I made a tasty mushroom risotto for dinner. I love risotto, but I always walk away from it, and she's a very jealous mistress. You have to stir that pot constantly for 20 minutes, no messing around. I am a butterfly in the kitchen. A little bit of this, a little bit of that- turn, drink wine, dance, chop parsley, sing, saute. So risotto and I don't work that well with each other. It came out well anyway.
Ed and Louis harvested about a pound of our green beans, too. I made one of my favorite's, a green bean salad with marinated onions and tarragon.
That was it. It's been nice to recover from a meat heavy vacation by being mainly vegetarian.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
food my great grandma used to cook
It's funny. I barely remember my Nonni, but the memories I do have are all wrapped around food, like prosciutto around a melon.
She was Italian, and spoke no english, after 75 years here. Our shared language was food. Cheerios with banana sliced painstakingly into the bowl by her wizened old hands. A soup of beef broth with pastina, egg and parmesan. Homemade marinara gravy with roasted sausages simmered in it all day long.
This woman never left the kitchen. God forbid she should set foot in the pristine parlor, or rest her haunches for a minute on the living room couch in front of the t.v. No, her t.v. was a smaller one she watched in the kitchen while cooking. I think that Italian females of this and successive generations felt like less of a woman if they were not constantly and steadily supplying nutrition in the form of bread with plenty of butter, tiny handmade pastas, endless vinegary anti-pastas with peppers and onions, canoli, wine(yes, even as children, we would get wine with ice cubes), and cake from the excellent bakery down the street. I can't help but to love this form of attention. It is pure heaven to sit at a formica table and watch your flesh and blood bustle about as they prepare a meal for you. Even better to sit in a noisy swirl of family at the table; women constantly flowing back and forth from kitchen to table, menfolk drinking liquor between courses, grandma hiding the bottles, eating, talking, and being together. I should have been born an Italian man.
She was Italian, and spoke no english, after 75 years here. Our shared language was food. Cheerios with banana sliced painstakingly into the bowl by her wizened old hands. A soup of beef broth with pastina, egg and parmesan. Homemade marinara gravy with roasted sausages simmered in it all day long.
This woman never left the kitchen. God forbid she should set foot in the pristine parlor, or rest her haunches for a minute on the living room couch in front of the t.v. No, her t.v. was a smaller one she watched in the kitchen while cooking. I think that Italian females of this and successive generations felt like less of a woman if they were not constantly and steadily supplying nutrition in the form of bread with plenty of butter, tiny handmade pastas, endless vinegary anti-pastas with peppers and onions, canoli, wine(yes, even as children, we would get wine with ice cubes), and cake from the excellent bakery down the street. I can't help but to love this form of attention. It is pure heaven to sit at a formica table and watch your flesh and blood bustle about as they prepare a meal for you. Even better to sit in a noisy swirl of family at the table; women constantly flowing back and forth from kitchen to table, menfolk drinking liquor between courses, grandma hiding the bottles, eating, talking, and being together. I should have been born an Italian man.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
real food
The other day, I offered a friend a chip, and she said, "No, thanks, I only eat real food." It really made me think. There is a whole lot of crappy "food" out there. Maybe we need a new word for this stuff we cram into our bodies in the name of consumption. Many of the items we offer our children, and eat ourselves are de-nutrified, overprocessed junk. Most of what is sold as "food" is pretty borderline. So, what is real food? I've narrowed my idea of real food down to 3 factors; speed, origin and vibe.
It doesn't have to be slow-food to be real, although it usually is. The whole slow foods movement originating in Italy is fantastic, and I support it whole-heartedly, but that is the other extreme of junk food. Real food lies somewhere in the middle. You have to be able to make it after a long day, when the kids are nagging at you that they're hungry. Jacque Pepin's "Fast Food My Way" series is a great example of expedient real food. Also, those instant water boilers. Something is wrong with water that boils in less than a minute, but I LIKE it!
Another part of the reality of food is the who. Who made it? Yo mamma? The Honduran woman at the burrito stand? Am I the only one who tries to picture the guy behind the scenes at McDonald's, and exactly what scary preparations he pulls on my meat? You have to be aware of who made it. Were they happy or cross?
A deeper aspect of real food is to know the origin of the ingredients. It scares me that I have no idea where most of what I buy comes from. You really have to search to find tuna from the Oregon ocean, rather than Thailand, or eggs from just one state. It is the ultimate in authenticity to grow your own, but who can grow there own grains? Just think how much grass you would need to support your baking habit for a year. Do you know where your wheat comes from? I don't.
Real food boils down to vibe. You can just feel it when it's genuine. It's the opposite feeling of when you eat a Twinkie. It feels like friends and family around a table, candles and wine. The smell and sound of onions frying. The hard work of dishes and prep. More bread and salad, and less crackers and chips.This is what keeps it real.
It doesn't have to be slow-food to be real, although it usually is. The whole slow foods movement originating in Italy is fantastic, and I support it whole-heartedly, but that is the other extreme of junk food. Real food lies somewhere in the middle. You have to be able to make it after a long day, when the kids are nagging at you that they're hungry. Jacque Pepin's "Fast Food My Way" series is a great example of expedient real food. Also, those instant water boilers. Something is wrong with water that boils in less than a minute, but I LIKE it!
Another part of the reality of food is the who. Who made it? Yo mamma? The Honduran woman at the burrito stand? Am I the only one who tries to picture the guy behind the scenes at McDonald's, and exactly what scary preparations he pulls on my meat? You have to be aware of who made it. Were they happy or cross?
A deeper aspect of real food is to know the origin of the ingredients. It scares me that I have no idea where most of what I buy comes from. You really have to search to find tuna from the Oregon ocean, rather than Thailand, or eggs from just one state. It is the ultimate in authenticity to grow your own, but who can grow there own grains? Just think how much grass you would need to support your baking habit for a year. Do you know where your wheat comes from? I don't.
Real food boils down to vibe. You can just feel it when it's genuine. It's the opposite feeling of when you eat a Twinkie. It feels like friends and family around a table, candles and wine. The smell and sound of onions frying. The hard work of dishes and prep. More bread and salad, and less crackers and chips.This is what keeps it real.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
