COOKED: A REVIEW.
"We are the only species that depends on fire to maintain our body heat, and the only species that can't get along without cooking its food. By now, the control of fire is folded into our genes, a matter not merely of human culture but of our very biology."-Michael Pollan, Cooked
I enjoy Michael Pollan's work and have read all but one of his books, but when I heard about his new endeavor, "Cooked" (published by The Penguin Press), I was skeptical. I was skeptical because of the name—which sounded to me like the title of a bad chef memoir—and I was skeptical because of the premise. In "Cooked," Pollan apprentices himself to "a succession of culinary masters," in sections themed Fire, Water, Air and Earth. But that wasn't necessarily the source of my skepticism. Where I became dubious, was at the focus of the first section: barbecue.It's not that I didn't care about barbecue—quite the opposite when offered a good plate of the stuff—it's that I didn't know if I really cared to read about it. I thought we simply didn't eat enough meat to necessitate an education on the subject. In my mind, barbecue was a rare and decadent event where, more often than not, we put aside our ethical leanings, dump sauce over some factory-farmed pulled pork and make a mess of our beards, ideals and shirts, respectfully. And to some extent, my definition wasn't far off. But what I hadn't considered before reading "Cooked" was that my relationship to barbecue wasn't just some moral confusion and a few ruined items of clothing, but that I actually cared a lot more about barbecue than I realized.If Hannah and I don't start a fire, we don't eat hot food. And I would say it's this necessity that's rendered me downright obsessed with starting fires. Every day, I watch each fire burn, transfixed by the magic like a child at a puppet show. I observe carefully how different woods burn and smell, how the fire dances, drunk on oxygen, gorging on carbon. I relish the flavor of a squash licked by flames, cooked by the hot coals of oak. I enjoy this act in some sort of primordial fashion that I'd never questioned until "Cooked", until barbecue.And it didn't end at barbecue. Pollan goes on to explain our need and love for wood-cooked food, for food cooked in pots, bread and, my personal favorite, fermentation. "Cooked" turned out to be precisely the kind of book I wanted it to be (title notwithstanding). It was a book that connected me, biologically, to the act of cooking food, which is all I ever ask for in a book. I love to know why. Why do we cook? Why salt? Why cheese? Why beer? I could read books that simply answer "why" indefinitely, and the more of them written by Michael Pollan, the better.You can find "Cooked" online, but all books read better when picked up at your local bookstore (except for mine, which is paradoxically only online).- Jesse.
FORAGED.
"Our brains developed under the pressure of natural selection to make us good foragers, which is how humans have spent 99% of their time on Earth." -Michael Pollan, Botany of DesireWhen we moved into our new house a few days ago, Hannah and I set about exploring the property in search of things to exploit––fruit trees, wildflowers, edible greens, etc.––anything we might be able to use or eat or turn into wine. Although there is quite a lot of property to explore yet, simply starting with our yard we were immediately able to find some lamb's quarters––a tender green whose flavor is often meaty and whose nutritional qualities often greater than anything we can plant (despite the fact that it's most commonly referred to as a weed!). So, having not been up to the garden yet that day, I picked some and scrambled it for our first hot meal in the new home. CSA members, do not be surprised if you get some of this treat in your first basket!A little more exploration revealed a healthy mulberry tree, and though they aren't the most flavorful or juiciest mulberries we've ever eaten, they'll probably make a decent wine. Along with honey suckle I found at the edge of the forest, I combined the two things with some water and honey and as we speak, our first ever mulberry/honey suckle wine is fermenting away.I truly enjoy foraging and want to do more of it––wandering around and exploring all the free food that's out there, realizing how little we actually utilize from nature. Yes, indeed, it's smart to research foraged plants before you eat them, but once you grow to recognize food in the wild, the possibilities are endless. Our pear tree is loaded. There are hundreds of blackberry briars around. Cherry trees, wild grape vines and, yes, plenty of "weeds," all soon to be ripe for the pickin'. I'd say look forward to a summer of many foraged posts.- Jesse.
MAKE YOUR OWN OREOS.
A favorite writer of ours, Michael Pollan, gives this food rule: "Eat all the junk food you want, as long as you cook it yourself." While this may be a TAD extreme - homemade french fries every day might not be a good idea - I am a firm believer in this basic idea. I have a sweet tooth that can be a bit terrifying at times (see numerous previous posts mentioning donuts). In moments when I find myself in the panic of a craving, it helps to slow down and take the time to bake something instead of rushing to the store. So recently, I decided to make my own Oreos. I found the recipe here, and of course I only vaguely followed it, but BY GOLLY it worked! I’m serious, ya’ll. These taste just like Oreos! They are by no means healthy, but they are definitely healthier than supporting Nabisco, and I used lots of raw honey and butter instead of sugar and shortening. Hooray for homemade junk food!Making these cookies was incredibly easy. You could use cookie cutters and make these look a little bit more like the Real Thing if you want, but it seemed like a shame to waste any bit of cookie to me!
- 1 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
- 1 tsp. baking soda
- 1/4 tsp. baking powder
- 1/4 tsp. salt
- 3/4 cup honey
- 1/2 cup of room temperature butter
- 1 large egg
Mix all your dry ingredients together in a medium-sized bowl (flour, baking soda, baking powder, cocoa, and salt)
Beat in the egg, butter, and honey until the whole mixture turns into a sticky dough.
Use heaping teaspoons full of batter, placing them on baking sheet (greased or parchment paper) about 2 inches a part. It seems like not a lot of dough, but it really works well. Wet your palm and press the balls of dough to flatten them.
The original recipe recommends to bake for 9 minutes at 375 F. I did more like 5-6 minutes, but I really like chewy cookies.
- 1/2 cup room temperature butter
- 1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
- 2 tsp vanilla extract
- 1 tsp milk
I simply whisked everything together in a deep-set bowl, but if you have a mixer I suppose that is the proper way.
Place the icing in the fridge for a while to let it thicken a bit, then place a dollop in between two cookies (once they have cooled) and smush them together until the icing spreads to the edges. See, easy!
THE LEGEND OF BUNKER BILL.
During my first year at Bugtussle, we raised turkeys.In lieu of the heritage breed turkeys like your Bourbon Red's or Narragansett's, we opted to raise the conventional, broad-breasted turkeys...but to raise them unconventionally. They lived their entire lives outside, protected from predation by solar-electrified fencing, with constant visits from your's truly. I loved those turkeys. I loved Tomahawk, and I loved Iceberg. I loved Galliopo, Bunker Bill, Chaos, Gunnison, Gravner, and Beardo. I named them, too, because I was a fool in love. Then November came, and we had to process them. Here's an excerpt from my original blog on the subject:"As Michael Pollan has pointed out, "process" is a kind term for killing, cleaning and packaging, but that's what it is: killing. The night before, we loaded them all in the truck, and as the truck pulled away with all of my buddies staring at me, my heart sank, and the next day we killed them. I helped. I can't be more honest when I say it was the hardest day of my life, and I still haven't reconciled it completely. Killing is not easy, and truthfully, I'm glad it's not easy. I'm glad it was hard on me. It shouldn't be easy." I went to New York for Thanksgiving and took Tomahawk with me for the meal. I brined him for two days, then smoked him for 13 hours, and nothing that's ever been killed has ever been done quite as much justice. The fact remains, though: killing these birds was the hardest thing I ever had to do and I was not looking forward to doing it again this year. Luckily, as fate would have it, I received a phone call in June from the farm while I was on delivery in Gallatin. The hatchery had called to say our turkeys didn't hatch––a somewhat common occurrence in the farming world––and we would not be raising turkeys this year. With a dauntingly busy season ahead of us, I think we were all a bit relieved. No one more than myself. That did leave the dilemma as to what we were going to eat this year, which leads us to The Legend of Bunker Bill.Bill got his name late in the season when he mysteriously broke his leg and spent the rest of his life limping around after me like a determined little soldier. It sounds sad, but he always seemed to be in good, curious spirits regardless of his disability. However, when we processed him, his body was a little beat up from his flailing nature so I opted to take him because no one was going to have a chance to use him. I had planned on cooking him over the winter then just never had a chance. The next thing I knew, I was back on the farm and he remained in the freezer until the season ended a few weeks ago. When you take a life, you begin to see the life that once inhabited your food. It would take a seriously convincing argument to ever get me to want to raise turkeys again, but I couldn't let Bill's life go to waste. Now, having inspected him and apologized, Bunker Bill is sitting in brine in the kitchen, waiting for tomorrow's feast. I'm thankful for his patience. I'm thankful for the opportunity to cook for my family––both old and new. And I'm thankful for the experience of raising turkeys, as they connected me to being thankful.- Jesse.
