Contemplation and salad ...

To state the very obvious, rain is everywhere these days people. Everywhere. You turn your head or ear in any direction and it's, well, rainy, gray, misty, gusty, blustery, floody (I know it's not a real word but I like it) especially floody (wanted to use it again). Here in my current hometown of Quebec it's also floody. Especially along the Richelieu river. I mean farmers are finding Carp swimming in their fields for heaven's sake. It is an uncertain time. When I see pictures like this, it hits pretty close to home. I worry about the crops. I worry about the farmers and I worry about their land.

Pictures like this ...



So, while all this floody (getting used to it, aren't you...) business is going on around me, I sit quietly and remember that I love the rain. The French have a saying (of course) for the feeling that a somber, gray, rainy day brings about. They call it la tristesse. 

La tristesse.

La tristesse visits me on these days dear readers but I have another perception of it. I find peace; a quiet beauty in the softness and stillness of a rainy day.

La vie est belle sous la pluie.

I love to be out in the middle of all that tristesse. To ride my bicycle to the empty markets, sporting sunglasses (I like the view from the cool way droplets accumulate on them) and grinning while my face gets all misty from the humidity in the air (and the rain). To be out in our front garden and watch the drops of rain gather on the leaves of our flowers. And at home, to snuggle under my blanket and watch movies (and eating way too much popcorn for my own good) while I look outside and listen to the rain.



The changing of seasons has always been a contemplative time for me. I tend go into myself for a little while. In the springtime, I contemplate seeds and life. Awakenings and beginnings. I watch all around me as life bursts out of every empty branch. All of a sudden, grounds that have been barren and frozen for the last seven months are spilling over with flowers and greens ready for their time of warmth and beauty. I watch the audacity of weeds breaking concrete to reach the sun.

I garden and plant seeds, alone, marvelling each time at their complicated perfection. This tiny little living thing just knows what to do.

I think about me and the plants. Me and the dirt. Me and the food. The beauty and fleetingness of it all. I am grateful and a little triste.

I also contemplate salad.

"Sorry?" you say? "Salad contemplating?" you ask? Uhhhh, yeah! You mean you've never contemplated salad? Come on people. It's pretty neat. My salad contemplation revolves around some very special wild salad greens that I look forward to every spring. The ones where each leaf is different, where flower buds are included and you get really cool splotchy leaves that taste like melon. I think of how they grow and how awesome it is that we can still eat wild foods.

They are hand gathered every year (by Francois) purchased every year (by very happy me) then delicately dressed and thoroughly enjoyed.

Time to dish.

Wild handpicked mesclun greens with peppery Greek olive oil & sharp goats cheese.

 

Glorious ...



Here is what you need:

- A bunch of handpicked wild mesculn greens (if you can't find them just use any other delicate, yummy green you like).

- Peppery Greek (or your prefered) extra virgin olive oil.

- Lime juice.

- Your goat cheese of choice (preferably with rind and broiled in the oven unitl slightly melty - I know it's not a word, but I like it).

Here is what to do:

1. Be very gentle with your greens because they are delicate. Drizzle them gingerly the olive oil. Splash a little lime juice over the top. Mix them gently with your hands. Place lucious goat's cheese on the side, slightly balanced and enjoy dear readers. Contemplate and enjoy.

Some other wild, handpicked, yummy stuff Francois has to offer...



Tetes de violon ...aka Fiddleheads ...





Morels and other hand gathered, crazy wild mushrooms ...



The pockets of stillness ...

There I was, waiting to get out. Like a kid with my rain boots on, buggy in hand, scarf on head (I felt very Garbo) staring through the window at the beautiful rainy day outside. It was going to be my first trip to the market this season. I love rainy day market trips. Listening to the patter of raindrops on all kinds of surfaces, the other sounds of life on a wet day. Life sounds different in the rain.

Pitter patter on the way to the market ...

I love the smell of earth in the air. The contrasts of color between the soft gray of light and the bright greens and orange and fuchsia of  grass and flowers that have sprung from their tiny little buds makes me feel like I'm home. All is right.





I also love the silence. The pockets of stillness. Less people are out on rainy days.

That said, the poetry of it all kind of came to bite me in the foot. Here is why. No one goes to outdoor markets on rainy days. Except me. So what do I find dear readers as I scowered the stalls for my well loved purveyors you ask?

I find this:



My beloved small organic farmstand ... empty ...

 

My beloved butter and milk stand ... empty ...



My tiny beloved ewe's cheese and milk and sweetgrass and wool sock and everything else lovely... empty ...



My wild garden stand ... empty ...



But with promises of what's to come ...nevertheless ...empty...

And finally, just as I was about to give up and go soothe my sorrows with a steamy dark hot chocolate (with cream please) I found eggs. Lots of eggs. From chickens and geese and quails and turkeys that run around in a field and people that run around to collect the eggs right in the fields where they were layed. Genius uh?

Lots of eggs ...as above ...

Big ones. These would be goose eggs.

The little one is an egg from a hen ...

Spotted ones. These would be Turkey eggs. Cool huh. Turkey.

I also found Stephen. Wait until I tell you about him.

Everybody hang on to your skin ...

Well, here we are. Kate and William are now married (did you wake up to watch? come on, you can tell me..) and it's you, me and Cotechino. The Cotechino, basically skin sausage, was made by Chad and Leslie the day after the headcheese and the sausage. Thank God. Cotechino dear readers, is a traditional Italian sausage. In some parts of Italy it is served on New Year's eve to bring luck to the family for the upcoming year. It is rich, it is fatty, it is a pain in the butt to make (see below) and it is heaven in a casing.

I am going to get right to it then. So, I do not actually have any shots of the actual making of the Cotechino because did not actually make them. And between this and the laptop expiring, well, picture it...

Time to dish.

Cotechino a la King of Pig

Step 1. Remember these? You're going to skin them.

Check. Remembering.

Step 2. Thank the stars for the book. As in Chad's beautiful hand written cookbook. Which I am now in. And pretty pleased about it.



                                                                 Check. No Shot. Stars have been thanked.

Check. Shot. In the book. Pleased.

                                                        

Step 3.  Hang on to your skin. Making the Cotechino is the same as making any other sausage except you have to deal with the skin. And what I mean by that is you have to wrestle it off, hang on to it (as if it were your last life line because it's fatty and slippery) and slide your very sharp knife along to remove all the fat. Dear readers I was there for this part and I will not lie, it is a big pain in the butt. There is a reason for the big smile in the hang on to your skin photo ...he knew what was coming ...

Check. Hang on to your skin. Smile because you know what's coming.

Step 4. Slice the skin into strips about two inches wide (the length should be as the original leg because you have to hang on to it (again) when you put it through the grinder. The equation here is three parts skin to one part pork. Yep.

                                                                Check. No shot. Sliced.

Step 5. Take one part of the meat you seasoned for the Italian sausage and three parts of the skin you now curse because it has taken everything you have to get it grinder ready, place the casing on the grinder nozzle and begin.

Step 6. And pull and stuff and grind. And pull and stuff and grind.

                                    Check. Pulling, stuffing grinding. No Cotechino shot but see here.

Step 7. Follow the same instructions for tying and twisting as the Italian sausage.

Step 8. They are done.

                                                         Check. Done. No shot.

Step 9. Beer time.

Check.

These amazing little sausages then came home to me and I made my basic staple tomato sauce which I love and then added the Cotechino to it. I let it cook, partially covered on low heat, for about 2 hours. It was to die for.

Adventures in Porkland - The end.

For now.