Snow Vitality

When ever anyone speaks of being "snowed in", I am immedietly driven to
recalling that a large reason for the popularity of residence in these mountains known as the Kaatskills was the purity of the air, and it's proported healing propoerties as well. Dozens of people lined open air porches at night to conversate, take tea, and imbibe the air and it's promise of renewed vitality.

Now, when it snows, and that same healing wind blows, people become disgruntled. They begin to feel detained, restricted, somewhat "snowed in". I propose that it is quite the opposite that is true. These people are snowed in by their adherence to a set of beliefs about reality that stop them from seeing the truth that is all around them.

That snow brings health. Even when it is not there. But boy, is there a whole lot now.

When winter approaches, I feel a new growth resurge inside of me. I am preparing for many months of burning heat inside against the impending promise of chill, elements, and exposure. All of these paying the cost for my participation in the healing properties of mountain air.

Well worth it, I believe. Fetching wood, carrying water, getting more copy paper, it's all good for you. It makes it even more healthy if you have to get warm on top of it. This is the secret vitality of the mountains. That your body has to work a little harder, breathe a little deeper, colder air from time to time. This keeps us fresh, even in the face of daunting weather and chill.

As Robert Frost said, wood warms us two times. Once when we cut it, another when we burn it. The thought of facing winter makes mw warm inside. I want to survive, and smile within it's chill. It's that chance to bring that desire alongside a Catskill wind that keeps me here. Year after year...

Climbing the mountaine

People are in trouble. The way we eat needs remediation. I love all of this.

Like the tragedies in life, all illness is the window towards the world of healing that lay outside our perception that the window should be used only to view and judge others who are out on the lawn, so to speak, freely expressing themselves...

Making everything around me that isn't cooking the same as cooking is easy. It lay simply in seeing no difference. If all life is simply a space of time between doing the things that you love and other things that you simply tolerate or cope with, than you are only living half of your life. A chef is never out of the kitchen, they are simply away from the stove. It is important to see your whole life as a big meal. Keep the big meal cooking, keep the balanced flavors flowing, keep your senses and spirit open to what the food is saying to you. Translate this message into healing in your life and others. Make healthy food a condiment to the big meal of your life. See that without a spirit that is full, food carries with it the job of filling both the body and soul. Keep your spirit full with a bright sunny heart, and food can feed both, or whichever that you would care to direct that nutrition to in the moment of consumption. Make the food yours by loving it, and it will love you, in whatever regard you require. Food loves to serve, so by serving it with love, it will serve us immeasurably.

Make the meal with a bright, sunny heart. Give the food with respect for it's own solidarity and power, and with no attributes other than your love added to it. And if someone is to take their meal from you with less that open hands or heart, the only thing to do is to open both of your own even more. Love knows no limits, which is why food will always be beautiful, even when it is eaten simply raw. And for me, as I grow as a cook in this world, that is more and more becoming my perspective as I have come to understand it. Leave food alone, except to translate it's message of love, and adorn it with our own. That, my friends, is a recipe for wellbeing. For all of us...

A bowl of soup cannot heal unless it is made with an open heart,

And taken with open hands.

I asked the world today to open both for the sake of peace and love.

Did you hear me? Were you listening?

I would like to make dinner for the world.

Who would like to eat?

Life on the mountain

So our trip began with an unseasonably sunny warm late fall day, a quick stop at the wood fired pizza tavern on the way out of the mountains, and a car load of happy people. We were heading for the pickle festival, as it were, or bust.

We never got there. When my wife and I were younger, and cruising around on awesome road trips, we always got there, wherever that was at the time. We would pick arbitrary destinations and assign tasks, or scavenger hunt items of sorts. I remember one trip to Vermont and all throughout, we stopped at every reasonable covered bridge along our path, and soon, the detours got longer, and our trip changed for the better. We had set the scavenger hunt at taking a walk together across each bridge...By far one of the BEST trips ever. Burlington, bed and breakfasts, Ben and Jerry's, various college campuses, summer camps where friends were working. Epic.

