ENTERTAINING : California Parties--Past and Future : THE TEENS

CALIFORNIA ONCE HAD DUENDE --THE MYSTERIOUS ESSENCE THAT MAKES SOMETHING SPANISH. IT CAME TO CALIFORNIA WITH THE EARLY SETTLERS. MY GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GRANDFATHER WAS AMONG THEM.

He was granted a rancho by King Ferdinand VII of Spain in 1821, but during my childhood it was spoken of as if it had happened only yesterday. Like that of the other soldados who came through Mexico to conquer California, his rancho was a vast holding with boundaries defined only by oak trees, stream beds and distinctive rocks.

In the beginning, there were only the ranchos and the missions. Occasionally a foreigner filtered in through the mountains or a passing ship stopped, but they were rare. Within this glorious isolation, the old Californios tried to recreate Spain from what they chose to remember.

Their food customs were flagrantly borrowed from the Indians and from the people they had known during their time in Mexico. They made it all theirs and called it Spanish. Grandma always insisted that the huge flour tortillas she stretched with her fingers were Spanish. Years later, when I grew up and traveled to Mexico, I was shocked to find the same tortillas in Sonora. Grandmama had made a very convincing case that they were from Spain.

With their roots foremost in their minds, my ancestors subscribed to an acute sense of honor and prided themselves on their graces. The courtesies of life were so intertwined with the ceremonies of food as to be inseparable. There was an old saying, “It is better to arrive on time than to be invited.” Nobody was ever turned away. In Walter Colton’s 1850 diary of life in Monterey, he notes that “were the Devil himself to call for a night’s lodging, the Californian would hardly find it in his heart to bolt the door but would think he could manage in some way.”

I can remember my grandmother being surprised by guests when her larder was empty. A white cloth suddenly appeared on the table, and then teacups with hot chocolate. A bowl of jelly was found in some forgotten jar. Stale soda crackers were crisped in the oven. Slices of cheese were displayed in the English cheese dish that was a family heirloom. A small bunch of red grapes was put out with the grape scissors, and some candy. The guests were astonished at the silent appearance of the little dishes. No apologies were made for the simple fare.

The courtesies lingered. There was a short period of about 25 years during the last century that encapsulated all the romance associated with Old California. The Californio had a complete disregard for money and the need to work for it. It was not unusual for a ranchero to stage a barbecue rather than drive his cattle to market so that he could make payment on a loan. This was frowned upon by most Anglo-Saxons, who were shocked by such laziness; most written accounts by Anglos fume over the fact that people with such natural wealth could be so profligate as to prefer dining alfresco when they could be doing something more useful.

So while land robbers and loan sharks and Yankee businessmen pressed in upon them, the Californios dined. And lost almost everything. My family ended up with about 20 acres of the thousands of the original land grant. All they had left was their food, their dining--and their style.

Cuisine is too grand a word to describe the food served on the ranchos. When I first moved far away from home, dazzled by French cooking and Julia Child, I was struck by how simple our food was. But there was a perfection in that simplicity; I couldn’t even make a pot of beans the way my grandmother and mother did.

The most important word in the cook’s vocabulary, and one for which there is no translation, is guisar : It will never taste flat. I still fear the thought of cooking a meal for my Spanish uncle; for him and also for my grandfather, a dish is never guisado . It always needed a pinch more of basil, or pepper, or salt. Or less salt.

My father, who was raised on a Wisconsin dairy farm, never recovered from the shock of my mother’s family. Brought up to believe that food was meant to be eaten quickly, he hated the long after-dinner discussions about whether the lamb marinade had contained enough rosemary. When I was 5, one of my uncles asked what I thought of a fresh batch of olives. Knowing a reply was important, I told him they weren’t salty enough. My father looked at me like I was headed for hell.

Exquisite attention was paid to the smallest details of daily life. Although their repertoire was not extensive, the women were all good cooks and loved tending the herbs so important to the rancho dishes. Gardens were stocked with yerba buena (mint), cilantro, Italian parsley, chamomile, sweet basil and anise, and we grew an ancient stock of wild marjoram (oregano) that was marvelously sweet and pungent but not bitter. The cooks used herbs in vegetable stews, marinades, salads and in curative brews such as chamomile tea. Grandma always added slivers of sweet basil to her famous corn pie.

