Three Days

I’m writing this in the spring of 2020, in the midst of shelter in place to combat the spread COVID-19. It’s my hope that all of the businesses I recommend for your visit will survive the economic impact in its wake but sadly some will not. Regardless, I love my home and thought you would all appreciate a few tips from a local on how to make the most of your visit, including squeezing in the super fun touristy stuff and lots of time at the beach. This is long so let’s get right to it...

Here is a suggested itinerary for a three day stay in Saugatuck/ Douglas/ Fennville. If you vacation as voraciously as Amy and me, you will try to pack as much into each day as possible. If you prefer a slower pace, take a couple extra days, or cherry pick your favorites and disregard the rest. Also, you may notice a lot of walking and hiking. While shopping, gallery strolls, and chilling at the beach are great for sure, the area has tremendous hikes and the towns are very walkable and the best way to see everything.

This presupposes your visit is in summer and you stay in Saugatuck proper or very nearby.

DAY ONE

Spend the morning and early afternoon exploring downtown Saugatuck and Douglas. Start by stopping by Uncommon Grounds for a light, walking breakfast and excellent coffee. It’s the longtime local’s favorite. Wander the streets and check out the shops and art galleries, stop in to see the exhibits at the SCA, and check out what theater and film events they might have scheduled during your stay. Be sure to stop at Wine Sellers to stock up on libations for your home bar and excursions.

Then ride the Duck. If he’s running. The duck is an amphibious vehicle that tours Saugatuck and Douglas by both land and water. The owner, Brent, gives a great tour that will help you get your bearings a little and give you some history peppered heavily with his goofy sense of humor. It will also get you out on the water right away, which should be a priority. Sadly, there was an accident involving a duck tour on the west coast a few years back so getting insurance has been prohibitively expensive for Brent. Last year he was not able to open. Hopefully that will change this year. His tour is super fun and the views of the town from the water are beautiful.

Next is lunch at the Red Dock. Tony and Dona, the owners, are long time locals who spend their summers here and their winters somewhere they can ski. The red dock is a little yellow shack at the end of a long, yes, red, dock jutting out into Kalamazoo Lake with a fun hippie/reggae vibe. Enjoy some terrific sandwiches or a solid Chicago dog and a cold beer while sitting on the water and admiring the once again spectacular views. It’s a ten minute walk or so across the bridge toward Douglas from where you get off the duck. If you look closely on your right while crossing the bridge, you’ll see a boardwalk where the locals fish from on the south bank of the river. Just head down to it at the end of the bridge on Swingbridge Lane. This lovely stroll through the reeds will take you where you need to be. The Red Dock also hosts a pretty stellar line up of regional musicians on Sunday nights if that’s your thing. Cash only, so plan accordingly. After lunch, you'll only be a few blocks from the shops and galleries of downtown Douglas, so this would be a good time to explore Saugatuck's sister city a bit.

Next, wander back into Saugatuck and catch the chain ferry at Wick’s Park, the only hand cranked ferry left in the US, to the other side of the river. Start walking north along the river and you’ll pass the historic museum, which is worth a detour. Keep walking north and you’ll reach the stairs at Mount Baldhead, the tallest dune in the area, capped by the white weather tower you probably noticed during your lunch at Red Dock. There are a lot of stairs here. Like 300 something. But if you venture to the top, you’ll have great views of Saugatuck, Kalamazoo Lake, and Wade’s Bayou to the east, and Lake Michigan to the west. Once you’ve gotten to the top, there are trails everywhere, some of them a little challenging. Lots of ups and downs in the dunes. If you’re feeling invincible, you can hike to Oval Beach from here, but it’s a schlepp. Keep in mind, early afternoon, when the sun is at its highest, is when the sand is at its hottest, so shoes are advised and protect your kids and pets. Serious burns can and do happen in the sand.

If you continue up the road to the north instead of (or in addition to) hiking the stairs, the road will narrow and head uphill a bit on the way to Oxbow art school (definitely check to see if they have events during your visit). At the top of the hill, the road will turn left toward the school. At the elbow, you will see a trailhead which leads to the Crow’s Nest. This short, 1.5 mile moderate loop peaks at what is for me the best view of the lake in the area. To the east, the trail follows the river and loops back into the woods a bit to the west. At the top, the view is spectacular. It overlooks the old river oxbow which is now a small wetland, lined by large birch trees with Lake Michigan and the dunes and the channel in the distance. Very much worth it. You won’t find a lot of tourists here. Favorite hike for locals and a nice break from the hustle of the shopping district without having to venture out of town by car. 

Next, walk back into town and if time allows swing by Charlie's 'Round The Corner ice cream parlor for a cone. You've earned it. Then head over to Retro Boats. You will need to reserve in advance during the high season. They rent groovy, small, mid century boats retrofitted with sleepy electric motors to tool around Kalamazoo Lake and River. They have a liquor license so you can grab a bottle of wine or a few beers for your low speed adventure checking out the town from the water. You can’t take them out to the big lake, but you can drop anchor at the small cove at the mouth of the channel, which you may have seen from the Crow’s Nest, and do a little swimming off the boat before heading back. 

Next, walk to The Southerner for dinner. The wait will be long, but it is everywhere. Come a little later to hit the last seating and sit outside if you can, admiring the view of the marina, river, and dune. Take your time ordering, eating, and drinking, and let the sun set before you, and as the place empties out, move to the bar for a bourbon nightcap from one of the best collections in the state. My guess is you’re ready for bed now. Walk or cab home.

DAY TWO

Back to The Southerner for breakfast. Sorry. Not sorry. Shameless plug. But this post is about what I would do if I were vacationing here and I would most definitely hit The Southerner for both dinner and breakfast. Get there early and get in line. We open at nine. Line starts forming by eight or eight thirty. Try to get there for the first seating. This is the big beach day (you should carve out a little time for the beach everyday). You have shit to do, so get the day started early.

After breakfast, hit the dune rides. Reservations will be necessary.  The dune rides are super fun and yes, give a little history and environmental info about our dunes, alongside with some cheesy humor and cheap thrills. Don’t skip it. The rides are less than an hour and appropriate for all ages. And again, the setting and the views are breathtaking. There are only a handful of these rides left in the country and one closed just last year, so take advantage of a dying breed of tourism. I believe after the recent closure, there are only 5 left operating in the U.S. and this one is surely one of the best.

