A long time ago, I had a folksy piece of painted slate with excerpts from a speech given by Chief Seattle in the 1800's. This was not my usual taste in decor items, but I found his words, "all things are connected" to be especially poignant and humbling, so I hung the slate up where I would see it every day. Seattle's entire speech is quite long, quite famous, and quite stirring, even though the translation with which we are familiar is of dubious origin. Indeed we cannot really know for certain if Chief Seattle truly uttered the following:
"I am a savage and do not understand any other way. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be made more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive."
It doesn't seem such a stretch to imagine that Seattle didn't just abhor waste. He absolutely couldn't fathom it. Couldn't fathom it. Couldn't wrap his mind around it. Couldn't just play the devil's advocate on that one. It befuddled him. It shocked him. Why would you take a life for any reason beyond survival? And then he is practically an apologist for his own tribe's need to hunt. "Offing" an animal and not using it is shameful. It's plain wrong. And Seattle couldn't get why any reasonable person would be so, well, unreasonable, publicly flaunting some perverse, dark cruel streak.
Most of us are no longer in control of obtaining our food beyond going to the grocery store. Certainly a few people grow some pretty tomatoes or buy into a co-op that raises livestock for consumption, but few of us are truly "off the grid", so we have to be responsible in the simplest way; Just do not waste anything. Allow me to repeat: DO NOT WASTE ANYTHING. Please only buy what you need, meaning the necessities that your family can and will eat to maintain their health. Please use up everything you buy. Please freeze or share what you cannot finish. No molded-over cheese in the drawer because you bought 4 pounds of it on sale and everyone was sick of it after the first pound. No chicken bones in the trash when all you have to do is boil them up for a while for a first-class broth which can be frozen for the wicked head cold you get every year. No lovely steaks that you know deep down you will never make time to cook.
Committing to minimize waste will have an obvious effect on your wallet. If you are using what you have and not pitching stuff just to go buy more allows you to hang on to more dollars. Minimizing waste is also good for the environment. Even if you recycle (and thank you for that) just physically having less stuff to recycle is far kinder to the planet than having three gargantuan blue recycling bags on your curb every trash day. And you may not see it right away, but I think that committing to minimize waste will also eventually have an effect on your soul. I know it sounds a little hippy-dippy and laughable, but really, wouldn't it be better if no chicken died in vain and that you helped toward that end? OK...you might agree with me a little more if I talked in terms of veal....right? Nobody wants a cuddly, knock-kneed toddler of a cow to lose his short life for naught. So, even as we eat livestock, we can demonstrate some degree of respect, by making sure that their whole being has fortified the continuation of life, and not that they were wasted (like those buffalo shot from a passing train) by rotting in the way-back of the fridge because we're just not in the mood to eat that tonight. Seattle would be pleased if we all tried just a little bit harder.
And he was arguably prophetic when he pointed out:
"All things are connected."
And as a New Year is upon us, I hope we can remember this now and for all time.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Christmas Ham, Forever and Ever, Amen.
The ham was a gift. A most generous gift for which mi esposo and I are deeply grateful. But in case you haven't visited a barnyard lately, allow me to tell you that a swine is a big creature. They are like ponies that kids can't ride. I mean, we're talking big here, people. So the gift of a half ham is almost an embarrassment of riches.
Ham, although cured, does have a shelf life, which meant that after it appeared on my kitchen counter, I had to decide what to do with it, pronto, else shamefully waste this most generous gift. But what to do? Other family members had already made arrangements for other entrees for the holiday, so, alas, the ham would not be Christmas dinner. I wondered, should I have a New Years Party and share the happiness of a big, glazed ham? Should I portion it out and freeze it, saving some of it in-house for those times when the grocery budget is lean and then also give away some of the ham to others who might benefit?
I mentioned my dilemma to my sister. She said, "You do know what the definition of eternity is, don't you??"
"No..." I took the bait.
"Two people and a ham."
Ooof. Thanks for the assistance, sis.
I ultimately decided to go with portioning it out to share and save. But my sister is right. If I kept every bit of that ham for just the two of us, we would have about 11+ weeks of ham, assuming one ham dinner and one ham lunch. The "plus" is the ham bone which would yield another few meals with a hearty soup or stew.
More than cameras, magazine subscriptions, or jokes of questionable taste, it's HAM!
HAM is the gift that keeps on giving!
