Feast

Welcome to Feast!

2010-03-16T00:08:00.003-04:00

Guess what? We've successfully revamped Feast!

Now you can search our blog using categories like "green leafy vegetables," and "farmers and producers," and concepts like, "the act of eating."

We also own our own domain!

You are invited to the NEW Feast site: http://welcometofeast.com/, and can expect us to post regularly on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Thanks for your support! See you there!

Coming soon...more Feast!

2010-03-07T20:29:00.001-05:00

Hi everyone,

Feast is currently undergoing some changes...for the better, we hope! Thank you for your readership and support.

Julia and I met this weekend to discuss things like our web address, our mission statement and other details. We'll update you on all of our decisions so that you know exactly where to find us and when you can expect new and exciting posts.

Thanks for reading! We'll be in touch.

Sincerely,
J & J

Claudio Corallo Chocolate

2010-02-18T17:24:00.009-05:00

This past weekend was Valentine’s Day, and as commercial as it sometimes feels, it is a valiant holiday in that it reminds us all to take time out of our lives to be romantic and indulge in the love around us. Another beautiful aspect about this holiday is its focus on chocolate. Chocolate is known for containing phenylethylaming (PEA), the same chemical that is produced in your body when you are in love. Thus, it is no coincidence that V-day and chocolate go hand in hand.

In celebration of the day I took a trip to a small Chocolate Boutique located in Berkeley’s gourmet ghetto called Alegio Chocolate where I was introduced to a special chocolate- said to be the best in the world. The chocolate is made by Claudio Corallo on the Plantacao De Terriero Velho in a small African Island Country called Sao Tome e Principe. It is unique for many reasons. For one, Claudio Corallo spent his adult life searching for the perfect cocoa bean to use in his chocolate. Even before he found the bean he dedicated himself to producing the highest quality chocolate. Then, when he eventually did find the bean he was looking for, he continued to refine his production techniques, meticulously attending to every detail in the process from growing the plants, to harvesting the beans, to melting and storing the chocolate. Through his experience Claudio Corallo has developed unique methods of processing cocoa beans so as to create the richest and most flavorful chocolate he can muster.

Another characteristic that makes this chocolate unique is that, unlike many chocolates that are available today, this one only contains three ingredients: cocoa, sugar, and cocoa butter. There is no soy lecithin to speak of. He packages the chocolate in an air-tight foil bag to preserve and prevent oxidation of the chocolate while it is being transported from the island to your mouth. When the bag is finally opened the smell of chocolate is so overwhelming that it fills a large room.

The chocolate itself is beautiful to behold. It is not stamped or decorated. It is simply a tablet of pure cocoa. Snapping off a piece to eat, you can hear a crisp angular smack. I was tempted at first to chew the piece I broke off but restrained and was quickly reminded why chocolate must be savored slowly and with patience. The piece of chocolate rested on my tongue for a brief moment before it began to melt. The flavors gradually emerged and unfolded at their own pace. As the silky, buttery chocolate dissolved, the fruity aromas grew bigger and continued to develop. They lingered in my mouth for what seemed like an eternity. Well after the chocolate had disappeared the taste of it was still present in my mouth.

Though I make a habit of eating chocolate quite often, eating Corallo chocolate was mysteriously different. It commanded my attention and took control of my senses. It lulled me into a stupor with its flavor and enamored me with its expounding aroma. It was an all-encompassing joy ride.

Later, I did some investigating of the chocolate and came upon this beautifully written letter, from Claudio Corallo himself, describing how he came to produce the best chocolate in the world. The story is as rich in detail as his product is filled with flavor. It reveals details of his life living in the Congo, building a team of chocolate makers, and even raising a family. The letter also gives you a sense of the passion that went into creating his product and reveals how lucky we are that so many worlds away from him, we are able to taste the bounty of his life’s work.

If you are interested in trying Claudio Corallo chocolate it is not sold in many places throughout the US, but it is available through mail order for $7.50/ 1.76 Oz bar. The 75% bar was recommended to me, but I have to imagine it would be impossible to go wrong with any of his products. I have been enjoying this one delicious package for the past week, tasting a little piece everyday, and truly, it is so big and bold in its flavor that a little is all I can handle. How lucky we are to have these bits of magic sprinkled throughout the world! This is what Valentine’s Day is all about, spreading the love.

Eggs, Part VI

2010-02-16T11:46:00.003-05:00

I am now working in the culinary archives of U of M's Clements Library two days a week. My first project is to write a piece for the online resource guide summarizing and providing insight into the materials the library has that are relevant to food and gender. The idea is that a student or other interested party can come online and easily assess what the library has to offer through exploration of these items by broader topics instead of just hundreds and hundreds of book titles.

Yesterday I came across a silly little book called Lew Lehr's Cookbook for Men. The book has a bright green cover with a goofy cartoon chef guy on the front. It was written in 1949. The book jacket makes references to the adventurous spirit of the male, and how ladies' cookbooks are "too prim and exact for the real he-man."

Originally, I thought the book would be incredibly biased, drawing a bold line between bored and proper housewives, and making fun of them in turn. And while there existed some cartoon sketches worthy of my millennium-perspectived eye roll, I actually found the book to be quite refreshing! Lew acknowledged the great cooks before him (his mother and grandmother, primarily), and paid his respects to the women who left the kitchen during the war. I found the book to be a kind of invitation for men across America (he nods his head at expert male European Chefdom) to wander into the kitchen and try their hands at cooking.

The recipes are simply written, with no more than 8 or so ingredients and scarcely more than a paragraph of method. The author claims no expertise; this chef simply wants to make the most of what's around. Ingredients often include such things as liver, bacon, bacon fat, gravy, sausage, meat—things that a person minding their weight would likely scoff at, but for which I have nothing but a stomach-grumbling grin.

