philosophical musings

The Single Most Important Ingredient

June 3, 2018 by Convivial Boar 3 Comments

As a celebrated feast-maker, I spend considerable time researching, selecting, and musing about ingredients. From squeezing avocados to sniffing pineapples, I can make quite a scene—so, my children inform me.

All of this study finally paid off as I have made a discovery. One ingredient holds the key to a successful feast. In the wild, it blooms unpredictably, but often. At peak harvest, it flavors the bland and trumpets the flavorful. Its moments are short, yet in the hands of a skilled feast-maker, it can be stretched and rekindled, indefinitely.

And now, without further adieu, Marrow & Nectar is proud to reveal this rare and treasured ingredient:

drum roll, please…

Enthusiasm!

And when it comes to enthusiasm, you cannot top a youthful fishing weekend —especially, if one member of your party is celebrating his eighth birthday!

Here is the story of a feast seasoned with copious amounts of enthusiasm and a few tips on making the most of this special ingredient.

Go where it grows

Enthusiasm grows abundantly in some places for certain feasters. For instance, enthusiasm thrives for a group of boys on a fishing weekend at a cabin in the woods.

Focus the menu for it

Much ink is spilled by culinary gurus on planning balanced menus. But when it comes to coaxing enthusiasm, I suggest purposeful imbalance. Imagine how our youthful fishing party responded to the announcement of this wild game focused menu:

Creole-Battered Frog Legs

Fire-Roasted Fish in Butter Sauce(the catch of the day -perch and bass)

Wild Game Fry (deer, duck, and pheasant) served with white rice and gravy

Smoky Baked Beans seasoned with Brisket Burnt Ends, Onions and Peppers.

Inject it during preparation

Let enthusiasm be a part of the creation. Feasters are naturally inclined toward more enthusiasm after they dip their hands in the batter.

Celebrate it—and other things

Enthusiasm doesn’t appear on a schedule. When you sense it, celebrate and savor it.

And now a lesson in perspective. When asked how it worked out the birthday boy caught the biggest fish, he responded matter of factly, “the fish wanted the honor of having been caught by the birthday boy.” Indeed.

Season your feasts with enthusiasm and a dash of perspective, my friend.

Serious Whimsy…

August 13, 2017 by Convivial Boar Leave a Comment

As I sat for my portrait recently (which will be unveiled in this post), I pondered a bit about our journey. I’m often asked about the word “convivial”…

…what does it mean?

My preferred definition of “convivial” is “fond of feasting, drinking and merry company.”

a convivial scene

…then how does it fit with a boar?

I agree “convivial” is a peculiar adjective for an animal as wild and ferocious as a boar. Of course, boars are no strangers to feasts—most often invited to sit in the center of the table—not creating the feast.

For some, this juxtaposition of images (a boar as a celebrated centerpiece of a feast and also as a philosophical feast-maker) is unsettling. Unnatural, perhaps.

For other less-tethered souls, like myself, there is beauty in this type of ironic disconnect, which I call, “serious whimsy.”

In that vein, I unveil my recent portrait titled “Convivial Boar.”

Engage in serious whimsy, my friend.

Thoreau on Grilling…

March 1, 2015 by Convivial Boar Leave a Comment

Winter is lingering like a guest staying upon an expired welcome. The soft blanket of snow, that once gently covered the landscape, is now dingy and tattered. We must look within for inspiration and strength to endure the final harsh breaths of Old Man Winter. We can choose to see the vestiges of a departing winter or the coming of a fruitful spring.

As is often the case, Thoreau says it best, “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” The Boar looks upon the ugliness of an aging winter but sees the coming birth of farmer’s markets brimming with fruits and vegetables of the season and the start of the most cherished time of the year —grilling season.

grilled Mexican feast of chicken and shrimp fajitas and spanish rice

grilled Mexican feast of fajitas and spanish rice

In upcoming posts, we are going to cook with fire. We will discuss equipment, techniques, and creations —but today a bit of grilling-philosophy.

I’m often asked “where did you learn to grill?” And followed up with something like, “is there a particular book or author that you would recommend to me for learning about grilling?” And, of course, there are entire aisles of big-box book stores touting such titles as “Grilling for Dummies,” “101 Grilling Secrets,” “The Diary of a Confessed Grill Offender”…you get the picture.

