Recalling Old Skills

By Annemarie Ahearn

In the winter months in Maine, there is time for activities that never seem to make their way into my schedule April through November. One of those activities is reading.  There is nothing more satisfying for a chef than reading a cookbook leisurely, paging through recipes for pleasure and inspiration with slippers on and a cup of tea in hand.  There is also a world of food literature that I have only begun to explore, such as Elizabeth David’s “An Omelet and a Glass of Wine,” Richard Olney’s “Simple French Cooking” and Coleman Andrew’s “Catalan Cuisine.”  I have also indulged in a book recommended to me by an equally indulgent friend, titled “White Truffles in Winter” by N.M. Kelby.  It is the story of Auguste Escoffier’s tenure in whites, the influence of his work, and his love affair with the temptress Sarah Berhardt.

In an effort to step outside of what some may call an obsession with food, I have picked up a book entitled “Two Old Women.”  It tells a simple and powerful tale of an Inuit Tribe in the interior of Alaska, who must trek across the cold desolate land, carrying hot embers to stay warm and setting animal traps in a desperate search for nourishment.  When the tribe nears starvation and can not afford to help the elderly along in their journey through the tundra, they make a painful decision to leave two women in their seventies behind.  The two women must fend for themselves, recalling skills from their youths to stay alive.  They make a rabbit carcass stretch for days, eating the innards, then the head, the meat and making broths with all of the bones.  They weave snowshoes for their journey ahead and must pull the weight of their belonging with ropes harnessed to their waists.  Many mornings, their aching bodies and bruised souls would rather stay motionless in their sleeping hole in the snow, a certain death.  But a force greater than pain and defeat stirs them, pushing them onward.

Survival is something I’ve never met face to face with.  I see shades of it in quieter parts of Maine, people living off the land, warming their homes with wood fires and preparing themselves for a sort of winter hibernation.  “Recalling old skills” is a practice that I’ve taken an interest in, not out of necessity, but because there is something intrinsically rewarding about knowing how to provide, on the most basic level, for yourself.  Even something as simple as planting a seed, watching it grow, harvesting, it and then consuming it, brings a reward that is almost indescribable.

By Ladleah Dunn, Salt Water Farm’s Sous Chef and Farm Manager

In the last few years I have been overcome by the desire to pursue a deeper and integrated approach to whatever I put my hands to. Back a few years ago when I was apprenticing on a sheep and goat farm, this was not always the case. In the beginning, milking the girls in the wee hours of dawn, I would occasionally find myself in a place where the only thing that kept me in “control” was the fact I had thumbs. Over time I began to see it as a beautiful dance of the ewe’s repeating generations of habit and tradition; queuing up in the early dawn, waiting in line, up to the platform to eat grain. Me, tending the other end to glean the milk tasting of clover and blueberry leaves. Those early morning hours alone with the animals left a lot of time to meditate on this idea of control. Cheek against warm flank “control” began to feel like a ridiculous concept.

I have a starter, or the starter has me. With nearly the same regularity of farm animals, I divide it, feed it, and bake with it. It requires exercise, renewal, care. Much like working with sheep or goats, you can’t always predict how they are going to behave. It’s the process of feeding, rising, and falling of millions of little organisms. Working together to make a flavorful dough. Having your own leaven, or starter, can be a rewarding and expressive way of baking. It requires more of you, the baker. Adaptation, intention, commitment. Releasing your need to control the end results. This isn’t a standardized product that can be purchased, but all the effort it requires can manifest in beautiful ways. None more beautiful than a warm, buttery croissant. I made my first croissants with my leaven this week. The entire process took nearly three days from start to finish. Feeding the leaven and waiting until the moment it passed its “float test”, where the yeasts are active and strong enough to rise the dough. The mixing of the dough, rising it, proofing it. Shaping. Waiting. The most thrilling part was the weighing of butter and pounding into a large rectangle, approximately 2/3rds the size of the dough rectangle. The process of the three turns the dough takes as I rolled and folded the butter into the dough. Resting, and relaxing (both the dough and I). Then final shaping, glazing with egg wash and baking. The smell while baking was almost too much! For those of us who are fans of butter, the entire house still smells of warm toasty butter hours later.

By Annemarie Ahearn

I killed a rooster at Rokes Farm.  It was two o’clock, the sun was beginning to set and Adrian (the farm’s caretaker) had prepared everything just so.  A pot of water at 150 degrees, workman’s gloves, an ax, a butchering table, a killing cone and stakes in the ground to hang it, 3 PBR’s and the Grateful Dead playing to sooth our fast beating hearts.

The birds were big and beautiful, bard rocks, born in June.  One had yellow feet, the other white.  Strong legs, but not too much fight.  Adrian had read several books preparing for the event and he was already regretful.  My sister has a steady hand at this kind of thing and was dressed appropriately in Carhartt overalls, a woolen vest and an expertly sharpened knife, hanging from her neck.

