Just Cured - Experience Fine Foods

Maybe it is the importance placed on bread in this season’s celebrations of the Christian and Jewish faiths. Maybe it is my more flexible schedule that has put me near a kitchen for large parts of many days. Whatever the reason, I have been thinking about bread a lot lately. I have also been baking a fair amount of it, including my continued tweaking of a recipe for a bread to serve with Just Cured’s smoked salmon.

Because my family and I spent an unusually large amount of time during Easter week telling stories of the long ago past — the times only my parents, sister number 1 and I recall, I have also been thinking about the traditions that bind a family.

Once again (what is it with that column?), an article in yesterday’s New York Times by Alex Witchel brought those two trains of thoughts together. The parallels are too obvious to avoid. We both are recalling our paternal grandmothers. Both grandmothers went by the name Nana. We both recall and desire a now-unavailable food she prepared; her Nana’s kreplach, my Nana’s (you guessed it) bread.

Nana’s bread recipes died with her many years ago. Her youngest daughter tried for many years to duplicate her mother’s efforts and results, carefully observing technique and measuring what Nana added by feel or by eye. About the time Nana and Pop were selling the big house, that daughter took Nana’s bread-making bowl — the only one that provided the correct visual references and feel — to a local potter. She had the potter make ten identical copies of Nana’s bowl. She then distributed the copies to the homes of each of Nana’s ten children “so mother can bake bread when she visits.” Nana did bake when she visited us, but she was never pleased with the results when using the bowl-clones. The copies weren’t her bread bowl.

Saturday was bread baking day at Nana’s house. She may have baked another day during the week as well, I don’t recall; but she baked bread every Saturday without fail. I was not around often for the actual baking. We usually visited on Sunday when I would enjoy the fruits of the prior day’s efforts.

She made the same three breads every week — white, raisin and cinnamon. I recall fondly sitting down to a meal at that very large table in that big old kitchen and being served slices of Nana’s bread freshly cut from the loaf. As there always seemed to be a crowd at that table, I never got quite as much bread as I desired — particularly of the cinnamon bread to which I was most partial.

Nana’s bread was a soft crumbed loaf, enriched with milk and fat. Her bread was nothing like the pain ordinaire or pain au levain that I prefer to bake and eat these days. Nonetheless, Nana’s bread, Nana’s table and the time I spent enjoying them form my earliest memories of her, and I cannot separate them. Whenever I taste a bread similar to hers, I am immediately swept back several decades to her kitchen.

I think tomorrow I will have time to bake a couple of loaves of pain de mie, the closest thing in my repertoire to Nana’s bread. When the loaves are just barely this side of warm, I’ll cut a couple of slices. Then, I will ponder some more on the subjects of bread and family traditions — through the eyes of a youngster.

A few weeks ago, I wrote that I enjoy the writing of Alex Witchel. The opening of her article (link may expire) in the Dining In/Dining Out section of this past Wednesday’s New York Times struck a particular note with me. The article begins:

It is hard for me to cook for people I donít like. I donít have to do it often, but when I do, I find it a torment because cooking is so personal, so revealing. Even more than sex, I think.

You can have a perfectly good one-night stand, be greatly entertained, and still not know the other person when itís done. But once someone cooks for you, itís almost impossible not to discover who that person is.

I have always understood Ms. Witchel’s words even if I was never able to express the thought so graphically. Her article veered off to a description of a dinner party. My thoughts took another direction.

Like her, I have only rarely cooked for people I do not like. In fact, I can think of only one or two occasions and those were when I did not have complete control of the guest list. I realized, however, that my aversion extends to people that I do not know well — people with whom I am not comfortable sharing a large glimpse into who I am.

Years ago, a colleague was insistent that I host a series of dinner parties for his important business connections. He was incredulous when I refused. He explained to me that I love to cook and entertain, that the company would reimburse for all the out-of-pocket costs and that it would be “good for business.” I used the excuse that there was no adequate compensation for the efforts my wife would be required to make for these dinner parties. What I could not express at the time was that I felt violated by the request. I simply would not expose myself to virtual strangers for some potential financial benefit.

Likewise, I have carefully avoided the many charitable requests to contribute a dinner party cooked in the home of the winning auction bidder. I always thought it was just not the right charity or the right time. I succumbed once to a close friend to whom I have a great difficulty saying no. The request was to co-host and cook for a brunch in her home. The charity was one very close to my heart. On the evening of the silent auction, I had my wife make a preemptive bid for the lot. I think I could have endured cooking for strangers in the home of those friends with their support as co-hosts. In the end, I wasn’t willing to risk cooking for a winning bidder I didn’t like. It all worked out for the best — the charity got a high price for the lot and neither the hostess nor I expended the cost of having a party.

Ms. Witchel’s comment doesn’t touch on the flip side of either her or my emotions. It is for another of her articles to expound upon the joy of preparing a meal for someone for the first time. I get to talk about it here.

Any meal I cook is a supplement to, or substitute for, a myriad of conversations and revelations. The menu is an accumulation of my experiences, distilled for these guests on this occasion. I understand that the foods I choose will reflect not only my personality but also my opinion of my guests, my relationship to them and the occasion of our dining together.

