No-Electricity Dinner
No-electricity cooking at home is seldom planned, unless of course you’re undertaking some Scouts project in the back yard or live off the grid. Kudos to you, if you are/do. For most of us, most of the time, no-electricity cooking is foisted upon us under dire circumstances – catastrophes, even.
Mine was not a catastrophe. I’ll say that straight off. But it was a glaring reminder of how much I assume I can flip a switch for light, tuck perishables in the fridge for long storage (and retrieve at will), and fire up heat to cook a hot meal when the weather’s cold. And how I assume I can rely on my phone. So: apologies that I don’t have pictures! I was trying to be smart about saving the battery, and all that…
In hindsight, I might have predicted the power outage. We’d had rain for days… on already soggy land. Then, the wind kicked up – a wind of Pele kicker capacity. The flag whipped. The awning, though fully retracted, threatened to rip off the addition. And the trees,… ah the trees. If you’ve ever weeded a garden, you know that wet soil makes for easy removal. Roots simply give up their hold and come free with barely a tug of coaxing. So, back to the trees. Yeah. Down they went, all over the place. All over the power lines. Down went our power. Ours, and hundreds of others’ in the greater area. I might have predicted such domestic emergency – Mr. Hollywood was out of town. Charlie and I were on our own.
On a small grid with no publicly important parties tied to it, we’re a low priority for restoration. It was four pm and hours, they said, before we might be back up and running again. My first step: hang dishtowels over the refrigerator and freezer handles, so I wouldn’t be tempted reflexively to open them. Kept shut, things should be fine for a good 24 hours at the very least. Open, with me perusing the shelves,… far shorter.
If my back were in its normal healthy state, I’d stock the fireplace. I weighed the relative periods of discomfort – hours of the house cooler than normal versus days of muscle spasms – and opted for the former. We’d had a warm day – up in the sixties, thank goodness, and it wasn’t expected to be thirties til the wee morning hours. I’d slept through worse.
Water. We’re on an electrically-operated well, so that’s a problem. But after the last outage, I’d put up an old (once upon a time white vinegar) gallon jug of tap water and an emergency gallon of unopened drinking water. Charlie’s drinking bowls were already full; and we had cases of sparkling water from a party the week before, so that was good.
I went to a coffee shop to charge my phone and computer, use the bathroom, and have a hot cup. Then, home again to set up candles. Sidenote: It’s always remarkable to me how much light a small candle can give off. I put tea lights on drink coasters in each of the rooms I’d be using – kitchen, dining room, hallway, bathroom – and I never needed the flashlight.
It was 8:00, full dark, and still the power company, according to their “outage map” hadn’t even assessed the damage in our area. I opened a can of sardines and shared it with Charlie. Still no power. That’s it. I’d be making dinner by candlelight. Enter, the gas range. If you don’t have one, the gas grill will work; just do keep it outside. Dinner only takes about 15 minutes on heat, so with a jacket and hat, you should be fine.
No-Electricity Dinner, Finally
This is an argument for always, I mean always, having in your pantry at least one can of tomatoes, olive oil, a head of garlic, and dried pasta, each of the highest quality that you can afford. (Alternatively, if you have a can of beans – red, black, or pinto – and dried rice, you could make rice and beans cutting out the “holy trinity” vegetables of the first step and going straight to whatever spices – cumin, oregano,… you have in your cabinet.) To more easily see into the pot, I broke out the headlamp. But you could go all Liberace and work with full-on candelabras here.
Ingredients
olive oil – a few tablespoons
garlic – a clove or two
red wine, optional – a splash
canned tomatoes – big or little can; diced, pureed, whole peeled,… doesn’t matter
salt, if it’s not in the tomatoes
herbs, optional – basil, oregano, rosemary,… any of the above; fresh or dried doesn’t matter; start small and taste
Parmesan – only if it’s already out or if you’ve got a no-refrigeration-necessary can sitting around.
Technique
Peel a few garlic cloves by separating them from the head and leaning onto them until they smoosh. Into a pot big enough to hold the contents of that can of tomatoes and with some room to spare (for bubbling), add a splash of olive oil and your somewhat crushed garlic cloves. Light a match (first!), then carefully turn on the gas. Vavoom, fire! Over a medium flame, let the garlic start to cook.
Meanwhile, into a wide pot, pour enough water (I used that tap in the old vinegar jug) that it will cover your pasta as it cooks, and add a good douse of kosher salt. Light a match (first!, remember), then carefully turn on the gas. Get your pot heating.
Return to the garlic. With a wooden spoon or the like, turn the cloves over. With time, they’ll soften. When they do, smoosh them a bit more with your spoon. It’s okay if they’re different shapes and sizes. Add a splash of the red wine that you’re now drinking, if you can spare it, and gently pour in the tomatoes. If you’ve got dried herbs of an “Italian” variety, go ahead and sprinkle some in. I added basil and oregano because I have an oddly large amount of them right now. I like red pepper flakes, so I added some of those, too.
When your pot o’ water boils, add the pasta, as you’d do if there were no power outage. Have another glass of wine (but make this your last, make it last, in case more emergency measures – i.e., quick thinking and acting – are called for).
Stir the tomatoes because you have nothing else to do.
When the pasta is nearly done, ladle however much sauce you want into the bottom of a wide, shallow bowl, lift your pasta out of its water and straight into the bowl. Toss it around it a bit. Try not to feel sorry for yourself about the Parmesan being in the fridge (don’t open it!). Congratulate yourself if you’ve got a green shaker of pantry Parm. Now’s the time to use it. Whatever the case, drizzle some of that extra good olive oil over the top, line up your candles, rub the dog on his shoulder, and dig in.
The candlelight was so lovely and sufficient that I read at the table for a while – Edna Lewis (The Taste of Country Cooking) proved to be a perfect companion.