Next, take a backpack cooler to Farmhouse Deli and get grub for the afternoon. You’re going to the beach and you’re not leaving. They have a terrific spread. Healthy options, salads, etc abound, and their sandwiches are super delicious. They have charcuterie and cheeses, soups, great beverages, and some grab and go foods, often pulled off their smoker, that are all made really well by the friendliest staff in the two towns (they are at least in a horse race with The Southerner). Grab what you need for the afternoon and head to Saugatuck Dunes State Park.

Oval Beach is of course the main beach that most people go to in the area. It is easily accessible and is a huge expanse of sandy beach with a great walk to the pier, but it is very crowded. If you plan on dragging chairs and umbrellas and all kinds of shit with you or you dig the crowds and like the people watching, this is the beach for you. Me not so much. I will go to the beach that not many outside the locals know about, where there might be ten people on busy day and my dogs can run and play off leash for a minute. If you find this beach, please tell me which local clued you in so they can be punished accordingly. But barring that, the state park is the beach for me. 

The park is pretty heavily trafficked, but it’s large and some of the access trails are quite long, which means fewer people and more space to carve out a little private piece of your own. Again, it’s a half mile moderate hike at minimum to get to the lake over dunes so if you’re dragging screaming kids and a bunch of gear with you, try Douglas Beach or Oval instead. If you can cram a towel and some wine and snacks into a backpack and like some hiking through pristine wooded dunes, then go to the state park for sure. Spend the whole day. Hike the south loop, which is about five miles round trip, a solid 3 to get to the beach, but the woods are absolutely beautiful, and it drops you off at the south side of the beach where you're likely to have few neighbors. If you follow the loop out, it will be shorter, but you’ll have to climb several monster dunes. But again...great views at the top. 

Spend some time on the beach, swim, and head back into the park for some hiking, then back to the beach. There are many unmarked trails in the park, again, mostly used by locals. Don’t be afraid to explore. The park is pretty well contained and it’s pretty hard to get too terribly lost. Some of the unmarked trails walk the spines of the tops of the tallest dunes in the park with more spectacular views. Short version, if you come to Saugatuk but don’t explore the state park, you missed the best of what we have to offer. For me, this park is a close second to Sleeping Bear in natural beach beauty. 

When you're sunburned, sweaty, rubbery legged and could not possibly swim & hike for another moment of the day, head back to town. Shower and head to Pennyroyal for an early dinner. Missy Corey, my pal and the co-owner and chef, cooks simple food in ways you would never expect to be so captivating. Do not miss it. Sit down breakfast/brunch/lunch is also very worthy. But don't miss it regardless. Great food, great space, great people. 

After dinner, get over to the Star Of Saugatuck (reservations are required again) for the sunset cruise. This old school paddle boat will take you out to the big lake, giving some local lore and history along the way (including the story of Singapore, the city swallowed by the dunes), and rest for a few moments while the sun sets and you crane your head between the beautiful sunset and the magnificent shoreline bathed in the last of the days rays as they compete for your attention. Also...booze. They serve booze. 

After the cruise, head to one of the local bars for a nightcap or two. The late night scene is pretty vigorous in summer downtown and lasts til two for sure. I like Wally’s for the great outdoor space and good collection of MI brews. Wally’s is also a solid choice for fried perch and bar food if you’re in the mood to keep it more casual for dinner. 

The Sandbar is downtown Saugatuck’s dive bar and a good example of the genre. Pool tables, jukebox, drunken locals, shitty bathrooms, another good option for a decent Chicago dog. I love it. 

You could also cab-it out to The Dunes for some dancing if you like. It’s a resort which caters to the gay community but all are welcome. 

DAY THREE

My neck of the woods. Don’t skip it.

Fennville and its nearby communities offer a welcome respite from the throngs of tourists as well as some of the best drinking in the region. Fenn Valley Vineyards, Crane Orchards, Virtue Cider, Modales Winery, Wyncroft Wine, and Waypost Brewing all call the farmlands around Fennville home. Lots of tasting to be done.

Begin your day at Root in downtown Fennville. Delicious and healthy breakfast options are plentiful and much of the products that grace their kitchen are grown at the owner’s own farm, Fernwood. Dawn, the aforementioned owner, is also a renowned potter, and the space beside the cafe is loaded with work from local painters, sculptors, potters, etc… This is a great place to learn about the artists on the Blue Coast Art Trail, another worthwhile diversion should the mood strike you. The food is delicious, hand made, well sourced, and good for to go if you want to get your day rolling. The Blue Goose just up the street, is a spot on classic American diner. Friendly service, cheap, delicious food. If you’re in the pancake and hash brown state of mind, head here. 

If you’re not in the mood to go out for dinner and want to cook back at your lodging, or want to take some delicious food home with you, stop into Las Brazas tortillaria for delicious flour tortillas, chips, and tostadas. Sometimes they have tamales in the fridge made by a local. Then head up the street to La Poblonita, a supermercado in the large, brick building that used to house our beloved Su Casa. They have marinated al pastor, carnitas, carne asada, in their butcher case ready to cook, and a well stocked pantry and vegetable cooler. Fennville is surrounded by orchards and has a large hispanic population as many migrant workers settled here over the years, so expect the real deal. 

Then head out to the Allegan State Game Area. This is one of the area’s most under appreciated resources as far as tourism goes. The game area is, as the name implies, a large wooded area of several thousand acres set aside in public trust. It’s public hunting ground, but also has multiple boat launches, fishing berths, and miles and miles of trails. I am an avid hiker and a big fan of spending lots of time in the game area with my dogs, but I doubt I will ever finish exploring the myriad of hiking trails here, some established and maintained by the MDNR, some simply trampled by local humans and deer. 

There are so many worthwhile afternoon/day hikes here. The Todd Farm, the DNR’s oak savannah project, but if I only had a day I would hike at Swan Creek Pond. Swan Creek boasts a beautiful flood water reservoir behind a small dam at 118th Avenue. It’s home to many waterfowl you will most certainly encounter. Teals, mallards, Canada geese, and yes, the namesake swans (the swans are jerks) populate this swollen creek bed and this hike follows the water closely as it shrinks back to the small, ravine trapped and sandy bottomed creek toward the end of the hike. This moderate, short hike, stays close to the water and the great views of the pond and creek, and wanders through stands of cypress and pine, oak and maple, in a geography that feels ever changing in its 1.5 miles. You may even catch a glimpse of a giant grey rat snake, the largest (but harmless) snake in Michigan. I’ve only been lucky enough to see him once. Keep your eyes peeled as you round the eastern side of the pond toward the beginning of the hike, where the landscape to your left gets marshy. He’ll be hiding in there.

