Migration at the table

Today is International Migrants Day, and while it’s mainly a day set aside to create awareness about the difficult and complicated issues migrants deal with, according to a paragraph on a U.N. website it’s also a day of celebration:

“Migrants contribute greatly to the sense of cultural diversity in modern societies, and to our appreciation of the oneness of the human spirit. They give us the experience of living in a global neighbourhood.”

Perhaps nowhere is this more evident than in the food we eat.  Immigration is partially responsible for introducing us to so many wonderful new cuisines.  My current obsession is with pho, which is the heart and soul of Vietnam in a soup bowl.  Pho (pronounced “fuh” with a bit of an upward lilt to the end of the word– like you’re saying it as a question) is  beef and noodles in a rich, complex beef broth seasoned with star anise, cloves, cinnamon, ginger, and fish sauce.  Pho is typically garnished with bean sprouts, cilantro (coriander leaves), thai basil and chiles. 

Pho at the Vietnamese restaurant in Virgina, SA

There is no shortage of places to find pho in Adelaide, but my favorite discovery this year was in a little community near where I live about 45 minutes outside of the city.  Virginia, South Australia is pretty rural and home to many immigrant families who are market gardeners.  In the past, market gardening was the domain of Italian and Greek immigrants, and still is to some degree, but the new generation of market gardeners are typically Vietnamese.  So, tiny Virginia has a pho shop (right next to the bahn mi shop) where you can find workers taking a late morning break and enjoying steaming hot bowls of pho.

When I’m in there, I think about immigrants and the food traditions they bring with them.  Certainly when immigrants open restaurants it’s often a means of helping others like them feel connected to their homeland and the culture they left behind.  Some people might see an ethnic restaurant as a refusal to assimilate.  But I see it as a way of sharing their culture with their adopted country and as a means to gain acceptance.  When we eat that food, we are experiencing a culture in a very intimate way. Food is the only part of a culture that we physically ingest and make  part of our being.  So by eating the food of another culture, either conciously or unconciously, we are sending a message that we think they’re okay; that they are one of us and we are one of them.

Of course, it’s a big leap from acceptance of immigrant food traditions to acceptance of people, but coming to the migrant’s table is a good place to start.

The Real Food Movement Gains Momentum

When I called for Michael Pollan to the be the next food czar in an earlier post, it was a bit of a pipe dream.  Although there’s a larger grassroots movement afoot to nominate him for Secretary of Agriculture, the reality is that it won’t be him.  However, there is another petition going around now  (drafted in part by Pollan and other REAL FOOD advocates) asking President-Elect Obama to consider several progressive choices for Ag Sec.   And in today’s NY Times, Nicholas Kristof takes up the drumbeat as well.

What’s so interesting– and infuriating at times– are the arguments in the comments section to Kristof’s piece from those who dont’ want a government ‘food police’ telling us what we can and can not eat.  Here’s the thing:  those of us who want a Secretary of Food (and maybe agriculture) don’t want to be told what to eat either.  We just want people to have greater freedom to eat  REAL FOOD. 

Right now, we are essentially being “told” what to eat by Agribusiness.  This powerful lobby has helped make heavily processed food made from corn, soy and rice as well as factory farmed meat and poultry exceptionally cheap.  By comparison, fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grains, and humanely raised meat and poultry are expensive, which makes choosing REAL FOOD difficult for the budget concious and impossible for the poorest of Americans.  

Sure, there are probably people who signed this petition who would like to moralize and tell us all what to eat, but I would suspect that most people (like me) just want someone to come in and level the playing field for farmers who are trying–or would like to try– to grow real food.  Real progress will be made when, calorie-for-calorie, broccoli and a box of Rice Krispie Treats cost the same.

Of Camels and Quandongs

Some Australian scientists are freaking out about camels and say we’ve got to start eating them.  Apparently, there are about a million feral camels living in the middle of this sunburnt country and they’re wreaking environmental and all other kinds of havock.

I’ve done my part to help the cause this year, if purely for selfish reasons since I get perverse pleasure in trying new and somewhat shocking foods.  At the Prairie Hotel in Parachilna, South Australia (a full review is coming one of these days) I sampled camel mettwurst on a pizza, and a camel sausage from the so-called Feral Mixed Grill Platter.

Let’s just say that both the camel mettwurst and camel sausage had an interesting texture– not quite as toothsome as I’d like.  I asked the woman serving us about the camel and she told me it’s a very lean meat (i.e. tends to be tough and somewhat lacking in flavor), which is probably why it ends up ground into mince and stuffed into a sausage casing with some added fat and seasoning.   From what I’ve had so far, I wouldn’t line up for more. 

But here’s the rub.  These feral camels could cause quandongs to become extinct!  They’re out there in the desert eating this beautiful, tart red fruit and I’ll be damned if they’re going to deprive me of the pleasure of a this quandong pie from the Stone Hut Bakery when I want one:

Oh. That. Pie. 

The quandong filling is really tart on its own, but with a bite of that shortcrust pastry and the cream– it’s a taste trifecta. 

So feral camels take notice.*  Quandong-loving Aussies have put a bounty on your head.  We’re going to find a way to cook you so you’re palatable, and then we’ll chase that camel steak or roast or sausage or whatever we turn you into with a quandong pie.  Now that would be a just dessert.

 

* Note: I realize that this issue is not the camels’ fault. The shortsighted people who brought them to Australia back in the 1800s without realizing the environmental impact they could have are the ones to blame.  I blame the camels merely as a literary device, so please, no one accuse me of not understanding the issue or hating animals.  I’m fully aware of the nuances of this problem.  Thanks.

