GG Mora

Just checking out the image-posting feature. As to the milk: no special recipes. The kids drink it. In fact they prefer it to grocery-store whole milk and can tell the difference in a heartbeat. I do use it when I make dulce de leche, and keep meaning to whip up a batch of creme brulée with it (but I want to make sure I have good, fresh local eggs when I do). As for the safety of feeding kids (or anyone) raw milk: the farm I get it from (or the herd, more precisely) is certified TB-free. I know there are other potentially harmful pathogens, but I talked at length with the mom whose farm it is. She and her husband both grew up drinking raw milk, to no ill effect, and they've raised their kids on it (oldest is now 12). I'm not real worried about it. Edited to add: coooool

Sorry, Squeat, no snow yet, but local folk wisdom holds that if you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes. Changeability is where it's at. So it may be 60 tomorrow, but we could still have a good dump of freshies for Thursday. And Fifi, I'm sorry to report that the autumn foliage is long gone. Those lovely mountains currently look something like baby elephants – covered in grey-brown scruffy fuzz. I don't know whether stuffing/not stuffing the bird is so much a regional thing as it marks a divide between the cautious and those who live dangerously. I tend to live dangerously, and therefore I cook the stuffing in the bird (how else to get that lovely fat-crisped layer from the neck cavity?). This afternoon's activities should well illustrate the culinary wonderland/wasteland conundrum that is living in Vermont. I have access to impeccably fresh produce in the summer (most of it – literally – right in my own backyard; if ImageGullet lets me, I'll post a pic of the garden at its height) and excellent local dairy products year 'round (there are some phenomenal cheeses being made in Vermont), and can get fresh organically raised meats and poultry nearly any old time. The downside is that the produce is pretty limited starting right around now and the restaurant scene is appalling. And the local grocery store (an IGA) is hit-or-miss at best. Yes, there are some very good restaurants, though few and far between, and the ethnic food scene is non-existent. We have a passable Chinese place nearby (in Manchester, which, with a population of 6 or 7 thousand, is the nearest "big" town) and there's okay Thai and Indian in Brattleboro (40 miles away). There is some very good and authentic Mexican to be had about 20 miles from here, but only on Friday and Saturday nights and only until 8:00. Finding ingredients can be something of a scavenger hunt, and whenever I plan on traveling more than 50 miles from home, I make damn sure I have a cooler in the car in case I find something interesting. I apologize to anyone who may have been looking for veal bones at the Harlem Fairway on October 20, 2002, because I bought every last one – all 30-something lbs. I'm sure you're all asking yourselves "what on earth does that all have to do with this afternoon's activities?" Well, it's this. I thought that I'd get started on some Thanksgiving prep by roasting up some turkey parts and making a little stock for gravy. Innocently enough, I hopped in the car and drove up the to IGA (1.5 miles) to get the paper and pick up some turkey parts. Nada. So I drove the additional 15 or so miles to Manchester thinking that the bigger supermarkets (Shaw's or Price Chopper) would certainly have some. Nope. What I ended up with is a whole 10-lb. turkey, which I am soon to dismember with my trusty boning knife. I'll carve off the two breast portions and freeze them for future use, and maybe do the same with the thigh meat. The rest of it will be roasted for stock. The upside piece is that once all that's done, I'll drive up to a nearby dairy farm for a gallon of lovely fresh raw whole milk. This is one of those rituals that makes me feel all is right with the world. I can let myself into the milk room, stuff a few bills in the honor-pot, and set to work drawing milk from the holding tank. I always try to go in the late afternoon when the cows have been brought in for milking; it's nice to feel their presence there in the barn, even if I can't take my milk directly from a teat. There's usually one or another of the barn cats waiting around to lick up anything I might spill. I'm required to hose down the floor when I'm done, but I wait a few moments for the kitties to have their treat. Oh, heavens, I'm freezing here. I DID get out for a bike ride, and I came in damp and sweaty and sat right down to my blog. Now I'm chilled and I'm hungry, and I need to put some food in me before I start chomping on the pens and pencils scattered around my desk. Later.