But since the question is posed to me, we can either conclude that the questioner does not know me or that they are looking for something other than the directions to that aisle. Let’s go with the latter, my friend.

We will begin our discussions of grilling with Thoreau —I see a new title coming to that aisle, “The Grill at Walden Pond.” All kidding aside, I would rather sit alone on a pumpkin than be crowded on a velvet cushion in that aisle —and I have a hunch Thoreau would feel likewise.

grilled chicken and sweet corn

Here are some things that I believe Thoreau would say about grilling…

“Most grillers create dishes of quiet desperation and hang up their tongs with the song still in them.”

One belief that I hold with respect to mankind is that most of us want to cook with fire —and not just the bland and the processed but real creations of finesse and flare. But sadly, many of our grilling brethren are downtrodden and beholden to a menu of suffocating limitations. Yet in their hearts, a song of vibrant flavors and unique creations is written that goes unsung. Let’s hear that song, my friend.

“There are a thousand grillers hacking at the branches to every one striking at the root”

Put down the lighter fluid, let’s start our fire this grilling season with a flame of understanding. In our posts, we will explore the science of fire and how to deliberately focus it upon our creations.

grilled filet mignon and pineapple

“I went to the grill because I wished to create deliberately…”

I once had a friend whose idea of grilling was to douse some processed briquettes in fuel, set them on fire, dump a package of a meat-like substance on the grate, and then abandon his grill to consume a pale near-tasteless substance known as “light beer” until the smell of burning preservatives filled the air. I hope you never have to suffer such a disturbing scene.

Grilling is not a passive endeavor. The musical creations that exist in your heart require deliberate action. Focused preparations are required, and you must dance closely with the fire as you create.

Not to be misunderstood, I do not recommend grilling without beer, but it should be a coordinated part of your dance with the fire. I suggest a ceremonial drink or two in celebration of your feast-making fire and then a sip or two in the moments between the songs of your creations —and for goodness sake, choose a beer with depth and flavor, for I have a working theory that the flavors of feast-maker’s beer are reflected in his creations.

“If you have created your feasts in the air, your creations need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.”

If you can think and dream, you can create. Prepare your creations in the air, and then figure out the mechanics. Inspiration is key. Our world is full of checklists and how-to guides (remember that book store aisle), what you need is a vision.

grilled vegetables of the season

“All good things are wild and free.”

What you put on the grill matters. Break away from the cartoon flames of grill-marked packages labeled “great for grilling” and move to fresh vegetables and fruits of the season and recognizable meats —wild game, for instance. Your creations will be enhanced by a multiplier of your appreciation for the ingredients.

“Our creations are frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify.”

Focus on the essential and lose all else. Many a creation suffers because of needless detail. Cooking with fire is a primitive and simplistic process —don’t make it otherwise. Focus on displaying the flavors of your wild and free ingredients and let everything else fade away.

Season your grill with a dash of Thoreau, my friend.

Feast, My Valentine, Feast!

February 8, 2015 by Convivial Boar Leave a Comment

Oh my, Valentine’s day is upon us. Hurry! Buy a dozen roses (wait, maybe two dozen —but what if someone else gets their sweetheart three dozen?), the big heart-shaped box of chocolates (the one with the map so you can find the treasured pieces and avoid the land mines), and wait a minute, I’m forgetting something…

Oh yes, something that ties it altogether, expresses your undying love, and makes your significant other feel truly unique and special—a greeting card. Luckily, an entire aisle of every store is devoted to the outsourcing of human sentiment, conveniently indexed by relationship, occasion, and emotion —i.e. person who sits next to me on bus; Groundhog Day; humorous-befuddlement.

Don’t they just think of everyone. I wonder what the greeting card company thinks I should say to my wife this year? Can you imagine living in a time where one put quill (whatever that was) to paper (whatever that was) and wrote a letter (whatever that was) or a poem (whatever that was)? Crazy stuff, my friend.

Of course, it’s the thought that counts —apparently, even if that thought is someone else’s.

