The Cleveland Food Co-op is closed. It has been closed since June, 2011 but sadly, I just noticed yesterday. I guess I was part of the demographic that did not provide them adequate patronage in the past few years.
That's not to say that I never provided them adequate patronage. At one time, they were my main squeeze, as far as grocery stores go. And I cannot begin to estimate how many hundreds of lunches, snacks, and light, on-the-go dinners I improvised and ate while sitting on the railroad ties that made up an elevated garden bed outside the Co-op's front door. As recently as within the last 2 years, I had a cooking client who preferred me to do all of her grocery shopping at the Co-op...and so I did.
Way back before anyone really cared about organic, or natural, or healthy, or vitamins, the Food Co-op did. Having been a vegetarian or near-vegetarian/pescatarian for some 12 years, the Co-op was really the only game in town for me back then, especially if I required a food item that was a deviation from the Standard American Diet. Plus, it was really the only full-service grocery near University Circle, Little Italy, and the western edge of East Cleveland. I guess the folks in those neighborhoods who are mobile must now drive elsewhere to shop, and those who are a little more landlocked must have to take the bus to the hit-or-miss Aldi on Euclid Ave., which hardly compares to the Co-op during its heyday.
It's too bad. The Co-op did healthy in Cleveland before Wild Oats, or Mustard Seed, or Whole Foods.
But to paraphrase a musician friend who wants to write a hit:
You don't want to be ahead-of-your-time, you want to be right-on-time.
So true, for any commercial endeavor. Farewell, Co-op...you were one of the good ones.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Is Coconut Oil (or anything else) Healthy?
I saw a not-so accurate sign in the Beautiful People's Grocery Store (BPGS). You know the store I'm talking about. The place that has positioned itself as the arbiter of good health. They like to make it look like it is very difficult to live healthfully without using their products. They are amazing marketers and they sway you with their branding. I have to hand it to them, they do make better choices very convenient, but let's not be naive. We can do the "lets all live healthy" routine at less branded grocery chains. But the BPGS wins some of their business by suggesting that the rest of the world is just trying to pull an unhealthy fast one on the hapless, health-oriented consumer. And this influence is due at least in part to the helpful "factoids" they have on their signs and in their marketing material.
No, I'm not talking about the "2 for 1 stewed tomatoes" sign put on the wrong product shelf, I am talking about the giant banner ensuring something like "we abhor any and all hydrogenated fats and would never try to sell that garbage to you." OK, the sign wasn't worded exactly like that, but I forget the specific wording. Nevertheless, that was certainly the timbre of the banner. I walked by probably a hundred signs today and didn't pay much attention, but that one, I noticed. I noticed because my gut reaction was:
Oh, really!!? Really??!
Because on other visits, I have walked out of the BPGS with a bottle of pressed, refined coconut oil. Without a doubt, pressed, refined coconut oil counts as a partially hydrogenated fat.
I'm sure they meant well with that sign. I'm sure they meant that they are trying to give us the tools to lay off the Crisco and the margarine and the deep frying and all the fake, chemically, pre-packaged cookies and crackers, and I appreciate that. But this issue with the sign and the hydrogenated fats got me to thinking: that which makes up a healthy diet for one, can be a medical disaster for another.
And this partially hydrogenated coconut oil is the perfect example. Folks who have digestive or gut-bacteria issues may benefit from the use of coconut oil as it is thought to have a soothing and anti-microbial effect. But folks who have heart disease may want to avoid coconut oil like the plague as it is a highly saturated fat.
So...do you listen to the American Heart Association who suggests that coconut oil is a dangerously indulgent choice for a cooking fat/oil? Or do you listen to the latest alternative health proponents who suggest that coconut oil is a panacea?
The answer to that question is another question: What's your major malfunction?
Has heart disease taken every one of your grandparents and ancestors? Skip the coconut oil. Are you physically fit but suffer from leaky gut syndrome? Give coconut oil a try.
In fact, you should ask yourself "what's your major malfunction" when making any and all of your food choices. Look at your family health history and your own current health situation, then do a little reading, eat according to the recognized (read: non-quackery) guidelines to support or prevent the major health issue at hand, or the one likely to come down the pike in due time.
You cannot control for all things, so try to control for what matters. You might need to be gluten free. You might need to be vegetarian. You might need to eat a lot of animal protein. You might need to limit yourself to soft foods. You might need lots of raw foods and fibers. The definition of a healthy diet can vary. A LOT. So stop taking the signage or the cute nuggets of health info they send in their newsletter as holy gospel because there is no such thing as a one-size fits all "healthy" diet. For the real-deal healthy diet customized to YOUR needs, talk to your doc and listen to your body.
Oh--and my personal take on coconut oil? I think it makes a first-rate serum to combat dry winter skin, but it can come off as a little too rich and greasy in some recipes, so I usually keep it in the cosmetics cupboard!
