What she said.
Although I consider myself a fairly flexible person and pretty much of a live-and-let-live frame of mind, there is one area in which I remain doggedly stubborn. If one chooses to eat meat on Christmas day, that meat must roast beef. Turkey on Thanksgiving, roast beef on Christmas and ham on Easter, that's the rule.
I'm mostly kidding, of course. I've been around enough to know that these kinds of culinary rules don't wash in our pluralistic society and that there are so many modes of gustatory beliefs and convictions that no one could possibly claim to have a lock on holiday feasting. So I amend my statement to say that in our house the Christmas meal revolves around roast beef, full-stop. I have willingly foregone an Easter ham (for vegetarian, Hindu and Muslim guests sharing the day) and I am more than happy to dispense with a Thanksgiving turkey in favor of a homemade macaroni and cheese but when Christmas roles around I become as dogmatic as your Great Aunt Melba. It's got to be roast beef or I'm not coming to the table.
After my marriage, the Yorkshire pudding made way for Polish potato dumplings and the mashed potatoes moved on to make space for pierogie. White bread rolls are now more often than not usurped by a risen saffron bread. None of these replacements bothers me in the least, but when it was suggested that I might replace the roast with a haunch of venison or some kind of game bird I drew a line in the sand. No. A thousdand nos.
However, as I said, I am a flexible woman. If your Christmas tradition involves yet another turkey with all the trimmings, or even if it doesn't, try this cranberry chutney. It's extremely delicious and even those with their own snobberies toward canned cranberry jelly or gelled cranberry salad find it to be, well, worth adopting a more flexible attitude.
Place a pound of picked over cranberries in a large saucepan with a cup of water, a cup of orange juice and a half a cup of sugar. Allow to come to a light boil and, when the cranberries begin to pop, add in a cup of chopped celery, a 14 oz. can of crushed pineapple (not drained), a half a cup of crushed walnuts, a cup of mixed raisons and about 2 teaspoons of crushed red pepper (or to taste). Mix well and allow to stay at a low simmer until the mixture is hot and gelled. This may be cooled and served within a couple days or packed into jars and processed in a hot water bath for 20 minutes. When I intend to process the chutney for storage, I usually at least double the recipe and use half pint jars.
This recipe can be easily messed with and still comes out great. Some people use lime juice instead of orange, or pecans instead of walnuts or no nuts at all but maybe some citrus rind. Whatever your fancy, working within these basic parameters will never let you down. If it looks too tight, add a bit more water or jucie. If it's too loose for your tastes, try a couple more cranberries and some pineapple. One friend even adds some coconut and leaves out the pineapple in favor of the chopped flesh of a blood orange and I've often thought about using a diced fresh hot pepper of some kind instead of the dried flakes. So, you know, whatever.
So, I'm curious. What are your holiday food biases and snobberies?
I'm mostly kidding, of course. I've been around enough to know that these kinds of culinary rules don't wash in our pluralistic society and that there are so many modes of gustatory beliefs and convictions that no one could possibly claim to have a lock on holiday feasting. So I amend my statement to say that in our house the Christmas meal revolves around roast beef, full-stop. I have willingly foregone an Easter ham (for vegetarian, Hindu and Muslim guests sharing the day) and I am more than happy to dispense with a Thanksgiving turkey in favor of a homemade macaroni and cheese but when Christmas roles around I become as dogmatic as your Great Aunt Melba. It's got to be roast beef or I'm not coming to the table.
After my marriage, the Yorkshire pudding made way for Polish potato dumplings and the mashed potatoes moved on to make space for pierogie. White bread rolls are now more often than not usurped by a risen saffron bread. None of these replacements bothers me in the least, but when it was suggested that I might replace the roast with a haunch of venison or some kind of game bird I drew a line in the sand. No. A thousdand nos.
However, as I said, I am a flexible woman. If your Christmas tradition involves yet another turkey with all the trimmings, or even if it doesn't, try this cranberry chutney. It's extremely delicious and even those with their own snobberies toward canned cranberry jelly or gelled cranberry salad find it to be, well, worth adopting a more flexible attitude.
Place a pound of picked over cranberries in a large saucepan with a cup of water, a cup of orange juice and a half a cup of sugar. Allow to come to a light boil and, when the cranberries begin to pop, add in a cup of chopped celery, a 14 oz. can of crushed pineapple (not drained), a half a cup of crushed walnuts, a cup of mixed raisons and about 2 teaspoons of crushed red pepper (or to taste). Mix well and allow to stay at a low simmer until the mixture is hot and gelled. This may be cooled and served within a couple days or packed into jars and processed in a hot water bath for 20 minutes. When I intend to process the chutney for storage, I usually at least double the recipe and use half pint jars.
This recipe can be easily messed with and still comes out great. Some people use lime juice instead of orange, or pecans instead of walnuts or no nuts at all but maybe some citrus rind. Whatever your fancy, working within these basic parameters will never let you down. If it looks too tight, add a bit more water or jucie. If it's too loose for your tastes, try a couple more cranberries and some pineapple. One friend even adds some coconut and leaves out the pineapple in favor of the chopped flesh of a blood orange and I've often thought about using a diced fresh hot pepper of some kind instead of the dried flakes. So, you know, whatever.
So, I'm curious. What are your holiday food biases and snobberies?
First, a little business. Henceforth, the Little Diva shall be known as Entropy Girl. Sue has pointed out that this change requires a photograph. She is right and one is forthcoming.
Second, when my new friend Wynn suggested that we take a Friday morning yoga class together I thought it a splendid idea. Why, my grace would make Christie Turlington weep with envy! I would set new standards for the accomplishment of peace and tranquility! My unfashionably broad but flexible hips, heretofore suitable only for rapid and drug-free childbearing, would help me to create an astonishingly effortless beauty of movement!
I have a lot to learn about yoga.
Yoga kicks my butt. Not only am I stretching muscles I never knew I had (years of exclusively treadmill or pool exercising allows one to completely deny entire sets of muscles) but I am finding it very difficult to achieve the necessary quietude to succeed where yoga is concerned. I don't know whether to throw in the towel, so to speak, or take it as a sign that I need to press forward for my own good, to expand the boundaries of what I currently know as my personality.
Part of the problem is that annoying water/bell/chime...well, I hesitate to call it music but I suppose it is. Also, my "essence" (as the instructor says) is 100% at odds with what seems to be in demand for yoga achievement. Perhaps even seeking yoga achievement is at odds with yoga achievement, I don't know. All I know is that for an hour I keep doing these contortions (tucking one's heel into one's yoni, while standing on the other foot and facing palms and eyes skyward is just odd, no matter what you call it or how much peace it might bring you) waiting for the actual class to begin. And then it's over. Meanwhile my brain is insisting on asking how many miles, how many flights, how many calories, how many laps, how many...well, just what exactly has been accomplished here.
And, today, when I mentioned to the very nice instructor that I was also looking forward to trying the beginning pilates class she looked as if I had mortally wounded her with a dull knife to the belly. Seriously. Her face went slack and her shoulders dropped and pulled inward, just like someone who has been struck. I felt awful and so I forgave her when she suggested that I might be more comfortable in the "plus sized yoga" that meets on Thursday afternoons.
And as if all this weren't strange enough, in doing a search for, yes, plus-size yoga gear (I ascribe to the "fake it till you make it" philosophy where fitness is concerned) I discovered that a high school friend, a lovely boy by the name of Andrew Zionts, has opened a yoga studio in Istanbul.
Of course he has.
Second, when my new friend Wynn suggested that we take a Friday morning yoga class together I thought it a splendid idea. Why, my grace would make Christie Turlington weep with envy! I would set new standards for the accomplishment of peace and tranquility! My unfashionably broad but flexible hips, heretofore suitable only for rapid and drug-free childbearing, would help me to create an astonishingly effortless beauty of movement!
I have a lot to learn about yoga.
Yoga kicks my butt. Not only am I stretching muscles I never knew I had (years of exclusively treadmill or pool exercising allows one to completely deny entire sets of muscles) but I am finding it very difficult to achieve the necessary quietude to succeed where yoga is concerned. I don't know whether to throw in the towel, so to speak, or take it as a sign that I need to press forward for my own good, to expand the boundaries of what I currently know as my personality.
Part of the problem is that annoying water/bell/chime...well, I hesitate to call it music but I suppose it is. Also, my "essence" (as the instructor says) is 100% at odds with what seems to be in demand for yoga achievement. Perhaps even seeking yoga achievement is at odds with yoga achievement, I don't know. All I know is that for an hour I keep doing these contortions (tucking one's heel into one's yoni, while standing on the other foot and facing palms and eyes skyward is just odd, no matter what you call it or how much peace it might bring you) waiting for the actual class to begin. And then it's over. Meanwhile my brain is insisting on asking how many miles, how many flights, how many calories, how many laps, how many...well, just what exactly has been accomplished here.
And, today, when I mentioned to the very nice instructor that I was also looking forward to trying the beginning pilates class she looked as if I had mortally wounded her with a dull knife to the belly. Seriously. Her face went slack and her shoulders dropped and pulled inward, just like someone who has been struck. I felt awful and so I forgave her when she suggested that I might be more comfortable in the "plus sized yoga" that meets on Thursday afternoons.
And as if all this weren't strange enough, in doing a search for, yes, plus-size yoga gear (I ascribe to the "fake it till you make it" philosophy where fitness is concerned) I discovered that a high school friend, a lovely boy by the name of Andrew Zionts, has opened a yoga studio in Istanbul.
Of course he has.
Yikes.
The Little Diva is finally feeling better and I've finally made a dent in the laundry. I've long been amazed at how much extra work one tiny little person, when ill, can generate. The important thing now, though, is that she's well and on her way to being back on schedule, sleep-wise. Everything else is a bonus.
I realized that I never updated the "What's for Dinner" or the "What I'm Reading" listings, but they'll just have to keep for another couple days. One or two more nights of serious, nose to the grindstone work and I should be in the clear for blogging, cookie baking and a host of other more entertaining activities.
On my mind for when I return: interviewing for new projects and writing my CV, my newly-diagnosed diabetic dog, my freakin' cold house, the restaurant bet I won with my husband.
A few more days' indulgence?
The Little Diva is finally feeling better and I've finally made a dent in the laundry. I've long been amazed at how much extra work one tiny little person, when ill, can generate. The important thing now, though, is that she's well and on her way to being back on schedule, sleep-wise. Everything else is a bonus.
I realized that I never updated the "What's for Dinner" or the "What I'm Reading" listings, but they'll just have to keep for another couple days. One or two more nights of serious, nose to the grindstone work and I should be in the clear for blogging, cookie baking and a host of other more entertaining activities.
On my mind for when I return: interviewing for new projects and writing my CV, my newly-diagnosed diabetic dog, my freakin' cold house, the restaurant bet I won with my husband.
A few more days' indulgence?
This has been a bear of a week. I'm very much behind the eight ball work-wise (a condition that will not end until the conclusion of my contract at the end of the month) and the Little Diva has been sick since Saturday. Until today her disposition was sunny enough that I didn't mind a few extra poopy diapers and multiple changes of clothes (for both of us). It's all caught up to her now, though, and the entire household has taken on an air of...unwellness.
Bear with me over the next couple of days. I have a lot to tell you about and will be back soon.
Bear with me over the next couple of days. I have a lot to tell you about and will be back soon.
We've never felt it necessary to place those brightly colored "Posted" signs around our property. You know the ones - usually yellow, red or orange, they warn against trespassing or, horror of horrors, "poaching" (usually meaning deer). For one thing, I've never quite understood the idea that when deer wander into the borders of what the state considers "mine" they suddenly belong to me, but when they wander out again, they don't. Second, I've got nothing specific against hunting per se (just stupid and greedy hunting - the kind that happens too close to a house or without verification of the actual presence of the animal). Third, I know personally of families nearby whose winters would be long and dark indeed without the benefit of their summer gardens and fall kills. So I've always felt that if a responsible hunter saw a legal shot that happened to bring him or her onto my property that was fine.
You know where this is going, right? We put up the Posted signs yesterday in response to two separate and coincidental events. First, someone did take a shot, or more accurately prepared to take a shot, on our property that was neither responsible nor legal. Way too close to the house when I saw him, I yelled to get his attention and in the process jolted the deer out of its stupor and caused it to run. The guy was furious but, hey, he was standing a mere 400 feet or so from my front door with a gun. I'd say that I have more of a ground, so to speak, for anger.
Second, we learned that we may be held accountable for hunting accidents that occur on our land, even if we weren't involved or even knowledgeable about them. Like the proverbial robber who trips down your stairs or vandal who cuts himself while chopping down your tree, a hunter who is hurt on your property may quickly become even more of a problem.
I'm saddened by this development. Although not a hunter myself, I do enjoy eating venison and rabbit and appreciate the gifts of game given to me by hunter friends. I am also accutely aware of the impact that burgeoning deer populations are having on our environment - two of the does in the little herd that visits us each had two sets of twins this year, making four little fawns who have stripped away the bark and are killing the trees that serve as shelter for birds which help keep the insect population in check which...you get the idea (the Wall Street Journal had an excellent article earlier this week on this very subject). Two of the fawns look too skinny to make it through the winter and I wonder about them as the days get shorter and colder, and foliage is much harder to come by. No, overly restricting hunting would be just as damaging as unregulated hunting.
And yet. My little corner of the world has now become part of the problem.
You know where this is going, right? We put up the Posted signs yesterday in response to two separate and coincidental events. First, someone did take a shot, or more accurately prepared to take a shot, on our property that was neither responsible nor legal. Way too close to the house when I saw him, I yelled to get his attention and in the process jolted the deer out of its stupor and caused it to run. The guy was furious but, hey, he was standing a mere 400 feet or so from my front door with a gun. I'd say that I have more of a ground, so to speak, for anger.
Second, we learned that we may be held accountable for hunting accidents that occur on our land, even if we weren't involved or even knowledgeable about them. Like the proverbial robber who trips down your stairs or vandal who cuts himself while chopping down your tree, a hunter who is hurt on your property may quickly become even more of a problem.
I'm saddened by this development. Although not a hunter myself, I do enjoy eating venison and rabbit and appreciate the gifts of game given to me by hunter friends. I am also accutely aware of the impact that burgeoning deer populations are having on our environment - two of the does in the little herd that visits us each had two sets of twins this year, making four little fawns who have stripped away the bark and are killing the trees that serve as shelter for birds which help keep the insect population in check which...you get the idea (the Wall Street Journal had an excellent article earlier this week on this very subject). Two of the fawns look too skinny to make it through the winter and I wonder about them as the days get shorter and colder, and foliage is much harder to come by. No, overly restricting hunting would be just as damaging as unregulated hunting.
And yet. My little corner of the world has now become part of the problem.
I move through my daily life ever alert to subjects suitable for blogging and usually identify scores of things about which I think I might be able to craft at least somewhat interesting entries. Alas, it is this same daily life that has been preventing me from actually committing the thoughts to posts.
One of my long-standing clients is continuing an established tradition that allows all kinds of stuff to hit the fan in the last weeks of the year. Like many organizations, budgets are determined on a use-it-or-lose-it calendar year basis, as are bonuses - progress toward which is measured by how much was completed against the list of goals created earlier in the year. The result is that December arrives, everyone looks up and thinks, "Holy cow! We've got to get how much stuff done on the next few weeks? Well, I ain't working over the holidays, better call the consultants."
And so they call and I work because, like retail, small-scale consulting depends in a large part on results accrued in December to make the rest of the year's numbers work. I was going over billing records from 2001 and saw that I worked 19 hours on Christmas Eve. I don't remember that day specifically, but I have vivid memories of calling a colleague before heading to bed around 4:30 a.m. to catch her as she started her day. Never have two people with opposite schedules worked so well together.
And so goes life at the close of the year. Luckily, I anticipated the crunch and am largely satisfied with the status of present shopping, wrapping and shipping. I have a schedule laid out that will include gingerbread house construction, cooking baking, card writing and a few other holiday frills but, despite my recent promise, I'm not sure canning will be among them.
This being said, I hope you'll stay tuned. We received a gift of pink grapefruit the other day, some of which is already earmarked for ginger-lime grapefruit marmalade to be made in the slower days of January. There are cranberries in the freezer, waiting for transformation into ruby red spicy chutney. Best of all, perhaps, is the can of glaceed chestnuts from which I am hoping to produce chestnut paste - perfect for Easter cake filling.
Winter may yet be setting upon us but already I am thinking of Spring.
