Arboretum Diary

"I sat there on the end of the point, my senses all but fused with enveloping silence, I gradually became conscious of a soft undercurrent of sound like the coming of a wind from far away or something long remembered." – Sigurd Olson, from "The Whistle"









5/9

Because there are so many, it's far too easy to pass by some of the big and little gems of the Arboretum. Through the east entrance, off of Haywood Street, which then quickly scoots along to Vilas, the road is long, winding and slow, often thick in jogging traffic, and there is virtually no parking to left and right because this is Gardener and Red Winged marsh – the water nearly reaches the road at points.  But I would suggest that when the day does come when the first small parking lot affords a place to park, take it, walk across the road and seek out the little two-rail board walk.  Throughout the Arboretum, you might find board sections placed down in the walk for the assistance of the adventurous hiker who does not want to stop in Gallistel Woods on the way to Lost City, or who most certainly doesn't want to have to stop mid-way at Greene's famous prairie at the Grady Tract.  But only two places that I have visited offer the boardwalk continuously for the entirety of the destination, here at Gardener and over at Wingra Savannah.  There is something very magical about a

long board cutting and curving through raw woods; maybe it is the illusion of human safety against a natural environment, or maybe it the simple knowledge that your shoes won't get dirty, but I know that I would follow this yellow brick road of sorts across the country if it were offered me the chance.  Through the approaching marsh thicket and peat soil, the boardwalk heads straight out to a look out over what we could call, here in a larger city anyway, a large marsh, one that was donated back at the inception of the Arboretum by a local bakery owner who wanted to make sure this swatch of backwater stayed as it was supposed to be.  The first lookout allows the willing – and maybe brand new – viewer a good indication of a cattail marsh and slough.  The redwings, as they tend to do in habitat, flit about and cry out to each other, standing at their posts momentarily, then off to the next brief sentry duty.  This was the place that Leopold wanted to once turn to wildlife and waterfowl refuge, replanting around its edges to screen from any other non-native infringements.  Take the boardwalk to the small sister wooden lookout, where there are no other viewers, and take a seat in the old wooden cut-out of chair and marvel at the total envelopment of invasive cattails, which create

such a morass of beige burly headed foliage that only the courageous researcher might try to pass with chest waders.  The thicket, and its untouchability, though, is what likely makes this one of the most productive habitat types known.  The marsh serves a filter of overflow; its deep thick peat teeming with organisms; small mammals find the invincibility of the cattails, most certainly, as workable privacy.  Unlike other portions of the Arboretum, you are not bound to find much evidence of human activity out there in the marsh and because of that it preserves, without trying quite as hard as the prairie restorations or oak savannah maintenance, what Wisconsin was pre-settlement.  In that chair, time turns to a few other things than miles on tires or deadlines set by reminders on a phone – it moves by the scrub of the cattail stalks against one another, the chortle of the fidgety red-wing, the two geese calling out, maybe for no reason at all, as wings slap slowly over the uplift of warm air rising from the engine of the marsh.

Riverside Ovens
Test Kitchen

The format of the famous Cook's Illustrated Magazine is a wonderful one to both read and just look at.  The format goes something like this: some 60 members of the test kitchen, located just outside of Boston, decide that it is high time to take another look at a classic food type or a classic recipe and

put it to the test in the kitchen by re-evaluating the process of cooking.  A classic lead-in goes something like this, an article from the newest installment, concerning carrots, "We all should eat more carrots. They're nutritious, inexpensive, and available year-round, and their cheery color brightens any plate. But if eating carrots means roasting them for 45 minutes or grating a pile of them for a salad, most of us are unlikely to prepare them often."

The article continues on a step by step experimentation in ways to prove the beauty of the cooked carrot, as long as the cooking of them are both simple and tasty.  Another lead-in from another article in the same magazine talks about the truly perfect way to cook those very thick pork chops which, if not handled properly, almost always give home cooks headaches because they are a difficult dish to prepare without becoming dry on the inside or burnt on the outside.

The solution in this case is to use a cast iron pan, pre-heat the pan up to a full-tilt 500 degrees, then set the chops in for some serious searing, turning back and forth so not to burn the exterior, but all the while continuing to sink the heat deeper and deeper until the temperature reaches some just beyond 125 degrees.  Let the chops sit under foil for another 10 minutes and they will continue to cook up to the necessary 140 degree mark.  The key: you want deep cooking quick, and you want to time the extra cooking the chop does after it comes off the pan.  Both of these are common enough recipes and full of pitfalls; by reading through the articles, now we have standard processes to follow and either too-crunchy carrots or leathery thick chops don't happen as often as they might have.

The Riverside Ovens Test Kitchen would love to try to test the tests -- the one great advantage the test kitchens have is the time to try multiple processes for cooking.  For the chops, the tester tried a variety of thick chop styles and eventually realized that he wanted to go ahead and buy a pork roast and cut his own chops in order to keep shape and thickness uniform. He tried multiple pans and multiple heats.  For the carrots dish, "The Easiest Carrot Side Dish," the tester tried a variety of mixtures of salt in the boiling water.  When you are cooking at home, though, you have to take the parts of the test recipe and make them happen as quickly as possible for the sake of as much success as possible.

