Author: Isabel Montclaire

Lately, I’ve been thinking about something my son told me when he was a teenager. “Mom, you are not very warm and fuzzy, but that’s okay. You show your love through food.” My heart filled with joy to know that he felt love’s presence in the food I made for him. I was always so happy when his friends would drop by with their huge appetites and I could host them with yummy treats. We can’t see love but we sure can taste it!

Isn’t love wonderful? Love circulates and flows like water, seeps into every nook and cranny and transforms to survive in every environmental condition. Ice, streams, rivers, vast oceans, steam, rain, snowflakes and snowcapped mountains. Love descends deep into the dark recesses of the earth and reaches up toward the sun in the sky. She falls back down to the earth again in a never ending cycle of creative beauty and genius. Where water is, there is love. Love shares and circulates.

For example, last December I saw a post on Facebook by Bob Durham and Sandra Myers in Condon. They had grown Hubbard squash in their garden and wanted to share the extra. I fired up Miss Daisy, my 1985 Ford diesel pickup, and drove on a sheet of ice that coated the landscape with shimmering, reflective light. We introduced ourselves and I received their beautiful gift. Back home, the squash sat on the kitchen floor for about a week until I was finished admiring it. Then in the interest of efficiency, because the squash was the size of a basketball, I chopped it up with my axe and roasted it in the oven for a couple of hours at 400⁰. After it cooled, I pureed the squash and put it into pint containers, eight in all.

A few days later, on a crisp and sunny day, I strolled over to my friend Ellie’s house and left a container on her front porch. Surprise! Then, soon after, she texted me and requested that I drop by for a visit – she had a little something to share with me. I walked in and she handed me six big, gorgeous muffins, made from the squash! I was thrilled and my heart was warmed by the generosity of her spirit.

I walked home, made a beeline to the kitchen, toasted the muffins with butter, smeared them with honey and shared the treat with those I love. Together, we savored a few moments of pure joy. This Valentine’s Day, open your heart and share a gift of food. Love tastes fabulous! Love is FUN!  Love is incredibly warm and fuzzy! You can give without love, but you can’t love without giving. Or receiving!

About a year ago, Steve Bray of Fossil gave me his recipe for Chianti spaghetti sauce and I was so excited to try it. But a long time had gone by and I still had not made it. Every time I bumped into Steve somewhere, he’d ask me “Have you made the spaghetti yet?” Sheepishly, I would admit “nooooo”. I could not even think of a good excuse as to why not. Last week, Steve invited me to have dinner with him and his wife Ellie. Then, I could get an in-person “how to make Chianti spaghetti sauce” lesson. I looked forward to an evening of good food and good conversation. That’s what I call being “at table”. To me, being at table with friends and family is the spice of life.

We were set to start cooking at 3:00 in the afternoon. I was thankful for my spaghetti making lesson. Steve assembled the ingredients in a certain way. I would have missed out if he had not shown me. This goes to demonstrate that the cooking method is as important as the ingredients.

Chianti Spaghetti

1 tbsp vegetable oil
1 stalk celery
1 medium yellow onion
1 tsp fennel seed, crushed
2 tsp minced garlic
½ lb ground beef
½ lb mild Italian sausage – not too hot or sweet
1 tsp Italian seasoning
2 jars Ragu Traditional spaghetti sauce, 24 ounces
½ tsp salt
2 tsp sugar
½ cup Chianti wine
⅓ cup water
Spaghetti noodles, one pound

Dice the onions and celery. Heat the oil in a big, heavy sauce pan. Sauté the celery for about five minutes, then add the onions. Add the crushed fennel seeds, then the garlic. When both the celery and onions are translucent, add the sausage and ground beef. After the meat has browned, take a pastry cutter and break up the meat until it is the size of peas. Add the sauce, the wine, Italian herbs, and sugar. Simmer the sauce covered slowly, for up to four hours. Steve uses an enameled cast iron Dutch oven and the sauce barely bubbled away. Stir occasionally – if it’s getting too thick add some more water. You will know it’s done when the celery and onions have dissolved into the sauce. Steve prefers Ragu traditional sauce, not the other flavors. Cook the pasta in salted water. Do not add oil to the water, or the pasta, or rinse the pasta, because then the sauce will not stick to it. When the noodles are done, drain and add the sauce and give it a good stir. The sauce is better after it melds for a day. And there you have it – Steve’s tried and true recipe for Chianti spaghetti sauce.