Today, it’s all a formula: this thing + that thing + one more thing = something my sweetheart can post about. And if the formula works for you, make haste and purchase the required things —certainly, do not give the slightest pause for the wild musings of a philosophical, feast-making, Boar (early bird gets the best sentiment!).

On the other hand, if you seek something else…something less formulaic…something unique, step this way, my friend. Our journey is one of story and feast —didn’t see that coming, did you?

Valentine’s Day began, as so many treasured holidays, as a day of feasting. It roots back to the Roman fertility festival, Lupercalia, (featuring a sacrificed goat and other ritualistic festivities) celebrated annually on the ides of February. Around 496, Pope Gelasius I recast the pagan festival as a Christian feast day and declared February 14 as St. Valentine’s Day —so, at the heart of the holiday of the heart is a feast!

Embracing the feasting history of Valentine’s Day, I say, “plan a feast for your Valentine!” Not just any feast but a unique feast inspired by your story featuring courses of celebration, mystery, and romance.

Course I: Celebration

Understanding that Valentine’s Day began as a festival, let’s explore the meaning of festival a bit. According to the collective wisdom of our time (Wikipedia —move over Thoreau, Emerson, and Plato), a festival is an event staged by a community, centering on and celebrating some unique aspect of that community and its traditions.

Hmm…to translate that into our feast, we need a course staged by us, centering on and celebrating some unique aspect of our Valentine. Approach this course light-hearted (don’t get too serious yet —it’s a long evening, my friend). Often little things that are unique about your Valentine work the best. Perhaps, it could be as simple as celebrating something at which you normally scoff.

Here’s what I mean…

roasted red bell pepper soup garnished with bacon, scallions, parmesan cheese, and truffle oil

Wife-of-the-Boar is not a fan of peppers —save one, the red bell pepper. She loves it, hates all others (surely, you jest what about the other bell peppers: yellow, green, orange…. Alas, no middle-ground: one pepper is in, and all others are out). As a convivial feast-maker, I cannot accept or explain such limitations (bland dish, fiery debate). But Valentine’s Day is not about acceptance or explanations. Celebration is the order of the day. So I choose to celebrate my Valentine through a pepper —the only pepper for her. Roasted red bell pepper soup brings the pepper into focus and celebrates something that is uniquely her (and the color works nicely for the occasion too).

Course II: Mystery Course

Quite fitting for a holiday celebrating romance, Valentine’s Day is wrapped in mystery. The mystery revolves around which St. Valentine Pope Gelasius intended to celebrate —there were at least three possibilities, and his posts that day about the event were a bit vague, mostly focusing on where he was at and who was with him. Rumor has it that he posted more revealing thoughts on a medium that vanished thirty seconds after it was opened.

The most popular legend is that during a time when marriages were outlawed, a priest named St. Valentine secretly performed marriage ceremonies. According to this legend, he was apprehended, jailed, and executed (sentiments noticeably left out of the greeting card aisle, but makes you wonder if “be my Valentine” was really intended as a positive statement. I may be able to develop my own line of cards around this notion). In this way, he stands as a martyr for the power of love and marriage. Another legend holds that while in jail, St. Valentine fell in love with the jailor’s daughter and before his execution, he wrote her a letter signed “from your Valentine” —pretty convenient last name if you ask me.

I take this a cue to bring an element of mystery into our feast —perhaps we could just purchase the box of chocolates without the map. Or we could create a course to be revealed only in the special moment of the feast. Unveiling portions of the menu in the days leading up to Valentine’s Day heightens the anticipation but keeping something secret excites the moment.

Some ideas to think about in planning the mystery course: What significant meals have you shared? What was the first meal you created for her or she created for you? Perhaps, you could create a version of a dish that your Valentine regularly orders at a restaurant. Or what if you researched and created a food from her childhood? Maybe, your Valentine has always wanted to try something and now you can make that possible (you know, like another type of pepper —or maybe not).

This course is seasoned with the powerful spice of surprise. Focus on the special and mysterious. Be adventurous and bold. Your ultimate goal is not to create the best food item, but rather you are writing a love letter to your Valentine through food creations. Why you chose the creation (the story) is far more important than what it is or how it turns out. With all the courses, but especially this one, showmanship will help the moment —be ready to tell your Valentine the story of the feast as you present it.

