Foie Gras & Flannel

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This summer started with a physical journey – a road trip to San Francisco, a flight to Louisiana, a drive to North Carolina, and several stops along the way. I can’t pinpoint exactly when, but at some point the journey transitioned to something much more internal – a mental re-set, and an exploration of what I want next out of life. For those who’ve been following along, this should explain the intermittent posts.

Over the last six years, I’ve focused a lot of energy on talking about food: writing, photographing, posting about my favorite meals online. But over the last several months, as priorities have shifted, I’ve found myself focused much more on community: people gathering around food. I want to spend more time here.

For now, I’m giving myself a break from blogging. I’ll also be transitioning away from TasteFresno, my main food project, but will transition away from that slowly. Thank you to everyone who’s explored along with me – now let’s share a meal!

Cheers,
James

“Dolphins are [one of] the only other species that have sex for pleasure.”

That’s what I learned from Jane, who greeted a friend and me with a warm, “What’s up, bitches?!” She then spent a few minutes telling us about Greenpeace.

According to Jane, three sea turtles die every second as a result of bycatch. If that’s accurate (?), that’s 94,608,000 sea turtles a year.

Hell, even if that number isn’t accurate (and I’m really hoping it isn’t), it’s a reminder that we should be stewards of our natural resources. Thanks for the reminder, Jane.

I’m going to start profiling a few of the people I visit with on my trip—some family, some friends, and some, complete strangers.

This is my mom–you can call her Jane.

The lake in the background is Caddo Lake, home to the world’s largest cypress grove, to America’s first above-water oil well, and—reportedly—to Bigfoot. It was also my home until I was about five. Mom and I stopped by on our way to visit my grandparents late last week.

Another lake:

That’s where Mom lives. Well, technically she lives around the corner from here, on a couple of wooded acres. Nestled next to a quiet little creek. With four cats and two goats. Next door to her ex-husband (funny story).

One of the goats:

Mom taught me how to make an apple pie. To date, she makes the only potato salad that I’ll eat. She used to make a mean brisket, but now denies that ever happened (my sister backs me up).

She’s also helped to forge my appreciation for good barbecue, and may have just inspired another crawfish boil with her suggestion of adding brussels sprouts and mushrooms to the veggies in the broth.

Good to see you, Mom. I love you.

I love this city—more and more with each visit.

I’m back in the South.

It feels good to be here. I mean, it’s humid, and I’m freaking out over the lack of reception (or internet), but the people here are always welcoming, and the scenery is familiar. Plus, I miss my family–I really don’t visit often enough.

That’s my niece (and that’s her with my mom up above). She was the catalyst for my trip.

Okay, maybe the divorce was the catalyst, but Mary Anna is the reason I’m starting in Louisiana. Her christening on Sunday brought most of my immediate family together.

Of course, none of us are Catholic. I bet it’s been 15 years since I’ve attended mass, but there we were, in our Sunday best–my Episcopal and Methodist parents, and me.

Just as service is starting, my mom turns to me and whispers, “You ready to do some partying?”

After church, we partied.

This afternoon I head back to Louisiana to visit two sets of grandparents, then load into a car bound for North Carolina in the morning. I’ll post pics from NOLA before I leave.

It’s lunchtime. I’m hungover. And I’m in the backseat of a Bay-bound car, listening to a road mix that includes Ke$sha and Elton John. This is how my journey begins.

Rather, that’s how it began—that was Thursday. I’m now sitting in the San Jose airport, waiting on the next flight to New Orleans. For the next four weeks (maybe longer?), I’ll be traipsing around the south and up the east coast. The goal: to clear my head, spend time with family, and get lost in conversations.

I’ll share stories of some of the the people I meet here. Day-to-day interactions and experiences from the trip will be chronicled on Twitter and Instagram (@jamescollier).

Oh, and Fresno, I’ll be back in July. I think.

From yesterday’s stay at the Phoenix Hotel (view on Instagram)

Another crawfish post? Yep—but this one’s more about the excuse to eat them.

See, each year about this time, I start day dreaming about crawfish boils. They were common throughout my childhood in Louisiana, but the last one I attended was organized in honor of my little brother’s graduation; then, our family shipped 120 pounds of live crawfish to North Carolina for the party.

That’s really what the boil is all about—a party. It’s an excuse to get together with friends, stand around a table and get our fingers dirty. Forget napkins, plates, or any sense of etiquette: this is a hands-on, chin-soaked, grab-it-before-anyone-else-does kind of meal. Rip the tail. Suck the head. Bite the claw. Anything goes.

The impetus for this weekend’s shindig came from Ryne; Tracy offered to host, and The Great Crawfish Boil of 2012 was born. We pulled nearly 80 pounds of the largest mudbugs I’ve ever seen from the Sacramento delta, asked some friends to bring corn, potatoes, onions and a few pounds of Fresno State sausage. Then we threw it all into a pot.