Adrian carried the first Rooster out of the barn, stroking its neck tenderly.  This was his first time killing intentionally.  He gently hung it by the feet and my sister, with a few careful cuts, slit its throat.  The bird had no reaction at first and then, as birds do, fluttered violently in the throws of death.  I had seen this before.   I carefully examined the cut, as I would perform the next.  It bled out onto the November snow.  We plunged it into the water, then into an ice bath and began to pluck.  The wheelbarrow amassed a mountain of beautiful black and white feathers.  I eviscerated the bird, which was only a slight variation of what one would do with a purchased whole bird.  It was warm inside, which was new to me.  We sawed off the neck and hung it by its thick and scaly legs.

Adrian brought out the second bird and again, he said his goodbyes.  I made three or four intentional cuts and the bird had no immediate reaction.  Its body then fought death with a fluttering of the wings and it too bled out.  I felt relieved that the days killing was over.  I had been dreading this moment for quite some time.  For years, I’ve eaten meat, but never have I ended a life in order to do so.  The fear of making a mistake with the knife or inflicting unnecessary pain was frightening to me and even worse was the thought of people watching.  As my sister said, “It’s all in the company that you keep.”  Adrian was also afraid of the task at hand.  Catharine, for whatever reason, was a seasoned pro.  As the sun set over the Camden hills, I felt confident that I could do it again, under less comforting circumstances.  After all, the experience was in a word, beautiful.

We hung the birds for the night and the following day, I bathed both carcasses in $40 of Burgundy wine and plenty of aromatics.  Then, I prepared a traditional Coq au Vin and Adrian, Ladleah (our sous-chef) and my parents joined me for supper.  We thanked the birds for their life, Adrian for his work and together ate an authentically French preparation of rooster in red wine with button mushrooms and toasts.  Aridan doesn’t usually eat meat, but he has twice in the past twelve years, both times, in my care, at my table.  I have not met a man like Adrian.  It was a privilege to have killed our first rooster together.

Coq Au Vin

Adapted from The Country Cooking of France, Anne Willan

Serves 4

3 cups Burgundy red wine

1 teaspoon whole black peppercorns

3 cloves garlic (1 whole, 2 chopped)

2 ribs celery, thinly sliced

1 medium carrot, thinly sliced

1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced

1  5–6-lb Rooster, cut into 10 pieces, ideally 6 months old

2 tablsepoons olive oil

8 sprigs flat-leaf parsley plus 1 tablespoon

chopped leaves

2 bay leaves

2 sprigs thyme

1⁄2 lb. slab bacon, cut into 2″-long slivers

3 tablespoon flour

2 cups Chicken Stock

2 shallots, chopped

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

4 tablespoons butter

18 pearl onions, peeled

1⁄2 lb. button mushrooms, quartered

Bring wine, peppercorns, whole garlic, celery, carrots, and yellow onions to a boil in a pot; reduce heat; simmer for 5 minutes. Let cool, pour over rooster. Cover and marinate overnight.

Heat oven to 325°. Tie parsley sprigs, bay leaves, and thyme together; set aside. Remove rooster from marinade; pat dry. Strain marinade; reserve liquid and solids separately. Heat 1 tbsp. oil in a wide pot over medium heat. Add bacon; cook until crisp, 6–8 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer bacon to a bowl; increase heat to medium-high. Working in 2 batches, brown rooster, 6–8 minutes; transfer to a plate. Add reserved solids; cook until soft, 10–12 minutes. Sprinkle in flour; cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Whisk in reserved liquid; boil. Simmer for 1 minute. Stir in remaining garlic, stock, shallots, and salt and pepper to taste; nestle chicken and herb bundle in vegetables. Bake, covered, until tender, about 1 1⁄4 hours. Transfer chicken to a plate; cover with foil. Strain sauce; keep warm.

While rooster is cooking, heat 1 tablespoon butter and remaining oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add pearl onions; cook until golden, 4–5 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low; cook, covered, until tender, 8–10 minutes. Combine onions with bacon. Heat remaining butter over medium-high heat; cook mushrooms until tender, 4–5 minutes. Arrange chicken on platter; top with sauce, bacon, onions, mushrooms, and remaining parsley.

Wishing you and yours a memorable holiday season and a great year ahead.  Hope to see you at Salt Water Farm in 2012.

                     -Irene, Ladleah, Annemarie, Abigale and the Salt Water Farm team

For our November Moon Supper, we make Alsatian style sausages with our German Porkert meat grinder and sausage stuffer.  This has become an annual tradition and it always puts us in a silly state of mind.  For the second year in a row, Bob and Mia Sewall from Sewall’s Organic Apple Orchard joined us at the table and Bob shared with us his history of farming apples in Maine, the variety of products that apples produce, their versatility and health benefits.  And one of our guests visiting from Massachusetts brought a small keg of an absolutely delicious IPA.  It was a good night at the farm.  and The menu for the supper was as follows:

A Taste of
Pork Rillets, Apple Butter, Crostini
First
French Onion Soup, Gruyere Thyme
Second
Frisse, Pricilla Apples, Local Bacon, A Duck Egg, Dijon Vinaigrette
Main
Seared Alsatian Sausage, Braised Red Cabbage, Onion and Apples
To Finish
Roast Jonathan Apples with Maple Syrup, Cream and Salted Butter