CHILD WONDER, GIFT-GIVING, GRIEF, AND GOOSE

WITH TALK OF NEGLECTED MUSHROOMS AND GOOSE FAT

This week I had the pleasure and privilege of holding a cherubic five month old boy-child in my lap for a good long time when his parents came for a leisurely afternoon visit the day after the solstice. He was like an embodiment of the return of light, life, and hope.

I’m so grateful when my friend Trisha brings me flowers; they bring joy and their details are astonishing

He sat comfortably facing out with both parents in view, at ease, but always in deliberate continuous action. He’d look around, then lift a slippered foot to his mouth to suck for a moment, then instead a hand went to his mouth, then just a few fingers, then the edge of my hand, then his fingers again, and so on, in a relaxed round of movement and touch and exploration. His contentment, and the strength and ease of his firm little body, were a joy. There was the familiar feel of a small person who is, yes, of course, in need of care and protection of all kinds, but who is already - so soon! - an independent being launched on the road to autonomy. Gorgeous life.

children bring light and life in many ways: terrific decorated ginger cookies made by my friend Carol’s granddaughters; my granddaughter’s boots after an excursion into the snowscape yesterday

This week has been full of other visits with friends: walks and meals out in the world, as well as people coming here to the house. The only sticky place for me, as always, was presents/gifts. I don’t do well at mandatory giving. Instead, throughout the year, if I see something that I think would be ideal to give to a friend, I buy it and give it. But it’s rare that I go looking for a present for an occasion such as Christmas or a birthday. My kids long ago became used to my neglect of present-giving on special occasions.

In anticipation of present-giving season I had accumulated a small stash of possible presents, mostly ceramics that I’d liked and bought in the last few months, plus other hand-made things, such as knitted fingerless gloves and hats, and skin creams and salves. I sorted through them trying to figure out who might like what, then wrapped each in newspaper, with scotch tape to hold it in place. As a meagre addition, I had also chopped some Ontario-grown turmeric (amazing, from Soznicki’s) and boiled it at a low boil for about 2 hours to make a turmeric concentrate; it went into jars, one for me and the rest to give away

There’s a definite asymmetry here, for my incoming presents have been very thoughtful and carefully wrapped. I’m well past shame after all these years. I feel a bit badly for my friends but not badly enough to try the mandatory-gift shopping list technique. I’m grateful for their love and their generous tolerance.

turmeric for concentrate: it’s great in hot lemon, along with chopped ginger and black pepper

KITCHEN EXPLORATIONS, including mushroom rescue, hanger steak, goose fat, and loads of vegetables

A few days before Christmas I was expecting two or three extra people for casual supper. I’d decided to make brown jasmine rice and to stir-fry some hanger steak from Sanagan’s. Then I came across two brown paper bags of mushrooms from the market. I’d completely forgotten about them. (Does that ever happen to you?) They’d been neglected for ten days and had dried out to almost weightlessness. How to rescue them?

I rinsed them off and then tried to chop them and trim off unsalvageable stems. The mushrooms were so dry and tough that anything more than very rough coarse chopping was impossible. I heated some olive oil in my large Staub pot and tossed in several chopped garlic cloves and then the mushrooms. After a minute or two I added about an inch of hot water and brought it to a boil. I half-covered the pot and lowered the heat to maintain a strong simmer, hoping that the simmering would eventually manage to rehydrate the mushrooms. It was a very slow process. I had to add water a couple of times. Finally after about 45 minutes the mushrooms started to soften properly. I lifted them out of the cooking liquid with a spider and chopped them more finely, discarding any irredeemably tough bits, then dropped them back in to continue simmering. I added a generous amount of butter and a little red wine, a splash or two of soy sauce plus some salt. Altogether it took well over an hour to cook the mushrooms to edible.

Meantime the rice had finished cooking, guests had arrived, and people were hungry. It was time to cook the hanger steak. I’ve come to love it as the perfect beef for a stir-fry, cut across the grain in medium (not super thin) slices. I rub it with shio koji about fifteen to thirty minutes before I want to cook it (about 1 heaped tablespoon per pound/450 grams). I had a bunch of cavalo nero (that lovely tender bumpy-leafed kind of kale that you can eat raw or cooked) that I chopped fairly finely, a large red onion that I sliced thinly, and a thumb of ginger that I peeled and chopped.

