One measure of a meal for me is the amount of time a dish sticks with you. Not in the way garlic conjures pungent ghosts for hours on end, but the way food memories persist well after you’ve done the dishes and sent guests home. I made Jerk chicken for a buddy maybe 4 years ago and I’ve thought about that meal every summer since. But I woke up this morning thinking about last nights chowder.
I steamed a bag of clams in a cup or so of white wine and slowly decanted the liquids left behind, sand and grit be damned. Flesh chopped and set aside, I added a few handfuls of coarsely diced red potatoes to my “clam juice” and set the sauce pan over low heat. The potatoes softened slowly under the gentle simmer, soaking up the salt and brine.
In my soup pot I sweating a minced yellow onion in butter and rendered bacon fat. Then added a little garlic, a bay leaf and thyme before a tablespoon of flour started a roux. When tender, I added the potato mixture to my aromatics and watched as my soup thickened.
Some heavy cream. My chopped clams. Some parsley. If only I’d had a little sherry for the finish, but some lemon juice would have to do. Yeah, I’m still thinking about last night’s chowdah… It must have been pretty good.
Photo by Flickr user Ron Diggity
