I've mentioned that I'm a touch compulsive about this and that. That shows up in putting groceries away in a number of ways, one of which is to clean and cut up vegetables before I put them in the crisper. When Richard and Julie were little, they knew that there would always be a container of cut up snacks in the crisper: celery, carrots, radishes, green onions, cauliflower, turnips, kohlrabi, cabbage. Whatever their little hearts might desire. The only thing I never cut up ahead of time was bell peppers, since they get slimy on the cut surface. At the same time, I would save parts of the vegies that would go in soup, such as celery leaves and scallion greens, in the freezer and clean the greens that came attached to kohlrabi for steaming. And, since I was being so virtuous and preparing the vegetables, I got to eat the celery heart*, my very favorite part of the entire lot, while I was cleaning and cutting.
When Julie was in high school, she took over putting the groceries away, which included the vegetable prep. I would go into the crisper to get a snack, and there wouldn't be any celery heart, but of course I accepted that now that Julie was doing the work, Julie got the reward.
I think Julie had been cleaning the celery on a weekly basis for well over a year before I walked into the kitchen and saw her run the celery heart down the disposal. That's when I discovered that Julie doesn't like celery and since she had never seen those luscious, pale green little stalks or the small section of the heart in the drawer, she thought that they weren't edible. For well over a year, the best part of the celery had been going down the disposal. It broke my heart. It still does.
* Just looking at the picture of those tender stalks makes my mouth water. Luckily I'm going to shopping right after breakfast, and I can get some.
Image: Cookthink.com
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Sushi
Sandy Szwarc, over at Junkfood Science, posted Fishy sushi scares on Friday. In it she discusses the latest fear-du-jour, the "study" by the New York Times on the mercury levels in fish. In a scenario that will surprise no one who reads Sandy's breath of fresh air blog, the story that was published by the Times bears little resemblance to the actual meaning of the results.
In other words, we don't have to be afraid of eating fish. Glad to hear it. Living in Southeast Alaska, where the regional cuisine is fresh from the sea, I not only enjoy eating salmon, halibut, and crabs of all types, but friends make their living by fishing. I would hate to have to worry the next time I get the urge for Dungeness almost as much as I would hate my friends to have to go out of business. Commercial fishing is one of the most dangerous professions in the world. The reward for risking your life on a continual basis shouldn't be that some study is incorrectly reported so that people are afraid of what you take those chances to bring to their tables.
In her post, Sandy provided a link to Sushi Etiquette
What to do, what to do. Shall I continue to be rude? Shall I fill my mouth to my eardrums when I eat sushi in a mannerly manner? Should I explain to the waiter that I'm not being rude on purpose and I'm not ignorant, I just can't eat the thing whole? Will it taste as good if my mouth is so full my taste buds are shoved down? I was better off before I knew this little tidbit. When I thought that the only reason the other people in the restaurant were eating their sushi in one bite because they had bigger mouths.
Sushi pictograph and photo, courtesy Sushi Encyclopedism. Crab dkimages.com
In fact, there has never been a case of an American eating so much fish as to be harmful. The only cases in the scientific literature of mercury poisoning from fish and subsequent neurological problems — a fact confirmed by Dr. Thomas Clarkson, a toxicologist at the University of Rochester School of Medicine — were the result of an industrial mercury spill in Minamata Bay, Japan in the 1950s, which resulted in fish with methylmercury levels 40 to 1,000 times higher than the fish Americans, and most people around the globe, eat. These tragic poisonings first pointed out that at extremely high exposures, mercury was a neurotoxin and might affect the developing fetus.
In other words, we don't have to be afraid of eating fish. Glad to hear it. Living in Southeast Alaska, where the regional cuisine is fresh from the sea, I not only enjoy eating salmon, halibut, and crabs of all types, but friends make their living by fishing. I would hate to have to worry the next time I get the urge for Dungeness almost as much as I would hate my friends to have to go out of business. Commercial fishing is one of the most dangerous professions in the world. The reward for risking your life on a continual basis shouldn't be that some study is incorrectly reported so that people are afraid of what you take those chances to bring to their tables.
In her post, Sandy provided a link to Sushi Etiquette
(Fingers)Notice that one is recommended to throw the entire piece of sushi into one's mouth. This is where I have a problem. I don't have a very big mouth. I seek out dentists with small hands. And I have always bitten the sushi in half. Now I discover this is rude.
When you eat by your fingers, pick up a piece of nigiri at the both side with your two fingers, thumb and middle, and simultaneously lift up the far side top to this side by the index finger, and turn it upside down. Then dip the fish side to soy sauce, and next, twist your wrist to turn the fish side up and face to you. Alternatively do as the same way as by chopsticks. To eat, bring the nigiri to your mouth, throw it into your mouth in a way that the fish side touches on your tongue, and this is a recommendable direction in nigiri-eating.
What to do, what to do. Shall I continue to be rude? Shall I fill my mouth to my eardrums when I eat sushi in a mannerly manner? Should I explain to the waiter that I'm not being rude on purpose and I'm not ignorant, I just can't eat the thing whole? Will it taste as good if my mouth is so full my taste buds are shoved down? I was better off before I knew this little tidbit. When I thought that the only reason the other people in the restaurant were eating their sushi in one bite because they had bigger mouths.
Sushi pictograph and photo, courtesy Sushi Encyclopedism. Crab dkimages.com
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Sandy Szwarc
Sunday, January 20, 2008
What I Learned When
I Gave Up Dieting
I Gave Up Dieting
Here it is, the middle of January, and diet season is in full swing. Everywhere I go, I hear people discussing how they are losing weight this time.* Some are counting one thing, some are counting another. Some are eating the food some program is willing to sell them. Some are modifying their lifestyle. And, of course, Weight Watchers is advertising that "Diets don't work. Weight Watchers does." Totally ignoring the fact that Weight Watchers is a diet and has horrible long term results. Ah, so nice to be free of all of the nonsense. To simply eat when I'm hungry, whatever it is that I'm hungry for, and stop not when the measuring cup is empty but when I'm satisfied.
It does, however, bring back memories of all the yeas when I did diet, when I had these strange rules for how I ate that were supposed to take off the pounds and not let them creep back on. Before I let myself out of the cage and discovered that I didn't have to live that way.
I used to never buy "forbidden foods"** when I did my grocery shopping. I couldn't bring them into the house via car. The rule*** was, any forbidden foods I had to walk home carrying. 20 blocks, ten of them uphill. If I wanted ice cream, I had to really work for it.
Another rule was, only enough for now. Once I got it home, I had to finish it all that episode. I can remember climbing the hill with a muffin, a pint of ice cream, a package of peanuts, and a couple of doughnuts and then eating the whole lot of it in one sitting, although I wasn't hungry after the first. But, I could only eat it if I ate it now, so I certainly didn't enjoy most of it.
I kept my butter in the freezer. If I wanted anything with butter, I had to wait while it thawed. Once I stopped doing this, I discovered that the bread lasted longer! It seems that, when I had to wait for the butter before I could have a slice of sourdough French bread, as long as it was thawed I might as well eat several. Once it was always thawed, I discovered that sometimes I only wanted half a slice!
There were many, many more rules, but since I gave up this nonsense in 2000, I don't remember what they were off hand. However, these days my house is full of formerly forbidden foods, and I have discovered that if there is plenty I have no need to eat it all. Particularly if it is obvious that I can't eat it all, I can eat much less. The more there is, the less I have to eat. Rather like when my mother was in high school and worked in a candy store and was allowed to eat all the candy she wanted. Soon, she was going weeks without any candy because she didn't want it.
When I first gave up dieting, I went out and bought formerly forbidden food like there was no tomorrow. Five pounds each of seven kinds of nuts. All sorts of candy. Chips of every kind. Crackers. Cheese. Salami, spare ribs, bacon. Bread! Doughnuts. Pie. Cake. Ice cream. I brought six gallons of ice cream into my house at one time. At the same time I brought in all the rest of this list. At first I would have five scoops of ice cream with toppings and nuts and banana. Daily. For dinner. Or breakfast. Then it was less. Before very long at all, it was one scoop plain. Now, sometimes I have a single scoop. Sometimes I have two scoops and topping. Sometimes I have a single spoon. Mostly I have none. I go months without having ice cream, because I don't want it. It is the same with all of the formerly forbidden food. I let myself eat it and eventually I didn't want it. At first I gained about ten pounds, since I no longer weigh myself I'm not sure how much, but all of my clothes still fit. Then that weight came back off. I was having a bowl of nuts and candy for a meal. I had spareribs at least once a week for over two years. I let myself have all of the things that I had denied myself for so long.
And then, as I no longer needed to eat all of these things all of the time, I began to discover things I had never known about them before. Like, cheese turns green. Nuts go rancid. Ice cream gets crystals in it. Salami grows white "hair". Bread and doughnuts and crackers and chips get stale. I had never had any of that food in my house long enough for it to spoil, but spoil it does. So, now I buy smaller amounts. Instead of five pounds of cashews, I buy the small can. And often have to throw out most of the can because it has gone rancid.
And, once I no longer needed to eat all of the formerly forbidden stuff, I discovered that I really like tomatoes. I ate some form of raw tomato every day for well over two years. I love produce more than anything else. I stock up on fruit, and it does not go bad. Spare ribs are too fatty for my taste. One day I looked up on the top shelf, and there was a package of Oreos that was over four years old and unopened! Also, a virgin box of almond roca. Unopened and stale peanut brittle.
Amazing. If I'm not trying to discipline myself about food, I don't need the discipline.
Do you have any idea how wonderful it is to be free of food obsessions? To not be afraid of doughnuts and pecans and a slice of bread and butter? To take a couple of slices of my birthday cake home from Kathy and Richard's?
* The fact that it is this time doesn't seem to cause them to question whether or not diets work.
** And the list of forbidden foods was long. It seemed to include everything a person would ever want to eat, except produce.
*** And, boy, did I have rules!
Update
Great minds travel the same roads sometimes. My friend Deja Pseub, over on Une d'un certain age has posted Finding myself through food today. It is well worth reading.
It does, however, bring back memories of all the yeas when I did diet, when I had these strange rules for how I ate that were supposed to take off the pounds and not let them creep back on. Before I let myself out of the cage and discovered that I didn't have to live that way.
I used to never buy "forbidden foods"** when I did my grocery shopping. I couldn't bring them into the house via car. The rule*** was, any forbidden foods I had to walk home carrying. 20 blocks, ten of them uphill. If I wanted ice cream, I had to really work for it.
Another rule was, only enough for now. Once I got it home, I had to finish it all that episode. I can remember climbing the hill with a muffin, a pint of ice cream, a package of peanuts, and a couple of doughnuts and then eating the whole lot of it in one sitting, although I wasn't hungry after the first. But, I could only eat it if I ate it now, so I certainly didn't enjoy most of it.
I kept my butter in the freezer. If I wanted anything with butter, I had to wait while it thawed. Once I stopped doing this, I discovered that the bread lasted longer! It seems that, when I had to wait for the butter before I could have a slice of sourdough French bread, as long as it was thawed I might as well eat several. Once it was always thawed, I discovered that sometimes I only wanted half a slice!
There were many, many more rules, but since I gave up this nonsense in 2000, I don't remember what they were off hand. However, these days my house is full of formerly forbidden foods, and I have discovered that if there is plenty I have no need to eat it all. Particularly if it is obvious that I can't eat it all, I can eat much less. The more there is, the less I have to eat. Rather like when my mother was in high school and worked in a candy store and was allowed to eat all the candy she wanted. Soon, she was going weeks without any candy because she didn't want it.
When I first gave up dieting, I went out and bought formerly forbidden food like there was no tomorrow. Five pounds each of seven kinds of nuts. All sorts of candy. Chips of every kind. Crackers. Cheese. Salami, spare ribs, bacon. Bread! Doughnuts. Pie. Cake. Ice cream. I brought six gallons of ice cream into my house at one time. At the same time I brought in all the rest of this list. At first I would have five scoops of ice cream with toppings and nuts and banana. Daily. For dinner. Or breakfast. Then it was less. Before very long at all, it was one scoop plain. Now, sometimes I have a single scoop. Sometimes I have two scoops and topping. Sometimes I have a single spoon. Mostly I have none. I go months without having ice cream, because I don't want it. It is the same with all of the formerly forbidden food. I let myself eat it and eventually I didn't want it. At first I gained about ten pounds, since I no longer weigh myself I'm not sure how much, but all of my clothes still fit. Then that weight came back off. I was having a bowl of nuts and candy for a meal. I had spareribs at least once a week for over two years. I let myself have all of the things that I had denied myself for so long.
And then, as I no longer needed to eat all of these things all of the time, I began to discover things I had never known about them before. Like, cheese turns green. Nuts go rancid. Ice cream gets crystals in it. Salami grows white "hair". Bread and doughnuts and crackers and chips get stale. I had never had any of that food in my house long enough for it to spoil, but spoil it does. So, now I buy smaller amounts. Instead of five pounds of cashews, I buy the small can. And often have to throw out most of the can because it has gone rancid.
And, once I no longer needed to eat all of the formerly forbidden stuff, I discovered that I really like tomatoes. I ate some form of raw tomato every day for well over two years. I love produce more than anything else. I stock up on fruit, and it does not go bad. Spare ribs are too fatty for my taste. One day I looked up on the top shelf, and there was a package of Oreos that was over four years old and unopened! Also, a virgin box of almond roca. Unopened and stale peanut brittle.
Amazing. If I'm not trying to discipline myself about food, I don't need the discipline.
Do you have any idea how wonderful it is to be free of food obsessions? To not be afraid of doughnuts and pecans and a slice of bread and butter? To take a couple of slices of my birthday cake home from Kathy and Richard's?
* The fact that it is this time doesn't seem to cause them to question whether or not diets work.
** And the list of forbidden foods was long. It seemed to include everything a person would ever want to eat, except produce.
*** And, boy, did I have rules!
Update
Great minds travel the same roads sometimes. My friend Deja Pseub, over on Une d'un certain age has posted Finding myself through food today. It is well worth reading.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Chocolate
I usually record TV shows and watch them at my leisure. I started doing this when I stopped obsessing about my weight and my food. In order to avoid the constant brainwashing that goes on these days about diets and "good & bad" foods and the destruction of self acceptance that all of that entails,* I just don't watch it. By watching a recording, I can zap past the ads.** However, yesterday I wanted to watch something in real time, and so I saw the Nutrisystems ad. Did you know that in their "new" diet sorry, food plan, you can eat "chocolate"?
And that reminded me of the early 80s, when my business partner Alison and I belonged to Business and Professional Women; she was president the year I'm thinking about. Anyway, Alison*** decided to put on a chocolate fair. And part of that was going to all of the stores in Stockton which made their own chocolate, tasting it, and inviting the makers of good enough stuff to be part of the fair. For those of you who haven't been to one of these, the fair goer purchases a ticket with numbers on it for all of the vendors. Then she goes to each table, is given a sample of the chocolate there, has that number punched, and goes on. Lots of coffee is served, since often people gather a few samples and take them to a table and enjoy them with coffee and then repeat with other vendors.
So, Alison and I had the terrible task of going to these candy shops and sampling their wares. Now, I like chocolate, but the words "too rich" mean something to me. They don't to Alison,**** who can eat the richest chocolate in amazing amounts. So, very often I would eat a bite or two of my sample, and feed her both her sample and the vast majority of mine.
