The lore of the Christmas goose…

December 22, 2014 by Convivial Boar Leave a Comment

Boar’s garnished Christmas Eve Goose with roasted vegetables

Sometimes lore alone can sustain a tradition. Such was the case for me and the Christmas goose. All of my life, I have associated goose with Christmas, yet my first taste of this salty-fleshed fowl was on the eve of Christmas —just four years ago (and every Christmas Eve since).

How is it that the lore made it to South Arkansas, but the goose did not? Hmmm, let’s explore that a bit.

To start, the Boar is a fan of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Like a well-brewed winter lager, Ebenezer Scrooge seasons the holidays with just the right amount of bitterness. But not everyone appreciates the need for bitter during the Christmas season —take the wife-of-the-Boar for example, she proclaims that she prefers her holiday sans bitter. And when I grumble about Christmas lights, shopping, and other non-feasting aspects of the holiday, she calls me “Ebbie” —of course, by inviting me along for these outings what she is really saying is that she would like her serving of bitter on the side. But I digress, back to Dickens and the Christmas goose…

No doubt, Dickens is responsible for much of the lore about the Christmas goose, for he writes of its succulence in describing the pitiable plight of the Cratchit family and remarks how rare even that most affordable of birds is at their table. Interestingly, at the time of Dickens, goose was a very economical food-source, and turkeys were thought as extravagant, that’s why when Scrooge embraces the spirit and seeks to make an amends with the Cratchit family he sends for the big turkey —not goose. I bet the miserly Scrooge would “hum-bug” a few times at the price of a goose today…and my, my, what would he think of our hormone induced, beach-ball sized turkeys?

But the intertwining of goose with Christmas began well before Dickens dipped his quill in ink. In 1588 Queen Elizabeth I ordered all of England to eat goose for Christmas dinner in celebration of England’s victory over the Armada because it was the first meal she enjoyed after the Navy defeated Spain’s ships. So, the people of England were force-fed goose for Christmas —a bit ironic given that we now force feed geese to produce foie gras.

In ancient Egypt, goose was the symbol of the creator-god named “Amen.” Some believed that the universe itself was hatched from a “cosmic egg” produced by this deity —perhaps the inspiration for the fabled Goose that Laid the Golden Egg. As you might guess, a feast of goose in this time was a feast of symbolic and religious importance.

So, from the pen of Dickens, by decree of Queen Elizabeth, and through deification of ancient Egyptians, the lore of the Christmas goose has been propelled through the ages and across the globe —even to my cozy hamlet in South Arkansas. Now, let’s put it in the oven…

unadorned roasted goose

Geese hatch in the spring and are right for eating at eight or nine months old—making them perfect for Christmas. Geese are smaller than turkeys and the meat is much darker and richer. Unlike a turkey, the fat content of a goose makes it very unlikely that the meat will dry out during roasting.

Before cooking the goose, as with all fowl, you need to wash it thoroughly. The skin needs to be pricked several times to allow the fat to cook out during roasting. (I use a wooden skewer for this purpose).

Note that if you want to prepare a stuffing to be cooked with the goose, you will need to coordinate those preparations with the roasting of the goose. Sometimes I stuff and sometimes, I do not. This post focuses only on the goose.

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

I like to season the goose with kosher salt and fresh ground pepper including inside the cavity. Next I stuff the cavity with citrus (lemon, orange, or tangerine) and herbs (sage, rosemary, thyme).

Place the goose (breast side up) on the rack of a large roasting pan. Add enough water (or other liquid) to the bottom of the pan so that when the fat cooks out of the goose it will not burn.

Roast the goose with oven at 450 degrees for thirty minutes (this helps darken and crisp the skin). Carefully baste the goose with the fat and liquid from the pan. Reduce the temperature to 350 degrees and continue roasting for about twenty minutes per pound. I like to check on (and baste) the goose about every forty-five minutes. The goose is done when the juices run clear at the joints when punctured with a skewer.

Let the goose rest for at least fifteen minutes before carving.

