Pieter Aertsen: A Meat Stall with the Holy Family Giving Alms (1551)
" … something different will most certainly be ThreateningToFester in my curious larder."

I overstate my case, but only by a little, when I say that I use the same recipe for everything I make in the kitchen. I use a variety of ingredients, not the same ones again and again, but the ingredients for my best stuff share a common state in that they're all ThreateningToFester. I'm not above scraping off a bloom of non-intrusive mold, but most components haven't degraded quite that far yet, though they could easily pass over within the next couple of days. I maintain what I think of as a deep larder. It features plenty of variety and I refresh it more or less continuously. I preserve compulsively, always pressure canning something for later use. We tend to over-buy fresh veg and fruit. Mangoes tend to get away from us and need some surgery before using. Lettuces might turn a little brown, or even inky black around the edges before their turn comes up in rotation. I trim the worst, saving those trimmings in the freezer for a later stock pot, and all's right with our world again. Cilantro almost always manages to completely go to the dark side before I find it as an inky mess in the bottom of the Black Hole veg drawer, but that's an inconsequential loss.

My best suppers combine in some unexpected way leftovers from three or four previous suppers. There's almost always something leftover, unless I manage to make what we call an Immaculate Supper, one yielding no leftovers. These might happen once each week at most, so our refrigerators teem with Tupperware® cloaking their contents. I attempt something fresh for every supper: a nice piece of fish or a chop with some side veg. These suppers might prove satisfying, but hardly memorable. The outstanding meals tend toward reuse of something, an almost spoiled previously boiled potato, refreshed to crispy with a brisk roasting in leftover duck fat, for instance. My bean pots serve as the residence of last resort for a wide variety of almost festered stuff. I'm apt to make a custom stock comprised of every bit of previously frozen trimmings and peelings along with some of the fresh veg too wilted for reconstituting, along with an old bone or two. I'll let that steep/simmer overnight until it's well reduced, then use that as my base for slow-baking the beans. The result tastes just as wonderful and fresh as imaginable, though it's base will be about 90% unmentionables. We're not squeamish.

I find cookbook authors intolerably squeamish. They insist that this might only stay fresh for two or three days, when it will remain perfectly edible (if not necessarily choice) for two or three weeks or more. I have learned to trust the nose on my face more than directions intended to keep me altogether too safe. I despise throwing out perfectly good stuff. I even hate discarding imperfectly good stuff. I figure I can always dress up the corpse to appear remarkably life-like. A braise erases a near infinite variety of previous sins. That wilted celery regenerates in a pot simmering alongside a short rib or two. Nobody need know that the onion once held a moldy outside layer or two. The desiccated chicken breast rejuvenates when smothered with a savory sauce featuring an unusual spice, reminiscent of a Stroganoff or something. The important consideration always comes down to surprise, I guess. I'm trying to surprise myself and also anyone else at the table that evening.

What might I use that desiccated Blood Orange for this evening? It's way past its pull date and it might be too late to recover it if I wait until tomorrow. I'd planned on grilling steak, which I usually season with fresh rosemary and lemon, but why not Blood Orange just this once? Much of my apparent inventiveness starts just this way, trying to save something. This strategy almost never fails, which tells me something about purity and intention. I might suffer from a Loaves and Fishes Delusion, endlessly convincing myself that I can concoct a supper in spite of a superficial lack of adequate resources. I strive to produce something that could never be the same way once, let alone be replicated. When asked how I imagined that particular combination, I insist that it was easy. I first checked to see what was ThreateningToFester, then worked outward from there. The beans I'm warming for breakfast this morning feature the residue from about a half dozen prior adventures along with my wealth of experience. They're kidney beans cooked as if a cassoulet, with duck and ham hock and a gooey stock I cannot remember the components of. I threw in some leftover pasta to soak up some of the juice. I will never breakfast like this again if only because every next time, something different will most certainly be ThreateningToFester in my curious larder.

©2020 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #WhatNext, #PureSchmaltz