Eating Around / Le Pigeon

What is food to one, is to others bitter poison.

                         Lucretius (96 BC - 55 BC), De Rerum Natura

For nose to tail eating in Portland there seems to be two places, there may well be more.  Beast is one and  Le Pigeon is the other.  Beast is within walking distance of Clea and Tom's new house but we could not get a reservation.   We did manage to get a reservation at Le Pigeon, the restaurant run by the young chef Gabriel Rucker.  We ate there on a Sunday evening and Rucker was not at the stove.  There is a counter around the cook area and it is possible to eat there on a walk-in basis.  Other seating is at communal tables.  Some find this annoying, we shared our table with a another couple and, other than the fact that many remark on it I found the arrangement unremarkable.   The table settings are quaintly eclectic with mismatched antique flatware,  I especially like the long thin tines more common on older forks.  I learned this  practice from Cecilia when I was in Scotland and we do at home.   Plates were also a mishmosh of random patterns and styles but the wine glasses were of high quality.

Tom ordered the Duck, crepes, chestnuts and Swiss chard.  Penelope and Clea had an Endive, goat cheese, boquerones (anchovies) and radish starter and shared an order of the Halibut.  My grandson Jasper had  a Hamburger, of which they only make five a night. The waitress explained that Rucker does not want Le Pigeon become known as the best burger joint in Portland so they limit their nightly output.  We were there reasonably early and so were able to get one, Jasper enthusiastically claimed it was the best hamburger he'd ever eaten.

Having recently made them at home myself I had to have the Pig's feet starter. The Orecchietti, venison heart, rapini and pecorino was very tempting.  I also planned to have the sweetbreads. Regarding wine: for Tom and I the hostess suggested and we shared a bottle of  Domaine Courbis '05 from Saint Joseph in the Rhône valley.  It turned out to be rather unexceptional and really was the only disappointment of the evening.  Clea and Penelope shared a demi-bottle of Willamette valley  Chardonnay which they enjoyed but which I did not taste.

Pigs Feet, foie gras, cipollini and egg.  The basis of the dish  was not unlike the pig trotters I made a few weeks ago, a patty of tender meat from the foot.  On top of the patty of pig foot was the thinly sliced cipollini (onion).  This was topped with a vinaigrette.  On top sat a perfectly poached egg.   The foie gras was shredded over the top and although there was not much of it it did give distinctive flavor to the entire dish.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.

As a main course I had the Sweetbreads, scallop, salsify and citrus.  I had never eaten sweetbreads before, though Jim Harrison has raved about them.  Come to think about I don't know that I've ever eaten salify before either.  Sweetbreads are harvested from lamb and veal cattle and come in two varieties; they are the thymus gland (throat sweetbreads) or the pancreas (stomach sweetbreads.)  I assume I had veal , the ones I had were the oval shaped, and larger, the pancreas.  To prepare them they are soaked in water for a day and then cleaned and sometimes blanched.  Mine sautéed.  Salsify  is a root vegetable whose tender greens can be used in salads  in the spring . The salsify greens were delicately piled on top with some small pieces of orange topped with a citrus sauce from the deglazed pan.  The scallop sat to the side. The texture of the sweetbread is firm yet giving. It was excellent, the delicate flavors and textures of the sweetbread and scallop complimented on another beautifully. If I can find them locally I will try cooking them at home.

 

From the online reviews it seems that people either love or hate the place; the lovers are roughly in a two to one ratio to the haters.  Some of the bad reviews obviously came from halfhearted omnivores or even misguided vegetarians not happy with the menu's emphasis on meat and offal.  Most complained of the service which, for us, was very good.  The hostess was perhaps a bit over enthusiastic but our waitress was there when you wanted her and otherwise left us alone, perfect. 

As for me, I think Le Pigeon is great.  I like the communal tables, the chefs cooking in the small but open space, the hip young wait staff, the creative menu and well prepared food all add up to something quite special. 

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I cooked two other nights while we were in Portland in Clea and Tom's beautiful new kitchen.  What a pleasure to cook on a high BTU gas stove,  where we live now I cook on a broken electric stove that is only fit for the dump, you could not give it away.  One night I made Pork with dates and dried apricots served on some fresh noodles and a salad.  The recipe is from Reynaud's book Pork and Sons.  I've made this twice now and this recipe alone has made the book worth its cost.  The other night I cooked  prepared Short ribs in coffee with chilies which we served with french fries and a salad. 

Pig Trotters

Growing up, my family would drive from Delaware and later New York  to Louisiana to see my fathers parents for a couple of weeks each summer.  My grandparents, Wilmer Otis Caldwell (Tieb) and Vera Lola Caldwell (nee Payne),  lived out in the country ten miles west of the tiny town of Waterproof.  Waterproof  lies low behind the levy guarding it from the flood waters of the Mississippi River, it was obviously named in a moment of optimism.  My grandparents ran a little country store with a gas pump outside west of town.  In the early to mid-1960's, before farming became completely mechanized the local plantations grew cotton. Later, as factory style farming took over, most all of them switched to growing soybeans.  In those early days weeds were controlled by field hands with hoes, not pesticides;  when they were hoeing or during cotton picking time, a white driver would drop a truck load of black men at my grandparent's store for their lunch; sometimes twenty at a time.  The tiny store would be packed, shoulder to shoulder with sweaty men, and my grandparents quickly sliced meats and cheeses, making sandwiches as fast as they could for the hungry crowd.  Sitting up on top of the deli cooler was a 2 1/2 gallon glass jar of Pickled Pig's Feet.  The contents of the jar were obviously feet and that jar was always a curiosity and wonder to my sister and I.   It could not be easily explained.  Almost forty-five years later I've cooked my first pig's foot dish. 

