Smoked trout sushi, pages 98-99

Sushi to me is the kind of food you might think about ordering out, but not so much for making at the home abode. But, you know what? Sushi is pretty easy to make as home. It's also pretty cheap to make, healthy, fresh and tasty and pretty. And, you can use a variety of ingredients increasing the odds that at least some of what you need you'll already have in.
Nori, the dried seaseed, keeps a long long time in a ziplock bag. And the sushi mat is cheap, like $2-$5. So, really your investment is pretty easy to get in to. The most frustrating part of sushi is just chopping up all the ingredients. We finally used the smoked trout to make trout sushi earlier this week. My kids love sushi. It was a pleasure serving it to them.

The next day we threw some of the left over ingredients on a plate for lunch (smoked trout, carrots, cold scrambled egg and sushi rice) and it was great. I'm afraid I got kind of excited about the concept of tossing all the ingredients on a platter rather than taking the time to roll sushi up. Uh-oh. I some times do this with kabobs, too--I burn out on making dinner just after the ingredients are cut up and end up throwing everything in a skillet rather that make the individual skewers. To short cut or not to short cut, that is the question!

Abu Roken

Ann’s Dad likes stuff. Not just any stuff, he has standards. But if something is of a clever design, and looks like it might be useful in a specific situation and it’s a bargain, it’s likely to go home with him. He visits many garage sales and flea markets, and has paid bottom dollar for some gems. To give you some idea of the depth of his coffers, I believe if you added up the number of waffle irons, coffee makers (primarily stovetop) and outdoor cooking devices he has, the number would be well north of 50.

Much of this stuff goes along with Ann’s parents when they camp. How much? They take all of the seats except the driver’s and front passenger out of their Honda Odyssey van for maximum hauling capacity, and they fill it up. That’s an impressive amount of gear for two people, especially considering that they are pulling a 14-ft. pop-camper behind that van, which is also very well provisioned.

A couple days ago they sent us a text from their Colorado camping trip to say that they were tobogganing after a recent snow. Ann said, “That’s great, that a couple in their mid-60s are getting out there and tobogganing.” I was just astounded that they had included a toboggan on their pack list for a Colorado fishing trip in late May.

Personally, I like to travel a bit lighter. But Ann’s Dad is an invaluable resource when you’re in need of borrowing something.  Which brings me to the Abu Roken, aka the Swedish smoker. This nifty little device that Ann’s Dad loaned us on our last visit has clearly never been used. The brochure with it said the whole kit cost $12.95, but I’m guessing those prices may be pre-WW II, and I doubt today you’ll still find Impecco Ltd. on 257 Park Ave., NY NY importing smokers from Sweden.

The box come with a pan, a rack, a handle, a lid, a can (for burning alcohol or sterno), several wicks, a brochure in Swedish, English and German, and a pound of span for Aburoken, aka magic powder, aka sawdust imported from Sweden. The powder is enough to use the smoker 50 times.

The instructions advise just putting to smoker on top of the stove (gas or electric) or barbeque grill. The auxiliary fuel device is just for using it in the wild.

I put the powder (measured in the sterno-burner lid) in the pan, two trout on the tiny little grill, and gave it a whirl. In 10 minutes they looked like they were smoked, right on schedule. The only way it could have been easier would have been if my microwave had a button on it that said, “Smoke Fish.”

So the smoke trout now await the recipe. As easy and simple as the process was, I’m really hoping the result is good as well.

We Be Smokin'

Several months ago our family was traveling on a Friday night, a night which is somewhat sacred to me since we usually get to go out to eat and have a margarita somewhere. We had to stop for dinner so we pulled over at a strip mall that had a Chinese restuarant in it.

Problem # 1: In walking to the restuarant we passed both a We Be Smokin' cigarette shop and a We Be Tannin' salon. Ugg. Not only are these businesses promoting an unhealthy lifestyle, but they have to rub bad grammer in your face while they are at it.

