Imagine this – a genie comes up to you. Maybe they appear out of a dusty golden yellow oil jar, maybe they saunter up to you like Shane in Shane, maybe they appear to you in a dream. Whatever the case may be, this genie offers you the following challenge – Eat a nice charcuterie plate for every meal for the rest of your life and receive ten dollars a day. If you don’t do that, nothing bad happens? Would you except that challenge? I certainly would I could eat a nice charcuterie plate for every meal for the rest of my life and die happy. And a couple thousand dollars richer. While most people consider charcuterie plates appetizers or for picking at during parties, I firmly believe that a nice charcuterie plate can be served as a meal. Before I unpack the cornucopia that this simple dinner provides, I guess I should make it clear what I mean by “charcuterie plate.” Many different understandings of the charcute – pronounced “char-cute” – board exist, often mutually exclusive ones, so I must achieve definitional clarity before I can move on.
When I type “charcuterie” in this newsletter I want to refer to a slightly bastardized version of the word. In France charcuterie just means cold cooked meats served together. While I generally respect the French in this particular case, I want to ignore their rather limited definition and use the broader American version. While this definition of charcuterie might anger a few Francophiles and cured meat purists, I think it works great, and that’s what matters. Charcuterie plate for the purposes of this article refers to a bunch of cold meats and cheeses, as well as various pickled vegetables, crackers/bread, and a few spreads to go along with them all placed on some sort of large plate or serving board. Nuts and limited amounts of fruit may also be involved. It is generally consumed along with a glass of wine, though not always. Here is a helpful picture of what I’m talking about.
Now that I think about it, I probably could have just put that picture in and left it at that. I’ve got word counts – self-imposed – I need to hit though. So, you’ll just have to live with it.
I like variety. I rarely order the same thing twice from restaurants. Unless it’s the Crunchwrap Supreme from Taco Bell, or the Sausage Egg McGriddle from McDonald’s. I usually get those every time I’m at one of those fine establishments. Charcuterie boards allow me that variety. There’s no set way to make one. You don’t need to include Brie, but you could if you wanted too. You could swap out a nice smoked chorizo for a salty, fatty prosciutto. Or, and this is probably what I’d do, you could have both. Need something to cut through the fat from the meats? Throw on some nice, pickled asparagus, or a piquant mustard. Heck, add a little bit of apricot preserves on there. And some almonds while you’re at it.
I’ve got to stop describing foods you could add to your charcuterie board. My salivary glands are working overtime and I don’t want to drool all over my laptop keyboard. I trust that by now my beautiful, smart, culinary arts knowledgeable readers can surmise what I mean when I say that charcuterie boards offer variety.
Charcuterie plates offer more than just variety, however. I wouldn’t write about them if that was their only trait. I would go to the dang Golden Corral everyday if I just wanted variety. No, they also are a font of creativity. A well from which to create a masterpiece of mastication. A place where the muses work their ancient magics. Allow me to explain through a rather tortured metaphor. Consider the haiku. A classic form of poetry with very strict rules. Rules within which poets have created heartbreaking works of staggering genius time and again. Charcuterie offers the same possibilities for gut-wrenching work as does a haiku. Think about it this way – haikus only have 17 syllables to work with, your charcuterie board probably won’t have room for even seventeen different types of food. Within the constraints of your budget, and board, you need to create a work of gustatory art. While it may feel like the world is your oyster – smoked ones being a fine accompaniment to any board – you do have to make choices. I cannot afford to buy $100 worth of smoked meats and cheeses every time I wish to enjoy some fine charcuterie. Neither do I have a board big enough to hold such a bounty. No, I must work within my limits. Find the few ingredients that offer the most possibility for my enjoyment. Just as the poet has to find the exact write words to fit into the syllable count. I must also think of who else will be eating this wonderful repast. Do they like blue cheese? Are they more of a black olive person, and do they like a grainy mustard or a chunky chutney? Sorry, I’m listing foods again. I apologize.
The point is that the limits set by a charcuterie board help elevate it above other dishes. They force compromise, creative problem-solving, and adaptative thinking. All of which are skills you can feel free to throw on your résumé if you’ve ever made a charcuterie plate. I don’t have anything deeper than that. No long-extend overwrought discourses on how charcuterie plates make us closer to each other, or how combining soppressata with a 3-year red Leicester will bring us nearer to socialism. No class analysis of a ploughman’s lunch versus a charcuterie board. I just like charcuterie. So, get out there. Look around the grocery store. See what you can come up with. Feel free to send me a picture of it. If you’re reading this, you probably have my number.