16 iris

plus 3

it's almost over, the iris season. so here is a reminder to buy rhizomes

early, for choice and for quality. i suggest to get those which re-bloom, the once a year (now) flowering kind come of course in extraordinary colors, then again they bloom once and pooooof. 

sashimi

once upon a time, when i was much younger, i was introduced to sashimi. i don't care if you think i'm bragging, i had just photographed jasper johns in his top floor apartment way uptown. he was hungry and invited me for lunch to a then famous sushi place on 8th street. i forgot the name, but i'll never forget the utter sensation of having a piece of sashimi in my then virgin mouth. i come from stuttgart, where my grandmother cooked everything way beyond well-done, the idea of eating raw fish was then for me as far out as the thought of moving to new york. by the time i was twenty things had changed, much had fallen in place, i lived in new york, getting to know the new york art scene, making pictures and interviewing many of those very artists. the notion of eating small strips of crimson uncooked fish was inconceivably absurd, even if vitally fresh, seductively cut and delectably placed, alas and in the end still slices of very raw fish. johns, like me, had grown up in the south and hence could show patience and mercy. 'at least try the chutoro' he said. this was a dark, domino-size piece of fish, tasting engagingly luscious and totally un-fishy. encouraged and eventually dauntless, i slowly sampled piece by piece each of those sumptuous selections presented by a gracious itamae-san. 

it's been a long time since. there was and unbelievably still is today some forty five years later, a sushi place in new york called hatsuhana. some called it "not-so-hot-suhana", but only because they never got to get to eat upstairs. i went there at first for lunch, later for outrageous dinners, four hour affairs, richly beyond price. my favorite itamae-san was called between us the baby killer, on account of his capacious size. but like so many sumo size men he was extraordinarily gentle. he also knew how to make a toasted unagi hand roll, of triangular shape wrapped in paper-crisp seaweed. treasured as these were, they were simple things. his sushi uni, a nigirizushi topped with a good size lump of uni was his prize. after an extended sashimi and sushi session, fueled by much seishu, he would on a good day have all sushi rice grains face the same direction. but his best was a version of sashimi otoro, simply placed on a lush bed of finely shredded daikon. reserved for us, those very special customers. mere mortals got to eat toro chopped with scallions, like a tartare. i didn't just gorge on whatever cut tuna, but on hirame and hokkigai, salmon and roe, scallop and uni, giant squid and tako, and seemingly endless sake, icily cold in summer, hot, or at least flushed during those new york snowy evenings.

bluefin then was caught off of long island, aided by spotter planes and speed boats. once harpooned, their best bodies put on ice dockside and flown chartered to tsukiji market where the fish was evaluated and priced. the very best fish returned that instant to new york or los angeles. to be butchered  less than twenty four hours after the catch and readied for dinner upstairs at hatsuhana. now this seems inconceivable.

one night a maguro friend and i sat resting, suntori in hand, watching a guy some seats down the sushi bar, one hand woefully low at the waist of his waitress, the other waving a bill. that kind of tip for the itamae was considered the norm after a meal of the best. the waitress of course had her konto apart.

last night stephanie and i ate at hokusei. nothing can match the memory of hatsuhana, though this came close.

the fish apparently is imported from japan, where sashimi grade fish is caught handline, then instantly killed and iced, therefore will keep its freshness for some seven days. we had sashimi maguro, columbia river sake and hamachi. the decoration a little over the top, considering the pips left in the lemon. but a fabulous  otoro, a fortune for two slivers of fish. stephanie ate a vegetable roll, topped with roasted orange colored beet. which she loved. in the end i just had to try the chopped beef, with raw garlic and uni. too much beef, way too much garlic and two slivers too few of uni. my opinion is biased, of course, of course. this is portland, after all, and in no way manhattan. a decent sashimi? an oxymoron at best.

a bouquet of bearded iris, a virtual black, from saturday's market.

pictures

the heart of the artichoke

heart of artichoke

miso-mayo

parmesan

halibut

mizuna

sake

when i first thought of this dish i went -hm- and then -hm- again.

i tasted the individual parts and went yes, this might be the making of a great salad, sweet, salty, sour and the slight bitter, peppery crisp of  mizuna. there was then the amalgam of the altogether, that savory, the umami, as in a glorious mix of primordial parmesan with my miso-mayo, a sweetly salty, a lustrous condition making a creamy contrast to the crusty, the bluff rudeness of old parmesan. the heart of artichoke, a crunch, if ever there is one, and an arresting flavor, trying to worry the milky flesh of halibut, a sashimi-like quality only an utterly fresh fish can afford. mizuna as base, a leafy palate on which to present all the others; to drink? well, sake, a dry, an icy liquid, which would, if for a moment, arrest those many, very hued flavors. 