Somewhere along the way, the representative of a diet company that supplies the food found out about the fair and insisted on being included. She kept insisting that their chocolate was rich and wonderful and we kept trying to tell her that she didn't really want people to taste her product when they had been indulging in truffles. But, she kept calling back and calling back and calling back and finally we decided that it was silly to keep protecting this woman from the results of her own propaganda and allowed her to rent a table right along with See's and the others.
Come the day of the fair, people were enjoying the samples and having a gay old time.
And then they would get to the diet chocolate table. The woman would tell them that her product, which was about the color as the sample to the right, was as good as the richest chocolates. That they wouldn't be able to tell which was the diet product. And people would take a sample, take a bite, make a face, and throw the rest of the sample away. Sometimes they said something about how awful it was. Some of the men swore. One of the children spit it out. About 30 minutes into the four hour event, she folded up her table and took her samples home. As I remember it, that came right after one of the fair goers challenged her to taste any of the other samples and still claim hers was as good.
My personal chocolate weakness came about when I moved to Sacramento. My office was a block from Macy's and I would go into the store and watch the price reductions on the clothes that I wanted until the item reached the price I was willing to pay for it.*****
And one day I stopped at the candy counter, and there were chocolate covered potato chips. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want such a thing. I even asked the clerk if anyone ever bought them and she told me that they made two or three batches a day. Made no sense to me, until two weeks later when the idea of chocolate covered potato chips suddenly overcame me. Come the lunch hour, there I was at the candy counter, buying some. The clerk smiled, and said, "Among ourselves, we call them PMSers." The clerks knew the cycle of many a woman who worked in that area. And, since I don't do that any longer, I've neither had nor wanted one. But, boy -- salty, crunchy, sweet, fat, chocolate, potato --the only thing better for PMS that I ever encountered is Miso soup.
*I also don't read women's magazines because of the diet ads and articles.
** On Countdown, I zap past the celebrity nonsense that the network insists Keith Olbermann include in his show.
*** Alison ties my daughter-in-law Kathy for the person I know who loves chocolate the most.
**** or, for that matter, Kathy.
***** Which is how I got two silk blouses, originally priced $120 each for $15 each. I've never done that before or since, but then I've never lived or worked so close to a store where I actually shopped before or since.
Update Actually, what that woman had was better described as chalkolate.
Photo credit: Chocolates, FDA.org
Chocolate covered potato chips, global haja
And that reminded me of the early 80s, when my business partner Alison and I belonged to Business and Professional Women; she was president the year I'm thinking about. Anyway, Alison*** decided to put on a chocolate fair. And part of that was going to all of the stores in Stockton which made their own chocolate, tasting it, and inviting the makers of good enough stuff to be part of the fair. For those of you who haven't been to one of these, the fair goer purchases a ticket with numbers on it for all of the vendors. Then she goes to each table, is given a sample of the chocolate there, has that number punched, and goes on. Lots of coffee is served, since often people gather a few samples and take them to a table and enjoy them with coffee and then repeat with other vendors.
So, Alison and I had the terrible task of going to these candy shops and sampling their wares. Now, I like chocolate, but the words "too rich" mean something to me. They don't to Alison,**** who can eat the richest chocolate in amazing amounts. So, very often I would eat a bite or two of my sample, and feed her both her sample and the vast majority of mine.
Somewhere along the way, the representative of a diet company that supplies the food found out about the fair and insisted on being included. She kept insisting that their chocolate was rich and wonderful and we kept trying to tell her that she didn't really want people to taste her product when they had been indulging in truffles. But, she kept calling back and calling back and calling back and finally we decided that it was silly to keep protecting this woman from the results of her own propaganda and allowed her to rent a table right along with See's and the others.
Come the day of the fair, people were enjoying the samples and having a gay old time.
And then they would get to the diet chocolate table. The woman would tell them that her product, which was about the color as the sample to the right, was as good as the richest chocolates. That they wouldn't be able to tell which was the diet product. And people would take a sample, take a bite, make a face, and throw the rest of the sample away. Sometimes they said something about how awful it was. Some of the men swore. One of the children spit it out. About 30 minutes into the four hour event, she folded up her table and took her samples home. As I remember it, that came right after one of the fair goers challenged her to taste any of the other samples and still claim hers was as good.
My personal chocolate weakness came about when I moved to Sacramento. My office was a block from Macy's and I would go into the store and watch the price reductions on the clothes that I wanted until the item reached the price I was willing to pay for it.*****
And one day I stopped at the candy counter, and there were chocolate covered potato chips. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want such a thing. I even asked the clerk if anyone ever bought them and she told me that they made two or three batches a day. Made no sense to me, until two weeks later when the idea of chocolate covered potato chips suddenly overcame me. Come the lunch hour, there I was at the candy counter, buying some. The clerk smiled, and said, "Among ourselves, we call them PMSers." The clerks knew the cycle of many a woman who worked in that area. And, since I don't do that any longer, I've neither had nor wanted one. But, boy -- salty, crunchy, sweet, fat, chocolate, potato --the only thing better for PMS that I ever encountered is Miso soup.
*I also don't read women's magazines because of the diet ads and articles.
** On Countdown, I zap past the celebrity nonsense that the network insists Keith Olbermann include in his show.
*** Alison ties my daughter-in-law Kathy for the person I know who loves chocolate the most.
**** or, for that matter, Kathy.
***** Which is how I got two silk blouses, originally priced $120 each for $15 each. I've never done that before or since, but then I've never lived or worked so close to a store where I actually shopped before or since.
Update Actually, what that woman had was better described as chalkolate.
Photo credit: Chocolates, FDA.org
Chocolate covered potato chips, global haja
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Cuties
You may have noticed/guessed that I love fruit. Just now, as there are still pomegranates and persimmons to be had, the Cuties have come in. Cuties are California clementines -- and as they say on the box, E-Z peel, seedless, and super-sweet.
They come in a box, like above, and the end looks like the picture to the right. I have kept four of the boxes, because the Hooligans like to sleep in them, so they have a set downstairs and a set upstairs.
So far, in a week and a half, I've eaten three boxes. I could easily do in an entire display, seen left, if I could get them spaced out enough that they didn't go bad.
The first time I had them I was visiting Julie, Maya, and Ted. Julie bought a box and Maya and I almost ate them all that afternoon. We soon had to go back for more. I have never seen Maya eat so much at one time in my life. And, whenever I eat them, I always think of her and how much fun that was.
And I still have my other late fall treats! My persimmons and my pomegranates! Oh, heaven. And, Thursday was Richard's birthday, so Richard and Kathy and I went out to dinner and I had Alaska king crab, and there was one leg to bring home and I had that for dinner today. I tell you, the food couldn't get any better.
Photos: SunPacific.com
They come in a box, like above, and the end looks like the picture to the right. I have kept four of the boxes, because the Hooligans like to sleep in them, so they have a set downstairs and a set upstairs.
So far, in a week and a half, I've eaten three boxes. I could easily do in an entire display, seen left, if I could get them spaced out enough that they didn't go bad.
The first time I had them I was visiting Julie, Maya, and Ted. Julie bought a box and Maya and I almost ate them all that afternoon. We soon had to go back for more. I have never seen Maya eat so much at one time in my life. And, whenever I eat them, I always think of her and how much fun that was.
And I still have my other late fall treats! My persimmons and my pomegranates! Oh, heaven. And, Thursday was Richard's birthday, so Richard and Kathy and I went out to dinner and I had Alaska king crab, and there was one leg to bring home and I had that for dinner today. I tell you, the food couldn't get any better.
Photos: SunPacific.com
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Home Delivery
Unlike the naughty ice cream delivered by The Good Humor Woman, I never actually ordered anything from the Pot Pie Guy. I had moved to San Francisco before I heard of his small enterprise in Berkeley, and I'm not certain if he was making his deliveries before I left or not.
At any rate, rumor had it that there was a guy who delivered chicken pot pies on a bike with a heated basket. And that they were more pot than chicken.
