food
Eat Your Heart Out, George Orwell
Feb 27th
You may have met Goldie-Arf in yesterday’s post. Well, Goldie likes to bark: at cars passing, at the cats, for no good reason other than she’s a dog, and so on. But what I heard around 5pm last night was not a bark. It was a growl—and despite never having heard such a snarl from her, I knew it was Goldie. Goldie doesn’t growl unless something is awry.
So, I looked outside, and there they were. In all their splendor, rooting about near the door of the house the pigs chortled with the cry of freedom.
Here they are, the glib porkers:
I sighed with relief; Goldie wasn’t caviling with a coyote or exchanging words with a wolf. I called Tony and after giving me clear directions about what to do, I wound up doing something entirely different.
To help explain you’ll need to know two things:
- Pigs do not like snow
- The layout of the farm. And what better to show that than a photo or two?
Except, during winter, it looks like this:
On the phone, Tony told me to lure the pigs with their food pail (the pink path) to the Northern pasture door, shown in red below.
The pigs weren’t having it! In the Summer, the pigs pasture West of the machine shed, and North of their stable area; they are free to come and go inside and out, whenever they please. Leading them back inside their pasture area isn’t a big deal during any other season but Winter – then again, I can’t imagine that they have ever left the stable when there was snow high on the ground. I needed a new plan, and fast.
After luring them back into the stable pathway (yellow), I took down the pig pen fence (they must’ve pushed the holding gate over, and hopped over the fence). I made sure the mother was watching – and when she followed me, I led her and her piglets into the pen (green). I nailed the fence back up and secured the gate so they couldn’t push it open again. End of story.
Anyone want some bacon?
5 Reasons I Rarely Buy Salted Butter
Feb 8th
This is just a quick list, brought up by something I learned when I snagged a pound of salted organic butter from the fridge by accident (rather than the unsalted one) while making dough for tartes tonight (#3):
- Better control over salt content. Even with the nutrition label data, it’s hard to know exactly how much salt is in your butter – you could use butter to season your food, but that’s not really its job. Butter is my fat, not my salt.
- Salt is a preservative. I don’t have solid evidence for this, but I would assume salted butter is older when purchased than its unsalted counterpart. Even so, I’d rather buy it in smaller quantities and know it’s good rather than have a mummified beurre-pharaoh in my fridge.
- When making pie crusts or other similar doughs, salted butter melts faster and is MUCH harder to work with. There’s a reason it’s used on winter roads. This one is not so obvious, but very
- It overwhelms the subtleties that great butters can possess. This isn’t always true (see my post on Kiel), but it is the case more often than not. Fresh creamed butter, especially unpasteurized, it absolutely fantastic and unrivaled in complex flavors. I swear I can taste the clover and other pasture feed in some butters.
- I love fresh bread with butter – and this is the one case where salted butter might be better – but I generally go with anchovy paste for the salinity, or some other umami-laden saline vehicle.
Sorry salted butter: you’re…toast.
In Search of the Perfect Tom Kha Recipe
Feb 7th
Tom Kha (or tom kar) is sin in a bowl. And if I believed in the afterlife, I would wish that I would spend eternity as a fish swimming through vast oceans of unadulterated sin. Oceans of Tom Kha, that is.
For those unfamiliar with this unctuous soup, tom is Thai for “boiled” and kha means “galangal”. Galangal, or blue ginger, isn’t actually ginger but a close rhizome relative. Unlike it’s sharp, pungent cousin, galangal is sweet, citrusy and earthy. It’s skin is smooth and almost waxy and it’s hard root is moist but almost woody.
Traditionally, that’s the foundation. Adding to the flavor structure of the galanga is lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, and Thai or Birdseye chilies all boiled in a mix of coconut milk and another liquid, typically water or stock. “Gai” which is Thai for chicken makes the soup into Tom Kha Gai. “Kûng” or shrimp makes it Tom Kha Kûng. You can use chicken or shrimp/fish stock respectively, or stick to water. Veggies and straw or oyster mushrooms are sometimes added. After everything has been briefly boiled, the soup should be removed from the heat and seasoned with lime juice, cilantro, fish sauce, and sugar. Don’t overdo the fish sauce – use salt instead to taste. The inedible lime leaves and slices of galangal remain present as garnishes, as a reminder of where the dish gets its subtle and unique flavors.
That’s the classic framework, anyhow.
The best Tom Kha I’ve ever had is far from classic. EE Sane is my favorite Milwaukee Thai restaurant. Their tom kha is thick, creamy, spicy, pungent, sweet and tart, all in perfect balance. The flavors fiercely fluctuate, competing for attention while its luxuriously thick and spicy coconut broth coats the palate. It’s not traditional. It is not subtle. The broth is orangey-red, laden with the oil of the chiles – exciting compared to the usual opalescent swirl of tropical milk. The lemongrass, galangal and lime leaves are not to be found with the usual suspects: shrimp, broccoli and the occasional baby corn. And I swear, they add cream.
