by Tim Billbrough
Introduction
When I began this journey nearly a year ago, I envisioned it as a fun little experiment that would be neat to share with this, my Druid community. Little did I expect how much it would impact my personal practice and understanding of my spirituality.
While I have always loved to cook and garden, and did the latter with care to invasive species, I never wholly did the former with much regard, other than the excitement to use what I have grown, for seasonal or local food. Nor did really consider the impacts of the Columbian Exchange.
This year-long exercise has taught me so much about my local area, history, and the land around me. I set out thinking that I may honor the land I live on, but have gained an appreciation of so much more. I knew, intellectually, how the availability of food impacted the formation of our ceremonies and rites, but only now, having actively practiced such things with intent and meaning, do I appreciate just how wholly connected food and spirituality, particularly nature spiritualism, are. I am a changed Druid.
Not only have I learned so much about the history of my area, the food that was once here and how it was used, and what food was not here, but having to design a dish for each festival is as deep a spiritually rewarding experience as designing a ritual itself. I recommend anyone who may be interested to try this for a year themselves and see what rewards it will bring them.
As I now come to my final entry in Feasting the Wheel, I wish to thank each and every one of you for joining me on this journey. Thank you for putting up with my rambling, my bastardizing of beloved foods to reimagine them anew, and for the comments and encouragements throughout the year. This experience has brought me many blessings, but not least of them is this community.
As a reminder, here are the rules of this quest:
1. The dish must represent the festival in question, its themes and what we revere about it. This is how I honor the festival.
2. I must use only ingredients I grow myself/can source locally, or are native to my home in New Hampshire, USA. When I can do both, that is preferred. This is how I
honor the land I live and practice on.
3. The ingredients must be seasonal to my own land, either through ripeness or appropriate preservation. My climate is slightly different than that of the Celtic Isles, so this is how I honor the Wheel of the Year itself.
4. The dish must be an interpretation of what our Celtic ancestors would have eaten around the time of festival. This is how I honor our Druid traditions.
Symbolizing Alban Arthan
Alban Arthan is one of the most powerful and significant festivals of the year and there are many things it symbolizes. The Order’s basic ritual, and many other variations on it, include casting aside things that hold us back, as the darkness holds back the light. It is the time where the sun returns from near-death and is reborn, bringing with it greater light. It is the longest night of the year, where the prolonged dark keeps us indoors, not just physically, but spiritually as well, a time where we take to rest and reflect.
Trying to capture all these things in a single dish is nigh-impossible. You could easily make a feast to capture them all. Instead, I am going to focus on the hominess of the festival. A dish that symbolizes Alban Arthan would be warm and filling, easy to make, and, ideally, include not just stored ingredients, but what fresh ones that can be had at this, the darkest time of year.
This dish should fortify the body for our spirit’s work this evening and keep us through the longest night till the light of the morning.
What to Make
My goals for this dish, even limiting it to only the one element of the festival, did not make it an easy thing to accomplish. Particularly difficult was finding a fresh ingredient to use. The region known as New England, where I live, is only slightly smaller than Great Britian itself and latitudinally it stretches to meet the area between Naples, Italy, to Cannes, France. Despite this, our climate is far from Mediterranean, being nearly identical to that of Central Europe of western Russia. Very few things are available here in the cold months.
My first thought was something involving pine needle tea, a very common hot drink from the First Peoples through the colonial period. But in my research I came across something that really stood out to me. Something that seemed so obvious once I saw it that I felt rather foolish: The best season for clams runs through December.
I needed a meal that was hearty, warm, filling, easy to make, and included fresh as well as stored ingredients? Sounded like it was time for some clam chowder, a winter staple in my region for a very good reason.
Making The Feast
Of course, once I decided on clam chowder, I still had work to do. There were three types of clam chowder I had to sort through. The tomato based Maryland-style clam chowder was out. I am a New Englander and some things are just Aren’t Done. My main go-to for clam chowder is, naturally, the cream based New England style. However, I don’t raise cows, goats, or anything that gives me milk and none of those are native to my land. Which means, per the rules of this quest, it was out as well. The third kind was the clear-broth Rhode Island style, made with chicken stock. I do raise chickens and keep a ready supply of home-made broth in the freezer. This was the style I would have to work with.
That said, I found it hard to believe that a clear soup style chowder would fill the role I intended for it. Part of this just may be my own bias that using broth makes it a soup, not a chowder, but the rest were legitimate concerns for wanting it to be sufficiently filling and hearty to be symbolic of nourishing through the longest night of the year.
Fortunately, a solution came readily to me: beans. Native to my land, easily obtainable, hearty, and filling. I have also made other soup and stew recipes where beans were included and purposely mashed to thicken the dish and give it a cream-like quality. They would be the key alteration I could add to give me a cross between the Rhode Island style clam chowder and my beloved New England style.
There was another hurdle to overcome, though. Both styles use bacon to add a salty, smoky, and much needed fatty element to the dish. And pigs aren’t native to New England. This was easily solved, though. While pigs aren’t native to my land, salmon is. And a traditional way of storing salmon is smoking it. Pairing some sacrificial smoked salmon with some duck fat, a native fat I have used many times this year, would give me a reasonable approximation for the smoky, fatty flavor. The saltiness would just have to come from the clams themselves or added salt. I could then even shred some of the remaining smoked salmon and add it to the dish like the bacon crumbles would be otherwise.
Once this plan was hatched, It was time to get the ingredients. I used a small onion and potato from my garden, not native, but since I grew them myself, allowed in the rules. I sourced some minced clams, clam juice, and a small slab of smoked salmon from the same native fishmonger I got the trout from for the Alban Hefin dish, a nice bit of solstice mirroring.
There was an oopsie when it came to the beans, though. I had planned on using some nice, locally grown cranberry beans, an ancient, native variety. But when I let them soak, I gave them the same 24 hours in a salt brine I generally give commercial dried beans only to return to them the next day and find that they had started fermenting. Out of time, I used
some commercially canned Great Northern beans. Still technically native, though not as local as I would have liked. But alas, we must adapt and overcome. I shall remember the presence of natural yeast next time I try native beans.
With my ingredients prepped, things moved swiftly. As I wanted, clam chowder is a fast and easy dish. I started by melting the duck fat (not pictured, I forgot to get it out of the fridge as I was prepping) in my pan and then added a small slice of my smoked salmon. I knew I would be over-cooking it and pretty much destroying it, but I wanted the smoky flavor in the fat. Once it was crispy and the usually clear duck fat had turned just slightly colored, I removed the ruined salmon with a slotted spook and put it in the chicken bucket. It wouldn’t go to waste.
From there, I added the onion and potato and let them fry for a few minutes before adding the clam juice, chicken stock (also not pictured, it was in the microwave and out of sight is out of mind until I needed it), and beans. I brough them all to a boil, backed off to a simmer, and let them simmer for 20 minutes.
Once everything was tender, I used a potato masher to mash some of the beans and potatoes until the mixture was thick and creamy. I stirred in the clams and let it continue to simmer for five minutes until the clams were heated through. I poured it into a bowl and topped with more smoked salmon that I shredded.
Conclusion
Well, one thing I can say pretty clearly. While this was a clam chowder, it isn’t Clam Chowder (notice the capitalization). If I were to serve this to another New Englander and tell them it was, I might be put away.
That said, it was still tasty. I think I used too many beans, as that was the main flavor and texture, but the clams were still there. There was a hint of smokiness from the salmon and the dish didn’t want for salt. The mashed beans did give it a creamy texture and the shredded salmon paired excellently with the rest of the dish. It was warm, thick, and hearty. Everything I set out to make it and, I think, a brilliant dish to keep you full and warm through the longest night of the year.
Blessed Alban Arthan everyone and thank you, once again, for allowing me to share my Awen with you all.
Recipe
Ingredients
12 ounces of clams, minced
1 small onion, diced fine.
1 small potato, cut into small cubes.
About 7 ounces of cooked white beans (I used a 14.5 oz can, which was too much)
1 Cup of clam juice
1 cup of chicken stock
½ ounce of smoked salmon plus more for the garnish
A tablespoon of duck fat
Salt to taste.
Method
Melt the duck fat in a small saucepan or high-walled skillet over medium heat. Add the sacrificial smoked salmon and fry it in the fat, keeping it moving so it doesn’t stick, until it is crispy.
Remove the salmon with a slotted spoon, leaving the fat in the pan, and add the onion and potato. Fry in the fat until the onions turn translucent. It won’t take long. Add the clam juice, chicken stock, and beans.
Bring to a boil then back down to a simmer and simmer for 20 minutes, until everything is tender. Mash some of the beans and potatoes with a potato masher until the mixture reaches your desired level of thickness and add the minced clams. Continue to simmer for 5 minutes or until the clams are heated through. Taste and adjust for seasoning. Ladle into a bowl and top with cold, shredded smoked salmon.
