An Autumnal Feast

This Thanksgiving, I'm hosting.

Well, me and a couple of my girlfriends. And my little sister, by default, because she's coming to visit (!!!!!!).

This year, like last year, I'm feeding friends who don't have families in town.

An Orphans Thanksgiving.

A feast of Thanksgiving.

And this year, like last year, everything is going to be free of wheat, dairy, sugar and soy. We've cut construction paper dish signs so that people can mark their ingredients and whether their food is veg or not; I know that I, for one, am excited that I'll be able to fill my plate and my belly and not get sick.

We've ordered a free range turkey which I'm brining and roasting it as per Mr. Alton Brown (he hasn't let me down yet, and people are still talking about last year's bird--so let's do it again!). Christa is going to assemble the ginger, tangerine, cranberry relish. Bob's Red Mill's mix is giving up the cornbread (oh, so good, really), and we're rounding out our part of the meal with a green bean casserole-inspired mushroom and roasted brussel's sprouts dish (topped with lard-fried shallots) and a butternut squash smash, reminiscent of sweet potatoes and enriched with a splash of Grand Marnier. Oh yes--and this pumpkin pie, sans crust. And hot mulled cider with spiced rum to make it extra warming. And- okay.

Leslie is making vegan lentil loaf, vegetarian gravy and something yummy of broccoli and rice.

Tiffany is making beet soup in acorn squash, green beans tossed with meyer lemon and toasted pine nuts and her yummy gluten-free banana cookies. Oh, and honey butter I'm going to want to eat off a spoon.

Mamie is on mashed potatoes.

There's more, too. More friends, more food. We're expecting 15 or so over the course of the night; 10 for sitting down to dinner, I think?

It is SO FUN to take this over the top. To stay up late looking at recipes. To ponder my utensils and serving dishes instead of physiology. To load up with what is going to be too much food, and feel a little guilty and excessive about it.... and feel so, so thankful that this food, and these friends, and that night are a possibility.

Lardo

I borrowed my friend Greg's beer brewing pot. It's big. Big enough for my current projects, which include rendering lard, brining a turkey and making some serious broth.

Today's adventure? Caul fat. Shimmery, lacy, globule-speckled caul fat.

I bought 15 pounds of it from my favorite pork man a couple of weeks back. My plan was to render it into lard... but for what uses? Apart from seasoning my cast iron pan, I had no idea. It just sounded like fun.

Initially, I thought I should have been more specific and asked for leaf lard, the soft fat similar to what you find in your bacon. Supposedly, that's top quality pastry lard. Despite not eating pastry, that's what I wanted.

Caul fat is much more famous for its place around meats. At the farmer's market, it makes an appearance around Viande Meats' pates. It's the crispy membrane around a crepinette (the new thing-to-do in NYC restaurants, so I hear); it's what holds stuffed roasts together, and what imparts moisture to thick, free range cuts. On the lard scale, it's bottom of the line.

Nevertheless, I had 15 pounds of it and an original plan.... so I cut that lacy membrane into pieces and filled Greg's pot.

I'd read as much as I could google about rendering lard. Of course, most website contradicted all the other website--and none of them wanted to talk about rendering caul. So, I put the pot on the stove and let it do its thang--whatever that was going to be.

Appetizing, huh? I really ought to have taken a picture of the final product--it looked nothing like this. In time, in patience, in heat, this sticky lump melted into a viscous oil and crispy membrane bits. I strained the clear stuff into jars, and mixed what remained with sauteed onions to eat on slices of apple. Yum.

The lard is pristine white, as solid as butter 'cause I keep it in the fridge, but a joy to cook with. I try not to smoke it (I think what I REALLY really wanted was beef suet. Maybe another time?) so I'm not really sauteeing things... but it makes a mean breakfast egg.

And, it did one heck of a job seasoning my cast iron.

Stock Pot

I have 15 pounds of caul fat in my freezer right now. I bought it from my favorite pork man, who assured me he could hook me up when I asked if he had fat I could render into lard. Fifteen pounds of silky, dew-drenched spiderweb looking fat frozen into a solid hunk.

A frozen 15 pound hunk which I full intend to render into tasty and usable lard... just as soon as I find a pot in which to do it, 'cause my 10 inch cast iron skillet just ain't gonna cut it.

Struggles

I consider myself pretty darn lucky. My biggest challenge right now?

Studying biochemistry.... instead of reading Shauna James Ahern's new book, which I finally got my grubby fingers on when I went to meet her at the Bob's Red Mill store instead of attending my Histlogy lecture.

C'mon. It's a quality of life issue.

So, instead of doing either, I get on here. Productive!

