Market Day in Huy

(a little pre-script: I wrote this on the train to Amsterdam on my mini computer, and so I don't have my photos to accompany it. I'm sure we've both gotten rather spoiled by the visual accompaniment, but they are going to have to be added in a couple of days when I'm back in Belgium. My apologies.)

Wednesday we left the house around 10:00 to go to the market in Huy, the nearest city. It was another gray day when we left, though later it would clear up off and on. We drove down the hill and through the brick house lined streets till we parked in the parking lot of a little mall. Our group of 4 split into 2 groups, and Jan and I crossed the bridge over the Meuse to the street market. I had been really looking forward to this market, especially to the food stands. I was going to buy fish for dinner, as well as whatever vegetables caught the eye for a side dish. I was itching to look at fresh meats and sausages, pates and cheeses, fillets of fishes, breads and fruits and vegetables and spices. We had been craving this trip to the market, even as we enjoyed the fabulous meals prepared for us. We wanted to see for ourselves, touch, smell, make choices between this or that, to shop.

However, the first part of the street market that we explored was all trinkets, sunglasses, socks, tight European shorts, cheap dresses, purses and candies. We both got some sunglasses, which I had been needing. Mine were dark aviators with pink edges, Jan’s were more rectangular with rounded edges and lots of reflection, but not too much. Very suave. We explored some more, and when we got hungry we bought a campagne garnie—a long country sausage in a baguette bun with grilled onions and mustard. We had seen several stands for them, and when I saw someone eating the greasy sandwich my mouth began to water. So we bought one and split it, the bread densely white and slightly sweet with a slightly crispy outside, and the sausage meaty and mildly flavorful, the grease of the sweet onions seeping into both, all spiked with the bite of the mustard. Mmm.

After we left that street, we found the part of the market that we had been hoping to go to. We found our friends there, buying tomatoes at one stand, and crevettes grises (tiny grey shrimp) for tomorrow’s dinner, which we ate last night. It was an excellent meal, the shrimp mixed with homemade mayonnaise, chopped hardboiled eggs and parsley and put in the scooped out tomatoes. So creamy and delicious. Anyway, back to the market, Jan and I gleefully alighted upon the long counter selling cheese. We wanted a bit of everything, pointing out little round hevres, heart shaped Neufchatels, bries, camemberts, chevres. We decided upon a tasty looking wheel of brie, getting a slice of it, and I wanted to try the Neufchatel. Jan was excited by a petite chevre bejeweled with candied pieces of papaya, which we have yet to try. The Neufchatel we tried yesterday, it was delicious. Inside the skin it was a creamy yellow and slightly liquid, though it firmed up into a rich white creamy flakey center that had a strong blue flavor. My brother B loved it.

After the cheese stand, we lingering longingly at the meats for a moment before moving on to fish. I didn’t recognize the fillets (besides the salmon of course) or the names, but I had a good look at them and the prices before deciding what to buy. The white fillets of sole cost the most at  € 44 per kilo, but there was a pile of fillets next to them called plie that were gleaming which with a nice thin tender looking flake that caught my eye. They were around midrange price, which seemed good to me, as I didn’t know what I was buying, I could still know that cheap fish are cheap for a reason. I asked for 6 fillets, which he wrapped up and gave to me. It ended up being flounder that I had bought, and though the name was familiar I hadn’t eaten it before. When I video IM’d with my dad when we got back to the house I asked him about it. He said it was good, like halibut. I double checked that how I was going to cook it (sautéed in butter) would good for that kind of fish, and he affirmed it. In the kitchen, Denise recommened a coating of flour, and so before I cooked the fillets I coated them with a very thin coating of fluid flour (which is very fine) and sprinkled them with salt. I cooked them in butter on low until they were golden brown, and then served them immediately.

They were fabulous. The meat was incredibly tender and smooth and buttery, truly melting in my mouth. I fell in love with flounder right there. I want to fish for it.

We served the fish with a garden salad and vinaigrette that Denise and Lily had made earlier, and boiled potatoes that Denise had harvested that day from the garden, and which were perfectly cooked. It was a simple meal, but very tasty. We ate everything.

