Poor Man's Carbonara

I was too young and dumb to realize it at the time, but years ago something momentous happened in the kitchen of Freak Nation, a big, old Northern Virginia house I shared with three other twenty-year-olds like myself.   They say necessity is the mother of invention, but sometimes hunger can be, too.  You see, one evening after work, driven by a fierce appetite and an extreme economy of means, John quite spontaneously invented cucina povera right there in our test kitchen.

 fig. a:  J & R:  top chefs

I remember Rex and I walked into the kitchen and asked "what's cookin'?" and John rather proudly showed us his latest creation.  It didn't really smell like much, and it just looked like a gleamin', steamin' heap of plain pasta, so we asked him, "What do you call it?"  "Pepper Pasta," he told us--basically, spaghetti, butter, and black pepper, or "Butter Spaghetti with Black Pepper."  Rex and I literally couldn't stop laughing at the time--we still laugh about it just about every time we see each other--but, really, who's laughing now?  Because, you know, John may have just been in early-'90s-postgraduate-bachelor mode, cooking the cheapest, quickest thing he could think of, but he was onto something.

"Butter Spaghetti with Black Pepper" may not have been a thing (although, who knows, it probably is--cacio e pepe certainly is, and burro e pepe sounds like it could be a tasty dish), but cucina povera is as real as it gets.

What is cucina povera?  Well, it's pretty much what it sounds like:  it's Italian for "the cuisine of poverty," "poor food," or "peasants' food."  In other words, it's the term that's often used to describe Italy's most basic, honest, and elemental dishes.  And it's a good thing to know about, because most of the dishes that fall under this category are both simple and tasty, and they're also meat-free.  In fact, with Lent upon us, this is really a great time of year for such dishes.

Michelle and I have a bit of a thing for these kinds of recipes from around the world.  One of our favourite discoveries from a few years ago, back when the subprime mortgages market collapsed and the global economy teetered on the edge, was a recipe that we found in George Lang's The Cuisine of Hungary that seemed ideal for the times.  It was called Caraway Soup, and it basically consisted of water, salt, and toasted caraway seeds.*  Sounds ludicrous, but it was actually pretty satisfying, and if you bourg-ed it up a little with some chicken broth instead of water and some croutons, it was downright delicious.

Anyway, we're still firm believers in such recipes, and our favourite recent cucina povera recipe is a pasta dish that's really not that much more involved than John's Butter Spaghetti with Black Pepper.  This one comes from David Tanis's One Good Dish:  The Pleasures of a Simple Meal, it's called Spaghetti with Bread Crumbs and Pepper, and it's an unbelievably simple weekday stunner.  In fact, Tanis comes right out and states the following:  "For me, this frugal pasta dish ranks among the best things to eat.  It has the same appeal as pasta alla carbonara--and it satisfies even without the pancetta, cheese, and eggs."  And, you know, I think he's right--on both counts.

The secret, in my opinion, has to do with three things:  crushed red pepper flakes, fennel seeds, and using hand-torn bread crumbs whenever possible.  It's these three ingredients that really elevate this dish.

What are the details?

Well, let's just stay you have a day-old leftover baguette end kicking around one day...

 fig. b:  stale baguette

Spaghetti with Bread Crumbs and Pepper 

A 4-inch length of stale dry baguette or a few slices of dry old French bread
2 tbsp olive oil, plus extra for drizzling
3 to 4 garlic cloves, minced
1/4 tsp coarsely crushed fennel seeds
salt and freshly ground black pepper
crushed red pepper flakes
1/4 pound spaghetti
a chunk of Pecorino Romano cheese for grating (optional, but highly recommended) 

With a serrated knife, saw the baguette into thin slices.  Crumble the bread with your fingers, which will produce a nice mixture of coarse and fine crumbs. 

 fig. c:  hand-torn bread crumbs

Heat the 2 tablespoons olive oil in a wide skillet over medium heat.  Add the crumbs and let them fry gently and slowly take on color, stirring occasionally.  When they are golden and crisp, add the garlic and the fennel seeds and cook for a minute or so.  Season the crumbs generously with salt and pepper, and add a bold amount (up to your discretion) of crushed red pepper flakes as well.  Remove from the heat. 

Cook the pasta in boiling well-salted water until just al dente.  Drain and toss with the bread crumb mixture.  Drizzle a little more oil.  Add grated cheese to taste, if you wish. 

Serves 1.

