2008 Marketing Meme Prediction: Craft

I spent an 18-hour journey back from Italy yesterday engrossed in what has so far proven to be one of the best reads of 2007: Garrett Oliver's The Brewmaster's Table: Discovering the Pleasures of Real Beer with Real Food.

Oliver is the brewmaster and founder of Brooklyn Brewery, a brewery that I hold particulary close to my heart, as it's beer was the first craft beer ever to touch my lips: over a summer I spent in NYC during college, the small bodegas near my aunt's apartment always had a steady supply of Brooklyn IPA (they also seemed to not care that I barely looked a day over 20). Later in college, Brooklyn's Pennant Pale Ale became my go-to beer of choice, as the bar I worked at always included it in its selection of 40 taps.

I dare say that moving to California, my biggest regret is the unavailability of Brooklyn Beer (thanks to distribution laws). (My biggest disappointment yesterday came during a layover in JFK when after combing the terminal for a bar serving up Brooklyn, finally finding one with Pennant Pale Ale on tap (whohoo!), then hearing the sickening words from the bartender's lips that they were out of it...as well as out of a solid east-coast-only second choice, Magic Hat #9.)

But back to the book. Within the first 50 pages, Oliver's words resonated with truth. One of my favorite quotes follows below, which Oliver so eloquently presents in the context of a brief history of American beer. Here's a recap:

According to Oliver, pre-prohibition brewing in the United States was a respectable endeavor, starting with homebrewing efforts during the revolutionary war (patriots faced a cut off of British beer supply), which quickly evolved to small brewing operations, which increased after a wave of German immigration in the 1830's to see an explosion of breweries catering to German-style beer. But then came prohibition, and with it's end, a change in the way American's viewed beer. Oliver explains of brewers eager to get back to their craft: "But their world had changed, and they soon found that they had to change with it. It had been thirteen long years, and many people were not feeling terribly picky about the flavor qualities of the beer that was now offered." This, coupled with the backlash of the depression (the need to keep the cost of beer down), the rise of soft drinks, which were actually seen as competition to beer, and laws that required alcohol levels to be below 3.2%, left the brewers with no choice but to make a very different beer than it's pre-prohibition and worldly counterparts. "American beer, now sold by huge advertising campaigns, moved swiftly away from its European roots."

And now for my favorite quote:

"By the end of World War II, the American brewing industry was transformed. It would be an industry of fewer and fewer breweries, which themselves grew to become national behemoths. The product, following the cultural norms of the day, would become innocuous and bland, to the extent that even brewers could barely tell the beers apart. Volume selling, driven by advertising, would take over as the number one goal of American brewers. The modern mass-market American lager beer, a watery, flavorless beverage unrecognizable to any visiting German, emerged into an American culinary landscape paved over by fast food restaurants, processed cheese, and frozen vegetables. After 10,000 years of flavorful brewing around the world,the American brewers had finally reduced the progenitor of human civilization to a pallid ghost in a can."

A pallid ghost in a can. That is what thousands of Americans have been content to drink for over half a century. SAB-Miller, Coors, Anheiser-Busch--all of these behemoths emerged from the post-WWII brewing strategy of quantity over quality and all of these behemouths have continued to serve up this pallid ghost for nearly 60 years. Why? Because they brew to demand, they market for profit, and for 60 years, this pallid ghost is what many Americans have been content to consider "beer." Sure, the mega-brewers have changed their products, and their marketing campaigns over time (certainly their marketing campaigns): American's on a diet? We'll invent light beer. American's want caffeine with their alcohol? Have a caffeinated beer. American's like small-batch, craft brews? Sure, we can do that too.

Record scratch.

Nope. You can't. You can't suddenly become a craftsman.

Throughout the disastrous reign of mega-breweries, American beer has thankfully had an alternative, a group of small brewers that have dedicated themselves to what Oliver refers to throughout his book as "real beer," beer that follows the thousands of years of brewing traditions. The rise of these small breweries, starting in the late 1970's, became what Oliver calls a "new age of American brewing." Not unlike early American brewing efforts, this movement started mostly thorough home brewing efforts, from people like Oliver who were seeking the tastes and pleasures unavailable through the products of large American breweries. Home brewing efforts naturally extended to small brewery operations, and soon America was populated with hundreds of craft brewers, all making beers according to their individual taste preferences.

"Craft Brewing" is the term that has arisen to describe these breweries, and it is particularly appropriate. Craft is a term that dates back thousands of years, to apply to the products made by hand or man-operated machinery before the industrial revolution and assembly line. Those who produce crafts earn the title of artisan or craftsman, often only after a rigorous apprentiship ensuring that they learned all aspects of the trade. The key idea behind craftsmanship was this training--you learned your craft through another craftsman and were taught not only the steps in producing the product but the pride in quality, in standing behind what you produced, and in support of fellow craftsman. As I said, you can't become a craftsman overnight.

According to the Brewer's Association, Craft Beer is defined as the product of a brewing operation that is small, independent, and traditional. Unfortunately, "craft" seems to be the buzz word usurped by many a mega-brewery. Sure you can take your industrial assembly line and use it to produce craft-like products, but this doesn't make you a craftsman. And it doesn't make what you produce craft.

Realizing that Americans want craft--that we want to relish flavor and quality, want to experience the particular nuances of a finely hopped beer, want to sample seasonal offerings and annual brews, and most importantly want to know who is making their beer and how--does not mean you are qualified to become a craftsman. And it certainly does not mean that you can claim the beer you are producing is a craft beer.

I know that some people have reviewed certain mass-produced specialty beers positively, citing taste alone as the deciding factor. If a mega-brewery can produce a tasteworthy small-batch brew, who cares about anything else? they claim. I disagree wholeheartedly. It's not just about taste. It's about integrity. It's about knowing that the person who is brewing the beer you are drinking cares passionately about the final product, and that they are doing it for a love of the craft, not just for the profits.

I am afraid, however, that 2008 is going to see a lot of these so-called craft imitators. And I urge you against buying into the marketing hype. If a beer has to advertise that it is "artfully crafted," it's going to make me doubt that it actually was. Advertisements like this make me cringe:



Hand-crafted products have a quality that is self-evident. An attention to detail, a slight imperfection here or there. And above all, a truthfulness about them that can only come from making a product that you are proud of. My resolution this year is to dedicate myself to true craftsmanship, to steer clear of the pallid imitators, and to realize the difference between the two. I hope you will join me.

more me!

In an of-course-i-have-time-for-this moment, I volunteered to be a guinea pig for a new accidental hedonist project--the "food diaries."

I'm not exactly sure what my "food diary" will shape up to be, but you can now find (and rss) more of my food-related musings at accidentalhedonist.com/duffystar.

this song is for you my brother

Sometimes the news doesn't really hit home until someone smacks ...you in the face ... with it.

The Liars Club in Mission Beach is hova. I've known this for weeks, sadly craning my neck as I ride by, only to see dark windows and barstools stacked upon tables. But until I received the bargoer email a week or so back, I still had a glimmer of hope.

Now hope is gone. This hits home, hard, because I happen to live a mile away from 3844 Mission, and also happen to have a good percentage of disdain for everything else that I live within a mile of. Without this neighborhood oasis, I no longer think there is a single place in my neighborhood I now care to patronize after 8 pm.

If I was as talented as the Jim Carrol band, I'd hum a catchy little tune for my long lost neighborhood bar. Since I can't carry a tune worth a damn, I'm posting a yet-unpublished and now-never-to-be review of the place I did back in August. When I'm feeling nostalgic in the future, I'll have something to look back on.

Thanks for all the beers and the BLTA's Louis. Maybe one day I'll see you in Alpine.

* * *

The Liars' Club holds a special place in my heart. It’s not because of its history—although Tom Waits did used to work the door at 3844 Mission Blvd. It’s not because of its jukebox, although the punk-inspired selection is beyond credible. It’s not even because of its menu, whose irresistible sandwiches, burgers, munchies, and salads I am seriously addicted to. It is because of its taps, its chalkboard menu of rotating craft and Belgian beers, its weekly Friday-evening cask, and its disdain for anything remotely affiliated with Bud, Miller, or Coors. The Liars' Club holds a special place in my heart because it introduced me to beer. Good beer. San Diego beer.

