Local, Organic, Food (Part 1)

I don't know about you, but I'm still digesting a hearty, caloric, too-high carbohydrated, Thanksgiving meal. So one would think it would be unlikely that I would again be writing about food today. But, here I am, posting about food again, even though I'm not too interested in eating much of anything now.

Late in the summer, we received word about a benefit dinner, sponsored by Slow Food Indy, for local chefs who were planning on attending the biennial Terre Madre conference in Italy. We attending two of these dinners, one at a one of our favorite restaurants (R Bistro locally owned, local foods, great chef) and one at a farm in a nearby community where dinner was served in the barn. At both of these events we were treated to wonderful, locally grown, in season food.

I think that one would have to have been living (or eating) under a rock if one were either a foodie, or environmentally oriented, not to at least have an inkling of an idea about the local foods movement. But, as a consumer, one is bombarded by terms like organic, local, natural when at the grocery store and sorting out the marketing bandwagon hype from the local movement can be slightly daunting.

I don't think that I had really taken any time to educate myself about why locally grown is a good thing until this summer. I'm not an expert, by any means, but I have learned much in the last few months. For the last several spring/summer seasons, we've frequented the local farmers' markets. There is now one within walking distance from me, although I usually buy at a larger one that is in the same area as other places I go while making the rounds for my usual Saturday morning tasks. This year, there is a Winter market that I'll try, and there is small market stand that sells local produce in season that will be open this winter. There isn't much local produce one can buy in the winter months in the Midwest, but I want to see this place survive -- and Florida oranges are Florida oranges whether I buy them here or at the big-chain market -- so I'll continue to go there.

On top of the pile of books I've started and have been meaning to complete are Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and Michael Pollen's The Omnivore's Dilemma.

But, the event that I'm looking forward to most immediately, is a lecture next week by Alice Waters, chef at Berkeley's Chez Panisse, local-food, slow food guru, and originator of the Edible Schoolyard project. Waters is speaking at the Indianapolis Musuem of Art. The IMA's blog has posted a portion of an interview with Waters (here). I particularly liked what she had to say about working with artists:

The reason I’m interested in working with artists is to take food out of that ‘foody’ place and put it into the beauty of culture. Food is a universal language.

I'll be posting about the lecture soon.

Feast

Many years ago, I had a friend who always organized a dinner around Thanksgiving time, with all of the traditional fixings, but with none of the traditions or expectations of a family gathering. Only women were invited (my son did make an appearance as honored guest when he was 7 weeks old and had just come home from the hospital a few days before), and the intent was to just have a nice relaxing time with friends without any pressure for a ridiculously clean house, fancy table decorations, extravagant food, or bickering relatives.

Each year the hostess would assign each attendee a dish to prepare. It was always well planned, and there was little stress. I wasn't much of a cook at the time, so I think I always brought something foolproof, like fresh fruit, or a salad, or deviled eggs. But one year, the usual hostess needed a break. She agreed to have it at her house and would cook the turkey, but she asked someone else to plan the rest of the menu. The stand-in planner was not nearly as organized. She waited until it was close to the time of the event and then simply told people to bring whatever they wanted.

There was almost a mutiny. How was that going to work? So, she revised her instructions. Her assignments were a bit more specific: drinks, vegetables, desserts. I was assigned vegetables and decided to be a bit more daring than salad and settled on a green bean recipe that I couldn't mess up: green beans with slivered almonds. Hardly even cooking: beans in pan, heat, add slivered almonds, and, most importantly, put in fancy cut-glass bowl that makes anything look special. I knew it was lame, but it fit the bill.

I arrived at the dinner with my veggies in hand. I hadn't made too much, as I calculated that nobody would be very interested in eating them anyway. As I went to put them on the table, I started laughing. My green bean dish took its place next to several other vegetable dishes, each different in execution, but all some combination of green beans. Green beans with mushroom soup & onions. Green beans with pinto beans & almonds. Green beans with wax beans. Green beans and almonds and crispy fried onion rings, mixed with sour cream. Green beans & onions and almonds held together by something undefinable. Green beans in a souffle. Green beans in a casserole dish. We all laughed at the variations and had fun trying the different recipes even if it did make for a lop-sided dinner.

That is how pot luck suppers go; you never know what anyone will bring but it always seems to turn out. And so it is with my virtual thanksgiving feast.

Litlove tried to make a traditional US Thanksgiving meal, but she found herself short on two things: time and the ingredients for thetraditional American meal. She writes that she is perplexed by the American combination of sweet and savory dishes -- noting that only an unseasoned palate, like that of her adolescent son, would think it starchy potatoes and marshmallows sounded wonderful. Instead, she opted to roast a chicken, surrounding it with root vegetables in the roasting pan. Sounds simple, elegant and delicious.

Emily does a turn at being a food historian in her post on Sweet Potato Casserole, discussing the evolution of her recipe from a run-of-the-mill to a no-fail, crowd-pleasing favorite that she is asked to make every year. I think it sounds wonderful, and I'm planning on making it this Thanksgiving. I love sweet potatoes and don't usually add sweet ingredients to them, but I think this sounds like it will be something that the family crowd this Thanksgiving will like.

