Louisiana

I lived in Louisiana for a while. Not long after Hurricane Andrew rolled through southern Louisiana, knocking houses all over the marsh like toys in a messy room, I was offered my first professional position as librarian at the Louisiana Universities Marine Consortium in Cocodrie. Cocodrie is about as way down south as you can get in Louisiana--and is essentially in the Gulf of Mexico because all of the houses are on stilts in that area.

After I moved there, I knew I was no longer in Western New York when I would take the alternate route home in my car and have to swing all the way back around instead because huge alligators were lying all over the road and I couldn't get by. Once I took my dog for a walk on the levee and, just too few feet away from me, I saw the hugest alligator known to man or woman and, as I backed s-l-o-w-l-y away, I knew I had to move. The very, very long snake that darted out from behind me on that same walk (I had walked by it???) chilled me to the bone, and I started to look for another job right then and there. And here I am in Nebraska. We occasionally get tornadoes rolling through and we have garter snakes, but there are not the daily hazards here that lurked around every corner down there (velvet ants, very large spiders, hurricanes, regular flooding, drunken nudity on Bourbon Street).

(Picture copyright 2005, otzberg; on Flickr. Used by permission (requested attribution))

Around the time I was getting ready to move from my teeny, giant spider-occupied house in Chauvin, Louisiana, I was slowly riding my bike down the street after dark sometime. I was weaving the tire back and forth, as you do when you ride a bike slowly, and at one point I heard a decided crunch underneath me. I looked down and I had bike-road-killed a crawfish. I actually ran over one and killed it. On the road. I took it as an omen that my decision to leave was correct.

One thing I really loved about living in Louisiana were the crawfish boils. Lots of spicy crawfish, potatoes, corn on the cob, and sausage (which didn't eat back then). I could eat a couple of pounds of crawfish or more at a sitting, easily. I cooked all sorts of wonderful seafood while I lived there, like a memorably fantastic ceviche-based triggerfish stew that I made from Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant, a book that I was using a lot when I lived there. I also made lots of fried fish using Bobby Flay's Bold American Food (there's a really great Southwestern U.S.-inspired potato salad recipe in there, by the way, full of bits of chopped tomato, jalapeño, scallion, red onion, garlic and cilantro, that has become a staple for me, and a great Corn & wild rice pancake recipe. A good book all around, really.).

I found it amusing reading John Thorne's Serious Pig where he said that he found the seafood boils in Louisiana underwhelming. His tastes and mine often gibe, but not in this case. I can understand if it wouldn't be to someone's taste--it provides a one-note spiciness and no refinement of culinary skill to pull off. But I really love it. Thorne talks about Cajun and Creole foods in that book quite a bit. He goes all wistful in those passages, so there is probably some unmentioned back story there, but the foods there did not provoke that sense in me at all. They were foreign to me at first, but so straightforward and "of the place" that I quickly assimilated food-wise--when the food was good anyway. Just like here, it was not always easy to find a good place to eat, unless you love poboys, which you could often find a representative version of, and that I didn't care for at all. I'm just not much of a deep-fried-something + mayonnaise-on-white-bread kind of gal.

Also in Serious Pig, Thorne roundly, and rightly I take it, criticizes the Sesquicentennial edition of the Picayune's Creole Cook Book. I have that book, and have used it some but, since reading that it was poorly compiled and edited, I'm glad not to feel that I ought to. It's full of basic, if distinctive, fare, that I will gladly partake of when visiting the wild country of Louisiana, but will not often try to replicate now that I have left the place.

However, though it's touristy to say so, I will admit that I really miss the evaporated milk-lightened, chicory-laced café au lait and powdered sugar-covered beignets in the French Quarter. I made beignets as dessert after Christmas Eve dinner last year, from a box mix put out by the restaurant in question, Café du Monde, and they were so like the kind you get there, I was impressed by how easy they were to make.

