Seattle is now in its November-December mode of seemingly continuous rainy days---unfortunately with what I call “real rain,” meaning that it gets you wet when you walk in it. Still, this is Supper’s best weather, the cold and dark of which makes looking forward to Supper most satisfying.
I live along the southern edge of Lake Washington, and in late October, there begins this curious gathering of crows, flying in big flocks toward a common meeting place, it seems. When Daylight Savings Time leaves us and Seattle’s descent into the darker November begins, I’ll look out and see the first big groups about 3:30 in the afternoon, winging their way south and cawing argumentatively. They sound as if they’re discussing Supper, actually, and I never see this natural happening without wanting to pour my evening glass of wine and pull out the ingredients for the evening meal. Given that the assisted living facility where my parents live begins serving Supper at 4:30, I don’t believe my wanting to start cooking that early is a bad thing, and the daily appearance of the crows makes it seem just right.
It also makes me remember fondly how true autumn was announced in the Midwest, with huge V’s of geese, flying high and honking loudly, so much so that you could hear them even at night or in the Kansas City suburb where I raised my daughter. True, they flew the other way in the springtime, but for some reason, the flight and its accompanying clatter were never as distinctive in the spring.
So, those geese and this month’s throng of crows makes me crave autumn and winter flavors instantly, right along with wanting to race into the kitchen and start cooking. I can smell cinnamon and clove, ginger and nutmeg, and I can almost taste them in soft, dark gingerbread as well as butternut squash, two entirely different textures but equally satisfying tastes. I can feel the crunch of toasted walnuts in a salad with avocado and grapefruit as well as to recreate that flow of slight bitterness they produce back over your tongue after you swallow. And rosemary, with that strong and herbal scent, beckons.
Supper, too, has to have play among various textures and tastes, and those elements are as important to one’s satisfaction and enjoyment of the food as are the food’s nutritional and colorful attributes. Creamy is one of those textures, and we just came through what is possibly the biggest creamy food festival of the year in some families, what with mashed potatoes and various preparations of sweet potatoes and creamed corn/puddings. If you don’t already read Smitten Kitchen, you should. Deb admits she isn’t a fan of things mashed with what proves to be entirely too much dairy in her pre-Thanksgiving post: http://smittenkitchen.com/2010/11/sweet-corn-spoonbread/ But I find them necessary rather often, because they make a starch a whole different ballgame on your Supper plate.
Other necessary tastes and textures are salty, crisp/crunchy, density, and melty butterfat. “Salty” is pretty obvious; it’s why you can’t be satisfied with only ice cream for Supper and probably the single reason it’s traditional to serve pancakes with bacon. “Crispy/crunchy” as a texture isn’t attained just by slipping a carrot stick onto one’s plate; sometimes, you need toasted almonds scattered among your green beans or the aforesaid walnuts on your soft cheesy toasted bread, and doing so means that you’re increasing the number of nuts in your daily diet. Nutritionists across the land will rejoice! Density is a matter of biting into something at which you actually have to work, so I often accomplish it with a square of cornbread or a lovely and chewy whole wheat bread cut in a thick wedge when a stew is the protein and required vegetables combined (See # 4, Meal planning – the basic food groups). Otherwise, it’s likely to be the protein itself, because something to chew provides density.
And I’m sure I don’t have to explain “melty butterfat,” richness flowing over your tongue and filling your mouth with a coaxing, sleepy sensation. That’s clearly the chocolate of choice one has for dessert!
I mention texture and taste because texture is the final component of the way I plan a Supper, even one for myself. There has to be something “creamy,” and it’s usually the starch on the plate, even if it’s a roasted potato. I roasted the darkest blue potatoes I have ever seen last night for my brother’s family, and they were so satisfying that we all kept wandering back to the roasting sheet to steal another piece of potato. Because they also comprised “crisp” with their French fry outsides (gloriously brown even on a blue potato!), I didn’t have to roast some walnuts to scatter over the salad, and, in fact, I didn’t even fix the salad, because we had broccoli, so we had our green vegetable covered (See Rule 2 in #3 – Broccoli, the green jewel) and there were carrots in with the braised pork shoulder for our second vegetable, anyway. I tend to overkill the vegetables with my niece and nephew because I believe, against all evidence to the contrary, that they aren’t eating vegetables any other time than when I cook for them!
To get back to the point, however, it is this: There can’t be two creamy textures on the plate, so if I want to go to all the work of making a cheesy cream sauce for the dying cauliflower in my vegetable crisper, then I can’t serve a starch of any other kind. Besides, it’s usually at least a two-step process to fix scalloped cauliflower, and I have to watch out for complicating my cooking procedures, using more than a minimum number of cooking vessels, and wanting Supper right now!
We, the queens of our kitchens, must be mindful of these considerations (adopt royal air; raise hand to bestow grace); our subjects depend on us, hapless and helpless cooks that they are. . .
Next time: Enough with the philosophy! Back to a recipe/technique!
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