Sometimes, tradition is wrong. I don’t think that’s the case with Tom Kha, but the subtleties of the traditional dish would have a difficult time competing with EE Sane’s implementation; after all, it is the latter against which I compare all other versions of this soup. I will someday post a recipe as close to EE Sane’s as I can achieve. Until then, good eating.
How to Make Scones (and my family uncomfortable)
Sep 19th
I’ll try to be short and sweet. Scones are amazing – these are flaky and fabulously rich. Sweet and brilliant with milk, coffee, or tea – you’d be a fool to not make your own. Just work fast and keep your ingredients cold! You’ll get a flaky, biscuit-like scone every time.
You’ll need:
Dry Ingredients
- 2 cups of all purpose flour; I used 1¾C AP and ¼C whole wheat pastry flour. The softer the flour, the better – try cake flour if you’ve got it.
- ½ cup of granulated sugar
- ½ cup of currants
- 2 teaspoons baking powder
- ¼ teaspoon baking soda
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1 teaspoon lemon zest
Other Ingredients - a stick of butter (4 ounces = 8 tablespoons), frozen
- ¾ cup of heavy cream
You’ll also need:
- two bowls, about 4 quarts each
- a cheese (or other type of) grater
- a zester/microplaner
- a whisk
- a spatula
- rolling pin
- cutting board
- sharp knife
- a baking sheet (half pans work nicely)
- wax paper
- measuring cups/spoons
- one granny, or a resident-old-person
- And as always, clean hands (and likewise, all other tools)
Here’s how to do it:
- Working very quickly, grate the frozen butter into a bowl. Yes, with a cheese grater. You can very lightly coat the grater with oil to keep the butter from sticking, though its coldness should help. Once grated, return the curly butter to the freezer to firm up-about 20 minutes. Your hands really know how to melt butter’s heart.
- Mix the dry shit in a bowl. Use a wisk if you care to; use your hands if you don’t give a **** ’cause you a gansta. A scone-making gangsta. And don’t forget the salt and lemon zest, mother******.
- Okay, I don’t know what happened there. Take that cold butter out of the freezer and mix it into the dry ingredients. Coat the butter with flour, using your fingertips to gently and quickly mash it all together. You want to work fast so the butter doesn’t melt.
- At this point, you’ll have a flaky-flourish thing going on. Perfect time to add the heavy cream. It’s probably best to use a spatula here, unless you like having objectionably sticky fingers (until you realize how sticky AND tasty they are).
- Once the cream is incorporated evenly, you’ll have a flaky but workable mass of dough – flour your hands and give it a few good kneads to bring it all together. Flour your cutting board or clean work surface, as well as your rolling pin. Roll that ****er out to about ½ an inch thick. Place on wax paper and into the freezer to cool for about 5-10 minutes or until firm but workable.
- Flour your surface again and fold the dough into thirds. Roll it back to about ½ an inch thick and give it a turn, folding into thirds again. Do this two more times. This is how we build those flaky layers! If the dough starts getting soft, toss it back on the wax paper and into the freezer.
- The final roll should remain about one inch thick. Preheat your oven to 450°F and let the dough cool down one last time in the freezer. When the oven’s nice ‘n’ toasty, take your dough out and cut into into quarters, and cut each quarter once, yielding 8 triangle-ish scones. Lightly coat them with softened or melted butter.
- Place onto a baking sheet and into the oven for about 20 minutes, or until they start to get brownish. The good ol’ toothpick-trick can also be employed; they’ll feel a hint soft but will firm up as they cool. Remove to a rack to cool for about 10-15 minutes.
- Enjoy, with your *****-*** granny, or *****-*** granny substitute.
Summer Garden 2009
Jun 20th
Some friends and I, as well as neighbors, have started a community garden. I won’t disclose the location, but, know this: it is awesome. There’s about 200 by 50 feet of usable area – most of which has been planted. In the ground and growing are:
- spinach
- collards
- mustards
- brazing mix
- broccoli
- brussels sprouts
- cabbage
- cauliflower
- carrots
- peas
- radishes
- beets
- swiss chard (two kinds)
- turnips
- celeriac
- bush beans
- cucumbers (two kinds)
- squash
- zucchini
- potatoes
- leeks
- onions
- tomatoes (several varieties)
- peppers (several varieties)
- eggplant
- tomatillo
- cilantro
- thyme
- oregano
- basil
- kale
- zinias
- sunflowers
- lillies
- other flowers
We’re hoping to have a few neighborhood BBQs featuring food from the garden – but that probably won’t be until closer to August or September. I hope to have pictures up soon!