The setting is basement-meets-roadhouse, a sparsely decorated space with a hint of a hardcore vibe. The staff is tattooed and casual, often blending in with the patrons themselves. The floors are dark, the ceiling painted black. The booths and mismatched bar stools are upholstered in cracking vinyl and the table tops covered with forest-green Formica. Whitewashed brick walls are sparsely adorned with typical bar kitsch—a dartboard, framed prints, brewery paraphernalia. Mounted televisions hang just beneath the ceiling, unobtrusive enough to be ignored, but large enough to show any necessary sports games. The setting is little more than functional, and that is all it needs to be—the important thing here is not the scene but the senses, particularly those of taste and hearing.

Let’s talk music. The jukebox is award-winning, if not legendary. It’s populated with solid albums and compilations that cover just about every type of drinking occasion the bar could witness. The collection of punk, rock, and blues includes songs to appease every type of drinker: the angry (the Ramones, Sex Pistols), the celebratory (the Replacements), the down and out (Nick Cave, Tom Waits), the esoteric (Thelonious Monk), the restless (the Clash), the exulted (New York Dolls), the theatrical (Gogol Bordello), the unabashedly reminiscent (David Bowie, Blondie). There are albums for early afternoon (Rolling Stones), late night (James Brown), and happy hour (Lady Dottie and the Diamonds). There’s a soundtrack for the drinking binge (the Pogues, local band the Scotch Greens), the hangover (Jesus and Mary Chain), even the wake (Jim Carroll Band).

Before you feed your two dollars into the jukebox though, you’d better have a beer in your hand. Go ahead, saunter up to the chalkboard hanging above the kitchen—what’s on tap is on the left; what’s in bottles is on the right. As for the taps, you’ll find the list divided into two categories: local and everything else (with local more often than not being the larger list). If you’re overwhelmed—or if it’s Friday (local beer night)—you needn’t look beyond the locals: Stone, Green Flash, and Alpine are almost always represented; Ballast Point, AleSmith, Coronado Brewing Company, and Port Brewing usually make an appearance. Of course, venturing into non-local territory is never bad—Russian River, Avery, North Coast, and Bear Republic are solid northerly neighbors. As with all reputable San Diego beer bars, the hops are well-represented—a solid selection of IPAs and double IPAs are always on tap, and Pliny the Elder and Pure Hoppiness—two gold standards—are near-regulars. Belgian and Belgian-style beers are embraced too, especially through the bottled beer selection. And, for the timid, a solid selection of pale ales, American-style whites, and occasionally a lager or a cider can be found. If you see something unfamiliar or if you’re looking for a particular style, just ask—the staff is more than willing to chat about the beer.

With your thirst quenched, your ears happy, and hopefully a seat underneath you, the menu calls. The kitchen is adept at both meals and munchies, with a menu so solid that I'd back nearly anything on it. The portions are generous and the flavors are feisty—if you like spicy food you’re in good hands. A little insider advice? Order your sandwiches on jalapeño cheese bread and your fries Cajuned. Try the sweet potato fries, and for the sheer ridiculousness of it, the hand-cut fries smothered with bacon. The BLTA is classic, the seared ahi sandwich phenomenal, and the roast beef dip and cholula ranch burger both more than solid. If you’re feeling daring, order the popular (but painfully hot) fuego melt, whose Serrano and jalapeño-inspired heat advertises itself with the phrase "feel the burn twice." If you’re weary of heartburn, the salads are surprisingly good, any burger can be Boca-fied, and the kitchen can always hold the chipotle aioli. Whatever you do, if you’re there on a weekend before 3 p.m., do not pass up a bloody Mary—garnished with two bacon-wrapped shrimp, these ladies are the best in town.

If you're asking yourself "what's not to like?" the answer is, occasionally, the crowds—the Liars' Club's popularity doesn't mesh well with its size. The small venue—it holds just nine tables inside, five on the outdoor deck, and about ten seats at the bar—fills quickly, and once it’s filled, you can forget about it emptying. Friday nights are the most crowded, although they are also the most attractive: “Local Beer Night" means $3 local pints and a weekly cask that's tapped at 5:00 p.m., sharp. It's one of the best deals in town, and depending on the cask, it can be well worth fighting the crowds for. Tuesday nights are a close second, with $3 “you-call-it’s” that not only attract the beer lovers but anyone in town looking for a cheap drink.

But let’s face it—crowds are hardly a reason to stay away from one of the top five on-tap beer selections in San Diego. After all, it’s well worth waiting your turn for a pint of cask-conditioned Ballast Point Sculpin IPA or Alesmith Summer YuleSmith. But if can’t fit through the door on a Friday evening, don’t’ give up on the Liar’s Club. Other nights of the week are much calmer, and still easily affordable—Monday's Steak and Ale promotions means a $10 steak dinner, and any weekday means happy hour from 4-7. Even on a Saturday night, beers are only $3.25 to $5.50.

Some would argue the beer alone is worth the trip to the Liar’s Club, and I’d have to agree. But while beer may attract the first-timers, it’s much more than beer that keeps the regulars happy. Once you’re settled into a booth in the heart of the bar, with the Replacements blaring, a fresh pint of West Coast IPA set before you, and a mouth full of the unbeatable combination of bacon and jalepeño cheese bread, you’ll understand.

Local, East Coast Style

The very first time I waxed poetic about eating locally, I got a response along the lines of: "You're so lucky you can do that. You live in California." It was the middle of winter, and I'm sure the person who said that pictured idyllic gardens and 70-degree days.

I had to admit Southern California offered some damn good produce, but luck? Was that really the deciding factor?

That was over a year ago, and I admit I didn't have an answer. That was before I participated in One Local Summer and kept watch over east coast participation; and before I read about Joel Salatin and his amazing Virginia farm in the Omnivore's Dilemma.

A year later, armed with a bit more knowledge and a lot more determination, I finally had the opportunity to prove that luck had nothing to do with local. My extended East Coast Thanksgiving trip last week culminated in a meal so delicious, so hearty, and so entirely local it made me the envious one.

The meal started two days before Thanksgiving, when I flew into JFK with three priorities: seeing a good friend, seeing a good band, and hitting up the Union Square Greenmarket. (I would soon be heading to New Jersey for Thanksgiving and had promised to make the vegetable dishes). Two reusable bags full of butternut squash, brussels sprouts, heirloom carrots, garlic, herbs, and onions later, I stumbled on the biggest discovery of my year: locally grown and milled grains. OMG, FLOUR!, I exclaimed as I rushed toward the stall, leaving a somewhat bewildered friend to hurry along behind me. Yes, I got that excited about flour. And polenta. Both were produced by Wild Hive Farm in Clinton Corners, NY. "Small batch milling from our micro mill," the packages explained. I was ecstatic--this was the first time I had come across local grains, and they were grains milled just nine miles from where they were grown! Eating on the east coast was starting to look good.

With a bag of polenta and a bag of organic stone ground hard red spring wheat (recommended for baking bread) stashed in my suitcase, I came to Virginia three days later, not done with my local explorations. (Meanwhile, on Thanksgiving, the local brussels sprouts, squash, and carrots were the talk of the table).

Sunday morning, I dragged a second friend to a second market: the Fresh Farm Market at Dupont Circle in Washington, DC. Let me just say, east coast local naysayers, that the produce offerings looked straight out of San Diego--including fresh tomatoes, greens, and herbs. These made possible by many growers who turned to greenhouses when the summer reached its end. I was tempted by every stall, but the biggest surprise of the market (for a San Diego locavore, at least) was the meat: lamb, whole chickens, fresh Chesapeake crab. I was in carnivore heaven. And then I spied the pastured pork.

Pastured meat is the term used for meat that has been raised by traditional, non-industrial methods, an unfortunate rarity in our modern food system. Pastured animals are allowed to roam free on open land, are fed a grass-based diet, and are raised without hormones, antibiotics, or feed additives. The best explanation I've found for the differences in industrial and pastured meat is Jay Porter's at the Linkery; another excellent explanation of the benefits of pastured meat can be found at Sustainable Table. Anyone looking for local pastured meat, as well as eggs and dairy, should check out the Eat Wild website.

The pastured meat I found was from David Ober and Sheila Goodman at Cedarbrook Farm in West Virginia. Their offerings at the Dupont Market made me wish I was staying in Virginia for longer--many of the cuts available were roasts that allowed for upwards of 16 hours slow cooking time. Just imagining the taste of a 24-hour spice-rubbed shoulder roast made my mouth water. (David had recipes available at his booth, which didn't help curb my salivation). Alas, as I had a mere 24 hours left in my trip, I settled for bone-in loin slices and seasoned sausage. I was not disappointed.