I stumbled upon this recipe, one of four listed in the "Egg" section of his book. I think it is probably meant to be made using leftover mashed potatoes, as he gave no instructions for how to prepare the potatoes themselves. I committed the recipe only to memory, and have written here it in the style that Lou writes. I hope you enjoy this manly procedure!

Eggs for Men
based on a recipe by Lew Lehr

Grease a flat baking dish. Intersperse large scoops of mashed potatoes across the baking dish and, using the back of a soup spoon, press down into the center of each scoop of potato to create a basin. Crumble bacon into the basins, and season with salt, pepper, a dot of butter and a dash of Worcestershire sauce. Finally, crack an egg into the center of each basin. Bake at 350º for 15-20 minutes, or until the eggs are set.

Love Letter

2010-02-12T18:51:00.015-05:00

And after all this time I have yet to properly introduce Jen. Not for lack of wanting. So many times I have sat down to write her description and fallen short. It’s just that, I’ve found it impossible to put her into words. Her personality is best understood through the feelings she inspires and projects. It’s also been difficult because every time I try to write about Jen it comes out sounding like I am in love with my best friend, which I am, in an ‘I want to blog with you for the rest of my life’ kind of way.

To help you understand why Jen is so special I’ll give you an example from one of our most recent trips to Zingerman's Roadhouse. We had just been seated and were mulling over the menu when our server came to the table to inquire if we’d like anything to drink. We were both uncertain at the moment. So, in the way that she does, Jen locked eyes with the waitress and explained, politely and genuinely, that we were not yet sure what we wanted. Our server had heard this a million times before, but something about the way Jen said it this time- the respect, compassion, and honesty she conveyed- motivated our server to make the decision for us. She surprised us minutes later with two complementary cups of steaming hot chocolate topped with Zingerman’s Bakehouse marshmallows and freshly whipped Calder Dairy cream.

Many would attribute the hot cocoa to a variety of circumstantial influences and arbitrary factors, but I had seen this kind of generosity follow Jen too many times before. She is a magnet for wholehearted acts of kindness. I’ve also come to see that these acts are absolutely not a matter of luck, nor should they be accredited to less arbitrary factors such as her stunning good looks or artistic nature. There is a very simple and logical explanation; Jen receives back what she projects out into the world.

Jen says she new we’d be friends for life the day we co-translated at a Balsamic Vinegar tasting, but for me it was the day she sent me a sporadic love letter with this simple code written on the back. I share the code with you now for two reasons: 1) Valentine’s day is approaching and everyone should know how to write a good love letter and 2) the wisdom and knowledge conveyed so accurately in these few lines are more telling of the person that Jen is than any combination of descriptors that I could piece together.

So with that, I pass along to you this precious sample of writing from the ever talented and deeply inspiring writer, my dear friend, Jen.

Components of a good Love Letter:
(Written by Jenny J. Stevenson)

1.) the letter must include the perfect pairing of praise and fear- if the love is true, both exist (my own opinion; take it or leave it)
2.) the letter must be of manageable length. It just must be.
3.) The letter must be left open, unconcluded; no grand finale is necessary, no restating what you’ve already said in a new way. No need for any of that. Hopefully, as the end presumes, you’ve already said what you needed to say.

Geographer

2010-02-09T20:07:00.006-05:00

Last weekend was my first night out in the city. Some friends invited me to go see a band called Geographer at a bar downtown. Geographer is a group of three, very friendly dudes. While on stage, they smiled bashfully at the hollering mass of hipsters in front of them. They even joined the party and danced with the crowed once they were finished performing. They seemed young, like puppies, and they were incredibly talented.

Their music is classified as indie rock. It is a combination of string instruments, electronic wanderings, vocals, and drums. Listening to them is like driving down a country highway while it’s raining but the sun is out and at any moment a rainbow is going to appear in the sky. As you drive you pass by a sprawling wind-farm against the backdrop of bright green grassy fields where huge white turbines are slowly spinning in staggering yet graceful harmony. As you approach the farm you are mesmerized by the enormity and power of these beautiful electronic beasts and realize that they are actually going remarkably fast. Underneath them black and white spotted cows are grazing on the big open field. One of the cows looks up at you and follows your passing car with his bulbous black eyes as he chews slowly on a mouthful of grass. You are suddenly struck by the contrast and complexity of all the moving parts in the world.

Check out Geographer on their MySpace page.

Eggs, Part V

2010-02-07T18:43:00.006-05:00

     In the fall of the year in Northern Michigan residents prepare for the winter. Apples and pears are plucked from their orchards and stored in a cool place for applesauce making and pie baking. Seafarers winterize their boats, and shopkeepers reduce their extended summer hours to a thrifty minimal few. The leaves on the trees change from green to red, orange, brown and gold as the farmers prepare for their harvest. Hunters abound clothed from head to toe in wooly warm camouflage with a flare of blaze orange across their chests or atop their heads.
     If you drive through the Upper Peninsula this time of year, nary a few miles pass by before you see some little shack or roadside stand that boasts it sells the best pasties in the land. This hunters’ early morning breakfast and classic coal miners’ lunch has become the favorite warming dinner of a city dweller like me. I grew up with a father who hunted deer every fall and a mother who made pasties for him to take along. I can remember the buttery crumble of the crust as I took a big first bite, and the warm, hearty comfort of meat and potatoes as I ate my way into a gentle food coma.
     So, what does this have to do with eggs? One of the most simple ways to use an egg is in an egg wash. An egg wash is used to help bind things together, to seal the surface of something or to make things more delicious-looking. My mother’s recipe for these tasty single-serving meat-filled pastries requires egg only on the outside, lightly brushed on for sheen and color—pure looks, really. If you want your pies and pastries to look as appetizing as they’ll taste, then beat together 1 egg with 1 egg yolk and 1 tablespoon of water and brush it on.

To compare the look of an egg washed pasty and a non-washed pasty, check out the picture below (egg wash on the left).

Michigander Pasties, a recipe
Prepare a pie dough using a recipe you like (in general, I like to make all-butter pie crusts). This recipe is best suited for a dough that won’t flake or fall apart too easily. Mom likes to use part butter, part Crisco.

After you’ve prepared your dough, separate it and shape it into balls, and flatten the balls into thick discs (like big hockey pucks) about 3-inches in diameter. Refrigerate for at least one hour.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

For the filling:*
Mix together the following ingredients:
1 1/2- 2lbs. ground meat (venison, lamb, veal, pork, beef or any mixture thereof)
1 small yellow onion, diced
2 carrots, diced
1 large baking potato OR 2-3 smaller Yukon gold potatoes, cubed
Season with salt, pepper and fresh herbs, if you like
*Feel free to substitute or add in any other root vegetables you have on hand, like turnips, parsnips, sweet potatoes, etc.

For the egg wash:
1 egg + 1 egg yolk + 1 Tbsp. water (beat together)

Roll the dough out into 6-inch circles. Place a generous scoop of the filling in the center of the dough. Fold the dough in half over itself, like a taco shell, and seal the edges. (To seal the edges, you can simply press down on the dough with your fingers, press the dough with a fork, or crimp the edges decoratively, as if you were making a pretty pie crust.)

Line a rimmed cookie sheet with parchment paper. Place the pasties 2-inches apart and brush them lightly with egg wash. Bake for about 30 minutes, or until golden and bubbling.

Serve your pasties while still warm or wrap them in foil to-go!

For freezing: Prior to baking, double-wrap them in plastic for freezing.
For Reheating: Bake the pasties at 400 degrees for 30 minutes if thawed, 45 if frozen.

This recipe is courtesy of my Mom, who's been making and perfecting her pasties for over 20 years. Thanks, Mom!

On Antioxidants

2010-02-05T17:46:00.020-05:00

Do you ever wonder why freshly cut apples turn brown if you leave them sitting on the counter too long, or why spritsing lemon juice on avocado helps it stay green longer, or why some people, as they grow older, maintain a look of youth and vitality? These things are all related to a magical little molecule called the antioxidant.

I once had a professor describe antioxidant in terms of a playground full of kids holding toys, each kid representing a molecule in the body. Now imagine the happy kids enjoying their toys, when along comes a bully (oxygen) who steals the toy away from a kid leaving him crying and alone. The antioxidant is the friendly girl who sees what happened and gives up her own toy to make the crying child happy again. In this way, antioxidants are a precious and altruistic ally to the molecules of our bodies. They have the ability to protect us from the ever-present oxidants that we encounter from day to day.

Antioxidants are also delicate. For example, olive oil is known for its antioxidant and phenolic properties; however, some olive oils have more antioxidants than others based on how the olives are handled. Starting from when the olives are picked, those that are carefully plucked from the trees and gently transported to the press are more likely to retain their antioxidant qualities than the ones that are dropped and bruised along the way. Keeping the oil out of sunlight also prevents it from oxidizing. Thus, producers who understand and appreciate this fragile process will create an antioxidant rich oil. The antioxidant content will also be apparent in the oil’s peppery taste and fruity or grassy aroma. Pasolivo from Paso Robles, California, is a great example of an antioxidant rich olive oil.

It is no coincidence that many of the most flavorful foods are those richest in antioxidants. They are the ones that titillate our taste buds and leave us feeling revitalized. Eat enough of them and these qualities will carry with you through life.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the other vitamins and minerals too. I care for the fat, the protein, even the ever looked-down-upon simple sugars in food. It’s just that, the antioxidant laden foods makes my heart skip a beat; the midnight blue of a sweet, supple blueberry, the texture of a crunchy crumbly pecan, the deep dark brown of a chocolate bar- its silky smooth softness at room temperature that slowly, lavishly coats the tongue as it dissolves along the sides of the mouth. These are just a few of the foods rich in antioxidants (and rich in flavor) that happen to make me swoon. They are also my food saviors. I turn to them when I am confused about what to eat or feel like my diet has gone off the deep end. I gather a plate of them, each individually placed- no need to mix them up or mash them together-, and enjoy each sensational bite.

Here is a list of some antioxidant rich foods. If you know of other good ones feel free to add them below as a comment!

Antioxidant Rich Foods
Pomegranate
Artichokes
Apples (with the skin on)
Sweet and Sour Cherries (from Michigan are the best)
Blueberries
Red Wine
Olive Oil
Dark Chocolate
Coffee
Green Tea
Citrus Fruits
Pecans
Raspberries
Prunes
Pinto Beans

Eggs, Part IV

2010-02-04T16:59:00.010-05:00

Eggs are a complex little entity with a versatility unmatched by any other ingredient. Their yolks are used as emulsifying or thickening agents, as in mayonnaise and dressings, Hollandaise sauce and all kinds of desserts, from a traditional Italian zabaglione to a classic French crème brulee. Their whites are utilized especially for the fluffy, airiness they possess when beaten, as in meringue and Swiss buttercream frosting. When combined, its safe to say that the possibilities for egg usage are innumerable (or at least, not worth spending your life trying to count).
Humans like to eat the eggs of other species. But most kinds of eggs aren't easily accessible from a regular grocery store or Farmer's Market and are seen as delicacies, like quail and duck eggs, caviar and roe. So we stick to the eggs from our beloved friend, the hen.

Figure 1A.

     A chicken egg is made up of many small parts. (see Figure 1A.) The outer shell is slightly porous, and made primarily of calcium carbonate (CaCO3), the main component in pearls and sea shells (evolution, anyone?). The eggshell also has an outer and inner protective lining, like a little eggy sleeping bag. Aww. Eggs come in many shapes and sizes—and even colors! The color varies depending on the breed of the animal, and can range from brown to pink, white, yellow, green, and blue! (see Figure 1B.)
     The white part of the egg is called the albumen, and there are technically a couple of layers of this even though it looks like one clear mass. The albumen is almost all protein (with some trace minerals) and is made up of about 90% water.
     The pretty yellowish-orange part of the egg is the yolk, aka. vitellus. The vitellus contains fat, cholesterol, vitamins and minerals, protein and lecithin (an emulsifier).

Figure 1B.

     Beyond these commonly known parts of the egg, there also exists the chalazae cords, clear-whitish strands connecting from the inner lining of the shell to the outer lining of the yolk and acting as elastic-like bands that keep the yolk centered comfortably within the egg. There are a few other thin linings and layers around the yolk, and also, of course, the nucleus where the little DNA message from the chicken is stored.
     I think the recipes that do eggs the most justice and really highlight their special diverse gifts are the recipes that use different parts of the egg throughout different parts of the recipe, like in soufflé, Eggs Benedict and Lemon Meringue Pie. Another favorite is the enamored Italian Timpano, a dish fit for kings, containing hard-boiled eggs, raw, beaten eggs, and eggs in its dough, all wrapped up like a drum. (see Figures 2A. and 2B.)
Figure 2A.

Figure 2B.

A special thanks to The Joy of Cooking* and my good friend Monsieur Wikipedia for enlightening me about some of this eggy stuff. The anatomy of an egg diagram is based on a diagram featured in Wikipedia in the category of "Egg (Food)."

*Rombauer, Irma S., Becker, Marion Rombauer, and Becker, Ethan. The All New Joy of Cooking. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997.

Eggs, Part III

2010-02-03T17:16:00.006-05:00

This is my all-time favorite way to prepare eggs. I was introduced to this dish by Matt and Kelly when my husband and I went over to their house for brunch one morning. From the moment I took that first bite—and every bite thereafter—I was absolutely spellbound! I had never tasted anything so smooth and creamy, rich and fulfilling.

This preparation gives the eggs a soft, supple texture that, when combined with the cream, becomes the ultimate comfort food. These eggs are versatile: we love them on a cold winter morning, served with sausage and toast, in the spring served with fresh greens or asparagus, or as a quick late-night dinner alongside leftover black beans and rice. Enjoy!

Eggs in Ramekins

For each ramekin:
1/2 teaspoon butter
2 tablespoons whipping cream
1 large egg
Fresh herbs
Lemon zest
Sea salt, pepper

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter the ramekin, saving a bit for later. Add 1 tablespoon of cream and crack the egg on top. Pour the remaining tablespoon of cream over the egg and top with a dot of butter. Garnish with a bit of lemon zest, fresh herbs and freshly ground black pepper. Place the ramekin in a tray of water, approximately 3/4 inch deep.

Place the pan in the middle of the oven and bake for 8 -12 minutes. Keep an eye on the eggs—they’ll be done before they look done. They should set, but still tremble a little when you shake the pan. Season with salt and serve.

*This recipe was adapted from Julia Child's Oeufs en Cocotte recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking (Knopf, 1961).

The Art of Affirmation

2010-02-02T14:02:00.014-05:00

When I was in college my mom bought me a kitschy little pack of Gift of the Goddess Affirmation Cards for Christmas. The cards had phrases written on them such as, “I have the power to transform my life”. The idea being that if you repeat the phrases to yourself and affirm them in your mind, they will manifest in reality.

Now, there are those in life who love this type of thing and those who find it to be a hoax. I am learning that whether it is the goddess, the universe, or a neurological process to credit, affirmations are actually a practical strategy for achieving one’s goals. Sports psychologists have shown that athletes who envision their success are more likely to achieve it. This makes sense because once an outcome is in sight it is much easier to move toward. The idea of the affirmation can also be compared to the sketch an artist draws prior to painting on a canvas. As per the affirmation written above, if you envision yourself with the power to transform your life, you are more able to understand how to acquire power and use it to serve your needs.

Affirmations can also be outlandish and fun, like a game between the mind and body where both parties win in the end. That is to say, they don’t have to be practical to be useful. I enjoy this game when I am practicing yoga because the type of yoga I practice is designed to test ones physical and mental strength. It takes place in a room heated to 105 degrees that is packed wall to wall with other sweaty practitioners. The teacher dictates the postures and determines the pace at which the class moves through the series. On any given day just breathing can be a challenge, compounded by muscle soreness, heat exhaustion, and the distractions of those around you. The hardest part for me is during a series meant to strengthen the back. I am exhausted, hot, achy, red in the face, and feeling somewhat trapped. Of course, this is all part of the practice; success is measured by the ability to overcome these barriers and stay with the class. So, despite that every logical bone in my body is telling me to leave the room, I affirm to myself, “I love the back series...this is, by far, the best part of my day…I can’t think of anything I’d like to be doing more right now than lifting my limbs of the ground using only the strength of my spine…” and so on and so forth; the more elaborate the better. The crazy thing is that the spine series truly becomes fun. By affirming my attitude, I transform my mentality toward the situation. Often a smile appears on my face and the pain I was enduring minutes before gives way to a feeling of frivolous joy. Rather than deteriorating, my postures improve.

Affirmations come in all shapes and sizes. They can be general or specific, a vision or a word, a one-time phrase or a life-long mantra. What ever it is, the power comes from the belief in one’s ability to achieve his or her hopes and dreams. After all these years, I have yet to lose track of the Gift of the Goddess Affirmation Cards. Silly as the phrases may be, they have proven to be quite useful and have inspired a whole new wave of affirmations to behold.

If you'd like to test out the affirmation for yourself, then today, as you go about your business, take a second to say one in your mind. It can be anything at all, playful or serious. If nothing else, it will bring a smile to your face. Mark my words!

Eggs, Part II

2010-02-01T16:42:00.006-05:00

Let's begin from the beginning: where do eggs come from? From the grocery store, right? (haha.) To learn more about chickens and eggs, I interviewed my friend Matt. He and his wife, Kelly, live in Ann Arbor with their baby and a backyard full of hens. The bumper sticker on the back of their car reads: My pet makes me breakfast.
An Interview with Matt

Hi, Matt!

Hi.

So, what was your motivation for getting chickens?

For fresh eggs and to have local food in my own backyard.

Are they easy to take care of?

Easier than cats.

Do you feel like they’re your pets?

Yes.

Would you eat them?

No—but we would be okay if somebody else did. We’re of the theory that, if you want to eat it, don’t name it. We have a saying: You can eat chicken, but you can’t eat Mrs. Darcy or Henrietta. (Those are their chickens.)

How often do they lay eggs?

It depends on the breed and it varies from season to season. On average it’s about less than one egg per day. They go through different cycles, like for example they don’t lay any when they’re molting, and they lay less in the winter because it’s light dependent, too.

What are the parameters for having chickens live in your backyard in the middle of a city?

In Ann Arbor you can have four hens maximum and no roosters. They have to be kept in an enclosed area—and that includes having a roof over head. They also have to be a certain number of feet from the neighbors and if you want to keep them any closer, you have to get permission from the neighbors—which is funny because a lot of my neighbors have dogs that come into our yard and they haven’t asked me for permission.

What kind of an effect has this experience had on your view of eggs? Are you an egg snob?

Oh my god, yes! It’s very hard to eat eggs at a restaurant now. Even if you buy the premier organic egg from the store, it’s never as satisfying—the yolks aren’t as yellow and the white part, the albumen, isn’t as firm. Also our eggs just taste better—even when they’re plain, they taste like you’ve put cream or cheese in them.

The other thing is that the eggs are a different shape and size every time. The kind that you buy at the store have been sorted and chosen for their size and anything that doesn’t match gets wasted. Our eggs are good for us, too. The probability of our eggs having pathogens is statistically near zero.

Has your perspective of food changed since growing and producing your own?

Yes. Even though we talk about it philosophically—eating locally grown food, eating close to the earth—there’s no way to be more connected to our food than by growing it ourselves.

What is your favorite way to prepare eggs?

Eggs en Cocotte.

Thanks so much! This was really helpful.

Thanks for doing this!

More about Matt...
Matthew Grocoff is Founder and CEO of GreenovationTV, LLC. He is a recovering attorney turned producer/director of television commercials, internet advocacy videos and documentary film. Matt has produced or directed over 100 television commercials with some of the most prestigious agencies and media firms.

He is privileged to be working with The Environment Report, syndicated on NPR stations nationwide, to create an ongoing series of Greenovation segments to provide practical tips to help listeners green their homes.

Matt is also an accomplished woodworker, avid sailor, backyard chicken enthusiast, emerging gardener, a California gray whale naturalist, and . . . a new daddy.

Eggs, Part I

2010-01-31T20:20:00.005-05:00

     Michigan winters can be bleak. I heard once that Michigan actually has less sunny days than Seattle (which, it is widely known, has a reputation for its drizzling grayness). I wasn’t surprised. When it gets cold here, it becomes gray, and things slow down. People bunker down. The view out of my window makes a pretty snapshot: stillness, in black and white. It is during these times that we come together to feast.
     There aren’t too many fresh, local finds available here this time of year. The food in our grocery stores gets shipped in from places like Guatemala, Ecuador, Florida and California; the Farmer’s Market invites its bravest of souls, bundled in hats and scarves and downy coats, to peruse its arts, crafts and root vegetables. The most we can hope for is a warm, crusty loaf of bread from a local bakery, slathered in butter and served with a chunk of local cheese on the side. But then, there’s the egg.
     I am a Michigander, thankful for fresh eggs. At a time when the options seem minimal, an egg transforms our possibilities to multiple! Eggs are fun and useful: they can be used in innumerable ways and add nutrition and flavor to anything. Cookies, cakes and pies, Eggs en Cocotte, Huevos Rancheros, Bi Bim Bop! And an egg can stand alone: scrambled, fried, baked, poached, boiled! Thus begins an ode to eggs, a seven-part piece about anything egg.

for Matt and Kelly
Happy Hen, a poem
From forth the backened yard of city folk
Bobbles a happy hen! who,
Despite the raging cumulus above
Was lying gladly under a lamp’s heat,
Nestled in a loving home
Built from a neighbor’s plaything.

Gregoire

2010-01-28T19:53:00.015-05:00

The first time I ventured to the west coast was in 2003 when I was an undergraduate. I found myself with an afternoon free to explore the town of Berkeley. I took public transportation to the downtown exit and, not knowing anything about the city, resolved to walk in the most beautiful direction. So, I pursued a mesmerizing landscape of green rolling hills, unknowingly, walking in the direction of what the locals call, the gourmet ghetto. After awhile hunger overcame me and my eyes turned to food. Simultaneously, I found myself at a cross section, to the left of which was a narrow hilly street with an inviting little food place. Everything about the place seemed special. It was a tiny white nook with a welcoming blue awning that hung over a large store front window. The closer I got, the more inviting it became. The wooden framed windows were wide open so that you could look into the kitchen and greet the cook if you like. A striking young girl stood the cash register just inside the door and cozy wooden benches were occupied by patrons just outside the door. Upon entering and reviewing the menu I discovered that the place was a classical French cooking lunch, dinner, and catering shop. People could eat at the counter over the stove, at the table outside, or pick up items on the go. The menu was small but packed with delicious sandwiches and, curiously, a whole section dedicated to various potato plates. On that warm sunny day, I chose a tuna melt and ate it on the bench outside, next to the window, with the cook bustling next to me, the blue awning over head, and the green rolling hill in view. I was in communion with the world and thrilled at the lucky happenstance I had gotten myself into.