In a post that eschews the meat-centered Thanksgiving table, Stefanie writes about how she and her Bookman have defined their own traditional Thanksgiving dinner while staying true to their vegan philosophy: they don't eat animals or anything that tries to mimic meat. Her tradition is an enchilada casserole. It sounds delicious. Unlike a turkey, this isn't something that you have to spend hours preparing. Stefanie also contributes a vegan pumpkin pie. I can't wait to make this one and I love her suggestion for chocolate bits on top (chocolate can go anything, right?), though I think that I will make real whipped cream, an indulgence that I only do a few times a year and Thanksgiving is one of those times!

So Thanksgiving, this year, is more about rest and less about the food, Courtney writes. I think that is a recipe for a great holiday. I think holidays should be about rest, relaxation, finding ways to de-stress and to remember that we sometimes need to remove ourselves from the worries of hectic lives. Courtney's recipe isn't a traditional Thanksgiving recipe, but a recipe that she is thankful for. I think her Steak, Ale and Cheese pie would be great to make when you tire of all the leftover turkey (and the wait for pizza delivery on Saturday will be two hours), or to make anytime during the cold, grey winter months.

So my contribution? I've never made a turkey and I don't know that I ever will. It really seems like too much for a small gathering, and I don't think I could handle cooking for a big crowd. (Note: my family = big crowd if everybody shows up.) Last year, I shared two of my favorite Thanksgiving meal side dishes - cranberry sauce and the thing I make with sweet potatoes and apples. I have the cranberries to make the sauce, but I'm the only one in my extended family that really likes cranberries, so I think I'll just make it for me. Earlier this month, I posted a recipe for Brussels Sprouts and Apples. I'm bringing the Brussels sprouts, Stef's pumpkin pie, and Emily's sweet potato casserole this year. My husband is making his Corn Souffle (1 can cream corn, 1 can corn, Jiffy Mix cornmeal, some eggs, some sour cream, jalapeno -- I know this isn't a recipe. I don't know his secret recipe.)

So, what will I bring to this virtual feast? Although I already wrote once this week on alcohol (usige, whiskey, scotch or bourbon?), I'm bringing wine, just as I am in real life.

A tradition in my family is that we always have champagne at any holiday celebration. I like sparkling wines, the drier, the better. My mother, who is a very good cook who never skimps on quality, likes a really sweet champagne. She buys the really inexpensive, too sweet champagne you find at the grocery. Sometimes I feel like I should buy her a bottle just for herself because I think you should drink what you like and who cares if it isn't rated highly in Wine Spectator?

But, as long as I'm responsible for bringing the libations, I will bring something I consider good, compromising a little on the sweet/dry issue. This year, I decided to bring a Spanish Cava, Segura Viudas Aria. It is a dry wine, but has a touch of sweetness. I think it will please. When I was at my favorite local wine store the other day, the store owner convinced me to buy a bottle of a sparkling Rose of Malbec, Reginato Celestina. Haven't decided if I'm going to bring it to my sister's on Thanksgiving, or save it for hubby and me to share on some occasion. For table wine, I'm bringing one of my favorite, anytime wines, Red Truck Red. It's a blended California wine that is medium bodied and absolutely delicious. No need to be a wine snob or to spend a fortune on this. Best yet, in Indiana, which has weird and archaic beer and wine distributor laws, it is readily available in the grocery store. I haven't tried Red Truck's white wines yet, but I bought two bottles of White Truck White as well. It's advertised as not having anything oaky about it, which I should like. Last, although it won't be my contribution to the party, I'm pretty sure that we'll end the evening with dessert, and coffee with either Bailey's or Kahlua.

So, what are you cooking, baking, buying, eating or drinking this Thanksgiving? Leave a comment or a link to share. I hope you have lots to be thankful for and enjoy your holiday!

A Virtual Thanksgiving Feast -- Please Join Me!

Please join me for a virtual Thanksgiving feast. Here's how:

* Sign up in the comments for what dish you will 'bring'.


* Post to your blog the recipe for your dish. Be sure to give credit if it comes from a published cookbook.

* Send me an email with the link (an cam jong AT yahoo DOTCOM) no later than Sunday November 23rd with the link. You can also link to this page if you wish.

* Write a post on your blog on or before Thanksgiving on one of the these topics:
- A favorite holiday tradition in your family
- A favorite holiday memory from your childhood (or from anytime if you happily think that you can still have the joy of a child)
- Something that you are grateful for this year

I'll host the virtual dinner here on Monday, November 24th.


Suggested menu:
- appetizers
- turkey (or some other main course if you don't do turkey)
- a vegetarian option for the vegans who will visit
- stuffing
- corn souffle
- some sort of cranberry dish
- vegetables
- potato dishes (mashed, smashed, baked, sweet, candied, etc.)
- salad (we need to feel healthy, and some us will be)
- libations -- before, during, after dinner
- desserts of any kind
- anything else that you would like to bring

Will you join me for this virtual potluck? (or, as Hoosiers say, a 'pitch-in'). There will be prizes for best recipe and best blog post and to a randomly chosen dinner guest.

Food Find

I recently stumbled upon the blog 101 Cookbooks. A site started by someone who decided that she had too many cookbooks -- I think I have more than she did when she started -- is bound to be a site that I like.