Well, after all of my experiences in Louisiana, I can recommend that if you get your hands on some fresh triggerfish, this stew will showcase it well. From Nancy Lazarus in the "Africa South of the Sahara" chapter of Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant:

Casamance Stew

The sea and rivers of West Africa are abundantly blessed with fish, an important food source. This stew is inspired by Yassa, a popular specialty of Casamance, the southernmost coastal region of Senegal. Yassa is a spicy marinated dish prepared with poultry or fish. I've added sweet potatoes, because I think it's even more delicious with that soft sweetness providing a counterpoint to the lemony tang of the onions and fish.

The fish caught in West Africa's warm, shallow waters tend to be firmer and more substantial than our usual cod or flounder, so look for a firm, even chewy, fish that won't be lost in this tasty stew.

Serves 6

Marinade
1/2 cup fresh lemon or lime juice
1/2 cup white vinegar (blogger's note: 4-6 tablespoons is enough)
2 tablespoons tamari sauce
2 tablespoons peanut oil
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
3 large garlic cloves, minced
2 or more seeded chiles, minced

1 1/2 pounds firm flesh steaks or fillets, such as monkfish
4 cups sliced onions

2 cups 1-inch cubed sweet potatoes
1 tablespoon peanut oil
1 red bell pepper, chopped (optional) (blogger's note: I omitted this)
salt to taste

Combine the marinade ingredients. Rinse the fish well. If you're using a large fillet, cut it into serving-sized pieces. in a large glass bowl, layer about half of the onion slices. Pour some marinade over them. Then add the fish and the rest of the onions and marinade. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, but preferably overnight or all day.

When you're ready to cook, lift the fillets out of the marinade and set them aside. Cover the cubed sweet potatoes with cool, salted water, bring them to a boil, and then simmer for a few minutes until they are barely just tender. Drain any excess liquid. Meanwhile, in a heavy, nonreactive skillet, gently sauté the onions in the peanut oil for about 20 minutes, until lightly browned. Add the red bell pepper, if used, for the last 5 minutes of sautéing. Combine the sautéed onions and bell pepper with drained sweet potatoes and marinade and simmer for about 20 minutes.

While the vegetables simmer, briefly grill, broil, or sauté the fish until lightly browned on both sides. Add the fish to the simmering vegetables and continue to simmer for 15 minutes (blogger's note: 5 minutes is plenty) more or until the fish is just cooked through. Salt to taste.

Serve Casamance Stew in wide, shallow bowls on plenty of rice or steamed millet (blogger's note: I had it without rice or millet). If you like, garnish with chopped fresh parsley, cilantro, or scallions (blogger's note: I added none of these). Extra tamari at the table might be appreciated (blogger's note: not needed at all). Gombo and maize pudding or banana chutney would make this meal a feast.

Lobsters

Lately, there's been a lot of food talk about fat: using chicken fat to fry potatoes in, making duck confit, duck-fat fries, rendering your own lard, what oils have the healthy omega fatty acids and which have the bad kinds, etc. You know what, I am all for fat. In theory, anyway. It sounds like a great idea, all that deliciousness, the roundness it gives to foods, how satisfying it can be to eat, and all that...until your gall bladder decides to go out, for instance. I know first hand and I will not describe the scenarios that fat-laden repasts led me to during a certain period. Fortunately, I don't mind dining à la Jack Sprat (more or less).

Good thing, too, because I was recently prescribed Niaspan. Are you aware of this devilish formulation? In its less-concentrated form, you know it as good old niacin, essential B vitamin, friend to all who consume foodstuffs naturally-laden with it. My doctor told me that non-prescription formulations of high-dose niacin are either 1. ineffective or 2. dangerous, so steer clear of both of those. But, he said, Niaspan is properly prepared and, with caveats, encouraged me to give it a try. He said that I must be particular in how I take it. I must take it concurrent with one regular-strength aspirin or ibuprofen. I must eat a LOW-FAT, non-spicy snack with it, preferably plain applesauce. I must take it at bed time. And, he said, he will increase the dose after one month if all goes well in the meantime.