When I made both of these dishes, I had already had some luck with certain experiments with carrots and thick chops so was able to apply the new to the old, hoping to find what I would call a signature, or a way that makes sense for the home cook. I really liked the idea of cast oven pan -- it seems more and more magazines are trending int he direction of these thick, durable and even cooking machines, but I don't happen to have. I do, however, have a very powerful large top burner on the stove. By letting the pan sit on low for a considerable amount of time, I was able to both deeply pre-heat the pan and also secure against an initial burning of the surface of the chop.  If I would have pre-heat my non-stick thin pan on high, for example, the chop would have exploded over the oil and almost certainly the sear would have been a burn.  As I began to cook, I raised the temperature up to medium, which is closer to medium high on most stovetops.  The idea from here on out would be to continue to flip the chops as many times as necessary to get rid of the visible pink line in the center, all the while not blackening the surface.  I took these off of the pan and let them rest for only around 5 minutes: I either don't have the patience to let meat rest a full 10-15 minutes, and I have always felt that I prefer to eat a thick chop when they are hot not lukewarm. This batch was a perfect combination of seared to a crust veneer but that was actually quite soft from the oil, cooked all the way through, moist, but hot.  As we all know, as a thick chop over cooks, at least half of its positive, inherent taste is lost and it begins to pivot to taste like something else entirely, like shoe laces.

Carrots are one of the easiest vegetables in the world to make good.  You can boil them and simply continue to poke them to see if the texture is the way you want them.  I found the key in this batch to be the addition of a little extra salt to the boiling water, as the recipe suggests. The salt boosts the flavor and also reduces the cooking time, according to the tester, by at least a minute.  Uniformity of the chop, as always, will help with the success of cut vegetables.  I always like to cut the cylinder of the carrot in 2-3 inch chunks, but then cut those in half length-wise, allowing for an interesting texture when cooked and soft.

The simple addition for flavor was some freshly squeezed lemon, as much butter as you see fit, and a dash of chives.  The combination of the large piece of white pork meat, and the very soft and juicy carrots was a nice signature dish.

Riverside Ovens
Test Kitchen

"We arrived in the late afternoon, with the September sun tilting across the vines and bathing the chateau in a flattering way of pale gold; not the Pichon-Longueville needs any flattery. It was built in 1851, a period in architecture when turrets were all the rage, and Pichon (it's nice to be on first-name terms with a chateau) could be the model for a fairy-tale castle, suitable for princesses or damsels in distress." from Peter Mayle's French Lessons, "A Connoisseur's Marathon"








It's deep February, Wisconsin turns to an ice cube, sometimes a white ice cube, but sometimes dreary as a squirrel's fir, and so naturally the very season for taking the great imaginative leap away from this place and arrive, one hopes anyway, somewhere to the south of France where there are celebrations for frog legs, marathons built upon the premise of as many stops for wine tastes as the body and mind can muster, and long rounds of outdoor boules.  Here at the Riverside Ovens Test Kitchen, lights shining full tilt, fire place burning its fake logs, and the great sun stamped art out in the courtyard trying as hard as it might to sparkle, it might as well be the Chateau Mayle talks about in French Lessons.  The Chateau is not much unlike the great cozy French restaurant just a mile away from here, La Kitchenette, a little one-roomer, 12-tabler, where the back wall is a hand

sketched blackboard and the waitress, French as Aix en Provence, doesn't speak a word of English. Here is where the imaginative French edible garden flourishes in its well-tended bunches and a Pastis or two by siesta is no national crime but something more like a remedy shared by farmers themselves just now walking in from the coarse fields for the daytime meal that matters most.

Here at the Chateau, Cashew Chicken Stir-fry by Blue Apron is on the menu. Ingredients include

chicken tenders, jasmine rice, scallions, Napa cabbage, Tango mandarins, garlic chives, roasted cashews, sesame oil, ginger, soy glaze and cornstarch.  All of this had been recently collected at the

town market, fresh as morning, diced, sliced and peeled, leaving a small kitchen smelling of ginger and cabbage.  While cooking the jasmine rice, add minced ginger, celery and scallions to heated oil in a pan, add sliced cabbage and let cook at a medium temperature for five minutes, place on a plate, then re-oil the same pan and prepare for cornstarch coated chicken tenders, cooking 8-10 minutes. A

fairly simple dish in many ways, once the rice is boiled, the vegetables sautéed, and the chicken cooked, its time to assemble: add the vegetables to the pan of chicken, add soy glaze and 1/4 cup of water, let cook before finally adding sesame oil, raw garlic chives and segmented mandarins over the top, toss cashews over and...voila...a rich stir fry, crispy by the cabbage, rich by the soy glaze, and filling by the coated chicken.  The meal is completed within an hour, the creases in the doors of the Chateau release rich pungent aromas of cabbage and soy; the waiter, unfortunately, still working on his French.

