Luke Judge

When Tad’s mother found she no longer needed sleep, they left town. It was full, she said, of dirty old men and devil worshipers. she drove north, away from the Mason-Dixon Line. Tad wasn’t scared. He rode in the back, between the blue fold-down seats, on a blanket that smelled like Sarah the Doberman. the radio played “Coward of the County” and Blondie. Tad slept.

Tad had a little globe inside a cube of clear plastic, like magic. the oceans were blue, America was red, other countries were other colors. His dinosaur book said they were once one big country. Tad woke up in Rolla. they were going to a fortune teller, to have their palms read. the old gypsy woman lifted his hand, tracing his lifeline carefully with her finger. Soon they would see the Arch, dark silver over the sunset.

At Dixie Truckers Home, Tad woke up in the pickup alone, by the gas pumps, island of light in the vibrating night. He looked out the window, played with the clicking knobs that made the CB needles jump. Bearded men walked to their semis. when his mom came back, they shared an apple and a Snickers bar. Then they drove again. In the dark of the supercab, he remembered he was missing school. Nathan Watson was bringing his turtle to class tomorrow. the two Jennifers, like sun and moon, always smiling in the front row.

Dawn in the Land of Lincoln. they bought ears of corn from a farmer on the roadside. Illinois gravel was different, full of smooth, round pebbles. Tad’s globe was gone, left at the fortune teller’s. Now he had a rubber band and a few oval pebbles, fingers for a slingshot. A rainbow faded over Peoria.

Some things were good: scrambled eggs made with butter, Scandinavian names, Michigan, dogs that protect their owners. others bad: gypsies, cars called Cutlass or LeSabre, even numbers, parts of Chicago. Tad’s mother loved her dad, who died but was reincarnated in Tad, because good people come back when you need them. she drove on. Her dad died because he plastered ceilings for so many years, and the heart doctor was busy golfing.

Now they had to hurry — people were after them. Tad woke up cold in Michigan, climbed into the front to lie near the warmth of the engine. they saw Indiana, but found no one home at Grandma’s, only shriveled tomatoes on the porch rail. While Tad slept, his mom found her way back to Barney’s, her old horse-trader boyfriend who used to hit her. Barney still had their parakeet. He let her take it, cage and all.

They drove past the house she always wanted to live in as a girl. they drove past the dentist’s office where she met Tad’s father. mr. Holly’s farm — he gave gold watches to all his “nieces.” In the fog by the lake, she saw a white fox. when they got back to Missouri, God would punish the wicked. they would shelter in a Mormon church. Mormons had big freezers, for storing a year’s worth of food.

The parakeet ruffled and shivered in its cage. by Missouri, it was dead. Home smelled funny. Sarah the Doberman had chewed into Tad’s mattress and had her puppies there, in a nest of torn foam. she licked and licked those puppies. they could nurse while sleeping, their eyes like chocolate crinkles. Tad could take his mother’s bed until she learned to sleep again, letting go the chiming illucid dream smoldering all around her.

budgerigar Collectables devil worshipers, fortune teller, globe, knobs, oceans

Marinated in herbs and wine: Wild boar stew on polenta. Pictures: Campbell Scott Source: National Features

IN a precinct where trendiness is a given, New Farm's Dell'Ugo sticks to its guns and a tried and true formula of traditional Italian fare.

It’s not a bad formula, pretty decent in fact, given the stockpile of homeland culinary know-how.

Chef Nicola Robertiello spent his formative years apron-side with his grandmothers and mother, learning their recipes and skills.

With both Tuscan and Southern forebears, he manages to cover a nice bit of Latin territory, but a stint in one of Sorrento’s most awarded restaurants also showed him how to put a modern twist to some of the traditional dishes.

If restaurants could wear tweed coats and be avuncular then this is the tweedy uncle of restaurants old-fashioned, reliable, unflamboyant. It’s a timeless, comfortable place where good service is prized.

I’m dining with a gluten-free friend who has a number of other dietary peccadillos that could sorely test some establishments.

Dell’Ugo rises to the occasion with its rather long-winded menu that offers a separate section of gluten-free meals as well as a vegetarian list. Hallelujah.

Top of the GF list is salted cod fish, rehydrated, then steamed, then marinated in olive oil and champagne vinegar and served with olives.

It may be the fault of the almost clinical description, but it’s not drawing us in tonight. Calamari gluten-free style is herb-smoked and stuffed with ricotta, pork and beetroot and finished with a fig and balsamic reduction.

There’s a certain intrigue and inventiveness to the sound of it, with the varied list of characters, but once we’ve seen the word fritti it’s hard to ignore the allure of the more regular deep fried version. We first determine with the knowledgeable waiter the low gluten factor of the batter.

That, and the fact that it’s advertised as one of the restaurant’s famous dishes justifies our decision.