Now we were in a Suburu with two wonderful children at a flea market/store somewhere above Rosendale. The worm hole opened, and we fell in. My wife had a marvelous time, and the kids loved it too. They all enjoyed shopping for each other, and for themselves.

I stayed in the car and read the Times. I went in briefly and found a nice Revere-Ware loaf pan, vintage, for 9 dollars. I put it on the counter and went back to the den, which for now was the front passenger seat of our Japanese mobile abode.

After they returned, it was already 4:30. So we opted to bring our little ones to the park in Kingston instead. The one with the giant wooden castle. The one they always remember, and how could one forget. It;s huge AND awesome to boot.

So then we went shopping. I checked out kitchen-stuff. I found a Joseph and Mary nutcracker set. It was very relaxing. I picked up a wonderful local chicken to roast later that evening at ADAMS farms. And some broccoli, to make an alfredo dish. And honey bear so we could use and refill him at the table.

After a great night's sleep (alfredo) I awoke to a day of meetings which was alot of fun, and inspirational. Afterwords, I met for a dinner party in honor of a wonderful mother of a friend who had returned to town. She grew up in France. She recalled searching the hills of her youth for escargot, and then we enjoyed`great cheeses together that night. It was dively special, to say the least. Precisely the lind of night for a great red wine...

The next day, I participated as a volunteer within the Queen's Galley organization, a Non-For-Profit group, totally encompassing all of the needs and hunger of the community, both for actual meals and for correlative education and instruction. I was amazed at the amount of heart behind what was going on. Then my amazement turned to reverence and deep repect. This was where I belonged, I said to myself. Simply feeding those around me who were in need of a meal, both actually and some spiritually. It was timelessly benevolent, and I soon lost track of time assisting with all the chopping and serving that goes on there throughout the day. Again, I was on my way to Shandaken, where I had a fabulous grilled rueben sandwich with a friend. He was coming out of the woods, off the trial. I was jealous...so I bought him lunch...We had coffee and chatted for an hour. It was so long overdue.

In going home later that evening, I understood that I felt radically different. I had arrived within an amazing relationship, an amazing family, and a continued opportunity to serve others with food.

Much to be thankful for indeed. Such is life in the mountains, on a mountain. It gives you enough perspective to see what is truly important. Which for me, has always been the forest through the trees...

Leave me in Rosendale

Why would one get into a car with two kids and drive for over an hour through two counties for pickles?

Because once, when we did for the first time, it was awesome. It was one of the best events we'd ever attended during our search for things to do in this wonderful valley. The Hudson, that is.

Like any other place, there are usually no shortages of things to do, or places to do them. But unlike all of the other homespun events we'd attended, outdoor and in, the International Pickle Festival, in all its grandure, stood out as one of the best.

Details to follow in my next blog......

I just wanted to express my continued gratitude for all of the wonderful people of these mountains and valleys, and all of the love they have shared. And all of the pickles they make.

Amen!

Love,

Tenzo

Would you like freedom with that?

Mcdonalds? No. But it kind of looks like it, right? Wrong. It is the exact opposite. The only simularity that the above has with the ever popular Big Mac is the colors red and yellow. Ask any food stylist, and they will tell you why. These two colors are very appetizing. But past this repetition of color scheme, and you'll find absolutely nothing alike ingredient wise between the two.

That is because this is fast food satire, or my version of it. I worked with a wonderful team of chefs at one point in my career who loved this idea. Polenta "french fries". Roasted red pepper "ketchup". And in the case above, a fabulous mixture of delish from Fleisher's Grass fed and Organic Meats, in Kingston, NY , home of what is, in my opinion, the coolest guy to touch a steak EVER, The man himself, Josh. On the evening before a party that I had the pleasure of doing the shopping for with my client, we went into the shop and I was given a formal introduction to a man for whom I had developed tremendous respect, and that evening, was given a selection of meats for my "mixed game burger" that would overwhelm any chef to the point of grateful tears. Wiping them away, I could'nt believe my eyes when I saw that he had already prepared a burger mix. With fresh bacon. Ground into it also. Genius.

I know the butcher. He knows the farmers. the farmers know the animals. the animals know the pleasure of living in nature, and nature knows, well, nature knows best. Why we, as a country, have ever had to deliberate over what is good, bad, or indifferent for anyone to eat amazes me to this day. We were given a paradise here, with a practical map from the people who first lived here. The natives. They skipped all the middle men.

The natives knew nature. They moved with the herd. the people and the buffalo were one.

Where are we now? Now we need our governments to save our children from obesity.

Next year, Halloween candy will be outlawed as well, by the way. Because it causes childhood diabetes.

This tenzo is overwhelmed to the point of tears. And they are not of joy.

WE need to save our children.

Wake up America. Cook your own food. Get to know your chefs, your farmers, your local businesses, your neighbors. Find out what they are eating. Talk about it. This is natural eating. Seeing everything with your own eyes. Not just red and yellow.

Look Ronald Mcdonald in the eye and tell me what you see.

Nothing.

Except the classic con of the bait and switch.

McDonald's, for years, was an icon of the road traveling, fun loving family. It was portrayed as the place to hang out, or go after the movies or whatever. It was our version of a bistro.

It was the beginning of the bait and switch.

Now, after someone makes a movie about how bad this stuff is for you and almost kills himself, and they are forced to publish sodium content and horrible international sources, and I still see cars in line outside.

We have gone from three liter bottles of red soda to organic powdered sugar. Its all the same. Ask any old timer, and they'll tell you: anything in excess is'nt good.

Has'nt Mcdonald's proved this? Over a billion served is why. They stopped caring after number one.

And when one eats there-you are'nt caring either. About yourself. Or your children.

Whoa! hold on. Fast food once and while is'nt bad, right? That remains, in this country, a freedom of choice. We also have a choice where we spend our money. So in my opinion, fast food is'nt bad once in a while, if it's cooked slowly, like the burger above. Because it was also raised and prepared slowly by the hands of men, not steel. Men of steel, actually. The farmer, the butcher, the chef, the diner, and now you, the reader, are all men of steel. Because you have the same power as they do, and your superhero abilty is your spending dollar.

It is, after all, a free country. Amen?

We are responsible for ourselves, and for our actions. Or at least, we all try to be.

But you see, the less you or people you see have a hand in your meal, the faster it gets. And you have no idea whose hands have been involved.

EEEWWWWW. Thats Gross....

I plead with everyone who is exited about a government who allowed something to grow and then attempts to curtail it to maintain public demand for health as somewhat shortsided.

It is as shortsided as simply seeing a USDA Organic label on something and assuming that makes it good. Look a USDA Organic label in the eyes, and tell me what you see.

Nothing. Nothing but the first step in a long journey for this country.

Which has got to get itself back to the garden. Period.

Is a goverment responsible for telling Mcdonald's how to make food healthier?

Our government allowed it to start, flurish, grow, and become the icon that it is, one of our Presidents jogging in the night for his burger.

He should have jogged to my house. he would have lost alot of weight and had himself a tasty burger, and it would have been good for him. Grass fed bacon and all, because it was made with one thing:

Not red and yellow.

Not a desire for profit.

With, you guessed it,

Love.

Tenzo

Pasture time

I was out very early this morning.
I can't tell you how long it has been since I have actually sat and watched the sun rise. What a simple pleasure, and a gift we can all count on, and appreciate, whether we can see it or not...

I am finding myself writing poetry again. I like this. To me, good poetry is exactly the same as a good dish-simple, beautiful, and with meaning.

I laid on my back in some frosty overgrown grass, and this one just happened.


Wayward bound

Which way does the cloud blow in the wind?
The way.
Swirling, twisting, floating free.
At once, all together
And then, it is gone.
A way...

