Among the converging deadlines I mentioned in my last post was that of preparing for and executing a family vacation to Wisconsin. Part of the time was spent in a small rented cottage which, although comfortable, boasted the most comprehensive collection of broken and/or incomplete kitchen tools I have ever seen. The second portion of the trip was spent in a tent, looking at more airplanes in more varieties than I thought possible.
The planes were fine, even to an aviation non-enthusiast such as myself, and we found out that even the screaming engines and full afterburners needed for a B-1 Lancer's sixty degree climb almost directly overhead were not enough to wake Entropy Girl from her daily very-late naps. The tent was not fine and probably the less said about it the better. I did mention to Brainiac that he had hit the trifecta of things you don't want when trying to convince the wife that camping is fun: a night of cold, a night of wind and a night of electrical storms.
Now that we're home and I am caught up on the laundry, I thought I'd get back to the topic of cooking and how we're to manage it if we have or want to have, like, a life and stuff. The truth is, I don't know. That is, I know how to manage it for me but not for anyone else. I do know, though, that the only way to figure it out is to get in there and do some cooking.
I became frustrated on our trip after meeting a woman who bragged that she "never, ever cooks". I thought her comment hyperbole until questioning revealed that her kids serve themselves from bags of fruit (fine enough, I guess), bread and peanut butter (um, o.k.) and pre-packaged "complete" lunches (I'm feeling faint) stashed in the fridge. The cupboards contain a variety of commercial snacks and that's that. The kids eat when the kids are hungry out of hand or off paper plates and their mom is pretty pleased that she's found a way to feed them with no effort or engagement whatsoever. I suppose this is, in fact, one way to deal with the issue athough I do kind of feel bad for the kids. They're missing out on so much - the communion of the dinner table, learning the life skills of even basic cooking and food selection, experiencing the lessons in civility that come from standing next to adults and assisting in the preparation and serving of a meal (setting the table is an excellent contribution to the family meal and can be accomplished by kids as young as three) and even the simple enjoyment that comes from learning to appreciate a variety of foods in a variety of preparations. While it's true that their bodies are being fed, is it too cheesy to wonder if their minds, souls and hearts are, too?
But I think that family is an extreme case. Most of us fall somewhere else on the family cooking bell curve and really just need a few simple ideas to make it easier to bring young ones into the kitchen and have everyone make it out again sooner rather than later and with something really yummy to eat (and not too much mess).
For my part, I've discovered that couscous, orzo and pastina are my quick-cooking friends and that there's no way to overestimate the convenience of having pizza dough on hand (notice I did not say pizza crust - my recipe for dough follows and it's insanely easy). I'll also stir fry virtually anything and now regard the exploration of all manner of quiches - both the authentic and faux - as a spiritual path. Then, of course, there are soups and stews and pastas and more kinds of pierogie/empanada/ravili things than I can count.
In other words, fast and easy don't automatically mean junk any more than complicated means good. (As evidence I offer Insalata Capese vs. tete de veau.) Of course, there are lots of hard to make things that are wonderful, and many more dishes that require a score (or more) of ingredients and three days and could break your heart with their awesomeness but these are not what we're talking about here. What we want are some basic dishes that can be varied by season or mood and that are fast and delicious and, above all, real and without unpronounceable contents and packaging that weighs more than the "food" itself.
But how to get started? That's for another post, one full of cookbook recommendations and other suggestions. For now, here's how I make pizza dough. I try to keep at least one pizza's worth in the freezer at all times, because it thaws quickly in the fridge or in panic mode in a bowl of warm water. Like most good things, there are no hard and fast rules:
Put a packet or two teaspoons of yeast along with a pinch of white sugar in a two-cup measure, and fill to two-cups with water that is quite warm, but not hot. Allow to sit for 10-15 minutes so that the yeast comes alive and becomes foamy. In a large bowl, mix together four cups of flour (this can be unbleached white or whole wheat, or a combination of both - I've also added in a bit of chick pea flour with good results) and a teaspoon of table salt. Make a well in the center of the flour and pour in about a quarter cup of the yeast mixture. Stir with a wooden spoon, adding more yeast/water as needed until a dough forms and begins to pull away from the sides of the bowl. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead until it is smooth and pliable. Now allow the dough to rest for ten minutes. Divide as desired into however much you need to make pizzas as big as you want and place into freezer bags. Press down to flatten the dough and remove air from the bags.
