On Grandeur

Milius, sublimity; spanakorizo.

Read John Milius’s short story “THE RIDE” the other day.¹ Was struck greatly by a line near the end: the protagonist, just off the break at the Ventura Overhead, witnessing the “turquoise monster” of “wave after wave” crashing into “great hunks of sea,” “stunned with awe” — he exclaims that “Men don’t feel grandeur anymore.”

Finishing the story, couldn’t stop thinking about that idea. Do men (and women) still feel grandeur? Have I experienced it myself? What can inspire a sense of unfathomable, resplendent awe in an age where comfort reigns, where any wonder can be satiated with a quick search, where a prompt into the machine vanquishes any unknown?

Grandeur exists outside of comfort. That’s not to say that one can’t experience a sense of amazement while watching videos, gazing at photos, or reading books — but to truly feel grandeur one must put oneself “in the arena,” experiencing firsthand the power of nature. And that, too — nature — is requisite for grandeur. One might marvel at a skyscraper, but how can the Empire State Building compare to the Knife’s Edge of Katadhin? What is The Starry Night next to the Northern Lights?

I’ve felt the crushing, radiant, terrifying sense of insignificance grandeur brings. I’ve felt it staring up at mountains, journeying through ancient woods, as I’ve been swept into swells, pounded in the surf, as I’ve knelt in the fading light, watching the mist swirl, clouding the eyes of a deer. Memories, all, made indelible — timeless, too. But these moments aren’t given to us; we have to seek them out. What compels a person — compels me — to do so? What do we gain from grandeur? Why venture into the forest when a facsimile of the reward is just a few clicks away?

Or maybe the better question is this: what do we lose when grandeur disappears from our lives? What void is left in the absence of splendor?

These are questions for which I don’t have answers. But I do believe that grandeur is important — and the search for it may be even more so. Like Arthur and Lancelot, Percival, Gawain and Galahad, each of us must begin that journey at a point of our own choosing, where the forest is darkest, and where there is no path.

It’s just up to us to start.

One place to start might be — and for me, always seems to be — is with food. Of course a grandiose meal might spark a sense of grandeur², but it can just as easily be instilled by a simple meal done stunningly. That’s how I feel about venison — a meal that, every time I eat it, invokes time in the woods and a primitive sense of wonder. It’s one that invokes connection. We had that last week, after some heavy pasta dishes, paired with spanakorizo made with the first fresh greens from the farm.

Here’s how you might do something similar, with the option to use whatever protein you have on hand.³

About an hour before you’re ready to eat, dust your protein with salt and let sit out on a wire rack.⁴ In a medium pot, heat olive oil until shimmering, then add chopped onion, garlic, and any other allium you might have on hand. As they soften and become fragrant, add in whatever fresh greens are available — we used chicory and baby kale — and let them wilt.

Add in a cup of rice, stirring until the grains glisten, and then add salt and a little less than three cups of stock or water and a squeeze of lemon. Bring to a boil, stirring continuously, and then reduce to a simmer and cover, cooking for about fifteen minutes until the rice is cooked through and liquid mostly absorbed or evaporated. Remove the lid and let stand for a few minutes to finish cooking, then stir in a glug of olive oil and some crumbled feta.

As the rice is finishing, pre-heat your oven to 450(F) and heat a cast iron pan over high heat and give the protein a hard sear on both sides. Move the pan into the oven and let roast for 5-15 more minutes, depending on the protein, until cooked to your liking.

So there you go folks — venison and spanakorizo. And while the Ancient Greeks wouldn’t have been pairing their spinach and rice with venison with much regularity, I think the combination fits. You might also consider lamb, chicken, or pork if you’re looking to stay domestic.

With that, I’ll leave you to your weekends. If you’re celebrating Easter, I hope it’s with lamb or ham; if Passover, I hope your seder was wonderful. We here on the Ranch will be celebrating life in general, looking forward to real spring weather and a season of grandeur.

We’ll see you back here next week.

1. Published here, on

Peter Maguire

’s

Sour Milk

.

2. Even if that is a tautology.

3. The recipe for spanakorizo is lightly adapted from

Danielle Prewett

’s, which accompanied a delicious roast chicken quarter.

4. If you have the forethought, you can do this up to overnight in the refrigerator.