Confluence!

Chocolate & Espresso: A Confluence

When I was 11 ½ years old, my parents took me on a whirlwind tour of Europe. You know, 16 countries in 28 days, one of those. We went when I was 11 ½ because at 12, I would have been full price. I didn’t care. It was great.

We landed at Southampton, spent a day in London, went to Dover and caught the ferry to the Hook of Holland (That was it for England!).

The problem for an eleven year old on these trips was that you had to have your suitcases outside your room by 6:30 in order to eat a quick breakfast and be on the bus by 7:30. Hellish!

In any case, I survived the ferry crossing and found myself barely awake at breakfast in a gray old hotel in the gray (not old) city of Rotterdam. My dad ordered hot chocolate for me – and my life was forever changed! Not Nestle’s, not even Droste’s. This stuff was pure chocolate and pure cream. Oh, God, was it good. I just sat there and sipped, and slurped, and sipped some more. I ordered a second. I would have ordered a third, but the driver was giving me nasty looks. “Vee vill now go to Belgium, and tomorrow to Germany, and the next day to Switzerland.” Yes vee vill. And everywhere vee go, diss vee is going to order hot chocolate, cause diss hot chocolate is Veddydam good.

At the end of the trip my folks and I tacked on a couple of extra weeks and came back to the Netherlands and spent more time in England and Scotland. That one day just didn’t quite do it.

And yes, we did dress up like the folks in the picture. Actually, we are the folks in the picture. It was our Christmas card picture that year. The studio was in Volendam (and yes, the hot chocolate was Volendam good). After we finished, we asked the photographer if he would take some pictures of us out by the fishing boats with our camera. He said sure, so we went out in drag and stood there. Just about then, a little American boy came running along, yelling for his father, “Daddy, Daddy, come quick, come quick. Here’s a whole family of them.” My father punched me in the ribs with his elbow to shut up. The kid’s father came running, furiously winding his movie camera. We just smiled. I do believe that one of my father’s most fervent dreams was to be shown someone’s movies of their trip to Europe and see us in it. Sadly, it never happened, but that’s true of many dreams, isn’t it?

Well, if the discovery of hot chocolate was one of the highlights of my first European sojourn, the discovery of espresso was the other. It happened this way. We came out of the Austrian Alps down into Italy one afternoon and the bus stopped for a break.

Now, there are about 40 people on this bus and there is one man and one espresso machine in the little place where we stopped. Not only was there one man and one espresso machine, this was 1956 so it was one of those old brass espresso machines with tubes going everywhere.

Those of you who knew my father will have no trouble visualizing this story. For those of you who didn’t, I offer these sound effects. You know the ad that was on TV a couple of years ago for something awful like “International Coffees” probably from Borden’s. The one where the couple offers cappuccinos to their guests, then goes into next room and makes all those Psst, tsssscht, shhhhh, sounds to emulate a machine. They copied my dad! To that he added Chaplinesque gestures from Modern Times – imagine a monkey in front of an espresso machine pulling levers and going Psst, tsssscht, shhhhh, psst, tsssscht, shhhhh. Got it? That’s him. Then he says, “I don’t know why the hell they call it ‘espresso.’ It takes about five minutes (lever pulling, Psst, tsssscht, shhhhh, psst, tsssscht, shhhhh, more lever pulling) and then this guy puts a little tiny cup under there and the thing goes drip, drip, drip, drip. You get about eight drops and then he starts all over again for the next person. OK, one down, 39 to go.”

What was a little crazy making to me was that my dad also said, “Now Peter, you wait until all the adults have been served.” Thirty nine. Thirty eight. Thirty seven… Four (The bus driver glares.) Three. Two. One. Peter! YES! I got one. It was glorious. It was bitter and nasty and strong and unctuous and smooth and foamy and wonderful and unforgettable. Sort of like my dad and his story telling. God, I miss him.

Well, I told you this was a story about confluence. It is.

A couple of weeks ago, I was reading an article in Good Food, the BBC food magazine, about something called Bicerin. Bicerin is a drink sold in a café in Turin with the same name (No, I won’t say eponymous!). Bicerin is basically a glass filled with 1/3 espresso, 1/3 hot chocolate, and 1/3 whipped cream.

CONFLUENCE! The best of all possible worlds. Candide’s garden. Peter’s Nirvana.

Well, the article said that the recipe was a secret, but then presented it’s version. I said, “Yeah, right. I’ll just Google it.” I did, but you know what? Each of the sites that talked about Bicerin said it was, in fact, a secret and then each of the sites proceeded to give its own recipe – each different, sometimes VERY different. For once, Google let me down.

So why should I be different? I have played around with this recipe a bit over the last weeks and have put on a couple of pounds in the process. This is the recipe for what I’m drinking as I write this. But it has been worth it. After all, that’s why they put these little panels in the waistband, isn’t it? Try this one. You may want to get out your wooden shoes and dance a tarantella. Now there’s an image for you!

Recipe for Bicerin

Get some really good dark chocolate. Personally, I love the stuff that is 70% + cocoa, but anything over 50% will do. If you want to be really ethnically pure, you might try the Italian chocolates made by Slitti. They have one that extra-bittersweet at 90% cocoa ( http://www.chocosphere.com/).

Now you have a choice, to go the northern or the southern European route. In the north, hot chocolate is made with milk or half and half (yes, you can add some heavy cream if you want). In Italy, they typically make theirs with water. My assumption is that Café Bicerin uses water.

That being said, melt some chocolate in some hot water until you get something that is still pretty thick, about like chocolate syrup. Now I have no idea whether they do this at Bicerin, but I like to get a little air into my chocolate mixture. You can do this with a handheld blender, a blender, a hand mixer, a whisk, or even a French press coffee maker.

All the recipes I read say to fill a glass or cup 1/3 full with espresso (sweetened if you wish), then add 1/3 of chocolate and top off with 1/3 lightly whipped cream. I sort of like my chocolate on the bottom. It make the last little bit taste more like dessert than breakfast. Try it both ways.

Confluence!

New From The Old

Symphony No. 2 From The Old World, Klaus Wieken

For me, winter is a time for letting restaurant chefs nurture me. In spring and fall, I prefer to do the nurturing, to be at the stove.

But in Europe, spring can be a good time to visit some restaurants – especially the 20-30 restaurants that define the best, setting trends rather than following them. In spring, chefs are experimenting with new ingredients. The crowds have not yet arrived, so the pace is slower and the service often more relaxed. It is a good time to get to know the chefs and where they are heading. Here are some new trends.

At the moment, deconstruction seems to be the in thing in Europe. Deconstructed dishes are those where the major elements of an established dish (like a bouillabaisse, for example) are broken down and then those elements are cooked individually. The resulting presentation has some of the best of the old, but is often lighter and more concentrated in flavor. [See Will’s deconstructed clam bake in our posting called “Will’s Way.” Things like dry ice and noodles made from things like agar agar are showing up regularly in first class restaurants these days – to both enhance the presentation and tempt the palate.

And foams are everywhere! If you can purée it and put it into a whipped cream canister, you will find it on someone’s menu! Foie gras, vegetables, oysters, saffron cream are examples.

The amuse bouche is another example of trendy “things.” For years, these little “palate teases” were sent out by the chef to get people excited and to shorten the time between ordering and the arrival of the first course. Now they have taken on the form of an opera overture in which some of the elements of the main dishes ordered show up early in the amuse bouche.

In chef Jean Georges Klein’s restaurant L’Arnsbourg in Bärenthal on the Moselle, we were recently served the following amuse bouche – roasted rhubarb, a sorbet of bitter beer, a Parmesan cream between paper thin layers of pastry, a squab mousse with Szechuan pepper, two preparations of quail eggs, one with ginger, the other with mace, — the mace once served as a foam, another time as in infused oil.

These flavor notes showed up later in our meal, the nutmeg infusing a wonderful bouillon, the Parmesan intensely flavoring a dish of soufléed gnocchi. The bitter beer in the sorbet came back as a dessert sauce; the squab mousse as the roasted breast served with a coffee sauce — delicious.

Even the humble old potato has taken on a “Life After Boiled Starch” in fine restaurants. Dishes like “Cappuccino of Potato Purée and Fresh Truffles” have become almost commonplace (well, I said “almost”). And there are variations that are relatively easy to prepare at home. Some substitute black olives for the truffles, or caviar, or other fish roes, or even squid ink – pictured below as served at the wonderful restaurant Le Calandre near Padova. (Aren’t those glass dishes cool?)


The secret of this dish is in the quality of the potato purée, the classic recipe for which is Joël Robuchon’s. You can find it in Patricia Wells’ book about Robuchon Simply French. I personally prefer this light version that was written down for me by Jean-Yves Crenn who serves it at his restaurant Le Temps de Vivre in Roscoff, in Brittany.

• Steam 3 pounds of waxy boiling potatoes (like fingerlings or rattes)
• Heat 12 oz. milk and 12 oz. cream
• Peel potatoes while as hot as you can stand
• Put through food mill or a ricer or tamis
• Add mile/cream to potatoes and beat in about 12 Tbls. of very cold butter, cut into cubes

The trick here is to boil the potatoes in their skins in well salted water. Peel them while still hot and purée. The butter must be quite cold. What you get is a wonderfully light mass that is a wonderful foil for all sorts of “cappuccino” ingredients, like those listed above, or whatever sounds good to you at the moment.

Take good care and Tschüß for now.

Klaus

News From The Old

Symphony From The Old World, Klaus Wieken

Frankfurter Grüne Sauce

As an amateur cook, spring is clearly my favorite time of year. After too many months of root vegetables, cabbage, and imported fruits and vegetables with too many frequent flyer miles before they ever hit my stove, I am ready for things that are grown locally and which can be purchased FRESH!

And one of my all time spring favorites is what we call the “Frankfurter Grüne Sauce” – a green sauce from Frankfurt, the recipe for which is at least 2000 years old! When we say Good Old Europe, we mean Good Ooooooooooooold Europe!

Roman legionnaires brought the basics of this sauce back to Rome from their exploits in the Near East and riffs on this green sauce have been played wherever the Romans went over the millenia.

The sauce was brought to the Frankfurt area around 1700 by two Italian traders named Bolongaro und Crevenna who simply couldn’t think of living in their newly chosen country without the company of their favorite hometown sauce.

The sauce which the cooks of these gentlemen prepared was, of course, not entirely identical to the one they left at home, as the cooks had to make do with the herbs that were available at local markets. Thus out of the Italian Salsa Verde evolved the Frankfurt version called Grie Soss locally.

By the way, one of the earliest fans of this new green sauce was Wolfgang Goethe who, while serving as a government minister in Weimar, had his mother prepare her version of the sauce and Fedex it to him. (Just kidding. He actually had it stagecoached).

A real traditional Frankfurter Grüner Sauce is made with up to ten different fresh herbs, all of which are finely chopped before going into the sauce. Among those frequently used are borage, dill, tarragon, chervil, lovage, parsley, pimpernel, sorrel, chive, and lemon balm. Here’s the recipe.

This sauce is exciting to eat with all kinds of boiled meats (veal breast, tongue, beef roast cuts) but also works well with a variety of poached fish. It is absolutely dynamite with new potatoes -- first boiled in their skins and then peeled.

If you can’t find any of the particular herbs from this list, despair not! After all, this is neither Rome nor Frankfurt. Try whatever is available locally and play with variations until you find your own favorite. After all that’s what those guys in Frankfurt did!

“Frankfurter Grüne Sauce”

Ingredients:

300 grams total of herbs (11 ounces) herbs
2 medium onions
4 hard boiled eggs
1 Tbls. white wine vinegar
2 Tbls. oil
1 cup crème frâiche
1 cup whole milk yogurt
pinch of sugar
salt and pepper to taste

Wash and dry the herbs. Chop herbs and onions finely; mix with yogurt, crème frâiche, vinegar, oil, salt and pepper and let stand for at least an hour. Then chop up the hard boiled eggs (fairly coarsely) and mix into the sauce. Taste and add more salt and pepper if necessary and maybe even the pinch of sugar. Let rest another 15 minutes.

Asparagus Time in Europe

A second classic of German and French springtime gastronomy is one of my favorites, asparagus. Although one can now get some kind of asparagus from somewhere almost year round, Spargelzeit is still celebrated as a rite of spring in many countries.

Asparagus come in basically two forms – white (which are buried under the earth) and green, (which are exposed to the sun). The asparagus harvest is very closely regulated and the official season runs only from April until the middle of June. There are even tours arranged to restaurants close to the asparagus fields during this time.

The classic way to serve asparagus in our neck of the woods is with drawn butter, vinaigrette, or hollandaise sauce. Accompaniments are often boiled or smoked raw ham, smoked salmon, or veal filet. Starting in May, asparagus is often served with fresh new potatoes.

These are simple, yet refined preparations – elegant in their simplicity.
Variations can be played in a thousand forms on these basics. In Paris at this moment, for example, the Hotel Crillon is serving the following dish: Into a deep soup bowl is placed a layer of crème brûlée mixture. Cubes of fresh goose foie gras are stirred into the cream before it is flamed. On top come criss-crossed green and white asparagus. Then, just before serving, comes a large soupspoon of asparagus velouté. Absolutely delicious, but to my mind unnecessarily complicated. The simpler versions noted above are just as good – and easier to prepare at home!

That’s it! After all this writing and thinking about food, I’m hungry . Think I’ll run and get some fresh asparagus before the farmers’ market closes. Then this afternoon, perhaps I’ll serve them with some lightly smoked salmon – and maybe a dill vinaigrette or maybe a…. Hmmh! So many choices.

Dessert? How about some rhubarb spaghetti with a dollop of cinnamon cream? That certainly sounds spring-like, doesn’t it? Okay, I’m out of here.

Tschüss for now.

Klaus

A Thank You Note

The Best Thank You Note Ever

One day last year, a young man of 13 named Will came into Jaleo, the restaurant which Conni’s daughter, Tonija, manages. They struck up a conversation and, over time, a friendship. It turns out the kid is a real foodie. He has seen almost every episode of every show on The Food Network. He subscribes to almost every food magazine out there. He has gone to most all of the good restaurants in Washington and most of those in New York as well.

Will takes regular cooking classes at the Academie de la Cuisine in Bethesda. He cooks passionately and does tasting dinners for friends and relatives. It also just happens that he goes to the same junior high school that I did and that he got interested in food at about the same age as I did.

Well Tonija got Will a couple of cooking gigs in her restaurant and at a couple of its affiliates in the Washington area. She also decided that it was time for Will and me to meet – and cook together.

On the weekend of April 30, it finally happened. Will and I went back and forth on the menu by e-mail. I ordered necessities (like the roasting rabbit) and a couple of special cheeses off of the internet and did some basic prep work.

Will and his mom arrived Saturday afternoon and he and I went to work. There were to be nine of us for dinner, so we had a lot to do.

The meal was great (the menu is presented below). The wines were good (no, he didn’t). The company was fun and I think a good time was had by all. The fact that nine bodies were strewn all over the house sleeping the sleep of the dead would so indicate!

A few days later, we got this e-mail thank you note.

“If you invite us, we will come back. Thanks. Will”

Out of the mouths of the young… I love it and will treasure it. Don’t worry, Will. We shall. Here’s what we ate

Smoked Wild Goose Breast; Goose Foie Gras En Terrine; Nuts, Olives,
Cheese Biscuits En Humidor; Boquerones;
Buñuelos With Manchego, Olives, and Herbs;
Baby Lamb Chops With Moroccan Spice Rub; Savory Jell-O Beans
Charbaut & Fils Champagne; Papirusa Light Manzinilla Sherry, Emilio Lustau

Spring “Pea”chysoisse Martini With Seranno Ham Tuile
Shrimp Boat De Mariscos (Fried Shrimp, Oysters, Clams, Squid); Romesco and Alioli Sauces
Prosecco di Conegliano Carpenè Malvolti

Sorbet of Chamomile, Lavender, Roses

Râble De Lapin Farci Au Four À La Richard Olney
Sautéed Ramps, Wild Mushrooms, Potato Galette

Jan Kris Crossfire Estate
Paso Robles 2003

Salad

Chaource, Cypress Grove Purple Haze Goat Cheese; Walnut Red Wine, Almond Orange Honey Conserves
Domaine de Napa Cabernet Sauvignon, 1985

One Degree of Freedom Cake
Pierre Sparr Tokay Mambourg Grand Cru, 1990

Will's Way

Holy Smoke, This Kid’s Good

Folks, we’re beyond Chutzpah here. We’re talking about balls! Brass balls!

Remember Will, the 13 year old in the last posting who came to St. Michaels and worked with me to make what I thought was a pretty fancy dinner?

Well Will outdid that performance big time! On June 19, Will invited the chefs from some of his favorite restaurants and some big time amateur cooks (like me) to dinner. He prepared the following dinner — by himself! for nine people! It was amazing! Amazing! There, in his little white “Executive Chef” jacket he did the whole thing. He was unflappable. Absolutely calm, smiling the whole time, obviously in his element.

Everything was beautifully plated and truly delicious. Amazing.

Look at this menu. It’s amazing, what else can I say. Amazing

“Well done, Will!”

Will’s Chef’s Dinner
Sunday, June 19, 2005

Amuse Bouche
“Eggs and Bacon”
crispy confit of Kurobuta pork belly with caviar

Corn Soup with Truffled Whipped Cream

Duo of Foie Gras
tempura fried foie gras with sweet soy sauce and
pan seared foie gras on peach tarte tatin with basil oil

Deconstructed Clam Bake
butter poached lobster with Osetra caviar crème frâiche
tempura clams, confit of chanterelles
truffled tapioca risotto with a clam/saffron emulsion

Olive Oil Poached Artic Char
on a spinach almond purée
sautéed spinach topped with corn nuts, chives and almond milk froth

Duo of Squab
roasted honey glazed breast and braised leg of squab
served with a sweet potato foam

Duo of Kobe Beef
braised short ribs with Yukon gold potato purée
pan seared strip loin cube with bordelaise sauce
truffled Jerusalem artichoke puree
crispy bone marrow gnocchi

Brûléed Fig with Mascarpone Cream and a Drizzle of Saba

Chocolate Coconut Pudding Cake
Coconut Emulsion
Coconut Sorbet

On Evolution

Taking Shape

(Ir)Regular Columns

Things are starting to come together here at The Ruminative Cook. Thanks in part to your responses to our request for things you would like to hear about and in part to my own ruminations, we have come up with some regular and some irregular columns. What to look for:

If I Do Say So Myself
We all have mothers and so we all have things that our mothers did/do that made/make us crazy. In my case, it was when my mother would sit down at the table, take a quick bite of what she had prepared and, before we even had a chance to lift our forks, say “This is pretty good – if I do say so myself.” So, in this column, I shall tell you about things I have recently prepared that turned out really well “if I do say so myself.”

Memories Of Things Best Forgotten
Like my aunt’s tomato aspic salad with sliced green olives and mayonnaise. Or, like the chili I made in Chapel Hill into which I put one chile pepper (not much effect), then another (still not much effect)… until I had used the whole string. Then I let it cook for three hours. Three of us drank a whole case of beer just trying to get the stuff down! But disasters can be fun. Well, at least they make for memories.

Symphony From The Old World
My former brother-in-law, but still best friend, Klaus Wieken (aka “Bro”) wrote from Germany to ask if he could write some pieces for The Ruminative Cook reporting on what is going on in Europe these days and things that he has been trying. We are delighted.

