flavors saved my life pt. 1

In the German language there are two words synonymous with our English word “experience”. There is Erlebnis referring to a physical sensation, something that is happening to you and Erfahrung which serves as your understanding of your past and the perception which shapes your present. I read about this in an art history book and am not a student of this language so I don’t know what the Germans have to say about the word “taste”. There are a few definitions of that word in English too that I think nestle nicely into the German understanding of experience. The immediacy of perceiving a flavor through your mouth, nose, and brain feels more Erlebnis to me and whether or not we appreciate it in the catalog of things that we like feels more Erfahrung.  I like this because in the moment of tasting (taking a small amount of food or drink to your mouth, yet another definition of taste) the distinctions become less clear and it almost feels appropriate that we have one word for this whole thing. 

Hugh Johnson, author of the influential World Atlas of Wine and natural wine skeptic, says in addition to being worthwhile, communicating that moment is not easy “What is much harder than appreciating wine is communicating its sensations. There is no notation of taste, as there is of sound or colour, apart from the words sweet, salt, sour, and bitter every word in the language is borrowed from the other senses. And yet giving another identity to sensations helps to clarify them.” I think that we exchange a lot of words between the senses in English, but think his point stands, which is that it is hard and like other hard things requires practice.

In hospitality it’s your job to usher someone through processing of what you’ve sold them, it’s fun and feels valuable to both parties though I’m too confused at present to tell you why this actually is. When I managed a restaurant I wrote a little document to help facilitate discussions about the dishes we would taste. It was one of those restaurants where the food changed a lot and we were often trying something that was unfinished and rushing to dot the i’s and cross the t’s before service. This was written in 2017 and I think I would add some things now, mostly about learning the history of cookery and where dishes come from. This is probably why I wrote that dry piece about dry bread, which is good by the way and I still think you should make it. However, I will offer this older idea unchanged because, whatever, it seems easier to approach like this. While it was written for food it could be for wine too, kind of:

How to Taste Food

Textures: one? multiple how do they interact? are they layered and fused? or experienced in sequence?

Temperature: same questions

Flavors: what do you taste and how do the texture and temperature affect your perception of flavor?

Emotional Stuff:

-does it remind you of food that you know in other contexts?

-does it satisfy a craving you had or didn’t know you had (like thinking about the weather and stuff)? did you experience something new? if so, where did that newness come from? what does that inspire (if anything)? imagined worlds, future culture, etc.

-basically what kind of person does the food make you see yourself as? is there a moment that makes your heart jump and what contributed to it?

maybe: does it leave you wanting something? if so can you identify it?

These questions got people talking in a way where they could connect the taste they were experiencing to their past and build on their spectrum of things to pull from. New people were always quiet, it takes a lot of confidence to speak in this gray area that is neither wholly objective or subjective. The more we talked together though the more fluid conversation became and the less we had to refer to conversation starters. It felt like we could help each other pull those words out of our bodies. Some days you would find something you didn’t know was there or hadn’t already registered as pleasurable. Other days you realize you just don’t have the capacity to understand something presently. And then there’s another kind of day when you encounter something familiar and beloved and you’re not challenged at all and it’s quite comforting. 

Thank you to everyone that’s shared beautiful tasting notes and drawings. I appreciate your vulnerability and I learn so much from you. If anyone ever wants someone to talk to about something they are tasting, food or wine DM @rainbow_wines we’ll work it out together. You can place an order in the shop Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays before 5 and expect your wine the same day.

-Emily

feeling weird, turning to rhubarb

 I’ve been having a pretty tough time of it lately. When you look out the window and see flurries of snow during a Chicago April or May day you can start to feel a little deflated about the progress of the season, and when you’re already feeling deflated about your personal progress, that can doubly weigh you down.

 

In these redbud winter days, I turn to my old friend rhubarb, a pink food that resists easy categorization. I have always had a sour tooth, and from the time I first tried rhubarb as a pre-teen, I loved it. I also liked how it was kind of weird (vegetable you treat like a fruit, poisonous leaves, requires cooking to be palatable) because I felt like a weird kid, and now I feel like a weird adult.

 

Back then I loved to bake, so that was its main application. I love Rhubarb in a pound cake, but one of my favorite sweet rhubarb recipes is a recent one by Melissa Clark– these rhubarb custard bars.

 

In the last few years rhubarb has taken on some more savory uses for me. It changes over time– often becoming more vegetal when harvested in warmer weather. The stalks are more tender and delicately flavored in these early days.  It keeps for about 2 weeks in the fridge, so I don’t stress out as much as with some other fresh fruits about using it right away.

 

 

I used to think of rhubarb as a harbinger of spring that I would buy once or twice in March or April and make something sweet and that’s it.

 

I am still really excited at the first sight of rhubarb, but lately I may notice the end of the season more than the start. In the midwest the last rhubarb is usually harvested in late June or July, often coinciding with the strawberry season.  Then you know it’s really summer, and that you’ve come out of the cold and reached the mirage, to paraphrase Joan Didion. It’s true what she says, « it’s easy to see the beginning of things, and harder to see the ends. » The fade out of the rhubarb run in June makes visible the passage of spring, and the hard-won arrival of summer.

