I still owe you a molded, gelatin-formed salad — which my vintage cookbooks provide in abundance — but today I’m happy to present exactly the type of recipe I’d hoped to find.
First, the name: “Carrots, shredded.” It assumes nothing. Or maybe it assumes everything.
Second, the recipe itself: a mere paragraph, ingredients and quantities written in sentences, not listed out separately. It’s a curious mix of ingredients, but nothing that sounds too outlandish (by which I mean nothing seems too stuck in the middle of the century).
Third, finally, the source. Though I found this in a church cookbook from Louisiana, this “famous” recipe originates from the Copper Kettle, a quite popular — but alas, now-closed — restaurant in Aspen, Colorado.
Having not been to Aspen, here are the things I know about Aspen:
It’s a place where fancy people go (to ski, to be among celebrities, to be celebrities, or to mingle with other fancy people at the Food & Wine Classic).
It’s in Colorado’s third congressional district (which may be better known to you as the one represented by Lauren Boebert).
Before it was Aspen, the skiing destination, it was Aspen, the mining town.
Before it was Aspen, the mining town, the whole area (The Roaring Fork Valley, but more broadly northern New Mexico, Colorado, and eastern Utah) was home to the Nuche (also known as Ute) people.
These are eight things that made people living in Aspen in 2016 angry (and I assume still do).
The Copper Kettle, opened in 1954 by former foreign service officer E.F. “Army” Armstrong and his wife Sara Armstrong, operated until at least the summer of 1990. (I couldn’t find exactly when it closed, but an archivist at the Aspen Historical Society told me it was around then, though the Armstrongs left Aspen in the ‘70s.) In 1966 — after the Copper Kettle moved to its “new, beautiful quarters between the Tipple Inn & Little Nell” — it was described in a TIME Magazine feature on “The Joys of Country Dining”:
The most adventuresome of all the country restaurants is Aspen's Copper Kettle. Owners Sara and Army Armstrong began collecting recipes from 50 countries during the years that Armstrong worked for the State Department. When he retired, they moved to Colorado, opened the Copper Kettle.
Each night, they served food from a different geographic region. As of the 1966 article, when the restaurant had been open 12 years, no menu had yet to repeat.
There’s something about the name Copper Kettle — and the fact that I found many mentions of it in publications nation-wide, including where the news that’s fit to print goes — that makes me think this restaurant has a good back story. And walls made of wooden panels. And people named Big Daddy who played the piano. And regulars who drank Manhattans and bone-dry martinis. Basically I am picturing this:
Based on photos from the Aspen Historical Society — specifically this ad and this one from a fashion photo shoot — I’m not far off. (Related: the only way you will get me to ski is if you transport me back to the ‘60s so we can après-ski like this.) A 2003 column by Su Lum in the Aspen Times further confirms my hunch:
But to me, the killer of them all was the Copper Kettle, which featured cuisine from a different country every night, and that was the only choice unless you were xenophobic, in which case they would grill you a steak. When I came here, it was the most expensive restaurant in town, and I remember telling visitors and friends, “It costs $11, but it’s worth it!”
Sara Armstrong would be down there at dawn baking the breads, stirring the soup and creating the menu du jour. Once or twice a year, she would offer her famed “curry night.” I look at the ads for the Copper Kettle and a moan of nostalgia rises in my throat for the great food, the ambiance of the subterranean grottos originally built by Kenny (KNCB) Moore as his family home, now to be demolished for high-end townhomes.
(You know when you read something by someone who seems so vibrant and alive? Like you can tell what kind of person they are based on their words. And then the feeling when you find out they’re gone?)
And it turns out the Copper Kettle has a cookbook of its own. Maybe I’ll get a copy one day.
The source of today’s recipe, though, is Cookery By The Bayou by the Episcopal Churchwomen of Christ Church in Slidell, Louisiana. I’m guessing this was published in the ‘60s or ‘70s, though there’s no date. (A second cookbook came out in 1979. I called and left a message at the church to ask if they know when it was published, but didn’t hear back.)
