You Eat What? (A Reprint)

Some time ago, I wrote this little ditty for Studio Thirty Plus.  I don't really feel like writing something new this weekend, and since this is new to most of you, please enjoy.  (And if you've read this already, enjoy it again.  Or don't.  But I'd prefer it if you did.  My ego is fragile.)

At the request (or rather the e-equivalent of a double dog dare) of one of my newest Wordy friends, I posted a picture of me during a fire eating show.

It's dramatic.

Go ahead.  Take a gander. I'll give you a minute.

See?  Isn’t it great?

As soon as someone finds out I'm a fire eater, the inquiries naturally begin: "How did you start eating fire?" "Why fire eating?" “Doesn’t it hurt?” and, "What does your [mom/wife] think?"

My mom still shudders, but my wife loves it. In fact, that’s part of what convinced her to marry me. (Wife. Not mom. I don’t want pronoun trouble to lead you to the wrong conclusions. Not that my mom isn’t a very handsome woman. She is. I just don’t think of her that way.)  She (wife) had just broken up with her very nice boyfriend because there was no “magic.”  Her family questioned her judgment. But fire was exactly that spark we both needed to become something better.

Fire is more than it appears. Stare into a campfire. The flames lick the air in what is really a simple chemical reaction: super heated oxygen combines with carbon to release more heat, thereby converting more carbon, until the wood turns to charcoal and ultimately, ash. Other chemical impurities provide surprises of blues and greens to the orange flames. But the physical experience of fire only adds to the spiritual. I defy anyone with a soul to stare into the fire and not be transported to a time of our most ancient ancestors and the stories they told. In short, fire is magic.

I started eating fire in 1992, but the decision to eat it was made much, much earlier. At 12 years old, I visited the Ringling Bros. Circus and I was absolutely captivated by the fire eater. Flash forward a few years, living in the mountains of Colorado, still too young to drive, a rainy day and any friends were too far away for a walking visit. (Literally—not at all contrary to popular belief, until I learned to drive, I actually did ride a horse to get around.) My mom always had a rule, “If you’re bored, I’ll find something for you to do,” which really meant chores, and since that held NO interest for me, I made a list of all the things I wanted to do in my life before I died.  Fire eating was on that list. So was wilderness survival and walking on the moon, but I’ll save those for future blogs. 

In my senior year of college at Colorado State University, my roommate, Mike, was a celebrated artist. What he was not, was a celebrated scientist. He waited until his final semester to take any courses relating to science and then he stacked three of them back to back to back. Perhaps it was kismet, perhaps serendipity, but Mike’s chemistry professor had been a fire eater for Ringling Bros. Circus for nearly 30 years. When I found out, I stalked the professor back to his office. I shared with him my story, my longing, my aching to know the art of fire eating. He, in turn, grilled me for hours (pardon the pun), making certain that I was not a pyromaniac, and that indeed I wanted to perform for audiences. When he was satisfied, he simply said, “Meet me here tomorrow. Three o’clock.”

I had no idea of what to expect, but of course, I did what he asked. On arrival, and without greeting, he handed me a brass rod, one end wrapped in asbestos cloth and stated, without ceremony, “What the audience beholds is not what is happening. When well performed, there is little risk of immolation. Instead, the audience can enjoy one act in a show about a slow poisoning over the course of decades.” He then handed me a simple drinking glass filled half way with charcoal lighter fluid. He taught me how to move, how to ignite and how to extinguish. In fact, over the course of nearly 6 months, he taught me the true secrets of fire eating: knowing how to control the flame, how to give a good show, and knowing how much pain I can withstand.  My “graduation” was in front of members of the Fort Collins Fire Department.

So there it is. That's my story about fire eating. I still eat fire regularly—or as regularly as afforded. I enjoy it immensely and I still love the interplay with an audience.  So come join me. Watch while you can. After all, I may only have a few decades left.

And just because I love you all, a recipe:

Hot Buttered Rum Mix

1 stick Butter, softened

2 cups Brown Sugar (I like the molasses in the Dark Brown)

1 teaspoon ground Cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon grated Nutmeg

1/8 teaspoon ground Cloves

1/8 teaspoon ground Allspice

1/4 teaspoon Salt (if using unsalted butter)

In a mixing bowl, cream together all of the ingredients.  Pack into an airtight food storage container and refrigerate until firm.  (It will get very firm.)  The mix will keep for months in a well-sealed container.

Hot Buttered Rum

1 1/2 tablespoons Hot Buttered Rum Mix

1 1/2 oz Rum (Most recipes call for dark rum, but this is your cocktail.  Use whatever rum you like.)

Hot Water

Cinnamon Stick or Orange Twist for garnish

In a mug, combine the mix and the rum.  Add hot water to top it off.  Stir until the mix is dissolved.  Add garnish.  Cuddle up to your sweetie, sit in front of the fireplace and lose yourself in the magic of a lovely evening.

Preservation

The change of seasons in Colorado.  The mornings have turned crisp and the leaves have just started to turn colors.  Coworkers everywhere are bringing a surplus of end of year zucchini and tomatoes to leave in the break room for some sucker to take home. 

