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 (!).

On The Road 6: North Carolina BBQ Mini-Odyssey

 fig. a:  old-school NC pig roast

North Carolina.  Fabled birthplace of American barbecue.  And a state where pig is king.

 fig. b:  court jester

Actually, North Carolina's a state where pig is sometimes also the court jester.  Quite literally.

The photograph directly above was taken in Lexington, NC, in front of the Davidson County Courthouse.  This pig statue pays some kind of tribute to Lexington's status as the Barbecue Capital of the World (or, at the very least, the Barbecue Capital of North Carolina).  Of course, Lexington's not the only town to claim to be the Barbecue Capital of the World, and it's probably not the only town in North Carolina that thinks of itself as the Tarheel State's Barbecue Capital, but it's got a pretty decent claim on both titles.  It's a major barbecue pilgrimage point with an astounding number of barbecue restaurants per capita (it's got about 20, and its population is just under 19,000, so roughly 1 for every 950 citizens), a number of which are among the most esteemed in the business, and it's got a style all its own.  If all that wasn't enough, it also plays host to the Lexington Barbecue Festival--one of the world's largest--every fall.

Now Lexington may not have been the place where barbecue originated--the Anglo-American tradition dates back to First Contact, after all--but it's certainly got a long history there.  Some of the earliest barbecues in the city itself actually took place in back of the County Courthouse, on a tiny stretch of road that became known as Barbecue Alley, where the earliest purveyors of Lexington barbecue (within city limits, that is) took advantage of the courthouse's central location and its hungry jurists.

 fig. c:  early Lexington BBQ

It'd be great if Barbecue Alley was still a hotspot for Lexington barbecue, but this is what it looks like today.

 fig. d:  "Barbecue Alley" today

To find Lexington's famed barbecue establishments, you've got to travel a little ways from the geographic centre.  There may be lingering ghosts around Barbecue Alley, but with the exception of late October, when the Barbecue Festival is on, the action is happening elsewhere.

 fig. e:  Drink

Lexington Barbecue

My Lexington pilgrimage was short, but it was definitely sweet.  It started at perhaps the most hallowed barbecue establishment in all of Lexington, Wayne "Honey" Monk's Lexington Barbecue, a.k.a. Lexington Barbecue #1, The Monk, The Honey Monk, or Honey Monk's.  Lexington Barbecue has been winning over devotees and racking up distinctions for over 50 years now, and it's the only barbecue in Lexington to have won a James Beard Foundation award as one of America's Classics.

 fig. f:  #1

Lexington Barbecue is a large, barn-shaped restaurant with very few frills to it of any kind.  The specialty, of course, is their pork barbecue, served in a range of plates, platters, and sandwiches.  The default mode for Lexington Barbecue's pork is finely chopped, as it is across much of North Carolina.  But the style here is one that's typical of the city of Lexington, and of the Piedmont region more generally:  dressed with a dip that features tomato ketchup prominently, and served alongside a "red" cole slaw that also features ketchup prominently.  The meat is supremely tender, and the 10+ hours of smoking time imparts a lovely smoky flavour, but Lexington Barbecue uses primarily oak on its shoulders, so the smokiness is surprisingly mild.  The presentation may lack a certain artistry, but this is masterful barbecue.

 fig. g:  Lexington Barbecue's platter

Plates of pork barbecue are commonly served with either buns or hush puppies, but if you ask real nice you can get an order of "half 'n' half," which is exactly what I did.  Texas Pete hot sauce (the pride of North Carolina) and a large cup of Cheerwine (like my server told me, "It's kinda like cherry cola, only better") completed the scene.

I tried to really savour my platter--this was a pilgrimage, after all--but I was pretty hungry by this point, and that barbecue was just too damn good.  I polished off that platter in no time.

 fig. h:  Lexington Barbecue's pit

Out back, you can see Lexington Barbecue's brick smoking pit chugging away, with their pile of hardwood close at hand.  Classic.

