Olive Experiment

What do you know? I had serious doubts, but apparently it is indeed as simple as throwing some ripe olives into sea salt. After a couple of weeks on the counter in a bowl, I brushed off the salt, and they are lovely, chewy, prune like in complexity, and only a hint of bitterness. I am astounded actually. I'm almost tempted to cook with them, or throw them in olive oil and herbs to see what happens.

I don't know what it is about this season, maybe it's free time, but I am going a little berserk with food projects. I've got wild duck parts under fat for confit - only it's cured, so I'm thinking will come out red and chewy - and another fresh domestic duck I'm trying to decide what to do with right now. I put up a barrel of kim chee this morning, which I intend to bury over the winter in a clay crock, just to see what happens. The last sauerkraut batch turned out incredible - Ethan is munching on it now, and here was the key, don't squash the shredded cabbage, just add water if it isn't submerged by its own liquid. It stays very crunchy.

I also tried to make crab apple jelly yesterday, which tastes exquisite but never set up. Though it does go very nicely with rye. (Whisky that is). I also cooked up a slow pot of beans with the smoked cured turkey wings from Thanksgiving. 8 hours in the oven. Gottenu! Went perfectly with the tamales Brett brought to a Secret Santa Party last night. Actually I got a gorgeous turned wooden salt cellar made by Steve, which is one of the best Christmas presents I have ever received.

What else? Oh, a jerky experiment, what would happen if it were cured and then dried? We'll see. The fun never ends.

Duck Season

The scenario is now familiar, so too the modus operandi and dramatis personae. First I get a call from Christine. An hour later she shows up bearing some species of wild animal, which is then cleaned and dressed, as hoodies start showing up to help. A lot of bourbon passes lips and suddenly the whole neighborhood is crammed into the kitchen eating directly from the pans. I would have it no other way.

If I had planned for a minute there would ahve been something to go with it, but nope, just ducks. Ten of them. Ranging in size from a mere fistful to barely game hen. My first thought was panic. I tried calling Hank, expert in all things wild duck, but no answer. Are they widgeon, widget, teal? So we decided to "wing" it. They were actually very easy to pluck. Just as easy to eviscerate. A few I took apart to cure, then a few breasts and legs went immediately into a pan with rendered fat, and they were very fat. Everyone agreed this was the best, just barely pink. Some were roasted, some pan sauteed and chopped crosswise as Chinese chefs do. They were frankly delicious, dripping with fat, as fresh as food gets.

So sweet little ducks, we thank you. We thank the person who brought you down, and she who brought you over, and those who brought you to the kitchen cleaned, and those whose gullets you graced.

Bartolomeo Scappi Dinner 1570

Yesterday I cooked for a benefit, directly from Scappi's Opera. Pictured here is the first cold antipasti course, a not untypical 16th c. starter: my olives and salami, a fennel salad, and my first mozarella (made from raw milk). I saw someone doing the whole pasta filata trick and thought, I can do that. My hands are still tingling - ouch. It went with my sourdough nicely. The second course was a minestra di foglie di rape (II:205) followed by a charming subtlety of sausages made from trout (III:153). The process was wacky, chopped trout into casings, poached in red wine, smoked for an hour and finally sauteed. They looked exactly like pork sausages, so I served them with my fresh sauerkraut and a pickled lady apple. I think Scappi would have approved the nod northward. The main course was a petto della Vitella mongana (II:34) braised in a clay pot in the oven for about 8 hours with prunes, cherries and a riot of spices. It was dizzyingly unctuous and went so well on bright yellow saffron and rose scented rice. A simpler apple pie to end. In all not a very expensive meal, but in terms of man-hours, an absurdity. Scappi had an army of cooks in the Papal kitchens and we are beginning to understand why.

(Mother) Hubbard Squash

You don't get a sense of the scale of this mother unless you look at the teapots on the shelf below. It was so big and gnarly that few people believed it was real. The smaller part fits nicely on my head. What you see is the squash bissected, scraped out and left to dry. Our friend Jean, a plant breeder, brought it on Thanksgiving, so I can believe it is a prodigy. The second shot, you can see what became of her. And I still have several buckets of cooked down squash - I can see soup on the horizon. Perhaps pie.

DeBooking the Blog

Dear Friends, You may notice that roughly half my bloggings are gone. Just as I had to deblog the book, I also had to debook the blog. So all the salami, bread, pickles, olives and many other fun recipes and pictures had to taken down. The good news, however, is many of the images have been turned into illustrations and many of the recipes perfected and refined in The Lost Art of Real Cooking, co-authored with Rosanna Nafziger. Coming out next year. I just indexed it. And it's going into production imminently. I'll keep you updated for speaking engagements and other marketing venues. It's all very exciting!

Gobble Gobble

Having left me camerade at work, I have no pictures to offer. Intent on the utterly traditional Thanksgiving, as always, I made a detour in NOT using anything prepackaged, canned or frozen. An unusual challenge as it turned out. Who ever realized that I was using Il Fornaio bread and canned Swanson broth for stuffing?? I have now. So it was my own wild yeast bread and a 12 hour turkey (NOT chicken) broth. If it hadn't burned on the bottom, I would be reeling still.

The experiment that truly worked, however, was a turkey. Let me offer details. Take out the backbone and rib cage entirely so have two lobes and legs and wings still attached. Put this into a big bag designed for brining, but no, we shall not brine. We cure. Salt, sugar, spices, and nitrites, oh! A few tablespoons of each. With bay leaves and rosemary. For a full 10 days, while I was away. No liquid at all. Then truss into a compact shape with string and smoke, over grape cuttings, lemon and oak, in this case for about 8 hours. And it is an actual TURKEY HAM. Succulent, sweet and smokey after the blackened skin in removed. Served cold, and remarkably wondrous. Better than the other turkey right beside him.

The rest is a blurr, which must be a good thing, though it was two days in the kitchen. Don Christobal and I made a real meat micemeat with suet raised crust, which was the best thing on the table. Add about 100 pounds more food and you will get the idea for 20 something people. And there is still a case or more of wine. O povero mio!

Braised Lamb Shanks

The torrential rains have hit early this year. It makes me want to work, which is good since the copyedited Lost Art of Real Cooking has arrived for corrections. As you may have noticed I have begun to remove posts here, those which will appear in the book. Alas. Without forethought I somehow find myself exactly where I was a year ago when starting the book with Rosanna, putting up pickles and olives, making a new sourdough starter, craving long braised flesh.

Thus I was led to this simple dish: lamb shanks lightly browned, placed in a casserole with fresh rosemary and bay leaves, tomatoes and a whole bottle of Inkblot Cabernet Franc. What inspired such profligacy I wont venture to guess. Gently baked about 5 hours, without the slightest stir or nudge lest it fly asunder and be smashed to atoms. It took the gentlest cradling merely to move it from casserole to plate. Thereafter it need only be spooned into the mouth. UNCTION.