Last week I finally made a recipe I had reminisced about for a number of years…buckwheat pancakes. While growing up, my family went to a restaurant called the Pig N’ Pancake.  Deciding what to order was always a toss-up. Do I want the chocolate chip pancakes with chocolate syrup, or the “little pigs in blankets – buckwheat pancakes wrapped around sausage  links?  The latter always won. While those pancakes were good, I wanted to up-level my recipe with a sourdough starter, freshly ground buckwheat flour, and some flavorful extracts.

I bought some organic buckwheat seeds. Seeds include both the hull and the kernel.  Together they make lovely dark, rich, and earthy flour. I dusted off my flour mill and ground some buckwheat seeds, fed my sourdough starter, and then made my first batch for dinner. Though tangy, nutty, and delicious, they were a bit dense which is the nature of buckwheat. What could I do to make them more fluffy and springy? Egg whites! Instead of adding whole eggs, why not separate out the egg whites, beat them until stiff, and gently fold them in?  I tried that on the next batch and voilaʹ – airy buckwheat pancakes.

On a recent shopping trip, I picked up a bottle of maple-bacon flavoring. I made one batch with vanilla extract and one with the maple-bacon flavoring. It was a tie, both were excellent. After all these experiments, there was a lot of pancake batter left. I put the extra in the fridge and the batter became more sour with age. The tangy flavor really stood out. Loved that! These pancakes are versatile; one time I cooked them with slices of Swiss cheese and topped the pancakes with sauerkraut.

Sourdough Buckwheat Pancakes

1 cup buckwheat flour
1 tbsp sugar
1 ½ tsp baking powder
½ tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
1 cup sourdough starter
3 tbsp melted butter
1 egg yolk and 2 egg whites, beaten
½ cup milk – any kind
1 tsp vanilla extract or other flavoring

Mix the dry ingredients with the wet ingredients, beat the egg whites until stiff, and gently fold in. Cook just like you would any other pancakes. If you don’t have a sourdough starter, substitute ¾ cup flour mixed with enough water to make a batter.

The first time I made these, I discovered we were out of syrup. While I rummaged around in the fridge, I noticed a bag of Heath toffee pieces. I cooked the pancakes in butter and just before I turned them, I sprinkled on the candies. They melted just a bit and added a lovely crunch and sweetness. Gee… would these pancakes taste good with chocolate chips and chocolate syrup? I just might try that!

I recently had COVID and you may think I’m crazy, but I loved every minute of it. Well, most minutes. How could this dreaded and feared virus be so wonderful?

One day in early December, a giant hand reached down from the sky and switched on my off button, pulled the plug, and disconnected me from the busy, outside world. The weather was crisp, cold, and frozen and I slid to a hard stop. Every afternoon, sleep would lure me to my warm and cozy bed. The heavenly bed with the soft flannel sheets, an electric blanket, down comforter, fluffy pillows, and a lavender sachet by my pillow.  Sleep wooed me.  I’d sink deeper and deeper into relaxation and was overcome with a feeling of reassurance, safety, and comfort. Never before had I felt deep relaxation like this. Sleep fed me with nourishment, restoration, and joy. I had nothing to fear. All was well. Sometimes I would wonder if my deceased cat was with me; there she was curled up below my knees like she always did. Shakespeare says that “Sleep is nature’s soft nurse”. Yes, definitely.

When my off switch wasn’t on, I was slow. For a while I had two speeds: slow and stop. The excuse to dial back my activities and enjoy the winter’s still hibernation liberated me. I kept the window cracked open and my bedroom filled with cool crisp fresh air. I took a lot of big, deep breaths and felt fullness in my spirit. I didn’t want to eat much so I made a lot of smoothies. One day the smoothie would be dark orange ‒ made with fresh cranberries, persimmons and pineapple. The next, green: parsley, celery, kiwi, ginger, lime, and bananas. My friend John, who is a compounding pharmacist, suggested I add in some vitamin C powder and quercetin, a bioflavonoid known to strengthen the body. These drinks were vibrant and refreshing. They gave me confidence that my body had the true nourishment necessary to heal.