BBQ Center

 fig. i:  BBQ Center

I'd been told that Lexington's BBQ Center was the home of an excellent ice cream counter that served up some legendary banana splits.  But, as their name suggests, BBQ Center is primarily another serious barbecue establishment, and one that's even older that Lexington Barbecue ("since 1955"), so I took a pass on the ice cream and opted for a barbecue pork sandwich for dessert instead.

 fig. j:  iconography 1

Not that I had my doubts or anything, but I could tell these guys were the real deal from the moment I pulled into the parking lot.  They had the iconography down, they had plenty of hardwood at the ready, and their pit was smokin' away.

 fig. k:  BBQ Center's sandwich

BBQ Center still offers good old-fashioned, mid-20th-century-style curb service, but I picked up my barbecue sandwich (coarsely chopped, this time) and had it on a picnic table outside with a soda and a side of their famous dip.  I liked the coarse cut of the meat, and the smokiness of the meat was downright bold compared with Lexington Barbecue.  I wasn't even all that hungry, but that smoke worked its charms on me.

Stamey's

 fig. l:  Stamey's now

Stamey's is another legend of the Lexington style.  Warner Stamey learned the trade in the 1920s and started his first barbecue restaurant in Shelby in 1930.  He came back to Lexington for a spell and then moved on to Greensboro where he established his namesake restaurant.  Warner Stamey's reputation is based on two things:  his Lexington-style barbecue and his mentorship.  Wayne Monk is just one of the future barbecue stars to have apprenticed with Stamey back in the day.  BBQ Center's Sonny Conrad was another former pupil.

Stamey's still serves good pork barbecue (very good, in fact), and they still pride themselves on doing things the right way--smoking their meat over wood (hickory, preferably), making just about everything on the menu from scratch, keeping the operation family-run--but the flagship restaurant has been renovated numerous times over the years and the latest incarnation lacks a little charm.  As a BBQ pilgrimage site, it's maybe just a little too modern, a little too generic.  It's too bad it doesn't look like this anymore:

 fig. m:  Stamey's then

There's no questioning Stamey's place in the family tree of Tarheel barbecue, but these days it's definitely not North Carolina's most scenic barbecue joint.

Allen & Son

 fig. n:  faded glory

My brief North Carolina barbecue odyssey took me from west to east, which also means that it amounted to something of a backwards trip through time, in terms of barbecue history, at least.  You see, while barbecue had spread far and wide across the state by the late nineteenth century, and certainly by World War I, it's generally acknowledged that the North Carolina tradition got its start in the east.  It's in the east where settlers first came into contact with the region's indigenous populations.  It's in the east where the history of barbecue is most thoroughly documented.  And it's also in the east where the barbecue tradition is at its most primal:  whole hogs cooked slowly over wood, and basted with a simple vinegar-based and chili pepper-laced concoction.  On the following day of my journey I crossed over, and my first stop was Chapel Hill's Allen & Son.

Things were pretty quiet when I got there because Allen & Son opens early and I'd decided to go there for a "barbecue brunch" in order to facilitate the consumption of even more barbecue later in the day, but I didn't mind having the place to myself.  Among other things, it gave me plenty of time to admire my surroundings.  Allen & Son has the quirkiest, most idiosyncratic interior I'd yet encountered.  It's some kind of folksy, friendly, frontier fantasy they've got going on in there, featuring a wide range of old-timey artifacts and a whole lot of taxidermy.

Allen & Son is owned and operated by Keith Allen, a hulking figure of a man who has a fondness for hickory, who collects and chops all his own wood, and who prefers to work his pit and chop his pork all by himself, too.  There's definitely something of the frontiersman in Allen, and he definitely looks the part. Think Sterling Hayden in Nicholas Ray's Johnny Guitar and the whole aesthetic of Allen & Son suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Anyway, I had a chance to take in the scene, and study their menu, and I liked what I saw.  Right down to their coy mascot.

 fig. o:  iconography 2

But what I liked most of all was my barbecue pork sandwich plate.

 fig. p:  Allen & Son's sandwich

The pork here was coarsely cut, robustly smoky, perfectly seasoned, and quite literally juicy.  The juiciest yet.  The cole slaw was no longer "red"--it was creamy and "white," it had been made with obvious care, and it was first class.  The bun, as you can see, was seeded and definitely above average.  And the hush puppies, too, were a work of art--the best I experienced over the course of a week in NC.  Hell, even their sweet tea was outstanding, with enticing hints of vanilla to it.  But the biggest revelation was Allen & Son's dip, which didn't have any tomato in it, but did contain a secret ingredient:  butter.  I'd read about early North Carolina barbecue sauces and how butter had been a fairly common ingredient well into the nineteenth century, but I'd never actually encountered one.  Allen & Son's dip also arrived fresh & hot.  And, boy, did it ever make that pork sing.  Wow!

