Margarine

Growing up, we had no butter in our house. It was too expensive. Period. We always bought only what was cheaper. This included but was not limited to whipped margarine, mealy hot dogs with secret bone chips, discount grocery store brand pop, off-brand spam, white bread, and endless bologna. Butter cost twice margarine and that was that. I didn't have it until I left home at seventeen.

I, of course, never thought much of it. I knew that Country Crock was better than the supermarket brand. But I knew too that, while it was better, I never really liked it. We put it on white toast though, in great melting heaps, and passed the toast to our mother to cover with a thick layer of sugar and cinnamon (which we always kept handy) then drizzle the mess with coffee. The best result of this was a thick layer of coffee-moistened sugar - not dissolved but melted into a thick, sweet sludge with oily yellow margarine streaks. At times, however, there would be a gap in the sugar or the coffee would pool and punch through the sugar to soak the toast to mush. Or my mom would try to save money by buying a cheaper brand of margarine resulting in a slimy mouth-feel.

I found butter at the Occidental. There was never margarine in that restaurant, and butter everywhere. It went into everything. Everywhere. I learned to cook with butter there; in sauces, to finish a vegetable, to brown with oil sauteeing fish, everywhere. At the Occidental, we used only Beaver Meadow brand butter, manufactured in DuBois, PA. My hometown. How did it end up here? We stockpiled the labels as we unwrapped the blocks, using the red, white, and blue wax paper to cover foods as we cooked and held them. When the mashed potatoes were finished and placed in sixth pans, we'd cover them with butter paper. A piece of sauteed fish, waiting on a resting rack to be picked up, was protected with a butter paper. Poaching sweetbreads, you get the idea.

But, "if there was so much butter, why did we eat only margarine in DuBois?" I didn't much like it at first. Soft, it wasn't firm enough and spread mushy. Cold it wouldn't spread. Pain in the ass. Needs management. Not engineered to be spreadable at all temperatures. Why? But we kept pans of butter out at kitchen temperature. It softened, sometimes warming too much and melting. But we worked long days, with little time to eat. One quick nibble was always available - bread. A piece of bread coming off the table, grabbed from the server as they returned from the dining room, swiped through the butter and sprinkled with kosher salt, keeps the line cook motor humming.

So, I digress. Margarine. I never touch the stuff. Butter, butter. When it was reported a few years ago that, no duh, butter was healthier than margarine, I was overjoyed. Margarine sucks.

Local Chicken Stock in a Box

When asked what to use instead of home made stock, I usually suggest Kitchen Basics brand chicken stock. Clean, simple flavor without a lot of sodium, MSG, and other junk, I use it at home if I am a little light on homemade. I found out today that they are based in Brecksville, Ohio, a little south of Cleveland. Who knew?

Pig Roasting

I roasted a pig this weekend. Slow cooking and all day discussion of the pig, what it will taste like, is it going too slow, and man does it smell good. Thursday night we prepared our sacrifice. We splayed it flat, inserted serrano chilies and cracked garlic cloves into slits in the exposed inside flesh, rubbed the whole thing with chopped garlic and black pepper, and covered it with sliced limes, thyme, and oregano. We placed the head in the belly and tied the whole pig back 'round to marinate. Sunday morning (7AM), we built the pit, wired the pig on the rack, started a fire with good charcoal and McConnell's Farms apple wood, and prepared to start the pig. We were on schedule, the pig looked great, and the machine of this long day had been properly set in motion. In a burst, I decided to put a little more charcoal on before we started the cooking. Get it going good. My opinion was met with disapproval.

I didn't listen.

We placed the pig over the pit, covered her up, and started the rest of the day. I returned about 20 minutes later to find the bottom of the pit on fire and the back of the pig blackened. Emergency operations ensued - putting out the fire, opening the sides of the pit to allow the heat to escape, putting out the charcoal. Once the disaster was stalled, we turned the pig to look. Crispy black and smoking. Three previously excited chef faces looked and me, crestfallen. Really crestfallen, never a more appropriate time to use the word. The day had stalled, collapsed, disintegrated, and died in the pit. I didn't look at them, I felt them trying not to look at me, trying not to look at each other.

Only one solution, move forward. We surrounded the pig and removed the burnt skin with fingers and tiny tongs. For a final rinse, we stood the pig rack up and washed her down. The pig was returned to the pit skin side down, a light, smokey apple wood fire re-kindled, and we proceeded gently.
It turned out mostly fine. The meat was tender and delicious, especially in the belly, of course. There was a nice smoke flavor with no trace of acrid burnt skin aftertaste. but the golden, smoked, browned, crackling, fat-seeping skin was not there, giving us a sad, ugly pig to serve.

Every day we seem to re-learn what we have known for our whole lives. Take the slow things slow, start solid, and follow along. Fast processes go fast and slow go slow and respect must be paid to each type in turn. Start the pig slow, catch up as the day goes if you need to, be flexible with the finish time.

Read This!

Nice article on cured meats and Parma by Virginia Phillips in Pittsburgh Quarterly.

http://www.pittsburghquarterly.com/pages/fall2006/fall2006_84foodfare.htm

Two Signs of Spring

A pretty little girl in an Easter dress and freshly popped crocuses.

Pig Shirt

In case you can't read it, the box is a pig butchering key. You can get one at the link below.
http://thewarehousesite.spreadshirt.com/us/US/Shop/Index/index

Beef, it aint for dinner

So, I am now grossed out. After sufficient footage of downer cows being cattle prodded, shoved with forklifts, and walking on seemingly backward-growing legs; after seeing bizarre fatty tumors in the middle of a muscle on a loin of supposedly USDA Prime beef as I cut it; after recalls and recalls and recals; I am done. I am no longer choosing beef as a meat. I will eat it for professional reasons, but not indiscriminately.

Of course, I will look for options in humanely raised beef. I will seek out grass-fed, well-tended flocks as soon as I can. I will bring to the table clean and safe beef. As a chef, it is my duty.

But as an eater, I am completely in love with the pig right now. It is a holy animal, edible from tail to snout, easy to grow, easy to preserve, easy to eat. Why worry about infected beef supply when we are already cooking pork to safe temperatures and the lure of tartare is not there? Why have a steak when a sexy young generation of butchers are creating poetry with swine? Why worry about marbeling and pay $25/# for Prime steer loin when well-marbled pork loin is at most 1/4 that price? And what is the beef equivalent of jambon serrano, prosciutto, or Virginia ham? And the beef equivalent of bacon? We pay a bunch of money for beef steaks and turn the rest, some 85%, int cheap burger meat. Completely unsustainable.

Viva la Swine! The only thing you can't produce out of a pig is good whiskey.