Hands off

Recent years have been good to fans of high quality, locally produced food. Across the country, farmers' markets are on the upswing as demand for better ingredients swells among foodies, hippies, yuppies, and health nuts alike. Words like "salsify," "ramps," and "geoduck" are appearing on lips and menus in greater numbers than ever before, and sometimes customers actually know what they mean. I'm relatively sure that even Denny's features an heirloom tomato, organic basil, and fresh mozzarella salad alongside its signature (and oh-so-wittily designated) Moons Over My Hammy®.

It's just too bad that our government actively screws us all for lobbyist support and political capital in the Iowa caucuses.

On Saturday, the New York Times published an Op-Ed by Minnesota farmer Jack Hedin lamenting the policies of the United States Department of Agriculture with regard to small producers. In short, Mr. Hedin discusses how big backers of the Department's commodity farm program forward legislation that seeks to protect agribusiness and so stifles competition from local producers, limiting their production and ultimately passing the costs on to the consumer.

Protectionist policies of this sort help no one except for those who least need it. Take, for instance, our nation's recent infatuation with corn-based ethanol. Democrat or Republican, liberal or conservative, socialist or neocon, there's nary a voice to be heard that hasn't fallen for her seductive charms. But like Mr. or Ms. Friday Night, she looks a whole lot worse in the light of day after those tequila shots have worn off.

Our government insists that we subsidize an energy "solution" that pays political capital in corn-producing states and among well-meaning environmentalists who haven't done their research, but is ultimately inefficient and wasteful. As some 17% of this subsidized corn goes to ethanol (the USDA anticipates some 31% of US corn will be used for ethanol by 2016), corn prices increase, which in turn increases prices in directly related products, from tortillas to beef. Meanwhile, a relative scarcity of other produce develops as incentives encourage farmers to turn to corn, and that other produce becomes more expensive as well.

As an added insult, we as American taxpayers are spending our own money to subsidize politically vested ethanol corporations to the detriment of small farmers, better environmental solutions, and our own grocery bills. These subsidies are terrible for independent growers, terrible for food lovers, and terrible for consumers--especially Americans of modest means and the poor worldwide, for whom food and gas costs are a much larger part of their budget--but miraculously great for the Agcos, Andersons, and Archer Daniels Midlands of the world. Through our fine, career-minded representatives, we are literally paying these corporations to increase our own food and fuel costs.

Some might argue that this is an acceptable course of action if it means access to a renewable fuel source. And it might be, if these costs weren't unnecessary and idiotic.

There is no shortage of environmentally responsible alternatives. Brazil produces primarily bagasse-based ethanol that has a net energy yield approximately eight times greater than our corn-based "solution." They've been developing their ethanol policy for nearly thirty years, and their product can be imported cheaply--or could be, if we didn't use subsidies and tariffs to protect large-scale sugar and corn producers in this country. Alternatively, wind, solar, and other biomass solutions widely used in Europe work cheaply and consistently, and non-food ethanol sources don't cause artificial increases in food prices or competitive costs for small farmers.

As people who care about what we eat, we share in the responsibility of holding our politicians accountable for these inane and harmful practices.

To think that a few years ago raw milk and foie gras bans were the worst of our food worries. Thanks a lot, Iowa.

Rhône Wine and a Lyonnaise Message

Last Wednesday I had the pleasure of attending L'Etoile's Rhône Wine Dinner. Like one of Mrs. Lovett's meat pies, it proved an altogether delicious experience that was punctuated by a single moment of shocking horror.

My favorite course of the evening featured a classic onion soup paired with Domaine la Soumade's 2001 "Cuvée Confiance," an outstanding Rasteau. While I'm not terribly experienced with the AOC, this one has certainly piqued my interest in the region. The head was peppery and intense, and the flavors rich and complex, with good acid, but also fruit and berries. The finish was just insane; like the Longines Symphonette or the birdhouse in my soul, it didn't rest. Retailing for just under $50, this is far from a viable everyday wine, but I would happily drink it on a special occasion in the future, especially alongside another country soup or stew.

This particular soup was gratinéed with Uplands Cheese Company's 20-month Pleasant Ridge Reserve (an interesting local favorite made in Dodgeville), and the cheese's sharp complexity played incredibly with some of the darker notes in the Rasteau. From there, the flavors transitioned smoothly into sweet onion, making for a simple and elegant finish.

In other words, the pairing totally kicked ass.

Also excellent was the course of cassoulet and Châteauneuf-du-Pape, this time Domaine Marcoux's 2003. The combination is classic, but the individual components made this instance noteworthy. The wine opened with dark, jammy notes, and finished with nice fruit and pleasant mineral undertones--at $50 a bottle I may never taste this excellent Châteauneuf again, but I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to anyone looking for a splurge.

Cassoulet, meanwhile, enjoys near legendary status, but I find that in practice it almost always disappoints. (Campagne, I'm looking at you.) I can say without hesitation that this was the best I've ever tasted. The house made Saucisse de Toulouse was a refined example of the traditional sausage , the Blue Valley Garden confit reaffirmed my love of duck, and the incredibly tender Grass is Greener shouder of lamb was a credit to the art of braising. Together, they made for a superlative cassoulet.

Unfortunately, there was a darker side to the meal. Upon taking my seat, I was presented not only with a glass of rosé, but also with this:

Beignet de Fromage

Warm Roth Käse Private Reserve Cheese Pâte à Choux

What could this mean? A week earlier I had posted a recipe for the very same dish, less only the 350 degree oil.

Then it dawned on me. Just the previous day, The Isthmus had linked to my hard-hitting exposé on the gross iniquities in the Wisconsin cattle markets--an exposé that also alluded to the very Rhône Wine dinner I was attending.

Innocuous coincidence, or nefarious conspiracy to maintain, through fear, their stranglehold on local ribeye futures? You be the judge, but I'm not taking any chances. For me, it wouldn't have been clearer had each beignet been a fish wrapped in newspaper.

This was an Alice Waters-inspired, locally produced, Lyonnaise Message. I won't be silenced, but I will be watching my back when I'm at the market shopping for gruyère or oranges. Thank God the cassoulet was so good.

Say! I like cheese puffed with air! I do! I like to eat gougères!

I've been going cheese crazy lately.

Don't worry, though. Despite what my Seussian blather might imply, cheese madness isn't a newly discovered spongiform encephalopathy. Instead, it's what happens when a really good cheese shop opens less than a mile from your home. And rather than having one's brain ravaged by rogue, misfolding proteins--that's alcohol's job, damn it!--the major detrimental effects seem to end at spending way, way too much money on deliciousness.

Of course, one can't subsist on cheese alone, as the doctors told me when my bleary-eyed, half naked, mostly dead form was pulled from beneath a seething mound of brie scraps and pecorino romano crumbs. No, astonishing as it may seem, we must sometimes use our cheese with other ingredients.

Over the last few weeks, I've been making old favorites with newly available Wisconsin cheeses, and I've been trying to think of other classics to bring back to the table. That's why I was so excited to see the recent post on pâte à choux at Michael Ruhlman's new Elements of Cooking blog. (I haven't read the book yet, because my birthday is right around the corner. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.) Pâte à choux is the wonder dough behind beignets, éclairs, and profiteroles, and even though it's simple to make, it's also largely neglected by most home cooks, probably because it has a scary French name, as do most of its applications.

Of course, this pâte isn't only for pastry. Among its savory uses is the storied gougère, the king of the cheese poof family, and a convenient opportunity for me to use some great cheese in a not-an-everyday-thing-unless-you-happen-to-live-in-a-bistro style dish.

I used 2/3 a cup of Roth Käse's Gruyère-style Private Reserve with the standard 1 cup water, 1 cup flour, 1 cup eggs, and one stick of butter, and kept the seasoning simple with a little salt and black pepper. They turned out light and airy, but preserved the richness of the cheese. Had I not eaten a dozen, I might even have been able to claim that they were healthy. Next time I'll be a little bolder, upping the cheese content to around 3/4 of a cup, and (cringe, purists) adding some cayenne.

Ruhlman is right on. Pâte à choux is a versatile concoction that should be in every cook's repertoire.

You do not cook it.

So you say.

Try it! Try it!

And you may.

Try it and you may, I say.

If nothing else, it's an excuse to eat more cheese.

Le Roi est mort. Vive le Roi!

This weekend is always a disappointing one for the Madison foodie. It marks the time that the Farmer's Market shrinks down, moves inside, and enters into a semi-torporous state, not to return to its full glory until rhubarb magically transforms into asparagus. The Capitol Square would be a little gloomier--sure, L'Etoile and Harvest would still be there, of course, and Cafe Soleil and Marigold would still offer the best breakfasts and pastries in town.

But what of the cook? The entertainer? They remember winters past, dark times of want, and excessive supermarket shopping. And my God, what of the cheese?

Thanks to Fromagination, this winter will be a little warmer than last. I first visited the Carrol Street boutique at its opening, but reserved any commentary until I could see their selection of imported cheeses, which arrived about a week ago. As I walked in the door, the name had put me on my guard. I was apprehensive that it might serve as a pretentious echo of the tourist-friendly shops that peddle cheese hats to football fans on the weekend. Suffice it to say my worries were grossly unfounded.

I could reflect on the pleasant, upscale-retro ambiance, or the fact that the shop espouses a number of earth-friendly policies, but that would detract from the food. (I won't, however, neglect to mention that the shop's flat screen was playing an episode of The French Chef, always a good sign.)

Their cheeses have been selected with a connoisseur's palate and a clear love of their product. Never mind that it's been near impossible to find quality Wisconsin cheese outside of the Farmer's Market itself; Fromagination is not only the first store to offer a wide selection of the artisanal Wisconsin cheeses, they've also managed to narrow them down to the crème de la crème.

Hook's superlative, incredibly sharp 10 year cheddar? It's there, alongside the Five Year. Fantôme Farm's incredible, rich, ash-dusted Moreso? There, as is their chevre. Carr Valley's Cave Aged Marisa? Bleu Mont's Bandaged Cheddar? Uplands' Pleasant Ridge Reserve? They're all there.

The selection of imports is nearly as impressive. There is, of course, gorgonzola and parmigiano reggiano from Italy, cheddar and Stilton from England, Brie and Camembert from France. More surprising are entries like the semi-soft Chimay Grand Cru, a Cambozola (a triple cream blue crossed with Brie), and--oh baby--mozzarella di buffala.

And the staff knows their stuff. On a busy Friday evening, a transplanted québécoise offered me a sample of the aforementioned 10 Year and extolled with me the virtues of crystalline cheddar; I agreed, and said she had to try the 12. Later, I asked about Bries, and was happily surprised when another employee pointed out the amazing Rouzaire Fromage de Meaux that I had missed.

Even the little touches are done perfectly. Wine, beer, and other accompaniments are present, as is a small but respectable selection of charcuterie. While this is to be expected, their careful selection is not. The meats are well chosen, and their baguettes aren't just baguette's--they're from Cafe Soleil, easily the best in the city and probably the best in the state. (Add guanciale, guys, and you'll have to drag me bodily from the store.)

Any Madisonian serious about food owes it to him or herself to visit this shop. They're socially conscious, clearly passionate, and provide an amazing depth and breadth of quality product. In short, Fromagination is easily one of the best things to happen to Madison's culinary scene this year.