Don't put that in your mouth, you don't know where it's been

Here it is, the last day of the 2010 Eat Local Challenge and I'm feeling a little guilty for not writing anything about it till now. I am inclined to take this annual nine-day challenge pretty seriously - it's my competitive nature, I guess.

In 2007 I was a true purist, sticking strictly to a hundred-mile limit for every ingredient. By the time the week was over I had learned much about what is and isn't produced in our region, and how hard can be to find out where a food comes from due to a lack of interest or (worse) deliberate obfuscation on the part of certain retailers.

In 2008 I volunteered to keep an Eat Local blog for the Mail Tribune (not Foodlandia; this was a different one on the MT site just for that week and since deleted from the archives), again keeping my promise to eat exclusively local despite a debilitating caffeine withdrawal headache (no joke; it was dismal) and the privations of no olive oil, salt, or vinegar. That year also brought two sets of houseguests during the week, so we had big barbecues and Britt picnics to raise the difficulty level. It was also the year I learned to make my own feta and mozzarella through the fantastic cheese-making class at Pholia goat farm in Rogue River.

Last year I had begun this blog, and I wrote a post on it explaining my newly personalized rules and exceptions for my very own version of Eat Local 2009. The radius for the official Thrive event had been extended to 200 miles, which was great because now I could get fish and even salt, but one of the critical eating local lessons I'd already learned was about me - that I'm not all that willing to give up coffee, olive oil, lemons, salt, or vinegar. But I also knew that with a few allowances, a locavore can do very well in the Rogue Valley in September. And again it was a good experience.

But why do it again for a fourth year? Because attitudes are changing and (hallelujah!) interest in local food sources is growing. That means that foods are being grown here that were not available last year. And also because it gives me an immediate reason to try new ways of using local products.

And so now here we are at the end of the week. What's new? Well, grains, mostly. The biggest discovery, thanks to my friend Sara, is Dunbar Farms. Who would have thought that someone was growing wheat and making flour with it right here in my own neighborhood? David Mostue is running Dunbar Farms on the land first planted with pear orchards by his great-great-uncle at the turn of the last century. The place is named after David's grandfather Dunbar Carpenter, a great Medford philanthropist as well as orchardist (and Harvard graduate in economics). David is experimenting with traditional farming methods and a variety of crops. The family business includes a winery as well, and I wish them the best with all of it. If you want to buy David's produce (in-season vegetables of various kinds, eggs, flour, sometimes bread made with the flour, and wine) you need to get on his email list to place weekly orders for Friday pickup. I heard that he has also just begun to sell at the Growers Market but unfortunately my job keeps me from getting there on Thursday mornings to check it out.

A few days ago the Mail Tribune ran this intriguing article about a local grower of amaranth and other ancient grains. I searched unsuccessfully for Hi Hoe grains on my next trip to the co-op; later when I reread the article more carefully I saw that they were out of stock for the year. The new crop will be in stores later this fall. While I was looking, though, I noticed that Bob's Red Mill up in Milwaukee Oregon is now selling one pound bags of teff, another ancient grain; I sense that some injera experimentation is in my near future.

So here is a photo of my favorite local dinner this week. The colors actually look a little gruesome - that's what I get for using a flash instead of natural light - so you'll just have to trust me that in person the dish is most appetizing. It's eggs poached in the leftover juice and olive oil from a batch of pomodori al forno, served on a mound of sauteed collard greens, served with soft goat cheese spread on toasted slices of bread I made using Dunbar Farms flour. All local except the olive oil, and almost all from our own back yard.


And for dessert: peach cobbler made with peaches from the farmer's market and back yard raspberries, sweetened with a little Rogue Valley honey, and Dunbar pastry flour in the topping. Except for the baking powder, all local.

By the way, our hens celebrated Eat Local week by laying their very first eggs. Here is Helia's first effort. Isn't it beautiful? (thank you, Helia!)

Hey Eugene

Last weekend Alekka and I loaded our faithful pooch Bailey into the car for a quick trip up to Eugene in search of non-Medford back-to-school shopping, and to pay a visit to Alice. Alice has lived in Eugene for eight years now and I've been wanting to spend time with her on her home turf.

With Bailey comfortably ensconced in Alice's backyard, the humans headed out to Valley River Center for a full-on fashion fling at Forever 21, with me and Alice performing the all-important hanger-holding and opinion-offering functions. There is nothing quite like an afternoon of watching a middle-schooler questing for black and white vertical stripe pants to work up an appetite.