Once the pan cools, be sure to retain the goose fat (liquid gold). The goose is good, but the fat is the prize. You can find many uses for the goose fat. My preference is to use it to roast potatoes and other vegetables for my Christmas Day Brunch. I also hear it is great for pancakes…

You can serve the goose dressed in elaborate garnishment, stuffed or unstuffed, or simply as unadorned lore of the season.

Devour the lore this Christmas, my friend.

Piglet’s loaf…

December 14, 2014 by Convivial Boar 1 Comment

Sirloin Meatloaf, Cheesy Mashed Potatoes, and Roasted Kale

Holiday feasts are all the rage this time of year. As you might imagine, the Convivial Boar partakes liberally… But in the midst of lavish holiday feasting fare, it’s good to take a break and feast on the more, shall we say, ordinary. And nobody prizes a feast-of-the-ordinary more than the Nearly-Convivial Piglet shown below.

Piglet displaying his feast

Meatloaf and mashed-taters are high among his favorites. So, not surprisingly, as he began his feast-making journey this is where he wanted to start.

Despite meatloaf’s popularity throughout history (the origins of meatloaf can be traced back to Ancient Rome), many feasters are less than enthusiastic about the dish. Often the mere utterance of the word “meatloaf” repulses feasters as they are confronted with visions of ketchup-laden images of their youth. And who can forget Arthur (played by Dudley Moore) slurring the blessing, “I’m thankful I got the smallest piece of meatloaf.”

Suffice it to say, meatloaf is not every feaster’s favorite. Indeed, many feasters seem to fear the loaf. But, why? Could it be how it is presented…does this description conjure any memories?

“The Chef is proud to offer his special meatloaf tonight. The ingredients of the loaf feature an array of secret, chef-choice items —only he knows what they are. The overall composition of the loaf is delightfully soggy while the meat retains a slight rubbery-chew texture. Scattered throughout the loaf are rough-chopped and undercooked vegetables providing a sporadic unidentified crunchiness. And the meatloaf will be presented this evening as a free-form blob glistening with a cold, masking, layer of ketchup.”

Sounds delicious, doesn’t it my friend? Stop trembling, here are some suggestions from a recent meatloaf prepared by the Nearly-Convivial Piglet—or, “Piglet” for short.

Part of the fun of meatloaf is that it can use as many or as few ingredients as you desire, but the feast-maker should be proud of what goes into the loaf and be ready to wax eloquently to feasters about the specially selected ingredients. The most fearful of feasters can be coaxed into relaxing a bit by an enthusiastic and knowledgeable feast-maker. Piglet practically assaulted his feasters with information about what went into his loaf —I will leave it to others to say whether he was eloquent or not.

Express your creativity through the loaf —rigidity is one of the few unwelcome ingredients. While nearly every meatloaf involves ground meat, it does not have to be simply ground chuck —any ground meat (or combination of ground meats) can be used. Some of our favorites are venison, buffalo, and sirloin (note: we prefer to use lean meats because less fat cooks out helping reduce the sogginess of the loaf). For the loaf pictured above, Piglet opted for ground sirloin.

Fillers are needed to keep the loaf from becoming too dense. These can include cracker crumbs, breadcrumbs, Panko breadcrumbs, rice or even oatmeal. Piglet used gluten-free Panko breadcrumbs.

Vegetables add flavor and texture to the loaf. For his loaf, Piglet added onion, red bell pepper and celery. The key is to dice them very finely to ensure proper cooking (or if you want them bigger, sauté them before adding to the loaf). Piglet is a precision dicer.

Notice: No Piglet Fingers Were Harmed In The Making Of This Feast

Piglet also likes to add garlic and herbs (typically, rosemary and thyme), and for seasoning he keeps it simple with kosher salt, fresh ground black pepper and chili powder. He also added a few splashes of worcestershire sauce and eggs to bind it all together —one of Piglet’s favorite parts is jumping in with both hands and mixing it.

After all the ingredients are fully incorporated (including Piglet’s hands, sleeves, pants, and surprisingly, face), Piglet placed the mixture on a large foil-covered rimmed baking sheet. It is important to use a baking sheet larger than the loaf so the moisture and fat can cook out of the loaf —again, reducing the sogginess factor by some degree. Piglet formed his loaf by hand-patting the mixture down and then using his hands to square up the sides until it formed a flat-topped rectangular shape about two inches tall —note the loaf should be fairly uniform shape so that all parts will cook evenly.

Piglet cooked his loaf at 375 degrees for about 45 minutes. The cooking time will vary depending on the meat used and the thickness of the loaf. You want it cooked all the way through but not overcooked as that leads to the rubbery-chew texture —so don’t put it in the oven and forget it. We check ours for proper doneness by using either a meat-thermometer or just slicing the loaf in the middle and inspecting (that was Piglet’s approach).

Lastly, a loaf can be served naked or with a topping-sauce —Convivial Boar Rule #7: when in doubt, get saucy!

This is where Piglet and I part ways a bit. He prefers the ketchup topping, and I prefer to create a sauce du jour. One of my favorite toppings for meatloaf is a black pepper sauce: I sauté onions until nearly brown in olive oil, dust them with flour —then cook the flour a bit, deglaze the pan with dark beer, bourbon, or scotch, add beef broth and lots of fresh ground black pepper (maybe even add the juices from the meatloaf pan —who am I kidding, always add them).

But, alas, this was Piglet’s loaf so we employed the much-reviled technique of point the bottle and squeeze (I looked away during this part). I did talk him into putting the loaf back in the oven for about ten minutes to let the ketchup brown a bit —it needed to settle, and I needed, well you know what I needed…

Piglet’s meatloaf feast was spectacular, but the best part was seeing his smile and knowing that he felt pride in the creation of the feast!

Exalt the ordinary, my friend.

It’s Thanksgiving, bring your game!

November 25, 2014 by Convivial Boar 2 Comments

seared venison loin medallions and pan-fried apples

As we prepare for our Thanksgiving feast —one of the most celebrated feasts of all time—let’s ponder a bit about its origin…

In grade school we learned that the Pilgrims and Wampanoag Indians celebrated the first Thanksgiving feast in 1621 in Plymouth Colony —and we had the construction-paper hats to prove it. No doubt, we understood the star of the feast was a big, abnormally- fat, turkey, and having stuffed themselves, the Pilgrims and Indians stretched out on buffalo-skin couches and watched a primitive form of football (high definition, I’m sure).

Those were the simple times. Everything was certain –maybe not true, but certain.

Today, nothing appears simple or the least bit certain. For instance, the Boar recently learned (meaning I rooted around on Google for a spell) that a small community of Texans (near El Paso) claims to have celebrated a Thanksgiving feast in 1598 —twenty three years earlier than the Pilgrims and Indians. The feast celebrated the survival of an expedition party, saved by the bountiful Rio Grande River. And of course, those Texans, insist their feast was bigger —so that’s how the Cowboys manage to snag the prime television slot on Thanksgiving Day, even in years when, shall we say, they don’t bring their game.

But what about the feast? Surely, it involved turkey? Brace yourself, the first Thanksgiving most likely did not involve turkey —and that’s true whether you side with the Texans or not. Turkeys did not become the focus of the Thanksgiving feast until around the time President Lincoln declared Thanksgiving as a national holiday (if only modern presidents could focus on the important issues of the day —like declaring more feasting holidays!).

So what was served at these early feasts? The Pilgrim-Indian version appears to have been a pot-luck of sorts. The Wampanoag Indians brought a gift of five deer for the feast, and the English Pilgrims supplied wild fowl (most likely ducks and geese, and maybe, possibly a turkey or two —but word is all they could get were frozen and they didn’t have time to thaw). The Texans feasted on game and fish. So, whichever version is the true first Thanksgiving —game was the order of the day.

As it turns out, the Boar’s sons have a bit of Wampanoag (or at least spirit) in them, for they have gifted to the Boar six deer this season (wonder if the Wampanoags skinned and processed the deer before gifting? It’s tough on the Boar to watch Grandad skin that many deer).

venison suppliers hard at work

Seared Venison Medallions

Embracing the history of Thanksgiving and this bountiful season (not to mention easing the burdens of the freezer), let’s discuss one of the Boar’s favorite venison feasts: Seared Venison Loin Medallions and Pan-Fried Apples

Venison loin is very lean and needs to be served rare —medium rare at most. Take a whole loin and slice it into medallions (approximately a half inch thick). Marinate the medallions for at least four hours in red wine, sliced onions, garlic cloves, and herbs (I typically use rosemary and thyme).

Remove the medallions from the marinade and allow them to dry and reach room temperature. Meanwhile, heat an iron skillet with enough oil (olive, canola, or vegetable) to cover bottom of skillet until it is smoking hot—I typically use an outdoor camp stove or grill, otherwise, the house fills with smoke and the Boar’s wife gets smoking hot —another Champagne problem, my friend.

I like to generously (if you doubt this, just watch me sometime) season the medallions with kosher salt, black pepper, granulated garlic, and cayenne pepper. Then I sear the medallions about two minutes per side (rare to medium rare). Allow the medallions to rest for at least ten minutes before serving.

Fall Gala Apples

Pan-Fried Apples

Despite the fact that they have routinely been crammed into many of my brethren’s mouths, the Boar loves apples. I’ve been known to hike for miles in search of the perfect spot, with a view, to enhance my enjoyment of an apple. And rumor has it that one year when the Boar prepared a Thanksgiving feast at his brother’s apartment, leftover apples were found for months after. You get the picture.

To the point, apples pair nicely with venison and their seasons coincide. During the Fall, we have wonderful varieties of apples.

Recently, I was fortunate enough to enjoy some Fall Gala apples supplied by friends of the Boar’s parents. These particular apples were grown in the Maggie Valley, North Carolina area and purchased from a roadside produce stand named Ye Old Gray Mare —they sound delightful already!

Remember, the story is important. Which fried apples do you think feasters will find more appealing, “fresh Gala apples from Ye Old Gray Mare produce stand” or “the yellow ones on aisle three of the supermarket?”

To prepare the apples, I simply washed them and sliced them into thin wedges. Fresh lemon juice keeps them from turning brown (and the citrus summons the flavor).

In a separate iron skillet I melted a stick of butter. Once the butter began to sizzle and brown slightly, I added the apple wedges and sautéed them until they began to brown. To finish the apples, I added brown sugar and a dash or two of cinnamon (some of my feasters aren’t big fans).

You want to be careful not to overcook the apples. Cook them until they are just tender —not mushy.

Bring your game this Thanksgiving, my friend.

Tales of folly and jerky…

November 11, 2014 by Convivial Boar 1 Comment

duck breast jerky with sweet and sour sauce

Hunting season is a special time in South Arkansas —especially, for the convivial sort, fond of feasting on the delights of the field and chewing through well-embellished tales of conquests and mishaps. Indeed, hunting camps may be the last true bastion of story telling —where else are entire evenings devoted to the enterprise of recreational embellishment?

The stories begin well before a hunter takes his first prey and continue long after his days afield. Through story the young hunter seems big —and bigger still. The aged hunter keeps his stories young by updating the embellishment with each telling. Hunters struggle each season with uncertainty and debacles in pursuit of game, but the stories anchor the camp and flavor all else.

The skills and strategy of hunting garner much attention, but what is sometimes lost is the art. Hunting mixes a traditional undertaking of ritualistic discipline in pursuit of a basic animalistic need with the boundless whimsy of human frolic. An artful hunter can sit in serious, stoic, stillness ready to pounce —only to find himself falling flat on his back in an explosive fit of belly laughter provoked by the slightest of amusement. The beauty of hunting lies in this spectrum of behavior, which is best captured in story and feast.

Recently, as I prepared venison and duck jerky, a particular hunter’s story of folly came to mind…

The hunter, of an experienced age, scouted and planned for months leading up to the opening of season. He discovered a location where a buck had been scraping and rubbing. He sighted and re-sighted his rifle. Cultivated a garden for the buck to nibble. Positioned and camouflaged a stand nearby. And on opening morning of season, he arrived at the stand well before daylight and quietly waited.

His meticulous planning and diligent work paid off when a wall-hanger (for the non-hunting feast-makers this refers to a male deer with a big rack of horns) stepped out into the clearing near his stand. All he could see was horns. His mind danced as he envisioned the triumph of taking the buck and then parading it through the camp. He was a portrait of success. Others would marvel at his skillful stalking and planning. He was poised for the biggest kill of the season! Ahh, the glory!

Only, he became so excited that he could not be steady. His hands and arms began to shake, mildly at first, then increasingly as he tried to take aim. The shaking became so violent that the scope on his rifle slipped its mounts (which unbeknownst to him had loosened during all of the sighting and re-sighting of his rifle) and flopped off the gun landing with a loud “thud!”

Startled, the buck dashed away.

Dejected, the hunter gathered his belongings and slowly climbed down from the stand. And as his feet hit the ground, he dashed away (nearly as fast as the buck) to tell the story!

marinated strips of venison loin before dehydration

Jerky is a food-of-folly. A feast-maker meticulously slices meat, marinates the slices for hours in bold flavorful liquids, and then spends just as many (if not more) hours drying the slices out —leaving only a hint of flavor on the tough, meaty essence. In all, the preparation time rivals that of a seven course feast, but the end result is but a snack —a delightful dried bit of folly.

The options for making jerky are endless, but here is a guide to get you started:

Let’s start with the meat. Jerky can be made from nearly any meat (for my recent jerky I used deer loin and duck breast —because that’s what I had left in the freezer). You will need to slice the meat very thinly (the thicker the slices the longer it takes to dry it out). For the feast-maker fortunate enough to have a meat grinder, a slicer can be attached which makes short work of the slicing, which is a big time saver.

Next, for best flavor the sliced meat will need to be marinated. You have lots of options, and here are some of my favorites:

*Beer, wine, or whiskey
*Worcestershire sauce
*Dijon mustard
*Apple juice
*Apple cider vinegar
*Teriyaki sauce
*Sriracha sauce (Chinese hot sauce)

I also like adding onion slices, garlic cloves and citrus fruit to the marinade. And I always include the following:

*Kosher salt
*Black pepper
*Curing salt (important because of the slow cooking at very low temperatures)

The next step is to allow the strips to marinate in the refrigerator for several hours (overnight works great) in a sealed container. Remove the meat from the marinade and dry the excess liquid before moving to the next step (spreading strips on paper towels works well). Next, I like to add some seasoning, such as:

*Granulated garlic
*Onion powder
*Cayenne pepper
*Cumin

Jerky can be made in a smoker, oven or with a dehydrator. I typically use a dehydrator. Depending on the thickness of the slices and your preference on texture, plan for six to twelve hours for the dehydrating process (I like mine to still have a bit of chewiness so after about six hours I taste check it every hour or so).

Store the finished jerky in an airtight jar or plastic bag. If you will not be consuming it within a week, place in refrigerator or freezer for longer storage.

Chew on the follies of life, my friend.

Paella and Sangria Feast –“the pan meets fire”

October 27, 2014 by Convivial Boar 1 Comment

Browning Spanish Marinated Chicken

In two recent posts, we have discussed the moment of our feast on Lake Table Rock and explored the seductive nature of paella as a feasting food. Now, for the dance…

equipment…

Since the dish is named after the pan, let’s start there. Our pan is a twenty-eight inch diameter carbon steel paella pan. Because the pan is large, a long wood-handled spatula is helpful also —not essential, but the feasters notice, just saying…

Traditionally, paella is made over a wood fire with a tripod to hold the pan —(adds a smoky flavor, aroma and helps create a festive atmosphere). But there are gas and electric burners made for paella pans also. The key is that the burner must be as big —or nearly so—as the pan. Otherwise, the pan heats unevenly making it difficult to balance the cooking of everything in the pan. We opted for a wood fire, but instead of using a tripod, we borrowed my Dad’s cowboy grill —the grilling surface is just a bit larger than our pan. The cowboy grill has the added advantage of an adjustable rack to help control the heat.

featured ingredients…

Embracing the original spirit of paella (not to mention, family harmony) rather than the traditional ingredients (snail and rabbit), we selected fresh garden tomatoes (grown by my father-in-law); chicken (all pieces, even though I know the white meat isn’t really suited for paella); large prawns; chorizo sausage; and crawfish (a nod to the Louisiana heritage of a few feasters) for our paella.

We opted for the Valencia variety of rice, and for liquid we used a combination of saffron-infused chicken and seafood broths.

the dance…

Dancing with a paella is like a spirited tango —it begins deliberately, moves feverishly, and finishes beautifully. The Feast-Maker leads by preparation: every ingredient must be washed, chopped and prepared before the fire is lit.

An afternoon of deliberate, but not hurriedly, preparations:

onion and garlic diced;
fresh tomatoes grated;
lemons sliced;
chicken seasoned and marinated in Spanish olive oil and a smoked sweet paprika;
chorizo sliced thin;
prawns washed, peeled, deveined, seasoned (salt, pepper, garlic) and marinated in Spanish olive oil and lemon;
crawfish cooked in a seasoned broth with added prawn shells; and
chicken fat and boney pieces simmered into a broth.

We used lump charcoal to start the fire and then added water-soaked hickory chunks as the charcoal began to ash. As soon as the flames gave way to glowing embers, we placed the paella pan on the grill and pan-fried the marinated chicken –allowing it to reach a dark brown color and then removing the pieces to a foil pan until later.

browned chicken ready for paella

Next, we sautéed sliced chorizo in Spanish olive oil until it was brown and slightly crusty (starting with the marinated chicken and chorizo allowed the spices to cook out into the oil and flavor everything else). We removed the chorizo and set it aside.

We added onion, garlic, and grated tomatoes to our pan to make the sofrito. As the onion softened and tomatoes thickened, we added fresh thyme and cilantro —my youngest child, Charlie, was my designated sous feast-maker and he manned the long-handled wooden spatula during many of these steps.

sofrito (grated tomatoes, garlic, onion and herbs)

Meanwhile, I stirred several threads of saffron into the chicken and seafood broth warming on the side of the grill allowing them to dissolve into the broths.

With the sofrito gently sautéed until it was a bit pasty, we added about five cups of Valencia rice —spreading it gently with the spatula so that it covered the pan. Then, we returned the chorizo and chicken back to the pan. We added about fifteen cups of saffron infused broth and stirred the pan gently to mix the rice with the broth.

Important: after this initial stirring of the rice —no more! The initial stirring ensures incorporation of the ingredients but then the rice needs calm to absorb.

We allowed it to simmer (undisturbed) for just over an hour —until the liquid was fully absorbed. Surprisingly, many find leaving it alone during this time to be the most difficult step, but not the Boar see the post titled “let it sit a spell…”

While the rice was sizzling and caramelizing to form the socarrat, we placed the raw prawns around the pan to cook (just needs a few minutes to turn pink). Then we arranged the cooked crawfish. Next, we scattered Edamame beans (typically, green peas are used but not a big seller with my kids). We placed sliced red peppers (we used a jar of Piquillo Spanish peppers but you could use fresh red bell peppers too) around the pan and garnished the edge of the pan with lemon wedges.

garnishing with lemon wedges

Once I judged the socarrat was achieved (as entertainment for the onlooking feasters, I mimicked the great Western-movie trackers listening to the rails for a coming train by dramatically putting my ear near the pan to listen for the sizzle of the caramelizing rice), I removed the pan to a rack above the grill and covered it with a damp towel. As the paella rested (around fifteen minutes) the feasters readied for the feast —mostly, by pouring more sangria, a topic for an upcoming post.

The dance ended with a flourish, as I brandished the towel (much like a matador displays his muleta in the final stage of a bullfight –at least, that was the vision in my head), unveiling the completed paella and tempting the feasters to charge.

The feast was on, my friend.

Seared Venison Medallions

Pan-Fried Apples

equipment…

featured ingredients…

the dance…

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