To get there, head south out of Fennville to 118th Avenue and head east for about 8 miles. There is a parking area on your right just before you reach the dam. Park, and look for the trailhead marked by a blue dot painted on the trees. Follow it down the hill and take the trail to the right (left will dead end at the dam). The trail will meander up and down the ravine side, following closely along Swan Creek Pond for most of the hike. This section of the trail (a fraction of it) will dead end in about 1.5 miles, where a pretty obvious egress up to the top of the ravine will present itself (it will appear that the trail continues on below but it ends maybe 200 yards up in muck). From here, you can either choose to go back and have a nice three mile hike, or go up to the top where the trail system continues both north and south. Up top, the hiking is easy. It’s flat, the trails are wide and well groomed for horses, cross country skiers, etc, and the wooded landscape is lovely. In your wanderings, you may see yellow dots appear on the trees, indicating the Waukazoo loop, a popular equestrian trail that leads to Eli Lake. Between the two trail systems, you could hike for miles. For today, stick to the blue dots, and keep your bearings about you. You can get a map at the DNR station on 118th Ave to help guide you.

It bears mentioning that Swan Creek is on public land, so you can bring your dogs and let them run off leash legally, but it is one of the more popular spots in the game area, so some caution is advised in this regard. It’s possible you won’t see another soul on your hike here, but please be mindful and considerate. 

Also, the game area is notorious for ticks and mosquitos, weather depending. It would be wise to avoid this hike in the aftermath of heavy rains and high humidity, and to protect yourself with the strongest repellents available regardless. DEET up, as we say.

After you get off the trail, head out to Waypost and grab the best craft beer in the area. Cool space, both indoors and out, cool music on the turntable, and friendly, knowledgeable staff. 

Head back towards Fennville in the early afternoon. Do some wine tasting at Fenn Valley and Modales, and cider at Crane’s and Virtue as you please. Honestly, Fennville and its surrounding area should be a two day minimum adventure on its own. Add a trip by pontoon, kayak or canoe down the Kalamazoo river from New Richmond to moor at the Red dock or The Southerner and save the wine, beer and cider for a day of its own. If not...

Fenn Valley has a tractor guided vineyard tour that's worth taking for sure and they welcome visitors to explore the vineyards on foot, which are breathtaking. Be sure to check in with the tasting room staff for some advice on where to hike if you’re interested. They do allow a local gun club to hunt in the off season to protect their crops, but in summer this shouldn’t be an issue. Virtue has very nice trails cut through high grass meadow, greenhouses, hammocks, gardens, animal habitats, and tons of outdoor respite as well. Modales is our newest neighbor. Their winery is beautiful as well and the wines are excellent. Crane’s Apple Orchard will likely be crowded, but worth a stop for the sweet tooth in you. Crazy good cider donuts, fritters, fruit pies, and a sweet, crowd pleaser hard cider.

The local tip here is to make arrangements in advance to do a private tasting with Jim Lester and his wife Dawn of Wyncroft and Marland. The estate is stunning, and Jim is very generous with his time and knowledge. He’ll likely walk you through his small vineyard and aging room, taste you directly from aging barrels, talk at length about his wine, Michigan wine, French wine…he’s quite a character and be warned he will talk as long you will listen. Again, this must be arranged in advance. Tastings are free but there is the expectation that you will buy some wine. Jim makes some of my favorite Michigan wines. Go see for yourself.

Before you head to Wyncroft though, pit stop at Evergreen Lane Creamery to grab the region's best cheeses to take along to the tasting. Mattone, Pyramid Point, and April Showers are not to be missed. Their fresh cheve and fromage blanc are the best I’ve ever tasted. 

After your tasting with Jim, head back into Fennville for dinner at Salt Of The Earth. They source a lot of their raw materials locally, including some they grow for themselves from a small patch of garden behind the restaurant. They make great wood fired pizzas, their burger is one of the best in the area, their cocktail program is legit, the wine list is packed with well chosen bottles at good price points, and they have a good list of Michigan craft beers on tap. They also offer some more composed, cheffy stuff as well, so there’s lots of ways to go with your dining experience here. 

After dinner, head to downtown Douglas and sit outside at Borrowed Time for a chill nightcap or two, or head back into Saugatuck to wander the late night bars if you’re feeling rowdy.

ON THE WAY HOME

On your way out of town in the morning, swing back in to Pennyroyal for some incredible Madcap coffee, and pastries by Brian Kemp, Missy’s partner in the restaurant and their pastry chef. His danish and croissant will perhaps literally knock your socks off, if you’re wearing them. Which you probably shouldn’t be. 

If you have the time to get home leisurely and are headed back to Detroit or otherwise east, duck into downtown GR for brunch/lunch at Littlebird, which is run by my friend and one of my favorite chefs in the state, Joel Wabeke. His terrific little spot has the best food in the city and is just across the street from The Grand Rapids Art Museum and a short walk from the UICA, both worthy visits for fans of the arts.

If you’re headed home to Chicago or South Bend, etc….it’s worth it to save some time to stop in Sawyer and Three Oaks. Hop off the freeway about halfway between Saugatuck and Chicago at the Sawyer exit or better yet, skip rushng down the freeway and meander down the Blue Star Highway to the Red Arrow Highway instead. You hug the lake pretty much the whole way and have some great views, and can easily stop for a quick dip at one of the countless beaches you’ll pass along the way. 

Sawyer & Three Oaks must have the largest collection of cool food and beverage purveyors per capita than any place else on earth. Sawyer is home to Greenbush Brewing, one the the state’s very best craft breweries; Susan’s, the newest project by my friend and another of my favorite chefs in Michigan, Chad Miller; Molino, a small tortillaria making fresh corn masa and tortillas form heirloom grains, both grown in Mexico, and some they’ve teamed up with Michigan farms to grow. 

Hop on Sawyer Road and drive a few miles south into Three Oaks and you’ll find Journeyman Distillery, housed in a rehabbed factory that once made buggy whips, then corset stays after the automobile parked the horses. Beautiful spot and a good place for a mid afternoon cocktail break. Head up the street to Patellie's for a NY style slice (or better, a whole pie) made by the two of the most wonderful people I know, Pat and Ellie Mullins. It is possibly my favorite pizza ever. The crust alone is worth the stop. They also run P. & E.’s Bottle Shop just behind the pizzeria which sells great wine, beer, and spirits. 

You’ll want to grab a good beer or two at minimum to take home with you, because next you should wander further down the street to Drier’s, one of the oldest still operating smokehouses in the country. If you suffer under the unfortunate delusion that hot dogs, ring bologna, and liverwurst are not gustatory marvels very worth your appetite’s attention, Drier’s will cure you. Pun intended. Buy more than you think you should. Drier’s hot dogs are so good it’s almost a sin to put them on a bun. 