Alice has been wanting to try out a place called Belly that opened across from Fifth Street Market in the fall of 2008. She forwarded an article to me that included an interview with the chef/owners in which they expressed their commitment to the "snout to tail" philosophy, something that interests us both. There are a few restaurants like this in Portland, but Belly is the closest to home that I've heard about.

Alice tried to make a reservation but learned they only do that for parties of 4 or more, so we just headed over there when we'd had enough of the mall. By the time we arrived at about 8:00, the dinner rush was over and we got the last indoor table with no waiting. There were a few tables outside but I hadn't thought to bring a jacket; another time it would be nice to sit there (but beware, the train tracks run right next to the building and that train is LOUD when it comes through).

The menu, which changes monthly, is divided into appetizers, salads, small entrees, and larger entrees, with a separate dessert menu. Alice and I were somewhat disappointed (Alekka less so) to find little evidence of the snout-to-tail concept. There was a duck liver paté in the starters, chorizo with clams, and a house-made boudin blanc in the mains, but that was the extent of the innards. Perhaps "specialty meats" turned out not to be not so much a Eugene thing. However, the menu choices were varied and intriguing.

We started with two appetizers to share: duck liver and Madeira paté (served with dry-bread crackers, cornichons, bright green Castelvetrano olives, and pickled onion) and bacon-wrapped fresh figs with apple cider gastrique, toasted hazelnuts and a bit of radicchio. I have to admit that I have never met a duck liver paté I didn't like (with one notable exception, but that was due to morning sickness and not the paté itself, which under normal circumstances would undoubtedly have been delicious; unfortunately it ruined my interest in paté for duration of that particular visit to Paris). Belly's paté was smooth and rich. The figs were likewise more than satisfactory - warm, sweet, smoky, and salty, with a sauce that tasted like apple honey. Alekka was not excited about our appetizer selections but she did enjoy a few crackers and olives.

The relatively pedestrian salad offerings didn't spark any interest so next up were entrees. Alice and I had already ordered a bottle of white wine to share so although the Tunisian lamb stew with eggplant, harissa and herbed farro sounded wonderful I opted instead for halibut quenelles with crayfish sauce. This turned out to be the French classic quenelles de brochet with sauce Nantua except that here the brochet (pike) was replaced with more local halibut. The quenelles were light and the sauce was rich and creamy, just as they should be.

Alice chose pan-roasted Chinook salmon with sautéed cabbage, bacon and corn with a brown-butter sauce. Alice was a little surprised to find that the salmon (which she pronounced done to perfection) was served atop a mound of mashed potatoes instead of rice, but she enjoyed the two together with the browned butter. The vegetable accompaniment was also noteworthy.

For her entree, Alekka selected duck leg confit with red quinoa and fried green apple. Alekka adores duck breast the way we make it at home: rare with a crispy brown skin. I was worried that this dish might be too well cooked to meet her expectations and I tried to steer her toward a more familiar skirt steak with onion rings, but she was undeterred. Turns out I was wrong: she loved the duck, which was topped with a fatty lid of crispy skin and fried apple wedges. There was a lot of quinoa, which Alice and I were happy to finish off for her.

The portions are not huge, but generous enough that I couldn't consider dessert. Alice and Alekka were both up for a little more, though, so I got to try a bite of each of theirs. Our enthusiastic and informed waiter recommended the ice cream sandwich made with banana ice cream and sugar cookies, with the edges rolled in chopped bacon and served with caramel sauce. Alice went for that one. Alekka chose a triple-chocolate tart. Both were excellent, although the I think the ice cream sandwich would have been improved with slightly softer cookies. The tart didn't look very chocolaty when it arrived, but it turned out that beneath the light color on top the interior was dense and dark and very satisfying.

I have to say, the bacon trope is getting a little tired. I am pretty sure that not everything is better with bacon ( some of you will remember a similar thing going on with garlic in the 80s - chocolate dipped garlic cloves are not actually a very good idea, and yes, I did eat those at an upscale restaurant on our honeymoon in 1986) . But although we had bacon in our appetizer and one of the entree sides as well as in a dessert, it was a welcome addition every time. I guess you have to expect a bit of bacon in a restaurant with this logo.

