DC’d: Absinthe and other stories

After six months of busy-ness—moving to DC, unpacking ALL my boxes, building yet more Ikea furniture (I have bought and sold their furniture since 1995, which given that I have moved about once every two years (two times across the Atlantic)  that means I have built atleast 7 houses worth of stuff) learning new street names, finding more consulting work (to pay the rent), and of course planting my balcony (which meant hauling 6 HUGE bags of dirt up to the 11th floor) I am ready to share the details of my new DC adventures in urban gardening,

cooking, taste testing, foraging, resto-ranting, etc. etc.

So, we begin, with ABSINTHE.

Absinthe, as some of you may know, is the infamous  ”La Fee Verte”  of  1797 Franco-Swiss origin (the Jura)—that was outlawed in 1915.  (The following is from, http://www.absintheonline.com/acatalog/History.html)

“ Absinthe takes its name from Artemisia absinthium, the botanical name for the bitter herb wormwood, known in French as ‘Grande absinthe’. This ingredient of the liquor absinthe also contains the molecule thujone, which supposedly accounts for its alleged mind-altering properties. Wormwood infusions had been known as a medicine as far back as Greek times however it was not until around 1792 that the alcoholic elixir was supposedly created. Pierre Ordinaire, a French doctor living in Switzerland, distilled the wormwood plant in alcohol with anise, hyssop, lemon balm, and other local herbs. According to popular legend, Ordinaire actually obtained his recipe from the local Henriod sisters, who had been making an ‘elixir d’absynthe’ to treat illnesses for years.The tonic, quite powerful at around 72% alcohol, was locally heralded as a medical cure-all. The recipe was in turn passed on to a Major Dubied, whose son-in-law was Henri-Louis Pernod. Whatever the truth behind its origins, absinthe stopped being a local curiosity and started on its route to becoming an international phenomenon in 1797 with the foundation of their distillery in Couvet, Switzerland. In 1805, the famous Pernod Fils distillery expanded and opened in Pontarlier, France to avoid customs taxes between Switzerland and France. By 1905, there were hundreds of distilleries in all corners of France producing absinthe, with over 40 distilleries operating across the Swiss border.

Originally, absinthe gained its popularity from its use in North Africa during the French campaigns of the 1840s as a disease preventative and water purifier. The French soldiers brought their taste for the herbal beverage back to the cafés of Paris. Here it became a fashionable drink of the bourgeoisie, so much so that the time between 5.00 pm and 7.00 pm became known as “l’heure verte” (the Green Hour), and absinthe soon became the most popular aperitif in France. From the mid 19th century onwards absinthe became associated with bohemian Paris and featured frequently in the paintings of such artists as Manet, Van Gogh and Picasso. When they were not painting it, they were drinking it in large quantities, joined by contemporary poets such as Baudelaire, Rimbaud and Verlaine – who practically made a career out of it.
Absinthe production grew so much that it became cheaper than wine.
Between 1876 and 1900 the annual consumption in France had rocketed from 1,000,000 litres to 21,000,000 litres. It is no exaggeration to compare the impact of banning absinthe to the effect that the banning of Scotch whisky would have on Scotland.

So, if absinthe was so popular, why was it banned? There were a number of reasons. It got caught up in the temperance movement that was sweeping Europe at the beginning of the 20th century and became the scapegoat for all alcohol; findings were published showing that thujone was a neurotoxin in extremely large quantities (albeit more than was found in even 150 glasses of absinthe!) which caused convulsions and death in laboratory animals. Pressure also came from the wine producers who saw its popularity as a threat to their sales, which had been badly hit by the spread of the phylloxera louse that destroyed most of France’s vineyards by 1890. Another nail was driven in the coffin with the lurid ‘Absinthe Murder’ which took place in Switzerland in 1905 when one monsieur Lanfray shot his entire family after drinking absinthe. The fact that he had also consumed several litres of wine and a considerable amount of brandy was overlooked by the prohibitionists and by 1910 absinthe was banned in Switzerland.

Curiously enough, the French government passed a decree over 15 years ago (Décret n° 88-1024 du 2 novembre 1988) that in effect, re-legalized absinthe under a modified name (‘spiriteux’ or ‘amer aux plantes d’absinthe’) which must follow certain labeling guidelines and the final product, a chemical analysis. A break-through for legal absinthe in modern France, but apparently no one was informed about the law until more than 10 years later! These regulations have since been adopted in the most part by the European Union.”

(To read more check out:http://www.feeverte.net/)

So, now, back to DC—as people are beginning to realize—it is back on the shelves and ready again for the masses.  In my quest to try the “real thing” I  had hauled a bottle of Kubler (“distillee au Val-de-Travers”—near Neuchatel)—back across the Atlantic (yet again) after having learned that the original recipe (wormwood and all) was available.  I hadn’t opened it though as I needed a social gathering and it is taking time to find fellow absinthe drinkers.

So when I got a “Groupon” for an Absinthe tasting at small, cozy and very cool little “cocktail parlour” called “Wisdom”, I signed up immediately.    It was wealth worth it.   Wisdom’s owner, Erik, is a great host and very knowledgeable about his liquors, liqueurs and mixology skills—and absinthe is one of his strong points—-Widsom has about 8 different kinds—each with its own unique story—and flavoring.   My favorites—which we had in a “classic” manner—beautiful spoons, sugar cubes and ice water—were from Philly (!!!) and France (mais oui!) and then the favorites were made into magical cocktails…the names of which you will have to discover when you go and try them….(there has to be some mystery in the quest….)

Some images:

(Bar site: http://www.dcwisdom.com/) and reviews: http://www.yelp.com/biz/wisdom-washington

Now of course, as I do in my posts—I would like to hear of people’s absinthe adventures—where?  What is your favorite?  And, of course is is “different” than other spirits?

Do tell your “green fairy” tales…….

Food to Go: Riding Amtrak 89: “The Palmetto”– the Moveable Feast

7.30 EST. Thursday, 7 January 2010.  It’s early, still only a glimpse of sun, and the Wilmington, Delaware train station, a lucky recipient of US federal stimulus money, is getting a facelift.  Hardhat construction workers, big and beefy, layered in orange safety vests and grey hoodies, line up for coffee in the small café with commuters and tired street people in from out of the cold.  Amtrak cops, one leashed to a black labrador police dog, catch up on the day’s security gossip.  A shoeshine, janitor and luggage porter debate who will win the Super Bowl.  Two well-suited executives greet their NY arriving colleague.  It is time for coffee, donuts, bagels and muffins.  Morning food. Travel food. Train food.

The Palmetto is on time, 10 of us board at 8:03, the car is virtually empty.  A young mother with an infant and toddler, a couple with music leaking out of their earphones, two retirees, already settled with maps laid out.  It is a full half-day journey to Savannah.  My picnic is prepared and ready.  Ready to supplement 12 delightful hours of window watching, reading and writing.  Ready for the steady rhythm of the rails down the east coast of the US.  Ready for the changing scene from the Mid-Atlantic urban bricks of Delaware to the Low country tidelands of South Carolina.

8.43 “Wake-up Smoothie” While coffee and a donut/muffin/bagel may be the mainstay of many a morning traveler, my first food call is to a smoothie—the recipe designed for energy, taste and a touch of health no matter.  The ingredients are getting easier to find almost anywhere and for a travel it is poured into an empty water bottle.  Easy to make and drink—a banana, touch of bee pollen, a nice pour of aloe vera gel, all blended together with a big helping of either pro-biotic yoghurt or kefir.  Today’s brand was “Latin Sabor” probiotic apricot yoghurt—with a rich and almost sweet creamy taste.  Finished in a flash, the straw slipping into the bottle as I slurp out the last drop.

9:26 Baltimore The car begins to fill. More suitcases, cold faces, coats.  A middle-aged couple settles in the seats across the aisle. They too will voyage to Savannah. The conductor punches their tickets while the husband unwraps his breakfast: turkey, lettuce and tomato sandwich on marbled pumpernickel/rye with a bottle of diet coke. The wife tears open a packaged oatmeal breakfast bar and screws off the top of her diet coke bottle.  The sandwich gone, the husband brings out a computer and well-worn leather bound Bible.  Nourishing the body and soul.  Travel food.

10.37  Washington, DC.  My seat is filled by a fellow traveler heading to Charleston, a fellow Mac user, similar backpack and train rider.  We have a quick conversation about Mac and the various tools and capacities and he hauls out a book called, “The Missing Mac Manual Mac OS X: S Show Leopard”, by David Pogue, O’Reilly Press.  It weighs, as he says, “about a trillion pounds…. well more like 5 lbs.” Which from my side is about 5 lbs. too much.  I am amazed and impressed that he is willing to haul it around, but it is, as he says, “it is easy to read, really conversational.”  We talk of right and left-brain and how the Mac is so intuitive.

It is a full car, overheard conversations focus on the train, how late it is, how it is run, how many tracks there are, who owns them and how they are kept up.  It is the talk of people who have learned something new and now know how to travel  the rails—an almost lost art that is slowly, perhaps, being revived. They speak of delays.  I ponder the idea of “delays” and what it means to “be on time”. What does “on time” mean?  I reflect on how it means being able to plan and to share a set moment,  share a rhythm, coordinate the movement from one place to another.   When you need to organize and move people, goods, or stuff, you need tools to coordinate, manage and move—in time—and across space.

There are baggage complaints.  In most stations there is no luggage service and the big suitcases of travelers pile up at the end of cars, overhead, under feet. The car is crowded and getting stuffy.   Will the stimulus money change this?  Will new train services be created?  Will more stations being rebuilt?

How does a culture re-learn how to use the train?  How will a car culture learn to comfortably use  “mass”/ “public” transportation?  How do people learn to sit with each other—to move around a station—wait in lines, buy tickets, take care of baggage?

10.52 Alexandria. Small station, a crowd of people waiting. Suits, briefcases, leather purses.  DC is a border, a transition, I feel a new culture, not New England, not Mid-Atlantic, now yes, the South.  The trees, the forests, the roll of the hills.  The language of the conversation, the more melodic accents and, of courses the food.   We head to grits country.

I begin to want my chocolate donut.  My Dunkin’ Donuts® donut.  My “America runs of Dunkin’”, donut.  We sit in the Alexandria station. A listen to a telephone conversation.  I hear of Harpers’ Ferry, of parents and the back and forth of trying to coordinate schedules.  The tug to meet, to find a way to see each other when schedules are full of other commitments.  “What about on Thursday”, he says,  “come on by and see where I live”.  He pauses, waits for the response.  I wonder who it is he is talking to, a girlfriend? A new friend?  He continues, “yea, come to Baltimore, but then I may go to DC…. so, yes, come and oh, yes ok… when I’m back from Savannah”.   A mystery.  I listen to the complications of one mans’ life.

Train talk.

11.03 I return to the chocolate glazed Dunkin’ donut.  Requested specifically from Michael when he stops to get his coffee before he drops me at the train station. He gets a large coffee in a huge Styrofoam cup with a plastic travel lid —the one with a special non-splash sipping hole.  It smells delicious, a rich deep aromatic coffee smell..  He, and millions, love DD coffee.  I know. I have the facts. I have friends, I have colleagues, I have family who love the tastes who buy it at the grocery store.  I wonder, of course,  what the roasting secret is. I want to know the recipe and add that to my mental list of “find outs” for when I re-connect with the Internet.

Aaaah, the donut. I haul it out of the bag and admire the chunky sugar glaze and the chocolate cakie-ness that makes it a Dunkin Donut.  The same donut I ate as  a child.

I grew up in Durham, New Hampshire and Dunkin Donuts before going national and then global, was a New England treat.  To me it was the best.  Family outings would take us to Boston down Route 1, and, after stopping at the Leaning Tower of Pizza, desert would be a special stop at a Dunkin Donuts….and there weren’t many.  These and only these chocolate donuts remained memorable on my tongue.  No Bess Eaton for me, and definitely—not even, after a 6-year stint in Tampa and strong peer pressure—no Krispy Kreme.  

Yes, I completely understand why the now ubiquitous Dunkin Donuts (currently owned by a French company) runs America.

11.41. We are south of D.C.  We pass through Quantico, full of Marine flags and sport fields and training grounds and forests with rope courses and high wooden walls and towers to be scaled.

The forest has changed; it is scrubbier, oaks and pines with different barks, tougher leaves and shorter needles.  It is a more southern landscape, quickly distinct from the northern terrain we have left.  There is still snow in the shade though, and ice covers streams and ponds.

We move slowly, inching our way down, a series of measured stop and go.  Train freight companies privately own these tracks, south of Washington, and there is only a single track.  Freight trains have priority and we wait as trains go by.

12.24. I ate lunch.  Somewhere between Alexandria and Richmond, the salmon- salad-lettuce-tomato-avocado-on-oatmeal-bread, sandwich tempted me.  As did a delightful mix of olives and crunchy chips.  Train food. Train ride. Slow picnic down the East Coast of North America, long…….lat……..time.

12.52 Ashland/Hanover, Virginia. The train runs through the center of town. Quaint Victorian homes.  A small tourist office.  Who is this town?  We pass through in 3 minutes.  Next stop Richmond, Virginia.  Tobacco country.

1.09. Richmond, Virginia. We get off, walk around, a crowd come on board. The train takes on water.  Tracks beside warehouses, lumber, cement, storage, electric company, CSX rail yard.  CSX owns the rails we ride.  Acres of tracks.  Richmond’s links to the continent and the distributes the leaf.  It is home of big tobacco,  proud makers of millions of dollars and nicotine addicts.  “Smoking on the train is prohibited” a sign reads.

1.24 Move the to club car.  Tables and booths, comfortable for working, looking out the window, watching passengers get their lunches.  I sit down opposite a sign that tells me, “ TABLES ARE FOR FOOD SERVICE ONLY!  No DVD players, laptop computers or game playing. Thank You.” I choose to overlook the sign, creating a response in my head if the train personnel ask me to move.  “Sorry, it was really hot in the car I was in and I needed to get some air”.  Often official personnel of airlines, trains, busses and subways, demure to middle aged women. How long, I wonder, will I be allowed to stay?   Then there is, of course, the fact that I will be getting a cup of coffee at some point—and THAT is, “food service”.  Train drinks.

1.35. The train personnel sit at the table behind me, walkie-talkies cackling, “stopping for a stop signal.  Affirm, hold, move on”.  They speak of colleagues going out today, others returning on Monday.

How is it to ride this narrow corridor, to watch the seasons change from inside a moving metal tube?  This winter snow falls on lands that are not used to the cold white ice crystals blasting down from the Arctic via Canada.  Ice on the steps, doors stick that can’t be opened, jamming at the bottom. Brooms are brought out and hammers break the ice.  “Ice jam in Savannah?” I wonder.  I have been told the temperature was 29 F this morning and is ice forming the alligator lagoons.  It is a cold January that begins the decade.

1.50. Coffee time. Actually hot chocolate with coffee time.  Swiss Miss® Milk Chocolate mix with coffee added.  “Mocha Miss” I think,  “warms the heart”, I hope. Too hot to drink the cups sits a distance from the computer, top tested for security.

1.53. We slow, stopping somewhere.  Petersburg, Va. is the next stop but the signs are hard to find and I am at the very end of the train in the club car.  I have no idea if we have actually stopped at a station. We start up.  Yes, we transit out of Petersburg.

1.57. The ice is gone.  Rivers fun free, no snow on the ground, only a chill.  5 hours further south, deep winter ends.

4.17, Wilson, North Carolina. Stopped.  Small town.  Wonder what people do for a living.  Need to see a map.

4.54. somewhere between here and there.  We are, however, about an hour late on the schedule. Light is fading, begin the end of photos.

5.32. Fayetteville, North Carolina. Stopped. Biggish small town. Wonder what people do for a living.  Need to see a map.  Am wondering about dinner.  My chicken salad, with black-eyed peas, tomatoes and avocadoes.  Wondering about my citrus salad—orange and grapefruit.  Wondering about my chocolate cake.  Maybe later.  Don’t want to leave the club car…..feels like home….smells of coffee, heated up hamburgers and all sorts of munchies….

6.28. Dillon, North(?) South(?)Carolina. (“South of the Border”?) stopped.  Miss a map.  Should have one on the wall near the toilets for tourists to learn where they are.  Would welcome people home—or introduce people to parts of the country they have never seen.

6.31. Heading to Florence, SC. An hour late.  Left the club car and moved seats as the car I was in was an oven. Now in a car with all passengers getting off at Florence….am hoping I can stay here as the car empties out….I like private rail travel. Brought out my delicious picnic dinner:  Roasted chicken salad with avocado, black-eyed peas and tomatoes. Dressed with a touch of olive oil and sesame oil, light rice-wine vinegar and a splash of aged Balsamic.  Spiced with roasted sesame seeds, dried basil, oregano, pepper and salt.  Complemented with buttered rye bread and olives.  Washed down with Green tea ginger ale.  A moveable feast.  Delectable.