I found a delicious recipe for Brussels sprouts yesterday. I realize that some may think that one could never use the word delicious to describe Brussels sprouts, but if you think that, I'd bet that you've never had fresh sprouts cooked correctly. I think that they are one of those adult tastes that most adults veer away from because they have horrid memories of nasty, bitter, overcooked sprouts that some old relative cooked and made you eat. Nobody ever remembers their own mother cooking those horrible mini cabbage bombs; even the cruelest mom wouldn't force her offspring to eat such unappetizing green things.

Shredded Brussels Sprouts and Apples turned out to be a perfect recipe for me. I did not use the tofu called for; (Warning: Vegetarians, close your eyes and skip to the next paragraph) instead, I used pork roast, leftover from the roast we had Sunday night. The combination of sprouts, apples and pork was great.

I didn't have real maple syrup in the house, so I used some pure Indiana Shagbark hickory sauce. It isn't quite as sweet as maple syrup, but it worked fine in this recipe.

I also didn't have any pine nuts in the cupboard, so I used a handful of pistachio and dried cranberry mix. The cranberries complemented the apples nicely, but the pistachios didn't seem to fit. I ended up picking them out by hand. The cranberries, though, added nice color to the plate.

Heidi's site is mostly vegetables, but occasionally she features some dessert recipes as well.

This site led me to another find: TasteBook. At TasteBook, one can design one's own cookbook, fill it with favorite recipes online, and then have copies printed and delivered. The ability to customize these books is really nice. I think that this would make a great housewarming present for someone with a new kitchen just begging to cook up something great.

Rhubarb! Rhubarb! (with pictures)

I haven't "officially" joined ExLibris' Soup's On! Challenge but after reading Emily's recent post on her experiments with Indian cooking -- and a trip to the Farmers' Market this morning -- I thought I'd play along in spirit with this post.

Farmers' Markets recently have become a big thing in my town. There are now two markets on Saturday either close to my home, or on my usual Saturday errand route. This morning, when I went for an early morning walk with friends, we walked to one of these markets. Today's market was crowded at the opening bell with joggers, bikers, dog walkers (and their dogs), young and old alike strolling past the 20 or so stalls selling a variety of local, fresh goods. At this time of the year, there are plenty of herbs, flowers, and garden plants for sale, but there isn't a lot of fresh produce at the markets. Asparagus is in season and it looked yummy. In addition to my usual purchase of shitake mushrooms, I bought some lettuce and a bottle of deliciously creamy yogurt from a local dairy whose products are organic & their cows are grass-feed. And, in an impulsive move, I bought some rhubarb.

I don't buy rhubarb often. I think I heard the Prairie Home Companion folks singing Rhubarb. Rhubarb. Rhubarb pie! I wasn't even sure how to prepare it, so I went to my cookbook bookshelf and pulled out a favorite book, Nigella Lawson's How to Eat: The Pleasures and Principles of Good Food.


I didn't realize that rhubarb is one of Nigella's favorites. Had I been so inclined, I could have made a rhubarb fool, rhubarb custard, rhubarb ice-cream, a jellied dish, a trifle, a tart, or an almost irresistible steamed pudding called, memorably, Pig's Bum. Instead, I decided to make a Rhubarb Crumble.

About 10 years ago, I started buying cookbooks whenever I traveled. This version of How to Eat, which is also available in an Americanized version, is one I picked up on a trip to London a few years ago. The challenge for me with this book: because it is British, the measurements are in metric. Being the ignorant American that I am, I can't easily translate the measurements. Since most European cooking measures dry ingredients by weight instead of volume -- which really is the logical way to do it -- this book presents another challenge. Try converting 120g to cups. There isn't a formula for that. But, I have a new kitchen scale so I didn't even bother. All metric for me on this one, baby. Well almost!

So, here's the recipe:
Cut up the rhubarb and the strawberries. The recipe called for 1 kg of rhubarb and I had only bought about 1 pound. I obviously didn't proceed far before altering the recipe, but rhubarb & strawberries go together for more reasons than color palette, so the berries made up the other pound or so. Add a couple of tablespoons each of caster sugar and light muscovado sugar. Oops -- second stumble: What is caster? What is muscovado? And to think that I used to wonder why anyone would want a computer in their kitchen. How insinuated Google and Wikipedia have become in our lives!


Caster is a fine white baking sugar and muscovado is an unrefined brown sugar with a strong taste of molasses. No Muscovado to be found at the supermarket, so relied on turbinated sugar instead (aka Sugar in the Raw) and the plain white processed all-purpose sugar in the cabinet would have to do in place of the caster sugar.

Add the sugar, orange zest and some orange juice (a "spritz", Nigella advised). Since I was going to use them in my dinner recipe, I used blood oranges, another Nigella favorite. Since I already had a reddish theme with the rhubarb and the strawberries, I thought the red juice of the oranges fit right in. The recipe calls for oranges, not blood oranges, but the strawberries were very sweet and I thought the tarter taste of the juice would work better. If you aren't familiar with blood or Seville oranges, Nigella writes that they can be substituted whenever you'd use lemon but want some more color. The color of them fascinates me. I find them a little sweeter than lemons, but they are definitely much more sour than your typical California navel or Florida orange.


The crumble crust was simple to make: 120g of self-raising floor, a pinch of salt, 90g of butter, cold and cubed into small pieces about 1 cm, 3 tablespoons of muscovado sugar and 3 tablespoons of sugar or vanilla sugar. I didn't have any vanilla sugar made either although I did have the beans. Note to self: make some for next time I need it. To spice the crumble crust, I added orange peel, cinnamon, nutmeg and cardamom. Cardamom is my absolute favorite spice.