The next morning we set out in search of some local color, and coffee. Alice recommended the Wandering Goat, located on the edge of the Whiteaker neighborhood. Dog-friendly coffeehouse by day, indie punk band venue by night, this place was perfect for the latte (with artistic foam, even!), mocha, and hot chocolate we needed to start the day - not to mention excellent people-watching. The Wandering Goat gets points for serving their 16 ounce hot drinks in heavy oversized breakfast cups instead of disposable paper to-go cups. They also sell organic bagels and pastries, many of them vegan, which are made on the premises.

Afterwards we took a walk around the Whiteaker. If I were to move to Eugene, this is where I would want to be. We weren't hungry yet but Alice highly recommends Sweet Life Patisserie for its rich and elegant pastries.

Our next stop was downtown, which is looking a little livelier after a post-mall slump in the 90s and early 2000s. A recent addition is an outpost of Voodoo Donuts, a Portland favorite that (speaking of the bacon thing) I've written bout before. Alice reports that in the first days after their Eugene opening, the line reached down the block and the store sold out of donuts within just a couple of hours. Now things have settled down a bit and we had only to wait a few minutes for our Old-fashioned (me), Jelly-filled (Alice), and Bubblegum (Alekka)(yuck).

A visit to Eugene is not complete without a stop at Trader Joe's. My list of TJ essentials has gotten shorter with time, but two-buck Chuck is still a good deal (even though it's three bucks in Oregon). And there are also those (rather disgusting, IMHO) Gummy-Tummy Penguins that Nik likes to abuse. That should give him something to look forward to after his month in Greece. The poor child. More on that later.

By the way, these are the pants - not to be found anywhere in Eugene.

A cup of twee

The famed Oregon Shakespeare Festival is based in the little town of Ashland, just eight miles to the south of us. OSF is the 57.14-stone gorilla of Rogue Valley tourism, drawing in many thousands of theater-loving visitors who stay in Ashland's bed and breakfast inns and eat in Ashland's numerous fine restaurants (OSF's total annual economic impact for Oregon in 2008: $168 million).

Shakespeare is the original reason for our theater season, and even though these days more than half the festival's productions are authored by diverse playwrights and include many new and multicultural works, Ashland does tend toward an English theme. Heraldic festival banners line the main street, and there is enough faux Tudor architecture to please a faerie queen. Downtown awnings sport business names like Puck's Doughnuts, Shakespeare Books, The Crown Jewel, Bloomsbury Books, Black Sheep British Pub (do check that place out if you're in town), Unicorn Gifts, and even Renaissance Chiropractic. Not to mention all those B&Bs: A Cowslip's Belle, A Midsummer's Dream, Albion, Tudor House, Anne Hathaway's Cottage, Arden Forest, Romeo Inn, Shrew's House, Stratford Inn, Bard's Inn, Winchester Inn, Windsor Inn, and Under the Greenwood Tree.

So when an old friend emailed me last spring about starting a reading and study group dedicated to Shakespeare's plays, it was an easy choice. What else can you do when you live in a hotbed of anglophilism?

For our first meeting, Sue invited us to bring our families to her house for dinner and a viewing of the new Royal Shakespeare Company Hamlet - two of us had drama-major children who were home for the summer, which made for a lively and informed discussion.

For our regular summer meetings, though, it seemed the best time for just the three of us to get together was going to be late afternoons. Teatime! (what a book geek, I can't look at that word without hearing Teh-a-tim-ay in my head.)

Anyway, teatime. When my sister and I hitchhiked through Britain in 1981, we (like a lot of first-time visitors) fell in love with afternoon tea. We made it a point to sample tea rooms all over the island. So civilized! We marveled at the clotted cream, sugar tongs, and doilies in Devonshire, Cambridge, and Harrod's in London - and we swore we'd have tea every day at 4:00 when we got back to California.

Like the old gods, such pledges don't transfer easily to the New World. I did find a good recipe for scones, and I've often made them for breakfast with company and to bring to Unitarian coffee hour, but I never did get around to hosting a tea party... until now.

Shakespeare certainly never indulged in a formal afternoon tea - in fact, he would not have drunk tea at all, since it wasn't popular in England until the late 1600s, long after he died. And tea as a light late-afternoon meal wasn't invented until the Duchess of Bedford desired a way to relieve "that sinking feeling" when dinner was still hours away, in the mid-1800s.

