The Zenchilada.com - Carnivals & Feasts, Issue No.3 by The Zenchilada.com

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TASTING THE WORLD ONLINE CARNIVALS & FEASTS

. ISSUE No.3

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While celebrations are in order at any time of the year,

there is something about the festivals held in the first quarter of the year—when winter begins to shed her downy jacket for a daffodil-colored shawl —that really tells us it’s time to party. Carnival falls into this transition time, as do feasts and other rituals, both sacred and insane.

In this issue, we look at the darkness that lies just beneath the party lights, from the Galicia region of Spain to the Cajun country of Louisiana to a visit with the colorful—and resilient— New Orleans Mardi Gras Indians. Then we are off to the pueblo dances in New Mexico, drop in on a bullish fiesta in Mexico, meet a Sicilian martyr and take a few steps along the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. There’s music to set the tone, and video to bring our stories and photos to life.

With an eye toward spring, we gather wild greens, consider a healing Lowcountry encounter, visit a new holiday based on past kitchen arts and take a look at small cookbooks that deliver big rewards. A humorous take on Seders past brings us to the end of this issue’s litany of revelry and remembrance.

Of course you’ll need food for this journey— and you’ll find more than 30 recipes here, everything from a classic New Orleans cocktail to a Galician empanada to pueblo-style posole. And pies. And pantry provisions. And poetry, which is food for the soul.

So settle in and enjoy this issue of TheZenchilada.com. We hope you’ll find our new platform easier to navigate, with more choices than ever on how to enjoy all this literary and culinary bounty—read us online, download the issue to your desktop or print it out. Our website is under construction, too, so—to keep up with all the changes afoot—come back to visit us often. PATRICIA WEST-BARKER, Publisher/Executive Editor

RONNI LUNDY, Editor-in Chief T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011 3

Z E N C H I L A D A . COM BOX 628 551 WEST CORDOVA ROAD SANTA FE, NM 87505

THE

ZENCH

ISSUE No.3 • CARNIVALS & FEASTS • WINTER 2011

Patricia West-Barker Publisher/Executive Editor pwestbarker@thezenchilada.com

Cover

Ronni Lundy

“Boteiro” de Viana do Bolo, one of the many colorful Carnival characters, from the Galician provinces of Spain. Photograph by ANTONIO MARTÍN SOTELO

Editor-in-Chief ronnilundy@thezenchilada.com

Kristie Jones Copy Editor

Fernando Delgado

STORY ON PAGE 6.

Creative Director fernando@smartassociatesinc.com

Barbara Walzer Advertising Sales, Marketing Director bwalzer@thezenchilada.com 505. 577. 2282 We welcome your comments. Until our interactive blog comes online, write or e-mail us at the addresses above. TheZenchilada.com is published quarterly. TheZenchilada.com currently publishes at no cost to readers. There is, at this time, no fee to subscribe,no secret stories hidden for only a select paying few. But if this issue inspires you to become a financial supporter of our efforts, send an e-mail to pwestbarker@thezenchilada.com and we’ll tell you how to go about that; we’ll also send a spot of organic New Mexico red chile powder to everyone who contributes $25 or more. We are happy to share, but ask that no part of this publication be commercially reproduced without the written permission of the publisher. ©2011. THEZENCHILADA.COM ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

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Editor’s Letter Table of Contents Life Is A Carnival—Believe It Or Not,

PAGE 6 While Carnival celebrations can be raucous, rowdy, colorful and fun, Ronni Lundy looks for the darker mystery to be discovered there. The entroido in the Galician region of Spain offers some clues.

We Won’t Bow Down: THE NEW ORLEANS MARDI GRAS INDIAN TRADITION, PAGE 16 New Orleans’ Mardi Gras Indian

ritual requires time and commitment to create—a grasp of historic and contemporary culture to understand. TheZenchilada explores this dramatic art form with words, photographs, film and music.

The Great Gumbo Run,

PAGE 24 Across the prairies and

bayous of southwest Louisiana’s Cajun country, the bon temps roll in pickup trucks, on horseback and on the fleet feet of men in ragtag disguise. The result, writes Cinda Chavich, is a rich link to the past.

Who Was That Masked Man?

PAGE 29

Participants in the Courir de Mardi Gras turn a mundane piece of window screen into a mysterious art, captured by photographer Jan Arnow.

What’s Good for the Gosier,

PAGE 31

A true son of Cajun country, Zachary Richard sets the soul of his homeland to haunting melody—and calls attention to the ongoing impact of the Deepwater Horizon disaster on the coastal parishes of southwest Louisiana.

ILADA. Proof of Life: HURRICANE SEASON,

PAGE 32

Resident mixologist Matt Rowley turns climatologist to take us on a whirlwind tour of New Orleans’ renowned (but little understood) Hurricane cocktail.

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner: EARNER SYLVAIN SPEAKS ABOUT LIFE, WORK AND STIRRING THE POT, PAGE 36

In a preview of this year’s Native Tongue segment of the Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival, Randy Fertel “channels” his family’s irrepressible housekeeper-cook, Earner Sylvain.

I’ve Never Worn A Firecracker Gown PAGE 41 says Mississippi poet and artist Blair Hobbs.

In Morelia, A LITTLE BULL HAS A BIG PARTY, PAGE 42 Noted blogger and author of Mexico

COM

Time and Terroir: WHERE THE WILD GREENS ARE, PAGE 67 April McGreger turns

a garden scourge into a dandy delectable.

Sallet Days, Sallet Ways,

PAGE 70

TheZenchilada’s Ronni Lundy explores the etymology of the South’s signature “sallet,” where gathering greens is a labor of love.

Pi(e) R Square, REVOLUTION IS ROUND, PAGE 74 Emily Hilliard and Lora Smith, two thoroughly modern young women, resurrect the arts of the past to celebrate a brand new tradition celebrated on the 14th of March.

Rugelach, 5 a.m.,

PAGE 80 An early morning

rumination on pastry by poet Sondra Gash.

They Tried to Kill Us, WE SURVIVED,

Cooks, Cristina Potters, takes us to the Lenten celebration of Michoácan’s Torito de Petate.

LET’S EAT! PAGE 82 Artist, storyteller

Keeping Abreast of Tradition:

and humorist Beth Surdut recounts tales of horseradish wars and more. Now that’s a Seder!

THE MARTYR AND HER CAKE, PAGE 46

The festival that honors St. Agatha, the patron saint of Catania, Sicily, is both solemn and delicious. Taste it with award-winning travel writer and blogger Jann Huizenga.

The Other Side of the Pilgrims’ Road to Galicia, PAGE 48 Judith Fein discovers that there are many ways to serve the pilgrims walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain.

Feasts, Family, Friends,

PAGE 56

On feast days at the pueblos of the Southwest, Lois Ellen Franks writes, celebrants use drums, dance and steaming pots of stew to share traditions and warm body and soul.

Putting the Gullah Back in Gumbo,

Recipes, PAGES 88-123 Gumbo Z’Herbes and Capitorada, Minni di Vergini and Pimiento Cheese Pie, Bison Chile Beans and Spring Greens with Field Peas: These are just a few of the more than 30 delicious ways we say, “Let’s Celebrate; Let’s Eat.” Let’s Get Real; LET’S GET SMALL,

PAGE 124

Author Anne Mendelson makes the case for potency in a petite package with a short survey of some of her favorite small cookbooks.

Yes We Can Can: SOL-FULL PANTRY PROVISIONS, PAGE 128 Putting time in a bottle (or Ball jar) has never been simpler or more flavorful than with these zippy citrus preserves from Ashley English.

PAGE 62 A chance meeting in the Lowcountry

Endpage: CHILD OF THE EARTH,

proves to be the perfect spring tonic for former Gourmet editor Jane Daniels Lear.

And now, led by New Mexico artist Jade Leyva, we turn to greet the spring!

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LIFE IS A

C A R N I VA L BELIEVE IT OR NOT S t o r y b y RO N N I L U N DY P h o t o g r a p h s b y A N TONIO MART Í N S O T E L O

He hath put down the mighty from their seat: and hath exalted the humble and meek. He hath filled the hungry with good things: and the rich he hath sent empty away. —From The Magnificat, the Book of Common Prayer

It was February 2004, and my feet were strutting to a second-line rhythm, my hips swaying to steel-drum beats. Was I down on Rampart Street begging masked krewes for Mardi Gras beads? Was I soaking up sun and soca at mas in the Republic of Trindad and Tobago? Ah, not quite so lucky, but I was having a rollicking good time at the Museum of International Folk Art in Santa Fe, New Mexico, touring that season’s ambitious exhibition, ¡CARNAVAL! Riotously colored costumes and fanciful masks filled glass cases; world music pulsed, coaxing smiling visitors from one room to another; 6

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vibrant videos of the parades, pageants and balls from 11 different Carnivals around the world flashed from various screens. I could almost taste the spicy rotis of Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago; the crisp sweet churros of Oruro, Bolivia; the liver-rich, Tabasco-doused boudin of Basile, Louisiana. I was enchanted with the colorful, primitive art of the kouker costumes of Bulgaria, intrigued by the smooth pink and eerie Catrine masks of Tlaxcala, Mexico, and just a little startled (but deliciously so) by the devils and black-hooded contortionists of Haiti. The mood was festive and joyful, in keeping

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with the spirit of what are commonly assumed to be the origins and impetus of this depth-of-winter event: a pagan-rooted celebration of the coming spring plus that one big blow-out of indulgence before the penance and austerity of Lent. And then I entered a smaller room, off to the side where a grainy film of the entroido of Laza, a small mountain town in the Galicia region of Spain, was playing. The lighting was dim and although I am sure the film was in color, my memories of the images onscreen are cast in the grays of film noir. A rural festival in a northern climate, the entroida costumes lacked glitter and flash. Many were made from corn stalks or straw and depicted agricultural or domestic themes— a woman with tin cans, cooking implements and food bags hanging from her daily clothes, a man under blankets with a cow’s head on a stick that he used to hit people or lift women’s skirts. The vibrant exception was a platoon of masked men, the peliqueiros, who run through town during carnival week in over-sized Napoleonic head gear, skirts with pompoms and bells, bright stockings and small whips they don’t hesitate to use on lawabiding, custom-honoring townsfolk to remind them it’s time to break the rules, time to party. In one segment, numerous townspeople filled the small streets not in costumes, but in dirty raincoats, hats and scarves that could be pulled up or down to cover the face and eyes— a characteristic that proved its value as the traditional event known as formigas commenced. Formigas means “the ants” and young men and some women from the village soon stormed the square with sacks full of dirt teeming with the angry creatures (they’d been doused with vinegar to assure they would bite aggressively). Soon dirt and ants were being flung everywhere, though hardly randomly. Faces were targeted, collars were grabbed from the back so handfuls of insectfilled dirt could be thrown down shirts, and a second-wave of men swinging long prickly branches

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THE

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UEIROS,

WHO RUN THROUGH TOWN D U R I N G C A R N I VA L W E E K . . .

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closely followed, swatting at anyone who attempted to get away. Everyone looked as if they were having a big time, flingers and victims alike. I watched the film twice. The violence and seeming mean-spirit of the whip-wielding peliqueiros and of the formigas was deeply disturbing, but it also seemed somehow familiar. And in the uncomfortable sensations it provoked in me, I sensed there was something significant to understand. I walked back through the other exhibits now with different eyes and saw new shadows to even the liveliest revelry. Politicians and sacred customs were being skewered viciously, ribaldly in floats and skits and costumes. Men dressed as women and women as men lampooned one another’s foibles. Devils and demons danced in the streets. Even the elegant gold masks of Venice wore the visage of death. And the most organized and sanitized of the celebrations still teemed just under the surface with chaos and anarchy. Instead of repelling me, though, this swift undercurrent of darkness made Carnival all the more compelling. In fact, it seemed to be the point. I looked up Galicia soon after and discovered that, like my native southern Appalachia, it is hill country, albeit with an ample coastline. The culture is unique in Spain, with Celtic roots that still are evident in its distinct language, music (bagpipes!), customs and food. I grinned when I read in the classic Time-Life series volume Cooking of Spain and Portugal that the signature Caldo Gallego of the region is a stew of long simmered beans, potatoes and turnip greens seasoned with salt pork and sausage—and I laughed out loud when I discovered it’s consumed with cornbread and often followed by a serving of lacon con grelos, dark, leafy turnip greens cooked long and slow with pork shoulder. Then the author, Peter S. Feibleman, who lived in Spain for eight years in the 1960s, looked away from his bowl and wrote: “Finish eating the grelos slowly, sitting in a window seat of a country house before the misty blue and green of the land 10

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as the day fades. The oldest woman of the house will surely come to sit with you and talk in a voice like a throaty whisper. Her conversation will soon turn to shadows and mystery, for the country people of Galicia believe so strongly in the supernatural that it is never far from their consciousness. As you eat the rich food, listen to the old woman, who is speaking in Castilian for your benefit rather than in her own dialect. Witches are about in Galicia, you will have heard. The old woman will smile distantly and get up to fill your plate with more grelos or your white cup with more dark red wine—lifting the cup for an instant and giving it a swirl as if it contained something else besides. Yes, she will say, there are witches here. Naturally, she doesn’t know anything about them personally… but they exist… oh, yes; she had a very good friend who once spoke of a friend who practices the black art just over that other hill… You wouldn’t want to know too much about a thing like that, would you, she asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer and she doesn’t look at you. She goes on talking… “But if it’s late afternoon, and if you ask her about ghosts, the old woman will not smile at all. She will stop speaking for a while at least.” It clicked with me then what had been familiar in the entroida film: Galicia was like the country I came from— sustaining, nurturing and beautiful, yes, but no stranger to chaos and turning tables, to darkness, to spirits and “haints.” And both were in that way like the place I’ve chosen to live now, northern New Mexico, a gorgeous sunny land by day where Coyote the Trickster and la Llorona still stalk the nights. All three of these places, and Carnival as well, seem not just willing, but eager to give darkness its due, to embrace mystery and chaos, perhaps even to walk with death. I came back to Galicia’s entroida and the mystery of Carnival with Max Harris as my guide. Harris is the former executive director of the Wisconsin Humanities Council, a professor and pastor

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O F A L L C A R N I VA L C E L E B R AT I O N S . . .

T H E R E I S A N U N Q U A L I F I E D C E L E B R AT I O N . . . O F T H E W O R L D T U R N E D T O P S Y-T U R V Y ”

with a Ph.D. in religious studies and a fascination with folk performance. He is also the author of Carnival and Other Christian Festivals: Folk Theology and Folk Performance (University of Texas Press, 2003) in which he visits, observes and analyzes 13 Carnival celebrations around the world, Galicia’s entroida among them. Harris’s discourse on what is at play in our celebration of Carnival is rich, nuanced and complex. He urges us to pay attention not only to the public version of what is going on, but to also look deeply for the hidden transcripts in such celebrations. He writes that fiestas “… afford a fertile opportunity for the insinuation of a hidden transcript of folk theology into the public transcript of formal Catholic devotion. Such hidden theological transcripts, visible in performance rather than in text, offer a corrective to the public theology of church ritual, preaching and art, especially where the latter have been largely shaped by those in power. To ignore this hidden theological transcript is to ignore a vital clue to the multifaceted meaning of the festival.” Consequently, Harris notes, it becomes less of a seeming paradox that the natives of the New World eventually adopted with relish the common Carnival drama so beloved of their conquerors: the battle between Moors and Christians. This pageant, which appears in a notable number of Carnivals, or other festivals, in countries that were once part of the Spanish conquest is, at face-value, the celebration of the victory of light over dark-skinned races. But it can also be read as a reversal of conquest—the invading Moors are thrown out by the natives and homeland and culture are restored—and so, Harris posits, it is embraced by indigenous people for its hidden liberation subtext.

And at the heart of all Carnival celebrations, Harris says, there is an unqualified celebration and endorsement of the world turned topsy-turvy. The poor are lifted above the rich, the lawful are goosed and mocked by those who are wild, light gives way to dark. Harris links this inversion of order to the earliest Christmas celebrations and the dictum in Mary’s Magnficat, quoted above, and notes that powerful political and social connotations mingle with the religious in Carnival. During the celebration of the Virgin of the Mineshaft in Oruro, Bolivia, “thousands (of celebrants dressed as) devils dance through the streets before unmasking in the Sanctuary of the Mineshaft to express devotion to the Virgin. “Evidently,” Harris continues, “the festive connotation of devils is not always demonic… In Oruro… the masked devils protest exploitation of indigenous miners by external forces and devote themselves to a Virgin who blesses the poor and marginalized. Festive disorder generally dreams not of anarchy but of a more egalitarian social order.” And also, quite possibly, of a more egalitarian spiritual order—one that, instead of taming or denying or demonizing disorder, embraces and celebrates it. One function of religions — some might say it is the primary one —is an attempt to impose order, create structure to enable humans to navigate both the mystery of faith and the chaos of existence. This is why religious institutions inevitably create a system of rules, a hierarchy of power. This is why many belief systems are based on the separation of good and bad, heaven and earth, dark and light, and in the interest of salvation, quite possibly, or T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

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S I N G R O M A N T I C J O TA S , T O D R I N K W I N E , T O E AT

M AY B E A P R O F O U N D L Y R E L I G I O U S A C T O F G R AT I T U D E T O G O D . ” community, at the least, urge their followers toward that which is deemed good, heavenly, light. But dig deep enough into the earth, into the cycle of birth and death that is the core of the human experience, and we find light and dark: Life and death are not only equal, balanced, but also intrinsic to one another. This is the ancient Chinese concept of yin yang, which in its traditional form is not said with the conjunction “and” to separate its parts. Is this because the parts are inseparable? And if inseparable, can one be better? Is dark only there to provide contrast for light, or does it have a beauty, a value, a truth of its own? We crave the sharpness of salt not only because it enhances and educes the flavor of anything it touches, but for the mineral depths and satisfaction it offers in itself. In the dark of winter, our bodies seek out the mysteries of blood and organs, sausage and tripe. We consume dark greens not despite, but for their bitter truth. In the depths of the cold and dark season, something in our bodies, in our souls, knows that as much as it craves sunlight, it also needs to burrow deep into the dirt; that the time of death, of lying fallow, is as vital as the season of life. Religion most often tells us to seek the light. So many anecdotes about “overcoming” death lead to a white light. It’s where our minds and our spirits seem to want to take us. But there is another aspect to the numinous quality of being, something that some spiritual philosophers define as soul. And that holy part of our being seeks the earth, is entangled with the body, with being human, with the chaos of life and the mystery of death. Carnival is a celebration for that soul. With its swirling, loud and glorious hues it insists that we spin apart the white light to reveal the cacophony of every color in heaven and on earth. Then, with its devils and chaos, Carnival dances us to the edge to face the blackness of the void. 14

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Not in penance. Not in fear. But in celebration, Holy celebration. The last word belongs to Harris: “To sing romantic jotas, to drink wine, to eat well, and to dance freely may be a profoundly religious act of gratitude to God.”

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D A N C E F R E E LY are often available through Amazon and other online booksellers. The paperback edition of Carnival and Other Christian Festivals: Folk Theology and Folk Performance by Max Harris is available at a website discount from the University of Texas Press and other online booksellers.

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R Ronni Lundy is the editor-in-chief of TheZenchilada.com and the 2009 recipient of the Craig Claiborne Lifetime Achievement Award for food writing. Her books about food include Shuck Beans, Stack Cakes and Honest Fried Chicken, and Butter Beans to Blackberries. She is currently working on a tribute to bluegrass music pioneer Bill Monroe, and loves to write about music when its got a beat and she can dance to it. Lundy lives outside of Santa Fe, between a rock and a beautiful place. Reach her at ronnilundy@thezenchilada.com.

RECIPES For a recipe for Caldo Gallego (Galician White Bean Soup), CLICK HERE. For Galician Tuna Empanada, CLICK HERE. And for Scallops Gratin, Galician-style, CLICK HERE.

R E S O U RC E S The Museum of International Folk Art in Santa Fe, New Mexico, offers a taste of the sights and sounds of Carnival in eight locations around the world on its website. The paperback edition of !CARNAVAL! edited by Barbara Mauldin (then-curator of Latin American folk art at MOIFA) and produced by the Museum of International Folk Art in collaboration with the UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History (University of Washington Press, 2004) is available through the university’s online bookstore. Cloth cover copies

A B O U T T H E A RT I ST Antonio Martín Sotelo lives and works in A Coruña, Spain. His love of photography began at a very early age and his images have been published and exhibited widely. Antonio is a founding member of the Galician Cultural Association, a group of nature photographers. He was the recipient of the Caixa Galicia prize in 2009 and the Turgalicia prize in 2010. To see more of his work CLICK HERE. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

W E WONâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;T BDO W OWN THE NEW ORLEANS MARDI GRAS INDIAN TRADITION

S t o r y b y RO N N I L U N DY P h o t o g r a p h s b y ST E V E M A N N

T h e M a r d i G r as I nd i an c ul t ure dates b ack to the 18 t h c e n t u r y, w h e n A f r i c a n slaves escaped into the swamps surrounding New Orleans. Native Americans, i n c l u d i n g t h e C h o c t a w, S em i no l e and Chickasaw tribes, lived in these a rea s a n d often offered sanctuary or support for the escaped slaves. Bound by a shared h i s t o r y of e x plo i t at i o n, t he y f o r ged relatio nships, sharing and m ingling cu st oms that included foods, music and dance.

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“W E W ON ’ T B OW D OWN ”

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The signature filé gumbo of the region is a delicious example of this melding. The gumbo is thickened by filé, a powder that the Choctaw made for this purpose from dried sassafras—but it’s added to a rice-based stew that has antecedents in certain African cultures. The “masking Indian” is another example of the merging of the Native and African American cultures in this region. After Abolition, many former slaves chose to honor their association with the tribes who helped them and, in that subversive Carnival way, to also address the tyranny of slavery by “masking” as Indians during Mardi Gras celebrations. It’s also a stunning example of outsider artistry. In her sweeping survey of the crafts of the Southern states, By Southern Hands, (Oxmoor Books, 1987) author Jan Arnow says that the costume and masquerade paraphernalia of the festival season offers “the most dazzling… extraordinary display of the needleworker’s art.” And she singles out New Orleans’ Mardi Gras Indian tradition as “the most highly developed and exquisitely ornate” of these traditions. After interviewing and photographing several members of the Mardi Gras tribes in the late 1980s, Arnow wrote, “Although not nearly as well-known as the floats and parades of the Caucasian celebrants, the costumes and foot processions of these black brotherhoods are especially captivating. Each participant makes his own costume, which represents an almost inconceivable personal investment of time, money and labor. “Prior to World War II, the costuming traditions were not nearly so elaborate as they are today. Ferdinand Bigard, chief of the tribe known as the Cheyennes, remembers processions from his childhood. ‘Before the war, the old Indians wore

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THE SONGS AND DANCES OF THE TRIBES ARE AS RICH AS THE COSTUMES THEMSELVES,... what I would call a scavenger suit. You know the crates eggs come in? Well, they would take those, glitter them and put them on their suits. Then they would go to the can companies and dice little pieces of metal and put them on with ribbon. When the sun hit, they would really shine. The suits were very meager back then.’ ” Contemporary costumes are much more elaborate, with a new costume created annually by each member of each Mardi Gras tribe. It takes the full year for the work to be done, Arnow notes, as each member “laboriously hand sew(s) thousands of sequins, beads, rhinestones, ribbons, and feathers 20

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to each piece, creating extraordinary garments that are reminiscent of elaborate American Indian war costumes. The basic outfit consists of a vest, an apron, cuffs, leggings, moccasins, and a headdress, and many tribal members add other pieces such as capes and bustles, bringing the weight of their costumes up to as much as 150 pounds, a burden reflected in a song by the late George Landry of the Wild Tchoupitoulas tribe: ‘Big Chief got a golden crown, golden crown make it drag the ground.’ “ The songs and dances of the tribes are as rich as the costumes themselves, and they, too, contain a subversive subtext. As music historian

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Ned Sublette writes in The World That Made New Orleans (Lawrence Hill Books, 2008): “The Indians embody resistance. You can sum it up in four words: ‘We won’t bow down.’ That’s a line from their hymn, ‘My Indian Red.’ (The song is performed in a context that illuminates this in the third episode of the first season of HBO’s dramatic series, Treme, set in this black neighborhood in New Orleans, post Hurricane Katrina.)

