Foie Gras & Flannel

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

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)

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.

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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:

In October, I flew out to Denver to meet my brother, who drove cross-country to live with me for a few months. Our drive to Fresno was spread over two days, and on the first leg, we committed to driving only on back roads.

Jason left a couple of weeks ago. Thinking through our time together, I remembered writing the following about our adventure. I think I’m due for another detour.

There are few icons of convenience more prominent than the interstate: high speed limits posted on endless miles of pavement, free of traffic signals and intentional pauses. To date, I figure I’ve seen 30,000 miles of it–trips between parents as a kid, vacation at the Grand Canyon, a cross-country move (North Carolina to California), a handful of extended holiday trips, and so forth. And if there’s one thing I’ve wanted on every trip, it’s a faster speed limit; I’ve given in to the speed and convenience.

Not this time, though. Not this trip. At least, not this day. Just one day of detours, and without an interstate.

The ride? A 2000 VW Jetta, packed with everything Jason owns, plus all of my gear. No cruise control. No radio. An incessant vibration between 3,500 and 4,000 RPM. And a faulty locking system that sometimes requires you to open the truck, start the car, then close the trunk.

First stop: a neighborhood coffee shop. That powered us through sunrise.

I-25 heads south out of Denver. We looked at the headlights dotted on the road as we passed over, heading west on Highway 285. Before long, we were winding up. And up. And up. When we hit Kenosha Pass, we saw an elevation sign–9,997 feet above sea level. We descended about 500 feet into Jefferson and found a spot to fill up.

Throughout the morning, we passed less than a few dozen cars. We had to pay inside when we stopped for gas–the countryside pumps didn’t have credit card terminals. Perhaps most refreshing of all: we went hours without spotting a fast food restaurant.

We were alert, in tune with our conversation, and our surroundings. Here’s what we saw:

• The sunrise. In the rearview mirror, as we climbed above Denver.
• Nine different types of animal crossings signs, including signs for elk and big-horned sheep. Oh, and people–sometimes they cross the road?
• Deer. Quite a few of them. (We almost hit one.)
• Clean air, and snow-capped mountains.
• Birdhouses dotting the fence lines for miles.
• Four Corners.
• Sunset over the mesas of southern Colorado and northern Arizona.
• The Milky Way. Every star in it, and some falling from it.

After 640 miles, we reached Flagstaff, and we welcomed the stop. The trip took us just over 13 hours, which puts our average speed at just shy of 50 miles an hour. I drive faster than that getting across town.

We woke up feeling relaxed the next day, but ready to  to find the fastest route to Fresno. Back on I-40. Average speed: 85 miles an hour.

I don’t really remember anything from that leg of the trip. No, the memories are in the detours.

I’m back home from a week in San Francisco. I should probably write about all the incredible food experiences I had during that week (gah! so much good stuff!), but instead I find myself distracted by the sunlight bouncing off of winter-bleached passersby outside of my office door. It’s supposed to reach 71 degrees today—that’s the sweet spot.

Since I can’t justify another day out of the office, I’m flipping through photos from my trip. Last Sunday, I was here:

Here, the San Andreas Fault has carved cliffs that reach 200 feet, overlooking a narrow strip of sand that soaks in tide from the Pacific. It’s a magical place, with hang gliders and horseback riding and sand dollars and sunshine. And fresh air.

Oh, and dogs. There are dozens of dogs roaming the dunes, including Ramona—

I spent the week looking after her, walking around the city, exploring the parks, and soaking in sunshine.

Now, it’s time to focus on work. So here I sit…staring out the office door.

Well damn. It’s February?!

I wish I could explain where I’ve been, but 1) you probably don’t want to know that much about me, and 2) I’m still making sense of all that 2012’s already thrown my way.

So let’s clear the table–start fresh. Here are a few of my current obsessions:

• Seasonal fruits and veggies, and making them a little less intimidating
• Juicing (casually)
• Taking photos of my brother, staring at food
• Alcohol-themed months (it’s now Febrewary)

What are you currently obsessed with?

Meet Jason. He’s my not so little brother. And he’s one of the few people I know that appreciates flannel as much as I do.

I finally lured him to California.

Jason left North Carolina last Monday; I flew in to Denver later in the week to help drive the last 1,250 miles.

Kenosha Pass, Colorado - 9,997 feet above sea level

I’ll share more about our food adventures another time. For now, I’m just celebrating the arrival of my brother—we haven’t lived near each other in over seven years.

Let the food adventures begin!

Today was weird—not bad, just weird. In fact, the last week or so has felt this way, and I can’t help but think it’s because I haven’t been to the Bay in a while. I need a day trip for inspiration.

That’s going to be hard to pull off this week, so instead, I’m flipping through recent photos from a trip to Ferry Building Marketplace.

Fresno Amtrak station. That was my first experience on a train; I think I like driving.

Inside the Ferry Building. It’s incredible (even if a little crowded).

Mozzarella sandwich from Cowgirl Creamery Sidekick. Simple and delicious.

This guy sold me salmon jerky sticks—”swim jims.” I love him.

Tuesday night was the second installment of Local Bites, a partnership between TasteFresno (a project I started several years back) and Fresno mayor Ashley Swearengin. Limón is usually at the top of my list of recommendations when people are looking to try something new in Fresno, so I was excited that we could introduce the mayor to the family and cuisine (Peruvian).

I’ve posted “official” photos recapping the event, but want to share some of my personal favorites. This may be my first post without food…

If you invite Anna Larsen to a picnic, you can be sure of one thing: she’ll bring oysters.

I met Anna at Eat Retreat a few months back—she brought oysters. A few weeks back, Kimberley (from The Year in Food) and I joined Anna for a tour of the plant where she works, followed by a tour and tasting of Hop Kiln Winery—she brought oysters. We were camping in Capay Saturday—she brought the…well, you see where this is going.

A few weeks back, Anna announced the launch of new project, Siren SeaSA. (Yep, she’s bringing delivering oysters!) From the website:

Siren SeaSA is an obsessively curated seafood subscription service that sources only the finest sustainably caught local seafood.

I tried to convince her that shipping to Fresno fits within the definition of “local” (hey, it works with produce), but Anna’s limiting the first round to Bay-area folks, and only 100 of them. The first fish ship this week: wild king salmon (filleted). Color me jealous.

To get a taste of what’s being offered in the subscription, I joined Anna for a tour of Mussel Cove Farm in Tomales Bay—that’s the farm pictured above. Here’s Anna with oyster farmer Scott Zahl:

Note that they’re both in boots; Kim and I, on the other hand, were in flip flops. Flip flops do not protect you from jelly fish.

A few of my favorite shots from the day:

Also, if Kim ever runs for office, this will be her campaign photo:

Thanks for the adventure, Anna! (I’m seriously considering a series of trips to the city over the next six weeks so I can subscribe.)