No, I'm not talking about the "2 for 1 stewed tomatoes" sign put on the wrong product shelf, I am talking about the giant banner ensuring something like "we abhor any and all hydrogenated fats and would never try to sell that garbage to you." OK, the sign wasn't worded exactly like that, but I forget the specific wording. Nevertheless, that was certainly the timbre of the banner. I walked by probably a hundred signs today and didn't pay much attention, but that one, I noticed. I noticed because my gut reaction was:
Oh, really!!? Really??!
Because on other visits, I have walked out of the BPGS with a bottle of pressed, refined coconut oil. Without a doubt, pressed, refined coconut oil counts as a partially hydrogenated fat.
I'm sure they meant well with that sign. I'm sure they meant that they are trying to give us the tools to lay off the Crisco and the margarine and the deep frying and all the fake, chemically, pre-packaged cookies and crackers, and I appreciate that. But this issue with the sign and the hydrogenated fats got me to thinking: that which makes up a healthy diet for one, can be a medical disaster for another.
And this partially hydrogenated coconut oil is the perfect example. Folks who have digestive or gut-bacteria issues may benefit from the use of coconut oil as it is thought to have a soothing and anti-microbial effect. But folks who have heart disease may want to avoid coconut oil like the plague as it is a highly saturated fat.
So...do you listen to the American Heart Association who suggests that coconut oil is a dangerously indulgent choice for a cooking fat/oil? Or do you listen to the latest alternative health proponents who suggest that coconut oil is a panacea?
The answer to that question is another question: What's your major malfunction?
Has heart disease taken every one of your grandparents and ancestors? Skip the coconut oil. Are you physically fit but suffer from leaky gut syndrome? Give coconut oil a try.
In fact, you should ask yourself "what's your major malfunction" when making any and all of your food choices. Look at your family health history and your own current health situation, then do a little reading, eat according to the recognized (read: non-quackery) guidelines to support or prevent the major health issue at hand, or the one likely to come down the pike in due time.
You cannot control for all things, so try to control for what matters. You might need to be gluten free. You might need to be vegetarian. You might need to eat a lot of animal protein. You might need to limit yourself to soft foods. You might need lots of raw foods and fibers. The definition of a healthy diet can vary. A LOT. So stop taking the signage or the cute nuggets of health info they send in their newsletter as holy gospel because there is no such thing as a one-size fits all "healthy" diet. For the real-deal healthy diet customized to YOUR needs, talk to your doc and listen to your body.
Oh--and my personal take on coconut oil? I think it makes a first-rate serum to combat dry winter skin, but it can come off as a little too rich and greasy in some recipes, so I usually keep it in the cosmetics cupboard!
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
New Website
Check it out and tell a friend!
www.itinerahttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifntcook.vpweb.com/
If the above link has difficulty, just cut and paste:
www.itinerantcook.vpweb.com
www.itinerahttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifntcook.vpweb.com/
If the above link has difficulty, just cut and paste:
www.itinerantcook.vpweb.com
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Eggs Florentine: My Adaptation
I awoke too hungry for my usual breakfast of a simple handful of fresh fruit with a dollop of yogurt. My early dinner yesterday was light and the definite winter chill in the air had my stomach crying for substance even before my slippers shuffled into the kitchen.
So I put together an adaptation of Eggs Florentine and, let me tell you, I feel fine. Maybe you'll read this before breakfast and give it a try yourself.
EGGS FLORENTINE ADAPTATION (yield=1 hearty portion)
-1 heaping tablespoon of finely minced red onion
-1 cup of fresh spinach, wilted (For a quick wilt, just spritz it with water and microwave it 1-2 min)
-1 oz. of cheese, your choice (Asiago, gruyere, or pecorino romano would all be nice. I used raclette today)
-2 teaspoons of butter or oil
-2 eggs, well beaten
-pinch of salt
-scant tablespoon of mayonnaise
-2 teaspoons of fresh lemon juice (or a light squeeze of 1/2 of a lemon)
Over medium heat, soften onion in butter. While the onions are cooking, mix together well the mayonnaise and lemon juice. Set aside. When the onion begins to look translucent, on the verge of turning golden, add eggs to the pan. Sprinkle with a pinch of salt and leave the eggs alone. Don't stir, don't flip. Just let them be. You may want to reduce the heat slightly...if you cook your eggs too quickly they will dry out. Disperse wilted spinach and cheese over the top of the eggs, as if you were putting toppings onto a pizza. Watch your eggs...when the center has just started to set, take a flexible metal spatula and insert it along the edges of the pan. Gently work the spatula inward, toward the center of the pan and allow it to fold over in half, locking your toppings inside. Gently release from pan onto a plate. Drizzle the lemon mayonnaise over the top and serve immediately.
Served with strong, black coffee, there may be no finer Sunday morning breakfast.