Cavemen

My parents returned home on Thursday night. Everything on the other side of Highland Valley Road is burned, completely. Their house was untouched. My heart goes out to everyone affected by those flames--they're still going.

I have a constant internal dialog these days. A stream of consciousness, it runs through the back of my mind, like fuzzy television sound, not quite white beneath more intentional thought and activity. It sounds something like this: "dehydrogenase is the enzyme that uses NAD+ to remove a hydrogen from a substrate--I think. The respiratory cavities go "trachea, bronchi, bronchiole, terminal bronchiole, alveolar duct. I think. The radius is connected to the scaphoid, lunate and triquetrum, and to the ulna. I think. Right atria, right ventricle, pulmonary vein, lungs, pulmonary artery, left atria, left ventricle, aorta. Mucosa, sub mucosa, muscalaris. Aorta, arteries, arterioles, capillaries, venules, veins--" and so on and so forth, rendering me all but useless, interpersonally.

Really, they ought not let us first years socialize.

My other internal dialog is about food. Mashed butternut squash with garlic, onions, chicken stock, butter, leeks and coarse ground pepper. Crock pot pot roast. Five and a half quarts of chicken soup, homemade and brimming with too many vegetables. Chantrelle mushrooms sauteed with butter and olive oil, onions, garlic and bacon, deglazed with good red wine and tossed with shrimp. Oh, yum. Tapioca bread and raw goat's milk cheddar grilled cheese sandwiches. GF chocolate chip cookies a la Bob's Red Mill, so yummy that my biochem class had no idea they were allergen free. (Grains. I know. Sugar, I know. It's a quality of life issue.) Deviled egg eyeballs.

I feel like I've found a flow with school. I'm not drowning. I'm not even treading water: I'm doing okay. I've figured out what material I learn better on my own, and for which I ought to attend lecture (I must admit, it's still a little thrilling, even in week 8, to be a class ditcher). I've passed all my tests (biochem Wednesday might be another story?) so far, and have still made time to bowl terribly on my Underdog league, sleep 8ish hours most nights, get my groove on at Halloween parties (so far, three costumes and counting. the 31st should make four?), finish Nina Planck's book, and, most of the time, to feed myself.

Much to the disappointment of my vocabulary and syntax, writing is not one of those things I've made much time for. Good thing no one reads me :) Maybe next term.

California knows how to party

Southern California is on fire. My parents and brother, along with more than 500,000 others were evacuated on Sunday and are safe. The fire went straight through where my parents live in Ramona; once the roads open up again, we'll know what's still standing. Bigger than that, though, is the massive amount of destruction and the incredible number of families and businesses affected. Please, keep that region--especially the heroic firemen--in your prayers

(Some pictures I stole from a myspace bulletin. Truly amazing, in so many ways.)

Riding my bike home from school this afternoon, I listened to the soft patter of leaves hitting the sidewalk and I had to zip my jacket against the chilly air.

Autumn is coming quickly.

At the market this morning, I could buy strawberries, raspberries and blackberries if I wanted to. I could also buy pumpkins and butternut squash. Pears were out in abundance, and apples and peaches. Delicate lettuce stood beside heartier kale, and the first crops of beets were on display. What a delightful, delightful time for eating.

So much has happened, so much has changed, since I posted last in July.

For one, I spent twelve nights on a baltic cruise, and 10 days between Paris and Italy.

For two through fifty six, I started medical school; I adopted a stray kitten, four weeks old; the Walk a Mile in Her Shoes march went off without a hitch; I moved from my huge Hawthorne house and my five lovely housemates to a two bedroom duplex. Tomorrow, my new duplex mate will move in and things will change some more.

I feel like I am living a completely different life. In many ways, I am.

There are so many things I would love to write here: of the lunch in St. Petersburg, Russia at which I tasted my first caviar; of the market and the reindeer bratwurst in Finland; of the midnight buffets, the salsa dancing and staying up all night with my sister. Of the gelato in Italy and the pimples it gave me (oh, the wheat, dairy and sugar... and the havoc it wrecked!); the burger in the Bastile, and the midnight wine on the roof of a deer friend's Parisian apartment in view of the illuminated Eiffel Tower; of the local specialty in Monterosso: frozen TV dinner chestnut pasta with pesto.

And I'd love to write about cooking in the morning for a full day of eating, stowing the hot foods in glass jars and stuffing them into my backpack for my ride to school, and of how I couldn't resist the Ben and Jerry's on sale at Fred Meyer's last week (but am paying the price. when will I learn???), and of my tiny kitten's affinity for chicken hearts.

In my head, there are beautiful narratives of all these things. And, in my various picasas, there are pictures of most of them.

But, on my living room floor right now I have yet-unpacked boxes, stacks of notes and books and lists of assignments which all require my present attention.