What the hell is this thing?
I’ve been hearing a lot from readers these days, which is always lovely; however, it appears that many of you are either concerned, disgruntled, or flat out cranky about the fact that my beloved pork belly–the jewel, the flower, the little flavor-packed love button of my kitchen–has been on a vacation for a while. Don’t worry; porky is just taking a small siesta, and, assuming that I can find a local pig farmer, will start showing up again soon in interesting and delicious new ways. I promise.
The truth is, for the last few weeks I’ve been a little bit out of my culinary element and acting like a gastronomically befuddled tourist in a strange land, like Paul Bowles dragging a microwave through the Algerian Sahara. I’ve been faced with the prospect of eating differently--really differently–for a variety of reasons. My primary guide on the early parts of this trek through the unknown mostly has been Deborah Madison, that omnivorous vegetable genius, and her Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone; if I had to give up absolutely every single book on my shelf, hers would be the one I’d most want to keep hidden in the floorboards. There’s also been Lorna Sass‘s Whole Grains Every Day Every Way; and Roy Andries de Groot’s Auberge of the Flowering Hearth. The reasons are pretty simple: sure, it’s easy to steam, broil, or roast seasonal vegetables every day, day after day, and toss them with the ubiquitous olive oil, garlic, and a bit of sea salt. But it’s another thing entirely to put them at the center of the plate and to learn how prepare them in exquisite but simple ways I never thought possible, and then, to turn meat into a side dish, and that’s really what Deborah’s work has done in my home. She dashed the fear factor for me–that feeling that emerges when you find yourself at a farmer’s market staring at a burdock root and thinking what in the hell? As for Lorna, she’s been teaching me that grains aren’t just limited to the kasha varnishkes I love (and grew up with) or the millet I’ve loathed (and equated with bird seed). And Roy? His often forgotten book was the first that told me “keep it local, keep it seasonal, and treat it well” long before I fell in love with the work of another of his fans, Alice Waters.
“Oh dear god, not this vegetarian stuff again—” my mother said to me the other night when I said I was roasting Jerusalem artichokes and having them with pan-braised kale, diced potatoes, and cumin. She audibly reminded herself of a small two year spate back in the 1980s when I was furtively involved with someone who decided that she was an ethical vegetarian (except for the odd prime rib) and, because I was The Cook, I had to be one, too. Ah, love. My mother managed to convince herself that my sudden and extreme weight loss was attributed to the fact that I was not eating meat (although I was replacing it with large quantities of mozzarella), and remedied the situation by immediately sending me a $200 gift package of individually wrapped veal chops, which I was suppose to store in the shoebox-sized freezer I had in my “European-style” refrigerator. Mom never knew the truth: that secret, unrequited love bundled together with extreme aggravation make for a terrific metabolic booster.
Anyway, what I do want to make clear to all of my readers is that no, I am not a vegetarian, and no, I’m not on some weird crash diet involving avocados and Brislings, either; I have, however, decided to approach the way I eat from a different angle. As some of you can probably guess, part of this decision was spurred by the discovery in December of a small cardiac issue that turned into a midlife crisis, and an acknowledgment of my inability to treat my body like it was still 23. The other side of the coin is more straightforward: the more I know of food, how it’s produced and the way we eat it in this country, the less I want of it, unless I have at least a decent idea of where it’s coming from. And no, a multi-acre industrial feedlot in northeastern Colorado isn’t a good thing, no matter how cheap the beef winds up being.
At first, I thought that eating this way was going to be too challenging to even think about, from a practical point of view. But, it seems, there are easy ways to accomplish it: first, I’m buying and preparing local vegetables, and making them the center of my plate. Literally. Putting them down in the center. Second, (and I know I’m repeating myself) I’m limiting my purchasing of meat to what is available locally, and I’m willing to shell out money for it because it is expensive. Very expensive, in some cases. But this also means that I’ll probably eat less of it, because I have to. Another way to accomplish this is to eat what grows in my own garden, when Morris, our resident groundhog isn’t flossing with the pea shoots. Unfortunately, as of this writing, my garden is sitting beneath a layer of snow and ice, so I’m dependent upon the local farms that happen to have root cellars. They’re few and far between in my neck of the woods, so it’s a damn good thing I like turnips.
Luckily, we have managed to find a wonderful commercial resource for all manner of fresh, local root vegetables and hearty greens, and I must say, they are stunning, even just aesthetically-speaking. Unfortunately, I’ve discovered that I do what most neophytes do when faced with alien produce–that stuff that’s pretty unrecognizable to most Americans, like kohlrabi, or burdock: I stare. And then I think “What would Deborah do?” Then I go home, open up her book/bible, and find out. She tells me pretty much everything I need to do, every single time.
Long way of saying that if you live in a temperate climate, and you have Meyer lemons growing in your backyard, or you can proudly recognize far more than the usual supermarket suspects–asparagus, celery, onion, carrot, turnip, and rutabaga–and furthermore you actually know what to do with them, you’re on the right track. Send me an email, or comment here, if you do. I’d love to hear from you. And whatever you do with them, put the result in the middle of your plate; just give the meat a little nudge out of the way, first.
Delicious! One of my favorite vegetables!
Thanks!
Dear Elissa,
Lorna (the one, the only) forwarded your latest post to me, her Sweetie and videographer, and I was very much cheered by it and your commonsensical approach to what might be on your plate and ours. I am happy to have vegetables at the center of the plate, but since I was trained in the classical school of carnivorousness (some say omnivorousness) I am happy to think of other things around the circumference. Have you posted a picture of Morris? It might be an inspiration to those of us who are supposed to floss and don't.
Cheers!
Michael Steinman
http://www.jazzlives.wordpress.com
Thanks so much for your comments Michael! Alas, no pictures of Morris. But Spring IS right around the corner!
Were I not married to a meat 'n' taters type who shuns most vegetables, I'd follow your example in a heartbeat, Elissa. When I'm cooking for myself, it's mostly vegetarian.
Elizabeth Schneider's 'Vegetables from Amaranth to Zucchini' is a wonderful resource, especially for less familiar delights like kohlrabi and burdock. And if you're not already a fan of Steve Sando's outstanding beans (http://ranchogordo.com/), please try them! They're delicious enough to stand on their own without carnivorous support.
Elissa –
What generous words from you, and what an even-minded approach to your plate, sides and center.
I don't know what you're going to do about Morris, though, who IS a vegetarian and who's going to absolutely love your kohlrabi.
Purple kohlrabi, by the way, makes a most attractive ornamental garden plant, but then you'll never be able to pick it and eat it.
Cathy, I know–and love–Rancho Gordo, and we've been cooking from Steve's cookbook a lot lately. Beans will never be the same!
Thanks so much Deborah- Your books are treasures for all of us, vegetarian or omnivore. As for Morris….he's another story.