Right now Jan and I are on the train to Amsterdam. We left Huy this morning, taking the train to the beautiful station in Liege with its great curved white covering of white beams, and from Liege to Maastricht. We have been on the Maastricht train for around an hour, passing fields of asparagus and cabbage and greens, past green forests and little towns. Jan is asleep with his head on our little table. This is my first train trip besides BART that I remember, and it has been exciting in the good kind of way, with nothing bad happening, not even close calls of any kind. Just experiencing new things, and looking forward to our next few days in the great city of Amsterdam. Its an adventure :). 

Entertaining in Belgium

The last two nights before this one we have eaten at friend’s houses. Both were interesting and tasty, and I think both were considered “barbeque”. The first night we ate at a friend’s house in Huy. We ate outside after touring their garden and visiting their horse. The sun was setting while we sat at the table on the porch, and an umbrella was set up to the precise position to block the sun while we chatted. I desperately wished I could be a part of the conversation, but my lack of French left me on the sidelines. I strained my ear for what I could understand, until it felt like I began to strain my brain, whereupon I just ate and let the words babble through my ear without any attempt to catch them. We were served a variety of appetizers, such as slices of baguette with pesto, fresh mozzarella and pieces of tomato, baguette slices with tomato pesto, Portuguese cured ham and fresh mozzarella, olives and cheese. We drank Hoegaarden Rosé (a white beer with raspberries) and then a rosé (wine). We laughed when we could understand, and we enjoyed each other, the food, and the kids who were playing and wrestling on the lawn.

For dinner, we had a frisée salad with shallots, tomatoes with olive oil and salt and pepper, and potatoes steamed with thyme. For the main dish, our hosts had placed an electric table-top grill upon which they placed a variety of marinated meats to cook, which we chose at our desire. While we waited for the meat, we placed slices of cheese on triangular nonstick little pans that we each were given, and which fit into triangular depressions under the grill. When the cheese was heated through, we slid the melted cheese off the pan onto our potatoes, and it was delicious. Of course.

As the sun started to set, our meal wound down as well. For dessert, we ate a variety of little scoops of ice cream, as well as a Belgian fair food, though I forget what it is called. It was a thin dense waffle filled with a cinnamon-y paste and drenched in a thick maple syrup that was just barely sweet. Mmm. Wish we could trade fair foods.

We finished off the meal with a little shot of baileys with ice. Au revoir!

The next night we would have eaten outside as well, except the weather had taken a turn towards cold and windy, and thus we ate downstairs in the basement. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, as the ceiling was lined with multicolored lights, and Santana was playing on the stereo, making it quite the cozy family dinner.

Like the night before, we began with an array of delicious appetizers. We had crackers with a dip of green onions and crème fraiche topped with smoke young herring, du lard (ultra thin slices of bacon) wrapped around banana and baked until the edges were slightly brown and crispy, the flavor suffusing into the banana, du lard wrapped around prunes, and verrines (small glasses) with layers of tomatoes, small shrimp with a creamy sauce, and thinly sliced lettuce. I especially enjoyed the later, it was so tasty.

When we were done with the appetizers, our host brought out the meats for the evening and put them on the table for us to choose. There were sausages, brochettes of beef and chicken, chicken wings, and marinated hunks of uncured bacon. We made our choices, and then he cooked them on the barbeque. We ate the meat with a frisee salad, a salad of celery, apples, pine nuts and sesames, a carrot salad, and roasted potatoes. It was a feast.

We finished it up with a prune crumble, made out of ground butter cookies with layers of halved plums and a mixture of the cookies, butter, sugar and cinnamon. Scrumptious and full of textures.

I must also note that in between these meals, we had another delicious lunch of soup, meats and cheeses. 

I really loved the cheese at the bottom, which was served with the dark dollop of sirop de liege. C’est magnifique how the flavors blend in your mouth, filling you so full of rich flavor that you feel consumed by the sensuous opulence blooming on your tongue.

As much as I wish to continue, I must go to bed. We are going to Liege tomorrow, and we are going to go running bright and early! Good night. 

 

Belgian Bread, Cheese and Beer Market

I can tell already it is going to be hard to keep up my blogging what with all the culinary experiences I’ve been having, and the amount of time I can steal away from the day to write them up. I will try my best though.

