The Firebox

Taking up walking as a lifestyle sounds very natural, healthy and antropological, not too mention romantic, but the truth is one cannot live of mere walking. One thing I am not ready to give up is decent food. And, yes I do intend to keep cooking my food by myself.

It's curious how some things define "home" much more strongly than walls and furniture, although I am very - very - attached to my walls and furniture. Mushrooms soup and applepie are some of the most essential attributes of the "home-idea" that I can think of.

Walking along the countryside these days, mushrooms (and apples, wink, wink!) are a plentiful and inexpensive commodity. If they could be easily turned into soup in a campfire setting was a different question. We set out to explore the possibilities. We felt very hobbit-ish, I have to admit.

We recently aquired a Liard Firebox from a rather lovely shop:

http://www.absolut-canoe.de/Oefen.php

Our first trial was a grand success.

I was never much of an outdoor person. My parents always liked confortable holidays. Adventure, tents and sleeping bags were never to their taste, I don't think they ever - ever - slept a night out of a solid house, not even in a camper, and barbeques are something done once a year in the backyard, with the fridge and the kitchen processor close at hand. I never learned to start a fire before we moved to this house, but I took to it with a passion. Eric calls me "my little Balrog", I am sure that is really an affectionate nickname (mostly). Well, certainly sweeter than the Mouth of Sauron.


Starting the firebox was no mystery then. I was thouroghly honest: no paper, no paraffin cubes, just a handful of dry leaves, dead grass, and shredded bark. Whatever I could find in the radius of five meters from the box in our back yard. We recently scooped up all the wood that could be any use for the stove, so there were only bits and pieces left, a few overlooked sticks. But they served. Oh they served!

The box is a lovely thing: the concept is startling in its simplicity, and throughly efficient, both in the practice and in the construction. Made of 1 mm thick stainless steel, cleanly laser cut, it's a sleek creature, that packs away in little case and magically unfolds (no pins no screws) into a stable, circa shoe-box size, metal wonder able to safely contain and concentrate the heat of a small fire: a little heap of tiny sticks was more than sufficient to cook our soup in a heavy cast iron pot, in little more time that it would have taken on our hyper-high-tech induction field.



A potof water in front of the box was kept warm throughout the cooking, and the last heat from the coals toasted our croutons to smoky perfection. A hand-crank blender is the only thing missing to make outdoor-no-electricity soup a complete reality. Such blenders exhist, and I *really* want one. A good blender is the only sophisticated kitchen tool that I cannot imagine how to do withou, but it doesn't need to be electrical.

The Liard Box is supposed to be resistant to both rusting and warping. It certainly did not warp so far, amazing for such a thinly constructed contraption. But every sheet is pierced and cut in complex patterns that (I suppose) confoud the warping forces generated by the heat so that the metal is unaffected. They also provide ventilation to the fire while containing it (and the sparks), so that three sides of the box are really safe for sitting while cooking, and most of the heat actually does go in the cooking.

I love this box of ours. Supposedly it can be used to bake bread, and while this task will mainly be performed by the soon to come Dutch Oven, it is still something that I have to try.

My out door cooking career is at the beginning, but it seems promising.

The mushrooms soup:

About 1/2 kg of wild mushrooms.

A medium onion, a clove of garlic.

Olive oil, salt, pepper, stock powder (a tea spoon), 1/2 l water

A few dried porcini

1/2 tbs of fresh thyme, stalks discarded

A few spoons of fresh goat cheese (or creme fraiche, or even greek yoghurt)

Fry the onion and garlic lightly until soft. Add the mushrooms, roughly chopped, the porcini (previously soaked in the water) and fry for 10 more minutes. Add the stock powder, the thyme, and the water. Let simmer for 20 to 30 minutes. Blend smooth, return to fire, season to taste and return to boil. Mix in the cheese, and set aside. Toast sliced bread (or whatever bread you have) over the grill. Serve in mugs or bowls.

I suppose the whole village of Macken is wondering why two adult persons are sitting in the rain cooking dinner on a Firebox, with a perfectly confortable house behind them. Let them wonder. It's good exercise for the brain.