Also on the menu: peach cobbler, corn bread with honey butter, pickled okra, berry-vodka trifle, and an unjustifiable amount of beer. And Jameson. And Ciroc Obamas. And Hurricane Chuck—hurricanes, made with two-buck Chuck. (Okay, so it’s not just about the food.)

The soundtrack was a mix of zydeco and Southern folk music. It kept us dancing long into the night.

(Plug: I owe huge thanks to the crew at Sierra Seafood–they came through with a last-minute order for crawfish when everyone else told me they couldn’t be found.)

Warning: if this post feels a bit disjointed, it’s because I started writing it almost a month ago. The leftovers are long gone, but the thoughts, and the sense of comfort, remain.

—

I’ve often joked that I’m going to write a book titled How to Burn Out by 30. I have at least three chapters already outlined in my head–the result of my insistence on learning things the hard way, I suppose.

While the number really doesn’t hold significance, I hit the big three zero earlier this year, amidst feelings of burnout and an urgency for change. Friends have called this my third-life crisis; I’m considering it more of a third-life catalyst, though the former is a much more accurate description most days.

I’ve found this to be an intensely reflective period–I’ve looked more and more to the past to understand the present, and in doing so, I’ve reached for long-lost comforts, the most tangible of which are foods from my childhood.

So imagine my excitement when Saveur published The Essential Louisiana several weeks back. After clicking through to the crawfish étouffée recipe, I knew I had to make it. Étouffée is a rich, roux-based Cajun  dish served over rice–it’s far from healthy, but it’s incredibly flavorful. And it’s comfort food.

Crawfish are seasonal, and they’re available in California, but I have yet to find a reliable source. The local fish market orders them this time of year, but from Louisiana–the three pounds I picked up were shipped in live and boiled with a light seasoning. I’ll gladly take what I can get.

Here’s where I need to make a confession: prior to making this, I’d never successfully made a roux. I mean, I’ve burned my fair share, but a good roux takes a lot of time and attention. A dark roux takes stamina and a bit of insanity.

Saveur’s recipe calls for a “dark chocolate” roux, which took a couple tries, but it’s reminiscent of the style of étouffée I grew to love as a kid, so it was worth it. The recipe really needs no improvements; instead of posting a tweaked version, here’s the stock I made from the crawfish shells.

Crawfish Stock

• 3 pounds of seasoned, boiled crawfish, shelled (save the tails and claw meat for the étouffée!)
• 2 large white onions, cut in half, then quartered
• 4-5 stalks celery
• 6 carrots
• 1 Tbsp. vegetable oil
• 3 bay leaves
• 2 cloves garlic
• Salt, to taste

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Spread the crawfish shells evenly across two 9″x13″ baking pans; place the onions on top. Toss the carrots and celery in the vegetable oil and spread out in a third baking dish. Roast everything for an hour, then remove the veggies, turn the oven to 450°F and continue toasting the shells for another 20-30 minutes.

Place the shells, veggies, garlic and bay leaves in a large stock pot and cover with plenty of water. Bring to a boil, then cover and reduce to a simmer for an hour and a half.

The seasoning from the crawfish will flavor the water and may add quite a bit of spice, which is just how this Southern boy likes it. The stock will still need salt–mine needed about three tablespoons.

Strain the stock with a cheesecloth, doubled over (so the shells don’t cut through). Save the excess in the fridge for a few days, or freeze for later use; think, shrimp and grits.

I’d post a photo of the final product, but it looks like mirky water. Instead, here’s the étouffée:

This early summer is messing with the berries. I mean, we were picking mulberries in mid-June last year; this year, we’re we’re almost a month ahead of schedule. Guess that means it’s time for a little urban foraging.

Picture this: it’s 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. A dark SUV rolls quietly down a city street. It stops: two people quickly exit, run across the street, and disappear into the bushes.

Okay, that sounds a bit dramatic, but it really happened. I suppose we could have knocked on the door and asked permission, but where’s the fun in that?! We were gone within a few minutes, anyway–a small collection of ripe berries in our stained hands.

Mulberry-Maple Syrup

• 1/2 cup fresh mulberries, rinsed
• Juice of 1 Meyer lemon
• 2 Tbsps. grade B maple syrup

In a small sauce pan, heat the berries and lemon juice until boiling. Stir in the maple syrup, and reduce heat. Use the back of a wooden spoon to break the berries apart and cook over medium-low, stirring constantly, until the liquid reduces and thickly coats the back of the spoon (keep in mind that the syrup will thicken as it cools).

Simple, right? The lemon and maple really bring out the flavor of the berries.

Drizzle over a stack of Martha’s buttermilk pancakes.