The day after we arrived, we went to a local artisan market in Burdinne, where all that was sold was either pain, fromage, ou biere. Actually, there were some fabulous pastries as well, but that must have been included in the bread category. To get there, we drove on wet cobblestone streets under dark and looming clouds that threatened, but never gave us a good drenching. We knew we were close when we saw cars lining the street, and our friend dropped us off at the great brick building with the archway hung with the sign “Nostalgie” where people were coming in and out of while she went and parked.

When we all gathered together again, we walked through an old big courtyard, the brick buildings covered with scaffolding, and our way to the market was directed with metal fencing. At the end, one of our party recognized the guy checking for stamped hands to make sure you paid, and he called out to him, told him we were all his friends, and so we all got in for free. The first building we entered was huge and open, though dimly lit. People were strewn about the room, standing on the pebbly floor, and over their heads was a great high ceiling, towering above us. We quickly assessed the area, and found it to be a children’s hangout area. While the others lingered, Jan and I eagerly made our way up and out of the building where we found long benches between the one building and the one across the way. There people were sitting and drinking their glowing glasses of gold liquid under a great tent roof that protected them from the lightly falling rain.

We took it in, and crossed over to the other building, where we were assaulted instantly by the smells, noise, lights and jumble of things to see. We were in heaven. Lights were strung about the building, which had a lower ceiling than the other and was much more cozy, and people were packed into the space. They all moved around, talked, laughed, bartered, bought, and sat and ate happily. We gazed at bread stands full of baskets of delicious looking breads of different shapes and colors. We looked joyfully at cheese booths with great wheels of cheese and piles of bries, some cut in half and covered with cellophane affording us a look at the rich creamy yellow insides. We took in the busy beer stalls with their displays of bottled beers and the tapsters busy pouring. We glanced at the people sitting and drinking their many different types of beer. I felt overwhelmed. I wanted to do everything and eat everything all at once. This was my kind of market.

We started with a blonde called Gouyasse and a cassis beer called Ducassis, each 2,50€. They were both delicious and light on the tongue, but it was the Ducassis that felt like it quenched the thirst, it was so nicely sweet and not terribly sweet at the same time. I just wanted to drink it all down. Instead, we joined the others outside and wiped down a bench with napkins so we could all sit down and eat the platters of cheese and hunks of bread they had acquired. We had a great time tasting them all, agreeing on favorites, and telling each other which one tasted like oysters. For I swear, there was a brie that had that exact flavor. It was delicious. There was also a great parmesan, and several strong and immensely flavorful soft cheeses that I enjoyed. And the bread was perfect. It was a grayish color, dense and moist and flavorful in a way that complimented all the cheeses, but did not overpower them.

When we were done eating, we went back in to fully explore. We ate the most fantastic pastries, little round glazed doughnut like things dusted with powdered sugar and cut in half and filled with a rich buttery sweet pudding that all melted in my mouth. It was so good. 

We went on to try other beers, carrying them around while we peered at goods and chatted with booth keepers and revelers. We went home with little white plastic sacks of breads, cheeses, and sirops de liege (a concoction of pear and apple juice cooked down over a long period of time until it is a thick, caramely, viscous texture that is intensely flavorful). And a pack of Ducassis.

An Ode to the Gaufres

Yesterday we were still a little jet lagged, but 13 hours of sleep had certainly done away with most of it. The weather was no longer as incredible as the day before, though it was still quite warm despite the looming dark clouds.

When I came down in the morning, most everyone had already eaten, so I made myself a piece of toast with nutella on one part, and that marvelous butter on the other. To tell the truth, the butter was even better than the incredibly addictive nutella. Its depth of flavor and rich creaminess coats the tongue and delights endlessly. I fixed myself a cup of tea, and stuck a waffle in the toaster. Now, I don’t want you thinking that this is just any waffle. In fact, I’m going to call them by their French name: “gaufre” because though it is the same shape, it is in a completely different field from the kind you get in America. It is so sweet, buttery and rich with eggs it is more like eating a toasted piece of buttery crispy cake. She was delighted when she saw me enjoying mine, and set about to make “plus de pâte pour les gaufres”. I sat in the kitchen with my cup of tea watching her make the batter. She began by mixing the eggs with the sugar, then melting butter and adding that, then a bit of milk, and finally the flour and baking soda. She let the mixture sit for a good while, and then began to cook them. There is now a great old round Tupperware container of waffles in the kitchen, ready and waiting to be eaten. 

Ah, La Vie Belge

We arrived in Belgium the day before yesterday. I’m not sure how long it took us to reach the house from Brussels, probably 45 minutes or so, but we drove on tree lined highways and past wheat fields, beet fields, and quaint houses made of stone and brick  covered with lush ivy. Since our arrival, we have had 7 delicious meals, and we are about to eat our 8th.

As soon as we arrived, we set the table in the dining room for 7, as well as 2 settings outside for the boys. Denise heated up some green soup made from courgettes (squash), onions and herbes de provence, and put a plate with ham and a platter of 4 different types of cheese on the table, as well as a basket of 2 types of bread. The cheeses included several soft cheeses, two of which were mild and the other had more flavor, and a sliced pale orange cheese that had a rich flavor. She also put out a cucumber salad of thinly sliced cucumbers, and we sat down to our feast. We ate the soup first, which was delicious. It had a very nice buttery sweet flavor that was very smooth and mellow. The breads and cheeses were a delight, and the thick slab of yellow butter was incredible.

Afterwards Denise brought out a great tin of Belgian chocolates, telling us to eat up. Mmmm, Belgium.

{Des Chocolats}

Afterwards we took a tour of the garden. It is a marvelous little garden, which looks like it belongs in a fairy tale, what with the castle in the background. You can find eggplants, tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, celery, carrots, a big plot of potatoes, squash, beans and greens all growing in tidy unruliness together. She pointed out the round green streaked squash that we had eaten in our soup. We reveled in the sunlight, a streak of luck we hadn’t expected. It was even hot feeling, it was so humid.

Jan and I took a walk to explore the village and the countryside, falling in love with the stone and brick houses tucked away in a verdant jumble of foliage, and the sweet people who cried out “bonjour!” to us as we passed.

For dinner, we sat down to a delicious roti de porc, two types of beans and boiled potatoes. There was a cold salad of yellow beans with parsley and a touch of vinegar and oil, and a hot bean dish of green beans with parsley and garlic. The pork was absolutely delicious, cooked in its own juices and a bit of water (it was a boston butt and thus nicely run though with streaks of fat), as well as tiny slices of non-fried bacon, tomatoes and garlic. 

The meat was tender and delicious in a pool of it own juice, which was further appreciated when soaked up by the potato. Bon appétit indeed! We enjoyed a glass of rose with the meal.

More later!

Goodbye California

I am currently travelling over the Atlantic while writing this post. We are due to arrive in Brussels in 2 hours, which should be at 8:20 am. It is still dark outside my window, and the stars are still visible. Being in an airplane is a strange experience, fusing surreal with irritation and uncomfortable reality. After a while, there is not a single position you feel comfortable sitting in. Trust me, I’ve tried many in the last few hours. We have been travelling since 9:35 this morning, and I have no idea what time it would be back in California. Bedtime, or past it I’m sure. Its wacky. This whole time/meal thing is just all over the place. The continental breakfast is due to be served soon.  I wonder what they will serve. For dinner, I chose the roast beef and mashed potato option over the chicken and pasta. I don’t think the meal deserves any more description than that, though it wasn’t awful or anything.

Being in this interim period that I am, I would like to do one last post about garden delicacies at the ranch before moving on to my European culinary adventures. I suppose it’s a fitting time to do it.

So let’s see. (For me, this saying means “let me peruse my pictures to remember where I was at, and what I don’t want to leave out”). Ah yes. Summer sandwiches. As you may have gleaned from previous posts, the garden started producing an abundance of fruit a little bit later this year than usual due to a  late frost and a prolonged cool spring, and thus this was the only time I had this greatly anticipated sandwich this summer. We had them the night before we left, and they were a wonderful sendoff meal.

See, the beauty of the sandwich is that it is made with many of the vegetables that we grow and love. It is thus not only a delicious culinary experience, it is a celebration of our garden, the time we put into the garden, and our enjoyment of all of it. It is made from grilled slices of eggplant  and summer squash on pieces of toasted sourdough that has been brushed with olive oil and a layer of homemade soft goat cheese. Some put pesto on top of the cheese as well. Next you put a layer of basil leaves, upon which you lovingly place thick juicy slabs of beefsteak tomatoes so ripe they have a purplish hue to them. You must make sure to cover the basil to avoid it becoming blackened, because after you assemble this masterpiece, you place it in the salamander or broiler to warm the sandwich and slightly roast the tops of the tomato . Before you sink your teeth into this mouthwatering mound of garden abundance fragrant with smells of fresh basil and roasted tomato, you might decide to add an additional layer of the creamy goat cheese, but that is purely a decision left to your own discretion.