Skylight Inn BBQ

 fig. q:  manifesto

Later that day, I'd fully crossed over.  By that time, I was in Ayden, NC, visiting yet another Tarheel legend:  Skylight Inn BBQ.  Devotees of whole hog barbecue, standard-bearers for the eastern North Carolina style, and fellow recipients of a James Beard Foundation America's Classics award, the Skylight has a reputation for being among the state's most dedicated barbecue fundamentalists.  While the Skylight was only founded in 1947, the Jones family has a history of making barbecue that dates back hundreds of years.  That said, for a long time the Skylight was primarily a local legend.  It was only in 1979, when an article in National Geographic named Pete Jones' establishment "the barbecue capital of the world" that its reputation really began to spread far and wide.

A few years later, Mr. Jones added a rotunda--a replica of the U.S. Capitol Building's--to its roof to commemorate the nomination.

 fig. r:  Barbecue Capitol

The Skylight's rotunda is just about its only flourish, though.  Otherwise, this is another no-frills establishment, and the ambience comes primarily from the hospitality of Bruce Jones, Pete's son, and from the musical rhythm of the chopping of barbecue that comes periodically from just behind the counter.  Here, the standard serving of barbecue comes finely and freshly chopped, and the fact that it's whole hog barbecue means that the meat is more varied than most other establishments, and that crackling plays a more significant part.  The cole slaw is a very simple affair, and the colour is almost electric.  And the classic trio comes complete with a piece of the Skylight's traditional cornpone, which is denser and less sweet than a typical corn bread.  It also comes stacked like this:

 fig. s:  Skylight Inn's platter

If you're going to post your barbecue philosophy up on a billboard, you better make sure you back it up, and there's no question that they do at the Skylight Inn BBQ.  Just think of the amount of wood it takes to dedicate yourself to whole hog barbecue.  Just look at that stack of wood they've got piled next to their barbecue pit.

 fig. t:  it's definitely cooked with wood

After Ayden, still pushing east towards the Outer Banks and the Atlantic, I soon pulled out of the heart of NC BBQ Country.  I knew I'd only just scratched the surface, but I was confident traditional North Carolina barbecue was holding strong, and I knew I'd be back soon enough for another BBQ pilgrimage.

A North Carolina Barbecue Primer:

1.  Remember:  pig is king.  Many of these restaurants have a lot of other distractions on their menus (burgers, chicken, etc.), but it pays not to stray.  This should go without saying, but do yourself a favour--stick to the pork barbecue. 

2.  You generally have your choice of how to have your pork barbecue served to you:  finely chopped (the norm), coarsely chopped, or sliced.  You'll be hard pressed to find pork barbecue "pulled" in an old-school Tarheel barbecue joint.  Avoid the embarrassment. 

3.  Barbecue sauce in North Carolina is called "dip."  It's generally pretty thin, it's always vinegar-based, and it's usually pretty spicy, too.  The essentials are vinegar, chili peppers/crushed red peppers, salt, and sugar.  Whether it contains ketchup, tomato sauce, or some other addition depends on geography (basically:  west-yes, east-no).  Don't expect to find any thick, gloppy barbecue sauce on your table.  Do expect to find plenty of Texas Pete, and feel free to make liberal use of it.

4.  Old-school North Carolina barbecue restaurants tend to use one of two different types of wood, or a combination of the two:  oak and hickory.  But wood, and the smoke that comes with it, are absolutely essential.  As they so delicately put it at the Skylight Inn:  "If it's not cooked with WOOD, it's not BBQ."  As in most other parts of the U.S., there are a lot of places in North Carolina advertising barbecue--please, for the love of BBQ, stick to the ones that cook over wood.

