Jun. 22nd, 2020

greenstorm: (Default)
There were two recipes I tried this weekend, one was a pulled pork and the other...

...I'm not good at food being just nourishment. It's an expression of a place whether you want it to be or not. It roots into the land in particular ways whether you want it to or not. And the more I learn, the more I understand it as an expression of culture(s) in so very many ways.

So good food, for me, is an expression of the good place and the good culture(s) that it's from. It's a physical link to a space that's sometimes conceptual, as when I receive this food from another person or from a grocery store, and that is also physical. The food grew somewhere. There was soil involved, and water, and sunshine somewhere along the way. In almost every instance there was machinery and exchange. When I grow food myself eating is a physical link to the memories of planting, of harvesting, of storing; those harvests are often linked to memories of planting in years previous.

And, of course, food is rooted in memories not just of the ingredients but of the assemblage. I remember making jam from blackberries as a kid and putting paraffin wax over the jars to seal it. I remember experimenting with fried greens and what I later learned to be chapatis in the orchard in the Okanagan. I remember making pancakes in the middle of the night many years ago, as I remember standing in front of a stove next to Angus for hours and cooking with him on his birthday to feed all the people who came through the door.

Growing ingredients in partnership with the land, taking them and cooking them in partnership with lived traditions and inspired pieces of knowledge: that is play. It's a joy to do alone, and it's a joy to do with someone who is also playing.

I read a lot of cooking stuff on and off: flavours and recipes people have created, techniques people do. I watch them play, and it inspires me to play myself.

This is how I came to make spruce-tip syrup the other day, and then when I had too few spruce tips to make a full batch of syrup I tried putting chopped spruce tips and rhubarb together with an equal weight of sugar and with a little water. I simmered them quite awhile, immersion blended them, and simmered them again. It made a... sauce.

My favourite candies are usually sour ones, but I also like complexity. And this sauce I made is basically the best candy. Spruce tips lend it a floral/citrus complexity, not quite like roses or sweet lemons but not quite unlike. The rhubarb comes in and grounds it in sour but between the cooking and the sugar it's a full sour flavour with no sharp edge.

This is definitely one of my favourite things I've made. I have some jars of it; spruce tip season is basically over so maybe I don't get to make more this year.

It's neat to create something lovely like this, and I love the serendipity that leads to the discovery of lovely flavours.

Not everything in my life is perfect, of course, but this is pretty neat.
greenstorm: (Default)
There were two recipes I tried this weekend, one was a pulled pork and the other...

...I'm not good at food being just nourishment. It's an expression of a place whether you want it to be or not. It roots into the land in particular ways whether you want it to or not. And the more I learn, the more I understand it as an expression of culture(s) in so very many ways.

So good food, for me, is an expression of the good place and the good culture(s) that it's from. It's a physical link to a space that's sometimes conceptual, as when I receive this food from another person or from a grocery store, and that is also physical. The food grew somewhere. There was soil involved, and water, and sunshine somewhere along the way. In almost every instance there was machinery and exchange. When I grow food myself eating is a physical link to the memories of planting, of harvesting, of storing; those harvests are often linked to memories of planting in years previous.

And, of course, food is rooted in memories not just of the ingredients but of the assemblage. I remember making jam from blackberries as a kid and putting paraffin wax over the jars to seal it. I remember experimenting with fried greens and what I later learned to be chapatis in the orchard in the Okanagan. I remember making pancakes in the middle of the night many years ago, as I remember standing in front of a stove next to Angus for hours and cooking with him on his birthday to feed all the people who came through the door.

Growing ingredients in partnership with the land, taking them and cooking them in partnership with lived traditions and inspired pieces of knowledge: that is play. It's a joy to do alone, and it's a joy to do with someone who is also playing.

I read a lot of cooking stuff on and off: flavours and recipes people have created, techniques people do. I watch them play, and it inspires me to play myself.

This is how I came to make spruce-tip syrup the other day, and then when I had too few spruce tips to make a full batch of syrup I tried putting chopped spruce tips and rhubarb together with an equal weight of sugar and with a little water. I simmered them quite awhile, immersion blended them, and simmered them again. It made a... sauce.

My favourite candies are usually sour ones, but I also like complexity. And this sauce I made is basically the best candy. Spruce tips lend it a floral/citrus complexity, not quite like roses or sweet lemons but not quite unlike. The rhubarb comes in and grounds it in sour but between the cooking and the sugar it's a full sour flavour with no sharp edge.

This is definitely one of my favourite things I've made. I have some jars of it; spruce tip season is basically over so maybe I don't get to make more this year.

It's neat to create something lovely like this, and I love the serendipity that leads to the discovery of lovely flavours.

Not everything in my life is perfect, of course, but this is pretty neat.
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Roko and German fingerling potato planted.
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Roko and German fingerling potato planted.

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