I came home to my parent's house with an arsenal of local goods: pastured pork chops and sausage; apples and pears from Quaker Valley Orchards in Biglerville, PA; German butterball potatoes, onions, leeks, and spinach. My only regret was not having enough cash on me to bring home one of the amazing array of goat cheeses that I sampled. Oh, and also forgetting to return to the crab cake booth and bring home fresh Chesapeake crab cakes (sorry Mom!). Spreading my array on the counter, I added the leftover garlic, shallots, rosemary, and sage from the Union Square Greenmarket, and cracked open the bag of polenta. I had a plan, and dinner would be ready in 2 hours.

Polenta, Pear, and Sausage Stuffing (inspiration/adapted from here and here )

For Polenta
1 cup cornmeal
4 cups water
salt, to taste
1 Tbsp. butter
1 tsp. sage
1 tsp. parsley

For Stuffing
1 pound sausage
2 Tbsp. butter
1/2 sweet onion, diced
1 leek, white part only, sliced thin
2 bosc pears, peeled, cored, and diced into 1/2 inch pieces
2 tbsp fresh sage, dieced fine
3/4 cup white wine

Make polenta (I rely on the America's Test Kitchen technique) by bringing water and salt to boil, slowly whisking in polenta, turning heat down to low and cooking for 30 minutes, stirring frequently to ensure polenta does not burn.
remove from heat and stir in 1 Tbsp. butter, 1 tsp. sage, 1 tsp. rosemary, plus salt and pepper to taste.
spread in 9x13 dish and chill in fridge for at least 15 minutes, until cool.

While polenta is cooling, brown sausage over medium heat. remove and set aside
in same pot, drain sausage grease. add 1 tbsp. butter, saute onions and leeks until translucent, about 10 minutes
add garlic, saute 30 seconds until fragrant
add pears and sage. saute 5 minutes
add white wine and bring to boil. turn heat to medium-low and cook until liquid is reduced to almost gone
add sausage back to skillet and stir to combine.

remove skillet from heat and set aside

turn polenta out onto cutting board.
divide into thirds, mash one third with a fork and stir into sausage mixture
slice remaining 2/3 into 1/2 inch squares. toss with 1 tbsp. melted butter
broil squares for 3-5 minutes, until slightly firm.

mix polenta squares with sausage mixture and bake in 9x13 casserole for 20 minutes, covered. remove foil, cook for 10 more minutes, uncovered.

Skillet Pork Chops
I turn to the masters for my meat recipes: America's Test Kitchen. Unfortunately, their recipes are closely guarded by a subscription-based website (including the recipe I used for Skillet-Barbequed Pork Chops. Fortunately (ahem), lots of other sites seem to defy their copyrights, and post their reliable recipes. Here's a recap of the Skillet-Barbequed Pork Chop recipe I followed for the pork, although I omitted the sauce and just used the brine and the rub--the flavor of the pastured pork was so amazing that it required no sauce.

Smashed Potatoes
An old standby from my One Local Summer meals--recipe here.

Sauteed Spinach with Caramelized Onions
1/2 onion, sliced
1 tsp plus 1 tbsp oil
2 garlic cloves
1/2 pound spinach
arugula for plating (optional)


In small saucepan, heat 1 tsp. oil over medium heat. Add onions and cook 5 minutes stirring occasionally. Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook, 30-45 minutes, until onions are wilted and brown,and slightly sweet.

5 minutes before serving, heat remaining Tbsp. of oil over medium heat. Add garlic and sautee for 30 seconds. Add spinach and cook for 3 minutes, until all spinach is wilted. Add salt and pepper to taste.

To serve, plate spinach atop bed of arugula, and top with caramelized onions.



Note: I desperately want to post photos of this meal, but my computer seems to not be recognizing my camera's memory card right now...photos hopefully to follow!

Get thee to a bussery

That's right kids. Take the bus today.

Apparently Washington Mutual is sponsoring bus fares today, which means that today's bus rides are free! So if you're contemplating heading out for lunch, or heading down to Canes for the Hold Steady concert this fine evening, give the old public transit a try (the 8 or 9 from Old Town will get you to that last one).

And remember, Google Maps now has an integrated transit feature for San Diego. Use it to get directions and click on the "take public transit" option to see what bus to take and when. Use the "options" feature to change the departure or arrival time.

My $2.25 savings is going toward a pint of Green Flash at the Liars Club before the show. What will you do with $2.25?

Laundry Soup

There will always be times in life when we just really don't want to be doing what we happen to be doing. For me, that time comes about once every two weeks, when it's time to do laundry. But fear not my fellow laundry-despising friends. For when life hands you laundry, you can now make: Laundry Soup.


With fall in the air, and root vegetables on the farmer's market stalls, I found myself this week with a fridge full of produce begging to be spun into a deserving meal. And tonight was the only evening I knew I would have time to spend in the kitchen, but it was also the only evening I would have time for the dreaded chore. Knowing I would be pulled away from the kitchen at least twice, I needed something easy to prepare but slow to cook, that could work around my quick dashes to the laundromat. And then I had a plan: the laundry went in, the vegetables were chopped, the laundry was changed, the vegetables went into the pot, the laundry folded, and voila, dinner was ready.

It was a dinner so worthy of its ingredients that I may never look down upon doing laundry again.


Laundry Soup

1 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp. butter
1 red onion, diced coarsely
3 small carrots, chopped
1 bunch turnips, stems removed, washed and chopped
3 cloves garlic
4 strips bacon, sliced
5 small potatoes, chopped into 1/2" pieces (I used a mix of red and yukon gold)
32 oz. chicken broth or stock
1 bay leaf
3 sprigs thyme
1 15-ounce can cannelloni beans, rinsed
1 bunch swiss chard or other greens, coarsely chopped (I used a mix of chard and mustard greens)

heat olive oil and butter in a large stockpot over medium heat, until butter bubbles slightly. Add onion and saute for 5 minutes, being careful not to brown. Add carrots and turnips and cook for 8 minutes longer, until vegetables are soft. Add garlic and saute for 30 seconds or until fragrant. Add potatoes and cook for 3 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Meanwhile, heat a heavy bottomed skillet over medium heat until just smoking. Add bacon and cook 3-5 minutes until partially cooked but not crisp. Add bacon to pot of vegetables, reserving bacon grease in skillet for later.

Add chicken broth, bay leaf, and thyme and bring to a rapid simmer. Reduce heat to medium low and continue to simmer, covered, 15-20 minutes, or until potatoes are cooked through. Stir occasionally, making sure liquid does not come to a full boil. When potatoes are cooked through, add beans. With a wooden spoon, carefully crush 1/3 to 1/2 of potato chunks against side of pot, until soup consistency reaches desired thickness. (For a thicker soup, crush more potatoes, for a more watery soup, crush less).

Meanwhile, in skillet used to prepare bacon, reheat bacon grease. Add chard or greens and saute 2-3 minutes, until slightly wilted. Add greens to pot and stir to incorporate. Simmer soup for 5-10 minutes longer, and remove from heat. Let stand 5-10 minutes, covered. Remove bay leaf and thyme springs and serve in heaping bowls.

Why caring about what you eat is not pretentious.

I ended up in somewhat of an accidental argument yesterday with an acquaintance who I both like and respect. He's a talented home brewer, a devoted beer enthusiast, and I admire and share his passion for craft beer. But when our conversation turned to one of the local breweries yesterday, we started butting heads.

"Oh, I hate the restaurant there," he bemoaned, referring to a local brewery's fairly new restaurant on their premises. "I don't know who they think they are. Everything is so pretentious."

Normally one to let little things slide, especially when drinking with friends, I just couldn't let this one past me. "I happen to like the restaurant," I piped up, "and I respect what their doing with their food."

And with that I opened one momentous can of worms. It wasn't that I felt the need to defend the restaurant, or convince him that it was a place he should give a second chance. I understood his complaints--that for a restaurant connected to a brewery, it hardly catered to the typical beer-drinking brewery-goer. The food was expensive, the dishes leaned toward that of a restaurant rather than a pub, and there was little on the menu that was a particularly good accompaniment to beer (well, maybe I didn't agree with that last one). This was all fine with me--I certainly wasn't going to defend the restaurant against any of these complaints. What I did feel the need to argue against--and why I absolutely couldn't justify keeping my mouth shut--was his claim that the restaurant was pretentious.

I may be opening another can of worms, but I feel the need to explain my belief that caring about the food you eat, or in this case serve, is completely devoid of pretension.

