July 01, 2009

Farm Preserves

Of all the USIA-sponsored exhibits (see page 42), “Agriculture USA” may have been the most overtly political. Presented from 1978 to 1979, it coincided with the zastoy, that Brezhnev-era period of stagnation when the grocery-store shelves were largely bare. I served as a guide for the second half of the AgUSA exhibit, helping to set up colorful stands that touted American abundance. My favorite was the mock county fair, where we displayed actual specimens of blue-ribbon preserves from the Iowa State Fair. As the winter progressed and I grew ever more tired of my stodgy diet of root vegetables and starch, those sparkling Mason jars brimming with preserves became increasingly tempting. I confess that I surreptitiously broke into them a couple of times, rearranging the jars to cover up my crime. But I was desperate for fruit.

In that regard I was typically American. After all, we are used to eating whatever we want year-round, no matter the season. In fact, the exhibit featured a video of an American supermarket that we used to heartbreaking advantage, shamelessly looping images of perfect vegetables and fruits to promote the endless food choices available in our self-service supermarkets. This rubbing of American overabundance into the variety-starved faces of the Russians made me very uncomfortable. It seemed downright mean to use food to demonstrate the superiority of America’s political system, especially at a time when so many goods in Russia had to be obtained (dostat) rather than bought – whether by barter, or on the black market, or through perks, if someone was lucky enough to belong to a factory or an elite organization that provided them.

Today, that video (which can be seen on YouTube*) looks just plain silly, as does the accompanying full-color exhibit catalog, which glibly describes a typical, “efficient American housewife” who, “if she were to rush to her favorite supermarket on a snowy January evening and find that her market did not have tender lettuce and celery shipped 3,000 miles from southern California, would not only be astonished, she would be outraged.” All that we boasted of then – the American highway system, the huge trucks carrying produce across the country, transporting it thousands of miles from its native soil – now seems misguided, perfect examples of what went wrong with American agriculture. But back then, the catalogs offered a tantalizing glimpse of another way of life, an American Land of Cockaigne where food appeared magically without the need to stand in lines for two to three hours a day. It’s no wonder that the Soviet authorities sometimes confiscated the catalogs as soon as visitors had left the exhibit.

Many of the conversations between Russian visitors and American guides ended in a declaration of “U nas luchshe!” (“We have it better!”), pronounced either defiantly or mumbled like a hopeful incantation. What else could the Russians say? It was humiliating to recognize that their government could send men into space but not manage to get food onto people’s tables. Yet the confrontational nature of our supermarket propaganda had a surprising effect on some people. Instead of angering them, it spurred them to show us what they did have. Happily, I was often the beneficiary of their largesse. Visitors to AgUSA brought me their lovingly prepared homemade foods, sharing the best that they had and greatly contributing to my culinary education. Above all, they gave me the gift of Russian hospitality.

By the end of the exhibit, I knew one thing for certain. America may have had super-efficient grocery stores with endless varieties of fruits and vegetables on display. But even our acclaimed Iowa blue-ribbon preserves couldn’t measure up to the Russian ones – the salted mushrooms or sweet, wild-strawberry jam made from produce painstakingly gathered by hand in Russia’s meadows and woods and laboriously put up in small batches. Russian housewives didn’t have access to the convenient Ball canning system we guides so cheerfully demonstrated. To achieve a good seal on the jars, they had to wrestle with an unwieldy instrument that often caused the jars to explode. Sometimes they would just cover the jars with simple waxed paper tied with a string. No matter. The bosky flavor of the mushrooms and strawberries and black currants captured the essence of Russia. Most important, these preserves were gifts from a people who understood that while variety may be the spice of life, it is the simplest food that fosters friendship, especially when it is offered from the heart.

Salted Mushrooms

This excellent method of preserving mushrooms makes even the mildest champignons come alive. For an earthier taste, try salting edible wild forest or field mushrooms.

1 pound mushrooms

2 tablespoons salt

Bay leaves

Whole black peppercorns

Fresh dill

Whole cloves

1⁄2 cup hot water

Take firm, unblemished mushrooms. Rinse them lightly. Place a layer of mushrooms, stems up, in a 2-quart crock. Sprinkle them with salt and desired amounts of seasonings. Continue layering the mushrooms (always stems up) with the salt and the seasonings, until the crock is full.

Pour the hot water over all, shaking the jar gently to dissolve the salt. Weight the top layer of mushrooms down with a plate on which something heavy has been placed. Close the jar tightly. Place in a cool, dark place.

After a few days, check to see that the mushrooms are immersed in the liquid. If not, add a little more water and salt. The mushrooms will be ready after one month.

Yield: 1 pound salted mushrooms.

July 01, 2009

Farm Preserves

See Also

AgUSA Video on YouTube

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