6.54. Florence, South Carolina. The car empties as everyone gets off….I hope for space and the chance to have a cool (yes, cool would be nice) car to myself.  We shall see. Quiet. Calm. A treat.

7.40. Stopped in the middle of who knows where.  To dark to see any signs. Moving on.

8.30 Charleston?  Big brick station. People waiting on the tracks to meet the train.  No signs, really hard to tell where we are.  Must be….we are late and have about 1 hour to go.  Time for the chocolate cake.  Entemann’s, dark chocolate with chocolate frosting.  I am eating the stuff of America…..more chocolate, more distinct flavors.  Another mental note to find out where  it was invented and how now owns the recipe.  We sit at the station.  Not the time for cake.  Looks good though.

8.41. Head out.

10:25   FINALLY—-Arrive in Savannah—–with cake, fruit and assorted other goodies left over….aaaaah, picnic at the beach tomorrow!!!

Long trip….but love the train….

Planetary Gastronomy: Food Findings from Earth

Finally able to get back to writing a “Perfect Pot” page and now to find time to share all that I have collected in the last month of travels….from South Carolina, to Switzerland,  NYC, Wilmington, Delaware, to Northampton, Massachusetts.  So many interesting recipes, stories and images that it may take awhile to catch up.  So this entry starts by sharing a bread tale and will then go back in time and I”ll fill in the past adventures.

This bread tale is from Northampton, Massachusetts (Latitude: 42.317816  /  Longitude: -72.632384) where I had been told to visit a small wood fired artisan bakery, run by John Stevens and family with passionate co-workers and customers who wait for the bread to bake while gossiping and sharing food recipes. (http://www.hungryghostbread.com)

I came upon the bakery which sits at the foot of  Smith College and is simply a small brick building that once upon a time was a telephone exchange and later became a small office—and may have housed body guards for a student at Smith.  It was a truly cold, COLD Friday afternoon and it was a privilege to be quickly accepted as I asked questions and took photos of the process…John Stevens is open, sociable and a  ”Maitre” of crusty breads—and shares my views of the need to deeply change the way we grow, prepare and eat our “daily bread”…

The oven is the heart and soul of the bakery…..the fire is stoked with apple wood—two flues allow the smoke to be vented and when ready, the heat to be transferred from the fire box to the oven….the dough is worked on a large table in front of the oven— it is wonderful to watch your bread being worked and transformed….

He uses starter and the dough is proofed a few times, turned, formed then baked.

The beginnings of raisin bread….

As the bread came out of the oven it was immediately packed into paper bags…and the 20 special loaves were gone in 5 minutes….all had either been reserved or the waiting crowd grabbed them up.   I bought two loaves—a savory loaf “boule” of rosemary and a starter “challah”.  Safe in my backpack, I was kept warm by the hot breads— walking down Main Street with a heated-back-warmer—ready to share with my friends…..They were, of course a hit–hot breads, slices of an a light Armenian cheese and some Chianti….

The next day the challah was turned into french toast (quickly dipped in a light mix of egg, rice milk, cinammon, and madagascar vanilla) that was topped with simmered apple slices and deep rich, grade B maple syrup…..

Hungry Ghost Bread was well worth the visit—and if I am lucky next week I will be able to “shadow/learn” from the master….who knows….maybe someday I will be stoke my own woodburning ovens and load  my recipes and strange bread doughs…..

French Cheese Cutting Question Results

Ok dear readers—–first CONGRATS to those brave enough to give an answer—and actually some answers were close…..

THE ANSWER——Well, it depends…..The basic rule is that cheese is cut so that EVERYONE gets an equal amount of rind—-for a couple of reasons:

1) cheese is tangy-er near the rind do that everyone gets a little bit of the best, and,

2) No one wants to have alot of rind—because it is inedible.

 

What this means is that cheese is cut into wedges—-

For a really fun look at French cheese cutting protocol, check out this website:

http://www.fromages.com/decoupe.php

 

How do you cut the cheese?

Dinner last night was in Fontainebleau, a salmon quiche with a simple salad…..and then the cheese course…

The plate held three cheeses,

Mimolette (aged cheese from Holland, the orange one), chevre (goat cheese, the little round one), and a cheese from the Pyrenees (mild white one).   Now, the discussion:  ”how do you cut the cheese?”  The French of course have strict protocol and well, I am sure in other countries, other rules apply.  So I am taking a poll:  Please say which way you cut the cheese:

Photo 1

 

 

 

 

photo 2

 

 

THANK YOU!!  Winners (according to French tradition) will be announced in a few days……

Swiss Miss and “Jujubes”?

When vagabonding if you don’t stop and write something the days simply speed by and that is what has happened.  I leapt over the big Atlantic pond and am back in the ‘hood (if you can call any part of Geneva a “hood”) checking out friends (Christophe Durand, stylist, artist and activist) the lake, the mountains, the Swiss-ness of it all. So from Geneva the foods are “Savoie”—as well as international….and getting more so….from Italian goodies to Iranian  the selections are getting more and more diverse as the years go by.

My friend Jeanie and I strolled the hills and then I explored  the flea market and wandered the vegetable and food stalls of local corner markets….does anyone know what “Jujubes” are?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next stop….CHOCOLATE!!!!!

Celebrating Wisdom: Mom’s Birthday and yes, let them eat cake!

This post is in honor of  my Mom who celebrated a BIG birthday this week–replete with all sorts of birthday cakes and other cool party stuff… (ok folks, which birthday did she celebrate?…..(answer at the bottom of the page….)–Her birthday was celebrated at a Thai restaurant with her good pal Bob (who also likes birthday cake)  and a couple of his relatives,  because the young Thai server is taking English classes with her—-and my mom is really proud of  the young woman’s hard work (she saves her tips so she has enough money to take English classes) and  Mom wanted to  share how well she is progressing in English.  The test word was “broccoli”—as it has a number of sounds that are very difficult to master if Thai is your native tongue and it was important that we all share the success of  getting the “r” sound pronounced perfectly.  And, yes, “broccoli” was pronounced perfectly and there were big giggles all around the table…

My mom is a leader of the pack when it comes to adventure and she runs circles around almost everyone I know—at 65 she opened a school for young professional athletes—tennis and golf–ran it for 5 years, sold it and then went off to teach English in Slovakia for a couple years and then came back and is now doing a second MA in history (two classes), teaching a 12 week class on Islam (very controversial) and,  teaching ESL at a local middle school—and of course tutoring her young friend for the TOEFL.  Yep, that’s my Ma—AND she loves to explore and experiment with food from everywhere—-(she passed that on to me too) hence the Thai food on her bigtime decade breaking birthday.

So this post is a little bit about cake (for the fun of it)—simply because Mom loves cake—but as I don’t have any photos of the cake we had (too dark to take pictures)…. I just wanted to share the ideals of my Mom who has live a long and very full life of love,  good food, good adventure and a lot of controversy…..(but of course!!).

So a little bit about the joys of cake….  We were lucky—as little kids we were allowed to eat cake (and pie and ice cream) for breakfast because  it has the same ingredients as bread (and ice cream is just frozen milk) (when we came back from Japan, we often had soup for breakfast which, when we told our elementary school teachers—they were shocked!!)   Anyway, Mom would often eat cake first and then eat dinner.  The favorite is chocolate cake—and there is a photo of me at 3, up on a stool, mixer in hand, making a chocolate cake (I would then set the table for the restaurant and the family would be allowed to eat cake for dinner). Then there is “kuchen”, or the apple cake we would eat on picnics—and the well remembered Sacher torte we had in Vienna—and the funny bean cakes we would eat in Japan….ah yes, Mom led us to many a cake stall in many a market in many a fascinating village…

So, to honor a woman who has lived her life full to the brim and who cut the path for some ground breaking adventures—(those adventures led to South America, Japan, Finland and Slovakia—to name a few—-and, if she had her way, she would be off to Africa tomorrow…THANK YOU!!!

Many more Ma—and again, Happy Birthday.

With her pal Bob….

 

(did you guess her age?…..Ok….it was her 80th birthday…..and she is out teaching tonight…..)

South Carolina: Water, Art, Peanuts and Seafood

From walking the beach to wandering the arts  travels in the Low Country of South Carolina—Beaufort County—Blufton to Hilton Head—-uncover hidden gems. One of which is the May River, known for its oysters….. the river was “gold” with oysters plumper, richer and more delectable than anywhere else.