THE

FILM For a taste of the music and glimpse of the people featured here, check out the trailer for We Won’t Bow Down, an in-progress feature-length documentary exploring the past, present and future of New Orleans’ Mardi Gras Indians. It’s directed by Chris Bower and produced in part by Steve Mann, whose photographs and work with contemporary African American Indian Mardi Gras tribes inspired it. There are two linked clips there; if you want to see more, click on the “two videos” box at the top of the screen to bring up the second, longer excerpt. Of We Won’t Bow Down, the documentary he’s been working on for six years, Bower says, “From the first time I was introduced to the Mardi Gras Indians I thought it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. This culture is a powerful and vibrant underground network of local people that reveals itself briefly during Carnival in New Orleans. The more I learned about the cultural history, the more profound I realized it was. Then Katrina hit. Steve Mann invited me to join him on a trip down to New Orleans to film 22

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some field interviews on how the storm was affecting the Indians. After that I could not let it go. Steve and I went down and met with the Indians we knew and ask them what they thought. They expressed their dissatisfaction with the few attempts of documenting the Indians and challenged us to do it right. So we took the challenge. “The main thing that makes this film stand apart is that we honor the tradition of verbal history within the culture. The only voices in the film are the Indians themselves.”

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A B O U T T H E A RT I ST S A professional photographer for more than 20 years, Steve Mann received the North Carolina Emerging Artist Award in 1999. He began working with the Mardi Gras Indians in 1999 and has exhibited photographs of them since 2003. Steve runs his own commercial studio in Asheville, North Carolina. Chris Bower is a producer, writer and director. His body of work includes the science fiction film Moon Europa, which was workshopped at the IFP’s Narrative Rough Cut Lab and won the Daniel DeLaVergne Media Arts Advantage Fund Award. His experimental film Brother Cellophane won the Most Revolutionary Film award at the Eye of the Beholder Film Festival. In addition to his film work, Bower creates commercial content—including Goodnight with Happy George, a series of short films for children—promoting the Viking/ Penguin book Sock Monkey Dreams. He bounces between New Orleans, the San Francisco Bay Area and his hometown of Asheville, North Carolina. Bower and his partners, including cinematographer Daniel Judson, hope to complete the film by summer of 2011. For more information, or to offer funding support for the project, log onto www.wewontbowdown.com and click on “Contact.”

R E S O U RC E S Photographs by Steve Mann, CLICK HERE to see more.

Cinematographer and editor Daniel Judson has been working in commercial and entertainment video production since 2004. He has shot and edited music videos for artists on Atlantic, Capitol, Zomba, Asylum, Koch Entertainment and Warner Bros. record labels. Daniel’s student short films have appeared in festivals in the U.S. and Europe. He lives with his son, Abraham, in Asheville, North Carolina. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

I N R U R A L C A J U N C O U N T R Y,

FAT T U E S D AY

T R A D I T I O N S A N D M A R D I G R A S I S D E C I D E D LY F R E N CH

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Story and Photographs by CINDA CHAVICH

ELTON, Louisiana – The sun has barely risen, yet on this rural Louisiana back road, the party has already begun. Masked men in colorful, ragged costumes are gathering, clowning behind pick-up trucks, drinking beer and dancing to an accordion player’s traditional tunes. Behind the bizarre disguises created from scraps of cloth, paint and bits of leftover window screen, are a motley crew of locals — students, crawfish and rice farmers, musicians, teachers and workers from the local chemical plant. But today they are all Cajuns, members of the Elton Courier de Mardi Gras — or chicken run— celebrating their rural French roots with an annual romp down the local back roads to entertain their neighbors and gather the ingredients for tonight’s community gumbo feast. Courier de Mardi Gras events like this are held throughout the Cajun communities of southwestern Louisiana in the weeks leading up to Mardi Gras, the day before Lent begins. While urban centers like New Orleans celebrate with lavish costume balls and raunchy parades, these small-town Cajun Mardi Gras parties are considerably less glitzy, a reflection of the traditionally poor farming and fishing families who have long populated these marshy bayous.

HARKS BACK TO A C A D I A N

The annual rural chicken run— combing the countryside for chickens, sausages, rice and vegetables for a communal pot of Cajun stew, or gumbo — is a tradition that goes back more than 100 years. The costumed runners “beg” their neighbors for food, paying with music, playful tricks, dancing and humorous antics. It’s reminiscent of Canadian Maritime rituals, from Twelfth Night mummers to the Mi-Careme (half-Lent) visits still seen in small Acadian communities from Cape Breton to Caraquet and Iles-de-la- Madeleine, and unique to that Cajun (Acadian) culture. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

T HE G REAT G UMBO R UN

Jon Bertrand, a member of the Grammynominated Cajun roots band the Pine Leaf Boys, joins his father, David, in a squeezebox serenade, while dozens of his boyhood friends two-step to the beat. After stopping briefly for a prayer, a stern warning from the local police constable and a tongue-in-cheek reading of the rules of deportment, they climb aboard horses and flatbed trailers, then head down the road to their first chickenchasing stop.

remembers a time when 100 relatives would gather on the family farm for the annual Courier de Mardi Gras. “Every year it’s a little less,” she says, “because the kids are gone and only people my age, in their 50s, remember the grandparents and the old Mardi Gras.” After the sausage is shared, and a few Cajun tunes are played, the chickens are tossed

T H E R I T U A L I S PA R T PA G A N , PA R T F R AT PA R T Y, R E M I N I S C E N T O F A R O W D Y H A L L O W E E N T R I C K - O R -T R E AT. Around the first bend, Maxine Guthrey and her family wait with a couple of live chickens and a cooler full of homemade, Cajun-style boudin sausage, when the dozens of the costumed Mardi Gras (as the runners are known) come racing down the road. “I’m very proud of my Cajun heritage,” says Guthrey, who can trace her ancestry to the French Acadians who settled here on the Gulf shore after they were driven out of Nova Scotia by British troops in 1755. The word “Cajun” is an anglicized pronunciation of the French “Acadienne,” and even today, rural Louisiana communities are filled with descendants of Acadian Broussards, Lafleurs, Melancons and Cormiers. There are only three people here to receive the dozens of masked revelers today, but Guthrey 26

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skyward and the young men chase after them through the muddy ditches and marshy woods, swooping across the Cajun prairie like a flock of multi-colored birds. It’s a scene that’s repeated throughout the day, the Mardi Gras crawling on hands and knees, begging for coins, chasing chickens and playing silly tricks. Some don women’s wigs and skirts, while the “Capitaine”—the leader of the group—wears a cape and cowboy hat, and carries a braided burlap whip to keep his charges in check. The ritual is part pagan, part frat party, reminiscent of a rowdy Halloween trick-or-treat. Like other Mardi Gras celebrations, the mood is definitely irreverent, mocking the Catholic church with pointed, bishoplike hats and sexual innuendo, fueled with plenty of beer—cases of it stacked on flatbed trailers.

T HE G REAT G UMBO R UN

“Y’all have fun but no fightin’,” says the officer who follows the run in his police car, “and if I ask you to leave, and you don’t leave, we got a place for ya.” While it’s not a formal spectator sport— the route is pre-ordained but not published, and only locals can participate in the run—families and visitors gather at gas stations and busy country corners to watch the Mardi Gras pass. With

During World War II, the chicken run tradition nearly died out in Louisiana. Like the Acadian French dialect— which was once banned in local schools—many Cajun cultural traditions were on the brink of collapse. But in the last 25 years, the rural Cajun culture has bounced back, thanks to a resurgence in Cajun music by groups like Bertrand’s and academics dedicated to preserving the past. “Parts of the culture will definitely survive

“ I T ’ S S T I L L A M E A N S O F O U R S M A L L C O M M U N I T Y ’ S S U R V I VA L — I T K E E P S O U R S O C I A L I D E N T I T Y. ” masked riders arriving at your door playing tricks and demanding food, there’s a fine line between beggar and bandit, but the coercion is all in fun. These rowdy runs take place throughout the region in the month leading up to Fat Tuesday. “Though they may be only 10 miles apart, each community’s Mardi Gras is completely different,” explains David Bertrand, a local rice farmer and organizer of this Elton Chicken Run. “It’s still a means of our small community’s survival—it keeps our social identity.” But it’s been difficult to keep the Cajun traditions, and the small communities, alive. Many, like Elton, have less than 1,500 inhabitants, and an aging population.

because it’s entertaining,” says Jean Ancelet, whose father Barry, a University of Louisiana French professor and folklorist, documented the unique culture of the region—including events like the chicken run —in the book, Cajun Country, coauthored with Jay Edwards and Glen Pitre. Ancelet studied French at the Université Sainte -Anne in Nova Scotia — a fully Acadian university — and says the fact that so few young people still speak Cajun French in rural Louisiana puts a strain on cultural traditions. A shift from bayou-based fishing and small-scale agriculture to jobs in offshore oil and gas plants also takes a toll. “It’s not very easy to stay in a small town if your grandparents were farmers and now it’s all

T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi n t e r 2 011

T HE G REAT G UMBO R UN

big agri-business,” says Ancelet. “You don’t have to be a shrimper to be a Cajun, but from language flows culture.” Still, rural areas like this remain uniquely Cajun, and an authentic, family-friendly place to celebrate Mardi Gras season. Parades are for kids —there’s no breast-baring drunken debauchery — and when the Lake Charles civic center hosts the glittery Royal Gala promenade of 50 local krewes in elaborate costumes on Mardi Gras eve, the whole town comes out to cheer. In between, there are community gumbo cook-offs and Cajun squeezebox contests that draw both kids and seniors to the stage. Annual chicken runs now take place in tiny towns like Elton, Basile, Iowa, Vinton, Hathaway, and Tee-Mamou—where the all-male tradition has been augmented by an all-female run. Some towns have co-ed or children’s runs, and each has its own costume style and traditional songs. It’s a unique corner of the American South that owes its special culture to the Acadian Canadian refugees who settled here more than 250 years ago. “You have to adapt the culture to keep it,” says Bertrand, tuning his guitar for the next crazy stop along the route. “It’s a real good homecoming, too — and there’s a gumbo waiting for us when we get there.” RESOURCES For details about the small town Mardi Gras chicken runs, parades, gumbo cook-offs and Cajun music in the region, call the Jeff Davis Parish Tourist Commission (1-800-264-5521) or visit the Southwest Louisiana Mardi Gras site at: www.swlamardigras.com. The Acadian Museum in Erath (337-6587329) offers a history of the Acadian deportment from Nova Scotia, Saturday afternoon Cajun jam sessions and free traditional Cajun suppers with local Acadians on Monday nights. 28 TheZenchilada.com Wi n t e r 2 011

“IT’S A REAL GOOD HOMECOMING, T O O — A N D T H E R E ’ S A G U M B O WA I T I N G F O R U S W H E N W E G E T T H E R E .”

RESOURCES, Continued Cajun Country by Barry Jean Ancelet, Jay Dearborn Edwards and Glen Pitre (University Press of Mississippi, 1991) is available in e-book format only from both Amazon and Google books.

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R CINDA CHAVICH is a fulltime food, wine and travel journalist based in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. By exploring the local food and drink wherever she travels — from Louisiana gumbo and Swiss fondue to Carolina BBQ, Italian pasta, Scottish haggis or Malaysian tea — Cinda finds entry into every culture, and a place where history and geography meet. Read her blog at www.TasteReport.com.

W H O was

that Masked Man?

PARTICIPANTS IN THE COURIR DE MARDI GRAS go to great lengths to disguise their identities. In By Southern Hands: A Celebration of Craft Traditions in the South (Oxmoor House, 1987), Jan Arnow writes: “They frequently exchange horses throughout the day so that a rider cannot be recognized by his mount; they disguise their voices by speaking in high falsetto; and they wear costumes with gloves to disguise their hands and bizarre masks made of window screening that is painted and shaped to fit the face. With their anonymity thus preserved even among themselves, they can suspend inhibitions for the day.” The screen masks pictured here, from Arnow’s book, were crafted in the mid-1980s by Georgie and Allen Manuel of St. Landry Parish, Louisiana. A piece of metal window screening

(plastic will not hold the shape) is hammered into a mold made of pine so that eyes, nose and chin emerge in three dimensions. The features painted on seem quite innocent in the uninhabited mask, but when placed over the wearer’s face and animated by its movement behind the screen, the result is eerie and grotesque.

A B O U T T H E A RT I ST Jan Arnow has always listed her goal as intellectual and emotional connection with people. She is the Associate Director for International Interfaith Education for Interfaith Paths to Peace in Louisville, Kentucky, and an award-winning author of eight books and scores of articles for a variety of national magazines. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

W HAT ’ S G O OD

FOR

L E G OSIER ...

No stranger to the Courir de Mardi Gras, singer/songwriter Zachary Richard still lives in the southwest Louisiana region in which he was born. The cover of his 1975 release, Mardi Gras, (RZ Records) is a storm-shadowed, eerie photograph of the courir horsemen. The album begins with the brief, haunting Invitation des Mardi Gras, then courses through 15 songs redolent with the flavors of the countryside. Two late 1980s Rounder albums capture another aspect of both Louisiana culture and Richard’s creativity. Zack’s Bon Ton (1988) is a rocking two-step swirl of the zydeco and Cajun dance hall rhythms, while Mardi Gras Mambo (1989) gallops and gyrates with the infectious spirit of Carnival. Dubbed “The Zydeco Rocker” at that stage of his career, Richard’s shows were known for their infectious energy and outrageous spirit. “That boy’s got a legend growing on him,” one drop-jawed new fan was heard to say after Zach led his band, in full Carnival regalia, through one arts center audience and onto the stage.

W H AT ’ S G O O D F O R

LE GOSIER...

A passionate Francophone and self-described “militant environmentalist,” as well as a poet, his songwriting and choice of the works of others to perform is most often informed by the desire to tell the story of the Acadians, from the early days of the diaspora from Canada to contemporary events. The video clip here for Le Grand Gosier is an excellent, recent example. A collaboration first composed by Rocky McKeon from Cocodrie, Louisiana —an area Richard describes as “ground zero of coastal erosion” and one of the most devastated by the 2010 oil spill — it was augmented by co-writers Ricardo Lamour, aka Emrical, of the Haitian community in Montreal, and Samian, an Algonquin Indian. In this number, Richard is joined by an all-star cast of Quebecoise musicians and singers. The song is intended to raise awareness of the still-dire impact of the

Deepwater Horizon disaster on this fragile ecosystem and the communities that depend on its natural resources for their survival. Proceeds from sales of these songs go to the grassroots organization responding to the disaster in this region, Gulf Aid Acadiana. For more information, go here: Richard’s English translation of the lyrics to Le Grand Gosier (literally, The Big Gullet, the Cajun French name given to the pelican in the coastal parishes of southwest Louisiana) is available here. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi n t e r 2 011

HurricaneSeason

T heZenchilada.com Win t e r 2 011

Proof

of LIFE

Mardi Gras may be impossible to replicate in other towns, but good music is easy and good drinking should be, too.

WHEN

listing New Orleans cocktails, bartender friends tick off iconic names they feel people ought to know: the Sazerac, the Daiquiri, Ramos’ famous gin fizz. Several even mention the more obscure rye-based Vieux Carré cocktail before getting around to the rum bomb that non-bartender friends already know: the Hurricane.

By MATTHEW ROWLEY Photographs by RYANNAN BRYER DE HICKMAN

It’s not true, as some claim, that Crescent City natives neither eat Lucky Dogs nor drink Hurricanes, but that drink is a decidedly tourist affair aggressively seasoned with dark rum. After that, opinions diverge on ingredients. If you order a Hurricane in New Orleans today, you likely will be served a strong red drink. None of what you’re likely to get is particularly good. Whether from a bar or a clandestine street vendor, the rule for concocting one seems to be “Make it red, make it rum”— but that’s not how it started, and that’s not what growing numbers of drinkers around the world are mixing when they want to evoke the French Quarter and Mardi Gras. The drink originated at Pat O’Brien’s, a sprawling warren of bars off Bourbon Street, where white-shirted servers have been pushing it for almost 70 years. For many tourists it is the New Orleans drink. The red version is wholly authentic and has been around so long that it’s the style most commonly found outside New Orleans. Back home in Ames, in Temecula, in Toronto, the desire to recreate the sheer, unadulterated joy of Carnival season drives those who have tasted Mardi Gras to put on Professor Longhair CDs, break out the rum, and tear open foil packets of cherry-flavored mix. Those poor people. Mardi Gras may be impossible to replicate in other towns, but good music is easy and good drinking should be, too. My introduction to the Hurricane happened, appropriately, while an underage drinker. On the courtyard patio of Pat O’s, I downed three — one, two, three, right in a row —lurid sweet drinks from curvy souvenir glasses. I say appropriately because, as it’s usually served, the Hurricane cocktail is an uncomplicated drink, fitting for inexperienced drinkers. In fact, the recipe from Pat O’Brien’s lists only two ingredients other than ice and garnish: dark rum and their own sugary red Hurricane mix. After I rose from an unplanned nap, the hangover was brutal.

1940s HURRICANE 2 oz. lemon juice 2 oz. passion fruit syrup 4 oz. dark Jamaican rum Shake with ice, strain into a glass with crushed ice. —Beachbum Berry Remixed

T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

Proof

of LIFE

RumDood’s HURRICANE 2 oz. 1 oz. 1 oz. 1 ⁄4 oz.

dark Jamaican rum lemon juice passion fruit syrup passion fruit liqueur

Shake with ice, strain into a glass with crushed ice.

While it may be an authentic New Orleans guzzler, according to tiki historian Jeff “Beachbum” Berry, the 26-ounce cold red drink isn’t the original recipe. In the 1940s, it was made with dark Jamaican rum, passion-fruit syrup and fresh lemon juice. That’s it. Not a complex cocktail, but it did move a lot of rum for the bar. At some point, grenadine syrup or maraschino cherry juice seems to have been added and the resulting red color became almost as defining a trait as the rum. 34

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The 1940s recipe is nothing special. It’s heavy on the lemon and if the rum is no good, don’t bother. But its three ingredients are a fantastic jumping-off point for personalizing the drink. It’s my suspicion that the unrealized promise of both the tart original and the saccharine authentic Hurricanes drives experimentation. Those are good ingredients, but they need help. “I've had them with pineapple, grenadine, cranberry, orange, lime — sometimes all in the same glass.” Berry told me. “Like most Zombie knock-offs, most Hurricanes feel like their maker was throwing flavor darts blindfolded.” If you want to make your own variations on the Hurricane, don’t do that. Stick with the original trinity as core component— lemon, passion fruit and dark rum —and the promise of the drink starts to reveal itself. Southern California blogger and bartender Matt “RumDood” Robold intensifies the tropical flavors by adding a ration of passion fruit liqueur to the syrup. Add some orange juice and simple syrup and you’ve got the Chief Lapu Lapu, an excellent tiki punch. In Stockholm, Helena Tiare Olsen opts for the funky Smith & Cross rum from Jamaican pot stills. The Tiki Queen of Sweden then adds orange and lime juices, homemade hibiscus grenadine and a garnish of stemmed cherries, passion fruit halves and mint. The most divergent riff I’ve had on the Hurricane, though, comes from Dale DeGroff, author

of The Craft of the Cocktail and The Essential Cocktail. In the latter, he adds light rum, pineapple, bitters— and a dose of Galliano. It was his version that I pre-batched and took for a long weekend in Palm Springs. Palm Springs is far from Louisiana and DeGroff ’s recipe is a wild outgrowth of the original, but pouring some for friends under the desert sun made me smile and yearn for next year’s Mardi Gras.

Funky H U R R I C A N E 3 oz. Smith & Cross rum 1 oz. orange juice 1 ⁄2 oz. fresh lime juice 1 ⁄2 oz. fresh lemon juice 2 oz. passion fruit juice OR 1 tablespoon passion fruit syrup 1 oz. simple syrup 1 teaspoon hibiscus grenadine Stemmed cherries, passion fruit halves and mint to garnish Cracked or crushed ice Half-fill a Hurricane glass with crushed or cracked ice. Shake all ingredients and pour unstrained into the glass. Fill up with more ice if needed and garnish with a passion fruit half, a mint sprig and stemmed cherry. —Helena Tiare Olsen

Chief Lapu Lapu HURRICANE 3 oz. orange juice 2 oz. fresh lemon juice 1 oz. simple syrup 1 oz. passion fruit syrup 11⁄2 oz. dark Jamaican rum 11⁄2 oz. light Puerto Rican rum Shake well with ice cubes and

Proof

of LIFE

Dale DeGroff’s HURRICANE 1 oz. Myer’s dark rum 1 oz. light rum 1 ⁄ 2 oz. Galliano 2 oz. fresh-squeezed orange juice 2 oz. unsweetened pineapple juice 2 oz. passion-fruit nectar 3 ⁄4 oz fresh-squeezed lime juice 1 oz. simple syrup Dash Angostura bitters Fresh tropical fruit, such as pineapple and passion fruit, for garnish. Combine the ingredients (except garnish) with ice in a mixing glass and shake well. Strain into an ice-filled Hurricane glass and garnish with the fruit. —The Essential Cocktail

pour into a large snifter. Add more ice to fill. —Beachbum Berry

Syrups Trader Tiki sells an array of first-class tropical syrups, including cinnamon, vanilla, passion fruit and hibiscus grenadine.

Matthew Rowley, is a freelance writer who traveled more than 14,000 miles and interviewed more than 50 extra-legal distillers to debunk the notion that moonshining is a dead or dying craft. The result is his book Moonshine: Recipes, Tall Tales, Drinking Songs, Historical Stuff, Knee-Slappers, How to Make It, How to Drink It, Pleasin’ the Law, Recoverin' the Next Day. He lives in southern California, where he maintains Rowley’s Whiskey Forge, a sporadic blog about food, drinks and the people who make them. Find him on his blog. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011 35

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B y R AN DY F E RT E L

EDITOR’S NOTE: Randy Fertel’s forthcoming book, The Gorilla Man and the Empress of Steak: A New Orleans Family Memoir, chronicles what it was like to grow up as the son of the mercurial Louisiana horseman and politician, Rodney Fertel, and the equally charismatic Ruth Fertel, founder of the Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse chain. Earner Sylvain, who was his mother’s housekeeper and cook for most of Randy’s childhood, left a lasting impression on him. He draws a memorable portrait of her in the book, and from that created a monologue in Earner’s voice that will be featured this spring in Native Tongues V, to be performed at the Tennessee Williams / New Orleans Literary Festival, March 23-27, 2011. Fertel and the director of Native Tongues, Carl Walker, have given TheZenchilada.com permission to publish the text of the monologue to give our readers a little taste of 1950s New Orleans.

T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

Guess Who’s COMING TO DINNER?

