Hot Sauce

This time of year, I tend to be up to my elbows in tomatoes and chiles. It's a wonderful problem to have: What am I going to do with all these beautiful ingredients?

Here's a new hot sauce recipe that I've been making the past few weeks. I can't get enough of it. I eat it with chips, with tamales, on fried eggs. I find myself planning my meals looking for opportunities to use it.

Hot Sauce (makes 2 cups)

2 ripe happy tomatoes
6 serrano chiles
1/2 teaspoon olive oil
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon salt

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Arrange the tomatoes on a baking sheet. Rub the serrano chiles with olive oil and arrange them on the baking sheet as well.

Roast the tomatoes and chiles for about 40 minutes, until the tomatoes are a bit droopy and the serranos start to brown.

When the tomatoes and chiles are cool enough to handle, remove the cores from the tomatoes and the stems from the serranos. Puree the tomatoes and chiles in a blender until the mixture is smooth. Add the vinegar and salt, and puree a minute longer.

Choice

There's a scene in the movie Shakespeare in Love in which a character wanders through a marketplace where a waiter for an outdoor eating venue is reciting daily specials. I've heard that moviemakers making historical films employ historians as fact checkers, but in this case someone wasn't doing his job. The practice of giving diners a choice of what to eat actually evolved hundreds of years after Shakespeare's time, in Paris around the time of the French Revolution.

Innkeepers had sold meals to hungry, paying guests for millenia, but choices were limited to what that innkeeper happened to be offering on that particular day. Eating establishments in Paris before modern restaurants came into vogue were usually locations where a proprietor served the same thing to all of his guests, at designated times rather than whenever they happened to wander in the door.

The tradition of a "restaurant," where diners come on their own schedules and order off of a list of choices, caught on in Paris around the same time that the Industrial Revolution was getting into gear across the channel in England. Rural homesteaders forced off their land began moving to the cities, taking jobs in factories, and working for wages. They became the earliest modern consumers, spending their hard-earned income on afforable luxuries that helped them unwind after long, grueling work days.

Today we take for granted the act of visiting a store and choosing from hundreds or thousands of options. We craft identities based on whether we choose organic or exotic food products, or whether we're partial to high end chocolate. We tend to think of ourselves as individuals first, and then members of a tribe, country, or community and, for better or worse, much of our identity as individuals is tied up in what we buy and how we eat.

As a business owner, I struggle with this. Vending at farmers' markets, my livelihood depends on feeding as many customers as possible as quickly as possible. The more choices you offer, the longer it takes folks to make up their minds. Limiting the number of options also cuts way down on waste. I'm aware that I sometimes lose customers because I don't offer the option of choosing different types of tortillas or different types of cheese, but this business model mostly works for me so I stick with it.

As I was serving this month's Humble Feast Dinner, it occurred to me that this type of dining event is actually more like the pre-industrial common table than a modern restaurant setup. There's a buffet with multiple courses, but they're the same offerings for everyone, and we serve at a set time. This month we came up with a novel approach: we set up a taco bar. Rice, beans, beef, seitan, salsa, hot sauce, cheese, marinated cabbage, pickled carrots and jalapenos. I doubt any two tacos were the same.

Social Media

I often find pictures of my hands and my quesadillas on market shoppers' blogs when I idly surf the internet, procrastinating from more urgent tasks. I've even found recipes and calorie counts. Or I'll learn on Twitter that a seasonal vegetable has finally shown up at the farmers' market. Sometimes I'll find the answer to a perplexing question like how to cook cardoons by typing into a search engine.

Today it's easier than ever to access basic culinary information over the internet. But this trend of blogs, websites, and social media is really just the most recent chapter in a story about food and communication technologies that goes back at least as far as the invention of writing.

The earliest written recipes were inscribed on ancient Babylonian tablets. They contain instructions for preparing different types of broths and meats. Cooks and scribes set down this information at a time when it was new and exciting to store learning in a format that could be deciphered by anyone with access to the code. These cooks and scribes must have belonged to the cultural elite, those who knew how to read and write.

The English sociologist Jack Goody wrote a great book called Cooking, Cuisine, and Class, in which he ruminated on the differences between cultures that have a haute cuisine, or a more complex and varied eating style for the upper classes, versus cultures where ordinary folk and their richer compatriots eat basically the same foods, only the wealthy eat more of them. He concluded that cultures with haute cuisines tend to have written traditions while cultures with simpler food systems are more likely to communicate general and culinary knowledge orally.

Ancient Babylonian had perhaps the earliest haute cuisine, that is, it included a body of knowledge that was the province of sophisticated professionals. The ability to preserve information in writing to share with fellow experts and future generations gave the craft of cooking a platform and a reference point, a medium to store and accumulate nuggets of knowledge.