Since I was no longer part of the Berkeley hippy scene at the time that I heard about this, I have no idea whether it was true or not, nor how long it lasted if it was. It certainly smacked of the "Purloined Letter," what with the out in plain sight aspect of it.
I do know that pot is more potent when eaten than when smoked, because I once had some rather green brownies. The night of the Beatles' Candlestick Park Concert, which is where I ate them. I won tickets to the concert by calling in and correctly identifying Eleanor Rigby the day after Revolver was released, so we got up a group and went. I'm very glad that I wasn't driving and that the driver had eschewed the brownies, since on the way back it seemed to me that the Bay Bridge stood up in front of the car and shimmied like a snake. Lovely and funny, but I doubt that would be easy to drive on. And, I suppose that makes up for the fact that we couldn't hear a note of the music what with all the screaming and all, and that later I read that the Beatles were so disgusted with American audiences by that time that they lip synched to get it over with, so we weren't missing anything after all. That would have been terribly disappointing to me, as I had scrimped my meager funds as a college student single mom and bought Revolver the day it was released. I was a fan.
Photos:
pie, Forkandbottle.com
bike, Dutchbikefactory.com
At any rate, rumor had it that there was a guy who delivered chicken pot pies on a bike with a heated basket. And that they were more pot than chicken.
Since I was no longer part of the Berkeley hippy scene at the time that I heard about this, I have no idea whether it was true or not, nor how long it lasted if it was. It certainly smacked of the "Purloined Letter," what with the out in plain sight aspect of it.
I do know that pot is more potent when eaten than when smoked, because I once had some rather green brownies. The night of the Beatles' Candlestick Park Concert, which is where I ate them. I won tickets to the concert by calling in and correctly identifying Eleanor Rigby the day after Revolver was released, so we got up a group and went. I'm very glad that I wasn't driving and that the driver had eschewed the brownies, since on the way back it seemed to me that the Bay Bridge stood up in front of the car and shimmied like a snake. Lovely and funny, but I doubt that would be easy to drive on. And, I suppose that makes up for the fact that we couldn't hear a note of the music what with all the screaming and all, and that later I read that the Beatles were so disgusted with American audiences by that time that they lip synched to get it over with, so we weren't missing anything after all. That would have been terribly disappointing to me, as I had scrimped my meager funds as a college student single mom and bought Revolver the day it was released. I was a fan.
Photos:
pie, Forkandbottle.com
bike, Dutchbikefactory.com
Monday, October 29, 2007
The Fruits of Autumn
As many of you will remember from I Always Wore White, when I was a little girl in the early 40s, I used to crawl under the pomegranate trees in my Grandmother Hunt's back yard and eat the fruit, leaving my pretty white dresses with stains that all the energy my mother put into the scrub board could not take out of the cotton.
As you can see from this picture, a small child would be well hidden under a tree like this. It was such a magical place to be -- cozy, cool, and full of my favorite food.
And the pomegranates themselves! Such full balls of deep red fruit, filled with glowing seeds. When they were very ripe, the skin would crack and the seeds would peek through and tempt me beyond resistance. When I heard the story of Adam and Eve I could fully comprehend Eve's inability to leave that apple alone. If it had been just a tenth as lovely as a pomegranate, the world would have been well lost for all of me. And might still be.
In the late 50s, when I was in high school, we read local California authors one semester. John Steinbeck and William Saroyan were my personal favorites. In 1940, Saroyan published "My Name is Aram," a collection of short stories about growing up in the Armenian community of Fresno. So, the events of "The Pomegranate Trees" must have happened in the late 20s or the 30s. This was the story of Saroyan's uncle who planted a pomegranate orchard before people in California knew what this wonderful fruit was, and so went broke. And yet, by 1945, the time of my story, my grandmother had a line of these lovely trees as a back fence. How quickly things change.
Persimmons are the other delight of autumn. They hang on the tree after all the leaves have fallen, and look like a Japanese variant of a Christmas tree. My dentist in Stockton had a persimmon tree right outside the window of his office and I used to purposely make my appointments in the fall just so I could look at that tree.
This variety of persimmon, the Hachiya, is deceptive. It must be very ripe before it is eaten, because in its unripe state it is full of tannin and if you bite into it your head will turn inside out and you will bite your shoulder blades in agony. Dry! Land, child, the Mojave should be as dry as your tender mouth!
When I worked as a parenting coach, since I worked for a non-profit, what they couldn't pay us in money they tried to make up in other ways. One was more vacation. The longer I worked there, the more vacation days I earned. So, for a number of years I spent the entire month of November in California. I would start with a week with Julie, go to my mother's for a week or so, to Kate's for a week, and end up with Julie. I would buy Hachiya persimmons my first day there and put them in Julie's window to ripen, knowing that by the time I got back they would be just ready to eat. The first year I did this, Ted thought they had gone rotten long before they were ripe and threw them away. You have to let them get soft and jelly like. And then they are heaven.
Since the Hachiyas are a problem for some people, and don't ship well, a more popular persimmon is the Fuyu. This is the one that we can get in Juneau. It is rounder than the Hachiya and can be eaten while it is still crisp like a Braeburn apple. It isn't quite as sweet, but is a real treat none-the-less.
And this matters becauase right now there are pomegranates and Fuyu persimmons in my kitchen and I am in heaven.
As you can see from this picture, a small child would be well hidden under a tree like this. It was such a magical place to be -- cozy, cool, and full of my favorite food.
And the pomegranates themselves! Such full balls of deep red fruit, filled with glowing seeds. When they were very ripe, the skin would crack and the seeds would peek through and tempt me beyond resistance. When I heard the story of Adam and Eve I could fully comprehend Eve's inability to leave that apple alone. If it had been just a tenth as lovely as a pomegranate, the world would have been well lost for all of me. And might still be.
In the late 50s, when I was in high school, we read local California authors one semester. John Steinbeck and William Saroyan were my personal favorites. In 1940, Saroyan published "My Name is Aram," a collection of short stories about growing up in the Armenian community of Fresno. So, the events of "The Pomegranate Trees" must have happened in the late 20s or the 30s. This was the story of Saroyan's uncle who planted a pomegranate orchard before people in California knew what this wonderful fruit was, and so went broke. And yet, by 1945, the time of my story, my grandmother had a line of these lovely trees as a back fence. How quickly things change.
Persimmons are the other delight of autumn. They hang on the tree after all the leaves have fallen, and look like a Japanese variant of a Christmas tree. My dentist in Stockton had a persimmon tree right outside the window of his office and I used to purposely make my appointments in the fall just so I could look at that tree.
This variety of persimmon, the Hachiya, is deceptive. It must be very ripe before it is eaten, because in its unripe state it is full of tannin and if you bite into it your head will turn inside out and you will bite your shoulder blades in agony. Dry! Land, child, the Mojave should be as dry as your tender mouth!
When I worked as a parenting coach, since I worked for a non-profit, what they couldn't pay us in money they tried to make up in other ways. One was more vacation. The longer I worked there, the more vacation days I earned. So, for a number of years I spent the entire month of November in California. I would start with a week with Julie, go to my mother's for a week or so, to Kate's for a week, and end up with Julie. I would buy Hachiya persimmons my first day there and put them in Julie's window to ripen, knowing that by the time I got back they would be just ready to eat. The first year I did this, Ted thought they had gone rotten long before they were ripe and threw them away. You have to let them get soft and jelly like. And then they are heaven.
Since the Hachiyas are a problem for some people, and don't ship well, a more popular persimmon is the Fuyu. This is the one that we can get in Juneau. It is rounder than the Hachiya and can be eaten while it is still crisp like a Braeburn apple. It isn't quite as sweet, but is a real treat none-the-less.
And this matters becauase right now there are pomegranates and Fuyu persimmons in my kitchen and I am in heaven.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Again???!!!???!!!