So many tomatoes

So what to do with the last of the veggies as the growing season comes to a close?   Or what do you do if your passion for your garden has flagged and you still have veggies you don't want to get rid of?   Or if you want to be completely ready for the coming Apocalypse? 

Think preservation, baby.

All the cool kids have been doing it for years.  In fact, learning how to grow and preserve your own food is arguably THE transition from nomadic hunter-gatherers to the establishment of civilization.  Your grandmother (or great-grandmother, for you young whipper-snappers) likely spent many hours preparing, canning and freezing vegetables to ensure her family had food through the lean winter months. 

Preservation encompasses three primary methods: canning, freezing and drying.  I love all three and each have their uses, but today we're talking about canning.  Many think it's difficult, expensive, and time consuming.  No, no and yes.  To do it right, that is.  But it's worth it for the ability to experiment. 

Like cooking, canning encourages a development of flavors that you cannot achieve any other way.  Canning demands heat and allows for time--critical elements  for the full benefit of taste.  Cucumbers transform into dill pickles; strawberry-rhubarb jam blends into something greater than either strawberries or rhubarb.  Chutney doesn't become the magic condiment it is until it has rested for a few months inside a jar. 

"So," you say, "I want to get started with canning.  Where do I begin?"  Your local super market or hardware store is ideal.  Here's a basic shopping list:

Boiling Water Canner (AKA water bath canner, $5-$80, and cheap is fine here!);
Jar Lifter ($5)
Canning Funnel ($2)
Mason Jars ($12-$20) (Interesting note: Mason Jars were not invented by the fraternal organization, the Masons, but the most prolific producer of Mason Jars is the Ball Company, founded by the Ball brothers.  Who were Masons.)
2-part Screw-on Lids ($2-$5)
I also recommend a good starter book like the Ball Blue Book of Preserving.  Simple clear instructions and good and delicious recipes. 

The beauty of this list?  Everything but the lid inserts are reusable.  Year after year, and all you need to spend is about $2 for lid inserts.  Not bad.

When canning, think safety.  It's not difficult, but it does take time.  Make sure everything is clean and sterilized.  That means LOTS of hot water.  Anything that touches food must be boiled in water for 10 minutes or more, and make certain you keep your hands clean.  Wash often.  The last thing you want is a case of botulism ruining everyone's dinner.  (Another interesting note: the prescription cosmetic Botox® is made from a variant of the botulinum toxin.) 

OK.  I admit, the possibility of killing everyone who tastes your food adds a little thrill to what would normally be a boring dinner, but that's not why I cherrish canning.  I love it because once you have a little practice, you'll find culinary inspiration everywhere.  Spices and herbs, fruits and vegetables: all of these can be put into a jar and canned to be taken to new gastronomical heights. 

Tonight for dinner:

Carrots Caramelized in Fig and Ginger
2 tablespoons Olive Oil
8 large Carrots, peeled and cut into quarters (in half length-wise, then in half across)
2 cloves Garlic, minced
2 tablespoons fresh Ginger, peeled and minced
1/4 cup Dry White Wine
1 Bay Leaf
Salt and Pepper
3 tablespoons Fig Preserves

Heat the oil in a skillet over medium high heat for 60 seconds.  Reduce the heat to medium and add the carrots, garlic and ginger; saute for 3-4 min until the garlic softens and turns aromatic. Add the white wine and bay leaf, cover the pan and simmer for 14-16 minutes. 

When the carrots have softened but still firm (you don't want them mushy!), remove the lid and turn up the heat.  Most of the wine should evaporate, leaving just a little liquid in the bottom of the skillet.  Remove the bay leaf and add the fig preserves.  Stir until the preserves dissolve into a syrup, then reduce the heat.  Keep stirring until the preserves thicken into a caramel-looking goo and all of the carrots are evenly glazed.

Oven Roasted Tomato Sauce
This is arguably my "signature" dish.  It is certainly my wife's favorite.  It takes time, but the results are incredibly worthwhile.
4 tablespoons Olive Oil
Salt and Pepper to taste
1 Onion, chopped
4 cloves Garlic, crushed
1 quart Canned Tomatoes, chopped, liquid included
1/2 teaspoons Crushed Red Chili Flakes (to taste)
2 Anchovies
1 Carrot, peeled and chopped
1 Bell Pepper, seeded and large diced
1/4 cup dry White Wine
1/2 teaspoon Sugar (if needed)
3 tablespoons fresh Oregano, chopped
8-10 Button Mushrooms, sliced (optional)

Heat your oven to 250 degrees.  Combine the tomatoes, chili, carrots, garlic, onions, peppers and pour into a cookie sheet with walled sides.  Pour slowly or you'll make a heck of a mess. Drizzle olive oil over the top. Spread evenly on the pan and bake for two and half to three hours, stirring and turning over the mixture every 30 minutes. Repeat until the liquid no longer pools in the pan and the tomatos appear intense in color. 

