Honestly, what is it with you? I post a picture of seasonally-appropriate pumpkin pie, positively groaning under the heavenly decadence of a cumulus cloud of whipped cream, anointed with a lascivious dribble of maple syrup, and even go so far as to post said picture along with an ACTUAL RECIPE for the best crust in the world. And submit the picture to the most shamelessly dessert-whoring websites in tubedom. And what do I get?
It warmed up a bit, and that made for a November Sunday perfectly suited to getting some chores done. I spent a couple of hours out in the garden dismantling tomato trellises and then cleaning out all of the tender beds; the blasted remnants of cucurbits and nightshades all got raked into the compost along with lawn trimmings, the kitchen pile, ashes from the grill, and some leaves.
So when I wrote the last post I thought it was a pretty nifty illustration of the way in which I try to let the previous meal inform the current one, thus making efficient use of the various leftovers and remnants in the fridge and making me feel like I’m living up to the expectations of my frugal, persecuted ancestors. Joking aside, I think that an excellent counterweight to our rampant, compulsive materialism-as-grasping-antidote-to-spiritual-bankruptcy culture is the conscious production of good food at home. And, like Sarah Palin’s Facebook page, those leftovers kept on givin’. You betcha!
A recent outing to a place that carries decent if inconsistent seafood yielded a dozen littleneck clams and a bag of wild Pacific shrimp. Our seafood options are limited up here, so I was thinking of ways to mix up what we can get that is both tasty and defensible. So on the ride home I did some thinking, and then some more once safely back in the kitchen. The results were quite good, and paved the way for a very compelling meal the following night. The difference between good and great food often lies in saving bits and pieces from previous meals.
It’s full-on fall gorgeousness here, and mid-weight meals are very much in effect. The sun is warm, and the leaves are incandescent, but the shade has a chill to it that makes one glad for a layer and come sundown it gets brisk in a hurry. The garden is transitioning nicely into fall, with lots of greens and roots to make for a nearly full spectrum of colors and textures until the first freeze culls the tenderer plants and leaves a narrower but still plentiful assortment into winter. I’m setting up the hoop houses this week, and I’ll try to write a bit about it for anybody considering season-extension technologies involving a minimum of effort and expense. Meanwhile, food.
I have been extraordinarily busy of late, with a show opening next week and an article due before I go to hang it and then swan around the opening looking artistic and important and the like. And this on top of the usual day-to-day, which seems only to get thicker and more obnoxious with the passage of time. The to-do list is metastasizing into a beast that will not be tamed. Anyone looking for an internship as my personal assistant is encouraged to apply; it may not be the sexiest position available but I promise that at least half of the things I throw at you will be good to eat.
The presence of smoked chicken carcasses in the fridge could mean only one thing: stock. And now it’s that most compelling time of year, with warm sun and chilly shade and mountains bedecked with autumn raiment under skies of impossibly clear and cloudless blue. Each season so far this year has been pretty splendid; summer got a bit too hot and dry for a while, but in all it’s just been gorgeous weather. And we’re having a stunning Indian summer that just goes on and on (and the best days have been hitting on the weekends). Last night was the first light frost.
So what I’m saying is that it’s soup season.
Instead of pickling them, I’ve been leaving green beans on the plant once they get beyond the filet stage, which is the only stage where I really enjoy them. Once fat and fibrous, they make a decent 3-bean salad, especially when run through my Grandmother’s antique bean slicer up in Vermont, but the thrill is pretty much gone. So, along with our dragon’s tongue beans, I’ve been shelling and drying them instead with an eye towards soups and stews and, of course, cassoulet–that apotheosis of beans–and something this chilly, rainy spell is steering my mind towards with increasing force.
It cooled off wonderfully last night, allowing for some actual cooking. And the variety of leftovers beckoned to be transformed into something other than themselves, lest monotony make for a sullen, listless dinner. So I pulled out a whole bunch of containers, made a pass through the garden, and got to work. Since there were lots of lentils and a fair amount of the raw marinated kale (read back a couple of posts and you’ll…
Improvising dinner is a funny thing; sometimes–like two posts ago–it fails utterly in the absence of attentive preparation. Usually it works fine, especially when it treads familiar, well-worn paths of technique and ingredients. And sometimes it exceeds wildest imaginings, making for a perfect plate of food. Happily, last night was such an instance. I did the usual pre-dinner survey, pulling various containers and vegetables out of the fridge, and took stock. (I actually took stock…