Richard doesn't like tuna and noodle casserole. Julie and I love it, but he just simply hates it. Since he was in most respects a far from picky eater, my solution to this was to let him fix something for himself when we had it. Eventually, I just stopped making it.
So, when Richard was 16 he went to Silver Lake Family Camp to work for the summer. While he was gone, Julie and I had tuna and noodles once in a while. After all, it had been eight years since I'd served it, and we were using Richard's absence as an excuse to scarf it down.
I expected him to return home on a Sunday. However, he got a ride home a day early, so he walked in as we were sitting down to dinner, took one look at the table, and said in the most offended voice imaginable, "Tuna and noodles?? Again!!!???"
Update
Julie commented:
That was so funny! Poor Richard. I remember it a bit differently...He was so hungry he ate a huge serving, and only when he was going back for seconds did he focus on what he was eating, and then he said, "tuna and noodles...AGAIN???" Funny either way.And you know, I think she has it right.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Potpouri III
Julie commented on Nothing New that she and Maya and Ted had watched Moonlight, which caused Maya to want to watch Buffy. And that reminded me that, for you vampire fans, Blood Ties is currently on Friday nights on Lifetime. This is a story about Victoria, a cop who had to retire because she is losing her day vision and is now a private investigator who specializes in supernatural cases and is assisted by Henry Fitzroy*, the illegitimate vampire son of Henry VIII.
And I got to thinking about Forever Knight, and Nick's car. Although the series began in 1992, Nick drove a 1962 Cadillac, because it was the only car with a big enough trunk for him to sleep in if he should be caught out with sunrise approaching.
For you Christopher Gorham (Jake and Ugly Betty's Henry) fans, the science fiction network is currently rerunning his first series, Odyssey 5.
It is definitely fall here in Juneau. Which means that the summer fruit is over for us, and pomegranates and persimmons not ripe yet. Of course, A&P has some scrunchy little pomegranates on stock for $4.99 each (and I used to pick them off my grandmother's trees!), but the good ones come to Costco in a big box of 20. Every week I call and ask if they are in yet, and when they are I will feast. Meanwhile, this is a great time of year for winter squash and root vegetables. I like to steam beets, cauliflower, broccoli, onion, red potatoes, and carrots together. Also a good time to start making soups and stews.
* The Fitz prefix to a name is a British variant on O'X or MacX. In later times, similar forms were coined for members of the English and British royal family, who historically lacked a surname, and particularly for illegitimate children of kings and princes (Fitzroy - son of the king, Fitzjames - son of the king James II of England, and FitzClarence - son of the Duke of Clarence).
And I got to thinking about Forever Knight, and Nick's car. Although the series began in 1992, Nick drove a 1962 Cadillac, because it was the only car with a big enough trunk for him to sleep in if he should be caught out with sunrise approaching.
For you Christopher Gorham (Jake and Ugly Betty's Henry) fans, the science fiction network is currently rerunning his first series, Odyssey 5.
The story revolves around a set of people on a routine spaceflight on August 7, 2007: three astronauts, a scientist, and a television news reporter. However, during the course of the flight, the Earth suddenly dissolves into a fiery ball, and explodes. The crew of the space shuttle Odyssey resign themselves to death, but a non-organic being called the Seeker rescues them. Fifty other worlds have been destroyed in the same way as Earth, but the seeker has always arrived too late to observe it or find survivors. However, this is the first time he has met survivors of such a tragedy. He offers to send them back in time 5 years (and therefore to present day, at the time of the series), so that they can prevent the disaster. In a twist, their consciousnesses are sent back and not their physical bodies, as physical time travel is impossible. They only know the name of the thing that did this: Leviathan.Each of the five crew members who returns is not only trying to figure out what went wrong and fix it, but to also deal with their own lives. Gorham plays Neil, who only his crew mates don't think of as a 17 year-old computer whiz screw up. The commander has a family to hold together, the reporter a five year old son to get diagnosed with a rare cancer in time to save his life, the woman astronaut must try to prevent her senator father's corruption from ruining her family, and the scientist would like to use the time to enjoy a hedonistic life, since he doesn't believe that they can save the world. Very well made.
It is definitely fall here in Juneau. Which means that the summer fruit is over for us, and pomegranates and persimmons not ripe yet. Of course, A&P has some scrunchy little pomegranates on stock for $4.99 each (and I used to pick them off my grandmother's trees!), but the good ones come to Costco in a big box of 20. Every week I call and ask if they are in yet, and when they are I will feast. Meanwhile, this is a great time of year for winter squash and root vegetables. I like to steam beets, cauliflower, broccoli, onion, red potatoes, and carrots together. Also a good time to start making soups and stews.
* The Fitz prefix to a name is a British variant on O'X or MacX. In later times, similar forms were coined for members of the English and British royal family, who historically lacked a surname, and particularly for illegitimate children of kings and princes (Fitzroy - son of the king, Fitzjames - son of the king James II of England, and FitzClarence - son of the Duke of Clarence).
Monday, October 15, 2007
Teach a Man to Fish. . .
When I was three and my baby brother Storm lived mostly in the hospital for the six months of his life, my mother's cousin Edith cared for me so that my mother could be with him. I saw her regularly until I was about seven, and then I didn't see her again until I was 17. Aunt Flo, Grandma Herndon, and I attended services at her church one Sunday and the potluck after. And when Edith walked in I recognized her instantly by the swelling of love that filled my heart. I wish I had a picture of Edith to show you. Love radiated from her like warmth from a fireplace. The 300+ pounds of her was hardly a large enough container for her generosity And the 100 years she lived was hardly long enough for the world to be so blessed.
Edith was a member of the Church of the Brethren. As were many of my grandmother's relatives, some were even ministers. There has never been a family funeral that they didn't attend, a time that they didn't support this godless branch of the family, or a single instance of their trying to convert us. I simply cannot imagine any people more loving and kind and gentle.
I tend to feel proprietary about the Church and am never surprised when I hear of something wonderful that they have done. They base their lives on "Continuing the work of Jesus. Peacefully. Simply. Together." They are not interested in doctrine but in making life better for people. They believe that there is enough to go around, and they work to make that happen.
A few years ago, a friend turned me on to Heifer International. I had been contributing to them for about a year when I discovered that they had been founded by The Church of the Brethren. Well, of course. It didn't surprise me, but it did make me feel proud, once again, of this religious side of our family.
Since tomorrow is World Food Day,* what better way to celebrate it than to learn about and perhaps contribute to a non-profit built on the idea that what hungry children need is not milk that is drunk and then gone, but a heifer, which serves as the foundation of a life free of dependence.
Heifer International
The Wikipedia entry has this to add:
If you are at all interested in participating in this wonderful work, go to Heifer Gift Catalogue
The children's book, Beatrice's Goat** tells the true story of a girl who, because of her family's gift of a goat, got to go to school and eventually became a teacher.
*The Food & Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the UN calls for the day to ensure humanity's freedom from hunger.
** I stole the image from Amazon.com. Obviously, you can't Search Inside here.
Edith was a member of the Church of the Brethren. As were many of my grandmother's relatives, some were even ministers. There has never been a family funeral that they didn't attend, a time that they didn't support this godless branch of the family, or a single instance of their trying to convert us. I simply cannot imagine any people more loving and kind and gentle.
I tend to feel proprietary about the Church and am never surprised when I hear of something wonderful that they have done. They base their lives on "Continuing the work of Jesus. Peacefully. Simply. Together." They are not interested in doctrine but in making life better for people. They believe that there is enough to go around, and they work to make that happen.
A few years ago, a friend turned me on to Heifer International. I had been contributing to them for about a year when I discovered that they had been founded by The Church of the Brethren. Well, of course. It didn't surprise me, but it did make me feel proud, once again, of this religious side of our family.