EARNER SYLVAIN SPEAKS ABOUT LIFE, WORK AND STIRRING THE PO T Yeah, cher, I took care of dem Fertels. Forty-two years. Till Miz Rut’ die’. I was 26 when she hire’ me. Onliest job I ever had. Actually it was her boy Randy hire’ me. I just move’ to town from Edgard, up river in St. John the Baptist parish ‘n got lost on dem damn busses. Had to get from the Desire Projects past the St. Bernard Projects to out by Mirabeau. Just built dem houses back then. Hardly any trees or grass. When I knock’ there on Seville Drive, 1247, yellow brick house, little boy open. Said his mother tire’ of waiting, went fishing. Book in his hand, he be reading like always. Ten years old. I say, “I come for the job.” He say, “OK.” Went back to his book. Dat Randy! Heehee, dat was the interview. I show’ up the next Monday ‘n’ Miz Rut’ left money on the yellow Formica counter to make groceries. I’ walk on over to Parkchester to the A&P ‘n National. Funny thing is, I didn’t meet Miz Rut’ for 3 weeks. That was some busy lady. She workin’ at that Tulane Med School then. Lucky her — and him —I wadn’t no axe murder’. Funny, Miz Rut’ grew up on the river too, down by Happy Jack in Plaquemines. I guess we just two ol’ river gals. You know, the regular. Iron’, cook’, vacuum’. Miz Rut’ wadn’t real p’ticular, ‘cept when it come to food. She could cook, now, ‘n’ she wanted things her way. I grew up on the river, you know, cher, ‘n’ I hung on ma mère apron. Ma mère, Pearl 38

TheZenchilada.com Wint e r 2 011

Sylvain, made the best crawfish bisque ‘n’ we all help’. Like we make it on the river. Got that 40 pound sack ‘n’ berled ‘em ‘n’ peeled ‘em, scoopin’ ‘n’ savin’ the heads. Over on Arts St., ma mère make the gravy ‘n’ the stuffing ‘n’ we all sit ‘round t’gether stuffin’ dem heads. Miz Rut’ help’ me buy that house ‘n’ we four gen’rations live’ unda dat double shotgun roof. Proud a’ dat. Miz Rut’ ‘n her boys loved dem some crawfish bisque, now. I bring it by the gallon. But Miz Rut’ always say, When Earna’ came, she couldn’t berl an egg. But, hell, if she wanted her meleeton* smothered with shrimps her way or green peppers stuffed her way, dat’s the way she got ‘em. Boy those kids could eat. They got fat on my cookin, no sheeet! They never got along except there was enough food on the table ‘n’ they always was. Even if they was enough, they’ fight over who get the piece of pannée’ meat** wit’ the bone. They love to suck out dat marrow, ya know, cher. Dat Jerry, when he like what he eatin’, you hear him hummin’. When he got his car, that red GTO from Mr. Joe, he’d come back from A&G with a whole apple pie ‘n’ grab a fork. No plate. Right out of the cardboard box. Loved the crust. Then you’d hear da humming. ‘N red gravy, hoowhee, dey could put some spaghetti ‘n meatballs away. Or spaghetti ‘n daube — like Miz Rut’s fam’ly make down in da country. Miz Rut’ married dat Joe DiMatteo ‘n’ he made me make the red gravy his momma way. She live’ by the track. He ran that Parkchester Shell station. Grease monkey, but he dress nice, like’ starch ‘n’ a crease in his white shirts, with “Joe” over the pocket, his initials in gold in his belt buckle. Never understan’ what she saw in him. Never understan’ what she saw in any her mens. His Sicilian momma red gravy so thick it bubbled up like hot Steen cane syrup. Took all day.

G UESS W HO ’ S C OMING

D INNER

“Funny, Miz Rut’ grew up on the river too... I guess we just two ol’ river girls”

First you sweat the holy trin’ty ‘n garlic in olive earl. You add you a can a’ tomato paste, makes it like a red roux ‘n’ cook dat down a while. Then you put you two whole cans of tomatoes through the mill. Add sugar at the end, maybe a tablespoon for the whole pot, cut da acid. Miz Rut’ said it rival Turci in the old days, dat place use to be on Poydras downtown. Mr. Joe he like’ thick slices of eggplant fried ‘n’ I’d slide them into the gravy to mix they flavors in. Or he’ want you to berl egg’, then fry them in the iron skillet to give ‘em a crunch before dey join the meatballs. Just like his momma. But dat Joe, when Miz Rut’ bought the restaurant he tried to tell her how to run it. He Sicilian ‘n’ he a man so he know better. One day she come home from her split shift ‘n’ dat lazy man be takin’ a nap in her bed. She chase’ him out wit’ a pot a’ half-cook’ rice, sail it right by his head. Almost hit him right upside the head. Heehee. After Miz Rut’ moved from Seville to ‘dose two shotgun double behind the restaurant on Broad ‘n’ Orlean, now, dat was nice. More house t’ clean but I could make half my groceries next door in the walk-in cooler. Butter, milk ‘n’ eggs, ‘n’ the holy trin’ty—I’d just grab ‘em. With that salad station, I never had to clean a head of lettuce. ‘n’ all those dressings they made: fresh-made chunky blue cheese, white folk like dat, remoulade with lots of garlic, may’naise ‘n’ Zatarain mustard, French dressing full of paprika ‘n’ Wooshtersheer. The Thousand Island called for a gallon a’ relish ‘n’ ten dozen egg! Nothin’ too rich for Miz Rut’. If Randy there, I tell him to put down his book ‘n’ send him next door with Miz Ruth’s biggest bowl. He come back with a big smile ‘n’ a salad full of artichoke hearts, chopped berled egg, Creole tomatoes, asparagus, shrimp berled in Zatarain, topped with crumble’ blue cheese, ‘n’ smothered in with Italian dressing. Man dem

smothered in with Italian dressing. Man dem Fertels could eat. You know, they fight over the right way to cut a Creole tomato. Never did get it straight. Nobody ever happy. But they love fightin’ about it. Me, I just like me some red beans that I’d push around on the plate, or some yakamein*** that I get from the corner store. Me, what I like is Snickers ‘n’ Oreo cookies. Wadn’t good for my pressure, but what is? I'll tell you what make my pressure berl. Dem men. Miz Rut’ like’ herself some mens I wouldn’t trust with my first or last nickel. Not just Joe. Dat Ralph, sold franchises for her, he was always over here for dinner ‘n’ playin’ gin rummy all night long. Cher, Miz Rut’, now, she had a weakness for dat Ralph. He couldn’t keep his hand outta her pocket. N’ she pay dat man's gamblin' debt. ‘N’ Dan, with all his power, lording it over everybody, for me he always the guy who drove a ratty old Chevrolet when he come work for Miz Rut’. When they fuss at me I tell ‘em, I don’t work for you, cher, I work for Miz Rut’! Mens, who needs em? Yeah, shit-stirrer, dat’s what dey call me, ‘cause me, I likes to stir da pot. When Miz Rut’ send me to pick up the daily work at the restaurants ‘round town, dey’s always something I can say to stir ‘em up. The white folk in the front done something to stir up the kitchen?—I make sure they remember it. Manager been messin’ with ‘em? That’s a bit of pepper for the stew. Stirrin’ the pot, best way not to be the stew meat. When ma mère Pearl die, Randy son Owen, he must be eight, he say what they was all thinking, “Does this mean no more crawfish bisque?” I took a couple years off, out a’ respect. Then one spring, there it is, crawfish bisque as good as ever. Dey beamin. ‘N’ she say I couldn’ cook … T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

Guess Who’s COMING TO DINNER?

G L O S S A RY *Meleeton: Mirliton squash, aka chayote **Pannée meat: In many cases, meat pounded flat; in the Fertel household, breaded, chicken-fried veal round *** Yakamein: aka “old sober,” usually a beef broth noodle soup reputedly good for curing a hangover

RECIPES For St. John The Baptist Parish Crawfish Bisque, CLICK HERE. For Ruth’s Plaquemines Parish Oyster Dressing, CLICK HERE.

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For Leah Chase’s Creole Jambalaya, Stuffed Mirlitons and Pannée Meat, CLICK HERE.

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R Randy Fertel has contributed to NPR and the Huffington Post and taught the literature of war and exile at the New School of Social Research and Tulane University. He is president of the Fertel Foundation and the Ruth U. Fertel Foundation and cofounder of the Ridenhour Prizes for Courageous Truth-Telling, co-sponsored by the Nation Institute and awarded every spring at the National Press Club in Washington, D.C.

I Never Wore A Firecracker Gown

mixed media, 16” x 20” © Blair Hobbs

A B O U T T H E A RT I ST Blair Hobbs lives in Oxford, Mississippi, where she is mom to Jess Edge, wife of John T. Edge, and cat nanny to Twister and Eugene Walter. She teaches in the English Department at the University of Mississippi, and her poetry and artwork have been published in a variety of journals and magazines, including The Oxford American. Southside Gallery in Oxford is her art's primary home. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

IN MORELIA, S t o r y a n d p h o t o g r a p h s b y C R I STINA P O T T E R S

THE OLDEST ARRIVE IN WHEELCHAIRS, pushed by expectant, middle-aged children. Sleeping babies are tightly bundled into rebozos wound onto their mothers’ backs. Toddlers, their ruddy-cheeked faces stained with cotton candy, glory in a piggyback ride on their big brothers’ shoulders. Spinning pinwheels and shiny balloons flash in the sunlight and the toasted-vanilla fragrance of baking gorditas de nata fills the air. Everywhere, teenagers in tight jeans throng the plaza and flirt with one another as they dance and twirl to the music of the bands. This is the crowd that throngs to the annual Festival del Torito de Petate in Morelia, Michoacán, in north-central Mexico. Signaling the start of the pre-Lenten Carnival in this city, the event is part street fair and part parade. The stars of the event are the life-size gigantic dancing figures known as the toritos de petate. The words literally mean “little bulls of woven reeds,” but these constructions are hardly little — some measure more than 15 feet and weigh in at close to 250 pounds—and woven reeds have not been used to make them for some time. Instead, the figures are made of a bamboo frame covered with color ful tissue paper. The towering upper part of the torito shows off huge cut-paper shapes — swans, lyres, stars, macaws and mermaids take to the street in designs that range from contemporary to pre-conquest Aztec motifs. Somewhere near the bottom of each torito, the head of a bull peeks out, adorned with banderillas —the long barbed darts used in bullfights. Built today by dance -group members from Morelia's working-class neighborhoods— 60 troupes participated in 2009 — the toritos of the danza del torito de petate stem from dances 42

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L I T T L E B U L L H A S A B I G PA RT Y

that date back at least as far as 1586, shortly after the Spanish invasion of the New World. Gregorio Hernández, head of the torito team representing El Clavelito in Morelia's Colonia Eduardo Ruiz, explained: "Before the Spanish conquest, the Purhépecha (local indigenous people) danced with the head of a bull, a real bull’s head, to welcome the spring planting season and to insure a good crop. It's said that the little bull is the symbol of fertility. "After the Spanish came and the indigenous people were converted to Catholicism, Tata Vasco (Don Vasco de Quiroga, the first Roman Catholic bishop in Michoacán) encouraged the people to include the bull dance in pre-Lenten celebrations. At first, an actual bull’s head continued to be used; then the people added a sombrero de listones (a beribboned hat) to make a bigger show. After that, the torito just got bigger and bigger and became what it is today — a joyful dance combined with an artistic competition." Another version of the story of the torito de petate says that the dance had its beginning in the 1830s, when hacienda owners allowed their slaves to celebrate planting or a good harvest with the Dance of the Bull. The dance troupe was made up of la maringuia (a female figure said to represent the Virgin Mary), the caporal (a soldier, representing St. Joseph), a caballito (little horse, representing the Niño Jesús), and the bull, representing worldly activities. At the end of the 20th century, dancers added another figure known as el apache, a fearsome creature whose sole role is to strike fear into the hearts of children in the audience.

I N M ORELIA , A L ITTLE B ULL H AS

B IG PART Y

But fear is hardly the emotion found on the laughing faces of the children who throng to this event. Some of the children also wear costumes— like one little boy who struts by in a cloth getup, hung from suspenders on his shoulders, that turns him into both rider and prancing horse, which he strikes with a tiny whip. An older lad whirls with a paper bull’s head over his torso, its tail flying as he spins. Teenagers paint their faces to match the colors of their neighborhood’s torito de petate. One boy shows up in a black paper costume, face painted black and white —“to represent the devil,” he says, adding, “You know it’s just in fun.”

R E S O U RC E S For more information on Morelia’s annual preLenten festival, or to arrange a guided tour of the event, CLICK HERE. To see the Purhépecha viejito dance, CLICK HERE.

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RECIPES CLICK HERE for Cristina’s recipes for Atole de Grano con Salsa Verde and Capirotada.

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R Cristina Potters, a Chicago native, arrived in Mexico in 1981. Now a permanent fixture in Morelia, Michoacán, she speaks nativelevel fluent Spanish and holds both Mexican and United States citizenship. Cristina is the author of Mexico Cooks!, the culinary and cultural website about all things Mexico named the No. 1 food blog in the world in 2008 by The Times of London. Cited as the go-to expert on Mexican food in the most recent edition of Lonely Planet Mexico, Cristina and Mexico Cooks! count over two-thirds of a million readers as their fans.

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Though nearly two millennia have passed, Catanians still celebrate Agatha as fervently as ever from February 3 to 5. On the 4th and 5th, for two long emotional days and nights, thousands of men pull a 40,000-pound silver carriage with Agatha's relics through the city streets, followed by rivers of devotees. It's an antique rite of typical Sicilian abundance, and one of the largest processions in the world.

Story by JANN HUIZENGA P h o t o g r a p h b y L E A N D RO N . C I U F F O ONE OF THE BEST THINGS ABOUT LIVING IN SICILY—besides the scent of jasmine and citrus on the wind —is the ever-changing parade of sugary goodies. Saint Martin's Day? Let's fry up fritelle! Carnival? Time for cannoli! Easter? Let's sink our teeth into little marzipan lambs. On the Day of the Dead it's ossa di morto, dead bone cookies — a confection that delivers such sweetness that the sadness of the day melts away like sugar on the tongue. Minni di vergini, virgins' breasts — little white cakes topped with a candied cherry — are nibbled in early February to remember and celebrate Saint Agatha, the patron saint of Catania, the city under Etna. The treats symbolize (to me at least) what Sicily is all about: an epicurean isle brimming with black humor, where every pain morphs into pleasure. What's painful about virgins’ breasts, you ask? You may want to skip the rest of this paragraph if you are squeamish. In the third century, Agatha, a pretty daughter of Catania who'd taken a Christian vow of chastity, caught the eye of Quinziano, the pagan Roman governor of Sicily. When Agatha rebuffed his advances, Quinziano retaliated by ordering her breasts pulled off. Then he roasted her in a kiln for good measure. She died on February 5, 251. And so a martyr and patron saint was born.

The sleepless nights are lit with a sea of votive candles. Bells peal. Fireworks roar. Babies fly high above the mob in strangers' hands, sent forth by trusting parents to touch the saint's relics. Viva Sant'Agata! Viva Sant'Agata! People snack on roast horse and virgins' breasts. The final night, in a dangerous and utterly Sicilian move, the men drag and push Agatha's heavy carriage up a steep hill in the city center, risking their lives in the process. Yes, when it comes to festivals, Sicily really takes the cake.

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R Jann Huizenga's stories have been anthologized in The Best Travel Writing 2010, The Best Women's Travel Writing 2009 and elsewhere. A co-author of Taste and Tradition: A Culinary Journey through Northern and Central Italy (Silvana Editoriale, 2010), Jann also writes about "becoming Sicilian" in her blog.

A B O U T T H E P H O TOGR AP HE R Leandro N. Ciuffo is a Brazilian who lived in Catania, photographing amazing landscapes and scenes from the Sicilian culture. Leandro has also visited dozens of different countries around the world. His best photos can be found on Flickr. St. Agatha, by Lorenzo Lippi, oil on canvas. Blanton Museum of Art, The University of Texas at Austin, The Suida-Manning Collection, 1999 Photograph by Rick Hall

CLICK HERE for a recipe for minni di vergini, Virgins’ Breasts, the little cakes that commemorate St. Agatha’s feast days. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

Story by JUDITH FEIN P h o t o g r a p h s b y PAU L RO S S

F R O M T H E F I R S T T I M E I heard about it, I had a burning desire to go. I wanted to be a pilgrim, stripped down to whatever I could carry on my back, trekking five hundred miles from St. Jean-Pied-de-Port in southern France to the final destination of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain, which purportedly contains the tomb of St. James. I pictured myself turning inward, timing my footsteps to my breath, meditating, unplugged from news, my computer, phone, fax and, most of all, social chitchat. … I wanted the simplicity of the medieval pilgrims who walked the Camino de Santiago de Compostela (a collection of pilgrimage routes also known as the Way of St. James). I yearned for a month-long spiritual undertaking, over hill and dale, pasture and plain, carrying the iconic scallop shell, which signifies to others that you are, quite literally, walking the walk.

THE O THER SIDE OF THE PILGRIM’S ROAD TO Twenty-five years ago, a few thousand devoted pilgrims followed the Way of St. James every year; today estimates are in the 100,000 to 200,000 range. The pilgrims come on foot, bike, and horseback. A few even bring donkeys. Some do the whole walk and others complete a section, hopping on a train or bus for part of the pilgrimage. They are young and old, fit and unfit, short, tall, fat, thin, bearded, shaven, rich, poor, educated, unschooled, religious, non-believers and the just plain curious. … A few months ago, I set my feet on the Camino for the first time. At a public hostel for pilgrims, I met a buoyant young man from London who was standing patiently in line, waiting to get his pilgrim’s credential 48

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booklet stamped. When he got to Santiago, the stamps would serve as proof that he had walked the Camino, or at least the last sixty-two miles of it, and this would qualify him for a pilgrim’s certificate. “How far did you walk today?” I asked him. “About twenty-five miles,” he replied. “May I lift your backpack to see how heavy it is?” “Sure,” he answered, with the good humor that was characteristic of most pilgrims I met. I bent over and raised it up; more accurately, I tried to lift it. It weighed more than fifty pounds. The young man was grinning and I was mortified. My back ached before I had taken one step on the

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S P I R I T U A L Q U E S T, L O N G P R AY E R , O F G R AT I T U D E ,

F O R S O M E I T WA S A A

M E A N I N G F U L WAY

TO MARK A LIFE TRANSITION

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L IFEOF IS T HE O THER S IDE

the Camino. What was I thinking? I hated carrying anything. … It was then I knew that I would never be a pilgrim. It was fine for others. But for me it was a fantasy. A dream … Why, I wondered, did anyone walk the Camino? I began to ask the pilgrims I met. In a municipal pilgrims’ albergue, or hostel, three young men were cooking eggs for dinner in the small kitchen area. They devoured them with mounds of tortellini and cheese sauce. One of them said he was walking the Camino before he started engineering school. A second had been laid off and decided to make a pilgrimage before going back to work. “I’m not sure why I’m doing it,” said the third. “But I can tell you that the socializing at night is the best part. You drink beer or wine and you meet people. The three of us didn’t know each other before.” … The more pilgrims I spoke to, the more diverse reasons I heard for doing the walk. Some wanted fresh air and an active, outdoorsy experience. Others were intrigued by the churches and art and great Spanish food along the way. The varied landscape drew some, and the challenge called to others. There were devout Catholics, atheists, Jews, Baha’is and Buddhists. For some, it was a spiritual quest, a long prayer of gratitude, a meaningful way to mark a life transition. And more than a few were repeat pilgrims; they had done the Camino once or several times before. I began to feel the discomfort of the outsider. They were all walking and I was watching. They were making sacrifices, and I was sleeping in hotels, driving in a car, and dining on regional foods that burst on my joyous palate. “Maybe I’m helping the pilgrims by writing about them,” I joked to one woman, and she nodded and said, quite seriously, that there is a whole tradition of people serving the Camino. What does that mean? How do you serve a route? I wondered. So off I went, to find out about

A C ARNIVAL I T OR NOT THE P ILGRIM ,’ SBRELIEVE OAD TO G ALICIA

non-walking pilgrims who are somehow engaged in service to people, a path, or something else I didn’t understand. On the outskirts of Sahagún, I met loquacious, vivacious, eighty-two-year-old Paca Luna Tovar at the Virgen del Puente hermitage. Every day, Paca walks over a mile from town to the hermitage and adorns the altar with flowers and candles that are dedicated to the Virgin. She carries with her galletas de hierro (a regional cookie) and fiery, alcoholic aguardiente for the pilgrims who come inside. While I was there, she spontaneously broke into song; the lyrics were about the patron saint of the town, the Camino, the hermitage, and two local churches. “My ancestors welcomed the pilgrims here,” she said proudly. “When my aunts were alive, they brought me here to greet the pilgrims, and when they died, I took over. I am the fourth generation. I come to be with the pilgrims. No matter what language they speak, I understand them all, although I am not sure how this happens. The government is planning to do restoration at the hermitage, but even during the work, I will walk here every day to meet the pilgrims. If I stop my daily walk to the hermitage, it will be the end of me.” … At a hostel in Rabanal del Camino, which is run by the Confraternity of St. James in Britain, I met Martin Singleton, who had come from London to volunteer as a hospitalero for two and a half weeks. He was probably in his late sixties to mid seventies, and his jobs included making breakfast and keeping the rooms clean. Singleton’s relationship with the Camino began after his wife completed a pilgrimage. “I had never walked farther than my house to the car,” he said, “but I put my boots on, got an old rucksack, and went back with my wife the next year and walked 120 miles. I had no physical problems walking. It affected me spiritually. It changed me. I made a promise to come back and complete the entire Camino. I did it last year.” T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

T HE O THER S IDE

OF THE

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G ALICIA

He confided that the second walk was less moving than the first—an experience he says many returning pilgrims share. “It only happens once in your life,” he said in a low voice. “After that, my wife and I wanted to give something back to the pilgrims, to help them along on their journey. We joined the Confraternity of St. James in England and went to meetings. We decided to become hospitaleros and here we are.” After a pause, he added, “I never did service before in my life. It’s wonderful. It’s a bit like the first experience I had.” In rural Moratinos, population eighteen, a former American journalist named Rebekah Scott lives with her English husband, Paddy, in an old, painstakingly restored and repaired farmhouse they call the Peaceable Kingdom. The Camino goes through the village and passes by their house, and Rebekah spoke with knowledge and enthusiasm about the famous road. “Do you know that the churches and monumental buildings along the way are meant to be seen on horseback? The best vantage point is from four feet off the ground, where the rich could see them,” she said. “When you walk, you become aware of everything; you hear the stream, the birds, your senses become acute. You lose weight, get fit. I’m a hospitalera now. I volunteer at hostels, listening to the pilgrims, cleaning up, cooking, applying first aid. It’s a nice break from the ordinary. And you get to know another town.” … Elyn Aviva recently moved from the U.S. to Sahagún, to be on the Camino. She has published fiction and nonfiction books about the holy trek; the latter deal with her walk of gratitude after cancer surgery, and her first walk, in 1982, before the Camino became so popular. She tried to explain to me her fascination, which she said borders on obsession. “I guess I’m attracted to the Camino the way a moth is to a flame …” she said. 52

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… She talked about people who served the Camino and helped her on her first walk. “They opened up a deserted schoolroom for us, or gave us food when we had none and there were no grocery stores available. I remember people running after us to point out the correct path, or calling out that we had taken the wrong route. I remember others offering to buy us drinks, or giving us something to eat. And I remember being asked to light a candle on their behalf in Santiago. Decent people, faith-filled people, ordinary people —not paid to be of service, not hired to do a job, but acting from their soul’s desire, from their deep, abiding faith.” Once again, I tried to understand what it meant to serve the Camino. “So it’s about serving pilgrims, rather than the road itself?” I asked. “You could say I serve the Divine, the Great Mystery,” Aviva replied with a smile. The rest of my time in Spain, I contemplated pilgrimages and service. I visited other pilgrimage sites—like the famous fourteenth-century Monastery of Guadalupe in the picturesque town of the same name, in the Extremadura region. There, too, I saw pilgrims with enormous, weighty backpacks, sacrificing their comfort, enduring hardship and stress, pushing their limits for a higher or more important personal goal. I had already decided I was not going to walk the walk, but maybe honoring the sites was an indirect way to be of service. I had no backpack, but I had expended effort to get there: booking air travel, securing accommodations, renting a car, paying money, standing in line. I wondered how else I could have a pilgrim experience. Recently, I sent money to help victims of a natural disaster but I didn’t actually go there to volunteer. Did my check count as service, or was it too easy to just sign my name, rip it out of my checkbook, and mail it? What about people who were even less pilgrimage prone than I was because

L IFE I S

W H E N YO U

WA L K , Y O U

B E C O M E AWA R E O F

I T O N LY H A P P E N S O N C E I N YO U R

C ARNIVAL , B ELIEVE I T

NOT

EVERY THING...