Be that as it may, in Sara's garden for our second Shakespeare meeting, a table loaded with tea sandwiches, scones with strawberry jam and lemon curd, and a delicious flourless chocolate cake accompanied our serious examination of Henry IV part 1.

This month it was my turn (for Twelfth Night), and we agreed on tea again. I polished the antique silver candy dish, cut some roses from the garden, and brought out my grandmother's china. Then I made egg salad sandwiches on buttered bread (with the crusts cut off, of course); banana bread; and a summer pudding (for recipe link see this post) with creme fraiche.

Sara arrived with a basket of her poppyseed muffins (made with white flour grown and milled right here in Medford, at Dunbar Farms! An important piece of information for our upcoming Eat Local week - more on that another day); Sue brought a tray of adorable little openface cucumber sandwiches. Add plenty of Earl Grey with all the accompaniments (milk, sugar, lemon) - and we did eventually get around to talking about the play.

How very civilized indeed. But that Duchess of Bedford must have had some metabolism. For my part, I think I'm going to skip dinner.

Here's my grandmother's recipe for banana bread; I've been making it since I was 8 years old and it's still my favorite. Shakespeare didn't any more eat banana bread than he drank Darjeeling, but I hear both are popular choices at tea time in England these days.

Banana Bread

2 C flour

1 t baking soda

1/2 C butter (or margarine, if you must)

1 C sugar

2 large eggs

2 average size overripe bananas, mashed

1/3 c buttermilk, or 1/3 C milk curdled by adding 1 t lemon juice or white vinegar

3/4 C chopped walnuts (optional, but I always add them)

Cream butter and sugar well; blend in eggs. Mix in mashed bananas.

In a separate bowl, stir baking soda into flour.

Add dry ingredients and buttermilk to creamed mixture, in halves, alternately. Do not overmix.

Bake in a greased loaf pan at 350 degrees for 60 to 70 minutes.

Burgertron

The Victorians gave us the Bunsen Burger...

the 20th century saw the advent of Burgermatic...

now, in 2010, we are witness to the dawning of the age of

BURGERTRON

Last weekend we went to visit our boy Kosta in Berkeley, where after one more semester he will graduate with a double major in physics and astrophysics. Definitely the brains of the family, that one.

We caught up with him late Thursday night at Lothlorien Hall (which, as a long-held bastion of vegetarianism in the Berkeley co-op system, seemed an unlikely venue for this sort of activity) Kosta and his friend Nick were doing the final tweaking of Burgertron 2.0.

The Burgertron started as a final project for Nick's Basic Semiconductor Circuits class last semester. Kosta was in on it from the beginning, though, and the two of them collaborated on both the hardware (mostly scrap wood, two old toaster ovens, bicycle chains, lots of little relays, and wire) and software (LabVIEW).

So the idea is, you put a raw hamburger patty on a little metal flap, and the two halves of a bun on another little flap, and then you push the start button on the computer screen. Through the magic of computer programming and electronic gadgetry, the flaps drop to deposit the components onto a conveyor belt which then carries them to the heat units. They broil for the programmed period of time, then continue on to the end of the line where they slide down a ramp and are automatically assembled in the familiar bun-patty-bun configuration.

You MIGHT be thinking, why spend hundreds of hours inventing something that the fast food industry perfected decades ago? And which can be accomplished better and faster with a barbecue grill and a spatula?

Well, you MIGHT be a no-fun party pooper. Kosta says it's worth it just to see people's looks when he wheels the contraption across town in his free-piled jogging stroller (scavenged specifically for the purpose).

"Hey man, is that a TIME MACHINE?" It's a point of pride to be able to garner funny looks in a seen-it-all town like Berkeley.

This week the Burgertron was transported to its new permanent home in Kingman Hall, where it will debut as the guest chef at an upcoming barbecue.

An early trial run, in the physics lab on campus. The young man you see in the video is Nick - Kosta and some other students are the off-camera voices.

Aioli

Mmm... aioli. It's like a hollandaise sauce, only Provencal-style, made with oil instead of butter (so it's good for you!) and a lot of garlic. I love the stuff as a sauce for grilled or poached fish or for roasted potatoes. And it's fantastic at the center of a platter of vegetables for dipping. You can also use it on sandwiches, like mayonnaise.

