Barbara Bretton: Wish You Were Here

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The Food Goddess is in the Kitchen! I am delighted beyond words to present my friend, my pal, Kali Amanda Browne (daughter of the beauteous and talented Marie) aka The Food Goddess. Enjoy!

Tuna for snobs

I hate labels. You'll find that children who are the product of mixed marriages have this one thing in common. The absoluteness of a label denies everything that you are and serves to invalidate you as a whole. So we rebel against it and defiantly create new "anti-labels" - which, in effect, become labels themselves, with their own new set of connotations . . . But that's beside the point.

That said; I am not a snob! I prefer to think of myself as a foodie or even a gastronome, but food snobbery is not something I have ever suffered.

Let's break it down:

A Food Snob is someone who takes the view that some foods are beneath them (usually because of its association to the social strata beneath them). An FS might go as far as assessing another's taste, their very worth -- in fact, their whole moral fiber -- solely based on their food choices. A food snob is evil incarnate with a palate for sin!

According to The Food Snob's Dictionary, it is "[P]art groupie, part aesthete, part stark raving loon, the Food Snob is someone who has taken the amateur epicure's admirable zeal for eating and cooking well to hollandaise-curdling extremes."

A Foodie is an epicure, a person "devoted to refined sensuous enjoyment of food and drink" - a food aficionado, someone with special interest and knowledge of food, a gourmet.

A Gastronome is a foodie who can spell in French and might be horrified by some fusion cuisines, making them slightly snobbish but not evil.

Now, I know I probably own a few more cookbooks than the average person. But I really love food, reading about it, cooking it and savoring it. I write about it, fantasize about it and even dream about it. I'm not obsessed; this is not just a phase - nothing like a boy-crazy tween girl. It's more akin to religion - a joyous devotion.

I ask that you take a deep breath now because some of you might react violently to the actual subject of this month's column: canned tuna. (Stop laughing! Fine, when you calm down there's more.)

I love tuna. Who doesn't love a good tuna salad sandwich - maybe with a small bowl of steamy soup on a cold or wet afternoon? Even better: combining tuna salad with macaroni salad as a perfect side dish for a picnic! I even love it as a simple pasta sauce with garlic, anchovies and broccoli. As a dip with olive oil, black olives and cracked pepper! Heaven . . .

Yet, in the last year, I have seen recipes in three or four separate cookbooks with canned tuna as the main ingredient that made me purse my whole face into a living Picasso. To say I was horrified doesn't begin to cover it. I deducted those recipes from the total price paid for the books and decided to psychically lobotomize the memory of it. It was the only civilized thing to do. Imagine, I told myself, to invite people over for a meal and serve them canned tuna! Oh, I almost died of embarrassment just thinking about it. I literally got the shakes as I air gagged.

Then, Barbara sent me an old copy of The Rosengarten Report, a labor of love food zine from a man who writes passionately about epicurean delights. Thirteen pages of notes and reviews of canned tuna made me think twice. I consulted Mom who assured me that a good canned tuna is as far apart from the supermarket kind as night and day, more a matter of apples and oranges because the supermarket kind doesn't even begin to compare. She cited the difference between a fast food burger and filet mignon. "A true delicacy," were the words that she used.

Except for some rather cosmopolitan metropolitan areas, most supermarkets do not carry these. Luckily, specialty food markets are more widespread these days and mail order and the Internet have closed that gap. As with everything else in life, you get what you pay for and you will not find 3-for-a-dollar specials - expect prices to range between $5-40. Tuna packed in olive oil, in its own juices, in stewed tomatoes. Tuna from the Mediterranean, North Atlantic and the Pacific Northwest . . . Tuna so refined and delicious it is not meant for casseroles or even cooking, but for slicing and savoring on its own merit! And tuna that adds a supernatural element to cooking - Mom remembers a veal stuffed with canned tuna that still haunts her. Tuna that is "velvety and soft, fatty, creamy and buttery; rich and deep; and tangy." (Admit it, you want some!)

Without going into the loving details of the Report, the recommendations were vetresca (from the belly, as in toro for the sushi aficionados), and then premium tunas (bonito and albacore, some packed in oil or their own juices). These are not meant for tuna salad sandwiches but as treats and you will have to change your view of tuna to truly appreciate it. If you have ever had fresh tuna, then you know that there is a whole lot more to the fish than the stuff that comes in tin cans. This requires another mind shift, one that will let you experience a whole new dimension of taste and joy.

I suggest you test it out with a simple recipe that will give you a variety of possibilities. Tuna tapenade can be used immediately as a dip for vegetables, on toasted bread, as a stuffing for onions or artichokes, as a toping over boiled fish or a sinful crust over chicken, and even as a pasta sauce, in stuffed eggs or tomatoes or peppers, as base for a salad dressing. It refrigerates well and will keep for longer than it will last. (As I am not a snob, if you do not own a food processor you may use a plain old blender.)

Tuna Tapenade

1/2 C each pitted Nicoise and Kalamata olives
2 anchovy fillets (or about a teaspoon of anchovy paste)
2 cloves of garlic, minced
2 tablespoons of capers
1 can of premium quality tuna

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

fresh parsley (finely chopped)
fresh cracked pepper

Process all ingredients in the first group, as you slowly add the liquid ingredients in the second group, until it acquires the texture of a coarse paste (1 to 2 minutes). Add parsley and pepper, and pulse to blend.

You can email me at kali.templeofdoom@gmail.com.