The contrasts of late fall and early winter are so very delicious; the way the penetrating heat of the sauna makes your body buzz with aliveness after a brisk roll in the snow; a perfectly-balanced spoonful of hot porridge with cold milk and a bit of sugar; the feeling of a steamy shower after a day on the slopes; and, of course, the bonfires.
Bonfires held on brisk nights always feel particularly ancient and primal to me. I imagine my distant ancestors keeping away the dark spirits that joined wild animals as a credible threat to their well-being. A fire meant safety: protection, warmth, a way to cook food. Today, a bonfire is mostly about warm company and enjoyment. One can sit on a log and watch the shadows dance as the flames cast an eerie light out into the woods and trees. You have to rotate every so often, when your face gets too hot and your back too cold. The smell of smoke mixes with the ozone-like smell of fresh frost or snow.
As I write this by candlelight, I sometimes turn and watch the flames dance, mesmerizing and magical. No wonder it is so easy to get lost in the fire, to fall into the intimacy of tending to flames. As with any partnership, a fire requires care and attention. First, you build a little home, using small pieces of kindling around a soft nest of dry pine needles or paper or cattail fluff, leaving just the right spaces for it to breathe. It is in that soft nest that one little spark can grow, until it can envelop the twigs and branches that surround it with such balance. Then comes the feeding - a small log at first, held up by another. As the fire’s strength grows, it can handle bigger logs, until that single little flame matures into a roaring bonfire. I love being the fire tender, starting ever-so-gently to blow air into a struggling flame, to help it grow, knowing it has the potential to consume far greater timber. I love the way the spirit of a tree curls up in tendrils of smoke, with each log exhaling a unique perfume. Pinion pine and juniper remind me of holidays in the Southwest, staring at a delicate dusting of white snow on red rocks. Lodgepole pine smells like home in the mountains, a warm woodstove and the safety of the familiar. When the smoky fragrance blends with the cold coniferous scent of a night in the mountains, I am overcome with the awe that comes from such a perfect balance.
Once the fire has grown into a stable and happy being, I stare into dancing flames and glowing embers, waiting for the perfect bed of glowing logs to roast a marshmallow over. Seasoned s’more makers know that it’s not about the flames; it’s about the embers. You want an even, radiant heat to get that nice puffy golden-brown marshmallow that’s perfectly gooey in the center. Stick it in the flame and it’ll catch, leaving you with a crispy burnt skin and cold interior. Cooking with fire is always a collaboration; observing it, feeding it, listening to it, waiting. It demands attention and flexibility. With a shift in the wind, your own dance must change.
With the glowing heat in front of you, can you sense the world behind? Can you feel the shadows moving, the curious eyes on the back of your head? Who dwells in the scraggly trees and the sprawling brush? Whose voice echoes the fire’s crackling or the song of the wind, eerie and high? Soak in the magic of these questions. On a cold, dark night like this one, anything seems possible. Perhaps you, too, can sense the magic just beyond the circle of illumination. Who is there watching? Close your eyes. Let your focus expand. Listen. The forest will answer.
Mesquite and Juniper S’mores Baked Alaska
This dessert encapsulates the best part of late fall bonfires: the smoky heat of fire, the refreshing cold forest air, the gooey s’mores, and the drama of campfire stories. Let me lay it out for you: the malty sweet flavor of mesquite flour pairs perfectly with graham crackers to form a cake base. On top of that is a scoop of your favorite chocolate ice cream, then the whole thing is encased in marshmallow-like meringue (that gets a little toasting from a blow torch.) Then comes the really fun part: the dish below the dessert starts to billow cold, juniper-scented fog while the dessert itself is lit on fire. Talk about a dramatic presentation! You are sure to leave an impression with this memorable dessert.
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