So I put together an adaptation of Eggs Florentine and, let me tell you, I feel fine. Maybe you'll read this before breakfast and give it a try yourself.
EGGS FLORENTINE ADAPTATION (yield=1 hearty portion)
-1 heaping tablespoon of finely minced red onion
-1 cup of fresh spinach, wilted (For a quick wilt, just spritz it with water and microwave it 1-2 min)
-1 oz. of cheese, your choice (Asiago, gruyere, or pecorino romano would all be nice. I used raclette today)
-2 teaspoons of butter or oil
-2 eggs, well beaten
-pinch of salt
-scant tablespoon of mayonnaise
-2 teaspoons of fresh lemon juice (or a light squeeze of 1/2 of a lemon)
Over medium heat, soften onion in butter. While the onions are cooking, mix together well the mayonnaise and lemon juice. Set aside. When the onion begins to look translucent, on the verge of turning golden, add eggs to the pan. Sprinkle with a pinch of salt and leave the eggs alone. Don't stir, don't flip. Just let them be. You may want to reduce the heat slightly...if you cook your eggs too quickly they will dry out. Disperse wilted spinach and cheese over the top of the eggs, as if you were putting toppings onto a pizza. Watch your eggs...when the center has just started to set, take a flexible metal spatula and insert it along the edges of the pan. Gently work the spatula inward, toward the center of the pan and allow it to fold over in half, locking your toppings inside. Gently release from pan onto a plate. Drizzle the lemon mayonnaise over the top and serve immediately.
Served with strong, black coffee, there may be no finer Sunday morning breakfast.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Trying to Give Back the Night
Sometimes people don't always understand what I do for a living. The business of personal chef service is still relatively new, and often viewed as a luxury for only the most elite among us. (Given that I know my fees are roughly only 1/3 of the cost of similar services in other metropolitan areas, that is a definite misconception) In a nutshell, what I do is give back the night to over-stressed people who want to eat well. No, in fact, they need to eat well to keep up the break-neck pace they are expected to maintain.
Perhaps you can relate: you hit the back door half-starved and the simple act of even grilling a piece of chicken to put on top of a salad seems like too much. And then there's the matter of that clunky pan that will need washing. You have had enough. Dinner should have been 2 hours ago. You are tired and cranky and your stomach is making noises and you are definitely not in the mood for another chore. Nope. You are quite sure you had enough of those today already. You just don't have the heart to cook, even though Sunday night you swore yourself onto a health-kick regimen. So you microwave something that has an attractive, healthy-looking entree on the box and wolf it down. Although you've kicked your shoes off and you are technically fed, you are in no way satisfied. The dinner had about as much flavor as the cardboard box it came in. It certainly didn't taste as healthy as the picture looked...and what are these mystery items on the ingredients list? Evidently, the meal was rich in chemical compounds. You know you are full...but you still feel sort of empty. And you are still vaguely stressed.
I know that's a typical night for a lot of people and it shouldn't be. I can't control for all the elements that contribute to stress, but I can eliminate the need to worry about dinner, or (egads!) having to cook it. And I can make sure that what is in your refrigerator is additive-free and nutritionally designed to support the level of stress in your life. Oh, and I make sure that the flavor profiles will satisfy you (read: it will taste better than the cardboard-box-fare!). If you are satisfied, you can better unwind...which is of paramount importance.
If you have a family, you can sit down with them and enjoy yourself, and not grumble at them for being underfoot while you are trying to get something on the table after all you have to do all day long.
And isn't that how it should be? Shouldn't the night be yours for you and your family? Shouldn't your meals be healthful and satisfying? And if circumstances won't allow you enough hours to make that a regular occurrence, it should be a priority to find someone who will allow you to eat well and relax. And, of course, I'd love it if that person could be me!
It could simplify so much in your hectic schedule:
• I work with you to plan a menu.
• I pick up the groceries for your selected menu and put my catering and fine dining experience to work in your kitchen.
• I leave your refrigerator stocked with easy-to-heat specialties.
• I tidy up and disappear until you are ready for more!
I'm just trying to give back the night...one meal at a time.
Perhaps you can relate: you hit the back door half-starved and the simple act of even grilling a piece of chicken to put on top of a salad seems like too much. And then there's the matter of that clunky pan that will need washing. You have had enough. Dinner should have been 2 hours ago. You are tired and cranky and your stomach is making noises and you are definitely not in the mood for another chore. Nope. You are quite sure you had enough of those today already. You just don't have the heart to cook, even though Sunday night you swore yourself onto a health-kick regimen. So you microwave something that has an attractive, healthy-looking entree on the box and wolf it down. Although you've kicked your shoes off and you are technically fed, you are in no way satisfied. The dinner had about as much flavor as the cardboard box it came in. It certainly didn't taste as healthy as the picture looked...and what are these mystery items on the ingredients list? Evidently, the meal was rich in chemical compounds. You know you are full...but you still feel sort of empty. And you are still vaguely stressed.
