Yodelling Llama

I’ve been a vegetarian for a very long time. Sixteen years, more or less. One thing that I’ve still never managed to get around is the desire for beef or chicken bouillon in cooking. I’ve tried every vegetarian and vegan alternative the local groceries and food coops have to offer, and tried a number of online-purchased options, and have been routinely disappointed.

The best of the bunch–and also one of the most expensive–was the Rapunzel brand. So a couple of years back, I purchased a box from Amazon, just to make sure I was well-covered for recipe making for a while. Spent $50 or so.

Made the mistake, however, of purchasing the “no salt” variety. Of course I can add my own salt, and lord knows I get too much salt in my diet anyway, so you wouldn’t think this would be a big deal. Problem? The no salt vegetable flavored rectangular prisms don’t break up very quickly. I’ve cooked the bouillon in hot water for quite a while, resorting to smashing the damned things with spoons, and still not had anything approaching a uniform consistency. Chunky bouillon doesn’t work well in, say, risotto.

Real mistake, though? Buying in bulk. Because now I’ve been stuck with the stuff for years, and I’m still not done. Oh well.

This actually works:

What with being inundated with vegetables from our Rochester-based CSA, Wobbly Cart Farming Collective, I decided, once again, to try my hand at ratatouille. Use up some of the eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes. We even had some fresh thyme and rosemary to throw in. Only thing was, the tomatoes that came from the CSA, as well as the ones from our backyard, were green and yellow, not red. Not that they were underripe, mind you. The specific varieties involved simply don’t get red as they mature.

Which meant that although the ratatouille was tasty enough–by no means amazing, but certainly the centerpiece of a serviceable meal–it did have the unfortunately quality of being a sort of brown-gray color. The red from the tomatoes usually holds its own and makes the dish a colorful, eye-pleasing affair. But with yellow and green tomatoes…sort of off-putting.

Solution? The latest Vegetarian Times has a recipe for “Glorified Ratatouille Shepherd’s Pie.” So I’m spending part of this morning making up some mashed potatoes that will hopefully dress up the leftover ratatouille to make it more palatable from a visual standpoint.

I’ve always thought “Nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee,” the trademarked slogan of the ubiquitous food purveyor, sounded vaguely malevolent. Aside from the quirky use of the double negative, and the inexplicable speech impediment of the voice actors–who pronounce “doesn’t like” as “does it like” with some frequency–the slogan itself struck me for years as a sort of veiled threat.

In other words, if you cast aspersions on the company by suggesting that maybe, perhaps there indeed are a few people that do not care for Sara Lee’s particular brand of overly soft bleached flour baked goods, and that maybe, perhaps you might just be, or at least have met, one of those people…well, then something bad might happen. Sara Lee might send in a handful of hired goons to, well, used some enhanced interrogation techniques to “convince” you that maybe, perhaps you’re mistaken, and that although there may be some people for whom Sara Lee products are not the bee’s knees, those people don’t actually not *like* the foodstuffs. They like them just fine, thank you very much. They’re just not, well, enamored with them. But nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee.

Right?

I’ve found an inordinate number of coffee snobs equate a dark roast with quality. If it ain’t burnt, it’s shit. For a peaberry fan, this trend is distressing. Shall I blame Starbucks for the miseducation? I shall.

Winetasting in Woodinville? Familiar past time in the Puget Sound, what with dozens of wineries and tasting rooms within a short distance of each other. [Aside: a few more pedestrian-friendly features on the landscape would be welcome.] The Januik/Novelty Hill establishment, albeit snooty and standoffish, has especially good wine. Throw in the Red Hook brewery and a grapparia, and you’ve got yourself a party.

But what really made this weekend’s jaunt worthwhile was a new distillery. Called, appropriately enough, Woodinville Whiskey Company. Opened only recently, however. So the signature whiskies are all still being aged. What to do instead? Vodka. And white lightning. Unaged, clear whiskey.

Now I’m a bourbon drinker. But this white lighting packs a lot of flavor, considering no barrels have yet had an opportunity to impart. Surprising number of volatiles. If it wasn’t labeled organic, and if I hadn’t had a chat with one of the distillers, I’d strongly suspect foul play. Well, gin-style infusion play at any rate. And although the white dog is a little rough around the edges, it is surprisingly smooth. Already mellow, and only shortly out of the still. If this is indicative of the quality to come, I’m anticipating great things of Woodinville.

D and I went to Puyallup last weekend to try to pick our own blueberries. Disappointment abounded. The farm in question had too little in the way of ripe fruit, too many in the way of pickers, too much cost per unit mass, and too many overseers. Unpleasant, especially considering the distance.

Today, we tried again. Much more satisfying. Not only was the weather glorious–drizzly, overcast, and just below twenty–the farm was completely deserted, the quantity of berries ready for the harvest was extraordinary (although I suspect it’ll be better in a couple of weeks), and the u-pick was honor system only. Not to mention it was less than five miles from our house. The only things that were a tad disconcerting was the presence of extremely noisy roosters who sounded as if they were dying from being oversexed, the farm sort of smelled like the ocean, and the ground was littered with thousands of brown slugs. Made it look like we were walking through a Mr. Hanky look-a-like convention. Still, at $2 per pound, and having a little better idea what sorts of shit has been sprayed on the fruit (none, apparently), I’d call this a success.

I think I first recognized just how much significance the process of aging has when I sampled a beaujolais nouveau oh so many years ago. You can taste the green, and you cannot taste the barrel.

The impact became even more pronounced and obvious with the mainstreamization of white whiskey (or, if you prefer, whisky). Aged for just a smidgen of time, this whiskey has none of the usual characteristic color or flavor, and instead reminds of silver tequila, only without the agave. Strange and different. Aging affects.

Even stronger evidence is the completely different character my homemade beer has two weeks after bottling and two months after bottling. The former–at least when it comes to the latest, a nut brown ale–is fuzzy, slightly sweet, yeasty, and unctuous. The latter lets the floral hops come through, has very little residual sugar, but has better blended carbonation so that it doesn’t overwhelm the glass. And it simply goes down smoother. Aging rules!