[recipe borrowed almost verbatim from David Tanis's One Good Dish] 

 fig. d:  one damn good dish

I'd made Spaghetti and Bread Crumbs recipes like this before, but this is the very best version I've ever encountered.  For me, the crushed fennel seeds are the genius touch.  Use sweet Italian fennel seeds, if you can get your hands on them, or, my favourite, Lucknow fennel, for a somewhat more exotic finish.

You might think Tanis is exaggerating about this dish, but he really isn't.  Few dishes are as dead easy, or as satisfying.

aj

* Okay, okay--I'm exaggerating a little.  The dish was actually called Caraway Soup with Garlic Croutons, and it involved a simple roux, an egg, and some butter, in addition to those garlicky croutons, but Lang noted:

In most Hungarian families, when the housewife has to make ends meet, the egg would be eliminated and lard would be used instead of butter.  This is a perfect example of the Hungarian talent for making a delicious dish out of meager ingredients.

On the Road 8: VA & NC, Pt. 2

In our last instalment of On the Road, we began in the Ham Belt and quickly made our into an overlapping, but not entirely identical, region known as the Barbecue Belt.  As we headed east, we soon entered one of the most famous parts of the Peanut Belt.

Peanuts

 fig. a:  peanuts & driftwood

In fact, at Mackey's Ferry Peanuts in Jamesville, NC, I found a little slice of peanut heaven positioned adjacent to a pretty nifty collection of driftwood.  I was on the lookout for peanuts--real ones:  jumbo, expertly roasted, and grown-in-the-USA--and that BOILED PEANUTS sign definitely caught my eye.  I quickly made a U-turn and found everything I was looking for inside:  salted roasted peanuts, unsalted roasted peanuts, peanut butter, peanut brittle, and boiled peanuts.  Actually, in spite of that eye-catching sign, I wasn't sure that I was looking for boiled peanuts until I asked the counterperson for a sample.  It almost sounds shameful, but I'd never, ever had boiled peanuts until that moment.  When she came back out with a Dixie cup's worth of piping hot peanuts I was pretty excited.  Then I tried one.  "Hmm, I like that.  Those are good," I told her, but I wasn't immediately bowled over, so I continued to take a look around the store.  After about a minute, though, I realized I was doing so distractedly.  Those boiled peanuts had gotten to me.  They were sneaky like that.  I had boiled peanuts on the brain.

What, exactly, is a boiled peanut?  Well, it's just a raw peanut that's been boiled in salted water.  You can make them with fresh, green peanuts during the mid-summer harvest, but typically they're made with peanuts that are unroasted, but that have been sun-dried.  And if you've never had the pleasure, the taste sensation is something akin to having edamame in a Japanese restaurant.  In fact, as the Lee Bros. recount in their Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook, a friend of theirs once approached with the idea of marketing boiled peanuts as "redneck edamame."  They're both served hot and steamy, they're both salty, and they're both highly addictive and great as a snack food, and having them boiled really emphasizes the fact that peanuts are legumes and not "nuts."

Anyway, after a couple of minutes, I realized those boiled peanuts were much better than just "good"--they were "great" and that I was already hooked.  I ordered a small portion, and I received a sizeable ziplock bag stuffed full of them.  They arrived hot and steamy--straight out of the cauldron.

Now I just needed a place to sit and enjoy them, preferably with a beer.  They tasted pretty amazing right there in the car, but I was pretty sure I could find a more scenic location to enjoy the rest of them.  Which is where the Outer Banks came in handy.

 fig. b:  under the rainbow

Those boiled peanuts were still hot by the time I'd set up my campsite, and the light and the temperature were just perfect for my beer and peanuts appetizer.

 fig. c:  boiled peanut appetizer

Little Layer Cakes

Across parts of the South, you find a number of areas where the ages-old tradition of little layer cakes--lovely homemade layer cakes that are notable for the thinness of their layers and the number of layers involved (usually 12 or more)--still runs strong.  It's a region known as the Little Layer Cake Archipelago, and it extends at least as far south as Alabama, but some of its most famous islands of activity--perhaps even the most famous--can be found in an area that stretches from coastal North Carolina, up into the Eastern Shore of both Maryland and Virginia, including the Chesapeake Bay islands.  I don't think there's any question that Smith Island Cake, which became the Official Dessert of the State of Maryland in 2008, is the most widely known variation on the little layer cake, and one of the most beloved.  But, like I said, you can find little layer cakes throughout coastal North Carolina and Virginia.

 fig. d:  layer cakes & biscuits

In fact, you can even find them in gas station concessions in North Carolina--like Cindy's Kitchen & Katering in Barco, NC--alongside homemade country ham & egg biscuits.  They're right there on the shelf, freshly made, ready to take home with you (or to some friends of yours in New York), for $19.95 (!).*  Don't even hesitate.  There aren't tons of bakeries in the region that make little layer cakes--the field is dominated by expert home cooks--but those that do often make you order them well in advance.

Oysters

All through coastal North Carolina and Virginia you also find a whole lot of good seafood, including blue crabs, shrimp, fish, and oysters.  There are signs of it everywhere.

 fig. e:  signs of life

And when you see makeshift signs like these announcing a seafood shack, it pays to make a pit stop.  What you're likely to find are fried fish platters and fried sandwiches of all kinds, sometimes even cooked to order.  Like this freshly fried Chesapeake oyster sandwich, topped with tartar sauce and smothered in hot sauce.

 fig. f:  fried oyster sandwich

Here, the seafood shack in question was a ramshackle two-man husband & wife affair that consisted of a storefront (wife) and a tiny fry kitchen (husband).  The place was a real hotspot for the local blue-collar lunch crowd, and the Southern charm was in full effect.  In fact, the accents and the storefront banter were just as delicious as the sandwich.

Home

 fig. g:  the haul

When I arrived back in Montreal, I arrived bearing trophies and gifts, most of them edible.

Not surprisingly, I've been cooking a lot of Southern food since I returned home.  My Southern sojourn only served to whet my appetite for Southern fare, and, plus, I came back with all kinds of useful ingredients.  So I've been making a lot of barbecue, and cornbread, and grits, and I've been eating a lot of peanuts.

Last week I had a hankering for a fresh fried oyster sandwich, so I went ahead and made some.

 fig. h:  shucking

There are parts of the South where freshly harvested pre-shucked oysters are commonplace.  Here,  in the North, you pretty much have to shuck your own, and our oysters are delicious, but they're not exactly inexpensive. Even oysters at wholesale prices cost a pretty penny.  So it's a little cost-prohibitive to make an oyster sandwich as plentiful as you'd find in the South, but it sure tastes great, and you can make it to your specifications.

My fried oyster sandwiches were based on the recipe you find in the Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook, and once Michelle had shucked our oysters, they were cooked up and assembled in a flash.

 fig. i:  assembly required

Fried Oyster No' Boys 

a bare minimum of 12 plump, freshly-shucked oysters**
1/2 cup All-Purpose Fry Dredge (recipe follows)
2-3 cups peanut oil or canola oil for frying
Spicy Tartar Sauce (recipe follows)
Bibb lettuce
fresh avocado slices
2 Portuguese buns hot sauce

Pour the oil in a cast-iron skillet to a depth of about 1/2 inch.  Heat over medium-high to high heat until a thermometer reads 365º F.   

Scatter the dredge on a plate and gently toss the oysters in the dredge.  When your oil has reached temperature, carefully transfer the oysters into the oil, making sure not to splatter the oil, and turn down the temperature to medium.  Agitate the oysters in the oil gently until they're golden brown, about 30 to 45 seconds. 

Transfer the oysters to a plate lined with paper towel (double thick). 

Assemble your sandwiches, dividing the oysters between the sandwiches evenly.  Devour. 

[makes two sandwiches] 

Lee Bros. All-Purpose Dredge 

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
3 tbsp stone-ground cornmeal
2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
a sprinkling of bread crumbs for quick browning, if you're dredging fish or oysters (which you are) 

Mix thoroughly.  Keep in a jar. 

Spicy Tartar Sauce 

1/2 cup Pickled Corn (or Chowchow, or Jerusalem Artichoke Relish)
1/2 cup high-quality store-bought mayonnaise
1/2 tbsp chipotle purée
1 scallion, diced

Mix together.  Adjust seasoning, if necessary. 

The fried oyster sandwich--sometimes called a fried oyster po' boy, and here designated the Fried Oyster No' Boy to indicate that this sandwich was a) made in the North, where oysters are b) rarely the food of po' folks--is one of the great classics of sandwichery.

We've got the oysters.  Don't you owe it to yourself?

aj

* If math isn't your strong suit, that works out to about $1.66 a layer.

** Again, if you're not that strong in mathematics, that works out to about 6 oysters per sandwich.  12 would be ideal, but six plump oysters will do, again, as a bare minimum.  It definitely won't take long to fry them--you can do them all in one batch.