Another aspect to the consumption of this sandwiches is being with your friends. Everyone enjoys putting their sandwich together their own way, and we talk about it and laugh about it and learn the things that people did that you would want to try yourself. Which also means that the people who serve themselves last actually have the best shot at making the best sandwiches, a bit of wisdom that I learned from my dad that night.  (And if you must know, I was one of the first to make my sandwich).

{My Dad's Finished Sandwich}

It was a great meal.

I must also pay homage to the strawberry shortcake that my sister Lynne made the day before. The dessert was made from our little lower garden strawberries, still slightly tart but drenched in sugar until they became juicy and filled with the scent and essence of strawberry. Their juices soaked into the sweet, dense, spongy and slightly caramelized sponge cake. The whole was topped with lightly sweetened whipped cream, which smoothed out the whole combination into pure deliciousness. It reminded me of an old childhood book, filled with fanciful zebras, lurking tiny mouses hiding in the images, tennis-playing elephants, and a feast so absolutely decadent sparkling upon the page that it was the food of the gods. It was one of those things I always wished I could eat.

(PS: I wrote this yesterday/the day before, but am now posting it as I have internet access. Bonne nuit.)

Gumbo

Several days ago I made another summer favorite: gumbo. Gumbos seem to be about as varied as the people who make them, at least in my experience, and this one is uniquely my family’s. While stirring the roux, I had plenty of time to contemplate what I would say in this blog post, which got me to thinking about the first gumbo I made. I can’t remember what it was that one foggy day in San Francisco that made me determined to try my hand at making a gumbo, but I remember that resolute feeling I had that I was going to make a gumbo. I don’t even remember where I had heard about them, or what was so enticing about them, or how I knew what flavor I wanted, or even exactly how to make a roux.

But I knew precisely what I wanted it to taste like.

That first gumbo was quite tasty, as I recall, yet every summer the gumbos have gotten better. This summer I had been looking forward to making the gumbo. I had made a delicious one earlier, called Gumbo Z’Herbes, made of greens and bacon and smoked pork that was so creamy and rich, but I hadn’t been able to make this one yet because the pepper plants were a little behind in growing. By the time I got back from the coast, there was a profusion of peppers though, so early in the afternoon I got started. I got out the biggest pot we had, gathered flour, butter, olive oil, bacon fat, a spoon, my book and got settled in in front of the outdoor stove, since its too hot out to cook inside. It was pretty hot that day, and the sun was at an angle so that I was in the sun where I sat lovingly stirring my roux. I heated the fats, and sprinkled flour in until it was the right consistency, and then stirred the mixture over a very very low heat. The roux is the most important part of the gumbo, and it can’t be taken lightly. You have to baby it, cooking it slowly until the flour begins to fry. You can really tell when it starts frying, because it has a distinct popcorn smell. The texture changes over the course of the cooking process, becoming thick and bubbly, and then smoothing out into a more liquid texture as the oil heats up. You continue to cook the roux until you achieve the color and smell that you desire for whatever soup you are making, because that flavor will be the base of your soup. For this gumbo, I cook it until it reaches a deep chocolaty brown, and smells very roasted, almost burnt smelling. Because I was cooking such a vat of it, it took me a couple of hours to get to this point, but it was well worth the babying because after you have a good broth going, you can add pretty much anything to it and it will taste delicious.

When I was done cooking the roux, I poured in pork stock, barbequed chicken stock, and lingcod stock. You have to stir it carefully, despite the heat that it will emit, because the flour can lump up and then all that time you spent will be down the drain. Literally. I tossed in some peppers from the garden, some canned tomatoes, someWorcestershire sauce and some Tabasco to cook together to make the broth, and let it be for a couple hours or so. After the flavors had blended, I added in homemade Andouille sausage, onions and a variety of peppers (bells, jalapenos, garden salsas).

 I gave it more time to meld, and added fresher vegetables in right before we ate it, and at the very last second I put the pieces of fish in it and then turned it off and served it.

{Summer Gumbo}

The result was a rich, complex, meaty, fishy, spicy, thick experience that we served over rice. It was a thing of beauty. The fish was perfect, tender and juicy in the rich broth. Talking about it while we ate it, people said they could taste all the individual broths and ingredients  in the same bite, and then later it all melded into one: gumbo. 

Delights of the Garden

The day that we returned back from the coast, we gave a last looksee at the fruit trees before piling into the vehicles. Peaches were picked and carefully packed away to ripen back at the ranch, pears examined, and plums tasted. The plums next to the deck were still green, round and firm, but with a good flavor, blending a note of sour with a nice sweetness. We enjoyed eating them and talking about them in the yard under the tree, collecting them and putting them into a paper bag.

While we were standing there, my Dad came over with a small bright, almost electric translucent green bitten-into fruit, saying this is what he had been looking for since last summer. I eagerly stepped forward to taste it myself, and it turned out to be a plum as well, though a specimen so far exceeding the other as to make the former almost pale in comparison. This plum, though green in color and still not to its full ripeness, was juicy and rich and flavorful, making my mouth water just thinking about it. I wish I could explain it better, but my skills at culinary descriptions are still fledgling and are in no way ready to attempt such an account. I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it, it was damn good. Those little plums, quite hidden away from much previous attention at the front of the drive next to the hedge, had us all in raptures that morning, and I don’t believe I am exaggerating.

When we returned to the ranch, the majority of the family went to the opening day of the county fair. Having already been traveling, I decided to stay home with the small group that was going to go the following day (which I already posted about as you may have seen). In the evening, as the sun set behind the western ridge of our little valley turning the tint of light from golden to blue, we went out for a garden tour. Every time we are gone from the ranch for a period of time, we like to make a garden tour to see the growths and changes of the plants. This time, everything seemed bigger, and filled the space around it as to begin to close the gaps around the individual plants. There was an explosion of leaves, tendrils, flowers, cucumbers, squash, pumpkins, giant pumpkins, tomatoes, peppers and eggplants both deep purple and white. The sunflowers were magnificent, tall and stately, mutely watching our progress with our rum and cokes through the rows. 

It was that evening that we ate our first tomato of the year, fresh off the vine while we stood in the tomato rows. It had been eaten slightly, and my Dad cut off the bad part, and handed the tomato to us. It was juicy and oh so tomato-y. There is nothing like eating a tomato picked right then and there, still holding some of the day’s heat and slightly dusty, streaming juices and flavors down your hand.

For dinner, I made one of our very favorite summer meals of cucumbers, peppers, tomatoes and cottage cheese (though in this case I used cherry tomatoes as only that one tomato was ready to be eaten). The vegetables are so fresh, and so full of flavor, that they have barely any need of anything else beyond a sprinkling of salt and pepper. The cottage cheese is a nice compliment, making the salad taste richer and even more gratifying. Sometimes we add fresh shallots as well, and the peppers can be any variety, from bells to ones with more heat. It was delicious.

{Summer Salad}

{This is one I had the next day}

County Fair Time

My apologies, I have been terribly negligent in my blogging of late. I’ve been very busy, what with packing, planning itineraries, fishing, traveling back inland to the ranch from the coast, cooking, going to the fair, and more packing. I actually just finished my preliminary pack, and feel much lighter and happier. Man, I was literally slogging through clothing. But now my room is nice and clean, with a suitcase ready to be weighed right next to me. I’ll reconsider what I’ve packed in a couple of days.

In the last few days I’ve eaten some delicious things, and some very American things that are also delicious in their own ways. Last night I made an incredibly rich, complex and tasty gumbo that I am looking forward to writing about, but I’ll get to that later. The very American items I was referring to was the dishes consumed while at the county fair; the Siskiyou Golden Fair to be exact. A group of us went last Thursday, and while my brothers rode the rides, we wandered around amongst the teenagers in their cowboy boots, wranglers, lowlights, braces,  thick black eyeliner, baseball caps pushed lazily to the side, low slung pants and spiked belts, all pulsing with a hormonal frenzy. Then there were the average families, all grouped tightly together, the old men sitting on benches, the sweating carnies, the women and girls with their French braids, and all the baby carriages. So many babies, and such young mothers. The rides were all brightly colored with their showy flashing lights, the food booths all loudly proclaiming their wares in big bright letters, the carnies with their incessant attempts to lure you over to their game.