I know that's a typical night for a lot of people and it shouldn't be. I can't control for all the elements that contribute to stress, but I can eliminate the need to worry about dinner, or (egads!) having to cook it. And I can make sure that what is in your refrigerator is additive-free and nutritionally designed to support the level of stress in your life. Oh, and I make sure that the flavor profiles will satisfy you (read: it will taste better than the cardboard-box-fare!). If you are satisfied, you can better unwind...which is of paramount importance.
If you have a family, you can sit down with them and enjoy yourself, and not grumble at them for being underfoot while you are trying to get something on the table after all you have to do all day long.
And isn't that how it should be? Shouldn't the night be yours for you and your family? Shouldn't your meals be healthful and satisfying? And if circumstances won't allow you enough hours to make that a regular occurrence, it should be a priority to find someone who will allow you to eat well and relax. And, of course, I'd love it if that person could be me!
It could simplify so much in your hectic schedule:
• I work with you to plan a menu.
• I pick up the groceries for your selected menu and put my catering and fine dining experience to work in your kitchen.
• I leave your refrigerator stocked with easy-to-heat specialties.
• I tidy up and disappear until you are ready for more!
I'm just trying to give back the night...one meal at a time.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
How The Soul Food Croque Monsieur Was Born
Originally, it was going to be an easy weeknight dinner: ham and cheese sandwiches with a side of kale to keep it healthy.
But when I got to the grocery store just before closing, they were sold out of kale. But they had plenty of gorgeous-looking mustard greens. Now, I haven't cooked mustard greens for probably 12 years, and when I last did them, I'm sure I braised the life out of them for hours, like a thousand Southern cooks have done for generations. Although many people eat their greens this way, I have grown to prefer a little "tooth" or texture in my vegetables. Plus I like the earthy flavor to come through, and I like to feel like I've cooked them so lightly that the wonderful powerhouse vitamins present in greens do not have a chance to dissolve and float away in the cooking liquid. So generally, I just steam or wilt my greens, or sometimes give them a flash in the saute pan with some garlic and oil. But everything is done quickly and the greens stay a lovely bright green and don't fade to that sad, army fatigues hue that can make anyone lose their appetite for vegetables.
There I was in the kitchen with my ham, cheese, and bread ready to go. It was time to wilt my mustard greens. Except you can't just lightly wilt mustard greens. They are too pungent. They need to be mellowed...like by braising all day in the Southern soul food tradition with the mollifying presence of a ham hock. But I jumped into this without thinking it through and there was no time for an all-day braise. All I could do was just steam those greens a bit more and then maybe...hmmm...let's see.... I could further wilt them in a cheese-infused white sauce! That kind of sauce would have that "mellowing" quality I was after. The fat and protein in the cheese would take the edge off of the sharp flavor of those still bright and pungent greens.
This white sauce, laced with mellow, nutty Gruyere, got me thinking as I whisked.... Doesn't the decadent French version of a ham and cheese sandwich, or Croque Monsieur, come doused in such a sauce? Hmmm...so why not fill this sandwich with the saucy mustard greens and make sure the whole thing is served hot, toasty, and crisp on the outside with all of this meltaway texture on the inside, just like a sort of overstuffed, soul food version of the Croque Monsieur??
So that's exactly what I did. And I made sure to have a side of jerked BBQ sauce for dipping.
The gentle flavor of the ham, with the creaminess of the cheese and sauce really did rein in the mustard greens. But those greens gave wonderful texture and earthiness to the sandwich and really helped balance it...greens have powerful phytonutrients that actually help bind cholesterol. The tangy hot sauce was the perfect acidic note to complete the medley of flavors.
WOW.
Despite any positive virtues bestowed on the sandwich by those healthful greens, the Soul Food Croque Monsieur tasted positively sinful. So much so that I'm going to hit the gym tomorrow on general principle!
But when I got to the grocery store just before closing, they were sold out of kale. But they had plenty of gorgeous-looking mustard greens. Now, I haven't cooked mustard greens for probably 12 years, and when I last did them, I'm sure I braised the life out of them for hours, like a thousand Southern cooks have done for generations. Although many people eat their greens this way, I have grown to prefer a little "tooth" or texture in my vegetables. Plus I like the earthy flavor to come through, and I like to feel like I've cooked them so lightly that the wonderful powerhouse vitamins present in greens do not have a chance to dissolve and float away in the cooking liquid. So generally, I just steam or wilt my greens, or sometimes give them a flash in the saute pan with some garlic and oil. But everything is done quickly and the greens stay a lovely bright green and don't fade to that sad, army fatigues hue that can make anyone lose their appetite for vegetables.
