Retro Recipes and Traditional Fare

My son, Eli, and his friends took up fishing a few years back. He has an awesome fishing rod, but he has since retired it. He has replaced fishing for varsity football, work (yes, he works – in a restaurant), and girls. He is 16 1/2 after all! Although he has given up the sport, his friends haven’t. And every time his friend Owen catches something wonderful, he calls me up and asks if he and I can cook together.

This past summer he caught massive amounts of blue fin tuna. I became the lucky recipient of pounds of tuna and when he called, I knew exactly what I wanted to make. Tuna Tartare! Most of the ingredients can be found in the pantry, all that was missing was the fish. I made the ginger oil before he arrived, but waited to chop, cut, and assemble the rest of the ingredients until he arrived.

Upon assembly, I realized that I didn’t have any won ton skins on hand (not really one of my pantry staples), so I sent the teenagers to the market. They couldn’t find the won ton skins(never thought to call and ask…boys), but they managed to bring home 2 pints of ice cream and some other crap, that I NEVER buy and is way too disgusting to mention. I improvised with some tortilla chips. I ate it sans the chips and when the tartare disappeared, they asked for more. With a fridge full of freshly caught blue fin tuna, I couldn’t refuse.

When my friend Sara from Culinerapy visited Concord, Mass. last year, she made a reader’s pilgrimage to Orchard House, the historic home of Louisa May Alcott. Since Sara and I (and half the women we know) share an abiding love for Alcott’s 1868 novel Little Women, she sent me a thoughtful souvenir: the author’s recipe for Apple Slump. It’s a homey, deliberately simple dessert, comfort cousin to fruit buckles, bettys, cobblers, grunts and pandowdys. Still, reading the calligraphy-script recipe, I could see where I might tweak it. And I thought, who am I to edit Louisa May Alcott?

Not editing, really. Finessing. Alcott may have mastered prose at the desk, but in the kitchen she was likely closer to Jo March, for whom the “bread burned black” and the “cream turned sour.” Making Apple Slump would be like cooking with Ms. Alcott’s domestically-challenged ghost, and while I cored and sliced I considered my years reading and rereading the March girls, picturing Amy’s limes, Meg’s vain high heels and lonely Jo in the attic with apples, writing and cursing scarlet fever, the villain that stole Beth. I regretted that my little tweaks – dash of vanilla, an extra apple – could not make Laurie come to his senses and dump Amy. Pecans would add crunch but they would never make Jo marry Laurie, nor bring Beth back. They’re a matter of personal taste, like my feelings about Meg wedding that dull John Brooke, and while they won’t change the story they can at least enhance Ms. Alcott’s kitchen legacy, and certainly perk up the Slump.

My love of stuffed mushrooms started when I was very young thanks to my Aunt Mary.

Every holiday Aunt Mary made mushrooms stuffed with pork sausage. A simple starter to a large festive meal but always a crowd pleaser.

Somehow, no matter how many of those mushrooms she made, it was never enough.  My cousins and I devoured them quickly and in epic proportions. This is where my taste for all things "stuffed mushrooms" reared its head.

I have never lost the craving.

When I came across this recipe for Shrimp Rockefeller Stuffed Mushrooms with Parmesan Crumbs I knew I couldn't wait to make it.

Okay, I'll try anything once and make the best of it if need be, but winter camping in near zero temperatures? I prepared a favorite dinner of braised rabbit with prunes, an undressed endive salad with the vinaigrette on the side and ramekins of chocolate mousse for our dream overnight camping in the backwoods of Northern Maine. We decided on a trail to cross country ski in on with my three dogs, nothing too challenging as we had lots of gear to transport on a toboggan plus it gets dark very early at this time of year AND it was our first test at "making camp" at rather cold temperatures.

Five miles in we found the perfect spot beside a icy, running stream to pitch our four-season tent, made a fire and enjoyed the pure silence of being in the Maine woods for the whole night. Everything was perfect, the tent went up easily without referring to the directions more than a couple of times, the sleeping bags were unrolled, the cushions to insulate us from the frozen ground were in place, we collected firewood from downed trees with a small saw as the sun started setting early like it does in the winter months.