Howdy. Squeat tagged me to blog last week, but I didn't reply fast enough and the honor went to Cusina. I volunteered to blog Thanksgiving week, and Cusina was gracious enough to allow it. And thanks, Cusina, for our week in Wisconsin. I'm afraid I'm off to an inauspicious start. I slept very late this morning due to last night's overindulgence; by the time I got up, my husband was long gone to work and the kids had already fed themselves. Truth be told, I was grateful for the solitude in the kitchen. For starters, I consumed a small handfull of diced dried pineapple while staring out the window waiting for my brain to come alive. Then, I pulled a double shot (Cafe Bustelo, Francis!Francis! X5) and dressed it with a glug of 1/2 & 1/2. While a slice of some local(ish) pain au levain was toasting, I fried a pair of over-easies and poured a glass of apple cider, which I diluted by half with plain fizzy-water. I perched on a stool at the kitchen counter and ate my breakfast while watching the dog roll in compost out in the yard. I was hoping to do a trial image-posting, since it would be fun to include some visuals throughout the week, but I can't seem to access ImageGullet. I'll try it again later. It's unseasonably gorgeous here in Vermont today – sunny and already approaching 60° just before noon. Normally it would be in the high 20s/low 30s this time of year. I figured cycling was done for the season, but I think this weather calls for me to drag the bike down off its hook and drag my ass up a few hills. I must have been slightly nuts volunteering to have a bunch of strangers watch through a spy glass as I muddle through preparations for a feast day. So be it. Should be an interesting week, though, with a few other food-related highlights. If a couple of 10-year olds have their way (read: if they keep up the badgering and arm-twisting), I'll be overseeing production of a gingerbread house towards the end of the week. It's that time of year, too, to get some chopped dried fruits busy in their booze-bath in anticipation of late-December fruitcake baking. And there'll be a couple of farm visits for procuring milk and eggs and Thursday's bird. Hang on to your seats, kids.

Me too neither. Just get a text line that says "user posted image". But it's intermittent. I've seen the cherubic child, the carefully pre-opped chicken, and the brilliant new pan. Now I can't get any of the images to load. Hey, Cusina, hold your breath -- I'll hit the deck in the morning.....

Yeah, that's probably what she said.

You could get a professional roofing torch, the kind with the squeeze-handle regulator the makes it a functional flame-thrower. Hook it up to a propane tank, then stand back & pull on the regulator. Whee-hoo. Love my kitchen tools. Edited to add: finishes creme brulée in a snap.

Also, in rereading your recipe it occurs to me that that's an enormous quantity to be making without commercial/professional equipment. Two HOURS? Chances are, you'll never get it hot enough. Or maybe you're already using commercial equipment and I'm just FOS.

I've made several succesful batches of Fleur de Sel caramels using a recipe either from or adapted from Alain Ducasse. The recipe specifies that the caramel should be cooked to 248°. Maybe undercooking is the problem...perhaps the sugar is more stable in the mix when cooked to a higher temperature. Edit: spelling.

Hmmm. I'd say the worst part is when mid-April rolls around and it's still snowing and cold and relentlessly grey. I actually look forward to the onset of winter; I'm always grateful for the first deep, dry snows. Though putting the garden to bed is a melancholy affair. I'm in the mountains of south-central Vermont, which I'm sure doesn't get as cold as northern Minnesota and is probably a bit more temperate than southern Wisconsin. But it still gets pretty fucking cold. Last year was record-breaking, and this year looks to be the same or colder (as long as we gets the snow, I won't complain). So I concur about the seasonality of one's menus. Summers here feature a whole lotta grilled animal flesh and fresh garden greens, and oftentimes dinner is a big composed salad. And lots of beer. When the cold weather hits, I tend to spend my Sundays making vats of soups, stews and chili to freeze for midweek feeds. Otherwise, weeknight dinners are things like roasted chicken or pork, meatloaf, the occasional risotto. Weekends bring on the serious braising, or the roasting of massive lamb legs, or the time-consuming one-offs like cassoulet and choucroute. And red wine (but more lots of beer is welcome, too).

Thanks for the feedback, Owen. To be clear, I'm perfectly happy NOT to use pods...we're packing the powdered Bustelo for shots, after all. And we do have several cans of pods lurking around for special occasions. The bottom line is that, while I'm not technically unemployed, I haven't actually been paid for nearly 4 months, thanks to Ford's implementation of a miraculous (not) new accounting system for their suppliers. So I have an income out there in cyberspace somewhere, it's just not making it into my hands, currently. Bustelo is the house brand for now – mighty fine at $2.50 a can. And once we're liquid again, I'll start sniffing out alternatives. FWIW, I have a Braun burr grinder, which produces a swell grind if you don't mind being sprayed with coffee from the static. Someday, I'll upgrade to a better unit. Any suggestions? BTW, when I was in Paris in the spring of '01 (the euro was @ 95¢), Grand Epicerie had the cans of Illy pods for just under 5 euros a piece. Bet yer ass I loaded my suitcase with them.

I like to use it on salad, especially on impeccably fresh greens from the garden -- toss with good balsamic or sherry vinegar, grapeseed oil, a little slivered fresh garlic, coarsely ground black pepper and Fleur de Sel. Brings out the best of everything. Fleur de Sel shopping tip for anyone who might find themselves in the Camargue: go to a "grocery" store to buy your salt. All the little tourist shops sell those smaller cans (100g) for around 3 or 4 euros. I got a whole kilo in a little epicerie for 9 euros.

Dilliante, I think, is code for "brilliant dilletante". I so envy anyone who has a local butcher. Loving the blog.