Since tomorrow is World Food Day,* what better way to celebrate it than to learn about and perhaps contribute to a non-profit built on the idea that what hungry children need is not milk that is drunk and then gone, but a heifer, which serves as the foundation of a life free of dependence.
Heifer International
Solving the problem of world hunger has been a heartfelt vision of many people, but the sheer magnitude of the problem has overwhelmed the most sincere individuals and corporations who are keen on vision but bereft of finances or logistics. Heifer Project International is the outgrowth of one man with a vision and a practical method of implementation that did not require inordinate financial underwriting. Born a native of Ohio in 1893, Dan West, a life-long Brethren graduated from Manchester College in 1917 and spent the next two years as a conscientious objector during World War I. After working for the Emergency Peace Campaign in 1936 he traveled to Spain in order to serve as a relief worker following the Spanish Civil War. Sitting under an almond tree one day, he also felt the challenge of feeding hungry people as ubiquitous images of poverty and depravation surrounded him daily. Thinking of his own daughters being healthy and well-fed back in the United States, he believed that he must start a process that could bring that same wellness to the children of Spain. But how? He observed that as fast as you give milk to these children they drink it and it is gone, and the cost of importing more milk was economically prohibitive for a war torn nation engrossed in a monumental recovery effort. Then one day an idea came to him. Why not bring cows to Spain and produce the milk here? Why not give each cow to a family with the stipulation that its offspring must be given to another family who would, in turn, give a calf to yet another family? And so on and so on! Somewhat analogous to: 'Little steps climb big mountains.'
The Wikipedia entry has this to add:
Today the organization is known as Heifer International and gives gifts of sheep, rabbits, honeybees, pigs, llamas, water buffalo, chicks, ducks, goats, geese and trees as well as heifers. As of 2006, these animals and plants have been distributed in more than 125 countries around the globe. Each gift perpetuates Heifer's interest in agroecology and sustainability..
If you are at all interested in participating in this wonderful work, go to Heifer Gift Catalogue
The children's book, Beatrice's Goat** tells the true story of a girl who, because of her family's gift of a goat, got to go to school and eventually became a teacher.
*The Food & Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the UN calls for the day to ensure humanity's freedom from hunger.
** I stole the image from Amazon.com. Obviously, you can't Search Inside here.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Gardening
Go visit Author Mom with Dogs and see the lovely pictures she has taken of her garden produce. She has pictures of her grapes and the squash she has grown, including Hokaido Stella Blue squash which she says may be the best new vegetable she has ever discovered.
Seeing her post reminds me of the years when I grew a garden, and how much I loved it. The peace and connection to nature that comes from working in the earth. The feeling of self-sufficiency of growing some of your own food. The sheer pride when you feed the food that you have grown to others. The fun of canning, dehydrating, and freezing for later in the year. The memories of a summer well spent that come when you take out the food you have put up and enjoy it while the snow lays on the ground.
I have not done many things that made me feel as calm and centered as gardening. Raising my children, teaching Montessori, writing, taking long walks, watching the eagles kettle in the sky. The list of things I love doing is longer than this, but that calm and centered feeling is very rare.
Seeing her post reminds me of the years when I grew a garden, and how much I loved it. The peace and connection to nature that comes from working in the earth. The feeling of self-sufficiency of growing some of your own food. The sheer pride when you feed the food that you have grown to others. The fun of canning, dehydrating, and freezing for later in the year. The memories of a summer well spent that come when you take out the food you have put up and enjoy it while the snow lays on the ground.
I have not done many things that made me feel as calm and centered as gardening. Raising my children, teaching Montessori, writing, taking long walks, watching the eagles kettle in the sky. The list of things I love doing is longer than this, but that calm and centered feeling is very rare.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Southwestern Meatloaf
Anna requested this recipe. So here it is.
Serves 8.
Makes great sandwiches to take to work for lunch. Since I am only one, when I make it I freeze half of it for another week.
* If you don't have any stale bread, fresh will do.
** If you live in a cold climate and have an outside dog, in the winter you can feed the bread to the dog to help with her keeping warm. If, like me, you don't have a dog, ravens*** love it.
*** When the bears are hibernating, I can just throw it out on my roof, but since I don't want to attract them the rest of the year, I save it in a baggy and then feed the ravens downtown.
- 1 pound ground beef, lean
- 1 pound Jimmy Dean Hot Sausage
- 2/3 cup Southwestern Egg Beaters
- 1/2 cup corn meal
- 1 can (4 ounces) chopped jalapenos
- 1 cup corn kernels
- 1/2 cup salsa
- 1 chopped onion
- 2 cloves minced garlic
- 1/8 teaspoon pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon salt, or to taste
PREPARATION:
Combine all ingredients and mix until well blended. Line the bottom of the pan with two slices of stale bread* to absorb the fat. Pack into a loaf pan and bake at 350° for about 1 hour and 15 minutes. Remove from pan, peel bread from bottom **and serve.Serves 8.
Makes great sandwiches to take to work for lunch. Since I am only one, when I make it I freeze half of it for another week.
* If you don't have any stale bread, fresh will do.
** If you live in a cold climate and have an outside dog, in the winter you can feed the bread to the dog to help with her keeping warm. If, like me, you don't have a dog, ravens*** love it.
*** When the bears are hibernating, I can just throw it out on my roof, but since I don't want to attract them the rest of the year, I save it in a baggy and then feed the ravens downtown.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Thoughts About Sunday Dinner
Mama likes chicken breasts. She doesn't like meat to remind her that it used to be alive, and white meat is nice and dry and bloodless. These days, she and Aunt Flo buy white meat only and they both get what they want and all is well. Or, if some of her descendants are coming over, she gets a whole chicken and roasts or fries it and that works. Because Forrest and I, not having been exposed to white meat in our childhoods, like drumsticks and thighs and wings and even backs. As Julie and Richard were growing up, I used the white meat for casseroles or else bought only dark parts.
Having developed my chicken taste towards drumsticks is fine if I'm cooking or if I'm buying parts at the deli. Even if I buy roasted chicken at the grocer, I get the quarter with the drum and thigh and I'm in tall cotton.
But if I want to eat chicken at a restaurant, they serve breasts. Or if I want to have an easy dinner at home, all of the frozen meals, from Hungry Man to pot pie to Healthy Choice this and that, is all white meat. Campbell's soup is made with white meat. Canned chicken is white meat. So, I want to know. What is happening to all those extra legs and thighs? I figure the wings get used in Buffalo wings, but what is happening to the rest of the dark meat? Does it go down a black hole? Get fed to pets? And how can I get my hands on it?
Having developed my chicken taste towards drumsticks is fine if I'm cooking or if I'm buying parts at the deli. Even if I buy roasted chicken at the grocer, I get the quarter with the drum and thigh and I'm in tall cotton.
But if I want to eat chicken at a restaurant, they serve breasts. Or if I want to have an easy dinner at home, all of the frozen meals, from Hungry Man to pot pie to Healthy Choice this and that, is all white meat. Campbell's soup is made with white meat. Canned chicken is white meat. So, I want to know. What is happening to all those extra legs and thighs? I figure the wings get used in Buffalo wings, but what is happening to the rest of the dark meat? Does it go down a black hole? Get fed to pets? And how can I get my hands on it?
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Congo Green Papaya Soup*
I've been in a bit of a rut about food lately. Everything I've fixed myself has been food I like (New Orleans Red Beans & Rice, tomatoes Kandahar, spicy tuna casserole, V-8 aspic, pico de gallo, southwestern meat loaf, zucchini lime soup, a few other things) but I've been eating the same few recipes over and over. So, I sat down at my desk and pulled out my cookbooks and went looking for something that I haven't fixed in a while. And found this, which I haven't had in the last three or four years and which is easy and which I love. It's fairly quick and inexpensive. And it occurred to me that some of you might enjoy it as well.