Riverside Ovens
Test Kitchen

"Bastille is one of the legendary dishes of Morocco and something that the French have adapted infinitely to make their own." Dorie Greenspan, from Around My French Table











A few inches of snow in mid march might inspire the would-be test kitchen to try to transport itself to a more Mediterranean climate, like, maybe, Fez Morocco -- that should be far enough down in the hemisphere to imagine oneself gathering recently gathered local large onions, sweet garlic, saffron threads, pinches of ginger and lemons as big as softballs.  So away we go... Fez is of an ancient branch North African cities, sometimes considered the Athens of Africa and its primary university considered the oldest running in the world.  Along its ancient stone corridors, no doubt street vendors under its namesake, Fez hats, tanned by all time, and beating the heat by nothing more than tea or lemonade.  Gather here a recently butchered chicken, eight thighs in all, as mentioned large onions, garlic, ground ginger, coriander, cinnamon, saffron, a few eggs, honey, cilantro, fresh almonds (maybe these were plucked from the other side of the hill, facing the sea?), and don't forget to find something that will resemble philo dough for what is to be sweet dough.

Remembering that the Sultan de Fes would have taken his sweet chicken (probably pigeon) very seriously, to the point of hiring a very competent Spanish chef to prepare, you must marinade the chicken first with the onion, garlic, spices for at least an hour.  This will eventually come to a boil until falling off the bone tender; strain and cut to cubes, if possible.  To the broth, three beaten eggs,

which will form the chicken sauce. Prepare your dough for cover; sprinkle a handful of diced almonds to the sheet then spoon the chicken and sauce over, then the second dough sheet over creating your pie.  Sprinkle with cinnamon and bake for 20 minutes.  As the snow continues to swirl from the rooftops down onto the courtyard, the smells inside the house should by now smell of sweet cinnamon joined by rich chicken, and the sliced lemons that go along side might remind you of Fez, Morocco and the French chefs who, over the years, have co-opted the rich pie for their own.

Riverside Ovens
Test Kitchen

The real Chicken Lo Mein meal, originating from Cantonese cuisine -- one of eight official Chinese preparation styles -- is a complicated but rich and rewarding dish.  First, you have to come to accept the Enoki Mushrooms.  As with all mushrooms, it might be wished for to not look at the fungi's

Enoki Mushrooms

bizarre shapes and fanned undersides until they are diced down and cooked, at which point they seem to make one of the great transformations in all of cooking.  The Enoki is a thin stemmed bunch with a very small terminal cap. When first picked up as a bunch they look something more like an unusual plastic candy, white, almost gooey, and as uniform as they are at the top.  Once you cut off the stem of the clump, all those strands separate and become more easily cookable.  The rest of the Lo Mein

includes many of the expected usual suspects: scallion, carrots, celery garlic, wonton noodles, baby bok choy, chicken and both sesame oil and soy glaze for that final richening sauce that gives Asian food its very distinct charm.  In essence, all of the vegetables get diced and reduced down, including the Enoki, while the wonton noodles quickly boil. Add some of the noodle water to the vegetables to soften, then finally the noodles themselves, a large clump that fills the pan, and all that is waiting is

Baby Bok Choy

for the soy and the oil.  At this point, you can begin to test which of this dynamic list of ingredients stand out.  At every bite of the Enoki mushrooms, a strange and exotic flavor arises, similar to other mushrooms in their earthy bounce, but because of the texture of their thin-ness, even more distinct.  The obvious second highlight is the baby bok choy, a great treat to add to almost any type of stir fry.  The noodles and the chicken speak for themselves in a familiar way.  One of the great secrets of Chinese food, is that they have found a way to pull together some of the more healthy ingredients imaginable, but by adding noodles and sauces turn what might be a light meal to something very sound and filling. In this way, a great family weeknight meal.

"Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edge'd waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sunset! drench with your splendor me, or the generations after me!" – Whitman, from "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry"









Tenney Park, Spring


A day along the Yahara, a day along the bridges trail
where the locks under spring construction still flow
and the men in hard hats steady crane hooks
that carry new pipes over the ragged railing floor.
Wild the pier that juts out into Mendota waves!
Wild the wind-gliders as they board in thick suits
over the broken glass waves of a cool wind day!
How many generations have walked Tenney shores?
The same cast of mind in spring did they leave
their homes to follow the river oaks to lakes?
To leave behind the hours of grit and office?

"Peak-tip
Moon pressing tight,
Remembrance rises
In the night." – Hsi Chou, from "Farewell to Wei Feng, Going to
Far-South Mountain"









At Rutledge and Riverside
a thousand casual friends
cross the street over the bridge.

Sun has finally set onto
a thick prong of riverside limbs.
A wide boat slowly
wades the flow of river waves.

Good friends come and go.
Waves move to open water.
Fish strike the surface without
knowing it is a lure bobbing.
The wise man loves the world.

Some day soon I will be crossing
over a mountain meadow.
A last patch of June snow will remind
me of wide eyes as a child.