Dishing It Out And Cleaning It Up: Clever Gretel's Blog For Home Chefs

Year of the Rabbit -- Yum!

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 03:45:00 +0000

Happy Chinese New Year to my Juicy friends. I have promised to write more entries in 2011 Year of the Rabbit. They will probably will be short as we recently moved (again) and as Bartleby is not really in school, just this time period in the afternoon called "half day kindergarten" during which he mostly learns how to act like a normal kid while disguising his superior intelligence.

On a related topic (to both Chinese New Year and the inadequacies of kindergarten in America), I have just finished reading Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by the now very famous Amy Chua. It is a funny and sad book about a mother who takes the idea of her children having a "hobby" way too far. She describes herself and any other parent who pushes her kids to be No. 1 in everything as a "Chinese mother." But I beg to differ. Ms. Chua did seem to fit the definition of Chinese mother until she did one thing. No, it was not calling her daughter "garbage" when she talked back to Tiger Mama. Nor was it threatening to burn her dollhouse if she didn't practice. Not even refusing to allow the kid to get up to pee until she got her little piano piece just perfect. It was the denial of food. Not once, but twice as recounted in the story.

If you know Chinese mothers at all then the one thing you know is that food and feeding of family and children is all important. Ms. Chua obviously likes food. She makes much of the menu she has catered for her daughter's Carnegie Hall debut. Her biggest battle with her younger daughter is over caviar. Yet, her actions with her daughters are contrary to all Chinese foodways. This is a culture in which a standard greeting is, "Have you eaten?" and in whose medical practices nutrition is the first resort in treating disease. As a person who half grew up in a Chinese household, I can say Ms. Chua is not at all a typical Chinese mother (if there is one), but a first-gen Chinese person who really lost her mind. She's lucky she didn't lose her family and I think she knows it.

On another note, the Wall Street Journal recently ran an article about the rising number of rabbits being given as pets in China as it is the rabbit year and their not-so-lucky fates. The article quoted a spokesperson for a vegetarian group called "Don't Eat Friends." I had to chuckle at that. And then guilty remembered the times I've eaten and enjoyed our furry friends and a few others, especially while I was in China. It really does make a difference when you call them "friends".

Mini Vegetarian Pot Pies

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 02:35:00 +0000

Some of you asked for the recipe for Mini Vegetarian Pot Pies, which I mentioned in an FB post. They are so easy, even the Earl of March could make them as they do not require those pesky things called eggs. You will need a few pieces of equipment:

Baking sheet
A round glass or circular cookie cutter
A cutting board or surface
Non-stick muffin tins (I got 18 pies, but if you roll the dough a little thinner you might get 24)
Oil spray

And some ingredients:
A package of frozen pie dough (two pieces), defrosted
Assorted vegetables for roasting (three or four carrots, two or three potatoes, leeks or yellow onion, one smallish squash or whatever other root veggies you might like to roast)
1 1/2 C frozen peas (because it's just not pot pie without the peas)
1 C white wine
1 1/3 C vegetable broth or chicken broth if you are not a strict vegetarian or making a chicken version
1/3 C heavy cream
1 T cornstarch
2 T warm water

And finally, directions:
Chop up your veggies into a thick dice. Heat your oven to 425 degrees. Put the veggies on the baking sheet and spritz with oil spray. Roast in oven until soft, about 30 minutes. Remove from oven and reduce the heat to 350 degrees. In a medium-sized pot, pour the white wine and broth. Bring to a boil. Add frozen peas and allow them to warm through. Dissolve the cornstarch in the warm water and add it to the pot. Add the veggies. Add the cream. Allow to cook until thickened, about five minutes.

Place the dough on a cutting board and press it out a bit, but don't make it too thin (this is a hearty recipe). With the cutter or glass, cut the dough into circles. Even if you are using a non-stick pan, spritz the muffin tin with a slight layer of oil as you will want the pies to come out pretty. Place one circle of dough into the muffin tin. Add a dollop of pot pie mixture (about 1- 1 1/2 tablespoons) and top with another dough circle. Repeat until tin is full. Bake until the tops of the pies are golden and any filling spilling out is oozy and brown, about 30 minutes. Allow to cool before you turn them onto a plate.

A serving suggestion:
Serve with Greek yogurt and a green salad. Or eat them cold from the fridge.

A note about the yield:
You will make about 18 pies and still have filling left over. What to do with it? Freeze it for another day. On that other day, you can either make this recipe again or make one giant pot pie if you aren't in the mood to cut out 36 or so dough circles.

Because this mixture satisfies the need for something creamy, you could also potentially (I say this because mine is still sitting frozen in the fridge) use the filling as a topping for noodles, a quickie veggie lasagna addition, a quiche base, omelet stuffing, or make another quick pot pie variation by putting it in a casserole and topping it with biscuit dough from a can (I can hear my former boss, a truly skilled foodie from the South, cringing, but I saw it in a magazine and can't get it out of my mind).

Fill In The Blank

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Thu, 11 Nov 2010 03:33:00 +0000

These days, it seems nearly impossible to avoid reading about other people’s money in major print media outlets. And I’m just not above it. I admit it. On Saturday morning I don’t bother with either the newsprint sections of the weekend WSJ or The Financial Times (I read the New York Times on line, so I can savor that wealth digest during the week). I go straight for the magazine sections. Of the two financial pubs, I give more points to The Financial Times, which in its ballsy way, calls its wealth rag “How To Spend It.” Plus, it has this nasty, dishy column written in the style of an Ab Fab episode about the dilemmas presumably real wealthy people find themselves in due to their own shortsightedness and greed. I find it irresistible.

So, Gretel, you say, “What Has This To Do With Food?” I’m getting there. Last week, the Aesthete section (which is one of those Q&As all the newsy magazines now have with famous or just rich or rich and famous or just notorious people that are thin disguises for product placements) featured the Earl of March. You can Google it, but here is the link, because I love you and want you to be an FT reader, too.

You will notice first the Earl of March is handsome and he is very good at looking right at the camera, which either means he’s terribly self-assured or terribly shy and the photographer had to tell him dirty jokes to get him to sit on that couch and have his picture taken. He doesn’t smile. Presumably because he’s English and they have that teeth thing going. And here I’m going on a William Gibson tangent to say that the Earl of March looks exactly like my mental image of Hubertus Bigend (and that you have to look up on your own because on some things you just have to do your own homework).