On the Road 7: VA & NC, Pt. 1

 fig. a:  Blue Ridge view

Sometimes the Mason-Dixon Line, and points south, can seem like worlds away--and, in a sense, they are.  But it only takes the better part of a day to drive down from Lower Canada into Virginia, which means it only takes the better part of a day to make it to the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah Valley.  And once you've made it to the Shenandoah Valley, you've officially entered a region of the United States of America that I like to call the Ham Belt, a region that encompasses Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, and beyond, where the ages-old tradition of smoked and aged country hams is still very much alive and well.

A case in point:  Fulks Run Grocery, in Fulks Run, VA, right in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley and just minutes from interstate 81, home of the Turner Ham House and Turner sugar-cured country hams.

Fulks Run Grocery/Turner Ham House, Inc.

Times have changed since the photograph on this postcard was first taken, but the Fulks Run Grocery sure hasn't changed much.

 fig. b:  that was then

This is the way it looks today.  They no longer have a filling station, and guns & ammo aren't nearly as big a part of their trade, but country hams still are, and the grocery's just as charming as ever.

 fig. c:  this is now

You can get a whole range of Turner Ham House products there, including full sugar-cured hams, ham trimmings, sugar-cured bacon, and the cutest, tastiest little freshly made ham sandwiches.  I happened to catch them at a time when they were out of whole hams--they had a batch ready, but the inspector hadn't been by to approve them yet.  But I loaded up on every other kind of ham product I could get my hands on, including several ham sandwiches.  I bought a block of aged cheddar to further enhance my sandwiches, a bag of delicious Route 11 kettle-cooked, "unhurried," potato chips (the pride of Mount Jackson, VA), and a Boylan soda, and had myself a little tailgate picnic.

 fig. d:  tailgate party

Those Turner Ham House people were friendly, too.  We talked about everything from ham, to new-batch maple syrup (from West Virginia), to growing up in Northern Virginia, to Volkswagens (!), and they had some great tips for me, too, like Wade's Mill stone-ground flours and grits.  As Peggie Turner told me, "If you like grits, you're going to love Wade's Mill's."  Lord knows, I do love grits.

Wade's Mill

 fig. e:  mill & buggy

Wade's Mill of Raphine, VA, has been a fully functioning flour mill since the late 19th century (1882, to be exact), but in recent years it's become something of a foodie destination.

 fig. f:  Wade's Mill

They continue to mill superior flours and grits just as they always have, but the Kennedy-Wade family has also branched out a bit.  They host cooking classes and receptions on the grounds that surround the historic old mill, and they stock a wide variety of specialty food products, cookware, and dinnerware in their shop, alongside their own Wade's Mill line.

I was pretty single-mindedly focused on their grits and their cornmeal, though.  That's all I was really looking for, and Peggie Turner was right:  their grits truly are superior.  Their grains are sourced locally, their grind is ideal, and their corn products are bursting with flavour.  And, if you live in the States, they'd be happy to ship some to you.

When in Asheville...

...have yourself a good-ole time.  This town's built for them.

I mean they've got music, arts, culture, food, and beer in spades, and it's a real pretty town, too.

My favourite cultural landmark was the Thomas Wolfe Memorial, located next to, and including, Old Kentucky Home, the boarding house owned and operated by Wolfe's mother, Julia, in the early 20th century.  I've been interested in Mr. Wolfe ever since I tore through Look Homeward, Angel back in high school, and I had a true Southern Gentleman for a tour guide, with the sweetest Florida drawl and the saltiest sense of humour, like Tupelo honey with country ham and biscuits on a cool spring morning.  But one of my favourite parts of the tour was our visit to Julia's bright, roomy, and highly functional kitchen.



 figs. g & h:  Julia's kitchen

The Black Mountain College Museum + Arts Center is a tiny shopfront space in downtown Asheville, but it's one of the last tangible traces of Black Mountain College and its impact on 20th century art, design, and pedagogy.  You can watch a video detailing the history of Black Mountain College and check out shows devoted to its legacy, and you can purchase Black Mountain College books and paraphernalia in their tiny shop area.

You can even pick up a copy of Ernest Matthew Mickler's phenomenal (and fascinating) White Trash Cooking (1986), a true treasure trove of Southern vernacular cuisine, because it appeared as a co-production of The Jargon Society, the "high-falutin'-cum-demotic writer's press" founded by Jonathan Williams way back in 1951on the grounds of Black Mountain College.



 fig. i & j:  trash culture

I knew Mickler's book was awesome--part William Eggleston, part Harry Crews, part good, ole-fashioned, Southern, spiral-bound community cookbook, it was an instant classic when it appeared in the mid-1980s--but I'd never made the Black Mountain connection until I visited the museum + arts center.