You should probably get home and sleep now. 

I hope you enjoyed your stay.

The Chicken In The Squash And Other Tall Tales From The Hill

There are probably more words dedicated to the perfect roast chicken than to any other food. Every omnivore loves it. Thomas Keller reveres it as his last meal. It is the simplest of foods and the simplest of methods which, even when done less than well, yields anticipation the likes of which few other foods can conjure. Even as a not so skilled cook is in the process of failing, the smell of chicken fat and drippings burning on the oven wall as they pop and leap from the bird fills everyone in the house with the highest of hopes. We have all eaten that chicken that made us slow down and reflect for a moment.  But when the chicken before us falls short of that goal we become obsessed with understanding why, or, more importantly, how we can avoid such shortfalls in the future. But perfect roast chicken, despite the best intended mentorship, is elusive and contrary. Even when you do everything right, sometimes the stars don't align.

Even with this resignation to disappointment in tow, I figured I should offer up my own insight into roast chicken, or perhaps more accurately in my house, a chicken cooked whole, as there are two versions I treat with similar technique. The first is a traditional chicken cooked in the oven, usually the chosen path in cold months, and the second, a bird cooked over charcoal on a spit. There are a lot of opinions as to the steps one should take to prepare and cook a whole chicken in either of these venues and I think it might be helpful to look at them one at a time.

First…
Choose a quality bird.
Let's not waste time discussing this. If you buy shitty, battery raised chickens that taste like suffering then just stop reading. Buy your birds from a responsible farm who treats their animals with compassion and respect in the great and healthy outdoors. Any animal that dies for you deserves at least that much, and they taste better and are better for you.

Second…
Choose the right size bird.
It's a fryer. Sorry, but it is. Frying, grilling or roasting, get a small, young bird. They are full of gelatin and flavor and have the perfect ratio of skin and bone to meat. Larger birds are more economical when cooked and pulled from the bone, but the moistest and most flavorful birds for cooking whole or close to whole are the little ones.

Third….
Brining.
Brining is controversial amongst cooks in the know and the skin of chicken is one focal point for debate. Brining undoubtedly has advantages when it comes to moisture retention and juiciness, and is a very consistent means of seasoning. I like to brine chickens in beer, especially New Holland's Mad Hatter (I can't explain why, but Mad Hatter is the best -- don't skip it), but brining can yield rubbery skin. And lord knows there is no point in roasting a chicken if the skin is not enjoyable. You probably won't end up with crispy skin if you properly rest your bird (see below) anyhow, but rubbery is down right sad. I am currently of the opinion that grilled or smoked chicken is best without the brine, especially smoked. The only remedy to rubbery skin is a finish over high heat (and sometimes even this doesn't work) and to me this ruins the beautiful finish a properly smoked chicken has. But when roasting, you can turn chicken skin into a supple, heavenly repository of salt, seasoning, and jus by cooking at higher temps. When rendered out, the skin becomes a sort of sponge for the cooking juices that rise to the surface during cooking and soften to such delicateness they nearly disappear before you swallow. But if you choose to go low and slow, skip the brine. The skin will never become pleasant to eat. Also, don't bother adding anything to a brine that's flavor isn't powerfully soluble in water. It's just wasted. I primarily choose to brine when I have a flavorful liquid, like beer, wine, or cider, that I want to infuse into the chicken, or a vegetable like onion, celery or garlic that gives its flavor up to a brine readily. If the flavor profile you're looking for is more spice forward, rub.

Third…
Marinating.
And yes, this is not the same. To me, the best roast chickens are both brined and spend at least half a day, a day is better, in a flavorful marinade. This period of rest gives the salt from the brine an opportunity to diffuse and a second chance for other flavors to come to the party. I like the classics. Especially for spit roasting. Lemon, garlic and rosemary is a no brainer.

Fourth…
Cooking and doneness.
Debate is fierce regarding cooking temps. Some go for hours low and slow, some go hot and fast. Low and slow certainly yields melt in your mouth results. Hot and fast gives great skin and those amazing caramelized flavors that never happen in the world of golden brown and personally I am a fan. When reading an older cookbook about roasting chicken not long ago, I started wondering why the roast chicken of my childhood wasn't terrible. All these old books say to cook a roast chicken to 170 degrees. Surely this was health department inspired madness. The prevailing wisdom today is to cook chicken to 155 degrees (it will coast to a safe 160 degrees though carry over), below the threshold of 158 degrees where juices start to be driven from the meat. This is still sage advice when cooking white meat on its own. But this leaves thighs and legs bloody at the bone and no one, not even a rare quail eating man like myself, feeling hungry for more. So for years, the question has been, "how do you get nicely cooked dark meat without ruining the white?" The answer, I think, came to me while I was frying chicken. Frying, like roasting or grilling, is a high heat cooking method, but the best results yield form cooking the chicken to 170 degrees, NOT 155. I always assumed there was something about the process that made the difference. But I don't think that's the case.

If you've ever examined a pot roast as it cooks, it becomes stiff, and tough and dry until, late in the process, connective tissue breaks down, fats and liquids are liberated from muscle, fat caps, skin, and bone as the roast rises in temperature and reaches doneness. I believe the same to be true when cooking chicken. At 155, good white meat and undercooked legs. From 155 to 169, no man's land: dry breast and still bloody legs. At 170, provided the following step is adhered to, pull apart tender at the joints, supple, silky white meat, and full flavored, fully cooked dark. This is the low and slow way of judging doneness, but what happens when you apply high heat? All the benefits of the 155 bird on the exterior with great, slow cooked quality meat below, both white and dark.

Fifth…
A long rest.
As long as it cooked. If it took an hour, rest it an hour. A whole chicken will stay hot for much longer than you might imagine. Even a turkey rested for three hours will still be warm after a three hour rest. Please don't worry, the growth of harmful bacteria doesn't start in any dangerous way until the food in question has been outside the safe handling zone for four hours. It is perfectly safe to allow a long, quiet rest. And as my friend and neighbor Fred has remarked, the bird cools off during carving any way, even if it were straight from the oven. "That's what jus is for," he says.

Going to say it again…for the best possible results from a bird cooked whole, rest it as long as it cooked.