5.  The classic North Carolina barbecue sides are cole slaw and some variation of fried or baked corn meal (usually, hush puppies, but also including corn bread, cornpone, and cornsticks).  Don't expect a wide variety of other sides, although you may be pleasantly surprised from time to time (even very pleasantly surprised on occasion).  A barbecue restaurant is not necessarily a meat-and-three.

addresses:

Lexington Barbecue, 100 Smokehouse Lane, Lexington, NC

BBQ Center, 900 N. Main Street, Lexington, NC

Stamey's Barbecue,  2206 High Point Road, Greensboro, NC

Allen & Son Pit-Cooked Bar-B-Que, 6203 Millhouse Road, Chapel Hill, NC

Skylight Inn BBQ, 4618 S. Lee Street, Ayden, NC

Note:  NC's Barbecue Country basically encompasses the entire state, from far western towns like Murphy (near the borders of Tennessee and Georgia), to eastern towns like Ayden and Goldsboro, but this particular BBQ mini-odyssey only covered about 200 miles--just far enough to fully capture the transition from West to East and from early-20th-century to early-modern in terms of style and philosophy.  In other words, you could easily hit a number of these places within the space of a single day.

For more on Tarheel barbecue, John Shelton Reed & Dale Volberg Reed's Holy Smoke:  The Big Book of North Carolina Barbecue (UNC Press) lives up to its name and comes complete with lore, history, recipes, addresses, and interviews.  Check out this link for more information.

aj

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

J'ai Faim... J'ai soif!!

 fig. a:  Hi!  My name is Savouré

Hey!  It's nice out there.  You're out and about.  And you're probably starting to get hungry, right?  And maybe even a little thirsty...

Well, keep in mind that the Salon J'ai Faim is taking place this weekend, May 18 & 19th, in the basement of the Église Saint-Enfant-Jésus (5035 St-Dominique), at the corner of St-Joseph & St-Laurent.

You'll find many of our favourite Montreal food & drink people, including

Dispatch Coffee! 

Preservation Society!

and our latest coup de coeur...

Savouré Sodas & Preserves!!

I mean, who couldn't use a small-batch grapefruit & tarragon soda on a day like today?

Check 'em out!  These sodas are truly amazing.

There's a price of admission to get into the Salon, but if you're smart you can opt for a ticket that comes with some delicious amuse-gueules.

Oh, by the way:  the entertainment lasts from 11am - 6 pm both days.

am/km

Get Thee to the Greek

 fig. a:  Greek spring!

Team Foodlab & Team Oenopole are teaming up again to bring you another Greek extravaganza, featuring not one, not two, not three, but FOUR honest-to-goodness Greek wine producers

Thymiopoulos
Argyros
Tselepos
&
Papagiannakos

Opa!

 fig. b:  Opa!

and a wide range of Greek delicacies, including

grilled lambchops
stuffed eggplant
octopus salad
grilled Izmir-style kebab
fresh grilled flatbreads
&
honey-walnut cake

 fig. c:  Foodlab + Oenopole

And, get this:  you don't have to wait, because the festivities take place TONIGHT!

Wednesday, May 15
5pm till close
Foodlab
1201 boul. St-Laurent
3rd floor
Montreal, QC

It's official--Greek Spring has arrived!

aj

Corn Bread Nation

 fig. a:  What?  Chestnuts?

I've thought a lot about this map since the first time we posted it way back when.

I've thought about its telling aspects, like the Great Plains and (the absence of) bison.  But I've also thought about some of its more mysterious elements--like the fact that "Corn Bread & BBQ" somehow excludes the entire state of North Carolina, and that most of Tar Heel State is said to be defined by "Chestnut" instead.

Of course both corn bread and barbecue are hotly divisive issues across much of America, but regardless how you feel about North Carolina corn bread and/or North Carolina barbecue, North Carolina's certainly got a pretty strong claim on both.  After all, this is a state that people regularly claim has the strongest connection to the American barbecue tradition.*  This is a state that when people talk about "the family tree of barbecue," and how it has spread all over the country--and, believe me, plenty of people do--many of them claim that "its deepest tap root" is right there, in North Carolina.**

This is also a state that's serious about its cornmeal and its corn bread.  In fact, the North Carolina tradition is to serve barbecue with two principal accompaniments:  cole slaw and some variation on corn bread, be it actual corn bread, cornpone, cornsticks, or, most commonly, hush puppies.

These people eat a lot of pork, much of it in the form of barbecue.  They also consume great quantities of cornmeal, often with barbecue.  If North Carolina isn't a part of Corn Bread & BBQ Nation, something's truly gone amiss.

