I honestly feel that the most important tool in my cook’s
virtual knife kit is not any twist of technique, nor depth of knowledge gained
from reading about cuisines around the world and avidly eating from Strasbourg
to Roanoke, Tofino to Chengdu, nor skill attained from picking up the chef’s
knife every day to slice, dice, mince, chop, julienne, chiffonade, and
brunoise. No, the number one weapon in my kitchen arsenal these days is the
ability to go with the flow. ‘Twas not
always so. Back in the day I’d get a
notion in my head—lobster-stuffed potstickered wontons with black bean sauce,
say, or a salad of peaches and beets—and doggedly pursue the wildest hare to
the bitter end, no matter if that involved blood, sweat, tears, and a
disappointing dinner. Well, often that
approach yielded good results—the wontons were excellent (the peach-beet salad,
less so). But it was stressful, and if
affairs in the kitchen went amiss, the evening could go completely off the
rails. Nowadays, when I let ingredients
lead my cooking more than any overwrought conceit, things tend to turn out
better, perhaps because I’m more willing to enjoy how things turn out. It’s a culinary version of the old, “Wherever
you go, there you are.” Maybe I’ve
embraced the zen of cooking, and maybe my standards have just slipped. Whatever.
A case in point was last night’s dinner, which was supposed
to be brunch, which might have become Chinese supper, which it was not,
although it was eaten with chopsticks and rice bowls. That might require a little bit of
explanation.
We had friends visiting at the farm and Bide-A-Wee this past
weekend, and Sunday morning I started preparing some salads to have on a brunch
buffet. I was thinking of something a
bit smorgasbord-ish: there would be corn
pancakes as the main event, and homemade herbed yogurt cheese, pickled beets,
that sort of thing. Maybe open a can of kippers. I found a couple of overgrown
radishes in the garden which nonetheless were still firm and not too strong, and which sliced up into beautiful pink-and-white coins on the Benriner. A couple of lovely Suyo Long cucumbers I also
shaved into thin planks, and then sliced into veggie noodles, tossed those with
a pretty hot chile-garlic oil, with just a splash of cider vinegar. This could have been a Sichuan dish, except for the context. Things were coming together nicely in my head
for a delightful brunch.
But when Tim and Melinda came down the hill from Bide-A-Wee,
it turned out they’d already had some yogurt and granola for breakfast, had
enjoyed a walk around the Bide-A-Wee meadows, and were just about ready to head
back to town. No time or belly space for
brunch. No problem. The salads could chill ‘til dinner. We saw our friends on their way back home, then
hopped in the car to do some shopping errands in Rice Lake. On the way we stopped at the Crossroads Café
in Cameron for Sunday dinner—Mary had the country fried steak, and I had
chicken dinner (dark meat). Both dinners
came with a scoop of decent mashed potatoes, kind of soggy but still very tasty
stuffing, and niblets corn (or you could have had Jell-O). Mary’s gravy was white and specked with
pepper; mine was chicken-dinner yellow.
Service was friendly and brisk.
My chicken was good, but not as good as the fall-off-the-bone version at
the Sand Creek Café. Mary’s country-fried
steak was better, and she let me sample a generous portion. After lunch we headed to Menard’s well-fed and
content. On the way to the checkout we
were drawn to the looming Salted Nut Roll display, thinking that Nut Goodies
would be nearby, but there were none to be found. We settled for a Snickers (Mary) and Hershey’s
Milk Chocolate with Almonds (me). Why
am I telling you this?
Okay. Back home,
little nap, some minor chores, a walk.
Radishes and cucumbers do not a supper make, but as lunch had been
substantial, we didn’t want anything heavy.
Indeed, with our counters constantly covered in produce, and more, so
much more in the gardens coming ripe, we think of vegetable centerpieces to our
meals more than meat. So some of the
lovely corn we picked ourselves from a field near Sand Creek (with the farmer’s
permission and supervision, of course!), which was originally going to garnish
pancakes, that I simmered with onion, jalapeno, garlic, ginger, sage, lemon,
and plenty of butter. I had some
eggplants from the market, and a big basket overflowing with patty pan squash
from the garden. My only thought with
those was to grill them, toss them with minced shallots. The thought evolved: add some
Hay River pumpkin seed oil,* garlic, then a
couple pinches of quatre-épices, cumin, and finally some piment d’espelette. This turned out to be the star of the
show. A recipe worth writing down,
passing on, repeating very soon.
And we served it all with rice, and ate with chopsticks,
because that seemed elegant and appropriate, although this was not a Chinese
meal. But why not? The cucumbers, as I say, could easily have
passed on a Chinese table, and the radishes too; the eggplant-squash dish, with
its mild heat and cumin fragrance, would have drawn compliments but raised no
eyebrows as part of a meal in northwest China, along the silk road, where the
food can seem Middle Eastern, Indian, or even Mexican. And the corn was pretty much the same
combination of ingredients that I stir-fry together for yumi chao lajiao—corn with
chiles—and happily serve in Sichuan
meals. Only the butter—and maybe the
sage—took it away from Chinese territory.
And yet, the combination of dishes, and the overall context, made this
seem more French than Chinese. Although it
started out Scandinavian. And it occurred
to me in the course of the meal that it was a bit like the banchan dishes—kimchi,
salads, and other little bites—that precede and accompany a Korean meal.
Scandinavian-French-Chinese-Korean-American tapas. That’s what I’d call it. With chopsticks.**
We drank a French vouvray from Champalou, a longtime
favorite wine; always beautifully aromatic, ranging from dry to slightly sweet
depending on the vintage.
Good things happen when you go with the flow.
Grilled Eggplant and Summer Squash with Pumpkin Seed Oil and
Exotic Spice
Serves two as a side or part of a SFCKAT meal
2 Asian eggplants
2 small zucchini, same size as the eggplant, or a medium
patty pan or yellow summer squash
Olive oil
Salt
1 ½ tablespoons pumpkin seed oil
1 tablespoon sunflower oil
1 small garlic clove, minced fine
1 small shallot, minced
2 generous pinches ground cumin
1/8 teaspoon piment d’espelette (or another aromatic, mildly
hot ground chile that you like)
Good squeeze of lemon juice
Freshly ground black pepper
Remove the peel from the eggplants on two sides, remove stem
and trim bottom, then slice the eggplants in half the long way, through the
skin, so you have planks with the flesh exposed on the broad sections and
strips of skin on the sides. If that
makes sense. Slice the squash how you
like to do for grilling. Toss both
eggplant and squash with a generous amount of olive oil, and salt generously as
well.
Grill the vegetables until nicely brown, perhaps a bit
charred, and very soft. Chop them into ¾-inch
chunks. Mix the remaining ingredients,
along with another pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper, and toss with the
vegetables. Garnish with a few very thin
shallot slices, if you like.
_____________________________________________________
* This dish turned out to be my favorite-to-date use for our Ken and Jay's wonderful Hay River pumpkin seed oil. Though the oil's flavor took a backing role to the fragrant spices, the oil's texture gave a real depth and heft to this all-veggie dish. I don't know why unctuous often has negative connotations; this dish, which actually used three different oils, had a savory unctuousness that was extremely appetizing.
**All of which made me think of
this excellent article by (Dear) Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl on the sense of the authentic in contemporary cuisine, "culinary imperialism", and the Twin Cities Asian restaurant boom--which is much more the real deal than the so-called Scandinavian restaurant boom, which consists of one high-end restaurant and a lunch spot in the American Swedish Institute....