 

 

 

Rhubarb Sauce

Nice with pancakes, also pork chops, tenderloin or belly.

 

Wash rhubarb and chop into 1 inch pieces. Place cut fruit in a saucepan and add water, just enough to cover the rhubar

b. For every stalk of rhubarb or so, add a tablespoon of sugar or honey. Bring to a boil then turn down heat to a simmer. You don’t have to do much stirring. Cook until rhubarb breaks apart completely and serve.

 

 

Rhubarb Quick Pickle

delicious addition to any salad, or as a giardineria-style friend for cheese and charcuterie

 

Cut rhubarb into thin (about quarter inch slices) and put in a small bowl or jar.

 

Heat a wine vinegar, water, sugar, salt and a couple of black peppercorns in a saucepan. For every two rhubarb stalks or so use 1 cup of vinegar, 1/2 c water, 1/2 c sugar and 1 teaspoon of salt. Heat until the sugar and salt is just disolved. Pour over the rhubarb. Let sit. Once it’s at room temp, cover and keep in fridge and use within a week.

For a nice salad: get some escarole or other sturdy, bitter green, some sheep or goat feta, some pistachios and have a fun salad art time arrange them all mixed into little composed nooks on a plate, drizzle with the pickling liquid and some olive oil. I wanted to take another picture in better light but then i ate it, it was really satisfying to snack on. 

                                                  

 

 

There’s several new wines in ! We have some very exciting new Georgian wines in the store this week – three new orange wines and one cherry-juice red. They are utterly perfect for an afternoon glass on a brisk spring day.

 

We also added a stunning orange wine from another planet, Les Oeillets from Jean Yves Péron. Then there's also the unequivicaolly delicious Vermut from Partida Creus. Order it and get a bottle of sparkling water (one of the best, it's called Agua de Piedra) with your purchase. Easy spritz, sweet and tart just like your rhubarb. 

 

 

Find them all in the shop.

We are here for all your thoughts, questions and concerns about cooking and drinking on these mercurial spring days. Email rainbowwinechi@gmail.com or DM @rainbow_wines anytime -  we love to hear from you. 

- Cub

thank you Yvonne Rainer thank you Rachel Roddy

 Yvonne Rainer wrote about what dancing is to her in a letter to her brother Ivan, and subsequently published it in her autobiography feelings are facts: a life. Like most writing about other things it reminded me of service and is so under my skin I thought I’d share it here.

“Dance =

1. A way out of an emotional dilemma.
2. A place where the training period is so long and arduous as to almost indefinitely postpone a coming to grips with things like purpose and aesthetic or vocational direction.
3. A place that offers some rare moments of rightness (that word again; I think it is equivalent to joy, or ‘fitness’ i.e., things fit).
4. Something that makes my throat fill up.
5. Something to do every day.
6. A way of life, where most other things in life assume a lesser importance and value.
7. Something that offers an identity: ‘I am a dancer,’ also ‘I am a hard worker, I work my ass off in class in spite of being handicapped by a crazy Rainer body.’ The virtue of hard work, salvation through sweat, is very important here. I am sure most dancers are martyrs of one variety or another.”

I’m not alone in seeing this relationship I think? A friend of mine who pursued undergraduate studies in dance while working at a restaurant was inspired by Rainer too. Her final project was choreographed through her experience as commissary baker and restaurant host. While I’m no dancer I see the choreography of the restaurant clearly. Each person with their own style, bringing themselves to the pans, the dish pit, the pass, the door as part of a loosely structured piece with many participants; what is inevitably called the service. Losing my body’s work last year hurt in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Reading Rainer’s words helps locate that pain. The loss of a coping mechanism, those moments of rightness, the full throat/full heart that comes with those moments of rightness, routine, a way of life and of how you have cared for others, and your identity, intertwined with hard work. I felt it a lot, I still feel it some weeks. But with the location of the pain points comes ways to soothe them.

One of these ways is cooking from Rachel Roddy’s weekly column “A kitchen in Rome” for the Guardian. I look forward to it every Monday. I love her writing that precedes them, always so much meat on the bone. About olive oil, salt, lemons, things that already shaped the cooking of my household. They also shape the way I approach this writing. The recipes always have just a few ingredients and steps, allowing me to feel the weight of all of my gestures. It’s so easy to dig into the nuances of the recipe, find it for my kitchen. Asking myself how I want the bacon to eat or how noticeable the onions should be. My knife work is changed, it still lacks a chef’s precision but is more harmonious with the dish, with consideration to the effect of the preparation of the dish. The more I repeat any cooking task with empathy the more my intention shifts to my intuition and the more my identity shifts from restaurant professional to home cook.

The most successful dish I have made from her column is a bean and clam soup. I had both beans and clams in my freezer at the time so it took 15 minutes. It was served with toast and salad and I think could be a good time to bring it back as it fits our emotionally confusing season nicely. We drank Chenin blanc which I thought was perfect but did start a little argument in our house about culturally appropriate pairings. I say, you’re eating clams in Chicago and all the wine is imported so you make your own culture.

