Indian Summer

We had our first frost earlier in the month. It was a tentative one at best, gone by midmorning and taking with it only the tenderest vegetation. The remainder of the month has been unseasonably warm— some days hot and perceptibly hazy, as if the charged atmosphere, in its hurried march towards winter, stalled in the heat and vibrated in idleness. 

In the USA, wherever there is a true winter, this period is called Indian Summer. 

Indian Summer usually occurs after the onset of cold, when the weather double-backs upon itself. The provenance of the phrase dates back to the 18th century and refers to the American Indians, who used this period to harvest and hunt in preparation for winter. 

On a daily basis, I travel roads that have been designated 'scenic routes', passing landscapes that remain largely unscathed by the hands of man. In this setting of fields, woods, lakes and forests, it's easy to imagine the indigenous way of life that was tethered to nature and governed by the elements. In November, when the riotous autumnal landscape turns stark with the impending severity of winter, the challenges become more evident; the struggles more acute. The austerity captures my imagination.

In Indian Summer, with the evocative scenery and Thanksgiving on the horizon, it's no wonder that November— more than any other month— has me contemplating the influence of the Native Americans.

At no other time is their influence more evident than on our Thanksgiving table. Turkey, oysters, cranberries, pumpkin, squash, sweet potatoes, beans, maple syrup, nuts, and berries are all indigenous foods that were quickly adopted by the European settlers, often saving them from starvation. And, of course, there was corn— the staple of the Native American diet, referred to in some native languages as "mother" or "life"— a benevolent sustaining force and once sacred crop that agribusiness has exploited into the monster that it is today.

Some time ago, I researched the Native American diet for a project. While I found it historically interesting, I admit to being uninspired by the limitations of food and cooking methods. I realize that this was because my cooking relied heavily on the abundance of food and ingredients from around the globe that was readily available to me. Recently, I was given the opportunity to cater an event at The Institute for American Indian Studies in Washington, CT, which was to focus on food that is native to North America. As I delved into it, I was surprised by how liberating it was to be given such tight parameters. The event, itself, was magical— listening to Native Americans tell stories and speak with pride about the past, present,and future, surrounded by fascinating exhibits and artifacts, learning first-hand about the customs and traditions that made up a lost way of life. There, I found the inspiration that I was after.

I'm putting together a series of dishes— a virtual tasting menu, if you will— that will occupy the next several posts. My intention is to temporarily step back from the complexities of modern cooking in order to explore the simplicity of primal food and native ingredients and to celebrate the beauty of the natural resources that surround me. I can't promise to completely exclude modern techniques, but by visiting another extreme, I hope to find a balance that makes sense and appeals to the way that we cook and eat today.