The shank of the evening

Yesterday morning, Farmer Bev handed me a couple of packages of pork shanks, sliced osso bucco style. I meandered through the rest of the market, picking up various odds and ends that might go well with them -- carrots and celery and fennel at New Morning Farm, onions at Twin Springs, leeks at Spring Valley -- and finally wobbled home on a very loaded Ollie. For this first installment of Ibti's Offal Adventures, I offer a recipe I adapted from Epicurious, enjoyed just this evening by my fellow Slow Foodies at our monthly board meeting:

Braised Pork Shank with White Wine and Veggies
Ingredients

• 1 handful dried mushrooms
• 1 cup boiling water
• 2 fresh pork shanks, cut into thirds, skins removed
  (No, I didn't waste the skins, thank you very much, I saved them for my landlady's 3 dogs.)
• 3 TBSP olive oil + a bit more for the final meat searing
• 1 large onion, diced
• 1 handful diced carrots
• 1 leek, chopped
• 1 handful diced celery
• 1 fennel bulb, diced
• 6 garlic cloves, peeled and coarsely chopped
• 1 cup dry white wine (I had a semi decent pinot grigio on hand)
• 1 cup broth (Thank you, GrowingSOUL, for my quart of Putting Stock in Your Community artisanal chicken stock!)
• 2 TBSP chopped fresh sage (from one of the school gardens I manage)
• 2 TBSP chopped fresh rosemary (from my front steps -- doesn't get more local than that)
• 1 handful chopped fresh parsley (also from my school garden)

Directions
Preheat oven to 325F. Open the wine and pour yourself a glass. I mean, you've got to be sure it will go well with braised pork.

Pour 1 cup boiling water over the mushrooms and let stand until mushrooms soften. Drain and chop mushrooms, reserving the delicious soaking liquid.

Meanwhile, sprinkle the pork with salt and pepper. Heat olive oil in a large, heavy cast iron pan or dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add pork, in batches if necessary, and brown on all sides, about 15 minutes total. Transfer the browned pork to a rimmed baking sheet or lasagne pan.

Reduce heat to medium. Add onion, carrots, leek, celery, and fennel. Cook until vegetables are soft and beginning to color, stirring occasionally, about 10 minutes.

Stir in garlic and chopped mushrooms. Add wine and bring to boil, scraping up any browned bits. Add broth, reserved mushroom soaking liquid, and 1 TBSP each of sage, rosemary, and parsley. It's probably time for another glass of wine as you marvel at how amazing your kitchen is starting to smell.

Return pork and any accumulated juices to pot, arranging in single layer. Place pot in oven and cover with a lid or foil or, if you're a foil conserving loony like me, an inverted stainless steel bowl. Braise pork until very tender, turning over every 30 minutes, for about 90 minutes total. I put the baking sheet on the bottom rack of the oven just in case my deep skillet spilled over. (Apparently, this part of the recipe can be made up to 2 days ahead. Simply cook things to this point, then cool slightly, refrigerate uncovered until cold, then cover and keep refrigerated. Simmer until just warm before continuing.)

Heat oven to 425F. Transfer pork to rimmed baking sheet. Brush with olive oil; sprinkle with remaining sage and rosemary, and a few grinds of black pepper. Roast pork until browned, about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, tilt the pan and spoon any fat from surface of sauce. Scoop out the veggies and keep them warm in another pan.Boil your original pot/pan until the sauce lightly coats the back of a wooden spoon, about 7 minutes. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Divide veggies among serving bowls, top with pork and sauce, and sprinkle with another handful of chopped parsley. If any of that wine remains, go ahead and offer some to your guests. (But if not it's okay, we don't judge here. Just open another bottle.) Enjoy!

I'm thinking some kind of Mexican-inspired chocolate mole sauce for the other shanks I'll be testing out with mom and dad next weekend. But if you have suggestions, readers, please send 'em along!

A little leg

It is rare that I am intimidated by a piece of meat. But this past weekend, when I was entrusted with a beautiful, three-and-a-quarter-lb. leg of grassfed lamb to prepare for dinner the following evening with the good folks from White House Meats, I'm not going to lie: I was nervous.

Mostly, my concern was that I would mess it up. I mean, sure, I have cooked quite a bit of lamb in my day. But it was always in stews or curries. And this leg, oh, it was not meant to be cubed and slathered in an intense marinade. It was meant to be grilled and served rare. And me without a decent meat thermometer. (There you have it: a confession. "Forgive me father, for I have overcooked....") Whenever the esteemed Leg Of Lamb was prepared in my family, it was always dad or my brother out searing it on the grill. Now, I'd thought the guys might pick me up a roast or something that I could cube up for a lamb curry, but no: after the butchering demonstration they attended in Front Royal over the weekend, the guys handed me one of the most gorgeous pieces of meat I've ever laid eyes on. (Yeah, I probably need to get out more.) Ah. Stunning.



So what did I do? Well, after flipping through my copy of the Niman Ranch Cookbook (and cursing at myself for returning to dad the copy of The Grassfed Gourmet cookbook... yes, that I had given him as a gift, but still....), I put in a call to my best friend. Felicity and I talked through a number of potential recipes -- all kinds of dry rubs and wet marinades inspired by cuisine around the world -- before settling on a simple North African chermoula. Flavorful, but not something that would mask the distinct terroir of the meat. Yes, that would do nicely.

Along with Adam's lovely kale salad, a somewhat respectable variation on pulao prepared by yours truly (a rice dish that only very narrowly resembled the North Indian staple, as mine featured cilantro, toasted almonds, and grated sweet potatoes), and a few bottles of wine (and a bit of bubbly) from Jon, Seth, and Wolf, the lamb was simply delicious. Wrapped up with a freshly baked chocolate torte -- my, it's been awhile since I've made one of those -- it was a meal that I will not soon forget. I mean, look at Seth's masterful carving job here:



In case you get your hands on a good leg of lamb, here's roughly how to make your own

Roasted Leg of Lamb with Chermoula

Combine in a small bowl: 1 large handful of chopped fresh cilantro, 1 large handful of chopped fresh flatleaf parsley, 1 small minced onion, juice from 1 lemon, 1-2 T olive oil, 1/2 tsp smoked paprika powder, 1/2 tsp ground coriander, 4 minced garlic cloves.

Rub mixture all over a 3-lb. leg of grassfed lamb. Place lamb in a plastic bag (this can be the one it came in) and marinate in the fridge for 24 hours.

Heat a pan on the stove until it's hot. (I mean really hot. I like my roasting pans like I like my lovers: smoking hot. Heheh.) Wipe off as much marinade as possible from the leg of lamb, then sear each side of it in the pan. You may want to disconnect your smoke alarm temporarily...

Let the lamb rest under a towel on a cutting board while you preheat the oven. Once it reaches 350F, put the lamb on a roasting pan (or in my case, a metal cooling rack on a cookie sheet) and cook in the oven for about 45 minutes (for rare). Let meat rest under foil on a carving board for at least 15 minutes.

Carve and devour.

What's the pig deal?

I do seem to have pork on the brain more than usual these days. It's not intentional, it just kind of... happened. There was my first article (on pastured pork) in this month's issue of Acres USA. Then I had a lovely chat with Bev -- of EcoFriendly Foods -- while picking up some breakfast sausages and taking a little footage for my mobile market fundraising video a couple of weeks ago. (Speaking of which, have you donated yet? Hmmm? Have you?) Then a series of coincidences led me to Seth and Jon, the cool cats behind White House Meats, with whom I shared a pint and quite a lengthy discussion at the Mardi Bus happy hour earlier this week. I do like bacon. And those local, sustainable pork shares are pretty reasonable. Mmmm, Berkshire....

Well. Last night I had planned to have dinner with my dear friend Susan. But alas, she woke up yesterday morning feeling sickly and we decided to reschedule. Wouldn't you know it, this meant that I would in fact be able to attend the screening of Pig Business downtown (and the panel discussion and happy hour that followed) that I had been spreading the word about. It turned out to be quite a night.

After only just barely refraining from audibly badmouthing the security guard who insisted that I leave my nalgene bottle outside of the Capitol Building -- this same innocuous bottle that had traveled around the entire country lashed to the front fender of my bicycle and had joined me without incident on a number of, ahem, airline flights, which I would think would indicate that it, when emptied, would gain admission to such high-security-risk settings as a documentary screening in a public visitors' center on a Wednesday afternoon -- I made my way through the metal detectors to join the throngs, securing one of the few remaining seats in the packed auditorium. After some opening words and an appeal by the ever passionate Robert Kennedy, Jr., the lights went down. I watched in horror as atrocious animal cruelty, unbridled greed, and "corporate kleptocracy" unfolded. (How does Bobby Kennedy come up with these terms? As a former English teacher, I can't help but admire his exceptional vocabulary. "A+, Mr. Kennedy.") The film focused on Smithfield -- the largest and most reckless purveyor of pork in the country, which recently expanded abroad to begin crushing pork farmers in Europe, most notably in Poland. (I know, mom, I know.) It was scary to watch folks on camera hardly bat an eye as they talked about the need for more meat, how these giant hog factories were necessary, even good for their economy and their countrymen. How about... eating less meat? How about the health and environmental concerns, if not of the animals, at least of those very countrymen? I got pretty worked up.

Needing a stiff drink afterwards, I joined a bunch of other sustainable foodie friends at the evening happy hour a few blocks away. After a nice bourbon and ginger ale and a few nibblies featuring some of Bev's famous pork, I pinned a food bus button on the pastured pork farmer himself and began to feel a little better. Sure, our country's meat production system is terrible now, but we can fix it. Even my small voice, my personal choice to only consume responsibly-produced meats, makes a difference. I refuse to buy factory farmed meat. And so did the guy next to me. And the lady on the other side of him. And probably most of the people in that room (or at least they're way more likely to avoid it after watching that movie). Sure, we're not changing the system overnight, and many policymakers at home and abroad are in the pockets of these large CAFO executives, but as more of us vote with our food dollars what kind of agricultural practices we support, we begin to take back control of the system that feeds us.