There wasn’t anything I could do about coming down with COVID – I had it. Why not fully embrace and enjoy the ride? This slowdown was perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to completely dropout and be free from the to-do list, the tasks of daily living, socializing, working, and exercising. All forward movement was gone.  The standstill of life was emptiness, surrender, and peace. Delicious!

I slowly regained my energy and now I don’t need to wake up at 9:30, go to bed early, and sleep all afternoon. I’m restored and renewed. I drew deep from the well.  I look back on that experience and happily savor it. That is why for me COVID was pleasurable. And yes, I just might be crazy!

Last week, I described my envy of the 35 pound pasture-raised turkey that my friend Rachel cooked for Thanksgiving last fall. I wanted a big-pasture raised turkey too! So I found a turkey at Oregon Valley Farms and they shipped it to me. Into the freezer it went until Christmas Day. Then I was curious. Was this big, beautiful, pale brown, pasture-raised turkey going to be noticeably different than its bland, factory-raised cousin with the bleached white skin? The one I could buy at the grocery store?

A while back, I read a fascinating book published by National Geographic titled “Big Chicken: The Incredible Story of How Antibiotics Created Modern Agriculture and Changed the Way the World Eats”. The book enlightened me and totally grossed me out all at the same time. The exposeʹ had me on the edge of my seat and by the end of the book, I understood the phrase “Ignorance is bliss”. I wanted to un-know what I now knew. Because of this, I saw the turkey sitting in my freezer in a new light.

Christmas finally came and I roasted the turkey to perfection, thanks to a probe thermometer that took out all the guesswork. The aroma that filled the room was intoxicating.

I sampled a taste of the crispy, bronze turkey. The flavor burst all over the inside of my mouth and was followed by a moment of silence. Springy like a firm pillow, it was the juiciest, most tender turkey I had ever eaten. The flavor had an indescribable depth. The turkey not only tasted delicious, each bite seemed to be infused with a feeling consciousness . . . like friends, sunshine, exercise, slugs and bugs. The turkey felt true to eat. It had integrity. This was a subtle discernment but the vibe was definitely there. I was free from the back-of-mind worry that this living being was raised in a shadowy barn with no windows and killed inhumanely.

I don’t think this is my imagination, but seems to me our turkey tasted and felt different than one raised in harsh conditions. Much of what we sense in our world is invisible and can’t be validated by our external senses. Happy food just feels better and it doesn’t need an explanation to be true, felt, or understood.

The turkey was scrumptious with the traditional stuffing, mashed potatoes, and gravy, and cranberry sauce. After the last tender morsel was gone, I described that beautiful big bird as “the feel good turkey”. Eating food that is grown or raised in harmony with the earth elevates the whole culinary experience. That’s soul food at its best. A happy turkey just feels better. I wonder if Rachel thinks so too.

A while back, my friend Rachel who lives on a small farm in the Willamette valley sent me a picture of a thirty-five pound turkey that she roasted for Thanksgiving. Yes, that’s right, 35 pounds. I had no idea that such a big turkey even existed. The picture was so beautiful it could have been a centerfold in a poultry trade magazine. The turkey was festive and grand: it was quite plump and had a lovely golden brown color that made my mouth water. Rachel’s neighbor raised it in a flock of 35 turkeys, so she saw the turkey often before it ended up in her oven on Thanksgiving Day.

I was mesmerized and looked often at the pictures of this majestic turkey on my phone. This turkey lived its life as a proper turkey should – scratching around in the grass of a barnyard for slugs, bugs, and other tender morsels that turkeys like to eat. It was able to socialize and bask in the warm sunshine. I’m not the envious type, but I found myself coveting Rachel’s turkey. I wanted a big pasture-raised turkey too!

But then I remembered . . .  in my lifetime, I had cooked only one turkey. When I was in my early twenties and had only rudimentary cooking skills, I bought a turkey with a built-in pop-up timer. Well, the timer did not pop-up and the turkey got way overcooked, like cardboard. There wasn’t anything juicy about it. Decades later, I was still gun-shy to cook a turkey.

My friend Dave suggested that I find a pasture-raised turkey of my own and then buy an oven thermometer with a probe. I could insert the probe into the turkey and an alarm would sound when the correct temperature was reached. Ah! No more guesswork. No more cardboard.

I found a place ‒Oregon Valley Farms‒ that could ship a frozen turkey. I looked at the company’s website and was pleased to learn that they carefully raise their turkeys in pastures. With great excitement, I ordered a 22 pound bird.

