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 first heard of the Good Food Awards through my friend Emily, another Eat Retreat connection (actually, she helped organize the retreat!). Emily is serving as chair for the Preserves committee, and connected me to the organizers so that I could help document this year’s judging. It was humbling to spend a day amongst so many passionate and knowledgeable leaders in the food community.

I’ll post more from the day on Flickr, but here are a few of my favorites from the judging and after party. For more info on the awards, read this, then check out the full list of judges!

Half an hour outside of Sacramento is the tiny town of Capay. A green sign at the entrance announces the population: 200. Elevation, 250.

Kim and I visited last month, driving up for the annual Capay Tomato Festival. The event is actually named after Capay Organic Farm (the town is just a few miles east)–all festivities, including overnight camping in the fig orchards, take place on the 30 year old farm.

We learned about the event from Bay-area friends who went a few years back. Our group claimed three rows in the fig orchards, and re-acquainted over drinks, contraband cheese from Italy, and what could only be described as food porn: homemade crème fraiche, mixed with fresh berries and drizzled in honey. *Drool*

This was a tomato tasting, so we sampled:

Of course, with only six or seven varieties to taste (that’s all the family grows on the farm), that didn’t take long.

Not to worry, we didn’t go hungry–not that a group of foodies would. Vendors sold tacos, elote, paletas and more.

Really, though, the event wasn’t about tomatoes. It was about great music, strawberry picking, tractor rides, roaming about and exploring the family’s farm.

Other activities included picking fresh fennel, infusing herbs and rock salt, and several things for families and kids.

And more great music.

We partied into the night, eating, drinking and dancing (even I danced, though that could be credited to the drinking).

Cool mornings don’t last long in the Valley, so we rose early, ate breakfast (thanks to Neil), and packed up our tents.

Well, not all of us got up. Last we saw Alex he was asleep inside of the case he brought for his upright bass…

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:

Drive west from Fresno to Mendota and you’ll be greeted with a sign announcing the city–population 11,000–as the cantaloupe capital of the world.

My friend Roque claims that’s not true. He says Firebaugh (just 8.7 miles north), is and has been the cantaloupe capital–and that Mendota stole their sign. So to settle the debate, he and Heather took Kim and me to Firebaugh’s annual Cantaloupe Round Up.

Here’s Kim, excited for cantaloupe:

The festival starts on Thursday and runs through the weekend, so we showed up on Sunday hungry for lunch. It turns out that most of the vendors and staff spend that day recovering from the previous night’s festivities, so we were limited to a few taco stands.

Selection aside, I was impressed, especially since most of the vendors were churches and community groups. The chicharron pupusa alone was worth the trip.

So what about the cantaloupe? We didn’t try any. Only a handful of vendors advertised it, but none of those were open. No problem, shaved ice will do in a pinch.

Time for the rides! They could have been fun, had they been running…and assuming we I could fit.

Yes, that’s a smoking bulldog on a children’s ride. (Nice catch, Heather!)

Just so you don’t think we were the only ones out on Sunday:

Next year, we know to go on Saturday.

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:

When I was in high school, I remember going on summer retreats with the church youth group; after climbing to an emotional high, we’d return home with energy and excitement. Eat Retreat reminded me of those youth retreats, only without Jesus and with much better food. Also, several bottles of really good whiskey (we didn’t drink the good stuff back then.)

Beyond that “feeling,” I’m still not sure how to adequately put last weekend’s experience in writing, so I’ll start with the photos. There are a lot of them, but even with what’s here I can think of many moments I missed. What an amazing time!

Sincere thanks to Laura, Kathryn and Emily for pulling so many incredible people together.

Shortcuts:

• The night before
• The road to Eat Retreat
• People and Activities
• Just Eats
• The Scenery

The Night Before

Berries, fresh cheese, a little wine, and the best ice cream sandwiches I’ve ever tasted helped to break the ice. We practiced taking pictures of other people eating.

The Road to Eat Retreat

We hit up the local bakery, then headed north, stopping only for the necessities. Like heirloom seeds in Petaluma, and flash-fried brussel sprouts, grass-fed beef and a bottle of rosé in Guerneville.

People and Activities

We cooked together, learned new recipes and techniques, and then we ate. And ate. And took more pictures of others eating.

Just Eats

Let’s just say we never went hungry.

The Scenery

Go ahead, be jealous.