Reflections on the season

The fall is my favorite season. Is it yours? So many beautiful manifestations of life, set against the fading backdrop of the fading spectacular. It teaches us to see that hope is never lost, and that everything must shed it's past in order to move into the future. Nature is never one to carry more than it can hold. It is very honest. I dig that about you, nature.....:)

As the temperature deepens, I venture into the forest even more. I relish seeing things burst forth with life and color, even in the face of a daunting Catskill winter. This little guy pictured here seemed to want his picture taken, before dawn even...

I believe these things to be amazing because they do not weigh the future in consideration of how they live in the present. Only humans do that.

A poem:

Leaf is falling.

Let it be.

What can we do, but watch?

What will we say, but love.

I hope that you, like me and so many folks out there, are seeing this fall as we do.

An unofficial spring...

Love,

Tenzo

The lobster continues...

Smoked lobster, toasted red acorns and squash egg rolls with caramelized wild apple sauce, goat cheese whipped potato, country ham and chicken of the woods saute, and apple cider reduction.

Last week I set out to re-create an upscale version of improvisational family

woodstove cooking with my students by utilizing smoked lobster tail.

The results were absolutly amazing, but entirely different than what I had reciped

prior in my home kitchen, which was every bit as marvelous as it sounded, but what happened with my students was entirely different...someone had brought cider, we all started cooking...

The result is pictured and described above. I was amazed by its natural beauty. It ended up looking like the mountains right now. Kind of...

Check out this video to watch me roll some won ton:

Wild surf and turf appetizer

It is late fall in the Catskills and colors abound. It is as if the hidden beauty of all of nature comes through in a wonderful display for us to imbibe with perhaps a slight bit more pondering, introspect and appreciation. Our wine tastes shift from crispy pinots to buttery chards, flavors within foods deepen, lend them selves to roasting, wood fire, and long simmers on stoves.

This recipe was developed from a chance dinner I happened to have with my wonderful family around our wood stove, which in winter, becomes my piano, as the French call their stoves. There is plenty of room for the morning bacon as well as tommorow's soup, and a large 20 gallon pot with a faucet on the bottom that is the most efficient water heater we've ever had in the house. I like cooking this way because it reminds me of the way I learned to cook in the Boy Scouts. The meal begins with heating water. The hot water is your everything, how you warm up your hands to begin, how you clean things that are dirty as you find them, how you sanitize your surfaces initially. Your everything. So having it around all the time simply as a product of our heating our home is more than a godsend. Its satisfying. It is a warming sense of accomplishment and connection when the hot water you use is heated by wood you chopped and carried. It sort of starts the meal with gratitude before we even begin to cook.

The menu from the chance dinner was as follows: Hot dogs on skewers, mashed potato, and my lovely wife's addition: the apple sauce. The apple sauce made it for me.

The recipe for lobster ravioli developed out of a lobster that I grilled in the woodstove for my wife and I "after" our kiddie style meal. I enjoyed a massive helping (Three) of the hot dog combo plate. I just could'nt get enough of the cozy flavors. By the time it came time to eat the lobster, we got as far as eating the tail before passing out during a movie with our children.

That night, however, I crept outside with the remainder of the lobster, and lit a small fire in the smoker. The day before I had gathered a ton of wild apple dead wood branches. They smelled wonderful, even though they were long dead, they had tons of flavor in them. I smiled as I shut the lid, certain that thin slices of the long-smoked overnight claw would be ridiculous.

The next morning, they were. I served them sliced thin over fresh sprouts with lemon, next to a nice steamy pile of scrambled eggs, fresh from our own little hen house, and smiled again. Two smiles, now.

The third smile came when I knew that the rest of this wonderful treat from Maine that I was able to miraculously manifest in Arkville, NY thanks to Bruce at the Maine Black Bear fish market and restaurant would become the centerpiece of the ravioli that I would be creating with my students that afternoon. The class I am offering currently demonstrates how I, as a chef, am cooking at home, and in general, how I make ingredients work for me and my family.