One of my long-standing clients is continuing an established tradition that allows all kinds of stuff to hit the fan in the last weeks of the year. Like many organizations, budgets are determined on a use-it-or-lose-it calendar year basis, as are bonuses - progress toward which is measured by how much was completed against the list of goals created earlier in the year. The result is that December arrives, everyone looks up and thinks, "Holy cow! We've got to get how much stuff done on the next few weeks? Well, I ain't working over the holidays, better call the consultants."
And so they call and I work because, like retail, small-scale consulting depends in a large part on results accrued in December to make the rest of the year's numbers work. I was going over billing records from 2001 and saw that I worked 19 hours on Christmas Eve. I don't remember that day specifically, but I have vivid memories of calling a colleague before heading to bed around 4:30 a.m. to catch her as she started her day. Never have two people with opposite schedules worked so well together.
And so goes life at the close of the year. Luckily, I anticipated the crunch and am largely satisfied with the status of present shopping, wrapping and shipping. I have a schedule laid out that will include gingerbread house construction, cooking baking, card writing and a few other holiday frills but, despite my recent promise, I'm not sure canning will be among them.
This being said, I hope you'll stay tuned. We received a gift of pink grapefruit the other day, some of which is already earmarked for ginger-lime grapefruit marmalade to be made in the slower days of January. There are cranberries in the freezer, waiting for transformation into ruby red spicy chutney. Best of all, perhaps, is the can of glaceed chestnuts from which I am hoping to produce chestnut paste - perfect for Easter cake filling.
Winter may yet be setting upon us but already I am thinking of Spring.
This morning I am facing straight on the classic canner's connundrum: you can't have your canned goods and eat them too. I've written about this before - the frisson of hestitation before giving jam to a friend, the ever-so-slight quiver of regret before opening pickled brussels to grace the dinner table. And, as I wrap up a jar of jerk sauce for a brother-in-law and a jar of chocolate sauce for another, and pack up a jar of cranberry chutney to take to the mountains for Thanksgiving, it is clear: if I wish to have such a varied pantry and enjoy the pleasures of being open-handedly generous with the fruits of my labors, my self-imposed canning maternity leave must end. The Little Diva is nearly 10 months old now (can it really be so?) and mama must again turn her attention to provisioning if life is to continue as we know it both in terms of household management and maternal health (in addition to filling my canning shelves anew, I am ready to reacquaint myself with my own personal joys and habits outside of mothering). I entered these infant months with shelves full and never worried that a plain meal would go unadorned - there have been pickles and jams and chutneys and sauces and marinades to perk up even the most basic of broiled meats or omelets or breads. It was a wonderful gift to myself, this inventory, and now it is nearly depleted.
So again into the breach. This is an awkward time of year to fill up the canning kettle. Harvest has past and there is very little on the horizon in terms of produce. I'm thinking more cranberry chutney, lime chutney, more marmalade, pickled greens, pickled turnips and juice-based jellies - pomegranate or even carrot-tangerine.
It's good to be back. I love the smell of vinegar in the morning.
So again into the breach. This is an awkward time of year to fill up the canning kettle. Harvest has past and there is very little on the horizon in terms of produce. I'm thinking more cranberry chutney, lime chutney, more marmalade, pickled greens, pickled turnips and juice-based jellies - pomegranate or even carrot-tangerine.
It's good to be back. I love the smell of vinegar in the morning.
I commented to my husband the other day that grocery prices seemed a little high lately. I hadn't noticed much of an increase in the prices of either food or clothes since I graduated from undergrad in 1992 so this latest punch upward caught me off guard. I wasn't suprised, then, to hear on the radio today that wholesale prices have had their highest increase in, what?, almost 15 years (just about the length of time since I graduated).
The grocery item that initially shocked me into noticing the problem was a loaf of bread. Not anything especially exotic, just your standard whole-wheat with what my husband refers to as "nuts and twigs". Price at my local Giant? Over $3.00. $3.10, to be exact. And it looked smaller, too. I swear that this same loaf of bread cost about $2.50 not too long ago. I didn't buy it.
Over in the baking aisle I bought three five pound bags of flour for .99 each. Each bag has the potential to make me four and a half loaves of bread (with the addition, of course, of some yeast, water, wheat germ, and a few other sundry things). I figure that making a loaf of bread might cost me about $1.00, up to $1.15 if the flour isn't on sale. So I've got some yeast proofing as I type. It simply is not worth paying more than double to have someone else do the work for me when the cost differential is so great (and, I might add, the opportunity cost is low: I stil have a good time in the kitchen, even if it's not the most glamour-filled work in the world, still have good time for talking with my kids, still have the satisfaction of eating some decent bread and it's not like someone is paying me tons of money to spend my time elsewhere).
I've found a solution to the bread thing. But I'm a moving target. I work at home, have my kids with me and how I spend my days is largely up to me. I can run out to pick up some wheat germ if I've run out without explaining myself to anyone. I can take a delivery of some great new King Arthur product. I can set my bread machine in the morning, if I want to go that route, and have bread waiting for us at dinner after I've done swim lessons, story time at the library, art class and stopped at the playground. It's pretty clear to me that although I've found a solution the answers aren't so simple for most.
So it seems that Alan Greenspan has finally found the inflation that he's been looking for all these years. I wonder what happens now. Let 'em eat cake?
The grocery item that initially shocked me into noticing the problem was a loaf of bread. Not anything especially exotic, just your standard whole-wheat with what my husband refers to as "nuts and twigs". Price at my local Giant? Over $3.00. $3.10, to be exact. And it looked smaller, too. I swear that this same loaf of bread cost about $2.50 not too long ago. I didn't buy it.
Over in the baking aisle I bought three five pound bags of flour for .99 each. Each bag has the potential to make me four and a half loaves of bread (with the addition, of course, of some yeast, water, wheat germ, and a few other sundry things). I figure that making a loaf of bread might cost me about $1.00, up to $1.15 if the flour isn't on sale. So I've got some yeast proofing as I type. It simply is not worth paying more than double to have someone else do the work for me when the cost differential is so great (and, I might add, the opportunity cost is low: I stil have a good time in the kitchen, even if it's not the most glamour-filled work in the world, still have good time for talking with my kids, still have the satisfaction of eating some decent bread and it's not like someone is paying me tons of money to spend my time elsewhere).
I've found a solution to the bread thing. But I'm a moving target. I work at home, have my kids with me and how I spend my days is largely up to me. I can run out to pick up some wheat germ if I've run out without explaining myself to anyone. I can take a delivery of some great new King Arthur product. I can set my bread machine in the morning, if I want to go that route, and have bread waiting for us at dinner after I've done swim lessons, story time at the library, art class and stopped at the playground. It's pretty clear to me that although I've found a solution the answers aren't so simple for most.
So it seems that Alan Greenspan has finally found the inflation that he's been looking for all these years. I wonder what happens now. Let 'em eat cake?
I'm reading Mimi Sheraton's new memior Eating My Words, in which she recounts her career in food writing in general and restaurant criticism in general. For those of us outside the industry but who still enjoy a well put-together meal the book is a revelation. One part in particular that I read just before bed last night has been swirling around my head today. In it, Ms. Sheraton describes the complicated calculus, financial as well as psychological, that goes into menu writing and the setting of prices. This, as I serve my son buttered noodles and broccoli and try to convince my daughter to snack on a plain rice cake, has me ruminating on some of the more expensive meals of my life - as well as some of the cheapest.
According to Ms. Sheraton, when you sit down to a meal in a restaurant you are not actually buying food but rather real estate. That is why your appetizers, entrees and desserts come one on top of the other in your average low-range chain place - your Olive Gardens, Chili's and Red Lobsters. I swear I've eaten in some of these establishments and you simply cannot move for all the bread baskets, salad plates, empty soda glasses, paper napkin wrapper thingies and the rest of the flotsam and jetsam that makes up a mass-market dinner out. Your food comes fast because they need you in and out in order to turn over your table for the next $40 check.
Maybe this is why I'm increasingly willing to eat out less but pay more at nicer places when I do go out. So that I can rent that small piece of real estate for an ever-so-slightly longer period of time - life is complicated and moves fast and every now and again I'd like a meal that's better than what I can produce at home and is actually more relaxing. Sitting around a crowded table with my two kids and husband trying to grab someone's attention to take away the empty glasses before the baby knocks them over is not my idea of a good time and the last time we went to a national chain place a kid from a neighboring table amused himself by throwing tortilla chips at my husband.
On the other hand, one of my more concrete parenting goals is to make sure my children grow up suitable for polite society - that they know have to make dinner conversation, use a fork and knife and have diverse enough palates to eat just about anything that's served to them (or at least be able to fake it well). This goal is very often in complete opposition with my desire for a well-crafted, well-paced and pleasant meal in soothing/interesting (depending upon my mood) surroundings. Restaurants that offer these attributes generally aren't thrilled when customers show up with a small box of crayons and a request for a high chair.
Coincidentally, my husband sent me an article yesterday describing the new welcome that families are receiving in many new, upscale, suburban restaurants. One of those featured, a place called Christopher's, is among our favorites and is a place we get back to everytime we're in Philly and cruising down the Main Line. Their kids' menu treats children as if they have taste buds and the adult menu is nothing short of great. We get a good dinner with a glass of wine or two, our son gets either a "real" pizza (no frozen immitation here) or some pasta with housemade marinara and parmesan and the check comes to about $75. Spendy, perhaps, for your average suburban family dinner check but no one throws chips at you and nothing has been frozen or portion packed prior to its arrival at your table.
In this vein I can't wait to try Georges Perrier's new Georges'. That Georges Perrier has developed a restaurant that is 1) anything approaching casual and 2) includes a childrens' menu is something that simply astonishes me. Perrier is primarily known as the chef-proprieter of Philadelphia's Le Bec Fin, once regarded as one of the best restaurants in the country and still Philly's dream restaurant, although one with an increasingly hidebound reputation (its sister restaurant Brasserie seems to be aging better). Anyway, in his e-mail to me about the article in which Georges' is discussed, my husband stated, "Let me guess. There are Freedom Fries in my future at Georges'."
You betcha, cherie. And I won't forget the crayons.
According to Ms. Sheraton, when you sit down to a meal in a restaurant you are not actually buying food but rather real estate. That is why your appetizers, entrees and desserts come one on top of the other in your average low-range chain place - your Olive Gardens, Chili's and Red Lobsters. I swear I've eaten in some of these establishments and you simply cannot move for all the bread baskets, salad plates, empty soda glasses, paper napkin wrapper thingies and the rest of the flotsam and jetsam that makes up a mass-market dinner out. Your food comes fast because they need you in and out in order to turn over your table for the next $40 check.
Maybe this is why I'm increasingly willing to eat out less but pay more at nicer places when I do go out. So that I can rent that small piece of real estate for an ever-so-slightly longer period of time - life is complicated and moves fast and every now and again I'd like a meal that's better than what I can produce at home and is actually more relaxing. Sitting around a crowded table with my two kids and husband trying to grab someone's attention to take away the empty glasses before the baby knocks them over is not my idea of a good time and the last time we went to a national chain place a kid from a neighboring table amused himself by throwing tortilla chips at my husband.
On the other hand, one of my more concrete parenting goals is to make sure my children grow up suitable for polite society - that they know have to make dinner conversation, use a fork and knife and have diverse enough palates to eat just about anything that's served to them (or at least be able to fake it well). This goal is very often in complete opposition with my desire for a well-crafted, well-paced and pleasant meal in soothing/interesting (depending upon my mood) surroundings. Restaurants that offer these attributes generally aren't thrilled when customers show up with a small box of crayons and a request for a high chair.
Coincidentally, my husband sent me an article yesterday describing the new welcome that families are receiving in many new, upscale, suburban restaurants. One of those featured, a place called Christopher's, is among our favorites and is a place we get back to everytime we're in Philly and cruising down the Main Line. Their kids' menu treats children as if they have taste buds and the adult menu is nothing short of great. We get a good dinner with a glass of wine or two, our son gets either a "real" pizza (no frozen immitation here) or some pasta with housemade marinara and parmesan and the check comes to about $75. Spendy, perhaps, for your average suburban family dinner check but no one throws chips at you and nothing has been frozen or portion packed prior to its arrival at your table.
In this vein I can't wait to try Georges Perrier's new Georges'. That Georges Perrier has developed a restaurant that is 1) anything approaching casual and 2) includes a childrens' menu is something that simply astonishes me. Perrier is primarily known as the chef-proprieter of Philadelphia's Le Bec Fin, once regarded as one of the best restaurants in the country and still Philly's dream restaurant, although one with an increasingly hidebound reputation (its sister restaurant Brasserie seems to be aging better). Anyway, in his e-mail to me about the article in which Georges' is discussed, my husband stated, "Let me guess. There are Freedom Fries in my future at Georges'."
You betcha, cherie. And I won't forget the crayons.
Every year around this time I reach for Edna Lewis's cookbooks, especially A Taste of Country Cooking. Ms. Lewis was born and raised in Freetown, Virginia, a community founded by freed slaves (one of them her grandfather). After years of reading about her life and culinary experiences in this small town I have just discovered that, although it no longer exists, what was Freetown is just 15 or so miles from where I sit as I type this. From what I can tell, the area has been subsumed into Orange, Virgina - a town that I have not explored but have found charming when passing through. The astonishing information that I am so close to the birthplace of someone I consider a living national treasure will guarantee that I take a closer look around at the earliest opportunity. I mean, Montpelier, Monticello or, hey, even Ash Lawn Highland, sure. I mean, yeah, it's all history and presidents and such, but c'mon...we're talking Edna Lewis here - the woman who can tell you how to make a fruitcake that is both steeped in tradition (not too mention a great deal of brandy) and edible. This is a woman you want to get to know. She's opinionated and passionate and became a chef in a time when finding women (let along African-American women) in the profession was rare indeed.
Anyway, among my favorite passages in the book (which is composed of both recipes and memoir) describes Christmas in Freetown, complete with Roman Candles, a stiff morning drink for the men and a bountiful array of festive foodstuffs from the larder of this largely self-sufficient town. I will read and re-read the essay throughout the holday season as an antidote to modern expectations of Christmas and our demands of joy through acquisition and entertainment rather than fellowship and community. Along with a review of the Christmas-related portions of the Little House books, Ms. Lewis helps keep me on an even keel and focused on that which I find truly important.
It was with all of this in mind that I decided to make a fruitcake for the first time ever. Actually, I'm going to make a Black Cake. And I've got to start now since the fruit has to macerate for two weeks and then the cooked cake sits at room temp for a week before icing. In other words, it's a project.
And, speaking of projects, I've got another cut out for me. I need to make more hot sauce for my brother in law. I made four pints for him for Christmas, knowing that he loves condiments in general and hot sauce in particular. In a casual conversation with my sister I mentioned the habañeros and how colorful they were as I was chopping. She was silent for a moment and then said, "You did know that D. is allergic to them."
"Allergic to what?" I asked.
"Habañeros," she replied, "His throad closes. Can't breathe."
Hmm. Well, thank goodness I mentioned those peppers or we might never have known until it was too late. I've known this man for close to 15 years and I never knew of this allergy. My sister assumed I did know so she wouldn't have questioned the hot sauce and I wouldn't have thought to issue any warning (and I don't generally include a label with a list ingredients in home canned goods unless it's going to someone I don't know well).
So my next project is to: 1) find a use for the habañero sauce (we don't care for it here) and 2) make another batch of hot sauce. This time I'm sticking to jalapeños.
Anyway, among my favorite passages in the book (which is composed of both recipes and memoir) describes Christmas in Freetown, complete with Roman Candles, a stiff morning drink for the men and a bountiful array of festive foodstuffs from the larder of this largely self-sufficient town. I will read and re-read the essay throughout the holday season as an antidote to modern expectations of Christmas and our demands of joy through acquisition and entertainment rather than fellowship and community. Along with a review of the Christmas-related portions of the Little House books, Ms. Lewis helps keep me on an even keel and focused on that which I find truly important.
It was with all of this in mind that I decided to make a fruitcake for the first time ever. Actually, I'm going to make a Black Cake. And I've got to start now since the fruit has to macerate for two weeks and then the cooked cake sits at room temp for a week before icing. In other words, it's a project.
And, speaking of projects, I've got another cut out for me. I need to make more hot sauce for my brother in law. I made four pints for him for Christmas, knowing that he loves condiments in general and hot sauce in particular. In a casual conversation with my sister I mentioned the habañeros and how colorful they were as I was chopping. She was silent for a moment and then said, "You did know that D. is allergic to them."
"Allergic to what?" I asked.
"Habañeros," she replied, "His throad closes. Can't breathe."
Hmm. Well, thank goodness I mentioned those peppers or we might never have known until it was too late. I've known this man for close to 15 years and I never knew of this allergy. My sister assumed I did know so she wouldn't have questioned the hot sauce and I wouldn't have thought to issue any warning (and I don't generally include a label with a list ingredients in home canned goods unless it's going to someone I don't know well).
So my next project is to: 1) find a use for the habañero sauce (we don't care for it here) and 2) make another batch of hot sauce. This time I'm sticking to jalapeños.
From the nostalgia department:I've got an experiment thawing in my fridge. Nothing sexy, just a container full of leftover vegetables and gravy and the rinsed remains of spaghtetti sauce jars. Each was added to the bin separately as they became available, and collectively they replicate my great grandmother's "recipe" for vegetable soup. Grandmom's soup was quite simply the best ever. Served with a loaf of fresh bread and homemade butter there was no better cure for the blues or any given physical ailment. It was delicious, healthy and incredibly frugal (as befits a Depression survivor, who raised her three kids to hale adulthood during that time).
My experiment is to see if I can replicate Grandmom's soup. Clearly, hers must have been at least slightly different each time, since leftovers are never predictable. I remember rinsing spaghetti sauce jars (she made her own, natch) with water and adding that in, and I have a very vivid memory of Grandmom dumping the last inch or so of beef gravy from the gravy bowl on top of some dinner's leftover limas. Strata by strata the container filled up until finally the thawed contents were warmed, fortified with the addition of maybe some broth (but maybe not), salt and pepper and perhaps a bit of chopped onion or cooked pasta or rice. That's it. Every time different and every time perfect.
The basic procedure I remember well and have followed since late winter. And now my freezer soup container is thawing and I have my fingers firmly crossed. It's not so much that I don't think the resulting soup will be good, because I know it will be (or, if not, I can make it so). It's that I know that I can never capture her kitchen, with the oilcloth covered table and her three daily newspapers spread around, along with the cooling cup of coffee (she poured but never finished) and throaty been-around-the-block-a-time-or-two laugh. These, I fear, were the soup's true seasonings.
My experiment is to see if I can replicate Grandmom's soup. Clearly, hers must have been at least slightly different each time, since leftovers are never predictable. I remember rinsing spaghetti sauce jars (she made her own, natch) with water and adding that in, and I have a very vivid memory of Grandmom dumping the last inch or so of beef gravy from the gravy bowl on top of some dinner's leftover limas. Strata by strata the container filled up until finally the thawed contents were warmed, fortified with the addition of maybe some broth (but maybe not), salt and pepper and perhaps a bit of chopped onion or cooked pasta or rice. That's it. Every time different and every time perfect.
The basic procedure I remember well and have followed since late winter. And now my freezer soup container is thawing and I have my fingers firmly crossed. It's not so much that I don't think the resulting soup will be good, because I know it will be (or, if not, I can make it so). It's that I know that I can never capture her kitchen, with the oilcloth covered table and her three daily newspapers spread around, along with the cooling cup of coffee (she poured but never finished) and throaty been-around-the-block-a-time-or-two laugh. These, I fear, were the soup's true seasonings.
I've got like four seconds to post, so I'm going to keep it short. Just a couple points about the election:
1) Laura Bush called yesterday. Wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise - she just talked and talked. Very rude.
2) I was just invited by a lovely young woman named Sarah to be sure and pick up my tickets for Monday's "victory" rally in Las Vegas by tomorrow - they're free! She was really excited about! Dick Cheney will be there! In person! Did she mentioned the tickets are free! Like totally! Stop by the Nevada Republican Office as soon as possible! I felt awful telling her that her autodialer called central Virginia.
3) I voted today because I will be traveling next week. I'm kind of relieved that it's settled. For me, at least.
1) Laura Bush called yesterday. Wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise - she just talked and talked. Very rude.
2) I was just invited by a lovely young woman named Sarah to be sure and pick up my tickets for Monday's "victory" rally in Las Vegas by tomorrow - they're free! She was really excited about! Dick Cheney will be there! In person! Did she mentioned the tickets are free! Like totally! Stop by the Nevada Republican Office as soon as possible! I felt awful telling her that her autodialer called central Virginia.
3) I voted today because I will be traveling next week. I'm kind of relieved that it's settled. For me, at least.
I've been trying, with mixed succcess, to introduce in our household the idea of the Sunday supper. You know, slightly earlier than dinner might be on other days, and perhaps even more elaborate and more lingered-over. Sometimes such a dinner salvages the day from a certain kind of malaise, when there's lots to do but everyone's out of sorts or when you're trying to be productive but nothing comes together quite as planned. We had that kind of day at our house, but sitting down to dinner erased most of our frustrations and, for the first time really since we woke up, we began to enjoy each other and relax. Even the Little Diva, who usually despairs of our intent to keep her confined to her high chair for the duration of the evening meal, was in good humor and ate all of her chickpeas and yogurt.
Part of my increased cheerfulness stemmed from the success of the corn fritters. I've never made any (actually, I had never even eaten a corn fritter in my entire life) but somehow knew they'd be great. So I kept this idea in the back of my mind for years and years and only today finally made a batch. We enjoyed them thoroughly. Not health food, to be sure, but a nice treat enjoyed with ketchup (for the Boy Wonder and my husband) or salsa (for me) and a wonderful complement to the richness of the steaks.
In my zeal to follow the recipe (which is an old one) properly and also indulge my enthusiasm for keeping dishes to a minimum I beat the required egg white to stiff peaks by hand. Big deal, you scoff? Not so, says I. As someone who is generally loathe to move one inch more than necessary my success in this venture could well mark a turning point in my approach to these kinds of activities.
Anyway, I highly recommend that you make corn fritters for yourself and see if they can't help revive you from a troublesome day. I used one can of cream corn (horrors!) and one can of kernal corn (Not-so-horrors, but still!) and combined them together with about one tablespoon of baking powder, 3/4 cup of flour and the beaten white of one large egg (beat until fairly stiff and fold gently into the other ingredients). Heat about 1/4 inch of vegetable oil in a frying pan and, when quite warm but not smoking, add the batter in large spoonfuls (the rounds should be about 2 inches in diameter in the oil). Turn fritters once on the way to getting both sides a nice golden color. Drain on paper towel lined plates and serve with your favorite condiments (I read somewhere once of people eating them with maple syrup!).
Remember my cut finger? A surgeon friend had a gander at it yesterday (I didn't go see him about it, but ran into him and he noticed the rather large bandage I had installed). His response? "DUDE! Why didn't you get this stitched? Do you have any idea how poorly this is going to heal? What the h*ll did you wrap this in? Saran?"
Well, actually, no. So he goes into this long thing about the fascia and the skin and the...I don't know, insert surgeon-speak here and now I keep watching this finger (the bandage has been removed) waiting for it to turn into this malformed digit of ill-wrapped revenge or something.
Part of my increased cheerfulness stemmed from the success of the corn fritters. I've never made any (actually, I had never even eaten a corn fritter in my entire life) but somehow knew they'd be great. So I kept this idea in the back of my mind for years and years and only today finally made a batch. We enjoyed them thoroughly. Not health food, to be sure, but a nice treat enjoyed with ketchup (for the Boy Wonder and my husband) or salsa (for me) and a wonderful complement to the richness of the steaks.
In my zeal to follow the recipe (which is an old one) properly and also indulge my enthusiasm for keeping dishes to a minimum I beat the required egg white to stiff peaks by hand. Big deal, you scoff? Not so, says I. As someone who is generally loathe to move one inch more than necessary my success in this venture could well mark a turning point in my approach to these kinds of activities.
Anyway, I highly recommend that you make corn fritters for yourself and see if they can't help revive you from a troublesome day. I used one can of cream corn (horrors!) and one can of kernal corn (Not-so-horrors, but still!) and combined them together with about one tablespoon of baking powder, 3/4 cup of flour and the beaten white of one large egg (beat until fairly stiff and fold gently into the other ingredients). Heat about 1/4 inch of vegetable oil in a frying pan and, when quite warm but not smoking, add the batter in large spoonfuls (the rounds should be about 2 inches in diameter in the oil). Turn fritters once on the way to getting both sides a nice golden color. Drain on paper towel lined plates and serve with your favorite condiments (I read somewhere once of people eating them with maple syrup!).
Remember my cut finger? A surgeon friend had a gander at it yesterday (I didn't go see him about it, but ran into him and he noticed the rather large bandage I had installed). His response? "DUDE! Why didn't you get this stitched? Do you have any idea how poorly this is going to heal? What the h*ll did you wrap this in? Saran?"
Well, actually, no. So he goes into this long thing about the fascia and the skin and the...I don't know, insert surgeon-speak here and now I keep watching this finger (the bandage has been removed) waiting for it to turn into this malformed digit of ill-wrapped revenge or something.
First, I need you to know that I cut my finger badly the other day and am finding typing to be more of a challenge than usual. There may be many, many more typos here than normal due to the large, bulbous bandage I'm sporting on my left ring finger. It's not a great look, and it's even less blogger-friendly. Oh well, press on I will.
I'm going to be making some marinated mushrooms this weekend. Once again, I'm aghast at the cost of the ingredients but I know the end result is so great that I'm willing to look the other way. (At least until my husband looks at the charge statement and asks "And just what did you make that cost $45?" I'll have to pay the piper then because he hates mushrooms and cannot fathom why on earth something he will never eat should create such a huge hole in the family budget. I might as well be canning mudpies for all the sense this makes to him.) The trouble with the mushrooms this year is that I know two people who absolutely adore them so I will have to be a better person and spread the mushroom love around. Both my father-in-law and my brother-in-law will find marinated mushrooms under the tree this year. This leaves precious little for me to enjoy, but is this not the spirit of the season? Assuming that I am happy with the result, I will of course share the recipe here - watch for it in a few days.
My husband has termed my recent reading "The Season of the Problematic Woman", largely because I've read biographies of both Hillary Clinton and Anne Hutchinson. Although the two women lived centuries apart and the fact that one of the portraits was admiring while the other much less so, it's amazing to me the parallels that existed in their lives. Both women are/were smart, outspoken and willing to live by their own lights in the face of dominant patriarchal cultures. They are/were also stubborn, impatient and blind to the (occasional) better outcomes that their actions might have yielded had they thought to step back. Although I have specific criticisms of each book (the title American Evita, for example, is something of a credibility issue) I recommend them both anyway. Read them together if you can - not just because I did (that was a coincidence) but because it's amazing to see how two similar women can be portrayed so differently and how the march of time hasn't changed very much about how intelligent, outspoken women with convictions are treated by their contemporaries.
I'm going to be making some marinated mushrooms this weekend. Once again, I'm aghast at the cost of the ingredients but I know the end result is so great that I'm willing to look the other way. (At least until my husband looks at the charge statement and asks "And just what did you make that cost $45?" I'll have to pay the piper then because he hates mushrooms and cannot fathom why on earth something he will never eat should create such a huge hole in the family budget. I might as well be canning mudpies for all the sense this makes to him.) The trouble with the mushrooms this year is that I know two people who absolutely adore them so I will have to be a better person and spread the mushroom love around. Both my father-in-law and my brother-in-law will find marinated mushrooms under the tree this year. This leaves precious little for me to enjoy, but is this not the spirit of the season? Assuming that I am happy with the result, I will of course share the recipe here - watch for it in a few days.
My husband has termed my recent reading "The Season of the Problematic Woman", largely because I've read biographies of both Hillary Clinton and Anne Hutchinson. Although the two women lived centuries apart and the fact that one of the portraits was admiring while the other much less so, it's amazing to me the parallels that existed in their lives. Both women are/were smart, outspoken and willing to live by their own lights in the face of dominant patriarchal cultures. They are/were also stubborn, impatient and blind to the (occasional) better outcomes that their actions might have yielded had they thought to step back. Although I have specific criticisms of each book (the title American Evita, for example, is something of a credibility issue) I recommend them both anyway. Read them together if you can - not just because I did (that was a coincidence) but because it's amazing to see how two similar women can be portrayed so differently and how the march of time hasn't changed very much about how intelligent, outspoken women with convictions are treated by their contemporaries.
In my house the holiday season starts when the November cooking magazines arrive.
This year, the holiday season started Saturday.
Bon Appetite is lovely and Gourmet is even better. Every year I pick a few new recipes to go along our holiday standards and this year I think I'll have a tough time selecting and may have to go for an all new menu. Of course, I wouldn't dream of altering my cookie repertiore - there will be gingerbread stars, shortbread, thumprints and chocolate crinkles. But first, the arrival of the magazines means I can begin to wrap the presents I've been buying and making since June and stashing in my linen closet.
The first holiday on the roster is, of course, Halloween. Long time readers may remember this time last year I was feverishly trying to finish the Boy Wonder's race car driver costume. This year he's wearing a store bought astronaut outfit, a birthday present from his grandparents. I was given a dalmation costume for the Little Diva, but it is way too big so she will celebrate the season in a pumpkin-festooned turtleneck with matching sweater. The Boy Wonder has already decided that next year he wants to be a pirate, giving me plenty of notice to stock up on sale-priced pattern and material. Very considerate, that.
Thanksgiving will be interesting. My in-laws have asked to come down for a few days. Fine with us, we haven't seen them for a while. The thing is, we have some news that we're not sure how they'll take. (And no, we're not telling you yet, so you'll just have to be patient.) We're figuring we'll get great happiness - if, in fact, they actually understand the entire situation and all its ramifications - in which case it will be all my husband's doing, or we'll get great sorrow, in which case it's all my fault. Either way it's going to be an interesting visit.
No matter what happens, the food on Thanksgiving night will be secondary. My in-laws approach food and celebrations differently than I, a situation which has caused more than its share of hurt and misunderstandings in the past. Now that we know and have accepted that our differences are not personal our shared holidays are much more comfortable. I no longer try and make meals specifically to please them and so no longer become upset that they don't notice the effort. And for their part, they don't feel that I am putting on airs when I put the food in bowls rather than place the pots on the table or buy butter instead of margarine in the decorative plastic bowl. With these truths accepted, we all get along much better.
And, appropriately so, our holidays are much more festive and full of shared joy. As well they should be, don't you think?
This year, the holiday season started Saturday.
Bon Appetite is lovely and Gourmet is even better. Every year I pick a few new recipes to go along our holiday standards and this year I think I'll have a tough time selecting and may have to go for an all new menu. Of course, I wouldn't dream of altering my cookie repertiore - there will be gingerbread stars, shortbread, thumprints and chocolate crinkles. But first, the arrival of the magazines means I can begin to wrap the presents I've been buying and making since June and stashing in my linen closet.
The first holiday on the roster is, of course, Halloween. Long time readers may remember this time last year I was feverishly trying to finish the Boy Wonder's race car driver costume. This year he's wearing a store bought astronaut outfit, a birthday present from his grandparents. I was given a dalmation costume for the Little Diva, but it is way too big so she will celebrate the season in a pumpkin-festooned turtleneck with matching sweater. The Boy Wonder has already decided that next year he wants to be a pirate, giving me plenty of notice to stock up on sale-priced pattern and material. Very considerate, that.
Thanksgiving will be interesting. My in-laws have asked to come down for a few days. Fine with us, we haven't seen them for a while. The thing is, we have some news that we're not sure how they'll take. (And no, we're not telling you yet, so you'll just have to be patient.) We're figuring we'll get great happiness - if, in fact, they actually understand the entire situation and all its ramifications - in which case it will be all my husband's doing, or we'll get great sorrow, in which case it's all my fault. Either way it's going to be an interesting visit.
No matter what happens, the food on Thanksgiving night will be secondary. My in-laws approach food and celebrations differently than I, a situation which has caused more than its share of hurt and misunderstandings in the past. Now that we know and have accepted that our differences are not personal our shared holidays are much more comfortable. I no longer try and make meals specifically to please them and so no longer become upset that they don't notice the effort. And for their part, they don't feel that I am putting on airs when I put the food in bowls rather than place the pots on the table or buy butter instead of margarine in the decorative plastic bowl. With these truths accepted, we all get along much better.
And, appropriately so, our holidays are much more festive and full of shared joy. As well they should be, don't you think?
Well. It's been a while since I let this much time lapse between posts. I can't say what exactly I've been doing, although I have the general sense of having been very busy - too busy to post. That feels like a cop out, though. Let's just say that I've been busy having a life so I'd have things to blog about.