Slurp!

Soups often get the short end of the stick in food writing. I guess too many people are watching their weight – so they cut out the soup course when they entertain. We don’t. Even if we just serve an espresso cup of something in the living room before we go in to dinner, we most always have some kind of soup on the menu. Personally, I’d rather throw out the salad course than the soup.

Man Overboard!


It’s my blog, so once in a while I think it’s OK for me to go off the deep end (like my diatribe against that awful stuff called bay seasoning.) In any case, this is where I get to vent and be outrageous. For example, I think macadamia nuts and cashews are really boring. I suspect people claim to like them because they are expensive. Neither of them stands up to a really good roasted Virginia peanut. Seriously. Taste them side by side and see if you don’t agree. (Try Whitley’s or Hub’s – without the Bay Seasoning!)

Old Dog, New Tricks

You know, even at my age, we can learn new things or, at least, new ways of doing things. For example, I have been making gougères (those crispy little puffs from Burgundy made with Gruyère cheese) for decades. It never occurred to me to change the ingredients – until I was reading a Spanish recipe for essentially the same thing into which they put bits of Serrano ham or chopped green olives, or slivered almonds, or anchovies. Wow! A whole new world. Old Dog, New Tricks.

Decapods

Crabs are a major part of life here on the Eastern Shore and so are lobsters (yes, we catch them in Maryland) and shrimp (no, we don’t). So, every once in a while, I will pass on a recipe for using one of these tasty critters in a new way (or in an old way – but without Bay Seasoning!).

The “S” Word

I love to shop the internet. And the places I haunt the most are the Sale, Clearance, and Outlet sections of food, cookware, and entertaining sites. So one regular feature of The Ruminative Cook will be a listing of sites with good sale sections (like Crate and Barrel – which really understands the “S” word) as well as things currently on sale that you might want to check out.

What I’m Reading

There’s at least one good recipe in just about any cookbook. In this section, I’ll report on books I’ve been reading and give you a recipe or so to try on your own.

Thanks for all your suggestions. While still a Work In Progress, we’re getting there.

Out On A Limb With Crabs

Out on a Limb with Crabs




Last summer, the brother-in-law of a co-worker was crabbing off a pier in the Choptank River over here on the Eastern Shore.

Chickennecking next to him was a family of tourists. Every time these folks netted a legal-sized blue crab, they looked at it for a moment and then throw it back. After a while, the brother-in-law could stand it no longer and asked why they were throwing back these perfectly good, legal-sized crabs.

“Well,” the father responded “these blue crabs look pretty, but we were kind of hoping to catch some of those orange ones like we had for dinner last night.”



Not missing a beat, the brother-in-law told the tourists “Well, you’re right. Those orange crabs are good, but I’m kind of partial to the blue ones as well. So, if you get any more you don’t want, you can just put them right here in my basket.”

The tourists were from Baltimore. You would think they would know better. But then again, Baltimore is also where Old Bay seasoning comes from.

Speaking of which, did you every wonder why people inflict bay seasoning on something as wonderful as a crab? I mean, we don’t inflict bay seasoning on lobsters. We don’t inflict bay seasoning on clams. We don’t inflict bay seasoning on oysters. Why do we single out the poor crab? I don’t think it’s fair.

Think about it for a minute. We take a perfectly fine piece of shellfish. Then we sprinkle this stuff on the part of it we don’t eat. We cook it. Then we pick up the crab, eat the meat, getting the spices all over our hands. Then we rub the stuff up our noses and into our eyes. Why do we do that? I don’t know.

All I can think is that some brewer in Baltimore must have been having a bad year. So one night he had this thought. “Let’s get some really hot pepper and some weird spices and dump them all over crabs while they cook. Then people will burn their mouths and put the spices up their noses and into their eyes and they’ll drink more beer!” The whole point of this stuff is to sell beer. That’s all it can be!

Did you ever taste the stuff? I mean seriously taste it – like right out of the can or bag? Do you have some in the pantry? Go get it. I’ll wait.

Now go ahead, take a pinch. “Place it between you cheek and gum…”

It’s awful, isn’t it? Does it remind you of anything? It does me.

When I was a kid in Washington, D.C., on hot summer days the coach made us suck on salt tablets. I was a skeptical sort, even then. I mean there are a lot of dead deer out there who fell for that trick. So, instead of salt tablets, I used to suck on chicken bouillon cubes. I got my salt fix. They tasted better than salt tablets. And, I didn’t have to worry about getting shot.

Chicken bouillon cubes! That’s what bay seasoning reminds me of. Chicken bouillon cubes with cayenne instead of chicken. Look at the ingredients, if you don’t believe me.

The Knorr chicken bouillon cube box is not terribly explicit about which dehydrated herbs and spices are in there, but salt is the first ingredient and onion, parsley, tumeric and “spice” are also mentioned.

Now this from the side of a can of Old Bay Seasoning:

“celery salt (salt, celery seed), spices (including mustard, red pepper, black pepper, bay (laurel) leaves, cloves, allspice (piment), ginger, mace, cardamom, cinnamon, and paprika.”

The list of ingredients in the Chesapeake Bay Seafood Seasoning from Penzeys Spices is similar:

“sweet paprika, salt, mustard, celery, ancho, black pepper, cayenne red pepper, dill seed, dill weed, caraway, allspice, horseradish, cardamom, thyme, ginger, bay leaves, mace, savory, and cloves.”

They’re from Wisconsin. We forgive them the caraway, dill, and horseradish. They think everything needs some Oom Pah-Pah. Wisconsin! What do they know about crabs?

Fred Thompson’s delightful book Crazy for Crab (Harvard Common Press, 2004) suggests starting with the following and then “play with the spices.”

3 tablespoons paprika, 2 tablespoons kosher salt, 1 to 2 tablespoons garlic powder, 1 tablespoon each of onion powder, cayenne pepper, dried oregano, and dried thyme, plus 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

But am I not right? All those dehydrated herbs and spices are just like a chicken bouillon cube without the chicken.

But eventually, I grew up. I don’t suck on chicken bouillon cubes. I don’t even use chicken bouillon cubes. So why are we still putting this stuff on crabs? It’s awful.

Okay, Okay. Maybe I got carried away a little bit. I’m sorry. Right now, somewhere out there, one or more of you is thinking. “Well, a lot of spice mixtures don’t taste very good raw – like curries, for example. They need to be heated to bring the flavors out and bring them together.” Yesterday, I tested this theory.

First, I just heated a bit of oil and cooked a teaspoon of bay seasoning in it for a few minutes – long enough for the flavors to meld. Still awful.

Then I made two curries – crab and chicken – using bay seasoning instead of curry paste. The results: Worse than awful!! You know what it tasted like? A chicken bouillon cube with cayenne, garlic, lemongrass, galangal, and ginger! Yuck.

Then I got to thinking about all the paprika in bay seasoning. Maybe curry wasn’t the best test. Maybe something Hungarian would be better – so I tried a chicken paprikash and a crab paprikash. The results -- underwhelming at best! You know what it tasted like? A creamy, pink chicken bouillon cube with cayenne. Yuck.

End of story.

All right, now. Have I been fair or not? I tasted this stuff on crabs. I tasted it raw. I tasted it heated in oil. I made two dishes with it that had a chance of being palatable. The bottom line is that, to my mind, like really bad pornography, there is simply no redeeming social value to bay seasoning.

So, what does one do with crabs if one doesn’t want to anoint them with cayenne, dried spices and salt?

We live in St. Michaels, Maryland. At this moment, I am watching the crabbers bring in their daily catch at the dock across the street. What I am about to write will probably get me run out of town.

Some thoughts for enjoying crabs sans bay seasoning

First, decide what white wine you are going to drink with your crabs. “WINE!!!” I hear you scream. “Whoa there cowboy! You don’t drink WINE with crabs; you drink beer!” Now think about that for a moment. There are a lot of people who drink wine with crab cakes, right? Why not drink wine when picking crabs? Come on. It’s OK. Try it. Please. Well, yes, the glass does get kind of yucky looking, but the wine is still good. Use cobalt glasses if the yuck gets to you. Please try it.

The wine I choose depends pretty much on the sauce I am using. If the sauce is spicy, I tend to drink a Riesling. If it is herbal, I go with a Sauvignon Blanc (a nice grassy one). If it’s a snail butter, I often opt for Chardonnay. Even a pretty rich and buttery one works well.

The reason I try to use the same grape variety as I will be drinking is that crabs really do pick up the flavor of whatever they are steamed in. So do shrimp for that matter.

Now, put about a third of a bottle in the bottom of your steamer. Add as much water as you need to make sure the pot won’t dry out while the crabs steam. Bring to boil. Add crabs and steam until (Yes) Orange! And done. This will take about 25 minutes, depending on how many crabs are in the pot and, thus, how fast the water gets back to a really full boil after you add the crabs. I usually start counting when I see steam coming out the top of the pot. At this point, I also turn the heat down to medium-high for the duration.

Take the crabs out and serve with one or more of the following sauces:

Basil Butter: Melt as much butter as you think you will need. Chop up some basil and heat in the butter. Serve.

Snail Butter: Melt butter. Sauté a mess of garlic in it. Add chopped flat leaf Italian parsley. Heat. Serve.

Habañero Butter: Melt butter. Seed and finely chop one habañero pepper. Add. Heat for a bit. Serve. [See, I am not against spice or heat with crab. I just prefer fresh herbs or heat to powdered versions.]

Okay, get ready. I am about to go off the end of this limb. I’m sorry, Mom. I tried to be normal. I really did.

What we have been enjoying with our crabs this year most of all is Truffle Butter (black or white). I know, it sounds really, really weird. But, it’s also really, really good. It started this past winter when we tried truffle butter with lobster. To die for. So why not crabs? We tried it. It’s great.

But of course, you have to drink champagne with truffle butter, don’t you? [There he goes again! We were just getting used to the idea of wine. Now we have to think about good champagne? Whoa cowboy! Whoa!] To me, though, champagne just seems right. Besides, at something close to $60 a dozen, I think crabs warrant truffle butter and champagne – and so do we! [The truffle butter comes from D’Artagnan and can be found in selected specialty food shops or ordered directly at http://www.dartagnan.com/.]

I can see it now – the ultimate crab feast – a symphony in black in white.

Men in black tie, women in white gowns and long white rubber gloves. The candelabra are aglitter. The long table is set only with champagne flutes, crab mallets and/or knives, and crystal finger bowls. In front of each diner a stack of placemats cut with pinking shears from the major newspapers of the world (black and white only, of course – no Financial Times). In front of each diner, a silver bowl of truffle butter.

The only color is the swath of orange crabs down the middle of the table and the platters of al dente white asparagus carried by liveried waiters. The Dom flows. The mallets and knives fly. The glasses are raised. Asparagus glide from fingers to gullet. No sneezing. No pepper up the nose. No weeping eyes. Just great crab.

Ah yes, I can see it now…

Oh, well. Back to reality.

I suspect it will be a while before the crab shacks of the Chesapeake Bay drop bay seasoning in favor of truffle butter. But, life is a bit like dancing. You can lead or you can follow.

People eat our crabs and ask where we got them. The words “These are the sweetest crabs I have ever tasted” have crossed the lips of many a guest. They’re the same ‘ol crabs. We just don’t abuse them with salt and cayenne/paprika gunk.

Tomorrow night is trash night, right? Why don’t you throw out that can or bag of bay seasoning. Get some crabs. Open a bottle of your favorite white. Try something fresh and new in the way of a sauce. Make up your own if the ones above don’t appeal. The crabs are the melody. Play your own riffs with the sauce.

Why not? You have nothing to lose but your family, your friends, and your reputation as a cook. You can always go back to following if you choose. What the hell! Let’s dance.