Most often, I appear to make the decisions about a meal without a great deal of thought. In fact, the meal planning is effortless — it is my relationship with my dining companions that requires time, energy, care and nurturing. If I have done those things well, I will know what to serve on a given occasion.

And so comes the joy associated with that first meal. It is a celebration of a relationship that may be either new or long standing. In either case, I have chosen to share a large part of me that is yet unrevealed. That step is scary, yet exhilarating; it is a step from which there is no return — I cannot take back what I have exposed to that dining companion.

I have a friend who claims that I remember ever bite of every meal I have ever eaten. It isn’t true. Most often, I cannot remember what I cooked for someone, even the menu from the first time I cooked for that person. What I will never forget, however, is what I felt when I cooked for him or her — particularly what I was feeling that first time.

What a difference a week makes.† A week ago I was winging my way back from the sun, surf and sand of one of America’s 21st century playgrounds.† This week I am comfortably ensconsed in the playground of the rich and famous of a century ago.

Each winter for the past ten years, my wife and I have retreated to the Adirondack Mountains for a week of relaxation.† We were afraid that we would not be able to get away this month, but a few days opened up for both us and a hotel we love.† Our one room cabin sits a few feet from the shore of a pristine frozen lake with a view of the mountains beyond.† Once past the parking lot and the covered walkway, we could as easily be in the 1930s as 2008 — and but for the indoor plumbing, a phone and electric lights, we could be in a much earlier time.† Between that walkway and the lake shore is a land where time could have stood still.

The contrasts between this place and where I was a week ago are startling.

titanic divx download Last week, I was in the land of high rise condos and hotels.† I saw more cranes at construction sites than I could count.† This week, the view from my picture window is of one story log cabins, forest and snow capped mountains.

Last week, I walked barefoot at sunrise on a trendy beach.† This week, I have hiked and snowshoed through forests covered in deep snow.† It snowed two feet here in the days prior to our arrival and perhaps eight inches since our arrival.† It is snowing now and the lake, forest and mountains are beautiful beyond compare.

Last week, I drove from hotel to office with the top down.† This week, I walked to breakfast in -21F cold.

Last week, I was ordering dinner at trendy restaurants†after midnight†(just after leaving work) and walked back to my hotel as the local nightlife was just getting underway.† This week, I have fallen asleep by 9:00 p.m. and awakened at 4:00 a.m. to start a fresh fire and read for a few hours before breakfast.

Last week, I sent and received literally hundreds of emails and burned through a month’s worth of mobile minutes.† This week, if I place my phone in just the right spot in my cabin, I receive a marginal signal about half the day.† I have appropriated a computer in the hotel office to type this post.

Last week, I was under incredible stress to complete my project.† This week, my most difficult decision has been which of the books I brought to read next.† I have read three books by authors who are new to me.† I have enjoyed them all quite well.† I started with My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult on the recommendation of a friend who listened to it on a cross country drive this summer.† Next was The Monsters of Templeton by Lauren Groff as recommended by two staff members of my favorite independent bookseller.† And most recently was The Spare Wife by Alex Witchel as I have always enjoyed her work for The New York Times.

Last week, I was immersed in the gateway to our future.† This week, I am firmly planted in our past.

Let it snow!

Hi, my name is Michael, and today I joined the ranks of non-practicing lawyers and the ranks of fledgling entrepreneurs.

For more than 26 years, I have toiled as a corporate transactional lawyer representing clients large and small in business acquisitions, divestitures, financings and similar transactions. That career was intellectually stimulating, exciting and rewarding — until it wasn’t quite so any longer. I continue to be passionate about the now-former clients and their business dealings, but something changed. Either the profession changed or I changed. It matters not which.

For years, I have harbored an additional passion for the culinary arts. With the assistance of one or two close friends and as the result of much trial and error over those years, I have become an accomplished cook. I am most drawn to traditional cuisines and time-honored techniques.

Today, I embark on a new career and adventure. I will be developing a line of traditional, hand produced smoked and cured fish and meats. The company’s first products will be a European style cold-smoked salmon and a cured gravad lax. The business plan is set; I have not yet begun to execute it. This blog will follow the progress of the new company from inception through at least product introduction. I hope to share the successes, trials and tribulations of the start-up on these pages.

Why blog? Simple; I am trying to create virtually one aspect of my former law practice that I know I will miss. The working environment I have left was highly collaborative. Not an hour went by without my seeking the advice of a colleague or a colleague’s seeking my advice. I relish that give and take of ideas. I intend to use this forum to express my thoughts and to solicit the reactions of a audience wider than the confines of my former office building.

I hope to include in this blog my thoughts on a wide range of subjects that pique my interest. In this regard, I am influenced by several traditional newsletters that I have received over the years. When I think of these missives that arrived in my mailbox, I think first of the wonderful essays written by Josh Jensen of Calera Wine Company. I only wish this blog will be a fraction as entertaining as his writing.

Please, visit often, comment when you wish to, enjoy the ride. I intend to.