good cateress newsletter November 2010
I drove across the US back in the 80’s. Pippa - my fairy godmother - had given me Jessica’s old Isuzu trooper, on condition that I came out to Los Angles and picked it up. I was excited for many reasons, not least owning a car, but also the journey. When
it first came up there were a couple of friends that were going to drive with me, we thought we would make stops in Las Vegas, Santa Fe, New Orleans, Memphis - not exactly the most direct route. But for various reasons the trip got pushed back and no one could make the drive with me.
I had flown back and forwards across the country many times. I always have a window seat so that I can look out at the Country below. Geography O levels had been on North American geography. So I would love to see the Cities, plains, rivers - oxbow lakes on the Mississippi, mountains that I had learnt about. Great Lakes - amazing with the sunset over them, or in winter covered with ice.
Leaving Los Angeles on rte 40 and driving through the desert at 80 mph and feeling as though I was hardly moving. Thinking of the early European settlers making their way west and coming to the desert, how daunting it must have been. Blazing past the signs for Bagdad Cafe, suspecting I would have been disappointed to stop and not find all the films characters there. Becoming aware that although everything seemed flat that I was gradually getting higher.
I was reminded about those great, fake Westerns in bright Technicolor from the 50’s and 60’s. Filled with glamorous women in low cut tops screaming about Indians and dastardly men in black Stetsons filling their water bottles with whiskey before heading into the desert.
My first night I stopped 30 - 40 minutes from the Grand Canyon, after being told that all the Hotels at the Canyon were full. I had one of my first ‘Merican experiences here. I ate in the Hotel, not seeing any other options. I knew instinctively that the food was all frozen. I made what I thought was a safe choice, fried Scampi and fries, that tasted like cardboard. The waitress sat at the table and talked to me while I ate. We talked of food, as I did not eat what was on my plate; she telling me about her diet that she had found in a magazine, it was full of cheese, carbs and fried food, she asked why I thought she wasn’t loosing weight? I talked about vegetables and fruit, it was the first time I became aware that the middle of the country did not have the same food options as NY and LA.
Grand Canyon, superlative, superlative! Amazing, daunting. There is nothing I can say that many others have not said. But, lousy breakfast! I don’t eat eggs, I did not want to eat something too heavy and then sit and drive. Everyone else was tucking in with gusto. It was probably me, I was and still am a finicky eater.
Flagstaff was an eye opener as I drove through, a frontier town from a movie set.
Something I had not expected. I also realized I should have left the canyon and eaten something here. But I was in a hurry to reach Santa Fe that night. Scenically this was the most beautiful part of the drive. Big Sky country.
Santa Fe an oasis of food in the middle of a fast food desert. I had planned a three night stay, the only hotel reservations I had made. Inn at Santa Fe. I had a couple of restaurants I wanted to try, top of the list Coyote Cafe, but there was one other, who’s name has gone from my memory, where I ate the first night that was incredible too.
Santa Fe was everything I had wanted it to be and more, I ended up staying a week because the car broke down and I needed a part from Albuquerque. Pippa, I told you she was my fairy godmother, had an old room mate, Janey that lived in Santa Fe, who came to my rescue. She took me up to the Sangre de Cristo mountains: to Chimayo - were I dug up my little packet of red dirt. She also took me to Thubten Norbu Ling Tibetan Buddhist Center, where we spent a morning in meditation and took tea with the Tibetan Monk who ran the center then.
The food was incredible. Wild mushroom tamales; crusted rack of lamb, chile, cilantro, beans. Yum. Even the cafe’s and take outs were amazing. I learnt a lot from just eating there. Many of the ingredients and flavors remain my favorite. Did I mention I always thought I could live here, even with no ocean anywhere close by.
I mention all of this because my inner cowgirl is trying to break out. I will happily tell anyone that will listen that the item I promised myself on moving to America was a fantastic pair of cowboy boots in lizard, snake or crocodile with pointy toes and flashes of lurid color. Of course, I have still never bought them. In the 80’s when I could have bought them, Billy Martin on Madison Avenue was too expensive. There was also far too much else to spend money on: Fabulous nights out on trendy restaurants Roauls; Odeon, Luxembourg, Hawaii 5 0 Gulf Coast followed by dancing at Area, Pryramid, Danceteria. I turned my back on the longed for snazzy cowboy boats and embraced Asian designers in monotone.
Recently the High Sierra has been calling to me again. Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, States I have never visited but promise myself I will one day. I have a fancy for Western riding - something I do not do - across a dun drenched but chilly high plain. Wearing a brightly tartaned cowgirl shirt, leather culottes and the aforementioned boots.
Maybe jeans and chaps!
I wonder where this cowgirl fantasy comes from? Too much “High Chapparel” on Monday nights as a teenager. Way too many romance novels in my early twenties?
I know part of the influence is the beautiful ‘Sisters” , Num’s friends and relatives, that come and visit from Dallas and Oklahoma. Confident, assured in their colorful not New York City clothes, and yes, those Gator cowboy boots. Asking why New Yorkers wear monotone. Truthfully, through this recession/depression I have jsut wanted to wear color; blues, greens pinks, yellow and reds just shouting we are alive and will survive these difficult times.
As I write a pair of brightly colored cardinals flash across the garden, confirming the need for color. They are peeping their agreement.
Somehow I have started to receive ‘cowgirl’ catalogues. I always enjoyed the Sundance catalogue, that was my expensive hippy chic! But these cowgirl catalogues are something quite different, their accoutrements are a little too showy and over powering for this boring english girl. But the Boots!! I could wear all of them.
I do have black cowboy boots, regular ones, that are so comfortable. Thanks Traci, who I made take me to many stores in Dallas to see if I could get some boots on sale.
My favorite dish at Coyote Cafe, which I slightly changed and adapted was the pecan crust rack of lamb. I actually found the pecans too much, so mixed pecans and breadcrumbs (panko or home-made are best.)
Herb, Pecan rack of lamb
1/2 cup of dijon mustard
3 tablespoons honey
3 or 4 cloves of garlic - crushed
1/2 cup of chopped pecans
1/2 cup bread crumbs
1 teaspoon of fresh chopped marjoram, thyme and rosemary - less rosemary
1 rack of lamb
salt and pepper
Season the rack of lamb with salt and pepper.
Combine mustard, garlic and honey; rub the rack of lamb with the mustard mixture and marinate at least a couple of hours in the fridge, but preferably overnight.
Bring the rack of lamb back to room temperature.
Combine other ingredients and then shake onto the mustard rack of lamb.
Roast in 400 degree oven 10 minutes each side.
I have also grilled the rack successfully.
Cut the chops through and serve.
A Prairie Song
Oh, music springs under the galloping hoofs,
Out on the plains;
Where mile after mile drops behind with a smile,
And to-morrow seems always to tempt and beguile, --
Out on the plains.
Oh, where are the traces of yesterday's ride?
There to the north;
Where alfalfa and sage sign themselves into sleep,
Where the buttes loom up suddenly, startling and steep, --
There to the north.
Oh, rest not my pony, there's youth in my heart,
Out on the plains;
And the wind sings a wild song to rob me of care,
And there's room here to live and to love and to dare, --
Out on the plains.