Bean and clam soup (by Rachel Roddy, from A kitchen in Rome)

1 small onion

6 tbsp olive oil

500g cooked beans from your freezer or a can (drained)

1L water

300g fresh clams

1 peeled garlic clove

150ml white wine

In a deep saucepan or casserole, gently fry the onion in four tablespoons of the olive oil until soft and translucent. Add the cooked beans and a liter of water, bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer for 10 minutes.*

Meanwhile, in a frying pan, warm the whole clove of garlic in the remaining two tablespoons of oil for two minutes, add the clams, raise the heat, add the wine and cover. Once you hear the clams opening, lift the lid and remove them with a slotted spoon. When they are all open, remove from the heat and filter the clam liquor. Separate the clam flesh from the shells and set it aside, keeping just a few shells for decoration.

Blend the soup (or half-blend it, if you prefer) until smooth, taste and add enough clam liquor to season. If it seems too thick, add a little water.

Ladle into bowls, top each with some of the clam flesh, a few shells, a pinch of red chilli and a zigzag of olive oil.

*the beans I used had been cooked with coriander, charred lemon, bay, parmesan rind, dry chile, and I think marjoram. Feel free to add whatever extra aromatics inspire you here.

Another Chenin blanc from the shop that I recommend

We should have some Georgian wines from one of our favorite importers in the game Chris Terrell on Thursday, if you’re curious before they go into the shop let us know and we’ll hook you up. Email rainbowwinechi@gmail.com or DM @rainbow_wines.

-Emily

maiale al latte / porc cuit au lait / milk-braised pork

x

There are a few times I’ve cooked a festive dinner for a group of people with little planning, little access to quality ingredients and little available equipment. This weekend’s easter dinner was one of them, and it solidified that this is the recipe I turn to in that instance : maiale al latte, or, pork cooked in milk.

 

This is also a very suitable spring-time braise, whereas many braises are strictly winter for me. First, as Em points out, there's something vernal about milk - about birth/rebirth etc. Also, this doesn't need to be served piping hot. It's nice with the meat cool and the sauce just warm. And finally it works well served alongside green things like asparagus, peas and salad.

And all you need is pork, milk and onion.

A few recipes add other aromatics -  herbs like sage, thyme, rosemary, or lemon zest and chilies – you can add these in your braise with the milk, but I don’t think they are necessary.

 

I have experimented with a few different cuts of pork, depending on what I can find. Pork loin is traditional. You can also use pork shoulder, and cook for 2 hours, which is delicious, but it slices kind of weird for the presentation.

Pork cooked in milk

 

Heat a few tablespoons of neutral oil in a dutch oven or skillet that has a lid. Salt the pork then brown it in the pan on all sides (this takes about 8 minutes). I like to really brown it. Remove the pork to a plate, then add 2-3 yellow onions per pound of meat, peeled and cut in half. Brown the onion a little, then add the pork back. Add milk enough to cover the meat and onions. If you run out of milk you could add a little wine or stock or water. Bring to a boil then turn the heat down to just below a simmer.

 

If using pork loin – cook on stove for 1 hour 30 minutes.

If using pork tenderloin – cook on stove for 45 minutes.

 

After that time, remove pork from pan. Reduce milk sauce for 30 minutes. It will be chunky with milk curds, and the onion will be very soft. Taste the sauce and season with salt.

 

~It is unorthodox – to the extent that I would not call this recipe maiale al latte just because of this step -- but I really like to use a blender or food processor to blitz up the sauce at this point. It takes on a creamy coffee color and is sort of like a soubise, a classic pairing for pork tenderloin. It’s a little…french in its refinement and tradition. If you want to honor the Italian way, just pour the sauce with the chunky curds over the pork at the end. ~

 

Turn on the broiler. Place pork under the broiler. This is just to give a little more color and crispness. Remove from oven, let rest a minute, and slice the pork.

 

Pour sauce on top and serve more sauce on the side.

 

Also :

It can be nice to make a fruit sauce in addition to the milky onion sauce. If you’re in the scenario I’ve been in with little fresh produce, you can get some frozen cranberries or other red fruit, heat in a saucepan with water, add some sugar and thicken over heat. This time of year I love to get some rhubarb and cook that in a little water and sugar and serve that with the pork. Some sliced apples cooked in honey and water would also be nice.

This dish is definitely 'wine food' - it goes well no matter what wine direction you choose. From our online shop, I've personally tried the La Navine Chenin Blanc from Babass. I opened this while I started cooking. It's initial spritz was so refreshing, but there's a deeper, nuttier wine underneath - delicious with the pork. I also recommend the Rosso di Gaetano from Le Coste, served with a chill. That wine IS the red fruit/rhubarb sauce to be friends with the soubise.

We have those wines and many more delicious things to drink throughout the week ahead in the store. Please feel free to email us at rainbowwinechi@gmail.com or DM @rainbowwines on instagram and let us know if you try out this recipe, or any others. We love to hear from you!

-Cub