Photo by rick/FlickrCC
To try some of the recipes mentioned in this post, click here for Sophie's French onion soup, here for her roasted sweet potatoes with fried sage, and here for her spicy Asian-influenced peanut dipping sauce.
A year ago, almost to the day, I cooked a bacon-themed dinner for a few friends—salad with bacon crumblings, boeef bourguignon with thick bacon lardons and, my favorite, chocolate chip cookies topped with caramelized, chocolate-covered bacon. When I invited them over to dinner last week, I knew bacon would be banished.
I blamed Jonathan Safran Foer. Let me explain.
For as long as I've known both of them, Will, and his roommate, Aaron, have been meat-ophiles. When I type "[Will's last name] + bacon" into my Gmail account, I get pages of results. Aaron is a hunter. I've spent many a fine evening with both discussing the merits of different sandwich meats.
I jazzed it up with a mild goat's milk cheddar (everyone likes cheese), fried shallots (for crunch), and a spicy Sriracha mayo (wakes up the taste buds).
So when they told me they were "going vegetarian," I was shocked. Then I found out they'd both recently read Jonathan Safran Foer's Eating Animals, an exploration of factory farming, meat-eating, and the moral questions inherent therein. While neither views Foer as the paragon of human excellence, Foer's book had sparked the conversation anew. And now, no more bacon.
Over the next few weeks, with a dinner date looming, I progressed through the Five Stages of Grief:
Anger: Don't you dare suggest some manipulated soy protein as a main course. Manipulated soy protein does not a burger make.
Bargaining: OK, just a few chocolate-covered bacon cookies. For old time's sake!
Depression: Maybe we should call the dinner off.
Acceptance: I'm going to cook the best damned meal you've ever eaten.
I reached acceptance once I'd calmed down enough to listen to my friends' rationalization. Meat was not, it turned out, out of the picture entirely. Both Will and Aaron are concerned with reducing their meat consumption to ameliorate negative effects on the environment. Both are concerned with workers' rights and animal welfare, and both think that in an ideal world we would consume smaller amounts of higher-quality meat. While Aaron, the hunter, objects to factory-farmed meat, he will eat meat he kills himself, and meat from small farms. A few days before the dinner, he offered me eight Chukar partridge breasts from a recent hunt. And so, Aaron, Will, and Will's girlfriend, Jasmine, joined me for a not-quite-vegetarian vegetarian dinner. (Jasmine, for the record, is not enamored with Foer. So I had an ally.)
I decided to serve the partridge as an hors d'oeuvre: lightly breaded, pan-fried, and accompanied by a spicy peanut dipping sauce, a gourmet's chicken tender. I'm not a huge game meat fan, but when I tasted Aaron's wild partridge ("Watch out for buckshot!" he warned), I reconsidered. It was more succulent than any chicken I'd ever bought at the store.
I planned to begin with a vegetarian onion soup, and, for the meat of the meal (ahem), chose a vegetarian riff on a burger and fries: a recipe for kasha-mushroom patties I found in an old Gourmet (RIP), and baked sweet potatoes with fried sage.