Ham, although cured, does have a shelf life, which meant that after it appeared on my kitchen counter, I had to decide what to do with it, pronto, else shamefully waste this most generous gift. But what to do? Other family members had already made arrangements for other entrees for the holiday, so, alas, the ham would not be Christmas dinner. I wondered, should I have a New Years Party and share the happiness of a big, glazed ham? Should I portion it out and freeze it, saving some of it in-house for those times when the grocery budget is lean and then also give away some of the ham to others who might benefit?
I mentioned my dilemma to my sister. She said, "You do know what the definition of eternity is, don't you??"
"No..." I took the bait.
"Two people and a ham."
Ooof. Thanks for the assistance, sis.
I ultimately decided to go with portioning it out to share and save. But my sister is right. If I kept every bit of that ham for just the two of us, we would have about 11+ weeks of ham, assuming one ham dinner and one ham lunch. The "plus" is the ham bone which would yield another few meals with a hearty soup or stew.
More than cameras, magazine subscriptions, or jokes of questionable taste, it's HAM!
HAM is the gift that keeps on giving!
Saturday, December 17, 2011
A Philosophical Question at Breakfast
Eggs are easy to screw up. That doesn't mean that they don't taste delicious or provide incredible nutrition, but everyone can think of examples like a runny quiche, a souffle that sank so much it looked like it self-imploded, or, more often, a broken omelet.
Omelets are sometimes used as cooking tests in restaurants. That's right, sometimes you don't just sit down with the chef and manager, tell them you'll work hard, and negotiate a wage. You actually have to prove that you are not going to burn the place down with your special brand of culinary chaos. So, sometimes they give you an hour on the hot line during a busy night. And sometimes they give you a test, like "Why don't you make us an omelet?"
An omelet sounds pretty easy, right? It should be, it's just some folded-up eggs. But you have to be comfortable with a pan in your hand. And it has to be any old pan, not a $400.00 perfectly-balanced, anodized specialty omelet pan from the gourmet shop. You have to be comfortable controlling the flame and heat on a gas range to get the temperature just right. You have to know how much beating of an egg nicely breaks down the protein bonds in the whites without over-whipping. You have to know how much butter or oil to put in the pan--if you don't use an adequate amount, your eggs will stick but if you use too much, your eggs get greasy. If you don't move your pan enough, your eggs will be too thin, and probably taste dry. If you move your pan too much, you'll break the uniformity and have plain old, garden-variety scrambled eggs. It certainly doesn't look like it, but there's a lot to making an omelet.
I only have a little bit of a problem admitting that I usually crank the heat too high on my range and wind up breaking my omelet. It's a little embarrassing, but I'm not alone in the I-Break-Omelets-Like-You-For-Breakfast Club
Still hazy with sleep and noticing a cold frosting of snow on the ground outside, I decided this morning would be a good one for eggs. So I pulled an old, warped Revereware pan from out of the cupboard, beat a couple eggs with a fork boasting crooked tines, and put the oiled pan over a low flame, though I was cognizant of the fact that I was using the wrong burner. (You know how some gas ranges have turbo-charged super powerful burner for boiling big cauldrons of pasta water and stuff? Well, that was the unforgiving burner I chose, because I wanted my French eggs middle-America FAST).
I swirled my pan a little bit, but not with any special attention since I was trying to load the dishwasher at the same time. I couldn't decide if a fork or an old pancake-turner was a better tool for lifting the edges of the egg in the pan, so I ditched them both in favor of an offset palette knife I use for frosting birthday cakes. With my groggy lack of care and lazy refusal to dig out better tools, I simply knew I was going to have my typical broken omelet.
But magically, it did not break. It folded over like a dream. It slid out of the pan like it could hardly wait to get onto my breakfast plate. The eggs were creamy and divine, definitely not overcooked and dried out. It was PERFECT.
But mi esposo was still sleeping and I'm not very good with food photography, so I did not snap any pictures. So, really, I have absolutely no way to prove that I am capable of the perfect omelet. None. Conversely, however, I have, over, the years, proven that I am all too capable of a broken one. *Sigh*
So, how will anyone know? I wondered this to myself and thought about the philosophical riddle: If a tree falls in a forest and there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound? Really, that's not too far off from: If a cook executes a perfect omelet and there is no there to eat it, did it really happen?
You'll just have to take my word for it.
Omelets are sometimes used as cooking tests in restaurants. That's right, sometimes you don't just sit down with the chef and manager, tell them you'll work hard, and negotiate a wage. You actually have to prove that you are not going to burn the place down with your special brand of culinary chaos. So, sometimes they give you an hour on the hot line during a busy night. And sometimes they give you a test, like "Why don't you make us an omelet?"