I happen upon the 80th Annual Seafood Festival in Blufton with some of the most intriguing art forms around…and some of the best—and most unique southern delights….like boiled peanuts.  Yep, boiled peanuts.

Boiled peanuts are a traditional snack in South Carolina, North Carolina, Georgia, northern Florida, Alabama, and Mississippi. They are an acquired taste, but according to southerners, they are totally addictive. From May through November, all over the south, you will see roadside stands – ranging from woodsheds to shiny trailers – offering fresh boiled peanuts. Check out this website for a great history of boiled peanuts and all sorts of cool recipes.#mce_temp_url# .

From peanuts to fudge is not a great leap and as an alltime favorite in the south, this was champion fudge—-especially the pumpkin flavor….

Fudge is a drier version of fondant, made by boiling sugar in milk to the soft-ball stage and then beating the mixture while it cools so that it acquires a smooth, creamy texture. Fudge is an American invention: Some food historians peg the date to February 14, 1886, but the exact origin and inventor are disputed. Most stories claim that the first batch of fudge resulted from a bungled (“fudged”) batch of caramels, hence the name from the interjection, “Oh fudge!”.  One of the first documentations of fudge is in a letter written by Emelyn Battersby Hartridge, then a student at Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York. She wrote that a schoolmate’s cousin made fudge in Baltimore in 1886 and sold it for 40 cents a pound. She obtained the recipe, and in 1888, made 30 pounds of it for the Vassar Senior Auction. Word of the confection spread to other women’s colleges. Wellesley and Smith developed their own versions of this “original” fudge recipe.  In Beaufort County the reigning fudge making champion is, “The Island Fudge Shoppe” (www.islandfudge.com) on Hilton Head where she has been making fudge for over 20 years.

The fun menu tradition was carried on by the local artists and shrimp, crab an other goodies were hanging all over the place.. (is this a joke or not?  You tell me!!!)

The history of the festival, who is doing what where and the best place for cold beer and seafood after the festival closes was recounted to me by the shrimp making sculptor who also makes oyster shucking tables out of recycled wood.  A funny character with a story telling bent (another great souther tradition). Check out his amazing “outsider” art at: www.dpiercegiltner.com.

From shrimp art to shrimp eating the next step was the seafood and the Blufton Oyster Company was the place to be (great music, cold beer and fresh seafood…what more can you ask for….) and (yes, the shrimp flag is backwards because the wind was pushing it that way….). The seafood was fresh off the boat…..

This link leads to a discussion about the current state of the river and what is happening to the oyster production….http://oceanservice.noaa.gov/news/features/aug09/bluffton.html.

and a few more visual treats…..

and a last vintage sign to say farewell…..

Velveeta Gastronomy

There is something exhilarating about meeting a fellow Velveeta maniac.  Yes, VELVEETA. The unctuous day glow orange wonder of the kitchen.   In fact, there is something extra miraculous about  meeting a Velveeta maniac who, living in Geneva, Switzerland, does exactly what I  used to do when I lived there—fill a suitcase with boxes of  Velveeta to carry across the ocean in preparation for those times when only a Velveeta grilled cheese will satisfy.  Or when a hamburger needs to be an extra messy cheeseburger, or when nachos need to be spicy AND gooey, or when the potato-hotdog-cream-of-mushroom casserole (“bonus potato au gratin”) needs a crispy browned cheese top crust.  That Velveeta.

Interestingly, Switzerland is ultimately the birthplace of Velveeta.  Processed cheese was first invented in 1911 by  Walter Gerber in Thun, Switzerland and it was James L. Kraft, who first applied for an American patent for his processed cheese method in 1916.  But Velveeta is the brand name of a processed cheese product first made in 1918 by Swiss immigrant Emil Frey for the Monroe Cheese Company in Monroe, New York.  In 1923, The Velveeta Cheese Company was incorporated as a separate company, and in 1927 was sold to Kraft Foods.

Velveeta and “The Laughing Cow”,  a  French example of a processed cheese are made, in part, from whey, a by-product of cheese-making that contains a high amount of nutrients. Whey is also used to produce ricottas, brown cheeses and many other products for human consumption. In  Switzerland where cheese production is an important industry, whey is used as the basis for the carbonated soft drink Rivella.

So  bringing Velveeta to Switzerland is like bringing as Swiss export back to its roots..….All of this Velveeta stuff was going through my head as I headed down to the Low-Country  of South Carolina where one of the favorite dishes is “Shrimp and Grits”….and I make my grits with Velveeta—-yes sirree,  y’all have to try this recipe….First the “Grits a’ la mushrooms and Velveeta…

Chop fine and saute’  mushrooms until nice and brown—almost crispy….

Add grits and brown slightly with the mushrooms

Add chicken stock and water as needed for the amount of grits.  Simmer until done

Add Velveeta—as much as you like—(you

can’t go wrong with this…).

Second —-Shrimp a’ la garlic and tomatoes

Chop garlic fine and lightly brown in olive oil

Add chopped fresh tomatoes

Add dry vermouth Add shrimp and cook until done

Add fresh chopped basil.

Serve over the mushroom grits.

Just a taste of the Low country—and the sweep of the ocean….

Fooding in Cleveland

I sit in the café car as the clackclickclack rhythm of the train eases the soul and brings back memories of earlier times of adventure and travel.  Steel wheels rolling to cities, towns and villages, to waiting friends, to waiting dreams.

Two days from Cleveland I am on the “Palmetto”, Amtrak’s #89,  a silver bullet that runs from New York City to Savannah, a historic ride to the Low Country past abandoned tobacco fields and now ready to harvest soybeans.  A family with newborn twins and 5 huge suitcases ride the rails. Backpacks and duffel bags fill the overhead bins.  I board in Wilmington, Delaware and head south to grits, beans and shrimp.  I have twelve hours to reflect on the gastronomy of the past week.

Cleveland, Ohio.   I meet a fellow adventurer and “mapper” as we both check in early to the Intercontinental Hotel. It is cold and rainy, and a new city beckons.  The unknown is ready.  He, Mark, is a rail man—an advocate for trains and public transport and has already discovered the train from the airport to the city, already understands the ticket process for Cleveland’s public transport.  He buys me a day ticket and we hop on.   We ride the Health Ctr bus.  I remember Euclid Ave. and Carnegie. He remembers the church.   The busses are new, door openings on both sides, more tyred trams than busses.  Clean, new comfortable. We simply ride.

Fifteen minutes later, we spot a small farmers market, a few stands, a reggae band, samples of home-made, organic, sustainable Ohio gastronomy.  A quick jump-off .   We meander around, Mark, fresh from Geneva, Switzerland, covets US free trade coffee. I meet  Emma, the market manager who tells us we are  at the “North Union Farmers Market” (www.northunionfarmersmarket.org) . She answers my queries and takes the time to make a list of cool(local, innovative, fresh) restos for us to check out if we have time (unfortunately we don’t have time).  So here are her suggestions and if any reader ever gets to them or knows about them—do tell….

Emma’s List Cleveland Restaurants	Location
The Greenhouse Tavern	E 4th Street
Flying Fig (this one got a star)	W. 25th
Fire	Shaker Square
Crop Bistro	W. 6th
LoLa	(have no idea where it is as I couldn’t read her writing…..

We then end up at a simple little pierogi stand,  with samples,  manned by two brothers,  Daniel and David.   Daniel and David are originally from Romania, young entrepreneurs who specialize in eastern European style food specialities.  “Perla Homemade Delights” , their bakery and restaurant is out of Parma, Ohio.  I can personally attest to their  well deserved prize winning pierogi’s,  1^st place in August and 2^nd place in October.   If you are a pierogi lover check them out: www.perlahd.com.   They certainly have a place in my “rolled, wrapped and stuffed”  category of food stuffs—-which includes potstickers from China, ravioli from Italy and of course now, pierogi’s from Parma.

We eat well the next few days, at John Carroll University where the conference is, enjoy a final meal at “Nighttown” with excellent jazz.

My final Ohio food wonder is tasted in the airport(which I normally never do….but hey…..) and I find an outpost of  the  Flats restaurant,  “Panini” which is know for their “stuffed sandwiches” (which  I  seen to remember having see once on a random view of Foodnetwork’s,  “Diner’s, Drive-ins….and Dives”).  Of course I order it…..and it was delish….. (any guesses to what it is made of? ………)