We would make our way into some building, be it labeled “Fine Arts” or “Rabbits and Poultry”, and it would feel like a momentary escape while I looked at the fluffy  white bunnies or the strange ostentatious chicken with feathers all down its legs, covering its feet. But the frenzy was even there, even amongst the fluffy bunnies with their too red eyes. It followed us out, surrounding us wherever we went, down the rows of cows, the pig pens, and the tree lined lanes littered with people. It filled my nostrils with scents of fried food, cow dung, sweat, animal, green, roasted meats, dust, and heat. It filled my ears with screams, talk, laughter, treading feet, baby cries, exclamations, cajoling, country music, the beeping music of fair rides and games, and whooshing roller coasters. Ah fair time. Unmistakable.

While watching my brothers bounce on air cushions while attached to ropes, we satisfied our grumbling bellies and yearning appetites with philly cheese steak sandwiches after watching the girl fry up chopped onions and thin slices of meat until they were brown and juicy before placing them on long squishy white buns. 

We also indulged in the fair favorite curly fries, those messes of potato curls that are mouthwateringly crunchy when medium brown, and slightly soggy with oil when merely golden, dipping them into little pots of ketchup before placing them in our mouths.

Afterwards we walked around a bit more before settling on benches ourselves to watch the passerby. It was almost entrancing, watching everyone walk by in their various outfits and attitudes under the leafy green roof, through which the late afternoon sun still shone through in golden spots. When we got hungry enough again, we got a funnel cake, that puzzle of dough pieces fried to a deep caramel on the outside, and creamy and fluffy on the inside, sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon and still hot. I chose to get a root beer, but I drank and ate it all up before I even thought of taking a picture of it. 

How could I forget?

Last night I was so disappointed that I couldn't upload a video to this blog, I completely forgot about posting a photo of the pork end loin roast that we cooked up for yesterday's lunch. I salt and peppered the 11 lb 8 oz beast and stuck it in the oven at 170 degrees, and it cooked all night long. In the morning, it was 145 degrees (which is just shy of perfect) but it was creamy white on the outside. So we cranked it up for the last 45 minutes until we left for the dock, during which it had time to sizzle, crackle and brown deliciously. We probably ate two thirds of that roast during the fishing trip! But I'd put it to you to eat less than that when you have a slice of homemade sourdough bread in your hand, the carefully caught juices swirling enticingly in the foil underneath the roast right in front of you, and the juicy, warm, fatty roast with its crispy edges just waiting to be sliced into. 

{Pork End Loin Roast}

Also, I forgot to post a photo of 1 of the 3 coolers we brought home full of fish. We just got home from fishing again today, but I have to get on filleting so I'll get to blogging further later.

 

Rockfish Galore

Last night’s dinner was absolutely scrumptious. We even added hush puppies to the list of dishes after the fish had been fried. We just mixed in a little baking powder to the cornmeal mixture used to coat the fish, and dropped dollops into the skillet. Oh so crunchy on the outside. A perfect addition to the fried fish, which was unbelievably tender and delicate due to its freshness. I mean, it doesn’t get much better than that! (though sometimes, we’ll come home from fishing and I’ll get started on filleting while the fish are still twitching and my Dad will fry the first fillets up in the house—now that is pure mmmmmmmmhhhmmm. Words just don’t cut it.) And the potatoes, once you have those potatoes you’ll never go back. You cut up Yukon gold potatoes and parboil them for 5 minutes, then toss them in duck fat, salt and pepper and roast them in at 400 degrees, flipping them when one side gets its reddish brown crisp. God they are good.

{Potatoes Fried in Duck Fat}

{Dinner}

This morning we went fishing again. It was even mistier and foggier than yesterday, but just as calm and glassy. We tried a spot or two, but the fish weren’t biting very well, so we went further up north. There, we had a rockfish heyday. Cries of “fish on!” came from left and right, as well as front and back. I was casting a little rubber fish today, and I caught lots of nice sized blacks. I like casting out, and sitting on the boat railing while the lure sinks, slowly reeling in until I feel the telltale little tug when I can add my own “fish on” to the mix. I like reeling them in and that accompanying feeling of hyper awareness of what I’m doing as well as everything in the space where I plan on landing my fish. I feel a little spike of anxiety lifting a big one over the railing because I’ve learned my lesson: never hit the railing. And I love it when the lure comes out of the fish’s mouth of its own accord on the boat floor, so I can do it all over again.