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Fergus Henderson waxes poetic about pig trotters in his astounding cook book The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating.  He writes, "These are one of the most gastronomically useful exterminates. If your butcher has pork, there must be a trotter lurking somewhere. They bring to a dish an unctuous, lip-sticking quality unlike anything else. The joy of finding a giving nodule of trotter in a dish!"  Henderson calls for them in at least seven different recipes in his book.  Penelope may be alarmed to know that one of them, his recipe for Jellied Tripe (which calls for four pig trotters) looks especially good to me.  I do not believe I have ever eaten tripe before; and I must say P has been enthusiastic about my recent cooking adventures so I am not being fair.

In his description of the merits of pig's feet Henderson uses the word  unctuous.  It's funny how you may have lived a life and have almost never noticed a word before, and then suddenly it seems it's everywhere.  I took notice when Dan Barber used it in his beautiful talk A Surprising Parable of Foie Gras.  When I watched the video of the talk the first time I stopped it and backed up to hear him say it again. As an adjective to describe a person it is rather an insult; used to describe the gravy in a stew or the texture of a rich stock it is flattery.

It's not just Henderson who praises the pig foot.  In his River Cottage  Meat Book, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall writes about the "glutinous stickyness" and "gelatinous texture" of  a stock or terrine liquor to which a pig trotter has been added for good measure.  Of course gelatin comes from boiled bones, skins and tendons of animals so it is natural that adding a pig's foot to the broth will add texture and nicely thicken it. When I saw the pig's feet on the shelf at Safeway the other day I grabbed them and in the process proved Hugh wrong (a result he'd hoped for). It seems that even if  pig trotters can not be purchased in supermarkets in the UK, they  can be found in American supermarkets, even rather pedestrian ones like the Laramie WY Safeway store. 

The day after I bought the pig trotters, Reynaud's book Pork & Sons arrived in my mailbox.   Like his terrine book, it is beautifully put together.  Not to be outdone by Henderson, Reynaud's book has ten recipes calling for pig's feet.  Except for the slab bacon, I had all the ingredients (if not the required quantities) for his recipe for Pigs feet with walnut oil and caramelized onion.   I only had three pig's feet while Reynaud's recipe calls for ten, which I misread as six - the recipe serves six and, on the next line calls for ten pig's feet.    I do not believe I own a pot big eoungh to hold ten pig's feet.

Some days in the kitchen are pure hell.  Each imperfect solution to an unanticipated problem slowly but surely diverts you further and further from your original intention. Trying new techniques with only a vague impression of how they are supposed to work adds to the pressure.  Problem solving certainly is a key component of the creative aspect in cooking and yet, when the solutions don't come easy, when time is of the essence and when the techniques are new it can be an emotional roller-coaster.  Each successfully completed step or imperfect solution results in unwarranted optimism, each new obstacle seems it will surely lead to total failure.  Learning can hurt your head.  Forging new patterns of though and opening unfamiliar neural pathways is not easy.

The main problem was that I (obviously) had far too few pig's feet for the dish I was attempting.  When the feet were done and I picked the meat from the bones I had no more than a few tablespoons.  This was a problem.  I did have more than a gallon of rich gelatinous broth. Aside from a large frozen shoulder roast the only pork I did have was a couple of rather large frozen chops. I poached one of the chops in the stock and when it was thawed and mostly cooked I chopped it and added it to the tiny pile of meat.  One step further form my intention, but the dinner was saved. I sliced some of the pig skin into thin strips and fried it and added it to the growing pile of forcemeat. Of course the meat from the pork chop did not compare in tenderness or flavor to the few tender bits from the feet, but I had enough to feed the two of us. The recipe says to soften some onion in walnut oil and then to add the meat and salt and pepper to taste. The cooked mixture is then wrapped in plastic wrap in a sausage shape and, while you make the caramelize onions, is cooled to set. Mine did not set. A problem. The final step would have been to slice sausage shapes and to reheat under the broiler. To solve my problem I simply put it in an oven proof pan an reheated. An imperfect solution and another step further from my intention.  Did I fail to include enough fat or soft tendons when picking the meat from the bones?  I thought I had been generous. Should I have added some of the gelatinous broth to the mixture? It seemed quite soft as it was.

An hour later than I'd hoped,  I served my pig's fee topped with a balsamic vinaigrette and the caramelized onions. We ate it with a light salad, bread and a glass of wine; Pinot Noir for me and a Chardonnay for P. It turned out to look nothing like the image in Reynaud's book, but it was a delicious meal none the less.  I put the leftovers (what turned out to be two small servings) in a small terrine and added three chopped prunes and a few walnuts. The sweetness was a good addition and I enjoyed it for dinner alone for two more nights. (P is in the Canary Islands at a conference.)

Perhaps the best result is the stock. I got more than a gallon of rich unctuous liquor.  As promised, it jelled in the jars as it cooled to room temperature.