So there’s a reason for the picture up above. If I went with my original choice, the Admins might blast my diary off the face of the earth for violating obscenity rules.
Let’s start with a little backstory.
OneRedShoe is an alumn of Evergreen State College, a beautiful place located in Olympia, WA. Evergreen is known for three things, among others: its leftist politics, the fact Kurt Cobain surfed several couches nearby, and the fact that its mascot is this curious bivalve known as the geoduck. The geoduck has its own claim to fame: not only is it delicious, it has a rather long siphon that causes it to resemble something our parents would definitely not want to put in our mouths.
ORS cheerfully told me a story to explain why Evergreen chose the geoduck for its mascot, which went something like this:
One day, the Trustees of Evergreen met to decide upon a new mascot for the school. Several options were discussed, and finally one man suggested the geoduck.
"Oh, that's unusual," was the response. "Why?”
“Because it's most definitely a creature of the Pacific Northwest?"
"No," was the man's answer.
“Because it reflects well on the biodiversity of our state?”
“No.”
“Okay, why, then?”
"Because it looks like a horse's pizzle, and because we can."
(No, that's not a true story. That's just OneRedShoe’s sense of humor.)
More to the point, OneRedShoe was once out walking the beach near Evergreen with friends, and accidentally stepped on a geoduck that was too close to the surface. Well, there's not much you can do with a dead geoduck, and they weren't about to bury it. After all, it was geoduck. So, partly to hide the fact that they'd killed a geoduck without having a license to go clamming, and partly because they were hungry, they made a fire, cooked the geoduck, and ate it. For those of you interested, that’s a meal easily upwards of $150 they had al fresco, for free.
When he found that I could cook, OneRedShoe asked if I would make a geoduck chowder. Of course I said yes. I'd never seen a geoduck before - it was a challenge I couldn't wait to face. So we went to a local market (Uwajimaya's, in Renton) that advertised live geoduck. And that's when I found out that, while they may be delicious, the fuckers are expensive. They were priced at $27.99 per pound, and a single one weighs anywhere between 3 and 6 pounds. Of course, some of that is the siphon meat, but no site I consulted was enthused about including siphon meat in a chowder - they all suggested keeping it back for sashimi or fritters. So I knew, since we lived in a house with four other adults and two kids, that I'd need at least three to make enough chowder to feed everyone. That was more than out of reach of our budget.
Seeing my downcast face, OneRedShoe said, "We don't have to get geoduck. Let's just grab some razor clams right now, and we'll save up for the geoduck another time.”
So we headed home with several pounds of razor clams, some tiny scallops I bought for flavor and texture, applewood-smoked bacon, clam juice, potatoes, leeks, cream, and butter. And I knew exactly what pot I was going to cook it in - a big earthenware stockpot one of our housemates used to cook her soups and casseroles in, particularly a tuna-based dish she called, "noodle gook.
Now part of my enthusiasm was cooking a dish I knew I could make for someone with whom I still am madly in love; I couldn't wait to see him enjoy a hot, savory bowl of chowder. The other part was just making something fresh. It'd been a hard winter; OneRedShoe's work doesn't pay much, and I had just been let go from a low-paying temp job. Our housemates were either unemployed or on disability; money and food were both tight. This was going to be a treat for everybody.
I was giddy - or maybe just starving - and I got my ingredients prepped and ready to go with the exception of the clams. First the bacon went in, diced up to better render its fat and smoky flavor. Then in went the leeks, with a little butter added. I made sure the gas burner was down low, because I could hear hissing, and didn't want the fat to be so hot it burned my vegetables before they had a chance to cook. In went the potatoes, and I seasoned the pot’s contents with salt, pepper, and a pinch of garlic for taste. Finally, I added the cream and clam juice, and frowned when I heard the pot hiss again.
I made sure the flame was adjusted to where it should have been, and started stirring to make sure nothing stuck to the bottom. But the hissing continued. As the cream, potatoes, and bacon bubbled in the pot, the sound grew louder, and the flames started to jump. I looked down underneath the pot and saw a ring of cream-beads all along its bottom, forming a neat little hem that dripped steadily onto the gas flames. And as the flames licked the sides of the pot, I saw the beads sweat out faster through its walls.
I knew what that meant. The pot was doomed, and I had to save my chowder.
I found a stockpot, grabbed a ladle, and started ladling the mix from the earthen pot as fast as I could. But the hissing became a sizzling almost as soon as I started, and more cream was leaking out of the pot. Maybe, I told myself, maybe I can tip the pot and let the contents pour out. So I called for Charles, one of our housemates, to help me maneuver the pots. Charles was built like a linebacker, and he held the stockpot while I grabbed the earthen pot by its handles and tilted it forward.
And I felt it tear apart.
I was left holding most of the pot, with the bottom firmly stuck to the burner, with hot cream and potatoes pouring all over the stove and onto the floor. I howled profanities. I shouted so loudly that OneRedShoe came running up to the kitchen from our room below, thinking I'd burned myself. Luckily, Charles and I both managed to avoid the flood, but it was all over the floor, on the stove, under the burner grate. Some of it even got on the wall behind Charles. I put the broken pot back on the stove, put my head in my hands, and fought the urge to bawl.
So much for a tasty hot meal.
The cleanup took an hour, and in that time, I had my frustrated cry. OneRedShoe consoled me, telling me the pot was old and probably fragile from overuse. "Look," he said, "I'll pick up some more bacon and potatoes tomorrow. You can try it again tomorrow night.”
The next night, I used the metal stockpot. I rendered the bacon and leeks, added the cream and clam juice, and this time left the heat on medium-high while I tried cutting up the razor clams into bite-sized pieces (razor clams are more like calamari steaks than most clams I've seen). And as I cut up the razor clams . . . my potatoes were burning at the bottom of all the clam juice, cream, bacon and leeks.
When I went to stir in the clams, I felt like I was like trying to stir up a pot of two-day-old polenta.
There were two things I discovered in trying to fix the chowder. The first is that you can try using peanut butter, and the taste won't come through. It will, however, make it lethally inedible for the child in the household who’s allergic to peanuts, which we had.
The second is that once you burn potatoes until they're black, there is no fixing the taste.
OneRedShoe tasted it after I stirred in two heaping tablespoons of peanut butter. He looked at me and said, "I'm sorry, love. It tastes like carbon.”
I cried again, this time for the waste of food. "I'm an idiot," I sniffled.
"Yes," he agreed, "but you're my idiot. Next time you'll turn the burner down."
I poured out the mess. We had to fill the pot with water and Dawn so the blackened mess on the bottom would loosen up. At least the worst thing that happened to the kitchen was that it smelled like peanut butter and burnt starch.
The next day, OneRedShoe texted me as I was coming home from a job interview. He'd gotten the potatoes out of the pot, he said, and added, "I have a name for your stew, love. Chowder Carbonara."
I'm still not sure if I should kill him for that one.