The restaurant in question is one that has a quite open and adamant preference for sustainable food. The owner of the brewery is a supporter of Slow Food, and the restaurant is making a conscious effort to serve "good, clean, and fair" food. Their menus inform guests of this, with each menu item described in great detail including quite often the source of its ingredients. They explain that their meats are raised without antibiotics or hormones, that their produce is organic or local and not genetically engineered, that their cheeses are artisan and hand made. The intentions behind the food are explained up front, which means that guests who dine there are asked to think about the food they are eating.

This is far from pretense. This is pride, yes. But it is pride in a good way, as in "we are so happy with the ingredients we procure and the dishes we prepare that we want to share this information with you." This is not an attempt to be elite, or exclusive, or high and mighty. If anything, it is the opposite. This is an attempt to inform, so that when people taste what is being offered, they will begin to understand why a dish tastes the way it does. Doing this even involves a degree of humbleness, showing that the taste of a dish doesn't necessarily come from the kitchen, it comes from the farm; that quality comes not from the restaurant but from the ingredients used. But most importantly, this is an act of introducing, an attempt of someone who believes passionately in something to introduce those concepts to others, because they believe there are others out there who might benefit or be interested, or maybe even agree.

I'm no longer talking specifically about this one restaurant. Wanting to eat sustainably raised or artisanal food is no more pretentious than any other specialized diet, which is to say it is not pretentious at all. Vegetarianism is hardly an attempt to be elite or exclusive--it stems from personal beliefs and is a personal act of living out those beliefs. Kosher diets are entirely similar. Fasting for religious purposes has not an ounce of selfishness in it. Restricting your diet to lose weight does not mean you are "above" eating dessert or greasy food; it simply means you are denying yourself of them. For christ's sake, even refusing to eat carbohydrates was (briefly) accepted as the most natural thing in the world. Basing what you eat on where the ingredients come from and how they were raised is just one of many ways approach the food choices that we make.

And we all make choices. The daily decision of what to eat is one of the most ubiquitous issues in our culture. We all need to make this decision, and we need to make it multiple times a day. We not only need to eat a certain amount of food to live, but we need to eat a certain amount of certain types of foods, with certain nutrients, to keep our bodies functioning properly. Yet there is no hard and fast rule about what exactly we need to live--we can adapt to a wide variety of diets, foods, and amounts of it and still get along just fine. Because of this, because we can survive whether we eat 1000 calories a day or 3000, whether we make time in the morning to eat a breakfast of eggs and bacon or grab a granola bar on the way out the door, whether we carefully prepare our dinner or dine out every night, the act of eating necessarily involves making decisions every single day.

There are so many factors that go into this decision that it's impossible to even compile them all. The main ones, of course, include taste, cost, and nutritional value, factors which vary in their importance from person to person and even from meal to meal. Other factors range from ones completely out of our hands--such as the marketing campaigns we're exposed to-- to ones we hold close to our heart, such as our preference for our mother's macaroni and cheese over all other versions. Among these factors, although perhaps not one of the obvious ones, is the factor of impact: the amount of resources the things we eat require to reach the point where they are ready to consume.

I understand that this is something that the majority of people out there don't ever think about. It's also not something that's easy to understand, or even to quantify. It's not clear whether the ecological impact of orgainically-raised grass-fed cows from New Zealand flown halfway around the world is more or less than that of corn-fed cows driven just 1,000 miles from slaughterhouse to plate. And its certainly not a convenient thing to think about, especially when you're really hungry. But it is one which some of us choose to consider when selecting our food.

Personally, I want to eat food that has been prepared with passion and intention, by someone who cares about food as much as I do and with ingredients that were grown and raised for taste rather than for profit or convenience. I want to keep corporate interests and profit margins away from my dinner table, and I believe the best way to do this is to seek out producers, purveyors, and restaurants that share my beliefs. I want to buy from the underdog--the small farmer that realizes government-endorsed pesticides may not be the best option, the rancher that works twice as hard to grass feed his animals, the artisan cheese maker that spends hours turning out a product that can be mass produced for less time and less money, purely for the pleasure in doing so. When I spend money to eat food from these sources, I'm not doing it because I consider them "better," or because I consider myself "above" their mass produced counterparts, but because I want to support the individuals whose values are aligned with mine and whose actions and intentions I can support.

I understand there are people out there who view food completely differently, who want their meals quick and efficient, or who care about taste more than cost, or cost more than nutrition, or nutrition more than taste. I know there are people who can't stand certain foods, and who love the taste of others. I understand that regardless of what we decide to eat or why we decide it, we're all making these decisions. In this way, we're all equal--we all ultimately satisfy our own hunger and none of us are better than anyone else because of what thoughts run through our mind when we go about accomplishing this basic, essential human need. No matter what we think and how many factors we consider when choosing our dinner, it is not pretentious that we care about what we eat.

American cuisine?

The James Beard Foundation has an interesting poll on its website right now, which is kind of fun to think about. In conjunction with their Taste America celebration, they are asking visitors to share their thoughts on what comprises American cuisine. I liked taking the survey just for the challenge of thinking about what indeed makes up traditional American food. Take the survey here.

readymade frenzy

yesterday was a solid day. I discovered that my favorite inspiring DIY mag, ReadyMade, now archives all of its past issues online. If you are remotely DIY-inclined, this is huge. I happily spent the afternoon drooling over potential projects, even if I passed over most of them due to lack of time/power tools/skills. This one, however, I couldn't resist: the plastic bag bag. In a witty twist on materials, the bag takes the ubiquitous disposable shopping bag and reinterprets it as fabric, sewing patches of thick, doubled-over plastic bag together to create a permanent handbag.

I switched to reusable grocery bags over a year ago and consider myself (almost) fully trained to grab my canvas tote before heading out the door. Even with the best of intentions, though, I manage to come home with a plastic bag now and then, and feel guilty when I stare at the accumulating pile waiting to be recycled. Remorse no longer-I will now be collecting a stash to sew into a handbag when the pile gets large enough.

May the DIY mindset last as long as those indestructible plastic bags do!

San Diego Breweries

Also, trailing on yesterday's post, here's a little map I put together of many of San Diego's breweries (blue markers) and solid places to sample their beers (red markers). Enjoy!



View Larger Map

liquid sustenance

I spent yesterday afternoon at the Stone 11th anniversary bash, a highly worthwhile adventure. $30 bought a ticket into the festival, which included 10 3-ounce samplings, with over 30 breweries and well over 100 brews to choose from. I also opted to take the O'Brien's bus up to the festival (a friend drove us back) meaning that several additional beers were added to the day's sampling...

Here's what my day consisted of:

9:45 (on tap at O'Briens) Blind Pig IPA (Russian River Brewery) one of the best of the best, as far as I'm concerned. A classic and near-perfect double IPA, inspired after the very first of its kind-the first of its kind being a double IPA brewed by Vinnie Cilurzo of the (now defunct) Blind Pig Brewery in Temecula, CA (Vinnie later moved on to become head brewer of Russian River, hence the homage). And, ok, a little more San Diego beer history trivia: legend has it that the very last growler of the very last batch of Plind Pig IPA was sold to Greg Koch, aka Stone Brewery's founder. (My late afternoon investigating skills - read: confronting Greg Koch- confirmed the rumor to be true). Anyway, the Blind Pig IPA set the standards high for the rest of the day.

10:15 am (on the bus) Alpine Ale (Alpine Beer Company, Alpine, CA) Alpine is best known for their Pure Hoppiness, and seemed a fitting brewery to begin the day (especially as they were not represented at the anniversary celebration. The Ale was the first taste of other Alpine offerings I'd tried. It's an extra pale ale, pretty tasty--well worth sampling if you come across it!

11:00 (still on the bus, waiting for the line to die down) Lightning Pilsner (Lightning Brewery, Poway, CA) This was apparently reserved for the bus ride home, but got tapped early. While Lightning is local for me, I had not yet sampled their wares. I have a fond place in my heart for pilsner (having spent a semester in the Czech Republic, home to the original Pilsner Urquell and Budvar), and this one did not disappoint.

11:15 Dorado IPA (Ballast Point Brewery, San Diego, CA) Probably my favorite local brewery; this is one of their most solid Double IPA's, well received by many. (I was hoping for a sampling of Sculpin IPA or Victory at Sea, but no such luck)

11:15 Lightning IPA (Lightning Brewery, Poway, CA) My goal throughout the day was to sample beers I had not before tried (with exceptions for some of the good ones) This one was a bonus--it was also local!

11:45 Koningshoeven Trappest Quadrupel (brewery De Koningshoeven, Holland) I was determined to step outside of my hoppy comfort zone, and settled on the sweet nectar from this Dutch brewery.