There I was in the kitchen with my ham, cheese, and bread ready to go. It was time to wilt my mustard greens. Except you can't just lightly wilt mustard greens. They are too pungent. They need to be mellowed...like by braising all day in the Southern soul food tradition with the mollifying presence of a ham hock. But I jumped into this without thinking it through and there was no time for an all-day braise. All I could do was just steam those greens a bit more and then maybe...hmmm...let's see.... I could further wilt them in a cheese-infused white sauce! That kind of sauce would have that "mellowing" quality I was after. The fat and protein in the cheese would take the edge off of the sharp flavor of those still bright and pungent greens.
This white sauce, laced with mellow, nutty Gruyere, got me thinking as I whisked.... Doesn't the decadent French version of a ham and cheese sandwich, or Croque Monsieur, come doused in such a sauce? Hmmm...so why not fill this sandwich with the saucy mustard greens and make sure the whole thing is served hot, toasty, and crisp on the outside with all of this meltaway texture on the inside, just like a sort of overstuffed, soul food version of the Croque Monsieur??
So that's exactly what I did. And I made sure to have a side of jerked BBQ sauce for dipping.
The gentle flavor of the ham, with the creaminess of the cheese and sauce really did rein in the mustard greens. But those greens gave wonderful texture and earthiness to the sandwich and really helped balance it...greens have powerful phytonutrients that actually help bind cholesterol. The tangy hot sauce was the perfect acidic note to complete the medley of flavors.
WOW.
Despite any positive virtues bestowed on the sandwich by those healthful greens, the Soul Food Croque Monsieur tasted positively sinful. So much so that I'm going to hit the gym tomorrow on general principle!
Saturday, January 7, 2012
The Turducken Has Landed
The turducken. We all thought it was just an unusual recipe dreamed up by an especially carnivorous gourmet-type... but certainly not a real animal. Surely you've heard of the turducken. Every Thanksgiving, some overzealous culinarian stuffs a chicken into a duck which is then stuffed into a turkey. They roast the whole thing all day long and call it a "turducken", the finest delicacy for fowl aficionados. Folks like you and I all thought it was just a cumbersome name for a cumbersome recipe, that no such actual hybrid animal could exist in nature. Obviously, there is no such bird. Or, if there is, they must flutter among the unicorns in Brigadoon. So you can imagine my total shock and disbelief when I actually came across a real, live turducken while out walking today. I was ambling along the water's edge at the lagoon adjacent to the Cleveland Museum of Art, and so was this miraculous fowl. I spent some time looking at him with his bald turkey head and webbed duck feet as he made his way around the shore with an awkward chicken walk. I knew no one would ever believe I saw the rare and elusive turducken, so I snapped a photo with my phone:
Please don't send a thousand emails demanding that I join the Audubon Society and learn how to properly identify birds. I know it is actually a Muscovy Duck (albeit, also not a common sight around urban Cleveland, OH), but I get so much more pleasure in believing that for one unseasonably warm and sunny day in January that I was really in some Brigadoon with the turduckens fluttering around the unicorns.
And I hope you are having a good weekend, too.
Please don't send a thousand emails demanding that I join the Audubon Society and learn how to properly identify birds. I know it is actually a Muscovy Duck (albeit, also not a common sight around urban Cleveland, OH), but I get so much more pleasure in believing that for one unseasonably warm and sunny day in January that I was really in some Brigadoon with the turduckens fluttering around the unicorns.
And I hope you are having a good weekend, too.
Friday, December 30, 2011
All Things are Connected
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.
"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.
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!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
O. M. G.
High-heat Mahi Mahi with lemon dill butter, brown and wild rice and bacon-roasted Brussels Sprouts.
To be continued....
UPDATE:
OK. It was, indeed, good. You can do this. I'm going to assume there are two of you. Adjust UP, family people:
First, start the rice when you hit the back door. 1/2 Cup rice to 1 Cup of water. Bring it to a boil then turn the heat way low, put the lid on. Take about 6 slices of bacon and throw them onto a cookie sheet and into a 400 degree oven. Now, quickly, get upstairs and get out of that monkey suit they made you wear at the office.
All changed? Great.
You can pour yourself a beverage if you wish. While you sip, pull about 2" of butter out of the fridge. I guess that's 2 tablespoons. Nuke it in the microwave for 7 seconds. While the microwave is beeping at you to remind you about the butter, chop some dill. About 2 tablespoons-worth chopped is plenty. Look at your bacon. Does it look crispy? Really crispy? Okay, then you can take it out of the oven and set it aside on a plate. Just leave the greasy cookie sheet right there.
Back to your dill. Get the soft-ish butter out of the microwave. Throw the dill onto it. Add a smidge of salt. Squeeze 1/2 a lemon over it. Mush it altogether with a fork. This is called a "Compound Butter". It means" "butter mushed together with some stuff".
