October's Communion

October, at least in San Francisco, is a month of remembering: it marks the anniversary of the Loma Prieta earthquake, 20 years to be exact this past October 17th. In line with the commemoration, I've been thinking a lot about emergencies, especially about what would we eat in case of an emergency. I'm always careful to freeze a batch of whatever I cook, so that not only will I have ready-made food in case of lazyness, but so that in the case of food ever being scarce, my household will be able to sustain itself for at least a week, until other arrangements come through.

With that in mind, this month's Communion was about emergencies and the ways in which we cope, or not, with them. I think that for the first time in Communion's short life, both the menu and the theme walked the same lines, so we were pretty excited about not only sharing stories and tips about previous crises, but also for creating dishes that were the gourmet approximation of survival food.

This month's guest cook and helper was none other than my dearest Oscar Manuel Trujillo---dancer, performer, activist and bad-ass extraordinaire---who added his fierce touch to the decor, the pacing in between courses, and making this overworked cook chill out. Below is a surprisingly calm picture of Oscar and me taken from the dining room. (And a note about pictures: I've already claimed I'm a bad, sloppy, forgetful photographer, so the evidently better pictures in this post are by a fellow diner, NickSantan, who was kind enough to email me some of his textured glossy shots.)



Our first course was a "ramen" noodle soup, because, who hasn't had a ¢99 packet of soup when flat-broke? And, isn't being broke a crisis in it of itself? Our conversation navigated around our descriptions of what exactly entails a crisis, an emergency, or being in a pickle. It all depends on perspective and on how quick action is needed. At the same time, some of us asked questions of how our perception may be conditioned to see a situation graver than it is: last week was fleet week here in the Bay, and the Blue Angels were flying really low and really loud. Have we been trained to think of a terrorist attack as soon as we hear the too-close-for-comfort roar of a jetplane's engine? Why do we see an emergency when there isn't one?

And here is a pic of our first course, noodles in a vegetable broth with dino kale, before being carried to the table.

Our second course: anchovies and crackers (or flatbread, really) along with stories of being caught with our pants down (metaphorically.) We made a sautée of onions, garlic, thyme and rosemary in butter, very much in a Pissaladiere style, with anchovies, black olives and watercress. Sure, this sure beats having anchovies and saltines, but it's the thought that counts, no?



One story is of a 17-yr-old girl who threw a house party while her parent's were out of town. The party went on till the wee-hours of the morning, and she was careful to wake up early to clean up before having to pick up her father at the airport that afternoon. She expected beer bottles, cigarette butts and random trash, but what she found was a house robbed of all electronic equipment. She freaked out, not so much for having her house broken into while she slept, but because she now would have to confess to throwing a raging party the night before.

The third course: a chunky beef stew, like the ones you buy in a big can, only better. We browned a chuck roast, cut into one-inch cubes, in olive oil. As they rested in a bowl, we added diced onions, shallots and garlic until softened. Then, added diced carrots and potatoes for sweating. Add a bottle of good red wine (we used a Montirius Côtes du Rhône), and about two cups of beef stock. Bring to boil, reduce heat to low, and cook covered for about 2 hours, until the meat is super tender. I made this stew two days before Communion, and I gotta say, it was perfect. We served it with some homemade rosemary breadsticks and a full-bodied Anglianico.

I think everyone at the table was too busy chowing down, because no one remembered to take a picture. Below is what it looked like in the pot, before it reduced a few inches.

Conversation centered around what our survival modes look like. "Turn to stone" was one that resonated with me, not only because it implies separating panic and fear for the sake of being practical, but also because it captures how in the moment when one realizes the urgency, or the gravity, our hearts stop temporarily turning us into stone. Mine is more like denial, until I can't look away any longer, and others are more like improvisations.

For dessert, we served vanilla wafers, marshmallows and a drizzle of bittersweet chocolate. I put to test my new scorching equipment, and I have to say it was very rewarding. (Crème brûlée, here I come!) We shared tips onto how to deal, prepare and/or avoid any future predicaments: know CPR and the Heimlich maneuver; have a first aid kit handy, and if applicable, an earthquake kit; always keep $20 in your pocket, though some savings and health insurance wouldn't hurt, and best of all, give yourself permission to not do the right thing. But, despite how afraid we might be of a crisis, we are never to avoid bungee jumping, surfing, riding a bike, laughing really hard or falling in love.

Our fifth and final course was a poached pear with Camembert. The inspiration there was that perhaps, in the case of an emergency, the most likely fruit source will be canned fruit, kind of like the canned poached peaches I was addicted to when I was kid. And if there will be cheese (which I hope) it will most likely be a soft spreadable triangle, like the Laughing Cow. But since we are not in an emergency situation (yet) we might as well poach some ripe Bartlett pears with a super sweet gerwerstraminer, cloves and cinnamon; reduce the juices to a syrup, and drizzle it over the fruit and a slice of the creamy goodness.

But if we were in an emergency, what would be the first thing we'd reach for? A pair of shoes, a picture, or nothing at all because we'd be too stunned to choose. If there is anything emergencies do, is put life into perspective: what is really important and what is inconsequential, or transitory. Our survival, and of those around us, is what matters. But how is survival linked to happiness? Are they a one-way street? And, as the picture below shows a pseudo-equation to the survival/happiness paradigm, there is another. Yes, emergencies are unpredictable, unavoidable.

Does that mean they are dangerous? Or can they be a blessing too?



Next Communion is Tuesday, November 24th, featuring a very special guest cook!