120g of flour was a little less than 2 cups, 90g of butter was one stick with a smallish slice removed. One standard US stick of butter is 113g. To mix the crust, add flour and salt and butter and mix with your hands. In Nigella's words: using the tips of your fingers -- index and middle flutteringly stroking the fleshy pads of your thumbs -- rub it into the flour. Stop when you have a mixture that resembles porridge oats. I don't know how flutteringly I mixed it, but I did stop when it looked like oatmeal.



Keep in the fridge until ready to bake or in the freezer for 10 minutes. Because the fridge was full, it went into the freezer while I made dinner.

This cooking post is suffering from a bit of ADHD. Back to the rhubarb in a minute. Here is dinner:

Yummy fresh salmon


placed in foil packs, with 1/8 c lemon juice, 1/8 c sweet Marsala wine, sliced blood oranges or lemons, & capers. Spray the foil with spray oil.


Each fillet goes in its own foil pack. Fold up the foil packs tightly. Place on baking sheet. Cook at 425 for 20-25 minutes.



Prep asparagus. Of course, readers who are asparagus lovers know to break off the stalks near the end, where they naturally break. Spray the tray. Drizzle with good olive oil. Salt. Pepper. And -- the secret ingredient I tried today on advice from my friend S (the best non-professional cook I know) -- sprinkle with nutmeg. This adds a woodsy but sweet taste to the vegetable. Put in same oven for last 8 minutes the salmon is cooking. During those 8 minutes, drink a glass of wine (see first photo) and try to figure out what the hell Gas Point 5 is on your oven.


Back to the rhubarb-strawberry crumble: Gas point 5 is 190 - 200C. It took two math whizzes and me debating for a few minutes on how to convert to determine the setting. We finally settled on 375 - after the crumble had been in the oven for 10 minutes at 350 (my original calculation). But said oven had been at 425, so I figured it would all even out.


Which it sort of did. I baked for 30 minutes instead of the recommended 20-25. It probably could have cooked for yet another 5, as the rhubarb was crunchier than I liked. The crumble ended up being juicier than I liked. I think coating the fruit with a dusting of flour or cornstarch would have been better. I liked the crust a lot. Overall it wasn't bad. I'd give this recipe a grade of B- because of the liquidity. I'll try this again sometime with berries or apples or maybe peaches. Doesn't peaches with cardamom-spiced crumble crust sound heavenly?

Although this recipe didn't turn out picture perfect, I still like this cookbook and would recommend it to cookbook readers and cooks alike. Although the British terms can be new for the American cook, this book, and Lawson's overall approach to cooking -- simple, not much fuss, delicious and pleasurable food -- is so accessible. I think that the American version of this book, in addition to the measures, has been edited to include more familiar terms. The recipes are written in a narrative style, rather than an instructional, step-by-step style. While this isn't the easiest to follow during preparation, each recipe is interspersed with comments by Lawson on the taste, texture or appearance of the work in progress, or maybe with just an aside regarding something about the food. As I was looking for a rhubarb recipe today, I was sidetracked into reading her thoughts on food in season and which food she likes to buy fresh during certain months. Lawson is always entertaining, and frequently tosses in a comment that is sure to make you laugh. Like today, reading her admonition not to mold a rhubarb gelatin in a certain style of mold because, due to its dusty pink color, might come out looking "a bit gynecological". Ahem! This is not your typical everyday run-of-the-mill cookbook, but it is a cookbook you could use any day.

NYC Foodies: Need restaurant recommendation

Any suggestions for dinner in vicinity of 92nd St Y? Not looking for high-end dining (saving that for another time). Just a place to have good food in short period of time (not fast food, though) before going to an event at 92nd St Y. Thanks for your recommendations!

Just when I thought I wouldn't post anything this evening....

I could only think to write about not being able to write. I could write, I thought, about the book discussed at a book group I attended this evening, but I was too tired to be interested. Or I could write about a comment made there about how reading when you're going to discuss a book makes you read in a different way. I thought about how blogging does the same, but I wasn't going to say that in this group. Maybe I'll write about this some other time. I could have written about how blogging regularly was one of my resolutions, but I've failed miserably so far. Blogging once every 14 days was not what I had in mind. I could have just posted "I'll be back sometime. I promise." but that does seem rather dismal, doesn't it?

I was ready to shut off the laptop.

Then I thought about how last year, when my doctor gently told me I needed to lose weight, I asked him how much. This doctor is a 20-yr acquaintance; I knew he would be truthful, but kind. When I heard his whispered answer, I almost burst into tears. Not wanting to be embarrassed at crying over the shocking truth, I smiled and asked him whether I should accomplish this goal by amputating my left or my right leg. He is kind and a good doctor, but I'm not sure that he understands my sense of humor. Maybe I imagined it, but I think he actually rolled his eyes. I left the office and did nothing about my health. Then, following an accident, with my foot immobilized for 6 months, I was able to add significantly to that total.