Now . Take about 6-8 Brussels sprouts out of the fridge. You have 6-8 Brussels sprouts, DON'T YOU??? Cut those buggers in half, then in half again, so you have little Brussels wedges. Throw them on your old bacon sheet. Crank the heat on your oven to 450 and toss them in for 10-15 minutes. You want those suckers to get golden outer edges, but not to burn. And if the whole house smells like cabbage, you let them go for too long. SO CHECK THEM.
Keep sipping that beverage, you are almost done.
When the Brussels sprouts come out, squeeze about 1/2 tablespoon of honey over them, and crumble up all that bacon and toss them in a bowl.
DON'T WASH THAT PAN YET!!!
...Because your fish will go right on it. Take 2 Mahi Mahi filets and plop them down on your bacon-Brussels sprouts-cookie sheet. Divide your dill butter in half and put a blob of that on top of each piece of fish. Put this in your HOT 450-degree oven for like 7 minutes, then serve everything.
It IS easy. I only went into play-by-play detail to help you first-timers out there.
Mi esposo, who swears up and down that he hates Brussels sprouts ate every last one off his plate.
Have fun! I know you'll have an amazing meal.
To be continued....
UPDATE:
OK. It was, indeed, good. You can do this. I'm going to assume there are two of you. Adjust UP, family people:
First, start the rice when you hit the back door. 1/2 Cup rice to 1 Cup of water. Bring it to a boil then turn the heat way low, put the lid on. Take about 6 slices of bacon and throw them onto a cookie sheet and into a 400 degree oven. Now, quickly, get upstairs and get out of that monkey suit they made you wear at the office.
All changed? Great.
You can pour yourself a beverage if you wish. While you sip, pull about 2" of butter out of the fridge. I guess that's 2 tablespoons. Nuke it in the microwave for 7 seconds. While the microwave is beeping at you to remind you about the butter, chop some dill. About 2 tablespoons-worth chopped is plenty. Look at your bacon. Does it look crispy? Really crispy? Okay, then you can take it out of the oven and set it aside on a plate. Just leave the greasy cookie sheet right there.
Back to your dill. Get the soft-ish butter out of the microwave. Throw the dill onto it. Add a smidge of salt. Squeeze 1/2 a lemon over it. Mush it altogether with a fork. This is called a "Compound Butter". It means" "butter mushed together with some stuff".
Now . Take about 6-8 Brussels sprouts out of the fridge. You have 6-8 Brussels sprouts, DON'T YOU??? Cut those buggers in half, then in half again, so you have little Brussels wedges. Throw them on your old bacon sheet. Crank the heat on your oven to 450 and toss them in for 10-15 minutes. You want those suckers to get golden outer edges, but not to burn. And if the whole house smells like cabbage, you let them go for too long. SO CHECK THEM.
Keep sipping that beverage, you are almost done.
When the Brussels sprouts come out, squeeze about 1/2 tablespoon of honey over them, and crumble up all that bacon and toss them in a bowl.
DON'T WASH THAT PAN YET!!!
...Because your fish will go right on it. Take 2 Mahi Mahi filets and plop them down on your bacon-Brussels sprouts-cookie sheet. Divide your dill butter in half and put a blob of that on top of each piece of fish. Put this in your HOT 450-degree oven for like 7 minutes, then serve everything.
It IS easy. I only went into play-by-play detail to help you first-timers out there.
Mi esposo, who swears up and down that he hates Brussels sprouts ate every last one off his plate.
Have fun! I know you'll have an amazing meal.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
"There are Only Eight Notes, Karen"
I do not, by any stretch of the imagination, think that I am especially musically inclined. It's no secret, however, that I love music. I made it a point, from a very young age, to hear as much live music as I possibly could. At many times, I surrounded myself with musical types who understood far more about the craft than I ever will. In doing these things, I began, after a time, to hear subtleties I used to miss. I started to pick up some things from them. I'll likely never be a musician, but I can at least claim to be somewhat of an academic listener. I like to think I get it.
Not too long ago, I had a piano lesson during which I was to work on a specific phrase the instructor assigned to me. I thought I was oh-so-clever when I made the observation aloud that the melody he had me working on was made up of the same notes of another very well known tune...only the timing was slightly different. I suppose I secretly wanted to be congratulated on having "gotten it", but instead, the experienced and world-weary instructor just sighed and said, "There are only eight notes, Karen", meaning, over time, with all of the music that has been written and will continue to be written, we are bound to repeat some phrasing. Like, DUH, Karen.
And so it is with cooking.
I made a dish called Zweibel Rostbraten this evening. You might guess that this recipe hails from the Germanic part of the world and you might be right. Thin steaks are flash-seared with aromatic fried onions and accented with a tangy sauce. As I really looked hard at the recipe just before commencing my prep work, I thought to myself that this looked a lot like Steak Diane, sans mushrooms.