Three days later, FedEx delivered the turkey to my doorstep. I unpacked it and was surprised to see it was still frozen rock solid. Every time I opened the freezer, I was filled with joyous anticipation of a holiday feast.

Finally it was Christmas morning. I made a triple batch of stuffing, inserted the thermometer, and waited for the results. I felt curious. Was this beautiful pale-brown big bird going to be any different than its factory raised cousin with the bleached white skin? Stay tuned next week to hear the rest of the story! I’ll be sure to tell Rachel, too.

Oh-oh! Here it is, about 24 hours before this column’s deadline and the distraction of the holidays made my mind go blank and late. I wanted to write something wise and wonderful about this quiet, magical time between Christmas and the New Year. That’s when a person can reflect on the year that just flew by and contemplate the next one. But my mind was empty again. Were there any profound musings that rumbled in my head as I stared at my keyboard? Yes!

Over the years I have unplugged from making much ado about Christmas. Oddly enough, the more I do this, the more fun it is. Liberation from expectations and the time pressure that a whirlwind to-do list creates frees me up to savor each moment. I can fully enjoy the now, regardless of what happens or does not happen during the holidays.

We have all heard the cliché expression “go with the flow”. But what exactly does that mean and how can we be flexible? I think of it this way: my current experience is what it is ‒ something else is not happening even though at times, I may wish it were. No amount of wishing things were different will change an unwanted situation. But I can adjust the way I see and accept or adapt to the circumstances. Maybe even embrace them. This is so much more effective than resistance.

An example: just two days before Christmas, the drain in the kitchen sink got plugged up; what an inconvenient mess! The kitchen rapidly became a big mountain of yucky dishes. Then it occurred to me: why not put the dishes in the bathtub? I filled the tub with hot water, added half a cup of dishwashing detergent, and dropped all the pots, pans, and dishes into the tub. Then I went on my merry way, free to relax and enjoy the food, the company, and a clean kitchen. I was thankful we still had water.

The next day I finally had time to tend to the dishes. Since they had soaked for nearly 24 hours, they had literally washed themselves. A quick rub with a sponge cleaned them; there was no need to scrub. I rinsed them with the hand-held shower head and let them dry. Doing the dishes in this way was so easy, particularly the large pots and pans. What a great idea. Grace!

I call this a “happy accident”. What a surprise it was to discover I can have self-cleaning dishes. Then I can be free to spend time with friends and family instead of with a mountain of pots and pans. And then I will have time to conjure up things to write about. Happy New Year to all!

Last week I wrote about how lovely it is to receive a handwritten recipe from a friend. It’s even more special when that friend owns a restaurant and shares a favorite recipe. Brenda at Brenda’s Blessings in Fossil recently gave me her recipe for chocolate peanut clusters. This is the perfect recipe if you need an easy no-bake dessert to add to your Christmas sweets list or want an easy recipe that would be fun to make with children.

When I was in Brenda’s restaurant a couple of weeks ago, I spotted chocolate peanut clusters in the dessert case. Brenda makes everything from scratch, so I knew they had to be good. I struck up a conversation with her and she gave me the recipe; that was such a nice surprise! This recipe could not be easier and the slow cooker keeps the chocolate from getting scorched.

2 pounds dry roasted salted peanuts
4 ounces German’s® Sweet Chocolate
12 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips, about 2 cups
2 ½ pounds white almond bark

Put the peanuts in the bottom of a 4 ‒ 6 quart slow cooker. Layer the chocolate chips followed by the German chocolate then the almond bark. Set on low and cook three hours. After three hours stir until well blended.  Drop by the spoonful onto parchment or waxed paper. I used a ⅛ cup measure for this.

All the ingredients can be found on the baking aisle of most grocery stores. While the recipe didn’t call for it, I topped mine with a tiny pinch of Maldon crunchy sea salt flakes, a favorite salt that I have written about. Other options might include adding miniature marshmallows or substituting coconut for the peanuts.  Peppermint candies would be good too. I didn’t count how many peanut clusters this made but there were plenty extra. I imagine that a person could make these using miniature muffin tins lined with cupcake papers for a nice presentation. I keep these in the fridge; that way the chocolate is a bit firmer and has a nice crunchy texture to it. 