You will notice second (or at least eventually or if you are me) that the interviewer asks that most impertinent question “In my fridge you’ll always find [fill in the blank].” His answer appears flippant, but if you parse it, as we will momentarily, well, “curioser and curioser” as my favorite English author would say.

The Earl fills in the blank with “...a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and Grenada chocolate from Rococo in London...” So there’s the product placement, right off the bat. Veuve is in his fridge and on his lips as the brand is very likely (although it is hard to tell exactly for sure from the website) sponsors of The Festival of Speed, held at the Goodwood racetrack, which is the Earl’s event and on his property.

The chocolate, however, gets an endorsement from the Earl, “- it’s absolutely the best, proper dark chocolate.” Not only that, it’s ethically proper as it is fair trade chocolate made from product from a cocoa farm in Grenada. You remember Grenada -- 1783 the Treaty of Paris, 1983 the U.S. invasion of...2004 Hurricane Ivan...2007 host of the Cricket World Cup and nutmeg capital of the world (at least, prior to 2004). So much to look up! Even better, the company is owned by a chocolate-obsessed woman. With three fabulous locations in London (Chelsea, Belgravia, Marylebone (none of which, I suspect are pronounced the way they are spelled) I doubt she’ll bring her chocolates to these shores, but isn’t that what the Internet is for? They ship hampers! I’ve always wanted a hamper that wasn’t for laundry.

The Earl continues, unbidden, and here’s where it starts to get deep (although I think it was intended to be Ab-Fab-by, as answered by his wife or publicist). “I don’t know about staples. I’m not looking for eggs when I go to the fridge, I’m looking for champagne and chocolate.” And it’s there that I’ve been stopped dead in my tracks for the last two weeks.

Of course the Earl doesn’t know about staples. Although, his father is an accountant, so you’d think he wasn’t raised with a silver spoon filling up all of his mouth. But never mind that. The Earl knows what he’s not looking for -- eggs. You have to cook them. They might have salmonella. They are a bother. Clearly, someone else does his cooking. The Earl is always looking for immediate gratification within his clean, stainless steel refrigerators. “Mouth pleasures” as they say on 30 Rock. Chocolate. And something to get drunk on.

I realized I have no damn idea what I’m looking for when I open the fridge. Then I thought, if I did have an idea of what I was looking for in the fridge, for starters, and then extrapolated that to the bigger picture of my life, say, my living room or my office, maybe I’d be more successful, more like the Earl, but with way better teeth. So I keep trying to fill in the blank. What would it always please me to find in my fridge? What would make me cut past all the clutter and reach for joy? I keep asking, asking. There’s no answer, yet. Do you have one?

Steak Out

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Mon, 18 Oct 2010 02:38:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, I ate steak out twice in the same week. Since this is a blog and not the Diary of Samuel Pepys (I couldn't resist giving you that link), I will spare you the details of exactly where, how and why. Let it suffice to say that the first steak was eaten at possibly the most expensive restaurant, whose name in Italian and Spanish translates into "mouth", in our fair mid-sized Midwestern city and the second was eaten at Ruby Tuesday. I am going to argue that it was the same menu, although the better experience was Ruby Tuesday and you may think it an odd, strange thing but it was true. Here is why:

Upon entering the Mouth, we were greeted by Generation Y in tight skirt and shiny blouse with lots of hair tumbling over their shoulders. "Hello. We have an 8:30 reservation," said Lincoln, "We're a little early. Can you seat us?" Generation Y looked at him blankly out of four fair eyes and said, "We will seat you at 8:30." Lincoln prompted, "Then we will sit at the bar?" Generation Y pointed to the bar. We were a little taken aback, to say the least. We ordered expensive drinks and were seated at exactly 8:30 in a terrible corner that made me feel like I had tunnel vision all evening.

Our waiter, however, was lovely. He recited the evening's features in dulcet tones and left us with the menu. The menu at Mouth is divided into three sections by discreet little asterisks: * an appetizer/salad, ** a first course ***a main course. There were no prices. At first, I thought it was a throwback to the days when a lady was given a menu without prices to spare her knowledge of the price of her meal. Then, I read further. The entire menu was prix fixe, sort of. One could order a choice of two courses and dessert ($55) or three courses and dessert ($67). But, if one desired veal there was an up-charge. And if one specifically desired steak, there was a serious up-charge to $88 because * it was a 32 oz. New York strip ** it could only be ordered for "the table" and *** therefore it became the main course for everyone who would partake of it (in this case, Lincoln and myself). I was quite aware of the price or potential price of my meal.

Quickly checking to make sure I was still in a restaurant and not a Volvo dealership, I did the math and decided that the best deal going was the steak. The steak, after all, came with a salad/first course and three sides. By splitting a salad and first course and the steak entree we would spend less than say, Mrs. Obama visiting Spain. We had an excellent wine but the steak, although ordered medium rare, arrived so bloody and undercooked Mr. Andrews would have fancied it (I won't make you look that one up in the diary, the excerpt is provided below in footnote 1]). The sides were nicely-sized portions and completely unmemorable. We walked out of there for around $200 with a doggy bag of steak. And merry we were. But not really.

Later in the week, I found myself at Ruby Tuesday with Bartleby and She Who Is Not Named Phoebe and my parents. Everyone, also named Generation Y, greeted us nicely. There was a table ready, no waiting, no tunnel vision. A sling was brought for the baby's car seat, as it was observed she was snoozing. Our lovely waitress described no specials, but happily took our drink orders. I opened the menu to find it blissfully asterisk-free. Although there was an up-charge on certain of the Signature Sides, including Lobster Macaroni and Cheese, which I noticed because Mouth's menu had sensitized me.

Despite our earlier steak feeding (or maybe because of it) I was craving steak. Perusing the menu, I determined that the steak was also the best deal on the menu. I ordered the nine-ounce sirloin, medium. It came with a basket of cheddar biscuits reminiscent of the endless cheese puffs at Fogo de Chao (where everything, including steak, is endless and never served bleeding rare), but slightly sweeter. I selected two "Signature Sides" - creamy mashed cauliflower and fresh grilled asparagus (new!) that came with my meal. I did not want lobster macaroni and cheese, so no need to pay the up-charge for that, but it wouldn't have broken the bank had I desired it.

She Who Is Not Named Phoebe woke and ate almost all of the mashed cauliflower. Bartleby enjoyed some of my thin, toothsome grilled asparagus along with his hamburger and a cheesy biscuit or two. I walked out of there for $15 (with tip). No doggy bag necessary because we ate everything. And I WAS merry.

Now, you may be saying that Clever Gretel is getting old, has lived in the suburbs too long, is loosing her edge etc. but I think what is happening is that the lower end is watching the higher end, capturing the best of it and throwing out the rest. So there was no Maldon salt on the table and Ruby Tuesday's wine list probably lacks an Aglianico that would bring down the house, but give it time. Keeping it real is what keeps people coming back.

So, home to supper and to bed. Just like Sammy.

***

[1] "and merry we were, but it was an odd, strange thing to observe of Mr. Andrews what a fancy he hath to raw meat, that he eats it with no pleasure unless the blood run about his chops, which it did now by a leg of mutton that was not above half boiled; but, it seems, at home all his meat is dressed so, and beef and all, and [he] eats it so at nights also." The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday, October 17, 1667

A Note On Trader Joe's

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 01:55:00 +0000

I am going to assume that most of you Juicy readers heard the story about Trader Joe's on NPR or read it in Fortune Magazine. I am feeling too lazy to find it and link out to it, so Google it yourselves. Anyway, a number of people commented to me that as Jews they were trying to decide if they were going to have an issue with their favorite grocery store being owned by Germans or not. None of them wanted to give up shopping at TJs, but they felt kind of guilty. For myself, I own cars made by the Axis (a Honda and a VW), so I was certainly not going to throw stones at my glass house. My response to my co-religionists was "Absolvate" on the Deutch issue. The Trader employs Americans and does it fairly by providing reasonable wages and benefits. Also, many an American company produces their food.

However, I do think we should take issue with TJ and his alter-egos (Giotto, Ming, etc.) on how much food he purchases from other countries. I'm not against sharing the wealth, but do we Americans need to eat Canadian tomatoes and bread (oh, it's good, though)? Or apples from New Zealand (I don't care how good their fujis are)? Or Peruvian asparagus? Personally, I have boycotted their nuts (mostly cashews) from Thailand because I hear that nuts from southern Thailand may contain lead. I would like to see the Trader rely more on our homegrown resources, sell foods when they are in season and not bother with the mid-winter imports to give us consumers more choice in that realm.

Soapbox done.

Flank Steak - Yes, You Can Roast It

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 01:44:00 +0000

I don't know what my deal is, but I've never roasted flank steak before tonight and I ended up with a most impressive dinner for a Tuesday night. Maybe you have, but I've mostly grilled, broiled, pan cooked or stir fried mine. Maybe you're wondering what the heck a flank steak is and how it differs from, say, a hanger steak? Well, you can look that up here. At any rate, to make this easy and impressive rolled roast do this:

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees.

1) quickly chop up some old challah, black and green olives, parsley, celery and onion. Place in a bowl. Toss in some yellow raisins (or you could use brown) and splash over some olive oil. Mix briefly, with your hands.

2) sprinkle flank steak on both sides with salt and pepper. Spread bread/olive mixture onto top side of steak. Roll and tie with string. Cover with foil.

3) roast until done, about 30 minutes and let rest, covered, for about 15 minutes.

Serve with roast potato and salad.

The Briar, The Rose and The Bagel

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 01:32:00 +0000

Not long ago, I spent a teary-eyed hour reading food news on the Internets. Yes, I said tears. I usually turn to food writing for cheer, but these two articles reminded me, yet again, how deep a subject we are treading on when we write about food.

First, I read Michele Kayal’s essay Learning Who You Are Through What You Eat about handing down her Syrian culture to her daughter through traditional foods. I could almost taste the yebrat and lahem’ajeen (I’m not Syrian, but I have fond memories of goodies made by my best friend’s Lebanese aunts and, of course, the Northside of Chicago -- Lawrence and Kedzie to be exact. Head on over. It’s next to the bakery). Kayal also has a lovely blog, The Hyphenated Chef, which you Juicy readers should check out.

As if that weren’t enough, I then read this article in the New York Times about movie critic Roger Ebert, who is still cooking, although he can no longer eat or talk, due to cancer of his jaw. The process of cooking seems to help him stay in touch with his most fond food memories even as he is given over to “ghost pain” memories of foods and flavors from his past.

We all know, at some level, that food and memory are the briar and the rose, but these two articles gave me new perspective on the topic. As I was pondering these stories, I had to drive my kids to Indianapolis. I stopped, as requested at Marx’s bagel store (Kenwood Road in Blue Ash, Ohio). As I put the bagels in the car, I noticed the bag was warm, which always makes me remember the warm paper bags of bagels my father would bring home from Wriggler’s bakery (used to be on Millburn Avenue in Millburn, NJ. Shout out to me if it’s still there) on Sundays. It’s the same warmth as holding new baby around her bottom.

About twenty minutes in to the drive I was caught in stand-still traffic (this almost never happens in southeastern Indiana). As soon as it broke, the kids announced that they were hungry in their various ways (She Who Is Not Named Phoebe started crying and Bartleby tried negotiating for McDonalds). I pulled off the highway and over to the edge of a field. I went to the back seat, mixed formula for Not Phoebe and reached into the warm bag to give Bartleby a bagel. I ate my bagel as I watched the setting sun turn the grasses gold. I observed the clouds in the sky. I thought how this would always be known as “the time we got stuck in traffic, but we had a bag of warm Marx’s bagels in the car to eat.”

Now the bagel and the field, and the sun and the trip with the kids are all linked and, because of these readings, I was aware of the linkage in the moment when it happened. I was watching the process, letting the briar and the rose climb and entwine.

Updates and Miscellany

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 01:31:00 +0000

Here's an article in the New York Times about State Fairs and various comestibles served at State Fairs. Nothing quite as extravagant as the Luther, but, in Ohio, more examples of the trickle-down foodie trend of sweet/salty: deep fried buckeyes and chocolate bacon (on a stick).

Grape pie was tasted by others and enjoyed. See picture below. Probably would look better with whipped cream or a garnish of lemon peel.