Much to cover today, so I'll get right to it:
1) The Boy Wonder's birthday party went beautifully. His cousins (well, all except the 6 month old) drove down from Buffalo to help celebrate and three little friends came over as well for a total of 8 kids. Parents were also invited to stay for a drink and a snack (they got cosmos, wine or beer and a variety of crostini and hummus with veggies, the kids could have these snacks as well as fruit skewers with yogurt dip and cake). The cake...oh, the cake. I don't think I've ever used to much 10X sugar at one time before last week. I'll post a photo as soon as I can deal with the dead batteries in the camera but until then I'll say only that the Boy Wonder was thrilled beyond measure and that's pretty much all I was looking for.
2) Debates? Yeah, whatever. I stopped caring right around the contraband pen/bulging suit reports. With so many ground rules it's not like they matter anyway. I simply cannot vote for a man who admits (proudly) that he does not read the papers, but rather lets other people do it for him (among other problems - this is just for starters). On the other hand, I cannot vote for a man who seems incapable of creating any real excitement or interest within himself about his own policies or ideas. Now, John Edwards is a man I could cozy up to, but there's a risk that I'd end up with 12 years of John Kerry. I may have to punt and go Green on this one. As David Cobb (look it up) points out: [Presidential Debates] “are restricted, scripted and staged events which utterly fail to perform the vital function of informing the American people about the choices they have in this election.” Couldn't agree more.
3) I've long been intrigued with something referred to by its practioners as OAMC. As in, Once a Month Cooking. The idea is that you buy a boatload of groceries and cook it all up in two frenzied days in the kitchen and then freeze it all. Every day thereafter for a month, dinner is merely a matter of thawing the day's selection and adding a simple side dish or two. I've shied away in the past, largely because the concept's most vocal online cheerleaders seem very possibly...uh, how do I say this?...crazy. There's the woman who has 224 recipes for ground beef - 16 for each of her 14 children. Then there's some other woman whose fondness for canned cream soups seems irrational at best - I swear, there's a can in just about every recipe and where there is no cream soup there seems to be grape jelly or velveeta or some other horror.
Since the Little Diva is now able to climb out of everyrestraining device cool baby entertainment thing we have, possibly plunging headfirst to certain doom, preparing dinner has lately taken on a rather NASCAR-quality. I run around (i.e., race) the living room, keeping her away from computer cords and house plants and periodically run into the kitchen (i.e., the pit) to quick chop an onion, start some rice or whatever. I can't be gone longer than, say, 45 seconds because in that time she just might scale the sheers and start swinging from the curtain rods. This state of affairs neither pleases me nor results in fantastic dinners.
So I thought I'd try my own version of OAMC. The websites devoted to it are rife with spreadsheets, long lists of organizational tips, testimonials of endless hours of chopping, etc., but I found the whole thing really rather simple. In about 3 hours today I made two batches of stuffed cabbage, two batches of black bean soup, two quiches and a big batch of meatballs. Tomorrow I'm going for spaghetti sauce, tagine, enchiladas, scalloped potatoes with ham and a couple dinners worth of tex-mex seasoned ground beef and perhaps a pizza dough or two. If I have time, I'm going to freeze bags of chopped carrots, celery and onions, since they are the base for just about everything I make it seems. Hey! I just thought that I've got the stuff for some stir fry, too. Hmm..have to add that to the list.
Much to cover today, so I'll get right to it:
1) The Boy Wonder's birthday party went beautifully. His cousins (well, all except the 6 month old) drove down from Buffalo to help celebrate and three little friends came over as well for a total of 8 kids. Parents were also invited to stay for a drink and a snack (they got cosmos, wine or beer and a variety of crostini and hummus with veggies, the kids could have these snacks as well as fruit skewers with yogurt dip and cake). The cake...oh, the cake. I don't think I've ever used to much 10X sugar at one time before last week. I'll post a photo as soon as I can deal with the dead batteries in the camera but until then I'll say only that the Boy Wonder was thrilled beyond measure and that's pretty much all I was looking for.
2) Debates? Yeah, whatever. I stopped caring right around the contraband pen/bulging suit reports. With so many ground rules it's not like they matter anyway. I simply cannot vote for a man who admits (proudly) that he does not read the papers, but rather lets other people do it for him (among other problems - this is just for starters). On the other hand, I cannot vote for a man who seems incapable of creating any real excitement or interest within himself about his own policies or ideas. Now, John Edwards is a man I could cozy up to, but there's a risk that I'd end up with 12 years of John Kerry. I may have to punt and go Green on this one. As David Cobb (look it up) points out: [Presidential Debates] “are restricted, scripted and staged events which utterly fail to perform the vital function of informing the American people about the choices they have in this election.” Couldn't agree more.
3) I've long been intrigued with something referred to by its practioners as OAMC. As in, Once a Month Cooking. The idea is that you buy a boatload of groceries and cook it all up in two frenzied days in the kitchen and then freeze it all. Every day thereafter for a month, dinner is merely a matter of thawing the day's selection and adding a simple side dish or two. I've shied away in the past, largely because the concept's most vocal online cheerleaders seem very possibly...uh, how do I say this?...crazy. There's the woman who has 224 recipes for ground beef - 16 for each of her 14 children. Then there's some other woman whose fondness for canned cream soups seems irrational at best - I swear, there's a can in just about every recipe and where there is no cream soup there seems to be grape jelly or velveeta or some other horror.
Since the Little Diva is now able to climb out of every
So I thought I'd try my own version of OAMC. The websites devoted to it are rife with spreadsheets, long lists of organizational tips, testimonials of endless hours of chopping, etc., but I found the whole thing really rather simple. In about 3 hours today I made two batches of stuffed cabbage, two batches of black bean soup, two quiches and a big batch of meatballs. Tomorrow I'm going for spaghetti sauce, tagine, enchiladas, scalloped potatoes with ham and a couple dinners worth of tex-mex seasoned ground beef and perhaps a pizza dough or two. If I have time, I'm going to freeze bags of chopped carrots, celery and onions, since they are the base for just about everything I make it seems. Hey! I just thought that I've got the stuff for some stir fry, too. Hmm..have to add that to the list.
Both of my children are sleeping at the moment. I should be taking advantage of their slumber to do any number of things for which I have a deadline. A client is expecting a document to arrive at their offices Monday afternoon and there's a van load of people on the way from Buffalo as I type this who are likely expecting clean (or clean-ish) sheets on their beds and maybe even some food in the house upon their arrival. Instead, I've decided to just savor the silence and sit for a spell. There's garlic roasting for the white bean dip and the queso dip is already on the oven, yeast and sugar are doing their thing awaiting transformation into pizza dough and there's that eight pounds of confectioners' sugar sitting on the counter silently scolding me for not yet having started to decorate the Boy Wonder's space ship birthday cake. But no, it's just too nice sitting here at the keyboard, visiting blogs and generally spacing out. I may come to regret my sloth in a few hours but for now I'm pleading blissful ignorance of any possible consequences.
We arrived back from Florida on Friday evening. My parents are still there, trying to get home in the middle of hurricane Jeanne. I haven't heard from them so I'm making the assumption that they're fine - the hotel we stayed at hadn't been touched in the last three (!) storms so I'm sure that everything's just ducky. A crappy way to end a vacation, let alone live a life as so many people seem to be doing lately. The problems from Charley, Frances and Ivan haven't been cleared up yet and along comes Jeanne fresh from causing so much destruction in Haiti, a storm that appeared last weekend to be melting away into a minor little nothing. She changed her mind, apparently.
This week promises to be a very busy one. In addition to all of the activity that comes with finishing a trip there is the matter of the Boy Wonder's fourth birthday party later this week, complete with aunts and cousins from out of town. Watch for later posts in which our heroine produces a spaceship birthday cake, star shaped cookies and eight goodie bags with appropriate astronaut-themed contents. I had hoped to make star and moon bean bags for use with our parachute as a party activity and then for the kids to take home, but I really just have to draw the line somewhere and that seems as good a place as any.
I also need to get the last of the tomatoes canned. We had a good amount of rain from Ivan which cause many of the remaining tomatoes to split, so before I left I picked every one that was still intact. They're mostly red now so I want to get them put up and off the counter. I'm also keen to finish a sewing project - a fabric book to be put aside for the Little Diva for Christmas. A nice, basic project to improve my skills. Plus, it's cute and just the thing for a babe to chew on and look at.
While I'm doing all of this, my husband will be bricking in a walkway, pruning hydrangeas and spreading mulch. Our household to-do list is getting seriously out of hand and I'm trying to adopt a zen approach to the fact that the kitchen floor still isn't completed. The floor itself is in, but the trim has yet to be placed. And, the user's guide has been waiting patiently for me. I've had no brilliant insights and no profound inspiration so I guess the only way out is through.
This week promises to be a very busy one. In addition to all of the activity that comes with finishing a trip there is the matter of the Boy Wonder's fourth birthday party later this week, complete with aunts and cousins from out of town. Watch for later posts in which our heroine produces a spaceship birthday cake, star shaped cookies and eight goodie bags with appropriate astronaut-themed contents. I had hoped to make star and moon bean bags for use with our parachute as a party activity and then for the kids to take home, but I really just have to draw the line somewhere and that seems as good a place as any.
I also need to get the last of the tomatoes canned. We had a good amount of rain from Ivan which cause many of the remaining tomatoes to split, so before I left I picked every one that was still intact. They're mostly red now so I want to get them put up and off the counter. I'm also keen to finish a sewing project - a fabric book to be put aside for the Little Diva for Christmas. A nice, basic project to improve my skills. Plus, it's cute and just the thing for a babe to chew on and look at.
While I'm doing all of this, my husband will be bricking in a walkway, pruning hydrangeas and spreading mulch. Our household to-do list is getting seriously out of hand and I'm trying to adopt a zen approach to the fact that the kitchen floor still isn't completed. The floor itself is in, but the trim has yet to be placed. And, the user's guide has been waiting patiently for me. I've had no brilliant insights and no profound inspiration so I guess the only way out is through.
For the last several weeks I've been working on a client document that has been giving me terrible headaches. It's supposed to be a user's guide - a basic "how-to" to wrap up the project, scheduled to end in December. I'm only one of many who have come and gone, but I was brought in fairly early in the game by another of the senior consultants and between the two of us we've watched all kinds of bizarre things happen. The client didn't want a needs analysis, project plan retreat or a business case development or any of the other buzzword bingo products that are supposed to (and, if they're done right, actually do) guide the project and the team, making sure that every little piece ends up fitting and working together at the end when everyone disbands and the client is left with the product.
Fine, whatever - it's their deal, right? Well, writing the guide is torture because while using the product is easy to use but hell to explain. There's no rational reason anything is the way it is, it's just all action/reaction and many of the various functions were added along the way in much more complex ways than if they had been expected all along and could have been planned for.
It's kind of like you hiring a contractor to build you a house but you refuse to say what kind of house or what kind of features you want it to have. "It need to have four rooms and a roof," you say. Then, when the contractor builds a square house with four square rooms and is preparing the roof you ask, "Hey! Where's my attached garage? Or my dormers?" So a garage and dormers are figured out and added in. Then, as the siding is being installed you want to know why it's only one floor and where is the breakfast nook, anyway? And on and on until the final structure, although well-built and functional, bears no resemblance whatsoever to your original desire and you don't know why.
So this is the situation I'm in and trying to document.
So I'm punting and putting it all on hold for a week to take the kids on a vacation. I'm hoping that a litle time and distance will spark some kind of inspiration. Truthfully, though, I'd settle for a plain old good idea; inspiration seems rather pushing it at this point.
So I'll be back late next week. Stay tuned!
Fine, whatever - it's their deal, right? Well, writing the guide is torture because while using the product is easy to use but hell to explain. There's no rational reason anything is the way it is, it's just all action/reaction and many of the various functions were added along the way in much more complex ways than if they had been expected all along and could have been planned for.
It's kind of like you hiring a contractor to build you a house but you refuse to say what kind of house or what kind of features you want it to have. "It need to have four rooms and a roof," you say. Then, when the contractor builds a square house with four square rooms and is preparing the roof you ask, "Hey! Where's my attached garage? Or my dormers?" So a garage and dormers are figured out and added in. Then, as the siding is being installed you want to know why it's only one floor and where is the breakfast nook, anyway? And on and on until the final structure, although well-built and functional, bears no resemblance whatsoever to your original desire and you don't know why.
So this is the situation I'm in and trying to document.
So I'm punting and putting it all on hold for a week to take the kids on a vacation. I'm hoping that a litle time and distance will spark some kind of inspiration. Truthfully, though, I'd settle for a plain old good idea; inspiration seems rather pushing it at this point.
So I'll be back late next week. Stay tuned!
My August 23 post was a long rumination about how I am frustrated and disappointed at the lack of response and/or reciprocation to the various parties, meetings, lunches and dinners we have hosted in the time we have lived in Charlottesville. In that post, I stated that I knew even as I wrote that I wasn't really meaning to stop entertaining, I was just venting, that I'd be back in the saddle before long.
Just a couple weeks' break, as it turned out. We invited a friend and her partner to dinner for last night, an invitation that was quickly accepted and which followed the usual negotiations surrounding time and "what can I bring."
So yesterday we did extra careful cleaning, even removing the cobwebs you can't see (not just the ones out in the open!). I roasted a chicken, steamed the broccoli, baked a loaf of bread, chilled the wine, crisped the berries, made ice cream and...
They forgot.
I wish I was making this up.
We called after about an hour, figuring that "fashionably late" expired around then. My husband was worried, since it is most unlike them to be late for anything let alone something like this. As soon as the line was picked up I heard a woman screaming, "OHMIGOD! I AM SO SORRY! ARGH" and the conversation went on from there, with my husband assuring of no harm/no foul and expressing our gratitude that at least they're not hurt, that we were concerned and alternating with their sincere apologies.
But still. I think I need a longer break.
Just a couple weeks' break, as it turned out. We invited a friend and her partner to dinner for last night, an invitation that was quickly accepted and which followed the usual negotiations surrounding time and "what can I bring."
So yesterday we did extra careful cleaning, even removing the cobwebs you can't see (not just the ones out in the open!). I roasted a chicken, steamed the broccoli, baked a loaf of bread, chilled the wine, crisped the berries, made ice cream and...
They forgot.
I wish I was making this up.
We called after about an hour, figuring that "fashionably late" expired around then. My husband was worried, since it is most unlike them to be late for anything let alone something like this. As soon as the line was picked up I heard a woman screaming, "OHMIGOD! I AM SO SORRY! ARGH" and the conversation went on from there, with my husband assuring of no harm/no foul and expressing our gratitude that at least they're not hurt, that we were concerned and alternating with their sincere apologies.
But still. I think I need a longer break.
October's Bon Appetit came today. There's a recipe for mango tea bread. You know I'm all over that one. We're having company for dinner on Sunday (gee, and less than two weeks after I said I wasn't doing it anymore - I know, I know, but this is different and for a specific reason) and I'm thinking that a slice of warm mango bread with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream topped with butterscotch sauce would be an awesome dessert. A little beige maybe, so I'll have to include some raspberries and mint leaves for garnish. Man, am I hungry. The rest of the menu is pretty basic: garlic puffs and sparkling wine for starters, then roasted chicken (stuffed with preserved lemons), risotto, wilted lettuce salad, homemade (well, the bread machine is in my home!) and steamed broccoli.
I've received a few questions lately that I don't want to hold for my next Q&A post. They concern matters of canning safety - even if the questioners don't know it yet.
Q: What is the hot water processing time for green beans?
A: There isn't one. Green beans are no longer recommended for hot water bath canning unless they're being pickled. Time was one was told to process beans in hot water for 30 or 45 minutes, but that day has long passed. All non-acidic vegetables and vegetable mixtures (like most spaghetti sauces, soups and salsas) should be pressure canned.
Q: Why should jars be hot when they're packed? You're heating them anyway in the canner, right?
A: While it's true that jars are heated and the contents are heated under pressure in processing, it's still important that your jars be hot when you pack them (even if your contents are not hot - known as raw pack, but then even this usually has hot liquid poured over). There are all kinds of food borne pathogens and, with such a variety, you need to make sure that different kinds of heat and for good lengths of time are applied to your materials. It's not such a big hold up to heat your jars for canning - you can either pour boiling water into them and hold while you prepare your recipe, put them on a cookie sheet and heat them in the oven or run them through a dishwasher if you're lucky enough to have one.
Q: You say that the recommended processing time for tomatoes in a hot water bath is longer now. Do I really have to process for up to an hour and a half?
A: Well, I'm certainly not going to write you a pass on this one! That's what the USDA says and there's no way little 'ole me is going to second guess them. The reason for the change is that newer tomato varieties have been bred to be lower in acid than older types. Since acidity is what makes hot water canning safe, going below a certain threshold reduces the safety of the method.