Problem #2: We then had to walk by the strip mall's dumpter area, which was overfloweth. Urp.

So, I was borderline seizing by the time we stepped into destined-to-not-please-me restuarant and reminding myself way to much of Niles from the old Frazier show. What did we step into? Bright flourescent lights, not a smile in the place (customers included), and stale looking, soggy fried brown stuff on a buffet table. Man, this was not the Friday night accomodations I had come to love.

My kids were tickled pink to eat at a Chinese buffet and laughed their faces off at me cringing at the grammer jumble of "We Be Smokin." And when I later told my mom about the experience she said she loved that restuarant-that it was one of her favorites. I am such a fragile flower. And, now I can't get the expression We Be Smokin' out of my mind.

Today Fred smoked trout for our next recipe-smoked trout sushi. What did we do today? WE BE SMOKIN'. I'm kind of getting into it.

Cooking Wild in Missouri goes to Colorado

From Ann:

If you've got a jealous bone, you might want to stop reading this post now.

If life is a bit hectic in your neck of the woods and you could use a break, you might want to stop reading this now.

If you have the ability to live life vicariously, read on for goodness sake.

My mom just called asking for the trout cake recipe from Cooking Wild in Missouri. Is she at home with laundray piling up and windows to wash, but sick of her own cooking so she's looking for something different? No. She and Dad are camping in Colorado. The have a beautiful camping spot and spent their first day fishing for trout in a prestine lake with mountains to gaze at and plenty of solitude. Dude.

They each caught trout that first day and are hoping to get into some more, hence the trout cake recipe need.

This morning they were getting set up outside to cook breakfast when they saw a funny looking white cloud slip over the mountain. They went ahead and moved into their toasty A-liner (a small kind of pull-behind camper) as the cloud approached. Turns out the cloud brought snow with it, so they ate eggs and asparagus with parmesan cheese on toast in the snow, tucked in their A-liner and giggling mercilessly, I'm sure, in delight.

What am I up to? I'm dog sitting for my parents. Thanks for asking. And, yes, I am rather big boned when it comes to jealousy!

Turkey takedown

There was a turkey taken by a Koenig on the Koenig farm this season, but it wasn’t by Henry or I. It was by my father.

When I was growing up, Dad seemed to get a couple turkeys a year, but he hasn’t done as well lately. There were a lot more turkeys around back then, and at 83, he might not be able to hear quite as well as he used to. Blame it on the farm machinery.

Here’s the turkey story from Dad:

“I guess you heard about my accident? (I hadn’t). I was backing out of the shed, and I was in a hurry to go turkey hunting. They’d been coming out in the big bottom every day, and I wanted to get down there before they came out. It was dark, and when I backed out and stopped, I thought it felt like I hit something. It was Cindy’s car.

(Editor’s note: My sister Cindy just got a Chrysler 300 a couple of weeks ago. It’s slightly used, but it looks absolutely showroom, mint-condition. She absolutely loves it, and keeps it immaculate. The reason she was  was at the farm was that she had taken a week off work to be with my Mom after her bilateral knee replacement.)

It just put a little scrape on the fender, where it bulges out by the wheel. I told her I could pay for it. A little putty and some white paint ought to fix it right up. It could have been a lot worse. All of the doors still open.

I went on down to the field and set up the decoy. In just a few minutes the turkey came out on the other end of the field. They were some young ones, and a couple of them were kind of fighting around. I called a couple of times. I think one of them saw the decoy, because he started coming down along the fence row. I thought he saw me because he stuck his head up, but I stayed right still. He kind of went behind a little tree, and when he stuck his head out on the other side, I let him have it. It killed him dead. He didn’t flop much or nothing.

I gained something by it. I always look in my mirrors now when I back up.”

It’s worth noting that Cindy called me that morning, excited to tell me that Dad had got a turkey. She didn’t mention the car.

Inappropriate content?