asparagus

it is likely the oldest question (regarding) asparagus. how do you eat the thing politely in mixed company?

it seems all too obvious which end you start on, but would you slurp, bite, nip or, god forbid, suck? it is not usually a mouthful, so you wouldn't exactly nibble. i suppose you might respectfully chop it bite size, that would be alright, then again some company might think you timid or worse.

if the dish were to include potatoes, boiled ham, hard boiled egg and butter, my preference is for the chop in inch length. then quarter those tiny new potatoes and cut a couple fat rolls of boiled ham into slivers. the hard boiled egg would have been sliced into rounds and offered that way (in a considerate household), chopped garden chives might be available and all should be spread on a nicely heated plate, preferably a large one. now for the butter. technically it would be clarified and at hazelnut strength. but if the cook offered the stuff merely melted, i wouldn't complain. now, with everything in place, i'd whirl it all up into a delicate mess, gush it with butter and hold forth with my fork.

those oysters from lilliwaup

april come, she will, when streams are ripe and swelled with rain. and yes, it is the last month of the Rs. and the skokomish river is at perfect temperature to fall to the hood canal. which makes those oysters at hamma-hamma at their most succulent, gently briny, easy to slurp.

we have driven up there often. once you leave I-5 and get on rt.101, heading north, the ride becomes ever more scenic and lush. the hood canal to your right, the road seems to touch the shore at times, the view north is endless, even on a clear day. it's a long drive, two hours on the main north highway and another hour plus after olympia, likely more, if you have a license plate says "retired" in front of you, a like stratocruise camper doodling on. 

i didn't feel like hammering the pike up and back simply to get yearling oysters for a stew, so i called them and sure enough, they said yes, we'd 'UPS' them for next day and funny enough the cost would be less than my lovely lola takes supping on diesel. we'll shuck'em right before sending your order down, they'll be as fresh, well, almost, as if you'd shucked them yourself. so they arrived at my kitchen this late afternoon, and soon as i done the box cutter thing, they were set to slip into a broth prepped in advance for the happy event. 

the broth: oh, easy: crème fraîche, a jigger of sake, thyme and tarragon, a generous grinding of pepper, for alternative texture, the smallest of new seed potatoes, happily steamed, and toward the end crunchy sea salt, and their oyster's liquid, all at a supple simmer and done, as the oysters slid into their rapture. hence those yearlings had scantily time to be cooked, which is the way i think such a stew ought to be served. and it was. much to applause, and a full tender belly, as it was, barely enough to serve two. 

i did attempt an image. though i know a picture is worth the trembling of a thousand tongues, i have to beg off. i could have, should have, even would have taken the pan to the light, alas, the scent of the stew was too much, the spoon way too ready and above tongues trembled indeed, if for the aroma, the taste and the penchant of the endeavor.

rice and peas and, yes, bacon

springtime in portland. it rains. and the peas are from a pesticide-free farm near half-moon bay in california. they call them 'english', don't ask me why. s'pose to differentiate them from french peas, the italians call them piselli inglese, must be the way they feel about the french. back 'em ländle' they're known as 'frische ärbsa'. go figure. my rice, a long grain jasmin, grows in burma where farmers don't use pesticides like they might in california. the bacon, ah, the bacon: applewood smoked, no nitrates, from a pig, runs wild, feeds on acorns, hazelnuts and mushrooms. mostly. the local farmer says so. hm.

stephanie has left me. for a whole week. which simply means that i eat a little less fanciful, more like a farmer. a bowl, with food, a fork and a glass of beer. no napkin. peas and rice and bacon. i love this dish.

i start doing the bacon in the toaster oven. at 350. start the rice, a cup'a in chicken broth. next, heat butter in a pan to make hazelnut butter (imagine there is a website showing how. i mean: people!!! how hard can this be?) while the butter does its thing, i shell my peas. feels so good getting those guys from their husk. off swirling in the butter. that's it. the bacon is crisp, the rice goes 'ping'. a warm bowl, first the rice, then the peas with their butter and last the bacon. as you can see.

and suddenly there is a sunset. well, kind of. after a thunder grey day, a little bright, low in the west. was it my dish? well, just call it a sunset.