In a large saucepan, heat 1 tablespoon olive oil over medium heat and add the anchovies.  Stir and mash until the anchovies dissolve.  Add the oven roasted tomato sauce.  Mix well, and using a stick blender, break the sauce down. Stir in the oregano. Add the mushrooms and keep warm over lowest heat.  Serve over fresh pasta with a little cheese. 

Spiced Honey
1 cup Honey
2 quarter-inch slices of Lemon
1 stick Cinnamon
2 pods Green Cardamom
6-8 whole Cloves

In a saucepan, heat the all of the ingredients and boil for 2 minutes.  Pour all of the ingredients into a sterilized 1/2 pint jar.  Seal with a sterile 2 part lid and process in a water bath for 10 minutes.  Let the honey season for at least a week or two.  

A New Hand at an Old Friend

The digestif known as bitters flavors a number of cocktails, not least of which is my favorite, the Manhattan. Angostura makes the most famous brandname, but many recipes exist for making bitters and some of these can be found online. I tried an orange bitters recipe a little while back with good, but not perfect, results. So I wanted to give it another whirl, this time with my own flavors.

I have a guess as to what flavors I want, and I know with certainty what I don't. The problem with the orange bitters recipe as written: the alcohol is too strong leaving an antiseptic aftertaste. I want something richer, deeper, bolder and a little more complex. Something with hint of spice. We took a trip to Boulder, to our spice shop and apothecary.

Spice shops for me are like candy shops for little children. The apothecary jars filled with rich, exotic spices which promise such wonders, but with a Mona Lisa smile hinting at the mysteries still to be unlocked. Oh! And the aroma! Even walking on the sidewalk past the door, the fragrance calls to me like a siren's song. Savory Spice Shop certainly delivers on every wonderful promise.

When you go to a spice shop, open the jars and get a good whiff of the flavor. Experience how the spice hits the nose--is it all bright, in the nostrils? Or does it hit the back of the throat? You can get a great sense of how something will taste just from its smell. This is good when you are creating your own new recipe. Also, ASK FOR HELP. Savory's staff is knowledgeable and very friendly and was, frankly, very patient with me. What is the difference between California and Turkish bay leaves? Star anise and anise seed? This clove vs that clove? How do these flavors mix? If this was the type of flavor you were going for, what else would you try?


For the bitters I'm working toward, I know I want to start with Whiskey as the base and Rosemary as the central element, so I am looking for a deep supporting cast. Juniper Berries to add another complimentary evergreen flavor; California Bay Leaves to deepen the complexity while adding a slight minty brightness; Star Anise and toasted Cardamon Pods to add sweetness. And I use Wormwood Extract instead of Gentian Root Extract to keep the bitterness more herbal rather than woody.

This is absolutely a work in progress. I'll give you the recipe and let you know how it goes. 2 weeks.




Rosemary Bitters

750ml Canadian Club 100 Proof
about 10-12 inches of fresh Rosemary sprigs (I used the tips of our Rosemary plant)
4 leaves Organic California Bay Leaves
10 Juniper Berries, lightly crushed
6 Green Cardamom Pods, toasted in a skillet
3 stars Star Anise
20 drops Wormwood Extract

Combine all ingredients in an airtight glass jar. (Lets keep it clean, people. Wash it well, first.) Swirl the concoction around immediately and then every other day for 2 weeks. When not shaking it, store it in a cool, dark place.

After 2 weeks, strain for big chunks, then filter through a water filter (I use a Britta). Bottle in a VERY clean bottle, seal, and if you can stand it, let it rest for another 2 weeks to develop flavors.

Serve a shot over ice, or combine into your favorite cocktail.
Orange Bitters
This recipe is pretty good and the flavor has certainly improved over the past 2 weeks since making it. No one told me to store it before consuming. I highly recommend this last step. (Credit to Chow.com for this one.)

750 ml Everclear 151
1/2 lbs dehydrated Orange Peel
1 teaspoon Fennel Seed
1/2 teaspoon Coriander
4 Cardamom Pods
20 drops Gentian Extract

Combine all ingredients in a very clean, glass jar with an airtight lid. Shake well and store in a cool, dark locale. Shake it every other day.

At the end of 2 weeks, strain and filter. (See recommendation above.) I HIGHLY RECOMMEND letting some of it sit for another 2 weeks before using.
The Manhattan

8 count pour of Bourbon
2-4 count pour of Sweet Vermouth
1-2 count pour of Orange Bitters (above)
Garnish
Combine Bourbon, Vermouth, & Bitters in a cocktail shaker, over ice. Shake vigorously, strain into chilled cocktail glass.

Garnish with a Maraschino Cherry, Orange Twist, Orange Slice or Lemon Twist.

(For those who were never bartenders nor had a bartender as a BFF, a 1 count pour is a less-than-one-second count with a bar pourer in the mouth of the bottle. A 4 count pour is about 1 1/2 oz of a liquid.)

Now, go entertain yourself. We are laughing uproariously over FUpenguin. Unless you are my Mom. Then you should still look at this link and laugh. It's funny, with strong language and irony. I'm still going to church.