A gargantuan platter of the little crisp circles arrives, with a garlic, chilli and herb oil for dipping. It’s a good combination and would feed a small family.

Not to be deterred by volume, we also decide to try the Northern Italian side of the menu with a wild boar stew on a bed of creamy polenta.

The meat is marinated for 48 hours in a mix of herbs and wine before more drenching and stewing in tomatoes and fresh herbs.

The vivid red concoction is sweet, spicy and tender with an earthy edge. There’s enough here to satisfy as a main course, which perhaps explains the high prices in the entree department.

Other meats like pheasant, rabbit and goat make regular appearances on these menus, and, with spring, a venison carpaccio with horseradish and watercress is Nicola’s latest invention.

Pasta seems de rigueur in this kind of joint. a saffron maccheroncini with zucchini pesto, porcini and zucchini flower sauce is an interesting combination of flavours that lacks textural contrast.

The wagyu steak is presented in pre-cut chunks running the length of an oblong platter. I guess there’s wagyu and there’s wagyu and this isn’t the paragon, but does give my reformed vegetarian friend an iron hit to last for the next week or so.

As you might guess, I’m flying solo in the wine-tasting department. a light Italian pinot grigio is suggested.

The neatly dressed staff exude an ease that speaks of proper training and pitch the friendliness-deference-humour balance at the right level.

They also know their wines and make it a quest to introduce novices to some Italian treats.

Dessert again is left up to the sinner amongst us – me – and I opt for the full gamut of a tasting plate, all in the name of duty.

A veritable festival of cream is placed before me in the guises of tiramisu, profiterole, and a sfogliatelle.

Mea culpa, I can’t take all the cream but some will love this platter’s unwavering dedication to sweetness and whiteness.

HOW IT RATED: DELL’UGO

Address: 693 Brunswick St, New Farm, ph 32542188

Owners: Giusseppe and Gloria Robertiello

Chef: Nicola Robertiello

Green Guide: Locally sourced vegetables and meats where possible

Hours: Mon – Sat midday to 2.30 pm; 6pm to 10 pm

Prices: Entrees $26 – $28

Snapshot: a night in little Italy

pheasant Collectables gluten free meals, grandmothers, peccadillos, traditional dishes, trendiness

I’ll admit, I left you hanging after talking about the times Thomas and I had in Montreal. Let’s get caught up.

The next morning I woke up about 8:15 (very comfortable bed, quiet room), puttered about a bit, and checked my email — holy crap, I had a response on my request for a tour at Unibroue! How soon could I be there? Quick think: raining, major metro area at rush hour (but going opposite to traffic), get Thomas up and packed…10 AM! we quickly threw things together, we’d already paid for the room; grabbed a croissant and a banana from the breakfast area, stuffed everything in the Jetta (thankful for that great parking spot!), and took off for Chambly. Gray, wet weather, and grunting-slow traffic, but the GPS took us directly to the brewery, and shortly we were in the capable hands of master brewer Jerry Vietz (portrait of whom you see pouring us samples of Raftman).
 
I’ll give you the short version, since I’ll be selling this story elsewhere: they are obsessed with quality and consistency. we washed our shoes, there were a number of areas where we could only look in through windows, no admittance (micro lab, open fermenters). They’re doing a lot of lager brewing for Sleeman (Sleeman bought Unibroue, and was shortly thereafter bought by Sapporo), but Jerry intimated that the plan was to heavily ramp up sales and production of Unibroue, to the point where the whole plant would be dedicated to the refermented ales of Unibroue.

And we drank. The Raftman was delish: much more smoke in the nose than in the palate (Jerry also gave me a fresh-bottled Raftman: keep it warm, he warned me, and so we took it in the hotel every night). we tried the Blonde as well, and it was wonderful, flowery, spicy, lively. he loaded us down with samples: Ephemere, Blonde, Eau Benite, Maudite, a big three year old magnum of Maudite, a special brewery-only Christmas beer, and a sixpack of 1837, a Quebec-release strong ale that I’m looking forward to trying. great time, great tour: Thomas was impressed and interested on a scientific level (as was I: Vietz is juggling several major projects with skill and aplomb). and…we took off for Quebec City.
 we stopped for lunch in Trois-Rivières along the way, at a brewpub the GPS happened to come up with: Gambrinus. I had to start with coffee; I was kind of dozey. But then it was time for beer; I had a stout. it was good with my smoked meat sandwich (also good), and the place had a nice feel to it. Worth a repeat, if we’re in the area.

Onward! we rolled on down the St. Lawrence (largely frozen, and awesomely large), and came to Quebec City. The outer, modern city reminded me oddly of Pittsburgh. we stayed on the edge of the old city in a very nice best Western (hello, Priceline), with a school group full of tarted up little hotties…yeah, whatever, get out of the way, we’re going sightseeing!