Besides herbs, one of the most distinctive features of rancho cooking was the use of olive oil. Since most of the ranchos pressed their own olives into oil, they used it for frying instead of lard. Salads were always simply iceberg lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers anointed with droplets of olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, and finely ground pepper out of a can. My grandmother even blended olive oil and sea salt and gave it to me as the most ungodly cough syrup known to man.

Cooking was not considered women’s work. The men loved knowing about every detail; when it came to barbecue, they took over completely. The asador was even more important: Any man could oversee the parillas (grills), but only a man of experience could hold sway over the stone-lined pits where large chunks of beef shoulder or a whole bull’s head were roasted. My grandfather relished this role.

First, the asador chose the meat. Then he and his compadres watched over the fires that were built at least 12 hours in advance so there was a deep bed of glowing coals. Then he dictated the gathering of the shovels, wheelbarrows, sheet iron, soaked gunny sacks and the necessary libations for his cronies. Lastly, he went somewhere to mix up his secret blend of herbs and spices and his own basting sauce. He never revealed his recipe (even if it was just salt, pepper and wine), not even to his wife. During his moments at the barbecue, the asador reigned supreme. He was the most opinionated man you ever met.

The morning of a barbecue, the dirt pathways that meandered through fig trees, olive trees, oaks, and flower pots of geraniums were swept and tidied with palm-frond brooms. The long tables near the grape arbor were covered with white cloths and anchored with more pots of flowers. The fires were built using fruitwood and vine cuttings.

The menu hardly varied. The meat was beef or lamb. Chicken was reserved for invalids. Huge pots of thick pink beans were cooked in the same way that they had been for a hundred years. Beans were always rolled into a triangle of tortilla and they had to be thick enough so the juices did not run down your sleeve. (The only other place I have found these thick beans is in the little restaurant on Olvera Street across from the bandstand.)

The necessary accompaniment to barbecued meats was sarsa , a rancho version of salsa, a mixture of tomatoes, green chilies, onions, garlic and cilantro. The cook might add a dash of olive oil, wine vinegar, salt and finely ground pepper. Sarsa is not incendiary but a relish that can be put on everything--barbecued meat, beans and numerous warm flour tortillas.

It was absolutely essential that there be many long pans of red enchiladas to accompany the meat as well. First, the thin, hand-stretched flour tortillas had to be made while the red chili sauce simmered. Several pounds of onions had to be chopped and slowly simmered. The combination of the hot red chili with the sweet onion filling is one of the best.

Pilillis are another of the Californios’ culinary inventions. The word, like sarsa , is untraceable, but pilillis are remarkably similar to sopaipillas , the puffy fried bread of the Southwest. Anyone who came for one of the great Sunday barbecues and snuggled into one of the ghostly rooms of the old ranch house for the night would wake up the next morning to the smell of pilillis and dark-roasted coffee.

Lastly, when the embers of the great barbecue were dying, they carried out huge platters holding wedges of watermelon; if peaches or apricots were in season, Aunt Nicolassa and Mama baked at least a dozen pies.

After a barbecue, nobody wanted to go home. They sat at the long tables chatting until Grandmama carried out the kerosene lamps. They did not want to let go of the day. They sat in the dark, their image of the rancho intact, as if they were still surrounded by thousands of acres. There in the ambiente of the grape arbor, they had dined like royalty on tortillas, beans, and enchiladas.

Herbs, garlic, finely ground pepper and red wine were used as marinades for barbecued meats. Fresh rosemary was a favorite with lamb and I have substituted pomegranate juice for the red wine for a less harsh but fruitier flavor.

BUTTERFLIED LAMB IN ROSEMARY AND POMEGRANATE JUICE

1 (5-to-6-pound) leg of lamb, boned and butterflied

6 cloves garlic, cut into slivers

1/4 cup fresh rosemary leaves, bruised to release

herb oils

Salt

Pepper

3 cups pomegranate juice

2 tablespoons olive oil

Sprigs fresh rosemary

Barbecued Peppers

Cut slits on both sides of meat and fill with garlic slivers. Trim off all fat from meat, but thin film of fell may be left intact.

Place meat in shallow dish and rub with 1/4 cup rosemary, 1 teaspoon salt and 1 teaspoon pepper. Add pomegranate juice. Marinate 6 hours in refrigerator, turning meat occasionally so marinade penetrates evenly.