We quickly cleaned up, catching our limit of blacks before moving on to trying our luck at lings again. I didn’t catch one myself, but I did snag a decent cabazon that was exciting to pull up. My friends had a good ling day, which was fine by me because it doesn’t matter who catches ‘em, I still get to eat ‘em. Once again, we returned home pink and (perhaps even more than yesterday) happy.

{The (wilted) Cabazon}

it looked a lot different alive

The filleting took about an hour and a half, and we prepped a giant vermillion and a copper for barbequing for dinner by scaling and gutting them. Inside, I salt and peppered the outsides, and rubbed thyme and chunks of garlic in the bellies. The fish then went on pieces of aluminum foil with a dollop of olive oil on top of the barbeque. We have yet to eat them. 

Before I Call it a Night...

In case you were wondering how the roasted chicken turned out, it was absolutely delicious. 

We heated it up in the morning before getting on the boat, and boy was it tasty with those biscuits. (And yes, those are homegrown, organic chickens).

I didn't get a picture of the finished biscuits, but Jan got one of me pressing the dough to about an inch thick before cutting them with a glass about 2 1/2 inches in diameter. (remember, with biscuits DO NOT OVER MIX!!! Very important. Patches of flour and chunks of butter make for the best biscuits you will ever eat).

Goodnight all, 

Sophie

Hog Heaven

Actually, the title of this post doesn’t refer to the pig variety of hog, I know it’s misleading. Today’s kind of Hog Heaven means big fish. Really big fish. Lingcods to be exact. The cry of “hog ON!” still echoes through my ears and brings a smile to my face, though I’m sure it makes those around me wonder what I’m smiling at.

 

Anyway, we had a great day fishing off the coast of northern Northern California. We got to the dock at 8 and met our friend at his boat. It was foggy and misty out, but the water was glassy and smooth in the harbor. It was similarly perfect out past the jetty, and we had a good day catching blacks, a couple of greenlings and a copper. At the end of the trip, when we had 4 rockfish left that we were allowed to catch, we decided to go after the lings, the big boys of the area. In order to insure greater success with the lings, we put on bigger lures (sorry, can’t divulge what kind, color, or weight) and then we jigged. It ended up being a great day for them, much more successful than our friend had anticipated. The biggest ones we got were 2 that he had caught, one being around 20 pounds or so. Now that was a hog. It was a lot of fun to fillet, which I did later back at the house.

{The Hog}

But back to fishing, I caught a ling myself. We had been told that lings don’t venture far out of their holes, nabbing only what comes close to them. So I visualized some lingcod sitting pretty in its little cave, enticed out of its comfortable home by my delectable morsel, and then I felt the tug. Reeling up a lingcod feels very heavy, like pulling up a bucket that’s jerking around up through the water to the surface. When it got up to the top is when it pulled the line around and started thrashing a bit. It was an aqua lingcod, and I held it’s head out of the water till Jan gaffed it for me. It was a nice size, plenty big enough to keep. By that time of the trip, the sun had been out for a while, so I came home with a pink face, like most everyone that went. Pink and happy. We caught 80 rockfish, plus greenlings and around 7 lingcod. A good day.

At the house we gobbled down cottage cheese with garden cucumbers, peppers and shallots before tackling filleting all the fish we brought back. It’s a favorite summer meal in my family. Its even better when we have tomatoes, yum! I love filleting fish, it’s a feeling akin to doing art, a feeling of being totally engrossed in feeling the knife glide along the bone structure, my fingers following to guide and check to make sure the knife is as close as it can be to the back bones, through the bones of the belly until cutting along the bones of the tail, laying the filleted piece against the cutting board, and sliding the knife parallel to the board to separate skin from meat. I kind of zone out when I do it, time kind of becomes irrelevant. And then its done and the cooler is empty.

{My Fillet Station}

Tonight we’re frying up the fresh lingcod for dinner, with homemade tartar sauce, salad, and Yukon gold potatoes roasted in duck fat. Speaking of which…