The Buckle Heard Round the World

AKA The Buckle of the Century.

This is a long overdue post. But what other kind would you expect from me anymore? I closed out Buckle Season, formerly and commonly designated "summer" in some backwoods regions, with a buckle to end all buckles. A peach and 2 berry sweet cornbread buckle. Wowie. That one was good. I did 1 cup corn meal (blue and gold mixed) with 1 cup wheat flour, and threw in 1/8 cup of  "Bob's Mill" 8 Grain Cereal Mix (wheatless) too, as I do in much of my baking for some texture. Used the last of the season's peaches- end of October in Utah this year if you believe it, along with raspberries and blackberries. Half stick butter and a mere scant 1/8 cup brown sugar for the whole double buckle recipe. Which makes 2 standard pie trays. I do not personally even notice the absence of sugar, as I keep reducing it in all my baking.  I then compensate with vanilla and cinammon. Usually some nutmeg and allspice too. Works in apple crisps, oat bars, you name it. No one else has complained to me either. Buckles turned out to be the only bread/pie I baked all summer. My favorite combos are pear/blueberry, peach/blackberry, and plum/raspberry. But any 2 or three fruits will make for good eating. 



I quickly transitioned into fall mode. Stocked up on winter melons as they were once called; spaghetti squash, acorn squash, pumpkins, and butternut squashes. And I whipped up one more apple crisp with honeycrisps and asian pears. I will miss apples, and will probably cheat and buy some "fresh" ones before next summer. Apples and potatoes are just too much a part of our lives. Though I did stock on spuds too. I love fall as well. I spent 2 weeks hiking through the best colors I have ever seen thanks to the late and heavy snowfall, and bought jugs of tangy tart cider, and lamented my lack of a food dehydrator. Would like to make preserves next fall. Really store up for winter like in the old days I never knew existed except in fiction until I was grown up.

Last week I cut into the first of my three huge eating pumpkins: note to the prospective buyer of pumpkin flesh- measure your oven first. I don't know quite how I will manage the last one. I cleaned off the seeds and got them roasting in a toaster oven while I roasted the hollowed out gourd in the big oven, with the rack sagging under the weight. Due to the size and thickness of my pumpkin and my own unusual lack of any economy of movement, I baked the pumpkin empty, then moved it to the top of the range before filling it and using it like a slow cooker. Secured the lid tight and walked away for 2 hours. When I came back the whole was still hot and everything inside was baked and blended. So what did I make? A "turkey" mole (moh-lay- I do not have the spanish tilda on my keyboard to go over the e), which must be put into quotations as my sophisticated palet can assure you that: turkey does not taste like turkey anymore, turkey has an odd spongey texture rather than the rough and dry texture turkey should have, and turkey is mostly flavored with sodium and chicken stock. Also turkeys are raised so fat their own legs break and they are miserable. Probably. But I am going to avoid turkey even more thourougly than I was already after this due to the poor quality of the general turkey flesh. More on flesh later. For now, let us say the turkey mole was good. This mole was seasoned with achiote, chiles, pepper, cocoa, cinammon, and other spices. I poured in 6 cans of butter beans, kidney beans, black beans, pinto beans, and great northern beans, plus diced anaheim peppers, corn, peas, tomatoes, wild rice, and of course, the sides of the pumpkin scraped and shredded. Quite good, spicey and sweet and aromatic, aside from the disappointing calibre of the bird.

Okay, so, I have tested organic chicken, beef, 3 varieties of buffalo meat, milk, and yogurt, and I will now give you the rundown. Organic chicken tastes like chicken. I do not believe I could pick one out from the other blindfolded, despite my honed and attuned taste buds, and the "air chilled difference"- this organic chicken is not stored in vats of shit-filled water that spreads disease and inflates the weight of the poultry so you get less for your money- though I do appreciate the air chilling on principle. Organic beef on the other hand is spectacular. Great smell, taste, obvious flavor difference. You can recognize it too by differences in cooking: the ground patties I formed cooked more quickly and evenly, the fat clung to the pan less as it cooled and was easier to clean. On the whole, I am an organic beef man from here out. No doubt. It still though does not have as much flavor as bison, my meat of choice forever more. I have tried 2 brands of ground buffalo and one of hot dogs. The hot dogs are superior to standard dogs, smell wonderful, but on the whole, are still just ground up testicles and junk meat. High Plains Bison burgers come individually wrapped and pre-formed. I don't like them much. If you are into convenience and don't mind producing a lot of trash, go for them. The flavor though is very pepper and whatever they preserve these with, dulls the taste. Go instead if a connoisseur in hopes, for Great Range Bison, distributed by Rocky Mountain Natural Foods. My very special recipe is included later. Organic milk is magnificent. Shockingly good if you are not a super taster. I remember loving milk once, and now mainly drink it from habit. Its white water, full of protein. But organic is full of sweet, rolling gentle flavor. Teresa made a face and said it tastes like cheese. She was not a fan. But I am won over. You can taste the happy, and the omega 3s animals pick up when their feed is green (as in grass). It is healthier by far and tastier too. Watch for a sale or a clearance as it is about to expire. All of this leads me to believe birds are called "bird-brained" for a reason. They may not be happy, but even happy, how happy is a chicken exactly? You can't notice its misery in the meat. Now cows, they must be a bit clever. I can tell you from a burger if the animal led a good life or not. Pigs, which I do not mention are natural jerks. They would definitely eat you if they had the chance, and they are known to torture smaller live animals by eating them slowly and leaving them half eaten then coming back for more. I do not care if my pork is happy, though I would buy humane pork if I find it. But the guilt is not there. Cows don't hurt anyone, except with methane- and by the way, the next time someone of a Republican nature says to you that global warming is not man made because all the cow farts still account for more greenhouse gases than all our cars put together, counter by saying that the cow is really one of man's first machines; the feral cattle is not an animal that is social, docile, or which could be packed tightly. Steers were territorial brutes. Much tougher and stronger than even modern bulls. They fought like tigers and males did not meet often and both live after. So there would be few cows in the world to fart had they not happened to taste darn good. In fact much of the evil in history has taken place for beef, and wilderness areas are being mauled by livestock rights. Don't believe me? I can send pictures of a herd of cows that surprised the hell out of me by being in the middle of a mountain valley in August, and which nearly felt the need to stampede me. Didn't know they really did that. I can also send you pics of a herd of cows that stampeded for fear of me in another mountain range that is supposed to be "wild" in Utah's desert. Not eating beef would possibly do more good for the world than many hours volunteering for garbage organizations like United Way and Habitat for Humanity, of which I have insider experience and little faith. And to end my soapbox speech for now: giving money to charity is for chumps. Know your neighbors, and your community. Don't send $50 to Georgia, or Malaysia. Find someone who could use it near you. Give it to them. A kid, a mother, whatever. A loan or a present. You do more good in this world by loving a single person well than by getting involved with these giant organizations that get so big they lose sight of what they are doing and just become machines like every other corporation. Big is bad. (And just how do Republicans say big government is evil but shop at Walmart? If you allow big business, you need big government, otherwise the biggest business, is for all intents and purposes, the government. When I see Walmart as a third party, I will worry. Don't give them the idea. They'll get it on their own soon enough.)

Buffalo Burgers:
1 lb ground buffalo
1/4 cup italian seasoned bread crumbs
1/8 cup raisins
ginger, garlic, salt, paprika, (or ideally "Mongolian Ginger Barbecue" seasoning mix sold at World Market Stores and under the brand name "Urban Accents")

Also you could try lamb burgers, another animal that is not eaten in large enough numbers for it to have lost all flavor yet:

1 lb ground lamb
4 dry mint leaves ground
1/8 cup craisins or raspberries
garlic and other desired seasonings

I prefer buffalo by a lot. Lamb just makes me want stew. Lamb owns stew. Although beef stew is pretty good too.

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Forty Dollar Lamb

If you have 40 days and 40 nights to spare, try making this meal.

I exaggerate a little. It is mostly done in a slow cooker. And if you can chop even a little, you can make this delicious, perhaps, even, heavenly lamb tagine. Or stew. Or curry. Stewgine. Well, I combined a fruit tagine heavy on curry powder and a classic tomato and pepper stew recipe together because I could not decide between them, so I am not sure what to call it. I was thinking Miracle Manger Tagine, but Forty Dollar Lamb sounds good too, as you could easily charge that in a restaurant if your table cloth is white enough and well starched and you have a maitre-de with the proper upward tilt to his disdainful and superior chin. I left everything big, because that is a more classic slow cooker feel to me. I thought this collision of flavors would jump and jive well, but it could have fallen on its face and not shocked me. You will need:

1.5 lbs lamb stew meat or shoulder roast
4 potatoes (I used red and left skin on)
4 large carrots
1 green tart apple (leave the skin on)
1 unripe green banana
8-12 oz cut green beans
1/2 can coconut milk
1/2 can tomato sauce (plain)
4-6 mint leaves (fresh if possible, or try peppermint extract, or failing even that, anise extract)
1 cinnamon stick
1 tsp cardamom
1.5 tsp black pepper
1 clove garlic minced
1 diced tomato, or 1/4 can diced tomato
3-4 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp butter
Medium to large slow cooker

Quinoa, cous-cous, rice or barley

Lamb is an excellent meat to work with in today's meat world, because it is not eaten enough to get the full fast-food treatment and have its life streamlined to a short, sad, scary efficiency. The flesh is full of flavor that rolls around all over your tongue, and it melts and still has fat in it. Imagine that: marbling! Beef gets worse all the time. Any slow foodist knows it. Chicken is too disgusting to think about and turkey can be worked with, but only if you hit yourself in the head with a mallet or the bottom half of a bottle of kalua first. You don't want to know what percentage of chicken can be feces legally by weight and volume. Oh wait, I think I told you once already in a blog.

Start by braising or searing your lamb. Use your slow cooker if you have a high setting, by chopping your meat and putting it in along the bottom, alone and dry. Let it brown, but not char. You will want the contrast of well-done lamb in this curry stew. While that starts, chop your vegetables. Use all the fat, it will melt into the body. Don't trim lamb. If a person complains the meat is fatty, they shouldn't be eating lamb. The fat will not be chewy like with some other meats and is part of the delicacy of lamb.

Once your meat is brown and mostly cooked, put in your potatoes and carrots, and coconut milk and tomato sauce. Let go on low for 2 hours or so. Then add your apples, green beans, spices and seasonings, garlic, olive oil, tomatoes, and butter. Let it go another 2 hours or so. Check on the vegetables for desired tenderness with a fork. The butter is optional at any point as a thickener if you need it. Slice half your banana as a last step and put it in for just a half hour at most.

Boil the grain of your choice and put the lamb and vegetables and sauce over it. I used quinoa, and they went very well together. This was one of the best things I have eaten in a long time. One of my favorite dishes. I think a gourmet would have a hard time identifying all the flavors but would approve heartily. It was excellent, delicious, and mouth watering. It would have been perfect had I not put my apples in so early and made them mushy. I corrected that above and suggested to not add them with the potatoes and carrots as I did. Mesmerizing. And if you think I am merely tooting my own horn, try to find other such words in my previous posts. Or ask Camila. Pretty good on my scale is a darn fine compliment. If I tell you your dish is very good, it probably means you should expect me to have diverted a parade route through your bedroom by tomorrow morning.

The above recipe will feed 6 people one full size portion each, unless they are pigs. Though that will leave them wanting more. You could satisfy 4 without a dessert. It does not recapture everything with reheating.

And now for dessert:

Apple Pear Raspberry Granola Crunch

You need:

3 apples (any variety: skin them only if you want to. May I suggest zebra tanning them? That's half skinning)
2 pears (skin them)
1.5 cups apple-raspberry granola or as close to that as you can arrange
1/2 cup whole oats
1.5 tsp vanilla
1/3 cup brown sugar
cinnamon
allspice
nutmeg
touch of lemon juice
8X11 casserole dish

You can reduce your sugar usage a lot by substituting vanilla. This almost qualifies as a health dish, but will be sweet enough for any tooth with some vanilla ice cream on top.

Grease your dish, slice your apples and pears, toss them in a big bowl with everything else. Pour it into the cassarole and smooth and flatten it as you can. You could try a bit of corn syrup if you want it to stick together like bars, but it should hold somewhat together after baking. Use the vanilla and spices to smell: if it smells delicious while you are tossing it, then they are probably right. If your mouth is not watering, shake in a bit more of whatever you fancy. Its hard to overdue vanilla, though a little goes a long way. Cinnamon also. Hold your nutmeg as large doses cause a) nausea, and b) peyote-like hallucinations, and c) vomiting after the visions. Or if you want to have a really interesting game of Pictionary after dessert...

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The Enchanted Afternoon...

I had a tea party a little while back, a dresses-mandatory, midafternoon little-sandwiches-and-all tea party. I did one last summer (or was it two summers ago?) as well, so I had a little bit of experience. Was that enough to keep me from making WAY too much food?

No. No it was not.



This was the menu:
-bread, cheese and fruit platter
-strawberries and slightly sweetened whipped cream
-scones (plain and raisin)
-lemon curd
-tea-time tassies (mini pecan tarts)
-two tarts, a peach-and-pastry cream one and a lemon-curd-and-raspberry one
-a rhubarb coffee cake
-cucumber sandwiches (with butter or with mint chutney)
-turkey and cranberry-mustard sandwiches (open-face)
-cheese-and-nut sandwiches
-watercress-and-egg sandwiches
-shortbread cookies with chocolate ganache and whipped cream
-cream puffs
- sorbet (which we didn't even eat at the party, because there just wasn't room)
-and, of course, different teas (hot and cold), lemonade, juice and water.

(And may I say that I couldn't have made all these wonderful things without the assistance of my marvelous sous-chefs... I have very tolerant friends!)

Excessiveness is a pretty essential part of any tea party, I think... I mean, the whole thing is completely ridiculous and over the top, and you just sort of have to embrace that. However, the above menu (for about 14 people) is definitely over-the-top. As a two-time tea party host, here is what I've learned about the essentials and superfluities of a tea party:

First of all, the ABSOLUTE essentials:
- Tea. duh.
- Scones. They're just... so tea-party-esque.
- The tea-time tassies. They are small, they are adorable, they are not very hard to make, and they are DELICIOUS.
- Fresh fruit. Easy and a nice, light break from the heavier foods.
- The sandwiches. I mean, it wouldn't be a tea party without them.
- And finally, a fancy dessert. So far, I've done tarts and a trifle, and I think they were both excellent options.

The optional touches:
- Strawberries and whipped cream -- turns the fruit option into something much more desserty.
- Cream puffs. I think they're super-fun to make, and they definitely seemed like a big hit.
- Flavored spreads. I had these at the last tea party -- honey-orange butter, herbed butter, etc. They're really easy (soften butter and blend in the add-in) and they're great on the plain scones.
- Lemon curd. SO good. And not too hard to make, if you heed my super-secret advice. Are you ready? Are you ready for this? Here it is: USE A MICROWAVE. Yeah. Last time I was up until 2 a.m. waiting for my lemon curd to thicken. The microwave can do it in minutes, guaranteed -- you just need to check every 30 seconds to make sure it doesn't overcook.

And the absolutely not needed:
- Coffee cake. It was delicious, but man, what was I thinking? Coffee cake is a great breakfast item, a wonderful snack on it's own -- but too heavy and large for a tea party. Scones fill the carb slot pretty perfectly.
- Bread, cheese and veggies. I set these out because I thought there wouldn't be enough food... again, what was I thinking? Also, clearly much too healthy for a tea party. Although certainly tasty.
- Shortbread cookies. They were just too much. I think they could be perfect for a tea party, but I just had too much food and these weren't bringing much, flavor-wise.
- Sorbet. It was chocolate sorbet, very delicious, totally unnecessary.

So there's my advice, in case you're ever planning on throwing a tea party. Here are a few easy recipes, for good measure:

Sandwiches: (These come from my Tea and Teatime Recipes book, so thanks, Maggie Stuckey!)

Cucumber sandwiches:
Slice cucumbers, sprinkle with a few tablespoons of mild vinegar, salt, and pepper. Toss, and let drain in a coliander for half an hour. Spread softened butter thinly on fresh white bread, then layer cucumbers. Top with another buttered slice of bread, cut off crusts, and slice sandwiches into small rectanbles or triangles.

Cheese and nut sandwiches (these are my favorite!)
Soften 1 brick of cream cheese in the microwave for 15 seconds, then add 2 tablespoons milk and beat until smooth and spreadable. Add 3/4 cup celery, diced, and 3/4 cup walnuts, chupped. Spread thickly on whole wheat bread, top with another slice of bread, remove crusts and slice sandwiches into small rectangles or triangles.

Turkey and cranberry-mustard sandwiches:
Mix equal parts Dijon mustard and cranberry sauce. Spread on sourdough bread and top with a deli slice of turkey. Cut off crusts and either slice sandwiches into small rectangles or triangles, or use a sharp cookie cutter of your choice.

Egg and watercress sandwiches:
Boil eggs and rinse watercress. Butter rye bread, cover with watercress and overlapping slices of egg, then top with another buttered piece of bread. Trim off crusts and cut into small rectangles.

Lemon Curd (also from Tea Time book):

In microwaveable bowl, beat together:
4 eggs
2 cups sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt

Stir in:
1/4 cup buter, softened
1/2 cup lemon juice
2 tablespoons grated lemon zest.

Heat on high in microwave for 2 minutes, and then for 30-second intervals, beating each time removed from microwave. When it thickens (you'll be able to tell, I promise! it will become more spreadable and less pourable, and start making fun gloppy sounds when you stir) stop microwaving and refrigerate until cold. The curd will be even thicker when it cools.

Tasty and really fancy-seeming desserts:

Tart:
Make a pate sucree and bake in a tart shell. (That recipe is far more simple and helpful than anything I could write up! If you are having troubles, consult my favorite online pastry expert: Joe. He's got great articles on making, rolling and baking tart shells.)

Let cool completely, then cover the bottom of the tart with cold lemon curd. Dot artistically with fresh raspberries... or just throw them on, it'll taste the same. Chill, and serve cold to ooohs and ahhhs.

Raspberry Trifle:
You will need:
- Cake
- Raspberry liqueur (what a funny-looking word)
- Apricot preserves (my Tea Time book says you can also use baby food pureed fruit. So, maybe try that if you are less weirded out by that than I am).
- Frozen raspberries, thawed to pleasant mushiness
- Fresh raspberries
- Vanilla pudding and lemon pudding
- Whipped cream.

Cut the cake into little pieces. (This is a great way to save a cake that fell apart when it comes out of the oven! I made a chocolate trifle out of a chocolate cake disaster, chocolate ganache and whipped cream, and while it was a dense and intense pile of disguised failure... it was delicious. And nobody will know unless you tell them!)

Cover the bottom of a trifle dish (a clear, straight-sided bowl will do... or lacking that, any clear and bowl-like container) with a layer of the cake. Sprinkle with liqueur, then spread on a thin layer of preserves -- it might help if you heat the preserves so they are pourable. Add half your frozen raspberries, then one of your puddings.

Otra vez! Repeat the above. Top with anything that's left over (if you have more cake, say) and then whipped cream and the fresh raspberries. This makes a HUGE and beautiful and delicious tea party dessert.

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chocolate strawberry and banana crepes for two

You will need:

One (1) summer evening in a monsoon-humid desert
Two (2) kids in love
Seven (7) more days

One (1) cup of flour, organic because you care about the world
Two (2) eggs, free-range because you care about the chickens
One and a quarter (1.25) cups of milk, regular old earth-destroying cow-torturing industrial milk, because have you seen how much it would cost to care about the cows??

Pinch of salt
Tablespoon of sugar
Dash of cinnamon

Two (2) tablespoons of butter, melted and cooled
One (1) tablespoon of butter, unmelted

Two (2) chocolate bars, milk or dark according to your preferences.
Six (6) beautiful strawberries
One (1) banana


Dump flour, sugar, salt and cinnamon into a bowl -- that's a cup, a tablespoon a pinch and a dash. Add the cup-and-a-quarter of milk and beat until smooth. Don't taste it right now. It tastes like flour and water, like a disaster waiting to happen, like a flavorless mess. Add another pinch of cinnamon.

Add the two eggs, and beat until smooth and very-slightly frothy. No, don't taste it yet. What's that? You say it still tastes like flour and water, but eggy now, boring, flat, and that you're scared your crepes will never turn out and nothing turns out how you want it to and that you'll never amount to anything in life, it's all just too hard? How can you do it? How can you do it if you can't even make crepes?

Didn't I tell you to be patient?

Everything will be okay. I promise.

Pour in the two tablespoons of butter and stir, and watch as the transformation happens. Don't see anything? Go ahead. Try some. It tastes sweet and rich and delicate, simple, spectacular, and all-around delicious. Didn't I tell you?

Butter is magical like that.

Cover with plastic wrap and place in the fridge. Let the batter think about its lot in life for a moment.

Pull out your beloved double boiler and melt the chocolate, or if your life is sorrowfully lacking in a beloved double boiler, melt the chocolate careful-slow in the microwave -- stir often. Or make ganache; chop the chocolate, heat an equal amount of heavy cream to just barely a boil, then pour the cream over the chocolate, step back, and meditate for five minutes. That means don't touch the chocolate, and that means you. It needs a moment to think about its lot in life.

Five minutes passed? Feeling any better? Take a deep breath and whisk until smooth.

You really just want to make your chocolate spreadable. You could use chocolate sauce from the store if you wanted to. But isn't life too short to pass up an opportunity to make ganache?

Wash and slice the strawberries. Peel and slice the bananas. Add a dash of lemon juice and cover in plastic wrap.

Heat your best, non-stick-iest skillet. Mark Bittman recommends medium, but he must have a very different stovetop than you. You want water droplets to dance, and here that means the high end of medium-high.

Dance, water droplets, dance!

Pull out the batter, and beat once again. By now it should have realized that the highest aim of its existence is to become many thin, delicious, delicate circles of crepey perfection.

When your skillet is hot, begin making the crepes: smear some butter on the skillet, spoon on a tablespoon-or-so of batter, tilt and turn with a twist of your wrist 'til the batter is spread out thin-as-can-be. Wait until the top turns solid, and then with a sneaky little spatula, grab it and flip. It doesn't rip as easily as it looks like it will, don't worry. Everything is going to be okay. I promise.

Keep going; one after another after another. I know it's 90 degrees outside (after sunset!) and you want to be as far away from a source of heat as possible, but keep going. Sometimes good things require work. It'll be worth it. Trust me.

Stack the crepes on a plate and cover with a towel until you're done. Add bananas and chocolate to a crepe; roll it up. Add strawberries and chocolate to a crepe; roll it up.

Do you have any walnuts or pecans? Roast those (I know, I know, the skillet is hot, but at least it's not the oven). Smear chocolate on a crepe, sprinkle on walnuts, roll up.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

The leftover bits of strawberry and banana? Dip them in the leftover chocolate; pop in mouth. Think of it as a preview.

Arrange the crepes on a plate, then sprinkle powdered sugar on top through a sieve or cheesecloth. It'll be a lot of crepes. It'll be way too many crepes for two people.

But you know what? If you've had super-practical rice and beans for dinner, healthy and cheap and simple and fast and ordinary, don't hesitate at the thought of eating far more crepes than anybody ever ought to. Not just this once.

Clear off the table. Turn down the lights, so you can't see the pile of dishes, or laundry to be folded, or the lists of things-to-do-before-we-move.

Sit down. Eat crepes. Close eyes.

Savor.

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How to Pick a Peach

It takes 30 years to develop a new variety of citrus fruit, six years to find a new sort of strawberry. California produces over half of the nation's fruits and vegetables. Artichokes are the unopened flower bud of a plant called the "improved cardoon." Iceberg lettuce is becoming the hot new thing in Europe, now that romaine rules the lettuce world here. Climacteric fruits, like peaches and mangoes, will ripen after picking; so will cantaloupes, but honeydews won't. Leeks are so gritty and dirty because farmers heap dirt around their bases to block sunlight, prevent the formation of chlorophyll and maintain the white color; a similar process is used to make white asparagus.

I'm barely 100 pages into "How to Pick a Peach: The Search For Flavor from Farm to Table," by Russ Parsons, and already I am learning an incredible amount about my produce. So far, the advice on how to determine quality produce has been less than earth-shattering -- look for unwilted lettuce, firm green pea pods, onions without fungus. Not exactly rocket science. The essays about the economics, politics, and problems of farming are interesting, and the introduction he gives to each plant is enlightening -- history, chemistry, biology, culinary science. The gambling act played by iceberg lettuce growers is absolutely astounding, as is the chemical behavior of artichokes. It's a pretty fantastic book so far.

After all the philosophical, guilt-inducing food books I've been reading lately, Parsons has a refreshingly different point of view. He claims he doesn't particularly care about the health value or environmental impact of the food he eats, and morality has yet to come up. He is in hot pursuit of flavor -- the best vegetables are the ones that taste the best, period. It's not exactly the way I look at food, but it's pretty close, and I certainly appreciate the clarity of his focus.

Parsons does make me feel incredibly behind the times. He says, "'Eat local; eat seasonal.' How many times have you heard it?" And, well, I guess pretty often -- but it still seems like a recent trend to me. Guess I'm just out of the loop. He writes, "It's surprising that in this do-it-yourself world of cooking, where people brag about making their own bread, fresh pasta and chicken broth, jam making is still so little regarded." Am I wrong in thinking that the home-made movement is still rather the enclave of foodies? I'd say that organic is going mainstream, but do-it-yourselfing and local-eating still seem to me like they have yet to enter the habits of the general populace. (I fear that may just me wanting to feel special, but I reacted to that fear with some more thought... and I still think making your own stock, bread and pasta is unusual, at least if you look outside the narrow confines of foodie culture.)

I could be totally wrong, of course, but I think Parsons is revealing just how specific of an audience he thinks he's writing to -- culinary sorts who already try to eat local, who make their own pasta, who have an opinion on "composed salads" and for whom the phrase "heirloom tomato" needs no explanation. "Foodies now have no trouble at all explaining brunoise (and even pronouncing it correctly) or expounding on the differences between the Maillard reaction and caramelization. Yet many are completely in the dark about the very ingredients they're so expertly chopping and browning," Parsons writes.

He does his book a disservice if he thinks it would only serve those foodies. l may be well on my way to becoming a foodie, but I have only the vaguest idea that the Maillard reaction might involve meat changing colors, and had never heard of composed salads. Not to mention, of course, that my only attempt at making pasta was a gummy, gluey failure. The point is that absolutely none of that knowledge is necessary to understand this book. Parsons describes selecting, storing and cooking techniques in great, for-dummies detail -- he includes an explanation of how to hard-boil an egg, for heaven's sake.

This book should, in fact, be marketed to the interested but clueless, to those who want to eat better food but aren't quite sure where to start. I would submit that most foodies do, in fact, know more about their produce than Parsons suggests. It's the rest of us who need his help.

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On cluelessness and mango-corn salsa

I am hanging out at the apartment of our buddy James, a cool dude who apparently subsists on peanut butter sandwiches and granola. How... how is that possible?

I guess I've just got a skewed perspective. I spend most of my time with myself (obscenely fond of cooking), William (thinks popping an Eggo in the toaster counts as dinner, bless his heart, but he does appreciate good food) and Andrew, who is a kick-ass cook. So from that sample, cooking seems a perfectly normal pastime for folks my age.

James' cooking supplies, as far as I can tell, consist of: 1 very small skillet, 1 small saucepan, currently full of markers, and a small knife. His pantry consists of olive oil, chili powder, a bag of sugar, lots of peanut butter, and precious little else. We were having a taco night, and I innocently inquired as to the existence of a cheese grater, or a can opener, or a cooking sheet/baking pan -- and he blinked at me, said, "You're asking quite a lot, you know," and handed me a knife and some aluminum foil.

James just glanced at what I'm writing, and he's laughing at me. What? What can I say? I would kill myself if I had to live like that! (William and Andrew both submit that buying more cooking supplies would probably be a better bet than killing myself. Oh voices of reason.)

Right now, I guess I don't feel quite as clueless as I usually do. Or rather, I feel just as clueless -- it's just a reminder that I do, indeed, have plenty of time to figure this all out. After all, by my standards, James is fully adult. I still feel, sometimes, like I'm just playing house and pretending to be all growned up. Every failure makes me feel more like an imposter.

Sometimes it is nice to remember that home-cooked gourmet meals aren't actually expected to be part of being 19 and on your own -- or 25 and on your own. It's sort of a bonus. Totally optional! No pressure at all.

Except that I'm broke, and have a fondness for really good food. So if I want it, I have to make it myself... and boy, do I want it. Mm. Good food. Just thinking about it...

I made some mango-corn salsa that was actually quite good. It consisted of:

1 mango, diced
A cup or so of frozen corn, defrosted
maybe 1/4 of cilantro, chopped
1/2 t paprika
1/4 t cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon lime juice

Mixed together and refrigerated while the flavors got to know each other... I really liked it. Would have been better with onions, but ah well. Other people respect my dietary restrictions -- it's the least I can do.

Seriously, though. 1 skillet. 1 tiny, tiny saucepan. I just... I can't even imagine.

"What do you eat??"

*Shrug* Leftovers from site. Sandwiches. I dunno!"

I just can't... *shudder*

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gettin' fresh

Things I love about living in Arizona: a short list.

• Lots of sunlight
• A winter that I blinked and missed
• FRESH CITRUS

My entire understanding of the nature of citrus has been inverted. Seriously. It's like the difference between OJ from concentrate and genuinely fresh-squeezed orange juice -- a totally different beast, right? My first fresh orange was like tasting single-estate Valrhona after a lifetime on Hershey's kisses. I'm only exaggerating a little. And the grapefruit? I feel wealthy. My breakfasts seem so incredibly indulgent when I get to slice open a pink-filled little miracle and eat it, every morning. I must be rich, to be able to afford a luxury like that...



I'm in love -- I can't believe that I ever felt otherwise. I never understood! I was absolutely astonished a few weeks ago when suddenly there was fruit everywhere -- I had no idea that citrus season was in February. Suddenly, I was over for dinner at Steph's house and before I knew it I was plucking grapefruit and tangelos straight from the tree. (It's a big deal -- get it?) Roadside markets were popping up with bags and bags of fresh-picked fruit, super-cheap. People were bringing shopping bags full of oranges and lemons to the work site, to the office, and just giving them away -- "Please," they'd say, "Take them! I have so many!"


They didn't have to ask twice. These are oranges that are sweet, grapefruits that are flavorful without a hint of acrid harshness, tangelos whose rinds practically fall off as they beg to be eaten. Have you ever eaten an orange that was hard inside, a little bit dessicated, a little bit sour? I never will again. I couldn't bear to. I never even knew that oranges could be so sweet, and yet still tart.

My free supply of citrus is dwindling -- the season must be wrapping up. So now I have to buy my grapefruit, at 12.5 cents a pop. It's kind of dreadful. But I can't help it -- I can't stop eating them. Oranges and grapefruits and little juicy, tart tangelos, oh my! There's this ad campaign -- "Eat fruit. Devour oranges." And I laughed the first time I saw it, and then tried an orange plucked straight from the tree and I was hooked. I was devouring.

Mm. Look at that grapefruit.


Let's talk about localvores. Not about politics or money or practicality or health or any of that nonsense -- let's talk about peeling open an orange from your backyard, about really, really fresh produce, let's talk about the color and flavor of fruit that is still alive. Kitchen gardens, farmer's markets, beat-up trucks with the bounty of the earth piled in the back, a huge and rusty cornucopia... let's talk about food that wasn't bred for its shelf life or ease of transport, not designed to be bruiseless, not coated in wax and refrigerated and packaged and stored. Let's talk about fresh.

It's like a whole different kind of food.

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