Foie Gras & Flannel

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.)

Last Thursday I get a message from my favorite coffee roaster: “Yo dude…smoked cabeza at keiths box car, this sat 8pm.” Hmm, I’m apprehensive. A whole cow’s head?

But I trust Leo; he’s an adventurous foodie with an incredible ability to pick apart intricate flavors. And I get excited about anything that comes off of Keith’s smoker.

Here’s the scene: A small group of us gather at dusk at Keith’s restaurant, in the middle of downtown’s warehousing district (read: it’s the only place with a light on). Each of us brings a side and something to drink–Keith is taking care of the cabeza.

I can’t remember the full prep, but I know that the tongue was removed and cooked separately–Leo says this step is necessary to preserve the flavors of the different meats. Everything was smoked for 90 minutes, then wrapped in foil and burlap soaked in beer, and slow cooked for 11 hours.

What resulted was incredible. As in, “grunting mid-bite, eyes rolling back” incredible. Or, “curl the toes while licking the fingers” incredible. Or…okay, you get the picture: it was tasty.

The tongue and cheek were my favorite, but we ate everything, including the meat from the scalp, the muscle around the eyes, and yes, even the eyes. So. Tender.

Then, we made tacos:

Also on the plate: fresh tortillas from a local vendor, homemade pilaf, roasted carrots and cauliflower with honey and tarragon, collard greens, and fresh salsa.

Not a bad night.

I’m not big on tradition–at least, not in the form that it seems to take during the holidays. Thanksgiving, for example, long ago highlighted the rich flavors of harvest, but the “traditional” celebration seems to have devolved into canned sweet potatoes, green beans topped with crispy onions, and a cranberry-colored gelatinous substance. Sure, my family serves a version of these dishes; my grandfather also smokes venison and my aunt makes a bourbon pecan pie that I would fight you for–if there’s a turkey, it’s usually wild.

This year, Kim and I didn’t travel: we packed a picnic, and headed to Yosemite for the Thanksgiving day with my brother and Kim’s sister. That’s Kim on the left, Ashley on the right, and Jason photo-bombing in the background:

More of the family:

And Darla Abercrombie dog:

We live less than an hour from the entrance to the park, but in my seven years here I’ve been once (actually, I think that was before I moved here!). I’ve forgotten how incredible our national parks are.

We spent the morning walking around the lower falls (and the village). We gave up on waiting for sun to come out and settled on a spot on the bank of the Merced for our picnic.

Lunch:

Kim and Ashley cooked everything. From the top: ham and Gruyere bake, roasted acorn squash with wild rice and cranberries, and cauliflower soup. I want to marry that soup.

Overall, it was an incredible day, rooted in spending quality time with loved ones, and in savoring the flavors of the season. That’s our new tradition.

A few weeks back I picked up a bottle of kumquat-infused vodka at a harvest exchange. I sipped a little neat, but decided to hand the bottle over to a professional for mixing. Enter Ephiram, of Anywhere Laboratories.

We met up on a Friday afternoon to talk about mixed-use spaces: I’m researching shared kitchen spaces, and Ephiram has plans for a shared space for mechanics (among many other things).

He brought a few things to mix, and after a little testing, he came up with this recipe.

The Dirty Kumquat

• 1 ounce kumquat-infused vodka*
• 4 ounces ginger ale
• Squeeze of fresh lime
• Splash of grenadine

*I’m pretty sure you’ll need to make this yourself…

Mix (with a chop stick, if that’s what you have on hand), and adjust to taste–we were mixing in Mason jars, so it wasn’t an exact pour.

Enjoy with friends.

The beauty of summer in the Central Valley is the abundant harvest—if you plant it and give it a little water, it’ll probably grow here. Come August, we’re up to our ears in corn (yeah, I went there), tomatoes, peppers, herbs, stone fruit, strawberries (they’re still around!)…the full list of what’s in season is overwhelming.

A couple weekends back, friend and super-foodie Tracy—who sometimes blogs—hosted a “harvest exchange” to celebrate all that’s growing and being cooked this time of year. She says her co-host Eloise read about the concept in a magazine:

Eloise thought it was a perfect fit for the Valley, as almost everyone has access to too much zucchini and there is a growing number of folks who are canning and preserving at home.  We also thought it would be fun to bring together her friends, (boomers) with mine (gen y) for some cross-generational tips and inspiration.

Here’s Tracy, with husband Nyeland:

We gathered on a Saturday morning (to beat the heat), and started with introductions,

And then we ate:

We polished plums:

And then we shopped:

For fresh fruit and veggies:

For dried herbs:

For pickles and jams:

And for other goods (kumquat vodka, anyone?).

It was incredible. And I’m still nibbling on what I took home. The event was a reminder that good food—really good food—should be shared with others!

Addendum for the parents:

Warning: this post is only a tease. A delicious, summery-savory tease.

(more…)

I teased Saturday’s dinner on TasteFresno, but the two photos I posted didn’t do the full spread justice. David (of The Cured Ham), Chef Tommy, and Falina put on an incredible feast–one of the tastiest meals I’ve had, actually.

For more photos and the full menu (including a description of the “Prime Tasting of Three Ranches”) check out The Ham’s recap.

For dessert: bread pudding with praline sauce. *drool*

Did I mention there was wine? Brut, brut rose, Sangiovese, cabernet sauvignon, muscat canelli and port, to be specific. Also, Averna (that’s what Kim’s clutching below), grappa and rum.

Special thanks to Falina and John for hosting. Looking forward to many more gatherings!

I discovered Slow Food Madera‘s Organic Stone Fruit Jubilee last year, as an assignment for the radio show I hosted at the time. I couldn’t believe the variety of peaches and nectarines on display (and apricots, plums, and more)—all of them sliced and set out for sampling.

This year’s event was even tastier, and included not only fresh fruit, but prepared foods from Dusty Buns, Gus’s Meat Locker Chase’s Chop Shop, La Boulangerie, Chicken Pie Shop and La Reina de Michoacan (mmm…paletas).

The event is by far one of my favorites. In case you missed it:

Saturday afternoon I found myself surrounded by gentle-rolling countryside neatly lined with luscious vineyards. “It’s hard to believe this is still Fresno,” someone noted as I readied the camera.

Kim and I were visiting the Tanielian Farm House for an Armenian dinner organized by Slow Food Madera. The event highlighted the Torigian family’s journey from Kharput, Armenia to Fresno, and featured traditional Armenian fare: toorshi (pickled vegetables), fresh string cheese, yalanchi, bulgar pilaf, grilled lamb, cheese berag, and soorj (sweet, “Turkish” coffee). Yum.

Fredo Martin, fellow Slow Food Madera board member and one of the event’s organizers, offered a summary of the Torigian family’s story, as told by daughter Tracy:

Tracy’s first American ancestor came to America in the early 1900s, and quickly made his way from the east coast to central California. Her emotional moment with the microphone said it all: this was a very important event for her family and for Fresno metro Armenian community–a moment to remember its history, celebrate its culture, resilience, strong family ties and tightly woven sense of belonging.

Her family lost an entire generation–her father, Marshall Torigian, pointed out to me that Armenian Americans of his age never had grandparents because of the genocide. The family members who could, fled to safety and reached Marseille in southern France, where they remained for a few years, then, made the long journey to the Americas, reaching Veracruz, Mexico. One of the four sisters decided to go north and married Kazar, the first American of the family, already settled in Fresno.

Tracy shared the family’s story while her father and brothers cooked (with help from a few others).

We ate feasted. We drank local wine (from Agajanian Vineyards). And we danced. I’m not sure photos can capture the importance of such an event, but for those who couldn’t be there: