Fever Diary

Vacation!

This week Luce’s Gluten-Free Artisan Bread passed another milestone: an initial health department inspection. We have a few minor corrections to make, but we can complete them in 3-4 days. That means production can start next week (week of September 24).

If you haven’t signed up for my e-mail letter, now is the time. Members will get dibs on the first batch out of our kitchen.

It’s been a long haul to get to this point, and I have to confess I’m feeling quite a mixture of emotions. I’m elated to have finally put this together and gotten it “legal”, excited at the prospect of sharing my bread mixes with the world, and more than a little intimidated by the amount of work ahead. 

With the thought that my future might be a very busy one, my wife and I took a vacation last week, visiting one of our favorite places: Chincoteaque Island, Virginia. Those of you who loved to read as children probably know the name. It’s the site of a kiddy-lit classic: Misty of Chincoteaque. Now a good reader I was not, but I know that this story revolves around the wild horses that actually exist on the island. 

Sunshine and vacation shoes

We’ve been vacationing on Chincoteaque island for about 20 years. We always go the first weekend after Labor Day and we usually stay three days, but since I’ve “retired” and since this retirement is soon to end, we elected to spend four weekdays on the island this time. It has a huge National Wildlife Refuge, glorious beaches, a beautiful long-needle-pine forest, interesting fungi and - thanks to all those wild ponies, a world-class mosquito population. 

This year the days were all sunny and not terribly hot. Surf was heavy, thanks to two tropical storms out in the Atlantic, but the water was relatively warm. 

Food on the island can be a bit of a challenge, given our dietary restrictions, but we like to spread our net wide and drive all over the Southern DelMarVa peninsula in search of non-toxic treats. This time we tried the harbor town of Onancock Virginia - and lucked out. The restaurant we found - and went back to twice - was The Inn and Garden Cafe, where Chef Ted went out of his way to make gluten-free crabcakes. What a treat they were!

Leslie and the North Atlantic

A week of lounging in the sun, swimming from time-to-time and eating crab was intensely refreshing, but all too soon it was time to head home. THAT however meant stopping at as many BBQ joints and produce stands as I could convince Leslie to tolerate. Think wood-smoked pig meat, late summer melons, fresh limas, okra, tomatoes, and of course local figs. These were smallish, quite dark and tough-skinned, but much more intensely flavorful than the California varieties I’ve been finding in my local groceries.

Easy to love: Virginia figs

Our journey home was on a Friday. On the way I ate more than a few figs, and was so enraptured by their musky rich flavors I neglected to pay sufficient information to my passenger my wife. Had I been less self-absorbed I might have noticed her unusual restlessness (Leslie is a world-class car sleeper). But as it turned out I didn’t suspect a thing until we were home. “I don’t feel well,” she averred. At which point I noticed she was flushed. I put a hand on her forehead. It was hot. Shit. Leslie is one lady who never gets fevers. I was pretty certain I knew where this one came from.

The first day we’d been on the island, Leslie had taken a walk we always take together: to a wild pony overlook. Rarely are ponies visible, but the view is terrific and the forest through which the trail winds, gorgeous. Unfortunately it is quite mosquito-riddled. This year it was beyond the pale. Mosquitoes usually don’t pursue me, but 20 feet into the woods they were around us in a dense swarm. “Forget this,” I told her, “say hi to the horses for me, I’m waiting in the car.”

I thought she’d come with me. Mosquitoes love her. But, no, the walk was a tradition and she loves traditions. When she got back to the car she had a nimbus of bugs; so many they were uncountable. Even jumping in and slamming the door we ended up with dozens in the car. Despite the fact I thought she’d been foolish to go out in that mob, I felt sorry for her.

Mentally I returned here to balm my fear

By Saturday morning I was feeling much sorrier. Her temp was up to 102, and she was alternatively chilled and sweltering, nauseous and head-achy. I spent the day feeding her acetaminophen. We called our doctor’s on-call service and were told her fever was “low-grade”. We tried to shrug it off.