Taking stock of making stock

Now that it’s a week past Thanksgiving the leftovers should be gone by now if for no other reason than in the interest of your health and safety.  I finished off the turkey leftovers by making green chile turkey enchiladas last Sunday, but yesterday I had one more leftover to contend with.  The turkey’s carcass was in the freezer waiting for me.

Saving the carcass of turkey or chicken is, in my mind, the ultimate in frugal cooking.  When I learned a few years ago that you could take the bones that most everyone throws away and make a rich and delicious homemade stock, it was a true revelation.  Not only could I save money that I would normally spend buying stock, I could completely control what went into it – especially sodium.

Making your own stock couldn’t be simpler.  Take the carcass of your chicken or turkey and put it in a big pot with a rib or two of celery (or better yet a handful of leaves that you probably wouldn’t eat anyhow), a large carrot cut into 3 or 4 big chunks, a medium onion cut into quarters (no need to peel it), half a dozen peppercorns, a bay leaf if you have them, and a few sprigs of parsley.  I add about 16 cups of water– basically enough to cover everything in the pot, pop the lid on and bring it to a boil then knock the heat back to low and let it simmer for a couple of hours with the lid slightly off center to let some steam escape.

 

After a couple of hours, take the pot off the heat, let it cool for a few minutes then pour the liquid in the pot through a strainer into a two liter/quart container.  Get the veggies in the strainer to and press on them with a wooden spoon to extract a little more liquid if you want.  Add whatever salt you want at this point.  I usually add about a teaspoon at a time and taste it as I go.  You can keep the container in the fridge for a couple of days or freeze it for a few months.   Once you put it in the fridge the fat will come to the top and form a solid layer on top of the stock.  Don’t freak out.  Just skim it off and all is well.  Also, if your stock is particularly rich and reduced like mine is below, it could get somewhat gelatinous when it cools.  I had never seen this happen before until I made pork stock and I sort of flipped out and thought I’d done something wrong.  I hadn’t– it’s totally normal. The stock liquifies again when you heat it.

You might also want to divide the stock into several 16 oz (500 ml) containers to freeze that way it’s generally the same size as a can of stock.

I wound up with 6 cups of stock this time because I let it simmer and reduce longer. It's going to be really rich and delicious!

Excuses about not having time don’t wash with me.  It takes all of four minutes to put everything in the pot and you can do laundry, pay bills, watch TV, whatever while the stock cooks.  When all is said and done you have the equivalent of about 4 cans of stock (or 2 large boxes for Australia), which would normally cost you $4-$5.  Not only that, I also like to think of it as responsible and ethical use of the bird since I’ve taken everything from it that I possibly can.

Swanson’s has nothing on me.

Dissecting the Burger with the Lot

In a previous post, I mentioned how President-Elect Obama might come to like beets if he came to Australia and tried the Burger with the Lot.  This burger is a pastiche in which beetroot is a culturally defining ingredient.  The beetroot is such an integral part of Australian burger gastronomy, at Hungry Jacks (the mysteriously re-named Burger King replica) you can even ”have it your way” with beetroot. 

Burger King's... errrrr.. Hungry Jack's Aussie Burger.

In an effort to accurately portray the Burger with the Lot, I made a trip to my local Supa-Deli and ordered one.

Without further ado, a photo essay of the Aussie Burger, as promised:

The burger waiting for its dissection

The top bun has a smear of ketchup. The burger is crowned with a fried egg.

The next layer is a mess of grilled onions.

 

Bacon. Mmmmm. Bacon. Note it's Aussie bacon.

There's the beef!

A slice of "tasty" cheese.

The all-important beetroot. Notice the pepto bismol pink stain it leaves on the cheese slice.

Last, but not least, tomato and lettuce, also known as "salad".

Needless to say, this burger makes for messy eating.

The aftermath.

Egg gathering, Aussie style

 

Having lived in Australia for three years now, I’ve already come to take for granted the pleasure of farm gate sales of all sorts of foods.  But after seeing a recent post at Howling Duck Ranch about food sovereignty in British Columbia, I realized the sale of produce at small farms isn’t something any of us should take for granted if we are still privileged enough to enjoy it.  Sadly, ever-increasing government regulation of agriculture in North America is tilted in favor of giant industrial producers and makes experiences like the one I enjoyed today few and far between.

Normally, I get my eggs from my mother-in-law who keeps a few hens.  But the hens have grown a bit long in the tooth and have quit laying (think of it as poultry menopause).  So until her new hens ramp up production, I’m supplementing those eggs with some I can buy down the street from my house.

 

Follow the signs to find the eggs

Down the path... it's like an egg hunt!

The first time I went, I figured there would be somebody manning the egg sales.  Wrong.

It’s on the honor system.  How great is that?  

You put your $3.20 in the ice cream container…

…take your eggs out of the esky (a.k.a. styrofoam cooler)…

…and you’re on your way.  The only thing they ask is that you return the carton the next time you come back.

Just looking over some of the individual state regulations in the U.S., it appears  something like this would almost never fly because of refrigeration requirements, labeling and packaging regulations among other bureaucratic red tape.  It’s a shame, really. I understand that all those regulations are done in the name of safety, but I’ve never worried about whether the eggs I buy from someone’s house on the honor system are safe.  I figure if they trust me enough to leave my money, I can trust that they are selling a safe, wholesome product.  Personally, I’d worry a whole lot more about the quality and safety of eggs bought from a ginormous anonymous hatchery with all its strict government regulations than I would about eggs bought from my neighbor who has a little flock of chickens scratching around in his backyard.