastal community has risen up in support of Ben. A common bond seems to have united us and money from donations and fundraisers has been both pouring and trickling in to help Ben with the payment of inconceivably high hospital bills.

Ben has been released from the hospital and while he still needs a tremendous amount of therapy to even think about resuming his life, his recent appearance here showed the strength and character he will need as he faces the ramifications of this incident; physical, legal and spiritual, in the days to come. He has lost the sight in an eye and lost a step, but his willingness to do the work necessary is already apparent.

As donations and contributions began pouring in, my thoughts ran to, "what could I do?"

I don't have the money to make a straight-up donation and I don't have much to offer other than my skills in the kitchen. So it occurred to me that I could be offering my services in the kitchen in the form of fundraising dinners cooked in private homes. I would cater to small groups, meet with the hosts to create menus, cook for up to eight people, back out my costs and donate what I could to Ben's mounting assistance fund. I ran this idea by Geinier, my boss at La Cusinga and he generously offered to match what I could raise.

I put together my idea and posted it initially on Facebook. I got immediate response, not from prospective guests/diners, but from others who appreciated my idea. Beautiful flyers were donated and designed by Marcel and Rita at the magazine "Dominical Days", and a local printer did a stack of 150 of them for us for free. I was ready and willing, all I need was that first call.

And that first call did come, on a Saturday. On Sunday I was meeting with Sharon and Mac in their home in Ojochal and by Tuesday afternoon I was standing in their kitchen burning her napkins, kept, unbeknownst to me, in a pull out drawer below the burners, that was indeed an "oven warmer".

Sharon and I had met in order for me to, naturally, find the house, scope out the kitchen and, most importantly, write the menu. She had been part of a group in St. Thomas that had sponsored bi-monthly dinner fundraisers, so was a perfect first guest to try out my "Cooking For Ben" idea. And graciously, she went along with all my ideas, telling me to go ahead and cook what I thought would be best. Since that's the whole premise behind what we do at La Cusinga, it was on. I would do, essentially, a "greatest hits" menu, making it easier than trying to do something new in a new space.

Our menu would consist of four courses, just as it does at the restaurant. We would start with a chilled curried cauliflower soup, then move to a mix of lightly dressed organic greens augmented by crunchy "ceviche" of fresh palmito (hearts of palm). The entree would be fresh local fish (to be determined by Victoriano, the fisherman) with my "soon to be legendary" Salsa de la Jungla, a spiced rice pilaf, and whichever vegetables my organic farmers told me were the best. I offered a chocolate cake for dessert, but Sharon opted for mandarina pound cake topped with blackberry ice cream.

I put together my prep and purchase list on Monday, called in my produce orders, visited Victoriano to make sure he would be coming in with fresh fish and made ready. On Tuesday I went down to the little Feria that Citrus restaurant hosts in Ojochal and met with Mauren and Ademar, good friends and organic farmers. I came away with just picked whole heads of organic lettuce, fat/ripe tomatoes, small tight heads of sweet smelling broccoli and shiny red bell peppers.

Just across the main highway and down the rutted dirt road was Victoriano's fish stand and tiny home. There is no sign, just his raised concrete platform and his two ancient coolers indicating that someone might just sell fish here. We greeted each other warmly and I was given the customary kiss on the cheek by his buxom wife, Maria, whom he calls, with all the affection and love in the world, "Gorda". The lid to the cooler was thrown open, and there, glistening in among the chunks of crushed ice were eight, nine, maybe ten gorgeous silvery yellow Robalo, bright eyed and fat, each weighing at least 5-6 kilos.

Robalo (called snook in the US), is an estuary fish. It lives between the fresh and salt waters and the meat is pearly white, beautifully lean and mild. It lends itself very nicely to sauces and has just a touch of freshwater sweetness. I chose a six kilo fish, wanting to assure myself eight beautiful cuts. I have to figure on a 50% yield when I buy whole fish and need to do my math to make sure I get what I need. Victoriano packed it into one bag, packed that one into a bag of ice and I stowed it in the trunk for the short drive to La Cusinga.

