The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

A few days before my seventeenth birthday, I went on a juice fast. In preparation for this body-cleansing event, I ate only dried fruits for three days prior and dutifully maneuvered my body into myriad yoga poses. “If the fast works,” I wrote in my Kahlil Gibran diary, “I plan to do it every couple of months to let my body rest and to clean myself out.”

“Spiritually, the fast was disappointing,” I wrote in the journal entry following my little experiment. Through the loss of body toxins, I’d hoped to reach some higher plane, perhaps even Nirvana. Instead, I experienced mild lightheadedness and nausea.

Still, I was determined to treat my body as a temple (except, of course, for the occasions when my friends and I had an undeniable urge to indulge in mind-altering drug experimentation), so I began to systematically wean myself of processed foods, as well as those containing chemicals or preservatives. Fresh fish from clean waters, free-range chickens, and organic, natural, and unbleached products were in, while hormone-injected beef, as well as pork, veal, and lamb, were out. I cut salt, refined sugar, caffeine, and bleached white flour from my diet and added things like whole grains, carob, herbal tea, and lots of fresh fruit and vegetables. I was wholesomeness personified.

Henceforth, I followed this philosophy. As far as meat and its by-products were concerned, I was strict in my exclusion of them. I wouldn’t eat French onion soup that had been made with beef broth; Southern collard greens or black-eyed peas flavored with ham hocks; Chinese shrimp with lobster sauce, which contains bits of ground pork; or anything laced with or smacking of animal protein. I didn’t miss any of it.

More than three decades later, an odd thing happened. I was at a Spanish tapas restaurant with two friends, and they ordered the specialty of the house, roast suckling pig. A great slab of moist, tender meat under a deep golden cap of crisp, crackling skin arrived with great fanfare, mightily scenting the air with its musky aroma. As my friends dove in, I observed expressions of orgasmic ecstasy transforming their faces. After just a moment’s hesitation, I realized I was going to dive in and try it. I had no moral issue with eating meat, I reasoned. As for the health risk, I knew a tiny bite wouldn’t kill me. I picked up a steak knife for the first time in more than thirty years and cut off a small piece of pig. It was outrageously good!

That was over three years ago. In the first year following falling off the wagon, meat-wise, I had, on a half dozen occasions, small tastes of beef, pork, and lamb. My sister, Janet, orders her meat exactly the way I did when once it was a staple of my diet: as rare as could possibly be; nearly mooing, and she would offer me a bite whenever she ordered meat in a restaurant. Each sampling was a totally enjoyable thrill. I felt intrepid, almost naughty, but I had no intention of becoming a carnivore again. I was convinced that the diet I’d followed for all these years was directly responsible for my fine health.

Truth be told. I was beyond sick of eating fowl in its various guises and the kinds of fish I prefer, such as salmon, swordfish, and tuna steaks, as well as shellfish, can be terrifically expensive. As time passed, I began to add meat to my diet, having it once every couple of weeks or so, and never more than once a week, and I must admit it broadened my food repertoire greatly. And by the way, after all those years of abstinence I got cancer anyway. However, my cancer is cured and I still avoid processed foods or those with preservatives, chemicals, and such. But I’ve met meat head-on and though we may not be fast friends, we’re enjoying getting to know each other again.

And, as anyone who has dined in a top-notch steakhouse can tell you, the accompaniments are almost always these: a juicy tomato and onion salad, crisp thick-cut steak or cottage fries, and creamed spinach. My take on the latter is a cheesy version baked in a gratin dish until the top is golden and crusty. Enjoy it the next time you indulge in a big ol’ slab of meat, or try it with roast chicken, if you must.

Cheesy Creamed Spinach Gratin

Serves 4

1 package (10 ounces) frozen chopped spinach, thawed, drained, and squeezed dry of as much moisture as possible

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

½ small onion, peeled and minced

1 ¼ cups half & half

¾ cups grated Gruyere cheese

½ cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Toss grated cheese together in a small bowl. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Melt the butter in a medium sized saucepan over medium-low heat. When bubbling, add onion and sauté until translucent, about 4 minutes. Add flour and cook, stirring 1 minute. Add half & half, raise heat to medium-high, and cook until thickened, about 2 –3 minutes. Remove from heat and add spinach and 2/3rds of the cheese, nutmeg, salt, and pepper. Stir to incorporated and spoon into a shallow ovenproof baking dish or 4 individual gratin dishes. Sprinkle remaining cheese evening over gratin. Bake for 15 – 20 minutes, until bubbly and pale gold. If desired, run under the broiler for a minute or two so cheese gets a bit of crust and turns a deep gold. Serve immediately.