LIFE

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G ALICIA

I R E F L E C T E D T H AT I , T O O , A M

A PILGRIM IN LIFE... AND I CAN THANK PEOPLE WHO H E L P M E O N M Y P I L G R I M ’ S PAT H

lack of time, stamina, desire, or money? Could they ever know the satisfaction, pride, sense of accomplishment, and service of a pilgrim? Could I? I decided that the answer for me was no, but then, sitting in a restaurant in Trujillo, the town that spawned Pizarro, who conquered and pillaged Peru, I had a breakthrough. I had recently spent a lot of time listening and talking to a young woman who was overwhelmed by motherhood and I introduced her to another woman who was going through the same thing. They spontaneously formed a two-person support team. … And I called, wrote and spent time with local and faraway friends who were sick or grieving the loss of a parent, spouse, or pet. Sometimes I just listened, and other times I tried to offer help or consolation. Maybe the new mother… and my aching friends were pilgrims, on the road of life. Perhaps helping them in some small way could be counted as giving them assistance on their path. By the time I was sipping regional wines in a café outside of the walls of the medieval city of Cáceres, I reflected that I, too, am a pilgrim in life. And I can thank people who help me on my pilgrim’s path. When I returned home, I told a friend that I felt as though I were on a pilgrimage in life, and she was assisting me. “What!?” she said, incredulous. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just walking and talking with you.” “And that’s exactly what I need,” I answered truthfully.

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Excerpted from Life is a Trip: The Transformative Magic of Travel by Judith Fein, Spirituality & Health Books, 2010

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R Judith Fein is an award-winning travel journalist, playwright, screenwriter, theatre director, performer, speaker and editor. Her new book, Life is a Trip, can be found anywhere fine books are sold and online through Amazon.com. Her website is http://www.GlobalAdventure.us.

A B O U T T H E A RT I ST Paul Ross's specialty is travel as seen through the lens of anything exotic, funny or edible — preferably all three together. Paul is the travel editor of Drink Me magazine and website, and travel photographer for Spirituality and Health magazine, YourLifeisaTrip.com and the San Diego Jewish Journal.

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Story and Photograph by LOIS ELLEN FRANK

WINTER

in Northern New Mexico is usually crisp and clear, yet often bone-chillingly cold — a perfect time to sit by the fire and share a warming stew with family and friends. For Native Americans, it’s also a time for tribal members to share important stories with each other. Each of New Mexico’s 19 pueblos has its own stories and its own traditions and, because oral transmission of a tribe’s culture is still so strong, this fireside ritual is common to most Native American families. The winter months—a time to rest and prepare for the beginning of the new agricultural cycle — are the ideal time to think about these stories and take them to heart. Pueblo feast days are celebrated throughout the year—with several falling in the winter months. Since these celebrations typically involve dances, singing and other outdoor rituals, warming stews play an essential role there as well. Feast days are named after each pueblo’s patron saint. The Franciscan missionaries who came to New Mexico in the late 16th and early 17th centuries renamed each pueblo for a different Catholic Saint. Po-who-ge -oweenge, meaning, “where the water cuts through,” for example, became San Ildefonso.

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F EASTS , FAMILY, F RIENDS ,

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F IRE

The pueblos open their feast days to the public so visitors can view the traditional dances and songs but—more significantly—the celebrations bring tribal members together to renew their culture, language and native religion. Families prepare large amounts of food for the many invited guests coming through their homes, warming spirits as well as bodies with their dishes. Watching winter dances has always been an wonderful experience for me. I bundle up in layers, pack a Pendleton blanket to wrap around me and head out to one or more pueblos. Going with friends or family always seems to make the cold more bearable and the celebrations more fun. One year, the whole family—my brother, sister, mother, dad and step-mom were all visiting for the holidays—went to the dances traditionally held on the day after Christmas at San Juan Pueblo (now called by its pre-Spanish name, Ohkay Owingeh). On the morning of December 26, we filled several thermoses with hot chocolate made from scratch, piled on warm clothes and packed into my SUV. The journey to the pueblo from Santa Fe was an adventure in itself, and when we arrived, the dances had already started. It was the Turtle Dance that day. We followed the rhythm of the drums and soon could see the dancers. It was cold, biting at first, but once I had settled into a spot and become mesmerized by the dance, it was as if the cold had subsided. All that I felt was the power of the dance itself. The dancers moved in almost perfect synchronization with each other and the loud, steady drum felt like a heartbeat, pulsing deeply and resonantly. The drum kept perfect time and the dancers moved to it eloquently.

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F EASTS , FAMILY, F RIENDS ,

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P h o t o g r a p h s b y A N N M U R DY

There was a notable stillness in the cold that day. Overhead, the sky was blue and the sun was shining; below, there was snow on the ground. I could have stayed for hours, but my dad finally said he was cold and asked if we could head back to the car. Even so, the songs and musicâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; even the sound of the silence â&#x20AC;&#x201D; stayed with me throughout the day. Some of my favorite stews to enjoy after a day outdoors watching native dances are a bison stew made with two kinds of beans, sweet corn, red chile and tomatoes, and a hearty green-chile stew made with locally raised lamb . Posole, a stew made from hominy, is also an all-time favorite as I find it warming to body and soul. CLICK HERE for the recipes for my versions of these famous Native winter stews.

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F EASTS , FAMILY, F RIENDS ,

AND

F IRE

San Ildefonso’s Feast Day on January 23 starts with a dawn Animal Dance. Other dances include the Buffalo Dance, the Deer Dance and the Comanche Dance. Photographs are not allowed at any of the dances. Contact the Pueblo directly for more information: 505-455-3549. Other native communities also celebrate with winter dances. The tiny village of Tortugas — near Las Cruces in Southern New Mexico—celebrates the feast day of Guadalupe from December 10th to 12th. Members of tribes sheltered at missions in El Paso before 1850 founded Tortugas, and their descendants have honored La Virgen since that time.

COOL CELEBRATIONS Photograph by LOIS ELLEN FRANK Some of the pueblos’ winter feast days and celebrations have activities open to the public. The dances may change from year to year, but the dates remain the same. On January 6—Epiphany or Three Kings Day — many New Mexico Pueblos participate in the Passing of the Canes, when silver-topped canes are traditionally passed to new leaders. These canes were first bestowed on pueblo leaders by President Abraham Lincoln and have been in pueblo possession ever since. Although the Passing of the Canes is a private ceremony, many pueblo dances coincide with the event and are open to the public. Kewa (formerly Santa Domingo Pueblo), Ohkay Owingeh (formerly San Juan Pueblo), Picuris, Pojoaque, Sandia, Taos, Tesuque and Zia pueblos all celebrate Three Kings Day with different ceremonies and dances. The best way to find out what each pueblo is doing— and learn the proper etiquette for attending—is to contact each pueblo directly. Visit the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center website for more information and local phone numbers for each of the pueblos. 60

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Their dance, known as the Matachín, incorporates both Native American and Roman Catholic rituals and features dancers in regalia portraying the interactions of Aztec emperor Moctezuma and Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés. Four types of dancers follow the Feast Day Mass —Los Indios, Los Danzantes, Los Guadalupanos and Las Chicemecas Aztecas. The public is welcome to watch the outdoor ceremonies and to sample some of the food prepared by the community— particularly its celebrated albondingas (meatballs). In Tortugas the traditional celebration begins at Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church (575-5268171). El Dia de Guadalupe is also observed with a Mass and ceremonial dances at el Santuario de Guadalupe in Santa Fe. Danza Azteca de Anahuac, a group from Taos, performs Aztec dances at the santuario in full regalia for several hours on the 12th of December — as well as in honor of Tonantzin, the female Aztec earth goddess. Several New Mexico pueblos also perform los Matachines —a dance-drama often referred to as the Spanish Dance —on Christmas Eve and on Christmas Day. The dancers wear Spanish regalia — as they do in Tortugas and at the santuario in Santa Fe —but at the pueblos, los Matachines is always combined with traditional pueblo dances.

F EASTS , FAMILY, F RIENDS ,

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James Beard Award winning author, chef, American Indian foods historian, culinary anthropologist and photographer Lois Ellen Frank is presently completing her PhD on the discourse and practice of Native American cuisine at the University of New Mexico. She is also chef/owner of Red Mesa Cuisine, a Santa Fe catering company. Learn more about Red Mesa Cuisine, CLICK HERE. For Lois Ellen’s books, posters and photography, CLICK HERE.

zen

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Ann Murdy thoroughly enjoys taking photos in New Mexico. She moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico from Los Angeles, California. Her photography has appeared in many national publications and in the following books: Contemporary Chicana and Chicano Art, Saints and Sinners, Dos Mundos, Visions of Santa Fe, The Santa Fe Fiesta Reinvented and Christmas in Santa Fe. Ann specializes in documenting local and international cultural events and religious celebrations. Her online portfolio can be seen at www.annmurdy.com

CHILADA

WORLD

ONLINE

.com

Looking for the Zen in the Zenchilada.com? We don’t guarantee spiritual enlightenment; we do promise to fill each issue of TheZenchilada.com—and your senses— with intelligent, well-written, beautifully conceived and illustrated stories that celebrate the relationship between food, culture and place.

To sweeten the pot, two people on our mailing list will receive boxes of fine artisanal chocolate bark studded with piñon, pecans, pistachios and red or green chile in a random drawing to be held on April 5, 2011. The candy is from The Chocolate Smith in Santa Fe ; the tin that holds it was designed by New Mexico artists Stacey and John Maldonado. So SIGN UP now to be entered for a chance to win—It’s free!

T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

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Story by JANE LEAR P h o t o g r a p h b y RYANNAN BRY E R D E H I CK M A N A r t w o r k b y J O N AT H A N G R E E N

was a mistake to give up gumbo without a fight, to take the high road, to let New Orleans own it. There is superb gumbo to be had in the Crescent City and elsewhere in Louisiana, but come on. The roots of the dish reach, like stainless-steel hawsers, from West Africa to much of the American South, including the Lowcountry, the subtropical coastal plain of South Carolina and Georgia that encompasses salt marsh, grassy flats, piney woods and winding tidal creeks and rivers. Lowcountry, or Gullah, food— born of an intricate, mostly tragic history — is based on seafood such as shrimp, oysters and crab, but also includes wild duck, dove, quail and deer, plus rice, greens and beans. The word gumbo is likely derived from the Bantu for “okra,” a vegetable that arrived in the New World with the slave trade. Some food historians champion a Native American provenance from the Choctaw kombo, or sassafras, the leaf that is ground to make filé, another thickening agent; others suggest that gumbo is a form of bouillabaisse, created by French immigrants — whether Acadians, Huguenots, refugees from the French Revolution or colonists in flight from the slave rebellion in Haiti — who punted with the ingredients at hand. Generally speaking, a Gullah gumbo is soupier than those you’ll find along the Gulf, and not as intense. To my mind, the flavors are cleaner and brighter. I can eat more of it — second helpings, and sometimes thirds. What really captures my imagination, though, is not the correct historical antecedent of gumbo but the legions of innovative, thrifty, and/or desperate cooks who have perfected the dish down through the generations. I met one of them about 25 years ago in Savannah, Georgia, at the corner Piggly Wiggly store. The balmy day T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

“Now, those greens there, they sex up the pot” found me fresh off a plane from bleak, wintry New York, and the sheer variety of greens given pride of place in the Pig’s produce department was nothing short of mesmerizing. There were juicy-looking collards. Sharp, spicy turnip greens. Two or three different kinds of kale, each meatier than the next. Savoy cabbages, confident in their age-old ability to impress still-life painters. Young, tender spinach that was nothing like the flabby, flavorless “baby” leaves so popular today. I found myself getting hungry 64

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just looking at the beet greens; mild and minerally in flavor, they become satiny and lush when cooked. “Now, those greens there, they sex up the pot,” said the woman standing next to me. “They sure do,” I said, and we companionably divided up the bunches between us. By the time we toted our groceries out to the parking lot, we were on our way to becoming friends and, better yet, allies. Lisbeth Jones was a bus driver from Wilmington, North Carolina

— a city I know well. She was staying close by, in the historic (since 1864) black community of Sandfly to nurse her gravely ill grandfather, a descendant of slaves who had worked a plantation on Isle of Hope. I was roosting just down the road with my stepmother, who was shockingly frail after a bout of the flu. Unsettled by events and unsure of ourselves, Lisbeth and I had our work cut out for us. Most Lowcountry gumbos are what I think of as fall food, prepared when shrimp, crab and duck are abundant and at

P UTTING

their best. But what Lisbeth and I had in mind after we pillaged the Pig was more along the lines of a spring tonic: a restorative, deeply delicious gumbo z’herbes, or green gumbo. Cookbooks will tell you that it’s traditionally served during Lent, particularly on Holy Thursday or Good Friday, when Catholics and many Protestants refrain from eating meat. Eventually, seafood and smoked meat crept into the pot to work their magic on the artful blend of greens mild and bitter — or “soft” and “rough,” as Lisbeth more aptly described them. The seasonal rhythms of cooking, rather than religion, were what spoke to us, and our respective gumbos were much, much greater than the sum of their parts. The secret ingredient, one Lisbeth learned “at the ancestral knee” (a phrase I’ve yearned to use ever since), was chainey briar, the small, tender shoots of smilax, a tenacious vine that is savagely ripped out of gardens from Cuba to Virginia. “Once you know when to look, you’ll find it all over,” she said, and we did, in the marshy ditch along the road and back behind Sandfly ’s gun shop. Chainey briar’s asparagus-like flavor is simultaneously mild and untamed, and it added the intrigue that perks up taste buds and healthy curiosity. “Janie, that was delicious,” my stepmother said greedily. “What is in that? Is there any more?” And Lisbeth’s grandfather decided that perhaps getting out of the

THE

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bed and onto the porch might be a fine idea. For the next ten days, Lisbeth and I shopped and cooked together, all the while being mindful of what was precious to us. We traded life stories as well as recipes for beef tea and deviled crab, pronounced “deb’l” by the two of us without a trace of irony. Chicken thighs, roasted with nothing more than a dusting of salt and pepper and served with the last of winter’s sweet potatoes, protected us and ours one treacherous chilly night. When I stirred the yolks of lightly fried eggs into a bowl of hot steamed rice — an idea I’d cribbed from a Singaporean man who had broken my heart— it rocked Lisbeth’s world. She returned the favor with the freshest shad imaginable. In the hands of an amateur like me, the fiendishly bony fish would have ended up looking like it had been backed over by a car, but Lisbeth’s cousin filleted it with style and grace. Broiled with butter, lemon and the set of roe, the delicacy brought color back to stay in my stepmother’s cheeks. I worried aloud about the richness. “Don’t fuss,” she demanded, straightening her spine. “What’s for dessert?” I’m not a fan of magical realism —in fact, it makes me cringe—but looking back, I think I experienced something along those lines without realizing it. Lisbeth went back to Wilmington

Sharing the Chores, 1996, Limited Edition Lithograph, 20 5/8” x 26 1/8” ©Jonathan Green

and I went back to New York. We never met again, although we exchanged sporadic letters that often included recipes. About five years ago, I was delighted to discover that the National Parks Service had designated Wilmington the northernmost point in the GullahGeechee Cultural Heritage Corridor. I’ll bet Lisbeth had something to do with that, but I couldn’t say for sure. She died, quite unexpectedly, and I didn’t know until months later, when her husband, Dennis, took the time to go through her address book and send me a very kind note. “You’ll need to do that too, if I pop off,” I said, a little too brightly, when my husband saw me in full gumbo z’herbes mode the next morning. He oversaw my careful packing and arranged the overnight delivery. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi n t e r 2 011

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A day or so later, I received a voice mail from Dennis. The gumbo had arrived in good shape, and many thanks, but he was off in a rush to a conference. He had given the gumbo to the elderly woman next door. She had been ill, and he was concerned. Perfect. RECIPE CLICK HERE for Jane Lear’s recipe for Gumbo Z’Herbes

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R Jane Lear is a freelance writer, editor and cookbook author based in New York City and former senior articles editor at Gourmet. A contributor to The Gourmet Cookbook: More than 1,000 Recipes; Gourmet Today: More than 1,000 All New Recipes for the Contemporary Kitchen; and the forthcoming Martha Stewart's American Food, she is also the coauthor, with New York City chef Floyd Cardoz, of One Spice, Two Spice: American Food, Indian Flavors. You can follow whatever makes her hungry at http://janelear.com/ and her kitchen equipment critic’s picks at http://www.kitchendaily.com/equipment/.

A B O U T T H E A RT I ST Widely considered one of the most important painters of the Southern experience, Jonathan Green has a passion for creating and collecting cross-cultural fine art representing the themes of work, love, belonging and spirituality. His work, which has been exhibited in major venues nationally and internationally, reflects an intrinsic sense of history and place. His gallery is located in Daniel Island (Charleston) South Carolina.

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WHERE THE

WILD GREENS ARE

But I have never tasted meat Nor cabbage, corn nor beans Nor fluid food one half as sweet As that first mess of greens. COTTON NOE, THE LOOM OF LIFE, 1910

TimeandTerroir JOE

Hollis is an herbalist, seed saver and philosopher who operates the enchanting Mountain Gardens in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina. Perplexed, I once asked Joe what he did to control the large swathes of bamboo growing around his property. “We eat it,” he flatly replied. Just like that, the switch was flipped. It is a powerful thing to have your eyes opened to the tremendous culinary potential of your once -detested weeds. You realize you’ve been going about things all wrong. The war is suddenly over. You trade your herbicide for a chef ’s knife and delve into the most ancient of human subsistence patterns: foraging. Though amateur foraging may not offer any measureable economic advantage, it certainly has the potential to change the way you see the world. Appreciating weeds as wild foods means appreciating the landscapes from which they spring. Gathering greens along roadsides, riverbanks and field edges provides an intimate interaction with nature and proof of its nourishing power. Dandelion greens are a natural entry into the world of foraging since they are familiar to most everyone and right underfoot. If you are a gardener, you have probably had many a battle with the long taproot of this profligate weed. But dandelions thrive in disturbed soil —so the more you try to dig them up, the faster they grow. Allow me to offer you a new rallying cry: “If you can’t beat ’em, eat ’em.” And this spring, as the first tender leaves pop up, harvest a mess of them to try the following recipe for wild dandelion flatbread. You will be changed by the experience. From then on, whenever you see dandelions springing up in your flowerbed or infiltrating your newly mown lawn, you will only have to wrestle with your rumbling stomach. 68 The Ze nchilada.com Wint e r 2 011

B y APR I L MCG R EG ER P h o t o g r a p h s b y RYANNAN BRY E R D E H I CK M A N

This recipe is perfect for the uninitiated dandelioneater. Dandelions have a bitter tinge that most people grow to love. However, in their raw state— and particularly later in the season — they can pack a punch. Treated this way, the dandelions bake up crispy atop the wonderfully yeasty, fresh-baked flatbread. A generous dousing of good olive oil, sea salt and lemon mellow the bite so that even the pickiest eaters ask for seconds. NOTE: If foraging doesn’t appeal to you, dandelion greens can often be found in natural foods and farmers markets in late winter and early spring.

W I L D DA N D E L I O N F L AT B R E A D (Makes an 11- x 17-inch pan serving 6 to 8) FOR THE SPONGE: 11⁄2 cups warm water (105-115 degrees) 2 cups unbleached all-purpose or bread flour 21⁄4 teaspoons (1 package) active dry yeast 2 teaspoons honey or sugar FOR THE DOUGH: 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 2 teaspoons fine sea salt 1 cup whole-wheat flour 2 cups all-purpose or bread flour FOR THE DANDELION TOPPING: 1 large bunch of dandelion greens, about as much as you find in the average bunch of kale in the market (they will cook way down, so use a lot) Zest of 1 lemon (preferably julienned) 1 ⁄8 teaspoon of chile flakes 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil 11⁄4 teaspoons coarse sea salt FOR THE SPONGE: Sprinkle the yeast over the water in a large mixing bowl, whisk it in, and let stand until creamy, about 10 minutes. Stir in the

T IME

W I L D DA N D E L I O N F L AT B R E A D

(Cont.)

honey and then the flour. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let rise until very bubbly and doubled in bulk, about 11⁄2 hours. FOR THE DOUGH: This is a sticky dough. Unless you have experience hand-kneading doughs like this, it would be best to make it in an upright mixer, using a dough hook and kneading for about 5 minutes on medium speed. Using a wooden spoon, stir the olive oil and salt into the sponge and mix well. Whisk in 1 cup of the whole-wheat flour; stir in the remaining flour, a half-cup at a time, and mix until the dough is well-blended. (If kneading by hand, knead on a lightly floured surface until soft and velvety, about 8 to 10 minutes.) FIRST RISE: Place the dough in a lightly oiled container, cover it tightly with plastic wrap, and let rise until doubled, about 11⁄4 hours, or preferably overnight in the refrigerator. (Punch the dough down once in the first few hours that it is in the refrigerator or the yeast will over-extend itself and affect the final texture of the bread.) SHAPING AND SECOND RISE: The dough will be soft, delicate and full of air bubbles. Flatten it on a generously oiled 11x17-inch baking pan and press it out with oiled or wet hands. Because the dough will be sticky and may not cover the bottom of the pan, cover it with a towel and let it relax for 10 minutes, then stretch it again until it reaches the edges. Cover with a towel and let rise for 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until the dough is full of air

AND

T ERROIR

bubbles. Just before baking, dimple the dough with your fingertips, leaving visible indentations. NOTE: Rising times will be less at high altitudes but cannot be exactly calculated. Please check the bread frequently until it is doubled in bulk. It may take as little as 45 minutes at 7,000 feet for the first and no more than 20 minutes for the second risings. The amount of water used will also vary according to humidity and altitude. It is essential that the dough be a sticky one, such that you cannot handle it easily with your hands. Adjust the water accordingly and oil or wet your hands when shaping the dough. THE TOPPING: In a medium bowl, toss the dandelion greens with 2 tablespoons of olive oil, the lemon zest, chile flakes and 11⁄4 teaspoons of coarse sea salt. Scatter the topping evenly over the dough, being sure to scrape out oil and salt that may have settled in the bottom of the bowl. BAKING: At least 30 minutes before you plan to bake, preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Place a small ovenproof pan on the bottom shelf or directly on the floor of your oven. When the dough has completed its second rise, place the pan of flatbread in the middle of the oven and toss 3 to 4 ice cubes in the preheated small pan on the bottom shelf. Bake until the crust is crisp and the top of the dough is golden, about 20 to 25 minutes. The dandelion greens may begin to blacken around the edges, but don’t worry: folks will fight over that part. TO SERVE: Using a pizza cutter, cut the bread into 8 long rectangular pieces by cutting it in half widthwise, and then cutting each half into 4 rectangles. Serve warm or at room temperature.