Upon departure I took a Gregoire business card, put it in my wallet, and thought fondly upon the place for years after, always remembering that remarkable sunny day. Eventually, the card got old, tattered and lost, I forgot the establishment's name, and the French catering nook became like something out of a story rather than an actual place in time. I began to question if I had even been there or if I had just dreamt it up. Maybe given that I hadn’t heard of the place since, or that I was alone when I went there, my perception was distorted by the adventure and newness I was feeling at the time. It could have just been some mediocre deli that fed a starving college girl a plate of much needed food.

Last Friday was my birthday and I wanted to celebrate somewhere special. So, being that we were back in Berkeley, I took a chance and went back to the wondrous place with Ricky. The thrill of another delicious experience was exciting, but I also wanted to find out if my memory was correct. I didn’t dare doubt myself, but I was prepared for the place to be different than I expected.

This particular lunch date had implications for more than just my memory of the restaurant. Similar questioning of my memory and intuition has also surfaced recently in regards to other components of my transition. Leaving my longtime home, quitting my job, moving in with my brother, and trying to find employment in a competitive market have all been decisions I’ve made based heavily on memories and intuition. I would like to think that months from now I’ll be telling an adventurous tail of the risk that led to a happily ever after moment, but the truth is, I can’t say for sure that everything will turn out as I hope. That is why what I find at this particular lunch spot will in some ways be an indicator of the reliability of my inner thoughts and choices.

I didn’t know what street Gregoire was on, I didn’t even remember that it was named Gregoire. I only knew that from the BART stop I needed to go towards the rolling hills. Amazingly, getting there was easier than I thought. Lo and behold the blue awning, the white walls, and the store front window with the cook in the kitchen were all there as I had remembered. The menu was similar, the atmosphere was light and gastronomic, and there were potatoes boiling on the stove.

After Ricky and I ordered, we sat quietly talking and watching the food being prepared in front of us. Then, a cook from back came up front laughing and talking with the others as she dropped large squares of butter into a big pot of warming water. Curious, we inquired what she was making. She replied, “It’s pain de fue”. We asked, “What is it used for?’ She responded playfully, “I don’t know, I just know what it is.” At this response I was somewhat surprised, after all, I had watched her companions take command of the kitchen as they prepared our finely seasoned meals. It was strange she didn’t know what purpose her recipe served in the intimate little place. Had my interpretation of their approach been wrong? Were these employees just mindless droids making food they didn’t understand? Was all the flavor and character I thought I experienced years ago really just a dream? Then, as I sat there wondering, on the brink of disappointment, the cook turned away to manage something on the stove behind her. To my rescue, the striking girl a the cash register caught my eye and whispered “It’s for the potato pie, but shh!” She placed her finger over her lips, smiled, and winked.

This was more than just a secret exchange, it was the point at which I new my memory had been right after all this time. My intuition about the place was accurate. Gregoire not only lived up to my memory, it exceeded my most French of expectations. Gregoire was proud in its stature, precise in its preparations, sophisticated in its method, even protective of its recipes, but all the while, secretly, very sweet too.

I’m not going to go as far as to say that all the decisions I’ve made based on my intuition are now destined to share a similar, happy fate. Who knows what lies ahead? But I will say that my general experiences have been encouraging. Living with Jon has been a pleasure, my bedroom fits me well, and I am scheduled to meet with a colleague at the organization I’d like to work for next week.

As for now, I can safely affirm Gregoire as a wonderful dining experience. Sandwiches are between $7-$13, side dishes are fresh, everything is artfully prepared, atmosphere is ideal for a lighthearted lunch, and the plates are packaged to go so you can make it a quick stop if you like. While I’d like to say Gregoire is a wholly French experience, I can’t, because I’ve never been to France, but I will say that if my intuition about France is anything like my memory of Gregoire, then I am looking forward to a visit.

Coincidences

2010-01-27T14:51:00.007-05:00

I’ve been reading about coincidences, how a person will say something or make a decision to do something and then slowly begin to experience these coincidences, a series of related and relevant events that happen one after another that tie back into their original conversation or decision. Ever had that happen?
At the start of this calendar year I began to give some real thought into what direction I want to take my life. I could stay in the same field or try something completely new. I started writing about it a lot and as I was going about my business, I began to receive signs from the universe. I suppose all sorts of signs exist, and maybe I was just looking for what I wanted to see, but it felt like more than that—a friend told me out of the blue that they thought it was great I was following my own path; the woman on my yoga video said to let go of all things that don’t serve my truth; my massage therapist said to take the time to figure things out, not to rush into anything; it might sound silly, but none of these conversations were prompted by me and they all happened, one by one, within days of each other.