2 cups chicken broth
2 tablespoons butter
1 small onion, minced
2 large, green papayas, peeled, sliced lengthwise, seeded, and diced
1 teaspoon salt
cayenne pepper to taste (I use ½ teaspoon)
Melt the butter in a saucepan. Add the onion and sauté until it is transparent, then add the broth. Add the papaya, salt, and cayenne pepper and simmer until the papaya is tender, about 8 minutes. Pour the mixture into a blender or food processor and puree until smooth.
Update: Julie asked if you serve it cold, because of the ice in the picture. That picture is from a version that is served cold. I serve mine hot.
* Medaris, Angela Shelf, The African-American Kitchen. Page 29
2 cups chicken broth
2 tablespoons butter
1 small onion, minced
2 large, green papayas, peeled, sliced lengthwise, seeded, and diced
1 teaspoon salt
cayenne pepper to taste (I use ½ teaspoon)
Melt the butter in a saucepan. Add the onion and sauté until it is transparent, then add the broth. Add the papaya, salt, and cayenne pepper and simmer until the papaya is tender, about 8 minutes. Pour the mixture into a blender or food processor and puree until smooth.
Update: Julie asked if you serve it cold, because of the ice in the picture. That picture is from a version that is served cold. I serve mine hot.
* Medaris, Angela Shelf, The African-American Kitchen. Page 29
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Hopeful News
All my life I have loved honey bees. I've never kept them, but I've always had a good relationship with them. They will fly around me and land on me and, other than the wasps that got me because Forrest threw a rock on their nest, I've never been stung. I quite admire them. I like that all those busy little creatures are female. I enjoy watching them go about their business.
When Alison and I were in business together,we had there was a bee hive in the wall of our office. We would come in to work in the morning and find dozens of them on the window sill, trying to get out. So, we would get out our paper cups and playing cards, capture them, and walk them out the door.
I've been reading the articles about bee colony collapse, recognizing that without bees most of the produce we eat can't set fruit. This has been pretty bleak news.
Today there is an article on Alternet that gives one hope for the bees. What do you know, it may be that the bees are being overworked. Maybe we should take this to heart, not just for the bees, but for all of the animals we raise under stressful conditions. And for ourselves.
And why, with all the articles I've read about the bees, has no one mention before this that we are raising them like factory reared cattle?
When Alison and I were in business together,
I've been reading the articles about bee colony collapse, recognizing that without bees most of the produce we eat can't set fruit. This has been pretty bleak news.
Today there is an article on Alternet that gives one hope for the bees. What do you know, it may be that the bees are being overworked. Maybe we should take this to heart, not just for the bees, but for all of the animals we raise under stressful conditions. And for ourselves.
And why, with all the articles I've read about the bees, has no one mention before this that we are raising them like factory reared cattle?
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Peanut Butter Soup
Recipe
Recipe
Kay Dennison asked for the recipe, and so here it is. This recipe comes from West Africa, where it is made with yams and sometimes as a stew.
Ingredients:
Olive oil, to barely cover bottom of soup pot
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 - 2 cups cubed red potatoes, depending on how thick you like your soup
1/2 cup chopped carrot
1/2 cup sliced celery
1 leek, sliced (white part only)
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 cups chicken broth
1/3 to 1/2 cup peanut butter - the recipe usually calls for smooth, but I like Super Chunk
1/2 tsp curry powder
2 to 3 tsp lemon juice
1 to 2 dashes hot pepper sauce - I use 4, but I think it isn't hot enough if your ear drums don't burn and your eyes tear
Salt, cayenne and black pepper, to taste
Thinly sliced green onion, as garnish
Instructions:
Sauté garlic in oil over medium heat, 5 minutes, remove and sauté onion and leek, over high heat, an additional 5 minutes*. Add broth, carrot, celery, garlic, and potatoes and heat to boiling; reduce heat and simmer, covered, until vegetables are tender, 20 to 30 minutes.
Process soup in food processor or blender until smooth. Return soup to saucepan; stir
in peanut butter and curry powder. Stir until peanut butter is evenly blended.
Heat over medium heat until hot. Season to taste with lemon juice, hot pepper sauce, salt, cayenne, and black pepper.
Pour soup into bowls; sprinkle with green onion.
Some people substitute sweet potatoes, yams, pumpkin, or white beans for the red potatoes. I once tried Yukon gold - not a good idea. I have seen recipes that call for a can of diced tomatoes or cream. One time I took refrigerator biscuits and wrapped them around hot pepper jelly and added them, so that it was peanut butter soup with jelly dumplings. This would also be a good idea with chutney.
* Many recipes call for you to sauté garlic and onions together, but they require different temperatures for the best taste.
If you would rather have a stew, add a cup of cubed chicken or pork and run only the potatoes and broth through the blender.
Ingredients:
Olive oil, to barely cover bottom of soup pot
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 - 2 cups cubed red potatoes, depending on how thick you like your soup
1/2 cup chopped carrot
1/2 cup sliced celery
1 leek, sliced (white part only)
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 cups chicken broth
1/3 to 1/2 cup peanut butter - the recipe usually calls for smooth, but I like Super Chunk
1/2 tsp curry powder
2 to 3 tsp lemon juice
1 to 2 dashes hot pepper sauce - I use 4, but I think it isn't hot enough if your ear drums don't burn and your eyes tear
Salt, cayenne and black pepper, to taste
Thinly sliced green onion, as garnish
Instructions:
Sauté garlic in oil over medium heat, 5 minutes, remove and sauté onion and leek, over high heat, an additional 5 minutes*. Add broth, carrot, celery, garlic, and potatoes and heat to boiling; reduce heat and simmer, covered, until vegetables are tender, 20 to 30 minutes.
Process soup in food processor or blender until smooth. Return soup to saucepan; stir
in peanut butter and curry powder. Stir until peanut butter is evenly blended.
Heat over medium heat until hot. Season to taste with lemon juice, hot pepper sauce, salt, cayenne, and black pepper.
Pour soup into bowls; sprinkle with green onion.
Some people substitute sweet potatoes, yams, pumpkin, or white beans for the red potatoes. I once tried Yukon gold - not a good idea. I have seen recipes that call for a can of diced tomatoes or cream. One time I took refrigerator biscuits and wrapped them around hot pepper jelly and added them, so that it was peanut butter soup with jelly dumplings. This would also be a good idea with chutney.
* Many recipes call for you to sauté garlic and onions together, but they require different temperatures for the best taste.
If you would rather have a stew, add a cup of cubed chicken or pork and run only the potatoes and broth through the blender.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Peanut Butter Soup
One of the books that the Elves', Gnomes', Leprechauns', & Little Men's Chowder and Marching Society members really loved was John Steinbeck's "Cannery Row", set in Monterey, California in the early 40s. Characters in the book were based on people who Steinbeck had known when he was spending time there. The main character, Doc, based on his friend Ed Rickets, was a personal favorite of ours. And Doc, a marine biologist, liked beer. One of the other characters commented to him once that he liked beer so much that no doubt he would drink a beer milkshake.
No matter how Doc tried to get this bizarre idea out of his head, it wouldn't leave. Finally, one day when he was out of town (he somehow couldn't do this where he was known), he drove into a drive-in and ordered a beer milkshake.
Years after I read this I was living in Cupertino and I used to go to this little restaurant for lunch a lot. I generally ordered their soup and salad special, except for on Thursdays. On Thursdays the soup was peanut butter, and that was just too odd for me.
Except that, every time I would see that sign, "Soup - Peanut Butter" I would wonder why on earth anyone would try such a thing and shudder at the thought. And wonder what it would taste like.
I couldn't get it out of my mind. Like a beer milkshake, it haunted me. I would wake up on Thursday and wonder what I would have for lunch that day, since I wasn't having the soup special. Until, finally, one day I ordered it. Oh. My. Soooooo good. Peanuts. Chili. Smooth and yummy.*
When I told friends about it, I would say, "it was my beer milk shake" and they would not understand at all. They would look at me like I was crazy and begin to wonder if I weren't a secret drinker.
