Creating in prose

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.