Q: Can I buy a canning kettle or jars from you?
A: Well, no, but it's nice of you to ask. I don't run a store or affiliate thing or anything like that (although, hmmm...there are the college funds that need attention and all...). You can buy canning stuff in pretty much any old-timey neighbhorhood hardware store or a zillion places on line. I buy most of my jars from some place called Odd Lots or Big Lots or Odd Big Lots or Lots of Big Odd Stuff or something like that. They're cheap-ish and, once you lay in a supply you can reuse and reuse as long as the rims aren't chipped and they aren't cracked. (My advice: don't use quarts unless you have a large family or really, really love whatever it is you're canning. They take up lots of space in the fridge if you don't empty them and they're harder to store on a shelf. Pints are great for most things and half-pints even better for specialty products that you don't necessarily want a lot of or won't use a lot of at a time.)
I've received a few questions lately that I don't want to hold for my next Q&A post. They concern matters of canning safety - even if the questioners don't know it yet.
Q: What is the hot water processing time for green beans?
A: There isn't one. Green beans are no longer recommended for hot water bath canning unless they're being pickled. Time was one was told to process beans in hot water for 30 or 45 minutes, but that day has long passed. All non-acidic vegetables and vegetable mixtures (like most spaghetti sauces, soups and salsas) should be pressure canned.
Q: Why should jars be hot when they're packed? You're heating them anyway in the canner, right?
A: While it's true that jars are heated and the contents are heated under pressure in processing, it's still important that your jars be hot when you pack them (even if your contents are not hot - known as raw pack, but then even this usually has hot liquid poured over). There are all kinds of food borne pathogens and, with such a variety, you need to make sure that different kinds of heat and for good lengths of time are applied to your materials. It's not such a big hold up to heat your jars for canning - you can either pour boiling water into them and hold while you prepare your recipe, put them on a cookie sheet and heat them in the oven or run them through a dishwasher if you're lucky enough to have one.
Q: You say that the recommended processing time for tomatoes in a hot water bath is longer now. Do I really have to process for up to an hour and a half?
A: Well, I'm certainly not going to write you a pass on this one! That's what the USDA says and there's no way little 'ole me is going to second guess them. The reason for the change is that newer tomato varieties have been bred to be lower in acid than older types. Since acidity is what makes hot water canning safe, going below a certain threshold reduces the safety of the method.
Q: Can I buy a canning kettle or jars from you?
A: Well, no, but it's nice of you to ask. I don't run a store or affiliate thing or anything like that (although, hmmm...there are the college funds that need attention and all...). You can buy canning stuff in pretty much any old-timey neighbhorhood hardware store or a zillion places on line. I buy most of my jars from some place called Odd Lots or Big Lots or Odd Big Lots or Lots of Big Odd Stuff or something like that. They're cheap-ish and, once you lay in a supply you can reuse and reuse as long as the rims aren't chipped and they aren't cracked. (My advice: don't use quarts unless you have a large family or really, really love whatever it is you're canning. They take up lots of space in the fridge if you don't empty them and they're harder to store on a shelf. Pints are great for most things and half-pints even better for specialty products that you don't necessarily want a lot of or won't use a lot of at a time.)
As I type this, the kitchen floor is down to the subflooring and our range is disconnected and pulled from the wall. The dishwasher is similarly disabled, and all the furniture has been removed from the space. My husband, with liberal help from the Boy Wonder, is replacing our beyond yucky vinyl with slightly more acceptable vinyl. I briefly salivated over some lovely Tuscan stone tiles until budget realities slapped me square in the face. No matter. What's important is that the dark, dank, ugly faux pebble floor is outtahere. Next up: counter tops. In a repeating theme, I'd love some solid-surface or granite or somesuch. What I'm getting is laminate. It's better than the alternative, which is no new counters at all. It hasn't taken me long to make peace with every budgetary compromise.
While the construction is going on, I've had ample opportunity to dream up new canning recipes, at least on paper. I'm still really hooked on the idea of working out something for caramel sauce. Using the chocolate sauce recipe as a jumping-off point, I'm thinking that melted caramel candies, with corn syrup, a bit of water and a pinch of salt will be a good start.
Other than marinated mushrooms, pickle season is largely over for me. I still need to do the blueberry pie filling with the frozen berries but the next big project I see on the immediate horizon is making up a batch of Joan Dye Gussow's Tomato Glut Sauce, the recipe for which she adapted from a previous New York Times recipe. Basically, you roast a boatload of tomatoes with chopped celery, carrots, garlic and whatnot seasoned with balsalmic vinegar for an hour or so until everything's falling apart. Then you process it to your desired texture and freeze. This can't (or shouldn't) be canned in a hot water bath, but it's said to freeze nicely and you can use whatever combination of random tomatoes you've got coming to ripeness. Since I have at the moment two types of plum tomatoes and three types of cherries this is what a certain household diva would call A Good Thing.
This is an awful lot of kitchen dreaming for a cook whose kitchen is entirely non-functional at the moment. Since I'm leaving in two weeks for some time in Orlando (at least I think I am - Frances seems awfully obstinate on this point) and the kitchen will require at least another five or so days of work (not including installation of the new dishwasher which is scheduled to arrive late in the week) it remains to be seen how much of any of this gets done soon. Hope springs eternal, though, does it not?
While the construction is going on, I've had ample opportunity to dream up new canning recipes, at least on paper. I'm still really hooked on the idea of working out something for caramel sauce. Using the chocolate sauce recipe as a jumping-off point, I'm thinking that melted caramel candies, with corn syrup, a bit of water and a pinch of salt will be a good start.
Other than marinated mushrooms, pickle season is largely over for me. I still need to do the blueberry pie filling with the frozen berries but the next big project I see on the immediate horizon is making up a batch of Joan Dye Gussow's Tomato Glut Sauce, the recipe for which she adapted from a previous New York Times recipe. Basically, you roast a boatload of tomatoes with chopped celery, carrots, garlic and whatnot seasoned with balsalmic vinegar for an hour or so until everything's falling apart. Then you process it to your desired texture and freeze. This can't (or shouldn't) be canned in a hot water bath, but it's said to freeze nicely and you can use whatever combination of random tomatoes you've got coming to ripeness. Since I have at the moment two types of plum tomatoes and three types of cherries this is what a certain household diva would call A Good Thing.
This is an awful lot of kitchen dreaming for a cook whose kitchen is entirely non-functional at the moment. Since I'm leaving in two weeks for some time in Orlando (at least I think I am - Frances seems awfully obstinate on this point) and the kitchen will require at least another five or so days of work (not including installation of the new dishwasher which is scheduled to arrive late in the week) it remains to be seen how much of any of this gets done soon. Hope springs eternal, though, does it not?
I'm back safe and sound from Philadelphia (or, to be more precise, the inner-ring Western suburbs). It was a good trip, productive and busy. The family was fine in my absence and, although the house was a wreck, my husband did manage to accomplish some long put-off tasks.
It's Q&A time again here at Hot Water Bath. Over the past three or so months, I received scores of e-mails asking all kinds of questions covering everything from my favorite recipes for pot roast to the manner in which we are raising our children to the books in the "I'm Reading" section to the left. Some of them had themes that I found repeating and it is these that I will attempt to answer here today.
Q: What is the processing time for tomatoes?
A: The USDA just recently increased the hot water processing time (that is, the time starting from when the bath begins to boil again after jars are added to the already boiling water) from about 20 minutes to an hour and a half. The change is due largely to the fact that many modern tomato varieties have been bred to be much lower in acid than their more heirloom counterparts and, as such, aren't safe for short processing times. This has been fairly controversial in the canning community (is there really such a thing?) because many people feel that adding lemon juice or vinegar along with salt - which you typically do with tomatoes anyway - raises the acidity enough to keep the shorter time sufficient. For my part, I think this is a use-your-best-judgment situation.
Q: Can you recommend a good canning book?
A: I've yet to come across a really good multi-purpose canning book. The good people at Alltrista publish something called The Blue Book which is a nice place to start. I've always felt that the book lacks a bit in imagination, but there's no doubt that it remains the classic. Barbara Ciletti put out a book in 2000 called Creative Pickling which I found interesting and exhaustive, including everything from half-sours to kimchi (a newer version also includes chutneys and salsas). Then there's Edon Waycott's Preserving the Taste, which focuses primarily on small-batch seasonal jams and butters. Helen Witty's Fancy Pantry has rightly taken on the aspect of a classic, and is out of print and expensive even in used book stores. If you find one, snap it up!
Then, of course, there's Canning and Preserving for Dummies, which seems fairly self-explanatory to me.
Q: Can I save money by canning?
A: That depends upon what you can and how you can it. If you're canning pretty much all home grown produce and stay away from the fancy stuff, you can probably earn a decent return over time (that is, once your equipment and jars and such are paid for with your savings). If, like me, you can a mix of home grown, gifted and purchase materials, you're unlikely to "earn" much, although you can save a bit over similar commercially prepared products (that is, it's cheaper for me to make pumpkin butter than to buy it, but I think it can be successfully argued that pumpkin butter is more of a luxury product than, say, green beans). Many of the frugality books of the mid-90s embraced canning as a money saver, but in my opinion you need to keep at it for years if your goal is strictly to save money. Here in the U.S., we (currently, at least) live in a world of 24-hour supermarkets with fifty cents cans of beans sliced pretty much any way you'd like them. It takes a lot of canning over many years to approach a savings - not including your time (beans are a pain in the *&%&$ to prepare). For some reason, I tend toward the ever-so-slightly fancier products - mango jam instead of grape jelly and so on - so I tend not to think about the money, but rather that I like knowing precisely what's in my food wherever possible. So, I like to think of canning as a not-too-expensive, productive hobby more than a positive impact on the family budget.
Q: Why do you always talk about your kids? Isn't this supposed to be a cooking website?
A: To call Hot Water Bath a cooking website rather overstates the case. This is a weblog and, as such, contains whatever information I feel like including. More often than not, this means you'll find recipes and more canning minutiae than you can shake a stick at. Sometimes, this means just whatever's on my mind, from politics to reading to, yes, family life. Because my family contains two children they occasionally sneak their way into the narrative. Close readers will notice the "about" box in the upper left of the screen - that's the largest clue as to what you'll find here.
I must say, admitedly somewhat defensively, I really don't feel as if I write about my kids "all the time" - a quick glance at the archives will reveal entire weeks going by without mention of either of them. That being said, I have to point out the following: If you don't like it, don't read it. It's all very simple. You are likely equiped with a mouse, a back button and an Internet tool bar. A good users guide or helpful instruction from a friend will assist you in finding websites and/or blogs more to your liking.
Q: If I buy the stuff, will you make some canned goods for me?
A: No. Not only is it illegal for me to do so in many places, but that would take canning out of the realm of something that I do for fun into another item on my "to-do" list. Why not give it a try? It's really not hard and you just might have a nice time - and, with the outcome of four pints of jam or salsa or whatever, what's not to love?
It's Q&A time again here at Hot Water Bath. Over the past three or so months, I received scores of e-mails asking all kinds of questions covering everything from my favorite recipes for pot roast to the manner in which we are raising our children to the books in the "I'm Reading" section to the left. Some of them had themes that I found repeating and it is these that I will attempt to answer here today.
Q: What is the processing time for tomatoes?
A: The USDA just recently increased the hot water processing time (that is, the time starting from when the bath begins to boil again after jars are added to the already boiling water) from about 20 minutes to an hour and a half. The change is due largely to the fact that many modern tomato varieties have been bred to be much lower in acid than their more heirloom counterparts and, as such, aren't safe for short processing times. This has been fairly controversial in the canning community (is there really such a thing?) because many people feel that adding lemon juice or vinegar along with salt - which you typically do with tomatoes anyway - raises the acidity enough to keep the shorter time sufficient. For my part, I think this is a use-your-best-judgment situation.
Q: Can you recommend a good canning book?
A: I've yet to come across a really good multi-purpose canning book. The good people at Alltrista publish something called The Blue Book which is a nice place to start. I've always felt that the book lacks a bit in imagination, but there's no doubt that it remains the classic. Barbara Ciletti put out a book in 2000 called Creative Pickling which I found interesting and exhaustive, including everything from half-sours to kimchi (a newer version also includes chutneys and salsas). Then there's Edon Waycott's Preserving the Taste, which focuses primarily on small-batch seasonal jams and butters. Helen Witty's Fancy Pantry has rightly taken on the aspect of a classic, and is out of print and expensive even in used book stores. If you find one, snap it up!
Then, of course, there's Canning and Preserving for Dummies, which seems fairly self-explanatory to me.
Q: Can I save money by canning?
A: That depends upon what you can and how you can it. If you're canning pretty much all home grown produce and stay away from the fancy stuff, you can probably earn a decent return over time (that is, once your equipment and jars and such are paid for with your savings). If, like me, you can a mix of home grown, gifted and purchase materials, you're unlikely to "earn" much, although you can save a bit over similar commercially prepared products (that is, it's cheaper for me to make pumpkin butter than to buy it, but I think it can be successfully argued that pumpkin butter is more of a luxury product than, say, green beans). Many of the frugality books of the mid-90s embraced canning as a money saver, but in my opinion you need to keep at it for years if your goal is strictly to save money. Here in the U.S., we (currently, at least) live in a world of 24-hour supermarkets with fifty cents cans of beans sliced pretty much any way you'd like them. It takes a lot of canning over many years to approach a savings - not including your time (beans are a pain in the *&%&$ to prepare). For some reason, I tend toward the ever-so-slightly fancier products - mango jam instead of grape jelly and so on - so I tend not to think about the money, but rather that I like knowing precisely what's in my food wherever possible. So, I like to think of canning as a not-too-expensive, productive hobby more than a positive impact on the family budget.
Q: Why do you always talk about your kids? Isn't this supposed to be a cooking website?
A: To call Hot Water Bath a cooking website rather overstates the case. This is a weblog and, as such, contains whatever information I feel like including. More often than not, this means you'll find recipes and more canning minutiae than you can shake a stick at. Sometimes, this means just whatever's on my mind, from politics to reading to, yes, family life. Because my family contains two children they occasionally sneak their way into the narrative. Close readers will notice the "about" box in the upper left of the screen - that's the largest clue as to what you'll find here.
I must say, admitedly somewhat defensively, I really don't feel as if I write about my kids "all the time" - a quick glance at the archives will reveal entire weeks going by without mention of either of them. That being said, I have to point out the following: If you don't like it, don't read it. It's all very simple. You are likely equiped with a mouse, a back button and an Internet tool bar. A good users guide or helpful instruction from a friend will assist you in finding websites and/or blogs more to your liking.
Q: If I buy the stuff, will you make some canned goods for me?
A: No. Not only is it illegal for me to do so in many places, but that would take canning out of the realm of something that I do for fun into another item on my "to-do" list. Why not give it a try? It's really not hard and you just might have a nice time - and, with the outcome of four pints of jam or salsa or whatever, what's not to love?
Well, this ought to be interesting.
We were scheduled to head to Philly this weekend but the other day my husband announces that he'd really rather stay home and get ready for classes (which start on Wednesday) and do a few things around the house.
So I'm all ready to cancel the trip and he says, "Why don't you go on and leave the kids with me. That way you can get some alone time before classes start and things get crazy again."
It's a great offer and one I couldn't refuse. Catch you next week when I'll return with the answers to my latest batch of e-mail, including the processing time for tomatoes, the prospects of saving money with canning and why I write about my kids all the time.
See you then!
We were scheduled to head to Philly this weekend but the other day my husband announces that he'd really rather stay home and get ready for classes (which start on Wednesday) and do a few things around the house.
So I'm all ready to cancel the trip and he says, "Why don't you go on and leave the kids with me. That way you can get some alone time before classes start and things get crazy again."
It's a great offer and one I couldn't refuse. Catch you next week when I'll return with the answers to my latest batch of e-mail, including the processing time for tomatoes, the prospects of saving money with canning and why I write about my kids all the time.
See you then!
I have decided that I no longer wish to be part of the solution. I am now, regretably, just going to have to be part of the problem.
Laurie Colwin once wrote about the process of entertaining and giving dinner parties. She said something to the effect of, "And then you get invited back, so you invite them back and then you go back and forth like ping pong balls and what you end up with is a social life."
I wish. We have lived in our current location just short of a year and a half. In this time we have given three parties and maybe half a dozen dinners. Would you like to know how many invitations we've received?
So that you don't hurt yourself on the advanced math, I'll tell you. None. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Null.