Down the line, the invention of the printing press eventually turned cookbooks into household items. Naturally, the first cookbooks were written by rich folks for rich folks, but eventually more cookbooks were written, and they became more widely available. By the time a few centuries had passed, a typical housewife could get her hands on a basic cookbook geared specifically for a typical household.

Despite the staggering amount of information that we now have available about food via the internet, we really don't have any idea of how this technology will ultimately affect the way we cook. On the one hand, we're able to watch videos about simple things like how to peel a carrot, while we can also learn obscure arts such as how to make tempeh or recreate medieval trenchers.

At its worst, this vast storehouse of food knowledge has the potential to be confusing and unduly complicated, discouraging would-be cooks seeking simple, accessible information. At its best, it can be a powerful tool for healthier, happier eating. Time will tell where it's all heading. In the meantime, I'm going to go peck around for some ideas on how to use those donut peaches I just picked up at the market.

It's a Book!

It's called Cavemen, Monks and Slow Food: A History of Eating Well, and it's about our ever changing relationship with the food we eat. I was talking to someone at some point during the writing process, and she said that she'd never been particularly interested in history because it was all about wars. I disagreed. Personally, I grew interested in history when I realized that it was actually all about food.

We first became human when changes to our teeth and legs enabled us to hunt, gather and eat a more interesting diet than our simian ancestors had enjoyed. Civilization and farming evolved hand in hand, and more recently the industrial and technological revolutions both hinged on having an ample food supply.

As a farmers' market vendor, I was especially fascinated to learn about the many important social and political developments that occurred when small-scale agriculture managed to thrive. Ancient Greek democracy emerged among independent olive and grape growers, and the bleak years of medieval feudalism drew to a close when enterprising farmers began clearing and claiming marginal land, and striking out on their own.

But there are already plenty of terrific food history books out there telling you how we came to eat what we eat. I was more interested in exploring how we came to enjoy the foods that we prefer, and how longstanding attitudes and feelings about food tie into today's issues and debates, such as organic foods, local eating, vegetarianism, and whether foodies are inevitably snobbish.

Copies are available on Amazon, and I'm working hard to get it into bookstores and libraries. In the meantime, I'll be blogging more regularly about the long view. Thanks for listening.

Dilly Beans!

We expanded our Humble Feast dinners this month, adding a second location at the Salmon Bay Eagles' Lodge, and moving the Capital Hill event to the larger, lovely Montlake Community Center. The new venues present challenges and opportunities, and I especially enjoyed making the same meal 2 weeks in a row, and being able to learn and fine tune the recipes.

By popular demand, here's the recipe for the Dilly Beans that we made this month. It actually comes from my Local Bounty cookbook, and it's basically a pickled green bean, only it's eaten fresh rather than canned.

Dilly Beans (makes 4 servings)

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, cut in rings
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup chopped fresh dill
1/2 cup white or red wine vinegar
1/2 cup water
1 lb. green beans, rinsed and trimmed

Heat the olive oil in a medium-size saucepan. Add the onion, garlic, salt and dill. Cook for about 5 minutes, until the onion is soft and transluscent. Add the vinegar and water, and bring the mixture to a boil.

Add the green beans. Cook for about 15 minutes, stirring often so all of the green beans come into contact with the liquid.

Serve chilled, or at room temperature.

Bare Hand Contact with Ready-to-Eat Food

Anyone who works in the food service industry these days is all too familiar with the regulation that requires food service workers to avoid bare hand contact with ready-to-eat food. Many years ago, when I started my first business, we were told to minimize bare hand contact with ready-to-eat food; now we're told to avoid it altogether.

It's okay to touch the food you're preparing if it will be cooked in between the time you touch it and the time it will be served to a customer. For example, you can use bare hands to chop onions that will be cooked as part of a tomato sauce. It's not okay to touch food with bare hands after it's been cooked, or to touch food that isn't going to be cooked at all, such as salad.

You can avoid bare hand contact with ready to eat food by wearing gloves, or by handling food with utensils such as tongs, or materials such as bakery paper, those tissue paper squares that servers use when handling pastries.

Patty Pan's menu processes don't involve any bare hand contact with ready to eat food, unless we accidentally touch an item after it has been cooked, for example in the process of transferring it from the grill to the plate. Still, we cook in a public setting where customers can see every move we make. Folks reprimand us regularly if we're not wearing gloves, even though we're touching food that's going to be fully cooked, such as cheese and tortillas.

We've started wearing gloves and using tongs when we handle cheese, because the perception is at least as important as the reality. A health inspector once told me that she'd received a complaint call from a customer who saw me touching vegetables as I transferred them from the bucket to the grill. She responded, "There's no health code violation there. If you don't like it, don't eat there. But FYI, I eat there."

