tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35921018486845150942024-03-13T10:52:20.688-07:00Chef of the JungleThe Chef returns to the jungle!! I am back in Costa Rica, back in the kitchen, and home again! Join me in my new kitchen adventure at Ballena Bistro as Anja Sonnenberg and I create a healthy vegetable-centric cuisine.Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-14342173476117936432018-06-10T20:09:00.002-07:002018-06-10T21:36:29.670-07:00BOURDAIN<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="1e2se" data-offset-key="bdtu4-0-0" style="caret-color: rgb(29, 33, 41); color: #1d2129; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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The first time I met Anthony Bourdain was on a rainy night in San Francisco at A Clean Well Lighted Place for books. He was on his first ever book tour and was doing a reading from Kitchen Confidential, the chapter about how cooks talk to each other in the kitchen. A chapter which he chewed off and re-enacted with drama and gusto.<br />
The reading area had been set with about 30 chairs in-between a couple of bookshelves. Those filled quickly and it was standing room only behind<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"> the chairs, maybe 100 people. There was a contingent of California Culinary School drones in their stiff white coats, clutching their knife bags. I had had the good sense to arrive early and was up front in the second row.</span></div>
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The reading was great, and we all got an up-close and personal view of the energy and passion of the author/chef before he had become "the big thing". He read with passion for his own words and you could have heard the proverbial pin drop. Pre and post reading he spoke in that New York city rapid fire kitchen-speak that we have all come to know.<br />
After the reading I waited until the crowd had thinned a bit then introduced myself and told him he had written the East Coast version of my life. He laughed out loud and said, "you know, I hear that a lot. Let me see your hands." I showed him my right hand with my well-raised and seasoned knife callous and he laughed again. We talked "cook talk" for about ten minutes with people constantly breaking in. I wished him good luck on his tour and went back out into the rain.</div>
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The next time I saw him was the summer of 2015 and my girlfriend and sisters had bought me (and her) second row seats to his "Close to the Bone" speaking tour in Portland at the Arlene Schnitzer Hall which came with passes to a post talk "meet and greet" at a local restaurant.<br />
The talk was great. He spoke for nearly two hours without stopping, pausing briefly for slugs of water. He never hesitated--there were none of the "uhs, or mmms" of an unpracticed speaker. He was good. No, he was better than good, he was brilliant. The sold out hall was the antithesis of 30 chairs at the bookstore, and his schtick was more nuanced, but he was still the same.<br />
Post "show" we waited in line to have our posters, books, etc, signed and our pictures taken. When I got to the front, after shaking his hand, I reminded him of that reading in San Francisco over 15 years ago and he looked at me astonished and said, "You were there? I remember that," and laughed out loud. We both laughed when he said, "That was a lot different than this."</div>
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<span data-offset-key="bdtu4-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I was just asked a question on Quora, where I occasionally throw in my two cents worth, "What made Anthony Bourdain special to me?" From the looks of it there are a lot of Bourdain questions floating around on that site. But, being the kind of guy I am, I answered...</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="ftf7g-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Anthony Bourdain made being a professional cook acceptable. Well, not necessarily acceptable, but far less anonymous, mysterious and edgy.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="4hmmo-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">When I first encountered Anthony Bourdain, via an essay in the New Yorker, I had been working in the restaurant business for over 25 years. I was committed to and also used to the notion of having a career that lived forever on the borders of what was commonly accepted as reasonable employment. As cooks/chefs we were outlaws, bad boys, ex-cons, ad finitum, but mostly people who couldn’t hold jobs in a normal employment situation. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="8sh25-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">By the time Mr. Bourdain wrote the essay that blossomed into Kitchen Confidential, the Food Network was beginning to open people’s minds as to their relationship with food, but also to introduce them to chefs as people. As you may or may not recall, most of the “personalities” on the early Food Network were restaurant chefs.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="e5pui-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Kitchen Confidential told the story, or a version of it, of my life, but also the lives of countless other chefs/cooks who had labored in rather adverse conditions in complete obscurity for a dining public who was entirely clueless about the struggle that went on each day and night to get the food on their plates. The publicity garnered by Kitchen Confidential and subsequently Mr, Bourdain’s exposure (not to mention his charming personality) gave a face to those of us who had been laboring thusly and went a long way in helping to hold the profession of Chef in a far more acceptable light.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="b1d6t-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I am forever grateful to Anthony Bourdain for writing the East Coast version of my life in the kitchen but also for normalizing and even romanticizing to a certain degree the profession in which I continue to labor."</span></div>
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Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-22260829210975092602017-10-29T12:39:00.000-07:002017-10-29T13:48:25.854-07:00ALMOST THERE, PART 2 Building a MenuChef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-33641228465290135432017-10-29T11:36:00.000-07:002017-10-29T11:36:29.517-07:00ALMOST THERE! Part 1Part 1.<br />
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Almost there, yes, we are almost there. It has been an interesting and occasionally nerve-wracking couple of weeks planning, waiting, planning some more, and then waiting even more. In the midst of rainy season here on the Costa Ballena our piddling plans to have a special dinner and then install a new Chef with a partially new menu, there have been a few minor setbacks and some serious intervention from Mother Nature.<br />
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We weathered a major hit from Hurricane Nate that left several areas near us underwater. It poured buckets, sheets of rain for 48 hours. Power was out for anywhere from eight hours to two days depending on where one was and we lost water at Ballena Bistro for nearly three days. Two low-lying towns, Cortes and Sierpe were nearly washed away. Food drives, clothing drives, and house-cleaning drives (you should have seen the mud!) were organized as the community came together to help people get back on their feet.<br />
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But as will happen, Nate blew over, life went on, and so did Anja and my progress in building, or rebuilding our new venture. Feeling confident at that point we planned a special four course Dinner with the Chef of the Jungle for Friday night, October 27, and darned if we didn't book every seat within 24 hours. I wrote a menu that was comprised of favorite dishes I had done at La Cusinga, as a sort of "re-introduction" of me and my cooking style to the community. The dinner was creating a buzz, even during the "low season" and we were buzzed.<br />
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I got in the kitchen the Monday before the dinner with a couple of bags of nicely ripe tomatoes and made a batch of my Roasted Tomato Soup, a simple recipe, and a bit of a signature item for me. Simple it is, but delicious as well. We'd decided on "Death By Bananas" as a dessert and after I caramelized a couple of batches of bananas with butter and tapa dulce, the local cane sugar, Anja turned out some wonderful caramelzed banana ice creams. We were ON it! We'd made arrangements for the delivery of four pargo, the local ocean-going red snapper as our entree, to be paired with a green gazpacho sauce. We had put in our order for organic produce with my suppliers from seven years before, the married couple Mauren and Ademar. We were set, or so we thought.<br />
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But there was to be more. On the heels of Nate came Ophelia whose promise and portent was deemed of even greater impact by the prognosticators. No, this is not a trait exclusive to weathermen in the US, or anywhere else. It would seem that there is no TV weatherman anywhere who doesn't love a prediction of impending disaster. For the two of us the notion of impending disaster did not fit in at all well with dinner plans four days hence and after 24 hours of nervous pacing, multiple texts, and yes, that hand-wringing, we pulled the plug on the dinner. Sad, but even sadder would have been having several hundred dollars (or thousands of colones) worth of food and no way to cook it and no one to serve it to. People understood. <br />
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The postscript to all of this is that although we got some heavy rains we never did get the full power of the storm and it sat off the coast for a couple of days and gradually dissipated. Murphy's Law of restaurants tells me however, that if we had gone through with the dinner the storm would have clobbered us. The dinner will be revived at some point, but the next step comes this Tuesday with a partially new menu and a new kitchen for Chef Dave.Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-51079552155726626872017-10-11T17:31:00.001-07:002017-10-11T21:23:19.169-07:00First Day in the KitchenFirst Day in the Kitchen<br />
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It was about time. Anja and I had gotten the semi-permanent version of our first menu in place, so it was up to me to show that the Chef really could cook these things. We chose a Monday, but it would have had to have been a Monday as it's the only day the restaurant is closed. I didn't want to be stumbling around asking a bunch of stupid questions about where things were in front of the current staff, at least one of whom I would be working with. <br />
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Thus far, before being able to spend this day in the kitchen I had made it through moving out and all its attendant craziness; a killer cold that I contacted three days before I left Oregon but didn't really get to fully appreciate until I started getting on airplanes, one that lasted ten days; a day and a half of traveling, a hurricane and serious flooding, and a completely debilitating stomach virus that caused me to lose several (probably not really needed) pounds. So I was damn well ready to make the most of whatever time I had in my new kitchen, thank you very much.<br />
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We have decided, popular demand not withstanding, to make a few alterations to what is unquestionably a menu the locals, my soon-to-be regulars, have come to see as a constant in their lives. Each time I meet someone new, (or someone who "kind of " remembers me) I get asked to please, please, please not change this, that, or another item on the menu. Unfortunately if I am to honor each and every request no changes will be made at all and that's not what brought me here. So let's figure out how to turn on the oven.<br />
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The kitchen is larger and better equipped than a few I have worked here in Costa Rica, although much of the equipment, the gas grill and flattop grill for example, have gone unused by the current kitchen staff and are in need of heavy attention. In addition to those two vital pieces of equipment there are also ten burners, a deep fat fryer, and two operable ovens. There's plenty of counter space, but sadly, no refrigeration on the cooking line itself so unless things are out of the refrigerators and well-iced, a lot of walking needs to be done to reach the necessary items to be cooked. Every time. <br />
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These are all things that will soon be dealt with but we were there to cook. We had chosen four, maybe five items on which to do trial runs and once I kind of figured out where things were it was time to get down to it. When Anja had picked me up from the airport hotel a couple of weeks ago we had swung by a funky Asian market for ingredients and I was eager to get into those. I had picked up a gorgeous organic chicken at that Saturday's feria in Uvita, as well as beets, kale, quinoa, sunflower seeds, and pumpkin seeds. <br />
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I cut up the chicken just to get to the thighs, which I boned, skinned, and pounded out a bit to get them nice and flat, but not too thin. I wrapped up the other parts and set about making a Korean marinade that I had come up with when I was working up on Mt. Hood. It's got a lot of the things you might expect in it, ginger and garlic, soy, raw sugar, sesame seeds and oil, vinegar, and, of course, the main ingredient, Gochujang. Gochujang is a powerful paste distilled from fermented chiles and red beans and I love it. Into the marinade went those nicely pounded thighs. The cooking would come later and be done, “a la minute”, or as we say in the kitchen, “on the fly”. The other part of this dish would be a warm cabbage slaw, something I hadn’t made yet, but sounded good to me, so I sliced cabbage and onions, and ran a carrot over the mandoline into thin strips.<br />
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Roasted vegetables would be major component of the new falafel dish (and if you sense a vegetable orientation, your senses would be spot-on), along with lentils. Both of them would be pre-cooked and then tossed in a lemon-herb vinaigrette style dressing and would serve as a platform for the cooked falafel. I cubed onion, zucchini, eggplant, peppers and halved peeled garlic and tossed them with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Into the oven they went for roasting at somewhere between (I don’t know my non-centigrade oven temps yet) 350-400 degrees. I wanted them still firm but with a bit of color from the roasting. For the lentils I sautéed diced carrots, onions, and garlic, added the lentils and water and slowly brought them up to a boil. I wanted them cooked, but still a bit firm, certainly not mushy. <br />
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Next up was the Dragon Bowl, a vegetarian, and this case vegan as well, dish from my days upon Mt. Hood at Mt. Hood Medadows Ski Resort. My rendition of it there been my best selling vegetarian dish ever so why wouldn’t I trot it out again? The main ingredients are simple enough, cooked quinoa, shredded kale, medium slices of roasted chiles (jalapeno, and mild red) and onions, and some kind of nut or seed in a semi-spicy vegetarian Thai curry. To get ready for it I cooked off the quinoa so it was nice and fluffy, tore the kale into bite sized pieces, and cut the peppers and onions into strips. The sauce is simple--coconut milk heated with ginger, cilantro, miso, and Thai yellow curry paste. A 20 minute simmer is all that's required for the flavors to come together and while they did I tossed the peppers and onions in light cooking oil and roasted them in the oven. This is another dish that will be cooked at the last minute, taking only 4-5 minutes in the pan.<br />
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Anja had spied a salad she liked in a cookbook we are enjoying that employs thin cut planks of jicama but since we have no jicama here we decided to try both yucca and chayote. Yucca is a fibrous root vegetable, local to our area, and it proved to be all wrong--too fibrous and not at all good tasting raw. It also turns out that eating raw yucca can be bad for you, as it contains hydrogen cyanide precursors. Good thing it didn't work. It was also a good thing that our local chayote squash, peeled and sliced into planks on the mandoline were nicely crunchy and just mild enough for our purposes.<br />
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The salad we had seen was served on a pool of a minted emulsion sauce, but our efforts didn't give us what we wanted. The sauce kept separating and it was back to the drawing board. Anja's next effort, with basil rather than mint held together pretty nicely and tasted damn good. In my mind it was a keeper. The other components of this salad were something red, berries (maybe pomegranate?) in the original, but roasted beet cut into small dice and soaked in red wine vinegar for our purposes; orange segments, and again, because we had them, roasted sunflower seeds for crunch. <br />
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All of this sounds as if it came together in scant moments, but with the working in a new kitchen (for me), the experimentation, the new ideas, plus a trip to the store it took over four hours for all of this to get ready to cook. Once we had the deep fryer up and running the falafel came together easily and it was just as I had imagined it. Separately I dressed the cooked chilled lentils and roasted vegetables in a simple lemon-herb-oil mix and set them on the left and right hand side of the plate. A nice sprig of watercress went at the top and I drizzled that with the dressing for good measure. I quartered the hot crisp falafel and set it on the top as casually cool as I could manage and drizzled it with a simple minted yogurt. I liked it. Anja liked it. Her son Felipe like it. Bingo.<br />
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Next up was the Dragon Bowl and it was a simple bang, bang, bang. Into a hot saute pan went a tiny bit of cooking oil, some chopped garlic and ginger, and the torn moistened kale. Sputter spit went the pan and I tossed the kale to coat it with the oil and and then dashed in some vegetable stock to help it steam and wilt slightly. On top of that went a small handful of the roasted chiles and onions. I spooned in about a cup of cooked quinoa and retossed the pan so that everything was nicely mixed. It was a simple process to add a cup or so of the yellow curry sauce and I turned the heat down to let it all simmer together. I pull down a large wide soup bowl and using tongs lifted the mass of greens veggies, and quinoa into the bowl and gently poured the curry sauce around it. Crunchy toasted sunflower seeds went on top along with a mixture of chopped mint and basil. Yes. Again, we liked it. A lot.<br />
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It was time to cook the marinated chicken and into a hot hot pan it went. Part of the process with this dish is to caramelize the marinade on the outside of the chicken, forming a tasty crust. Ideally I would cook this on a charbroiler or on a hot griddle, but a pan is what we had and it did what it was supposed to do. While the chicken was cooking I heated chicken stock in another pan and added the thin strips of carrot. I let that come to a boil and added the onions and cabbage. I gave it a good toss and added white vinegar and pineapple juice to the pan. I wanted the cabbage to wilt and be coated with a sweetened yet tart flavor. When the cabbage softened it went on the plate and the two pieces of chicken went on either side with some cilantro over the top. <br />
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This was the first not fully realized dish but it would be an easy fix. The chicken was good, crisp on the outside and moist in the middle but salty from too much soy. No problem The cabbage was too tart, the plate seemed incomplete--it needed something else to bring it together. It was decided that the legendary green rice would make the plate fuller and that less vinegar and more pineapple would be better. It was agreed that the cabbage should wilt just a bit more. And I decided that I want to put pieces of caramelized pineapple over the top of the chicken. Like I said, easy fix.<br />
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Last was the salad and while Anja was harsh on herself and her creation, her son Felipe and I both raved about it. The basil crema had been pooled on the plate, the planks of chayote were laid around and on it in a casually arranged fashion, the oranges were dropped in here and there as were the jewels of vinegared beets. Anja tucked some sprigs of cress in and around the chayote and dotted the plate with toasted sunflower seeds. Mis amigos, this one was a winner--crunchy, sweet, tart, creamy, all the things you like on one plate. Yes, the red wine vinegar was a bit harsh for the beets but not overly so, balsamic will be better, but everything else on the plate worked. I could tell that because Felipe used his fork to scrape every last bit off the plate. The proof is in the eating.<br />
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Not bad for the first time in the kitchen and the first tries at these dishes. There are some good tweaks, minor tweaks we can make, but I think we were all pleased with the results. Now, of course, the test will be convincing those people who just can't bear for the menu to change. I have faith, however, that we can and will slowly bring them around. They might just like something new.<br />
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<br />Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-50602800339576921322017-09-30T16:38:00.000-07:002017-09-30T16:51:31.424-07:00He Llegado (I have arrived)!AND HE'S BACK!!!<br />
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He llegado, as we say here in Costa Rica. I have arrived!<br />
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The traveling is but a distant memory and I am happily in residence in my little cabina in the jungle.<br />
All the purging, packing, cleaning, and moving is behind me. I successfully navigated 150# of "stuff" in a trunk, a suitcase, a carry-on, and a backpack from my apartment to the rental car, from the rental car to the hotel, and then finally, at 4:30 in the morning, to the Portland airport. After eight hours in the air the process was repeated in reverse upon arriving in San Jose, Costa Rica. I must express my gratitude to all the people who helped my push, pull, haul and shove this bulky assemblage on its journey.<br />