Grape Crow Pie or Hello, My Name Is Blank And I Spend Too Much At CostCo

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 02:57:00 +0000

The other day I met a very nice lady who is a professional organizer. As you can guess, I tend toward the antithesis of both “professional” and “organizer.” Although, I do seem to be improving with age. Anyway, the nice lady said to me that CostCo is a deceptive place. She said most of her clients have a problem because they go there every month, buy too much stuff and don’t have room at home for their purchases. In the name of saving money they are sowing the seeds of their own disorganization.

Of course, when someone tells me that other people have a problem, I automatically do a brain scan to see if I have a similar affliction (attention deficit disorder? No, but comte cheese is sometimes a problem for me) and then my superiority gene kicks in and I go on about my day thinking, “Well, I eat too much comte cheese, but at least I can pay attention to details...now where’d I put that cheese?” So, when the professional organizer brings up habitual CostCo shopping I automatically want to blurt out, “I only shop every six weeks at CostCo, I can store the stuff I buy because my rule for the semblance of organization I do keep is if you don’t have a bunch of stuff you don’t have to organize it (though architect Mies van der Rohe put it much more succinctly) and they have the most comte cheese for the best price per pound anywhere!” But I hold myself back and silently spin into my usual state of denial.

I am confident, almost cocky, when I go to CostCo the next day after meeting Organizer Woman. I even went with a weekly meal plan in hand. I specifically chose to go to CostCo because I was spending money at Target (my true disease, but I did have a list) and CostCo is next to Target and I didn’t want to go to a third store for groceries. I was planning, for once, to save time and money. Now, that’s organized.

Two meals hinged on pine nuts (flank steak coated in pine nuts and a pesto with farmer’s market basil that was soon to expire). I also needed milk boxes for Bartleby’s school lunches. I came out with neither (shame on me for waiting on the milk boxes until the week school starts) and I was still $150 lighter than when I went in. Normally, I wouldn’t care. I’d think that as usual, I’d done really well at the warehouse. But this time, Organizer Woman must have scrambled my brain with her micro-organizing waves or something and I felt really cheated.

CostCo used to sell huge amounts of pine nuts for pennies on the dollar. Not that day. Maybe no more. I left with a pounds of California seedless table grapes, spinach, carrots, flank steak, dried mushrooms, bread, pasta (ravioli for grownups and fish-shaped ravioli for kiddos), petite cucumbers, Go Gurts, mini-humus packs (for Bartleby’s lunches) eggs and cereals. Not one stray item, not one extra treat (OK the gourmet dried fruit may have been excessive)! And now, I had to do something with it all and I had to hustle or I would waste my “savings”.

The carrots I dispatched to a pot of boiling water so that The Baby Whose Name Is Not Phoebe could eat them. The mushrooms, spinach and flank steak became Sauteed Mushrooms, Spinach and Flank Steak (a recipe so self-evident I won’t bother to describe it, just remember dried mushrooms must be soaked about 30 minutes in warm water before use). The grapes, however, were especially troublesome because of their size and quantity. Like the Goblin fruit from the Rosetti poem (look it up) I was in danger of becoming their victim. I packed up a bunch for my babysitter to take. But she forgot them. I packed up another bunch for my mother to take, but she forgot them as well. There was only one thing to do...make them into pie and then eat the pie as penance (as you may know, it’s that time of year for us Jewish folk).

Because the pie comes out a grapey black I’ve name it Grape Crow Pie. And it’s really good. Not a hard penance, just a little strange.

Grape Crow Pie

Heat your oven to 350 degrees F. Take about 18 graham crackers and make a crust to thickly fill an eight inch pie plate. I’m going to assume you know that graham cracker crust consists of crushed graham crackers and melted butter and you know the steps to preparing it. It does help to have a five-year-old who likes to hammer, but make sure to seal the ziplock tight.

Once the crust is in the pie plate, pre-bake it at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes and leave the oven on for later. Now, start on the grape filling. In a large pot, pour about 1/4 cup of pomegranate or grape juice, add about a pound or more of large, black, seedless grapes (the ones from CostCo are truly lovely), bring to a boil and reduce to simmer, covered about 15 minutes, then uncovered for a bit, until you have very soft, mushy grapes and some liquid left in the pot. Pour the grapes into the crust and let cool for a minute. Sprinkle about 2 Tablespoons of confectioners sugar over the top. Return the filled pie to the oven. Bake until your kitchen smells sugary or the top of the pie has turned dark and glossy, about eight minutes. Allow to cool slightly before serving warm.

It will taste like plum pie, but grapey, and the crust will soak up the fruitiness and become delightfully mushy. If you had pine nuts, you could put them on top as a garnish. I did not, needless to say, have pine nuts.

Chickpea Mistake

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 02:04:00 +0000

On the continuing theme of repenting one’s mistakes before the Jewish New Year begins, I give you the somewhat original recipe that I call Chickpea Mistake. But, in this case the lesson is not recognize the mistake and repent, but to recognize, as a certain major Judeo/Christian deity did in the story of Abraham/Sarah/Hagar/Ishmael told at this time of year (you may look it up on Wikipedia), the mistake will serve a purpose later on and it may not be worth mentioning at all. Plus, your mistake can be eaten.

The ingredients: chickpeas (one can, canned), rice (cooked, about 1 cup, of sticky Asian variety), herbs (mint and parsley), garlic (smelly and diced), tomatoes (crushed, also canned), peas (a handful, frozen and microwaved), cumin (dusty) and olive oil (yummy, and only a teaspoon or two because we're not making falafel).

Make the meatless meatball mash by pulsing the chickpeas in the food processor with mint and parsley, salt and pepper, remove to a bowl and mix with the rice.

If you make the first attempt to form balls at this stage, as I did, the balls will dry and fall apart when heated in the olive oil with garlic (browned). Please eat the first mistake, if you make it.

Before attempting again, add about two teaspoons of crushed tomatoes to the mixture of until it is the consistency of chopped meat, form into balls, set aside. Heat your pan, add oil and the diced garlic. Now, add the balls to the hot, garlicky oil. This will give you a fried mash that may settle into a state that is not quite a ball, not quite a patty, but that's good enough.

When nicely browned, put the chickpea “mistake” in a bowl. Scrape all the crunchy mix of browned garlic and stray rice off the bottom of the pan and dump it over the mistake. Ignore any sudden concern that the husband/significant other/food critic will not want to eat this. Soldier on, please. Add peas, a dollop of crushed tomato and sprinkle of cumin. Reheat in the microwave when the husband/significant other/food critic comes in the door. Serve with side salad.

When the husband/significant other/food critic asks you what it is say “Bukharan Vegetarian Meatball” because references to Uzbekistan always throw people off. When he asks if you made this, as opposed to your best friend Trader Joe, say yes. When he asks you if the recipe is so and so’s, claim it as your own. It will turn out that he likes Bukharan Vegetarian Meatball and will want you to make it again.

P.S. Chickpeas are a food traditionally served for the Jewish New Year. The shape and color of the ball/patties are, coincidentally, symbolic of coins, to bring wealth and happiness. If you like this recipe, go ahead and serve it. Your guests who may be following vegetarian/vegan diets will love it.

Daniel Vs. Luther - A New Year's Reflection

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 02:26:00 +0000

Mistakes. We all make 'em. As the Jewish New Year draws closer (and yours truly, Clever Gretel, celebrates this holiday, usually with a few stiff drinks before dealing with the menu) we ponder our sins and, ultimately, ask forgiveness. I have committed many sins. One of them is relying too often on the pizza man or, worse, a guy named Bob Evans, to provide food for my family. However, I was busy adding another member to said family, the Lovely Baby Named Phoebe, whom we will call Winnie, for short. This curtailed my desire to think about food, eat like a normal person or cook for the better part of the past two years (has it really been that long?).

But there are other sins out there I ask you to consider. For me, this one would have been impossible to write about in my formerly pregnant state. In recent weeks, there's been much hooplah about The Doughnut Burger, currently being served at state fairs around our country. In the spirit of culinary equanimity I ask you: how big a sin is it? Is it contributing to the scourge of obesity besetting our country? Or is it merely a low-brow version of a burger on a brioche? Famed Chef Daniel Boulud stuffs his with assorted fillings, such as foie gras, short ribs, truffles etc., so what about an indulgent burger for the rest of us?

Consumers of The Doughnut Burger (also called The Luther, as in Vandross) said, in USA Today, they liked the sweet/salty combination of meat and sugar. Doesn't everyone? So, I ask you, what is American barbecue enjoyed with cornbread if not sweet/salty plus spicy? What is a delicious dim sum without a savory/sweet pork bun? Isn't that just bacon in a cupcake?

A quick look at the nutrition facts and exercise estimates via the Calorie King reveals that you only have to walk a bit further to burn off the doughnut burger than the burger on brioche. Here are the stats:

A brioche from the Breadsmith has 140 calories, Total Fat 8g, Sat. Fat 4.5g, Trans Fat 0g, Cholesterol 55mg, Sodium 150mg, Total Carbs. 15g, Dietary Fiber 0g, Sugars 2g, Protein 3g, Calcium 10mg. Time needed to walk off brioche: 39 minutes.

Now add the burger: A 3.5 oz. burger contains: Calories 250, Total Fat 9g, Sat. Fat 3.5g, Fat 0.5g, Cholesterol 25mg, 520mg, Total Carbs. 31g, Dietary Fiber 2g, Sugars 6g, Protein 12g Calcium 100mg. Time needed to walk off burger: 69 minutes.

Here's the data for one Krispy Kreme Glazed Original Doughnut: Calories 200, Total Fat 12g., Sat. Fat 6g, Trans Fat 0g, Cholesterol 5mg, Sodium 95mg, Carbs. 22g, Dietary Fiber 0.5g,
Sugars 10g, Protein 2g, Calcium 60mg. Time needed to walk off doughnut: 55 minutes.

But, here's the rub, The Doughnut Burger is made with two, I repeat, two, doughnuts. So, double all of the nutrition data above and add another 55 minutes of walking. You can walk off the Doughnut Burger in around 3 hours, as opposed to around 2 for the brioche burger. You can easily burn that walking around the State Fair. Granted, I am not including any burger toppings, such as cheese or bacon or State Fair calves liver (that was a joke, but, really, why not? Daniel would do it). I also suspect I am making a large assumption on burger size. Who eats a 3.5 ounce burger anymore?

Still, hypothetically, even if the burger is a six-ouncer, if The Doughnut Burger is the ONLY food you eat at the State Fair and you visit every exhibit, resting only to watch the little girls in 4H march with their sheep, you aren't committing so grave a sin. You could even, in theory, ask for the burger to be served on just one doughnut, cut in half, like the brioche. This would reduce the penance of walking by an hour. You might even get to skip the sheep viewing.

And speaking of walking as penance, bear in mind that Clever Gretel resides in Cincinnati, where local Catholics walk the steps of Mt. Adams as penance on Easter, after or before eating a meal of Goetta (a loaf of steel cut oats and hamburger meat, sliced and fried, over which one might, if one so chooses, pour syrup. Ah ha! There's that sweet/salty thing again, but now with a hint, of dare I say, the divine?).

In conclusion: I can condemn the sins of sloth and gluttony. I can rail against the lack of produce in less affluent neighborhoods and abundance fast foods, poor school nutrition and lack of preventive care for Type Two diabetes, for these represent the sin of not caring for ourselves and our neighbors. Yet, I cannot entirely condemn The Doughnut Burger. It is a choice, like so many others, that can be managed have we the will to do so. Therefore, I place it on the ever-expanding continuum of indulgence our society is known for and move on, perhaps to something more palatable. Fried butter anyone?

An Old Stand-By

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 23:08:00 +0000

I was reminiscing with Lincoln the other day about how we are not strangers to financial pressure and scary unemployment figures. It just seems so long ago...the turn of the century, when cell phones were a bit thicker, a twitter was the sound of a bird outside your window and on-line communities were still posting text to Usenet. He reminded me that our experience with hard times goes way back - as children, we witnessed the recession of the 80s and were job seekers during the sink hole of the early 90s. I reminded him that despite the hefty weight of student loans, we managed to have a lot of fun on no money. We both remembered the proud moment we paid off Lincoln's J.D. in three years (faster than Barack and Michelle Obama, by the way) and our financial adviser asked us, "How did you do it? Did you live on macaroni and cheese?" No, but we did eat a lot of meals like this one:

Pasta Al Tonno (Tuna Pasta)

I originally learned this recipe from Cucina Ebraica by Joyce Goldstein, but over time, have adapted it to my own taste. You can play around with it. Leave the tomato paste out or use garlic instead of onion. Omit the red wine and use canned tomato instead to make it more sauce-like than solid. This is a recipe that will let you find your own way.

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
1 cup of parsely, chopped
1 can of tuna - I use solid white in water, but you can use Italian tuna in oil.
About 6 anchovies or to your taste
1 teaspoon capers
2 teaspoons of tomato paste
1/4 cup of red wine

2 cups rigatoni, penne or linguine noodles

Follow directions for cooking pasta, drain and place in large bowl. While pasta is on the stove, heat a frying pan and add olive oil. Sautee the chopped onion and parsely until soft. Add tuna, anchovies and capers and mix together. Add tomato paste and wine and stir mixture. Add to pasta and blend thoroughly. Garnish with parsely. Serve with crusty bread and salad.

Facebook Chiken

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 22:02:00 +0000

It's official. Blogger readers who are my "friends" can now follow this blog through the Notes section on my facebook page. That satisfies the needs of two electronic communities. Did you know that facebook only allows you to publish one feed to your page? What am I supposed to do for all my other personalities?

Test

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 21:38:00 +0000

This is a test. This is only a test of the facebook/blogger relationship.

Test

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 21:36:00 +0000

This is a post to test the facebook/blogger relationship. This is only a test.

A Promise

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 03:17:00 +0000

I promise, promise, promise to write you about how I made the Shabbat dinner to end all Shabbat dinners. It was stellar. It was 5 stars. It was worthy of note. I just don't have time because I have to go to three exercise classes to work it off this week.

Miscellaneous/Privacy Is Dead?

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 03:11:00 +0000

If you haven't noticed, lately, Facebook seems to be taking over the world. I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that Generation X is 20 years out of high school and getting ready for its class reunions. At least, that's how most people I know got sucked into the thing. Lincoln followed, and I haven't seen him since (ladies, he's taken!).

If you are on facebook, you can import JuicyChiken and read my posts from there. If you do that, why not go viral and share the articles with your friends?

If you know my secret identity, you can also get some recipes that I've posted in my notes page as an experiment to see which gets me more posts -- this blogosphere thing or the facebook. So far, facebook is winning.

For those of you cringing and crying that I'm even bringing this up, I assure you that in ten years, this too will pass. I also want to say that no one will judge you harshly for not friending or unfriending your ex-boyfriends after the morbid curiosity phase has passed.

Some Foods Are Better With Friends And Without Smoked Meat

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 02:34:00 +0000

Recovering from a severe stomach illness that rendered me unable to eat anything except broth for a week, I've had time to reflect on my last great cooking adventure with my friend Anna. When she came down for a visit last month, we took on The New Spanish Table and made three courses for friends. Our meal was Potato Soup with Fried Almonds, Salad with Hazelnut, Apricot and Sherry Vinegar Dressing, Lamb Meatballs With Mint and an Orange Tart for dessert. All three dishes were great, although the tart was problematic.

What struck me most was the quality of our cooking time together. These days, with Lincoln busier than ever and me holding down the house on the hill, I mostly cook alone, although with Bartleby capering about in the background. I didn't even know when Anna proposed cooking together if I was capable of it. Would I have to explain things to her? Find things in the kitchen? Be a big crank? I am so used to talking myself through trouble spots, finding solutions in mere seconds, coming up with the big ideas for meals, burning my thumbs when no one can hear me scream...I just didn't know if there was room for someone else in my kitchen. To my great relief, the recipes naturally divided themselves into a fair division of labor based on skills. Anna took the soup and dessert, I did the meatballs and the salad. We frequently consulted the book and each other. We also accomplished all of our cooking in a mere four hours. It was harmonious and so pleasing to show off these dishes to friends. It felt like we had stepped out of a Gourmet Magazine photo spread.

Foodwise, I would change little. The soup, on a second trial, tastes better without smoked meat and with an all vegetable stock. The tart really needed the oranges peeled - unless you really like bitter.

Sopa De Patatas Y Almendras
Source: The New Spanish Table, Anya Von Bremzen, published by Workman

Meat eaters note: You can substitute whole smoked turkey leg (sliced) for the ham or...
Vegetarians and vegans note: You can an all veggie version with a vegetable stock, like I am today.

Sticklers note: From the original, I edited out the cumbersome cutting method for the potatoes. It works if you cube them.

Food Obsessives note: I suspect if you use marcona almonds from Spain, this recipe will be even better. Turmeric may substitute for saffron.

Ingredients:
1 1/2 Lbs Yukon Gold potatoes
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 cup blanced almonds
6 large garlic cloves, peeled
1/3 cup (about 2 ounces) finely diced serrano ham or prosciutto
4 cups chicken stock or broth, or more if needed
Coarse salt (kosher or sea) and freshly ground black pepper
1 medium-sized pinch of saffron, pulverized in a mortar
2 teaspoons sherry vinegar, preferably aged, or more to taste
2 tablespoons minced fresh flat-leaf parsley (to garnish)
Dense country bread, for serving

1) Cut the potatoes into cubes

2) Heat the olive oil in a heavy 3-quart saucepan over medium heat. Add the almonds and garlic and cook, stirring, until golden, 4 to 5 minutes, adjusting the heat so the oil doesn't burn. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the almonds and garlic to a bowl. Add the ham or turkey to the pan and stir for 1 minute. Add the potatoes and cook, stirring, for another minute. A dd the chicken stock and bring to a boil, skimming. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer the soup.

3) Meanwhile, place the almond and garlic mixture in a mini food processor and grind it. If you like almond bits in your soup, grind the mixture somewhat coarsely; otherwise, grind it fine. Add all but about 2 tablespoons of the ground nut mixture to the saucepan with the potatoes, Season with salt and pepper to taste.

4) Steep the saffron in a few tablespoons of the simmering soup for 2 minutes, then add it to the pan. Simmer the soup, partially covered, until about half of the potatoes have disintegrated, about 35 minutes. Skim the soup a couple of times as it cooks and add a little more chicken stock if the soup seems too thick.

5) When ready to serve, check the texture of the soup. If you'd like it creamier, break up some of the potatoes with a sturdy spoon; if you'd like it thinner, add a little more chicken stock. Add 2 teaspoons almond mixture and stir it into the soup. Add the parsley and cook for another minute. Taste for seasoning, adding a little more vinegar if necessary. Serve the soup with bread.
SERVES 4

Cowboy Beef and Black Bean Chili

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 18:45:00 +0000

It's the time of year when nothing beats a bowl of chili. In my town, here at the crossroads of the Midwest and the South, chili means a sweet, runny mash of ground beef, tomato (with or without red chili beans) served over spaghetti and topped with a mountain of cheddar cheese. The last time I tried to order it with half a mountain of cheese, the waitress told me I was skinny enough and could "afford" to eat the whole mountain. I still asked for half because eating the whole mountain is just...gross. Bartleby likes the lame little hot dogs with cheddar cheese at our local chili outfit. Ugh.

Here's a great recipe for anyone longing for something warm and spicy with a stew-like consistency. The source is The Healthy Beef Cookbook published by the National Cattlemen's Beef Association with the Americn Dietetic Association.

Cowboy Beef and Black Bean Chili
Makes 8 Servings. Total preparation and cooking time: 2 hours

2 lbs. ground beef (95% lean)
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 1/2 cups chopped onions
2 tablespoons minced garlic
2 medium yellow bell peppers, chopped
1 large jalapeno pepper, seeded, finely chopped
1/4 cup chili powder
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon dried oregano leaves, crushed
1 teaspoon dried thyme leaves, crushed
1/8 teaspoon ground red pepper
1 can (28 ounces) crushed tomatoes, undrained
1 can (141/2 ounces) chili-seasoned or zesty-style diced tomatoes, undrained
1 can (14 to 14!/2 ounces) ready-to-serve beef broth
12 ounces dark beer
1/3 cup tomato paste
1 tablespoon honey
2 cans (15 ounces each) black beans, rinsed, drained
Salt and black pepper, as desired
Chopped fresh cilantro (optiona)

1) Brown ground beef in stockpot over medium heat 8 to 10 minutes or until beef is no longer pink, breaking up into 3/4-inch crumbles. Remove fromstockpot with slotted spoon. Set aside. Pour off drippings.

2) Heat oil in same stockpot over medium heat until hot. Add onions and garlic; cook and stir 3 to 5 minutes or until onions are tender. Add bell peppers and jalapeno; cook and stir 4 to 5 minutes or until peppers are tender.

3) Return beef crumbles to stockpot. Add chili powder, cumin, oregano, thyme, and red pepper; cook and stir for 2 to 3 minutes. Stir in crushed tomatoes, diced tomatoes, broth, beer, tomato paste, and honey; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; covera nd simmer 45 minutes. Uncover stockpot; continue simmering 30 minutes or until thickened to desired consistency, stirring occasionally. Stir in beans; cook 5 to 10 minutes or until beans are heated through. Season with salt and black pepper, as desired. Garnish with cilatro, if desired.

Happy Anniversary

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 02:45:00 +0000

We're celebrating the one-year anniversary of this blog by...what? I don't know. I'm still not really sure what I am doing out here exactly. Anyway, thank you posters and lurkers for keeping tabs on us. Have happy holidays all of you!

Un-Alinea'd

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 02:41:00 +0000

My sister Maris gave me the most amaaaaazing Chanukkah present - the Alinea Cookbook. I have hardly begun to really read the thing up close or log in to the special, cookbook-owners only website, but I have surveyed it and have formulated some thoughts. See below.

For those of you who don't know about Alinea, it's a cutting edge so-called "molecular" cooking restaurant in Chicago that is so stratospherically expensive and so hard to get a reservation at that most of us will never eat there. But we can, through the cookbook, get a glimpse of what goes on in a restaurant that produces cuisine that is part French Laundry, part Willy Wonka and run by a man who outdistances even cancer survivors like Lance Armstrong - see this article in the New Yorker . It's pretty mind blowing how someone can be an executive chef while taste-blind. Most people would just give up.

The book has received many reviews, in fact both the Times and the WSJ reviewed the cookbook this past week - but I haven't read either and I'm going to throw my two cents in anyway.

It's inspiring and creative and definitley makes one want to go out and buy immersion blenders and other gadgets, but after awhile, one begins to think that the presentation of the food is just...creepy. It looks like is something characters in a Hieronymus Bosch painting would eat. The base-line recipes sound simple and elegant, but the accompaniements look like things one could purchase at the Chicago-Chinatown branch of exotic candy store Aji Ichiiban, home of munchies delight (it finally has a website! See the Octopus special).

After reading through the recipes, I had to ask myself "Is it really that exciting to eat at a restaurant that spends a lot of time making its own fruit leather and geeking on presentation like a food stylist on speed?" Maybe...if you really like fruit leather and gel candies and vaguely sexual Robert Mapplethorp-like food. As a Cincinnatian, somehow I should be opposed to all of that. Especially the Mapplethorp part.

Still, Bartleby and I were inspired enough to spend our afternoon pretending we were in the kitchen of Alinea. He might not have been aware of the subtext. I bought a bunch of fruit leather (organic, from Trader Joe's) and a really weird looking dried tropical fruit mix. We cut the leather pieces and started to experiement. Bartleby wanted to know what it would taste like warm, so we tried microwaving it and discovered it tastes really good heated for eight seconds. As far as presentation, you can see from the pictures that now festoon this blog (shot by Bartleby) that we just might be contenders in the world of molecular cooking or food photography. Look out Chicago. Here we come.

Thanksgiving Cheese

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 02:16:00 +0000

We had a very successful Thanksgiving, thanks to two recipes from The Wall Street Journal, which is working hard to improve its arts and leisure coverage (we can still hear its starchy editors straining their pinstripes as they try to be Times imitators, but we've been enjoying its enthusiastic food articles).

We used the turkey recipe and, even without the right kind of pot, we managed to make a moist, flavorful bird (with a short stop for giblet eating along the way that was not clear from the recipe if we were supposed to do or not). We also made the Thai-style sweet potato, which was delish, although not quite coconutty or cinammon-flavored enough for me. There's always next year. I also murdered an adorable Halloween pumpkin (see picture) to make pies.

That's Bartleby you see up there and he is really the one with the best Thanksgiving story. What am I thankful for about Bartleby? Everything, but this Thanksgiving he really keyed in to what the holiday is all about: buying very special, expensive cheese.

