cook pot stories

Quote of the week

2012-02-14T10:15:00.000-05:00

No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary, a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, the wisdom of cookbook writers.

― Laurie Colwin

Be a beginner: Cooking class part 1

2012-01-26T11:50:00.000-05:00

This week was the first installment of a gift from my sweetheart, a six-week Technique of Cooking class from the Cambridge School of Culinary Arts.

When I first heard about this class I had some initial resistance. "Do I really need to spend that much time on basic skills? Am I not already a decent cook?" What I was really experiencing was resistance, that insidious force that keeps us from doing the things we most love. What I was really thinking was, "Am I good enough? Will I be the worst one in the class? What if I screw it all up and make a fool of myself?" Kevin cut through all of my questions and just gave me the course as a gift. "You love cooking," he said. "You're already a good cook. Go learn some more."

The first class was this past Monday. We focused on knife skills. The instructor, Dave Ramsey, was relaxed and informative, clearly enjoying the class and the opportunity to share his knowledge. Fourteen students with varying degrees of proficiency were guided through the different kinds of knives a cook needs, how to care for them, safety and more. Then we cut. We cut onions. We cut carrots. We cut celery and mushrooms and zucchini. We made garlic paste. We minced chives and parsley. Only one person in the class had prior experience and he, quite gracefully, helped out as needed with no condescension. The rest of us concentrated on curling our fingers into claws, holding the knife correctly and not losing any digits.

It was fun. And I learned better technique that I had previously been using. Maybe more importantly, I got over the hump, got past the voices telling me I'd be the oldest/dumbest/least skilled/etc. I was simply another student, learning more about something I love.

Next week? Eggs. I expect to have more to say about recipes, cooking and the fine art of getting over resistance. Stay tuned.

(c) 2012 Laura S. Packer

Be a beginner

2012-01-22T20:25:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow I start a six week class at the Cambridge School of Culinary Arts. It's an in-depth look at cooking techniques - we start out with knife skills.

Assuming I have any fingers left, I'll blog about each class.

Wish me luck!

Roasted garlic

2012-01-22T09:36:00.000-05:00

I was in the market today and came across a little container of peeled garlic for 78 cents. Now, I use a lot of garlic in my kitchen. I keep a garlic jar, purchased in Italy and made for this purpose, full of the papery bulbs. I enjoy breaking them apart and peeling each clove, seeing its imperfections and individual shape. I even enjoy the stickiness the comes to my fingers when I've peeled enough cloves that I know the scent won't go away with a quick wash at the sink. I like keeping the whole bulbs handy because they last longer. They don't lose their sting. Because I can touch each clove as I prepare a meal.

But this little container was alluring, the ivory cloves looking up at me. What would I do with 35 or so peeled cloves of garlic all at once? I didn't want to roast a 40 clove chicken tonight... Ah. Roasted garlic, so simple and with such benefit. I scooped up the container and spent my 78 cents. I had a plan.

Once home I pre-heated the oven to 350, poured the garlic cloves into an oven-proof bowl, lavished them with olive oil, salt and pepper, covered and let them roast. I all but forgot about them. It was maybe 30 minutes later that I peeked and poked. Pale gold and soft under my spoon with a darker brown crust, they were done. I let them cool, then poured them and the fragrant oil into a jar to wait for later use. And yes, I ate one or two (alright, three or four) while they were warm.

Oh, they were good. Soft and melting, the sharpness of the cloves mellowed into sweetness. The oil coated my mouth and my tongue, my senses whirling with delight.

What will I do with them? Smear them on sandwiches. Add them to salads. Use them in recipes where I want the mellow sweetness. Make them into jam. Crush them into mayonnaise. I'll use the oil on salad or bread, cook potatoes in it or use it in a marinade. On and on. And next time I see that little container slyly asking me to take it home, I will. Roasted garlic is so easy to make and doesn't last long in my home. Try it. It won't last long in yours either.

(c) 2012 Laura S. Packer

Poem: Eating the Pig

2012-01-20T09:16:00.000-05:00

By Donald Hall

Twelve people, most of us strangers, stand in a room
in Ann Arbor, drinking Cribari from jars.
Then two young men, who cooked him,
carry him to the table
on a large square of plywood: his body
striped, like a tiger cat’s, from the basting,
his legs long, much longer than a cat’s,
and the striped hide as shiny as vinyl.

Now I see his head, as he takes his place
at the center of the table,
his wide pig’s head; and he looks like the javelina
that ran in front of the car, in the desert outside Tucson,
and I am drawn to him, my brother the pig,
with his large ears cocked forward,
with his tight snout, with his small ferocious teeth
in a jaw propped open
by an apple. How bizarre, this raw apple clenched
in a cooked face! Then I see his eyes,
his eyes cramped shut, his no-eyes, his eyes like X’s
in a comic strip, when the character gets knocked out.

This afternoon they read directions
from a book: The eyeballs must be removed
or they will burst during roasting. So they hacked them out.
"I nearly fainted," says someone.
"I never fainted before, in my whole life."
Then they gutted the pig and stuffed him,
and roasted him five hours, basting the long body.

       *         *         *

Now we examine him, exclaiming, and we marvel at him—
but no one picks up a knife.

Then a young woman cuts off his head.
It comes off so easily, like a detachable part.
With sudden enthusiasm we dismantle the pig,
we wrench his trotters off, we twist them
at shoulder and hip, and they come off so easily.
Then we cut open his belly and pull the skin back.

For myself, I scoop a portion of left thigh,
moist, tender, falling apart, fat, sweet.
We forage like an army starving in winter
that crosses a pass in the hills and discovers
a valley of full barns—
cattle fat and lowing in their stalls,
bins of potatoes in root cellars under white farmhouses.
barrels of cider, onions, hens squawking over eggs—
and the people nowhere, with bread still warm in the oven.

Maybe, south of the valley, refugees pull their carts
listening for Stukas or elephants, carrying
bedding, pans, and silk dresses,
old men and women, children, deserters, young wives.

No, we are here, eating the pig together.

       *         *         *

In ten minutes, the destruction is total.

His tiny ribs, delicate as birds’ feet, lie crisscrossed.
Or they are like crosshatching in a drawing,
lines doubling and redoubling on each other.

Bits of fat and muscle
mix with stuffing alien to the body,
walnuts and plums. His skin, like a parchment bag
soaked in oil, is pulled back and flattened,
with ridges and humps remaining, like a contour map,
like the map of a defeated country.

The army consumes every blade of grass in the valley,
every tree, every stream, every village,
every crossroad, every shack, every book, every graveyard.

His intact head
swivels around, to view the landscape of body
as if in dismay.

"For sixteen weeks I lived. For sixteen weeks
I took into myself nothing but the milk of my mother
who rolled on her side for me,
for my brothers and sisters. Only five hours roasting,
and this body so quickly dwindles away to nothing."

       *         *         *

By itself, isolated on this plywood,
among this puzzle of foregone possibilities,
his intact head seems to want affection.
Without knowing that I will do it,
I reach out and scratch his jaw,
and I stroke him behind his ears,
as if he might suddenly purr from his cooked head.

"When I stroke your pig’s ears,
and scratch the striped leather of your jowls,
the furrow between the sockets of your eyes,
I take into myself, and digest,
wheat that grew between
the Tigris and the Euphrates rivers.

"And I take into myself the flint carving tool,
and the savannah, and hairs in the tail
of Eohippus, and fingers of bamboo,
and Hannibal’s elephant, and Hannibal,
and everything that lived before us, everything born,
exalted, and dead, and historians who carved in the Old Kingdom
when the wall had not heard about China."

I speak these words
into the ear of the Stone Age pig, the Abraham
pig, the ocean pig, the Achilles pig,
and into the ears
of the fire pig that will eat our bodies up.

"Fire, brother and father,
twelve of us, in our different skins, older and younger,
opened your skin together
and tore your body apart, and took it
into our bodies."

Quote of the week

2012-01-18T09:19:00.000-05:00

We are indeed much more than what we eat, but what we eat can nevertheless help us to be much more than what we are.
-Adelle Davis

Food Poem: The Tea and Sage Poem

2011-12-13T09:01:00.000-05:00

The Tea and Sage Poem
by Fady Joudah

At a desk made of glass,

In a glass walled-room

With red airport carpet,

An officer asked

My father for fingerprints,

And my father refused,

So another offered him tea

And he sipped it. The teacup

Template for fingerprints.

My father says, it was just

Hot water with a bag.

My father says, in his country,

Because the earth knows

The scent of history,

It gave the people sage.

I like my tea with sage

From my mother’s garden,

Next to the snapdragons

She calls fishmouths

Coming out for air. A remedy

For stomach pains she keeps

In the kitchen where

She always sings.

First, she is Hagar

Boiling water

Where tea is loosened.

Then she drops

In it a pinch of sage

And lets it sit a while.

She tells a story:

The groom arrives late

To his wedding

Wearing only one shoe.

The bride asks him

About the shoe. He tells her

He lost it while jumping

Over a house-wall.

Breaking away from soldiers.

She asks:

Tea with sage

Or tea with mint?

With sage, he says,

Sweet scent, bitter tongue.

She makes it, he drinks.

Bad foods

2011-12-10T09:01:00.000-05:00

Like 68% of Americans, I am overweight and have been for most of my adult life. It's been an ongoing source of shame and frustration. I am fully aware of the health and societal consequences and yes, I've tried and continue to try to do something about it with mixed results. I exercise regularly and eat a moderately balanced diet. But I've encountered what all the weight loss fads prefer not to admit: Losing weight is really hard. For many of us, our bodies like to hold onto fat because, in the whole of human history, we're more likely to have too little than to have too much. And "bad" foods just taste so good.

We are programmed to crave and enjoy carbs and fats, the very things that make us fat. It makes sense, evolutionarily, that our palates are tuned for the sources of nutrition that most effectively keep us alive when food could be scarce. It's our very abundance that's killing us.

In all of my weight-loss success and failure, what's been emotionally hardest is the guilt when I don't succeed and the frustration over labeling certain foods "bad." At the moment, I'm not interested in writing a woe-is-me post over weight-loss frustration. Instead I'd like to re-examine what it means for a food to be bad.

In weight loss circles, a food is bad if it has a high calorie to volume ratio. A small portion of something with a lot of calories makes it bad, be it sugar and other dreaded carbs or fats. I know this is a gross simplification, but I have come to believe thinking of foods as "bad" is also a gross simplification.

Yes, there are some things we just really shouldn't eat. Cheetos, delicious though they may be, have a lengthy ingredient list full of more chemicals than a cheese-ish snack really should have. But what about bread? Is that bad? Flour, water, yeast, salt, a smidge of sugar.

For some people, sure. Everyone's body is different. But I'm coming to realize that when I call a food "bad" I give it, and my appetite, more power over me. It's more likely to become a forbidden fruit or a vehicle for self-disgust should I eat it, than if I simply remember that it's a food I am healthier without. The food by itself is neither good nor bad, it's my reaction to it that makes it that way.

Instead of labeling foods good or bad, I need to balance my thinking. I need to remember that any food, made with real ingredients and a minimal amount of processing, is simply food. It's what I do with it that makes it more or less wholesome for me. By choosing to not think of food as good or bad, but as healthy or less healthy, dietary modification becomes less restrictive and more about choosing to live bigger.

(c) 2011 Laura S. Packer

Travelling - back soon with food adventure stories!

2011-12-08T22:09:00.001-05:00

I'm in Los Angeles for a few days, visiting family. I'll bring back some food adventure stories for next week, I promise! I'm sorry for the delay in yumminess, but I decided I'd rather be honest with you and give you higher quality content later than just churn out something now.

Thanks for understanding.

Food Poem: Perhaps the World Ends Here

2011-12-06T09:01:00.000-05:00

Perhaps the World Ends Here by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

Winter squash

2011-12-04T09:01:00.000-05:00

I love winter squash. I love the determination of the shell, the clever slippery seeds, the surprising variety in its taste and texture. It is one of my favorite winter comfort foods.

Late in autumn go to the farm stand. If you can’t get there, go to the supermarket, but be prepared to lie and tell everyone you went miles out of your way to find these lovely, eccentric squash.

Pick out a few beauties. Butternut, with its smooth, sultry skin. Acorn, with its seductive ridges. Dumpling, small and endearing. There are so many to choose from. Don’t let your squash lust run away with you. And only buy a hubbard if you have a good, sharp ax.

Cradle them like children in the back seat of your car. If you have a spare baby seat you may want to buckle the larger ones in. Bring them home. Store them in a cool, dry, dark place. They will wait for you.

When you’re ready to cook one, try this.

Pick your sharpest knife, for both safety and mercy. With as much strength as you can muster, cut the squash in half. Be careful - they can be quite resilient and you don’t want to get hurt.

Scrape out the seeds. You can save and roast them as you bake your squash if you wish - they will be lovely and delicious - after all, pumpkin is a squash! If you want to do this, pull off most of the stringy flesh from the seeds, toss with oil and salt and arrange in a single layer on a baking pan. Bake with the squash until they are golden brown and crispy, no more than 10 minutes. Let them cool a little before you eat them up, they can be vengefully hot!

Cut the squash into manageable portions - halve for delicata or dumpling, quarters for larger. Place them face up on an oiled baking sheet. Turn the oven onto 400f or so.

Some will tell you to use butter and sugar, but then you lose the delicate sweetness of the squash itself. Instead, rub the cut surface with a bit of EVOO, sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Roast until a fork slides into the thickest part of the squash flesh with only a little resistance.

Let it cool for a bit before you scrape the shell out into a bowl. Drizzle with a little more EVOO.

Eat. Savor the product of sun and soil, summer and fall, lingering into your mouth in winter.

Comfort food for a long dark night

2011-12-03T09:01:00.000-05:00

Here in New England winter has been slow in coming. Following a freak October snowstorm that brought down trees and powerlines, we had weeks of unseasonably warm weather that have been both lovely and unsettling. Warm days mean we’ve had a chance to spend more time outside, but we’re walking in early winter dark at 4:30, when it’s 65f amongst leafless trees. At night we see cold weather constellations but there are swarms of moths that cling to cars, follow headlights and flutter in confusion, thinking it must be spring.

I’ve been confused too. By this time of year I’m usually deep in cold weather cooking, making the things that bring me the most comfort against the chill dark. In this unexpected warmth I’m not quite sure what to do, but the dark, oh the dark calls for comfort.

Brightly colored squash and rich soups. Yeasty breads and roasted chickens. All of these speak to me of home and hearth, of warmth through the long winter, of companionship in the dark. The process of preparing these foods - the scraping and chopping, mixing and kneading, seasoning and tasting - and their long slow wait in the heat of the oven, brings me to the happily-ever-after once-upon-a-time of old women who offer magical feasts to travelers on a winter’s night. These are foods for long conversation and gratitude. They remind us of our ties to the earth, of the passage of our time on this planet, of the value of light in the dark.

What foods give you comfort? What tastes and textures bring you warmth and safety through the long night?

(c) 2011 Laura S. Packer

A month of sundaes: on blogging more refrequently

2011-12-01T09:07:00.000-05:00

I’ve decided to try to blog more regularly for the month of December. Really what I’ve decided is to blog and write more frequently, but sometimes setting a BIG but specific goal seems more achievable than a smaller, less specific goal.

Here is what I hope to accomplish from this experience:

Better writing habits
More engaged readers (you)
A better understanding of my own relationship with food and cooking.

To help me do this I’ve come up with an editorial calendar. Not to give too much away (hey, I need to keep some things surprises, right?) in general I plan to do the following:

Thursdays: Short takes (not short cake!). Links, quick observations, etc. Today is an exception, because I’m stating my intention to write more.
Saturdays: An observation about food, culture, my own life.
Sundays: A recipe that I have cooked.
Tuesdays: Someone else’s writing about food.

I’d really love to have your feedback. Please let me know what you think of any of these posts. If I say something you have a response to, please say it! Part of the appeal of blogging is to interact with the world. I’d love to know what you’re thinking.

As if all this weren’t enough, I’m also going to be blogging more regularly on my personal blog and my organizational storytelling blog. Check those out later this week for more information.

Thanks for the support. I hope I write something interesting or useful for you!

Cooking from cookbooks - corn chowder

2011-10-30T15:03:00.000-04:00

As you know, I have a cookbook problem. I've written about this before, about my tendency to buy cookbooks and not use them. Sometime ago I set a goal of cooking from cookbooks weekly. I completely failed. Instead I'm trying to cook from cookbooks regularly. Sometimes good enough is good enough.

The Yankee Cookbook by Imogene Wolcott is one of several I acquired from my partner's mom. She loved to cook when younger and all of her cookbooks are well used. It's copyright 1939 though this edition is from 1963. I especially love the subtitle: An Anthology of Incomparable Recipes From the Six New England States and a Little Something about the People whose Tradition for Good Eating is herein permanently recoded. Lovely! I am charmed by the interstitial comments in this book, including attribution and other cultural notes.

I made corn chowder, more or less following the recipe in this book. Here it is, with surrounding recipes for your use and amusement:

I replaced canned corn with fresh (since I had some from my farm share) used half-and-half instead of cream and skipped the crackers.

The soup was really tasty, but boy, was it rich. Recipes like this remind me that not too long ago, fat wasn't the enemy. You got your calories where you could and savored every drop.

I hope you make this soup. Or deerfoot chowder, or any of the other recipes on this page. Let me know how it turns out, I'd love to know.

(c) 2011 Laura S. Packer

World Food Day

2011-10-16T15:58:00.001-04:00

Today is World Food Day, a worldwide event to raise awareness of hunger and food supply issues. You may think this has nothing to do with you directly, but you'd be wrong. Ask your elders. Look around your city. Take notice of who watches you eat.

You can make a difference in your community and around the world. Sign the petition, volunteer in a soup kitchen, get educated, give a hungry person a meal. There are so many ways you can help. Nourish your soul; help decrease the impact of hunger worldwide.

Video poem: How to eat alone

2011-08-24T09:40:00.000-04:00

A quick note: I love eating alone. It's a great sensual pleasure and an opportunity to remind myself of my own value. Here Anthony Bourdain reads "How to eat alone" by Daniel Halpern. Watch it, then go have a meal by yourself and enjoy the pleasures thereof.

Sweet, cold comfort

2011-08-09T22:14:00.000-04:00

I have lately been feeling fairly stressed. While I'm doing what I can to mitigate it (exercise, meditation, talking with friends and trying to address the underlying causes) it feels somewhat inevitable that I'm drawn to comfort foods. I'm trying to at least eat relatively healthy comfort food, so that means I'm eating a lot of watermelon.

I've written before about watermelon before, so I won't repeat myself. Instead I'd like to share someone else's watermelon wisdom with you. Clearly, if I'm eating a buddha I can't help but find peace from them.

No wonder they are my sweet, cold comfort.

Watermelons
by Charles Simic

Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.

The sacred bite - oysters and others

2011-08-05T16:28:00.000-04:00

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."
- Lewis Carroll, The Walrus and The Carpenter

Today is National Oyster Day.

I have lately had a passion for oysters, raw and glistening on the half shell. Their brininess seems like the purest possible taste, the sea in my mouth, a gentleness against my tongue and palate that vanishes and leaves only a memory of the ocean. Yet I find them troubling, or, more accurately, I find my consumption of them troubling.

Let me say here that I eat meat (and if you read this blog then this is no surprise to you). If that offends you please stop reading now; I am not interested in converting you or being converted. I eat meat mindfully; I have been a vegetarian. I find I am healthier and happier if animal protein is part of my diet. I am grateful for the animals I have eaten and will eat. Equally, I understand that life comes from life. I must eat things that lived to live myself.

There is a thin line between eating something fresh and something still alive. We want our food to be as fresh as possible, so sometimes it gets pretty blurry. Most of the time we don’t think about it or, if we do, it’s in terms of convenience and flavor. Wilted lettuce will revive in cold water because of capillary action. Is it still alive because it draws water into itself? What about that tomato you just picked from the vine? As the juice runs down your chin, do you stop to think that a moment ago it was still pumping fluid, gestating seeds? We don’t think about this with vegetables because the line between actively alive and dead is more of a gradation.

With the higher animals we eat, the line is clear; dead is dead and tasty. Most of the time we encounter these foods that were once alive as dissected and wrapped, so we needn’t even consider their formerly alive states. Parts and cuts, filets and organs, all separate from the animal they once composed. Even if we encounter these animals as closer to whole before we eat them, if they aren’t moving they are probably dead and easily consumable.

Ah, but oysters…

It is inadvisable to eat a raw oyster that isn’t freshly shucked. To shuck an oyster you insert a knife into the closed shell of the living bivalve, sever the adductor muscle so the shells can be separated and remove the top half of the shell, leaving the oyster exposed. The shells are beautiful, the animal itself is soft, grey and immobile. Does this immobility mean it’s dead, albeit freshly killed for my convenience? I don’t know. Different authorities tell me different things. Some say the act of severing the adductor muscle and forcing the shell kills the oyster, others say it remains alive for a limited time. All suggest it doesn’t feel pain as we understand it. I hope not.

When I was a child and hadn’t yet developed a taste for raw oysters, my parents brought home raw clams and shucked them. I wanted to try one. As I slide it between my lips, my father said, “You know, that’s still alive.” I haven’t eaten a raw clam since; I say it’s because I don’t care for the texture, but I know it’s because the little girl inside me is still horrified. Now, I know that there is a good chance the oysters I so enjoy are still alive though immobile*, but I can eat those with relative abandon. How?

I think the key to eating any animal, barely alive or dead, is this: I try to approach it with gratitude and not take its life for granted. I try to eat it (and most of my meals) mindfully. When I can, I try to eat foods that were well treated before they died for me and I don't forget that this food was once alive. The ground beef came from a cow. The chicken is, well, a chicken. The tomato grew from a seed and stretched its leaves to the sky. The oyster filtered water and had its cool, secret life for years before it ever found its way to my plate.

I am grateful. And in my gratitude, each bite is richer, their lives given for mine. Each meal is a sacrament and I realize the oyster is as holy as any creature in the world.

(c) 2011 Laura S. Packer

*I know there are cultures that enjoy delicacies so fresh, so alive, that they are still moving. I am not judging these foods, but I think it would be a challenge for me to eat something still moving, were it not a matter of starvation.

Image: Girl Eating Oysters, 1658, by Jan Steen. Courtesy of wikimedia commons.

Seared scallops and sorrel

2011-05-12T11:38:00.000-04:00

I love spring cooking. My garden is sending up fresh shoots, the things I forgot about from last winter are surprising and delighting me. One of those is sorrel. I had no idea, when I planted it last year, that it would come back this year with such a vengeance. I've been at something of a loss as to what to do with it - I feel like a fool saying I have too much sorrel, when it's one of those things that is fleeting and delicate, but there you have it, more sorrel than I really can eat.

Then I remembered. Sorrel has a tart, fresh taste. Fish is complemented by tart things. Scallops, with their sweetness, benefit from tart accompaniments. And a dish was born.

My ingredients were:

butter (not shown)
about a pound of fresh, creamy sea scallops. If you've not cooked scallops before, or are worried about it, this video has good tips on selecting and preparing them
garlic
scallions, fresh from the garden - another spring surprise
6 or 7 big sorrel leaves
pepper to taste (not shown)

I peeled and chopped the scallions, including a fair bit of green, smashed and minced maybe 4 cloves of garlic (I like garlic), cut the spine out of the sorrel and roughly chopped it. I also removed the tough little muscle from the edge of each scallop - when you look at the scallop you'll see a bit that looks a little different from the rest of the muscle. Pull it off and discard as it can be tough.

I then melted about a tablespoon of butter in the pan, let it brown a bit then lightly sautéed the garlic and added the scallops and scallions. I sprinkled it all with pepper and tried to sear the scallops on each side. When they were about half way cooked I flipped them (carefully!) and added the sorrel.

The sorrel cooked down very quickly, much the way spinach will. As soon as it was cooked down I plated and enjoyed.

The dish was wonderful though I'm afraid this photo doesn't do it justice. The sweetness of the scallops contrasted beautifully with the muted tang of the sorrel. The garlic and scallions added depth and balance. I'm so pleased by this dish.

Plant sorrel in your garden or in a window box. It grows very easily and offers wonderful possibilities for all kinds of taste adventures.

(c) 2011 Laura S. Packer

Writing about not eating on a food blog

2011-04-21T15:31:00.001-04:00

I'm about to break one of the cardinal rules of blogging and talk about why I haven't been posting much lately. Stick with me, there's a point to this.

I have several unpublished posts ready to go. Meals in Tuscany, bread given as a gift, Passover foods, food related poems and link lists; all kinds of things. Each time I settle in to polish one to post, I get stuck, not because I don't care about the topic but because I have a friend who has an eating disorder. She reads what I write because she loves me and wants to support me. I'm concerned that something I write about food will be upsetting to her.

Friend, if you're reading, please remember that I love you and this post is about my feelings, not about anything you've done. My concern about upsetting you may not be realistic.

Loving someone with an eating disorder is like loving anyone else. You ache for them when they are in pain. You long to help them. You celebrate their successes. Loving this friend has taught me just how important it is to keep loving even when it's hard and how important it is to love the person, not what they do.

She is an amazing friend. I wish she could see herself the way I see her.

It's sometimes hard, since I love food and cooking, while for her these seem like enemies. What sustains me emotionally as well as physically seems repellent to her. This has forced me to find other common ground, other places where we can meet and share our lives. It means I have to make choices about what I talk about and offer her as comfort. I can't make her soup when she's distressed.

Eating disorders are so complex, I can't begin to fathom what it feels like to live with these demons. All I can do is love her. So I do.

She has given me so many gifts, both intentionally and unintended, including these: A deep reminder that life is precious. A reminder that if we can be half as kind to ourselves as we are to others, it's worth it. And a heightened gratitude for every bite I can take and savor.

Next time you sit down for a meal with your loved ones, look around. In that moment, give thanks for your health and theirs. Give thanks as you close your eyes and feel the soup swirl on your tongue, the cake crumble on your palate, the apple crunch beneath your teeth. Give thanks for sustenance, physical and spiritual. Then love those around you as much as you can.

Friend, I am so grateful for your presence in my life. You are loved.

(c) 2011 Laura S. Packer

Food poem: Cutting Greens, by Lucille Clifton

2011-04-20T14:12:00.002-04:00

cutting greens

BY LUCILLE CLIFTON

curling them around

i hold their bodies in obscene embrace

thinking of everything but kinship.

collards and kale

strain against each strange other

away from my kissmaking hand and

the iron bedpot.

the pot is black,

the cutting board is black,

my hand,

and just for a minute

the greens roll black under the knife,

and the kitchen twists dark on its spine

and I taste in my natural appetite

the bond of live things everywhere.

Lucille Clifton, "cutting greens" from The Collected Poems of Lucille Clifton. Copyright © 1987 by Lucille Clifton. Reprinted by permission of BOA Editions, Ltd.

Source: Good Woman: Poems and a Memoir (BOA Editions, Ltd., 1980)

Tasty links

2011-03-10T10:54:00.000-05:00

Here are some of my current favorite sites in the food world. I'd love to know what sites you enjoy, please let me know in the comments section!

Chowhound is my first stop for restaurant info, wherever I may be in the world. This is a lively community with highly opinionated posters. It also has cooking and general info boards. Chowhound is a subsection of chow.com, a broader food site with curated recipes, articles, videos and so on. It's also the home of Ruth Bourdain the bastard child of Ruth Reichl and Anthony Bourdain.
Like so many, I mourned the loss of Gourmet Magazine. The Gourmet website is great, with well written articles and luscious recipes. It's a bit sales oriented, so you do need to slog through, but I have found some real gems here.
Foodgawker is food porn at its best. Lovely pictures entice you to make even lovelier recipes.
food52 is a food community, with recipes and articles submitted by users and vetted by chefs.
101cookbooks is a lovely blog gone pro with a focus on healthy recipes.
Lastly, foodily is a social recipe search site. Enter an ingredient, a recipe, something you don't want to cook with, and a list of recipes with images and search suggestions appears. Nicely done!