Advanced technique: create a course featuring items and ingredients from different times of your relationship and tie them together with a story or theme. As an example you could create a course representing the growth of your relationship by including a food item or ingredient from a meaningful meal when your relationship was young and pair it with something you have enjoyed more recently. Also, don’t forget the power of reuniting your Valentine with a wine or Champagne from your past.

Course III: Romance Course

featured ingredients for a romantic chocolate creme brûlée

Valentine’s Day did not become joined with romance until the Fourteenth Century (I simply point out that feasting had been part of the Valentine scene for a thousand years at that point, lending credence to my long-held belief that Valentines should have been printed on chicken wings —in a moment you will know why I chose Chicken). In 1381 Chaucer composed a poem to celebrate the engagement of Richard II and Anne of Bohemia. Through his poem “The Parliament of Fowls” he linked the royal engagement, the mating season of birds, and St. Valentine’s Day:

For this was on St. Valentine’s Day,
When every fowl cometh there to choose his mate.

I translate this romantic notion into our feast as an indulgent course —maybe involving Chaucer’s fowl. Focus on the guilty pleasures and indulge. For the Boar’s Valentine, indulgence brings to mind chocolate and France. I’m thinking chocolate creme brûlée in a dish for two (pretty suave for a Boar —and note the incorporation of fowl through the eggs in the custard—suave and clever, my friend. Enough to make even Chaucer proud, I’m sure).

If you fear that a feast of celebration, mystery, and romance alone will not suffice because it lacks the permanency of a card, might I suggest creating a written feast invitation that explains the story of your creations. Perhaps, you could sign it “from your Feast-Making Valentine.” Now, that sounds post-worthy.

Celebrate, mystify, and indulge, my friend.

Creating in prose

January 13, 2015 by Convivial Boar Leave a Comment

the road ahead

In this time of year, looking to the road ahead is paramount, but let’s also ponder, “why are we on this path?”

In an earlier post we traipsed through the intertwining of boars, philosophy, and feasting to explain why a boar, of all creatures, would be leading this journey. And after reading it, I’m confident that you share my modest conclusion, it is as though the part was written for the Convivial Boar. We also touched on the importance of giving our feasts a story —now, let’s turn our attention to the use of stories in this blog.

The norm in cooking blogs (if that is what this is) is to focus on recipes. So, the question arises why is our focus more on story? Much of the motivation for this blog, lies in the answer to that question —and that answer, not surprisingly, involves a story…or two…

Every third friday in April (usually right after Uncle Sam pays his annual visit) a feast rages on the banks of the Ouachita River —the Gar Gig. And for many years, one of the featured items of the feast was duck gumbo —created in the convivial manner. Each year, one particular feaster (let’s call him Freddie) would gush and gush (only modesty keeps me from filling the page here) about the gumbo. Repeatedly, he asked for my recipe, and just as repeatedly, I promised to provide it —only, I didn’t have one.

But how hard could it be just to write down the steps? Turns out that for me it was next to impossible. But why?

Ever hear, (or say),“I followed the recipe exactly but it didn’t turn out?” Perhaps the reason is that so much is left out of a basic recipe format. I find that I do not create by recipe or formula. I cannot tell you in bullet-points how I made something —and even if I could, I wouldn’t, for it would violate one of my sacred rules:

Convivial Boar Feast-Making Rule #4:

“Replication is an evil to be avoided at all cost.”

Indeed, I am only comfortable describing my creations in prose —because that’s how I make them.

Recipes have their place as a guide or reference point —but nothing more. Who am I to tell you that your creation needs exactly two cups of walnuts? I say make it as nutty as you like —and then some.

So, imagine my dilemma if (hypothetically) an enthusiastic feaster says to me, “this pork stew is not only the best stew I ever had but the best food I’ve ever eaten. I must have it again and again” —note how hypothetical folks are always so grand in their compliments —and follows, with “can I have the recipe?” I want to say, “yes!” But I know that I do not have a recipe —I also know that this stew will never exist again. So, I say, “yes, of course you can” —candor issues aside, it’s an effective response. Most of the time, the subject never comes up again —its like all of those things you intend to do but just never think of again like returning borrowed books.

But for those precious few persistent feasters, who aren’t satisfied to munch on empty words alone, my response goes like this:

My initial vision for the stew was formed around the notion of featuring ingredients harvested from this very land and serving it here. My father grows turnips for the deer on the farm, and he trapped a pig that was rooting up the patch. I decided that featuring the pig with the very turnips he sought to destroy had a certain ironic flavor…

Try replicating that! —some people struggle just to listen to it (my wife and children, to name a few).

In this blog, creations are described in prose so we can explore the vision, plan and methods. We are creators not replicators —we are Feast-Makers, empowered to make feasts of the moment!

That being yelled, I get a lot of ideas from recipes. I will research and review tens of recipes for a single creation. But I do not feel beholden to the recipe. I view them as fodder for ideas or at most, as a suggestion (anything that you see on this blog that resembles a recipe should receive the same treatment).

However, I am a strong believer in technique. For instance, in creating the stew described above, I researched and practiced French braising technique in preparing the pig. Not just the steps of how to do it, but why. Through understanding why a cooking technique is used, we are empowered to apply it to other creations.

We must also pay attention to ratios —especially in baking. Again, not just the math but why that ratio works.

Visions, techniques, ratios and methods empower the Feast-Maker to create unique feasts of the moment. Rigid formulaic recipes dictate robotic compliance in an attempt to replicate a dish from yesterday. And while it may taste good and fulfill an important need, it is not Feast-Making —at least not in the convivial manner.

Sadly, Freddie left this world before I was able to help empower him to create his own gumbo. Yet, he ignited the struggle that inspired this blog.

Create in prose, my friend.

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.

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.

scouting for food…

November 19, 2014 by Convivial Boar Leave a Comment

enthusiastic hunter spies his prize

For those who know me, it will not be a surprise that some of my best hunting stories are about not hunting. And this is not a recent phenomenon…

Growing up, my family were members of a deer camp called “B Tree” —second to none, except maybe “A Tree.” Where do these names come from? At B Tree, hunting, feasts and stories abounded — not necessarily in that order.

During September, my father would begin the preparations for the season which generally opened the first weekend in November. Part of this preparation was figuring out where my brothers and I would hunt, which meant scouting, investigating, figuring and eventually setting up a stand. At first, all of our stands were located together along the same road or field —this was before the day where every hunter had his own personal vehicle.

Usually, the location was selected because my father saw a good buck in that area or found sign that a buck had been there. But one year, I broke away from the group and did my own scouting…

I discovered a small cut-over (meaning an area where the trees had been recently cut) just a short distance from the camp and told my father that I wanted to put a stand there. As he investigated my selection our dialog went something like this:

“Well, you can see pretty good here, but where is the sign?”

“Didn’t find any,” I report as though I had looked or would know what I was looking for if I had.

“Why put a stand here?” he asks seeming a bit puzzled.

“I’ve got a feeling about this spot,” I say parroting what I had heard older members of the camp say about their stands —usually after they paraded back to the camp with a big buck.

In hunting, as well as many other enterprises it now seems, a reference to “gut-feeling instinct” trumps logic.

He relented, “hmm, well it’s not close to the others but it is close to the camp. I can drop you off on our way out, but you will need to walk back when you’re done.”

“Perfect,” I say, but he did not know why at the time.

I had scouted –but not for deer. Instead, I focused on something more vital, something I truly understood: food.

Our camp had a cook —and boy did we! I scouted her. The season before, I discovered that she arrived pretty soon after the hunters departed and started working on lunch preparations. I knew that if I walked back to the camp, I could watch her prepare the feast. And I had a hunch there might be something else. I was right, the first morning I walked back she greeted me at the door, smiled and said, “how about some hot chocolate and a fried pie?” Success!

blackberry fried pies and hot chocolate

I hunted that stand for the next several years. When my father and brothers wondered aloud why I never killed any deer or even spoke of seeing any, I would simply reply, “just not lucky, I guess.”

Truth was we were all lucky. We had a real feast-maker in our midst. The feast that I most remember her making was smothered fried deer steak, mashed potatoes, baked beans, cole slaw, corn bread—and for dessert, we had fried pies (absent the ones I ate in the morning).

The food was great but what I marveled about at the time was the scale. She would cook for thirty ravenous hunters and there was always plenty. She handled big pots and pans with ease. Indeed, the only grumbling I ever heard was from the hunters teasing each other about how heavy the serving dishes were as they passed them around the table —note, if your problem is too much food in the dish, you have no problem, my friend.

It wasn’t until years later, after she had stopped cooking for the camp, that I realized the true impact of her feasts. She gave the camp life. Without her, the camp door opened to a cold, dark cinder block building, which I had never seen before. With her, the door opened to the warmth of the ovens, the sizzle of meat frying, the aromas of soulful cooking, and the invite of her pleasant smile.

a new table of young hunter-feasters

At the table, her feasts coaxed the rugged hunters first to relax, then to near playfulness and at last, leisure. The hunters would linger around long after the feast, telling stories, picking at each other, and praising the food —and the feast-maker, who had given their camp life.

May your camp have life, my friend.

Paella and Sangria –“We’re having what?”

October 19, 2014 by Convivial Boar 4 Comments

Our paella featuring chicken, chorizo sausage, prawns, and crawfish

I struggle to determine exactly when things begin —once something happens it seems it has always been so and my mind can’t sort out the moments before it happened —at least not very well. For instance, I cannot determine when I first heard the word “paella” uttered. Suffice it to say that growing up in South Arkansas, we did not regularly dine on paella. But somehow the notion of a paella began to dance in the Boar’s head.

I wonder why?

Months before our annual family trip to Lake Table Rock, my family traveled with friends to Santa Fe, New Mexico. I mentioned to our friends that I was interested in Spanish cuisine—especially, paella. Next thing we knew, I was skipping (or my version of walking happily) out of a Spanish cooking store with a paella pan big enough to serve twenty feasters, a long wood handled flat-spatula, two ounces of saffron, and a bag of paella rice. The pan balanced on our suitcases –and clamoring with every bump for hundreds of miles –served as the soundtrack to my daydreams of a paella feast —I’ve heard others in the car describe the sounds differently.

Back at home, I cleaned and seasoned my paella pan as visions of a feast began to form in my head, like a coming storm. The pan beckoned me as a blank canvas to an artist. I researched and studied for months, the urge growing stronger by the day. Finally, I decided to unleash the paella feast on my family during the Lake Table Rock trip.

My announcement to the family was met with questions along the line of, “we are having what?,” “what is that?” And my personal favorite from a boy who shall remain nameless (but with whom I share a roof), “Why don’t you just make ribs again like you did last year? Why are you always trying to make something nobody ever heard of?” Alas, the young lad solidified that which he sought to discourage —I’m sure a therapist will help him understand me later in life. I find few things as alluring as making a feast for the first time and serving it to feasters who have never heard of it before. The game was afoot.

In a later post, we will go step-by-step through our paella feast preparations, but today let’s explore why the Boar fixated on this dish…

tradition, unique pan, and fire…

Paella is a traditional rice dish of Spain —and the fact that it is typically prepared outdoors over an open fire in a large pan makes it an excellent feasting-food. The name of the dish comes from the special pan in which it is prepared. A paella pan is a large flat pan with short sides typically made of carbon steel (though other types exist).

fresh local ingredients…

Traditional paella was made with rabbit and snails. Hmm, isn’t that interesting…even with my credibility as a feast-maker not sure I can sell my family on rabbit and snail as part of a dish they never heard of. But looking more closely at the origins and development of paella, I discover that it was simply a rice dish to feature fresh local ingredients —rabbit and snail just happened to be what was at hand at the time, lucky them. Most paella today is made with some combination of fresh meat, seafood and vegetables.

sofrito with an array of peppers

aromatic, complex and unique flavor foundation…

The foundation (and many say the secret) of good paella (as with many Spanish dishes) is sofrito. While many variations exist, sofrito is an aromatic sauce made with tomatoes (typically grated or pureed), onions, and garlic (sometimes herbs and peppers are added). Sofrito infuses the paella (and nearby feast-watchers) with aroma and depth. The word sofrito means “gently fried.” To prepare sofrito for paella, the tomato, onion and garlic are slowly sautéed in olive oil —typically after meats have been browned in the oil creating a complex and unique flavor profile.

particular rice to absorb flavorful liquid…

Paella is essentially a rice dish —so, not surprisingly, the rice is important. The rice of choice is Bomba or Valencia. These are favored because of the short-grains that soak in more liquid than other varieties (three cups liquid to every one cup rice) which means the rice will absorb more of the powerful flavors of the sofrito and rich broths.

seductive essence…

Since the time of Cleopatra saffron has enjoyed a mystic allure as a seductive and powerful essence. Today, saffron is known as the Queen of Spices and is the most expensive spice (price estimates for one pound exceed $1,500 —no wonder its sold by the gram). Luckily, a little goes a long way. For paella saffron is dissolved in the broths to add color, flavor and allure.

celebration of the crusty edges…

The most prized part of paella is the Socarrat —the crusty part of rice on the edge and bottom of the pan where it singes and caramelizes. Obtaining a Socarrat requires patience and poise at the end of the paella cooking. Once the liquid is absorbed, the rice will begin to singe. The feast-maker must listen for the sizzle and smell the aroma of the caramelization judging for a toasty crust, instead of burnt rice —now you see why I took it as high praise when feasters came back for seconds requesting more of the crusty part of the rice.

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As the Boar sees it, paella is a celebration of tradition, local ingredients, and Spanish cooking techniques caramelized on an open fire in a uniquely designed vessel beckoning with a Cleopatra-like seduction.

Feast on the crust of life, my friend.

Let it sit a spell…

September 28, 2014 by Convivial Boar 3 Comments

My grandfather was a skilled carpenter, who could expertly build anything from furniture to an entire house. His creations are celebrated and treasured. He earned his living by understanding materials, design and craftsmanship. When his living was earned, he designed and built himself a porch rocker —and sat down in it for thirty years. Sociably, he placed the rocker in his front yard where he could visit neighbors, pet bird-dogs, watch cars pass by, and nap. He ended each visit by asking, “what’s your hurry?”

That’s the well-simmered stock from which I’m made.

So, when the preparation of a feast requires that a creation sit or simmer for a spell, it comes natural to me. Indeed, I relish these moments —provides time for a beverage —maybe a cigar or pipe —maybe a good book —or perhaps, a raucous story or two.

Feast-Making is a deliberate and focused undertaking that cannot be rushed or hurried. Here are three Convivial Boar Feast-Making Rules that should help:

Feast-Making Rule #1: Create in leisure

Feasters are more at ease if the Feast-Maker is relaxed and having fun. If the Feast-Maker appears frazzled and working too hard, the feasters will likely feel some guilt. But, if the Feast-Maker is lounging in a lawn chair clutching a Smokehouse Bloody Mary singing refrains from an Irish Folk song, the feasters will eagerly join. Feast-Makers must operate as Benjamin Franklin described the French people: “accomplish much while appearing to do little.”

Feast-Making Rule #2: Time matters not

A feast occurs when it occurs. The Feast-Maker, like any other artist, cannot be beholden to an arbitrary schedule of completion. This rule serves two purposes: it helps with Rule #1 (the lack of a deadline can make the most untimely of people appear timely); and it builds anticipation in the feasters (the Feast-Maker’s creations are more readily devoured and celebrated by a ravenous crowd of feasters who have been properly teased by the aromas than by feasters who show up at an appointed time to partake of promptly prepared dishes).

Note on Rule #2: There is a fine line between teasing and torturing when it comes to feasting. Use samples and cocktails to tame the feasters—many a feaster will look back at the sampling as the best part of the feast.

pictured is a feaster who regularly shows up early to help

Feast-Making Rule #3: It begins for each anew

The creation of the feast is part of the feast. For each feaster, the feast begins when they arrive. Just as Rule #2 abolished the notion of a particular end time for the feast-maker, this rule abolishes any particular start time for the feasters. Early feasters become assistants to the Feast-Maker and help in the creation —which heightens their anticipation and joy (not to mention, they are first in line for samples). Communications about my feasts, typically say something like, “I plan to start creating the feast around…join as early as you desire.” In my experience, this rule encourages feasters to arrive early, eager to help which enhances the Convivial Boar’s leisurely demeanor. And of course, the late-arriving feasters have the pleasure of joining a party in full-swing.

What’s your hurry, my friend, let it sit a spell.