"What are your best finds?" I asked eagerly, pulling my grocery cart beside Lacy's. She reached down and grabbed up bags of meat: pork belly, butt, fat back, and spareribs, as well as chicken feet and chicken carcasses. I had already picked up the spareribs, part of the week's "Philippines Special" and priced at only $1.99 per pound, just begging to be eaten for Sunday dinner, slathered with sticky homemade barbecue sauce and served up with the watermelon currently taking up half my crisper space.
"So are you going the barbecue route or the Asian route?" I asked, pointing at the ribs, quick to compare notes.
"Asian. I'm going to marinate it in miso." Lovingly eyeing her fat back, she said, "I'm going to make bacon."
Our eyes met and we inched closer together. "For BLTs!" We blurted in unison.
Just last week, we decided that this summer, once the tomatoes are just right, we're going to make the best, most lovingly-crafted BLTs ever. Lacy was over at my apartment, scooping up crab dip with my baked bread. She kept harping about my bread, incredulous that I'd made my own, even though it was just a dense baguette, nothing spectacular. For my mom's birthday, I'd gotten her a gift certificate to Cook's World, near the U-Village, and we finally cashed it in and went to a bread baking class not too long ago. I found I really enjoyed making bread. I would highly recommend the class to anyone interested. Anyways, last Saturday, Lacy told me that if I was competent enough to bake my own bread, I really had to make my own mayo. So we decided that I would make the bread and mayo, she would make the bacon, we'd go to the farmers market for the tomato and lettuce and then...with our powers combined...we form....Captain Planet!
Captain Planet, he's our hero, going to take pollution down to zero! This BLT just might save the world.
Back in the grocery aisle, I worked my way up to asking what was really on my mind. "What the fuck are you doing with the chicken feet?" It came out casually, like I had a whole list of possibilities in my head and just wanted to check recipe notes. Like I had some freaking clue why my favorite gourmand was buying three pounds of chicken feet. I stared at them in awe and disgust.
"I'm going to make chicken stock!" Lacy exclaimed, a quick glimmer in her wide eyes. "The feet make it so gelatinous." I nodded in understanding. "Gelatinous," she whispered again. "Just don't tell Bugs."
The beauty of it unfolded before me, like a flower. I hadn't made stock since the winter, when a satisfying weekend meant roasting chicken on Saturday night, then shutting myself inside with a few horror movies and stewing up the carcass on Sunday. On my second or third attempt, I found I preferred to skimp on the skimming, and let a fat layer develop when I refrigerated or froze the stock. The fat layer is actually supposed to protect the liquid, and it's easy to remove before cooking. Unfortunately, I ran out of homemade stock around March. And this time of year, a good homemade stock would really improve a spring-time spinach risotto or cream of asparagus soup.
I looped back to the meat case, hunting for the smallest packages of those crone-looking bird claws and breast plates. Since I was taking a while, checking the packaged date and price on every pound, a woman elbowed past me and I conceded her victory over the chicken section. I dropped back, eager to get back in the action. Her young daughter sat in the cart, eyeing me and pulling on her braids.
"Mommy, I want to eat the hands. I want to eat the hands with the fingers," she said, pointing at the package in my hands.
"We don't eat that shit," the woman muttered and wheeled her cart past, packed safe with chicken breasts and bread. Watching her go past, I felt like I had a secret, an alchemist's formula to transform garbage into the gourmet.
Uwajimaya is truly an adventure. Shopping at Seattle's home of "quality Asian grocery and gifts since 1928" is one of my favorite Saturday outings. Best of all, it's inevitably preceded by a lunch of dim sum. Today, Lacy and I tried out Jade Garden. Though more than a dozen people waited outside, and twice that inside, we were lucky to get seated right away. When the waiter called out an opening for two at an otherwise occupied table, we jumped at the opportunity.
Our stomachs growling, we previewed the treasures in each basket on the steam cart. Pointing at this and that, Lacy and I ordered to our "heart's desire," knowing that the shu mai, ginger pork dumplings, barbecue pork buns (hum bao), and sticky rice wrapped in leaves would barely add up to $8. We still desperately needed an order of walnut prawns, and when we finally hunted them down, they were delicious! The shrimp had a crunchy exterior, mimicking the slightly candied nuts, but the inside was cooked to perfection, not at all rubbery.
Feasted and full, we trotted over to Uwajimaya to fall in love with their imported goods and abundant produce. Hours later we emerged, cradling our bags back to Lacy's car, full of treasures to unpack and savor, gawk at, and get giddy on.
I love garbage to gourmet.
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