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R April McGreger is the proprietress of Farmer'sDaughter Brand Pickles and Preserves in Carrboro, North Carolina. She also writes a monthly column called Farmer’s Daughter for Grist.org on seasonal Southern food. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

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Caeleta, by Ed Montgomery 24 x 18 inches, airbrushed acrylic on board

S A L L E T D AY S , S A L L E T WAY S S t o r y b y RO N N I L U N DY

Love, remember, is about the ties that bind. Love is powerful and secretive. Love is strange. And so it should be with any potion to procure it. That is why if you want to cook and feed your intended an elixir designed to bewitch and bind, you must learn the art and sorcery of Southern greens. Greens. Not lettuce. Not salad, although in the South we call them by a word that sounds almost the same. “Sallet,” we say, barely opening the lips to let it roll from the tongue with a strange slatternly grace, the hard consonant catching on the teeth, ringing at the end. Sallet: from a medieval word for the helmet of a piece of armor. Some suggest that soldiers used these helmets to gather greens in the field, shake them, eat them raw… a sort of early version of the tossed salad, hence the name. I think not. In the South, where we still say it the old way, sallet greens are always cooked. Imagine this, then: A field the night before battle with the silent fear of death hanging in the air. A knight once earnest, now doubtful, crouches by the fire, the hunger in him sharp and keen. From the woods comes a woman, silent but for the swish of her skirts. Her apron brims with wild greens: some wide and flat, some long and jagged. Some curl at the edges. Some have blood purple stems.

She swishes them in water with languid motion. He watches and waits. She strips the leaves from the stems, which she breaks into tiny pieces, tossing them into the helmet he has left upended by the fire. One by one she tears and adds the leaves. Water. Then from her pocket a secret totem — salted, sacred— a piece of flesh and bone saved from a wild boar’s cheek. She puts the sallet— the helmet and its magic contents —on the fire. They wait. The scent that fills the air is hard and sharp as the iron sword that promises either death or deliverance tomorrow. The scent is salt and tangy like the sea, like the woman herself. The fire performs its alchemy. The greens turn dark and soft, but yield up a broth as strong as the metal that contains it. He eats eagerly, lustfully, using hard pone from his pack to soak up every drop of the precious liquor. She wipes the helmet clean with the edge of her skirt and then she’s gone. He sleeps. He dreams. In the morning, in the battle, he is filled with the power of the greens. They course through his blood like magic, like an army delivering strength and vitamins, courage and minerals. The scent of them still lingers in his helmet, mixed now with the scent of her. He fights for his life, for this passion. If he lives, it will be to find her and her magic. She is etched in his heart with the sharp, mineral acid of the greens. Sallet, says my dictionary, from the root caeleta, the feminine form of the verb “to engrave.” T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

S ALLET D AYS , S ALLET WAYS

The rest of America, in the 20th century, lost the memory of the magic potency of greens. In the South, though, we remember. It is what we do best. We plant corn and beans in ancient hills and crosses. We sing in sharp and aching Celtic tones. We preserve the stories of the dead. We know the power and glory of greens. You can tell our roots and origins by the very greens we prefer: collards in the sandy coastal country; kale in the mountain South tucked under the cold edges of the North; turnip greens in the in-between. Black southerners like a little hot with their greens, a pepper thrown in the pot or a handful of mustard greens mixed in with the collards. In the spring we—all of us—ache in our very bones for a mess of poke. There is ritual in the way we eat our greens. We must have cornbread, raw onion on the side. My mother never served greens without mashed potatoes and we were not allowed to eat without a bit of each on our fork, a fleck of onion lifted to our lips before we swallowed. There is rite in the way we cook them. They must be rinsed again and again: baptized, sanctified. They are stripped from the stems, which are chopped and cooked a little first to prepare the pot. Here is where we come to schisms. There are those who will only tear the leaves into bite-sized pieces and there are those who cut in strips. They stand across a great divide from one another, arms folded, obdurate, only coming together to swear that one must never, ever mince the leaves. Like the maid of the sallet story, we add fetishes to our pot, strange sounding as any witch’s: the salted side of a pig, the joint of the hind leg of hog. Like any wise alchemist, we apply the fire for as long as it takes. There is no magic in greens that crunch or resist you; no potency without the potion of sweet simmered liquor in the pot. 72

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We feed this to our babies, dipping pone into the clear green sea of pot liquor to soften it. It is a sorcerer’s sop. They might grow up and leave to find money, or sanity, or silence in the North; but the greens call them home. We feed this to our lovers, watching as they breathe the fragrance of our dark desire in the steam that rises from the bowl. They spoon up the strength, drink in courage and power and rise from the table boldly confident; never suspecting that within that transient power lies a stronger, permanent seed of longing, now imbedded forever, forever making them our own. Here is what Carson McCullers writes in The Ballad of the Sad Café: “Each night the hunchback came down the stairs with the air of one who has a grand opinion of himself. He always smelled slightly of turnip

S ALLET D AYS , S ALLET WAYS

greens, as Miss Amelia rubbed him night and morning with pot liquor to give him strength.” At least, that is what she told him it was for. It is women who go into the woods and the fields, who walk along the roadside with eyes peeled sharp to find and gather the hiding greens. That alone gives us power and mystery, causes men to sing of us “… there lived a girl, I swear to the world, made the alligator look tame.” My great-grandmother, part Cherokee, was a “herb woman”— said like this: “hyarb.” She knew weeds to boil to cure the croup in babies, to stop the bleeding, to make pain cease. She could make a poultice to witch a wart away. And she knew what greens were good to eat. She took my mother in the woods with her and showed her when the poke sallet was fine to eat and when it turned to poison. She showed her dock and crows toes, tansy and creases —which are something altogether different from cress, the water green she also taught my mother to pick. She showed my mother how to cook each. In Detroit, in the 1940s, when part of the hillbilly diaspora moved there for work in the wartime factories, my father woke up each morning filled with the ache of homesickness. My mother and my cousin Jessie went out to the highway one afternoon and found, in the median, a mess of pungent spring dandelion greens. She cooked them that night. They tasted wonderfully sharp and strong—like the mountains he longed for. It was a comfort to his soul. My great-grandmother was a herb woman. Did she know what greens to cook to make a man fall in love with you? Did she tell my mother? Did my mother tell me? I will make no claims for myself here, but I will tell you this: None of the women with that hyarb woman’s blood have ever gone wanting for love.

A B O U T T H E A RT I ST Edward Montgomery has spent most of his life studying and teaching the art of making relevant marks. He has taught drawing and printmaking for thirty-four years at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. Ed’s work includes everything from copperplate engraving inspired by Renaissance artists to nontraditional and slightly “outsider” airbrush drawing. The well-worn surfaces and forms of a working class society inform his work. Many of his subjects concern the Appalachian diaspora that occurred within the region during the twentieth century. His work is included in a number of national and international permanent collections, such as the U.S. State Department and the Library of Congress.

T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

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Story and photographs b y E M I LY H I L L I AR D & L O R A S MI T H

LORA: I wasn’t sure what I thought about Emily when I first met her. She's smart, witty, a great baker, has an extensive knowledge of avantgarde artists, wears vintage dresses over brightly colored tights with covetable boots, knits a mean scarf, can play guitar, fiddle and sing. I briefly considered hating her. But that quickly changed over a pot of hot apple butter. After a trip to pick apples in the mountains, Emily invited me over to help put them up. It wasn’t the best batch of apple butter that either of us has made, but it didn’t matter. As we peeled and cored the apples, grated ginger, fumbled in the spice cabinet to find anise, clove and cinnamon and measured sugar, Emily’s tiny graduate student kitchen in downtown Carborro, North Carolina, expanded to hold layers of memory, time and stories. By the time we were ready to jar, the butter wasn’t as thick as we’d hoped, but our friendship had found a perfect set. EMILY: That first food project set the tone for the rest of our friendship. Though we’ve hiked mountains in Kentucky, stumbled through clogging lessons together, and spent many-a-night out at the bar (but not too many, mind you!), the times I think we’ve felt the closest, shared the most secrets, hopes, and future plans, is in the kitchen—preparing, enjoying and sharing food. LORA: In the kitchen, we talk. We talk about domestic arts, our mothers, our grandmothers; we talk about our love of fruit, female creativity and our generation’s movement to reclaim domestic spaces. (And, OK, sometimes we talk about boys.)

Mostly, though, we talk about reconciling our career ambitions with our domestic and homesteading ambitions. Our conversations flow with the stirring of pots, the rolling out of dough and find pause in breaks to taste, and then taste again. EMILY: I started baking pies the summer after college. My mother had always been the pie baker in the family, and I didn't get into it until I started discovering these mulberry trees and black-raspberry bushes all over Ann Arbor, Michigan, where I was living at the time. It became a sort of ritual, often shared with friends, to go pick the berries —I did it nearly every day of the summer. We called it "guerilla urban berry picking" and sometimes went at night, bringing along chairs to reach the high branches, feeling all the more guerilla. Since I was getting the berries for free, I began making a lot of pies, and would leave them on neighbors’ or friends’ doorsteps. So for me, pie has always been about friendship, community and place. LORA: I’ve always been a lover of pies, but had sat on the sidelines lovingly fulfilling my pie duty the old-fashioned way—by asking for seconds. It was Emily who helped me realize the beauty and art of pie baking when we put together a collaborative baking event that has a national, albeit geeky, following: March 14th marks Pi Day, so named for the mathematical number of pi, 3.14, and the date 3/14. EMILY: I've celebrated Pi Day for a few years now—usually with a just few friends stopping over for dessert on a dreary day in mid-March. But last year we set our sights higher and decided to host T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

P I ( E ) R S QUARED — R EVOLUTION

R OUND

an event at the goat farm where Lora was living and working. We invited a few select baker friends to help prepare pies —and invited even more to eat them. Our pie menu included a balance of savory and sweet, meat, vegetarian, vegan, fruit and chocolate. We also wanted to highlight the goat cheese and milk made at the dairy, as well as use ingredients that were available locally. This, of course, is a challenge in mid-March in North Carolina —and for most of America, for that matter — so we chose things like storage vegetables, nuts and preserved fruit, as well as regionally distinctive recipes, like pimiento cheese. We even had a pulled-pork barbecue pie. We also made pies with things that decidedly weren’t local — like an avocadococonut vegan pie — though it sure did taste delicious. Our Pi Day spread featured 26 pies made by women and men from age 10 up, on a team that included 13 bakers in a pie-baking frenzy. About 40 friends came out to the farm to help us enjoy the pies and the beautiful spring day. We gave away two pies in our pi(e)walk — a transformation of the traditional cakewalk —with live old-time music accompaniment.

corn with ground pepper and shucky beans they’d grown. And always a homemade dessert, although instead of pie my grandma favored pie’s kissing cousin, a good fruit cobbler. I didn’t think of these as political acts back then, just as good food.

LORA: One of the best parts of the day was watching our neighbor Zans cook with his 10year-old daughter, Molly. Watching Zans gently give his daughter direction on how to put together their chicken pot pie reminded us both of why these home-based events are about more than just having fun; they can serve as important points of connection and continuity among communities and families. They also offer a chance to explore the potential for local and seasonal produce.

EMILY: When I was working in sustainable agriculture, local food systems and school food projects in Vermont a few years ago, I noticed that interest in what we call “real food” often skipped a generation — but seems to be back among young people who are oftentimes also interested in health, local communities, leftist ideas and people-power.

Growing up in rural East Kentucky, ideas about eating seasonally, locally and responsibly weren’t discussed in the theoretical and intellectual ways I later heard in college: They were performed daily at a small round dinner table when Alma Nadine and Ora Madison Smith, my grandma and grandpa, brought me a plate of sliced tomatoes, fresh 76

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I not only value things that are made by hand, I also want to be able to do things for myself, with my own hands. When you make a pie, you are calling upon all that hand knowledge from so many women (and men) of past generations. When you make a pie, you bake with what is available at the time —in winter that's storage apples, nuts and squash; in summer it's berries and peaches. Pies are tied to place and time, as well as to the people who make them now, and made them in the past,

Pies are tied to place and time, as well as the people who make them now, and made them in the past...

sharing their recipes and skills for future generations to enjoy. I am thankful for friends like Lora with whom I can celebrate this love, in ways that are both fun and meaningful. LORA: I remember one Thanksgiving before I was old enough to help out in the kitchen but curious enough to sit on a high stool to eavesdrop on my mama, aunt and grandma. Remarking on a new electric blender my aunt had purchased in Atlanta, my mom wondered out loud about what kitchen implements they might have by the time I was a wife and mother. With a straight back, my grandma Alma shot up from cooking spiced apples to wave her wooden spoon, “Well, hopefully by the time Lora is older, women won’t be in the kitchen!” I think about my mamaw’s statement often. At the time, it seemed like the most radical

thing I’d ever heard. And my grandma was a radical for her time, a feisty pistol of a woman who worked during the day for the L&N Railroad, served as the treasurer for her union and spent her evenings in the garden or over a stove. Am I letting my grandmother and her generation down by returning to the kitchen? I’ve struggled with that question quite a bit. But it’s been through friendships with women like Emily and a wider community of female pie makers, food activists, writers, homesteaders, chefs, farmers and home cooks of all stripes that I’ve found a new definition of what food, feminism, home, domestic life and community can mean. Pi Day was one manifestation of what we are working toward. We are not returning to the kitchen, we are reinventing it. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

P I ( E ) R S QUARED — R EVOLUTION

R OUND

It’s like the Russian activist and writer Emma Goldman talking about how she didn't want to be part of any kind of revolution where she couldn't dance. I think for us it's a little different — we don’t want to belong to any revolution that doesn't involve a big slice of homemade pie.

HOW TO HOST YOUR OWN Pi DAY ON MARCH 14 1. Decide on your guest list and recruit a team of core bakers. Your bakers don't need to be professionals —just anyone that would enjoy making, or learning how to make, a pie.

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R S Emily Hilliard is a graduate student in folklore at UNC-Chapel Hill, where she studies foodways and female creativity in domestic spaces. When not baking pies, she writes about them on her blog Nothing-in-the-House. Lora Smith works in film, writes and contemplates the merits of both pie and cobbler in Carrboro, North Carolina. She and Emily are planning their next Pi Day event to be even larger — and to benefit a local food advocacy group.

RECIPES For Vegan Raw Avocado Pie, CLICK HERE. For Lemon Goat Cheese Tart, CLICK HERE. For Pimiento and “Put Up” Tomato Pie (with a Pimiento Cheese recipe from Charlotte Heavner Wallace) CLICK HERE.

R E S O U RC E S Physicist Larry Shaw created the first Pi Day celebration to honor the never-ending number (and Einstein’s birthday) at the San Francisco Exploratorium in 1989, when staff and visitors marched around in a circle before eating fruit pies. This year, the Exploratorium will host its 22nd Pi Day event.

2. Pick your location based on the number of people you expect to participate and the weather in your part of the world. If it’s warm enough, your home or a friend's home with a large backyard could be the perfect place. Baking multiple pies with a group is part of the fun, but small kitchens may limit your possibility. Having the core bakers bring pies fresh from their own kitchens can be just as exciting. 3. Get creative with your pie ideas. Solicit ideas from your bakers and encourage the use of local, seasonal ingredients. Don't be afraid to experiment. 4. Send invitations to friends or the larger community in advance and think about your basic party-planning needs. (Forks, plates, glasses and drinks are a must.) 5. Put together a pie photo booth to get your guests in the party spirit and capture some memorable moments. Make an easy photo booth by hanging up a colored bed sheet, quilt or other piece of material and supplying a digital camera. 6. Consider making your Pi Day a fundraiser for a favorite cause or getting a local community organization involved. Everyone loves pies, and this is an easy way to raise some dough for a deserving community group. 7. Remember to take big bites and ask for seconds! T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

5 a.m. By SONDRA GASH

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The house is dark and breathing deep under the covers. I tiptoe to the kitchen, lift bowls from the shelf, mix cream cheese and butter. Flour dusts my fingers as I roll dough into a circle, spread blackberry jam with the back of a spoon the way Mama taught me. I w o r k q u i c k l y, l e a n i n g o v e r , sprinkling nuts and raisins on top, my hands shaping ovals, folding, crimping edges. Light sifts through the windows And I think of Mama, coming home after so many months, how we baked before dawn, I, barefoot, she in nightgown and slippers. Now I slide the tray into the oven and glide through the quiet to wait for the raising. From Silk Elegy, Cavan Kerry Press, 2003. Reprinted with permission. Sondra Gash lives in New Jersey. Her poems have appeared in The New York Times, Calyx, The Paterson Literary Review, and U.S.1 Worksheets Cavan Kerry Press is a not-for-profit literary press serving art and community. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

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THEY TRIED TO KILL US, WE SURVIVED,

L E T ’ S E AT ! TA L E S O F H O R S E R A D I S H WA R S A N D O T H E R PA S S OV E R T R A D I T I O N S

Story by BETH SURDUT P h o t o g r a p h s b y RYA N N A N B R I E R D E H I CK M A N

I LIKE A GOOD STORY WELL-TOLD. When I go to a Passover Seder, where food and storytelling sit at the same table, I want the whole schmear— restless youngsters, hearing-deficient oldsters, corny songs about hapless goats, sinus-clearing horseradish and a ghost who drinks. Each year on the fifteenth of Nissan in the lunar calendar, Jews around the world read from one of the many versions of the Haggadah for the first two nights of the eight-day holiday. Using the symbols on the Seder plate, we recite an epic tale overflowing with wonder, deprivation, tenacity, faith and the lack of it, and, finally, the history of the Jewish people. We recount the Exodus from Egypt, tell family stories and invite friends and strangers to join in. So please, take a seat at my table and, by the fourth glass of wine, you may see new answers to the centuries-old question,

ON THE SEDER PLATE: MAROR, usually horseradish, signifies the bitterness of being slaves in Egypt. When I was in high school, friends brought different versions of horseradish to our Seder. We ate until tears of pain and laughter trickled from our eyes. The one who cried last won. We were too young to understand mourning. Marcie Lovett, a Maryland-based professional organizer (of stuff, not unions) says, “I remember my father sitting outside and grating the horseradish before the invention of the food processor. He always nicked himself on the grater and wore the traditional Passover Band-Aid the night of the Seder." Illinois diet coach Judy Weitzman carries on her mother Mirah’s tradition of making her own horseradish every year and giving jars of it to her friends.

“Why is this night different from all other nights?” T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

L ET ’ S E AT !

MIRAH’S HORSERADISH (Guaranteed to clear your sinuses at 20 paces) 1

cup horseradish root, peeled and cut into small cubes 1 ⁄2 cup wine vinegar 2 tablespoons sugar 1 ⁄4 teaspoon salt 1 small-to-average raw beet

don’t have a paper picture of a shank-bone cut-out from the computer, we make do by using our dog’s bone on the Seder plate.” Some people use a chicken neck instead of a lamb shank on the Seder plate. One of my relatives died at 102 when she fell and broke her neck while chasing a chicken around the yard to kill it for dinner. Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor?

Blend all of the above in a food processor and enjoy!

BEYTZA, THE ROASTED EGG, is a traditional

ZEROA is the shank bone of a lamb, the animal of

food of mourners. While the air around temples is no longer scented with burnt-animal flesh —now the ubiquitous Memorial Day aroma in North America —roasted offerings were de rigeur in biblical times.

choice for the traditional holiday sacrifice. In the Book of Exodus, the last and most grievous of the Ten Plagues killed all first-born Egyptian sons. For protection, God told the Jews to smear the blood of a lamb over the doors of their homes to warn the Angel of Death to pass over, sparing the lives of those within. Former Christian pastor Marc Pitman, a Maine resident, attended a Samaritan Passover in Jerusalem when studying the Second Temple period. “The lambs were slaughtered,” he said, “one for each family. And the head of the family smeared some blood on his forehead. The whole experience brought back the earthiness and some of the urgency of the first Passover.” Annapolis, Maryland, business consultant Patricia Roberts remembers a Seder where “we laughed so hard we had wine coming out of our noses!” Her neighbors, a Jewish mother and Christian father, researched and printed information so they could answer their young twins’ questions. When his son asked, "What does this bone mean, Daddy?" the father, missing that page, but not missing a beat, said, "Because we had a bone to pick with Pharaoh." No bones to pick? Plantation, Florida, publicrelations consultant Heather Minsky Nottingham notes, “My husband and I are vegetarian. If we 84

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Stacey Weiland, who now lives in Colorado, describes her family as "cliff dwellers" (apartmentlivers) in Queens, the Bronx, Brooklyn and the Lower East Side of New York City. “We had a rather interesting way of preparing our chicken (I mean shank) bone and our hard-cooked egg,” she says. “We always put them directly on the gas burners. I'm not really sure why. I mean, I'm sure my grandparents owned at least one pan. Maybe they thought they were out in the wilderness with some makeshift barbecue pit?” Stacey’s parents had the traditional roasting process just right.

KARPAS, greens in the form of parsley, are dipped in salt water that represents tears. In high school, the salt water reminded me of bobbing in the Dead Sea in a bikini so small that when my father’s law partner and his wife came to see me in Israel, that was what they reported back to my parents. At Passover Cookery author Joan Kekst’s house, “When the grandchildren were little, we told them to taste their tears before the Seder, but that only worked for a short time. Still, there are complaints that the salt water is barely salty. Now, I put out individual small glass bowls—and lots of salt shakers!”

L ET ’ S E AT !

CHAROSET represents the mortar used by the Jewish slaves building the storehouses of Egypt — not the pyramids, which came much later despite what you see in the movies. This most popular item on the Seder plate combines chopped apples, cinnamon, raisins and walnuts mixed together and moistened with wine. Sweet, filling, exoti c— maybe it’s also the glue that holds us all together.

CHAROSET RECIPE from beauty and fashion writer Candice Sabatini, who learned from her Bubbe Sadie Bugin, may she rest in peace. 6

apples, peeled and cored and then chopped fine (they should be crisp, fresh apples, not soft or mealy)

cup walnuts, chopped (Bubbe bought them raw and then baked them in the oven on low heat; cool, then remove as much of the walnut skin as possible by rubbing walnuts between your hands) Put apples and walnuts in a large mixing bowl and add: Cinnamon to taste (probably about a heaping teaspoon or more; our family loves cinnamon) Honey to taste (probably about a teaspoon; our family prefers more natural apple flavor than very sweet) Sweet red Manischewitz wine (about a half-cup) slowly poured in to give the mixture some moisture, but not enough to make it mushy.

Mix all together and trust tasting to adoring grandchildren. Refrigerate at least a few hours to let flavors marry. Serve chilled or at room temp, as you prefer.

CHAZERET is an optional sandwich of matzoh and horseradish or a bitter vegetable often listed as romaine, but rarely used. By the time you eat it — after all that running and packing and crossing of the Sea of Reeds (not the Red Sea, look at a map), singing and wandering in the desert — you’re so hungry you’ll eat anything and be thankful. But you can’t smear just anything on an unleavened cracker, including my Bubbe Mollie’s famous chopped liver. I only knew that whoever’s liver it was—calf or chicken mashed up with schmaltz or laid out in a slab—it smelled awful and tasted worse. Dress it up and call it paté, it’s still just fancied-up cat food.