For a few weeks I've been thinking that it's because people can't stand the thought of spending an evening with us. I know it's not like having the Clintons around or anything, but are we that dull? Maybe they've heard our ostrich story one too many times, or really wish I'd buy a new sweater already or whatever. I've been beside myself with regret, thinking that if only I'd read the Post more often I'd be a more desirable guest, one with keen insight into current events and interesting anecdotes to share over the prosecco and figs. Or maybe if I got rid of that really outdated tie that my husband loves so much...
And then my sister pointed out that we haven't noticed a dearth of people willing to accept our invitations - which are actually taken up with speed and apparent enthusiasm - but rather we seem to have encountered a community where people are loath to issue their own. Perhaps this is because it's a university town and the population is fairly transient, so people don't want to invest. Who knows? All I am sure of is that I have heard over and over again that "No one entertains anymore." Well, this someone did, but she's not anymore.
It's not that I begrudge my guests their food and drink. I don't give parties only to go to them (although that's a nice benefit in theory). I do it to forge connections, to solidify friendships, to share an experience and also for the creative expression of the process itself. And although we've received copious thanks (sometimes even written), I don't do it to be thanked - although one bachelor friend sent me flowers after a party a couple years ago, a gesture I found utterly and completly charming.
I would like to see my friends and acquaintances in their natural habitats. I would like to see what's hanging on their walls and ask them how they selected that particular piece from Sotheby's or Bed Bath & Beyond or wherever. I would like to see Love in the Time of Cholera on their end table and confess that I've never been able to read it all the way through and only know it really from that John Cusack movie. I would like to try their Grandmother's Famous Soyloaf. I would like to run my hand down the sideboard they hauled in from the curb and refinished. I would like to try and brighten their evenings as they've brightened mine - to give them back that which they have given me.
Please don't think me bitter. I'm not, just sad. This fall and winter will be significantly quieter for us than the last. We're planning a lot of family cocooning time. Today I harvested five pounds of basil in preparation for freezing a few batches of pesto - rotini with pesto cream sauce is one of my favorite starters but this year, it'll be the entire dinner (along with an endive salad) in front of the fire. Just the four of us, warm and snug.
Laurie Colwin once wrote about the process of entertaining and giving dinner parties. She said something to the effect of, "And then you get invited back, so you invite them back and then you go back and forth like ping pong balls and what you end up with is a social life."
I wish. We have lived in our current location just short of a year and a half. In this time we have given three parties and maybe half a dozen dinners. Would you like to know how many invitations we've received?
So that you don't hurt yourself on the advanced math, I'll tell you. None. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Null.
For a few weeks I've been thinking that it's because people can't stand the thought of spending an evening with us. I know it's not like having the Clintons around or anything, but are we that dull? Maybe they've heard our ostrich story one too many times, or really wish I'd buy a new sweater already or whatever. I've been beside myself with regret, thinking that if only I'd read the Post more often I'd be a more desirable guest, one with keen insight into current events and interesting anecdotes to share over the prosecco and figs. Or maybe if I got rid of that really outdated tie that my husband loves so much...
And then my sister pointed out that we haven't noticed a dearth of people willing to accept our invitations - which are actually taken up with speed and apparent enthusiasm - but rather we seem to have encountered a community where people are loath to issue their own. Perhaps this is because it's a university town and the population is fairly transient, so people don't want to invest. Who knows? All I am sure of is that I have heard over and over again that "No one entertains anymore." Well, this someone did, but she's not anymore.
It's not that I begrudge my guests their food and drink. I don't give parties only to go to them (although that's a nice benefit in theory). I do it to forge connections, to solidify friendships, to share an experience and also for the creative expression of the process itself. And although we've received copious thanks (sometimes even written), I don't do it to be thanked - although one bachelor friend sent me flowers after a party a couple years ago, a gesture I found utterly and completly charming.
I would like to see my friends and acquaintances in their natural habitats. I would like to see what's hanging on their walls and ask them how they selected that particular piece from Sotheby's or Bed Bath & Beyond or wherever. I would like to see Love in the Time of Cholera on their end table and confess that I've never been able to read it all the way through and only know it really from that John Cusack movie. I would like to try their Grandmother's Famous Soyloaf. I would like to run my hand down the sideboard they hauled in from the curb and refinished. I would like to try and brighten their evenings as they've brightened mine - to give them back that which they have given me.
Please don't think me bitter. I'm not, just sad. This fall and winter will be significantly quieter for us than the last. We're planning a lot of family cocooning time. Today I harvested five pounds of basil in preparation for freezing a few batches of pesto - rotini with pesto cream sauce is one of my favorite starters but this year, it'll be the entire dinner (along with an endive salad) in front of the fire. Just the four of us, warm and snug.
I've decided to enter some of my canned goods into the county fair. There are several categories which sounds appealing and I've spent a great deal of time over the past day staring into my canning cupboard hoping to spot a sure winner. Right now, I'm considering key lime or cranberry chutney for the jam/fruit chutney category, marinated mushrooms for the pickles (or maybe the preserved lemons, that would be cool - but can you imagine a judge digging in to sample some?) and maybe one other thing but I can't remember what all the categories are at the moment.
I have no illusions that I might actually win a ribbon or anything (although, I have to confess that I'd be thrilled to do so) but I think it will be a fun experience. I've always enjoyed local fairs and as a child of the suburbs have found them somewhat mysterious, what with the livestock, pie eating competitions and C-list country music performances and all. I guess it's saying something that events at which you may procure one of those fried bread confections as well as a heifer are now pretty far out of the mainstream, although they were once a key joint in the backbone of rural life.
If, at age 18, I heard that not only would I be entering home canned produce (don't you have to cook that?) in the county fair but that I also would actually be looking forward to it, I would have run screaming in the opposite direction and may well have built myself a bunker out of Vogue back issues. At the time I couldn't imagine living in a small town, much less partaking of small town life and, for the most part, enjoying it. The very idea that I could actually, say, grow my own tomatoes as well as read the New York Times or cross-stitch my baby's (my what?) bibs as well as enjoy the latest club music, never ever crossed my mind. I thought life had to be one or the other, not both. I could be an urban sophisticate or I could be a backwater rube (not hard to tell where my prejudices lie, eh?). That there was a golden mean wherein I could forge my own path would have seemed as foreign as the landscape on Mars.
Such are the biases and narrowmindedness of youth and inexperience. I'm older and wiser now anddon't feel I know I don't have to make such choices. Play the cello and hang my laundry? Yes. Spread hundreds of pounds of fertilizer and savor an iced chai latte? Yes. Grad school and small farming workshop? Yes. I know now that none of these choices excludes any of the others or even that partaking of any given one says anything at all about the person doing the partaking or life in which it is done. Why on earth did I have to reach my 30s to understand these things? The mind boggles.
And so to this I say, I may be bourgeois and I may be bohemian, but I'm also a bumpkin. And proud of it.
I have no illusions that I might actually win a ribbon or anything (although, I have to confess that I'd be thrilled to do so) but I think it will be a fun experience. I've always enjoyed local fairs and as a child of the suburbs have found them somewhat mysterious, what with the livestock, pie eating competitions and C-list country music performances and all. I guess it's saying something that events at which you may procure one of those fried bread confections as well as a heifer are now pretty far out of the mainstream, although they were once a key joint in the backbone of rural life.
If, at age 18, I heard that not only would I be entering home canned produce (don't you have to cook that?) in the county fair but that I also would actually be looking forward to it, I would have run screaming in the opposite direction and may well have built myself a bunker out of Vogue back issues. At the time I couldn't imagine living in a small town, much less partaking of small town life and, for the most part, enjoying it. The very idea that I could actually, say, grow my own tomatoes as well as read the New York Times or cross-stitch my baby's (my what?) bibs as well as enjoy the latest club music, never ever crossed my mind. I thought life had to be one or the other, not both. I could be an urban sophisticate or I could be a backwater rube (not hard to tell where my prejudices lie, eh?). That there was a golden mean wherein I could forge my own path would have seemed as foreign as the landscape on Mars.
Such are the biases and narrowmindedness of youth and inexperience. I'm older and wiser now and
And so to this I say, I may be bourgeois and I may be bohemian, but I'm also a bumpkin. And proud of it.
We're just back from a long weekend in Buffalo and as exhausted as I am you'd think we'd flown in from Sydney (probably about the farthest place on earth from central Virginia, at least in terms of travel time). I'd say we drove about 500 miles which required nine and a half hours, with two bathroom stops as well as one for gas. Why do I do this to myself?
Oh, wait, I remember. I do this to myself because my parents started with the, "If you're not too busy...well, it's been a year and you haven't met your nephew and it would be nice to have all the grandkids together and Dad's so upset since Mr. W. died and we might not be around much longer..." Ah, the emotional blackmail that parents can visit upon you. If it could be bottled we'd have no need for non-renewable resources.
And so we're back from the land of family dynamics - who isn't watching their finances, whose kids are mouthy, who is having trouble finding a job because s/he won't take constructive criticism. And don't forget we love you! And I love them back because they're the only family I have and although I'm loathe to admit it, I'm probably just as crazy as they are. At least my brother in law gave me two jars of his blue-ribbon dilly beans. Dilly beans make up for a lot of disfunction, don't you think?
Oh, wait, I remember. I do this to myself because my parents started with the, "If you're not too busy...well, it's been a year and you haven't met your nephew and it would be nice to have all the grandkids together and Dad's so upset since Mr. W. died and we might not be around much longer..." Ah, the emotional blackmail that parents can visit upon you. If it could be bottled we'd have no need for non-renewable resources.
And so we're back from the land of family dynamics - who isn't watching their finances, whose kids are mouthy, who is having trouble finding a job because s/he won't take constructive criticism. And don't forget we love you! And I love them back because they're the only family I have and although I'm loathe to admit it, I'm probably just as crazy as they are. At least my brother in law gave me two jars of his blue-ribbon dilly beans. Dilly beans make up for a lot of disfunction, don't you think?
I've been reading a book called The Fortune at the Bottom of the Pyramid (Wharton School Publishing, 2004) by C. K. Prahalad, a well known management consultant and overall business thinker. The author's premise is intriguiging: we can eliminate poverty by empowering the poor as consumers who are dedicated savers with deep entrepreneurial instincts and who decidely desire to participate in improving their lives (as opposed to the popular depiction of the poor and sitting around being lazy and waiting for a handout). Prahalad goes beyond the well known concept of the grameen bank and steers us straight into full on capitalism.
Skeptical? Me, too. I have to confess that I had no idea what Prahalad was talking about - it all seemed so counterintuitive. The poor are poor precisely because they have no money. What are they going to buy? Who on earth would actually market to them (other than, say, purveyors of alcohol and pay day loan places)?
Shows you what I know. I managed to squeak through my MBA classes without developing a firm grasp on the finer points of economic theory (I'm more of a decision support girl) so I was relieved to discover the book's case studies detailing the ways that a construction supply company in Mexico, a housewares concern in Brazil, and an eye care practice in India (among others) are using unique methods of community development and financial control to raise the standard of living among poor consumers, as well as provide jobs in the community and a handsome return on investment for business owners.
And, by all accounts, their efforts are working. Their customers are among the poorest people on earth and yet each of these organizations is thriving by recognizing and treating the poor as a market unto themselves and in the process raising the standard of living by providing useful good and services in ways the communities are able to absorb financially.
This is definitely food for thought. Lots of thought. I'm not through with the book so I don't know if Prahalad will address my biggest concern - increasing the consumerist nature of the global population as a whole. I believe in the human right to a basic standard of living and I'd guess I'd like to see another book about how to convince the richest billion or so people decide they don't need as much stuff and using the money for investment is a better idea. I won't hold my breath.
In the meantime, The Fortune at the Bottom of the Pyramid is some great summer reading. May not be the most typical beach book, but it's certainly got me hooked.
Skeptical? Me, too. I have to confess that I had no idea what Prahalad was talking about - it all seemed so counterintuitive. The poor are poor precisely because they have no money. What are they going to buy? Who on earth would actually market to them (other than, say, purveyors of alcohol and pay day loan places)?
Shows you what I know. I managed to squeak through my MBA classes without developing a firm grasp on the finer points of economic theory (I'm more of a decision support girl) so I was relieved to discover the book's case studies detailing the ways that a construction supply company in Mexico, a housewares concern in Brazil, and an eye care practice in India (among others) are using unique methods of community development and financial control to raise the standard of living among poor consumers, as well as provide jobs in the community and a handsome return on investment for business owners.
And, by all accounts, their efforts are working. Their customers are among the poorest people on earth and yet each of these organizations is thriving by recognizing and treating the poor as a market unto themselves and in the process raising the standard of living by providing useful good and services in ways the communities are able to absorb financially.
This is definitely food for thought. Lots of thought. I'm not through with the book so I don't know if Prahalad will address my biggest concern - increasing the consumerist nature of the global population as a whole. I believe in the human right to a basic standard of living and I'd guess I'd like to see another book about how to convince the richest billion or so people decide they don't need as much stuff and using the money for investment is a better idea. I won't hold my breath.
In the meantime, The Fortune at the Bottom of the Pyramid is some great summer reading. May not be the most typical beach book, but it's certainly got me hooked.
I decided to add the little PSA above in response to the many requests I've received over the past two weeks for guidance and recipes. I really didn't mind answering the notes - they were mostly very sweet - but the process started to take a lot of time. I'll remove the note after hard core canning season is over, although I might put a directory to the left directing users to key recipes. Really organized bloggers do this, but I'm sure you've already figured out where I fall as far as organization is concerned.
In fact, as if to prove it, I need to report that the blueberry pie filling still hasn't been completed. I've frozen the berries so that I can try again later in the month. Part of the problem (and it isn't really a problem) is that, unlike her brother, the Little Diva would rather do just about anything than sit in her high chair. For the first time in my life I understand the dreaded "children underfoot". The Boy Wonder would happily sit in the kitchen with me playing and singing songs - I became quite adept to chopping fruits and vegetables through endless verses of "The Ants Go Marching" and the ABCs - but she's having none of it. So I'm getting more clever about nap time usage, particularly now that the acute sleep deprivation of the immediate post-partum months has diminished.
While it's harder to explore new canning frontiers, the tried and true are becoming easier. Pickles? Jam? No problem - six pints in a jiffy. Maybe this is another reason for the need to explore new dinner menus since that's the cooking I do when we're back to full strength parenting.
Who knows? Anyway, here's a super-fast recipe for something that's technically a spread, but I've been using it in all kinds of ways for quick meals all summer: Combine well in a medium bowl an 8 oz. brick of neufchatel cheese, a 4 oz. can (drained) of tiny shrimp, a quarter cup of finely diced onion, and one teaspoon of lemon juice. That's it. If you can make it the night before you want it, so much the better since the flavors will meld together, but immediate use is fine, too. I've used this lately as an omelet filling, a bagel spread, a tomato stuffer, a tortilla filling (with a bit of tomato or tomatilla salsa), a crepe filling, a celery stuffer, as as the basis for a casserole and lightly melted as a veggie topper, and as a mushroom stuffer. I've also been wondering if chevre could stand up to a similar treatment, but haven't tried it yet.
In fact, as if to prove it, I need to report that the blueberry pie filling still hasn't been completed. I've frozen the berries so that I can try again later in the month. Part of the problem (and it isn't really a problem) is that, unlike her brother, the Little Diva would rather do just about anything than sit in her high chair. For the first time in my life I understand the dreaded "children underfoot". The Boy Wonder would happily sit in the kitchen with me playing and singing songs - I became quite adept to chopping fruits and vegetables through endless verses of "The Ants Go Marching" and the ABCs - but she's having none of it. So I'm getting more clever about nap time usage, particularly now that the acute sleep deprivation of the immediate post-partum months has diminished.
While it's harder to explore new canning frontiers, the tried and true are becoming easier. Pickles? Jam? No problem - six pints in a jiffy. Maybe this is another reason for the need to explore new dinner menus since that's the cooking I do when we're back to full strength parenting.
Who knows? Anyway, here's a super-fast recipe for something that's technically a spread, but I've been using it in all kinds of ways for quick meals all summer: Combine well in a medium bowl an 8 oz. brick of neufchatel cheese, a 4 oz. can (drained) of tiny shrimp, a quarter cup of finely diced onion, and one teaspoon of lemon juice. That's it. If you can make it the night before you want it, so much the better since the flavors will meld together, but immediate use is fine, too. I've used this lately as an omelet filling, a bagel spread, a tomato stuffer, a tortilla filling (with a bit of tomato or tomatilla salsa), a crepe filling, a celery stuffer, as as the basis for a casserole and lightly melted as a veggie topper, and as a mushroom stuffer. I've also been wondering if chevre could stand up to a similar treatment, but haven't tried it yet.