12:00 Stone 11th Anniversary on cask with Chinook and Amarillo hops. Hands-down the best beer I sampled all day.

12:15 Pig Dog Pale Ale (Port Brewing, San Marcos, CA)- I loved the description-full of hops but not that full of alcohol. At the moment, it hit the spot.

12:30 Avery White Rascal (Avery Brewing, Boulder, CO) Wow. THE perfect beer for a hot summer afternoon. Spiced with coriander and orange, it was refreshing with every sip.

12:45 San Diego Brewing Hypnotic IPA (San Diego Brewing Company, San Diego, CA). Another local brewery that I had not yet had the pleasure of sampling, and another that I'm now looking forward to visiting.

1:00 Ommegang Abby Ale (Ommegang Brewery, Cooperstown, NY). I admit it, I'm a hop head, and prefer IPAs to Belgian-style brews. That said, this was still worthy of sampling.

1:20 Stone 11th Anniversary on cask with Simcoe & Summit hops. Delicious, but not as good as the Amarillo and Chinook version!

1:30 TAPS Fish House & Brewery Thomas Jefferson Ale (Taps Fish House & Brewery, Brea, CA). So, I encountered these guys, (arriving separately, both sporting tshirts from Charlottesville institutions) and was instantly reminded of Virgina. TAPS claims this style beer is akin to one TJ himself brewed at Monticello 200 years ago.

1:45 Alesmith IPA (Alesmith Brewing, Mira Mesa, CA). Ok, so faced with dwindling tasting tickets left, toward the end of the session I abandoned my plan of sampling beers I hadn't before tasted and opted for guaranteed satisfaction. I was hoping for Summer Yulesmith, but in its absence, Alesmith IPA will always do.

1:55 Stone IPA on cask- a fitting end to the day.

Also sampled throughout the day were Mike's Beer Cheese, made by Stone's webmaster with Stone beer, and Arrogant Bastard smoked almonds, from San Marcos Trading Company.

Sometimes San Diego seems like such an amazing place to be.

Surprise! New look

7:50 and the sun is long gone. Last night's full moon was briefly eclipsed. A winnebago just hit my house (yes, a winnebago just HIT MY HOUSE). I finally listened to Tommy McLain singing Before I Grow Too Old. In a sudden onset of capriciousness, I changed this blog's template. Stranger things have happened.

OLS week #9

I haven't been this excited all summer folks. This week, my local meal featured....PIG!


I go up to LA at least once every two months, mostly cajoled by a group of friends who come up with one excuse or another to lure us up there. By default, I often end up crashing at a friends studio apartment in West Hollywood. Little did I know until my last trip up there that there is a Sunday morning farmers' market less than a mile from his house!

I was lucky enough to stay with some gracious family friends of a friend two weeks ago, who live in the Hollywood hills. Well into our Saturday evening, after a delicious dinner and a considerable amount of wine, they mentioned they were going to the farmers' market early the next morning, inviting anyone daring enough to wake up at 8 the next morning to come along. "Ooh, I'll come with you," I piped up. I think they were surprised when I held true to my promise the next morning.

The Hollywood farmers' market--the largest farmers' market in LA I'm told--puts any farmers' market I've gone to to shame. In size alone, it spans at least 10 city blocks, a size which is only matched by annual street fairs in San Diego, not weekly events. Giddy with delight, I quickly got lost in the myriad of booths, gladly accepting samples, stopping where ever I could to talk with farmers and vendors. Entering with $40 in my wallet--an amount I knew I could spend quite quickly--I decided to only purchase goods that I had not come across in San Diego. That ruled out most of the tempting, gorgeous produce, although it didn't stop me from looking and drooling. Then I came across Rocky Canyon Farms.

Three coolers sat in a row, each swarmed by crowds of people, looking through the frozen, individually vacuum sealed pieces of meat inside. A price sheet in front of each cooler suggested what lay inside--steaks, chops, ribs. I patiently waited my turn, eagerly digging my hands into the cold packages in each cooler. I emerged, delighted with two plump pork chops, a ham hock, a pound of shoulder bacon and a package of beef short ribs (the steaks, of course, all looked tempting, but would with my $40 budget would have put an end to my spending). Continuing down the line, I found another gem--dried beans. Armed with red beans and black beans, I continued on, grabbing a bottle of apple cider vinegar, and because I couldn't help myself, a basket of baby artichokes and another of brussel sprouts.

Unfortunately, I forgot the veggies in a fridge in LA. The meat and beans, however, gloriously made the drive home. I've gone all summer, disappointingly, without local meat, and this was cause for celebration. Inspired, here's what became of my LA farmers market finds:

Pan-seared pork chops with red wine fig reduction
Corn, shoulder bacon, and tomato stuffed zucchini
Pork and maple baked beans

Pan-seared pork chops with red wine fig reduction
A few days before I planned to prepare the pork chops, I stumbled upon the most delicious figs I'd tasted in my life. Determined to pair the two together, I was disappointed to find many of the fig + pork chop recipes I came across used chicken stock in the sauce (here and here). In searching for an alternative to using stock I came across this, a dessert recipe that served figs in a red wine reduction. Thus my recipe was born.

Figs and Red Wine Reduction
fresh zest from one lemon
6 black peppercorns
1 tsp. cinnamon

1 cup dry red wine
1/3 cup water
2 tbsp sugar

1 shallot, diced
4 fresh Calimyrna figs, cut into sixths
juice from 1/2 a lemon
1 tsp honey

Tie zest and peppercorns together in a cheesecloth bag. Bring wine, water, sugar, cinnamon and cheesecloth bag to a boil in a 1 1/2-quart heavy saucepan, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Boil syrup until reduced to about 1 1/2 cups, 8 to 10 minutes. Remove from heat and reserve. When pork is done, remove pork from pan, add 1/2 tbsp butter, shallot and cook for 1-2 minutes, unitil soft. add reduction and bring to boil. Add figs, reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered 5-10 minutes. Remove figs and cheesecloth bag and stir lemon juice, honey and 1 tbsp butter into fig mixture. continue to simmer until spoon leaves clean trail across bottom of pan. Spoon figs atop pork chops and drizzle with sauce.

Pan Seared Pork Chops--This recipe is a classic--I simply followed the recipe in America's Test Kitchen Cookbook, which involves nothing than a good skillet, oil, and the chops (the flavor is in the sauce you choose to use). Simply heat oil on high, sear chops on one side for 3 minutes until browned; flip, reduce heat to medium, and cook until meat registers 135 degrees. Take the chops out of the pan, cover with foil, and make the reduction sauce in the same pan. By the time the sauce is done, the chops will have risen to 145 degrees and are ready to serve.

stuffed zucchini

3 zucchini
1/2 red onion
1 small carrot
5 cherry tomatoes
2 ears corn
5 slices shoulder bacon, diced
1 tbsp fresh basil
1 tsp honey

salt

pepper

preheat oven to 375. scoop out zucchini, discard flesh. heat 1 tbsp oil, cook bacon over medium heat 3 minutes, add onion and carrot. add corn and cherry tomatoes and cook for 5 minutes. add basil, salt pepper, and 1 tsp honey. remove from heat. toss zucchini boats with 1 tbsp oil, salt and pepper, place on oiled baking sheet and cook for 10 minutes, uncovered. remove from oven, fill boats with corn mixture and cook for 15 minutes, covered. uncover and cook for 5-10 minutes more until zucchini is tender.

pork shoulder and maple baked beans

I actually prepared these baked beans as part of my local meal for week 8 (which I haven't had the time to post); a few days later I simply reheated them to accompany this weeks meal. The only unlocal ingredient for me was maple syrup--I couldn't resist (I have a bottle of the good stuff, from Vermont, in my pantry). The recipe is again culled from my favorite reliable source, the America's Test Kitchen cookbook--I hope to post it later this week.

can we all think like this, please?

I really respect Jay Porter of the Linkery. I don't know of any restaurateur who is as wholly determined to do things the right way. By right, of course, I mean consciously and ethically, mindful of consequences and causes. Since opening the Linkery, Jay has proven that things shouldn't be taken for granted--that meat doesn't have to be purchased from mega-distributors and that produce doesn't have to be trucked in from afar, that there are food products produced by people who care and that often these products are far superior to what we've been taught to think is delicious. His efforts are genuine and transparent, and there are many things he does that I admire.

