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…