Do you remember the volunteer squash I talked about a ways back? Turns out it is a squash - a pumpkin to be exact. There are four baby pumpkins of varying sizes throughout the largest vine I have ever seen in person. The thing spreads six feet by six feet easily and reaches up the garden support a good three feet. This pumpkin means business. Unfortunately, I have also discovered a good case of powdery mildew. So far, the only treatment I've been able to uncover is a broad spectrum fungicide, a solution to which I'd rather not resort. I've read in a few places (and, really, if you can't believe what you read in the Internet, what can you believe?) that using 5 tablespoons of baking soda in a gallon of water works well when spritzed so I'll at least try that as a stopgap. Can't hurt, right?
We've been in a period of transition here at Hot Water Bath and I noticed the other night that a great deal of my cooking is reflecting the changes we're experiencing. It's not just my cooking (today I had six inches cut off my hair and am now sporting a lightly layered bob) but that seems to be the area that has become most noticeable, primarily because meals - especially evening meals - are one of the few times that the whole family is gathered together. We live by the "Cook's Choice" rule, meaning that whoever cooks gets to decide what the rest of us will eat.
Since I'm the most frequent cook this means that I usually get to decide what we have for dinner. Much of the time, this is great. Lately, though, I've felt the burden of routine and have been actively trying to put new and different dishes on the table. I'm crediting this urge to the aforementioned transitions that areaffecting effecting (oh, bother) impacting all of us.
We started the week with bulgogi, a Korean beef dish, that we wrapped in Boston lettuce leaves. This was a hit with everyone, especially the Boy Wonder - largely because every food he encounters is immediately classified (and not always correctly) as a Finger Food or a Fork Food. And this was finger food he could cozy up to. The basic marinade can be used on beef, pork, chicken, seafood or veggies but I'm given to understand that beef is traditional. And, since what I had thawed was lean ground beef, that's what I used with the marinade/sauce instead serving as cooking liquids. To make bulgogi start by browning one pound of ground beef in a very small amount of oil or broth. As it browns, add in two largish cloves of garlic, minced and two tablespoons of minced ginger (I use the tiny holes on my box grater for this). When all of the meat has browned, pour over three tablespoons of soy sauce and 1 tablespoon of white granular sugar. Off the heat, stir in a quarter cup of sliced scallions. That's it - super easy. (If you want to use something other than ground beef, stir all the seasonings together and use as a marinade for thinly cut meats and vegetables. After marinating, cook quickly over medium-high heat.)
Serve with separated and washed Boston or green leaf lettuce leaves. I had a dish on the side that also had bean sprouts, shredded radish, and minced cucumber as add-ins.
Fast, inexpensive, filling, and very tasty. Excellent for busting out of a culinary rut, to boot.
We've been in a period of transition here at Hot Water Bath and I noticed the other night that a great deal of my cooking is reflecting the changes we're experiencing. It's not just my cooking (today I had six inches cut off my hair and am now sporting a lightly layered bob) but that seems to be the area that has become most noticeable, primarily because meals - especially evening meals - are one of the few times that the whole family is gathered together. We live by the "Cook's Choice" rule, meaning that whoever cooks gets to decide what the rest of us will eat.
Since I'm the most frequent cook this means that I usually get to decide what we have for dinner. Much of the time, this is great. Lately, though, I've felt the burden of routine and have been actively trying to put new and different dishes on the table. I'm crediting this urge to the aforementioned transitions that are
We started the week with bulgogi, a Korean beef dish, that we wrapped in Boston lettuce leaves. This was a hit with everyone, especially the Boy Wonder - largely because every food he encounters is immediately classified (and not always correctly) as a Finger Food or a Fork Food. And this was finger food he could cozy up to. The basic marinade can be used on beef, pork, chicken, seafood or veggies but I'm given to understand that beef is traditional. And, since what I had thawed was lean ground beef, that's what I used with the marinade/sauce instead serving as cooking liquids. To make bulgogi start by browning one pound of ground beef in a very small amount of oil or broth. As it browns, add in two largish cloves of garlic, minced and two tablespoons of minced ginger (I use the tiny holes on my box grater for this). When all of the meat has browned, pour over three tablespoons of soy sauce and 1 tablespoon of white granular sugar. Off the heat, stir in a quarter cup of sliced scallions. That's it - super easy. (If you want to use something other than ground beef, stir all the seasonings together and use as a marinade for thinly cut meats and vegetables. After marinating, cook quickly over medium-high heat.)
Serve with separated and washed Boston or green leaf lettuce leaves. I had a dish on the side that also had bean sprouts, shredded radish, and minced cucumber as add-ins.
Fast, inexpensive, filling, and very tasty. Excellent for busting out of a culinary rut, to boot.
Well, this just figures. I've been trying to get into Blogger to update all day and haven't been able to connect. Now I've given one last try and it's time to put the Boy Wonder to bed. Then I'm going to do a spot of work, a load of laundry, and take a nice long shower before heading off to my own dreams.
Drat. Well, my discussion of blueberry pie filling will just have to wait. If all goes well I'll actually be buying the berries tomorrow for canning on Saturday. I'm pretty sure I've got all the ingredients although a quick once over of the recipe is probably a good idea.
One last thing for today: Since I became a mother nearly four years ago I've read all kinds of sort-of political treatises about motherhood, mothering and the general treatment and perception of mothers in the U.S. as compared to other countries. To a one, each of these books has included an anecdote about some mom who has decided to stay at home with her young children who is at a cocktail party (it's never any other kind of gathering - always cocktails) and answers the question "What do you do" by saying "I'm at home with my kids" only to find the questioner looking over her shoulder seeking a more interesting/useful person to talk to. The story is warning to all who would stay at home that people will treat you horribly, but that you should press on with your noble cause nonetheless because (let's all say it together now) it's the most important job in the world.
I have two questions: who's giving all these cocktail parties? And why am I never invited?
Drat. Well, my discussion of blueberry pie filling will just have to wait. If all goes well I'll actually be buying the berries tomorrow for canning on Saturday. I'm pretty sure I've got all the ingredients although a quick once over of the recipe is probably a good idea.
One last thing for today: Since I became a mother nearly four years ago I've read all kinds of sort-of political treatises about motherhood, mothering and the general treatment and perception of mothers in the U.S. as compared to other countries. To a one, each of these books has included an anecdote about some mom who has decided to stay at home with her young children who is at a cocktail party (it's never any other kind of gathering - always cocktails) and answers the question "What do you do" by saying "I'm at home with my kids" only to find the questioner looking over her shoulder seeking a more interesting/useful person to talk to. The story is warning to all who would stay at home that people will treat you horribly, but that you should press on with your noble cause nonetheless because (let's all say it together now) it's the most important job in the world.
I have two questions: who's giving all these cocktail parties? And why am I never invited?
Pickling vegetables is among the easiest ways to preserve your garden's (or farmer's market's!) excess. It's also one of the easiest things that beginning canners can make - just a handful of ingredients and about an hour's worth of time result in several pints of colorful, flavorful pickles. Plus, the basic recipe is extremely versatile. Once you cover the basic acidity and salt requirements you can add garlic or hot peppers, more or less dill (or some other herb - tarragon can be nice) or even make veggie blends. You can use whole, trimmed vegetables or slices or even shredded (especially nice for cabbage or carrots).
I use a simple recipe put out by the USDA (click to find copies of their Complete Guide to Home Canning). The USDA is responsible for advising home canners on the types of foods that can be safely canned, processing methods and techniques. Recently, the USDA dramatically increased the processing time for tomatoes to take into consideration modern low-acid varieties. So these are good people to know because they figure all this stuff out for you.
Another good source of information is the Alltrista consumer site. Alltrista manufactures a variety of canning equipment, accessories and mixes and they have a nice illustrated primer on the basics,as well as a good FAQ. In my opinion, you don't need much of the equipment or mixes they sell to be a good, safe, productive canner but you do need some of it and you should definitely take advantage of the benefit of their expertise.
One last thing before we get to the recipe: I've said it before and I'll say it again. Yes, I know your grandmother put up hundred of quarts a year using nothing but mayonaise jars and a hunk of parafin. Follow the latest rules anyway. Knowledge about food borne pathogens increases constantly and we know a lot more now than we did when your Sainted Grandma road her kitchen range. Another way to look at it: you'll likely never be sorry that you followed the modern guidelines, but you just might be sorry that you didn't.
Now for the good part - the recipe. First, fill your canning kettle to a level that would be 2 inches ABOVE the height of your canning jars when they're placed in. Follow the directions for preparing your jars and lids from either the Alltrista or USDA websites or that came with your jars (every new box comes with a set of basic instructions). Once your jars and lids are sterilizing, get to work on your veggies.
For pickled green beans, trim the ends and cut to a uniform length to fit into your jars (likewise for asparagus). I like to do peeled and trimmed carrots in coins (a food processor makes quick work of carrot coins). Brussels sprouts need only a quick trim on the bottom and onions should be peeled and trimmed. I've never done jicama or beets, although I'd love to, but they should be trimmed and cut as desired. I've also heard of people dilling broccoli, but I've never seen it for myself!
Pack your veggies into the hot, sterilized jars, leaving about an inch of "headspace" between the top of the veggies and the top of the jars. Tuck in a head or a nice healthy sprig of dill and include a clove of peeled garlic. A jalapeño pepper makes a nice, spicy touch - use red for green veggies and a green for carrots or beets. Some people also like to use a half teaspoon or so of dried pepper flakes, which makes for an interesting presentation and pretty spicy pickles.
To make the brine, combine in a medium saucepan: Two cups of water and two cups of white vinegar (5% acidity - regular supermarket white vinegar. In other words, save your fancy pants vinegars for something else) with a half cup of either pickling or kosher salt. Heat to boiling and fill your jars to a half an inch headspace. Clean off the rim of the jar using a clean towel dipped in hot water and seal using the two-part lids that the equipment directions have you already sterlizing.
Process in a boiling hot water bath (that is, put the jars on the rack only after the bath is boiling and then start counting your processing time after the water resumes boiling).
Once your processing time is completed, remove the jars (I use a jar lifter for this, but you can - carefully - use glove-type potholders or thick towels) and place on a tea towel to cool. You'll start to hear the little "pings" that indicate a good seal within 15 to 20 minutes. All of your jars should seal within 24 hours. Those that haven't should be refrigerated and used first. Try to let your pickles sit for six to eight weeks before opening for the best flavor.
So...what are you going to make? Do let us know how it turns out! I, for one, am on pins and needles.
I use a simple recipe put out by the USDA (click to find copies of their Complete Guide to Home Canning). The USDA is responsible for advising home canners on the types of foods that can be safely canned, processing methods and techniques. Recently, the USDA dramatically increased the processing time for tomatoes to take into consideration modern low-acid varieties. So these are good people to know because they figure all this stuff out for you.
Another good source of information is the Alltrista consumer site. Alltrista manufactures a variety of canning equipment, accessories and mixes and they have a nice illustrated primer on the basics,as well as a good FAQ. In my opinion, you don't need much of the equipment or mixes they sell to be a good, safe, productive canner but you do need some of it and you should definitely take advantage of the benefit of their expertise.
One last thing before we get to the recipe: I've said it before and I'll say it again. Yes, I know your grandmother put up hundred of quarts a year using nothing but mayonaise jars and a hunk of parafin. Follow the latest rules anyway. Knowledge about food borne pathogens increases constantly and we know a lot more now than we did when your Sainted Grandma road her kitchen range. Another way to look at it: you'll likely never be sorry that you followed the modern guidelines, but you just might be sorry that you didn't.
Now for the good part - the recipe. First, fill your canning kettle to a level that would be 2 inches ABOVE the height of your canning jars when they're placed in. Follow the directions for preparing your jars and lids from either the Alltrista or USDA websites or that came with your jars (every new box comes with a set of basic instructions). Once your jars and lids are sterilizing, get to work on your veggies.
For pickled green beans, trim the ends and cut to a uniform length to fit into your jars (likewise for asparagus). I like to do peeled and trimmed carrots in coins (a food processor makes quick work of carrot coins). Brussels sprouts need only a quick trim on the bottom and onions should be peeled and trimmed. I've never done jicama or beets, although I'd love to, but they should be trimmed and cut as desired. I've also heard of people dilling broccoli, but I've never seen it for myself!
Pack your veggies into the hot, sterilized jars, leaving about an inch of "headspace" between the top of the veggies and the top of the jars. Tuck in a head or a nice healthy sprig of dill and include a clove of peeled garlic. A jalapeño pepper makes a nice, spicy touch - use red for green veggies and a green for carrots or beets. Some people also like to use a half teaspoon or so of dried pepper flakes, which makes for an interesting presentation and pretty spicy pickles.
To make the brine, combine in a medium saucepan: Two cups of water and two cups of white vinegar (5% acidity - regular supermarket white vinegar. In other words, save your fancy pants vinegars for something else) with a half cup of either pickling or kosher salt. Heat to boiling and fill your jars to a half an inch headspace. Clean off the rim of the jar using a clean towel dipped in hot water and seal using the two-part lids that the equipment directions have you already sterlizing.
Process in a boiling hot water bath (that is, put the jars on the rack only after the bath is boiling and then start counting your processing time after the water resumes boiling).
Once your processing time is completed, remove the jars (I use a jar lifter for this, but you can - carefully - use glove-type potholders or thick towels) and place on a tea towel to cool. You'll start to hear the little "pings" that indicate a good seal within 15 to 20 minutes. All of your jars should seal within 24 hours. Those that haven't should be refrigerated and used first. Try to let your pickles sit for six to eight weeks before opening for the best flavor.
So...what are you going to make? Do let us know how it turns out! I, for one, am on pins and needles.
I've been seriously working on a prototype recipe for caramel sauce and I think I'm just about ready to give it a spin. To work the recipe up, I've been looking at all the various candy-type sauce recipes that are around. The reason you can can most of them is because they are nearly 100% sugar products, water and other non-spoilable ingredients. They still must be processed in order to have a good shelf life (like commercial sauces that are shelf-stable until they're opened and then must be refrigerated) but because you don't have to deal with the spoilage factor or acidity a hot water bath is just fine.
The recipe I've worked up includes melted caramel candies, corn syrup, water, maple syrup and salt and bears a slight resemblance to the caramel used to cover apples. I need to mess with the proportions though because I just realized after a trip to the store that I had assumed that candy caramels came much larger bags than they actually do. Since I want to make the sauce as easy as possible to make I want to work the recipe out to use whole bags - why have to deal with leftovers or partial bags? I also need to decide if the sauce will be used directly out of the jar or will require heating. In my book, heating is the way to go since I really like that hot melty ice cream effect, but some people really object to that and want something pourable.
So this is where we are on the caramel sauce issue. I'm hoping to have the initial proportions worked out by this weekend but won't be able to test until the earliest part of August so please stay tuned. In the meantime, I'll be posting the dilled vegetable recipe - probably on Friday - because it's that time of year again.
The recipe I've worked up includes melted caramel candies, corn syrup, water, maple syrup and salt and bears a slight resemblance to the caramel used to cover apples. I need to mess with the proportions though because I just realized after a trip to the store that I had assumed that candy caramels came much larger bags than they actually do. Since I want to make the sauce as easy as possible to make I want to work the recipe out to use whole bags - why have to deal with leftovers or partial bags? I also need to decide if the sauce will be used directly out of the jar or will require heating. In my book, heating is the way to go since I really like that hot melty ice cream effect, but some people really object to that and want something pourable.
So this is where we are on the caramel sauce issue. I'm hoping to have the initial proportions worked out by this weekend but won't be able to test until the earliest part of August so please stay tuned. In the meantime, I'll be posting the dilled vegetable recipe - probably on Friday - because it's that time of year again.
Now, regarding the matter of the butterscotch sauce: what a distaster! The process itself seemed simple enough - combine some butterscotch chips, water, butter, brown sugar, corn syrup and vanilla in a largish saucepan, melt to blend, cook to thicken and process. What could be easier?
As it turns out, lots of things. The actual cooking and processing turned out fine - everything went exactly as the recipe said it would. During cooling, though, something both unexpected and unwelcome took place: the sauce separated into three layers, each with it's own color and viscosity. Not a good sign, especially as I'm pretty sure that the top layer is mostly butter. Everything blends back up when shaken and the sauce tastes fine so I can probably store it in the fridge, but still... I'm pretty disappointed because according to the recipe the processed sauce has a shelf life of 6 months. I took some pictures and will post them later, perhaps during nap time.