Sunday was worse. We had a wedding to go to but I called and cancelled her seat. She insisted I go - she wanted photos of the wedding gown. I did go and had a great time. When I got home I stuck a thermometer in her mouth. 104.

Panicked, we struggled to face the situation rationally. That’s not so easy when one of the engaged brains is beginning to cook. 104 is the border for hallucinations, and Leslie allowed she was having some trouble processing time-related concepts. My pulse had begun to race, but we agreed to not head to an ER until we saw what acetaminophen did. Which was actually and thankfully quite a bit. Her fever dropped to 100 and she soon fell asleep.

It was a wild night. Her fever “broke” early Monday, bathing her in perspiration and rousing her for showers and mop-downs twice before dawn. I had to pry her out of bed for a noon doctor’s appointment. Which, as I feared and suspected, indicated (but did not prove) West Nile Virus.

I’ll skip the rest of the medical story and say that in the intervening days she’s improved steadily: no more fever, no more nausea, gradually increasing appetite. We do not yet have an official diagnosis, but whatever-it-was, was too close for comfort. Fortunately she’s unscathed.

Postscript (written 9/22/12): Leslie has almost completely recovered, though she still is quite tired. Lab results say it was NOT West Nile. We're going back to the doctor next week for further investigation.)

As for me, I almost suffered the unspeakable calamity of losing those Virginia figs. By the time I remembered them on Monday afternoon they were at the outer orbit of ripe. Leslie was too sick to eat, and I couldn’t do that job myself (Anybody know what happens when you eat an entire quart of ripe figs? Bet you can guess...) so I elected to try a combination that’s been knocking around in my head since figs “came in” this autumn: cooking them with chanterelles.

Chanterelle vodka

Problem: I had no fresh chanterelles. Idea: I had a fifth of chanterelle vodka.

Do not go down to your liquor store and try to order this. You must make it: shred two or three very fresh, large chanterelles into a bottle of vodka and stash this in the refrigerator until the mushroom fragments sink to the bottom and the booze turns faint orange. Then freeze it or just keep it cold. 

Chanterelle vodka is not something I’d consume directly since I do not drink, but I made a bottle in August for slight-of-hand flavor tricks. It was time to try one. If I did this right, the diner would find unique flavors in the caramelized figs but not realize they were mushrooms. Unless of course I’d told them the ingredients in advance.

The figs were so pungent they overwhelmed any but a heavy dose of mushroom booze, but after fiddling with the ratio I ended up with a fun and rich dish. I’m not sure where it should be on a menu, but my instinct says appetizer. Whenever I ate some - which was often, since Leslie wouldn’t touch it - I paired it with chive-and-onion-laced Cotswald cheese, or Basque Issara cheese, or Vermont Clothbound Cheddar, and it was terrific. And, yes you can store leftovers in the fridge, though for some reason that kills the chanterelle flavor.

One of the best things about this dish - besides the illogical yet wonderful flavors - is how quickly and easily it can be realized. Just one thing: if you’re going to forage your own chanterelles and/or figs, wear plenty of mosquito repellant.  

Caramelized figs with onions and chanterelle vodka

Ingredients:

10 small figs, or 5 larger ones, halved and stems removed

1 TBLS unsalted butter

1 TBLS extra-virgin olive oil

3 TBLS Vidalia onions, chopped fine

1/8 tsp salt

Pinch paprika 

7 TBLS chanterelle Vodka, divided (see text, above)

Procedure: 

In a heavy skillet, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the olive oil and allow to heat until butter sizzles. Add chopped onions and distribute evenly. Allow to sauté until onions just begin to brown, then reduce heat to low and place figs halves onto the hot oil, face down. Sprinkle salt and paprika over the simmering figs.

Continue to braise the figs for 10 minutes. Add one tablespoon of the vodka. It will boil off vigorously. Turn heat off.

When pan has cooled to below the vodka boiling point, add the remainder of the vodka and swirl pan so that liquid picks up the paprika and salt. Return pan to low heat. Simmer another 5 minutes or so until the alcohol is boiled away (or not, if you want a dish with kick). Stir just once and place into a serving dish. Serve warm with very sharp cheeses.