I ate a peanut cluster with ice cream and then I reminisced about a Dairy Queen Peanut Buster parfait. This candy would make a nice Christmas present, especially when accompanied by a handwritten copy of the recipe. Thank you, Brenda, for sharing your recipe for this special treat with us.

Last week I wrote about how lovely it is to receive a handwritten recipe from a friend. It’s even more special when that friend owns a restaurant and shares a favorite recipe. Brenda at Brenda’s Blessings in Fossil recently gave me her recipe for chocolate peanut clusters. This is the perfect recipe if you need an easy no-bake dessert to add to your Christmas sweets list or want an easy recipe that would be fun to make with children.

When I was in Brenda’s restaurant a couple of weeks ago, I spotted chocolate peanut clusters in the dessert case. Brenda makes everything from scratch, so I knew they had to be good. I struck up a conversation with her and she gave me the recipe; that was such a nice surprise! This recipe could not be easier and the slow cooker keeps the chocolate from getting scorched.

2 pounds dry roasted salted peanuts
4 ounces German’s® Sweet Chocolate
12 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips, about 2 cups
2 ½ pounds white almond bark

Put the peanuts in the bottom of a 4 ‒ 6 quart slow cooker. Layer the chocolate chips followed by the German chocolate then the almond bark. Set on low and cook three hours. After three hours stir until well blended.  Drop by the spoonful onto parchment or waxed paper. I used a ⅛ cup measure for this.

All the ingredients can be found on the baking aisle of most grocery stores. While the recipe didn’t call for it, I topped mine with a tiny pinch of Maldon crunchy sea salt flakes, a favorite salt that I have written about. Other options might include adding miniature marshmallows or substituting coconut for the peanuts.  Peppermint candies would be good too. I didn’t count how many peanut clusters this made but there were plenty extra. I imagine that a person could make these using miniature muffin tins lined with cupcake papers for a nice presentation. I keep these in the fridge; that way the chocolate is a bit firmer and has a nice crunchy texture to it. 

I ate a peanut cluster with ice cream and then I reminisced about a Dairy Queen Peanut Buster parfait. This candy would make a nice Christmas present, especially when accompanied by a handwritten copy of the recipe. Thank you, Brenda, for sharing your recipe for this special treat with us.

One of my favorite possessions is a loose-leaf notebook filled with handwritten recipes given to me over the years by friends and family. Many of these recipes were handed down for generations because they are delicious and reliable. A tried and true recipe like this is definitely worth its weight in gold.

I’m always thrilled to get a new handwritten recipe to add to my collection. Recently a friend gave me her recipe for salmon patties. I looked forward to making these because I had not ever made salmon patties. When I was growing up, my father was a CPA and he had a client who had a fish cannery in Astoria, Oregon. We always had cases of canned salmon and smoked sturgeon in the pantry. My mother routinely made a salmon loaf and it was one of my favorite dinners. This recipe caused me to reminisce a little.

I used a 14.75 ounce can of wild caught Alaskan salmon. Canned salmon also comes in a six ounce size. If you use that size, just use two cans and a little bit less of the other ingredients. Dawn said that the mixture freezes well. Also it can be made into small patties and served as an appetizer.

Salmon Patties

One can salmon, cleaned and drained
¼ cup sour cream
Capers to taste
Two tablespoons chopped onion
1 tsp horseradish or Dijon mustard
One egg

Put the salmon in a strainer and thoroughly drain it. Remove the skin and small bones. Combine the remainder of the ingredients then add the salmon. If the mixture is too wet to form into a patty, add a little of the panko until you can make one that retains its shape. Coat them with the panko. I fried one batch in grapeseed oil and the other in butter. Butter has a low smoke point so the reduced heat increased the cooking time. When frying, turn them over only once; that will keep them from falling apart. I fried them about ten minutes per side until they were a dark golden brown which gave them a lovely crunchy texture. Dawn said she sometimes adds chopped vegetables, like tri-color peppers or fresh herbs. I used a shallot instead of an onion and the Daisy brand of sour cream. In my opinion, Daisy seems to have a better flavor than the other kinds.

I put the patties on toasted hamburger buns with thinly sliced red onion. My friend Heather made some tartar sauce using equal parts mayo, sour cream, and dill pickle relish. I served them with a wedge of lemon; a splash of lemon always brightens the flavor a bit. There you have it – a recipe worth its weight in gold.