MATZOH, AFIKOMEN and the Four Questions Matzoh is unleavened bread in the form of a giant square cracker made of flour and water. The story goes that the Jews left Egypt in such a rush that there was no time to pack rising agents such as yeast. For centuries, Jews have been looking for ways to dress up this plain staple, mingling it with everything from lox to eggs. This is possible because matzoh is about as exciting as cardboard mixed with library paste. For the ceremony of the Seder, three pieces of matzoh are stacked on a plate. The middle piece is broken in two, and one half is wrapped in a cloth and T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

L ET ’ S E AT !

S O J O I N M E I N R A I S I N G A G L A S S TO B R E A K I N G T H E B O N D S O F S L AV E RY A N D E M B A R K I N G O N A S P I R I T UA L LY CH A L L E N G I N G J O U R N E Y and hidden. Children hunt for this treasure, the afikomen (Aramaic for dessert), which will end the meal. This is how children learn about ransom, for the finder gets a gift of gelt.

FOUR GLASSES OF KOSHER WINE, usually very sweet red Manischewitz, are consumed at designated times during the Seder, including the recitation of the Ten Plagues. In a showy demonstration of supernatural remonstration, the Ten Plagues were visited upon Egypt when Pharoah had the chutzpah to refuse Moses’ plaintive, “Let my people go.” Now, during Passover, we call out blood, frogs, gnats, wild beasts, pestilence, boils, hail, locusts, darkness and the death of the firstborn while simultaneously dipping a finger in our wine and spilling a drop for each horror. For those wanting to sugarcoat a bad situation, the plagues are available in chocolate. Who knew suffering could be so sweet?

So join me in raising a glass to breaking the bonds of slavery and embarking on a physically and spiritually challenging journey. Now raise another glass to the embellishments, remembered here with humor and gentle irony, that remind us of the flowing current of joy that passes from generation to generation.

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R Artist and writer Beth Surdut considers ravens and alligators boon companions, though not at the Seder. She would love to hear your stories about ravens for inclusion in her project, Listening To Raven~ Drawings, Myths & Realities. When interacting with humans, she also designs painted silk prayer shawls, healing headscarves and wedding canopies.

There is always an open door and a designated glass of wine for the invisible PROPHET ELIJAH. While some skeptical kids watch to see whose prestidigitation lowers the amount of liquid, Menachem Wecker, who writes about faith and art for the Houston Chronicle, reports, “We believed that Elijah actually drank from his glass … surely evaporation was the real culprit.” Most people don’t want a fifth glass of wine, but Big Apple Circus’s Celeste Leibowitz remembers, “When I was 10, my paternal grandmother, last grandparent still alive, drank all four cups of wine and got tipsy. She grabbed Elijah's cup and drank out of it, wiped her face on a loose page in the Haggadah, and said to my father, ‘You call this a Seder? Feh! Last night I was at Hesch's Seder, and THAT was a Seder!’ It was the first night of Passover and Hesch — my Uncle Harry — had never made a Seder!” 8 6 T heZe nchilada.com Wint e r 2 011

A B O U T T H E A RT I ST The work of Santa Fe-based ceramic artist and teacher Lia Lynn Rosen reflects both Southwestern and Jewish traditions. A graduate of the South Bear School of Pottery in Decorah, Iowa, Lia moved to the Southwest in 1987, giving her “one more link to connecting ‘Adam’ to 'Adamah,’ the elemental human being to the soil from which the Bible says human beings were made.” See more of her work at: www.claykodesh.com.

T I M E L E S S KO S H E R CO O K B O O K

“Gefilte”means stuffed, but gefilte fish is actually a quenelle or dumpling. Today the fish store is happy to grind the fish for you. Years ago, the fish had to be filleted and chopped by hand in a wooden bowl with a hock meisser. The optional red beets added to the pot keep the fish from sticking to the bottom. The broth turns a beautiful color but the fish stays white.

HAVE A FISH MONGER

grind fish, reserving

heads, bones and trimmings. PLACE RESERVED HEADS, bones and trimmings in a large pot. Add 3 sliced onions, 2 sliced carrots and 1 stalk sliced celery. Cover with water and season to taste with salt and white pepper. Bring to a boil. Simmer about 30 minutes. WHILE STOCK IS SIMMERING, prepare fish. Combine remaining sliced onions with eggs in a food processor. Pulse to chop. Add mixture to ground fish along with matzoh meal and 1⁄4 cup water. Season with salt and white pepper. Shape mixture into balls.

Gefilte Fish PAREVE MAKES 18 SERVINGS 5

POUNDS FISH, GROUND (half carp and

LAYER SLICED BEETS and remaining sliced carrots and celery in the bottom of a separate large pot. Place fish balls on top of vegetables. STRAIN BROTH. Pour broth over fish balls to cover. Simmer gently for two hours. Cool and remove fish balls. Strain broth and chill. Reserve cooked carrots for garnish.

half pike; for stronger flavor, use more carp than pike), heads, bones and trimmings reserved 4

MEDIUM TO LARGE ONIONS, sliced, divided

LARGE CARROTS, sliced, divided

STALKS CELERY WITH LEAVES, sliced, divided SALT AND WHITE PEPPER TO TASTE

EGGS

TABLESPOONS MATZOH MEAL

⁄4

CUP WATER

BUNCH BEETS, peeled and sliced (optional)

TO SERVE, place fish balls on platter or individual plates. Garnish with cooked carrots, jellied broth and horseradish. Recipe from the Timeless Kosher Cookbook by the Auxiliary of the Abramson Center for Jewish Life in Horsham Township, Pennsylvania.

ALTHOUGH IT’S NOT AN ELEMENT of the Seder plate, gefilte fish is an essential part of many Seder meals. Still, it can be an acquired taste, as exhibited in this short video by travel writer Josh Berman. Photograph by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

Galician WHITE BEAN SOUP

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A N YA VO N BREMZ EN

“Caldo gallego,” writes Anya von Bremzen, “has become something of an ambassador of Spanish cuisine abroad, thanks to the scores of Galician immigrants who settled in the Americas in the early twentieth century.” Although in Galicia the soup is made with a particular type of turnip greens called grelos, it works equally well with mustard greens, kale or collards. PLACE THE HAM BONE, VEAL SHANK, bacon, onions and carrots in a large soup pot and add 3 quarts water. Bring to a boil over high heat, skimming. Reduce the heat to low and season with salt and pepper to taste. Cover the pot and simmer until veal shank is tender, about 11⁄2 hours. REMOVE THE ONIONS and carrots from the broth and discard them. Remove the ham bone, veal shank and bacon. When cool enough to handle, pull the meat off the bones of the ham bone and veal shank, removing and discarding the fat and gristle. Tear the meat into bite-size pieces and set aside. Discard the bones. Remove the extra fat from the bacon. Chop the bacon and set it aside with the ham and veal. (If you prefer not to use the bacon, simply discard it.) SKIM THE FAT from the broth. (The broth can be prepared up to 2 days ahead, chilled, then degreased.) Add the beans and bring to a boil over medium-high heat, skimming. Cover the pot and simmer the soup until the beans are almost tender, about 11⁄4 hours. ADD THE CHORIZO and potatoes and cook until the potatoes are almost tender, about 15 minutes. Add the greens and simmer for another 15 minutes. Add the reserved ham, veal and bacon (if using), and cook just until heated through. If you want the soup to be a little thicker—it is traditionally brothy—spoon out a ladleful of beans and potatoes, mash them and return them to the pot. Using a slotted spoon, remove the chorizo from the soup, slice it and return it to the pot. Taste for seasoning, adding more salt and pepper as necessary. Ladle the soup into bowls, drizzle some olive oil on top and serve.

SERVES 6 TO 8 1

LARGE (about 1 pound) MEATY SMOKED HAM BONE OR SMOKED HAM HOCK

VEAL SHANK (about 1 pound)

6 - 7 OUNCES SMOKY SLAB BACON 2

SMALL ONIONS

SMALL CARROTS, peeled COARSE SALT AND FRESHLY GROUND BLACK PEPPER 1

1 ⁄2

CUPS DRIED WHITE BEANS, such as Great Northern or navy, soaked overnight in cold water and drained

OUNCES SWEET SPANISH-STYLE CHORIZO SAUSAGE

MEDIUM-SIZED ALL-PURPOSE BOILING POTATOES, cut into 1 1⁄2 - inch cubes

CUPS SHREDDED GREENS (turnip, mustard, kale or collard) FRAGRANT EXTRA-VIRGIN OLIVE OIL, for drizzling

Recipe from The New Spanish Table by Anya von Bremzen, Workman Publishing Company, 2005. Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011 89

Empanadas, writes Anya von Bremzen, author of The New Spanish Table,“became a veritable fast-food industry in medieval Galicia, sold to pilgrims walking the long Way of St. James from France to the Galician capital of Santiago de Compostela … If you look closely,” she adds, “you’ll spot them depicted in the sculpted relief adorning the twelfth century Portico de la Gloria, the Romanesque entrance to the splendidly florid cathedral.” Large empanadas, like this one, are still a Galician classic. For the best flavor, bake the empanada a day ahead and reheat it before serving.

Empanada Filling INGREDIENTS 1

⁄3 CUP EXTRA-VIRGIN OLIVE OIL, more if needed 2 MEDIUM-SIZED GARLIC CLOVES, minced 2 LARGE WHITE ONIONS, quartered and thinly sliced 3 LARGE RED BELL PEPPERS, cored, seeded and thinly sliced 1 MEDIUM-SIZED GREEN BELL PEPPER, cored, seeded and thinly sliced 1 LARGE RIPE TOMATO, cut in half and grated on a box grater, skin discarded 2 TEASPOONS SWEET (not smoked) PAPRIKA 1 SMALL PINCH SAFFRON THREADS, pulverized in a mortar and then steeped in 2 tablespoons very hot water 18 OUNCES IMPORTED SOLID OILPACKED TUNA—OR 3 (6-OUNCE) CANS BUMBLE BEE TONNO IN OLIVE OIL, drained and flaked thoroughly with a fork COARSE SALT AND FRESHLY GROUND BLACK PEPPER 3 ⁄4 CUP MANZANILLA OLIVES, thinly sliced, pitted ALL-PURPOSE FLOUR, for dusting the work surface OLIVE OIL AND SAFFRON PASTRY (recipe follows) 1 LARGE EGG YOLK

SERVES: TAPA - 12 TO 14, LIGHT MAIN COURSE - 8 PLACE THE OLIVE OIL in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute. Add the onions and cook until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the red and green peppers and cook until they begin to soften, 7 to 8 minutes, adding a little more olive oil if the skillet looks dry. Reduce the heat to low and cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are very soft but not brown, about 12 minutes. Add the tomato, paprika and saffron, cover the skillet and simmer over very low heat, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are reduced to a jamlike consistency, about 15 minutes. Let the vegetable mixture cool, then stir in the tuna and parsley. Season with salt and pepper to taste. (The empanada filling can be prepared up to a day ahead and refrigerated, covered, as can the dough that follows.)

Olive Oil & Saffron Pastry MAKES ENOUGH FOR 1 LARGE EMPANADA PLACE THE YEAST, sugar and water in a large bowl, stir to mix, and let stand until foamy, about 10 minutes. Whisk in the butter, olive oil, egg, saffron and salt, and mix well with a wooden spoon. Stir in 3 1⁄2 cups flour, 1 cup at a time, stirring well after each addition. Turn the dough out onto a floured work surface and knead it until it is smooth and elastic, about 5 minutes,

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A N YA VO N BREMZ EN

Galician T U N A E M PA N A D A

MAKES ENOUGH FOR 1 LARGE EMPANADA 1 TEASPOON ACTIVE DRY YEAST 1 ⁄2 TEASPOON SUGAR 2 ⁄3 CUP LUKEWARM WATER (105-115 degrees) 4 TABLESPOONS UNSALTED BUTTER, melted 1 ⁄2 CUP EXTRA-VIRGIN OLIVE OIL 1 LARGE EGG, beaten 1 LARGE PINCH SAFFRON THREADS, toasted, pulverized in a mortar and steeped in 3 tablespoons very hot water 2 SCANT TEASPOONS SALT 3 1⁄2 TO 3⁄4 CUPS ALL-PURPOSE FLOUR

kneading in the remaining one -quarter cup flour if the dough feels sticky. The dough will be oily and pliable. Divide the dough into two parts, one slightly larger than the other. Shape into two balls, place in a buttered bowl, cover loosely with plastic wrap and let stand for 20 minutes. The dough will rise only slightly. The dough can be refrigerated, covered in plastic wrap, for up to 24 hours. Let return to room temperature before using. Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011 91

To finish the empanada: PLACE AN OVEN RACK in the center of the oven and preheat to 375 degrees. Lightly brush a 17- x 11-inch baking sheet with olive oil.

Recipe from The New Spanish Table by Anya von Bremzen, Workman Publishing Company, 2005. Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman

LIGHTLY FLOUR a work surface. Using a floured rolling pin, roll out the larger Olive Oil and Saffron Pastry ball to a roughly 19 x 12-inch rectangle. Transfer it to the oiled baking sheet; it will overlap the edge slightly. Roll out the remaining pastry to a rectangle that is slightly smaller than the first. Spread the filling evenly over the pastry on the baking sheet. Scatter the olives evenly on the top. Cover the filling with the second pastry rectangle. Fold the edges of the bottom crust up over the top and crimp them decoratively. PLACE THE EGG yolk and milk in a small bowl and whisk to mix. Brush the top of the empanada with this egg wash. Using a sharp knife, make several slits all over the top crust to allow steam to escape. BAKE THE EMPANADA on the center rack until golden brown and baked through, about 45 minutes. Cover the empanada loosely with a clean kitchen towel and let cool until slightly warm or room temperature before serving.

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JANET MANDEL

Janet Mandel,

author of My Kitchen in Spain, says that scallops have been emblematic of Galicia since at least medieval times, when pilgrims to the shrine of St. James in Santiago de Compostela collected scallop shells and hung them from their belts to prove they had completed the long, hard journey. Mandel has adapted this recipe so it will work with either fresh or frozen scallops.

PAT THE SCALLOPS DRY. If they are very large, they can be sliced in half. Place them in a bowl with the lemon juice.

Scallops Gratin GALICIAN STYLE SERVES 6 AS A STARTER 1

POUND FRESH OR FROZEN SCALLOPS (thawed)

TABLESPOON FRESH LEMON JUICE

TABLESPOONS OLIVE OIL

ONION, finely chopped

GARLIC CLOVE, minced

SLICES BACON, chopped

⁄4

CUP WHITE WINE

TEASPOONS SWEET SPANISH PAPRIKA

HEAT 3 TABLESPOONS of the oil in a skillet over medium heat. Sauté the onion, garlic and bacon until the onion is softened, about 15 minutes. Add the wine and cook until partially reduced, about 1 minute. Remove the skillet from the heat and stir in the two kinds of paprika, parsley, salt and pepper. DIVIDE THE SCALLOPS among six scallop shells or individual ramekins. Put a spoonful of the onion mixture onto each shell. Sprinkle with the breadcrumbs. Drizzle the remaining tablespoon of oil over the scallops. Set the shells or ramekins on a broiler pan and place under the broiler until the scallops are bubbling and the tops are lightly browned, about 8 minutes.

PINCH HOT SPANISH PAPRIKA 2

TABLESPOONS FRESH FLAT-LEAF PARSLEY, chopped SALT AND FRESHLY GROUND BLACK PEPPER

⁄4

CUP FINE DRY BREAD CRUMBS

Recipe from My Kitchen in Spain by Janet Mandel, HarperCollins Publishers, 2002

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P L A Q U E M I N E S PA R I S H

Oyster Dressing 9 4 T heZenchilada.com Win t e r 2 011

R A N DY F E RT E L

Even at home, Ruth Fertel (founder of the Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse empire) cooked for a crowd. In his forthcoming book, The Gorilla Man and the Empress of Steak: A New Orleans Family Memoir, Ruth’s son Randy recalls that every Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner started with gumbo and included braised beef, roast pork, duck, rabbit, a number of vegetable sides, cakes and pies. “The stuffed turkey,” he writes, “was almost an afterthought … The pièce de résistance was oyster dressing made … in a giant washtub with 17 sacks of oysters that had been fished by the men in the family from the bottom of the bayou and then shucked …”

GO THROUGH OYSTERS

one at a time to be sure that no shells remain. Heat oysters in their liquid until their edges curl. Drain oysters, chop them (but not too finely) and save their liquid. Add chicken bouillon cubes to the oyster water and set aside.

SERVES AT LEAST 12 1

GALLON SHUCKED OYSTERS, with their liquid

LARGE ONIONS, minced

GREEN PEPPERS, minced

RIBS CELERY, minced HANDFUL GARLIC CLOVES, peeled and minced

POUND SMOKED HARD SAUSAGE, SUCH AS KIELBASA, minced

POUND HOT ITALIAN-STYLE BULK SAUSAGE

10-15 REDUCED-SALT CHICKEN BOUILLON CUBES 3

SAUTÉ SAUSAGE until rendered. Sauté onions, pepper, celery and garlic with sausage until soft. Add salt, pepper and red pepper flakes to taste. When all is cooked through, turn fire off and add chopped oysters. Mix well. ADD BREAD to oyster liquid; be sure all bread is moist, adding more water, a little at a time, if necessary. ( You don’t want the mixture too watery.) Add the dozen eggs and the pound of melted butter to the bread and mix well. Taste and add more seasoning (salt, black and red pepper) to bread mixture if needed. Mix well. COVER WITH FOIL and bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour. Remove foil and continue to bake for about 15 minutes more, or until brown.

LOAVES (ABOUT) STALE FRENCH BREAD, torn into pieces SALT, BLACK PEPPER, RED PEPPER FLAKES to taste

DOZEN EGGS

POUND MELTED BUTTER

Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman

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After her mother, Pearl, died, Earner Sylvain stopped making Pearl’s famous crawfish bisque for a few years “out of respect.” Then, one spring day, she began preparing it again—ground tails, stuffed heads and all—to the great delight of the Fertel family.

MAKES ENOUGH TO SERVE THE PARISH 1 SACK CRAWFISH (about 40 pounds)

FOR THE GRAVY: 2 4 1 ⁄4 4 10 1 2 4

SCALD CRAWFISH in almost boiling water for about 15 minutes. Drain and cool. Peel crawfish and save the fat in a separate bowl. Clean about 200 heads and set aside to stuff. Grind the crawfish tail meat and set aside.

TO MAKE GRAVY: Grind onions, celery, bell pepper, garlic and parsley. Make a roux with oil and flour, stirring constantly until browned. Add ground seasonings. Cook on low fire about 30 minutes. Add tomato paste and crawfish fat and cook about 30 minutes more. Add hot water and let cook on low fire. Add ground crawfish tails, salt and pepper. Cook on high fire about 20 minutes.

TO MAKE STUFFING FOR HEADS: Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Grind onions, celery, bell pepper, garlic and parsley. Fry crawfish tails and ground seasonings in hot cooking oil; cool. Add crawfish fat and eggs. Mix in breadcrumbs, salt and pepper. Stuff heads. Dip the stuffed part of each head in flour and place on cookie sheet. Bake for 20 minutes.

TO FINISH THE BISQUE:

Add baked crawfish heads to gravy. Cook on low fire about 1 hour, adding more hot water if the gravy gets too thick. Stir carefully. Serve in soup bowls over hot cooked rice. Garnish with chopped green onions. 96

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LARGE ONIONS RIBS CELERY GREEN BELL PEPPER CLOVES GARLIC SPRIGS PARSLEY CUP COOKING OIL CUPS FLOUR (about) HEAPING TEASPOONS TOMATO PASTE 1 ⁄2 CUP RESERVED CRAWFISH FAT 9 CUPS HOT WATER 2 1⁄2 CUPS RESERVED GROUND CRAWFISH TAILS 5 TEASPOONS SALT 2 TEASPOONS GROUND RED PEPPER 6 GREEN ONIONS

FOR STUFFING THE HEADS: 2 3 1 ⁄4 4 10

⁄4

2 2 4 2

LARGE ONIONS RIBS CELERY GREEN BELL PEPPER CLOVES GARLIC SPRIGS PARSLEY REMAINING GROUND CRAWFISH TAILS CUP COOKING OIL REMAINING RESERVED CRAWFISH FAT EGGS, beaten CUPS DRY BREADCRUMBS (or more) TEASPOONS SALT TEASPOONS GROUND RED PEPPER FLOUR

HOT COOKED RICE, for serving 6 GREEN ONIONS, chopped

R A N DY F E RT E L

S T. J O H N T H E B A P T I S T PA R I S H

Crawfish Bisque Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011 97

CREOLE

Jambalaya 98

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L E A H CH A S E

Before the Fertel family

bowed out and Ruth’s Chris Steak House became an international chain, the finely funky spot in the Mid-City neighborhood was more than just a place to get good food — it was an iconic New Orleans meeting place for movers and shakers in the city’s political, business, creative and just-plain-good-time world. In the black community, its counterpart was Dooky Chase Restaurant. Opened in 1941 as a combination lottery-ticket sales and sandwich shop, over time Dooky Chase Restaurant became the spot for the Wild Game Dinner, an annual political feast and gabfest. It was the gathering place for local and civil-rights leaders and, reflecting the musical background of the second Dooky Chase to own it, hosted musicians from Cab Calloway to the Jackson 5, with Count Basie, Lena Horne and Duke Ellington stopping in along the way. From the 1950s on, the restaurant’s food reflected the gifts of Dooky’s wife, restaurant co-owner and cook, Leah Chase. Blessed with the ability to put a slightly new twist on old favorites, Mrs. Chase is one of New Orleans’ most revered chefs. These recipes, all from The Dooky Chase Cookbook (Pelican Publishing, 1990) and based in New Orleans’ black traditions, will give you a taste of her talents.

SERVES 6 TO 8 1

POUND SMOKED HAM (cubed)

POUND CHAURICE (chorizo or other

⁄2

hot, spicy sausage, cut in pieces) 1

⁄2

POUND SMOKED SAUSAGE

CUP CHOPPED ONION

CUPS UNCOOKED RICE

CUP GREEN ONIONS, chopped

⁄2

TEASPOON PAPRIKA

TABLESPOON PARSLEY, chopped

TEASPOON GROUND THYME

TEASPOON GARLIC, chopped

(cut half-inch slices)

⁄4

⁄2

CUP GREEN PEPPER, chopped

TEASPOON SALT

BAY LEAF

POUND SHRIMP, peeled and deveined

CUPS BOILING WATER

PLACE HAM,

sausage and onion in a 3-quart saucepan. Cover and cook over medium heat until onions are soft. No need to add any oil, as the meat will provide enough fat for cooking. Add rice and stir well. Add all other ingredients. Bring to a boil. Let boil for 5 minutes. Lower heat. Cover pot tightly and let cook slowly for 35 minutes, or until rice is tender. With a fork, fluff up rice, mixing meats in well.

Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman

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Like the Fertel boys who fought over panné meat, Leah Chase recalls that the marrow in the veal round steaks that were her family's traditional Sunday "pane" (it can be spelled both ways) was the most delicious part. At the restaurant, she says, the meat is served with jambalaya. Mrs. Chase suggests that the veal round steaks for this recipe be trimmed and cut into serving-sized pieces about 1⁄2 inch thick, with the small round bone left intact.