Shhh....hear that? No, not that. That. Know what that is? It's angels singing because she's back and blogging again. You can't see me, but I'm smiling. Ear to ear.
Do you ever listen to that NPR show Car Talk? At the end of every show, the hosts - whose names I can never remember except that they're onomatopoeiaish - say something like, "Well, you've done it again and wasted another perfectly good hour listening to Car Talk..." except I don't think it's a waste of time to listen to them. Even the kids think it's a funny show and Brainiac gets a kick out of finding ways he disagrees with them, car repair-wise. One time they even had on a (-nother, I swear it wasn't me) woman whose husband was irrationally obsessed with old Mercedes, so I even get a lot out of it maritally-speaking. Something for everyone, you know?
Anyway, my point is that somehow I've gone and done it again. Various unrelated deadlines seem to have converged on me in such a way as to make writing a little bit of a not-so-much activity. Just for a spell, though. I'll be back and more of the why-we-approach-cooking-this-way rant and book reviews and comments on another admitedly tagential thread brought about by reading Amy Sutherland's Cookoff: Recipe Fever in America. Oh! And ideas about cooking with kids and quick things one can make for dinner that aren't 1) from box or can and 2) don't make one's family run screaming out to the Tahoe begging to be taken anywhere, just so long as there's french fries.
On her first visit here (Hi!), Caro asked, "Do you really write about canning sometimes?"
Um, yes. Well, sometimes pretty much covers it. But yes. I've got a canning list as long as this post and am actually planning to make a dent in it after the deadline convergance problem is cleared up. And some girlfriends and I have a canning bee planned for next month, so there's that, too. So, yes, we do talk about canning here and welcome, Caro, because with hardcore harvest just weeks away, I think we're about to have some fun.
Do you ever listen to that NPR show Car Talk? At the end of every show, the hosts - whose names I can never remember except that they're onomatopoeiaish - say something like, "Well, you've done it again and wasted another perfectly good hour listening to Car Talk..." except I don't think it's a waste of time to listen to them. Even the kids think it's a funny show and Brainiac gets a kick out of finding ways he disagrees with them, car repair-wise. One time they even had on a (-nother, I swear it wasn't me) woman whose husband was irrationally obsessed with old Mercedes, so I even get a lot out of it maritally-speaking. Something for everyone, you know?
Anyway, my point is that somehow I've gone and done it again. Various unrelated deadlines seem to have converged on me in such a way as to make writing a little bit of a not-so-much activity. Just for a spell, though. I'll be back and more of the why-we-approach-cooking-this-way rant and book reviews and comments on another admitedly tagential thread brought about by reading Amy Sutherland's Cookoff: Recipe Fever in America. Oh! And ideas about cooking with kids and quick things one can make for dinner that aren't 1) from box or can and 2) don't make one's family run screaming out to the Tahoe begging to be taken anywhere, just so long as there's french fries.
On her first visit here (Hi!), Caro asked, "Do you really write about canning sometimes?"
Um, yes. Well, sometimes pretty much covers it. But yes. I've got a canning list as long as this post and am actually planning to make a dent in it after the deadline convergance problem is cleared up. And some girlfriends and I have a canning bee planned for next month, so there's that, too. So, yes, we do talk about canning here and welcome, Caro, because with hardcore harvest just weeks away, I think we're about to have some fun.
Is it July already? My, how time flies when you're busy spreading aloe on your sunburn and picking charred bits of fireworks cardboard out of the zucchini patch.
Anyway. For those of you who celebrated the Fourth of July I hope the day was a haze of happiness, as only a holiday dedicated to freedom, beer and (irony!) chips and salsa can be. For those of you who had, uh, Tuesday, I hope it was similarly lovely.
Last night as I put dinner on the table I realized that I had once again committed one of my most hated culinary crimes. Specifically, everything I had prepared so lovingly was a shade of white - the mahi mahi, the orzo, the sauteed (peeled) squash and onions, the sourdough bread. Ugh. A delicious dinner, sure, but not terribly appetizing on the whole and quite disappointing. The looks of food go a long way in our enjoyment and a tasty meal that is also beautiful is much nicer than one without visual interest.
So, yes, recent rants notwithstanding, I am not perfect cooking-wise. Last night's dinner was wonderful for ease and quickness of preparation. But in my zeal to make something nice and simple - but also nutritious and yummy - on a busy, hot day I somehow lost track of another food virtue that I hold dear. Ah, well. Tonight I'm making nachos with seasoned meat and refried beans left over from Wednesday, as well as the garden's first tomatoes and jalapeños.
Nachos make a great quick meal, especially on a mid-summer night when you'd kind of rather go out to eat (and would probably order nachos) but won't because there's a long vacation coming up and you're trying to save money in the face of $3.50/gallon gas. Plus, although not super good for you, they can be made more healthful by adding lots of tomatoes and black beans, being somewhat moderate on the cheese and subbing drained plain yogurt for the sour cream. Nachos have the added benefit of making my kids (and, lets be honest, Brainiac) think that they've gotten away with something, dinner-wise. Here's how I do mine:
Spread a bag of white tortilla chips on a 9 X 13 rimmed cookie sheet/jelly roll pan. Top chips with seasoned ground beef (leftover from tacos, say), refried beans, chili, drained canned black beans - or some combination. On top of the beans and meat, sprinkle diced tomatoes and finely sliced jalapeños (you can also use pickled jalapeño slices), finely diced red onion and a few spoons of salsa and finally grated cheese - I use a combination of cheddar and monteray jack - use what you like and melts well). Cook in a very hot oven (say, preheated to 400) just until the cheese has melted - any longer and the chips could get soggy. When done, place the entire pan in the center of the table (on top of several tea towels laid down for protection), along with bowls of more salsa, drained plain yogurt* and guacamole.
* The yogurt doesn't strictly have to be drained, but doing so makes it seem a little more sour creamish. I drain mine in a paper towel lined mesh strainer for about 20 minutes while I prepare and cook the nachos. There are special draining tools you can buy for this job, but they seem kind of pointless to me when they can be replicated so easily and cheaply.
Anyway. For those of you who celebrated the Fourth of July I hope the day was a haze of happiness, as only a holiday dedicated to freedom, beer and (irony!) chips and salsa can be. For those of you who had, uh, Tuesday, I hope it was similarly lovely.
Last night as I put dinner on the table I realized that I had once again committed one of my most hated culinary crimes. Specifically, everything I had prepared so lovingly was a shade of white - the mahi mahi, the orzo, the sauteed (peeled) squash and onions, the sourdough bread. Ugh. A delicious dinner, sure, but not terribly appetizing on the whole and quite disappointing. The looks of food go a long way in our enjoyment and a tasty meal that is also beautiful is much nicer than one without visual interest.
So, yes, recent rants notwithstanding, I am not perfect cooking-wise. Last night's dinner was wonderful for ease and quickness of preparation. But in my zeal to make something nice and simple - but also nutritious and yummy - on a busy, hot day I somehow lost track of another food virtue that I hold dear. Ah, well. Tonight I'm making nachos with seasoned meat and refried beans left over from Wednesday, as well as the garden's first tomatoes and jalapeños.
Nachos make a great quick meal, especially on a mid-summer night when you'd kind of rather go out to eat (and would probably order nachos) but won't because there's a long vacation coming up and you're trying to save money in the face of $3.50/gallon gas. Plus, although not super good for you, they can be made more healthful by adding lots of tomatoes and black beans, being somewhat moderate on the cheese and subbing drained plain yogurt for the sour cream. Nachos have the added benefit of making my kids (and, lets be honest, Brainiac) think that they've gotten away with something, dinner-wise. Here's how I do mine:
Spread a bag of white tortilla chips on a 9 X 13 rimmed cookie sheet/jelly roll pan. Top chips with seasoned ground beef (leftover from tacos, say), refried beans, chili, drained canned black beans - or some combination. On top of the beans and meat, sprinkle diced tomatoes and finely sliced jalapeños (you can also use pickled jalapeño slices), finely diced red onion and a few spoons of salsa and finally grated cheese - I use a combination of cheddar and monteray jack - use what you like and melts well). Cook in a very hot oven (say, preheated to 400) just until the cheese has melted - any longer and the chips could get soggy. When done, place the entire pan in the center of the table (on top of several tea towels laid down for protection), along with bowls of more salsa, drained plain yogurt* and guacamole.
* The yogurt doesn't strictly have to be drained, but doing so makes it seem a little more sour creamish. I drain mine in a paper towel lined mesh strainer for about 20 minutes while I prepare and cook the nachos. There are special draining tools you can buy for this job, but they seem kind of pointless to me when they can be replicated so easily and cheaply.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)