When I first started making aioli in the 80s I made it by hand, mashing the garlic with some salt in a mortar, then whisking the oil in by droplets. Now I cheat a little bit and use the food processor. Yes, the texture is slightly different (that little blade goes much faster than my whisk ever could) but the flavor is the same. And I get a whole lot less upset if the sauce breaks and I have to start over.

There are plenty of recipes for food processor or blender aioli on the Internet. Just don't fall for anything that's made by mixing garlic paste into store-bought mayonnaise. It is not the same thing at all - mayo in a jar might be tasty in mom's potato salad, but it's a far cry from its French namesake.

This size batch will work best if you use a small food processor. The recipe will be fine in a larger machine if you double it.

Aioli

Two raw egg yolks
Three large cloves garlic
1/4 t salt
1/2 t lemon juice
1-1/2 C oil (I like 1 C canola plus 1/2 C extra virgin olive oil)

Blend the egg yolks, garlic, salt, and lemon juice in the food processor until light lemon yellow and there are no more garlic chunks. Have the oil in a container with a pouring spout (like a Pyrex measuring cup) so can easily regulate the amount you pour. With the food processor going, pour the oil in through the feed tube in the thinnest possible stream. Keep going until the oil is all in. The result should be a thick, semi-solid substance. If it is too thick for your purposes you can thin it with a little water. You can also add more lemon juice and salt to taste.

Sometimes the sauce "breaks", meaning that it curdles and separates. This will happen if you add the oil too fast, but it can also happen for more mysterious reasons: I've read that too much humidity in the air can cause it. If the sauce does break, you should be able to fix it. Take everything out of the food processor and put it in a bowl. Put another egg yolk in the food processor and blend it by itself. Use a strainer to fish out the more solid bits from the broken sauce and blend them into the egg yolk. Take the liquid portion of the broken sauce and put it back in your measuring cup and add it like you did the first time, in a very thin stream. That should do the trick.

For a delicious variation, make rouille: add 1 t Hungarian sweet paprika, 1 t ground cayenne pepper, and 1/2 t saffron threads to the yolks along with the garlic, salt, and lemon at the beginning of the procedure. The result is an addictively spicy orange-pink sauce that is traditionally served with bouillabaisse and other Provencal fish dishes. It's great on swordfish.

(Note: There are raw eggs in these recipes, so be careful about where they come from - those factory farmed eggs aren't just bad news for the chickens)

So long and thanks for all the fish (part 2)

Seafood status: It's Complicated.

I'm sure you've noticed the changes at the fish counter. Where there used to be the local catch of the day, now the fish is flash-frozen and flown in from all over the world. Once-familiar varieties are missing or have skyrocketed in price. Many of the fish are farm-raised. There are new kinds of fish you've never heard of before. Plus there's all the news about mercury, and maybe the President feels confident eating Gulf shrimp, but I'm not so sure I want to drink BP's milkshake. What does all this mean? I knew I was woefully uninformed, so I recently started looking into it. I can't say I like what I've learned.

It was my plan today to do a whole polemic about gillnetting, longlining, and irresponsible aquaculture, but I decided to spare you the gory details, dear reader. If you want a clear explanation of different types of fishing methods their impact, check this out. And if you want to read some really good arguments about why you shouldn't eat fish at all, I refer you again to Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer.

But I don't want to give up fish any more that I want to give up beef. And (unlike beef) there are lots of good reasons, mostly to do with health, for eating fish - maybe not the big slow-growing fish like tuna, that accumulate heavy metals, but at least the little sardines and anchovies and - what else? I don't actually know. Guess I'd better do some more research. I'm going to start by reading Paul Greenberg's book Four Fish, about how we all need to expand our seafood palates for the good of the oceans. Here's the author being interviewed on NPR.

Also, here's a handy database with a search function for checking if a food fish is a good or bad choice. It seems like a tool like this should make things very simple, but the matter is complicated by the fact that you still need to know how the fish was caught or raised. While fish packaging now is required to show the country of origin as well as whether it was farm-raised or wild, the labelling doesn't get into enough detail. This is where the politics come in. I'm thinking that it's important to ask a lot of questions at the supermarket so they know that this stuff matters to their customers.

Here's an interesting document from Greenpeace that shows how well different large supermarket chains do in terms of offering sustainable fish. Surprisingly, Target comes out on top (it would never occur to me to buy fish at Target, and there are some excellent reasons to not buy anything there at all right now); Safeway is doing well, though I think it's important to remember that this is an average number, and not everything there is OK. I was surpised that Trader Joe's did so poorly, though they are showing a lot of improvement. Costco, not surprisingly, earns an epic fail.