What difference does it make where your pork chop comes from? Actually, it's kind of a pig deal. Don't you want to support an operation that looks like this?



[photo courtesy of Sarah Willis, Niman Ranch]

In print!

Okay, I'm not positive in terms of copyright law what I can post here, but I'm pretty sure a Table of Contents page is fair game. (I don't want to be dodging the law all the time, and I'm already on the run from the fashion police....)

I was kind of hoping Acres USA would allow folks to view articles from this month's issue for free on their website, but apparently I have to be as famous as Joel Salatin for that to be possible. I've got a lot more writing (and ranting) to do to get to that level. Give me some time.

This first foray into print is an article I wrote on the pork industry and the work of my friend Paul (the pastured pork farmer and food advocate in Iowa). It features some photos taken by Paul's daughter, Sarah, of THE most adorable piglets ever and a recipe (of course) by yours truly.

A second article should be coming out in the next few months, so keep an eye on the magazine stands at your nearest food co-op....

Born and grazed right here in North Carolina

I've met a number of farmers now who have come from non-farming backgrounds, folks who have chosen to embrace humble but fulfilling lives as organic produce and pastured meat farmers for all kinds of reasons. For some it's a sense of food injustice and a determination to make healthy food available where they live. For others, it's a distrust of the mainstream food industry practices (or the American consumer culture in general) that sets them on a path to sustainable farming. And for others, it's something they read that lights a fire under them: for Michael and Christy Underwood, it was an article in Gourmet Magazine (R.I.P.) on farmer Joel Salatin written back in 2002. To my former students who argued that something you read can't change your life, here's another example to the contrary.

Michael was finishing up a degree in History about seven years ago when he came across a feature in the now defunct food magazine. He was all worked up about what Salatin -- who has since been catapulted into farmer rockstardom when he was featured in "The Omnivore's Dilemma" (aka Ibti's Food Bible) as well as the documentaries "Food, Inc." and "Fresh" -- was doing in western Virginia. Michael wanted to be a part of this new, whole-ecosystem style of grass-based animal farming and broached the topic with his wife Christy, who was working on her own degree in English at UNC at the time, and she agreed it was a worthy pursuit. A farm internship at Polyface Farm (Salatin's operation) didn't materialize, but instead they worked with a farmer in Fairview, NC to learn how to raise pastured meat animals in their home state. A few years ago they began renting a plot of land and a house in Lawndale, NC and started raising pastured pork, lamb, and beef. And after I met Christy at the Charlotte Regional Farmers' Market last Saturday, they kindly agreed to let me work at their farm for a day or two as I made my way through western North Carolina (toward my impending third date with the Appalacian Mountains).

It's some intense work, especially in the southern summer climate, but Christy and I, and her two boys, Isaiah and Jeremiah, managed to water and feed the pigs before the real heat started. (Here's a pic I snapped of their boar as we went about our morning routine. He looked rather menacing at first, but then I sprayed a little cool water in the mud and I daresay he started smiling as he flopped over to wallow.) Then it was time to move portable electric fencing and herd the sheep and cattle to a new pasture. I tell you, anyone who complains about the higher price of pastured meat (vs. conventional feedlot fare) would sing a different tune if he had to trudge through tall grass and thorny blackberry patches in a pool of his own sweat to pull up and refence new paddocks every few days. (Yes, in case you're wondering, we did periodically stop to sample some wild blackberries as we fenced. It is *me* we're talking about here.) I was excited to at last see and help with a rotational grazing system that I'd heard and read so much about, and hot and tired as I was I felt rather proud when the ruminants calmly sidled into their new grassy salad bar. Our animal chores were, thankfully, completed by lunchtime, and after a lovely, veggie-filled meal the boys invited me to join them next door for a swim in the pool. Ahhhh.

Did I mention how HOT it was? I wimped out of helping Michael with tilling and weeding some of the vegetable patches in the stifling heat when he returned from working at his construction job midafternoon. I mean, how often am I around a swimming pool? But I did help Christy with dinner, which included a scrumptious, slow-cooked, herb-rubbed Underwood pork roast. It might have been even tastier than the stew I made with some Underwood beef last weekend at Laura's, but it's tough to tell. I think I was a bit biased by the lavendar-and-honey roasted carrots and homemade mead that their friends Jamie and Sara Jane -- the charming farming couple of nearby A Way of Life Farm -- brought to the meal. (More about my work with Jamie and Sara Jane coming soon.)

I can't help but marvel at the devotion and slow (but growing) success of these passionate entrepreneurs. They clearly love the land, the animals, and each other. Each day brings new trials but also new joys. And though it is not a glamorous or easy life, they seem happy. "At the very least, we eat well," Christy smiled during dinner. "It's one of the perks of the job." No kidding... Yum!

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