Anyway, the point is that when I started to plan a short BBQ Odyssey a couple of weeks ago (more on this later), I got so excited I did two things.  I fired up the smoker and made my first batch of 2013 season barbecue.  And I broke out the cornmeal and made some real skillet corn bread.

I spent a good chunk of my life south of the Mason-Dixon line, but only just south of it, and our family was essentially a family of Northern Virginia carpetbaggers.  I didn't grow up in a true Southern household.  I don't have particularly deep ancestral ties to corn bread.  (I've got maple syrup in my veins, not cornmeal.)  But I do have deep personal ties to corn bread.  Corn bread was just about the first thing that I started cooking when I was a kid.  It was certainly the thing I was most excited to make for years.

The kind of corn bread I made for a long time was typical carpetbagger fare.  It was the kind of corn bread that came all gussied up with too many eggs and too much sugar.  The kind of corn bread I make these days is much more minimal.  It's not sweet at all, and it's really all about the cornmeal.  Which can be a difficult thing to find here in Maple Syrup Nation.  I mean, it's not particularly difficult to find cornmeal, but it's exceedingly difficult to find the kind of cornmeal you need to make a true Southern-style corn bread.  You need to keep your eyes open for real old-school, stone-ground cornmeal, especially when you're in the States, like the Old Wye Mill "Golden Run Yellow Cornmeal" you see below, or some brand of white "Old Virginia Style" cornmeal, depending on which side of the fence you're on.

 fig. b:  true cornmeal

It pays to be picky, because, again, with a true Southern corn bread, it's the cornmeal that's the star attraction, and a mediocre cornmeal results in an insipid corn bread.

I also used to bake my corn bread in a 9" x 9" baking dish, but I've long since preferred to bake it in a cast-iron skillet.  There's something about the ritual of it.  But for that you need a nicely seasoned skillet.

Otherwise, making a true Southern-style corn bread couldn't be easier.  And once you've assembled necessary ingredients, the process is very fast, and very satisfying.

 fig. c:  true skillet corn bread

Skillet Corn Bread 

4 oz. stone-ground cornmeal (this works out to about 1 cup, but I highly recommend weighing your cornmeal)
1/2 tsp cream of tartar
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1 large egg
3/4 cup buttermilk (preferably whole buttermilk)
1 tbsp peanut oil, bacon fat, or lard 

special equipment:  an 8-inch well-seasoned skillet 

Preheat your oven to 425º.  Measure the dry ingredients into a bowl and whisk them thoroughly to break up any lumps.  Break the egg into a separate bowl and whisk it lightly.  Add the buttermilk to the egg and whisk to blend. 

Five minutes before you are read to bake your corn bread, add the fat to skillet and place it in the hot oven. 

When four minutes have elapsed, add the egg and buttermilk blend to the dry ingredients, whisking just to blend (in other words, do not blend too much!).  One minute later--at the 5-minute mark--take the skillet from the oven (remember, it will be HOT) and carefully swirl the fat around the bottom of the skillet and along the sides so that the skillet is evenly coated.  Immediately pour the batter into the skillet, using a circular motion for even distribution.  You'll notice that the batter sizzles and climbs up the sides of the skillet slightly.  That's a good sign.  

Return the skillet to the oven and bake the corn bread for about 20-25 minutes, until it is nicely set and golden brown on top.  Remove from the oven and quickly, but confidently flip it out onto a cutting board.  Cut into wedges and serve. 

Makes one 8-inch corn bread. 

[recipe from John "I know a thing or two about Corn Bread Nation" Thorne's Serious Pig [I've tried a lot of different recipes, but this is the one I go back to the most)]

Highly acceptable variation:  w/ real smoked bacon bits (preferably from the strip/s you used to produce the necessary bacon fat).

Now, this is an ideal corn bread to serve with all kinds of Southern fare, including barbecue, and I also like to serve it Southwestern fare, such as chili, but one of my favourite treats involves taking this thoroughly unsweet skillet corn bread straight out of the oven and piping hot and giving it a friendly shove in the sweet direction:

Cut a wedge.  Slice the wedge in half to form a wedge-shaped sandwich.  Pour some sorghum molasses inside.  Close the sandwich.  Pour a bit more sorghum molasses on top.  Devour.***

It's kind of like a Southern-style treacle tart.

 fig. d:  skillet corn bread snack

It would be great with vanilla ice cream, too.