Things get more complicated when there's only one person working in the booth. Unless you put on a new pair of gloves for every single order, you'll probably at some point touch money and then touch food. Granted, it's food that's going to be cooked rather than ready-to-eat food, but it's still potentially dicey. Using tongs to handle the cheese alleviates some of the problem, but it's more awkward to use tongs for the tortillas.

At the Lake City market last week, a customer reprimanded my employee who was alone in the booth, telling him that he shouldn't be wearing gloves when taking money, and then touching food with those same gloves. He told her that he didn't technically have to wear gloves because he wasn't handling any ready to eat food; he was only wearing them because he was allergic to wheat, and he had a reaction when he touched the tortillas.

The customer complained to the market manager, and she and I had a chat about it. I felt that his reasoning was possibly sound, but he should have treated the customer's complaint more seriously. I called the customer and apologized, and I also worked the market myself this week, to evaluate the situation and do some damage control.

I was careful to use gloves whenever I handled cheese, and I even experimented a bit with using tongs to handle the tortillas. Coincidentally, the health inspector showed up. She told me right away that a customer had approached her on the way to the booth, and complained that I was handling tortillas after handling money. Apparently the same customer who had complained last week had been lurking and observing.

The health inspector told me she'd told the customer that she was familiar with my operation, and it was okay for me to touch the tortillas because they would be cooked before I served the quesadillas. I told her that I always wondered about the propriety of handling food after handling money, even if that food was going to be cooked. She responded that folks always worry about the germs on money because it passes through so many hands, but money is actually made out of a type of paper that barely harbors germs. I hadn't known this, but was relieved to hear it.

Apparently the customer had been observing a number of vendors, and had a long list of complaints. Both the health inspector and the market manager felt that she was out of line, but I think the situation goes deeper than just one out of control customers.

Folks place their trust in us when we handle their food, and it's our responsibility to take their seriously. At the same time, perceptions about food safety can be quite subjective. Customers reprimand my male employees more than they reprimand female employees doing the same things and, as the business owner, they reprimand me least of all. They also reprimand my teenage employees more often than they reprimand the adults. Touching cheese with bare hands has been an ongoing source of friction but, until this week, nobody ever had a problem with us touching tortillas with bare hands.

We'll keep trying to do the best we can to comply with health department regulations, and to keep our customers safe. But we also need to take customer perceptions seriously, even when they seem silly because, for better or for worse, they're the ones buying the food and spreading the word.

Farm to Fork Dinner and Halibut-Potato Patties

I catered a lovely dinner last night at Whispering Winds Farm in Stanwood. It was my very first farm dinner, as well as a first for the hosts, Charlene and Doug. We were all quite pleased, and we all felt that we'd learned some valuable lessons to make the event even more successful next time.

It was clear to Charlene and Doug that they should have held the event later in the season, with more produce to choose from, and we shouldn't have committed to a specific menu months ago, when we had no idea how fickle the weather would be. I learned that I should have brought many more bowls, more utensils, and a larger griddle.

Most of the recipes came from my friend Debra's wonderful collection, The Northwest Vegetarian Cookbook. We were going to make Romanesco with Northwest Berry Vinegar, and Charlene planted romanesco specifically for the occasion, but the weather didn't cooperate. We used broccoli instead, from Willie Greens Farm, which was a great stand in. We also made a salad with a variety of gorgeous lettuces from Let Us Farm, and Carrots with Fennel Seeds and Hazelnuts, using a mix of yellow and orange carrots from various farms.

For the protein, we made Halibut and Potato Patties (my recipe, developed for the occasion) using some spectacular halibut from Wilson Fish, along with potatoes from Alvarez Farms, and herbs from Whispering Winds.

Here's the recipe, scaled down for home use:

1 lb. filleted halibut
olive oil, salt, and pepper

1 lb. yellow or red potatoes, cut into bite-size pieces
handful of chopped, fresh parsley
handful of chopped, fresh chives
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
black pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Brush the halibut with olive oil, sprinkle it with salt and pepper, and bake for about 20 minute, until it's flaky in the middle.

Meanwhile, boil the potatoes for about 10 minutes, until they're very soft.

Drain the potatoes, and mash them. Crumble the halibut. Mixed the crumbled halibut with the mashed potatoes, and add the parsley, chives, olive oil, salt and pepper. Shape the mixture into patties, and brown them for a few minutes on each size in s skillet or on a griddle. Alternately, arrange the patties on a baking sheet, brush them with oil, and bake them at 375 degrees until they just start to brown.

For the yogurt sauce:

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
1 cup whole milk yogurt
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives
1/2 teaspoon salt
black pepper to taste

Heat the olive oil gently in a medium-size saucepan. Add the garlic and cook for about a minute, until you can smell it. Mix the sauteed garlic with the remaining ingredients. Serve the yogurt sauce spooned on top of the halibut patties.