I don't want to write about my battle with blubber, or how I'm failing all of my New Year's Resolutions. This isn't a New Year's Resolution, but a health resolution. Now that I can wear shoes that tie and walk more than 10 steps, I know that I need to take action about my health. I can't just try some gimmicky psych-out move, like thinking that every bite might kill me. Each unnecessary bite will shave more time of my life expectancy. I do plans for many things but you won't read this plan here, not even if Bloglily asks me to. I have (I can't believe I'm writing this) dubbed this effort the 100/50 plan. This year my doctor told me not to think about the total because I'd be too overwhelmed; rather, he said, set a goal each week of losing 1 lb. But, what do I do immediately? Calculate minimum number of weeks needed. The good doctor's motivational point was lost. But it is not needed. I am determined: 100 lbs by my 50th birthday. Without losing any valuable and necessary body parts and without surgery. 93 more to go. Don't expect me to write about this much here.

So what do I really want to write about? Perversely, this evening, I want to write about food. I saw this meme on Ted's blog. Why do I want to do this? Because it's 12:30am and for the first time in 2 weeks, I am hungry!

What did you eat/drink today?
Lean turkey breast, rye bread, milk, coffee, water, olives, almonds, lots of lettuce, more water, tomato, orange, blueberries, yogurt, a smidgen of cheese, more water, hummus, chicken, brocollini. Topped off with multivitamins and pharma-grade fish oil and more water.


What would you never eat/drink?
Eggplant. Do not tell me that I'd like it if only it were cooked a certain way. I will not. I also will never like peanut butter. Do not come within smelling range of me with an open jar. I will gag. Really rare meat. Cheap wine.

Favorite failsafe think to cook (if you cook) or defrost if you don't?
Pasta with marinara sauce. May be replaced with egg white omelets with fresh veggies and herbs.

Complete this sentence: In my refrigerator, you can always find.... Olives, mustard, pickles, leftovers that should have been thrown out last Tuesday, if the college kid is home, some sort of empty container.

What is your favorite kitchen item?
I love my large Le Creuset stock pot. I also am quite fond of my cooktop and the fancy-smancy coffee maker that froths milk. The acquisitions board tried to veto the purchase of both of these items, recommending less expensive substitutes. Admitting my fondness for these items in writing may cause me more grief than publicly stating I'm going to lose 100 pounds. Now that I think about it, I thought the stock pot was too extravagant too.

Where would you recommend eating out -- either on home turf or elsewhere?
In Indianapolis, R Bistro and Shanghai Lil's. Both are great independent restaurants with amazing food, friendly wait staff, and run by women chefs.

In Chicago, my favorite restaurant is Russian Tea Time. I love the beet caviar! Red Light is also great.

In New York, Haru for sushi. Roberto's Passion on 9th (around 48th?) for a relaxing, quiet Italian dinner at a reasonable price, Bistro 1018 at 110th & Amsterdam for a nice expense account meal. Walk down the street afterwards to Hungarian Pastry Cafe.

The best restaurant meal I've ever had was in Giverney, France at a little place away from the tourists. I think it was called Les Jardins. A lovely place for a leisurely lunch after touring Monet's gardens (skip the smaltzy house tour).

World ends tomorrow. What would you like for your last meal?
To hell with the diet -- ice cream, pasta, hard cheese, a New York Strip, Boeuf Bourguignonne, cheese cake, McDonald french fries, chili, oysters, chocolate, curry, my mom's tuna noodle casserole. Can I have two days notice, please? To drink: a few of my dad's whisky sours. Unless St. Peter greets me at the Pearly Gates saying: Your dad is right over there near the golf course. He has a whiskey sour waiting for you.

Pie Adventure

It's that time of year -- the silly season of too much food everywhere, especially in the office. Almost every company I've worked at throughout my career has had too much food in the office around the holidays. Vendors give gifts of chocolate, and nuts, and pastries, and popcorn. Long holiday departmental lunches are held. I've even worked places where some divisions held open houses for the rest of the company. Wisely, most companies have moved away from the days where these events involved alcohol. But food -- food is omnipresent between the week following Thanksgiving and New Years' Eve. No wonder we all think we need to begin diets in January!

One year, I was doing consulting work in a laboratory. Because of governmental regulations, food wasn't allowed in the lab building. Throughout the company's sprawling complex of offices, employees had many occasions for celebrating with food. The only exception was the lab workers, confined by the safety rules as their test animals were by their cages. I thought the solution that they came up with was ingenious. One day during the holiday season, a large conference room was reserved and people brought in food. But, it wasn't simply a throw anything you want into a dish and bring it to work type of an affair. No, that would not have been too much fun. Instead, the entire lab held a Bake-Off. Categories were devised, entry forms required, judges appointed, prizes to be awarded. On the appointed day, employees brought in examples of their best recipes while the management and those who only wanted to eat, not cook, provided luncheon meats, condiments, tableware and drinks. After the judging, everyone feasted on the food and spent time away from the lab bench with their colleagues. When I was issued an invitation (as I wasn't a regular employee) I looked forward to enjoying a nice afternoon with the people I had been working with closely for almost a year.

When one of my co-workers, Lisa, said she was going to bake pies, I joked that I would join her. At this time my culinary experience usually meant preparation that involved nothing more than opening a can, boiling a bag, or warming in a microwave. I wasn't even sure that my oven worked. I had admitted to the project leader that I thought the best recent food invention had been salad in a bag. Prior to that, if required to contribute something for a meal, I would dust off a beautiful cut-glass salad bowl that I inherited and then order 7 salads from the drive-up at Hardee's on my way to the party. Although I frequently ended up with scraps of lettuce in my car, nobody was the wiser for the origins of my salad. I was so clever! I had learned that, in most cases, presentation was very important in cuisine. I didn't need to know how to cook.