The Oscars, a recipe and a terrible pun

2011-03-06T11:09:00.000-05:00

My friend Ilene hosts an Oscars' party every year. It's a lot of fun - witty people commenting on clothing, presenters and award winners. There are two contests at this party. You can win a cash prize (everyone chips in) if you guess the most Oscar winners. Or you can win the dubious Urn of Shame for your pot luck contribution. Everyone brings a dish related somehow to one of the films or people nominated.

I am both proud and dismayed to report that my partner Kevin Brooks and I won this year. We brought (may I have the envelope please) Natalie Port-man in Black Flan, a pun on Black Swan. A bottle of port wearing a tutu and tiara carefully nestled in cocoa dusted flan. You can see it for yourself.

I had feared flan would be really hard to make, but to my delight it was actually easy. I also think I'll continue dusting it with cocoa - the bitterness balances the sweetness quite nicely. The recipe I used included cream cheese, which makes it a bit more stable (appropriate since I was driving it across several towns and had a bottle of port stuck in the middle) but no less delectable. I hope you try this sometime. With or without the pun.

This recipe was inspired by several I found on the net.

3/4 c white sugar (I used an organic light turbinado sugar)
8 ounce package cream cheese, softened
5 eggs
14 ounce can sweetened condensed milk
12 fluid ounce can evaporated milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract - next time I may try almond extract or maple syrup

Preheat oven to 350F. You really want to do this early, so it's hot and at a stable temperature.
In a small, heavy saucepan over medium-low heat, cook sugar, stirring, until thoroughly melted. This will burn you if it touches your skin and will melt plastic spoons, so please be careful. Pour the melted sugar a 10 inch round baking dish (I used a pie dish), tilting to coat bottom and sides; scrape the pan to get most of it out. Set aside. I then filled the pan with very hot water to soak until I was ready to clean it.
In a large bowl beat cream cheese until smooth. I used an immersion blender. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, until well incorporated. Beat in condensed and evaporated milk, then vanilla until it's all smooth. Pour into caramel coated pan. Line a roasting pan or other larger pan with a damp kitchen towel. Place baking dish on the towel in the larger pan and place roasting pan on a middle oven rack. Fill roasting pan with boiling water to reach halfway up the sides of the baking dish. This is important as it's the hot water bath that makes the custard set.

Bake 50 to 60 minutes, until center is just set - you can poke a clean butterknife into the flan midway between the center and side. If the knife comes out fairly clean it's done. Cool one hour on wire rack, then chill in refrigerator 8 hours or overnight (I chilled six hours and that was fine). To unmold, run a knife around edges of pan and invert on a larger plate. There will be quite a bit of sugar syrup and a layer of hard sugar on the pie-pan (soak and it will dissolve). I then dusted quite generously with dutch process cocoa.

Yum!

(c) 2011 Laura S. Packer

Giving things away - 1970s cookbooks

2011-03-05T12:14:00.002-05:00

As you know, I've decided to give some things away.

You've always wanted to know how to make a Hot House, right? (It's limburger cheese with butter on toast.) How about Pumpkin and Cheese pie? Or Flamenco Veal Chops? All of these recipes and more are in this set of cookbooks.

As you may know, I've been helping a friend clean out his mom's house. We've found quite a few amazing things there, including a trove of cookbooks. She enjoyed cooking in her younger days and would pick up every free cooking pamphlet she could find. I love cookbooks and so have taken many of them for my own collection.

There is no way I will ever use all the cookbooks I have.

This selection of cookbooks is from my friend's mom. You might enjoy the recipes, you might enjoy the astonishing 1960s and 1970s illustrations. I can't wait to see how dated our 2011 graphics look in 40 years.

This package includes:

100 Ways to Be Original In All Your Cooking (by Lea & Perrins Worcestershire)
Great Food and Drink Inspired by the Taste of the Renaissance (by Amaretto di Saronno)
Recipes for Cheese with California Wines
Your Amaretto do Saronno Gourmet Secrets
The Calvert Party Encyclopedia (includes asparagus loaf!)
Salignac, The Unstuffy Cognac, Recipes

Come on, doesn't this sound like fun? Let me know why you want these treasures from my friend's mom in the comments section; make sure I have a way to reach you. . I can't wait to share them with you!

On my other blog I'm giving away a set of dominos based on The Little Prince. Take a look!

Giving things away

2011-03-03T12:00:00.000-05:00

image courtesy of myrpgame.com

I’ve been thinking about stuff lately. You know, stuff. The accretion of physical objects that leak into our lives, become precious and then become anchors to where we are and who we were.

I’d like to have less stuff, but I’m awfully attached to it. This worries me.

As you may know, I’ve been helping a friend clean out his mother’s home – she is a compulsive hoarder – so I have some idea of what can happen when we hold on too tightly to all the stuff in our lives. I’ve been thinking about how to get rid of some of my stuff and have some ideas.

Throw it away. Rent a dumpster and have a wholesale disposal party. I know a couple who had to do this when they moved (they didn’t plan well and ended up with more than they could take with no time left to give it away or sell it) and it broke their hearts. I don’t want to do this.
Sell it in the local paper, craigslist or eBay. Some of this stuff is undoubtedly valuable. I have offered some of it for sale, with mixed results. Honestly, I find this kind of selling to be generally more trouble than it’s worth.
Give it away via freecycle. I’ve done some of this, but have had some frustration with unreliable pick-ups and so on. I’ll do so again, but I don’t have the time to answer 400 items about a pair of socks.
Sort through it and give it to a worthy charitable organization. I can also give it away directly, offering sweaters to homeless people and books to schools. I have done this and find it satisfying; I will do so again.

All of these methods help with most of what I want to get rid of, but they don’t help with sentimental items, those things I no longer need or use but can’t bear to just put in a bag.

This is where you come in. I’d like to give you some of the things that come with stories attached. By giving them to you, I can tell myself they will be used and appreciated. I’m going to do this here and on my other blog over the next several weeks (I’ll give away more general items there; here I’m focusing on things related to food). This ties in with my increasing interest in the value of a giving things away in general, be it content, time or product.

Every Saturday I’ll post an item and its story. If you want the item please tell me in the comments section. Let me know why you’d like it, why it interests you, what you might do with it. A sentence or two will do. Make sure I have a way to contact you. I’ll pay for shipping within the U.S. Once you get the item, if you’re so inclined, post a comment and let me know how you’ll use it. This isn’t necessarily first-come-first-served. The best story gets the prize.

Just so you know, here are some of the things I’m thinking of offering here and on my other blog:

Old cookbooks and recipe booklets
Fabric
Jewelry
Beads
Books I have loved and would like to share
Paper ephemera
Music I have loved and would like to share
Etc.

If there is interest in this I think it would make a neat series. Thanks for helping me out. I’ll feel better, knowing the things I’m giving away are going to people who will appreciate them, people I have some connection with. And you will have a story and a new thing to play with. Check back on Saturday here and here for the first offering.

(c)2011 Laura S. Packer

Spice n Hot Indian Restaurant

2011-02-17T16:47:00.000-05:00

I rarely post restaurant reviews here. I keep meaning to, thinking a food blog should include commentary on the places I eat as well as what I cook and the stories triggered by the meals, but I usually forget.

Today I remembered.

I had lunch with my friend Elsa today. We often spend Thursdays together in what we call "play dates." We'll each set a few goals regarding what we want to get done, work in the same house but not necessarily the same room, check in and help each other stay on track, and go someplace for lunch.

Today we went to Spice n Hot Indian Restaurant in Malden, MA. We walked, since it's a lovely day and the air is finally starting to smell like spring. As we walked we admired the temporary streams and springs from the melting mounds of snow. We smelled the earth, listened to the birds and agreed that it was a good day to be alive.

Spice n Hot is next door to India Bazaar, an Indian grocery. I've been a regular customer at India Bazaar for years, it's a sweet little store, a family-run business. The same family runs Spice n Hot. When you eat in you'll see the chef/proprietor run next door if he needs a particular ingredient. The shopkeeper will walk in for lunch. It's a nice sense of family.

The restaurant itself is quite small, with three full-sized and two half-sized booths. Most of the clientele are Indian (today we ate next to a mother, grandmother and grand-daughter). The food, as you can see in the picture, is lacking in presentation, but makes up for that in taste.

I've enjoyed everything I've eaten there. Considering it's a one-man operation, the menu is fairly comprehensive; there are always specials on the walls not listed in the print out. Because there's only one cook, the food can take a little while to arrive (15 minutes today, with a few other patrons in-house) but it's hot and fresh when you get it.

We ordered papdum, chicken and spinach and a paneer (cheese) tandoori special dish in a red sauce. We ordered our food medium - other times I've ordered spicy and it was more than my palate could bear.

The papadum was crisp and accompanied by onion chutney. The entrees came with plates of tender saffron basmati rice. The chicken and spinach was breast meat in a typical palak mix - nicely seasoned and smooth with tinges of cumin. The paneer tandoori was my favorite. The cheese cubes were tender and fresh, the sauce very rich and flavorful. It had wonderful mouth feel; ghee was clearly an ingredient in the mix.

I'd urge you to visit Spice n Hot should you be in the neighborhood. You'll support a local restaurant, get a glimpse into the local community and have a good meal, all at the same time!

(c) 2011 Laura Packer

The bite on my tongue, the story in my mouth

2011-01-23T12:55:00.001-05:00

Oh, I love seasonings. It's a bad habit, really, I pick up spices whenever I'm in a shop with ingredients new to me, regardless of whether or not I know what they are or how to use them. I'll close my eyes and luxuriate in the scent of a new blend, the texture on my tongue. I'll imagine how I can use it. Sometimes I'll take the time to look it up, but honestly more often than not I plunge ahead and try it. Often it works. Occasionally it leads to a spectacular failure.

When I moved into my current home, I first unpacked my books. Then I unpacked my spices, stacking them and organizing them. Soon my kitchen smelled right, the spice cabinet a chamber of mysteries, unlabeled bottled and bags clustered with store bought tins. The organization quickly fell into a tumble, the most frequently used items eclipsing the others, but I still venture into the cabinet, reach towards the back and find treasure.

Every time I open the spice cabinet I imagine I'm an explorer, a trader on the spice routes, the scent of pepper and nutmeg, cinnamon and grains of paradise mingling with camel and blowing sand. I look at the fortune therein and remember that it once was not only for flavor but for life, as so many of these seasonings were medicinal. The scent suggests possibility to me and reminds me to be grateful for these tastes and textures. I don't have to pay a dowry in salt, I instead use it to season my food. Pepper is a pleasant bite on my tongue, not a cure-all for what ails me.

Every bottle contains a story. Where I found the seasoning. How my mother taught me to use it. The scent of the places I long to visit. The fairy tale where it becomes more valuable than gold. The blood spilled to bring this flavor to the new world. The belief that this taste would bring your true love home. Each time I open a container I become more than a home cook, I am blending together the ingredients that build the world.

What are your favorite spices? Where do they take you? Do you dream in cumin?

(c) 2011 Laura S. Packer

Scallops in a sake reduction

2011-01-15T12:28:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I picked up some lovely bay scallops at Whole Foods. I wanted to honor their loveliness, all creamy smooth and shining, and I had lemongrass in the fridge, so I did some digging for some kind of recipe that combined scallops and lemongrass. I found a recipe from Caprial and John's Kitchen, a cooking school and catering firm in Oregon, but I didn't have quite the right ingredients in the house. I improvised. Boy, did it turn out well. I am grateful to Caprial and John for sharing the recipe that inspired me.

If you've not used lemongrass before, try this tip. Bend the entire stalk. Cut it at the point where it bends, the same way you would asparagus. Cur off the botton quarter inch or so and peel off the outer layer. Smell it, close your eyes and savor the incongruity of the finest lemon you've ever sniffed from a woody stalk. Imagine it growing. Be grateful. Now take the flat of your knife and whack the stalk a few times until it cracks a bit; this softens the fibers and releases more of the aroma. Chop the stalk into thin slices and set aside for use.

Place 1c sake (cheap is fine), 4 cloves garlic, 2 chopped stalks lemongrass and about 2t grated ginger in a saucepan. Simmer until about 1/4 of liquid is left. Add 2 cups fish stock (you could sub in chicken stock) and 1/2 of a bird chile you've seeded. This is important. If you leave the seeds in the whole thing will be terribly hot. Sinner again until you have about 1 cup left. Whisk in 2T melted butter, bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, then add 1/4t fish sauce. Taste and decide if you want to add a little more, then strain the whole thing and set the liquid aside. Keep it warm. Discard or compost the solids.

Sear about a pound of scallops in a heavy pan, coated with a little oil. Season then with a bit of salt and fresh pepper. Don't overcook them, break one open after a minute or two and see if the inside is just creamy, not transparent. If so, it's done.

Plate the scallops (I put them on a bed of baby spinach) pour some of the sauce on top. Close your eyes. Enjoy.

(c) 2011 Laura S. Packer

The perils of cooking

2010-12-14T16:56:00.000-05:00

This makes me smile every time.

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Better than I expected!

2010-12-05T22:22:00.000-05:00

You know how sometimes you have an idea for a dish and it just doesn't work? I chalk those episodes up to educational moments. I learn something each time I fail. Equally, I learn when I succeed. And I get to do happy dances.

I recently had an idea for a seafood dish reminiscent of cioppino, but as usual I wasn't planning on following any real recipe. It worked beautifully and I'm still feeling smug, especially as this was a birthday dinner for a friend. Perhaps that means I really should have followed a recipe and I was just lucky.

I gathered together my ingredients:

peeled and deveined shrimp
cherrystone clams
chopped pepper, onion and garlic
chopped chorizo
chopped palm hearts
chopped tomatoes
a can of stewed tomatoes
a can of chopped clams
a can of seafood broth

I sauteed the peppers, onions and garlic, then added in sequence, letting it cook for a bit each time:

the sausage
the palm hearts
the tomatoes along with some basil and pepper
the broth and canned tomato
the shrimp and clams

I let the whole mess cook until the clams were open and ta-da! it was done and delicious. I served it on rice and felt unutterably pleased with myself. Frankly, I still do.