An omelet sounds pretty easy, right? It should be, it's just some folded-up eggs. But you have to be comfortable with a pan in your hand. And it has to be any old pan, not a $400.00 perfectly-balanced, anodized specialty omelet pan from the gourmet shop. You have to be comfortable controlling the flame and heat on a gas range to get the temperature just right. You have to know how much beating of an egg nicely breaks down the protein bonds in the whites without over-whipping. You have to know how much butter or oil to put in the pan--if you don't use an adequate amount, your eggs will stick but if you use too much, your eggs get greasy. If you don't move your pan enough, your eggs will be too thin, and probably taste dry. If you move your pan too much, you'll break the uniformity and have plain old, garden-variety scrambled eggs. It certainly doesn't look like it, but there's a lot to making an omelet.
I only have a little bit of a problem admitting that I usually crank the heat too high on my range and wind up breaking my omelet. It's a little embarrassing, but I'm not alone in the I-Break-Omelets-Like-You-For-Breakfast Club
Still hazy with sleep and noticing a cold frosting of snow on the ground outside, I decided this morning would be a good one for eggs. So I pulled an old, warped Revereware pan from out of the cupboard, beat a couple eggs with a fork boasting crooked tines, and put the oiled pan over a low flame, though I was cognizant of the fact that I was using the wrong burner. (You know how some gas ranges have turbo-charged super powerful burner for boiling big cauldrons of pasta water and stuff? Well, that was the unforgiving burner I chose, because I wanted my French eggs middle-America FAST).
I swirled my pan a little bit, but not with any special attention since I was trying to load the dishwasher at the same time. I couldn't decide if a fork or an old pancake-turner was a better tool for lifting the edges of the egg in the pan, so I ditched them both in favor of an offset palette knife I use for frosting birthday cakes. With my groggy lack of care and lazy refusal to dig out better tools, I simply knew I was going to have my typical broken omelet.
But magically, it did not break. It folded over like a dream. It slid out of the pan like it could hardly wait to get onto my breakfast plate. The eggs were creamy and divine, definitely not overcooked and dried out. It was PERFECT.
But mi esposo was still sleeping and I'm not very good with food photography, so I did not snap any pictures. So, really, I have absolutely no way to prove that I am capable of the perfect omelet. None. Conversely, however, I have, over, the years, proven that I am all too capable of a broken one. *Sigh*
So, how will anyone know? I wondered this to myself and thought about the philosophical riddle: If a tree falls in a forest and there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound? Really, that's not too far off from: If a cook executes a perfect omelet and there is no there to eat it, did it really happen?
You'll just have to take my word for it.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Understanding Why People Like Liver
Liver.
The mere mention of the word gets the gag reflex going in lots of people. There are others whose eyes will light up a room if they start thinking about offal.
Me? I like liver in small doses. I usually make a pate once a year. Every once in a blue moon I'll make a braunschweiger sandwich. I probably WILL order the foie gras, if it's on the menu.
Before you accuse me of ill-informed gluttony, blithely noshing on potentially toxic filter organs while my cholesterol and uric acid counts go off the chart, just stop. Allow me to repeat myself. I like it in small doses. And those small doses usually only happen 2-3 times per year. So while I did enjoy a liver-based delicacy this week, please note that the rest of the week mi esposo complained bitterly that I was feeding him "rabbit food", so much in the mood for vegetarian entrees was I.
So...this gross, slimy, sponge-textured blob that might be full of trace toxins or growth hormones and potentially cultivated under a cloud of inhumanity...why in the world would anyone eat this liver stuff???
I get the internal call to eat liver usually when it is cold outside and when we are all virtually trapped indoors during cold and flu season. Perhaps I crave it because of the incredibly high levels of Vitamin A, which is a powerful immune-booster. I also fancy it served with avocado or real mayonnaise. Perhaps my body is calling out for some omega 3 fatty acids that will help me absorb the many members of the B complex vitamins therein. I may crave those B vitamins especially because I do like vegetarian entrees so much: while veg selections are so wonderfully healthful in a myriad of ways, they are totally devoid of vitamin B12. Liver also contains trace minerals like copper, which can do incredible free-radical-fighting work for your skin and connective tissues. So liver keeps you loose and lovely! Finally, liver is a delicacy that usually has minimal impact on the food cost budget (read: it's cheap).