We headed up the hill to the Citadelle, hoping to get some view of the city, but it was misty, rainy, and…we were too late in the day. on top of that…it’s an active Canadian Defence site! who knew? we were braced at the door, told there was no admittance. well…okay! we walked back to the Jetta, and drove into the walled part of the old city. we got up to the point, and there was a Red Bull Crashed Ice track! they were running a race that weekend…which would have been fun, but as it was, it just kind of screwed up the parking. we drove around some more, and finally stuck the Jetta in an underground lot, and went walking. we went in a medieval store (I got Cathy silver and amber earrings, Thomas looked at swords), a clothing store, didn’t go in the Hello Kitty store (well, it was closed, what are you going to do), and I finally said, look, we have to get a drink!

And this is where we wound up, at the St. Alexandre Pub, where they had an astounding selection of bottled beer — huge Belgian selection — and good taps too. I got a St. Ambroise stout (predictable, but it was so good fresh), Thomas took my advice and got a Guinness/Smithwick’s black and tan. He’d never had, and that was a good intro. he liked it. we were starting to get peckish, though, and didn’t necessarily want to eat here. I pulled out the Frommer’s, and we saw that one of their recommended places was a short walk from there: Ristorante il Teatro.

We had a good time, and an excellent repast: a Tuscan (meaty!) antipasto, a funghi risotto for me, and smoked duck ravioli for him. Delish, and really not a bad price. Afterwards…well, we walked back to the car (along which walk I took the picture of Thomas to the left here, hunched against the damp cold, and looking downright European), drove back to the hotel and stashed the car, and fell asleep in quite short order. We’d walked quite a bit, and it had been a short night.

The next morning, Thomas was still dozey, so I got up, showered, got dressed, and walked about two blocks to a bakery, La Boîte à Pain. The girl behind the counter spoke no English, so we smiled, pointed, and nodded: I picked out two loaves to take home, a spinach and feta roll, and a chocolate croissant (for Thomas). and I left my wallet at the room! Crap. I finally got it across to her, and promised to be back. Ran to the hotel, got the wallet, ran back, and collected my breadstuffs. and that spinach thang was good!
 
Anyway, we left town and drove on through flat open (wet!) country, but the day eventually cleared up, although it was still pretty damned flat! I was thinking about how to spend my Canadian money, when I saw a sign for a Fromagerie. Cool! I got off the Autoroute, and THEN the sign admitted that the cheese place was 14 klicks north. oh well, we weren’t in a rush. See that picture with the Jetta? That’s what it was, miles and miles of flat muddy fields, covered in snow. Impressive. we got some cheese curds and a big block of excellent 3 year old cheddar, and cross-countried to the border on two lane roads. Fun drive, and there were these big hills that reared up out of the flat, stark and sudden; all rather enjoyable, in a scenic sense. The border crossing was quite intrusive; apparently the guy was convinced that we were coming across at this tiny post because we had something to hide. All we were doing was driving down through the Champlain islands, but no big: we had nothing to hide. he finally opened the trunk and saw the beer, and things got downright jovial after that.

We rolled on down into Burlington and had lunch at the Vermont Pub & Brewery…which is about where I left you in the post from Burlington. that was about it for the trip. we drove home on Friday, and that was that. Good trip, good time with Thomas, and some great food and beer.

signs Collectables breakfast area, capable hands, consistency, metro area

After 70-some years and four generations of milking cows in the Snohomish Valley, the Bartelheimers were the latest in a long list of dairy families who’ve called it quits. but the long, low barns had been empty for less than a week this month when the cows came home again.

Today, the dairy is in operation as one of four rented locations Jeremy and Jerald Visser are using to expand their herd.

The Bartelheimers sold off 750 mature cows, some to the Vissers, and leased the dairy to the family. As a result, the Bartelheimers paid off debt, made their mortgage payments and owner Dale Bartelheimer, 73, was able to retire.

It’s tough to make a living in the dairy business these days, but those who find economical ways to grow have a better chance of surviving, says Ned Zaugg, Washington State University Extension’s dairy expert.

The Vissers — son Jeremy and father Jerald — believe the arrangement will be beneficial by giving them a place to expand their herd (and therefore potential profit) without the costs of land ownership.

Most Washington dairies are family-operated, a number of them by people such as the Bartelheimers and Vissers, who’ve been in the business for generations.

But the high cost of feed, the low price of milk and strict state environmental rules implemented in 1997 mean the family-owned dairy is a dying breed.

When Zaugg came to the Northwest in 1993, Snohomish and Skagit counties each had more than 100 dairies. now there are about 25 in each, he said.

“It is a crisis,” he said.

Dairy farms also affect nearby towns, he said. Depending on the economy, every 100 cows represent $1 million to $2 million in income to surrounding communities, Zaugg said. Towns near a dairy often are small and have benefited from the dairy families’ involvement for years.

“These people are the salt of the earth,” he said. “They work hard; they don’t complain about it. They appreciate natural resources because that’s their livelihood. These are the communities where they raise their children.”

Dairy families

The Visser family came from the Netherlands in the early 1900s and settled on the farm in Sumas, Whatcom County, where Jeremy Visser, 33, lives today with his wife and 2-year-old son.

In 1999, the dairy was about to go under. That’s when Jeremy went into partnership with his father, Jerald, and made an ambitious plan to expand their operation. They began leasing other properties — one in Whatcom County and now two in Snohomish, and expanded the herd from 140 to 3,000 today.

With a bigger herd comes increased responsibilities and risks, Visser said: “I can’t afford to make mistakes.”

He also has a far more sober view of dairying than he did 11 years ago when he jumped into the business full of optimism.

2009 was the worst year for the dairy industry, he said. That’s when milk prices dropped to their lowest, $11.76 for about 12 gallons, while the price of feed remained high. Local dairies were paid $14.20 for the same amount of milk in 2005, and the rate today is about $15, Visser said.

Feed prices are high for several reasons. Prime Eastern Washington hay is shipped to lucrative markets overseas — Saudi Arabia, for example, Bartelheimer said. That makes available hay more expensive.

Alfalfa, corn and soy beans are all part of a cow’s diet, and corn prices are high now, too, Visser said, because it’s in demand for ethanol.

“Unfortunately for a lot of agriculture, when one does well another pays the penalty,” Zaugg said. “No man is an island when it comes to this picture.”

Hard habit to break

The Bartelheimers, who came from Germany in the early 1900s and moved to Snohomish after a stop in Nebraska, wouldn’t have been able to stay on the land had a tenant not been found, said Jason Bartelheimer, 39.

“For the last two years we’ve been losing money,” he said. “The dairy economy went with the rest of the economy.”

Jason Bartelheimer can’t remember wanting to be anything but a dairyman. while attending the University of Washington, he skipped so many classes to work on the farm that he eventually left college. when he married, he brought his wife to the farm, and they’re raising their four children in the same way he was raised, being welcome in the barn “as soon as you’re old enough to push a wheelbarrow.”

Bartelheimer is doing what many dairymen are doing in order to stay on their farms: He’s planning to make farmstead cheese, and he bought 42 calves from the herd his father sold. He’s taken cheesemaking classes and practiced in the farmhouse kitchen.

Bartelheimer says he knows it will take time to make money in the cheese business and that he’ll have to find another job in the interim.

His friends jokingly tell him he needs a night job to support his “farming habit.”

That’s a passion Visser understands. he, too, left college to return to the dairy. he doubts his children (the second is due next month) will be the fifth generation in the dairy business.

“They’ll find smarter ways of making money,” he said. “But it’s a wonderful lifestyle for families.”

dairy Collectables dairy business, mature cows, son jeremy, visser, washington state university

Recipes > Meat > Quail > Quails en Caisse

Ingredients Instructions

Bone the quails and halve them, take the bones and trimmings and stew them in some stock with the carrots, onion, one shalot, the bayleaf, ham, parsley, pepper and salt. This must be reduced, and then strained. Make a forcemeat of the quails’ livers, the calf’s liver, and half their quantity of bacon. put these into a saut?-pan with a couple of shalots and the butter, and toss them over the fire for five minutes, then pass this mixture through a sieve. have the paper cases ready oiled, and place at the bottom a layer of this farce, having already stuffed the half quails with it. the stuffed half quails, rolled, must now be put into the cases with a thin slice of very fat bacon over them. they must now be baked in the oven for about twelve minutes. Remove the bacon, and pour over the gravy, which must be thickened with flour rolled in butter. Strew a little very nicely minced parsley over each case.

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Source

Dressed Game and Poultry ? la Mode (1888).

game Birds Collectables forcemeat, onion, pepper, stock

The Indian food industry is hailed as the sunshine industry of India. The current market size of Indian food market is around US$ 182 billion, and as per latest reports, the Indian food industry comprises nearly two thirds of the total Indian retail market.

Growing economy, surplus food, shift in consumer consumption pattern, have put the Indian food industry on the fast track.

According to consultancy firm McKinsey & Co, the retail food sector in India in 2008 was worth US$ 70 billion, which will reportedly scale up to around US$ 150 billion by 2025. The world food industry would grow to US$400 billion from US$ 175 billion. This means, India’s food industry will form a major part of the world food industry.

RNCOS, an industry research firm, sometime back had released a new market research report titled “Indian Food, Beverages

confectionery Collectables amp, consumption pattern, industry of india, retail food, retail market