Remove meat from refrigerator 1 hour before grilling. Build fire of hardwood briquettes, almond wood or fruitwood. When coals are covered with white ash, rub lamb with olive oil and grill 5 to 6 inches above coals about 20 minutes per side for rare and 30 minutes per side for medium rare, or to 135 degrees on meat thermometer.

During last 10 minutes of grilling, toss a couple sprigs of rosemary on coals. Herbal oils released into smoke will flavor lamb. Sprinkle with more salt and pepper just before removing meat from grill.

Allow meat to rest at least 10 minutes before slicing crosswise. Place slices on platter garnished with more rosemary sprigs and Barbecued Peppers. Makes 8 servings.

Note: Have butcher bone and butterfly lamb. Pomegranate juice may be purchased at health-food stores. A can of water and a short stick with cloth tied at one end can be used to drizzle water over any flare-ups that could blacken meat during grilling.

The vegetables to accompany the lamb should be sweet and simple.

Barbecued Peppers

2 sweet red peppers

2 green peppers

4 Anaheim chiles

2 poblano chiles

2 cloves garlic

1 teaspoon salt

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

During last 20 minutes of grilling lamb, place red and green peppers and Anaheim and poblano chiles alongside meat on grill. Turn peppers and chiles every 2-3 minutes until evenly charred.

Mash garlic with salt and whisk in olive oil. Set aside.

Remove peppers and chiles, place in large brown shopping bag and fold over top. Let steam 10 minutes.

Remove peppers and chiles and use small, sharp knife to peel off most of blackened skins, leaving some black flecks for character. Cut peppers and chiles into halves, remove cores and seeds and drizzle with garlic olive oil.

These are the ones Grandmama called Spanish. They are rolled and then hand-stretched. They call for much less fat than many of the thick flour tortillas requiring lard. You will only enjoy these at the table of a rancho family or your own. In the old days, there could not be a barbecue without flour tortillas in which to roll up meat, salsa and thick beans.

RANCHO FLOUR TORTILLAS

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1 1/2 cups warm water

1/3 cup shortening, about

4 cups unbleached flour

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

Dissolve salt in warm water and set aside. Cut shortening into flour and baking powder with pastry blender until mealy. Finish by using fingertips.

Slowly add just enough warm salted water to make dough form soft ball. Knead 1 minute in bowl. Cover ball of dough with plastic wrap and let rest 45 minutes.

Divide dough into 12 pieces and form into balls. Place on greased pan. Flatten each ball with heel of hand. Let balls rest, covered with plastic wrap, 30-45 minutes.

Heat griddle or comal over medium flame. Roll out first tortilla on lightly floured surface with 7-inch sawed-off broom handle or dowel. Roll in quick, short strokes, and keep lifting and turning tortilla to retain even circle. When tortilla is about 8 inches wide, hang from 1 hand and draw fingers of other hand across bottom.

Cook on grill about 1 minute, turning tortilla every 10 seconds. To turn, push thumb into edge of tortilla and turn over. Tortilla will develop golden spots and puff. Tortilla is cooked when puffing ceases. Wrap in towel, then foil. Makes 12 tortillas.

This is a salsa that must be hand-chopped.

SARSA

5 tomatoes

4 Anaheim chiles

1 sweet onion (Bermuda or Vidalia)

2 jalapeno chiles, seeded

2 cloves garlic

1 tablespoon wine vinegar

1 tablespoon olive oil

Salt

1/2 teaspoon dried marjoram

1/4 cup snipped cilantro

Cut tomatoes in halves and squeeze out seeds. Char Anaheim chiles over flame. Cool, then remove skins, seeds and stems.

Dice tomatoes, Anaheim chiles and onion. Mince jalapeno chiles and garlic. Stir together tomatoes, Anaheim and jalapeno chiles, onion, garlic, vinegar, olive oil, salt to taste, marjoram and cilantro. Marinate at least 1 hour before serving. Makes about 5 cups.

When I tried to cook these beans from memory, complicating them with gourmet tricks, I failed miserably. How could something so utterly basic as beans, water and salt be so difficult? It is all in the patience needed for the second simmering--and the mashing. Use a big spoon, not a blender as is sometimes recommended. It is just as necessary to cook the beans in a humble, cheap pot instead of one that cost you $75. These beans were eaten twice a day on the ranchos; they were always pink.

