I have been so busy lately that I've hardly been in the kitchen which is a shame because the kitchen is the easiest and best place for me to find my balance and clear my head. It is in fact, the craziest and most hectic times that I need to cook the most. It's true. There is simply no question that almost any meal prepared at home by hand is healthier and more balanced than anything you can buy that is handed to you in a bag through a window or dropped unceremoniously in front of you on a heavy white stoneware plate by a angst filled teenager who is convinced they are criminally underpaid.
But physical well being is only one part of this story. Cooking, for me, is an act of mental and emotional therapy as well. Cooking a meal for my wife and children allows me an opportunity to relish in the service of those I love the most. I cannot conceive of a better way to demonstrate one's love for another human being than through the preparation of a nourishing and delicious meal. Cooking a meal for my family gives me emotional perspective in a way that I now find myself incapable of describing in words.
It also allows me to exercise and indulge in an immersive way, the pleasure centers of the human senses. The use of our human senses of taste and smell are obvious when speaking about food and its preparation. But cooking, for me, is an exercise in all five senses. I am very keen on touching food as I prepare it and of course, as I eat. Texture and the sometimes subtle and sometimes very drastic ways in which texture can change when a food item is transformed from a raw ingredient to part of a prepared meal is a critical consideration in understanding and preparing delicious food. I derive a certain sense of satisfaction by touching food both through my hands and fingers as I prepare food and through my mouth and tonge as I eat it.
I likewise find auditory satisfaction in the effervescent sizzle of onions and garlic sauteeing in a pan or even the "tick, tick, tick....woof" as I ignite an eye of my gas range. To me, these are the sounds of a good meal in process, audible assurance that everything is gonna be OK.
And who would argue the visual pleasure one may derive from a indulgently large pan full of some delicious anything? The fact of the matter is, if it looks delicious, it probably is delicious.
Last night, my mental and emotional therapy came in the form of a recipe that I saw prepared on one of my favorite new cooking shows, "Extra Virgin" on the cooking channel. I have been planning to cook this meal for some time and at risk of scaring everyone away from trying this out, I statred on Saturday by stirring together
3 cups of bread flour
3/4 teaspoon of active dry yeast
1/2 teaspopon fresh cracked black pepper
2 1/2 cups of aged asiago cheese (cut into 1/2 inch cubes)
1 1/2 cups of water
This is roughly the recipe for "Pane di Formaggio" from Jim Leahy's book "My Bread." Anyone who has ever taken a bite of bread in their life should own this book. I wasn't kidding when i said I stirred these ingredients together. Leahy's method is a "no-knead" meathod of making traditional artisan loaves and from someone who, prior to obtaining Leahy's book, couldn't bake bread to save his own life, it is nothing short of miraculous! The dough sits covered in the bowl you stirred it in for 12-18 hours to rise. I stirred it together at appx. 11:00 p.m. saturday evening and it had doubled in size by 11:00 a.m. sunday morning. I dumped the sticky wet dough out onto my floured countertop and tucked the edges of the dough under to make a nice round mound. I laid the dough on a tea towel dusted with wheat bran and folded the towel over the dough to allow for a final rise. After about an hour and a half, I preheated the oven to 475 and stuck my cast iron dutch oven, with the lid, in the oven to heat as well. Once the oven came up to temperature, I pulled out the dutch oven and plopped the dough in, clamped on the lid and put it back in the hot oven. (I will note here that perhaps my favorite part of this recipe is the smell in the house as this bread bakes: this is aromatherpay at its fundamental core!) After 30 minutes in the oven I remove the lid of the dutch oven and allowed the bread to continue to bake for an additional 15 minutes. The crust is dry and crisp and golden and scarred by a large crack wich formed as the bread baked. The crumb is moist and chewy and, in this version, cheesy! Perfection every time! Just get the book.
I always intended the Pane di Formaggio as the ideal sauce-sopping accompanyment to what I will forever refer to as drunken pig pasta. I started with 3 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, 2 large cloves of garlic, minced, and 2 large onions, finely diced. I threw in a pinch of grey sea salt just to get the onions sweating and sauteed on medium until the onions and garlic were completely translucent but not taking on any color. I then added one pound of mild italian ground sausage. I uses a wooden spoon to break down the sausage into as fine texture as possible as it browned. Once the sausage was cooked through, I finely chooped 3 tablespoons of fresh sage and about 2 tablespoons of fresh rosemary which I scattered over the sausage. Then, I poured in about a cup, maybe a cup and a half of white italian moscato. I increased the heat to high and let the wine reduce down for several minutes to allow the alcohol to cook off. Then I added about two cups of high quality chicken stock and retruned the pan to boiling and then back down to simmer to reduce down, thicken and develop the flavors.
In the meantime I boiled 1 lb. of dry "cavatappi" or corkscrew pasta, in well salted water. Once the pasta was cooked "al dente," I drained it quickly and tossed the pasta into the simmering sauasage and wine sauce. I gave it a quick stir and almost immediately the pasta soaked up the winey, porky juices from the sauce. I spooned the hot pasta into bowls and blanketed it with a fine snow of freshly grated, aged asiago cheese, left over from the wedge I bought to make the bread. I cut two thick slices of the aged asiago loaf and served the boys at there little table in the living room so they could take in some Kung Fu Panda with dinner. They didn't pay much attention to the TV.
Therapy this good never came so cheap.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Monday, July 25, 2011
Senorita Salmon
I really rocked my sexy spanish senorita's boat last night.....with my latin-inspired baked salmon filet and chunky salsa-amole. I wouldn't normally think of going south of the border on salmon but I planned this meal around tuna steaks and when I couldn't find any nice tuna steaks at the market, I improvised! Trust me, just make this!
Ingredients:
2 average salmon filets, skin on, 5-6 ounces each
1 lime
two avocados
1 small onion, finely diced
1-2 small cloves of garlic, finely minced
3 tbsp. chopped cilantro
2-3 roma tomatos, coarsely chopped
3 tbsp. olive oil
1 small jalapeno pepper, seeded and finely diced
Black Pepper, freshly-cracked
Coarse Sea Salt
For the Salsa-amole:
Combine tomatos, garlic, onion, 1/2 of the jalapeno pepper, and 1/2 of the the cilantro. Halve the avocados lengthwise and remove the pit. Score the flesh of the avocados lengthwise and then widthwise and use a spoon to scoop out the resulting cubes. Combine the avocado with the other ingredients and squeeze in the juice of half a lime. Season to taste with freshly-cracked black pepper and course sea salt Cover tightly and refrigerate until you are ready to serve.
For the Salmon:
Rinse salmon filets under cold running water and pat dry with a paper towel. Place the filets, skin side down on a foil-lined baking pan. Season well with freshly-cracked black pepper, course sea salt, the zest of the whole lime, the remaining cilantro and diced jalapeno pepper. Drizzle the filets with olive oil and the remaining lime juice. Place a thin slice of lime on top of each filet. Allow the seasoned and dressed salmon filets to "marinate" at room temperature for 20-30 minutes before baking. Heat oven to 400 degrees Farenheit and bake salmon to desired doneness. I actually prefer salmon just slightly rare but you can tell it is fully cooked and well done when it flakes easily with a fork in the thihckest part of the filet. Serve the salmon hot out of the oven with the creamy, chunky, chilled, salsa-amole on the side! Esta Loco!
I also served an exotic blend of wild rice which I fried quickly in garlic and onion infused olive oil then covered with water, salted, and let simmer until tender but still toothsome and chewy. This would also be great with a more traditional spanish style rice with tomatos and green chillis.
This is completely off the reservation but I also steamed/sauteed some baby spinach in garlic and olive oil at the specific request of "La Dona de Casa." Season to taste with salt and pepper of course but I have also become acustomed to grating fresh nutmeg on any dark green leaves that I saute or steam because it is just crazy good that way and no one ever really knows that its nutmeg but everyone loves it! Perhaps not a very rational choice as a side for this meal but Kristi has never claimed to be very rational when it comes to planning a menu and I am all over any opportunity I have to comply with a specific request AND get dark green leaves into the mouths of my immediates. So spinach it was! Call it "espinacas de ajo" if it makes you feel more gastronomically or culturally consistent.
Even "mis hijos" ate heartily and I refuse to belive it was because I promised them each one of the Dunkin Donuts left over from their road trip home from Philly the other day, if they cleaned their plate!
Hasta luego!
Ingredients:
2 average salmon filets, skin on, 5-6 ounces each
1 lime
two avocados
1 small onion, finely diced
1-2 small cloves of garlic, finely minced
3 tbsp. chopped cilantro
2-3 roma tomatos, coarsely chopped
3 tbsp. olive oil
1 small jalapeno pepper, seeded and finely diced
Black Pepper, freshly-cracked
Coarse Sea Salt
For the Salsa-amole:
Combine tomatos, garlic, onion, 1/2 of the jalapeno pepper, and 1/2 of the the cilantro. Halve the avocados lengthwise and remove the pit. Score the flesh of the avocados lengthwise and then widthwise and use a spoon to scoop out the resulting cubes. Combine the avocado with the other ingredients and squeeze in the juice of half a lime. Season to taste with freshly-cracked black pepper and course sea salt Cover tightly and refrigerate until you are ready to serve.
For the Salmon:
Rinse salmon filets under cold running water and pat dry with a paper towel. Place the filets, skin side down on a foil-lined baking pan. Season well with freshly-cracked black pepper, course sea salt, the zest of the whole lime, the remaining cilantro and diced jalapeno pepper. Drizzle the filets with olive oil and the remaining lime juice. Place a thin slice of lime on top of each filet. Allow the seasoned and dressed salmon filets to "marinate" at room temperature for 20-30 minutes before baking. Heat oven to 400 degrees Farenheit and bake salmon to desired doneness. I actually prefer salmon just slightly rare but you can tell it is fully cooked and well done when it flakes easily with a fork in the thihckest part of the filet. Serve the salmon hot out of the oven with the creamy, chunky, chilled, salsa-amole on the side! Esta Loco!
I also served an exotic blend of wild rice which I fried quickly in garlic and onion infused olive oil then covered with water, salted, and let simmer until tender but still toothsome and chewy. This would also be great with a more traditional spanish style rice with tomatos and green chillis.
This is completely off the reservation but I also steamed/sauteed some baby spinach in garlic and olive oil at the specific request of "La Dona de Casa." Season to taste with salt and pepper of course but I have also become acustomed to grating fresh nutmeg on any dark green leaves that I saute or steam because it is just crazy good that way and no one ever really knows that its nutmeg but everyone loves it! Perhaps not a very rational choice as a side for this meal but Kristi has never claimed to be very rational when it comes to planning a menu and I am all over any opportunity I have to comply with a specific request AND get dark green leaves into the mouths of my immediates. So spinach it was! Call it "espinacas de ajo" if it makes you feel more gastronomically or culturally consistent.
Even "mis hijos" ate heartily and I refuse to belive it was because I promised them each one of the Dunkin Donuts left over from their road trip home from Philly the other day, if they cleaned their plate!
Hasta luego!
Monday, August 2, 2010
For better or for worse, in squash casserole and in health.
Food did not factor in to my decision to ask Kris to marry me on Christmas Eve in 1997. I mean don’t get me wrong, the smorgasbord that her family put together at Granny Pat and Pap-paw Bud’s house on Christmas Eve back then was an unwaiveringly direct route to a man’s heart, but we were young and in love and I had (hm. . . hmm. . . ) other things on my mind at the time.
I had begun wooing Kris with food early on in our relationship. As I recall, we celebrated the one month anniversary of our first date over a French Silk Chocolate Pie that I made from scratch from a recipe out of one of my mother’s cookbooks. It was not something I had ever made before and I still think that it didn’t set up exactly right but it was chocolate and I was hoping it would seem exotic or at least romantic. It was after all French Silk Chocolate Pie. I mean give me a break already! We were young and in love and by the way, that was March of 1991 and we have now been married for twelve years so I must have done something right!
Anyway, at some point I knew Kris was the one but, I honestly never gave much thought to what she might bring to the marital table, literally, pun intended.
Actually, I am incapable of describing the joy and happiness that Kris brings into my life and I can’t imagine life without her now. I am so blessed to have Kris at my side as I am recently and woefully reminded of family and the fragile and fleeting nature of human life. Right now I need to celebrate both. I need to revel in family tradition and wrap myself up in the bonds of my kindred and bask in the harmony and peace of home. I need to reassure myself of continuity and recommit to loving my loved ones. I need the kind of comfort that comes from collecting sun warmed vegetables at the farmer’s market with my kids; the peace derived from half an hour in the kitchen crying over onions, a cutting board, a huge casserole dish and several cans of Campbell’s cream of something soup. Right now, I need to stand in the tread of those who have gone before me and to feed, nourish and satisfy those who will go beyond me.
Kris brought squash casserole to the table. Kris’s squash casserole is, for me, just that quintessential comfort food. Yes, squash casserole offers that warm and satisfyingly starchy, creamy, summer sunshine yellow, goodness that we all seek from time to time. But more than that, this is the kind of food that follows blood lines through generations, that joins families and makes friends, food that is as comforting to prepare and serve as it is to eat. This casserole feeds body, mind and spirit.
Kris made squash casserole for me the first summer we were married. I think the recipe was her mom’s or maybe her grandmother’s and as I recall she had to call one or the other of them to jot it down. (An aside: I don’t specifically remember watching Kris make the casserole the first time but thinking back now, a smile sweeps across my face as I imagine her toiling in our exceedingly hot, sparse, college apartment kitchen which we had just painted a sunny but subtle and warm “firefly” yellow, ironically, it was exactly the color of summer squash.) So mind you, Kris has a written recipe for this casserole as to this day, she still rarely ventures into the kitchen without very specific written rules of engagement which she then follows with slavish precision. I've made it enough now that it has become part of my culinary repertoire and I don't need the written recipe. Besides, while I understand there is certainly a time and a place for precision and exactness, I find it infinitely more comforting to cook from course of habit than from a written recipe of rules and measures.
My Mom and Dad are hosting our big family reunion this weekend. I need to be with family and I need to feed them from an enormous crowd size pan of Kris's Summer Squash Casserole, for better or for worse, body, mind and spirit.
Kris's Summer Squash Casserole
Ingredients:
yellow summer squash
onion
stuffing style bread crumbs
2 cans of cream soup
butter
salt and pepper
Choose young tender blemish-free squash with shiny pale yellow skin. Wash and trim away the ends of the squash and slice into round disks. Peel and trim the onion. Slice and separate the onion into rings. Mix the cream soup with two cans of milk and warm gently. We usually use cream of celery but use what you and yours love. Line the bottom of a large deep casserole with a layer of squash slices and onion rings. Season the squash and onions with salt and pepper and evenly spoon over about one third of the soup. Cover with a thin layer of bread crumbs and dot with bits of butter. Repeat the layers until you get to the top of the casserole or you run out of squash. Cover with aluminum foil and bake in a 400 degree oven until the squash and onions are tender throughout. Uncover and bake until top layer of breadcrumbs are crisp and golden.
I had begun wooing Kris with food early on in our relationship. As I recall, we celebrated the one month anniversary of our first date over a French Silk Chocolate Pie that I made from scratch from a recipe out of one of my mother’s cookbooks. It was not something I had ever made before and I still think that it didn’t set up exactly right but it was chocolate and I was hoping it would seem exotic or at least romantic. It was after all French Silk Chocolate Pie. I mean give me a break already! We were young and in love and by the way, that was March of 1991 and we have now been married for twelve years so I must have done something right!
Anyway, at some point I knew Kris was the one but, I honestly never gave much thought to what she might bring to the marital table, literally, pun intended.
Actually, I am incapable of describing the joy and happiness that Kris brings into my life and I can’t imagine life without her now. I am so blessed to have Kris at my side as I am recently and woefully reminded of family and the fragile and fleeting nature of human life. Right now I need to celebrate both. I need to revel in family tradition and wrap myself up in the bonds of my kindred and bask in the harmony and peace of home. I need to reassure myself of continuity and recommit to loving my loved ones. I need the kind of comfort that comes from collecting sun warmed vegetables at the farmer’s market with my kids; the peace derived from half an hour in the kitchen crying over onions, a cutting board, a huge casserole dish and several cans of Campbell’s cream of something soup. Right now, I need to stand in the tread of those who have gone before me and to feed, nourish and satisfy those who will go beyond me.
Kris brought squash casserole to the table. Kris’s squash casserole is, for me, just that quintessential comfort food. Yes, squash casserole offers that warm and satisfyingly starchy, creamy, summer sunshine yellow, goodness that we all seek from time to time. But more than that, this is the kind of food that follows blood lines through generations, that joins families and makes friends, food that is as comforting to prepare and serve as it is to eat. This casserole feeds body, mind and spirit.
Kris made squash casserole for me the first summer we were married. I think the recipe was her mom’s or maybe her grandmother’s and as I recall she had to call one or the other of them to jot it down. (An aside: I don’t specifically remember watching Kris make the casserole the first time but thinking back now, a smile sweeps across my face as I imagine her toiling in our exceedingly hot, sparse, college apartment kitchen which we had just painted a sunny but subtle and warm “firefly” yellow, ironically, it was exactly the color of summer squash.) So mind you, Kris has a written recipe for this casserole as to this day, she still rarely ventures into the kitchen without very specific written rules of engagement which she then follows with slavish precision. I've made it enough now that it has become part of my culinary repertoire and I don't need the written recipe. Besides, while I understand there is certainly a time and a place for precision and exactness, I find it infinitely more comforting to cook from course of habit than from a written recipe of rules and measures.
My Mom and Dad are hosting our big family reunion this weekend. I need to be with family and I need to feed them from an enormous crowd size pan of Kris's Summer Squash Casserole, for better or for worse, body, mind and spirit.
Kris's Summer Squash Casserole
Ingredients:
yellow summer squash
onion
stuffing style bread crumbs
2 cans of cream soup
butter
salt and pepper
Choose young tender blemish-free squash with shiny pale yellow skin. Wash and trim away the ends of the squash and slice into round disks. Peel and trim the onion. Slice and separate the onion into rings. Mix the cream soup with two cans of milk and warm gently. We usually use cream of celery but use what you and yours love. Line the bottom of a large deep casserole with a layer of squash slices and onion rings. Season the squash and onions with salt and pepper and evenly spoon over about one third of the soup. Cover with a thin layer of bread crumbs and dot with bits of butter. Repeat the layers until you get to the top of the casserole or you run out of squash. Cover with aluminum foil and bake in a 400 degree oven until the squash and onions are tender throughout. Uncover and bake until top layer of breadcrumbs are crisp and golden.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Pancakes for Sharks.
For me there really is nothing like having fifty pounds of ravenous 6 year old offspring land squarely in your abdomen at 7:00 a.m. on your day off and announcing as if it is in some way different than the other two thousand two hundred and thirty four days of his life that he is hungry. In six years time his weight has clearly increased (just ask my spleen). He has improved the speed and agility of his approach from his bedroom down the hall and subsequently the length and height of his take-off from the floor onto my groggy but panic stricken torso. He has also become unwittingly adept at communicating his urgent message of imminent starvation in a clear and concise intelligible language. After moaning loudly and writhing in pain from the impact,
(me): "Have you brushed your teeth yet?"
(Offspring #1): "No, I'm waiting until after breakfast so I get all the germies."
(me, having been outsmarted and trying to buy a moment for the pain to subside): "You need to get dressed first, O.K.?"
(Offspring #1): "I'll get dressed after breakfast. We're not going anywhere before breakfast anyway."
(me, clearly not on my A-game): "I will make you guys some breakfast as soon as your brother gets up, O.K.?"
Suddenly like a fly shooed from the cole slaw at a picnic he is gone and like the same fly he is back, immediately. Except now he brings his equally ravenous and even more tenacious little brother. They bound simultaneously into the bed with absolutely no regard for my life or limb.
(Offspring #2): "I'm hungry da-da."
(me, now defeated): "Good morning baby. Did you sleep well?"
(Offspring #2): "I'm hungry!"
Resistance is futile. Like sharks circling their prey they will not let up now until their appetites have been satisfied.
This morning, like so many others, requires immediate action. Not because I don't have time, let us recall it is my day off, but because there are two little ticking time bomb male metabolisms sitting on my chest threatening epic repercussions for any failure on my part to feed them.
My trusted and typical solution for these urgent early morning meals is a big pan of six fluffy, buttery and most importantly, fast, scrambled eggs. The boys love scrambled eggs and I love to make the boys happy but a man (read, growing boys) cannot live on eggs alone. Enter homemade instant pancake mix. To be honest, this is Nigella Lawson's recipe in which I regularly substitute whole white wheat flour. The whole white wheat flour makes these pancakes golden and slightly nutty without being suspiciously dark and grainy. It also makes me feel more paternalistically virtuous.
Homemade Instant Pancake Mix
Combine well and store:
4 cups all purpose whole white wheat flour
3 tbsp. baking powder
2 tbsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
2 1/2 tbsp. sugar
I keep a canister of this mix made up in the cupboard. With a little help from the boys (read, circling sharks, which also helps to distract them from their grumbling stomachs) whisking together
1 cup pancake mix
1 cup milk
1 egg, and
1 tbsp. melted butter,
I can have a couple stacks of delicious kid size pancakes glistening under a slick of melted butter in a matter of mere moments. A dark amber drizzle of pure maple syrup and "VOILA!" time bombs diffused, metabolic disaster averted!
I cannot describe the joy that comes when that hungry silence falls back over the house early in the morning as my boys tuck eagerly in to their breakfast.
May you experience that kind of joy today.
(me): "Have you brushed your teeth yet?"
(Offspring #1): "No, I'm waiting until after breakfast so I get all the germies."
(me, having been outsmarted and trying to buy a moment for the pain to subside): "You need to get dressed first, O.K.?"
(Offspring #1): "I'll get dressed after breakfast. We're not going anywhere before breakfast anyway."
(me, clearly not on my A-game): "I will make you guys some breakfast as soon as your brother gets up, O.K.?"
Suddenly like a fly shooed from the cole slaw at a picnic he is gone and like the same fly he is back, immediately. Except now he brings his equally ravenous and even more tenacious little brother. They bound simultaneously into the bed with absolutely no regard for my life or limb.
(Offspring #2): "I'm hungry da-da."
(me, now defeated): "Good morning baby. Did you sleep well?"
(Offspring #2): "I'm hungry!"
Resistance is futile. Like sharks circling their prey they will not let up now until their appetites have been satisfied.
This morning, like so many others, requires immediate action. Not because I don't have time, let us recall it is my day off, but because there are two little ticking time bomb male metabolisms sitting on my chest threatening epic repercussions for any failure on my part to feed them.
My trusted and typical solution for these urgent early morning meals is a big pan of six fluffy, buttery and most importantly, fast, scrambled eggs. The boys love scrambled eggs and I love to make the boys happy but a man (read, growing boys) cannot live on eggs alone. Enter homemade instant pancake mix. To be honest, this is Nigella Lawson's recipe in which I regularly substitute whole white wheat flour. The whole white wheat flour makes these pancakes golden and slightly nutty without being suspiciously dark and grainy. It also makes me feel more paternalistically virtuous.
Homemade Instant Pancake Mix
Combine well and store:
4 cups all purpose whole white wheat flour
3 tbsp. baking powder
2 tbsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
2 1/2 tbsp. sugar
I keep a canister of this mix made up in the cupboard. With a little help from the boys (read, circling sharks, which also helps to distract them from their grumbling stomachs) whisking together
1 cup pancake mix
1 cup milk
1 egg, and
1 tbsp. melted butter,
I can have a couple stacks of delicious kid size pancakes glistening under a slick of melted butter in a matter of mere moments. A dark amber drizzle of pure maple syrup and "VOILA!" time bombs diffused, metabolic disaster averted!
I cannot describe the joy that comes when that hungry silence falls back over the house early in the morning as my boys tuck eagerly in to their breakfast.
May you experience that kind of joy today.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
The Wisdom of Tomatoes.
Please allow me to just get something out of the way.
With all the good intentions and positive energy in the world, I came down this morning and did NOT make biscuits for my boys. And by "did NOT make biscuits," I mean of course that I pulled out all the ingredients and did exactly as I have watched my mother do approximately one hundred million (100,000,000) times in that comfortable, casual, effortless way that she has in the kitchen. My result was of course as always, flat dense hard floury hockey pucks!
Those of you who know me will recall the ways in which I have suffered over biscuits in the past and those of you who don't yet, warning, this will not likely be the last you hear of the perpetual self mutilation of my culinary ego.
In the interest of preserving any hope of a cheerful productive day, I have decided to focus this, my inaugural blog entry, on a more successful recent culinary effort.
A friend of mine posted an interesting comment on facebook this morning and the irony was just the spark I needed to fire this engine.
She advised, "knowledge is being aware that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing not to put a tomato in fruit cocktail." Indeed.
And yet . . . my Grandma Webb was unquestionably possessed of immeasurable amounts of both knowledge and wisdom but she was also supremely practical and incredibly creative person, particularly in the kitchen. Grandma raised nine children starting in the 1930's in the central Appalachian mountains of West Virgina. By the time I came around she had also had a hand in raising two or three dozen grandchildren. There was another dozen or two after me but whenever there were mouths to feed or, for that matter, food to be eaten, my Grandma could go to the kitchen and produce a truly remarkable meal from what often seemed to be a bowl of leftovers in the fridge, a mason jar of something put up from last summer, and half a box of something else from the pantry under the stairs. It was often a stew or a soup or sometimes a casserole and it usually contained things that conventional "wisdom" might not combine but it was always really, really, good. Grandma's "technique" of bravely combining whatever "ingredients" she had on hand is now affectionately referred to as "Webb Stew."
It is with a wink and a nod to my Grandma Webb and a thumb of my nose to conventional "wisdom" that I raided the crisper drawer of our fridge last night for a fresh salad to accompany the leftover beans and rice from the night before. Here is my recipe for "Webb Wisdom Fruit Cocktail." Have faith my friends. It never failed Grandma.
WEBB WISDOM FRUIT COCKTAIL
1/2 fresh pineapple (diced into 1/2 inch cubes)
1 cup of fresh blueberries
1 cup of cherry tomatoes, halved
1/2 large cucumber, peeled and seeded and diced to 1/2 inch
1/2 cup shredded carrots
juice of half a lemon
2 tbsp. salad oil
1 tbsp. chopped fresh oregano
salt and pepper to taste
Combine all ingredients and toss to season and coat in lemon vinaigrette.
Now, there is no question that this salad will initially attract some strange looks and even an obscenely contorted expression of disgust from a chronically finicky four year old who undeniably loves each of these ingredients when served by their puritanically minimalist lonesome. However, after convincing everyone at the table that life as we know it would not come to a catastrophically painful end by tasting this salad they all ate and most importantly enjoyed my creative combination. The wonderfully sweet and slightly citrussy cherry tomatoes were from our own vines, an heirloom variety called "cerise." We also grew the cucumber, a bright white heirloom variety with a clean mild flavor and an incredible crunch. The oregano too came from my garden, primarily because that's what I had the most of. Thyme or tarragon or even mint would be great. Any good fresh berries would be a fine substitute for the blueberries and had I not been already really pushing the envelope with the delicate palates of Kris and the boys, I might have snipped in a few chives or a little green onion.
The point is when it comes to loving and providing for a family, sometimes conventional "wisdom" doesn't hold all the answers. I think one should know the rules and challenge them often. Tomatoes, it turns out, are great in "fruit cocktail."
I didn't know it then but Grandma was teaching some truly invaluable lessons when she set to work in the kitchen and this probably won't be last you hear of those lessons either. Thanks Grandma.
With all the good intentions and positive energy in the world, I came down this morning and did NOT make biscuits for my boys. And by "did NOT make biscuits," I mean of course that I pulled out all the ingredients and did exactly as I have watched my mother do approximately one hundred million (100,000,000) times in that comfortable, casual, effortless way that she has in the kitchen. My result was of course as always, flat dense hard floury hockey pucks!
Those of you who know me will recall the ways in which I have suffered over biscuits in the past and those of you who don't yet, warning, this will not likely be the last you hear of the perpetual self mutilation of my culinary ego.
In the interest of preserving any hope of a cheerful productive day, I have decided to focus this, my inaugural blog entry, on a more successful recent culinary effort.
A friend of mine posted an interesting comment on facebook this morning and the irony was just the spark I needed to fire this engine.
She advised, "knowledge is being aware that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing not to put a tomato in fruit cocktail." Indeed.
And yet . . . my Grandma Webb was unquestionably possessed of immeasurable amounts of both knowledge and wisdom but she was also supremely practical and incredibly creative person, particularly in the kitchen. Grandma raised nine children starting in the 1930's in the central Appalachian mountains of West Virgina. By the time I came around she had also had a hand in raising two or three dozen grandchildren. There was another dozen or two after me but whenever there were mouths to feed or, for that matter, food to be eaten, my Grandma could go to the kitchen and produce a truly remarkable meal from what often seemed to be a bowl of leftovers in the fridge, a mason jar of something put up from last summer, and half a box of something else from the pantry under the stairs. It was often a stew or a soup or sometimes a casserole and it usually contained things that conventional "wisdom" might not combine but it was always really, really, good. Grandma's "technique" of bravely combining whatever "ingredients" she had on hand is now affectionately referred to as "Webb Stew."
It is with a wink and a nod to my Grandma Webb and a thumb of my nose to conventional "wisdom" that I raided the crisper drawer of our fridge last night for a fresh salad to accompany the leftover beans and rice from the night before. Here is my recipe for "Webb Wisdom Fruit Cocktail." Have faith my friends. It never failed Grandma.
WEBB WISDOM FRUIT COCKTAIL
1/2 fresh pineapple (diced into 1/2 inch cubes)
1 cup of fresh blueberries
1 cup of cherry tomatoes, halved
1/2 large cucumber, peeled and seeded and diced to 1/2 inch
1/2 cup shredded carrots
juice of half a lemon
2 tbsp. salad oil
1 tbsp. chopped fresh oregano
salt and pepper to taste
Combine all ingredients and toss to season and coat in lemon vinaigrette.
Now, there is no question that this salad will initially attract some strange looks and even an obscenely contorted expression of disgust from a chronically finicky four year old who undeniably loves each of these ingredients when served by their puritanically minimalist lonesome. However, after convincing everyone at the table that life as we know it would not come to a catastrophically painful end by tasting this salad they all ate and most importantly enjoyed my creative combination. The wonderfully sweet and slightly citrussy cherry tomatoes were from our own vines, an heirloom variety called "cerise." We also grew the cucumber, a bright white heirloom variety with a clean mild flavor and an incredible crunch. The oregano too came from my garden, primarily because that's what I had the most of. Thyme or tarragon or even mint would be great. Any good fresh berries would be a fine substitute for the blueberries and had I not been already really pushing the envelope with the delicate palates of Kris and the boys, I might have snipped in a few chives or a little green onion.
The point is when it comes to loving and providing for a family, sometimes conventional "wisdom" doesn't hold all the answers. I think one should know the rules and challenge them often. Tomatoes, it turns out, are great in "fruit cocktail."
I didn't know it then but Grandma was teaching some truly invaluable lessons when she set to work in the kitchen and this probably won't be last you hear of those lessons either. Thanks Grandma.
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