Buffaloed

Master keeps buying one-pound packages of ground bison. I'm not complaining - it's good stuff. It's the "ground" part that presents a problem. There's only so much I know to do with ground meat. I can make just so many buffalo burgers, and it's hardly the season for heavy shepherds pies. Stumped, I turned to the library for "outside the bun" ideas. Hours rifling through Bayliss, Bittman, Batali - yeah, kinda got stuck on the 'B's - turned up nothing. Nothing! Grudging acknowledgment of its relative leanness aside, ground bison doesn't get much love in the food world. I suppose it's seen as the ground turkey of meat on the hoof. What if we were to approach this more ethno-specifically? Portuguese, Peruvian, Lebanese, Creole. Nope. The ground beef recipes were still the expected meatballs, meatloaves, meat sauces, and meat pies. In defeat, I jotted down notes and a shopping checklist for a Sicilian ragout with peas. It would do. Or it would've done, if one parting perusal - through a hefty Thai cookbook - hadn't set me on a different course.

The idea of a soup with rice vermicelli, cucumbers and small pork meatballs was immediately appealing. One pot, raw vegetables, and the "bun" noodles with which Master had been so smitten during a recent visit to a Vietnamese restaurant. The evening's forecast threatened severe thunderstorms, which would cool things down enough to justify serving hot soup. I wasn't sure about substituting bison for pork, since they're rather dissimilar where texture and flavor affinities are concerned, but I was willing to risk it.

Beef stock, simmered with sliced ginger, soy sauce, fish sauce, lime juice, brown sugar, and lots of cilantro - roots, stems, and all - served as the broth. The meatballs were very simply seasoned with grated ginger, dry sherry, soy sauce, brown sugar, and lime zest. They cooked in the strained broth until they floated to the surface like meaty little buoys. The cucumbers went in raw, just before serving, as did the rice noodles, softened with a warm water soak.

Master declared the broth "gorgeous" when I set the bowl in front of him. Gorgeous! Such effusiveness caught me off guard, and it was just the preamble. He proclaimed love for the noodles, even if they were somewhat difficult to wrangle without chopsticks, and for the meatballs, too. It all came together nicely, so I will concur on all counts, adding only that the cucumbers, parboiled by the hot soup but still crisp, were quite a treat. And ground bison made for especially light and fluffy meatballs, its delicate flavor accented but not overwhelmed by the ginger and lime.

Faced with a surplus of beautiful black plums, and fearing that the soup would not be enough of a meal for Master - a concern unfounded, as it turned out - I planned to serve a plum crisp for dessert. The fruit, pared and pitted, needed nothing but 45 minutes at 375° to stew down to a tart, soupy, claret-colored concentration - the quintessence of a sultry summer. Though full from dinner, Master and I both found room for a few spoonfuls as we whiled away the lazy evening, playing cards and enjoying one another's company. Life is good.