When you’re two years old, a long winter has taken up a
sizable percentage of your time on the planet; and my two-year-old grandson was
ecstatic about the coming of spring. On
the phone to Annette, he exclaimed, “Nannie, the grass is here! Indeed it is, and it was time for us to break
out of hibernation and go to Mattapoisett for sauerkraut.
I’d asked The Foodie Pilgrim if he was going to be near the
famous Morse’s Sauerkraut, but the grass has not yet emerged in Waldoboro,
Maine, and the Pilgrim had no immediate plans to venture that far up Route 1.
Still his knowledge of the food resources of New England is encyclopedic, and
he told me I could score creditable sauerkraut at How on Earth in
Mattapoisett.
It was a pleasant trip. The snow had melted except in sheltered
places and grimy piles in parking lots.
Many of the ponds had open areas where water sparkled for the first time
in months. A sharp wind was blowing in
from Buzzard’s Bay when we pulled into the How on Earth parking area. Hurrying inside, we found a good selection of
fine New England foodstuffs, and from the refrigerator case we picked up a jar
of Real Pickles Organic Sauerkraut.
It’s naturally fermented by a small, worker-owned
cooperative using cabbage from family farms in Massachusetts and Vermont. As we
made our way home through the thawing countryside, we had our start toward the
Reuben sandwiches we hungered for.
St. Patrick’s Day had been duly celebrated, and as is our
custom, we corned our own beef. It’s not
difficult to do. You need a large
zippered plastic bag, salt and spices, a couple of culinary bricks to weigh
down a chunk of brisket in your refrigerator, and the persistence to turn the
meat daily and massage it with the rub. Julia
Child has a good recipe in The Way to
Cook.
I stopped into The Hearth Bakery in Plymouth for a loaf of pumpernickel
bread, and then rounded up ingredients for homemade Russian dressing. I was out of the house just before the meal
was to occur, and when I returned I found Annette had riffed on the Reubens.
We should have a kitchen data recorder that saves the details,
not of disasters, but of creative inspirations that visit her when she opens
the refrigerator door. It’s sad that recipes of these strokes of genius are
lost to humanity, but although I won’t get exactly the same experience ever
again, I’m comforted in the knowledge that she can keep coming up with surprises
that are just as good.
She rejected the
Cains pickle relish I’d picked up that day as being too sweet. We’ll save the
jar for hot dogs this summer. For the
dressing she chopped some of my martini olives, some parsley, and onions. Still avoiding sweetness, she rejected Heinz and
chose an exotic brand of hot and spicy ketchup she found in the door of the
fridge. She mixed these into a
mayonnaise base, adding added a shake or two of Worcestershire sauce, and a
squirt of horseradish cream from the plastic container. Having avoided the
sugar, she didn’t need the lemon juice Martha Stewart called for in the recipe
I’d downloaded that afternoon.
The leftover corned beef was a little dry from its time in
the fridge so she sliced it as thinly as she could, sprinkled it with water
from the tips of her fingers, wrapped it in aluminum foil, and steamed it in
the oven. It melted in our mouths. Reuben
sandwiches are made with Swiss cheese, and she used some Raclette, which is the
famous melting cheese of Switzerland, although ours was made in France. She
added the sauerkraut, buttered the bread, spread dressing on each slice, and
grilled the sandwiches.
They were slightly unorthodox but absolutely heavenly. I may not have the exact recipe, but the
memory will linger for a long time.
