Back to the Island

If once you have slept on an island You'll never be quite the same; You may look as you looked the day before And go by the same old name, You may bustle about in street and shop You may sit at home and sew, But you'll see blue water and wheeling gulls Wherever your feet may go. You may chat with the neighbors of this and that And close to your fire keep, But you'll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell And tides beat through your sleep. Oh! you won't know why and you can't say how Such a change upon you came, But once you have slept on an island, You'll never be quite the same. "If Once You Have Slept On An Island" - Rachel Field

I am returned from my annual pilgrimage to Great Chebeague. I partook in island rituals generations old. I could be depended upon to run up to Ed's each morning for the papers and whatever provisions were needed to see us through the day. I practiced the Chebeague Wave, that acknowledgement of casually lifted fingers off the steering column as one passed fellow motorists on the rough roads. I dug for mussels off Hayden's Beach. I discovered a trick to calm my suicidal brain when addressing the ball at Great Chebeague Golf Club. And I cooked for the sheer pleasure of making others happy. It was a sublime visit, the best in eight years of summering there.

I had two greetings upon arriving. The first was on the waterfront at the Rí Rá. It was World Cup season again, and my favorite pub promised plenty of big screen entertainment and perfect Guinness draughts. Over a pint or two (or three), I caught a couple of really good matches there. The second greeting was a welcoming party - Old Thumper in hand - at Chandler's Landing as the ferry delivered me to the island.

Except for one sweltering day, the weather was perfect. Warm sunny days, cool breezy nights. There was even one 15-minute cloudburst causing us to dash shrieking indoors one morning.

Of course there was seafood, good cheer, and scenery for days.

My mood always seemed to mimic that of the Island's.

By the end, I was in a Zen-like state of stillness. A leaf on the wind. A ripple in a pond. A footprint in the sand. You get the idea.

And naturally, there was cooking. Lots and lots of cooking. But that's a story for another day.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

Come in London!

Yes, Virginia, Blog O. Food still cooks and breaks into cold sweats when he hasn't posted in a while, but it's Championship Week again, and all other considerations are on the back burner (groan).

It's still stewing in its own juices, but I made my own sourdough starter, as I've always wanted to introduce myself with this line: "I am Enzo, the Baker!" (a la The Godfather.) I intend to waltz into parties with that moniker after my first successful loaf.

So there's that, a slew of NYTimes recipes and even some good stuff from Paula Deen, whom I just adore. Just allow me a few more days of handing out tee shirts and taking photos for the University web site, and I'll get back to the kitchen and keyboard in a jiff.

Patience, Grasshopper... Blog O. Food

Rainy Days and Mondays

We've had so many rainy weekends this spring, conspiracy theorists have started to foam at the mouth.

Usually, I love rainy days, their being such a novelty for a SoCal boy. But my day job depends on, if not sunny skies, then dry ones, and I've had to cancel too many softball games already this season. One more rainout and we'll have mutiny on our hands. Our university board of trustees frowns upon that sort of rebelliousness.

Rain will keep me from walking to the market from work as well, and I'm left to reply upon my own devices. That's a good thing!

Oven-roasted pork chops with orange & peppercorn glaze Roasted root vegetables Creamy herbed farfalle pasta

Start by preheating your oven to 425° F. In a baking dish, give a couple of peeled carrots, yellow onions and some garlic a rough chop and toss together with a splash of olive oil and a couple pinches of salt. Place on the center rack of the oven and roast for 45-60 minutes. Give them a toss half-way through the roasting time.

Pick some fresh herbs for the pasta and chop fine. I went with tarragon and just a little thyme. Fresh herbs are a lot more intense than dried, so temper that heavy hand when seasoning with the fresh stuff.

Once the roasted vegetables start to show a little caramelization, add a couple tablespoons of olive oil to a hot, oven-proof sauté pan. Set pork chops in the hot oil, season with freshly cracked black pepper and leave the chops undisturbed for 4-6 minutes, allowing them to develop a nice brown sear on one side. Flip the chops, season the browned side with more cracked pepper and place the pan in the oven to finish off with the vegetables for about 10 minutes. Let the chops rest on a warm serving platter while you finish the meal. Pour off most of the cooking fat from the sauté pan and add the juice of one orange and bring to a simmer. With a wooden spoon, scrape up the brown bits that have collected on the bottom of the pan. Let the sauce reduce by about half, and ladle onto the chops just before serving.

Meanwhile, add a half pound of farfalle noodles to boiling, salted water and cook about 6 minutes or so. The pasta should be just under-cooked. Drain the pasta, reserving some of the cooking liquid. Return the pasta to a skillet, add a couple heaping tablespoons of crème fraîche, the chopped herbs and just a pinch of red pepper flakes. Bring to a simmer. If your sauce is too thick, add some of the reserved pasta cooking liquid a tablespoon at a time. Once the pasta is al dente, remove from the heat and stir in two generous handfuls of grated parmesan cheese. Serve immediately.

I got extra thick chops from my Italian butcher earlier over the weekend. The time they spent in the oven left the faintest trace of pink, and plenty of moist tenderness to the flesh. The orange and cracked pepper reduction went wonderfully with the meat and the roasted veggies, and you all know how much I love roasted vegetables! What can I say about fresh tarragon? It has a sweet, licorice-y taste all its own. It's marvelous in a cream sauce.

So let the rain come down. I'll be snug in my apartment listening to the traffic whish along the wet streets, and whipping up wonders in my New York City kitchen. Insurrections be damned!

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food