Resting is extremely important, especially if you, like me, choose to cook hot and fast. High temperature can drive moisture and fat out of muscle fibers, leaving it dry. After a period of rest, those juices will redistribute into the interstitial areas of the muscle group and sort of rehydrate them. Also, gelatin, which begins to congeal as it cools, becomes more viscous, lending a better texture and mouthfeel to the flesh, and prolonging and developing the taste of each bite as it melts and releases new waves of flavor. If you cut into any piece of meat immediately after it is cooked, all those great juices will be left on your cutting board. Don't do it. Even if you are running behind, make them wait.

In my house, we don't start preparing the remainder of the meal until after the chicken is cooked. In winter when we are cooking in the oven, we remove the chicken from its pan and fill the pan with root vegetables and it goes back in the oven.  In summer, when we fire up the grill and put the bird on a spit, we light another chimney of charcoal when the bird is done and cook foil wrapped potatoes with green garlic or young leeks in late spring or mushrooms in late summer. In both scenarios, it takes the vegetables about as long to cook as the chicken, and forces us to wait for that keen and proper rest.

Sixth…
Eat.
With it just being the two of us, you'd think a whole chicken is not a common menu item in our house, but you'd be wrong. Tonight, as a whole chicken turned on the spit in the grill, Amy remarked that it is probably one of her very favorite things to eat, and I agree, so I cook them often. It is best to keep the meal simple. A green salad along with the vegetables roasted in drippings. The meal is bountiful but the dirty dishes are not, another boon. We eat the wings, thigh, and drumstick the night the bird is cooked, as they are not as pleasant to eat cold, then eat the breast meat the following day, cold, on a salad. Sometimes we have the neighbors over and eat the whole thing, but truth be told, white meat is probably better eaten cold, provided it is nicely cooked and well seasoned.

So perhaps there is nothing new here. But the perfect roast chicken conversation will go on long after I'm gone and I suppose I felt a desire to be a part of it. Chickens are a very good choice in all ways when it comes to eating well. They are versatile and popular, but also very healthy, both for you and the planet. They can be reared well on very little land with very few resources, and even expensive chicken are affordable, considering that every roast chicken leaves a pot of soup in its wake.

And at the end of the day, it's the chase not the catch. We have such fully foment ideas about the perfect roast chicken, even if we don't have the perfect vocabulary to describe it or fool proof method to achieve it. The following method reflects my own overly compulsive trial and error. Give it a shot and let me know how it comes out.

ROAST CHICKEN ON THE HILL
Serves 2 to 4

1 three to four (max) pound whole chicken, rinsed and patted dry
2 twelve ounce Mad Hatters
72 ounces water
3/4 cups salt

The total liquid needed for the brine is three quarts, so if it's easier, pour the beer into a gallon measuring container and fill to three quarts with water. Stir in the salt until dissolved. Fully submerge the bird in the brine and refrigerate for 12 hours.

Remove the chicken from the brine, rinse briefly, and pat dry.

1 lemon, peeled, pith and seeds removed, and cut into supremes
3 sprigs fresh rosemary
6 cloves of garlic
several good twists of black pepper
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
1 tsp fennel seed
1 tsp salt

Combine all of the above in a mortar and pestle and pound the shit out of it until it becomes a coarse paste. Stir in enough olive oil to loosen it up and coat the chicken. Rub it onto the trussed (especially important if you are spit roasting) chicken and refrigerate overnight.

In Winter:
Preheat the oven to 425. Place the chicken, breast side up, in a cast iron skillet and roast until a thermometer reads 170 in the deepest part of the thigh, 40 to 45 minutes. Set on a cutting board to rest, fill the pan with its roasting juices with your favorite in season root veggies, and roast until done, hopefully about 45 minutes (cut the vegetables into large pieces to accommodate this time line). If they are done sooner, keep them warm until the chicken has had a full rest.

In summer:
If you do not own a small rotisserie made for home grills, buy one immediately. It is the best $50 you will ever spend. They run with the aid of a small electric motor that runs on a nine volt battery that never seems to run out of juice. If you do not own a grill which will accommodate a spit like this, discard it and buy a new one.

Start one full chimney of coals and burn it until they are completely red and the fire has totally subsided. Place the coals in an oval around where the chicken will sit (no coals directly below it), load the chicken about 10 inches above the coals, start the rotisserie, and close the lid. Check after five minutes to be sure the drippings have not caught fire. Check again every so often to be sure the skin is not browning too quickly. If you feel so inclined, a handful of smoking chips once or twice in the cooking process is not unwelcome. Cook in this manner, bringing the chicken and coals closer together as the fire wanes (if need be) until the chicken reaches 170 degrees in the deepest part of the thigh, forty five minutes to an hour.

Light a half chimney of new coals and cook vegetables wrapped in foil over them until done. If need be, hold them warm until the chicken has had a full rest.

Serve at once.

Apple Butter Mea Culpa

When I was very little, my mother took me and my brother Jon to the grocery store. In the seventies it was not uncommon for stores to display canned goods stacked in large pyramids at aisle end caps and, well, kids will be kids. I reached my little hand out, grabbed a can from about mid height and yanked it out, causing a cacophony of collapsing cans that sent them rolling across the store in all directions. Every head in the store swiveled toward me, including my mothers. I looked up, knew immediately I was in trouble, and for some reason, perhaps hoping for distraction from my predicament, decided to yell out "please don't beat me!"

This began a long line of slanderous abuses my mother has suffered at the hands of her children that continues as recently as my last post. Of course my mother never beat me, but a dozen or so strangers thought she did at the grocery store that day. I asked her when we visited for Christmas what she though of the apple butter post, and her brow furled a bit, and she told me that I was wrong about her "cheater" method. She never cooked down store bought apple sauce. When she told me she cooked down a jar of applesauce in the slow cooker she meant her own home made, and I almost immediately saw my mistake. 

70's mom.

For a moment I was relieved. I was really very upset to hear that something my mom made that I really loved was not as authentically mom as I had thought. But soon after guilt swept in its place. I felt terrible for maligning my mother's good name. She said when we were kids, mom and dad were "Whole Earth Catalogue hippies." They grew a large garden and mom made so much of what we ate everyday from it, including catsup, which her spoiled rotten children complained about regularly, as it was nothing like Heinz 57. She also went on to remind me that when Crisco became available for housewives in the south like my aunt Bobby, it was a replacement for lard in things like biscuits and a huge convenience item and meant that you weren't out of biscuits when you ran out of lard (which you got from rendering fat from the hogs you raised yourself). And the truth of the matter is, you will never
make a biscuit as flaky and tender with butter as you will with Crisco (or lard). And so the guilt deepened.

More 70's mom with a sliver of
skinny dad.

So I am at the computer to apologize for besmirching their kitchen habits. The fact is, I write about my mother, my aunt Bobbie, and my Nana with frequency because they are tremendous cooks, and I have been influenced so much by their skills in the kitchen. I would not be a chef today were it not for them. And even though I cook professionally in a very

Eurocentric style these days, you don't have to look very hard to find deep down southern technique imbedded at the root. 

My mother kept me fed and healthy growing up. If that weren't enough, she gave me the seeds of my career and a cooking ethos that has helped me discover a style of my own that is not forced or trend driven, but honest and self aware. I can never thank her enough for providing such a strong foundation to build from. If there are better habits to use as the foundation for kitchen skills than those borne of the American south, I am hard

Great aunt's from the left: Gladys, Mae,
my Nana Lora, Phillys, and Bobby

pressed to identify them. It is certainly true that if you are to grow up poor, it is best to do so in a home that has a good southern cook in it. And a couple of Whole Earth Catalogue hippies don't hurt either.

Apple Butter

A no longer barfy Ezra.

Ezra was not feeling well when we got home. She was mopey and wouldn't eat her dinner and we were of course concerned, given her age, but we also knew the duck snacks she had form our previous night's dinner were probably bit much for her. She went to bed with her bowl for the most part disregarded, but it seemed a night's rest would do her much of the good she needed. I was up late as usual. About two hours after she went to bed she got up and pawed at the door to be let out, which I obliged. She was out for a few minutes, then came back in, much as she usually does. An hour or so after that she came out of the bedroom again, this time with some urgency, pawed at the door, and promptly barfed in the corner before I could rouse myself to let her out. I opened the door and she went out as I was cleaning up, and when she came back only moments later, she had a bounce in her step and a bright countenance. She went directly to the kitchen, finished her dinner, and went back to bed as if nothing had happened.

I had made some chicken stock (for Ezra) tonight and the bones along with paper towels full of dog barf merited a trip to the garbage can before morning. In my house that means a trudge across the front yard and tonight it was the most perfect of winter nights. It was deathly cold all day today and tonight was colder yet. But it was as still as within a vacuum outside. The wind is usually a bit of a bully here, so close to the lake, but tonight it could not have been more serene. The clouds had broken up and the stars were out, along with a sliver of moon. For the better part of the late afternoon and evening, chunky, meandering snowflakes lazed their way to the ground, or rather to rest gently upon their predecessors on every horizontal surface. Before long, the rails of the deck were covered in the same skein of light snow as the tree branches which will pose narcissistically in the morning for soon to be Facebook posted photos.

I am up late tonight, though, not just for the gin and dog barf, but because there is apple butter bubbling away in two slow cookers and the oven. A few days ago, our neighbor Al Meusen, who tends the orchard across the street, stopped to offer Ulla some apples and pears. She figured she'd take a handful or two, but he ended up leaving her about two bushels of apples and a half bushel of pears. She invited Amy and I to share in this little windfall if we would help in the processing. It was decided that we would make applesauce and apple butter, and some canned poached pear for Ulla, and for some reason, the overwhelming majority of the apples were committed to the butter instead of sauce.

This was perfectly acceptable to me, though I worried about the practicality of such a quantity. Apple butter was lingering in my mother's larder with regularity when I was growing up, one of the many legacies of Appalachia that found their way into our home in the north via my mother and her roots. Apple butter tastes like home to me, maybe more than any other food. It has been far too long since I have enjoyed a home made biscuit with dark, sticky apple butter slathered across it.

It has been some time since I made it because the last time was a sobering moment in my cult like love of all things cooking that spring from Mom. A few years ago I had a bushel of apples, and knowing full well the apple butter I wanted to make was the one Mom made, I called and asked her for the recipe. She laughed and told me she just threw a jar of applesauce in the slow cooker with some spices. I was crestfallen. Apple butter was important to me and to learn that it was something Mom found an acceptable short cut for was disheartening to say the least. I suddenly found myself in a wilderness, wondering what other short cuts were lingering in my childhood favorites, but also, without mentorship regarding the correct path to take for the apples before me, right now in this very moment. For the first time, Mom left me hanging.

Of course, getting to the point Mom started at, with apple sauce, is pretty simple. And of course, it turns out Mom has made apple butter from apples many, many times. But as her days became more and more crowded, the "cheater" apple butter was a way for her to keep a piece of something in her pantry that had real culinary importance in her family in spite of a lack of spare time to cook apples down and mill them. Still, it was a moment of pause for me. Not so long after, I learned after years of begging for "the secret", that Aunt Bobbie used Crisco in the biscuits I loved so much. For a minute, my world was falling apart.

With time I came to understand that the real secret ingredient in Aunt Bobby's biscuits was Aunt Bobbie: her hands, which moved as her mother had taught her. And I learned that Mom could make great apple butter from canned apple sauce because she knew apple butter form the inside, she knew the path that needed walking enough to know which details mattered and which could be breezed over in an effort to keep meaningful cooking before the children. She, tired and tattered and stressed, could have just bought apple butter. Instead, she went as far back in the process as made sense in her kitchen. She bought apple sauce, and stayed up late one night when no one noticed, and spiced and sugared, and simmered, stirred, and canned.

Apple butter ready for cooking.

Tonight we steamed apples and had a marathon of food milling. We added apple cider, some sugar (far less than recommended) some spices, some dusty old bottles of brandy. There was so much apple puree, but I thought between the two houses we could fit it into our slow cookers. We, of course, could not. I had to load the last of it into my fortieth birthday present, an enormous, oval Le Cruset pot. When Amy had asked me what I wanted for my fortieth, I only slightly jokingly said I wanted a Dutch oven big enough to cook an entire oxtail at once (at the time we were eating oxtail frequently and I was tired of the hassle of cooking a whole tail in batches -- risks the quality of the fond). She came through in spades.

Reducing the sugar in a preserve recipe affects how it will set. Pectin and sugar are allies in gelling so when we made the decision to reduce the sugar (by two thirds) in our recipe, we had to compensate by cooking longer and relying on evaporation to do part of the job. This lowers yields, but concentrates the fruit, and you end up with something that is not so cloyingly sweet.

When we were discussing Al's generosity Fred remarked how spoiled he sometimes felt with our lives here on the hill. Not just with the generosity of the neighborhood, but of the overflowing culinary wealth in our larders and freezers. But nights like this, and the labor day Sunday spent canning tomatoes, and the four days of Pig Week we spent butchering the hogs, make it a well deserved embarrassment of riches.

We adapted an apple butter recipe from the Ball Complete Book Of Home Preserving. I think we may have cut the quantity of sugar a bit too far. The butter is bubbling away in the slow cookers and I'm extrapolating the results a bit, but the recipe below reflects my thought that the sugar should get bumped up a bit. We really liked the idea of using cider and that's why we chose this recipe. Also, we had to take a low and slow approach with the reduced sugar, so the cooking method deviated from their recommendation. We spiced ours differently (I am not a huge fan of cloves) and added some brandy leftover from New Holland's early forays into distilling, partially because Ulla was tired of it hanging around.

So here's what we ended up with:

Apple Butter
Yields a metric shit ton

30# apple puree, made by steaming the whole, unpeeled apple until completely soft (the peels and cores contain a good amount of pectin) and passing through the finest plate of a food mill
1 gallon of fresh apple cider
7 cups of sugar
2 TB ground cinnamon
1 TB ground nutmeg
1 TB ground ginger
1 fifth apple brandy or dark rum

Combine the ingredients and load them into slow cookers or cook them on the stove top in a heavy bottomed pan over a very low heat, stirring frequently, until there is no remaining free liquid and the apple butter is firm and smooth when chilled. Pour into hot half pint jars and process in a water bath for 10 minutes.

Our Lives' Wedding With The World

Last year, a few days before we were to slaughter the hogs, I slept fitfully if at all. Death and animals were on my mind a lot. At the time, Amy and I were close to losing Japhy, our very loved dog, at fourteen. She was grey in the muzzle. Her legs didn't really work as they were meant to anymore. But she was sweet and loving as she had always been, perhaps more so. We knew that she would do her best to keep going. That was her way. She was going to force us to choose the day that she wasn't going to be with us anymore. It is a horrible thing to think that you will schedule the day you will kill a creature you love so much, a day, that if nature could be circumvented, you would hold at bay forever. When the weather began to gray and turn cold, I thought it mirrored my heart in ways I was not prepared to face. I was not ready for gloom and sadness in the skies when I looked up from the lifeless body of my long time companion.

So that fall as the demise of Japhy was looming, I couldn't help but feel a little emotionally squeezed as we made the decision to slaughter the hogs on the farm instead of sending them away to an abbatoir. Ulla championed them staying home, where they would be cared for and loved until the end. She stayed in the house until the deed was done, but it didn't take long to see how brave she actually was. Most people who raise animals for meat avoid forming a real bond with them. I remembered thinking that Ulla would regret naming these pigs, and petting them, and playing with them, and caring for them with genuine affection, that it would take a great emotional toll on her. What I didn't know, is that she understood that from the beginning and she didn't care. What mattered to her was that the lives they lived were wonderful. If she withdrew from them, it would be to protect herself and that would be of no help to the animals.

So she loved them. And slowly, the rest of us decided we could love them too. This year and last we told stories about these hogs like they were our pets. We laughed about their antics and felt genuine sorrow when they were gone. But we also understood that they were there for a purpose, and without this purpose, they would't have existed at all. And in the end, there is a job that must be done and to do that job well was meaningful.

We had four hogs this year, twice the herd. The experience last year was so overwhelmingly positive that we were immediately convinced that pigs would be on the farm the next year. Fred hatched a plan to get some friends involved in year two. We invited people out to be a part of the slaughter, butchery and charcuterie of these four hogs because we knew we should share it. The learning curve had flattened a bit from year one, and the path to flattening it out further next year became more obvious. Fred began to talk of handling the shot himself instead of leaving it to someone else. If not the shot next year, a gun and some shooting lessons.

Sleep was again elusive the night before this year's slaughter. No one likes the idea (and certainly not the practice) of killing animals. Darrell, the farmer who supplies Red Horse with pigs, a man who has been around this particular farm chore his whole life, is the first to admit a distaste for it. But Darrell was there on the day of our slaughter, an indispensable participant in every way. The farm was set up and fires were blazing. My heart sank when the first pig went down, and again with each of the four, but immediately the work to preserve these animals as food at the highest level possible became priority and just as quickly a sense of accomplishment and reverence set in. Smiles began to spill across faces in the group that only moments before wore sadness.

And everyone set to work. Some were watching the temperature of the water churning on the smoky fire, some began to scrape bristles while others went off to attend to the next kill. Ulla kept us fed and caffeinated, roasted chestnuts, and wrapped an arm around those who needed it. Amy, loathed to see anything wasted from so generous a gift, put aside the swelling of her full heart to climb into the pen to collect blood. Not minutes before, she scratched his head and smiled lovingly at him. The year before, after the first pig went down, the first ever in our circle, she saw that Fred, who held that pig down during the stick, was a little shaken. Amy walked over and hugged him briefly. He closed his eyes, he rested his chin on the top of her head and forgot for a moment, his boots, for the first time since he became a farmer, covered in blood.

This year, the last pig to go started to get a bit agitated. Not stressed, but nervous. We decided it was best to not let this state persist or get worse. "Do you want to scrape or kill?" Fred asked. Five of us gathered in the pen. Travis took his time, as usual, to find a still moment, a moment of peace to take the shot. He fell. Travis stuck. He ran away in his dreams as we tried our best to keep him still. He slowed for a moment, then ran again, going nowhere. The same as the three before him. I suddenly heard myself whispering to him that it was all ok. Scratching him behind the ear. I looked up toward the fire and the first of the pigs was split and ready for butchery. As the sun started to set, that cliched "good tired" of a hard day's work began to set in, doubled with the relief of knowing we had done our best, done well, by the animals in our care.

Some say the opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. I think the same applies when it comes to how we relate to the animals we eat. To withdraw your engagement with animals as food (or as companions, tools, or simply as unseen neighbors) and think that somehow this makes life better for them is at best naive. Left to the flippancy of mother nature, a death in the wild typically comes with great suffering. This is why we call a death with mitigated suffering a "humane" death, because as humans, as creatures with an understanding of suffering and death beyond simple physical responses, the best among us try to do better than disease, starvation, and injury without medical attention.

We are by nature omnivores, which means at some point in history we were (and sometimes still are) predators. Eventually, farming replaced hunting as the primary means of obtaining meat and this perhaps began a new conversation about the morality of eating animals. Sometimes, even the most ardent vegan will aquiesce at hunting, unable to reconcile the idea that without it overpopulation would cause great suffering in wild game populations, and that all humans, including vegans, are to blame for this. It occurs to me, then, that their problem is with farming, not the act of eating meat.

That one bad day a well cared for animal ends up at, the day the gun and the knife come out, especially at a farm that claims to care about its animals, seems to the soft hearted as betrayal: a friend and caregiver who steps up and performs unspeakable violence against them. But it is is not. It is fulfillment. It is the delivery of the promise we made these animals when they came to be under our stewardship. We promised to find a place for them in this world, a world that we have selfishly usurped and callously neglected to account for them in.

In exchange we ask for blood. But if there is no blood, there is no deal. There is no room in this world for them unless we fulfill our obligations to one another. Should we decide to not eat them any longer, we reduce them to nuisance, and then to extinction.

I tire easily of the banal rhetoric that sometimes passes for a defense of animal rights. They say life is sacred but it is not. Life, whether short or long, influential or transient, has definition which outlasts the corporeal. It's entirety, which includes death and the impact it has on its successors, is equally significant, but we shortsightedly see value only in what is before us readily, the "real world". Life is a moment, a blur, a minute piece in a long and unknowable continuum, a continuum that is forever changed by even the slightest shrug from every life and this is what gives life its real beauty. Death is not cruel. Death is not a thing apart from life. We toast to death. We praise and thank the dead. We welcome it as a part of life and living. When we close our eyes and plug our ears and pretend death is not among us, we dishonor everything that was once real. And when we pretend that it is better to disregard a living creature than it is to bring it into our lives, care for it and see that it has a good and humane death, we commit an act of emotional selfishness. I wonder if there is a difference between the gluttonous meat eater who has no association between meat in a package and an animal, and the vegan who thinks his diet eschews violence and acts in advocacy of a creature he has made extensive effort to have no interaction with.

There is no tragedy in a good life followed by a kind death. Tragedy is in suffering. Pain, abuse, cruelty, indifference. Indifference. As long as I don't pull the trigger I am not culpable. This is cruelty: caring more about keeping the keel of your emotions stable than the day to day welfare of the creatures you share the earth with. Maybe to call it cruelty is hyperbole, but it is certainly not advocacy. No vegan has ever spared an animal death. The conscientious meat eater who chooses to buy meat from farms that care for their animals makes a real world impact on animal welfare. That one bad day is coming for us all. I wonder what the ultimate aim of veganism in defense of animals is, since it can't be an end to death. It seems to me their stance is more about protecting their own precarious emotional well being than opting in and understanding the relationship between people and agrarian animals in a real and meaningful way, the good, bad, and ugly in it.

As it turned out, Japhy outlived the first year's pigs until spring. We had walks every day that winter that brought joy to all involved and her almost absurdly happy face lasted until the end. When we laid her down for the last time on the porch where she loved to nap, it occurred to me that she was not sad, not nervous, that she was not drifting away wishing for just one more day. She lived until it didn't make sense for her to do so anymore. And then she was gone. A firm, embracing breeze was rattling through the tree's new leaves. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny spring day.

Let Soup Be Soup

Squash, Pear, and Celery Soup

It occurred to me tonight as I was sitting down to dinner that I haven't posted any recipes on this site, so I thought 'd fix that. A few days ago I made a big batch of squash soup for Amy to take to work for lunch. I have been making this same squash soup for several years now and I think about why it came about each time.

Squash soup is one of those ubiquitous fall offerings in restaurants this time of year and that is as it should be. They are an almost comical harbinger of fall, soul satisfying and bracing against the cold. Quite often they are made clumsily, too thick and sweet or spiced to high hell with cinnamon or nutmeg. They often more closely resemble baby food than a comforting, adult meal. I wanted to break away from the typical mold, but it's hard with squash soup. Even the not so great ones are pleasurable as a sort of seasonal touchstone. You don't want to rob the soup of that character. You want it to be familiar, just relieved of a little of its cliche.

Turns out this wasn't so difficult. Squash, obviously, is a fruit, but like tomatoes, arrives on American tables in vegetable garb.  So a new path quickly became clear: bring the vegetable quality a little more forward and stop treating it like pumpkin pie filling. Think of it as a savory soup with sweet qualities. To do so required only a few minor tweaks.

First, pair the squash with celery. The two make very good partners and I am a little mystified as to why  they don't appear together more often. Celery is undeniably savory, underutilized as a forward flavor, and a great vehicle for bringing the savory character of other foods out. Adding two leeks to the pot helps in the same way, though the leeks play a more supporting role.

Second, simmer the raw squash in the pot with the other ingredients. Most people roast squash prior to making their soup. Many recipes encourage this route. Roasting intensifies the sweetness and mutes vegetal notes. It also, not so incidentally, relieves the cook of the effort of peeling. But for our purposes, a simmer will keep the "vegetable" in tact.

Third, skip the pumpkin pie spices. These flavors trick the brain into reading sweet, even when sweet is not present. If you must add some sort of spice element, try fennel seed, or dill pollen, or fresh ginger instead. This soup relies on bay leaf as its principal herb, again because it is great at reinforcing the savory quality of anything it simmers with.

It would be incorrect to think that this soup is not sweet. It is. The idea is to bring the savory characteristics forward and not mask them with tooth aching sweetness. Without a bit of sweet, the soup would lack depth and the squash flavor would be flat. We rely on pears and pear cider to the job here. They provide a little natural fruit sweetness and a touch of tartness that adds additional balance. Pears pair marvelously with both squash and celery as well and all three hit their peak at the market at about the same time. They make quite the trifecta.

Finally, a generous addition of butter marries everything together and provides a little richness. It may seem like a lot, but remember the recipe makes about a gallon and a half of soup. When all is said and done, you will have a homey, comforting, but complex and mature soup worth dwelling over for a moment. This recipe calls for butternut squash because it must be dealt with raw and butternut is far easier to peel than a more flavorful amber cup or kabocha. If you decide to use another variety, just make sure to adjust quantities accordingly.

Squash, Celery, and Pear Soup

1 large butternut squash, peeled, seeded and diced
1 head of celery with its leaves, the greener the better, roughly chopped
10 ripe bosc pears, peeled, cored, and roughly chopped
2 leeks, tough green tops removed, roughly chopped
2 bay leaves
1 small branch of summer savory or thyme
3 cups pear cider
about 3 cups light mushroom stock or water
1/2# salted butter
salt

Place all of the above in a large stock pot. Use only enough mushroom stock to let the ingredients move about freely. Bring to the simmer and cook until everything is tender. Remove the savory and bay leaves.

Ladle off a bit of the cooking liquid and reserve. Transfer the soup in batches to a blender and puree. Let the blender run on high speed for about a minute. Run the soup through a chinois if you have one. Use the reserved cooking liquid to thin the soup to desired consistency if need be. Remember to let the soup be soup. It shouldn't be overly thick.

Season with salt to taste. The soup freezes and reheats remarkably well so make a lot. You will be happy to have it all winter long.