I bought some Humboldt Fog and some Pleasant Ridge Reserve from the new, extremely upscale Kroger, with a Murray's Cheese Shop, that just opened in our ever more upscale mall. Don't talk to me about recession! The entire mall has been packed for the last two months and that Kroger is going day and night. Anyway, the special, expensive cheese was wrapped in paper.

Bartleby has never seen cheese that is wrapped in paper or bought it from a cheese counter. He was crazy to try the cheese. For an entire day he asked about the cheese and I told him he had to wait until Thanksgiving. While I was getting dressed to take him somewhere (probably to distract him from the cheese), I heard some rummaging in the fridge, but didn't care to go look. A few minutes later, he came to my room and said,
"Mommy, I almost did something unacceptable."
"What's that?" I asked, thinking the worst, obviously.
"I almost opened the Thanksgiving cheese," he said, to my surprise.
"The really special expensive cheese?" I asked, just to be sure.
"Yes."
"But you didn't."
"I almost opened it, but I didn't."
"I guess you really want to try that cheese?"
"Yes."
"Well," I said, "If we're going to do this, let's do it right. Let's go taste cheese."

So we went into the kitchen, I poured myself some wine and Bartleby some juice, let Bartleby unwrap the cheeses and cut him small pieces. He asked what the black stuff was on the Humboldt Fog. "Chocolate," I lied. How do you explain mold to a three year old? He tasted the Pleasant Ridge Reserve.
I asked, "Do you like them."
"Not so much," he said, then "Can I have a cookie?" without missing a beat.

When I finally served the cheese, he was excited to see it out on the table, but all he said was, "I want a cheese stick."

"From My Backyard I See...Russia And Such"

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 02:27:00 +0000

The historic election is over, but I have to make one last jab about my favorite VP candidate - Sarah Palin. Besides missing Tina Fey's impression, I am going to miss all the research on caribou recipes. I suppose I'll have to shelve my plan for an upcoming cook book of caribou recipes, in English and Russian. So, here's my last shot.

Ms. Palin did a post-electoral interview with Fox News, you know, the non-elite media, that was supposed to portray her as up-beat and busy as ever. The ladies on The View, the elite media (except for the blonde), had way too much fun deconstructing the clip of Palin in her kitchen. "Who cooks in a business suit?" they asked. And then one of them said, "She was making hot dogs with cheese or something. I wanted the recipe!"

Because it's The View and it moves at a fast pace, no one could connect the dots (and I don't mean figuring out how to make a cheese dog - Velveeta. Hot dog. Bun. C'mon!). Cooking in a business suit. Cheese dogs. There's no doubt about it, Palin is planning a political-interview cooking show. Something like This Week combined with Rachel Ray. Look out View ladies, she could be taking away some of your ratings!

High Holiday Ball Busting

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 02:10:00 +0000

Cooking for the Jewish High Holidays (New Year's and its conclusion on the Day of Atonement), is something of a competitive sport in Cincinnati. It may be in Chicago, too, or other cities, but I never kickboxed there with a bunch of Jewish girls, so I wouldn't know.

Since kickboxing and brisket don't seem like a natural fit, let me explain further. For the past year, I've been taking kickboxing at the Jewish Community Center. Our instructor, former military, who we will call Bob Weaver, is a generous guy who puts up with a lot, including trading of brisket recipes during class. The sessions during the week leading up to Rosh Ha'Shanna sounded something like this:

Gal One (hitting bag): "I've got twenty people coming!" "HRRAA!" "THUD"
Gal Two: "What are you making?"
Gal One: "THUNK" "Brisket! Of course!" "KEYUP!"
Gal Two (hitting bag): "HAAA" "How?" (pant pant)
Gal One: "WHAOP KA THUD" "Cooks eight hours"
Gal Two: "What?" (Here, the punching stops.)
Gal One: "Yeah. Four at 250 degrees and then it rests overnight. Then another four at 250 the next day."
Bob Weaver: "COME ONE NOW STOP PLAYIN' PATTY CAKE OVER THERE AND POP IT!"
Gal One And Two Hit Bag: "HRRAAA!" "THUD"
Gal Three (kicking bag): "My mother in-law makes it in advance and freezes it."
Gal One: "WHOMP" "Well, that's efficient."
Gal Three: "No, it's disgusting!" "HRRUMPH! THWACK!"
"It's all...GUHGH! Mushy!"
Bob Weaver: "COME ON LADIES, FOCUS!"
Gal Four (leaning over the top of the bag): "The best brisket I've ever had has 7-Up in it. My mother swears by it."
Gal Two (pausing mid-ab crunch): "Really? I've heard of using Coca Cola, but not 7-Up."
Bob Weaver: "SLACKERS! COME ON!!!!"

And so forth...

Inspired by my girls, I made a brisket with fig confit, a carrot souffle, spinach, a homemade challah and a plum tart. Isabelle, my mother, called me a "ballabusta", an archaic Yiddish word meaning something like Supermom, but not so nice. But I don't speak Yiddish, so I said, "Yeah, I've been taking this kickboxing class. I guess I am a ball buster."

Why We Cook

noreply@blogger.com (clevergretel) — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 01:53:00 +0000

The other night at a friend's house, someone asked the woman who brought the delish lentil soup, "Why did you learn to cook?" And the woman said, "I was poor! I needed to eat!" Indeed, but some of us in that very situation choose to scavenge, more or less, rather than cook. Before I learned to cook full meals well, the food I ate fit into four categories: attempts at cooking (many a strange vegetarian meal composed of recipes from the Moosewood Cooks At Home), abject failures (plum reduction for dinner, anyone?), eating out (cheap eats only!) and leftovers. Some people have even more scant categories on their resume: microwaving, cheap eats, delivery and leftovers. It's got to be more than "poverty" that impells us to cook. Fresh ingredients are still costly, though less so than prepared food. Time is money and cooking takes time. It also takes thought and planning. I think it has something to do with the simple satisfaction of making something. Most days, making dinner is the only task of the day that has a clear beginning and an end. It has boundaries. Sometimes I think the best decisions I make are the ones about what to buy and then how to cook it. The more I think about it, the more I know that I learned to cook to keep my self in balance, not just my checkbook.