My friend enjoyed his birthday dinner and I was reminded that taking a risk and trusting my palate is sometimes exactly the right thing to do.

I'd love to know about some of your unexpected successes. It's sometimes easier to tell the disaster stories; when has a dish worked beyond your wildest expectations?

The taste of summer

2010-08-28T22:39:00.000-04:00

For some people summer means grilling or soft ice cream. For me, it's all about the watermelon. Maybe it's a bit late, writing about summer tastes in late August, but now is the time that I become sentimental for what will vanish in just a few weeks.

I love watermelon. I'm not the only one. Watermelon originated in southern Africa; watermelon seeds were found in Tutankhamen's tomb. It makes sense that these melons evolved in southern Africa; they hold immense amounts of water (92%) and as they over-ripen they crack open, giving the seeds a wet, lucsious place within which to take root. There are stories about watermelon from around the world, ruminations on sweetness and bitterness, Anansi tales where he pretends to be a talking melon, and more.

When I eat watermelon in the summer I am at once a kid again, longing for seeds to spit (curse these seedless watermelons!) and an adult indulging in a forbidden sweet. I love the varied texture and clean sweetness. And I love sprinkling it with salt or feta for one of my favorite taste combinations, sweet and salty.

What's you favorite watermelon tip? I've heard about grilling it but haven't been able to resist it long enough to get it downstairs to the grill. For that matter, what tastes like summer to you?

(c) 2010 Laura Packer

Bread of peace

2010-08-17T09:42:00.000-04:00

Ramadan began this week. I am not Muslim but I respect this religion, as I do most faiths. In the US these days there is growing anti-Muslim sentiment that I find quite distressing; judging a person based solely on their religion is no better than judging them based on the color of their skin or their ethnic heritage. Some of the hate-speech I've heard sounds awfully similar to what was bandied about in Nazi Germany. This nation that was founded on religious tolerance is slipping into a fearful state, where someone will be condemned because of their faith. How dreadfully sad and frightening.

Ramadan is an amazing statement of faith and humility. For a month everyone becomes equal - all are hungry and thirsty. All have the opportunity to pray for forgiveness. All have a specific opportunity to be kind.

As I said, I am not Muslim. I am Jewish. I have fasted for various religious holidays and have an appreciation for the clarity it can bring. And for the succulence of the meal that breaks the fast.

I am fortunate enough to live in a multi-ethnic neighborhood; recently a Moroccan market opened, with the scent of rosewater and the scrape of ceramic tagines. I stopped in a few days ago and spoke with the proprietor, a kind and friendly man. We spoke of Ramadan. And of Yom Kippur. And how the differences between his family and mine are really quite trivial. A woman in a hijab was listening to our conversation and, as we began talking about what we eat when we break fast, she said, "You must try this," pointing to a plate of flatbread covered in plastic. The proprietor nodded and pulled out a piece for me to eat. "She makes this," he said, and she preened, "I stick it in the oven with butter and honey. It tastes like my mother feeding me at the end of the fast."

They both watched as I tasted the soft, chewy bread. It was delicious and as each layer unraveled in my mouth I could taste the time it took to create, the delight on the tongue after a day of considered hunger.

"It's wonderful, " I replied, and bought several, along with sweets and pomegranate syrup. They smiled as though I were a child bringing home a good report card.

"Next time," said the shopkeeper, "You bring us some of your food. It's good to eat together."

And so it is.

It took me a while to find a recipe for msmen, the bread I ate, and I've not yet made it, so I will simply give you the link. Whether or not you make it, next time your stomach rumbles in hunger, take a minute and consider all those who are hungry. As you break your fast take a moment and be grateful. Let the taste of your food saturate your mouth. And then share your feast with friends old and new, familiar and different. We build bridges with bread, with shared meals, with hands reaching out across boundaries.

(c) 2010 Laura S. Packer

Cake fail!

2010-06-16T11:05:00.002-04:00

Some time ago I posted about my problem with cookbooks. I have too many of them I don't use often enough. In that post I said I would try to use them more often and would blog about the results. Well, it's been awhile, but finally I have something to report - an exciting failure. I think we need to talk more about our failures because we learn as much from experimentation and failure (stretching our boundaries) as we do from our successes. I'm putting my money where my mouth is. And where my cake went.

I needed to make a dessert for dinner with friends. Rather than go to any of my tried and true recipes or the store, I decided to try something from one of my old cookbooks. After some pleasant reading I settled on this one, The New Pennsylvania Dutch Cook Book by Ruth Hutchinson, (c) 1948 and 1958. Each chapter begins with some homely advice, the recipes themselves are straightforward and largely attributed to various wives - Mrs. Donald Hellferich, Mrs. Thomas B. Keck - with a few single women and men tossed in for good measure.

The molasses cake recipe looked good - I love molasses - and I had all the ingredients on hand. While the recipe had some unfamiliar steps and proportions I thought it would be an adventure. And it was.

Here is what I learned:

Creaming 2T of shortening into 1c of brown sugar is a challenge.
I thought 1c water AND 2c molasses seemed like a lot of liquid for this recipe. I was right (see below) and need to remember to trust my instincts.
I'd never tried the soda-and-vinegar leavening method. I enjoyed the grade-school volcano experience.

The batter was very liquid. I didn't add more than 1T extra flour, since this was a new recipe. I just poured it into the loaf pan and popped it into the oven.

Fifteen minutes later I smelled something burning. The cake had risen so much - and was still so liquid - that it had boiled over and a quarter of the batter was burning on the floor of my oven. I put a cookie tray on the bottom shelf, scraped off what I could from the oven and decided heck! it's summer! I'll turn on the fan and let it go.

After 45 minutes it was still molasses soup. Clearly something was amiss.

At 1:25 I finally took it out of the oven. The middle was still a thick liquid while the sides were a dense, soft cake. Kind of like a hot fudge pudding. Hmm. I scooped it into a bowl and we ate it - hot molasses pudding. Delicious. But not what I expected nor anything I could bring to our hosts. And my oven was a mess.

Next time I'll plan on the extreme leavening and make it in a much larger bowl, maybe use less water and more flour, or just go with the pudding effect. It was a good learning experience.

I ended up bringing strawberries to our hosts. And a story. Now they want to come over and taste the molasses pudding. I just hope when I make it deliberately it turns out half as well.

(c) 2010 Laura S. Packer

Quick sage pesto

2010-06-07T21:39:00.000-04:00

For dinner tonight I made a quick pesto for boneless chicken thighs on the grill. I used to be afraid of pesto, always measuring out all the ingredients, but have finally realized it's just a matter of throwing a green herb, garlic and olive oil into the processor.The photos are terrible, so you just get the recipe. I expect the pesto would be great on potatoes too.

In a food processor or mortar and pestle smush together:

a lot of garlic (I used an entire head of cloves)
at least 10 good sized sage leaves, fresh from the garden
enough olive oil to encourage emulsion
salt and pepper to taste

Smear it on your chicken, potatoes, whatever and grill. Don't breath on anyone afterwards, this is a lot of garlic. Enjoy!

(c) 2010 Laura S. Packer

Dried limes

2010-06-06T17:57:00.000-04:00

Some ingredients seem magical and unreachable. Their very names, even in translation, evoke distance, time, an immigrant's longing for home, the stories we tell to remind ourselves we are not lost to those we love. My list is undoubtedly different than yours (these may be everyday ingredients to you!) but here are a scant few:

Szechuan peppercorn

Black mustard seed

Durian fruit

Cashew fruit

Zahtar

Dried limes

Now, I've used or eaten most of the things on this list at one time or another. I fell in love with cashew fruit in Brazil, I love the pop of black mustard seed when I make Indian food, szechuan peppercorn thrills and then numbs my taste buds (though I don't cook well with it) and I've gotten past the initial shock of durian fruit to taste its subtle sweetness. But dried limes have long eluded me. I could see them in Middle Eastern grocery stores and wonder how on earth would I use them? Then I'd be distracted by the halvah and olives, forgetting to get dried limes just to see what they're like.

Last week the New York Times food section ran an article highlighting some dried lime recipes. I jumped at the chance. And now, having made dried lime drink, I'm hooked I will try other dishes and see what transpires.

Dried Lime drink, from the New York Times with my notes

Break 2 dried limes into several pieces. (You can use a mortar and pestle or put them in a sandwich bag and smack them with a hammer. Their shells give after the second or third push with a pestle, but it seems almost a shame to crack them.) You can find dried limes in Middle Eastern grocery stores. They are lovely, suggestive memories of limes, inexpensive, you'll buy more than two in a bag and be glad you did.

Inside you will see soft, dark lime flesh, missing all moisture.

Combine 4 cups water, 1/4 cup of sugar and the lime pieces in a small saucepan, bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce heat to medium-low and simmer for 4 minutes. Next time I may use less sugar.

Remove from heat and strain through cheesecloth or a coffee filter. I lined a colander with one coffee filter and that worked well.

Discard the solids. The NYT recipe suggests you don't add the sugar initially but add it now. I prefer making dissolving the sugar as the water comes to a boil. It's up to you.

While you can drink it warm I preferred it cold. I added a few mint leaves from the garden for brightness.

It tastes like the stories limes might tell each other in the corners of smokey coffeehouses, absolutely a lime drink, but with far more undertones than limeade. It was redolent with lime oil, tart and almost a bit sour. It was absolutely refreshing and lovely.

Try it.

I'm going to go searching for more once-upon-a-time ingredients. Who knows what might happen?

Blog Jog!

2010-05-08T23:20:00.002-04:00

Thank you for stopping by cookpot stories! Please explore all this blog has to offer, then jog on over to www.cruisebugchatter.com. If you would like to visit a different blog in the jog, go to http://blogjogday.blogspot.com.

If you leave a comment with a link to your own page, one lucky winner chosen at random will receive a vintage cooking pamphlet from me!

Seasonal

2010-04-30T10:12:00.000-04:00

Have you noticed that you can get fresh summer squash in the winter? Asparagus in the fall? Tomatoes year round? Sure, they may not be at their most flavorful, but many of the fruits and vegetables that we used to think of as seasonal delicacies are now available throughout much of the year, thanks to international shipping and modern growing techniques. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, asparagus is one of my passions, but I'm finding I miss the rhythm of seasonal foods. Now, when I find items that are only available in their own time, I embrace them, savor them, remember what it must have been like to be in awe of an orange in the toe of your stocking on Christmas morning.

I was reminded of this recently on a trip to Boston's Haymarket, our year-round open air produce and fish market. It's changed dramatically in the 20 years I've been shopping there (and I'm sure you can find essays that extoll it's glorious past and reduced present) but I love it. Everyone comes there, every age, ethnicity and economic status. Barkers call out to you to buy their tomatoes or avocados or celery. You can see the seasonal shift more readily there, not only by the dramatic price changes that are often disguised at the supermarket, but by the wonders you can find in the stands.

On my last visit I happily bought asparagus and leeks, celery and parsley. Then I saw a stand with a display of lovely, small, green fuzzy things. I had no idea what they were. I asked the vendor who waved his English-speaking brother over. "Green almonds," he said. I asked him how to eat them and had nearly reached the limits of his English while I speak no Arabic. He cut one open and I saw a glistening, soft gem. "Boil in oil. With salt." I couldn't resist, bought a pound and brought it home.

They are beautiful, clearly showing their kinship to peaches. The rind is soft and easy to cut and the seed inside doesn't need oil or salt or any addition beyond itself. They are pearl white, translucent and glistening when broken open, so very tender. It tastes of spring. It tastes green. It tastes of living earth and new life and the hope of a new year. It is the reminder of almonds as currency, as precious beyond compare, as the offering for a loved one or honored guest. I am in love, but I know this love is fleeting, because green almonds are utterly seasonal, gracing our tables for only a few weeks each year and infrequently found in New England.

The ephemeral nature of this love makes it all the more sweet and as my mouth fills with the personification of the scent of grass I savor the fleeting moment, the reminder that time passes and spring, while brief, will come again.

(c) 2010 Laura S. Packer

What the world eats

2010-04-21T13:02:00.000-04:00

In 2005 Peter Menzel published a book called What the World Eats that captured families and their intake for one day. It's an amazing look at culture, economy, family and health.

You can see some of the pictures from the book here. Every time I look at this I am struck by how wealthy, lucky and unhealthy Americans are.

What do you eat in a day?

Cookbook addiction

2010-04-10T14:02:00.000-04:00

I love cookbooks. As you can see, I buy far more cookbooks than my life realistically needs. I read them, ponder the recipes and commentary and consider their cultural context with great joy; when I find scribbled notes beside recipes or scraps of paper in used volumes it thrills me. What I don't tend to do is cook from them. This strikes me as kind of silly, a waste of paper and space.

It's time to change that. I'm going to explore some of these volumes, especially the older, odder ones, and record my adventures here. I look forward to some gloriously unpleasant dishes (because our gastronomic sensibilities in 2010 are not the same as they were in the 1940s - who boils broccoli for 30 minutes anymore?) and some gems. I hope you'll keep me company on the journey and let me know what you think. I'd like to thank my step-daughter, Cara, for the off-handed remark that led to this idea.

To start, let's take a look at my bookshelves. For a librarian's daughter, these are a shameful chaos, but each book has a reason for being there. Buried in here are:

three copies of Joy of Cooking

the copy my mom obtained when she was in her 20s and gave to me when I moved out, so worn it no longer has a complete table of contents or an index
a slightly newer copy I bought at a yard sale so I could use the index
my husband's copy, newer still, brought into our home when we moved in together

binders and folders of recipes my mother-in-law collected over 50 years of cooking. I don't believe she used most of them
my grandmother's Jewish cookbook. I can't imagine she ever opened it
a stack of recipe cards from my great-aunt that include a startling array of uses for prunes
recipes my husband's grandmother cut out of the newspaper in the 1930s and '40s
many recipe booklets that came with appliances and goods (blenders, toasters, household ingredients) that I've collected over the years
guy cookbooks from my honey's single days
church and community fundraising cookbooks from around the country
gourmet and specialty cuisine cookbooks

and so on. I admit it. I have a problem with cookbooks. But boy, they are fun to read. And now I'll be cooking from them, too.

