Oppenheim - Savor: rustic recipes inspired by forest, field, and farm

Ilona Oppenheim

New York

To my husband, Chad, and my kids, Hendrix and Liloo: you mean everything to me.

My house was on the side of a hill, immediately on the edge of the larger wood, in the midst of a young forest of pitch pines and hickories...

Henry David Thoreau, Walden

I live in Aspennot the stereotypical Aspen of glamour and luxury, but the Aspen with snowcapped peaks, crisp mountain air, the scent of evergreens, and the wonderful wildlife that calls it home. I was born in Switzerland and grew up in the foothills of the Alps, but when I was a teenager, my father relocated our family to the United States. Fifteen years later, I moved to the Colorado Rockies; after years in the flat landscape of Florida, I longed for a horizon with peaks and valleys dotted with streams and rivers, forests, rock walls, and narrow paths that open up to breathtaking panoramas. The mountains keep secrets; they envelop me, surprise me, and sometimes overpower me with pure, relentless nature.

Nature also nurtures me. Whether I forage for mushrooms and berries, fish for trout, make a fire, or simply go for a long hike, being outdoors brings me peace of mind.

I love the change of seasons: the expectation of spring, the generosity of summer, the melancholy of fall, and the stillness of winter. On a winter hike there are no distractions, no food to forage; everything is covered in pure white snow. Somehow the monochromatic countryside steadies my mind. I turn inward and find quiet in my head instead of the usual jumble of lists and deadlines. When the light fades, and the colors of the setting sun are absorbed and reflected by the white landscape, I feel one with nature. Treks taken during long summer evenings are mesmerizing, as the moon illuminates the land with sharp shadows and outlines and the black sky glistens with stars. The only sound comes from my footsteps and my rapid breath. Whenever I come home from a hike, my mind is clear, Im hungry, and all I want to do is cook and eat a great meal.

Being connected to nature is good for my soul, but nature also sustains my family, physically, with its bounty. I get fresh eggs and milk, as well as produce like beets, kale, potatoes, peaches, and apples, from farms in the foothills. We fish for trout in the streams, forage for mushrooms and berries, and often camp overnight and cook over an open fire. We even make tea from pine needles and extract nuts from the pinecones that are scattered on the forest floor.

Growing up in Switzerland, I was taught at an early age to truly enjoy food. My father savored all kinds of cuisine, and he exposed me to everything from bratwurst and pretzels sold by the Zurich street vendors to fresh-caught Egli (perch) eaten at a small lakeside cafe, an entire wheel of raclette melted over an open fire at a remote mountain chalet, and fresh oysters and sweetbreads in Europes finest gourmet restaurants.

My mother always had help in the kitchen, and our meals were made from fresh vegetables, meat, and dairy that arrived at our house every day from the local farms. I wasnt really aware of what took place in our kitchen, but I liked to eat and loved certain foods, like boiled artichokes dipped in vinaigrette and my mothers chocolate mousse. My favorite was the cheese course. I would cut pieces of cheese from the assortment on a large tray and stack them on buttered bread. Not only was this delicious, but I also found it interesting how the different cheeses, made from more or less the same ingredients, really evoked their origins and the way they were created.

My passion for cooking was ignited in the sensible Swiss kitchen of my fathers spa, the Clinique La Prairie, where guests came from around the world for beauty treatments and the healthy and delicious cuisine for which it was famous. I was nineteen and living in Miami when my father sent me back to Switzerland to steer me away from Chad, my first boyfriend. I didnt exactly throw myself into this summer job. I started in hospitality, meeting and greeting guests at the clinics reception desk, but since I am naturally shy, this was not my strength. I was moved to the office, where I was responsible for setting up appointments. This was not a great fit either, and when I inadvertently scheduled a member of the Saudi royal family for the wrong treatment, my father decided to bury me in the kitchen, the least glamorous and most out-of-the-way place.

I didnt know anything about cooking, recipes, or even ingredients. On my first day I made the mistake of confusing basil with parsley, and I got a stern lecture on herbs from the renowned Madame Blaze, the ruler of the subterranean kitchen and a pioneer in healthy gourmet cooking. My schooling in other foods soon followed as the chefs hollered at me to fetch them ingredients from the walk-in refrigerator. I loved the energy in that kitchen. It was like an inner sanctum where I could keep to myself, serve the needs of the kitchen staff, and fulfill my fathers wish for me to become engaged in his business. Madame Blaze fascinated me as she crafted magical dishes. In her hands, flour became bread, eggs became crme brle, and a basket of fresh vegetables became enough ratatouille to feed all the guests.

I may have been more in the way than useful, but in that kitchen something clicked for me. I enjoyed being lost in the moment as I workedchopping, mixing, or cleaningand the intensity allowed no time for diversion.

When I returned to Miami in the fall, I resumed my relationship with Chad, and eventually we got married. I also became a freelance graphic designer, and my flexible work schedule allowed me time to focus on my other love: experimenting in the kitchen. I have always been a fan of cheese, so the first meal I cooked for Chad was a cheese souffl. It was an absolute disaster, and the next day, in search of help, I bought Simple to Spectacular by Jean-Georges Vongerichten. Each chapter started with a simple recipe that, through various steps, turned progressively into a more complicated dish. I cooked every single thing in that book, and went on to spend my spare time reading cookbooks and following the most involved of recipes. I cooked as if my relationship depended on it, and every meal was a new opportunity to express my feelings for Chad. Some meals took an entire day to create, but I loved every moment, from shopping and finding the right ingredients, to coming home and figuring out the recipe, to cooking and finally sitting down to savor every bite. Each challenging recipe and successful meal gave me more confidence, and cooking became a new way to express myself.

When Chad opened his architectural practice, he would bring potential clients home for dinner. Now what I cooked represented both of us. It was no longer an intimate gesture of my love for him, but a way to help him impress his clients. I was still shy, but making food for others finally brought me out of my shell. Cooking became my own personal language with which to connect with people.