Restart

Back to the world of food...

Last weekend was the strangest drive home from Ohio, ever. For the first time in decades, I had the peace of mind that I was not leaving any crises behind. With nothing to worry us, Leslie and I crossed Pennsylvania in a dream state. We stopped to collect mushrooms and gone-wild apples, and to shop at Woolrich. It was One Big Float, a journey on a cloud.

Then we reached New Jersey and it hit me: there was no one to call and say, “I’m home. I’m safe.”  

Many of you have experienced a death in the family, so I won’t belabor you with my emotions. For you who are inexperienced, suffice it to say that when the tears have dried and the pain moves to some background place, the immediate blowback is profound exhaustion. Which is what hit me that night at the doorstep of Home, and what haunted me for the next week.

Broken ground for Luce's Gluten-Free Artisan Bread
factory and distribution center

But a man can only sleep so much, especially when that man is trying to launch a  business. On the second day home I headed back into the test kitchen, and on the third day went to the building that will be my small factory and distribution center. There, my plumbers broke ground - quite literally - for equipment installation. By the end of the week I had a shiny new three-part sink, a mop sink and a handwashing sink, all installed and waiting for plumbing inspection. Whoopee!

My short-lived retirement is rapidly reaching an end - a fact I alternatively celebrate and dread. What exactly will happen the day I tell the world my artisan gluten-free bread mix is available, I cannot predict. The best-case scenario has me working hard without stressing. I don’t dwell on worst cases. 

One thing is certain: Once the business launches, I won’t be able to spend every single winter day skiing in the woods and every single summer day foraging mushrooms. But until the doors open, well, it rained A LOT while I was in Ohio, and the woods of New Jersey beckoned ..... 

A "troop" of black trumpets

On Day One Home From Ohio I went to a favorite site. When I came out of the forest three hours later, I had one sore back, a dulled collection knife and a wondrous haul: two shopping bags filled with black trumpet mushrooms (Cantherelles fallax), a 6-quart fruit basket loaded with smooth chanterelles (Cantherelles lateritius) and an 8-quart fruit basket stuffed with corrugated milky mushrooms (Lacteri corrugis). 

And then, since I was hungry after all that work, I stopped at my local Trader Joe’s. Where, to my delight, amazement, and expectation, a huge stack of fresh black figs was on display. Expectation? Yes. Late-summer mushrooms and black figs are go-togethers.

Now I realize that to most people figs and mushrooms are companions in the same sense as chihuahuas and oak shelving, but in fact these fruits and fungi DO actually belong. Both ripen at this time of year - August, or late summer in the Northern temperate zone. And, while I’ve not yet thought up a dish that combines them, they’re similar taste-treats: intensely flavorful, decadently rich, and aromatic beyond belief.

Figs, by the way, are not my favorite fruit - that honor falls upon white nectarines (not the rock-hard ones you find in grocery stores in February, but dead-ripe, sweet-fron-the-tree and grown in south Jersey). Still there is nothing like the aroma of figs, and fig trees too. When I was in my 20’s I spent the good part of a summer in Dubrovnik Yugoslavia, hanging out on that city’s famous pebble beaches and marble sidewalks. There was a huge sprawling fig tree shadowing the steps down to the town beach, casting wonderful perfume over the Danish girls I so ardently pursued. I don’t recall them so well, but the scent of figs has stayed with me forever.

Figs in melted butter, waiting for space in the oven

Driving home from Trader Joe’s I managed to restrain myself from eating more than 5 from the a single quart of figs I’d bought. A problem with figs is, they stale much faster than mushrooms, probably because they’re picked in Arizona and California then refrigerated before being shipped East. If you want moldy fruit, chill it. Mold loves cold, sugar and moisture. Anyway, my drive home was filled with dessert fantasies. By the time I arrived at the door I’d come up with a concept: caramelized figs over salty, sourdough-rosemary shortcake. With creme fraiche, which Trader Joe’s also had.