I shouldn't have joked about the pies because Lisa challenged me on my joke about joining her in making pies. I tried to exit gracefully by saying that I had never baked a real pie in my life. I had warmed or thawed some before. I was skilled at buying them at bakeries. But make one -- from scratch? No way! Lisa persisted. She coerced me into taking an afternoon off about 2 weeks before for a trial run. "Bring a recipe" she said, "and we'll stop at the store on the way to my house." So, one day, I dashed to the daycare to pick up my son, and then drove 40 miles in the other direction to meet Lisa at her house. I had emailed her my recipe and she had already done the shopping when I arrived.

"I don't know about this recipe", she said. "You've never made a pie before? This crust looks difficult for a beginner."

"You want me to make the crust too? Can't you buy those pre-fab?"

"If you're doing this", she said, "you're doing it the right way -- all the way. Besides rolling out a crust is easy."

"Rolling?" I thought. "What did she mean by that?" I looked at the picture in her cookbook and saw that she was making a lattice-top crust. It reminded me of sewing. I knew I was in trouble. The pre-baked crust and the can of Thank You brand pudding and pie filling looked very tempting -- and so much easier.

We set B. down with his toy cars and coloring books and we went to work. I soon found out I was working with someone who had grown up on a farm and had won 4-H baking contests at county fairs. She was also a chemist. Precision was her profession. There would be no shortcuts. There would be no omissions. Except for one: the recipe called for rum. A teetotaller, she didn't keep alcohol in her house.

"We can do this recipe without the rum. It will be just as good. Alcohol bakes off anyway, so I thought about buying some, but I didn't want to buy an entire bottle for such a small amount. We'll use extract instead."

Like I knew any better.

The afternoon proceeded. I measured liquids; I shifted flour; I cubed butter; I chopped pecans, all under the tutelage of an expert. I was instructed how to hold a knife, reprimanded for my lack of exactitude in measuring, reminded how to convert from metric to common units. Lisa was a tough teacher and a bit astonished by my lack of kitchen knowledge.

"Didn't you take Home Ec in school?" she asked incredulously.

I nodded. "I did better in the sewing portion", I said, aware that she was also an accomplished seamstress. "I sewed the dress I was wearing to the dress I was making. Most days I ended up wearing my pin cushion to my next class. I think they let me pass because I was in Honor Society."

She didn't believe me. Hours later, her kitchen covered with flour and spice, I think she understood. But, in the end, I had a pecan-cranberry pie with a crust that the recipe claimed was the secret ingredient. I did a road-test with the pie with my parents and brother as taste-testers. At first they were skeptical, not only because of my baking history (there is a family legend about man-made shale brownies....) but also because I dared to mess with Pecan Pie by adding cranberries. But, surprisingly, we all liked the pie. I was inspired. Maybe I could do that Bake-Off.

The week of the contest I was still unsure about my participation. Salads were welcomed -- "How else would we feed the vegetarians?" I was told by someone who didn't realize that I was not a carnivore -- but there would be no prize. By now, the story of my pie-adventure afternoon at Lisa's had spread throughout our project team. In addition to her other skills, she was a good story-teller and had embellished my trials in the kitchen. I had no choice -- I had to enter the competition. But, there were two problems.

Problem one: nobody told me that this wasn't a friendly contest. It was in its fifth year and people took it SERIOUSLY. It was cut-throat. In all categories.

Except one: Pies.

Problem two: Only one person entered the pie category in previous years. Joe's wife was a semi-professional baker. She made wedding cakes. She made candy. She made PIES! Delicious, beautiful pies. Joe was the only person allowed to enter the contest with food he didn't make. It was the only way they could taste his wife's wonderful pies. Since Lisa had worked there less than a year as well, she wasn't aware of that nobody ever thought to challenge in the Pie category.

The night before the competition, I decided that if I were to do this, I would go all out. I would add the rum. I went to the grocery store and bought all of the ingredients. I didn't realize that you couldn't buy hard liquor at the grocery, so I had to make a trip to a package store. I drank so infrequently that I wasn't even sure where to go. On walking in the door, I was stopped. I had forgotten that you could not bring a child into the store. B. had to stand in the doorway while I bought the rum.

"I want the smallest, cheapest bottle of rum you have", I told the cashier, thinking that they might sell something the size of an airplane booze bottle.

"Do you want it in a brown paper bag, too?, he asked.

"No....Yes....Yes. In a bag. I just need some for a recipe." I don't think he believed me. I could imagine what he was thinking: What kind of woman brings her 5 year old into a liquor store at 9:30 at night to buy cheap rum? I paid for my illicit and not very small bottle of booze and got out of the store quickly.

Back home, I put B to bed, took care of the dinner dishes, and began to bake my pie -- at 10:30PM. By midnight, I was ready to put it in the oven.

I set the timer and sat down to watch TV. Soon, I fell asleep. When the buzzer sounded, I wasn't sure where I was or what the sound was. It took me a few seconds to realize. The pies! I rushed to the oven to claim my masterpiece.