The finished Zweibel Rostbraten did, in fact, also taste a lot like Steak Diane. I have now been working with food just long enough to see that cooking is a lot like music. There are only so many notes. Recipes, like songs, are bound to be similar, even derivative at times.
I am not saying this in a spirit of mourning. On the contrary, in both crafts, music and cooking, the finished product can still be artful and wonderful, even if it has a close cousin you might recognize. Furthermore, how it is played, or how it is made, can make all the difference. If you've ever heard the fifth grade recorder orchestra play Flight of the Bumblebee and then heard a world class symphony do the same piece, then you know what I am talking about. Whether you see it as "God is in the details" or "the devil is in the details", it is tough to dispute that the details do, indeed, matter.
And don't our ears jump for joy when there is some new song that just grabs us??
And don't we rave to anyone who will listen when we try some new dish that is a wonderfully delicious surprise?
Deep down, we know we can do a lot with a little and that is what makes us seek out, and appreciate the really good stuff.
Not too long ago, I had a piano lesson during which I was to work on a specific phrase the instructor assigned to me. I thought I was oh-so-clever when I made the observation aloud that the melody he had me working on was made up of the same notes of another very well known tune...only the timing was slightly different. I suppose I secretly wanted to be congratulated on having "gotten it", but instead, the experienced and world-weary instructor just sighed and said, "There are only eight notes, Karen", meaning, over time, with all of the music that has been written and will continue to be written, we are bound to repeat some phrasing. Like, DUH, Karen.
And so it is with cooking.
I made a dish called Zweibel Rostbraten this evening. You might guess that this recipe hails from the Germanic part of the world and you might be right. Thin steaks are flash-seared with aromatic fried onions and accented with a tangy sauce. As I really looked hard at the recipe just before commencing my prep work, I thought to myself that this looked a lot like Steak Diane, sans mushrooms.
The finished Zweibel Rostbraten did, in fact, also taste a lot like Steak Diane. I have now been working with food just long enough to see that cooking is a lot like music. There are only so many notes. Recipes, like songs, are bound to be similar, even derivative at times.
I am not saying this in a spirit of mourning. On the contrary, in both crafts, music and cooking, the finished product can still be artful and wonderful, even if it has a close cousin you might recognize. Furthermore, how it is played, or how it is made, can make all the difference. If you've ever heard the fifth grade recorder orchestra play Flight of the Bumblebee and then heard a world class symphony do the same piece, then you know what I am talking about. Whether you see it as "God is in the details" or "the devil is in the details", it is tough to dispute that the details do, indeed, matter.
And don't our ears jump for joy when there is some new song that just grabs us??
And don't we rave to anyone who will listen when we try some new dish that is a wonderfully delicious surprise?
Deep down, we know we can do a lot with a little and that is what makes us seek out, and appreciate the really good stuff.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Thanksgiving Turkey: Try Everything
Roast your bird.
Toast your bird.
Brine your bird.
Baste your bird.
Dry-cure your bird.
Deep-fry your bird.
Stuff your bird.
Truss your bird.
Lard your bird.
Bard your bird.
Spatchcock your bird.
Roulade your bird.
Smoke your bird.
Oven-bag your bird.
Grill your bird.
Microwave your bird.
Pressure-cook your bird.
Crock Pot your bird.
Butter your bird.
Kabob your bird.
Beer-can your bird.
Rack your bird.
High heat your bird.
Slow and low your bird.
Frozen-cook your bird.
Turducken your bird.
Tofurkey your un-bird.
Mississipi Trash Bag your bird.
Jerk your bird.
BBQ your bird.
Bread and flour your bird.
Make reservations for your bird.
Pit-bury your bird.
Quarter and saute your bird.
OK...I'll stop with the many methods of cooking a Thanksgiving turkey (although it is likely I've missed a few). Everybody swears their method is the best. And once they've tried a strange-sounding alternative method, they swear even more vociferously that they will never go back to roasting the old fashioned way.
The truth is, every method can be really delicious. So please, please, please do not stress about whether or not you are doing it the right way. You are doing it the right way, whichever way you choose. In fact, why not try ALL the methods? I have tried a few of these methods but certainly not all of them. I think (I hope!) I have a few more Thanksgivings left in me so I can try some more techniques. I have formulated my own opinions, but you should do the same. Don't kowtow to the "experts". Keep in mind that two of the most highly-acclaimed and equally-esteemed chefs, Jacques Pepin and Julia Child, were always at odds on how to prepare the Thanksgiving bird over the years. Both chefs were incredible cooks and had good reasoning behind their recommended methods. Both chefs made an amazing feast, I am sure (even if they cooked their birds a little differently). These days, you have everyone from Martha Stewart to Ina Garten to Paula Deen telling you the "right" way to cook your holiday dinner. I say, if the experts cannot agree, there is nothing left to do but try everything and see what you think.