I look forward to your comments - does anyone else out there have a similar problem with cookbooks? I'd love to read your thoughts about cookbook addiction, cooking from obscure and forgotten tomes and more.

(c) 2010 Laura S. Packer

Ritual and preparation

2010-04-04T18:59:00.000-04:00

I don't know about you, but my life has been so busy lately that I've had little time to really think about the meals I've been cooking. Most are made simply and in haste. Okay, I have chicken breasts and a bottle of salsa. Great, that goes in the oven, chop up a salad and yup! dinner and leftovers for lunch. Whew!

While this is tasty and generally healthy (I'm trying to not eat like an idiot) I miss the time and attention cooking can take. The step-by-step nature of it. The linear acts that lead to completion. It's a comforting kind of ritual that binds me to patience, to time, to doing one thing at a time. We connect to ritual time in many ways (prayer, meditation, doing the same thing every day as get ready for work). I find it through cooking.

I had a chance to engage in this careful kind of cooking recently in honor of Passover. For those of you who may not know, the Passover Seder requires several ritual foods that are eaten in a specific order and that have specific meanings. There is also a meal served two-thirds of the way through that often has traditional elements.

The Seder plate includes, among other things, charoset (a sweet mixture of fruit, spices and wine), matzo, the sacrifice (a shank bone) and maror (bitter herbs). In the preparation of these three items I found my connection to ritual time again.

Charoset represents the mortar of the First Temple, that which holds Judaism together. It's also yummy. Chopped apples, nuts, a healthy splash of Manischewitz wine (very sweet stuff) and ton of cinammon. Mix it together and you have ritual sweetness. Mmmm. This year my step-daughter made the charoset; I talked her through the process and I was so aware of the generations of women smiling behind me as I passed this knowledge on. The crisp-thunk of the knife through the apple. A cloying sip of Manischewitz (I hate it, she loves it). The ancestral memory of spice routes as cinammon wfts through the kitchen. The richness of walnuts, modifying texture and taste. All tossed together to represent something greater than their whole.

The shank bone is roasted. I always admire the smallness of the joint and give thanks to the small, leaping animal who died so we did not, so we can remember how fortunate we are. As it roasts the house is filled with the scent of lamb, something rare and rich to my immigrant forebearers. I roast it until the flesh clings onto the bone as an afterthought, reminding us of the pain of this sacrifice. There is a midrash in which the angels sing when God kills the first born children as the last and most terrible of the ten plagues. God castigates the angels for singing, saying "They too are my children and my creation. Their depth is cause for weeping not for joy." And so the shank bone is a silent witness to sacrifice in the name of freedom.

And the last, maror, is my favorite moment of ritual time in preparation for Passover. The bitter herbs represent our bitterness over enslavement. I use horseradish. When I buy the root it's long, dirty, ragged with green tendrils. As I scrub away the soil then begin to peel it my eyes water over its pungency and I can't help but touch my tongue to its burning white. It always sears. I chop it as finely as I can. I ignore the salt tears that fall into the bowl. I imagine generations of grandmothers watching me in silent approval.

(c) 2010 Laura S. Packer

Fortune cookies and fate

2010-02-27T21:04:00.002-05:00

I recently finished reading The Fortune Cookie Chronicles: Adventures in the World of Chinese Food a delightful cross between memoir and food writing that explores the history of Chinese food in America, or more accurately explores Chinese-American food. It was a lot fun, I urge you to read it for yourself.

As you may know, I love Chinese food. I also love fortune cookies. I've been saving fortunes for years and have some really good ones:

One year for my birthday I went with friends to a restaurant in Chinatown. My fortune was, "You bring happiness to everyone you meet," while my best friend's fortune read, "Happiness is sitting next to you." She was on my right. No kidding.

I've been thinking lately about the signs we look for in everyday life, how those portents can be woven into story and how the yearning for oracles can change the way we see the world. In this vein I conducted an experiment: I spent a day deliberately looking for omens.

I saw no fewer than seven green VW Beetles
I overheard or read at least four references to death by heart attack
and another three to death by wild animal attack
I made seven consecutive green lights
and then hit seven consecutive red lights (I was trying not to modify my driving, but who knows what my body was doing in service to this experiment)
At storytelling most of the stories were about funerals
Three of the phone numbers I called had the same four numbers
My shoelace broke.

So what does this mean? I'm about to be hit by a green VW Beetle by a driver having a heart attack? Or I'll be attacked by a swarm of green beetles? I should have played the lottery with those four numbers? Truthfully, I think it has more to do with the human ability to find patterns than anything else; I don't recommend playing this game, it's enough to make you paranoid and twitchy as you see more and more coincidence.

Order out from your favorite Chinese takeout instead. When you get to the fortune cookie, close your eyes, crack it open and enjoy the sweetness on your tongue as you contemplate small wisdom on a slip of paper. After all,

New Year, Old Tradition

2010-01-12T12:59:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! I know I'm almost two weeks late with the wish, but it's still kindly meant, so please accept it in the spirit intended.

The New Year is a (somewhat arbitrary) time to look at our lives, evaluate and decide what we want to work on in the coming year. For example, I want to post in this blog more often. It's a time full of cultural tradition too, from the ball dropping in Times Square to fireworks to more personal traditions. In my family, I was allowed to stay up to midnight, watch Guy Lombardo and eat smoked oysters. A big treat, really.

This year I decided to see in the new year with a broader cultural tradition, enacted late because I rarely pull these things off on time. I made Hoppin' John. This is a southern dish (though I was introduced to it by a Rhode Islander) made of black-eyed peas and ham hocks. It's said if you eat Hoppin' John and corn bread on New Year's Day you'll be prosperous throughout the year - eat poor on New Year's Day, eat rich throughout the year. I'm hoping the luck of Hoppin' John extends beyond the first of the year, but it doesn't really matter because it's delicious even if the adage doesn't hold up. I've not been able to find the root of the name and would be delighted if you knew.

This recipe, like all my recipes, is approximate.

Slow Cooker Hoppin' John

Put 2 cups dry black-eyed peas and 6-7 cups water in a slow cooker. Turn it onto high and leave it alone for an hour or two until the peas begin to soften.
Add 3-4 smoked ham hocks, 1-2 chopped onions, chopped collards, 5-6 cloves garlic, salt and pepper.
Let it cook for two-three hours.
Remove the ham hocks. Cut the skin off and discard. Pull the meat from the bones and return both to the put.
Taste and adjust seasonings. It will probably need more salt and pepper. You may want to add some red pepper flakes too.
Cook for another hour or so until the beans and collards are well cooked.
Serve with corn bread. Enjoy!

The importance of failure

2009-12-09T22:14:00.000-05:00

I made chili tonight. Good, basic chili. And I blew it. I'm not sure what went wrong, but something in the seasoning was off, or maybe the meat was just too long in the freezer, but it was just boring. It wasn't inedible, but it wasn't the warm, comforting creation I was hoping for.

I was frustrated. I've made chili tens if not hundreds of times before, used all different kinds of ingredients and never use a recipe. It's usually really good. But this time? Not so much. I kept tweaking it until finally there were enough spices to cover the blandness and we could at least eat dinner, but it wasn't what I had hoped for.

At first I was embarrassed. I take pride in my cooking and consider a meal well prepared a little love letter to my friends and family. But then a friend reminded me that

he knows I'm a good cook
there is no endpoint in becoming a better cook, one is always learning
and part of learning is sometimes failing.

The whole point is to learn from my mistakes, try again and do it better (or at least differently) next time.

So it is with cooking, riding a bike, writing a blog post, just about everything. You try, you will sometimes fail and that is a gift. For the home cook especially, as long as no one gets sick or dies, you can always order pizza and try again another time.

So let's see, next time I'll get the meat from someplace else. I'll use the frozen peppers from the garden. I'll...

(c) 2009 Laura S. Packer

From fast to feast

2009-09-29T15:35:00.003-04:00

Yesterday was Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. It's a complicated Holy Day, wherein the Book of Life is written, closed and sealed - everything you did for the previous year has been recorded and your fate for the coming year is written. It's also a fast day, a full 25 hours without food and water. I admit, I drink water; exceptions can be made in case of medical need and with a history of kidney stones I'm not going to get that dehydrated. I wrote about some of my experiences this year here.

At the end of this day of fasting and contemplation you break fast, entering the new year with joyful celebration. I did so last night with friends and family, a lovely meal that I spent several hours preparing. For any observant Jews reading this, yes, I know violates the admonition against work, but cooking is contemplative for me. It brought me tremendous peace knowing I was preparing a meal for those I love, an offering of life and forgiveness. This meal was prepared with the accompanying music of my growling stomach and the constant reminder to not nibble, trust my sense of seasoning, all will be well.

I wanted it to be special but not extravagant. Roasted chicken stuffed with lemon and tarragon, lamb studded with garlic and rosemary, roasted potatoes and garlic cloves, asparagus, roasted figs, kugel, honeycake (these last two brought by guests). Maybe I went a little overboard, but, oh, it was worth it.

With each slice of the knife I considered the beauty of the ingredients. The gaping mouths of the figs as I drizzled them with honey. The naked chicken, whom I thanked for its life and offering. The garlic cloves, each and every one sheathed in papery skin, their pungent stickiness on my fingers. The lamb, such an ancient offering, such a lovely living thing, now an offering for those whom I love. Potatoes and asparagus, from under the earth and over, each laughing with their own secret lives of green tips and round bodies. And the herbs fresh from my garden, the product of sunlight and soil and time.

The meal was a prayer to prepare and a communion to eat. A fine closure to a day of contemplation and community.

May this new season find you well, with luscious tastes and welcoming smiles to greet you.

From poor food to pride

2009-09-24T14:53:00.003-04:00

I'm not dead. I've been blogging up a storm at my other site, truestorieshonestlies, and haven't had the chutzpah to come here too. I miss writing and thinking about food, but haven't been sure of what to say.

I'm traveling now, in North Carolina far from my usual New England. My breakfast this morning was of the great American delicacies, biscuits and gravy. For those of you unfamiliar with this fine regional dish, it's sturdy white-flour biscuits covered in white gravy made out of a roux based in sausage fat. The better gravies have bits of sausage suspended in the mess and are a little spicy. It's bound to kill you if eaten too often and utterly delicious.

As I was savoring every morsel this morning I got to thinking about other sturdy, regional foods I love. None are healthy, they all are rich, fatty and delicious. Cheesesteak sandwiches like those I grew up with in Philadelphia; fish tacos; biscuits and gravy; you know the kind of foods I'm talking about. These are all foods made from what's available, the leftover odds and ends in the kitchen from those homes where you need to use everything, nothing can go to waste. These are foods that are more concerned about daily caloric intake - making sure there is enough - than with a balanced diet, low-fat, high-fiber kind of life.

What I find interesting is that these foods have moved from poor food, stuff you eat because you have to, to regional pride. Ask anyone from Philadelphia about the local cuisine and I can promise they will mention steak sandwiches, not knowing that originally they were made with the leftover scraps of meat. Southern Californians love their fish tacos, cheap and hot from stands, but they were originally a food of necessity, made out of what was readily available. And biscuits and gravy are the mainstay of any Southern establishment that wants to tout its Southerness. These are no longer the foods of poverty, but of pride and tradition.

Maybe part of the collective memory here is saying, "We have overcome our lean years. We eat this now because we can, not because we have to." Or maybe it's just because it tastes so very good.

(c) 2009 Laura S. Packer

Fermentation. Mmmm...

2009-05-04T14:44:00.003-04:00

I've discovered the joys of homemade yogurt. It's remarkably easy to make and tastes better than the store bought stuff. I decided to try it after reading an article in the New York Times that I can no longer find, so I can't currently give you the link.

It's simple. Scald a quart of milk. Let it cool to 115-120F. Add 2 tablespoons of yogurt with live cultures, pour it all into a warm bowl, cover and keep warm (115-120F). An oven with the light on is almost warm enough, I turned the flame on a couple of times for 15-20 seconds to keep it warm enough. In 4 hours or so you have yogurt, the byproduct of millions of bacteria breeding and digesting. That's it! It's smooth and creamy and soothing.

When I made yogurt yesterday I strained it to thicken it up some as I didn't let it sit for as long as I should have. But boy, it's good. And it's one of those foods that feels as though it's good for you at the same time.

I like the idea of eating cultured food. This used to be an important part of how people cooked, though not so much anymore. Good, tangy flavors - yogurt, sour dough and sour pickles for example (not to mention wine and beer) - come about from fermentation. We needn't be so afraid of our environments that we stop experimenting with foods like this. I think I'll try sour pickles next. Mmmm....

(c) 2009 Laura S. Packer

What defines "good"?

2009-04-23T10:24:00.000-04:00

I've been traveling quite a bit lately, which means my diet has been rather erratic. For one meal I'll have a salad or sushi while at the next I'm running to another event so I'll grab a bagel or a bag of chips. For the most part it's been fine and almost everything I've eaten I would describe as "good." But what is good food?

Does good mean nutritious? Tasty? Local? Quick? Comforting?

Yes. It means all of those and more. I believe that an honest definition of good food is broad and flexible with a few ground rules. I know this isn't a groundbreaking observation but I suspect accepting this definition may give us permission to treat ourselves with necessary kindness and therefore live healthier and tastier lives.

Ideally, good food is good for your body, spirit and community. It manages to sate the appetites of hunger and desire while not encouraging us to over-indulge because we're afraid that we won't be satisfied again any time soon. It nourishes our bodies while it stimulates our senses. It soothes the spirit with the ritual of cooking or the subtle message of our own worth by providing us with something that tastes good. It supports community by being shared, commented upon, talked about. We may even make lower impact choices, thereby helping our communities even more.

Many of the foods we choose can't meet these criteria every time. But if we try to choose mindfully, to eat good food when we can, we not only enjoy what we eat more, eating becomes an active part of living, not just something we have to do as we rush through our lives.

When I chose sushi or salad, a bagel or a bag of chips, if I took the time to enjoy the crunch of the chip it was as much good food as the salad. If I ate the glistening sushi without thinking, merely as something to tide me over, then it was only nourishment, not good food.