What a mess! The extra liquid of the rum caused the pie filling to overflow the pan as it cooked. My oven must not have been the same temperature as Lisa's, or the rum changed the consistency because it looked a little too well done, some of the pecans on the surface showing the first few seconds of burning. Or maybe I had been asleep for a while before hearing the timer buzz.

I set the pie on the counter to cool and went to bed, disappointed. There would be no competition for me the following day.

In the morning, just as I was headed out the door, I had a change of heart. So what if it doesn't look pretty, I thought. I knew that I wouldn't feel right participating in the meal if I hadn't brought something to eat. Those who were not cooking had already contributed to a fund for extras, like bread and rolls. Maybe I won't have to put my name on it, I thought.

I arrived at the conference room, my sloppy-looking pie in hand. I took it out of the grocery sack and tea towel wrapping. I felt a little conspicuous not having color-coordinated food transports like some of the women. I knew I looked like an amateur. I couldn't fool anybody. I wasn't a cook.

"You ....you made a pie?", one of the women said. "Joe's wife always makes the pies. Nobody wants to eat other pies."

I looked to the end of the table. There was Joe and his wife unloading bakery-perfect pies. Banana cream. Apple. Cherry. French Silk. They sat on lace doilies atop pie stands. She had little place cards with the kind of pie identified. Maybe they read: Perfect, Beautiful, Worth the Calories, Melt in Your Mouth Delicious. I don't know. To save me from my disgrace, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. And my unworthy pie. It was too late to withdraw. I departed in embarrassment, leaving my laughable, forlorn pretender pie.

Lunch time neared. I lost track of time, involved in the problem du jour. At 11:45, my boss Gloria and Lisa show up at my desk. Judgement Day.

We went to the conference room. The line to eat started at the door and snaked down the hallway. We were late, but the feeding line hadn't started yet. "They're still judging", someone down the hallway grumbled.

Finally, the competition coordinator opened the door, announced that prizes would not be awarded until 2pm, and let people in the room. By the time I got to the dessert table, I was surprised that there was nothing left of my pie. "Someone must like Pecan Pie", I told Lisa, "because nobody would try it based on its looks".

"Too bad I didn't get a chance to taste it", she replied. "I'm sure it was good", she said, trying to encourage me, as if I had a pie baking future ahead of me. I went back to my desk after lunch and thought nothing about more about it.

Around 2:30, I look up from my computer because I heard some commotion at the other end of the office.

"What?" Gloria squealed. "The Salad-In-A-Bag Lady won?"

"That's right," said Lisa. " The delay in the judging was because they wanted to finish the pie. The delay in the announcement of winners was because they created a new category for Joe's pies -- Best Looking Pie".

Lisa walked over to my desk and handed me a large Blue ribbon with calligraphied wording: "Best QC LAB Pie 1993", and a framed certificate.

"You forgot to name your pie," she said, pointing to the blank on the certificate.

"Cam's Award-Winning Holiday Cranberry-Pecan Rum Pie" I said.

That little bottle of rum made about 1o more pies over the next few years. The pies were prettier as I improved my skills, but I'm sure that none of them tasted as good as that first victorious pie.

Happy T'giving

I hope all who stop by here had an enjoyable holiday and took the time to be thankful for all instances of grace in their lives.

I thought about trying to write something profound on thanksgiving for today, but nothing I wrote felt right. Instead, I thought I'd just post some pictures and recipes of my contribution to today's feast. (Hint: it's not turkey!)

Cranberry Sauce, from Nigella Lawson's How to Eat. Lawson writes that this one is so easy, there is no reason not to make the real thing. Don't even mention that gooey pasty stuff in a can that is cranberry colored!


What you need: about 1 & 1/3 bags of cranberries (500 g if you want to be precise), an orange, about 225 g of sugar(200 g sugar = 1 cup), water, and Grand Marnier.

Mix the berries with the zest and the juice of one orange. The orange I used today wasn't too juicy -- so I used two. As I've noted before -- I'm not very precise. There is a reason I don't bake. Add in the sugar, 1 tablespoon of the Grand Marnier, and 100ml of water.

Bring to a boil and let boil for 1 minute. When you start, you'll think that there isn't enough liquid for a rolling boil. Don worry: by the time it boils, you'll have enough. After the boil, reduce to simmer and cook for 10 minutes.

Your sauce may look a little runny at first, but it will thicken as it cools.


Recipe 2. I have no name for this. I tried thinking of something clever and artsy, like Looks Likes Trees in Autumn. But the problem is Looks Like Trees doesn't sound too appetizing. At least not enough to suit this dish. So, my dish-naming skills being something less desirable than I want, I decline to name this dish anything. It remains: The Thing I Make With Sweet Potatoes and Apples. Also not appealing but it does convey a sense of being a temporary name, a "I'll get around to naming it something grand...before I make it next time" sort of a name.

So, here is the inspiration for the name the dish didn't get.



And here is the (almost) finished product, ready for the oven:


The photos don't do justice to either.

For this you need: apples, sweet potatoes (or yams), cranberries, walnuts, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and cardamon, brown sugar and butter. Slice the potatoes and the apples. I used Gala apples; a granny smith would probably work better. I used my fancy-smancy crinkle cutter. It reminds me of a most-likely not true family story. My grandmother always claimed that my grandfather came up with the idea for crinkle cuts, but somebody else beat him to the patent. Nice story. What I think it means is that he thought that it would be cool to have something that would give you a neat wavy cut on a potato chip, but someone else invented it. The tree reminds me too how my grandmother once claimed we were somehow related to Joyce Kilmer, of I've never seen a poem as lovely as a tree fame. Maybe related in that he was Irish, like my Grandmother.
I smile thinking about these.