As may be expected, I made a few changes. I used four cups of shredded carrots instead of six, mostly because six cups wouldn’t fit in my skillet. The store didn’t have green onions (?) so I used a leek instead, which worked well because this cooks for quite a while and it seems like green onions would’ve gone slimy. Most importantly, I added salt. (See name of newsletter.)
I did not use the “lowest flame possible” because I have neither time nor inclination to wait two hours for a pan of shredded carrots to cook.
The liquid barely covered the carrots, as instructed, but I think you can use less — especially if you don’t live at a high altitude. Aspen sits at 7,908 feet, Denver at 5,280, and for every 500 feet in elevation gain, water’s boiling point reduces by around 1 degree. I’ve mentioned this before, but in case you didn’t know, that means here in Denver, water boils at around 202 degrees Fahrenheit (94 Celsius). In Aspen, that goes down to about 198 degrees. That means things cooked in liquid take longer to cook, since they’re cooking at a lower temperature. BUT. Higher altitudes also make water evaporate faster, so you typically need more liquid and time when cooking something in liquid.
All of that to say: I’m guessing the Copper Kettle recipe calls for this amount of liquid because of altitude, but if you live below 8,000 feet, you shouldn’t need that much. And your carrots will cook faster!
Carrots, shredded
adapted from a recipe in Cookery By the Bayou by the Episcopal Churchwomen of Christ Church, Slidell, Louisiana
3 to 4 large carrots, shredded (4 cups)
1 small leek, halved lengthwise, cleaned well, and thinly sliced (2 cups; use the whole leek)
1 to 2 cups veg or chicken broth (depends on altitude, see above)
Salt to taste (it really does not matter what kind of salt you use)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 teaspoon fennel seed
3 tablespoons Grand Marnier (or use another orange liqueur or ~1 tablespoon orange juice)
Chopped parsley, to garnish (optional)
Stir the carrots, leek, 1 cup broth, and a generous pinch of salt in a large skillet set over medium-high heat. Bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat to maintain a strong simmer. Cook uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the liquid almost completely evaporates, by which point your carrots should be soft but not mushy and the leeks soft and silky. This may take you 30 minutes; it took me about 45, but I don’t think I needed so much broth, so it could’ve taken less time. (If it seems like the liquid is evaporating too quickly, add more.)
Add the butter, fennel seed, and Grand Marnier, simmer a few more minutes so the alcohol cooks out, then taste and adjust salt as needed. Sprinkle with parsley if you like it and/or have some. Serve warm or at room temp, preferably in the most retro dishware you own.
Makes about 4 cups
But is it good? Braeden’s verdict: “I think maybe it’s not my favorite.” My thoughts: I like it, though it’s a little sweet and maybe a little too orange-y (both due to the Grand Marnier). You could drop down the liqueur to 1 tablespoon. But also know that a drizzle of hot sauce or a sprinkle of chile flakes do a lot to round out the sweetness.
This dive into retro restaurants brought me this nugget about “the language barrier you might encounter in Aspen,” from the aforementioned New York Times article:
Another saying to put in your vocabulary, with a Western drawl if possible, is “Fur sure,” which is to be used liberally for most occasions you can think of. For example, if the lift operator mutters “Nice day,” you'll get on his good side if you answer “Fur sure.” If the gas station attendant asks, “Fill it up?” you will get your back window cleaned if you drawl, “Fur sure, man, fur sure.”
I’ve recently noticed that I, too, say “fur sure” — but it’s usually drawn out, exaggerated. When I write it out, it’s like this: Ferrr surrrrre. Perhaps that’s my repressed Western drawl making an appearance now that I’m back in The West.
P.S. Since my last newsletter, a few things I wrote came out elsewhere! One in Gastro Obscura, on Spaceburgers from the Grant County Fair, a nostalgic and delicious delight that I grew up eating every summer until we left Washington. The other in the Washington Post, on Chick-fil-A’s cauliflower sandwich that’s being tested in Charlseton, Greensboro, and Denver. If you have thoughts about Chick-fil-A offering a cauliflower sandwich (or Chick-fil-A in general), I am very curious to hear them — please reply to this email to share.