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Anja was kind enough to make the trip up the coast and into the big city to pick me up and we took off down into the center of San Jose on a shopping expedition. I had wanted to gather a small pantry of Asian flavors to combine with the various vegetable and fish dishes we had in mind. Mostly I was after miso. Anja got us right to the Asian market without a hitch and when we arrived it was hard to even tell it was a market. But then we went in through the barred doors to a rather stunning array of groceries, ranging the map from China to Japan with stops in Korea and Thailand. Naturally I had to have some of everything--yes, miso-two kinds, Thai curry pastes, noodles, Hoisin sauce, wonton wrappers, gluten free soy, and more and more.<br />
From there was a stop at PriceSmart, the Central American version of CostCo, for more restaurant supplies, groceries, etc. before we hit the road toward the Costa Ballena and, more importantly, lunch.<br />
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The drive from San Jose to the coast is mostly one lane and it lurches along behind over-filled ancient pick-up trucks, fruit vendors, and drivers intent on keeping to the 80kmh (49.7mph) speed limit. It may take me a while to remember I'm not driving up and down Hiway 84 through the Columbia River Gorge. The drive is hilly and wooded until it reaches the turnoff to Jaco, at the coast, where it is a bit flatter, but for one or two places, and substantially more tropical. The road to Jaco is filled with funky fruit stands, each displaying rows of papayas, bananas, pineapples, and the more exotic local fruits like maricuya (passion fruit), along with dyed tapestries and cold drinks. <br />
<br />
About halfway to the coast we crossed Rio Tarcoles, famous for it's crocodiles, and sure enough there were entire families peering over the guard rail down into the river to get a look. Anja commented that they've always just looked like floating gray lumps and I'm inclined to agree. Past the river the highway begins to run along a gulf and there is evidence of approaching the coast. There are plenty of marisquerías (seafood restaurants) along the highway to Jaco, some with just funky little wooden benches under an awning, and some full-blown restaurants. We chose one with a lovely covered patio that sat right at the edge of the beach and lunch was on. No other customers were there but that seemed to be the norm at all the places we passed. But when we pulled in there was a Tico gentleman beckoning to us where to park. Classy!<br />
<br />
We were close to the water, in fact right on it, and there were fishing boats pulled up onto the beach. There was a wonderful breeze coming in off the water. All was good. We could see a fisherman sitting in the shade on his upturned boat mending a net. Yes, the real deal.<br />
Anja had ceviche and I ordered a coctel de camarones "pinkies". There were two choices of shrimp, jumbo and the pinkies, which can range greatly in size. The prices reflected it as the jumbo coctel was 14,000 colones, or about $25, and the pinkies were 6700 colones, $11.70 in US dollars. Anja's ceviche looked good and was nice and fresh, but the coctel blew me away. I was presented a parfait glass with 15 (!!) beautiful perfectly cooked fresh shrimp ringed around a bowl of sauce, that were BIG and deliciously sweet. Eating that shrimp, hanging out with Anja, and looking out across the beach at the beautiful blue sea and sky was the best welcome home I could have had.<br />
<br />
Since I have arrived Anja and I have met several times and at her urging we created a "mind map" of all the things we want to do and need to do, both immediately and in the glowing future. Our ambitions are high and I like that. We've already scheduled a reservation only Dinner with the Chef of the Jungle in late October. We're both thinking beyond just the restaurant and dreaming about making and selling our own vinegars, sauces, and pickles; getting a functional hydroponic garden up and producing, and raising chickens for our own eggs. To be able to become as fully sustainable and self-supporting as possible is the dream. Yes, it will be step by step, but WHY NOT??<br />
<br />
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<br />Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-82438694605344954972017-09-20T18:02:00.000-07:002017-09-20T18:07:00.591-07:00Leaving This Town, Part 2 (A whole different trip)Leaving This Town, Part 2<br />
<br />
There is an entry, far far back in this blog, that chronicled the frantic, sweaty, vodka-soaked exit I made from San Francisco back in the Fall of 2005. It was filled with (cock)tails, insincere good-byes, and a lot of self-serving palaver. It may have made for entertaining reading but it was actually a rather pathetic time in my life, one that would soon change.<br />
<br />
We now move ahead 12 years and here I am, again making the big move to Costa Rica. This time, however, things are a bit more orderly, a bit more composed, and yes, sober. Rather than moving into the great unknown, I am heading to something that I know well enough that it draws me back. This journey south, in reality, the third move to Costa Rica, is one filled with promise and ease rather than the boozy faux-confidence of the first and the nervous, newly sober anticipation of the second.<br />
Hey, this time I got places to go and things to do and I couldn't be happier about it.<br />
<br />
To get back to the "leaving this town" part, however, requires a bit of background. I moved to The Dalles first as a four day a week semi-commuter, and then as things changed, as things do, as a single guy in a small apartment. While there has been a bit of the sifting through the accumulated detritus of well paid, single guy life (too many jackets!!), this has been the exact opposite of my move from San Francisco twelve years ago. This time I am not leaving a place I loved dearly, nor am I leaving a place where I had lived for 15 years. I am also not trying to pack, edit, and organize my life while in a constant alcoholic haze. This time I had a plan, I made lists, I gave myself enough time, time not uninterrupted by endless social engagements. Funny how quitting drinking will do that to/for you.<br />
<br />
When I realized I would be moving I began to assemble lists of the things I knew I would have to<br />
jettison in order to beat a hasty and neat departure. First, of course was the car. I had bought myself a beautiful 2016 Subaru Crosstrek, thinking, at the time, that it would be the last car I'd own, that I'd drive through each and every snowstorm and across every iced street in it until I could no longer grasp the wheel or see the road. When I bought it at the end of last October in anticipation (I must have sensed something coming) of a nasty winter, I figured it meant I would me, might well be, staying in Oregon for some time. <br />
<br />
The old saying, "Man plans, God laughs" is all so very fitting for my car plans, my Oregon plans, my future plans. When it became clear to me last April that I was to be a Costa Rican homeowner it also became clear that I would have to part with the first car I've ever truly loved. I was sure, however, fiercely certain, that there would be a line of people stretching out my door for the opportunity to buy my "desert khaki", leather-seated, All Wheel Drive baby. Was that ever a harsh lesson.<br />
<br />
It turns out that running ads on any of the Facebook community want-ad sites here in the Columbia Gorge only attracted a whole passel of "looky Lous" who were more interested in things cheap or free<br />
than they were things that were of value, but still a good deal. I had begun by pricing my Crosstrek at $2000 under what the dealerships were getting for the same year and model. A shattering lack of response had me nudging the price down, and as the days of my time here in The Dalles dwindled a mild form of panic set in. I knew for a fact that if I were to return my car to the dealership that they<br />
would screw me several shades of blue. <br />
<br />
For some reason I kept trying this part of the Gorge area, The Dalles and Hood River, sure that the people here knew about winter and that they knew about Subaru. I went through a whole week of getting no responses and then, at last, I had a buyer. She was a lovely young woman with two kids and two dogs; a California transplant who knew she needed a Subaru. However, after stringing me along unintentionally for five days as she exhausted her loan possibilities, she dropped out. Finally the light bulb went off--Craigslist, Portland. Why not? And within an hour of posting the ad, albeit for just as much as I needed to pay off the remainder of the loan, I had the line out the door I had been dreaming of. My buyer was willing to drive from Portland to The Dalles, coming over Mt.<br />
Hood because of the fires, and within 24 hours the car was sold. <br />
<br />
The same pattern repeated itself with the clothing I tried to sell for pennies on the dollar, and even cookware. Most peculiar. Unless I was giving stuff away, there were no takers. So I gave it away--to Goodwill and St. Vincent de P's, winter clothes, lots of them. And that's fine. I've managed to donate boxes of books to the local library, and the ones they didn't want also went to St. Vinnie and Goodwill. I hired a local mover to take the last of my furniture, the things that were far too heavy for this energetic but senior guy to take down the stairs, again to St. Vincent's. A large portion of the last three years of my life is now up there. Does anyone want some monogrammed chef coats, though? Perfect.<br />
<br />
Tonight I sit in my nearly empty apartment, two lawn chairs, a camp chair, and two end tables are all that's left. I pack and repack the trunk to get the most of what I want in it, but still keeping it at just under 50#. I'm debating on suitcases, but keep coming back to the reality that I don't need nearly as much as I think I do. So much of this move is about simplifying. I look forward to my log cabin, a wardrobe consisting of shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops, and a job that is about cooking and working with someone I know and respect. It will not be about the accruals for the winter quarter. In five days I will be leaving this town. I couldn't be happier.Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-20525015840414000912017-08-31T13:55:00.000-07:002017-09-03T15:39:16.029-07:00The Journey Begins--First StepsI am sitting at my desk in my cabina looking out the swinging wooden window down my driveway to the bumpy dirt road that passes in front. The air is clean, and it's warming up after the morning clouds have thinned. There is a constant undercurrent of thrumming from cicadas, birds, and whatever else is out there in the trees expressing its alegria para vivir (joy for life). It is early on in my residency in this, my new home, four days is all and despite it being a brief stay, I'm already developing a resentment over having to leave. This is home.<br />
<br />
I've brought down three pieces of luggage, two of them right at the 50 pound limit the airlines allow. (In reality, one was over, but the woman checking in baggage was so harassed and overwhelmed by the Saturday morning airport mobs that she let it go.) I brought clothes, toiletries, some carefully packed framed artwork, a stereo woofer/speaker set-up, kitchen supplies, and, even though I was advised not to, books. I've placed things somewhat tentatively around the cabina, still not knowing where they will ultimately end up. It will all fall into place--or it won't.<br />
<br />
Until Hurricane Harvey hit, the only thing that had made me nervous upon leaving for this trip was the luggage, its weight, and my bad back; recipe for a travel disaster. But it couldn't have been easier. From the van driver at the not so nicely maintained Airport Ramada in Portland, to the baggage handler at the San Jose airport (a charming Tico named Isiah), to the guy from the rental car agency who met me outside the airport they were all happy to help me and grateful for a generous tip. Fortunately Hurricane Harvey was a non-issue as American Airlines goes through Dallas and not Houston.<br />
<br />
Once I found my way out of Costa Rica's capital, San Jose, and only after a couple of mis-turns and backtracks, the drive on a Sunday was slow going but beautiful. The coast was my destination, and the first city there is Jaco, a beautiful spot, despite being a tourist mecca marred by ugly hotels, some of them unfinished or abandoned. The highway, or carreterra leading to Jaco is hilly and winding and the Costa Rican Traficos have set a low speed limit which is well enforced. The latest threat is taking away the license plates of rental cars which have been caught speeding.<br />
<br />
<br />
It was just over three hours from hotel to cabina and I arrived gratefully, happily, and ready, oh so ready, to be HERE. When I bumped and bounced the poor rental car over the raised dirt across the culvert that took me through my front gates I couldn't help but notice, first thing, the work and care that my friend/caretaker Jackie and her son Aury had put into landscaping the yard--stones arranged on either side of the driveway, succulents, flowering plants, it all looked great! The work is still going on, but what a great start. With Jackie's help I dragged the heavy suitcase and trunk into the house and this part of the journey was done.<br />
<br />
I did a rough unloading of the over-packed luggage and bumped back down the road I live on to the Costanera, the main highway, to visit my other new home, Ballena Bistro. It was a good reunion with my soon-to-be business partner Anja Sonnenberg and we got right down to it. We have met four times since I got here and every time all we can talk about is the things we want to do and the things we can do. We've got dreams and we've got the passion and the emotional werewithal to make it happen. Our dreams are about more than the food and creating more and more happy customers. We want a retail outlet in the front of the building, cooking classes, and monthly (and perhaps more) special dinners. <br />
<br />
Ballena Bistro is a successful operation and I am extremely grateful to be coming into a situation with so much already going for it. Anja has both passion and integrity for what she has been doing and we hope to carry that to the next level, and the level beyond. I hope that my love for cooking, my years of experience, and my devotion to quality ingredients will help push us in a direction that satisfies us just as it satisfies our guests. This future is wide-open and I am so excited to get to be a part of it.<br />
<br />
I'll head back to the US tomorrow, to floods, fires, and Donald Trump. All that's left is to finish out my last four days in the Google kitchens, sell my car, and empty and clean my apartment. I'll say a few good-byes, but I can't wait to get back here, to the jungles, to my new home, and to Ballena Bistro. The future awaits.Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-34720079880041239512017-08-19T11:43:00.003-07:002017-08-20T15:41:12.975-07:00So How Did This Happen?SO HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?<br />
<br />
As I continue the packing and purging process I occasionally stop to marvel at how seemingly quickly this all came about--my decision to move back to Costa Rica, how the cabina I will call home fell into my lap, and how my now business partnership with Anja at the Ballena Bistro came about.<br />
Perhaps you wonder as well...<br />
<br />
Eight years ago (it may have been nine) I rented a little log cabin in the jungle, down a dirt road and a mile or so off the main coastal highway that runs along the Pacific and through the town of Uvita. It was perfect for me. It was within a 15 minute drive to work, it had a large covered back deck, it sat back far enough from the road, and it had every simple convenience I might need. For reasons we need not go into, after eight or nine months I ended up moving out of it for the lure of a house-sitting opportunity that included free rent in a lovely house higher up in the hills that looked out at the Pacific. Who could blame me?<br />
<br />
We now move forward to the late winter/early spring of 2016 and I am in Oregon, working as the Executive Chef/GM at a Google Data Center and going through heavy chemotherapy for treatment of lymphoma. I'm not feeling so good and really have no idea what lies ahead and how much of it there will be. Interrupting this somewhat depressing scenario I get an email from a woman whom I've never met who happens to have bought the cabina in the jungle that I had rented. She is inquiring as to whether I, as a former dweller/tenant in the cabina might be interested in buying it from her. It has proven to be too small for she and her husband and the price she offers me is great, reasonable, but as I have no idea what my (hoped for) recovery holds I have to tell her that no, this is not something I can do. Sigh...<br />
<br />
Let's move forward another year, to the horrible, dismal, ugly, frozen winter of 2016-17. I have decided that, as Popeye once said, "I've stood all I can stand, I can't stand no more..." and that there will be no more winters in The Dalles, OR for me. I can no longer endure three and four layers of ice in the streets, the only passageway to Portland and civilization being shut down for 3-4 days at a time, and having to put on knee-high snow boots just to get out to my car. No!!<br />
<br />
It also turns out that I am struggling to endure the encroaching and ever-widening corporate maw that is taking over the food operation I run at the local Google Data Center. What was once a real cooking Chef job, creating the menu daily, buying local produce, and supporting local vendors is and was rapidly turning into a purely administrative position. I spend my time supporting corporate ideals and turning over my freedom to purchase and cook the ingredients for which I live. <br />
<br />
And so the still fertile Mahler mind begins to churn with dreams of heading back to the jungle, to reaching out to the friends and connections I made when last I cooked there, to where my heart lies (lay?). I contact my friends at La Cusinga to inquire as to whether or not they might have knowledge of any properties that might fit in with my meager retirement dollar. I contact other friends via Facebook, and all the usual social media options. Sadly, it seems that my meager retirement dollar isn't going to get me very far. Until the notion pops into my aging and occasionally sieve-like mind to get back in touch with the owners of the little cabina in the jungle on the outside chance, hope, dream, that it might not have sold. <br />
<br />
As they say, as the Four Tops said, I reach out. I reach out in the darkness in the dim hope that my dim hopes might brighten. I wrote back to ask about the cabina in the jungle, has it sold, and Que Milagro, it has not!! The couple who owned it, a couple of Canadians, decided to stay in it another year to gather their resources and are just getting ready to put it on the market. Without a moment's hesitation I tell them I'll take it. They accept my offer. I am stunned, then...YES!!! I WILL own the cabina, and I WILL move back to Costa Rica. <br />
<br />
Now, being a landholder in Costa Rica I write back to friends and connections and in those writings I contact via Facebook Messenger, my friend Anja Sonnenberg, the owner of the Ballena Bistro, a very cool little jungle restaurant that sits just off that coastal highway. I tell her of my return to Costa Rica and the first thing that pops up on her Messenger screen is "No Shit!! Let's work together!" Another semi-miracle. I WILL cook again in Costa Rica!!<br />
<br />
I had already booked a trip to New Orleans to visit my old friends Philipe and Debbie for Jazz Fest and it was oh so easy to just piggyback a little jaunt further south and down into Central America on the back end of my trip. I had sent the check, I had written to the abogado (attorney), and I was ready to put my name on the paper. I had a whirlwind visit to Costa Rica following a wonderful four days in the Big Easy and put my name on the papers, met with Anja, and caught up with old friends to share my good news<br />
<br />
The second half of the equation, the other piece of the puzzle had fallen into my lap, even easier than had the first. I was and still am somewhat stunned by the ease with which this happened. Now I pack, and I purge, I visit Goodwill, and the homes of friends who will help me store my things. I am finishing out at work, and I am readying myself for a pack mule/reconnaissance trip to Uvita at the end of next week. It is all happening SO fast, but I can handle it. After all, it's time to go home.<br />
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<br />Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-15347069302594958722017-07-31T12:21:00.000-07:002017-07-31T12:24:43.620-07:00The Blog Awakes!!The Blog Awakes!!<br />
<br />
Yes, I am taking the wraps off the sleeping Chef of the Jungle blog and giving it new life, just as I am giving myself new life by returning to the kitchen. I am leaving my big-time Corporate Chef job in which I spend 80% of my day in my office for the heat, the intensity, the creativity, and the love of the kitchen. I've risen to the point of not even being a clipboard carrier, but to one who oversees the clipboard carrier, and I am DONE.<br />
<br />
As well, I am leaving the bewildering, shaky, and not so friendly confines of the United States, to return to Costa Rica. I am going into partnership with my friend Anja Sonnenberg in her Ballena Bistro on the Costanera in the Zona Sur. For those of you unfamiliar with the lay of the land down there, this is way down the southern Pacific coast at the top of the Osa Peninsula, about two hours north of Panama. The area has been dubbed the "Costa Ballena" in honor of the annual migration of the whales who arrive to spawn, to calve, and to frolic each Spring.<br />
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I am looking forward to returning to the creativity I felt daily in Costa Rica, the land of beautiful fresh fish, mangoes, pineapples, papayas and so much more. Anja and I are both concerned about eating and serving healthy foods so as we change the menu together it will be with an eye and a palate tuned to a more vegetable-centric cuisine. This is not to say we won't be serving fresh fish, locally raised organic chickens, or some of the great pork that is raised in Costa Rica, but vegetables and fruits will play an equally important role in our cooking.<br />
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I've got a head full of ideas and am counting down the days. Stay tuned here as the Chef of the Jungle rides again!!!Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-13921831893576932432014-03-24T21:31:00.000-07:002014-03-24T21:31:23.998-07:00Traveling On Our StomachsTRAVELING ON OUR STOMACHS<br />
<br />
Kathy and I have set out on a rare vacation that has taken us from Portland to Scottsdale/Phoenix and will continue on mid-week to Austin, TX.<br />
<br />
Our first night in Portland we ate at a restaurant that has been on my "need to try" list since I moved to Oregon, Ned Ludd. The restaurant is named, of course, after Ned Ludd who became the figurehead of the Luddites in the early 19th Century because he broke two stocking frames in a fit of rage in the 1790's. In the tradition of the Luddites Ned Ludd embraces, to a certain degree, a return to simplicity. All of the cooked food at Ned Ludd comes either out of a roaring wood-fired oven that is the center-piece of the restaurant or a smoker that puffs away out on the front patio.<br />
<br />
Ned Ludd sits in a storefront on Portland's MLK Jr. Boulevard in a neighborhood that might be described as "just beyond transition". There are restaurants opening up and down the street and what was once a rather ominous part of the city is opening up. The restaurant, remaining true to its ideals and name, is rather simply adorned with found art, food related tchotchkes and lots of recycled wood. Service is unpretentious and friendly. The menu changes monthly and like so many of the good Portland restaurants relies on the seasons to drive its menu direction. The choices are divided into four parts, Forbits, Kaltbits, Warmbits and Plats.<br />
<br />
We started off with a generous bowl of oven-warmed olives and the de rigeur Martini for Kathy. Fortunately for them they were serving Aviation gin. The first course offerings were interesting and included a generous plate of house made charcuterie, but what really grabbed us were the salad and vegetable sides (Kaltbits/Warmbits). We wanted to try all of them. We settled for a smoky charred salad of oven roasted cauliflower with a bright green nettle sauce and pine nuts and an escarole salad with paper thin slices of sunchoke topped with an olive bread crumb and tossed with a creamy dijon dressing. Both were excellent, but I STILL want to try the Arugula salad with oven roasted beets, fresh local sheep's cheese and pistachios as well as the Roasted potatoes with Spring goddess dressing.<br />
<br />
Back to the oven for our entrees, a bronzed stuffed quail for me and Petrale sole for Kathy. My quail was one of the best I've eaten, stuffed with braised bitter greens and sauced with a nice bird reduction sweetened slightly with dried fruit. The quail sat on a thick bed of oven-roasted root vegetables and was topped with a scatter of mizuna leaves. As I said, one of the best quail dishes I've ever had. Kathy's sole was good, but certainly not supernal (thanks, George). The fish was rolled into cylinders and roasted with chanterelles, white wine, raabs and leeks. The sauce was "nice" and the fish was fresh, but the whole dish didn't elevate past "good" into "great".<br />
<br />
We finished off with something called a "Tarte de Perigord" which was a custard infused with brandy soaked dried fruits and baked in the wood oven in a small cast iron skillet. I was skeptical, but it was a great way to end the meal; slightly sweet and slightly rich. I couldn't be absolutely certain but it seemed to go well with the local Pear Brandy that Kathy had with her coffee. I liked Ned Ludd so much that I wish we lived closer to Portland so I could go once a month to see how the menu changes. The meal wasn't exorbitantly expensive and the whole experience was totally charming and satisfying.<br />
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
And onto Phoenix; warm weather, a pre-fab feel and mountains off across the horizon. Lots of gated communities and some of the most aggressive and rude drivers I've ever encountered. BUT, amidst all that, we got to see Spring Training baseball and family. Hard to beat that.<br />
<br />
Oh yes, there was the pilgrimage to Pizzeria Bianco. Fifteen years ago a chef friend told me about this guy in Phoenix who was making the best pizza he'd ever eaten. He said the guy was a crust perfectionist and that the line stretched around the block before the place even opened each day. I started reading about him in the food press a couple of years later and then hadn't heard much about him as the culinary trends changed. He was still down here, though, building a mini-empire of two good-sized full service restaurants and a newer location called Pane Bianco.<br />
<br />
I insisted that we go. I was here, it was here and I wasn't taking no for an answer. Good thing.<br />
We found the place inside a Town and Country shopping center and the line was still there. <br />
We were told it would be a 25-30 minute wait and it was more like 45 minutes but it was all okay.<br />
We sat outside on a lovely warm evening and while Kathy and her daughter Chelsea drank very expensive Chardonnay the kids ran around and I just dug the smells coming out of the wood burning ovens.<br />
<br />
We sat down and they immediately dropped warm house-baked bread and SOME REALLY GOOD OLIVE OIL in front of us. We scarfed the first plate of bread up so fast the busser laughed as he dropped the second one. The menu is so simple as to be deceptive, but don't worry. This place rocks! We ordered a simple salad of local greens and a classic Caprese salad and they were both exemplary. The greens featured a good amount of escarole, olives and a nicely light vinaigrette. The tomatoes in the Caprese were actually ripe and they included the top with the green vine on the side of the plate as evidence of its freshness. The mozzarella was homemade, creamy and actually had flavor. Fresh green basil leaves and more of that great green olive oil made me remember why this is one of the great dishes.<br />
<br />
We ordered a Margherita for the kids and a sauceless pizza with more of that house made mozzarella that had been smoked, caramelized onions, and long slices of a perfectly spicy fresh made sausage. These were seriously good pizzas. Seriously. Good pizza depends on a good crust and this was GREAT crust. It was smoky, salty, perfectly chewy and one of the best pizza crusts I have ever eaten. It is now the benchmark for me. As you might imagine, the pizzas disappeared in record time.<br />
<br />
It is rare that a pizza place offers dessert, but we were in the mood and the kids ears perked up at the mention of "flourless chocolate cake". I am SO glad we ordered dessert! The chocolate cake was good, really good, but the lemon tart I had was ethereal, everything you ever wanted in a lemon tart. It was sweet, creamy, tart, all of it. And the crust was great. Accompanying and elevating both these desserts was a rich and delicious vanilla creme chantilly. Another bullseye here.<br />
<br />
I would go back to Pizzeria Biano tomorrow and maybe the next day. It was that good.<br />
<br />
And so, on to Austin...Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-35319169412102254542013-02-21T16:50:00.001-08:002018-06-07T11:26:22.078-07:00GUMBO: The RecipeGUMBO Pt 2 The Recipe (or not)<br />
<br />
<br />
I'll put the disclaimer right at the top<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. This is not going to be a recipe like you might be used to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. This is NOT going to be a listing of ingredients followed by the steps of how to put them together; exactly</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Those things will all be here, but it seems to me that writing down a recipe for gumbo like you're making cookies or salad dressing compromises the depth, the mystery, the secret codes and the soul of what gumbo really is</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Gumbo is how you feel that day</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Gumbo is what you happen to have lying around</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Gumbo is and was survival food</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. There are as many different versions of gumbo as there are cooks who have cooked it</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. This one happens to be ONE of mine</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">The last time I wrote down a recipe for gumbo it was for my younger sister and it ran to about eight pages and included a lot of legend and lore</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Sadly, her treasured recipe book, wherein my treatise was stored, was stolen by the jealous ex-wife of her now husband and whatever wisdom/knowledge/hearsay I imparted has flown to the winds</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. It is not at all unlikely that whatever I happen to write here my contradict much of what I wrote then</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Gumbo is like that</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. I'm like that</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. She said hers came out pretty good</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Another disclaimer early on is that I have always made gumbo in batches anywhere from 5 to 15 gallons</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. This will not be that big and as a result, the amounts may not be precise</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Bear with me; improvise and intuit</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Lastly, remember that this is just a base recipe. You will be expected/advised to add the goodies: crab, shrimp, oysters, duck, etc., per your own tastes and desires.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">There are two lists of ingredients, mandatory and optional</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">The mandatories are:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Roux</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Stock</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">The Holy Trinity of Vegetables plus garlic, jalapenos, green onions and okra (cut frozen is just fine)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Andouille</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Chicken Legs</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">S&P</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">And the optionals are:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Hot Sauce</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Tasso</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Seafood (shrimp, crab, crawfish, oysters</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Rice (although this is more of a given; it's gotta have rice)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">BLACK ROUX</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">2 Cups All Purpose Flour</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">2 Cups Canola Oil (or Canola Oil and some rendered bacon fat)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Let's start with roux, a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">simple mix of equal parts of flour and fat that is traditionally used for thickening soups and sauces</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. We won't bother with any of that white and blonde roux stuff</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. We won't even pretend that this is for thickening; it isn't</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. This is gumbo and the roux is "as black as your arm if your arm was black" and it is cooked to the point where nearly all the gluten, the thickening agent, is cooked out of it</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. What it does do is give gumbo that elusive, haunting smoky and almost burned flavor for which it is famous</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. The roux is so simple yet so ultimately critical to the final flavor of your gumbo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">I use canola oil for my roux and if I happen to have some rendered bacon fat I'll mix that in with it when I heat it up</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. I find that a light simple oil like canola is easy to work with, smokes at a relatively high heat and blends easily</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Yes, the bacon renderings add flavor, but you're going to need a WHOLE lot of bacon fat if you want to use it exclusively for your roux and honestly, clarified butter is just too damned expensive</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">There is a school of thought that subscribes to the theory that in order to make a proper roux you have to heat the oil to a flashpoint, add the flour as fast as you can (without creating napalm) and then stir like a mo' fo' until it turns black</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. I'm not sure why this is a popular theory, but I don't do that</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. No, I don't.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> Heat the oil slowly until it comes up to point well below smoking and stir in your flour</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Keep the flame somewhere between low and medium and relax</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> Put on some music you love and hang out with your roux for a while, stirring and stirring</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. It is critical at this point that you use a wooden spoon or something that will easily insinuate itself into the edges (or corners) of your pan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. You don't ever, ever, ever want the roux to stick to the pan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">You will, with patience, begin to observe the roux slowly, very slowly changing color, or at first you may just wish you were</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. But yes, it will begin to change color and edge away from the whitish tan glop you have been stirring toward something a bit suaver and tanner</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. The stirring will also become easier as the roux heats through. As the roux cooks, the gluten, that is the thickening agents, begin to cook out of it and the roux will become thinner and thinner the longer it cooks</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Continue to exercise your patience, rock back and forth (or sway) to the music and keep stirring</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">There will be a direct parallel between the thickness of the roux and the color as it cooks</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> As the roux grows darker it becomes quite thin and needn't be stirred so arduously</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Before the flour is fully cooked is when the roux is most in danger of burning</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. You will now begin to work your way through the gradations of color; ecru, tan, peanut butter and finally, oh yes, finally at last into the chocolates</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Keep the roux moving but look for it (or at least I look for it) to turn the color of a good chocolate sauce</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. When it hits that point take the pan off the flame and put it somewhere to slowly cool</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Keep stirring because you do want the roux to keep cooking, although you've effectively slowed the process down</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. This will bring the roux to the ultimate "black" color all on its own</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. The pan can now sit, unrefrigerated, until you feel ready to make your gumbo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Do go back and give it frequent stirs during its first half hour off the stove</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. As the roux cools it will separate slowly; let it</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">GUMBO STOCK</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">2 Gallons Previously Made Chicken Stock</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">8-12 Whole Chicken Legs</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">2 Cups Rough Chopped Yellow Onion</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">4 Seeded and Rough Chopped Green Bell Peppers</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">1 Head Rough Chopped Celery</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">1 Cup Rough Chopped Green Onions</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">2-3 Heads Smashed Garlic</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">All the Chicken Bones you've saved</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">All the Shrimp Shells you've saved</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">All the Crab Shells you've saved </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">It is absolutely true that you can make perfectly good gumbo using water as your liquid base</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. There should, in theory, be plenty enough flavorful additions to the pot (the roux chief among them) to make a tasty gumbo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. But you (and I know this about you) are not</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> looking for just a "perfectly good gumbo", you are looking to make a gumbo that has a depth of flavor, layers and layers of flavor; a gumbo that makes you close your eyes and wonder, "where did THAT come from?" One of the many, many answers to that question will be that at least SOME of "THAT" came from the rich, deep and mysteriously flavored stock you added to the pot</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">I'm going to tell you how to make this deep and mysteriously flavored stock by making an awfully large presumption</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. I'm going to presume that you not only know HOW to make a good chicken stock, but that you will have a gallon or two of it on hand to make your gumbo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">In this recipe you will be using cooked chicken legs and a good way to cook those legs is to gently poach them in a bath of simmering previously made chicken stock</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. This will not only get your legs properly cooked, it will also enrich your previously made stock</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Take the cooked chicken legs out of the stock and turn your oven on to 450</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. When the oven is hot put all the chopped vegetables and all the animal parts into a heavy roasting pan and roast them for at least 45 minutes before you touch them</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Stir up the bones and vegetables in the roasting pan to see if they're beginning to stick to the pan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. They should be</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Put the pan back in the oven and continue roasting until you can see that the tops of the veggies and the chicken bones are taking on a rich brown color</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. (This is a good time to pull the chicken meat from the cooked legs and add the bones to the pan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">.)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> Scrape the pan again to check for caramelization on the bottom of the pan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. What you want is for the vegetables, bones and shells to be breaking down into a nearly burnt, brown crumbly mess that is sticking to the pan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">When you feel as if you have achieved optimum browning and are afraid to let it go any farther (no, I mean really afraid) take the pan out of the oven and scoop all the browned ingredients into a heavy stock pot</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Put the hot roasting pan on a couple of burners on your stove and turn them to medium high so that the pan starts to sizzle</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Pour in 2-3 cups of your previously made (and enriched) chicken stock and scrape up everything you can from the bottom of the pan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Please be careful</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. When you feel like you've got it all scraped off the bottom and sides pour it into the pan over the roasted mix and see if you need to do it again</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Scrape EVERYTHING you can into the pot, pour the rest of your chicken stock over it and make another stock</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Bring this one to a boil, drop the heat, pull the pot over to one side of the burner so that the bubble just comes up the side of the pot and let it cook for 3-4 hours</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. If you feel as if you are losing liquid too quickly either add more chicken stock or water to keep the level even with where you started</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Strain the stock when it is cool enough for you to feel comfortable handling it and put it on a shelf in your refrigerator so that air will pass both over and under it</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Let it rest for a day to allow the flavors to settle and so that whatever fat there is comes to the top and is easy to remove</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Your stock is ready and your roux is ready</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Now it's time to get the solid ingredients ready and move into actual gumbo making</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">HOLY TRINITY PLUS THREE MORE</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">The Holy Trinity of New Orleans cooking is onions, green bell peppers and celery</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. It is purported and it often really seems that those three vegetables show up in nearly every dish, be it Cajun, Creole, or somewhere in between</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. There are those like me who detest green bell peppers yet end up admitting, somewhat grudgingly, that once they immerse themselves for hours in all other things "gumbo" they do indeed have their place</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. There is an entirely different school that questions the need for celery and I agree that it probably has less presence than any of the other ingredients and can, at times, come off, when one can actually taste it, as slightly bitter</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. I do remember that at the Elite Cafe we went through a period where we experimented with omitting it from our basic gumbo recipe, but ultimately decided that we could take it or leave it, so we took it</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Ultimately you must look at the Trinity as a flavor base that will cook deep into and indeed become an unseen (at least at the first adding) layer of flavor.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">The "plus three" for me are garlic, lots and lots of garlic, jalapeno peppers, and green onions</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Each of these has their place in my gumbo and therefore are included in this recipe</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. To me they are all essential components of the gumbo flavor</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">ANDOUILLE (OR OTHER) SAUSAGE</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">The underlying flavor of smoked pork is key to my own gumbo flavor base and while I do love using andouille, the long smoked and densely made sausage of Louisiana, I have had success using other smoked sausages and at Belle Roux we omitted Andouille entirely and used our own house-made Creole-style smoked pork sausages</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Our recipe combined the best parts of Andouille and Chaurice sausages and added a rich greasy smoky flavor</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Whatever you choose to use must have a smokey flavor and a good healthy spice to it to effectively enhance your gumbo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">GUMBO ALA CHEF DAVE</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">8 Big Yellow Onions, cut in large dice</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">8 Big Green Bell Peppers, cut in large dice</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">2 Heads Celery, cut in large dice</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">6 Heads Garlic, peeled and chopped</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">8 Jalapenos, diced</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">2 Bunches of Green Onions, sliced and reserved</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">16-20 Spicy Smoked Pork Sausages (If you are using Andouille, which are generally longer, use 10)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">1# Frozen Sliced Okra</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif;">Cut the vegetables, mix them and divide them in half</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Set the green onions aside for later use</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Dice half the sausages and and cut the other half into discs</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Put your big gumbo pot on the stove and bring it up to a medium heat</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Add the diced sausages and let them cook slowly so that they render their fat</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. When they have given up as much fat as they can, add one half of the chopped mixed vegetables and stir them into the sausages</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Cook over medium heat until the vegetables are coated with fat and beginning to soften</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Pour your gumbo stock over the vegetables and bring it to a boil</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. Let it come to a rapid boil and then turn it down, pull it to one side of the burner and do a slow simmer for an hour</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">On another burner bring your black roux back to life by heating it very slowly until it becomes smooth and the oil is once again incorporated</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. You do not need to get it cooking, only to heat it so that it becomes nearly liquid and is close to the same temperature as the simmering stock</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. Increase the heat of the cooking gumbo stock and vegetables and when it is just short of a boil, add the black roux in a slow stream while whisking steadily</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. When the roux is completely incorporated, bring the (now) gumbo to a boil again then reduce the heat and repeat the pulling of the pot to one side of the burner</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Place your cut Andouille (or other sausage) discs on a sheet pan with the cut frozen okra and roast them in a 450 degree oven until they both begin to brown and stick to the pan</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. This will take 20-25 minutes</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;"> Scrape them up and add the sausage and okra to the gumbo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. Using the same technique as you did to deglaze the roasted bone pan, deglaze the sheet pan with a half cup of water to capture the remaining browned bits that have stuck to the pan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. Stir the okra/sausage mix in and add the second half of your chopped vegetables to the gumbo pot</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. Stir them in and bring the gumbo up to heat one more time, stopping it just short of a boil</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. Return the heat to medium low and pull the pot to the side of the burner once again</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">You have now added the bulk of the ingredients to the gumbo and it needs to cook</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. As it cooks, the gumbo will begin to take in the cooked flour from the roux and discard the oil it was mixed with and that oil needs to be removed</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;"> One of the reasons for setting the pot to the side of the burner is that as the oil comes to the top it will journey over to the side of the pot away from the heat and be much easier to ladle off</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. Using as broad and flat a ladle as you have, begin what will be a long, long process of scooping the grease off as it rises to the top</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. This isn't something you need to do constantly, but you will need to return to the pot every 10-15 minutes to do some scooping and you will be doing this scooping for the next hour and possibly longer</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">Now is a good time to start tasting the gumbo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. The first taste will be rich, but a bit flat</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;"> It's going to need salt and pepper and I like mine to have a bit of a black pepper bite</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. Start with a healthy handful of salt and at least half a hand of black pepper</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. Stir them in, wait five minutes and taste again</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. If you want your gumbo to start off spicy you can start adding hot sauce and letting it cook in</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. I like to use Tabasco because I feel like the acid in the vinegar base helps heighten the other flavors</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. You may not feel that way</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. In any case, shake a healthy ounce or two in and let it cook for another ten or fifteen minutes and give it a taste</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">At this point of cooking, perhaps three hours or so, you should have a very gumbo like product</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. Keep skimming and ladling the fat off and for this last hour of cooking add the sliced and reserved green onions to the pot along with the chicken meat that you pulled off the bones, way back when</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">. Cook the gumbo for another half hour or so with the green onions in it and then turn off the heat. You have made your gumbo base. Let it cool on the stove top until it is less dangerous to handle and then either ladle or pour it into containers that will fit in your refrigerator (where I KNOW you have created space for it). Try to put the gumbo in a place in the refrigerator where air will pass both under and over the container. You want to cool the bottom and the top of the gumbo at the same time.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 19px;">As you would with anything you would cook that has this many flavors, let your gumbo rest overnight so that the flavors begin to meld. You may notice that even three days after being made the gumbo will taste slightly different than it did when you first brought it off the stove. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Bring the gumbo out and slowly bring it up to heat in small amounts (or heat all if it if you're having a crowd). When you serve your gumbo have a pot of cooked white rice ready to put in the bowls under the gumbo when you serve it. When the gumbo is hot you get to decide how you want to dress it up. I like it with Dungeness crab, both whole legs and body parts. But I also like it with oysters and/or shrimp just barely poached in the gumbo as it sits and slowly roils just short of a boil. I also like to add roast duck or chicken, more sausage, or tasso. And of course, there are those who will want to sprinkle gumbo file (ground sassafras root), although I have never been able to see (or taste) the point in that. Me? I like a sprinkle of thinly sliced green onions and a dash of hot sauce right at the end. You've gotten this far, you know what you want. Have at it...</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "new york" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-10621152010986607822013-01-27T15:42:00.003-08:002018-06-07T11:22:50.422-07:00FINALLY GUMBO Part 1FINALLY GUMBO, Part 1<br />
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There was a time in my life when I made gumbo every week. Big pots of gumbo. Gallons and gallons of gumbo. For nearly six years I ran the kitchens of two N'Awlins style restaurants in San Francisco, of all places; back to back and year butted up against year. When I started making it I thought I knew a little bit about what gumbo was all about and when I finally stopped making it with huge regularity I had come to realize that I was just learning what gumbo was all about.<br />
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Like a lot of cooks of my generation, I came into what we all used to call Cajun cooking (even though it really wasn't Cajun cooking at all) courtesy of Paul Prudhomme. There was a food revolution going on (yeah, remember THAT?) and the places where I worked, which just happened to be Berkeley, were in on what was happening out there on that once cutting edge. Not only were we (and I'm generously lumping myself in here with Mark Miller, Jeremiah Tower, Jonathan Waxman, Bruce Aidells, and of course, Alice) doing our best to both push the borders, as well as discover the terroir, of what we were cooking, we were also aware that there were cooks and chefs Just Like Us who were doing it in their own necks of the woods.<br />
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Nobody discovered regional cooking, it was always there. In many cases, however, it had been buried, or set aside like a boring old book, while different directions and options were pursued. It did seem, however, that an unspoken and underground movement sprung up nearly simultaneously all over the country and suddenly we, the cooks, were aware that there was something abrewing nearly everywhere we looked. And a lot of these cooks were re-evaluating the foods that the folks around them had been eating all their lives.<br />
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Despite the fact that it may indeed have been the one single place that stayed most in touch with its roots, New Orleans became a flashing red light at that time on just about everyone's dashboard and a lot of that was due to Chef Paul Prudhomme. He was just a big ol' quiet shy country boy (and yes, he is/was Cajun) who happened to make his way into a Big Time kitchen in N'Awlins and just happened to, because he loved the cuisine, start tweaking it to the point where it caught the attention of people who cared.<br />
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I met Chef Paul in the kitchen of the 4th St. Grill in Berkeley where he'd come to visit the Chef I was working for, Mark Miller. At that time, even in his pre-Coyote Cafe days, Mark was making a name for himself by cooking with chiles that no one had ever heard of and was just beginning to push the edge of the palates of the dining public. 4th St. Grill was a stop-off point for other chefs around the country who were just as curious about what we were doing as we were about them. I stood in a bit of a daze and eavesdropped as they talked gumbo, how to make the right black roux, what sauce debris was and a whole lot of other arcane knowledge.<br />
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I was transfixed and knew immediately that I wanted to learn a whole lot more about cooking that kind of food. I set off buying every New Orleans cookbook I could find (and there weren't a whole lot of them out there at the time). I absconded with a Brennan's cookbook from the 60's that my dad had brought home from a business trip years before and also latched onto The New Orleans Cookbook by Richard Collin and one or two others. I had a few side trips, but by 1983 I had a chef's job in the Napa Valley where we did a week celebrating a local New Orleans Jazz Festival and I had a week to cook and serve my version of the food I'd been digging into.<br />
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What that week of cooking did was open my eyes to the complexity and diversity of the cuisine. I realized that there was a WHOLE lot more to all of this than slinging some red-spiced fish into a blazing hot pan. I made marchand du vin sauce, I found a source for "real"andouille", I learned about tasso and muffalettas and etoufee, AND, I made my first batches of gumbo. At the time I thought they were good. They weren't, not really, but they were okay.<br />
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Roll the film forward somewhat slowly and you see me working in restaurants in and around the SF Bay Area and putting my New Orleans leanings on hold for a spell. But as my career began to run its course I found myself living nearly around the corner from the Elite Cafe in San Francisco. The Elite had been the first restaurant in the City to devote itself entirely to the cuisine of New Orleans and it was a hotbed of blackened redfish. But by the time I started going there the Elite had been open for nearly 12 or 13 years and was beginning to show signs of wear and tear. My ex and I would go in during softshell crab season and I would look around from my seat at the ancient counter and think, "If I was the Chef here. . . ".<br />
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Naturally, I ended up as the Chef of the Elite. I got hired at the Elite Cafe in Spring of 1994 in attempt to get it back "on track" numbers-wise, and to drag it kicking and screaming into the 90's. I had the very good fortune to inherit a good kitchen crew, chief among them, a sous-chef, Steve Harlow, who took his gumbo making very seriously. So began a five year stretch of my life in which I made or participated in making at least 15 gallons of gumbo every single week.<br />
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WHAT I LEARNED/WHAT I NOW KNOW<br />
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It was my opinion in early 1994 that I knew how to make a pretty good batch of gumbo. I hadn't made it in large quantities on a regular basis, but I had made some 5 gallon pots of it that I thought were pretty darn good. I knew how to make a dark roux and I knew how to throw the Holy Trinity (onions, bell peppers and celery) in on top of it along with stock, andouille sausage, garlic and some hot stuff to make it gumbo-like. What I had no appreciation for, or even understanding of, at that time, was how gumbo was made up of layers and layers of flavor. And not knowing that, I certainly had no idea of how to go about getting/creating something I didn't even know existed.<br />
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When I started work as Chef at the Elite Cafe I learned quickly that most of the cooking, the "setting of flavors" was done in the daytime. At night it was busy; way too busy to do anything but fry popcorn shrimp, flash highly-seasoned filets of fish in a cast iron skillet, slam out plate after plate with the same potato/veggie combo and then do it again, all night long. It was in the daytime, however, when Mr. Harlow, who had been at the Elite close to when it opened and had returned several years before I arrived put together the gumbo, the etouffee, the red beans and rice, all the desserts, all the stuffings and all the sauces.<br />
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When a chef or cook makes the same dishes each week, often on the same day of the week for weeks, then months on end, one of two things can happen: either the chef/cooks grows weary and unchallenged by the roteness of it and either he suffers or the food suffers and often both flag in their freshness and flavor; the second is that the chef/cook can begin to see the nuances, the oddities, the changes, the aberrations that can occur from one batch to the next, no matter how minute or non-earthshaking they may be.<br />
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What happened at the Elite is that once Steve Harlow and I began working together, the Gumbo Discussions began. We began speculating on what made gumbo gumbo; what made it taste right, taste good and what might or might not give it the complexity we both knew it should have. What I brought to the Gumbo Discussions was a serious and classical cook's background in how flavors were developed. I knew about reductions and infusions, roasting for flavor and kitchen techniques that had been the building blocks of flavor for years. I had also made gumbo in five or six different restaurants and received varying criticisms in those restaurants<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span> What Steve brought was an artist's mind and palate, years of experience of having made the gumbo, loyalty to something he was proud of, and a philosophy fueled by the first Elite Cafe Chef, Thomas Brown, who described the need for the gumbo roux to be "as black as your arm if your arm was black".<br />
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Week in, week out we opened that kitchen at 7:30 AM, put on anything from Coltrane to Hendrix, from Hank Williams and George Jones to Arthur Alexander on the battered tapedeck and set about making the foundation of the Elite Cafe's flavors. We made gumbo on Wednesday, etouffee on Thursday, red beans when they were needed. I took over the pie crusts but Steve still made the fillings. He made creamed spinach and on Friday he made our famous filet hash. On Tuesday's we cooked 150#s of baby back ribs and at least twice a week made the accompanying BBQ sauce. <br />
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I changed a few things right away because that's what I had wanted to do back when I had sat at the worn counter stools and eaten things I didn't like, but most of it either stayed the same or evolved slowly. All of it was up for discussion. What changed most over my three and a half years though, albeit slowly, almost imperceptibly if you were a guest, was the gumbo<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. It got richer and deeper; smoother, yet edgier</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. We started roasting the andouille and the okra on a sheet pan together before we added them to the base</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">For a while we left out the celery</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. For a while we added basil mixed in with green onions at the end</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. After a while we began adding the vegetables in two layers, one at the beginning and one two or three hours into the cooking process</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">It was never Cajun gumbo, or Creole gumbo, or even New Orleans gumbo, because every single gumbo is different</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. But what it was, at the end of that time we spent together, was a damn good gumbo, one that I know I was proud of</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. And I'm sure it changed even more when the next Chef, who was actually from Louisiana and had some mighty strong opinions about gumbo, came aboard</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. I moved on to yet another Louisiana-style restaurant, Belle Roux, where I got to create my own menu and banish all those things that the Elite had made me hold on to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. I made the gumbo each week in a style very similar to the one Steve Harlow and I had talked about and experimented on so many times</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. And then I started to tweak it all on my own</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">. I still do every time I make it</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-73529827045428241602012-12-18T14:22:00.001-08:002012-12-18T14:22:05.428-08:00NASTY WEATHER/SIMPLE SOUPNASTY WEATHER/SIMPLE SOUP<br />
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We got our first blizzard warning of the year last Sunday.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> I</span>t arrived in a modern and hi-tech fashion, via an unearthly screech from Kathy's iPhone<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. </span>The screech brought breaking news from the weather watch that our specific area of the world, tiny little Scotts Mills, was going to undergo a series of wind storms with gusts topping out at 65 MPH<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Our personalized disaster forecast also advised us that we were in severe danger of power outages and falling timber as well</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Well</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">We've been through the drill before so we went about our various chores designed and assigned to ensure that we would have light, water, heat and the other necessities should we indeed lose electricity</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Not only does electricity power our lights and stove, but our well is run by an electric pump; no power, no water</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. I filled the five gallon and one gallon containers and together we cut kindling and stacked wood</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Kathy checked the flashlights, the lanterns and the candles</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. I wheeled the generator out of the shed, fed it some gas and pulled the cord</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Lo and behold, it fired up on the third pull</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. It seemed we were ready</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I made the executive Chef decision NOT to move any of the food to the outside freezers (which the generator would power) until such time as the power really did go out</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. We are all well aware that the weather bureaus do have a wonderful time indeed working themselves up into a lather when the weather promises to get exciting</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. If the power does go out our inside freezers give us a comfortable four to five hours before we even need to consider ferrying the groceries out to the back</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Ironically, or fortuitously, depending on how you see these things, I had begun a large batch of bird stock the previous day, incorporating the thanksgiving turkey bones into our large stock pot along with the remains of a few roasted chicken dinners and sundry leg and wing bones</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. The stock had gone for many many hours at this point and probably could have been strained at that point, but as I am always greedy for every last little bit of flavor, I wanted to let it go as long as I could</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">That morning we had discussed the evening's dinner plans and Kathy let me know that yes, we still had leeks out in the garden</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. They and some carrots were the last survivors of the year's garden</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Well yes, there was that giant ugly horseradish plant that I had insisted on buying, but it doesn't really count</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. We've got buckets and buckets of home-grown potatoes so potato-leek soup was just the right thing</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Just the right thing because it seemed a perfect meal given the weather and just the right thing because that was what we had; potatoes, leeks and stock</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Potato-leek soup is such a simple joy, particularly if one doesn't mind peeling potatoes and cleaning leeks (I don't), because that's just about all the work that goes into making i<b>t</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Kathy was kind enough to brave the high winds and the mud to do the dirty work in the garden and together we uncovered one of our "winterized" water spigots and washed off ten nice leeks along with a dozen or so carrots she had rescued as well (more about the carrots later)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I split the leeks about 3/4 of the way up several times lengthwise and ran them under running water to get the grit and the mud out</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. I diced them fairly small once they were clean and I had about a cup and a half of diced leeks when I was done</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> I put the leeks in the cast iron dutch oven on a medium heat to get a bit of the water out and when the seemed to be dry I dropped in a nice chunk of butter along with some salt and pepper</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">While the leeks were stewing to a sweet smelling transparency, I peeled eight medium sized red potatoes (we have yukons as well, but the reds go soft faster) and cut them into cubes</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. When the leeks had gotten themselves into a nice gloppy green mass I stirred the potato chunks in and covered the whole thing half with stock and half with water and brought it to a boil</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. That's pretty much all there was to it</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. I let the potatoes completely turn to mush and then pureed the soup with a small immersion blender</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. I add a bit of salt as the potatoes had sucked up a lot of it, as they are prone to doing, added a half cup or so of milk and it was ready</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I did let it sit and simmer for an hour or so on the lowest possible heat just to let the flavors do their "getting together" thing and adjust the salt and pepper right at the end</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. We had nice steaming bowls of it along with some oldish but reheated La Brea roasted garlic bread and butter</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Warm, satisfying and yes, very very simple</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. And no, the power never did go out</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">An addendum to this story is that today, two days later, we woke to 2-3 inches of snow</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. The yard was covered, the cars were covered and still Kathy had to go to work for her final day before he Holiday break</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Since she was out in the weather I thought I would make something nice and warm for her to come home to, so I threw together a small batch of carrot-ginger soup</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. We'd had the carrots and onions and the day before I had picked up a chunk of ginger about the size of my thumb, or maybe your thumb, at the store</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">I followed pretty much the same process as for the potato-leek soup with the carrots</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. I chopped one medium onion and grated about a teaspoon of garlic</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. I stewed these very slowly in butter while I peeled and sliced the last survivors of our carrot crop</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. I did stir in a teaspoon of brown sugar with the onion-ginger mix and cook it for a couple of minutes before I added the sliced carrots</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. I stirred them so that they coated with the butter and then covered the vegetables with water</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Since the carrots have such a sweet delicate flavor I didn't want to overwhelm them with the predominant turkey flavor that the stock had come out with</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">The soup cooked for about fifteen minutes, or until the carrots were quite tender and then, once again, I took the immersion blender to them</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Presto, a lovely fragrant carrot-ginger soup</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. Don't tell Kathy, but I did adjust the salt level just a tiny bit</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">So when the weather is nasty, keep it simple with your cooking</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">. You get more reading done that way</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">.</span>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-21088988517130201822012-10-10T17:31:00.001-07:002012-10-10T17:31:59.952-07:00A Freezer Full of FruitA Freezer Full of Fruit; Ruminations on Smoothies and more...<br />
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Those of you who have been following me and this blog with any regularity (and Lord knows how, at this stage of our lives, we hate irregularity) might remember a little paean I wrote in my final days in Costa Rica to the ritual of my morning smoothie. Ah yes, the passion fruit growing at my door, the locally made (by the Mennonites, yet) goat yogurt, any one of a number of species of mango or papaya; oh they were smoothies to behold, rich and dreamy, fragrant and lush. I would sit out on my back patio on those jungle mornings, smoothie mustache in place and glass in hand, and listen to the symphony of the tropical birds while I pondered what passed then for the absolute bliss of life. <br />
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Fast forward, and in reality, kind of a slow gentle forward, and here I am in the first week of my second October on the east side of the Willamette Valley. If I walk 400 yards down the gravel road that passes in front of our house I can see the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. Fate, Life and Love have brought me here and that's a good thing. Something that has NOT changed is my morning desire for a fresh fruit smoothie, however. Whereas in Costa Rica the changing of the seasons was not overtly reflected in the day to day availability of fruit here, in one of the richest farming valleys in the United States, the seasons rule.<br />
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Last winter, my first in Oregon, I made plans. I was bound and determined not to have there be the slightest interruption in my precious morning ritual. I saw the amazing abundance of fruit that seems to become ripe all at the same time and all of it practically overnight and I wanted it all. I bought fruit, mostly berries, flats of berries; raspberries, blueberries and blacks. I bought a lug of peaches, I bought a lug of pears.<br />
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I froze my precious fruit in a mountain of ziplock bags. I was certain that I would be ready for the cold barren winter and that while others were eating instant oatmeal I would be enjoying my fresh fruit smoothies; blackberries, blueberries, pears, peaches and the ubiquitous banana (for ballast) all winter long. The trusty blender and I hummed together contentedly imagining the taste of summer in each glass.<br />
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The bitter, cold and angry truth was that I didn't even make it out of January. I had grossly under-calculated the amount of fruit needed to make it through the winter and I was stuck with bananas and whatever the hell else I could cobble together for the next many months. I used canned pears, really expensive store-bought frozen peaches and bags of frozen berries from the local farm stand store. I felt defeated, but I had learned.<br />
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Fate would have it that sometime in early summer this year we inherited a stand-up freezer from the catering company where I work. It went right into the shed; tall, clean, empty and waiting. I knew what I had to do to fill it and I began to eye the berries covetously as they crept toward ripeness, the pears as the formed on the trees.<br />
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Let me stop here and digress, however briefly, about what it is for me that makes the best, the proper, the most satisfying smoothie. Three, yes three fruits are required, and this is only in Chef Dave's World of course, for the perfect smoothie. Two fruits, no matter the ripeness and quality fall short in filling out the palate of flavor a smoothie requires. Four fruits or more merely muddle the mix. No, three is the perfect number and one should be and is always, a banana. <br />
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The banana serves (as mentioned above) as valuable ballast. I am of the school that believes, truly, that the only good banana is a ripe banana and so I buy them several days before the using. I allow the natural sugars to develop because if I wanted a starchy smoothie, I'd just throw in a potato. Granted, I was spoiled, ever so spoiled, by the bananas in Costa Rica but that is such a long and deep "other subject" that we won't go into it here. Suffice to say that the banana forms the semi-neutral flavored "body" of the smoothie.<br />
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The medium notes of flavor seem to best come, at least in these parts, from sweeter and only mildly acidic fruits such as peaches or pears. These take the part of the "mango/papaya" flavor in the middle body of the Oregon smoothie composition. I had scarcely expected to find decent peaches here, but lo and behold they grow rather nicely and I availed myself to two twenty pound lugs of them. They called them #2's at only $.50 the pound and oh my God what a deal. I didn't require them to be unblemished, I required them to be sweet and flavorful and they were all of that. I remember smiling to myself as I stood over the kitchen sink peeling them and paring them into their zip-lock homes.<br />
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I had never considered the pear to be a good smoothie fruit, but then I had never been in place or time where I need to make such a consideration, either. It turns out that the Bartlett pear for which Oregon is famous makes a seriously good middle flavor to sit on top of the banana. It generously provides a lovely sweetness along with a hint, just the slightest hint of acid. Again I waited until the peak of the season and again I scored two 20 pound boxes at a steal of a price. I read online that one needs to pack pears into a syrup or to blanch them for freezing. Malarkey! I tossed them in the juice of a few lemons and they are solid and ivory white in their clear plastic homes in my tall stand-up freezer.<br />
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And lastly, but hardly leastly, the berries. The Willamette Valley is home to what may be (and yes, I know I will get argument here, but I am prepared to face it) the best and broadest selection of berries in the US. I could have bought examples of at least 15 kinds of berries to freeze, but I contented myself with the basics of the valley: Raspberries, Blueberries, Marionberries (cheap and plentiful from the Russian family down the hill) and of course (see the previous post) the gloriously free Blackberries that grew ten minutes from my own front door. And those berries in Oregon do exactly what the passion fruit in Costa Rica do for the smoothie; the lively acid squirts up between the ballast of the banana and the middle notes of peach/pear and sings, yes practically sings at the top of the palate. It is the acid of a raspberry or the acid from the maracuya (passion fruit) that elevates my smoothie into a SMOOTHIE!!!<br />
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And so the freezer, that tall deep freezer is nearly filled with fruit. I have managed, I hope and pray, to collect, process and freeze enough to tide me over until at least the early signs of summer. Oh, I may cheat along the way; just this week I bought several pounds of local Bosc pears to use instead of raiding my supply, but I do believe that 3 flats of Raspberries, 25 pounds of Blueberries, 8 gallon ziplocks of Marionberries and another 8 gallons (plus 12 quart yogurt containers) of my own hand picked Blackberries will be enough. Nancy's of Springfield provides the yogurt and the store bought bananas, as long as I stay ahead, will be as sweet as they can get here stateside. The blender is Kathy's mother's Osterizer from the 50's and it should purr and hum and blend and grind forever. Bring on the winter.<br />
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<br />Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-69818188900895286722012-09-16T13:38:00.000-07:002012-09-16T13:38:28.352-07:00Blackberry SundayIt is Sunday, September the 16th, the first day of the second half of September and one of the last five days left this summer. The sun is bright, the air is warm but "fallish" and it is the perfect day to grab my heavy wool shirt, ask Molly the Moo if she'd like to "go for a walk", and stroll down the dirt road that runs in front of our ridgetop house.<br />
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At the end of this particular straightaway the road itself bears right, but Molly and I know to go to our left, through the yellow gate and onto the logging road. That's where the blackberry bushes are. It is also where there is a spectacular view of the first slopes of the Cascades. And it is where we are completely alone.<br />
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It's an odd and wonderful feeling to stroll past densely packed bush by densely packed bush and to think that no one else comes here to pick, to revel in, to be AMAZED by, all these perfect blackberries, not to mention the view. And maybe that's good. It seems a waste, but then each time I come down here with Molly I know exactly where the biggest ripest berries will be because they will be right where I left them.<br />
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I have filled quart yogurt jars, gallon zip-lock bags and even a blue plastic dishpan with blackberries here and never seen a soul. I have seen deer and Molly has had her chase at them. The bees buzz around me in warning, but we co-exist. We think we've heard the bear huffing and snuffing, but haven't encountered him yet. We can hear the cars crunch by on the gravel a couple of hundred yards away, but other blackberry pickers? Never.<br />
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I always have a song in my head and today while I pluck the ripest and fattest of the shiny berries from the thorny vines I sing snatches of the Byrds' version of Bob Dylan's You Ain't Goin' Nowhere. The buzzing of the bees and the sound of the thorns catching at the sleeves of my heavy shirt are all I hear as I half hum-half sing, "...gate won't close the railings froze...". Later, as I wander a little farther down the weedy logging road I find that I have morphed into Bob Will's "Stay a Little Longer; "pull off your coat throw it in the corner, don't know why you don't stay a little longer..."<br />
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I'm wistful today, from the changing of the season as shown to me by the ripeness of the berries, I suppose. Some are so ripe they fall from the vines when I pick the ones next to them, while others are withering and drying. The fattest of the berries are plump and full of flavor and juice, nearly collapsing into themselves as I drop them into my bag. This spot, this splendid isolated smidgen of paradise may not be here next year in this secluded form. I can see the blue and orange plastic ties of the lumber company on some of the bushes and Kathy has mentioned that this area may be cut in the coming year.<br />
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I wander from patch to patch, smiling at how the size of the fruit and even the temperature of the berries changes from bush to bush, and from one side of the road to the other. I don't linger at any one bush, but meander past all of them, "berry picking" only the fattest and ripest. After all, they ARE all mine. I have learned, from Kathy's advice, to wander around the sides of the bushes and behind them, to find secret stashes of berries that catch a perfect morning or afternoon sun. <br />
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This is my time, Molly's time. We have no schedule, just a plastic bag to fill, or not fill. Molly sniffs and wanders, never quite sure why we need to come to this particular spot, but happy to get to go. Just the going is so important to her. To me, it's the solitude, the quiet, watching the subtle changes even in the berries. I love to stretch for branches just out of my reach and to step down on the vines that protect the inner fruit. I could wear long pants and get farther in, but why? It seems enough of a concession to wear the long sleeves.<br />
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I work my way down one side in the shade and back on the other in the sun (but not religiously, sometimes veering and varying). The shirt is getting warm and the bag has a little tiny leak from catching on the thorns. Molly walks ahead a bit and comes back, walks ahead and comes back. She's getting bored, but I am lingering just a bit. Will this be the last visit this year? I know I need to come back, but schedules, work, life, all those things get in the way. I have today, I have my songs, I have my berries. I think we'll go home.Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-86144220408290239152012-08-24T21:36:00.001-07:002012-08-24T21:36:23.388-07:00Cooking At La Cusinga!!!Cooking At La Cusinga with The Chef of the Jungle<br />
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Yes, finally, my cookbook of recipes culled from my time at La Cusinga Lodge in Costa Rica is finished and available in a number of different formats. The book is in color and has a number of very nice color photos of food, ingredients and the area around the lodge.<br />
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I am selling a beautifully printed high quality paperback that is both signed and numbered out of my home for $24 with postage and handling included. <br />
It can be bought with a check sent to:<br />
David L Mahler<br />
PO Box 397<br />
Scotts Mills, OR 97375,<br />
or, by Pay Pal payment to:<br />
chefofthejungle@yahoo.com<br />
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I am also selling a downloadable .pdf file through the same payment channels for $12.<br />
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Cooking At La Cusinga is also available as a "print on demand" paperback and/or as a kindle download through Amazon.com. Additionally it is available as an ebook through Google books.<br />
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Those who have bought the book have been effusive in their praise and here are some of the comments I have heard:<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">"Greetings Chef Dave; Gayle and I just picked up our signed copy of your wonderful cook book....and are sitting here this moment drooling over the many delicious culinary delights you put in there. Thanks so very much for sharing this wonderful cooking experience with the world."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">From Patrick Pealer, "Hey Chef, we got the books! You should be extremely proud. (as I am) They are beyond gorgeous. We thank you more than words allow."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Received your fabulous book yesterday afternoon! My husband and I are so excited about cooking fish over an open fire! We have a firepit, and a grill that fits on top of it...so we are pretty much ready to go!!!! Also learned something totally new about olive oil. Just read your explanation to my David. One of my favorite sections is Salsas/Sauces...these are going to be such fun to prepare and enjoy!!!!! Thank you, Chef Dave! Your book has a special place in our kitchen and in our hearts ♥ ♥</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">My friend Pat Benson received her cookbook yesterday and this is what she had to say:<br />"David, your cookbook is amazing. The details, photos and of course recipes show what a talented and dedicated Chef you are. Thank you for keeping this project alive and bringing it to print. It was a long road, for sure."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">"Book arrived yesterday; I second Pat's emotion. I got a particular kick out of checking off all of your dishes I'd eaten and jonesing over the ones I missed. Bravissimo! Your writing took me right back to LC. Very gracious tone about the whole work from One Classy Chef of the Forests North & South." <a data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=859005695" href="https://www.facebook.com/chris.migliaccio.79" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">Chris Migliaccio</a></span><br />
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So don't miss out on this very special cook book. The recipes are exactly what I served at La Cusinga and the book is filled with great cooking tips and in depth explanations of techniques and "the why and wherefore" of the recipes. Additionally the book has an in depth glossary of local ingredients and terms and is beautifully indexed.<br />
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Please get in touch with me now to get your own signed and numbered copy.<br />
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<br />Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-49903956755598318912012-07-30T18:22:00.002-07:002012-07-30T18:22:23.949-07:00<br />
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COOKING AT LA CUSINGA: THE MAKING OF A COOKBOOK</div>
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I am a chef. And I am the author of a cookbook, a real live cookbook (“Cooking at La Cusinga with Chef of the Jungle”, available on Amazon and Google). Finally. It sounds easy, doesn’t it? Lots of chefs write cookbooks, and lots of people who are not chefs write cookbooks. How hard can it be to write down some recipes, especially if you create them every day? As it turns out, the writing is the easy part, but self-publishing a finished, beautiful, heft-it-in-your-hand-and-drool-over-the-photos cookbook took a lot more steps than I knew existed.</div>
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The writing and publishing spanned two countries and two years. Working at eco-lodge La Cusinga on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica, new recipes tripped over one another as I discovered the underutilized bounty of amazing ingredients available. Shrimp, mangos, ayote, mandarinas, hearts of palm, artisanal goat cheese—these ingredients don’t show up in the faux French restaurants that tourists flock to, and the locals stick to beans and rice. I got to know the owners of tiny organic farms and bought fish right off the boats. The lodge was full of guests and rare was the day when I wasn’t asked for a recipe for one my “fabulous” fresh tasting dishes. “You should have a cookbook, why don’t you have a cookbook?” I heard it so often I started to believe it. My boss offered his backing, and we were off and running.</div>
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It took about 250 hours of writing and menu testing to get the recipes down on paper. The photos I took on the fly as we served the food. With a talented local artist working on the cover, we were getting closer to production. Under the vagaries of life stepped in, and I found myself moving to the Willamette Valley in Oregon to be with my fiancée, leaving the tropics behind but confident that I could find a small publishing house interested in “Chef of the Jungle”. After all, isn’t Costa Rica the darling of high-end vacationeers in the U.S. and elsewhere? But I got a quick turndown in some cases and no response at all in others. “No one cares about Costa Rica” was the opinion of one publisher. I shelved the book. I sulked. I immersed myself in cooking.</div>
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Fast forward six months. With strong encouragement (read kick in the pants) from my fiancée and family, I pulled the files back up and took a look. It wasn’t bad. It was better than I remembered. In fact, it was even pretty good. Good enough that I blithely thought, in this day and age of on-line wizardry, “I’ll just publish it myself.” Ha.</div>
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It helps if you have a team. My sister, a professional indexer, edited and indexed it for me. (We all know how crucial a good index is to a cookbook, how many times have you cursed when you couldn’t find an entry for “chard” because it was under “Swiss”?) My brother-in-law worked on the cover. Together they formatted it and dropped the color photos into the right places. My younger sister did the copy editing, weeding out stray commas with a vengeance. They all, bless their hearts, made “suggestions”. Suggestions incorporated, final adjustments to color, indexing, and table of contents made, photos in place and text formatted, it was starting to look like a book.</div>
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But there are more steps than that. A book has to be copyrighted. It has to have a barcode. It has to have an ISBN number, two in fact—one for the hard copy and one for the .pdf version. Check, check, check. It was ready to sell.</div>
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Sell, yes, but how? So many people had told me that it was incredibly simple, a piece of cake (no pun intended) to create an ebook through Google or Amazon. Uh huh, right. That would be for those of you that are versed in the intricacies of .pdf and jpeg files, of royalty and pricing platforms. I floundered in the minutiae of Google’s instructions (where the book still languishes). I did manage, after several false starts, to get the book into a Kindle format using Amazon’s KDM program. Still working with Amazon I dug into their Create Space program to turn the book into a “print on demand” paperback. Create Space reported the book ready to print and sent me a proof (not free). Some issues remain, but with Create Space you can fix things as you go.</div>
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Some of us are still adherents to real books, made with paper and with pages you can turn, and I wanted printed copies that I could sign and sell, that you could prop up in your recipe holder or give to your aunt for Christmas. I needed a small, high-quality printer that would do a run of 100 books or less, all that my budget would stand. On a lead from an old Mennonite bookbinder practically in my own backyard, I found a small printer, Gorham Printing, up in the tiny town of Centralia, Washington. The price was right, and off went the .pdf files. Now I had both digital and hard-copy books I could sell.</div>
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Ah, yes, sell. As in, marketing. Ugh. I turned to Facebook—mocked by many, but still a great way to reach people. A copy of my book cover posted, I sent it to every “friend” I could think of, and, by virtue of Facebook’s pervasiveness, to some I couldn’t think of as well. I pushed the ease and familiarity of buying it on Amazon. I pushed yesterday, I pushed the day before yesterday, and I pushed this morning. I wangled a full-page story in a Costa Rican newspaper, and put an ad in a coastal magazine. I’ve been lucky enough to have a good number of pre-orders, some Kindle downloads, and a handful of “print on demand” paperbacks. I got great help getting here from friends and family, but now it’s up to me. Sales, R&D, bookkeeping, inventory control, and tech support. And, oh yeah, I’m also the author of a cookbook. And a chef.</div>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-13932513668124753402012-03-28T11:36:00.004-07:002012-03-29T21:30:44.280-07:00Empanadas, Big Party and What We Learned<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">Two things, there are two things I did this Saturday past that I knew better than to do, but did, in fact anyway, thereby causing myself a certain degree of both misery and pain.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">In reality, one of them began far earlier than this most recent Saturday, when several weeks ago I was asked about, and was pontificating on, in a Chefly way, which hors dooveries we could serve at a big ol' wine tasting event (400 guests), one in which we would need 1000 pieces of whatever we chose (two items). I posited how it might be nice, and something no one else would be doing, to make and serve empanadas as one of our offerings. Yes, empanadas; little pastry crescents filled with some attendant goodness, baked and sauced appropriately. This is not something that I've often done, but it sure did sound good in my boss's office that day.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">My other suggestion was to do Mushroom Risotto Cakes, something I've been doing for years. These are a surefire hit when topped with some kind of nice aioli, and I chose a green version flavored with vast quantities of green onions and parsley for this one. This is a pretty easy app to put together although it does require standing and stirring a massive steaming cauldron of napalm-like boiling rice for close to 25 minutes. Once that's done and the risotto is poured out onto sheet pans the rest is pretty easy. It gets chilled, cut out and breaded and is ready to be fried or baked. And it is a great vehicle for using up all the ends and funky chunks of cheese that a catering company/restaurant naturally seems to gather in the course of sending out multitudes of cheese trays. </div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">My boss, said, "oh cool" or the equivelent thereof to my suggestions and so it was to be.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">The week arrived upon which the party was to be held thinking ahead, as I am occasionally prone (prone indeed) to do I asked our kitchen manager to order me 20# of boneless beef chuck. I was thinking that I would braise it, days in advance, in a low and slow fashion, so as to have time to shred it and mix it with various and unique flavoring agents. Plan ahead and do this sensibly, day by day. That sounded good, at least in my tiny mind and on paper.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"> I ambled into the kitchen two days before the blessed event (lots of ambling going on when this is the only gig of the entire week) to get that big chunk o' meat in the oven along with some onions and garic and chiles and red wine, and received a major surprise. The big ol' chunk of meat I expected to drag out of the cold and into the warm is NOT 20# of beef chuck, but is instead, two 10# tubes (yes, 20#) of ground chuck. It was boneless, yes, but hardly suitable for our purposes.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">So we did a lot of phonin' and we did a lot of moanin' and finally we arranged to have the 20# of boneless beef chuck delivered, but because it came from somewhere far away it would not arrive until the morning of the day before the blessed event. I began to mutter my favorite quote about mice and men. It was going to have to wait until Friday and that's just the way it was going to be.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">I pulled in Friday morning and proceeded to ready the large chunk of chuck for the oven. I started off by sticking it all over with a boning knife, salting and peppering it and then rubbing it down with a paste of garlic, jalapenos and olive oil. I sliced five onions and spread them over the top and all around the spiced and rubbed meat. I poured in a two cups each of wine, stock and water, double wrapped it in foil and started it off on it's long relaxing journey to tenderness in a 325 degree oven. I didn't know it at the time, but this journey to tenderness would not come until waaaay later in the day, when I had left the building. </div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"> I hauled out the giant rondeau (a large, low and heavy cast aluminum pan) and after much stirring and not an insignificant amount of perspiring managed to get five sheet pans of garlicky cheesy mushroomy risotto made in the meantime (where does the phrase/word "meantime" originate from, anyway? Yeah, I know, google it). Next were the sauces for the risotto cakes and the empanadas. As I have mentioned, the risotto cakes would get a nice rich green herb aioli while the empanadas (which I have not mentioned) would get not one, but two sauces, each based on roasted peppers, one red and one yellow, but with decidedly different flavor profiles. Both would be olive oil mounted purees, the red flavored with roasted garlic and chiles, the yellow with sherry vinegar, shallots and dijon mustard.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">So we arrived, the noble and hardworking Pedro and myself, at 9:00 Saturday morning knowing that we had to cut and panko (my kind of verb) the risotto cakes which would be a snap, if a time consuming one, but also that we had to assemble the empanadas from scratch. And this is where the first of my "knowing better" bells began to ring in the larger of my two heads. "This was dumb" it rang, "this is going to suck", it pealed. "This is going to take FOREVER", it gonged. And I tried not to listen, but it was far too late.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">So, we shredded the 20# of very, very tender boneless braised beef chuck and then we chopped it by hand, the food processor rendering it too mushy. I blenderized it's pan drippings and the attendant flavoring agents (lots of onions) once they were defatted, and mixed the hand shredded and chopped meat with several cups of roasted corn I had stashed away and frozen back in the season, several more cups of nicely soaked and plumped golden raisins, and five or six finely chopped jalapenos. The rich braising liquid pureed with the nearly melted onions made sort of an onion soup to the Nth degree and was perfect as a binding/moistening/flavoring agent. But, The Clock Was Moving.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">Now it was time to Make The Empanadas. We (I) moved into dough mode and began churning out small batches of the empanada dough in the food processor while the loyal, noble and hardworking Pedro began the rolling, filling, folding and crimping (yes, with a fork) process. It was slow going, stultifyingly slow going and I began to get a little, not a lot, but just a little concerned and somewhat manic. Failure is not something we cotton well to in the food business.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"> And it was here that the second of the two misery and pain producing things that I knew FAR FAR better than to have done occurred. On about the fifth or sixth, but could easily have been on the sixth or seventh, batch of dough I stopped the food processor because I didn't think the water I had just added had mixed in with the dry ingredients at the bottom.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"> So (and here's where it comes, folks; "Don't do it, don't go in the haunted cave" they scream from the cheap seats) I stuck my right hand down into the bowl of the food processor and in doing so managed, unbeknownst to me, to hook my middle finger under the cutting blade. And then what could have happened did. Upon attempting egress with my hand I caught the fleshy part of the top digit of my finger against the blade and pulled up. Halfway through the action and before it was complete I knew exactly what I had done. I ripped my hand out, causing the bowl and the top parts to fly across the kitchen and screamed, "No, no, you stupid asshole, no!!!" But it was too late. I had opened up a big crescent shaped gash in the previously mentioned fleshy part of the top digit of the middle finger of my right hand. And there was that moment, that priceless second where I looked at it and could assess the nature of the damage, just before the blood came pouring out.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">So at that point the selfless, noble, long suffering and hardworking Pedro had to quit rolling and filling and folding and crimping (yes, with a fork) and also become the doctor. I got a towel on that sucker as fast as I could and squeezed it for all I was worth. Pedro got the goods and he proceed to first sterilize, then bind that damaged digit as tightly as he could, me urging him on to wrap it tighter and tighter. Oh yeah. And now it was big and bulky and white and a rubber glove wouldn't even fit over it, although Lord knows I tried. And The Clock was still moving.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">It was now late afternoon and we were only up to 280 (four sheet pans) of empanadas. We kicked it in, although I must say, it is no mean feat rolling out dough, and cutting, filling, folding and crimping empanadas with a finger the size of an andouille sausage. Pedro, bless his noble and hardworking heart kept on rocking and rolling (not to mention, filling, etc...) and the two of us labored over the table in quiet backbreaking desperation. By 5:10 (we were to leave at 6:00 and still had to fry the cakes and bake the precious empanadas) we had 510 of those little suckers all filled and ready to go. Que milagro!</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">The final hour was a bit of a blur, but it all got done. I discovered, much to my delight and relief that I could avoid frying the risotto cakes by spraying them with non-stick spray and putting them on the very top rack of the convection oven. It may not have been frying, but it got them brown and hot and at that point that was just about all I was looking for. The empanadas were in the bottom of the two ovens, doing their level best to get a lovely golden brown and the risotto cakes were in the top.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">Every last one of those perfectly browned 1050 morsels then had to be transferred from the sheet pans into 2" hotel pans (because they're the only ones that fit) for transport in our heated cambros to the site of the blessed event and somehow they made it. Josh, the dishwasher showed up about an hour or so after we really had needed him, but it meant that neither I nor the hardworking and fiercely loyal Pedro would have to clean up the colossal mess that can only be made by two people doing the work of four or five or six. Pedro and I jumped into the van with the alacrity of two men who have just worked nine straight hours on their feet without taking a break and we were off to the hills of West Salem and Zenith Winery.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">The event itself, an Equinox benefit for something or another was massively anticlimactic compared to the day's events, but Pedro and I did get to wear our new monogrammed black Chef's jackets. We also got to rehearse our song and dance about what it was that we were serving because we had to do it a couple of hundred times each. And amazingly every single one of our 1050 bites of food got scarfed down my a bunch of folks from West Salem who somehow all seemed to get drunk drinking one ounce of wine at a time. The risotto cakes seemed to be Best in Show among all the food items, we were told our table and food were the best time and time again, and some guy in shorts stood off to one side of our table and must've scarfed down 30 empanadas all on his own.</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740"><br /></div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">There we stood at the end, bloody but unbowed. 13 hours our feet without a break (except for the bandaging process). My back ached from the time spent over the table lovingly preparing the empanadas and my finger was throbbing like the floor when you live over a houseparty. Pedro, the hardworking, loyal, trustworthy, brave, clean, thrifty and reverent Pedro turned to me and said, "Chef David, when I work with you, even when I work hard I always like it and I always learn something."<br />I eyed him dimly, a certain amount of fatigue coloring my view. "What did you learn today, if I may ask?"</div><div id="yiv1920194260yui_3_2_0_17_133270359250740">He looked me right in the eye and said, "Never do empanadas for a big party."</div></span>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-76907624300108164862012-03-01T08:59:00.013-08:002012-03-08T17:47:58.841-08:00HOME COOKIN', PART 2HOME COOKIN' PART 2<div><br /></div><div>It's been pretty slow times around the catering kitchen and a by-product of that, if indeed the word "product" can be used when there is not a lot of anything being produced, is that I find myself doing a whole lot more cooking here at home. And since the by-product, or lack thereof, when one is not working is a lack of serious cash flow, one makes do as one must, with left-overs, freezer raids and eyes to that which goes on sale at the local market. <div><br /></div><div>The last week has found me turning out soup, hash, tacos, a slow-cooked cheap cut of pork and in one fell swoop of a splurge, a whole roast chicken with risotto. The soup, hash and tacos were fashioned purely from refrigerator and freezer foraging and the pork and chicken were the result of carefully eying the sale section of the meat department. </div><div><br /></div><div>*******************************</div><div><br /></div><div>The soup was a classic "homemade" project, based on some leftover barley and lentils that Kathy had made for a salad. I started by sauteeing your basic bottom of the crisper drawer vegetables; a couple of carrots, two or three ribs of aging celery, an onion and plenty of garlic in bacon fat (always a stash of that in a jar in the refrigerator door), along with two smoky pork sausages that were lurking in the back of the freezer. </div><div><br /></div><div>Once that had filled the kitchen with it's splendidly garlicky aromas I added the lentil/barley mix and part of a bag (about two cups) of our "roasted tomato shmoo", (see earlier entries) made in large quantities last year as fall neared its end. I filled the soup pot with a little over a cup each of homemade chicken stock and water. There wasn't much to do at this point but bring it up to a boil, then turn down the heat and let it simmer for an hour or so into something resembling dinner. </div><div><br /></div><div>And a fine dinner it was, served in deep bowls, steaming hot on a cold night. We stretched it out with warmed Tandoori Naan, a package of which had made its way home with me after a sample case had been left at work by our thoughtful Sysco rep. When I do work, it's good to work in the food service industry. </div><div><br /></div><div>*************************</div><div><br /></div><div>Hash was something I had not made since the days I worked at the Elite Cafe in San Francisco. There, each week, we used our leftover filet ends and trimmings to make an extremely peppery and popular poached egg topped hash for Sunday brunch. Here at our house it wasn't exactly the ends of beef tenderloins, but rather a largish chunk of turkey breast that had been cooked in the crockpot along with cream cheese, soy sauce, roasted red peppers and dried herbs according to an old recipe of Kathy's. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had come across a ziplock bag of said turkey during one of my monthly freezer purges and had wondered what in the world I was going to do with it. As providence would have it, the night before I had cooked a simple dinner of some kind of protein product and served it with sauteed broccoli, red peppers and yellow crook necked squash. Quartered roasted potatoes from our "root cellar" had filled out the menu. I had asked Kathy what she wanted me to do with the leftovers and the first thing out of her mouth was, "make hash." The mother of invention, indeed.</div><div><br /></div><div>I cut up yet another onion and sauteed it slowly in more bacon fat along with a quarter stick of butter. While the onions cooked I shredded the turkey, chopped the vegetables and cut the potatoes into small cubes. I caught the onions at just the point of turning a lovely golden color and sprinkled a tablespoon or so of flour over them to make a roux. I still had chicken stock because I almost always have chicken stock, so I poured some in, brought it to a boil, and there it was, the gravy that would bring everything together, binding the hash, if you will.</div><div><br /></div><div>I knew I couldn't and shouldn't stir the hot gravy into the coolish turkey-vegetable mix, so I stuck it in the refrigerator while I went out for herbs. I snipped several lengths of chive, grabbed a handful of parsley and a couple of sprigs of thyme. I brought this back into the kitchen, destemmed it and chopped it up to add to the hash base. When the gravy was cool enough, I mixed it into the turkey and vegetables and it bound it all together quite nicely. The whole mix went into the refrigerator so the flavors could get to know each other informally before being cooked and eaten.</div><div><br /></div><div>It didn't seem as if hash on its own would be enough so I put together a small green salad; red leaf (of which there seems to be a lot around this winter) lettuce along with some diced hothouse tomato (sigh) and a small Hass avocado. I heated up a non-stick 12" skillet and rubbed it with just a bit of bacon fat (can you tell how I feel about bacon fat?) before pressing the hash mixture into it. It browned nicely on one side before I did my former breakfast cook show-off thing and flipped it all over in one piece. I put the pan (and the hash) on the bottom shelf of a 450 degree oven for about ten minutes to assure that it would heat through and that each side would have a nice crust. Crust on hash is critical.</div><div><br /></div><div>It came out great!! The top and bottom were crispy, it was just moist enough from the gravy, and the flavors had gotten to know each other in a most advantageous way. The green salad provided just enough crunch on the side and we had feasted yet again, while spending virtually nothing. I like that.</div><div><br /></div><div>***************************</div><div><br /></div><div>On a day we were snowed in the craving of the day turned to tacos. Oh yes, spicy and well garnished tacos on a cold and blustery day would be perfect! There was a chunk of flank steak, a nice ripe avocado, plenty of cheese, onion, tomatoes and even cilantro, but, oops, NO TORTILLAS.</div><div><br /></div><div>This sent me scrambling in the pantry looking for something I wasn't even sure was there, but, lo and behold, there was a nearly full bag of "Bob's Red Mill Masa Harina", a corn flour ground right up the road in lovely Milwaukie, Oregon. Indeed there was even a recipe on the back for making tortillas which I set to immediately. Hot water mixed slowly into the masa, not too sticky, not too dry, roll into a ball and let rest. Easy, but in the back of my mind it seemed as if something was missing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Putting that thought away, I turned to making a nice little "guisado", or stew, out of my meat and vegetables. I peeled a couple of cloves of garlic and sliced my onions into thin half-moons and tossed them in a skillet with some (yes!) bacon fat. I seasoned the stuff in the pan with chile powder, a dash of cumin, some ground chipotle, salt and pepper and a hit of smoked paprika while I sliced the beef into thin strips. I always cook my dry ingredients, particularly chiles, into the mix for a while to bring out their flavors. I added the meat, a chopped tomato and about half a cup of chicken stock and after it came to a rapid boil, turned it down to the barest of simmers.</div><div><br /></div><div>I turned to the garnishes, everything that would elevate our tacos on this snowy afternoon. I peeled and diced the avocado and tossed it with a splash of lemon juice and a little bit of Cholula hot sauce. I grated a mix of pepperjack and cheddar cheeses, shredded a couple of leaves of romaine, chopped a bit of cilantro and plopped some sour cream into a bowl. The guisado smelled great and the liquid had cooked down just a bit; ready. Now for the tortillas.</div><div><br /></div><div>I heated up a ten inch cast iron skillet and rubbed it with (yes, again) more bacon fat. Using a smaller cast iron skillet I pressed out the tortillas between sheets of wax paper. Surprising to me that we had wax paper, beyond the surprise that they still even make the stuff. The tortillas were not easy to peel off the waxed paper, however. When they were the thin-ness I wanted, it was damn near impossible, so I went for a thicker more rustic feel.</div><div><br /></div><div>Into the pan the tortillas went, one at a time, and I called Kathy into the kitchen to stand at the ready to assemble our tacos. The first tortilla came out, crisp and smelling so, so very good, and it was here and now that it came to me what I had left out of the tortilla mix. As we folded them, they cracked at the back; they were not at all pliable and it was clear to me now why professional tortilla makers put lard in the mix. Yes, of course it adds flavor, but it also lends a certain moistness that enhances and strengthens the fold.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite having ingredients that fell out the back, we fell upon the tacos rapaciously. The snow fell, the ingredients spilled and we stuffed our faces, going back to the pan again and again. And this is something we will do again and again, at least when we forget the tortillas.</div><div><br /></div><div>*****************************</div><div><br /></div><div>In addition to scouring out the kitchen in search of cookable leftovers, I have also, for the first time in my life, been scouring the food ads (not to be confused with the food sections) of our local newspapers looking for deals on whatever may feed us and fill us without mauling our pocketbooks. And I struck pay dirt, so to speak. There it was, Boneless Pork Shoulder Roast, reduced to $2.39/# (limit two per customer). I made my way on down to Roth's IGA, our local grocery and picked us up a 3.5 # chunk of pork and happily brought it on home. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is one of my favorite pieces of meat to cook and it takes so well to a variety to treatments. I decided to go with the "low and slow" version this time that is almost like a Mexican-style carnitas. I fine chopped 12 garlic cloves along with some of Philipe's Kitchen Witch (straight from N'Awlins) Seasoning and some sea salt. I rubbed this all over the roast, making sure to get it down into the crevices and cracks between the muscles. I thin sliced an onion, laid it over the top and into the refrigerator it went for an overnight get-together of flavors.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next day it was an easy start: Put the meat in a low roasting pan, pour in a cup of water, cover tightly with foil, stick it in the oven at 275 and walk away. I came back four hours later, took off the foil, basted the top of the meat with the nice fatty juices that had collected in the pan and left it for another hour to lightly crisp the top. Presto! Crispy Carnitas without any frying, and meat that literally falls apart at the touch.</div><div><br /></div><div>From this point on, once the meat is cooked, it becomes so many things to so many people. The first night we ate it over mashed potatoes with the pan juices (defatted, of course) ladled over the top. Oh My Goodness was that good. The second night I shredded it, mixed it with a bit of a red chile enchilada sauce I had made last summer and it became the filling for burritos. The other day while we were working outside in the cold, I darted in, heated some up, slapped it between two pieces of bread with cheese, griddled it in a pan and made toasted pork and cheese sandwiches. Tonight it will become the "World's Best" Pulled Pork Sandwiches and that still leaves us enough for soup and maybe another meal. It's hard to imagine a better deal for your dollar and the flavor of slow-cooked pork is to die for.</div><div><br /></div><div>*************************************</div><div><br /></div><div>Last, but hardly least, Kathy's very best friend Terry was here visiting from Costa Rica so we put on a good show for her. Whole, locally raised Draper Valley chickens were on sale so that seemed like the way to go.</div><div><br /></div><div> I did a simple roast chicken; salt, pepper and a lemon and butter rub. I roasted it for about an hour at 400 and it came out perfectly; crisp golden skin and very juicy. We served that over a risotto made with some liquid from the very last of some dried mushrooms we had mixed with chicken stock. I sauteed some fresh crimini mushrooms to make the risotto a bit more "mushroomy" and the chicken, sliced, went over that. We had just gotten some decent asparagus at the market and a simple steamed and buttered prep made the whole dish come together. I made a little gravy out of the pan juices and we sat down to a lovely dinner of roast chicken by candlelight.</div><div><br /></div><div>We may not be working much, but we can still eat well, and sometimes, that's the best revenge and remedy both.</div><div><br /></div></div>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-81479681960017984012012-01-17T13:16:00.000-08:002012-01-21T07:36:11.551-08:00Foraging in a BlizzardHere we are in the second day of being snowed in and the third, (or is it the fourth?) day of snow and I am learning why it is that we have a winter garden, a good storage shed, and, naturally, a freezer. While the snow comes down sideways and the vehicles remain anchored in the ice, I am inside making the most, yet again, out of what we have put away for a rainy/snowy day. And yes, we are both praying prayers of hope that the power/water stay on.<div><br /></div><div>The household foraging began a couple of days ago when I pulled a ball of pizza dough from the vast and icy deep and made a pizza with homemade sausage, garden onions out of the storage shed and tomatoes we had dried ourselves. Kathy had made a small provisions run when we heard the snow was coming and we had a nice combination of cheeses to make the pizza really sing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yesterday was chicken stock day and the house was filled with the aroma of nicely roasted bones simmering with their attendant and complimentary vegetables and the house still has that roasty rich smell hiding in different corners and down the back hallways. I've always contended that, rather than the"smell of chocolate chip cookies baking" theory that realtors proscribe to for selling homes, that the "aroma of homemade chicken stock" would work even better. </div><div><br /></div><div>While the stock hoozled and goozled happily yesterday morning we went to the freezer yet again looking for food to feed unexpected lunch guests. Kathy's daughter, son in law and granddaughter made the trek up the hill to visit us, (but mostly to play in the snow) and we needed a cold day meal for them. We went deep into the freezer and came up a container each of chile and a multi-bean soup, made long ago, and along with some homemade biscuits we had just the meal for hungry and rosy cheeked sledders.</div><div><br /></div><div> Today we woke to a healthy six inches of snow on the ground and the first flakes of another heavy fall just beginning to fly. I had pulled a chunk of chuck roast from our neighbor's last cattle harvest out of the freezer and the plan was for pot roast. I had, however, used all the carrots in the chicken stock and Kathy, who had promised for the last several days to pull up some carrots from their winter bed, was now faced with having to do it in the teeth of the blizzard.</div><div><br /></div><div>And like the true Oregonian she is, she threw on a parka and hat, got down on her knees at the edge of the raised beds, dug through a half a foot of snow and yanked up carrots. Meanwhile I was making another treacherous run to the shed for the garlic and onions harvested lo, those many months ago, to accompany the carrots in their support of the chuck. Moreover, we had the remains of an old funky bottle of red in the back of the fridge that was just what my recipe called for.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>The snowfall is thinning slightly and it appears that we will be able to venture out away from this property tomorrow. But the scent of the pot roast is alluring and serves as a reminder of the beauty of stored food. There are times when the thrill of finding those hidden chanterelles or fiddle head ferns under the scruffs of fir at the base of tall trees is a forager's dream. Other times, however, and these are those other times, the best foraging is done by rummaging at the bottom of the freezer, digging beneath the snow, or rootling around boxes in the shed for the last of the summer's harvest. </div>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-9158320958367274982011-12-21T19:46:00.001-08:002012-01-06T10:40:08.945-08:00BURNT ONION GRAVY, and the nature of stocks and rouxIs Burnt Onion Gravy really made from burnt onions? And if it is, how the heck does that work? <div><br /></div><div>A perfectly viable question and one made even more real to me when I posted a picture of a recent batch of the aforementioned gravy on my Facebook page and a friend asked, "So, was this a a mistake that you had to throw away?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I explained to her, as gently as I could, that no, it was not a mistake, and that it was, rather, the name of the sauce/gravy. I also felt that I should mention, that I rarely posted pictures of my cooking errors on Facebook, although once I thought about it, the notion kept me rather entertained.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so it struck me that perhaps I might write a bit about the nature and history of this Burnt Onion Gravy (from hereon out known as BOG), but also take the opportunity to discuss stocks and roux and how they go together to make sauces and yes, gravies. It does take a plan and a pretty good recipe as well to make something with the word "burnt" in the title taste good and I'm going to tell you how to do it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I learned to make BOG from a friend and mentor, Philipe LaMancusa, while we were working in what was, at the time, a very hot San Francisco restaurant called Embarko. Philipe is, along with being a man who has a very real feel for food and what makes it taste good, also a man with a droll wit and a good vocabulary. We had dishes on our menu with names like "Jamaica Mistake?" (for a jerked pork dish), and fish dishes described as being served "with a squeeze and a pat" (lemon and butter, natch).</div><div><br /></div><div>BOG was a the sauce that went on a pan fried pork medallion dish that passed through our menu for a brief while. The dish came and went, but the sauce, it's composition and, of course, its name, lingered with me right up to this very day. This sauce is the very essence of a series of ingredients coming together to make a huge flavor with the use of some classic and some not so classic cooking techniques (and a little imagination).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So let us leave this amusing story and its colorful folk, and talk about sauces and stocks, and what gives them the flavors that make one better, or at least different than, another. Really, what this is all about, and what I seem to write about more than almost anything, is FLAVOR. How to capture it; how to enhance it, and how to bring it out when it seems most elusive.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first building block of flavor, not only in this particular recipe, but in so many, many more is the making of stock. In this case we're talking chicken stock. I know all of you are nodding your heads in abject boredom and saying, "yeah, yeah, yeah, Chef we know all about chicken stock", but none the less, at the end of this I will provide a recipe for chicken stock (the way I do it) and for everything else that we discuss in this particular blog post.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the interest of creating and building flavor, however, we are going to take our chicken stock one step further and make chicken stock squared, or, "dark chicken stock". This richly flavored dark chicken stock is some killer stuff and can be used to bump the flavor level up in a great many of things you cook. It's a simple enough process, too, it just requires patience. </div><div><br /></div><div> What you need to make this liquid gold is take all the ingredients you would put in your first chicken stock (which you need to have already made and cannot make this second batch correctly without), that is to say, bones, mirepoix, spices, etc., and put them in a roasting pan in a hot oven (400) until the are nicely browned and caramelized. You will then pull them from the pan, put them in a stock pot, deglaze the pan with a cup of two of your previously made chicken stock (taking GREAT care to really scrape up all the good browned bits off the bottom) and pour that and the remainder of your first batch of chicken stock over the nicely browned bones and veggies. </div><div><br /></div><div>Got it? Now cook it like you cooked the first batch of stock and you will be amazed at the results. What you get by the time you have cooked it for several hours, strained it and refrigerated it so that the fat congeals on top (for easy removal), is a dark, rich and extremely flavorful nearly sauce-like stock that will bump up the flavor of anything to which you wish to add it.</div><div><br /></div><div>What we are going to add our dark chicken stock to in this recipe is a roux that is made from the oil that a batch of onions have been cooked in until they are just past the point of caramelization and are definitely crunchy, if not exactly "burnt". Got that? Onions, oil/butter, flour. A roux, you say, you ask, you posit; isn't that just flour and oil mixed together to thicken something? Yes, I say, true indeed, but more than just being a thickening agent, a carefully cooked roux can influence, carry and change the flavors of sauces and soups to which it is added.</div><div><br /></div><div>Roux was invented by the French and used, yes, almost exclusively as a thickening agent. In the French kitchen it is rarely cooked past a point of pale blonde and only then so that it will blend more easily and not separate in the liquid to which it is added. In fact, beurre manie, used to thicken a number of sauces, is merely softened butter and flour mixed together and never cooked at all. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is some evidence of darker roux in some Swabian dishes of Southwest Germany, but it was the Creoles and the Cajuns in Louisiana who originated long cooked dark roux and created the dishes in which a dark roux would become flavoring agents rather than just thickeners. Gumbo, of course, and etoufee for another, are dishes in which the long cooked roux takes on a nutty subtle flavor that becomes an undercurrent in the final flavor of the dish.</div><div>Additionally, as the roux is cooked and the flour begins to change color, it loses much of its glutinous characteristics and becomes more a flavoring agent and less a thickening agent.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now that we have our dark chicken stock and an understanding of roux, we can return to the cooking of our BOG and that starts with onions; lots of them, thinly sliced. For a batch of this gravy that will use 1 Qt. of dark rich chicken stock, use 5-6 large yellow onions. These onions will get cooked in a heavy skillet with high sides first in just oil and later with butter added until they begin to brown (the full recipe for this will appear at the bottom of this blog). The onions will, of course, have to be stirred, but not so frequently at the beginning as at the end.</div><div>While the onions are browning, bring the dark chicken stock up just short of a boil and hold it on a low flame so it stays warm.</div><div><br /></div><div>Start the onions in the oil, but once they have begun to take on a nice golden color, add the butter to hasten the browning process. Now you will have to watch them closely because the whole butter that you are adding contains milk solids that will brown (and even burn) very quickly. I use a wooden spoon for stirring the onions so that I can easily scrape them off the bottom as they begin to stick and become darker and crunchier. </div><div><br /></div><div> And at last you will notice the thinner of the onion strands beginning to look dark, short of black, but definitely becoming darker. They will try to stick to the pan but be diligent; keep stirring, but watch them very closely, you are almost at the point where they will need to be removed from the pan. As we move beyond caramelization into a cooking to crispy of the onions, reduce the heat under the pan and remove them to a colander placed over a bowl using a slotted spoon. Some of them should be decidedly crunchy and nut brown to nearly black.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now you have a heavy pan with onion flavored cooking oil and it's time to build the roux. Classically, a roux is made with equal parts of flour and oil, so if you have used two ounces of oil (plus a bit of butter) add two ounces (and just a bit more) of flour to the pan, turn the flame back on fairly low and whisk the flour into the oil in the pan. At this point, also, pour the drippings from the drained onions back into the pan.</div><div><br /></div><div> The flour should immediately pick up a bit of color from the cooking oil and will be a muddy kind of brown. Keep whisking it in the pan over the low flame and you will notice two things about it. You will hear it beginning to cook, but you will also start to feel it cooking, as it will begin to thin a bit in the pan and will whisk more easily. This is an important part in the development of the roux and it means the flour is cooking in the roux, the glutens are breaking down and the roux MUST be kept moving in the pan; not fast, not necessarily briskly, just moving, always moving.</div><div><br /></div><div>And now the roux will begin to become seriously brown, first to a color nearly like peanut butter and then closing in on chocolate. This is the all critical moment. It is time to add the stock to the roux. This is thrilling, but a bit dangerous, so it is important to do two things (once again): Add the stock to the roux slowly with a ladle waaaay over to one side of the pan, and; whisk continually on the side of the pan away from where the stock is being added because it will spatter. The sauce will thicken immediately with the addition of the first ladle of stock, but keep ladling and whisking until all the stock is incorporated. Now and only now, raise the heat below the pan and bring the gravy up to a slow boil.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now wasn't that fun? You're almost there. You've mastered dark roux and you should have a deep rich brown (and slightly thick) gravy simmering in the pan. Pull the pan over to one side of the flame and once it is at a low boil, lower the heat again, stirring as you do. As the liquid bubbles on one side, it will push the impurities in the gravy to the other side and you can skim them off with your ladle. Add the onions back to the pan and now you have everything in your BOG. Allow it to continue to cook on a low heat for up to half an hour, but at least for 15 minutes, stirring it occasionally and skimming it as needed. </div><div><br /></div><div>Check your gravy for salt and add it if you like. I like. And I also like to add a dash or two of hot sauce, a little bit of L&P (Worcestershire Sauce) and pepper. This gravy is great to use right now, but will refrigerate (and freeze) quite nicely. When you bring it back to heat (particularly if you have frozen it) you can add a third volume of water as the gravy will have become very concentrated and rich in flavor. I serve this gravy over roasted pork loin, roasted chicken breast, or I add it to soups and stews. It is also wonderful poured over a big bowl of garlic mashed potatoes. Now there's comfort AND flavor in a bowl.</div><div><br /></div><div>BURNT ONION GRAVY</div><div><br /></div><div>5-6 Large Yellow Onions, thinly sliced</div><div>2 oz. Canola Oil (or other light cooking oil)</div><div>1/2 Stick Unsalted Butter</div><div>3 oz. Flour</div><div>1 Qt. Dark Chicken Stock (hot)</div><div>S&P to taste</div><div><br /></div><div>In a heavy and high sided skillet heat the oil and add the onions. Cook the onions over medium heat stirring occasionally, until they begin to turn a golden brown. Add the butter and keep cooking, stirring more often as the onions darken.</div><div>As the onions begin to take on a very dark color and change texture from soft to crispy, lower the heat to as low as it will go, and lift the onions from the pan with a slotted spoon and transfer them to a colander placed over a bowl.</div><div>Add the flour to the pan along with the juices from the onions and whisk until a paste forms. Raise the heat slightly and cook the roux until it begins to turn first the color of peanut butter and then reaches a shade just short of chocolate.</div><div>Very carefully ladle the stock into the roux, whisking continually. Keep adding the stock until it is entirely incorporated. Raise the heat again and, stirring continually, bring the thickened gravy to a low boil. Move the pot to one side of the flame, lower the heat (while still stirring) and allow the gravy to simmer. Skim what ever foam comes to the top and return the onions to the gravy. Allow to cook for 15-20 minutes and check for seasonings.</div><div><br /></div><div>BASIC CHICKEN STOCK</div><div><br /></div><div>5# Chicken Bones, rinsed in cold water</div><div>2 Large Carrots, cut in discs</div><div>2 Yellow Onions, cut in large dice</div><div>4 Stalks Celery, cut in 1/2" pieces</div><div>2 Heads Garlic, cut in half equatorially</div><div>2 Leeks, sliced in thin rings (optional)</div><div>Stems of one bunch parsley, rough chopped (optional)</div><div>5 Bay Leaves</div><div>1 Tsp Dried Thyme Leaves (or 7-8 stems of fresh thyme)</div><div>12-15 Whole Peppercorns</div><div>1 TBS Salt</div><div><br /></div><div>Place bones and vegetables in a stock pot and cover with 6-8 quarts of cold water. Bring to a rapid boil and then reduce heat to a simmer. Skim foam from top of pot. Add spices and return the liquid to a boil. Once it is boiling, reduce it to a simmer and move the pot so that only one side of it sits over the flame and the liquid makes a small bubble up one side of the pot (this allows a film to form over the top of the liquid, trapping the flavor, rather than cooking it away). Cook slowly, maintaining the bubble at the side of the pot for 5-6 hours, replenishing water if it drops below the level of the chicken bones. Do not stir or mix the stock once it as this point!!!</div><div>Strain the stock carefully and refrigerate, taking care not to agitate the liquid. Allow stock to cool overnight and when ready to use, remove fat from top.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-23363603966842920712011-12-07T10:16:00.000-08:002011-12-07T10:55:05.060-08:00Purple Hulled PeasI lived in Austin, Texas for a year and in that time became awfully fond of fresh field peas. Butter beans, crowder peas, lady peas, creamer peas, even black-eyed peas; these are all part of this family of peas, taken fresh from the field in their hulls, and traditionally cooked with a pork product, some broth and veggies. Yes, they are called "peas" and yes, for the most part, they more resemble "beans" in their dried form. Most of the field peas I have cooked are oblong, like a bean, and have that telltale dark (if not black) eye, off to one side of their center.<div><br /></div><div>Of course, it's easy to find the dried version of these in a lot of stores and some of the specialty markets will even carry the more obscure varieties. But really, there is no substitute for the freshness of flavor of these peas when they are cooked right out of the hull. And my first admission, right from the get go here is that is not what I did, or should I say, not what I am doing, because the pot is simmering away even as I type. I am cooking purple hulled peas that my sister Barbara, who lives in Austin, was kind enough to bring me (in their frozen form) on her most recent visit a few weeks ago.</div><div><br /></div><div>Most of the articles I've perused on the internet tell me that field peas are the sure sign in the South that Summer has begun. But it appeared to me, while I was living in Austin, that there are a number of varieties that produce well into the fall and it would seem that purple hulled peas are one of them. </div><div><br /></div><div>One of the great delights of cooking field peas is one that I experienced as well in Costa Rica when I cooked frijoles tiernos (translated as, "tender beans) which are also fresh from the hull. They cook in an amazingly short period of time. While the frijoles tiernos took a whopping 35-40 minutes to cook (because, after all, they were real beans) my purple hulled peas have cooked to a lovely tenderness in the time it took me to write these rambling paragraphs. So now all I have to do is turn the heat way down and let them slowly simmer and marry their flavors with the ham hock I took from our Thanksgiving feast, the chunks of homemade chorizo I used and the aromatic vegetables and spices. And yes, the house is filled with the smell of the cooking soup mingled with the smell of burning oak from the wood burning oven. Take that freezing weather!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>PURPLE HULLED PEA SOUP/STEW</div><div><br /></div><div>1.5# Bag Fresh or frozen Purple Hulled, or any field, Peas</div><div>1 Big Yellow Onion, chopped</div><div>2 Carrots, cut in medium dice (1/2" X 1/2")</div><div>2 Stalks Celery, cut in medium dice</div><div>6 Cloves of Garlic, smashed and chopped</div><div>1 Meaty Ham Hock</div><div>1 Spicy Smoked Sausage (chopped)</div><div>1 TBS Bacon Fat or a (sigh) canola oil</div><div>2 Bay Leaves</div><div>1/2 Tsp Dried Thyme (or 2-3 sprigs of fresh)</div><div>1/2-1 Tsp Louisiana variety spice mix (I use Kitchen Witch, produced by a friend of mine, but you could use any blackening-type spice mix, I suppose</div><div>32 ounces Chicken Stock, boxed broth or water, plus 1 Cup Water</div><div><br /></div><div>I use a heavy cast iron dutch oven to make this in, but any heavy sauce pan will work.</div><div><br /></div><div>Heat the pan and add the bacon fat and the chopped sausage. Simmer them until the sausage begins to color and is yielding its fat.</div><div>Add the chopped vegetables, the dried herbs and the spice mix. Stir and cook over medium high heat until the vegetables begin to wilt and give off an aroma.</div><div>Add the peas to the pot along with the ham hock and cover with the broth and water.</div><div>Bring the soup/stew to a slow boil and then turn it down to simmer for 20-30 minutes until the peas are tender. At this point I like to turn the heat down to the lowest simmer and let the soup/stew sit on low heat to allow all the flavors to marry into absolute deliciousness. This will be good today, better tomorrow and better still the following day. And it freezes quite nicely.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-65924476040113702132011-11-21T09:13:00.000-08:002011-11-23T15:13:57.299-08:00SHORT RIBS; or, Heading Into Winter in a Big Hurry, SlowlyShort Ribs; or, Heading Into Winter in a Big Way, Slowly<div><br /></div><div>Are short ribs the answer to the pre-winter blahs? Well, on a deeply economic, sociologic and psychic level perhaps not. But cooking and subsequently consuming a batch of short ribs certainly can be good for what ails you. It can warm your kitchen and your belly and your heart, and it can give you a little of that free time that you need to read or go for a walk while it is in one of its long developmental processes.</div><div><br /></div><div>This recipe is all about braising and I love to braise. I am a braising fool. I braise beef, lamb, pork and even chicken and duck. I am smitten by the way tough cuts of meat are rendered mouth wateringly tender by a long oven bath in herbs and wine and vegetables.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Short ribs represent to me the pinnacle of braising and braising is all about steps, or processes, if you will. The rewards, that culinary pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, is, to me worth the steps. But I tend to like the steps along the way as well. I cook for a living yes, and it helps me to just barely pay my bills, but I also cook because the process makes me feel good. The acts of food preparation beginning with the procurement, through the chopping and searing and all the way up to forking that first bite into my mouth are all part of the reward I get when I cook.</div><div><br /></div><div>Short ribs are cut from the rib and plate primals and from one end of the chuck so tender all on their own, they ain't. Short ribs are generally cut into either English or "Flanken" cuts which involve the fatty but meaty heavy end of the ribs being cut into 1 1/2-2" sections. There is also a Korean cut of short ribs, but it involves the ribs being cut into long ribbons of meat and bone and isn't what we're talking about here. Short ribs are held together by intercostal muscles and a lot of tendon and what that means to us, the cooks, is that they will need to be cooked for a long time to break down all that connective tissue and render the meat what we know as "fallin' off the bone tender".</div><div><br /></div><div>Braising is essentially two cooking methods in one; dry and wet heat are both used. First the meat involved is browned in a pan to provide that caramelization both on the meat and in the pan that provides a strong burst of flavor. Secondly the meat is entirely, or partially, covered in a rich liquid and cooked slowly in the oven so as to break down those collagen holding connective tissues and turn them into a deeply flavored gelatinous sauce.</div><div><br /></div><div>Okay, enough science talk; let's cook. Well, no, first let's shop. I look for short ribs that are cut about an inch and a half and are not too overly fatty (this is sometimes just not possible). If you need to go to the butcher to order them a day in advance, remember, this is all just part of the process. It used to be, perhaps 20 years ago, that short ribs were something the butcher would beg you to take off his hands, but, as with all cuts of meat "rediscovered" by the foodie revolution this is no longer so. I just paid $2.99/# for some short ribs I thought were pretty nicely cut and trimmed, so you might want to use that as a bench mark (or not).</div><div><br /></div><div>Something to note as well, AND THIS IS IMPORTANT, before beginning, is that this is not a recipe for a dish you are going to eat the first day it comes out of the oven, and if I had my way, you would not even eat it on the second day. Short ribs will taste their best after 48 hours of refrigeration have allowed them to "settle in" to their sauce, open up a bit, and absorb the cooking liquid.</div><div><br /></div><div>Braised Short Ribs ala Chef of the Jungle</div><div><br /></div><div>3# Beef Short Ribs, cut 1 1/2" (two good pieces per person will suffice)</div><div>1 Bottle Red Wine (as good as you feel comfortable cooking with)</div><div>1 Onion, cut in medium dice</div><div>1 Medium Carrot, cut in 1/2" dice</div><div>1 Parsnip, cut in 1/2" dice</div><div>1 Turnip, cut in 1/2" dice</div><div>6 Cloves of garlic, smashed and chopped fine</div><div>3 Bay Leaves</div><div>4-6 Sprigs of Fresh Thyme</div><div>2 Oz. Cooking oil</div><div>2 Cups of Chef of the Jungle Roasted Tomatoes (see other posts), or, 1 14 Oz. can of chopped tomato product</div><div>1 Qt. (this may be excessive) of Homemade Stock or, broth from a box</div><div><br /></div><div>The first thing I do is season the short ribs with a good hit of sea salt and black pepper and then I sear them. There are two way to go about this searing process (yes, another process); the first is to sear them on the stove top in a heavy dutch oven or whatever vessel you plan to do your braising in. This works nicely, although I am not a big fan of the splattering grease involved. The second method, and the one I prefer, is to heat the oven to 400 degrees or so and put the short ribs in for about 35-40 minutes or so. You may want to turn them once.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>There are two things you are hoping to accomplish by doing this. The first is that you want to render away some of the fat that coats the outside of your ribs. There can be a lot of fat. The second (and to me, more important) thing you're trying to accomplish is to get the ribs to brown and stick to the pan. That stuff that sticks to the pan (the French call this the "fond") is the source of a tremendous amount of flavor.</div><div><br /></div><div>And now we are going to deglaze; ready? You will need red wine. When your ribs have gotten a nice brown color and they are sticking to the bottom of the pan, remove it from the oven, move the ribs to a plate, pour off the fat and put the pan on a lit burner. When the pan begins to sizzle and pop pour in about a cup of red wine and start scraping. Reduce and scrape for about 30 seconds or so until you have gotten all the good bits off the bottom of the pan. Pour your "fond" off into a cup or bowl.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Wipe the cooking pan clean (relatively speaking) with a towel and heat the cooking oil up in the pan. When it is hot, add all the vegetables (with the exception of the tomatoes) and let them saute. Go ahead and stir them around a little, but you want them to stick to the pan a bit; vegetables have flavor, too, you know. When the vegetables are starting to brown add the second half of the red wine and stir up whatever has stuck to the cooking pan. Let the wine reduce by half and add the tomatoes, your prized "fond" from the meat deglazing, and the herbs. Stir to mix, then return the short ribs to the pan, nestling them down into the vegetables. Add 2-3 cups of the stock, or enough to nearly cover, but not quite cover, the ribs.</div><div><br /></div><div>Return the whole pot, uncovered, to the oven and adjust the heat to 35o. And now, get out of here. Got take a walk, read, make love, do something that will take your mind off the masterpiece that is beginning to form in your oven. In an hour come back and take a look. The tops of the ribs should be browning, so turn them over to get more of that brown flavor into the sauce and return the pan to the oven for another hour and a half. If the liquid has reduced to the point where over an inch of the ribs are showing, add a bit more stock. And remember, relax, this is a process, I told you that.</div><div><br /></div><div>After two and a half hours, take the pan from the oven, put it on a cooling rack or a trivet and let it come to room temperature. When it has cooled down sufficiently, cover it and put it in the refrigerator and just walk away. The next day, when you take a look, all the fat will have hardened into a reddish (this is from the tomatoes) layer over the top of the pan and you will be able to remove it and dispose of it quite easily with your fingers, or, if you're just that way, a spoon.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now at this point you can reheat the short ribs (very very slowly, please) and serve them and their amazingly rich sauce over buttered noodles (Chef of the Jungle's favorite), risotto, polenta, or any of the mashed root vegetables, solo or mixed (I am particularly fond of celery root and yukon golds). It will be wonderful, ethereal, comforting and just the very thing for a chilly evening. BUT, and I tell you this in all sincerity and seriousness, if you can wait another day, it will be SO much better. Really, trust me on this. It's all about the process.</div>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-14868457450191294912011-11-17T17:57:00.001-08:002011-11-17T18:38:00.838-08:00Enchiladas VerdeThis week I followed up the roast chicken from my previous blog by picking the carcass and turning he leftovers into Enchiladas Verde. Verde is, of course, Spanish for green and the green for the enchiladas refers to the sauce and the sauce comes from tomatillos. Tomatillos, oddly, are not at all related to tomatoes, but are, rather, in the gooseberry family as their little husks may indicate. And, as luck and seasonality will have it, this is harvest time, at least in this area, for tomatillos.<div><br /></div><div>The tomatillo has a bright, slightly acidic flavor and is a wonderful foil for the richness of the melted cheese, sour cream, avocado and all the things that make enchiladas a wonderful and perfect winter meal. And while I made these particular enchiladas with chicken as the main part of the filling, I absolutely LOVE this sauce with Dungeness crab enchiladas, a seasonal treat in my family for years.</div><div><br /></div><div>My friend Lynda Lee Wieland, who used to pick me up hitchhiking in Costa Rica while she was VERY pregnant has been kind enough to ask for this recipe. So, Lynda, here we go.</div><div><br /></div><div>ENCHILADAS VERDE</div><div><br /></div><div>For The Sauce</div><div>12-15 Ripe Tomatillos</div><div>1 Jalapeno Chile</div><div>1 White Onion</div><div>3 Cloves peeled Garlic</div><div>1 Anaheim or Poblano Chile (optional)</div><div>1/2 bunch cilantro</div><div><br /></div><div>Husk the tomatillos, and rough chop the other vegetables. Cover all of them with water (except the cilantro) and bring to a low boil. Cook for about ten minutes or until the tomatillos are tender. Using a slotted spoon transfer the cooked vegetables to a blender, add the cilantro, and pulse (careful, this is hot) until you have a smooth sauce. Save the cooking liquid in case the sauce seems too thick. Pour 1/4 of the sauce into a baking dish or casserole large enough to hold 12 enchiladas</div><div><br /></div><div>For The Filling</div><div><br /></div><div>2 Cups Cooked Chicken </div><div>1 Large White Onion, cut in strips or half moons</div><div>2 Large Anaheim Chiles cut in strips</div><div>1 Poblano (Ancho) Chile cut in strips</div><div>1 Oz. Canola oil</div><div>1/2 Cup Chicken Broth</div><div>1/2 Bunch of Cilantro, rough chopped</div><div>2 Ripe Avocados, cut in strips</div><div>1# + 1/2# Grated Monterey Jack Cheese</div><div>4 Oz. Softened Goat Cheese (this is my secret ingredient and is, of course, optional)</div><div>12 Corn Tortillas</div><div><br /></div><div>Preheat your oven to 350.</div><div>Heat a skillet with the oil and saute the onions and chile strips until just soft. Add the cooked chicken and toss to mix. Pour in the chicken broth and allow to come to a simmer. Heat the chicken and vegetables just through and add the cilantro.</div><div>Heat a second heavy skillet and heat on tortilla on both sides until it softens. Put in two tablespoons of the chicken filling, a sprinkling of grated jack cheese, a little dollop of the goat cheese and two avocado slices. Carefully roll the tortilla around the fillings and place it in the casserole. Do this with the remaining tortillas and filling taking care to make sure you have just enough of everything left at the end. Pour the remainder of the Salsa Verde over the rolled enchiladas and top with the second part of the grated jack cheese.</div><div>Bake the enchiladas for 30 minutes covered with aluminum foil. Remove the foil and bake for another ten minutes. Serve carefully and with love, topped with sour cream and more avocado.</div>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3592101848684515094.post-32568035243718191212011-11-16T07:53:00.000-08:002011-11-16T08:12:42.125-08:00Brussels Sprouts; Somebody Likes 'EmThe other day I stopped in at one of our local farmstand markets and there on a long low table were giant wands of green; full stalks of brussels sprouts in their natural state. And I, of course, had to buy one, a nice full one, nearly three feet long, with sprouts both small and large.<div><br /></div><div>Brussels sprouts are one of those classic things you either love or hate. There is very little middle ground when it comes to them. And the faces people make to express their dislike for these cute little round members of the brassica family are among the classics in the annals of food dislike.</div><div><br /></div><div>I happen to like brussels sprouts, but it wasn't always so. In my household when I was a child, they were, like most vegetables of the 50's, cooked into a grayish mush that guaranteed that no child alive could or would like them. I am sad to say that in this particular era in food history my mother took similar approaches with zucchini, asparagus and anything else green from the garden. Fortunately her tact changed as he children grew.</div><div><br /></div><div>Recently I have cooked brussels sprouts two different ways that were well loved in our household and not just because the both involved the contribution of bacon or pancetta, although it never hurts, does it? These are both incredibly simple recipes. The first involves shredding the sprouts as if one were making mini-cole slaw out of mini-cabbages and sauteing them; the second just calls for them to be halved, but then roasted. Try either of them with pork or chicken on a chilly Fall evening. </div><div><br /></div><div>Shredded Brussels Sprouts with Pancetta</div><div><br /></div><div>2o Brussels Sprouts; halved and then sliced thinly</div><div>3 oz. Pancetta; diced fine</div><div>1 oz. olive oil</div><div>S&P to taste (but I like a lot of black pepper on my brussles sprouts)</div><div>Water or chicken stock</div><div><br /></div><div>Heat a heavy saute pan over the flame and add the olive oil and pancetta. Cook until the pancetta begins to crisp slightly and throws a bit of oil. Add the shredded sprouts and toss with the liquid in the pan until they begin to wilt slightly. Add about two ounces of water of stock to the sprouts and toss again. Cook for a minute or two until the liquid is nearly absorbed and serve.</div><div><br /></div><div>Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Bacon</div><div><br /></div><div>20 Brussels Sprouts, halved</div><div>2 Thick slices of smoked bacon cut into 1/2" pieces</div><div>S&P to taste</div><div>Water or chicken stock</div><div><br /></div><div>Pre-heat the oven to 400 while you are halving the sprouts. Put the cut bacon into an oven proof saute pan and add the sprouts. Cook in the oven until the bacon begins to render, then toss to mix. Return to the oven and cook until the bacon is almost cooked through. Add an ounce or two of water or stock, toss and return to the oven for another three or four minutes.</div><div>The sprouts will have lost a bit of color, but are, at this point, ready.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Chef of the Junglehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499235468463219374noreply@blogger.com1