I am grateful for my crazy relatives.

Layer the potatoes and apples in a pan that has been sprayed lightly with vegetable oil spray. Sprinkle 1/2 - 1 cup (to taste) of brown sugar on the top. (I actually use Splenda Brown Sugar Baking mix.) Also sprinkle: cinnamon, cloves (not too much!), nutmeg and cardamon. Throw some walnut quarters on top. Pat with butter. Cover loosely with foil and bake for about 1 hr. (Or in my case, after 45 minutes realize this must be the scheduled outage for the oven thermo control. Then realize you need to be a sister's in 15 and you have raw potatoes. Switch to other oven, at 500 degrees (because it won't get any hotter), and bake for 20 minutes to heat through. Forget to replace cover, so burn most of the nuts. Realize that this makes it look even more like the tree as the burnt walnuts look purple. Be thankful for two ovens. Keep dish covered so that it continues to bake after you take it out of the oven. It's ready to eat after about 20 minutes. Enjoy this sweet dish that is almost as good as pie. Your kitchen will smell like wonderful spicy for awhile afterwards.

The potato/apples/walnut dish got great reviews from the hungry crowd. Of course, it could be the sure-fire secret to anything brought to a pitch-in: put it in a really nice looking dish. It will taste 10 times better.

Of Islands and Oranges

My job took me to this island, the island of the City Like No Other, many times over the last 6 months:

As much as I love New York, I was more than ready to spend some time on a different type of island:

When I logged into Blogger this morning, I was surprised to realize just how long it had been since I posted to this blog. I composed dozens of vignettes this summer, mentally thought of writing about different scenes, sights, sounds and smells in NYC, but few have made it to paper and none have been posted here. Perhaps they will be posted in the future.

For now, I'm enjoying my time at the beach, listening to the surf pound, the birds squawk, and the occasional squeal with delight as the waves break around a child's ankles; feeling the warmth of the sun absorbed by the sand as I walk at the shoreline, watching the coral and pink skies at sunset, eating fresh seafood, drinking fresh squeezed orange juice, and -- what else? -- reading!

On impulse the other day, I picked up a copy of John McPhee's Oranges. How many books can you think of that are categorized as both 'Food' and 'Literature', as this one is?

Oranges is a thoroughly delightful work of non-fiction that seemingly describes all there is to know about the luscious orange (at least at the time it was published in 1967): where they came from and how the introduction around the globe of this succulent, sweet fruit has followed the courses of history; how oranges have inspired poetry and wars and been used as religious symbols in art and influenced architecture (think orangeries); how they have have been coveted as objects of beauty; how crop failures due to insects and freezing weather have wrecked havoc on the economy of towns; how the engineering inventions to make concentrated orange juice almost destroyed the market for the fresh fruit, and how an adequate mechanical means for harvesting had yet to be invented. After finishing the book this afternoon, I read a bit on the web on oranges. Consumption of oranges has decreased in the last few years. The acreage of orange groves has decreased since McPhee wrote his book 40 years ago although the number of trees and yields per acre have increased. Brazil -- the originating place of the navel orange -- is now the leader in orange exports, exporting almost twice as many as the US. But, apparently, oranges are still hand-picked in the field, a difficult task described by McPhee when he profiled the 'Orange Men' of the Florida groves.

One curiosity spawned by this book is the origin of the word orange. McPhee writes about the origin of the English word, evolving from the Sanskrit, then likely, after many linguistic transformations, being confused with the Provencal place name for the town that eventually became known as 'Orange'. In many parts of the world, there are two words for oranges, differentiating between sour oranges (like the blood oranges of Seville that are so delicious in marmalade) and sweet oranges. Sweet oranges in many languages are known as "portugals" because they were developed in that country. But -- and this is my curiosity -- what about the derivations of the word for the color orange? The fruit can be a range of colors. The word orange to represent the color wasn't used until the mid-1500's. In Thailand, oranges are as green as limes. Yet, the Thai word sohm is used for both the fruit and the color.

Did Western Europeans have a word for the color orange before oranges were brought to Spain by the Arabs in the 12th century? Or did they need to invent a word for the color of the fruit that grew in the luxurious gardens of the Alhambra? Apricot, bittersweet, coral, peach, red-yellow, salmon, tangerine, titian are all listed as synonyms for the color orange. Three of them, interestingly, are names for other types of fruit. In some languages (e.g., Dutch, German, Russian) the word for orange has a similar origin to the word for apple, as oranges were once called 'Chinese apples' by the Romans. As different as apples and oranges: whether fruit or hue, they are very different things on my mental map.

I started to read McPhee's In Suspect Terrain about 15 or 20 years ago. I never finished the book, although sometimes, when I travel through northern Indiana and southern Michigan, I think about the theoretical existence of undiscovered deposits of diamond pipes under the Great Lakes that I learned about from McPhee's book. After reading Oranges I think that I will read other books by McPhee. Looking to read "Literary" nonfiction? McPhee would be a good choice.