So when I thought of the ravioli, I thought of applesauce, (because of the night before) and when I thought of the night before, I thought of hot dogs, because I always do, and when I thought of hot dogs, I thought of andouille, because I had some, and because I always do also, and then I said, potato? Why not? I remembered that I liked them because they were slow cooked and creamy on top of the stove, almost the consistency of the applesauce. It had a wonderful hot and cold feel, and the hot dog was the bridge. Now the ravioli was. And I thought of pumpkins in the field when I opened the smoker in the morning light and saw the bright prize within. The fourth smile came after I knew the chicken mushrooms I had harvested a month earlier and frozen would become another echo of this lovely bouquet of colors that has more that influenced my dishes. It has become the way I cook, and eat. With color.

The recipe:

1 whole lobster grilled and slow smoked (2 pounds is perfect)

1/2 pound andouille sausage

1 small pie pumpkin (2 pounds is perfect) or:

2 pounds assorted squashes

1 large sweet onion

1 pk won ton skins

3 eggs (farm fresh if you can)

1 doz wild apples

1 bunch wild thyme

2-3 leaves fresh sage

1 small wild chicken mushroom (please do not gather or consume these without a professional)

1 dozen assorted wild tree nuts, hickory, acorn

3 pounds small white potato

1 small nub goat cheese

1 pound butter

1/2 qt cream

olive oil

sea salt

fresh cracked black pepper

Bell's all natural seasoning powder

Dismantle the grilled and smoked lobster and try not to eat it all. Chop into loose little chunks, no smaller than 1/4 inch. Chop the onion as fine and quickly saute so that they caramelize, but still have bite. Add a little of the thyme, some olive oil to start, and some butter when you finish. Set aside. Start your mash potato by peeling and placing them in some cold slightly salted water. Bring to a boil and lower to a simmer when they get there. Cook them until they are soft-but still have just a tad of chunkyness in side of them still. Drain and reserve some of the cooking water with the potatoes. Add your cream and butter here as per your personal preference. I like mine loose and creamy here, not starchy like with a steak. Think warm applesauce, cause' thats next. Finish those with some s+p.

Peel the apples, seed them, and chop them loosely. Place in a pot with just a bit of water to start. Gently stir them and mash with a wooden spoon until you get it where you want it. Keep your heat hot, but reasonable. And keep stirring. Not like the potatoes. They like stirring, but not so much. A little every once in a while is good. Because you left them a little under-cooked, they'll soak up that cream and butter and cook up creamy, like risotto. Sneak up on them, and don't over whip them here. They'll get weird. Keep tasting, but don't get full. You'll want to have pre-heated your oven to about 400 and halved, quartered and roasted that pumpkin lightly brushed with olive oil, some sage and thyme, and some bells seasoning, which I sneak in alot. It was the secret ingredient in alot of my Grandma's cooking, including her stuffing. You can roast the pumpkin agressively, you actually want a little browning here. But not too soon. Don't rely on timers, keep looking in there, poke them. You are looking for a good roast yam consistency here.

After they are roasted and cooled, scoop them and mix your resulting mash into a nice puree you can work with in a ravioli. Spike the pumpkin mix with some s+p, olive oil, a smakerel of goat cheese and maybe a bit of butter and thyme. Whip and toss in two of the three eggs. Reserve.

Now that you have your lobster, pumpkin, and onion, you can assemble your "ravioli". I put that in quotes because it might be more like a potsticker, or a dumpling, or even a won ton, go figure! This is up to you. I like to cut the skins into quarters and use two pieces like a top and bottom. I brush the skin with a bit of butter, a pinch of thyme, add a bit of lobster, a bit of pumpkin on top, and then some onion, and then paint the next skin with butter, and paint the rim of the bottom with a little egg wash from the remaining egg, and then place the top over and seal it together. I really like the delicate pappardelle-like consistency of the ravioli at the edges in comparison with the meaty indulgent jewel at the center of these beauties. After assembling, you'll want to have some boiling water going with a basket, so you can move right along and give them a quick blanch. I like to follow up as soon as they are dry, by patting with a towel gently, in a quick saute here, and you want them to "jump" in the fat as they say, butter specifically, like one would fry a pierogi. It caramelizes the skin or pasta or whatever you have, and I love doing it to my "ravioli".

