Pearls before swine, By Jeremy Goodwin, Sept 8, 2006

I was pleasantly surprised recently when I received an email from a reader asking where I got taro root. Although my reply was probably a little on the terse side, since I was trying to clear up email and get to the airport on time, it reminded me that I shop for food with a radically different philosophy from that of most people.

I do make shopping lists, but they are filled with things that do not interest me. If I do not make a list, I will come home without necessities like dish soap, toothpaste and light bulbs.

Shopping for food is an entirely different process and does not involve lists. Unless I have a particular dish to prepare, I seldom cruise the markets with specific purchases in mind. Normally, there is a Zen-like aspect to cruising the markets and stores, and the quality of the produce stimulates a constant stream of potential recipes, ingredient combinations and cooking styles in my mind. I will often come home with a surfeit of whatever looked good and try to make the most of it.

In my previous role as a partner in a San Miguel restaurant I shopped the local markets daily and the markets in Querétaro twice a week for over three months. The items on the menu would vary according to the availability of fresh produce. One of my vendors and I had a running joke: he would show me the same sad lettuce three or four days in a row, peeling off the wilting outer leaves right in front of me until it was almost two-dimensional and insisting it was “fresh.”

No longer having to shop for a specific menu is something of a relief, although I took great delight in the process at the time. Without the constraints I can seize things off shelves that catch my eye.

I sometimes find myself being reminded of a long-forgotten taste or texture, something that emerges as the market produce stimulates the recesses of my subconscious. Often, the associations bring forth the memory of a specific meal and the face of the woman across the table at that time.

The association I made with a stunning Israeli girl I met in Athens in the late seventies made me laugh so hard that I was in danger of being carted off by men in white coats.

In an effort to prove how far removed from the zealots she was as a modern Israeli, we sat down to a meal entirely of pork and seafood without scales.

Somewhere in the Plaka, with the Acropolis rising in the background, I found a delightful little rooftop restaurant with everything I needed for a perfect evening.

With the night jasmine perfume carried on the cool breeze, accompanied by the lilting tunes of a traditional Greek band from a nearby club, and the flickering candlelight, it was a perfect scene for young lovers. Although her name now escapes me, I will carry to my grave the picture of a stunning girl trying to wrap her lips around a pig’s foot and pretend she was enjoying it.

Her associations must have been just as strong, because I distinctly recall failing to receive even a goodnight kiss, and although we spent a few days together and found each other attractive, deep down I was an eater of swine, essentially unclean, completely unkissable.

With such a strong image, there was no way I could resist the temptation to cook pig’s trotters, an unpopular dish with many people and something of an acquired taste. There is one benefit from cooking the feet: the resulting stock is full of gelatin and makes a tasty soup base or, when reduced, a great aspic for terrines, the subject of a future article.

If you plan to use the resulting broth as a stock or reduction, I would not recommend adding salt.

Wash the trotters well and separate them into the split parts. Put all the ingredients in a large pot, cover with water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and occasionally skim the fat that rises to the top. Cook until the meat is tender, about 90 minutes, perhaps longer at San Miguel’s altitude.

Remove the trotters and place them on a thick sheet pan and roast for 15 minutes at 375°F before reducing the heat to 300°F for a further 30 minutes.

Serve immediately, and provide a large number of napkins (and, ideally, a finger bowl).

Strain the remaining fluid, allow it to cool and then refrigerate. After three or four hours, any remaining fat will have formed a solid mass on the surface and can be easily removed. Freeze the results in two-cup amounts for later use.

Jeremy Goodwin is an author, freelance food writer and owner of The Best Kept Secret. He may be contacted at Jeremy@dcnet2000.com