I’m not going to call what follows a recipe - it’s more of a rip-off and a tease - the former because the cake is adapted with little alteration from a Melissa Clark recipe in the NY Times, and the latter because you can’t make the sourdough version until you can buy some of my bread flour. (Which you will be able to very soon, I hope). However you can adapt my adaptation (I’ve given notes), and (even better) if you are lucky enough to have access to black trumpet mushrooms, you can forgo dessert and make a black pizza topping by doing this: Clean 2 quarts of black trumpet mushrooms. Finely chop 1/2 a small shallot. Sauté the shallot about 1 minute in +/- 2 TBLS butter. Add trumpets. Sauté a minute or two then reduce heat to low. Continue to cook, turning every now and then, @ 10 minutes. Add a sprig of fresh thyme and a teaspoon of paprika. Add 1/2 cup heavy cream. Add 1 cup high-quality shredded parmesan. Salt and pepper to taste. Stir to blend, remove from heat, spread over pizza crust and bake. Oh, yes!

And now for dessert!

Salty GF Rosemary Shortcake

With balsamic caramelized figs

(adapted and halved from a recipe in the New York Times)

Yield: 4 modest servings

Ingredients:

115 grams or about 1 cup GF flour blend (Or Luce’s Gluten-Free Artisan Bread “Classic Sourdough” flour, when it becomes available)

1/4 tsp xanthan gum (eliminate if using Luce’s Classic Sourdough flour)

28 grams or about 2 TBLS packed, dark brown sugar

8 grams cornstarch (about 1 TBLS)

6 grams baking powder (about 1 tsp)

10 grams salt (about 2 tsp) (5 grams/ 1 tsp if using Luce’s Classic Sourdough flour)

Two, 4” sprigs of fresh rosemary, leaves pulled from stems and stems discarded

3.5 TBLS unsalted butter, cubed cold

1/4 cup heavy cream

1 medium egg, beaten

White rice flour for dusting

12 fresh figs, either black or green, halved

About 1 TBLS good balsamic vinegar

1 TBLS unsalted butter

4 - 8 TBLS créme fraîche

Procedure:

Insert a pizza stone or cookie sheet into the oven and heat oven to 375. Set out a half sheet of parchment and dust with white rice flour. 

In a small bowl, mix cream and medium egg and blend well. In a separate large bowl, combine flour, xanthan gum, sugar, cornstarch, baking powder, salt and rosemary leaves, and blend well with a fork or hand mixer. Toss butter cubes into bowl and pinch into flat thin sheets. Distribute through the flour. Add egg and cream mixture and gently stir, trying to retain as many “sheets” of butter as possible. When you have a shaggy dough, turn it out onto the parchment. (Note: Luce’s Classic Sourdough flour will not bake into flaky cakes. If using Classic Sourdough flour, cut in the butter  until it forms pea-sized lumps.)

Smoothed dough on parchment

With floured hands or a floured bench scraper, divide dough into quarters. A rough-topped, rustic result is perfectly acceptable, or you can be neat and pat down the dough into roundish mounds. (If you do, you’ll need to sprinkle flour on the dough first). Using a peel or flat cookie sheet, slide parchment with shortcakes directly onto hot stone/sheet. Bake 20 - 30 minutes, until the cake is the color of dark Kraft paper.

Remove cakes from oven and place on a wire rack to cool. Turn oven off and brush figs on their cut side with balsamic vinegar. If your pizza stone is sealed - like an Emile Henry broiler stone - or if you are using a cookie sheet, drop a TBLS of butter directly onto the stone. Otherwise use a small piece of parchment paper and place the butter on it. Once the butter melts, lie the figs cut-side-down on the butter, return stone/cookie sheet to oven, and allow the figs to bake in the oven’s residual heat - at least 30 minutes. (Alternatively you can caramelize the figs in a skillet on the stove top.)

Split cakes in half. Divide figs among the cakes, placing them inside the two halves sandwich-style. Drop a dollop of créme fraîche onto the figs, close the cakes and serve warm.

Some would call this "food porn"