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DISH
It's not easy being green, is it? Particularly not when you live 30 miles out to sea. Which makes me feel the compunction to sneer my snidest snicker at the whole preachy notion of politically correct food-ism. By whichever name you choose to call it - "slow food," "sustainable-food," "the 100-mile diet" or "locavore," the concept involves consuming only foods that are grown or produced within a 100 mile radius of where you live and seeks to stamp out supermarket-ing. According to locavores, grocery chain food is transported an average of 1,500 miles before it gets to your plate, contributing to air pollution, global warming and the ecological costs of large scale monoculture. As sermonized by locavore high-priestess, Jennifer Prentice, who not only co-founded the tribe but coined the term, "Our whole goal is to get people to eat with a sense of place." Sense of place? Ha! I think one winter on this island would give her a sense of a place where you can't sustain your existence if you adhere to such high-fallutin' food buffoonery. Jennifer likely wouldn't survive the very sight of the Stop & Shop truck on the ferry. The locavore movement has its roots at the epicenter of American food snobbery: San Francisco, where one can easily find nearly anything their heart desires, from meat and fish, to cheese and butter, not to mention a bounty of fruits and vegetables and a motherlode of wine. With an estimated 600 farmers' markets in the area, the locavores' "Eat Local Challenge," spearheaded in 2005, is more than a little incredulous; it seems the real challenge would be finding something that's not local. My opinion? San Francisco should just change its name to "San Farmers' Marketisco" and call it a day. In the interest of some mid-winter amusement, I checked out a web site called "localharvest.org." With nothing more than my zip code, the site promised to help me find "farmers' markets, family farms, and other sources of sustainably grown food in your [my?] area, where you [I? Are you sure about that?] can buy produce, grass-fed meats, and many other goodies." Mostly, I just wanted to see if fumes would come out of my computer. They didn't, but I was in for a confusing surprise. I saw that "Nantucket Farmers' Market" (Dorothy Bartlett, Contact) is on the corner of Main and Federal Streets on Mondays and Saturdays during the month of January. Huh? Is it possible that I missed out on this? Then I noticed some itsy bitsy lettering: "This listing was last updated 8/17/2000." Bartlett's, I have a message for you: "If you contact this farmers' market, please invite them to login to our web site and update their information." I do love Bartlett's Farm and I love that they now have a sprawling store. So much so that I forgive them for the fact that I nearly broke my face when I dashed in the other day and encountered a makeshift wall where the other three quarters of the place used to be. Clearly, the wall is anecdotal evidence that the island's climate prohibits substantial year-round offerings. As for those locavores, I couldn't resist some tongue-in-cheek naughtiness; I sent an email saying how much I admire the tenets of their movement and requested pointers on how a gal living on a speck in the ocean could become devout. That was a few days ago. I'll let you know if I ever hear from them. Until such time, we've got one fine local revenge: candy, Nantucket-style. No, not fudge or chocolates - I'm talking about those bay scallops. And the best part? San Farmers' Marketisco is a full 3,186 miles away. According to her own rules, Jennifer can't have any. Worst part? At 25 greenies a pound, I run the serious risk of becoming a "pooravore." Although I love them raw, I've been using them to tinker with one of my favorite "cooked" dishes, the national dish of Peru: ceviche. "Ceviche" comes from the Latin "cibus" ("food") via the Spanish "cebo" and "cebiche" ("fish stew"). Though Ecuador also stakes its claim and national pride in the dish, historians agree that it most likely evolved from the Incan Empire around the 13th Century in the area that's now Peru. The earliest preparations generally consisted of mild white fish cured in seawater, salt and aji amarillo, a Peruvian hot pepper. Along with Spanish colonization in the 16th Century came the introduction of citrus fruits; lime juice, with its high level of citric acid, became a popular marinade, with the added benefit of more effectively preventing spoilage. Although Peru and Ecuador each have more thatched-roof "cevicherias" than there are fish in the sea, the two countries have different takes on how the dish should be served. Both use limes or lemons, chiles and spices for the marinade, but the Peruvian version is generally chunkier and contains no additives, such as tomatoes. Basically, it consists of chunks of fish or shrimp (or a combination of shellfish) served on a plate with shredded onions and wedges of yucca and sweet potatoes. By contrast, the Ecuadorian version is liquid and much more akin to soup. Both serve their ceviche along with crunchy hominy-like, pan-fried corn kernels - "canchas" in Peru, "tostados" in Ecuador. And what about the quotation marks around "cooked" - does marinating in citric acid equate to cooking? Sort of. But the proper term is "denaturing," heat being the most common denaturing method used to alter the physical and chemical properties of protein molecules. Essentially, proteins are destabilized when subjected to higher acidity levels and higher temperatures than those of the protein itself. The acid levels and body temperatures of fish and shellfish are extremely low, so in making ceviche, the proteins can be denatured simply with the acid in lime juice, even when refrigerated. In sum, citric acid does to protein what heat does to protein: denatures it. Just as cooked egg whites go from transparent to opaque white when heated, so do scallops when marinated in lime juice. In the midst of perfecting my technique with what seemed to me to be Nantucket's only sustainable wintertime product, I suddenly had an epiphany; it occurred to me what our finest local harvest is. No, those self-important locavores wouldn't understand. How could they? It's the mainstay of Islanders' year-round diets and it can't be bought, sold, grown or denatured: it's called a sense of humor. I Maribeth Maloney was an attorney in Manhattan before moving to the Island in 2003 with her husband and two children. She opened The Chocolate…Lingerie in 2004, which she sold last year, giving her more time to cook and focus on the several hundred cookbooks she's amassed since her early twenties. She attended Manhattan's Institute of Culinary Education in between lawyering and was an avid volunteer at The James Beard Foundation. LOCAVORE CEVICHE Serve with a side of local laughs- + 1 1/2 pounds Nantucket Bay Scallops + 1 cup freshly-squeezed lime juice (about 8 limes) + 1/4 cup freshly-squeezed grapefruit juice (about 1/2 grapefruit) + 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin + 1/2 hot red chili pepper (such as Scotch Bonnet or Habañero) + 1/4 cup red onion, finely-chopped + 3 plum tomatoes, seeded and chopped into dice + 1 medium-sized red bell pepper, chopped into dice + 3 scallions, chopped (white and light green parts only) + 3/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped Remove and discard ribs and seeds from red chili pepper; finely chop pepper. Place scallops into a non-reactive bowl. Combine lime and grapefruit juices and cumin and pour over scallops. Stir in chili peppers and red onions; cover and place in refrigerator for 3 hours. Remove from refrigerator and drain. Stir in bell peppers, green onions and cilantro. Serve in well-chilled martini glasses along with good quality tortilla chips. Serves 4 as an appetizer. |
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