Beer-wise:  this town's motto ought to be "Don't Worry, Be Hoppy," because it's become a major hub in the American craft beer scene--something akin to the Portland, OR, of the Southeast.  I mean, this town's got such a vibrant beer culture that it operates craft brewery bus tours.  We're talking more breweries per capita than any other city in America.  I didn't have the time, the funds, or the suds-swilling capacity to conduct a comprehensive survey, but local favourites included the Asheville Brewing Company's Shiva I.P.A. and Rocket Girl lager and the Pisgah Brewing Company's I.P.A. and Tripel.

Food-wise:  there's all kinds of tasty grub to be had, from international to contemporary, but what I had my heart set on was Southern and New Southern, and that was exactly what I found.  I had exceptionally good food at Early Girl Eatery (pan-fried trout with pecan butter, German walnut cake, etc.), Tupelo Honey (New South sautéed greens, fried green tomatoes, biscuits, etc.), the Sunny Point Café (asparagus & country ham scramble, chipotle-cheese grits, etc.), and a definitive mint julep at Seven Sows Bourbon & Larder* on the day of the running of the 139th Kentucky Derby, but my favourite meal was some new-fangled barbecue at 12 Bones.

As their name suggests, 12 Bones have wisely made ribs their focus.  Ribs aren't a major part of the North Carolina tradition, but who in their right mind could fault a place for serving smoky baby backs, here, there, or anywhere?  In fact, 12 Bones are new-fangled in the best possible sense:  not hidebound by tradition, but still deeply respectful of Southern foodways.  "These ain't your pappy's ribs," a sign on the wall reads, but that's because they make them right--slow-smoked over real hardwood--not because they reinvented the rack.

 fig. k:  wood pile

Their prices were right, too:  order "6 bones" (a half-rack) and you get two sides and cornbread for $11.50; order "12 bones" (you got it:  a full rack) and you get the same two sides and cornbread for a mere $19.50.  Especially because, not only were their ribs great, but so were the mac & cheese, the sweet vinegar cole slaw, and the baked beans I had as sides.

 fig. l:  6 bones @ 12 Bones

To top things off, 12 Bones doubles as craft beer haven.  They've always got a nice selection of local brews on tap, and they're priced to move.

Not surprisingly, 12 Bones is a very popular place.  If we had one around here, I'd be there once a week.  Line-ups are inevitable, but they move fairly quickly and the crowd and the service is friendly.  Their River location (in central Asheville) is only open Monday through Friday, but if you happen to be in Asheville on the weekend (like I was), just head south along Sweeten Creek Rd., past the Mormons, the Scientologists, and the Jazzercise studio, and you'll find that their South location in nearby Arden, NC, is open on Saturdays from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m., with carry-out available until 6 p.m.

addresses:

Fulks Run Grocery/Turner Ham House, Inc., 11441 Brocks Gap Rd., Fulks Run, VA

Wade's Mill, 55 Kennedy-Wade's Mill, Raphine, VA

Thomas Wolfe Memorial, 52 North Market St., Asheville, NC

Black Mountain College Museum + Arts Center, 56 Broadway St., Asheville, NC

Early Girl Eatery, 8 Wall St., Asheville, NC

Tupelo Honey, 12 College St., Asheville, NC

Sunny Point Café, 626 Haywood Dr., Asheville, NC

Seven Sows Bourbon & Larder, 77 Biltmore Ave., Asheville, NC

12 Bones, 5 Riverside Dr., Asheville, NC and 3578 Sweeten Creek Rd. in nearby Arden, NC

aj

* Speaking of the Ham Belt, Seven Sows carries a pretty impressive range of country smokehouse products, including whole hams (some of them heirloom varieties) that you can take home with you (!).

Top Ten #49

1.  NC BBQ pilgrimage

2.  The Place Beyond the Pines (2012), dir. Cianfrance



3.  Kurt Vile, Wakin on a Pretty Daze (Matador)



4.  Turner country hams, bacon, and ham sandwiches, Fulks Run, VA + Wade's Mill cornmeal & grits, Raphine, VA

5.  The Central Park Five (2012), dir. Burns, Burns, and McMahon

6.  earthen oven building class, Yestermorrow Design/Build School, Waitsfield, VT



7.  real VA & NC peanuts

8.  Tabloid (2010), dir. Morris



9.  v/a, Delta Swamp Rock, vol. 2 (Soul Jazz)

10.  Asheville, NC + Black Mountain, NC

aj