I was pretty excited a few weeks ago when I discovered the packages of salmon bits and pieces at $3 per pound at Food 4 Less. I bought a load of them when they were available and stuck them in the freezer. We've been using them all summer in stirfry and to make burgers - but now I see that they are farm-raised and therefore seriously uncool. Sigh. Well I'd bought them already, and so I used them. I guess now I'll be asking at the fish counter where the wild salmon bits and pieces can be found.

Those last salmon ends got made into salmon burgers, served on toasted baguette slices with homemade aioli, arugula, tomato, and red onion.

Making salmon burgers is really easy. First (very important) get some wild salmon, or some salmon raised in tanks with recirculating systems. Make sure to remove any bones and skin then chop the salmon by pulsing it in the food processor. Mix in some dijon mustard and some minced garlic, and a little salt - you can use other ingredients, too, like onions, spices, lemon, parsley, sesame oil, teriyaki sauce - then grill on the stove or barbecue.

(This post is) so long, and thanks for all the fish (part 1)

Last night during dinner there was a knock on the door.  It was Jeff Golden canvassing the neighborhood to tell folks about his campaign for county commissioner.  I complain about small-town Medford a lot, but the flip side is that it's nice to live in a place where politicians come out to talk to you personally.   And when they'll sit down at your table and share your tomatoes (one of Jeff's big issues is strengthening the Rogue Valley's local food network) I'm all for that.  We didn't see this happening in L.A.

We'll vote for Jeff - he's a good guy.  He has to share lawn-sign space in our yard with Lynn Howe, who is running for state representative.  Andreas volunteers regularly on Howe's phone bank but I don't do very much political volunteering these days - I just attend the occasional rally or fundraiser.  But I used to be pretty involved in political campaigns.

Thanks to a speechwriter friend, in the summer of 1982 I landed a job on the Washington staff of Walter Mondale’s doomed bid for the 1984 presidency.  Remember Fritz?



I started my short career in D.C. as a researcher for Mondale's political action committee, the Committee for the Future of America.  CFA disbanded when the campaign got rolling and soon I was hired on at Mondale for President.  Job title: Messenger.  It was probably the coolest job I've ever had. 

Every morning I walked from my digs at Dupont Circle all the way out to the Mondale offices in Georgetown.  There I'd get a list of assignments - deliver this, pick up that - that took me to offices on the Hill, mansions in Chevy Chase and Georgetown, newsrooms, consulates, law offices, everywhere around metropolitan Washington.  I travelled on foot and by taxi.  I usually checked in at HQ at noon to pick up a round of afternoon jobs.  It was a blast. 

All good things must come to an end. Eventually the operations boss worked out that it would be cheaper to get me a car and driver than to pay for all those taxicab rides.  Sadly, I didn't so much enjoy spending my whole workday with Al-the-Driver and so I asked to transfer to an indoor job in the fundraising department.  That was fun, too - lots of parties - but not quite as good as being out and about in the city every day.

During my time as messenger there were a few assignments amid the routine rounds of senators and press offices that stood out.  One made me laugh out loud when I saw it in my in-box, because it came with no explanation.  Yes sir, I'll get right on that...

I took a cab over to the Mondale's house, where Mrs. Mondale met me and handed me a package wrapped in white butcher paper.  I hopped back in the waiting taxi and sped off to the designated address.  A uniformed housekeeper answered the doorbell.  I informed her the package was from the Mondales, and she took it away (to the kitchen, I hope).  Mission accomplished.

A good undercover agent doesn't ask questions, but I'm not a good undercover agent (one of my housemates at that time worked for the NSA - we used to tease him to try to get him to tell us what he did at work that day, but he would smile his tight-lipped little smile and say "sorry."  I would have caved right away).  It turns out that a fish caught by the former VP had been auctioned off at a Democratic fundraiser (Mr. Mondale is an avid fisherman), and Mrs. Abell (who once upon a time had been President Lyndon Johnson's social secretary) had placed the winning bid.

So that was a pretty roundabout way of getting to today's culinary topic, which was going to be fish.  Because, like everything else these days, fish is political.  But now I've nattered on so long that I think I'll save the fish part for tomorrow.  It's kind of depressing, anyway, so be forewarned.