So I'm on the prowl again for something to go along with the chocolate sauce for gifting. My mom suggested that I use some of last year'sfailed strawberry jam strawberry coulis. We'll see. I'm also trying to track down a recipe for caramel sauce that I think would be more successful since, like the chocolate sauce and unlike the butterscotch, there wouldn't be anything in it to spoil.
I really had the feeling I needed to reset my canning karma so on Saturday night I made some pickles. The timing was good because my dill is about to bolt. I'm going to try and harvest some dill seed, which is always nice to have around, but it's a messy job and I'm not sure how much I'll really get so I didn't mind doing the pickles to make the most of what's left of the season.
As it turns out, lots of things. The actual cooking and processing turned out fine - everything went exactly as the recipe said it would. During cooling, though, something both unexpected and unwelcome took place: the sauce separated into three layers, each with it's own color and viscosity. Not a good sign, especially as I'm pretty sure that the top layer is mostly butter. Everything blends back up when shaken and the sauce tastes fine so I can probably store it in the fridge, but still... I'm pretty disappointed because according to the recipe the processed sauce has a shelf life of 6 months. I took some pictures and will post them later, perhaps during nap time.
So I'm on the prowl again for something to go along with the chocolate sauce for gifting. My mom suggested that I use some of last year's
I really had the feeling I needed to reset my canning karma so on Saturday night I made some pickles. The timing was good because my dill is about to bolt. I'm going to try and harvest some dill seed, which is always nice to have around, but it's a messy job and I'm not sure how much I'll really get so I didn't mind doing the pickles to make the most of what's left of the season.
The Boy Wonder is feeling much better, thank you. This was the first such illness in his memory (he'd had similar bugs when he was much younger) and he was probably more alarmed and scared than ill. No one likes feeling so yucky and he was a trooper.
I was cleaning out a lot of old LPs (yes, it's true) and tapes the other day and came across an unmarked cassette. I'm ever so slowly purging old music as once adored songs and artists lose their hold on me. For a time in my youth I spent most of my disposable income on concerts, recorded music and music related print media. I could tell you pretty much anything you could have cared to know (and more, most likely) about certain genres and artists. Now I find that the baggage associated with a life I no longer lead feels heavier and heavier as the years pass and I'm more open to just hanging on the memories while allowing the material ephemera pass through my hands.
Anyway, I didn't recognize this particular tape despite years of similar semi-annual purges so I popped it into a deck. Within seconds the familiar cords swept around me and, like Proust's madelines, took me back to a time that I had truly thought was lost to me forever. Still night, nothing for miles...white curtain come down...kill the lights in the middle of the road and take a look around...And suddenly I am 19 again, in my first apartment and preparing for a night out. Black tights, black skirt, black turtleneck, very high heeled black pumps. Revlon's Raven Red on my nails and burgundy tint to my normally honey colored hair. It doesn't help to be one of the chosen, one of the few to be sure... Lindsay's in the next room looking for her boots and the phone's ringing - it's Jeff and Ben wondering where we are and if we're ready yet.
And I started to cry. At 35 I don't have too many - none, actually - of those kinds of nights out anymore. Do I miss them? Not really. At least I don't think so. But hearing the Andrew Eldritch and The Sisters of Mercy on a tape I don't even remember possessing brought back to me a part of myself that I've been missing, even if I hadn't even realized it.
I wonder what happened to that girl. She had great passions, read great books and had deep philosophical discussions with the thin pale boys she met at the 24-hour Rittenhouse Diner. The Raven Red is long gone now, given way to a tasteful peachy pink and the Rittenhouse Diner closed its doors sometime in the mid-90s - I think the space is some kind of BYO bistro. At least one of those shy skinny boys is an investment banker and two are school teachers. Lindsay's a pastry chef and I haven't worn high heels since I had reconstructive surgery on my right knee in 1998.
So where is that girl? I guess she grew up, got married, started a business and had babies. Hard to say. Only one thing in this story is certain - she's hanging onto that tape.
I was cleaning out a lot of old LPs (yes, it's true) and tapes the other day and came across an unmarked cassette. I'm ever so slowly purging old music as once adored songs and artists lose their hold on me. For a time in my youth I spent most of my disposable income on concerts, recorded music and music related print media. I could tell you pretty much anything you could have cared to know (and more, most likely) about certain genres and artists. Now I find that the baggage associated with a life I no longer lead feels heavier and heavier as the years pass and I'm more open to just hanging on the memories while allowing the material ephemera pass through my hands.
Anyway, I didn't recognize this particular tape despite years of similar semi-annual purges so I popped it into a deck. Within seconds the familiar cords swept around me and, like Proust's madelines, took me back to a time that I had truly thought was lost to me forever. Still night, nothing for miles...white curtain come down...kill the lights in the middle of the road and take a look around...And suddenly I am 19 again, in my first apartment and preparing for a night out. Black tights, black skirt, black turtleneck, very high heeled black pumps. Revlon's Raven Red on my nails and burgundy tint to my normally honey colored hair. It doesn't help to be one of the chosen, one of the few to be sure... Lindsay's in the next room looking for her boots and the phone's ringing - it's Jeff and Ben wondering where we are and if we're ready yet.
And I started to cry. At 35 I don't have too many - none, actually - of those kinds of nights out anymore. Do I miss them? Not really. At least I don't think so. But hearing the Andrew Eldritch and The Sisters of Mercy on a tape I don't even remember possessing brought back to me a part of myself that I've been missing, even if I hadn't even realized it.
I wonder what happened to that girl. She had great passions, read great books and had deep philosophical discussions with the thin pale boys she met at the 24-hour Rittenhouse Diner. The Raven Red is long gone now, given way to a tasteful peachy pink and the Rittenhouse Diner closed its doors sometime in the mid-90s - I think the space is some kind of BYO bistro. At least one of those shy skinny boys is an investment banker and two are school teachers. Lindsay's a pastry chef and I haven't worn high heels since I had reconstructive surgery on my right knee in 1998.
So where is that girl? I guess she grew up, got married, started a business and had babies. Hard to say. Only one thing in this story is certain - she's hanging onto that tape.
Can't post much now - the Boy Wonder is in the grip of serious GI distress which has laid waste to anything resembling a schedule or to-do list.
Hopefully I'll get back into the blogging swing of things within a day or two. When I do, I need to tell you about the weekend's three failures: the beer can chicken that sort-of wasn't, the chocolate chip cookies that NO ONE ATE (this may be a first in the history of mankind) and the butterscotch sauce that separated. This last is probably the most painful me - all that processing heat, the lost jar lids, the wasted ingredients. Kills me, I tell you.
Hopefully I'll get back into the blogging swing of things within a day or two. When I do, I need to tell you about the weekend's three failures: the beer can chicken that sort-of wasn't, the chocolate chip cookies that NO ONE ATE (this may be a first in the history of mankind) and the butterscotch sauce that separated. This last is probably the most painful me - all that processing heat, the lost jar lids, the wasted ingredients. Kills me, I tell you.
Work has slowed to a crawl this week so I took the opportunity to do some extra cleaning and organizing around the house. Like many people, I'm a little ambivalent about slow times because slow work = more free time but it also equals not getting paid. So to maximize the time and take my mind off the money I wasn't making I organized the Boy Wonder's art drawer. Plus, I figure it's a good thing to enjoy the summer doldrums rather than rail against them.
The art drawer in located in the kitchen and is low enough that he can get in and out of it on his own. There's crayons and paper, of course, but also stencils, stickers, (cleaned) foam meat trays, glue sticks, colored pencils, play dough and lots of other good stuff. This week I decided that he's old enough to have a pair of blunt-edged school scissors, so they're in there, too. I love that he feels free to claim this space as his own but I love it even more now that it's clean and tidy and that the drawer can fully close once again.
I also spent part of this morning making and freezing some baby food for the Little Diva. She's been getting rice, oatmeal and mixed cereals for a couple weeks now and it's time to start in with veggies and fruits. Making these colorful purees is one of my favorite parts of being an infant's mom. Feeding a baby is a form of communication and making my baby's first foods let's her know that I value that which is fresh and simply prepared. The freezer is now home to little cubes (I use an ice cube tray to freeze in perfect serving sizes) of sweet potato, butternut squash, carrot, acorn squash, summer squash, chick pea, zucchini, pea and green bean purees. Since Alisha's peaches arrived today I'll do some of those, although we probably won't get into fruits until next month, and I can't wait to do apricots and plums. The Boy Wonder adored avocado and mango and I have some wonderful memories of introducing him to new things. How exciting it is to be traveling this road again and discovering anew how wonderful food can be when it's unadorned and eaten with a sense of wonder.
Time has been officially set aside this weekend to make the oft-promised butterscotch sauce. I'm nervous as I always am when trying a new recipe but I'm also terrifically excited about how great I think it'll be. I can practically taste the butterscotch now...
The art drawer in located in the kitchen and is low enough that he can get in and out of it on his own. There's crayons and paper, of course, but also stencils, stickers, (cleaned) foam meat trays, glue sticks, colored pencils, play dough and lots of other good stuff. This week I decided that he's old enough to have a pair of blunt-edged school scissors, so they're in there, too. I love that he feels free to claim this space as his own but I love it even more now that it's clean and tidy and that the drawer can fully close once again.
I also spent part of this morning making and freezing some baby food for the Little Diva. She's been getting rice, oatmeal and mixed cereals for a couple weeks now and it's time to start in with veggies and fruits. Making these colorful purees is one of my favorite parts of being an infant's mom. Feeding a baby is a form of communication and making my baby's first foods let's her know that I value that which is fresh and simply prepared. The freezer is now home to little cubes (I use an ice cube tray to freeze in perfect serving sizes) of sweet potato, butternut squash, carrot, acorn squash, summer squash, chick pea, zucchini, pea and green bean purees. Since Alisha's peaches arrived today I'll do some of those, although we probably won't get into fruits until next month, and I can't wait to do apricots and plums. The Boy Wonder adored avocado and mango and I have some wonderful memories of introducing him to new things. How exciting it is to be traveling this road again and discovering anew how wonderful food can be when it's unadorned and eaten with a sense of wonder.
Time has been officially set aside this weekend to make the oft-promised butterscotch sauce. I'm nervous as I always am when trying a new recipe but I'm also terrifically excited about how great I think it'll be. I can practically taste the butterscotch now...
The kids and I have returned from a brief holiday visit to see friends in Chattanooga. The trip was very nice and we are exhausted. Much of today will be spent in recovery mode, doing laundry and reinforcing sleep schedules. I'm not planning any ambitious activities and have promised that I'd be gentle with myself as I move about - no rushing or bemoaning what couldn't be done. Most of my clients were also away so I doubt there will be much in the way of communication from them today as they deal with backlogged e-mails and phone calls.
I'm sure I'll be successful with my committment to calm largely because I know a storm of activity will hit later in the week. The darling Alisha is sending me white peaches from her tree! They'll need to be dealt with rather quickly - some will no doubt be eaten out of hand while others will be canned in a spicy cinnamon and nutmeg syrup. I may even puree a couple. Bellinis, anyone? Everyone should be so lucky as to either have their own peach tree or Alisha for a friend. Thanks babe!
I also want to complete the butterscotch sauce this week because I've been noticing that green beans are starting to hit the markets and I want to get it done before I'm distracted too much by the beans. I made some green bean puree for the baby last week before leaving for Tennessee but now I want to make pickles for the grown ups and even blanch/freeze some packs.
Finally, thanks to all of you who sent such nice messages to me - I will be having another Q&A post up soon to address your questions (unless it was a more urgent canning question, in which case you should have already received a response). For those of you who have requested recipes, hang in there! I am working on a small booklet containing the recipes that I've either posted or discussed here. My goal is to finish it before August - when canning/preserving time really cranks up - and I'll keep everyone posted.
I'm sure I'll be successful with my committment to calm largely because I know a storm of activity will hit later in the week. The darling Alisha is sending me white peaches from her tree! They'll need to be dealt with rather quickly - some will no doubt be eaten out of hand while others will be canned in a spicy cinnamon and nutmeg syrup. I may even puree a couple. Bellinis, anyone? Everyone should be so lucky as to either have their own peach tree or Alisha for a friend. Thanks babe!
I also want to complete the butterscotch sauce this week because I've been noticing that green beans are starting to hit the markets and I want to get it done before I'm distracted too much by the beans. I made some green bean puree for the baby last week before leaving for Tennessee but now I want to make pickles for the grown ups and even blanch/freeze some packs.
Finally, thanks to all of you who sent such nice messages to me - I will be having another Q&A post up soon to address your questions (unless it was a more urgent canning question, in which case you should have already received a response). For those of you who have requested recipes, hang in there! I am working on a small booklet containing the recipes that I've either posted or discussed here. My goal is to finish it before August - when canning/preserving time really cranks up - and I'll keep everyone posted.
My descent into karmic oblivion seems to have been arrested. Perhaps the bug flipping was effective in proving my good intentions in the world.
The oven, however, remains unimpressed and inoperative. I'm pretty sure that our range is original to the house. It is, like the rest of the establishment, kind of odd - four burners with a griddle in between sitting above two ovens, one quite little the other much larger than average. It's nestled into some custom cabinetry making replacement difficult - a newer range is almost guaranteed to be much smaller and would leave a gap where no finishing of the wall or floor is present. So we've made do with its quirks - very slow preheating, random temperature hold and all the rest because replacing it would merely cause different problems.
Sears no longer supports this model (although you can reference the parts needed on the website, you just cannot buy them) so we now have been pretty much backed into a corner, stove-wise. And, despite my blustery happiness about redecorating the kitchen, I am less than happy because well over half of our budget will now go to an appliance that will in turn require spending the other half just fixing the ugliness cause by buying the new appliance in the first place.
And this is how I found myself grilling pizzas for dinner the other night. The Boy Wonder really wanted pizza and I had all the ingredients so no way was I about to let a little issue like a lack of oven stop me. I recalled reading in some fancy-pants cooking mag years and years ago about pizza grilling so I figured it wouldn't be a problem. And I was right, much to the Boy's delight.
A quick oiling, a good preheating before turning the flame down to the lowest and forming "personal" size pizzas for easy maneuvering did the trick. I used homemade dough, so getting the pizzas from the platter to the grill was a little tricky. If you're inclined to using pre-made crusts that part of the operation would be smoother. Once the dough was set and beginning to turn golden, I moved the pizzas to the cooler upper rack for finishing. Most excellent and fascinating to small children, if the Boy Wonder is any indication.
In other news, I've bought all the ingredients required to can butterscotch sauce. I'm super psyched about it - it'll be a great accompanyment to the chocolate sauce for Christmas presents. I know two or three ice cream monsters who will be very pleased indeed.
The oven, however, remains unimpressed and inoperative. I'm pretty sure that our range is original to the house. It is, like the rest of the establishment, kind of odd - four burners with a griddle in between sitting above two ovens, one quite little the other much larger than average. It's nestled into some custom cabinetry making replacement difficult - a newer range is almost guaranteed to be much smaller and would leave a gap where no finishing of the wall or floor is present. So we've made do with its quirks - very slow preheating, random temperature hold and all the rest because replacing it would merely cause different problems.
Sears no longer supports this model (although you can reference the parts needed on the website, you just cannot buy them) so we now have been pretty much backed into a corner, stove-wise. And, despite my blustery happiness about redecorating the kitchen, I am less than happy because well over half of our budget will now go to an appliance that will in turn require spending the other half just fixing the ugliness cause by buying the new appliance in the first place.
And this is how I found myself grilling pizzas for dinner the other night. The Boy Wonder really wanted pizza and I had all the ingredients so no way was I about to let a little issue like a lack of oven stop me. I recalled reading in some fancy-pants cooking mag years and years ago about pizza grilling so I figured it wouldn't be a problem. And I was right, much to the Boy's delight.
A quick oiling, a good preheating before turning the flame down to the lowest and forming "personal" size pizzas for easy maneuvering did the trick. I used homemade dough, so getting the pizzas from the platter to the grill was a little tricky. If you're inclined to using pre-made crusts that part of the operation would be smoother. Once the dough was set and beginning to turn golden, I moved the pizzas to the cooler upper rack for finishing. Most excellent and fascinating to small children, if the Boy Wonder is any indication.
In other news, I've bought all the ingredients required to can butterscotch sauce. I'm super psyched about it - it'll be a great accompanyment to the chocolate sauce for Christmas presents. I know two or three ice cream monsters who will be very pleased indeed.
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