I did as he told, and all was well...until the night I did not get dinner until late. That night I had rich black bean soup with hot red pepper all over it. I had a salad with a hearty mustard dressing on it. I had ice cream. I had some crunchy, salty, snacky thing. I was hungry, so I ate. About an hour after that, I took an ibuprofen then I took my Niaspan. About a half hour after that, I felt like I was undergoing a super-acupuncture session. My skin started to feel tremendously hot. My breathing became quick and shallow. In an agony that only the Incredible Hulk and I have experienced, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought I might be seeing things but, no, I really looked quite a bit like a human-shaped, cooked lobster. I hopped in the shower and the flushing episode was over in about a half hour. Not pleasant. I vowed to not eat for three to four hours before I have my applesauce or plain rye cracker, and then take the Super Lobster pill. Another reason to eschew fashionable fat, I'm afraid.

Since the evening of the Hulk-worthy flushing, I have been thinking quite a bit about lobsters (my new alter ego. You understand.) I have since recalled our ten-day visit from our Parisian friend, Jean-Pierre, several years ago, during which we purchased four lobsters and had a feast. J-P snapped pictures of the live, wily beasts, and then we mercilessly killed the creatures, snapped more pictures, and then ate a really good meal.

John Thorne writes about lobsters in Pot on the Fire, explaining that Maine lobstermen do not eat their quarry. Too expensive, they say. Having grown up among those who practice it readily, I have always been uneasy with reverse elitism. So, let the lobstermen claim that they cannot afford the odd lobster once or twice a year. I can't, either, but I like lobster meat well enough that I will fork out the cash from time to time and have a great meal.

I have mentioned him before in an earlier post, but one chef who interests me is Charlie Trotter. I have a book of his, The Kitchen Sessions with Charlie Trotter, in which there is a chapter on lobsters. A whole chapter on lobster preparations! I like that; it is honest, and the recipes are so enticing, like Lobster Tabbouleh with Apricot Curry Sauce, and Lobster en Barigoule.

I will continue to take the Niaspan. I risk more flushing episodes but, as long as I remain cool-headed while I'm leaping around all hot and lobster-like, I think I will let the humor of it pull me through. And then, of course, for my diligence, I will treat myself to a certain special supper.

Thorney Problem

I subscribe to way too many food magazines. I try to be good and read every one of them as quickly as I can and then get rid of all but Fine Cooking, which I have saved from issue number 1. But lately, my magazines have been stacking up by the dozens, going unread, for a few months now. Frankly, I am distracted. I have discovered John and Matt Lewis Thorne.

I have been reading Pot on the Fire for weeks now, whenever I get the chance (read a review of it here and another here). With my part-time faculty position and two little kids, my fun-reading time is meager, and getting wrapped up in a wonderfully word-dense, delightful book like that is too compelling to let go of. My magazines lie neglected. One reason I am so enthralled is that I have discovered someone who approaches food and cooking essentially like I do, being fickle in what I have liked over the years, exploring cuisines other than that which I grew up on but with always one foot planted firmly in the familiar. Like the Thornes, I like to fiddle with recipes, and, like them, I do not need to try seven recipes from a cookbook to judge the book as being good, bad, worthy, schlock, etc. (that tidbit from an article about John Thorne; see below).

What really got me feeling that I have found culinary compatriots is that John Thorne's relationship with wine exactly describes mine (except that I would replace "tea" with "coffee" in his the essay on that subject). And, he, knowing that his position could well place him in an underclass of food enthusiasts if he missteps, analyzes and describes his position effectively, in detail and with good humor. Basically, he says, wine lovers love wine. They like the whole wine experience and they like even a mediocre quaff. Others of us, maybe we're not aficionados of grapes in any form, really, and prefer only a truly fine vintage. John Thorne: Thank you for that.

I also love the way he describes how Matt and he used to process asparagus differently. From the beginning, she sanely cut the ends off and prepared to discard them, while he fought vainly to keep them, cooking them and disconsolately chewing on their woody fibers until all of the internal pulp had been extracted. I know all too well his desire for preservation of those deceptively beautiful stalks. I went through a phase like his until I came around to Matt's way.

Sarah Karnasiewicz wrote a piece for Saveur that more adeptly explains the Thornes' appeal (read it here). The article includes an interview with John Thorne that cemented my enthusiasm for reading his and Matt's writing.

And, wouldn't you know, I have since subscribed to their magazine, Simple Cooking. When will I have time to read it?