I know I won't succeed every time, or even most of the time. But when I take the time to savor my life everything tastes that much better.

(c) 2009 Laura S. Packer

My own, personal, cookbook

2009-03-28T15:16:00.004-04:00

A friend of mine is moving into her first apartment soon. She's full of excitement and terror, this is a big step for her. She loves cooking, so to make the leap a little easier I'm preparing two gifts. She already knows about the selection of spices I"m giving her, all pulled from my spice cabinet. The other is a surprise.

I'm writing down a bunch of recipes I've cooked for her in the past, food she's loved. My mother did something similar for me when I moved out on my own and I deeply appreciated it.

Noodle kugel
Chicken soup
Butterscotch brownines

These are all foods she could find recipes for online, but they wouldn't be my recipes, not the food she's eaten when needing comfort, so it wouldn't be the same.

Beef stew
Roasted veggies
Latkes

It's odd for me, writing all of these recipes down, I've never done this before. Sure, I've jotted down notes, but most of these are foods I learned how to cook from my mother or things I figured out on my own.

Tuna noodle casserole
Stone soup
Chicken and rice

It's at once both an interesting exercise ("Just how much spice do I use? How do I measure a palmful?") and a chance to think back on what defines comfort, how I comfort myself and others.

I came across a Craig Clairborne quote recently that I may use as the header for this recipe collection. "Cooking is at once child's play and adult joy. And cooking done with care is an act of love." I think this captures much of my feeling towards cooking.

I expect she will appreciate this gift. I hope she adds to it with her own recipes and passes it on someday. Because, really, food is better when shared.

(c) 2009 Laura S. Packer

Wow, it's been a long time

2009-02-11T22:53:00.004-05:00

I've been blog-a-phobic lately, so haven't been posting here or on my other blog. While I could speculate endlessly about why (the blues? creative block? finger cramps?) I won't bother and will instead tell you that I made a crock pot full of ox-tail stew for dinner tonight.

It strikes me as funny that many cuts of meat that used to be offal are now trendy. I used to pay maybe $1.50/lb at most for ox-tail, now I'm excited if I find it for $3.50. I did, indeed, find a sale, so took those wonderful, fatty, collagenous pieces of meat along with carrots, onion, shallots, garlic (lots and lots of garlic), celery, wine and assorted spices and let the crock pot do its thing.

By the time I came home, after 8+ hours of cooking, the house smelled wonderful.

I skimmed at least a half cup of fat off the stew, adjusted the spices (mostly it needed more salt and pepper, the oregano, marjoram and bay were enough, though I also added some balsamic vinegar to cut the richness a bit), let it cook a bit more then served on top of noodles.

My god, the decadence. The meat was meltingly tender, the veggies had disintegrated into mush and the whole thing was redolent with ancient memories of using every scrap of the beast, something we shy away from now. I could imagine the pot simmering on an old wood burning cook stove for hours. I also thought about the African American/Appalachian story, Taileypo, in which the protagonist (such as he is) eats the tail of a monstrous beast who later comes to get his tail back. Here's hoping no oxen come tonight for me and instead the universe simply nods in approval that the old flavors are not forgotten.

(c) 2009 Laura S. Packer

Thanksgiving

2008-11-29T10:59:00.002-05:00

Wow, it's been awhile, hasn't it. I've been consumed by NaNoWriMo, a challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. I've finished, so can now think about things like blogging again. If you're interested in my NaNoWriMo experience you can check out my other blog. I wrote about it a little there and will be writing more in the next few days.

Right now, I want to write about Thanksgiving. If you're not a denizen of the US, Thanksgiving is our November harvest festival. You can read the background here. What it's come to mean for many American families is a gathering in one home with enormous amounts of food prepared by one harried family member. The feast is eaten, then everyone sits around in a stupor. This year, I was the harried family member.

It's the first time I've hosted Thanksgiving. It went well. I'm still exhausted. But boy, was it yummy. I made all the traditional stuff - giant roasted turkey, stuffing (three different kinds), cranberry sauce, gravy, potatoes, green beans, etc etc. My favorite dish was among the simplest. It's comforting, easy, smells and tastes great and is nicely symbolic of the bounty of the season.

Roasted Root Vegetables
(Please note I've not included proportions here. Use the amounts that seem yummy to you.)

Fingerling or baby potatoes
Sweet potatoes
Parsnips (yum!)
Whole peeled garlic cloves
Other root veggies you could include: turnips, carrots, beets, etc
Rosemary sprigs
S&P to taste OR a seasoning blend with salt that you love
Olive oil

Wash the potatoes (all varieties) and other root veggies. Leave the potatoes whole but cut everything else except the garlic into chunks about the size of the potatoes.

Put it all into a roasting pan, drizzle with olive oil and toss. Sprinkle with seasoning blend and toss again, being sure to coat everything evenly. It should be somewhat oily. Stick the sprigs of rosemary here and there. Cover with foil. Roast at 350 for about 45 minutes then test for tenderness. Roast until done. Eat. Mmmm....

I also roasted whole onions separately, just wrapping them in foil and putting them in oven. When they were soft to the squeeze they were done. Let them cool for a little while then peel and eat. They become soft and sweet. Yummy.

Happy Thanksgiving and Happy November!

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Cool, crisp...

2008-11-08T20:05:00.004-05:00

It's been awhile since I've written here, not because I've not been eating (ha!) but because I've not had anything that really inspired me. While on a recent trip to Vancouver BC I had some wonderful food - a great bowl of Chinese noodle soup, wonderful cod and salmon, so on and and so forth - but it didn't inspire me to write. I'm not sure why. Since coming home I've cooked a little of this and a little of that, all good, but not stunning.

It's taken a cucumber to inspire me to write.

I had leftover hot and sour soup for dinner. It was takeout from a local Chinese place, one I've written about before, so it was pretty good, but I found myself still munchie. I looked in the pantry and considered popcorn. I thought about heating other leftovers, maybe the chicken mushroom stew from last night. And then I remembered I had a cucumber in the crisper and all my prayers were answered. Or at least some of them, the prayers of the moment.

Peeled, sliced (I love the feel of the knife moving through the cucumber, the resistance as it hits the seeds), and arranged on the plate, then sprinkled with salt, it was everything I wanted.

Cucumbers are a fruit, contrary to common expectation. They have a nice array of nutrients though aren't really a nutritional powerhouse. You probably know that slices of cucumbers placed on the eyes can reduce swelling (though honestly I think that's a waste of a yummy cuke) and it's said that sleeping on a bed of cukes will cure fever. You can guess that they're a fertility symbol.

All of this and they answered my craving for something cool and comforting this evening. Rarely do I have a craving met so thoroughly and with such ease.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Glop

2008-10-23T23:06:00.003-04:00

I'm a decent cook. Some days I consider myself a good cook; every once in awhile I'm inspired. And when I'm inspired as often as not it's for a meal that's cooked in one pot. You might call it stew or soup. I usually call it glop and no two glops are the same.

Last night I was inspired. I made what was essentially a chicken mole but kept playing with it. I dredged chicken in a mixture of flour and mole seasoning, sauted it, then added onions, garlic, potatoes, a can of black beans, more spices (including more mole, pepper, salt and some adobo) and water. I let this all cook for awhile and then tasted it. I found it to be a bit flat, so I added a little more pepper and the magic ingredient: molasses.

Once it cooked down it was wonderful. The sauce was rich and savory, wonderful to eat by itself with bread, while the chicken and beans were tender and delicious. I'm feeling pretty smug about the whole thing. It could have been disastorous, but ended up delightful and perhaps reproducible.

When I die I'll be remembered for my stories and my glop. That's not such a bad thing.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Blog Action Day - Poverty

2008-10-15T08:00:00.000-04:00

You're hungry. You haven't had a good meal in who knows how long. You're cold and tired and just worn out. You don't have access to a computer to read this blog - or to look for a job, or for a recipe if you had enough money for food anyway.

Poverty stinks.

On Blog Action Day bloggers around the world unity to make poverty history. You can too. Donate. Give time, give money, give your good spirit. Thanks.

Fair Food and its remedies

2008-10-13T11:30:00.002-04:00

This past weekend my sweetie and I went to the Topsfield Fair, a large agricultural fair. It was full of everything you'd expect - barns with beautiful livestock (it's good to remember where the meat we eat comes from)(there was one cow who was, I swear, a ham. She loved having her picture taken and got sulky when no one was nearby), giant pumpkins (the winner was over 1,400 lbs, yikes), a midway with games and rides, infomercials everywhere, and of course, food. Cider, fried dough, hot dogs, turkey legs, french fries, on and on and on.

My favorite bite was a hot cider donught and a cup of hot cider. The worst was a texas onion ring, covered with so much slightly-off batter I couldn't finish one. The smells were overwhelming.

When we got home all I really wanted was something clean and simple. The next day for dinner I made a butternut squash. I quartered it (actually, Kevin chopped it up with a cleaver for me - those suckers are tough), scraped out the seeds, then put it in an inch or so of water with salt and pepper. I microwaved it for about 12 minutes until it was tender then scraped out the flesh and called it done. It tasted clean and fresh, like autumn. The kitchen smelled like something pure. Not frying fat. As I ate it I imagined the long green vine that it grew on. The sound of the barkers voices faded form my mind, the texas onion ring finally left my palate. The fair was fun, but this, oh this was home.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Fasting

2008-10-09T19:06:00.002-04:00

Today is Yom Kippur, the Jewish holiday of repentance. While there are many aspects to the observance of this Holy Day for the purposes of a food blog there is really only one point need to make.

Today we fast from sundown to sundown. It's a powerful ting, fasting deliberately as an act of sacrifice, so we understand deprivation. I felt my stomach growling, felt the emptiness, and remembered how lucky I am to have plenty.

At sundown I broke my fast with apples and honey, sweetness for the new year. I am cleansed, my mouth is sweet and I am reminded of the riches that surround me.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Stone soup

2008-09-25T20:42:00.002-04:00

There is a popular fairy tale from the Brothers Grimm that tells of a soldier, on his way home from war, who stops in a village and asks the townspeople for a bite to eat. They all refuse to share anything with him though they clearly have plenty. He is a wily man, so in his desperation he finds an old pot, builds a fire in the middle of the town square and heats the pot filled only with water and a stone. One by one the townspeople who had refused him come by to see what he’s doing; he tells them he’s making stone soup, the most delicious soup in the world. None of them want to admit they’ve never heard of it so all agree that yes, stone soup is exquisite. For every visitor who agrees with him he then sighs and says that his stone soup would be better still if only he had some carrots. Or cabbage. Or onions. Or… And one by one each of the villagers says that they have carrots. Or cabbage. Or onions. Or… They run back to home to fetch their ingredients for the pot. By the end the whole village has collaborated and made a pot of delicious soup that feeds not only the hungry soldier, but the entire community.

My family and I start every soup with a stone. We routinely host stone soup parties, where we provide the pot, water and stone while our guests each bring an ingredient. At worst, the soup is interesting; it is usually delicious. And whoever ends up with the stone in their bowl gets to make a wish.

While most of my soups vary considerably based on what I have in the larder, I have a basic recipe that is pretty much no-fail. This is a great recipe to cook with kids so they can experiment with their palate, tryng new ingredients in new combinations. They can also pretend to be different villagers as they add each ingredient to the soup.

Stone Soup
(all amounts are approximate, of course)

1 soup stone (see below for some thoughts about selecting your soup stone)
1 chopped onion
2 stalks chopped celery
2 chopped carrots
2 mashed cloves of garlic

Heat a little olive oil in the bottom of a soup pot. Sauté the veggies in the oil until onion begins to become translucent. Pour enough broth or water over the veggies that they are covered plus an inch or two. If you want to make more soup, add more veggies. Add a bay leaf, salt and pepper. Cook until veggies are tender.

From this point on you get to play and I’d recommend you do so, this soup will be much better with more stuff in it. I always add more stuff. Make sure you have enough liquid that it remains soup and not stew.

You could add:

chopped cabbage, kale, or other greens (cabbage adds a tremendous amount of flavor to soup)
sliced chicken, beef, pork, tofu, leftover grilled meats, etc.
chopped fresh or canned tomatoes
peppers, mild or hot
turnips, celery root, or other root vegetables
rice, barley (which takes a long time to cook), pasta, corn, or other starches. If you plan to add a starch make more broth initially
different spices. Be daring, sniff them and imagine what it will taste like
on and on. Use your imagination. Pretend you are a village collaborating to make soup.

If you choose to use a stone for your soup pot I would make a few recommendations.

make sure it’s a hard stone that won’t dissolve with use
it should be large enough that it can’t be swallowed
it should be fairly smooth so it’s easy to wash (soup does tend to get in the cracks and crevices).

Save your stone. Use it again and again. Tell the story. And make soup together.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Spontaneous Celebration

2008-09-22T09:04:00.010-04:00

Before I go any further in this post, I need to tell you that the name is borrowed from a wonderful creative space in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts. Spontaneous Celebrations is a multicultural home for art and creativity. Check it out.

My own spontaneous celebration happened this weekend. I believe it's important to live big, but know it's hard to do so; this weekend was a good example of the weekend conspiring to help me. I've blogged about the weekend as a whole in True Stories, Honest Lies.

On Saturday my friend Serene called and asked if we would like to have dinner with her husband and herself. For once we could easily say yes and invited them for dinner. My initial thought was to order something in, but it's hard to eat healthy food when it's delivered. It is, at best, quick food. So I decided to cook.

I wanted to use what I had in the house as much as possible, and I admit, I got a little excited.

The first course:
- dried apricots with a dab of chevre and almonds
- shrimp cocktail
- veggies with hummus
- tzatski dip (recipe below)

The second course:
- yogurt marinated chicken (recipe below)
- steamed chard
- red rice

It was lovely.

Tzatski is a greek yogurt dip. I first had it in Crete, sitting in a small ocean-side restaurant. To me it tastes of relaxation and the timelessness of the Mediterranean.

Peel, half and seed a nice sized cucumber. Mince the remaining flesh, then put it into a colander to drain. It should produce a fair bit of liquid. Mash it around from time to time to push more of the liquid out - you don't need it to be dry, but it shouldn't be dripping. This will take at least five minutes.

Take two cups of good yogurt - none of this fat-free stuff. Use a nice, thick yogurt. Put it in a lovely bowl - I used one of iridescent black stoneware. Add several mashed cloves of garlic (I used six, but I like garlic). Add the minced, drained cucumber. Add a little salt and some fresh pepper. Stir.

Let this all sit for a little while then eat with veggies and sliced pita bread. Mmmm....

Yogurt marinated chicken is tender and succulent. Any spices you add to the marinade are pulled into the meat and utterly permeate the finished product. This is an Indian method of cooking but one that can be applied to other seasonings.

I used four cups of fat free yogurt (you don't need to use great yogurt here, but it should have a nice tang) and added maybe 6 cloves of mashed garlic, a tablespoon of salt, several tablespoons of purchased garam masala, a little extra cinnamon and pepper. Once this was all mixed together I added in the chicken and made sure it was all well coated. I let it marinade for a couple of hours then grilled it, garnished with some cilantro. That was it! Delicious and reasonably healthy to boot.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Martha Stewart would be jealous

2008-09-19T10:04:00.005-04:00

I should have taken a picture, but I didn't, so you'll just have to take my word for it. I made the best pork roast last night. It looked as good as it tasted. And I used herbs from the garden!

I don't know how much the roast weighed, so you'll have to improvise.

Take 1 boneless pork roast, the kind that's tied with string. It should have some fat on at least one side. Rub the inside (between the two halves) with a mixture of salt, pepper and a little sugar.

Peel and roughly slice an entire head of garlic. If your fingers are garlicky afterwards you can always rinse them in lemon juice, that helps. Tuck maybe 12 pieces of garlic, four rosemary sprigs and at least four sage leaves into the roast, between the two halves. It will look nice if a little of the rosemary is sticking out.

Preheat the oven to 450.

Poke at least 15 holes in the less fatty side of the roast. Shove a garlic slice into each hole. Rub this side with the salt, pepper and sugar blend. Pull a rosemary sprig under the strings, shove a couple of sage leaves under the strings too. Flip the roast over and do the same thing to the fatty side.

Put into a roasting pan, fatty side up. Put into the preheated over for 15 minutes.

After 15 minutes pour 1/4 cup of white wine over the roast, lower the oven heat to 325. From this point on pour 1/4 cup of wine over the roast every 15 minutes until you've lavished a total of 1-1/2 cups of wine over the roast (six bastings).

Once the roast reaches an internal temp of 150-155 remove from the oven and let sit. Make sure the final basting was at least 15 minutes before you removed it from the oven, so if the temp hits 145 before you finish the basting, cease the libations.

Let the roast sit, the internal temp will continue to rise. While the roast is sitting deglaze the roasting pan with a little more wine or with some broth.

Admire how beautiful it is. Eat. Enjoy. Watch out for rosemary twigs. You may want to remove them before you cut the roast. Or not.

Take that, Martha.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Theories of heaven

2008-09-15T09:50:00.006-04:00

I had a luxurious weekend. My friend Amy visited from the wilds of Maine and requested, nay demanded Chinese food. We met in Chinatown and began to eat our way into oblivion.

We had lunch at Peach Farm, a restaurant with great food and the ambiance of a speak easy. It's a basement locale with no windows, some mirrors to lighten the space and formica tables. But the food.... oh, the food. We shared spicy salted shrimp with heads (they had been alive ten minutes before we ate them) and green beans with pork.

The shrimp were oh-my-god-I'm-in-heaven good. They were crisp on the
outside, succulent on the inside. Each one was a pink crunch of crispy sharpness in my mouth, followed by sweet and saltiness. Some people are put off by eating them with heads, but really they are the best part. Crunchy and flavorful. They looked something like this.

The string bean with shredded pork was a wonderful accompaniment and allowed us to pretend we were eating something healthy. It was at least green. This was slightly spicy, the beans were fresh and the pork tender. There were also a few wonderful chunks of black mushroom in there. I love black mushrooms.

The next morning we were joined by Kevin and Jim for dim sum at China Pearl in Woburn. While the Woburn outlet isn't quite as good as the Chinatown location, it's still very good, ladies in carts walking through the room, singing out their offerings. I stuffed myself on dumplings, more kinds than I can list here. I don't want to think about the caloric content of that meal.

When I die and go to heaven (a big assumption there, I know), there will be trees that bear dumplings for fruit, and flowers with salty spicy shrimp petals. I'll be able to eat all of this luxury without shame, weight gain or intestinal consequence. I'm sure of it. After all, heaven is what we make of it and I will make mine tasty.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

I scream

2008-09-09T12:30:00.004-04:00

you scream, we all scream for ice cream.

Last night I went to Toscanini's for a storytelling event. While I listened to some good tales I had one of my favorite decadent ice creams - butter chip. No, it doesn't have chips of frozen butter. Well, kind of no. Let me start at the beginning.

Tosci's makes luscious ice cream. The building is cool and hip, it doesn't smell too sweet as do many ice cream places, the music is good and the furniture is comfortable. And did I mention the ice cream is out of this world? They used to make my favorite ice cream topping in the world, burnt caramel sauce, but not anymore, oh well. I still go for the 'scream. Their flavor selection changes regularly, but they often have some kind of spiced ice cream (cinammon, cardamon, etc) some kind of beer ice cream (Guinness) and all the standards. It's very rich and creamy, just the way ice cream should be.

Except for butter chip. Imagine the best chocolate chip ice cream you've ever had. The chips are large, but not too large, bittersweet chocolate. The ice cream is a dense sweet cream, not vanilla. But it's been over churned a little, so the butterfat just started to condence out. It's ever so slightly lumpy. When you put a spoonful in your mouth, the flavor coats your tongue and palate with a micro-smooth layer of fat as it melts and you crunch into the chocolate pieces. You can feel your heart go ka-thud, both from bliss and from the cholesterol.

It's astonishing that something this contradictory - ice cream that isn't smooth - is this good.

I only have this maybe once a year. But oh. Oh. Oooohhhh. That's enough.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Home, sweet, greasy, home

2008-09-02T13:36:00.006-04:00

I started this blog thinking I would write about transcendent food. I'm finding myself writing about comfort. About history. About the meaning of what I eat. And so often what is meaningful seems to be what isn't quite healthy. What that says about me may be transparent but I'll choose not to investigate it.

I was in Philadelphia this past weekend, helping out a friend. I grew up in Philly, though I left 20 years ago. It's a city with a distinct cuisine, one I miss even though I have certainly embraced the cuisines I've moved to.

Steak sandwiches. Soft pretzels. Hoagies (no, not subs or grinders or heroes. Hoagies). This is the local food of my hometown.

Sure, you can get a steak or a hoagie anywhere. But it's not the same. Maybe it's the air, the water, the accent of the cook. I don't know. But local foods - should I say regional foods instead? - need local flavor to taste right. A steak anywhere else just isn't as good.

When I moved to Boston so many years ago I went looking for a hoagie. I was given a grinder, which is similar, but not identical to a hoagie. I looked for a Philly cheesesteak and it just wasn't right. The soft pretzels in Boston have (get this) sesame seeds instead of salt.

This weekend I ate the foods of my youth with relish. Okay, no relish. But the hoagie had hots and mayo and oil and oregano. The steak had whiz (as in cheez whiz) and was drowning in ketchup, pretty much the only time I really like ketchup. And the pretzels were warm, then rapidly stale, but full of salt and carbs and the taste of the ancient oven. Heaven.

I ate my hoagie one day and my steak the next, the pretzels throughout. I remembered who I have been.

I was 8 years old and sharing the biggest steak in the world with my dad on a day he kept me out of school so we could play hookie together.
I was 11 and sitting in the backyard listening to a ball game with my mom while we ate an easy summer dinner from the local steak place.
I was 16 and trying to not get grease all over my face while I flirted with my first boyfriend.
I was 18 and home from college for the first time, eating a pretzel slathered with mustard while I wondered just who the hell I was becoming.

And I was me, now, enjoying all of those tastes and textures, visiting a place I have been away from for longer than I called it home. My mouth knew the truth. In those tastes was my whole life. There are other, newer, healthier loves. It's our first loves, our first groan inducing bites that first tell us who we are. If we're lucky, when we revisit them, they still fill us with deep, tasty satisfaction.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Food fashion 2

2008-08-27T14:48:00.003-04:00

Oh, this is embarrassing, but those things that offer us the most comfort often are. I have a friend who, in her darkest times, still sleeps with her teddy bear even though she's in her 40s. I have another friend who watches Sesame Street and counts along with the Count, even though he's been out of college for many years.

And me? I could tell you quite a few secrets here, all the embarrassing comfort things I do. I won't. Instead I'll just tell you about dinner last night.

I was tired. I was cranky. And I wanted something really easy. All the leftovers were just too... leftover. You know what I mean.

I made Hamburger Helper. I didn't improvise with browned ground beef, fresh herbs from the garden with noodles and tomatoes and other yummy stuff. I didn't create some lovely faux stroganoff. No. I pulled a pound of ground beef out of the freezer, I grabbed the box off the shelf and I made dinner in 15 minutes flat.

It was salty, gooey, unhealthy, comforting and yummy. It wasn't what I want to eat every day or even with any regularity, but boy... for right then it was just right.

I know we all have our embarrassing comfort foods and rituals. I was kind of surprised to find that one of mine was out of a box and so easily created; usually I happily lose myself in chopping and stirring and measuring. So much for sophistication, but then again, when is sophistication as comforting as, say, a teddy bear, Sesame Street and a bowl of Hamburger Helper?

(c) Laura S. Packer

Spicy brownies

2008-08-25T12:43:00.003-04:00

Can I just say I *love* sweet and spicy or sweet and salty?

Thanks. I needed to say that.

This past weekend I made brownies for a potluck. I used my current favorite brownie recipe (the one on the Baker's Unsweetened Chocolate package) and then added spices.

Oh. Oh oh oh were they good.

I often add a bit of chili powder but this time I added Indian spices and the brownies filled my whole mouth with long, lingering flavor and heat. Almost everyone at the potluck liked them, a few people thought they were too much, that's okay.

Roughly speaking, here's what to do:

Make a batch of brownies.
When the batter is ready add a spice blend, including:
- Cardamom
- Cinnamon
- Cloves
- Black Pepper
- Ginger
- Nutmeg
- Chili (not much)
I can't tell you how much of each I added, I kept pouring it into my hand, blending and adding the mix about a teaspoon at a time. Alternatively, buy some Indian tea spice powder and use that.
Keep mixing it in and tasting it.
Bake as usual.
Enjoy. Mmmmm.....

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Food fashion 1

2008-08-19T11:08:00.005-04:00

When I was in first grade we were asked to name our favorite foods and television shows. I unfashionably answered, "Liver and creamed spinach and NOVA." (For those of you who may not know, NOVA is a science program on PBS.) It took years to live that down. I still like unfashionable food and television.

Among my old favorites are beets. They seem to be having something of a resurgence now, but for a long time people would squinch up their faces at the thought of them and say, "Yuck." I love them. Their ruby stain on the cutting board, the earthy taste and smell. They speak to me of health and time and old ways of doing things. As a kid we'd eat cold bottled borscht with a swirl of sour cream and it was heaven. I'd let it stain my clothing on purpose, watching the color run.

A few nights ago I roasted beets from our farm share. They were wonderful.

Roasted beets. One version.

Take a bunch of beets. Cut off the tops and save them for later. Scrub the bulbs, cut off the very top and bottom and peel. You may want to save the peels for soup, you may want to toss them out.

Admire the stain on your fingers. It will mostly wash out, but not entirely. That's okay.

Cut the beets into thick slices, maybe 1/2 inch thick.

Toss them with olive oil and kosher salt. Add some roughly chopped fresh rosemary and a dash of black pepper. Add a little mroe rosemary. Really.

Wrap this all in foil and roast it at maybe 350-375 for about 30 minutes until the beets are tender.

Enjoy!

(ps. Yes, the beets will have certain digestive effects (write to me if you don't know what I'm talking about). Don't worry about it, this means you're eating something really good for you and it won't last.)

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Home made

2008-08-13T19:45:00.003-04:00

I've been traveling for the last week, sleeping in a hotel room and eating in restaurants. I like eating out, but the town I was staying in didn't have much of anything I cared for. It was a tourist town and everything was quick food. Even the better restaurants were marginal.

I'm home now. When I come home from long trips, I need to cook. It's one of the best ways I know to center myself, to feel as though I'm truly at home. By spending time in my kitchen, working with spices and good food, I re-establish myself in my own space.

As I write, chicken is roasting. I've stuffed organic garlic slices under the skin and rubbed it down with salt and pepper. Brown rice with thyme is simmering. In a little while I'll chop and steam the chard I picked from the garden.

When I eat dinner tonight it will be good food, made with own hands in my own time. I'm home.

Listening to my body

2008-08-04T16:28:00.002-04:00

This past weekend I rode my bike in the Pan Mass Challenge, a fund raising ride for the Dana Farber Cancer Center. It was a long ride and truthfully, I wasn't prepared. You can read about the ride on my other blog.

What was interesting and relevant to this blog was trying to figure out how to feed myself during the ride. Endurance sports have specific nutritional requirements - carbs, lots of hydration, some protein. And I had no appetite before the ride, so I was riding on very little fuel. I made myself eat the best I could, but nothing, and I mean nothing, tasted good. For those of you who know me, you know how odd that is.

Midway through the only thing that tasted good was cantaloupe. Sweet, wet, orange and exactly what my body wanted. It occured to me that I might be able to eat and thus finish the ride if I just shut up and listened.

I generally try to listen to what my body tells me it wants. Sweet, salty, savory, crunchy, soft, etc. It can be hard to really hear what my body is saying, amidst the cacophony of all my cravings, but when I manage to listen I learn so much.

This weekend was a great example of the need to listen to what my body was saying. Yes, this is food. No, that isn't food. By listening carefully I was able to determine what I most needed in a given moment and complete the ride.

And afterwards? Mmm... Saltycrunchy. Smoothsweet. And lots and lots and lots of gatorade. Funny what tastes just right sometimes. Funny how, when you listen, you surprise yourself.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Fried bananas. Oh my.