Morbier, Mozzarella and Chevre – Oh My!
Jun 16th
I’m losing count of how many times I start a post with “It’s been awhile since I last wrote”. But it has.
And since then, I’ve fallen into the rabbit-hole universe of cheese-making.
It started with a trip to Minors, to get some gear for the community garden my friends and I are working in. Already on the North-West side of town, we stopped at Larry’s Market – and met the man himself. He offered us countless varieties: Marieke Foenegreek Gouda, blue, mobay, dill havarti, and others – from all over Europe and Wisconsin.
And then I saw it – the morbier (not to be confused with mobay, though they look similar). Sitting in the case, the black-ash dividing the morning from the evening milk, I couldn’t resist trying it again; and how could Larry refuse to comply?
The strong, almost acrid flavor was still there. But unlike the first time I tried it, the richness and depth of flavor in the milk were the most notable features. I still don’t regard it as a favorite cheese, but it certainly verifies my suspicions that the cheese case at the Downer Sendik’s is:
- A) poorly and irregularly stocked
- B) not sufficiently refrigerated
-or-
Whatever the (cheese) case, I probably won’t shy from morbier again, unless it’s at Sendik’s.
While at Larry’s, I mentioned a friend whose parents owns Saxon Creamery, in Cleveland, WI. Larry and his son talked up Mr. and Mrs. Heimerl, and said that Jerry would be in the following day. Five minutes later, he walks out of the back of the shop, so we tried their famous Big Ed variety. Amazing. Creamy and almost sweet, but with a sharpness that only a good aging can add.
I was hooked. I started reading cheese-making books, frequenting websites, watching both small and large batch cheese-making videos. I already regularly made my own yogurt – goat milk paneer didn’t seem harder. And in fact, it was easier to strain because the curd is larger.
While at an acquaintance’s birthday gathering, I discovered her husband makes his own cheeses, and works at the Wisconsin Cheese Mart. We discussed designs for cheese presses, and building earthen caves for aging our creations. All surrounding activity seemed to hum like timelapse video footage. Not surprisingly, the birthday-woman was not want of interest.
I stopped by the shop after a co-worker told me about the Sartori Merlot Cheese – which I regret expressing skepticism towards. But I bought some, and it was tasty, as were the goudas, the petit frère, and most notably, the Pleasant Ridge Reserve, which I’m told is made with unpasteurized milk from cows that graze on different cover crops each year.
Two weeks ago I stayed in central Wisconsin for several days, near Wausau. While shopping in town at Farm & Home , I happened upon a New England Cheesemaking kit for just shy of $20, and cheese and other dairy cultures. I also hope to visit The CheeseMaker, in Cedarburg. In the next several months down the yellow brick (cheddar, perhaps?) cheese road, I hope to make:
- mozzarella
- chevre
- a cheese press
- a cheese cave
- some sort of hard cheese…maybe cheddar
- gruyère (someday)
I’ve got a few raw milk sources, getting more gear, and support and enthusiasm from friends and family. I’ll post the results, perhaps!
More Morbier?
Feb 24th
It seems most people who are opposed to trying new foods cling to a childhood detest. While willing to hold their hand in flavor-adventures, I am more concerned with those who say “I’ll try anything once”. These people should realize the huge range of flavors, textures, smells, and other qualities that can exist within a single type of food. Onions for example can range wildly in sugar or sulfur content. Hummus can vary in texture and tartness, amongst other things.
What I’m getting at is that it takes a lot for me not to like something; I’ll try anything twice, at least, and usually more—probably until the day I die. I have to. I have to, because one instance of food does not represent the entire class which it represents.
So it shocked me when I found something that made me gag. Seriously. I almost threw up upon smelling it. I never almost throw up. Maybe it was the fact that the cheese I had bought itself smelled like vomit. I dragged it under the noses of semi-willing though hesitant friends, and I now consider them even truer friends for subjecting themselves to such cruelty for the satiation my disbelieving olfactory organs.
The cheese—a rich, creamy, AOC French variety called Morbier—stinks like puke. Like absolute vomit. It’s made with the extra Gruyère curd, from both the evening and morning. At night, they cover it with a layer of organic ashes. In the morning, a new batch of curd is spread on top—creating a black line through the middle of the cheese. The whole process is fascinating…really…and the cheese is extremely rich and luxurious but it is so hard to get past the puke–smell.
So here, I leave you. Know that I will try other Morbiers in my life. But for once, I will hesitate, until I find one that doesn’t make me wretch like a 2 AM fratboy on the corner of Oakland and Locust.