CUPS BREADCRUMBS

TEASPOON PAPRIKA

EGGS, beaten

11⁄2 CUPS EVAPORATED MILK 6

PANNÉ STEAKS

TABLESPOON SALT

TABLESPOON BLACK PEPPER

CUPS VEGETABLE OIL

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Panné Steaks SERVES 3 TO 6 MIX BREADCRUMBS and paprika; set aside. Add beaten eggs to milk and beat together until well-blended. TRIM SKIN and

fat from steaks. Salt and pepper the veal on both sides. Place in milk mixture. Be sure all sides are well-coated. Let sit in mixture about 10 minutes.

DREDGE MEAT

in breadcrumbs. Heat oil in heavy pan. Oil should be just hot enough to start frying meat. Do not put on high heat. Place meat in hot oil and brown on both sides. Cook until meat is done, about 10 minutes.

L E A H CH A S E

LARGE MIRLITONS (chayote squash)

Stuffed Mirlitons SERVES 12

WATER 1

CUP BUTTER

⁄2

POUND SMOKED HAM, ground

CUP ONIONS, chopped

POUND SHRIMP, peeled, deveined

⁄2

and chopped 1

⁄4

CUP GREEN ONIONS, chopped

CLOVES GARLIC (mashed and chopped)

TEASPOON SALT

TABLESPOON PARSLEY, chopped

TEASPOON WHITE PEPPER 1

1 ⁄4 CUPS PLAIN BREADCRUMBS 1

⁄4

TEASPOON PAPRIKA

CUT MIRLITONS in half and remove seeds. Place in pot of water; boil for 15 minutes or until tender. Drain and let cool. SCOOP OUT

the pulpy insides, keeping shells intact; set both shells and pulp aside.

MELT BUTTER IN POT. Add ham and onions, cooking until onions are soft. Add chopped shrimp and stir well. Add mirliton pulp to mixture, mashing as it is added. Add green onions, garlic, salt, parsley and white pepper. Let cook for 20 to 30 minutes. Mixture might be a bit watery at this point. Tighten mixture with 1 cup of the breadcrumbs and paprika. Fill the mirliton shells.

TOSS TOGETHER

the remaining cup of bread crumbs and paprika. Sprinkle over each filled shell. Bake in preheated oven at 375 degrees for 15 minutes. Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011 101

Capirotada is a bread pudding

typical of the comida cuaresma, the

special foods widely served in Mexico during Lent. Every family has its own version of this popular dish—I prefer to leave out the dried pineapple that is often among the fruits—so try it once my way, then tweak the recipe to suit your own preferences. Note: If you can’t find bolillos, you can use a very dense French bread in its place. You can also substitute 1⁄2 cup of tightly packed brown sugar for the piloncillo—although both are usually available in Mexican markets. If you don’t have a kitchen scale that will weigh in grams, this tool will help you make the conversion.

PREHEAT THE OVEN TO 300 DEGREES. Thickly butter a large metal, glass or clay baking dish. Toast the bread and spread with butter. PREPARE A THIN SYRUP by boiling the piloncillo in 2 1⁄2 cups of water with a few shreds of cinnamon sticks, 2⁄3 of the orange peel, the cloves and a pinch of salt. SLIGHTLY OVERLAP THE TORTILLAS in the bottom and along the sides of the baking dish to make a base for the capirotada. Place the layers of bread rounds in the baking dish so as to allow for their expansion as the capirotada cooks. Put down a layer of bread, then a layer of nuts, prunes, raisins, peanuts and apricots. Add the syrup, moistening all the layers little by little. Continue until all the bread, fruit and nuts have been used. Reserve a portion of the syrup to add to the capirotada in case it becomes dry during baking. For the final layer, sprinkle the capirotada with the grated Cotija cheese and the remaining third of the orange peel (grated).

SERVES 6 OR MORE 4

BOLILLOS (small loaves of dense white bread), cut into 1-inch slices BUTTER PEEL OF ONE ORANGE (divided use)

CONES PILONCILLO (Mexican brown sugar)

3-INCH PIECES OF MEXICAN STICK CINNAMON

WHOLE CLOVES SALT

BAKE UNCOVERED until the capirotada is golden brown and the syrup is absorbed. The bread will expand as it absorbs the syrup. Remember to add the rest of the syrup if the top of the capirotada looks dry.

STALE FLOUR TORTILLAS

150

GRAMS PECANS

GRAMS PRUNES without pits

100

GRAMS RAISINS

COOL THE CAPIROTADA at room temperature before serving. Do not cover until it is cool— even then, leave the top ajar.

200

GRAMS PEANUTS

100

GRAMS DRIED APRICOTS,

Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman

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without pits 1

LARGE APPLE, peeled and sliced thin

100

GRAMS GRATED COTIJA CHEESE

C R I ST INA PO T T E R S

Capirotada BREAD PUDDING

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Atole de Grano con SALSA VERDE

Although many think of atole as a thick, hot, corn-based drink, here it is a light, anise-scented broth made with whole corn kernels (grano). Meatless, it is a classically simple Mexican dish perfect for serving during Lent. SERVE 4 TO 6

CUT THE KERNELS

from the corncobs and set aside.

PUT ABOUT 2 QUARTS WATER in a three-quart pot and bring to a boil. Put about a cup of the hot water in a blender jar. Add a 1-inch diameter ball of raw tortilla dough to the blender and blend until very smooth. (You may want to loosen the cover a bit to prevent the hot liquid from “exploding.”) POUR THE BLENDED LIQUID into the pot with the rest of the water and stir constantly over medium heat until the liquid thickens and is smooth. The consistency should be similar to that of a thick cream soup. If the liquid is not

TENDER EARS OF CORN ON THE COB

QUARTS WATER FRESH RAW CORN TORTILLA DOUGH (ask for masa harina prepared for tortillas at a Mexican market) FRESH ANISE

OR MORE CHILES SERRANOS, to taste SEA SALT to taste LIME WEDGES, for serving SALSA VERDE, for serving (recipe follows)

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C R I STINA PO T T E R S

thick enough, repeat the blender process with another cup of the liquid and another ball of tortilla dough until the liquid in the pot is the consistency you want. Be careful to stir constantly so that the liquid does not stick to the pot or become too thick. Should it become too thick, simply add a bit more water. ADD THE RESERVED CORN kernels to the pot of liquid and continue cooking over low heat. IN THE BLENDER, grind the chiles serrano with a very small amount of water. Add the ground chiles to the pot, pushing them through a fine strainer. IN THE BLENDER, grind the fresh anise with a very small amount of water. Add the anise to the pot, pouring it through a fine strainer. BRING THE ATOLE de grano to a boil, stirring constantly. Salt to taste and turn off the fire. It is ready to serve. ACCOMPANY the atole de grano with slices of lime and salsa verde. 1

Salsa Verde

KILO (a little over 2 pounds) TOMATILLOS, husked and washed

12 CHILES SERRANOS (or more to taste, if you love it hot)*

IN A LARGE SAUCEPAN, simmer

the tomatillos and the chiles until the tomatillos begin to burst open. Some will burst faster than others; take them out of the pan with a slotted spoon as they burst and put them in a blender.

LARGE BUNCH CILANTRO, washed well and trimmed SEA SALT TO TASTE RESERVED COOKING WATER FROM THE TOMATILLOS,

WHEN ALL THE TOMATILLOS ARE COOKED(some may never burst, but use them anyway), put the chiles in the blender with them. Blend until well-chopped but not entirely liquid. ADD THE CILANTRO to the blender little by little and continue to blend until the salsa is nearly liquefied. Add a small amount of the tomatillo cooking liquid if you need to thin the salsa. You want to still see good-sized flecks of the green cilantro in the salsa. Add salt to taste.

if needed

*In MichoacĂĄn, this salsa is usually prepared with chile manzano, a shiny, bright yellow chile about the size of a golf ball. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the only chile in the world with black seeds. If you can find chile manzano in a Mexican market, use it rather than chile serrano, but beware: The manzano is an extremely hot chile. Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de HIckman

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JANN HUIZENGA

St. Agatha is usually depicted in Christian art with shears in hand and her breasts on a platter. These little cakes, served during the Feast of St.Agatha in Sicily, are a much less disturbing—and tastier—representation of her martyrdom.

Virgins’Breasts MAKES 10-12 CAKES FOR THE PASTRY DOUGH: 1 CUP UNSALTED BUTTER, softened 1

⁄3 CUP SUGAR, (superfine is best)

1 EGG YOLK 1 TEASPOON LEMON ZEST 1

⁄4 TEASPOON SALT

TO MAKE THE PASTRY DOUGH, cream butter and sugar with an electric beater. Beat in the egg yolk. Stir in the lemon zest, salt, flour and water. Gently press dough into two balls. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least two hours. MEANWHILE, make the custard filling. In a heavy saucepan, whisk together the milk, sugar, cornstarch, vanilla and lemon rind. Whisk constantly over medium heat until it reaches a boil. Turn down the heat and simmer for a minute or less until it thickens and coats the back of a wooden spoon. Remove from the heat and discard the lemon peel. Stir in the cinnamon and candied orange. Set aside to cool. PREHEAT OVEN to 350 degrees. Roll the dough out on a lightly floured surface until very thin ( 1⁄8 inch thickness or less). Cut out about 10 circles, each 4 inches in diameter, and the same number of circles that are 2 1⁄2 inches in diameter. Transfer the smaller circles to a greased cookie sheet. Plop a little mound of custard onto the center of each small circle. Brush the edges with water. Place the larger circle on top and press the edges to seal. Continue in the same manner until all the dough or filling is used up. Bake about 15 minutes, or until lightly golden, and cool on a wire rack. WHEN THE CAKES ARE COOL, sprinkle with powdered sugar. To affix the cherries to their tops, mix some powdered sugar with a few drops of water and use as "glue." Refrigerate for up to three days.

⁄2 CUPS ALL-PURPOSE FLOUR

SCANT 1⁄4 CUP WATER FOR THE CUSTARD FILLING: 1

1 ⁄2 CUPS MILK 1

⁄4 CUP SUGAR

⁄4 CUP CORNSTARCH

⁄2 TEASPOON PURE VANILLA EXTRACT RIND OF ONE LEMON, cut off in one long piece or as few segments as possible, free of white pith

⁄2 TEASPOON CINNAMON

⁄4 CUP CHOPPED CANDIED ORANGE (or substitute a combination of one-eighth cup candied orange and one-eighth cup dark chocolate bits) FOR THE TOPPING: POWDERED SUGAR CANDIED CHERRIES

NOTE: You might serve the cakes with Passito di Pantelleria, a dessert wine from one of the tiny islands in Sicily's orbit.

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Posole, usually cooked in large quantities, is customarily eaten throughout the year during each Northern New Mexico pueblo’s feast day, when the pueblo’s patron saint is celebrated, and on New Year’s Day, when a hearty meal for cold weather is welcome. The posole, made from dried, slaked corn also known as hominy, is traditionally served with a variety of condiments. It tastes especially good with red chile sauce, freshly roasted diced green chiles, chile pequín, (a small, hot dried chile) and warm tortillas. However, I prefer to forgo the tortillas in favor of freshly baked “no fry” bread.

IF YOU ARE USING A SLOW COOKER, put the dried posole (hominy) in the pot with 3 quarts of water and the dried red chile powder and cook on low overnight. The posole will be tender and puffy when it is done.

MAKES 3 QUARTS 2

HAM HOCKS (approximately 2 pounds)

CUPS WHITE, YELLOW, BLUE OR RED POSOLE

QUARTS WATER

CUP MILD NEW MEXICO

⁄4

RED CHILE POWDER 4

DRIED NEW MEXICO RED CHILE PODS, seeded, stemmed and torn into 6 pieces

ONION, chopped

GARLIC CLOVES, chopped

TABLESPOON FRESH OREGANO LEAVES,

IF YOU’RE NOT USING A SLOW-COOKER, place the posole in a large pot filled with 6 quarts of water. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce heat and simmer about 4 hours, until the kernels burst and are puffy and tender. White corn tends to puff the most. Add more water, if necessary, to keep the kernels covered. AFTER THE POSOLE IS COMPLETELY COOKED, add the ham hocks, red chile pod pieces, onion and garlic and cook another 1 1⁄2 hours, or until the meat is tender and falling off the bone. Add the oregano and azafrán and cook another 15 minutes. Remove meat from the bones and discard the bones, fat and gristle. Return the meat to the pot.

finely chopped (or 1 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano) 1

TEASPOON AZAFRÁN*

* Azafrán — also called Native American or Mexican saffron—is actually fine threads from the stigma of the safflower plant. Azafrán is not the same as saffron, which is a much more expensive spice derived from the crocus plant in the iris family. (Saffron can be substituted for azafrán though: use one pinch of saffron for two tablespoons of azafrán.) Azafrán is commonly sold in Latin American markets, specialty herb stores and gourmet cooking stores. 108 TheZenchilada.com Wint e r 2 011

IF YOU ARE EATING THIS AS A STEW by itself, you may want to thin the broth with a little more water. Return to the stove and serve hot.

VARIATION: For a vegetarian/vegan version, simply omit the meat. The stew will be delicious with just the spices and red chile. Recipe ©by Lois Ellen Frank

LOIS ELLEN FRANK

Posole Photographs by Lois Ellen Frank T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011 109

BUFFALO

Chile Beans 110

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LOIS ELLEN FRANK

I usually make this stew

in a large cast-iron pot that was passed down to

me by my mother— and the flavor added by the cast iron makes it even more delicious. With this recipe, you can feed 6 to 8 people, or keep increasing the ingredients and make enough to feed 60 to 600 people. A favorite at family and ceremonial gatherings, it’s a hearty meal own its own or a side to any feast.

HEAT THE OLIVE OIL

in a large cast-iron or other heavy soup pot over medium-high heat. Add onions, sauté for 2 minutes or until translucent, then add green bell peppers and sauté another 2 to 3 minutes. Add the ground meat, stir into onions and sauté until the meat is brown, about 7 to 10 minutes. Remove from heat. Drain excess fat if there is any, but if you are using buffalo there will be little to no fat. Return pot to the stove on medium heat.

SERVES 6 TO 8 1

LARGE YELLOW ONION, chopped

GREEN BELL PEPPER, seeded and chopped

TABLESPOONS OLIVE OIL

POUND LEAN GROUND BUFFALO (or locally raised lamb)

CUPS FRESH ROMA TOMATOES, chopped (or a 28-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes with basil)

2 1⁄2

CUT EACH OF THE WHOLE TOMATOES from the can into 8 pieces (a large dice) and add them to the meat, onions and green bell peppers. Cook for another 2 minutes, stirring constantly. Add the kidney and pinto beans and the cooked corn and stir well. Bring the chile beans to a boil, and then reduce heat to low. Stir in the dried red chile powder and salt. Let simmer for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally to prevent burning. SERVE HOT with fry bread, tortillas, adobe oven bread, or homemade cornbread.

CUPS COOKED DARK RED KIDNEY BEANS

2 1⁄2

CUPS COOKED PINTO BEANS

CUPS COOKED CORN KERNELS (fresh, frozen or canned)

VARIATION: For a vegetarian/vegan version, of this stew, omit the meat and prepare the stew the same way. It’s just as good without the meat.

TABLESPOONS DRIED RED CHILE POWDER

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When I make this stew, I use locally raised lamb that I buy from Antonio and Molly Manzanares at the farmers market in Santa Fe. It’s certified organic and the most delicious lamb I’ve ever tasted. The Manzanareses are in Tierra Amarilla, New Mexico, and can be found at www.organiclamb.com. I also use my favorite prepared green chile—El Rancho de Los Garcia’s Green Chile Sauce, made by the Garcia family in Portales, New Mexico since 1975. Their sauce, which is perfect for this stew, can be found on the web at www.elranchodelosgarcias.com. You can substitute your favorite sauce or plain roasted, chopped New Mexico green chiles.

IN A LARGE SAUCEPAN

SERVES 6 TO 8 1

TABLESPOON OLIVE OIL

LARGE ONION, DICED

LARGE CLOVES GARLIC, finely chopped

POUND LEAN GROUND LAMB 1

1 ⁄2

CUPS TOMATOES, chopped (or half of a 28-ounce can chopped plum tomatoes with basil, no salt added)

(14-OUNCE) JAR OF GARCIA’S

or soup pot, add the olive oil and heat until hot but not smoking. Add the onions and sauté for 2 to 3 minutes, or until the onions begin to caramelize and turn brown. Add the garlic, stir and cook one more minute. Add the lamb and brown for 3 to 5 minutes, or until the lamb is completely cooked. USING A LARGE SPOON or potato masher, break up the ground lamb into small pieces while it is cooking, stirring to prevent burning. Drain excess fat. Add the chopped tomatoes, the green chiles and stir. Add the potatoes and stir again. Add the 6 cups of water, bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and let simmer for 45 minutes or until the potatoes are soft. Serve immediately with your favorite bread.

GREEN CHILE SAUCE (or 2 cups roasted, seeded, peeled and chopped New Mexico green chiles) 6

CUPS WATER

CUPS POTATOES, diced (about 1 pound

VARIATION: For

a hearty, warming vegetarian/ vegan version, of this stew, just omit the meat.

small white fingerling potatoes or Dutch yellow) 1

TEASPOON SALT

TEASPOON BLACK PEPPER, ground

⁄2 ⁄2

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LOIS ELLEN FRANK

Ground Lamb AND GREEN CHILE STEW

T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011 113

Although I’ve gotten in the habit of starting things off with a hamhock broth, this gumbo is also wonderful without seafood or meat—just substitute a hearty vegetable broth. Mustard and turnip greens are common at Southern supermarkets, but in other parts of the country, an Asian market might be your best bet. If you can’t find them, don’t despair: Remember that this recipe is just a guideline; simply increase the greens you can find to equal the total amount called for in the recipe. One key to success is obvious, but it bears spelling out: Wash the greens well. Gritty gumbo is no fun. Like many soupy stews, gumbo gets even better when made a day or so ahead of time. Serve it over fluffy hot steamed rice in warmed soup plates or shallow bowls, with some hot sauce or pepper sherry on the side.

IN A 6- TO 8-QUART heavy-bottomed pot, combine the ham hocks with 4 quarts water; bring to a boil, then reduce heat and gently simmer, partially covered, until the meat is tender, about 11⁄2 to 2 hours. Remove the hocks with tongs or a slotted spoon and let them cool on a plate before discarding skin, bones and fat. Chop or shred the meat and set it aside. Let the broth cool and degrease it. ADD ALL THE CABBAGE to the ham broth and simmer, uncovered, until the leaves are on their way to becoming tender, about 5 minutes. Add as many remaining greens as will comfortably fit in the pot (about half the total amount) and simmer 5 minutes. Transfer the greens to a colander perched over a large bowl to collect the liquid, then cook the remaining greens in exactly the same way. WHEN THE GREENS ARE COOL enough to handle, finely chop them. Add the cooking liquid in the pot to that in the large bowl. Add enough water to the bowl to make a total of 8 cups liquid. IN THE (CLEANED) POT, melt the butter over moderate heat. Add the onions and cook, stirring, until they are wilted and golden, about 5 minutes. Add the flour and cook, stirring, until it starts to brown. Add the garlic and 114 T heZe nchilada.com Win t e r 2 011

SERVES 8 2

MEATY, MEDIUM-SIZED HAM HOCKS

POUND SAVOY OR COMMON

⁄2

GREEN CABBAGE LEAVES 3

⁄4

POUND TURNIP GREENS, center ribs and stems discarded

POUND MUSTARD GREENS, center ribs and stems discarded

⁄2

POUND BEET GREENS (from 1 bunch beets; do not discard stems)

TABLESPOONS BUTTER

TABLESPOONS ALL-PURPOSE FLOUR

MEDIUM ONIONS, finely chopped

GARLIC CLOVES, lightly crushed and minced

TABLESPOON FRESH THYME LEAVES, chopped

1- 2 FRESH RED CHILES (2 to 3 inches long), minced 1

⁄2

POUND YOUNG, TENDER SPINACH LEAVES HANDFUL OF MINCED PARSLEY OR GREEN ONION TOPS STEAMED RICE, for serving

JANE LEAR

Gumbo Zâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;herbes

cook, stirring, until pale golden, about 1 minute. Ladle in the cooking liquid in a slow stream, constantly stirring, and bring to a boil, still stirring.

Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman

ADD THE CHOPPED GREENS, the chopped ham, the thyme and the chiles, then simmer, uncovered and stirring every once in a while, until the greens are tender, about 10 minutes. (If you are making this gumbo ahead, this is a good place to stop. Let it cool completely, uncovered, then refrigerate it, covered.) STIR IN THE SPINACH AND COOK, stirring occasionally, until itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wilted. Stir in the parsley and salt to taste. Divide the rice among soup plates or bowls and spoon the gumbo over it. T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

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Spring Greens with FIELD PEAS

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RO N N I L U N DY

Much like a warm salad, this dish is delicious

made with

grocery greens with bite, such as mustard or turnip, or the more conventional kale with foraged spring greens (dandelion) added to the mix. Frozen field peas will most likely be black-eyes, but in the South, tiny lady cream peas, purple hull peas or other varieties may be available fresh as the weather warms.

IN A SAUCEPAN, BRING THE BROTH

and peas to boil over high heat. Turn the heat to low, cover and simmer for 30 minutes, or until the peas are tender. Remove from heat. Add the garlic and salt to taste. Cover and set aside to steep while you prepare the greens. RINSE THE GREENS WELL; remove and discard the stems. Tear the leaves into pieces about 2 to 3 inches wide. Put the greens in a heavy skillet with a lid, add the water, cover and set over very low heat. (You may need to add the greens in 2 or 3 batches, allowing the earlier batch to cook down some to make room in the pan.) Cook, covered, until the greens are just tender and some of their brackish flavor has mellowed, about 20 minutes. Stir occasionally to keep the greens from sticking to the bottom of the pan. If the pan seems to be drying out and the greens are in danger of burning, add another tablespoon or two of water and turn the heat even lower. When the greens are tender, remove them from the skillet and set aside. MELT THE BUTTER in the skillet over medium heat, add the onions and sauté for 2 minutes to soften. Add the greens and toss to coat them with butter and onion. Salt to taste. Serve immediately with field peas on top.

SERVES 4 1 CUP BROTH (chicken, vegetable or ham) 2 CUPS FRESH OR FROZEN BLACK-EYED OR OTHER FIELD PEAS 1 CLOVE GARLIC, chopped SALT 3

⁄4 POUND FRESH MUSTARD GREENS

3 TABLESPOONS WATER 2 TABLESPOONS BUTTER 1 CUP CHOPPED KNOBBY (spring) ONION OR 1⁄2 CUP chopped SWEET WHITE ONION combined with 1⁄2 CUP GREEN ONION, including green part

Recipe adapted from Butter Beans to Blackberries: Recipes from the Southern Garden by Ronni Lundy, North Point Press, 1999 Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman

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RO N N I L U N DY

In colder weather,

Southern greens are often cooked low and slow at the back of the stove with a piece of pork seasoning, creating a rich and much beloved broth called pot likker. The resulting dish is often eaten from a bowl with cornbread used to sop the likker, much like a soup. In the spring, with fresh new greens available, the lighter version has a tonic energy suitable to the season of rejuvenation. RINSE THE GREENS

Spring Greens SOUP SERVES 6 1 POUND YOUNG GREENS (mustard, turnip, kale and collard can be augmented with a handful of foraged dandelion or other wild greens) 1

⁄2 CUP WATER

QUART CHICKEN BROTH SALT

CUPS COOKED WHITE RICE

1 LEMON

Recipe adapted from Butter Beans to Blackberries: Recipes from the Southern Garden

by Ronni Lundy, North Point Press, 1999) Photograph by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman

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thoroughly and remove the stems. Trim any rough ends from the stems and chop finely ( 1⁄8-inch long). Put the stems and water in a large pot. Bring to a boil over high heat. Cover, turn the heat low and simmer 10 minutes. WHILE THE STEMS ARE SIMMERING, cut the greens in very thin ribbons about 1⁄8-inch wide. When the stems have simmered 10 minutes, add the chicken broth to the pot. Add salt to taste and bring to a boil. Add the greens, pushing them down with a wooden spoon. Lower the heat, cover and simmer 20 to 40 minutes, or until the greens are tender. Add the cooked rice. Stir and cook, uncovered, for 5 minutes. CUT THE LEMON in slices and remove the seeds. When the soup is ready, ladle it into individual serving bowls and pass the lemon on the side to be squeezed in at the table. (You may prefer to slice the lemon in very thin rounds, remove any parts of seeds and float the rounds on each serving of soup. Diners can then press the lemon with a spoon in the soup to release juice and flavor.)