     It gets weirder: I’m beginning to feel like all of these things are connected in some way, maybe more than just coincidences… I start a Blog. I hear about the Clements Library and investigate. I am sent a link to a website that lists graduate programs around the world in Gastronomy and Food Studies. I decide to create my own program in Food Studies. Clements accepts me, and the people there are totally supportive of my goals—I’ll be a docent there on Mondays; I’m invited to be in a Culinary Historians Book Club. Then I get sent a link to a Food Writers’ Conference in New York. There’s a five-hour session on the first day of the conference geared toward introducing new people to the industry: they’ll talk about blogging, writing memoirs, writing cookbooks and recipes—all things which tie back into what I am now pursuing.
     I pick up a book, The Celestine Prophecy.* It was written in the early ‘90s. My Mom lent it to me over a year ago. I could have come across it at any time in the past ten years, and certainly could have read it in the past year, but I didn’t. Instead, somewhere in the middle of all of this, something else happened: my friend Corinna’s book came out. I ordered it. It was supposed to arrive in the mail during the first week of February, but it came early. In her book was a quote from The Celestine Prophecy, which inspired me to finally read it, which brings me to where I am now: in the midst of all of these coincidences and reading about such coincidences.
     I’ve heard about sending out energy into the universe and being able to effect things simply by thinking about them, by sending out “vibes” and receiving a response. (I have secretly believed that this was possible.) Now I am openly stating this for all to read: I believe that the universe is magical. If you are positive and think kind thoughts, the universe will conspire to send these things back to you. (I think the opposite is probably true, too.) This doesn’t explain everything for me. And it certainly isn’t meant to discount religion in any way. This is also not to say that things will just happen for us—there must be some amount of action on our parts, as well. But still, I’m enthralled, entranced in the magic. And I want to go to this conference. This isn’t fiscally ideal for us right now, but I know we’ll figure out a way to make it work. Something about it just feels right, like I’ve been led here, guided. Like it’s supposed to happen.

*Redfield, James. The Celestine Prophecy. New York: Warner Books, 1993.

Road Feast

2010-01-26T04:00:00.011-05:00

While Ricky and I were gearing up for our trip across the country we encountered many a weary friend who warned us of the barren food-scape along I-80. So in preparation we researched all the cities we would likely stop in and developed a list of potential restaurants to visit. One site was particularly helpful, www.happycow.net, which provides a list of vegetarian restaurant options for locations around the world. Upon our departure, we had pages of dining options.

Our trip turned out to be the exact opposite of what we had been warned about. We didn't have a bad meal the entire way. We were privy to local brews, vibrant ethnic cuisine, local traditional, homemade dishes, and friendly, well-informed service at every stop- our first being Lincoln, Nebraska, a college town with a respectable city center. It had a small-town feel yet there were large buildings and young people scattered about. We dined at a Thai restaurant called the Blue Orchid where the food and ambiance were sophisticated and delicious. We ordered an exotic cocktail made with a hot red pepper infused vodka, grapefruit juice and lemon grass. Each sip evolved from an ice cold, citrus fresh, thirst-quenching spirit into a spicy, fire-breathing swell of the mouth with a picante finish. It was the kind of drink that snuck up to you from behind and made your tonsils do back flips. What’s more, the somewhat intimidating drink became more delicious and inviting when drank in combination with our spicy entrees. Though we went through many glasses of ice-cold water during the meal, we were enlightened and pleased by the experience. We then stopped at Lazlo’s Brewery and Grill where we were greeted by a friendly bartender who encouraged us to taste all the local beers and gave us a thorough explanation of each.

The next day we drove to Laramie Wyoming, a quaint town in the mountains. We had a mound of cheesy vegetarian nachos for lunch, piled high with tomatoes, olives, lettuce, avocado, salsa and sour cream at Sweet Melissa's Cafe. The restaurant itself was friendly and filled with vibrant vegetarian dishes; however we made it a light stop because we were saving our appetites for dinner in Rock Springs, Wyoming at the Coyote Creek Steakhouse- also a delight. The next day we ate lunch in Salt Lake City at The Red Iguana, known for its collection of specialty homemade moles. As first time guests we were treated to the mole sampler- a plate of all nine moles served with fresh baked corn chips. After this meal, on our second to last day driving, our appetites and palates were thoroughly satiated.

The irony of what we encountered last was so grand and blatant that I have to imagine the food gods watching down were having fun at our expense. We resolved that our final culinary destination before California would be a light dinner in Elko, Nevada. There was a highly rated Basque restaurant called, The Star Hotel, which we couldn't pass up. Since we weren’t particularly hungry we resolved to share an appetizer when we got there and keep it simple. Elko, Nevada is heavily populated by immigrants from the Basque region of Spain who created a thriving mining and cattle ranching empire starting in the mid 1800s. The city has an old western appeal and is filled with flashing signs advertising of the multitude of casinos and restaurants along its main strip. The Star Hotel is one of the city's cherished restaurants and oldest establishments. It is well known for its home-cooked food and family style service. Of course, when Ricky and I walked in, we had no concept of this. We rushed in from the cold, the locals gave us a glance from the wooden bar and then went back to drinking, and we proceeded to the reception area where our names were added to the waiting list. At 5pm the place was packed to full capacity so we elected to browse the menu, which included a detailed history of the establishment on the back, while we waited to be seated. It made no reference to appetizers; instead, there was a caption at the top that read, "All meals are served with french bread, soup, salad, french fries, green beans, red beans, and coffee or tea." Then below was a list of entrees from which to choose. Basically, we had no other choice but to order an entree, or pay a slightly lower price for the sides that were automatically brought to the table. Ricky and I knew, despite our plan to eat light, that we had to go all out.

We were eventually seated at a long picnic style table with other folks who had been waiting with us. A waitress promptly came around with a basket of fresh bread and a big plastic bowl of soup with a ladle in it. The place setting in front of us was a pile of three plates upon which a bowl rested, so Ricky and I took turns ladling the homemade vegetable noodle soup into our bowls. There was enough for both of us to have seconds. Then the salad, iceberg lettuce coated in creamy garlic dressing, came in a big bowl and the soup bowls disappeared. As we polished that off our sides of beans and french fries arrived and were shortly followed by our entrees- paella and a half-baked chicken. Both entrees were incredible. The restaurant was 100% authentic, down home, rugged western cooking. It was as if the food and service were designed specifically for a cowboy who had just arrived in after riding out on the open plains for weeks at a time, alone, eating jerky and re-fried beans, longing for the comfort of home.