Hmm, might be time to bake another batch of corn bread...

aj

* Jane and Michael Stern, for instance.

** Jim Auchmutey, of The Ultimate Barbecue Sauce Cookbook fame, has claimed this very thing.

*** If you don't have any sorghum molasses on hand, or don't care for the stuff, a quality honey makes for another delicious option.

¡Ándele! ¡Ándele! ¡Jaiba! ¡Jaiba!

Spring used to come in like a lion 'round these parts, but mostly it just arrives in fits and starts these days, feinting and dodging, teasing and mocking.  Sure, you'll get some warm, toasty days every now and then, but there's sure to be a few bitterly cold days (and nights), too.  And like our friend at the dépanneur down the street says, "You can't be sure of anything until May 15."  And even then...

 fig. a:  printemps québécois

Anyway, signs of spring usually begin sometime in March in Montreal (like most places in the Northern Hemisphere), but, foodwise, it takes a while to see a whole lot of rebirth going on.  With the exception of maple syrup, most of our spring flavours tend to show up in May and June.

Which is why snow crab is of such importance to people like us.  Not only are we enormous fans of crabmeat, but snow crabs are one of the earliest spring arrivals, and snow crab season is really the only time of the year we can get fresh, live, and regional crab here in Montreal.  Officially, the season is said to last from April to November, but our experience has been that in actual fact it's a very short season, lasting no more than about 6-8 weeks.  But, oh, is it ever sweet.  Or, at least, it can be.  And it's going on now.

Just how excited about snow crab are we?

Well, Michelle and Seth have been preparing a lovely snow crab pasta dish as part of their Quebec Spring/Printemps québécois menu at the Foodlab.  It features handmade/housemade tagliatelle cooked to perfection and tossed with a medley of spring vegetables (string beans, peas, shallots, and the first of the cherry tomatoes from our friends at Birri Brothers), herbs (chives and parsley), a generous helping of snow crab meat, and a beautiful crab cream.

And here at home we've been going to town on our very favourite tacos in the entire world:  tacos stuffed with salpicón de jaiba.



 fig. b & c:  crab tacos!

We've featured this recipe before, but it's an absolutely essential one, and a great way to stretch your crabmeat a little further, because, god knows, those snow crabs are tasty, but they can also be quite costly.  Here it is again, revised and updated:

Salpicón de Jaiba 

1 tbsp vegetable oil
1/4 cup finely chopped white onion
1/3 cup finely chopped celery
2 serrano or jalapeño chiles, seeded and finely chopped
1 cup cooked, shredded crabmeat
1 tbsp finely chopped cilantro
1/8-1/4 tsp crushed chili pepper blend (some combination of ancho, pasilla, arbol, chipotle, and/or New Mexico grande chiles)
salt to taste

Heat the oil in a skillet and cook the onion gently until translucent.  

Add the celery and sauté for about one minute.  Add the fresh chiles and sauté for 30-60 seconds.   

Add the crabmeat and fry until it is warmed through and begins to brown ever so slightly.  The mixture should be rather dry--remember, you're going to be placing it in a taco. 

Lastly, take the mixture off the heat, add the cilantro, salt, and chili blend, and toss, allowing the flavours to mingle for a minute or two before serving.

Serve with hot tortillas and plenty of fixings, like pico de gallo, sour cream or crema, hot sauce, and limes.

Makes enough to fill at least 8-10 corn tortillas. 

[based on a recipe from Diana Kennedy's The Essential Cuisines of Mexico]

Might seem a little strange to make Mexican tacos with Quebec crab, but, trust me, a little cultural exchange can be a good thing.

 fig. d:  Juan Carlos, the Mexican crab

 fig. e:  Jean-Charles, the Quebec snow crab

Go, Crabs, go!

aj

New Ways to Boost Your Grain Power 3: Oats!

 fig. a toaster, oats

It's funny that this is the last recipe to appear in the New Ways to Boost Your Grain Power series, because in many ways this was the recipe that got me started on this train of thought.

It all started back in about the spring of 2010.  I'd been reading and re-reading issue #82 of The Art of Eating (Fall 2009) for a while, especially its cover story on new bistros and "the casualization of dining" in Paris ("New Ways to be a Restaurant in Paris," by Bénédict Beaugé and Edward Behr).  I was fascinated by its description of the new crop of bistros and micro-bistros in Paris, and the way these restaurants were redefining the dining scene there:  by making it less stuffy and more affordable, yes, but also by highlighting regional cuisines in a way that was helping to expand notions of bistro cuisine. And I studied the accompanying recipes closely.  Very closely, in fact, because there was one recipe that I just couldn't wrap my head around.

It was a recipe for Haferflockensuppe from Nicholas Scheidt of L'Office, and it was billed as an Alsatian specialty.  You see, I'd yet to Boost My Grain Power back then, and it literally took me weeks to decipher what I was reading.  I couldn't figure out why this wouldn't just result in an unusually savoury bowl of oatmeal.  Finally, after going back to that same recipe over and over and over again, it suddenly made sense to me.  I had something of a "Eureka!" moment.  It wasn't just an "oatmeal soup" (as a strict translation of the name would suggest), like every other recipe in this New Ways to Boost Your Grain Power series, the key had to do with the toasting of grains--in this case, the toasting of oats.  You see, it may very well be that mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey, and that's all fine and good, but, here, it's very important that you begin this recipe with toasted oats.

With its combination of butter, bacon, oats, cognac, sour cream, and chicken stock, this might seem like kind of a wintery soup, and it is, but it's actually pretty ideal as an early spring soup, too, especially around here, where the fluctuations in temperature can be a bit of a rollercoaster ride (a cruel one) in March and April.  You see, it's got some of the greens that you're craving, like chervil and spring onions, but it's also plenty hearty enough for an unseasonably brisk day.  (In fact, tomorrow would be an ideal day for Haferflockensuppe--it's predicted that we're going to get 10-15 cm of snow [?!!].)  And it's easy, too, once you have the necessary ingredients, including a good (homemade, preferably) chicken stock.  You just have to take the time to carefully brown your oats to toasty, golden perfection, and everything else pretty well takes care of itself.

I offer you the recipe as it originally appeared in The Art of Eating.  I've found that one can tone down the amount of butter and oil significantly, and still wind up with the desired richness of flavour.  Everything else I'd keep exactly as is, although if you happen to have pumpernickel croutons around, instead of plain old country bread croutons, all the better.

Haferflockensuppe 

75g oat flakes (3/8 cup)
100g butter (1/2 cup)
4 tsp veg oil
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1 thick slice bacon, cut into lardons
2 bay leaves
2 tbsp cognac
1 litre chicken stock
salt and pepper
4 eggs
1 slice country bread, cut into croutons
chervil, 1 bunch, minced
spring onions, thinly sliced
4 tsp sour cream 

Brown the oat flakes in half the butter and half the oil, with the garlic, bacon and bay leaves. Deglaze with the cognac, add stock and simmer 20 min. Remove the bay leaves and season to taste. 

Pan fry the eggs (or poach them for a finer look and taste), season them, brown the croutons in the remaining oil and butter, and season. 

Slide one egg in the bottom of each soup bowl (shallow ones make for a more dramatic presentation), pour some soup around it so the yolk still emerges, sprinkle with chervil, croutons, and spring onions. Finish with a dollop of sour cream.

Is it starting to make sense?  It will when you taste it.

aj

Today's loaves today 1

 figs. a-c:  testing 1-2-3

Easter Monday. Tests on AEB's sourdough Danish pumpernickel are going exceedingly well. Great with sweet butter. Great with cream cheese and tomatoes. Great with Old Amsterdam aged Gouda.  Testing continues. Desperately Seeking Smoked Fish.

News update: Michelle declared the following the "Best sandwich ever!": 2 x slices Danish pumpernickel, mayonnaise, Old Amsterdam, AEB spicy pickles, lettuce. I'm pretty sure she was exaggerating somewhat, but I know the feeling. Dense, moist, hearty with the taste of rye, crusty, somewhat salty, a touch sweet, and full of that wonderful toasted caraway flavour--this is a loaf that's got it all goin' on.

aj