If it's your first bird, just try roasting it the good old fashioned way--in which you sprinkle some salt and pepper on the bird, throw it in the oven, and forget about it for a few hours while you make mashed potatoes and other sundries. You can follow any cookbook recipe or the directions that come on the wrapper of your poultry for this method. Those oven bags certainly seem to be big sellers...this seems like another solid method for a neophyte. If you've done a couple birds without incident, go ahead and work another idea from the list. And keep in mind, tradition-lovers, just because you cooked the poultry in a non-traditional manner does not by any stretch mean that it tastes any less traditionally delicious. Good is good, people, and that's all there is to it.
Try fresh poultry. Try frozen poultry. Try local. Try big farms. Yes, I did just say that out loud. Why am I not championing Old Heirloom Poultry Joe's at the corner of rural routes eleventy and oneteen?? Just like you good foodies out there, I also want Old Heirloom Poultry Joe to do well and I may support him too, but if we mindlessly follow the au courant trend to look down our noses at the big poultry vendors, we are forgetting the compelling point that if some of these companies make 90% of their annual profit from Thanksgiving turkeys, they are very sensitive to the fact that they had better deliver a perfect and perfectly safe product. That's not so hateful. But do make up your own mind after investigating every avenue. So...do try fresh. Try frozen. Try local. Try big. Try all the methods in that list. TRY EVERYTHING.
You'll never know what you are or are not missing until you've tried it.
Toast your bird.
Brine your bird.
Baste your bird.
Dry-cure your bird.
Deep-fry your bird.
Stuff your bird.
Truss your bird.
Lard your bird.
Bard your bird.
Spatchcock your bird.
Roulade your bird.
Smoke your bird.
Oven-bag your bird.
Grill your bird.
Microwave your bird.
Pressure-cook your bird.
Crock Pot your bird.
Butter your bird.
Kabob your bird.
Beer-can your bird.
Rack your bird.
High heat your bird.
Slow and low your bird.
Frozen-cook your bird.
Turducken your bird.
Tofurkey your un-bird.
Mississipi Trash Bag your bird.
Jerk your bird.
BBQ your bird.
Bread and flour your bird.
Make reservations for your bird.
Pit-bury your bird.
Quarter and saute your bird.
OK...I'll stop with the many methods of cooking a Thanksgiving turkey (although it is likely I've missed a few). Everybody swears their method is the best. And once they've tried a strange-sounding alternative method, they swear even more vociferously that they will never go back to roasting the old fashioned way.
The truth is, every method can be really delicious. So please, please, please do not stress about whether or not you are doing it the right way. You are doing it the right way, whichever way you choose. In fact, why not try ALL the methods? I have tried a few of these methods but certainly not all of them. I think (I hope!) I have a few more Thanksgivings left in me so I can try some more techniques. I have formulated my own opinions, but you should do the same. Don't kowtow to the "experts". Keep in mind that two of the most highly-acclaimed and equally-esteemed chefs, Jacques Pepin and Julia Child, were always at odds on how to prepare the Thanksgiving bird over the years. Both chefs were incredible cooks and had good reasoning behind their recommended methods. Both chefs made an amazing feast, I am sure (even if they cooked their birds a little differently). These days, you have everyone from Martha Stewart to Ina Garten to Paula Deen telling you the "right" way to cook your holiday dinner. I say, if the experts cannot agree, there is nothing left to do but try everything and see what you think.
If it's your first bird, just try roasting it the good old fashioned way--in which you sprinkle some salt and pepper on the bird, throw it in the oven, and forget about it for a few hours while you make mashed potatoes and other sundries. You can follow any cookbook recipe or the directions that come on the wrapper of your poultry for this method. Those oven bags certainly seem to be big sellers...this seems like another solid method for a neophyte. If you've done a couple birds without incident, go ahead and work another idea from the list. And keep in mind, tradition-lovers, just because you cooked the poultry in a non-traditional manner does not by any stretch mean that it tastes any less traditionally delicious. Good is good, people, and that's all there is to it.
Try fresh poultry. Try frozen poultry. Try local. Try big farms. Yes, I did just say that out loud. Why am I not championing Old Heirloom Poultry Joe's at the corner of rural routes eleventy and oneteen?? Just like you good foodies out there, I also want Old Heirloom Poultry Joe to do well and I may support him too, but if we mindlessly follow the au courant trend to look down our noses at the big poultry vendors, we are forgetting the compelling point that if some of these companies make 90% of their annual profit from Thanksgiving turkeys, they are very sensitive to the fact that they had better deliver a perfect and perfectly safe product. That's not so hateful. But do make up your own mind after investigating every avenue. So...do try fresh. Try frozen. Try local. Try big. Try all the methods in that list. TRY EVERYTHING.
You'll never know what you are or are not missing until you've tried it.
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