Is this the coffee confessional? I, too, have way too much paraphernalia: Francis!Francis! X5 Braun auto-drip (Aromatic? or something) Melior 8-cup French press (though at my house, it's more like a 2-cup) Ancient Moka pot for use when the power goes out (or when camping) Braun burr grinder Armin-Trosser hand-grinder Until very recently, we were using Illy pods, which we were getting through the Illy membership agreement we took on in order to get that sweet little F!F!X5 machine. Now we've gotten through the one-year agreement and can't afford the pods (for the time being, anyway). I hold what may be rather unpopular opinions about coffee, but we really LIKE Illy. Now, here's the really unpopular part (she prepares to be scatter-shot with several pounds of under-roasted robusta beans): we're currently using pre-ground Cafe Bustelo in the F!F!. And we like that, too, for precisely the reasons that most people don't: it's over-roasted to the point of being burnt and tastes almost smokey, plus it's very acidic and has enough caffeine to give you the DTs after two cups. Yum. And I hate tea.

I love my own cooking – maybe a little too much (she said, as she loosened her belt a notch post-dinner). I can cook and cook and cook and I'm just happy as all get-out. A great day is one on which I get into the kitchen at 8 in the morning, still in pajamas, and spend the whole day cooking. And if I'm invited to dinner at someone's house, I'll always jump in and help out in the kitchen. It's in my bones. But then...then comes a day when one too many people require something of me, and I'm happy to be fed almost anything by almost anyone. Except my sister. See "Feeling like a Bad Guest" here.

I'm blessed with a lot of friends who are in, or have been in, the food business. Chefs, cooks, a fish monger, a rep for Dole & Bailey. The number of bad meals I've had to suffer through are few and far between & most of them have been at my sister's house (were you at my sister's house for dinner last night??). So whenever I go to my sister's house, I offer to cook.

Didn't you all read the article in the biz section of the NYT on Sunday, the one where Paul Newman confides that he stirred his first giant batch of salad dressing with a canoe paddle?

Wait...were you in my chemistry class??

Is Annie's Shells and Cheddar a regional thing? Gets my vote for the boxed stuff. Uses real cheese, but if you're hooked on that lurid orange coloring, forget it. White Cheddar. We buy it in volume from Costco, as it's one thing the kids can make for themselves if they're starving. During a really stressful time in my life, when I was dropping weight at a rate of about 10 lbs. a week (ah, those were the days), the only food I could stomach was Stonyfield Farms full-fat strawberry yogurt and Annie's Shells and Cheddar. Kept me from becoming a skeleton. But I'll stoop to making homemade, too. Recently discovered Orb Weaver Farmhouse Cheese, made by two wonderful babes here in Vermont. It's the quintessential Mac & Cheese cheese.

If we can manage to rouse Irwin Koval (codename: wescza, or something like that), I believe he did time at Luchow's. He's been such a gracious storyteller on other subjects, I'm sure he'd have some fascinating input.

Hey, Squeat -- Sorry you didn't wait around for a reply. I'm only in front of my computer all day long on weekdays, and check in sporadically on weekends. So imagine my delight when I got your PM, and then my chagrin to find that I'd been passed over. I'd be more than happy to blog for the masses. I'll even take (gulp) Thanksgiving week, if Cusina is inclined to pass the baton. Thanksgiving in Vermont! Looking forward to a Wisconsin blog, GG Mora (I'm a she)

What makes a bad French bistro: any place that dares to use the word "bistro" in its name when they clearly haven't a clue what a fucking bistro is. For example: a pizza parlor that adds grilled steak and penne ala vodka to its menu and starts using white tablecloths and suddenly thinks it's...Voila! Un Bistro! Also, any food that's fusiony, trendy, foofey or pretentious is an automatic disqualifier. With apologies to the pallet-cleansing crowd for the ellipses... Edited for grammatical innacuracy.

Spoil the effect? Now there's an understatement.

Rock Hill Bakehouse Farm bread (a levain-style baked in a wood-fired brick oven) with extra sharp Grafton Village cheddar, bread smeared on the outside with softened butter and in the inside with ajvar. I used to love grilled cheese with Campbell's Cream of Tomato until it started to suck (all that HFCS, I think).

Re: the cheese list. If you've never tried them, the Major Farms cheeses are spectacular. Vermont Shepherd was awarded Best in Show from the American Cheese Society in 2000. The Majors learned their craft in the French Pyrenees and their maturing process was established by a woman who used to mature for Neal's Yard. Good stuff.

Hooey, indeed. Now that I think about it, I suppose I eat it with my fingers precisely because it bothers people. Bothers people, but is in some way socially acceptable, as opposed to bothers people because it's just rude and gross, like belching loudly in a crowded dining room or, for that matter, gabbing loudly on a cell phone.