2008-07-29T13:40:00.004-04:00

This past weekend I went to the Lowell Folk Festival. There was a lot of great music and performance and Lowell, MA is a neat town. And there was food. Many of the local civic associations set up booths to highlight their cuisine. Lao. Cambodian. Polish. Thai. Portuguese. On and on.

The single most amazing thing I ate was a Philipino fried banana. Wrapped in a lumpia wrapper (like a thin eggroll skin) and deep fried, it was simply ecstatic. And very hot. This is the closest recipe I could find, though I don't think the one I ate had cinammon. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Turron (Banana Lumpia)

4 firm, ripe bananas
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
6 lumpia wrappers
Oil for frying

Cut bananas lengthwise into thirds. Combine sugar and cinnamon. Place two banana pieces on each lumpia wrapper; sprinkle sugar mixture over banana pieces. Wrap like an envelope, sealing edges with water. Heat oil and fry lumpia until golden brown. Drain on absorbent paper and serve immediately. Makes 6 servings.

Yowza.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Dinner

Peaches

2008-07-26T15:19:00.004-04:00

When I was a little girl we would go for long drives in our VW van around Pennsylvania and New Jersey (NJ is more than the Sopranos, you know). Sometimes we would go for camping trips with our old canvas tent, look at the stars and stop off at farm stands. Sometimes we'd go to some farmland we owned in rural Pennsylvania.

At the farm stands we would get tomatoes. Real tomatoes. Red and heavy and tangy and god! were they good. I still have not recovered from my love of Jersey tomatoes bought at farm stands. And peaches. A bushel at a time. We just couldn't resist them. They were so lovely and coy and cheap. The car would be redolent with that scent, warm and sweet.

As soon as we piled back into the van we would start to ask each other, "What are we going to with all those peaches?" But we knew. We would go back to our campsite or home and eat. I would press the fuzzy flesh to my lips, letting it tickle just a little bit and smell the dusty summer scent. My teeth would press into the fruit and finally break it open in a cascade of juice that ran down my chin and my whole self would be filled with that rush of what it was to be a peach. Yellow and red and wet.

We'd eat more peaches than we should, until our bellies were round. The bushel basket would still be full of fruit, so we would again ask, "What are we going to do with all those peaches?" But again, we knew. We would bring the peaches back home and make peach butter. More accurately, my mom would make peach butter while I would watch and try to help.

I've had peach butter since. It's never been as good as that my mother made from the bushels of peaches we bought from roadside stands.

Florence's peach butter recipe. She says she got it from a farmer's wife in Columbia County, PA

Peel your peaches. Give the peels to your waiting child to nibble.

Chunk the peaches. Put them into a heavy-bottomed pot. Toss the pits.

Mush the peaches up and measure them. Add an equal amount of sugar. Cook until everything is soft and smooth. Buttery, you might say.

Pour the peach butter into sterilized jars and seal (you can find out how to can stuff elsewhere on the net).

Mmmmm.... Now you have summer all year long.

Mmmm... rice. I mean sushi.

2008-07-25T09:58:00.005-04:00

Last night I indulged in sushi. I went to my favorite local sushi joint, Sushi Corner in Melrose MA. It's a pretty basic place, but they have very good fish, well prepared and nicely presented. More importantly, they have excellent rice.

The more sushi I eat the more I think it's about the rice. The fish, as you undoubtedly know, must be fresh, well chosen and well cut. The fish matters tremendously. Most people who are unsure of sushi are hung up on the raw fish aspect; I'm not going to try to convert you, but trust me, it can be wonderful.

But the rice is the foundation of sushi. The word sushi refers to the seasoned rice, not to the rice and fish in combination (nigiri and maki refer to rice with stuff in different formations). If the rice isn't well cooked, well seasoned and well shaped, the whole thing just falls apart. Here's a quick look at each aspect and why I was so happy last night.

Cooking. Let's face it, undercooked rice is crunchy and annoying. Overcooked rice is mushy and gross. And I have trouble cooking sticky rice just right. Last night it was firm, resistant to the teeth but not mushy, each grain was detectable. The rice patties held together when lightly dipped in soy and it wasn't so sticky that I made a mess of my chopsticks or fingers.

Seasoning. Sushi rice is seasoned with a mixture of rice wine vinegar and sugar. If the mixture is off it can be overwhelming, too little and it's bland. It should complement the fish. I would have eaten this rice plain, it was delicious.

Shaping. The rice patties weren't too big (I could eat it in two bites) nor too small (the fish wasn't overwhelming it). They held together so they had been formed with care.

All of this makes me want to try cooking sticky rice again. It was a lovely experience, subtle in the mouth, prepared with care and attention. And I was amused by the sushi master's amusement at my obvious enjoyment, yummy noises and all.

If you have a chance, go there. It's worth the trip.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Arugula

2008-07-23T12:47:00.003-04:00

Somedays I love arugula. Other days it just seems harsh and bitter. No metaphor here, move along, this is a food blog, that's all.

Today is one of the days where it tastes as though it's biting me back, too tart for my tongue. Other days I love it, the rich, robust earthiness of it. Funny how one day to the next, taste can change. Too, I think the plant itself varies considerably in it's flavor. Maybe this batch grew in soil where it was mocked by nearby plants and some of the bitterness seeped into its leaves.

Arugula is also known as rockette, maybe because the wrong bite can set your mouth in fire.

According to various foodlore sources arugula kills intestinal parasites, so can cause violent reactions when eaten. If this blog entry breaks off suddenly you'll know what happened.

I'm looking forward to another batch of arugula that I love, one that isn't at war with my taste buds. For now though I can at least simply enjoy the word - arugula. Say it. It feels good and lumpy in your mouth. Sometimes the language of a food is sustenance enough.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

The trap of quick food

2008-07-21T12:25:00.003-04:00

I eat too much crap. I'm not alone in this, most people I know do, but jeez... the eternal conflict between time, nutrition and yumminess is a tough one.

I've read the books - Real Food, The Omnivore's Dilemma, Slow Food, etc etc. I know the arguments for eating well, taking your time when preparing a meal, savoring what you eat. I believe this is a better way to live. It's better for body and spirit. But I don't always have the time. I have trouble believing anyone - alright, anyone who has a job - does.

I try to eat food that honors the earth and my body. And I often fail.

When I can, when I have the time, I cook good meals; I use good ingredients, I think about what I put into my body, I close my eyes and savor my bites. But when I'm getting ready for work in the morning I'm in a rush. I need stuff I can deal with quickly, pack easily, eat at my desk without much fuss, mess or aroma and it's off to the races.

If I'm careful I pack fruit, cheese (real cheese cut from the block), maybe a little sandwich, some yogurt, celery, stuff like that. And if I'm not careful it's cheese sticks (I think they're called "cheese sticks" because they stick around inside you for so long) some crackers or nuts, and enough money for something at the cafeteria.

Admittedly, this kind of quick food isn't as unhealthy as fast food, but in some ways that makes it all the more insidious. I feel bad when I eat fast food - McDonald's and the like. I know it's bad for me because of how it makes me feel, so I avoid it. With quick food I eat it without thinking, without acknowledging the time and labor that went into it, without taking the time to taste it and honor my body as I eat it. All it becomes is caloric intake to get me through the day. If asked I have to struggle to remember what I ate, even if it wasn't unhealthy. But it doesn't make me feel bad, so there isn't that much impetus to change what I'm doing, for all that my mind and spirit are telling me it's not such a good idea. My body is chugging along and I have more time to get stuff done (the mantra of the modern age). Quick food lets me get more stuff done.

It's a shame I keep forgetting that one of the more important things I should get done is stopping. Slowing down. Savoring the present, the world around me, the taste of the moment.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Palm heart salad

2008-07-16T16:19:00.002-04:00

When I was in Rio a few years ago I was served a slab of palm heart, bark still attached, in a fancy restaurant. I was told it was a salad, though it looked kind of like a tree to me. I ate it with some initial trepidation, not quite sure how to eat a tree, but found it had a wonderful taste and texture. I felt like a panda might feel upon finding a particularly delicate bit of bamboo. I remember slicing into the ivory flesh in that dim space, surrounded by voices full of silibant Portuguese and knowing I was someplace very far from home.

I have become fond of palm heart salad since then. It's as much a textural food as a taste food and, while I can't duplicate the slab-o'-tree, with canned palm heart and good olive oil I can pretend I'm in the tropics again, surrounded by heat, humidity and possibility.

Palm heart possibility salad

Drain one can or bottle of palm hearts. Give them a quick rinse in a stream of cool water, but don't let them soak or linger in the water. You want them to retain some of the salty-sour taste of the brine, and they will fall to pieces if the water is too forceful.

Lay the palm hearts down on the cutting board, wood if possible, as like calls to like. Admire them and marvel that this whiteness comes from inside a tree. Using a sharp knife slice them into pieces, no more than 3/4 of an inch long or so. Bite size. Put them into a bowl.

Sprinkle with a little olive oil. Fruity and sweet is good for this.

Add some freshly cracked black pepper. And maybe just a little more salt.

You can add any of the following, though it's not necessary:

minced chives
minced parsley
other light-tasting green herbs. You don't want to overwhem the palm hearts (they might become shy).

Gently mix it all together. You'll notice the center will fall out of some of the palm hearts. The middle is much more tender than the remaining ring, but both serve their own purpose.

Eat. It shouldn't be too chilled, you want all the different flavors evident. Dream of palm trees and thank them.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Rumination on chinese food

2008-07-14T09:22:00.006-04:00

I love chinese food. This is not a short-lived, little fling, no, not this love. This is one of the great passionate true loves of my life. Actually, let me clarify. I love good chinese food, not cheap suburban overcooked, too-greasy, chinese food cooked by people who have forgotten the history and mystery of the land that spawned the cuisine.

I know saying chinese food is a misnomer. China is a huge place, encompassing many different languages, cultures and foodways, but at least in America when we say "chinese food" we're referring to a general type of cooking. It's likely the food is cut into pieces small enough to be handled with chopsticks, there is a wok in the kitchen and white rice is served. And for me, it includes comfort, variety of flavor and texture, potential adventure and more.

A few nights ago I had wonderful spicy dumplings from my local chinese restaurant, Fuloon. I'm fortunate, this place is within walking distance and is very good. I don't need to go to Chinatown for a fix, though I still love to go. Their dumplings are coated in a spicy sauce composed of szechuan peppercorn oil, some soy sauce, a bit of red pepper and maybe a little vinegar. The szechuan peppercorn has a typical characteristic of both burning and numbing the mouth that is just exquisite, while the dumplings are soft and tender. I can't eat too many at any one time, I'm not that inured to hot food, but it is wonderful. I think of this as intermediate-to-advanced eating.

The first time I ever had chinese food, my beginner meal, was when I was maybe 8 or 9. My parents took me to a place in Philadelphia, one of the one-from-column-A, two-from-column-B kinds of places. I remember being suspicious. I remember the table was round, the restaurant seemed cluttered. And then I tasted sweet-and-sour pork for the first time, in spite of its orange color. There was no going back. While I'm sure, now, I would consider this to be a mediocre example of the dish then it was utterly exquisite. I remember the soft crunch and tear, then the flood of tart sweetness and the oily coating in my mouth. I remember closing my eyes so I could taste it better. My mother laughed when I went "mmmmmm...." as I chewed, unaware.

I still close my eyes and make yummy sounds when I eat something especially delectable.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Tomato cucumber salad

2008-07-12T11:54:00.003-04:00

This is what made me decide to start this blog. In my other blog I was writing about the afterlife and declared that I hoped there would be tomato-cucumber salad there. I included the recipe, though it wasn't quite relevant for the conversation. Here it is again, just for fun.

Tomato-cucumber salad
Inspired by various Mediterranean chopped salads, made up by me. Perfect for a summer day. Or when you want to be reminded of summer.

Take a couple of lovely, heavy, ripe tomatoes. Cut them in half and scoop out the seeds. This will sting if you have any scrapes or cracks in your hands. Chop the tomatoes into small pieces. Put it in a good sized bowl. A pretty one.

Take a cucumber. I usually peel it some, but not entirely. Slice it in half the long way and run your thumb down the inside, scraping the seeds out. You can use a spoon, but this is more fun. Chop up the cucumber and add it to the tomato.

Find an onion that seems non-threatening. Peel it, dice it and add it to the bowl of veggies. If you cry a little no one needs to know. Some tears are a gift.

Take a bunch or parsley, flat or curly, your choice. rinse it and shake it dry. Chop it up until you have what you think is enough, then add some more. Add it to the bowl.

Sniff it all. Mmmm....

Take a nice, ripe lemon. Cut it in half and squeeze the juice out from both halves over the veggie mix. You may want to use two lemons.

Add salt and pepper to taste; it may take more salt than you're expecting. Mix it all up well. Eat.

(c) 2008 Laura S Packer

Hello world

2008-07-11T13:13:00.002-04:00

Fine. I did it. I'm starting a food blog. I've been resisting writing about food in my other blog because that's supposed to be about writing, storytelling and life. But I keep wanting to. So here. I've given myself a place to write about eating, cooking, chopping, smelling, stirring, spices, etc etc.

What finally launched me was that salad I made yesterday.

We belong to a farm share, a way to get fresh, mostly organic veggies that are locally grown. It's a great idea, but means we end up with a lot of radishes (or other stuff) sometimes. It can be hard to use everything and I hate to see it rot.

So I made this last night. Like most of my recipes, all amounts are approximate.

Miscellaneous chopped salad

Mix in a bowl:
1 kholrabi, peeled and julienned
4 salad turnips, peeled and julienned
some tender bok choy stems (8? 9?) chopped
6 or 7 radishes, chopped
a bunch of scallions, chopped

I imagine you could also add: water chestnuts and other crunchy not-too-sweet veggies.

Toss the veggies together.

Dressing:
1T white vinegar
2t sugar
2T EVOO
salt and pepper to taste

Whisk the dressing together, pour over the salad, mix and eat. Yummy!

I loved the patience required to peel and chop, peel and chop. I loved the sound of the knife on the board (I love wooden cutting boards). And the resulting salad was really good.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer