Shaggy Manes . . .

are the most phenomenal wild mushrooms that I've eaten here. We don't have chanterelles or porcinis, but we have morels and we have Shaggy Manes, which have a stronger, more seductive fragrance than morels, the strength of a truffle and the texture of oyster mushrooms. Really.

I spotted them in the ditch as we were driving and even at 55 miles an hour their pure-white, rounded protruding tops caught my eye.

(By the way, spotting mushrooms isn't about scanning the ground for a certain color or shape. I've come to think that it's about attuning your eye to spot moisture, something succulent--and possibly edible--on the forest floor. If you think about moisture, you will be able to scan over all the dry leaves and needles until you spot moist lichens, then patches of bare ground, and finally, mushrooms.)

Shaggy manes rise up and disintegrate with astonishing speed. I swear I could have watched them pop from the ground if I'd had the time. Here's a link to an amazing time lapse video of just that phenomenon.

http://blog.mycology.cornell.edu/?p=91

(This from Cornell's Mushroom Blog. I think I've found a new favorite website.)

Once picked, they begin to dissolve, edges first, into black goo. The youngest, tightest mushrooms fared the best and lasted a full day. They are the most fragile mushrooms I've ever worked with, and now I know why they're not more widely known. Shaggy manes are private treasures. If you find them, pick them and eat them immediately. In these, nature gives us a direct, gluttonous order that we ought not to ignore.

Cleaning them was amusing. They were pretty clean underneath, so I figured I just needed to brush off the surface dirt and give them a quick rinse. I used a vegetable brush, working gently from top to bottom until they were sleek, clean and comb-marked. I was combing their shaggy manes! This cracked me up, so I took a picture:

Then I sliced them in half, heated some butter in my cast-iron pan until it started to brown, added 1 minced clove of garlic and some minced fresh rosemary and then the mushrooms. I cooked them at high heat until the liquid began to reduce, then deglazed with a couple of tablespoons of chicken stock and a tablespoon of marsala wine. I let that boil a bit, then swirled in a pat of butter.

We ate the shaggy mane ragout with some of the wild rice that Aaron harvested from the creek (our first meal from the new batch of freshly parched rice . . .) and a quick stir-fry of garden zucchini and tomato. Aaron started a fire and we sat by the wood stove and consumed a simple, but absolutely perfect, tribute to the last week of September in northern Minnesota. This meal hit us, in the best possible way, right in the gut--and I don't think it was the wine which, although it came from the local over-priced liquor store, was surprisingly alright.

Rum and Summer

I've been flagging recipes for booze-spiked marinated berry concoctions for years. Known as Bachelor's Jam, or Rumtopf to the Germans, I've always wanted to make one. This summer, I finally got around to it. With the addition of the wild blackberries I picked today at the edge of our big field (see above), I'm calling it done and leaving it now to steep in the pantry.

I prefer the name Bachelor's Jam. It conjures up the easy nonchalance of an old man embalming his stash of wild berries in alcohol for the long, lonely winter. Bachelors needn't worry about their kids dipping into the jampot, which is a good thing because a recent tasting--gotta check it and see where it's at, after all--about knocked me off my feet. Although the strong rum felt ever so warm and fuzzy flowing down my throat, the intense mixed-wild-berry flavor held its own with the alcohol. I worried that it might be too strong, but I was wrong: it was lovely. Just right.

A healthy spoonful of this--tasting of rum and summer--over ice cream will be good company on a deep winter night. I'm thinking of one of those evenings that begin at 4:00 pm when the navy-purple sky descends and covers everything as completely as a multi-layered quilt, heavy with age, flung over your eyes. That's another way of saying that sundown comes quickly and darkness stays long here in the north. But summer cordials consumed in steady sips next to the glow of a spitting fire have been rumored to illuminate just about anything. I guess we will see about that. We are staying the winter here in Minnesota (the first time since 1995 for me!) so we will surely have a night that calls for cracking into the bachelor's jam.

(This recipe was originally printed as part of my piece for the Minneapolis Star Tribune. The full full article is here: http://www.startribune.com/lifestyle/taste/recipes/26098639.html)

Old Bachelor’s Jam

You can make it all at once, as directed below, or in stages. If you're picking wild berries in season, you can start the jam with strawberries, let it macerate, then add the raspberries, blackberries, even blueberries. If you have odd weights of fruit but want to use everything you've got, follow this basic formula: Weigh the fruit. Gently mix with half its weight in sugar. (For example, if the berries weigh 1 pound, use 1/2 pound of sugar.) Add to sterilized jar. Cover with strong rum or kirsch.

1 pound, 8 ounces strawberries
1 pound, 8 ounces raspberries
1 pound, 8 ounces blackberries
2 1/4 pounds sugar (5 1/4 cups + 2 Tablespoons)
approximately 5 cups kirsch or strong rum (should be 50 percent alcohol, or 100 proof)

Wash a large (1 gallon or larger) glass jar or ceramic crock in hot, soapy water and sterilize it by rinsing it with boiling water. Let dry.

If organic and free of dirt, don’t wash any of the berries. Otherwise, wash them quickly in three batches: place each batch of berries in a colander, rinse briefly and blot on a dry towel. Repeat for remaining berries.

Slice strawberries in half (or if large, in quarters). Mix with 12 ounces (1 ¾ + 2 tablespoons) sugar and pour into the bottom of the crock.

Mix the raspberries with 12 ounces (1 3/4 cup) sugar and pour on top of the strawberries. Mix the blackberries with 12 ounces (1 3/4 cup) sugar and pour on top of the raspberries. Pour in enough alcohol to just cover the berries, shaking the crock to distribute the berries and allow air bubbles to surface. Cover and let sit in a cool place for 3 days. Check to make sure that the alcohol covers the berries; if not, top off to cover. Let marinate in a cool, dark place for at least one month, or preferably, 5 months, before consuming. (If any mold develops on your rumpot, you must discard it.)

Scoop out the fruit to serve with ice cream or custard; serve the liquid as a cordial in small glasses.

Spice Flush

If I have to wait until I get a nice photo of my kimchi to write about it, I now realize that I won't have much of a blog.

I've looked at a few food blogs and I have to say, my photos won't be as lovely or professional, that's for sure. You wouldn't know it, but I've even done some food styling. Yet time constraints seem to set every single dish in the middle of my white Roper stove, lit with a blaring overhead fluorescent. I could blame it on my cheap camera, but the fact is that I'm just not much of a photographer. I will have to rely on words to paint the picture. (When I asked my husband, the artist, why my pictures turned out so badly, he said, reluctantly and only because pressed: "um, I'd say because of focus and composition." Translation: "They are bad in every way. Honey.")

Hey, I'm just the cook here. It's all I do and I get a lot of mileage from it. I don't have any frivolous hobbies like photography. (I say with wounded pride.)

Right to the point then. Here's my kimchi recipe. Hate to self-congratulate, but it's among the best I've ever had. It's plenty sour, maybe not as spicy as I might have liked, but I can correct that next year.

As is, it's mild enough for Hank to eat. Yes, the baby likes kimchi. He grabs for it and crams it in his mouth, slupping up the shards of cabbage that stick to his chin. He eats and eats until he gets the flush. (By flush I mean the full-body warmth, starting in the head, which I think comes from the combination of spice and the fermented lactic acid . . . . whatever causes it, I love it and it appears the kid does, too.) Then he cries in apparent discomfort, which lasts less than a minute, and then he reaches desperately for it again. Think his mommy ate some kimchi when she was pregnant with him?

Uh, in a bowl, with a fork.

Spicy Ginger Kraut

(or, Midwestern Kimchi)

5 pounds cabbage, freshly picked, thickly shredded
3 Tablespoons pickling salt
2 teaspoons sugar
1 1/2 Tablespoons Korean red pepper powder (lacking this, I used half-sharp paprika mixed with cayenne—one-third cayenne and two-thirds paprika make a medium-spicy kraut, spicy enough for most, but not really all that hot. Next time I’d go halfsies on it.)
2 Tablespoons minced ginger
1 Tablespoon minced garlic

Mix everything together well with your hands. Pack into a clean, sterilized crock and cover with large pieces of whole (or mostly whole) cabbage leaves. Rub these with a little of the salt mixture to wilt. Cover with three bags filled with brine: (3 Tablespoons salt to every 1 1/2 cups water) and then a clean towel. Set on wooden risers to prevent mold growing on the bottom of the crock. Ferment at cool room temperature, about 65 to 70 degrees for about 10 days, or until pleasantly sour. Start tasting at 8 days.

Pack into sterilized quart or pint jars and screw on sterilized lids. Store in the refrigerator. Should last the winter. I tripled this recipe and it made 4 packed quarts.

Hank's Birthday Cake

I'm still backpedalling, and I promise not to dump on this blog the veritable avalanche of ideas that I've been filing into the "blog" folder for the past six months as I worked up the nerve (and technological prowess) to start one. (Who has trouble with a blog on Blogger? Uh, I do. I spent the formative years of the blogosphere, from 2000 to 2006, with my head down, working like a dog in kitchens, rarely getting on a computer. I use that as my excuse.)

So just this once. I can't resist posting a photo of the baby, Hank. This was his first birthday. I guessed correctly that he'd appreciate an Ernie cake, because he had at the time forged an on-again/off-again relationship with a small Ernie doll. We figured that he liked Ernie's scratchy tuft of unruly hair.

Recognizing the hair as key to the Ernie cake, I dragged my in-laws through all the puddles of one of those soaking, windy New York days, from Park Slope to Tribeca, in search of thin licorice whips to stick in Ernie's crown. (I also found that dried guava, when cut into a half-moon, makes a perfect Ernie tongue. And about a half a bottle of red food-safe gel went into Ernie's radioactive cherry-colored marzipan nose.) I was uncompromising and I'm sure it was irritating to all involved, but when it was done, Hank turned to me and said, "Unhhh!" with all the enthusiasm of first recognition.

From foie gras to Fluff. (Marshmallow fluff, that is, which I mixed with soft butter for the sickeningly sweet baby's buttercream . . . ). This is what I've become. But if I had to work so hard cooking professionally for that many years to get to the point where I could whip up a bright and convincing cake for the baby's birthday the morning before the party, I guess it was all worth it.

All the dinner parties of August, and there were many . . .

This is cherry clafouti, a dessert I always think of fondly but never make. The batter takes about five minutes to pull together, it skates that elusive elegant/rustic line perfectly when served warm, and it can be made with just about any fruit. It was, literally, my Dessert of the Month.

dinner for Aaron’s far-flung cousins:
confit of mixed garden greens (kale, beet and chard) with currants, pine nuts and capers, extra-virgin olive oil on garlic-rubbed toasted baguette
Alex Raij’s cold Spanish tomato soup “salmorejo,” garnished with olive-oil-fried croutons, cherry tomatoes and iced chunks of cippolini onion
spaghetti with fresh sausage, garden broccoli and garlic, for a crowd
maple pots de crème with whipped cream and wild blueberries

dinner for 12, Aunt Mary’s Birthday:
pork shashlyk, marinated in red wine vinegar, garlic, oregano and spicy paprika, grilled quickly
Uzbek marinated raw carrot salad with dill, cilantro, coriander, caraway, garlic and red pepper flakes
green been salad with walnut-yogurt sauce (garlicky, herby)
meatless plov: basmati steamed with currants, pine nuts, a touch of curry and a bit of saffron
georgian cheese bread: (wonderful . . . a soft, eggy, buttery bread literally bursting with soft, stringy cheese, in this case a mixture of grated fresh mozzarella and havarti. I followed the recipe in my georgian cookbook and wouldn’t change a thing.)

dinner for Mom, Aunt Renee, and Marc:
ribeyes from Thielen’s, grilled over an oak fire
grilled cippollinis with blanched haricots vert in caper-mustard vinaigrette
grilled corn with butter
cucumber salad with sour cream and vinegar
tomato salad with lemon, shaved aged parmesan, purple basil
sautéed spinach with brown butter, garlic and nutmeg
(in true Thielen form, we ate so much meat that we couldn't even consider dessert . . . I knew this in advance and didn't even plan one.)

menu for melissa’s birthday:
chilled cauliflower soup with garlic-almond crunch, whole milk yogurt and lemon
my Mediterranean grilled chicken (cumin, coriander, cilantro, garlic, lemon, olive oil, mahlab, cinnamon) marinated for 6 hours and then grilled
haricots vert, steamed and buttered
basmati rice with dill and garlic
mesclun salad with hazelnut vinaigrette and roasted grapes
fresh cherry clafoutis with dark rum and whipped cream (cherries with the pits in them! Wonderful and lots of fun and the intact cherries didn't dilute the custard. Julia Child recipe, and it was perfect.)

dinner for Brian and Jill and Mike and Michelle:

Mike's homemade cured coppa and soppressata. Both were amazing. He used the cylindrical roast inside the boston butt for the coppa and it was the ideal cut: lacy with fat and naturally tender. Makes me want to pull out that cut and roast it on its own, quickly, like a loin.
grilled flank steak with charred scallion Frankfurter herb sauce
boiled new potatoes with brown butter and grilled cippollini onions
haricots vert with tiny bits of Thielen bacon
mesclun with hazelnut vinaigrette
fresh berry tart with lightened vanilla bean pastry cream, a super-flaky crust (thank you, Rose Levy Berenbaum), and mixed black cap and purple raspberries

a good, simple, quintessentially northern 30-minute meal for Sarah Spangler:
chicken breast pan-roasted on the bone with lemon and thyme and garlic, thinly sliced
basmati rice warmed in brown butter
buttered haricots vert
salad with toasted hazelnuts and sliced grapes and a touch of curry
wild berry tart with a cream-cheese/pastry cream filling

dinner for Merle on the occasion of his annual fishing trip in Vergas
Roast baby chickens with thyme/marjoram/garlic butter, and quick pan gravy
Potato gratin with creamed kale and caramelized onions (creamed kale made with a base of caramelized onions, half and half and a bit of water, mixed with two egg yolks and poured over cooked, buttered and salted sliced potatoes, topped with grated parm and baked until all browned and tender . . . a brand-new idea and an total winner).
turnips glazed with honey, butter and rosemary
cucumber salad with yogurt, dried sour cherries and olive oil (Shea’s recipe)

Just a Wednesday night dinner that turned out better than expected:
Grilled flatiron steak with tomato-basil vinaigrette
Poached fresh shell beans tossed with bacon, butter-braised onions, rosemary and parsley
Cabbage fried in ghee with leeks and thyme and garlic
Cucumber salad with sour cream and lemon

dinner for Bruce and Cheryl:
What I thought I’d make:
garden agrodolce: eggplant, zucchini, beans, onions and tomatoes with currants and pine nuts, made sweet and sour with honey and vinegar and olive oil
slow-roasted porchetta
new potatoes with rosemary
boiled greens sautéed in garlic and oil and sprinkled with lemon
shredded zucchini and basil with yogurt
Muscat grape clafoutis with rum

What I actually made:
No appetizers, just white wine
Roast chicken rubbed with French quatre-epices (black peppercorns, bay leaves, cloves, dried ginger) plus some red pepper flakes, garlic powder and salt; roasted on a bed of thick-sliced cippollini onions for 20 minutes at 450 degrees (breast-side-up) and then another 50 minutes at 375 degrees (breast-side-down); rested 15 minutes before carving.
Roasted turnips, carrots and freshly dug fingerling potatoes with rosemary and olive oil
Creamed corn and garden leeks
Greens sauteed with pine nuts, garlic and dried currants
Apple clafoutis with rum

Reading through these menus, I'm confronted with the simultaneous abundance and scarcity of a garden-reliant kitchen. The beans, the onions, the cukes . . . it gets a little repetitive, but that's the reality of cooking from the garden. And I absolutely hate letting anything over-mature, so I try to pick every morning. The cucumbers grow from pill-sized oval nubs on yellow blossoms to full pickling size in the space of a day, so it goes fast. Beans, too. When the haricots vert come on, it's a deluge.They were kicking for four full weeks, and if it warms up these next few weeks, they should produce beans again. They're called Maxibel. It's a french import and it has produced profusely for two years in a row now. We've also been blessed with nice fat cippollinis this year, sweet and juicy enough to eat raw.

Cherry Clafouti
adapted from Mastering the Art of French Cooking, by Beck, Bertolle and (Julia) Child
(I added the rum!)

They call for pitted cherries, but I know that traditional clafoutis were made with unpitted cherries, so I left them alone. It was no bother to dip the pits out onto our spoons and heap them like rock piles at the edge of our plates.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

1 cup + 2 Tablespoons milk
2 Tablespoons dark rum
2/3 cup granulated sugar, divided
3 eggs
1 Tablespoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup sifted all-purpose flour

butter for the dish

Place the milk, rum, 1/3 cup sugar, eggs, vanilla, salt and flour in a blender jar. Cover and blend at top speed for one minute. (This can be ahead of time, in the morning before you plan to serve it. Just refrigerate after blending and then allow to come to room temperature again before baking.)

Butter a 7- to 8-cup fireproof baking dish or pie plate about 1 1/2 inches deep. Pour a 1/4-inch layer of batter in the baking dish. Pop into the oven and cook until just set. Remove and spread the cherries over the batter and sprink with the remaining 1/3 cup sugar. Pour on the rest of the batter.

Place on the middle rack of your preheated oven and bake for about an hour. The clafouti is done when it has puffed and broned, and a needle or knife plunged into its center comes out clean. Sprinkle top of clafouti with powdered sugar just before bringing it to the table.

I served mine with rum-spiked whipped cream: I cup cream, 2 Tablespoons sugar, a splash of rum.

July, crawling with crawfish

I focused a good chunk of July on a certain vastly under-appreciated local crustacean. Writing about crayfish, trapping them, keeping them alive in coolers, corralling the snapping, frisky little mudbugs into the boiling pot . . . it all made for delicious week studded with culinary thrills--if you count watching a local creature make the trip from lake to pot to plate to belly in the space of a day a thrill. I do. Read the piece in the Minneapolis Star Tribune if you want to hear my argument for trapping and eating these tasty buggers. Crayfish recipes appear after the article.

Crayfish, Crawdads, Mudbugs:
http://www.startribune.com/lifestyle/25802329.html

The accompanying video shows me making Minnesota Paella with chicken and andouille sausage and crayfish on the open fire, and it begins with some nice shots of our place.