Guess what? Our blog was blocked for a couple of weeks by the state's system to catch inappropriate content  . . . how can I write this without getting blocked again . . . well it rhymes with lectual content and has an x in it. Any guesses?

The post that caused the snafu was spinach salad with morels written on 4/23.

Want to reread it and try to figure out which words or combination of words might have caused the block? Not sure myself but it's kind of fun to speculate.

Have a nice time!

Good golly, Miss Molly! Missouri Crab Cakes, pages 104-105 with fresh citrus-vinaigrette dressing, page 105

Good golly, Miss Molly.

What a meal.

I've been looking forward to making these trout "crab" cakes since we started this project. They are featured on the cover of Cooking Wild in Missouri, and for good reason. They are pretty on the eyes.

I've not made crab cakes before, but I remember having some at a winery in Holts Summit and we really enjoyed them. I'm sure there are fantastic crab cakes, and kind of nasty versions of the real thing and was excited to try Bernadette's recipe.  By now, if I wasn't trusting her judgement, I've taken the "show me" state thing way too much to heart.

So, on this fine Saturday afternoon after way too busy of a week for the whole family, it was time to relax and pamper ourselves.

I made the bread crumbs from good french bread, baked two trout and deboned the meat, grated good parmesan, chopped herbs, squeezed lemon, and made the salad dressing that is recommended to dress the salad to accompany the trout cakes. And, I didn't even cut short the amount of butter recommended to fry the trout cakes in (in my defense of my own insult, don't most recipes seem to call for a wasteful amount of oil and butter to fry in?!?!).

Fred turned on the a.c. for the first time this spring, chilled down some beers, the boys set the table, I splashed down with water to cool myself down, tossed the salad, and we were ready to enjoy this dinner.

Boy, did we. I was hoping they'd be good, but these were tastier than I thought they would be. They didn't stick together quite like the photo in the book, but that's ok. I think it was partially because I left the trout in fairly big chunks thinking that would be more appetizing that grinding it into little pieces, and don't particularly regret that decision. Also, as I was flipping them in semi-panic because they were falling apart, Fred suggested I let them brown more before flipping. Wow. He was right. How come I didn't pick up on that, and how come he did? Just when you think you knew all that man's talents . . .

Fred commented that he didn't know what restuarant would make such a good meal. How nice is that?

Now, the men in my life are cleaning up the kitchen and we are getting ready to take a walk with our dog downtown to Sparky's for ice cream. Oh, yea. Sometimes, life is grand (and sometimes it's a grind, but right now let's not focus on that).

The Great White Bird

While hunting at the goat dairy, I encountered a very rare half-albino tom. He thought my calling was absolutely splendid - he could hardly control himself after every cluck, yelp or whine. But fortunately for him, I was never able to get a clear shot at him for all of the goats.

I was looking forward to this turkey season, but I knew it would be a time crunch. The season opens on a Monday, and I was far too busy at work to try to hunt on a weekday morning.  My mother checked into the hospital in Columbia for a double knee replacement that Friday, so I would want to stay around Columbia that weekend rather than go to the farm. 

Our goat-dairy friends, who aren’t hunters, offered to let me hunt at their place, so I jumped on that opportunity. It’s still 20-plus miles from my house, but that’s better than the 75 miles to the farm.

I was out well before sunrise that Saturday morning. It was frosty, which surprised me because it had been so warm during youth season a couple of weeks before. There was no need to wear a watch, because when season opened half an hour before sunrise, the other hunters with all hooters started sounding off like alarm clocks.

There was one turkey gobbling in the distance, not on the farm that I was on, but on a neighbor’s place. I tried to call him, as did a couple of other hunters, but he wasn’t interested in anything we had to say. He gobbled on for 45 minutes or so, then he was quiet. There was never a gunshot, so I’m sure he made it past our gauntlet unscathed.

The farm I was hunting on is probably 40 acres or so. As I walked around the edge of it, I noticed a proliferation of tree stands just across the fence. I think during firearms deer season the borders of the farm are more closely watched than any of the line between Texas and Mexico.