Now you can serve your lobster pumpkin "ravioli" over a mixed plate of warm potato mash and chilled fresh wild applesauce. I like to grill a link of andouille, a nod to the dog that inspired this dish, and slice it thin, scattering slices on both sides of the fence, with the apples and potatoes. That alone is pretty fall, but it becomes beautiful autumn when you serve it with your ravioli topped with some caramelized chicken mushroom, fried sage, and a little crumb scatter of chevre. And if you really want to add a little more texture, try shelling, blanching (several times, to remove bitterness), and roasting up some freshly harvested tree nuts, which are amazing, and sprinkling them on as well. This dish is my celebration of fall. And of life, in the sea and of land.

Surf and turf appetizer. Cheers!

Tenzo

wecome back wisdom

"Accept everything with great pleasure and thanks, accept misfortune like happiness, disease like health, poverty like prosperity, and if you don't like it or cannot stand it, refer to you UNIVERSAL COMPASS - the UNIQUE principle. There you will find the best direction. Everything that happens to you is what you lack. All that is ANTAGONISTIC, unbearable is COMPLIMENTARY. The man who embraces his antagonist is the happiest man. "

-George Oshawa, a pioneer of the oneness of man, nature and the universe, and one of my personal elders.

I hope that everyone is rolling with the punches, surfing the wave, and still getting home to somewhere with enough determination to sit down, relax, and have a meal. And I hope that you have the blessing of having company. You've got yourself a party there.

chef

Mr. Ommegang

Just wanted to send out a huge thank you to all the new friends we made out in Cooperstown, NY on Saturday at the finest brewery in the the world,
our very own OMMEGANG, the pride of USA!
Having the pleasure of living so close to the center of beer production makes it easy to take great joy in imbibing and cooking with this marvelous assortment of local products. Appealing right from the start, OMMEGANG is an experience from when you first pick one up until long after the last sip. Simply put, this beer is a lifestyle that comes along with the pride of those people who brew it, and venerated by the people who love it.
As with any artisan product, the one unique characteristic of craftsmanship lay in it's individuality. Each bottle has it's own solidarity, every year the beer grows immeasurably, yet more than retains it's roots to Belgium. It exemplifies them. These same rules apply to cuisine, carrying forth tradition but demonstrating s desire for refinement that is defined by the very thing that created tradition: A striving for excellence.
The next ingredient in any great cuisine is simple. Love. With that love comes the confidence that what you are producing for the enjoyment and nourishment of thousands is the absolute BEST product that is possible. This is life to the fullest, and so is drinking OMMEGANG.
Preparing food in the brewery has left me with a HUGE awakening. The huge realization in my head as I drove the two hours home was really quite alarming. I REALLY love this beer, the people who make it, and all the people who drink it.
And I will make it my quest at this point to dedicate the remaining years of my culinary Journey to the honorable task of demonstrating and sharing just how to enjoy this beer not just in a glass, but in just about everything you could imagine.
The other night, my suburu ran out of gas. I could swear that the "light" had never come on, but either or, there I was, very far away from anything. Oddly enough, thats why I love the catskills. So as I feebly tried to start and drive over and over again, she sputtered a bit. I thought to myself "man, if I only had some gas!" and at that very moment peered over the backseat at an entire case of OMMEGANG, destined for the test kitchen (and my glass...). I recalled that the THREE PHILS' is pretty high in alcohol. Thats right, you guessed it, I poured one in the tank.
Sitting in the driver's seat, just about to turn the key, I thought to myself; you have to believe that this is going to work. You can't have any doubts.
I GOT TO THE GAS STATION.
It is in this same manner that I encourage you to cook with this beer. With absolute wreckless abandon, and total pride and confidence.
Cheers! Recipes to follow as soon as I come down off this cloud.