I had the produce, I had the fish and I had brought the olive oils and herbs. That left me just a few short hours in the kitchen at La Cusinga to finish my prepping. I cleaned the stems from the beautiful mix of braising greens that my friends at Diamante Farms had brought me and picked the ends from the dark green "media metre" Chinese long beans that they grow as well. Bolivar from Diamante had chopped and cleaned a kilo of palmito for me and all that remained was to slice it thin and toss it with lime juice and olive oil, roasted red peppers and garlic chives. A few grinds of black pepper and a pinch of sea salt and it was packed up and ready.

The last thing I had to do was butcher the fish; the firm, fresh robalo. I marveled at how easy it was to work through the flesh is as I slid the knife down the spine and peeled the filets away from the bone. The filet knife slid again, between flesh and skin, leaving the whole filets ready to portion. I cut thick white steaks from the filets and packed them in a double wrap of plastic before putting them on the ice in my cooler.

The bags of produce, the ice chest with soup and ice cream, the fish on ice; it was all in the car and ready to go. I took a last look around, checklist in hand, and was soon behind the wheel and down the driveway at La Cusinga, on my way to Ojochal to cook some dinner.

So it was that I found myself in Sharon and Mac's kitchen, putting a light smoky glaze on her cloth napkins and kitchen towels and searching for the cutting boards. And it all came together quite nicely. I've done a lot of catering and it all comes down to preparation (back to the "mis en place is God" philosophy, for those of you who read that blog). I was well prepped and had left myself little to do but the actual cooking.

I made the rice, set up the fish to cook and when the guests arrived we were underway. Sharon had provided me with an interesting mix of two kinds of china and it was great fun to use different plates. The guests were charming and receptive; hungry and appreciative. The cooking and service flowed and the night passed smoothly and successfully. The oohs and aahs were deeply appreciated and it seemed that just because of the reason for each of us being there, there was a common feeling of sharing and unity.

At the end of the evening, as the envelope was passed, there was a moment that drew us all nearer. We were equals, chef and diners and it was clear that I was part of this and never considered "the help". The common denominator of each of us doing something for Ben was the glue that held us together.

It is unfortunate that sometimes it takes a tragedy, such as the one that befell Ben, to pull a community together. I hope it's not too naive of me to wish that we could feel that sense of sharing life and pain along with love and happiness without needing a common cause, but I suppose I do feel that way. At least for this small moment in time, however, because of what happened to Ben Vaughn, our coastal community is closer than I've ever experienced it being.

I do hope it stays this way.

MANGOES, I FINALLY GET MANGOES

This is my submission for the July issue of Dominical Days; read it here first.

MANGOES, FINALLY I GET MANGOES

This has been the breakout year for me with mangoes. I always liked them, but didn’t love them. I’d liked using them in my kitchen, but didn’t really understand the possibilities they presented to me. I knew that they were a richly flavored and almost sexual fruit, but I just hadn’t gotten there with them, so to speak. And lastly, I just couldn’t figure out how to cut the damn things.

This mango season that has all changed. Maybe it was that I became more committed to working with local ingredients and knew that they were an essential part of a tropical kitchen repertoire. Maybe it was the smell of them in my car on a warm day as their honeyed juices warmed, and maybe it was licking my fingers after cutting them for my “Salsa de la Jungla” and discovering that each mango had a slightly different yet equally powerfully seductive flavor.

This is the year that I discovered a “signature” sauce based on mangoes. This is the year I made mango vinegar, numerous mango salsas, mango-mustard glaze and mango-coco ice cream. I found that the mango could stand up to the acid of mandarina, the bite of ginger, the heat of habaneros and the sinus opening blast of hot mustard.

I have paired mango this year with chicken, fish and pork. Each of those meats picks something up from the inherent mango sweetness and if they are cooked on the grill, they give something back with the flavor of smoke and charcoal. A crusty pork loin or crisp skinned chicken thigh brushed with a mango glaze and then pulled from the grill is barbecued poetry.

The season is almost over but there are still sticky sweet mangoes at the Feria. Buy and use them now or puree the flesh and use it later. But however you use them, don’t forget to lick your fingers.