That said, I was blown away when I came across this blog post on the Linkery blog This post has nothing to do with producers or purveyors--two topics which I scour the Linkery blog for often. It does have to do with eating, though, and is so sensible I felt like smacking myself in the head after reading it. I quote:

"Starting this weekend, we’re going to pack all our to-go orders in heavier, dishwasher-safe, reusable plastic boxes. These containers cost us about a buck each, and for each container in a takeout order we’ll charge a buck. If you like the container and want to use it at home, great. But if you don’t want it, just bring it back to us at any time and we’ll give you your buck back."

Can everyone just take a moment to muse over how brilliant this system is? And then another moment to ask why all restaurants, everywhere, haven't been doing this for decades? Well, I can answer that second one, but won't waste the space here to do it. Instead I'll take a moment to imagine just how many styrofoam boxes, tin trays, wax paper wrappers, and dare I say disposable coffee cups would be saved from landfills each year if just one franchised operation adopted this policy.

The first thing that popped into my head while reading this was coffee (it was the morning, and I hadn't had any)--the sheer popularity of Starbucks makes me cringe in this department. But if Starbucks adopted a similar idea--if you had to pay a dollar extra each time you neglected to bring a reusable coffee mug? I'll dream of the day.

Until then, I'll be very happy to visit the Linkery again very soon.

Lunch Hour Interview

So, a few weeks ago, I was sitting down eating lunch on the steps of the NBC building, overlooking the Thursday afternoon farmers' market in Horton square, when I was approached by Kevin Leahy, an intern at KPBS, who asked if he could ask me a few questions about shopping at the farmers' market. Undoubtedly, he spied the three full bags of produce at my feet, (and maybe, I wonder, the colorful tupperware container full of One Local Summer leftovers that I was chowing down on?) and figured I was an easy target.

I wouldn't be surprised if I was the most willing interviewee he met--I went off for the next 15 minutes or so on why I was shopping there, what made produce from this market better than that from the grocery store, and why I hoped more people would join in on the trend. I was surprised at how easily the words came out of my mouth, how well-versed I had become over the past year or so on the issues that surround eating locally, and how adamant I sounded about why I was buying my food from these farmers and not from some nameless mass producer. I excitedly brought up politics, taste, farmers' well beings, and the environment, not necessarily in that order, (and not necessarily in that order of importance).

In the end, our conversation was cut down to about 10 seconds (for a 1 1/2 minute clip), but I'm still pretty glad to get my voice out there. Here's what Kevin decided to include in his project (click on "here's a taste" - I come up after the crying baby, about 1/3 the way through):

KPBS Local News: Local Farmers' Markets Get Boost from Farm Bill

The context, by the way, I'm clueless about--a friend heard me on the radio at 6:30 am today; the KPBS website neglects to include sound bites of how the clip was framed.


This week I realized that an admired owner of one of my favorite bars signs off all of his weekly emails with the line: "Please don’t forget to ask for local beer everywhere you drink or dine. I do." I'd like to adapt that--Please ask for local food everywhere you drink and dine. I'm trying to!!

OLS Week #7

There are times, I've come to realize, when life just doesn’t make itself conducive to blogging. Hence me not getting my meals posted in time to be included in the One Local Summer week 7 OR week 8 roundup (delinquent, I know). Luckily, while my past few weeks have been hectic and jam-packed, they’ve remained conducive to eating locally. But the business isn’t calming down, so for now I’m reporting things with a two week delay.

Week 7
This week, I found myself between travels, having arrived back from a trip to Virginia on Monday and planning to depart for Los Angeles on Friday. My four days in town left me not very much time to plan, procure, or prepare.

One conviction I've had about any sort of conscious eating habit is that it must not be unwavering. We eat not only for our own personal sustenance but to share an experience with those we choose to dine with. Never have I felt it appropriate to decline to dine with someone because of my own personal food preferences. (This is what has kept me away from vegetarianism, what makes me recoil at Atkins-esque diets, and why I will never decline homemade dessert after dinner). So this week, when I was faced with dining situations where eating 100% local just wouldn’t work, I improvised. Instead of one 100% local meal, I made two 80% local meals, sacrificing that other 20% each time to be able to dine with friends and to not subject them to eating only the limited local foodstuffs I had on hand.

I also realized something else for the first time this week: eating locally, for me, can also be convenient. Sure I've enjoyed the languid summer weeks when I've had nothing pressing on the agenda, allowing me to spend hours at several farmers’ markets throughout the week, exploring and procuring, and another several hours in the kitchen on Sunday afternoons whipping up elaborate, celebratory meals. But languid summer days don’t come around that often, while the need for a meal obviously does. Both meals I prepared this week were possible with only a quick visit to a farmers’ market, some surplus from my garden, and a visit to a local Henry’s, which surprised me with several identifiable local ingredients.

(If I may digress for a moment, Henry’s has tended to anger me for some time, proudly boasting “Eat Local” signs while neglecting to clearly identify the sources of products on the shelves, or worse—just last week I found three “Eat Local” signs posted above a bin of what was clearly identified as Maui pineapple—if only I had a camera. While this is a discussion for another time, the idea of “greenwashing”—boasting claims that a product has such “en vogue” traits as being organic, or local when it barely meets the sustainable criteria that these traits were founded on—angers me to the core).

The first 80% meal this week was made before I had a chance to visit a farmer’s market, relying only on what was in my fridge, garden, and grocery store. The result was linguini with sausage and mushroom-port tomato sauce, with the flour for the pasta, the organic leeks, and the sausage coming from non-local sources. The tomatoes, eggs, two types of mushrooms, shallot, garlic, and port were all local.


Home-made Linguini:
2 cups flour
3 eggs
4 tablespoons cold water, if needed
In food processor, mix flour and egg until dough forms a rough ball. Add water 1 tbsp. at a time as needed if dough doesn’t integrate. Remove dough from processor, combining any stray pieces. Turn out on clean, floured surface and knead for 5 minutes until soft. Let sit, covered, for 15 minutes and up to 1 hour.

Turn dough out onto floured surface and roll out with rolling pin, over and over until as thin as possible. If dough reaches size of surface and you need more room, slice dough into two or more parts and roll individually. When it can’t possibly get any thinner, slice dough into 1/8” strips using pizza cutter. Carefully place strips on a baking pan lined with parchment paper until ready to cook. Dough can be refrigerated at this stage for up to 2 days or frozen for up to a week.
To cook: bring 4 quarts water to boil. Add pasta and cook for 5 minutes, until al dente.


Sausage and Mushroom-Port Tomato Sauce:
2 sausage links
1 bunch leeks, white and pale green parts only
2 shallots, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
¾ cup button mushrooms, diced
½ cup oyster mushrooms, chopped coarsely
2 cups fresh tomatoes
1 cup port
1 tsp sugar
Salt to taste

Remove sausage from casings. Brown sausage in large, heavy bottomed skillet over medium-high heat, about 7 minutes. Transfer to bowl and cover. Drain any fat from the skillet, add 1 tbsp oil. Add leeks and sauté 5 minutes, until translucent. Add shallots and garlic, cook for 1 minute. Add mushrooms, stir for 2 minutes. Add tomatoes, port, sugar, and salt. Bring to boil, reduce heat, and simmer for 20 minutes, covered. Uncover, add sausage, and simmer for 10-15 minutes longer. Toss over just cooked pasta and serve.


The next meal was the quickest I've made all summer: Mushroom, Arugula, and Red Pepper Fritatta served alongside an arugula salad. The ease of this meal is its versatility—practically any ingredients for the filling will do, and after dicing all the ingredients for the frittata, I just tossed any leftovers into the salad. Since I toted the ingredients to a friend’s house to prepare just before hitting the road to LA, this worked out perfectly. The 20% un-localness in this meal was chicken—as my friend had several chicken breasts that wouldn’t make it through the weekend, which he opted to prepare rather than waste.


Mushroom, Arugula, and Red Pepper Fritatta:
8 eggs
1 small onion, diced
1 small carrot, diced
1 bell pepper, diced
½ bunch arigula diced (about 1 cup)
4-5 oyster mushrooms, sliced thin
¼ cup shaved sharp gouda or other aged cheese

Preheat oven to 350. In large, ovenproof pan, sautee onion and carrot over medium heat until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add bell pepper, cook for 3 minutes more. Add mushrooms, cook for 2 minutes. Add arugula, stir, and remove from heat.

Whisk together eggs, salt, and pepper in a large bowl until yolks are well integrated. Bring pan back to medium low heat , add eggs, and cook, slowly, pushing mixture gently with spatula to expose uncooked eggs to bottom of pan. Cook 3-5 minutes, until bottom of eggs are set.