About eight years later, Michael, an old EGL&LMCMS friend from high school, came to visit and I fixed peanut butter soup and he raved about it and so I told him about trying it and as I was telling him about it preying on my mind, he said, "Right. A beer milk shake."
Ah, to be understood.
* The next Thursday I was so excited, all set for another bowl. But when lunch came, the sign read, "Soup - Split Pea". "What," I asked, "happened?" And it turned out that I was one of the few people who tried the soup, so they discontinued it. I had to find a recipe and learn to make it myself. And a very good job I do of it, too. The recipe calls for smooth peanut butter, but I find that extra chunk is much better. And I can add extra chili powder. Heaven. It tastes like Heaven.
No matter how Doc tried to get this bizarre idea out of his head, it wouldn't leave. Finally, one day when he was out of town (he somehow couldn't do this where he was known), he drove into a drive-in and ordered a beer milkshake.
Years after I read this I was living in Cupertino and I used to go to this little restaurant for lunch a lot. I generally ordered their soup and salad special, except for on Thursdays. On Thursdays the soup was peanut butter, and that was just too odd for me.
Except that, every time I would see that sign, "Soup - Peanut Butter" I would wonder why on earth anyone would try such a thing and shudder at the thought. And wonder what it would taste like.
I couldn't get it out of my mind. Like a beer milkshake, it haunted me. I would wake up on Thursday and wonder what I would have for lunch that day, since I wasn't having the soup special. Until, finally, one day I ordered it. Oh. My. Soooooo good. Peanuts. Chili. Smooth and yummy.*
When I told friends about it, I would say, "it was my beer milk shake" and they would not understand at all. They would look at me like I was crazy and begin to wonder if I weren't a secret drinker.
About eight years later, Michael, an old EGL&LMCMS friend from high school, came to visit and I fixed peanut butter soup and he raved about it and so I told him about trying it and as I was telling him about it preying on my mind, he said, "Right. A beer milk shake."
Ah, to be understood.
* The next Thursday I was so excited, all set for another bowl. But when lunch came, the sign read, "Soup - Split Pea". "What," I asked, "happened?" And it turned out that I was one of the few people who tried the soup, so they discontinued it. I had to find a recipe and learn to make it myself. And a very good job I do of it, too. The recipe calls for smooth peanut butter, but I find that extra chunk is much better. And I can add extra chili powder. Heaven. It tastes like Heaven.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
There Are Never Enough Deviled Eggs
A couple of weeks ago we had a potluck at work. Although the original announcement had been made the week before, like many, I had forgotten about it over the weekend. Then I was out Wednesday and Thursday, so when I came in Friday morning and read the e-mail that had been sent on Wednesday and the follow-up that had been sent Thursday, it was too late. No disaster, our office is right across from Rainbow Foods, and there is always something there to add to a potluck. I had just made this decision when my office mate, Jessica, came in and asked me if I had brought her dish. I thought she meant that she, also, had forgotten and had I remembered? But, it turns out that what she meant was that she had brought in her signature wasabi deviled eggs, and when she put them in the refrigerator, someone else had already brought a tray of deviled eggs.
Which reminded me of the church potluck I had attended in the early 80s where the minister, who really loved the things, commented casually that there were never enough deviled eggs at these events. And (you've guessed it already, haven't you?) at the very next potluck, there was nothing but deviled eggs.
Which reminded me of the church potluck I had attended in the early 80s where the minister, who really loved the things, commented casually that there were never enough deviled eggs at these events. And (you've guessed it already, haven't you?) at the very next potluck, there was nothing but deviled eggs.
Monday, April 09, 2007
The Good Humor Woman
When I was a hippy, living in San Francisco, there was a woman who lived on Haight Street who delivered erotic ice cream. Her name was Magnolia Thunderpussy, and there were ads on the radio. There was an unsplit banana with only two scoops of ice cream, which I think was named for some man, and a very naughty pineapple confection. It was wonderful to call and have this very decadent dessert delivered, particularly when one had a case of the munchies. They were, as I remember, rich and delicious.
Anyway, when I posted Granny's Boys I noticed that when I wrote it for Maya I had ended it by calling Merry and Pippin magnificent thunder pussies, so I had to share the bit of memory with you.
Anyway, when I posted Granny's Boys I noticed that when I wrote it for Maya I had ended it by calling Merry and Pippin magnificent thunder pussies, so I had to share the bit of memory with you.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Limburger Cheese
My father loved limburger cheese. My mother hates the way it smells like dirty socks. As a child, it was always my goal to prove to my father that I loved him more than my mother did. (Yes, Sigmund, there is an Electra.)
In order to prove that I loved him more, since Mama wouldn't even allow him to bring limburger into the trailer, I learned to eat it and like it. Of course, part of the reason that I could even attempt this is that I don't have a very good sense of smell. Nor, apparently, taste.
Just last week there was a story in the local paper about how the more taste buds you have, the stronger/hotter/more bitter foods taste to you. People like this are called picky eaters and are generally skinny. It isn't very healthy because it leads to deficiencies, since these super tasters find most vegetables bitter tasting. On the other hand, are people like me. Not so many taste buds, not such a sharp sense of taste. Love hot. Love bitter. Love sour. Lover pungent. Because these foods give us some sensation of taste. We aren't skinny. We don't lack vital nutrients.
So, I wasn't really proving that I loved my father more than my mother did. Just that I had fewer taste buds. But, science aside, it served me well. I felt quite puffed up in my own esteem about it, and for a four year-old, that is what really counts.
Neither Julie nor Richard can stand the way limburger smells, so I learned to enclose it in a glass jar when I put it in the refrigerator and to eat it when they weren't home. Years later I discovered that Missy (my small, gray cat for 18 1/2 years) loved it. Missy wouldn't eat any other people food. You could eat salmon or crab or prawns or chicken in front of her and she wouldn't seem to notice. So, imagine my surprise the day I spread some limburger on a cracker and she came running downstairs and nabbed it out of my fingers as I was putting it into my mouth! I soon learned that if I wanted to eat limburger with Missy in the house, I needed to give her some on a saucer. She was much faster than I was, and that first time was the only time I managed to get it anywhere near my mouth before she nabbed it.
In order to prove that I loved him more, since Mama wouldn't even allow him to bring limburger into the trailer, I learned to eat it and like it. Of course, part of the reason that I could even attempt this is that I don't have a very good sense of smell. Nor, apparently, taste.
Just last week there was a story in the local paper about how the more taste buds you have, the stronger/hotter/more bitter foods taste to you. People like this are called picky eaters and are generally skinny. It isn't very healthy because it leads to deficiencies, since these super tasters find most vegetables bitter tasting. On the other hand, are people like me. Not so many taste buds, not such a sharp sense of taste. Love hot. Love bitter. Love sour. Lover pungent. Because these foods give us some sensation of taste. We aren't skinny. We don't lack vital nutrients.
So, I wasn't really proving that I loved my father more than my mother did. Just that I had fewer taste buds. But, science aside, it served me well. I felt quite puffed up in my own esteem about it, and for a four year-old, that is what really counts.
Neither Julie nor Richard can stand the way limburger smells, so I learned to enclose it in a glass jar when I put it in the refrigerator and to eat it when they weren't home. Years later I discovered that Missy (my small, gray cat for 18 1/2 years) loved it. Missy wouldn't eat any other people food. You could eat salmon or crab or prawns or chicken in front of her and she wouldn't seem to notice. So, imagine my surprise the day I spread some limburger on a cracker and she came running downstairs and nabbed it out of my fingers as I was putting it into my mouth! I soon learned that if I wanted to eat limburger with Missy in the house, I needed to give her some on a saucer. She was much faster than I was, and that first time was the only time I managed to get it anywhere near my mouth before she nabbed it.
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