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June, 2007
Backcountry Bistro: Table for Two?
with Kathryn Miles
For many people, bistro dining conjures quintessential images of Paris: carafes of local wine, wrought iron tables on a sidewalk café, sophisticated couples smoking cigarettes and flirting coyly over tiny plates of escargot. In other words, the embodiment of cosmopolitan sophistication.
Luckily for backcountry devotees, the concept of bistro dining actually stems from far more pastoral roots. At the turn of the last century, western cultures were faced with a veritable onslaught of mechanization. From motorized automobiles to the assembly lines that made them, life was about speed and volume, rather than deliberation and handcraftsmanship. Food suffered a similar fate. Entrepreneurs soon discovered those same machines cranking out Model Ts could also produce sliced bread and pre-packaged meals (think early T.V. dinners) by the truckload. In turn, overworked housewives and their increasingly busy families were thrilled and gobbled up the convenience of it all.
But, for a small handful of otherwise urban sophisticates, this new form of dining simply wouldn’t do. They missed local ingredients, knowing the person who labored over their meals, and the honesty of peasant fare. These individuals-the precursors to our contemporary Slow Food Movement-used their newfangled cars and motorcycles to head back to the countryside. There, they frequented local restaurants that still served authenticity as a part of their menu. Called bistros, these establishments rarely offered a set menu, let alone daily specials or stuffy presentation. Instead, they heaped bowls and plates full of fresh summer vegetables, homemade soup stocks, and bread baked on the premises.
In time, the appeal of such establishments has grown, eventually entering just about every corner of our industrialized culture. It’s not uncommon to see restaurants advertising themselves as bistros in the heart of L.A. or the Lower East Side of Manhattan. They tend to be lovely places filled with candlelight, good food, and even a flirting couple or two. Still, I prefer the classic version of a century ago: the idea that you can return to the countryside and linger over simple food cooked without pretense.
This month’s Backcountry Bistro recipe celebrates both the history of bistro dining as well as its modern incarnations. Our Pasta du jour is a little more fussy than previous recipes, but I think it well worth the effort, especially if you have the time and inclination to linger over meal preparation while on the trail. Like all of our offerings, however, it lends itself to myriad interpretations. In the past several years, a variety of tasty pre-packaged meats have arrived on the market; however, if you prefer, tempeh or garbanzo beans can easily be substituted. Similarly, just about any vegetable will work well in this recipe, but I recommend sticking to those like broccoli or zucchini that tend not to bruise in packs. It’s hard to go wrong with this one, particularly if you follow the tradition of classic bistros: find some local vegetables that look good, combine them with pasta and a simple sauce, and cook them all in a honest way. Bon Appétit!
Pasta du Jour (Serves 2)
1 cup (8 oz) dry penne pasta
1 tablespoon dry Italian dressing
3 tablespoons olive oil
¼ cup sun-dried tomatoes (not packed in oil)
1 cup chopped vegetables
1 cup canned chicken or vacuum-sealed tuna
¼ cup Parmesan cheese (optional)
Water for boiling
In a large camp pot, boil approximately 32 ounces (1 full Nalgene) of water over a fire or Whisperlight stove. When the water reaches a full boil, add dry pasta. Reduce heat slightly to prevent boil over and simmer for approximately 8 minutes. When pasta is still chewy, add chopped vegetables and sun-dried tomatoes. Simmer for 1-2 minutes. Drain all but approximately 1/3 cup of pasta water. Add meat, dressing, and oil. Cook over low heat for 3-5 minutes. Season to taste.
Do you have a recipe you’d like to convert for the backcountry? Want ideas for haute cuisine that fits into a backpack? Contact No Umbrella’s backcountry chef Kathryn Miles (kmiles@unity.edu).
Email nick [at] noumbrella [dot] com with your questions, comments and concerns.
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