Sprinkle grated cheese on top and transfer pan to oven. Cook 3-5 minutes longer, until top is gently brown and eggs are firm to touch. Carefully remove from heat, divide into 4-6 slices, and serve alongside salad composed of any unused vegetables (mine was an arugula, red pepper, and button mushroom salad dressed with local olive oil and non-local vinegar).


Whew! That makes me only a week behind…Week 8’s local meal to be posted shortly…

One Local Summer Week #6

Wow, has it really been six weeks? I've enjoyed every meal of it, but I think this week's was my favorite. Unfortunately, this is also going to be a rather short post, sans photos, as I've just arrived on the East coast for an extended weekend....

The inspiration for this week came in the form of slender, white fruit: baby eggplant. It was the first i'd seen all season, and it was irresistible. Not only was it irresistible, but I knew what I'd do with it the moment i bought it: Caponata. Caponata is a typical Sicilian dish, one that I'd discovered for the first time during a restaurant visit a few weeks ago. Its similar to baba ganoush in that purees cooked eggplant, mingles it with garlic and spices and creates a bewitching spread. In the restaurant where I discovered it, it was used as a bed for a filet of fish to rest on, and I intended to reproduce the effect in this week's meal. Local sea bass--the last of the batch I had frozen from a few weeks ago--paired perfectly with the luscious caponata.

Always searching for local starches, I "cheated" a bit this week and used flour from Oregon to create homemade pasta--which although the flour wasn't local was immensely satisfying. I was surprised at the ease at which I was able to craft tiny orichette-inspired pasta pieces--my dough wasn't as thin as it should have been but the result was as good as any homemade pasta I've tried. I'll definitely be repeating this one.

And, because I can't get enough of the peppery, tangy arugula that's in season right now (the farmer that sells it to me is now reserving a bunch twice a week, because I'm so eager to buy it each time I go to the market), I made local arugula pesto, complete with local sharp gouda and local macadamia nuts.

Here's how I crafted my meal:

Sea Bass in Paper

Looking for an Italian recipe for the fish, I came across Sea Bass in Papillote on Epicurious, an easy variation of sea bass cooked in paper (this recipe uses foil). Using tomatoes from our garden, plus local lemons, thyme, and Italian parsley, I followed the recipe almost exactly (omitted the capers--don't have any local). It was a no-brainer, and delicious! The thinly sliced lemons imparted a delicate citrus flavor that was perfect for a summer evening.


Homemade "orichette" with arugula pesto

Pesto (partially inspired by a similar recipe from elise.com:
1 bunch arugula
1/4 cup macadamia nuts (or other nut--walnuts, hazelnuts, and pine nuts would all lend different, distinct flavors)
2 cloves garlic, unpeeled
1/4 cup sharp gouda, grated
1/2 cup olive oil

dice arugula
crush nuts, roast in toaster oven or over stove for 5-10 minutes, until gently browned
toast garlic in pan over medium heat, skins on, about 10 minutes until skin browns. Let cool and remove garlic from skin
puree all ingredients except oil in food processor until fine. Slowly pour in oil, pulsing to combine.

Pasta
I used a recipe from my favorite source --simply using eggs and flour. The secret was combining the dough in the food processor, which took seconds and integrated it perfectly. I used no fancy equipment other than a rolling pin--it worked just fine.

I then cut the rolled dough into 1/2 to 3/4" squares, pressing my thumb into each to form "little ears" (inspired by the orichette shape)


eggplant caponata with roasted red peppers
For this, I relied on two recipes, a simple one from epicurious, and one from Mario Batali of New York's Otto restaurant.

Here's my interpretation:

6 baby eggplant, skins on
1 red bell pepper
1 small red onion
one carrot
garlic
1 large heirloom tomato, diced
2 tsp. sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp. hot pepper flakes
2 tbsp red wine
1/2 cup green olives, pitted and diced
3 sprigs thyme

slice eggplant lengthwise, salt generously and place in colander, beneath a heavy plate. Let sit for 30 minutes.
meanwhile brush red bell pepper with oil and roast over open flame of gas burner for 7-10 minutes, turning as needed, until skin is blackened. Transfer to paper bag, let cool, then gently peel off blackened skin and dice.
rinse eggplant and dice

heat oil over medium heat, add onion and carrot and cook for 5 minutes, until translucent. Add garlic, stir for 30 seconds.
Add eggplant, tomatoes, sugar, cinnamon, and hot pepper flakes. cook for 10 minutes. Add red wine and cook, covered, for 10 minutes more, until eggplant is cooked through.
Add red pepper, olives, and thyme and cook 5 minutes more, uncovered.
Let mixture cool slightly, then transfer to food processor. Puree and refrigerate, covered for at least 2 hours and up to 12.


Ooh, I wish I had photos because this meal came out perfectly!! I'll post some next week upon my return...

One Local Summer Week #5

Sometimes just one ingredient inspires an entire meal. This week, it was okra.

I sauntered up to one of my favorite farmers' stalls this week, hoping to pick up some blue lake green beans, a sweet cantaloupe, and some tomatoes, when I spotted the gorgeous, slender green fruit staring up at me. There was no hesitation, I immediately started scooping up a handful and filling my bag. I had never seen okra offered at the market before.


As I wandered home, I was hit with another surprise--my tomato plants were finally bearing ripe, vibrant red fruit. What's a girl to do, faced with okra and tomatoes, but whip up some gumbo ?


Unfortunately, I had verified my suspicions earlier in the week that there was little local meat to be had in Southern California, so I was resigned to a vegetarian gumbo. I do have to pause a moment to offer a very gracious thanks to Jay Porter of the Linkery, who was kind enough to spend a solid amount of time answering my questions about local meat and pointing me in several directions including Catalina Offshore Products seafood, A & W Emu ranch, and Creston Valley Meats in Central California (the closest sustainably-minded processing plant he had been able to find). I really appreciate all the information you were willing to lend me Jay, and look forward to exploring all of my options.

As for my gumbo, it took little time for me to head to my favorite N'Awlins website, Chuck Taggart's, and even less time to find a recipe for Gumbo Z'Herbes, a bewitching concoction of southern greens. Chuck, by the way, compiled the ever-solid Doctors, Professors, Kings & Queens: the Big ol' Box of New Orleans box set, which is well worth listening to, especially while you take an afternoon to cook up some gumbo.

What instantly attracted me to Gumbo Z'Herbes was it's use of a myriad of greens, including greens I usually just toss into the compost bin--beet greens, carrot tops, and turnip greens. In fact, some recipes I found called for no less than 10 different types of greens (a number that, apparently, some brave cooks upheld so vehemently that they would sneak into others' gardens and snip the tops off of their neighbor's root vegetables). What I instantly have to emphasize, especially after promising that you should use up to ten otherwise-disposed-of greens, is Chuck's reassurance: "This is an absolutely delicious gumbo. Don't be afraid of it."

The recipe, I'm guessing, will scare some people off instantly. Who wants to eat a concoction of mustard greens, beet greens, turnip greens, and carrot tops? The result, I'm willing to gamble, will turn skeptics into converts after their first meal.


The flavor, for a bunch of stewed vegetables, was deep, complex, and satisfying. I actually looked up a number of recipes and, based on what I had on hand and locally, adapted them all. The key here, I realized, was modification--whatever you happen to have on hand I recommend throwing into the pot.

(You don't have to believe me for that matter:

"I’m convinced that part of gumbo’s virtue, aside from its deliciousness, is that the dish is very forgiving of the cook. Measurements do not have to be exact, ingredients may be changed to use what is on hand, and unless the diners are so set in their ways that they can’t appreciate change, the result will be quite good."
-Stanley Dry, A Short History of Gumbo)

Here were my inspirations:

Chuck Taggart's Gumbo Z'Herbes recipe (I didn't have local ham)
Leah Chase's Gumbo Z'Herbes recipe (from the Dooky Chase Restaurant)
Regan Burns' recipe for Gumbo Z'Herbes as posted on Chow.com (the technique which I found the most practical to follow)

And here was my final result:

Local Gumbo Z'Herbes

greens
8 cups water
salt
1 bunch beet greens
1 bunch turnip greens
1 bunch carrot tops
3 onions, diced
3 cloves garlic, diced

tomatoes
8 small tomatoes

roux:
3 tbsp oil
3 tbsp flour (non-local for me)

"holy trinity":
1 onion, diced
3 small carrots, diced
1 red or green pepper, diced

the rest
salt
pepper
1 tsp. cayenne

1 tbsp. dill
1 small zucchini, diced
8 baby sunburst squash, diced
corn from 2 ears, cut from cobs.