So that's why some people like liver.
I don't recommend you start eating it if your doctor advises against it and I don't recommend you start eating it if you cannot overcome some bad childhood memory of the stuff. But it you are inclined to indulge, doing so just a few times a year can be a most pleasurable way of taking in a powerhouse of vitamins and minerals.
The mere mention of the word gets the gag reflex going in lots of people. There are others whose eyes will light up a room if they start thinking about offal.
Me? I like liver in small doses. I usually make a pate once a year. Every once in a blue moon I'll make a braunschweiger sandwich. I probably WILL order the foie gras, if it's on the menu.
Before you accuse me of ill-informed gluttony, blithely noshing on potentially toxic filter organs while my cholesterol and uric acid counts go off the chart, just stop. Allow me to repeat myself. I like it in small doses. And those small doses usually only happen 2-3 times per year. So while I did enjoy a liver-based delicacy this week, please note that the rest of the week mi esposo complained bitterly that I was feeding him "rabbit food", so much in the mood for vegetarian entrees was I.
So...this gross, slimy, sponge-textured blob that might be full of trace toxins or growth hormones and potentially cultivated under a cloud of inhumanity...why in the world would anyone eat this liver stuff???
I get the internal call to eat liver usually when it is cold outside and when we are all virtually trapped indoors during cold and flu season. Perhaps I crave it because of the incredibly high levels of Vitamin A, which is a powerful immune-booster. I also fancy it served with avocado or real mayonnaise. Perhaps my body is calling out for some omega 3 fatty acids that will help me absorb the many members of the B complex vitamins therein. I may crave those B vitamins especially because I do like vegetarian entrees so much: while veg selections are so wonderfully healthful in a myriad of ways, they are totally devoid of vitamin B12. Liver also contains trace minerals like copper, which can do incredible free-radical-fighting work for your skin and connective tissues. So liver keeps you loose and lovely! Finally, liver is a delicacy that usually has minimal impact on the food cost budget (read: it's cheap).
So that's why some people like liver.
I don't recommend you start eating it if your doctor advises against it and I don't recommend you start eating it if you cannot overcome some bad childhood memory of the stuff. But it you are inclined to indulge, doing so just a few times a year can be a most pleasurable way of taking in a powerhouse of vitamins and minerals.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Ratatouille Around the Tree
I've been making ratatouille, or caponata, or vegetable ragout, or some variation thereof all week long and finally, I just cracked. It had smelled so delicious, looked so rich, that I had to simply had to have some for myself, too. So, no worse for the wear after a long December work week, I broke out the cast iron dutch oven crock and simmered a batch of this soul-warming goodness this evening.
I think I shall add it to my holiday favorites, along with chocolate-covered bourbon balls, sledding in a restaurant bus tub, the smell of frankincense at midnight mass, bugle calls at dawn (my sister and I had to wake up the parents somehow so we could hurry up and see if Santa came), bread pudding at Nighttown on Christmas Night (when every other place in town is closed), cardinals on the snow-covered rhododendron, a gaggle of new toys for the dogs (all shredded to ribbons by nightfall), a long and lonely trespass on a closed-for-the-season golf course, and a never-ending loop of Run DMC's carol for 80's, "Christmas in Hollis".
Yep, that stuff makes a perfect holiday for me. I had my delicious ratatouille. I watched red birds flitting about for seed today. The dogs seem to know something is afoot. YouTube helped me with Run DMC. It snowed just a bit today. Now...if I can just get my hands on a bus tub, my joy will be complete!
I think I shall add it to my holiday favorites, along with chocolate-covered bourbon balls, sledding in a restaurant bus tub, the smell of frankincense at midnight mass, bugle calls at dawn (my sister and I had to wake up the parents somehow so we could hurry up and see if Santa came), bread pudding at Nighttown on Christmas Night (when every other place in town is closed), cardinals on the snow-covered rhododendron, a gaggle of new toys for the dogs (all shredded to ribbons by nightfall), a long and lonely trespass on a closed-for-the-season golf course, and a never-ending loop of Run DMC's carol for 80's, "Christmas in Hollis".
Yep, that stuff makes a perfect holiday for me. I had my delicious ratatouille. I watched red birds flitting about for seed today. The dogs seem to know something is afoot. YouTube helped me with Run DMC. It snowed just a bit today. Now...if I can just get my hands on a bus tub, my joy will be complete!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
