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.

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.

The Garden

My garden is booming right now. The sunshine agrees with it. I have the happiest tomatoes, just set with fruit, and my chives are tall and fat. The basil, celery, parsley and lavender want constant pinches to stay healthy, but the zucchini and pumpkin could give a damn, as long as I water. Everyone's happy.
Now the pressure is on to cook up all this good greenness.
I can't wait for breaded, fried zucchini with tomato sauce and parmesan. It's so light, yet hearty. This year, for the first time, I plan to can tomatoes. Then there is tomato/ basil salad with chive tart. Otherwise I will just plain stuff them in my face. The invasive mint that some people complain about is a wonder to a lousy gardener like me. I randomly wrench it out in big masses, and there is always enough. Mint steamed carrots, hibiscus/mint tea. Chocolate mint. Lavender ice cream anyone?

Learning to Cook

It seems as if my entire life has been spent learning to cook. It's only in the past few years that I've consciously tried to become a better cuisinier. Along the way so many people have touched me. My mother, with her familiar refrain of "Come and watch me cook", her sauteed mushrooms and baked macaroni with 7 cheeses. My Italian grandmother, who I don't remember, but who taught my Irish mother how to cook. The owner of The Blue Heron in Reno, NV who taught me how to cut an onion CORRECTLY (turns out he was right on, Jacque Pepin uses the same technique). Steve at my first food job, soda jerk, who showed me the correct way to make espresso drinks.Lee Zucker of The LocoMotive Restaurant right here in Eugene, who taught me everything, but above all else, instilled a drive for perfection (damn you Lee!), a scientific approach, and an appreciation of flavor. Also, Julia, Jacques, and my other heroes at PBS, my favorite foodie friends, Robin, Jessica and Lisa, and countless others.
Some things I had to learn by myself, of course; how to get a good crust (higher heat than you'd think!), how to make the genoise rise and the cream puff puff, but without all the help, where would I be?

Curried Chickpeas

I made a delicious dish of curried garbanzos at work last night. I sauteed onions, garlic and ginger with the "garam" (hot) spices, toatoes and chickpeas, and served it on a bed of rice with chutneys and cucumber raita. It was a hit.

Here's to You, Mrs. Jaffrey

I've switched from obsessing on Jacque to obsessing on Madhur Jaffrey. The cabbage rolls stuffed with potato were Divine! I did the tomato, garbanzo flour sauce and served them on a bed of rice with cilantro and chutney. Heaven! Note to self - visit India someday. The subtle spicing, the healthiness cum cheapness, the exoticism, all are so fantastic. I am a cook at an Indian restaurant, and I plan to work my way through her revolutionary cookbook.

What's up, homey?

Why is it so damned hard to get a decent home-fry? This is a question I've been asking myself for years. They're either mushy lumps or as dry as those forgotten sneakers in the garage. I think it's one of the ironies of cooking- the easier, the harder. Like biscuits, which are only 4 ingredients; should be simple, right? Yet any cook will tell you that it takes years to morph that flour, butter, salt and cream into a light, fluffy paddy of goodness. Even before I knew I wanted to be a good cook, I knew I wanted to make a good home-fry. The trick seems to be boiling the potato VERY al dente, then frying it in prodigious amounts of butter and oil. I don't muss it up with herbs or overt seasonings, just salt and pepper. I think the thing that can make or break your potato chunks is the crust. Ahhhh, the crust. Another elusive element of cookery. Let that little puppy frizzle and sear! Saute the crap out of it, but not too far, lest you be left with a dried out moccasin of a breakfast spud.