Sunday Supper: Hunters and Gatherers and Gremolata

Wild: living or growing in the natural environment;
not domesticated or cultivated

As much as I miss city life -- wine bars, Sephora, fancy haircuts and the tap, tap, tap of high heels on polished wood -- I love the idea that I live in a place where the folks are just a little bit wild and not in a whoo-hoo, upside down margaritas, tight jean skirt and making out with your best friend's wife (yeah...you know who you are and of course there's ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT)...but a different sort of wild, the kind that demands you live a little closer to the earth, press your cheek firmly against the mossy surface and dip your hands into the freezing ocean. Because that's where supper lives. Today, the three of us divided and conquered. The Neighbor hit the docks (secret spot...if I tell he'll pull my plug and not in a friendly way) while the Ranger and I hit the forest.

Pulling up the crab pots (at the end of 30 feet of rope) takes strength, stamina
and tight butt cheeks. That's why I like to watch.

Cooked, cleaned and ready to pick. The meat is so sweet and juicy, you don't need butter, lemon or anything but a bucket, some wine and old recordings of Cream.

The word "lump" has never been a favorite. Good things don't come in "lumps," not in oatmeal, or on breasts or your lover sitting on the sofa. But lumps of crab! Now we're talking, people!

And then of course, there were the mushrooms. Oyster, chanterelles, shitakis and butter caps. Although there was talk of adding magic mushrooms to our soup, we resisted. Some of us work in the morning and need to find our pants and not wake up with rug burns on our face.


Okay...not to brag...but this is perhaps the BEST mushroom soup I have ever tasted. Sorry Chef. I know you made a delicious soup for my birthday and I much appreciate it, but as your favorite TV Chef, Bobby Flay (NOT) would say, "Are you ready for a throwdown?"

The broth simmered all night in the crockpot -- chicken, ham hocks, ginger, shallots, garlic and dried thyme -- then the mushrooms, gently sauteed in butter with leeks and white wine, were added. A generous sprinkle of fresh thyme. More simmer. And then the Secret Ingredient. A wicked Gremolata -- toasted hazelnuts, roasted garlic, lemon zest and arugula, chopped and blended. A dollop on each serving. And on top of the dollop...shitaki mushrooms sliced and flash-fried in a mixture of olive and sesame oil. Here at the treehouse, we call them bacon bits because that's exactly what they taste like. We eat them on salad, on fish, off the Ranger's biceps.


Jesus. Look at that sheen of butter. So sorry Dr. Cardiologist. I know you're doing your best to change my eating habits...but think of it this way. My arteries might be clogged, but my hair...it's SO SHINY.

The little Gremolata that could.

Sorry I can't write more. Died and went to heaven. Wait a minute. Heaven? Hmm. Nope. Don't believe in heaven. You have one shot at goodness. At the reward of bounty. And this is it.

So eat up.