MANGOES AND WHAT TO DO

So now, with any luck, I’ve made you want to run out and grab a few mangoes, and in an “end of the season” burst of creativity, have your way with them. I buy them with three criteria in mind; feel, smell and color. I want my mango to have some give to it when I squeeze it, but not just in one soft place. I want the smell to be aromatic and sweet. And I want the color to be a lovely hue of red running into gold over the entire fruit.

Cut off enough of either end so that it will stand up on its own. Using a paring knife, from top to bottom take the skin off in long narrow strips. When the peel is gone, stand the mango up again and look at it from the top. It should be ovate, rather than round. The longest sides of the oval are where the greatest amount of the flesh is. Using the blade of the knife, find the seed and slide the knife downward, staying as close to the seed as possible. The flesh should come away in a long even piece. Continue around the mango, working the knife down the pit. You will have two larger pieces of mango and several other long narrow pieces. You are ready to cook.

MANGO MUSTARD GLAZE

Flesh of One Ripe Mango

Juice of 2 Mandarinas

½ Cup Orange Juice

½ Cup Tapa Dulce, or Brown Sugar

1 tsp grated fresh ginger

2 TBS Dijon Mustard

In a stainless or non-corrosive pot, put all the ingredients except the mustard. Bring up the heat to a low boil and then reduce the heat and simmer for 30 minutes, stirring to break up the pieces. Remove from heat and stir in the mustard. Use as a glaze for pork, chicken or fish. Use it now, or chill and reserve.

THE TIMES THEY HAVE CHANGED

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So here I am, sitting on a bar stool in front of the granite counter tops at the "house up the hill" using the internet. "How does he do it?", you may or may not ask. We know there is no internet service way up there on the hill.

Well, the story goes like this:

I was sitting in the Uvita Tucan Hotel (not listening to the airconditioner hum), using the internet before I headed home for the night and I ran into Big Rob, who used to do (poorly) the internet at La Cusinga. I confided in him that I had been looking for an internet device, kind of a "memory stick", which, when stuck into one's computer, accesses internet. These do indeed exist, and they even exist here, but trying to find one for purchase has proved difficult. "Just ran out", or, "new supply next week (month, year, etc.)" are the standard answers.

So he listened to me bemoan my fate and then asked me what kind of phone I had. Costa Rica is in the process of changing over from 2G to 3G phones, which will fuck up their entire phone service system, but they don't seem to care. I told him that I had a 2G as they still worked (for now) and were significantly less expensive that the 3G models which all seem to feature numerous application possibilities; bells and whistles out the wazoo, if you will. So he says, "well that's too bad" and goes on to explain to me that if I have a 3G phone, it can be converted into a modem that will transfer internet to any computer it is tethered to.

"Whoopee", I say, averring as to how I certainly wish I had one, but that they were entirely out of my price range. "But oho" he says, "I happen to have one for sale". And so he proceeds to tell me that he had purchased this here top of the line Nokia 3G but now an iPhone has fallen into his chubby little hands and that he cannot/will not live without it, thus rendering the Nokia obsolete in his squinty eyes.

So to make a long story endless, I bought the Nokia from him for $100, figuring, if nothing else, I now had a groovy phone way cheap as the damn things retail here in Costa Rica for over $400. But lo and behold, I take it down to ICE, the utilities conglomerate that essentially runs the country, and yes, they can give me internet capability AND, better yet, make my new phone and my old laptop compatible. Shit boy Howdy.

So I sit in the chair in the brutally air conditioned ICE office (everyone who works there wears a jacket) for over an hour and a half while the Tico tech with a truly interestingly gelled non-hairdo puzzles and putzes over my two electric boxes. I meditated, I sang to myself, I listened to the air conditioner hum and out of nowhere his somewhat greasy face breaks into a wide grin as if he has opened the diamond vaults atAntwerp. Entonces and Voila! He has broken the code and he is going to share it with me.

And so, I know have the internet here at the "house on the hill" and I'm pretty damn happy about it. It does suck the charge out of the phone pretty damn fast, but if one pays attention it is a non-issue. Wondrous times in which we live.