E M I LY H ILLIA R D + LORA SMI TH

This recipe is adapted from Goat Cheese by Maggie Foard (Gibbs Smith, 2008). Foard's recipe calls for 8 ounces of fresh chèvre and 8 ounces of ricotta, but Lora lived on a goat dairy farm— which made it easy to get soft, unsalted super-fresh chèvre. The first time we made it, we used homemade preserves —but the recipe works just as well with a good-quality storebought jam.

PREHEAT OVEN TO 350 DEGREES.

Lemon Goat-Cheese TART WITH BLACKBERRY PRESERVES

BLEND THE CHÈVRE, eggs, 2⁄3 cup of sugar and lemon juice. Zest the lemon and combine with the 2 tablespoons of sugar. Combine the chèvre and sugar mixtures and blend until smooth. Pour the mixture into the tart shell, place on a cookie sheet and bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes, or until the filling has set. Let the tart cool on a rack. WHILE THE TART is cooling, heat the jar of blackberry preserves until it’s warm and spreadable. Spread preserves over the tart and garnish with thin slices of lemon.

MAKES 1 (9-INCH) PIE 16

OUNCES UNSALTED CHÈVRE

EXTRA LARGE FREE-RANGE EGGS

CUP PLUS 2 TABLESPOONS

⁄3

SUGAR, divided 1

⁄4

CUP FRESHLY SQUEEZED LEMON JUICE

TABLESPOON LEMON ZEST

PREPARED (9-INCH) DEEP TART SHELL

JAR BLACKBERRY PRESERVES THINLY SLICES LEMON, SEEDS REMOVED, for garnish

Photograph by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011 119

This pie is a riff on a church cookbook

standard simply called “tomato pie.” Traditionally made in the summer with fresh tomatoes, this tart takes on a more robust personality by utilizing home-canned tomatoes— or high-quality store-bought tomatoes such as San Marzanos—and roasting them. Instead of the usual Ritz cracker crumbs, for (Pi)e Day we used Panko crumbs tossed with a little melted butter, a pinch of chopped garlic, a little grated Parmesan cheese and a pinch of salt and pepper. PREHEAT OVEN TO 350 DEGREES. DRAIN THE TOMATOES (keep the juice for the Bloody Marys!) and dice them into 1-inch pieces. In a medium bowl, combine the tomatoes, thyme, salt, pepper and half the olive oil. Toss with your hands until all of the tomatoes have a little oil on them. Pour the remaining half of the oil onto a sheet pan, rubbing with your hands to coat the bottom of the pan. Spread the tomatoes on the pan in a single layer. Roast the tomatoes in the oven for about 15 minutes, or until they dry up a little and start to shrivel slightly.

MAKES 1 (9-INCH) PIE 9-INCH PIE CRUST, pre-baked to golden brown 20

OUNCES TOMATOES

⁄4

CUP OLIVE OIL

TABLESPOONS FRESH THYME LEAVES, chopped (or substitute basil or marjoram)

⁄2

TEASPOON SALT

TEASPOON FRESH GROUND BLACK PEPPER

FILL THE PIE CRUST three-quarters full with the tomato mixture. Spread the pimiento cheese over the top of the tomatoes. Toss breadcrumbs with remaining ingredients and sprinkle over top of the pie.

Recipe adapted from The Southern Foodways Alliance Community Cookbook, University of Georgia Press, 2010

1 ⁄4

CUPS PREPARED PIMIENTO CHEESE (we made ours with Emily Wallace’s grandma’s recipe, which follows)

⁄3

CUP PANKO BREADCRUMBS

TABLESPOON MELTED BUTTER

⁄8

TEASPOON GARLIC, finely chopped

TABLESPOON PARMESAN CHEESE,

Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman

grated PINCH EACH SALT AND FRESHLY GROUND PEPPER

THIS IS CHARLOTTE HEAVNER WALLACE’S recipe, as adapted by Emily Wallace’s dad. When Emily made it for the tomato pie she used a sharp cheddar cheese, drained the peppers and added a dash of Sriracha hot sauce— but she says she prefers a more vinegary hot sauce, such as Cholula or Tapatío. PEEL RIND FROM CHEESE and trim off cheesecloth. Grate cheese and add entire contents of pimento jar. Blend with a hand chopper. Add other ingredients and blend. TASTE AND ADD MORE of the above ingredients according to your preference. 120 TheZenchilada.com Wint e r 2 011

PIMIENTO CHEESE 1

POUND RED-RIND HOOP CHEESE

(4-OUNCE) JAR PIMIENTOS, diced

TABLESPOONS MAYONNAISE

⁄2

TEASPOON MUSTARD

TABLESPOONS WHITE WINE VINEGAR

TABLESPOON SUGAR

E M I LY HILLIA R D + LORA SMI TH

PIMIENTO CHEESE AND

Tomato Pie

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R AW V E G A N

Avocado Pie 122 TheZenchilada.com Wint e r 2 011

E M I LY H ILLIA R D + LORA SMI TH

This pie has been a favorite

of Emily’s for the past year for its lightness,

flavor and ease of preparation. It also looks beautiful—a double treat for vegan and raw food friends. A bonus: The coconut water you may be tempted to discard is reputed to have superior hydrating qualities, so sip it while you work.

MIX CRUSHED GRAHAM CRACKERS with 1⁄2 cup melted vegan margarine and press into the bottom of a pie plate.

MAKES 1 (9-INCH) PIE 1

PACKET GRAHAM CRACKERS, crushed (about 1 1⁄4 cups)

⁄2

CUP VEGAN MARGARINE, melted

CANS FULL-FAT COCONUT MILK,

PUT 1 CAN COCONUT MILK into the fridge. After 1 hour, open and spoon off the cream from the coconut water. (Discard coconut water or save for another use.) Add the sugar, lime juice and the ripe, mashed avocado to the coconut cream. Mix well by hand or with an electric mixer and pour into graham cracker crust. Refrigerate one hour or until set. DECORATE TOP with sliced mango or kiwi for decoration. If desired, mix another can of chilled coconut cream with 1⁄4 cup powdered sugar to use as "whipped cream.” Recipe adapted from Vegan Yum Yum

divided use 1

CUP SUGAR

⁄4

CUP LIME JUICE

RIPE AVOCADO, mashed

⁄4

SLICED MANGO AND/OR KIWI, for garnish 1

⁄4

CUP POWDERED SUGAR (optional)

Photographs by Ryannan Bryer de Hickman

A B O U T T H E A RT I ST Ryannan Bryer de Hickman is a freelance editorial and fine art photographer who spends all her free time cultivating a vineyard and making wine. Her work has appeared in many magazines and newspapers. She works with both traditional film and digital cameras in a variety of formats. Learn more about Sotto Il Monte Vineyards and Ryannan Bryer de Hickman’s other passions at http://sottoilmontevineyards.blogspot.com/.

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LET’SGETREAL L E T ’ S G E T SMALL

B O O K R E V I E W S BY A N N E M E N D E L S O N

I recently kvetched out loud on Zester Daily about cookbooks big enough to warrant handling by forklift and found eager “Amens” pouring in from other fed-up cooks. Some people pointed out that kitchen wisdom really can be delivered in more compact packages. Among the responders was TheZenchilada.com’s Ronni Lundy, who invited me to compile a brief list of my own small-but-mighty favorites. Photograph by Online Creative Media 124

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BOOKREVIEWS

RIGHT AWAY

we hit a stumbling block. Several, actually. The most obvious was reverse-dinosaur syndrome, or Survival of the Biggest. Brontosaurus-sized specimens are breeding like rabbits these days, while the kind of cookbook that I considered “small” a few decades ago is an endangered species. (And kindly don’t cite silly niche-marketing items no larger than Post-It pads as serious evidence to the contrary.) Today’s “small”— anyhow, a lot of it — would have been called mid-sized a few decades ago and today’s “mid-sized” rather large. We also soon realized that many of the nice little cookbooks we cut our eyeteeth on have been out of print for eons. Where they’ve managed to survive, it’s often been in updated (read: larger, splashier) formats. No surprise that Ronni and I quickly found ourselves debating the parameters of smallness. “I used to carry this book in a backpack hitchhiking cross-country,” she mourned of one formerly pintsized candidate, Frances Moore Lappe’s Diet for a Small Planet, which now carries 150-plus more pages than the original 1971 edition. At the same time, I’d been humbled by a reality check of The James Beard Cookbook, which measured about 6 1⁄3 x 4 1⁄8 x 1 inch when I bought a Dell paperback copy in the 1960s, but has latterly swelled every which way at the hands of a reissue specialist. Telling the new generation of food fashionistas what’s been lost is pointless, because as far as they’re concerned it never existed anyhow. For most under-40 purchasers, puny-looking volumes without tons of visual padding fail to fulfill some elementary duty of cookbooks. Still, it’s hard for me to look at the mammoth tomes crowding bookstore shelves and not remember the happy enlightenment I got out of modest, inexpensive, blessedly portable works founded on very different priorities. Take Buwei Yang Chao’s How to Cook and

Eat in Chinese, the quiet-looking and unpretentious great-grandmother of all intelligent Chinese cookbooks for Americans. Copies of the Vintage paperback (which sadly went out of print about 20 years ago) still turn up online. So do the humble 1970s Penguin paperbacks of Elizabeth David’s books on French, Italian and Mediterranean food. Like my first copy of Beard, those really were small books — all about direct, economical content instead of larger-than-life fantasy. Grab them if you can still find them, along with Jessica Harris’s Iron Pots and Wooden Spoons, which 22 years after its first publication still says as much about African influences on American food as anything that’s appeared since. And while you’re at it, hunt for anything from the long-defunct British “Life and Food” series overseen by the dedicated editor Vicky Hayward for Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Starting with Elizabeth Romer’s The Tuscan Year in 1984, these slender volumes were issued over here, some in hardback and some in paperback, by miscellaneous U.S. publishers up to the early ‘90s. (I have a special fondness for Maria José Sevilla’s Life and Food in the Basque Country and Sheila Ferguson’s Soul Food.) When we get closer to the present day, the triumph of size is well advanced but not absolutely complete. For anybody who hankers to pick up and use real, live, physical cookbooks without pulling a muscle, I can offer a few fairly up-todate suggestions. First, I recommend checking out two deserving miniseries: “Modern Library Food,” edited by Ruth Reichl, brought back into print several worthy books, in reasonably compact formats. Among the most welcome are Clementine in the Kitchen (1943) by Samuel Chamberlain under the pseudonym of Phineas Beck (still one of the pleasantest, most T h e Z e n c h i l a d a . c o m Wi nter 2011

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BOOKREVIEWS

perceptive introductions to French cooking for Americans, though not particularly improved by editorial updatings of the recipes) and The Supper of the Lamb (1969) by Robert Farrar Capon, an Episcopal priest’s gloriously free-form dithyramb on cooking as an Act of Praise. Both are small hardbacks priced at $16. John T. Edge’s “American Story” books, published by Putnam, are vigorous but neatly pared-down investigations of culinary Americana: Hamburgers and Fries, Apple Pie, Fried Chicken and Donuts. I don’t really know why this fetching little series had to end at four books or why most of the lot already seem to be out of print at the age of 4 to 6 years, but let’s be grateful that it’s not difficult to find them online. The one I’d look for first would be Fried Chicken—an ideal marriage of man and subject.

BISCUIT BLISS James Villas

CLEMÉNTINE IN THE KITCHEN, Samuel Chamberlain

THE SUPPER OF THE LAMB, Robert Farrar Capon

FRIED CHICKEN, John T. Edge

CROSS CREEK COOKERY, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings

AN INVITATION TO INDIAN COOKING Madhur Jaffrey

REAL THAI Nancy McDermott

Lastly, here’s a completely unsystematic smattering of small but punch-packing contenders that have given me great pleasure. Prices are cited for books now in print; except as otherwise noted, all works are less than 300 pages. Cross Creek Cookery by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings (Fireside paperback, $14). Yup, it’s that Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, author of The Yearling. Somehow her 1942 love letter to the food of the Florida scrub country has survived to gladden cooks two generations removed from the book’s World War II origins. Don’t expect recipes modeled on scientific formulas. When Rawlings writes “Bake in moderate oven” with no further detail or puts “Dora’s cream” (from her own evil-tempered Jersey cow, who gave cream “as yellow as buttercups”) in an ingredients list, thank your lucky stars for these glimpses into a time of more instinct-driven cooks and great backyard kitchen resources. 126 T heZe nchilada.com Win t e r 2 011

L E T ’ S G E T R E A L L E T ’ S G E T SMALL B O O K R E V I E W S BY A N N E M E N D E L S O N ( C o n t i n u e d ) An Invitation to Indian Cooking by Madhur Jaffrey. Like many people, I devoured this seminal 1973 work in the 1975 Vintage paperback edition. To this day, it’s probably the Jaffrey work that I’d find it hardest to do without. Rejoice: Knopf is reissuing Invitation in April as a marginally larger paperback ($16.95; slightly over 300 pages). Of course, the availability of crucial spices and other Indian ingredients in this country has blossomed almost beyond belief since the 1970s, but the general advice is as sound as ever. Real Thai by Nancie McDermott. The bad news is that Chronicle Books let this attractive 1992 paperback introduction to cookery from five regions of Thailand go out of print several years back. The good news is that it’s usually pretty easy to find online at affordable prices. Without gratuitous dumbing-down, McDermott’s recipes nonetheless manage to offer clear, accessible yes-you-can-do-this reassurance to people who’d ordinarily be scared off by the intricacies of tackling Thai food in their own kitchens. Biscuit Bliss by James Villas (Harvard Common Press, paperback $16.95) and Deviled Eggs by Debbie Moose (Harvard Common Press hardback $12.95). Every prejudice worth its salt deserves some wiggle room, so I make no apologies for loving these two skinny challenges (Deviled coming in at just under 100 pages, Biscuit slightly over) to my usual distaste for single -subject “niche” items. Most people probably will —like me —go through both alternately muttering “Hell, no” (in my case, at “Taco Biscuit Bites” or chocolate deviled eggs) and “Eureka! Why didn’t I think of that?” (butter-yogurt biscuits, deviled eggs presented à la Eggs Benedict).

Roast Chicken and Other Stories by Simon Hopkinson with Lindsey Bareham (Hyperion hardback, $24.95) In 2007, the American success of this discreetly pretty British import made a few observers think that somewhere, somehow, there still does exist a U.S. market for compact, astute, personable cookbooks that get right down to business without a lot of window dressing. Organized alphabetically by crucial ingredient (“Anchovies” to “Veal”), it’s a spirited collection of Hopkinson’s own favorite dishes, marshaled into informally written recipes and presented along with many engaging reminiscences and informed insights.

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R Anne Mendelson is a freelance writer, editor and reviewer specializing in food-related subjects. She has worked as consultant on several cookbooks, was a contributing editor to the late, lamented Gourmet, and has been an occasional contributor to the New York Times Dining Section and the Los Angeles Times Food Section. Her biography of Irma Rombauer and Marion Rombauer Becker, Stand Facing the Stove (Henry Holt 1996), won widespread critical praise for its insights into the history of modern American cooking. Her most recent book is Milk, a cultural-historical survey of milk and fresh dairy products (Knopf 2008). She is now working, with a grant from the Guggenheim Foundation, on a study of how the global Chinese diaspora is influencing Chinese food in America.

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YesWeCanCan WHILE THE WINTER

By A S H L E Y E N G L I S H P h o t o g r a p h s b y RYANNAN BRY E R D E H I CK M A N

TRIPLE CITRUS & STAR ANISE MARMALADE (MAKES 7 HALF-PINT JARS)

season might conjure up images of ice skating and mugs of steaming cocoa, for me it also means citrus season. Winter is peak time for a number of citrus offerings, from clementines to honeybells, pink grapefruit to kumquats. Grocery stores, mailorder suppliers, produce stands — even directfrom-the-orchard shipments — are yours for the picking. Not only are the fruits at their peak of ripeness, and therefore at the best available flavor, they’re also at their most nutritionally rich.

4 4 4 6 6 6

One of my favorite ways of using up this seasonal bounty of sweet and tart goodness is to render the fruits into pantry provisions. The recipes for Triple Citrus & Star Anise Marmalade and Clementine Cointreau Curd are among my favorites. The former is exquisite either spread onto hot buttered toast or dolloped over roasted chicken; the latter is most welcome layered into an orange trifle or sandwiched into orange currant scones.

QUARTER THE FRUITS. Once quartered, separate the peel from the flesh. Chop the flesh up into small pieces, removing seeds as you see them. Place seeds in a muslin tea bag. (The seeds contain a good deal of pectin and will aid in thickening the marmalade.) Thinly slice the peel into long strips, then cut the strips into smaller, 1⁄2-inch pieces. I don’t trim the white pith from the peel because I prefer a bitter marmalade; feel free to trim if you do not.

tangerines oranges lemons cups water star anise cups granulated sugar

Place two small plates in the freezer—these will be used later to test for jelling.

PUT SEED BAG, fruit flesh, sliced peel and water in a large, heavy stainless-steel soup or stock pot. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Boil for 5 minutes, cover and remove from heat. Allow to cool at room temperature overnight or for at least 8 hours. REMOVE LID FROM POT and place over medium heat. Add star anise. Bring mixture to a gentle simmer; cook for 15 minutes. Add sugar, stir, and continue cooking over low heat for 45 minutes or until mixture reaches 220 degrees on a candy thermometer. ABOUT 30 MINUTES into the cooking time, begin prepping the canner, jars and lids. Sterilize 7 pintsized Mason jars, lids and screw tops. Inspect jars for cracks, chips or scratches and insure that screw bands are rust-free. Fill a canner or large 128 T he Ze nchilada.com Win t e r 2 011

SOL-FULL PA N T R Y P R O V I S I O N S

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Y ES W E C AN C AN

stockpot with water and set over medium-high heat. Bring just to boiling point. Place lids in a small saucepan, fill with water, bring to a boil, turn off heat, remove from stovetop and set aside. TEST FOR JELLING. Remove one plate from the freezer and spoon about 1 teaspoon of the marmalade onto it. Place back in the freezer and wait two minutes. Remove the plate from the freezer and push the edge of the marmalade with your fingertip. If it is jelled properly, the surface will wrinkle a bit. If it fails to wrinkle, or is obviously still runny, continue cooking the marmalade for 5 more minutes and repeat the test. PLACE CLEAN HOT CANNING JARS on top of a kitchen cloth on the counter. Remove seed bag from marmalade, squeezing to remove any juices. With the help of a canning funnel, pack marmalade into jars, reserving 1⁄2-inch headspace. I add one star anise to each jar for aesthetic purposes, but feel free to just remove and compost them. Run a non-metallic spatula along the inside edge of the jars to remove any trapped air bubbles and wipe rims clean with a damp cloth. Place lids and screw bands on the jars, tightening only until fingertip-tight. USING A JAR LIFTER, place jars in canner. Process 15 minutes in a boiling-water bath. Remember to adjust for altitude: You will need to add 1 minute to the processing time for each 1,000 feet above sea level. Check to see that the jars have sealed properly, label and store in a cool, dark area.

CLEMENTINE COINTREAU CURD (MAKES 3 HALF-PINT JARS) 5 4 11⁄4 10 2

clementines eggs cups superfine sugar tablespoons unsalted butter, chilled tablespoons Cointreau

WASH 3 HALF-PINT Mason jars, lids and screw rings. Inspect jars for cracks, chips or scratches and insure that screw bands are rust-free. Although 130 T he Zenchilada.com Win t e r 2 011

you don’t need to sterilize jars that will be pressure canned, the jars will need to be hot when you fill them to prevent them from cracking. Either run the jars through the dishwasher, keeping them warm until ready for use, or place them in a stock pot or water bath canner, cover with water and keep them simmering until ready for use. Place lids in a small saucepan, fill with water, bring to a boil, turn off heat and leave on stovetop until needed. PUT RACK in bottom of pressure canner, fill with 2 to 3 inches of water, and set over low heat; adjust as needed according to the manufacturer’s instructions. (Note that any preserves made with eggs or dairy products must be processed in a pressure canner to adequately kill off botulism spores. A hot-water bath will not do the job.) WITH THE LID OFF the pressure canner, bring water just to boiling. WASH AND DRY clementines, then zest, taking care to avoid removing any pith along with the zest. Set zest aside. Next, juice the fruits and strain over a fine -mesh sieve to remove any membranes or seeds. Set juice aside. PLACE EGGS in a medium-sized metal bowl and beat lightly to incorporate the whites into the yolks.

Y ES W E C AN C AN

FILL a medium-sized saucepan with about 2 inches of water and place over medium heat. Bring to a gentle simmer. Put bowl filled with eggs on top of pan to form a double boiler and add sugar, butter, Cointreau, clementine juice and zest. Whisk gently until sugar dissolves and butter melts. STIR MIXTURE with a wooden spoon until it thickens and coats the back of the wooden spoon, about 8 to 10 minutes. Remove curd from heat. PLACE JARS on top of a kitchen cloth on the counter. With the help of a canning funnel, ladle curd into jars, reserving 1â &#x201E;2 -inch headspace. Run a non-metallic spatula along the inside of the jars to remove any trapped air bubbles and wipe rims clean with a damp cloth. Place on lids and screw bands, tightening only until fingertip-tight. USING a jar lifter, place jars in pressure canner. Process for 10 minutes at either 11 pounds pressure for a dial-gauge canner or at 10 pounds pressure for weighted-gauge canner. Remember to adjust for altitude: add 1 minute to processing time for each 1,000 feet above sea level. *Variation: To make this curd without alcohol, replace the Cointreau with orange juice. You can also substitute mandarin oranges for the clementines.

Recipe reprinted with permission from Canning & Preserving with Ashley English: All You Need To Know To Make Jams, Jellies, Pickles & Chutneys, Lark Books 2010

A B O U T T H E AU T H O R Ashley English lives in Candler, North Carolina, with her husband, son and a menagerie of chickens, dogs and cats. She is the author of the Homemade Living book series published by Lark Books. She also writes a weekly column on Design Sponge and about her adventures converting her land to a homestead on her own blog.

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A s Wi n t e r ’ s c e l e b r a t i o n s e n d , to all she touches

SPRING

slips in, bringing new life

A B O U T T H E A RT I ST

Child of the Earth

The Z e nchilada.com Wi n t e r 2 011

Jade Leyva, a native of Mexico City, currently lives in Placitas, New Mexico, where she creates paintings informed by the folk art of her native country and inspired by the diverse experiences of her life. To learn more about Leyva and see her work, visit her website: www.jadeleyva.com.