I’m grateful to have a large spun steel wok which can handle large quantities. I like to use mustard seed, nigella, and fennel seeds as a flavour base with beef. Once the mustard seeds had popped, in went the ginger, then a moment later the sliced onion. I lowered the heat a bit as the onion cooked to tender softened slices, then with the gas flame turned back up, in went the beef. After about three minutes of vigorous stir-frying, most surfaces looked touched with colour, so in went the cavalo nero. The stir-frying continued for a minute or more. I wanted the greens softened but the beef tender and strongly pink in the middle (that’s why I don’t slice it thinly). I splashed in some water as I kept pressing the meat against the hot wok, then turned it and pressed again. In another minute, after some dashes of soy sauce and more stirring, it was done and could be turned out onto a wide shallow wooden bowl: tender slices of beef, a thin gravy, and bright green pieces of barely cooked cavalo nero.

I worried that the mushrooms might still seem too chewy to everyone, but there was no problem. We feasted and talked relaxedly, of many things, with mentions of Tashi woven into our stories and thoughts. What a pleasure.

the leftovers of rice and of mushroom were terrific for breakfast, reheated together in olive oil in a cast-iron skillet and topped with a fried egg or two (and tarragon leaves here)

On Christmas night we were invited out to dinner: ten people around a long table, with loads of everything, all beautifully cooked: turkey, stuffing, cranberry chutney, squash, gravy, brussels sprouts, and conversation.

huge perfectly cooked turkey for a crowd

I loved bathing in the energy and loving care of dear friends. But wow my stamina was limited. By the time we were headed home I realised I was deeply tired, flattened out, exhausted by the weighty current of grief that is flowing inside me even when I’m unaware of it.

The next night, Boxing Day evening, we were due to feed ten adults plus five small children. The plan was for roast goose and loads of vegetables. The fridge and pantry were full of supplies for the feast, mostly bought at Wychwood Farmers’ Market. But illness struck (colds, eye infections, etc) and two families had to cancel. As a result we were only five adults and one almost four-year-old. The goose was small, a mere 7 ½ pounds; I’d planned to grill some lamb, to supplement, but there was no need. (As it turned out, with fewer people for dinner we had a little leftover goose for sandwiches.)

Perhaps we had leftovers because I went a bit overboard on the vegetables, all cooked before the goose went into the oven. There were slow-cooked spiced chopped leeks, I mean really slow-cooked so that they became melty and lush; oven-roasted beets sliced and tossed with chopped dill in a yogurt-olive oil-rice vinegar sauce; soft oven-roasted squash mixed with chopped radicchio and flavoured with olive oil, pomegranate molasses, cider vinegar, and squeezes of lemon; cooked peeled chopped potatoes in a herb-laden vinaigrette; and wedges of pointed cabbage that were sprinkled with olive oil and fish sauce before being oven roasted, then chopped

a crowded plate: goose thigh top right, then beets, cabbage, leeks, potatoes, squash-radicchio going clockwise

Before carving the goose I poured the fat out of the roasting pan into a jar. Later, while we sat around playing Dixit (such a terrific game; do you know it?), and then during the last of the cleaning up, the carcass simmered for some hours in a tall pot. The next day I simmered it a little more, then set it by the cold back door to chill overnight so that the fat would float to the top and congeal. Today I skimmed it off and added it to the goose fat jar. Real wealth! Now that I have a good stash of fat, I see fried potatoes in my future…

The plan for supper tomorrow is risotto made with the goose broth. Perhaps I’ll include some slices of delicata squash in it. I’m not sure what else. That will be a post for another day, just after New Year’s perhaps.

I hope the New Year brings you good health and good energy to meet the ongoing challenges we all face. Life is not getting any simpler, nor is the world more peaceful. We need all the good energy we can summon

the view out back two days ago, or perhaps it was yesterday!