Heat water and salt in large pot over high heat
meanwhile, place all greens in a pot of cold water, swirl to release dirt, drain pot. Repeat 2-3 times, until water runs clear.
Dice greens coursely.
when water is boiling, add greens, three diced onions, and 3 cloves garlic to pot. reduce heat to medium and simmer, covered, for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.
during last two minutes, add tomatoes to blanch.
Drain, reserving liquid (important!)
remove tomatoes from greens and peel, discarding peel and reserving flesh.
puree all but 1/4 of greens in a food processor. Set both pureed and non-pureed greens aside.

make roux: heat oil in large, heavy bottomed pot. slowly whisk in flour and cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, for 10-15 minutes, until roux turns golden to dark brown.
add onion, carrots, and pepper, and cook for 5 minutes, until vegetables are soft
add garlic, stir for 30 seconds until fragrant
add tomato flesh, stir for 30 seconds
add salt, pepper, and cayenne
add squash, corn, and dill
add reserved cooking liquid and bring to a rapid simmer
cook, 15 minutes uncovered, until vegetables are tender
stir in pureed and non-puree greens
continue to cook 10-15 minutes, partially covered until gumbo thickens
continue to simmer on low up to 30 more minutes if needed.

serve warm



Notes:

1. I added two un-local ingredients to this gumbo. One was flour, which is both an integral and indispensable part of gumbo. Two was file powder, which, is a less essential (gumbo can be made without it) but equally important component of Gumbo. Were I living near Lionel Key Jr., I would certainly try to seek out his version. (Regarding that link--it is part of the Southern Foodways Alliance Oral History Project, one of the best food-traditions projects I've come across. Their website is well worth exploring).

2. The next day, I cooked two sausages (casings removed) and stirred the meat into the leftover gumbo as it was re-heating. Again, if you have local pork, I highly recommend making this recipe with meat.

3. Gumbo is best followed up with an equally satisfying dessert. Fearing the end of the strawberry season and finding my first local rhubarb, I opted for my first ever strawberry-rhubarb pie (actually my first 100% homemade pie for that matter). The organic flour, organic vegetable shortening, sugar and vanilla weren't local, but the crust was homemade, the fruit was local, and the filling was damn delicious.

One Local Summer week #4

Ever since beginning the One Local Summer exercise, I have been in search of something that has long since vanished from the typical American diet: traditional cuisine. I have been convinced there must be a way to go back to eating before freezers, chemical preservatives, and round-the-world shipping changed our concept of dinner (and changed dinner's environmental footprint). Very much in line with Gary Nabhan in his book Coming Home to Eat, I found myself wanting to eat meals made without processed goods prepared by strangers, machines, and corporations.

Certain of these meals are easy for me—I can whip up a salad in no time, throw some vegetables on the grill, or prepare some fish or some eggs for a more substantial meal. But I’m participating in One Local Summer partly because I want to step outside my comfort zone, to go beyond what I already know to see what is possible eating within my own foodshed.

An idea I had since starting One Local Summer, which I’d only pursued haphazardly until now, was to investigate traditional uses of corn, which constitutes the staple grain of much of Southern and Central America. For me, eating corn meant throwing fresh corn cobs onto the grill, but I wanted to move past this. I wanted to transform corn from a vegetable to a starch—to have it serve as an alternative to potatoes, rice, or pasta rather than vegetal accompaniment.

Of course, using corn as a starch means converting it into flour, known as masa. Of course, since the whole idea of this exercise is to not rely on transported commercial products, I quickly realized this would mean doing it myself. Daunted but determined (the process looked quite labor intensive), my mind raced with possibilities. Converting corn into flour would mean using corn to make bread and dough (or tortillas and tamales), a remarkably luring possibility from an eating-local standpoint, considering there aren’t any flour mills to be found in Southern California.

That’s when I came across a recipe adapted for Epicurious from Chef Francis Mallman, an Argentine Chef: Andean Humita en Chala. Humitas are a traditional Argentinian food similar to the tamal of Central America. This recipe, as well as one I later found in the book Tamales 101, by Alice Guadalupe Tapp, used only fresh corn, not processed corn masa. Happily putting the whole corn-to-masa process on hold, I had this week’s meal.

While the recipe I found was for plain Humitas, I decided to spice mine up a bit, mostly because I came across two new local products this week (which also happen to be two of my favorite food categories): mushrooms and cheese.

The mushrooms were from Mountain Meadow Mushroom Farm in Escondido, a gorgeous bag of shitake and portabella caps. The cheese was actually two kinds of Gouda from Winchester Cheese Company--possibly the only commercial farmstead cheese within 150 miles of me. Mary Palmer, who sold me the cheese at Taste cheese shop in Hillcrest, was kind enough to emphasize that the cheese was not just artisinal--made in small batches with the utmost care--but was farmstead, meaning that everything that went into the making of the cheese was gathered from the Winchester cheese property. She urged me to go out to visit, as they gladly offer tours and demonstrations (she also recommended waiting until the fall, when the desert heat calms down).

Cheese and mushrooms--I don't think I've come across two better discoveries this summer. Here's how I concocted them into a meal:

mushroom and gouda humitas, served alongside Winchester Gouda, bread from Charlie's Best bakery, and a simple arugula and yellow tomato salad. (And yes, because I have a weakness for artisinal cheese, that's a small slice of non-local Humbolt Fog goat cheese you see on the cutting board.)

Mushroom and Gouda Humitas
Adapted from Chef Francis Mallman's recipe

Serves 3

Dough
4 ears corn, husks on
3 small carrots
1/2 onion
basil
salt
pepper
1/4 cup milk

Carefully make ring 1/4" from bottom of each corn cob to loosen husks. Carefully remove husks one layer at a time.
reserve removed husks, separating outer and inner layers into two piles
repeat for all 4 ears.

heat oil in skillet over medium heat, add diced carrot and onion. cook about 8 minutes until vegetables are translucent.
cut kernels from cobs, discard cobs.
grate kernels in food processor until fine, about 45-60 seconds
add cooked onion and carrot, milk, basil, salt and pepper and pulse for 15 seconds.
transfer mixture to bowl and chill until firm, about 30 minutes.
meanwhile, make filling (recipe below)

Filling
1/2 onion
2 cloves garlic
1 tbsp oil or butter (I used oil because it was local; otherwise I would have used butter)
8 shitake mushrooms, stems removed, sliced thin
1 small portabella mushroom, stem removed
1/4 cup red wine
1 tsp honey
1/4 cup finely grated sharp Gouda

heat oil in large skillet over medium heat
sautee onion until translucent
add garlic, cook for 30 seconds until fragrant
add mushrooms, wine and honey
cook 7 mintues, stirring frequently
remove from heat, stir in Gouda
set mixture aside

Assembly
Select 12 widest outer husks and 6 inner husks. wash carefully
tie a knot at the skinny end of each inner husk. starting at other end, slit husk vertically, up to knot. You should now have one long strand twice the length of the original husk. This will be used to tie the humitas.
Form the humitas: "Lay 2 of widest husks side by side (narrow ends at top and bottom), overlapping a few inches to form rectangle."
spoon 2 heaping spoonfuls of dough where the husks overlap. top with one spoonful of filling, and a third spoonful of dough.
"fold sides over to cover filling. Fold in top and bottom to make enclosed rectangular package. Tie crosswise with knotted husk. Repeat with remaining filling and husks."

Place completed humitas on baking sheet and bake in 350 degree oven for 15 minutes.



UPDATE: Ok, so I was so happy with this recipe that I made it again later in the week, although with not 100% local ingredients. If you've got local pork, I recommend the second version. Prepare dough as above, but substitute filling and top with apricot glaze and peach salsa.

Apricot-chipotle pork filling
1/2 red pepper
1 smaill red onion
2 pork chops, diced into 1" squares
6 small apricots, diced
2 chipotle chiles, diced
1/2 can beer
1 tbsp butter

saute onion, pepper, saute till transulcent. add pork, browning on all sides add diced apricots and chipotle. add beer. bring to boil, reduce heat to low, simmer about 10 minutes, or until pork is cooked through. Remove pork, turn heat to high and reduce remaining sauce to 1/2. Add butter and stir until thickened. Reserve sauce to spoon over cooked tamales (reheat before serving).

peach, green tomato and chipotle salsa
1 peach
1/2 green tomato
1 chopotle chile

dice all ingredients and combine. refrigerate for 1/2 hour to 2 hours.