 On Sunday I was back out there, even earlier this time. It was warmer, and very windy. Despite ample hooting, there were no gobbles this morning. I saw one hen fly down off the roost right on the edge of the farm. I took a walk, and saw at least three turkeys grazing out in the middle of a neighbors field. I tried calling, but with the wind blowing they were too far away to hear me. None of them ever put their head up, they just casually grazed about, moving out of sight. I couldn’t tell if there was a tom among them, but again there was never a shot. I think the neighbor might have already quit hunting that morning.

The next Saturday I was back out there. I heard a little gobbling in the far distance, but he was too far away to hear me. The 40-acres I was on was starting to feel rather confining.

I was exhausted from a combination of early mornings and late nights, and I knew I was going to have to get up at 4:30 on Monday morning, and it was stormy weather, so with three excuses in hand I slept in on Sunday (meaning until 7:30 a.m.) and let the turkeys be.

This past week I’ve been in Florida. That might sound nice, but I didn’t seen anything other than the eight blocks of sidewalk between my motel and the convention center, so don’t be to jealous. And it was early mornings and late nights, every night. Right now it’s Friday and I’m about 11,000 feet up, traveling at 630 mph, somewhere between Tampa and Memphis. And I got an e-mail early this morning that said my Memphis connection would be leaving an hour late.

Nothing sounds better for the weekend than sleeping in, but it’s my last chance for a turkey this spring, so I’ll probably head back out. But if I don’t get into some turkeys on Saturday morning, I’m going to end up holding a grudge against the whole species.

Smoked trout chowder, pages 102-103

Another smoked trout dish, this time a soup.

I kind of messed up this weekend. Forgetting that Fred was going to be out of town much of the time I asked him to smoke trout to use for the book. And, who wants to make all these fancy dishes when their husband isn't around? Not me.

So, we made the smokey trout pasta on the last night he was in town and I used the last of the smoked trout to make the chowder the next day.

The next day, however, was lacrosse practice so dinner needed to be OVER by 5 o'clock. And, to add to the ridiculousness of making smoked trout chowder on such a night Oliver was sent home from school with a fever.

O.K. One sick kid, one going to practice at five, no husband at home, . . . good night to try a new recipe? Really, this project seems a little ludicrous on nights like this!

The chowder was fine. I used mostly chicken stock like the recipe said, but I did have about a cup of that intense gelatin that is left in the pan when you bake a chicken so I used that as well. Turns out that made the soup so powerfully chickeny that the soup ended up tasting like chicken soup with some smokey trout chunks in it, which is a bit of an odd combo. Still, it was good enough, it was easy for Oliver to eat even with his (later to be found out) strep throat, and . . . it's one more recipe down the hatch! On nights like this one, that seems an accomplishment enough.

Should I take a moment to describe the chowder? It's full of potato, onion, celery and carrots that are partially pureed, along with said chicken broth, cream and spinach. Really, it's a fine soup. I did notice that my soup didn't turn out as pretty as the photo in the book. It's going to have to do, though.

Bowties with smoked trout and spring vegetables, pages 100-101

This was a nice, light and yet flavorful pasta made with our first smoked trout.

Wow. Two strong memories that came to mind when serving this dish:

1. Cracking hickory nuts outside the kitchen with my cousin's family.
2. Getting up early with the boys to catch the trout.

Henry said it was worth getting up early for this dish alone. Oliver loved the pasta dish, too, though I'm not sure he'd think anything was worth getting up as early as we did as many times as we did to catch the trout. Be reasonable, after all!

Both hickory nuts, toasted, and smoked trout are the wild ingredients are included in this pasta, plus asparagus from the farmer's market. The sauce is  made from lemons, capers and olive oil. And, we topped the dish of with a pile of good parmesan. Yum.

We pretty well liked the bowl clean on this meal and it felt great.