THICK RANCHO BEANS

1 pound pink beans

1 onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 teaspoons ground New Mexican chile powder

3 tablespoons canola oil or bacon fat

Salt

Pepper

Wash beans in sieve and pick over for stones. Cover beans with water, bring to boil and simmer 3 minutes. Let beans soak at least 2 hours. Drain off soaking water.

Cover beans with 6 cups fresh water, onion, garlic and chile powder. Bring to boil, then reduce heat and simmer 2 hours or until tender but not mushy. (Beans may also be cooked in pressure cooker 50 minutes.)

Heat oil in large cast-iron pan. Add 1/2 cup beans and small amount of bean liquid. When mixture starts to bubble, mash beans with back of large spoon.

When mixture thickens add another 1/2 cup beans and bean liquid. Simmer, then again begin mashing beans. Do not add too much bean liquid at any one time.

Keep adding beans slowly, and gradually add liquid. Simmer 10 to 20 minutes or until beans are desired degree of thickness. Do not mash all beans, but just enough to make mixture thick.

Add salt and pepper to taste. Beans thicken upon standing, so reserve some of bean liquor to add later. Makes 6 cups.

Note: Any leftover beans may be refried. Heat cast-iron pan with 2-3 tablespoons oil or bacon fat, and fry beans until crisp around edges. Sprinkle with grated Parmesan cheese, or stir in cubes of Jack cheese. Serve with huevos rancheros.

These are two typical and popular rancho barbecue dishes.

RED ENCHILADAS

3 tablespoons olive oil

5 medium onions, finely chopped

Salt

Pepper

3 cups Red Chile Sauce

10 flour tortillas, preferably homemade

1 1/2 pounds sharp Cheddar cheese, shredded

1 (6-ounce) can pitted black olives, halved

Heat olive oil in large skillet and saute onions slowly 20-30 minutes, stirring frequently to prevent sticking. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Warm Red Chile Sauce and place 1/2 cup sauce on wide dinner plate. Dip both sides of tortilla into sauce. Place scant 1/2 cup cheese, 4 olive halves and scant 1/2 cup sauteed onion down center. Fold each side of tortilla over filling.

Place each enchilada, folded edges down, in oiled 4-quart rectangular baking dish. Pour remaining chile sauce over top. Sprinkle with remaining olives and shredded cheese. Bake enchiladas at 350 degrees 20 minutes or until heated through. Makes 10 enchiladas.

Red Chile Sauce

10 dried red California or New Mexican chiles

6 pasilla chiles

1 clove garlic, mashed

1/2 onion, chopped

2 tablespoons oil

2 tablespoons flour

1 teaspoon dried oregano

1 tablespoon vinegar

Salt

Rinse California and pasilla chiles. Break off stems and shake out seeds. Place chiles in 5-quart sauce pot with garlic and onion. Cover with 12 cups water and simmer 30 minutes. Drain, reserving liquid.

Puree chiles, garlic and onion in blender in 3 batches using about 1/2 cup cooking water for each batch. Add more water if puree is too thick. Press puree through sieve to remove chile skins.

Heat oil in skillet; stir in flour. Add oregano. Heat until golden brown, then stir in chile puree and vinegar. Simmer sauce 20 minutes. If sauce seems thick, add additional cooking liquid. Season to taste with salt. Makes about 4 1/2 cups.

These pastry clouds are dusted with powdered sugar just like the beignets of New Orleans. They are best eaten for breakfast when you are wearing a white bathrobe!

PILLILIS

3 cups unbleached flour

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup vegetable shortening

1 (13-ounce) can evaporated milk

2 cups canola oil

Powdered sugar

Sift together flour, baking powder and salt. Using pastry blender or fingers, work shortening into mixture until texture resembles coarse meal. Warm evaporated milk to 95 degrees, and slowly add to mixture to produce dough of soft consistency. Knead dough until smooth, about 3 minutes.

Cover and allow dough to rest 30 minutes. Divide dough into quarters. Roll out 1 quarter at a time, keeping remaining well covered. Roll dough into 8-inch circle, 1/16-inch thick. Cut into four triangles.

Heat oil in large saucepan or deep-fryer kettle. When oil is hot, almost smoking, fry one triangle at a time until golden, continuously spooning hot oil over dough. Turn and brown other side.

Remove triangles with slotted spoon to paper towels. Sprinkle with powdered sugar.

Turn off heat under pan while rolling each batch, then reheat before frying triangles. Makes about 24.

STYLISTS: CHRIS JONIC, SEPHANIE PUDDY