I can't help but revel in the rich, eclectic flavors we encountered on our trip. They were a beautiful reflection of the robust cultures nestled within the communities of our far-reaching country. My breath was taken away by the spirit and hospitality we encountered and the contrast between our friends' warnings of the food desert that lie ahead and our thoroughly mouth-watering experience. I have never enjoyed such a diverse and delectable string of meals ever before, nor had I anticipated the cultural lessons that would accompany them. Moral of the story: Despite what the metropolitan masses may say, our country is chock full of people who know how to cook and are striving to eat well.

My Career!

2010-01-24T13:34:00.006-05:00

In the past five years I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will probably never follow a traditional career path. If I imagine my work life as, literally, a path or a trail, I picture myself walking into the woods, clearing branches along the way. There’s a light up ahead but I can’t see just how to get there; I only know I am headed in the right direction when I can see that light, beaming from afar like the North Star. (When I say “right” direction, I mean right for me, in accordance with my truth, my goals.) I have a feeling I’ll never get to the light—and I guess that’s sort of the point, right?—but that it will always be there to set my compass towards.

I do find her enviable, the person who can say “this is what I want to be” and can look ahead at a neatly mowed stretch of path in front of her. Certainly, life will still surprise this person in ways she’d have never expected, but at least she knows she needs to do this, this and this to get where she wants to be. I’ve struggled in the past few years with trying to figure out what I want to do for work. I realize now that this was difficult for me to resolve because there is not just one thing that I want to do!

I’m a romantic, to my core. And that part of me, which has most often proved itself more influential than my desire for security or acceptance, finds this groping along enticing and a thrill! I have groped and forged and everything in between and have found myself at this point: ready to piece together the collage of my career. And so, a 360° look at food…

I worked at Zingerman’s Delicatessen for four and a half years, so I feel confident in saying that I have a good grip on the buying and selling, making and eating of food. But there is so much more to be learned! I have an interview at the Clements Library tomorrow to discuss the possibility of my being involved with the archiving of their American Culinary Collection. This would provide interesting scope into where we’ve come from and speak to, in some way, where we are and where we’re going, culturally. Other ideas: get on the steering committee for the Farmer’s Market, work on a local farm once or twice a week, and cook at the Ronald McDonald House with the Zing crew. Working at these other places would provide insight into other elements of our food world, like the growing, sharing and cooking of food.

Ultimately, I could then share what I’ve learned with others through my writing—blogging, memoir… I could even write a dissertation!

My Career:

Reading Growing Sharing Selling Buying Cooking Making Eating Writing

Grown In Michigan

2010-01-22T17:24:00.009-05:00

This is my brother Jon. He loves to eat. He once stuffed an entire hamburger in his mouth and finished it without skipping a beat. When he did that we were up at our uncle’s cottage on Burt Lake (near the tip of the mitten, ay!). Jon’s favorite food is Pizza, although now after having lived in China for two years and settled down in the Bay Area, his food preferences have likely evolved. In this picture he doesn’t know anyone is watching. He probably doesn’t much notice or mind that he is wearing red overalls with copper buttons, knee sox and red buckled shoes. He has no idea that the whipped cream he is dipping his delectable strawberry into matches his clean white t-shirt. He also doesn’t realize that the juicy Michigan fruit he is about to consume will give him the energy and nutrition to build him into the vibrant person he is today.

Jon is an engineer and does transportation technology research. He traveled down the California coast in a fuel cell powered car and did his dissertation on electric bikes in China. He is also an eccentric, even though he wasn’t trying to be in this picture. He always makes the funniest faces in pictures, like here his chubby cheeks and curious stance reveal how consumed and lost he is in his world of delicious whipped cream strawberries.

Jon has a knack for finding delicious red adventures. When he left Michigan to move to California he drove across the country in a red, two-door, 1998 escort. He removed the back two seats to have more storage room and built a removable bench seat in case other passengers needed a ride (seat belt accessible and all). There were other modifications too. There was a Velcro strip on the parking break to attach his cell phone and another Velcro strip attached to the exterior roof so that his companion, a plastic Nemo figurine, could travel with him and swim down the lanes of the highway. Nemo even survived a car wash.

Look at the concentration in that face. You can see his slightly furrowed brow so determined and intent on scooping up the optimal quantity of whipped cream. I can picture the gap of his mouth when he finally finishes dipping and proceeds to the consumption phase of his operation. Satisfied, accomplished!

Jon is most certainly accomplished. He has traveled the world, received merits and awards, has a job he loves and now after years of cajoling, he has successfully transplanted his little sister to the west coast. We are currently living together in Berkeley. When I look at this picture I see the essence of my brother and everything he embodies. He is bold, funny, determined, and most importantly a lover of food!

My Love

2010-01-20T18:44:00.009-05:00

This morning I awoke craving cheese. I wasn’t thinking of any cheese in particular but just the thought of preserved milk, of solid dairy excited me. My body wanted to feel the full satisfaction of protein, the complexity of flavors from animal and pasture. I do have a unique perspective on this, having worked at a place whose self-prescribed requisites for choosing food to sell include “full-flavored” and “traditionally-made;” I wasn’t about to bust into my neighbor’s refrigerator just to nosh on some orange processed stuff (which, I have to say, is tasty in its own right). It was 4:30 in the morning and my favorite place to buy cheese doesn’t open until 7:00 (although I do have an “in;” I probably could have gotten a taste around 6:30 if I had wanted it badly enough). I began to daydream –and probably doze off a little—about my love of cheese. I had a little brainstorm in my mind…

I love how a cheese represents a tradition, a place, a people, the story of those people. A certain kind of cheese is often specific to a very particular place; this has historically been based on the climate and what kinds of animals and vegetation thrive there.

I love that it’s hard to make well. Some people spend their entire lives making one kind of cheese. They are devoted to making it better every time and it’s different every time, the way the weather is different everyday.

I love that taste of terroir—cheese tastes like the land from which comes; it’s an edible snapshot of that date, day, time in a specific place.

I love how, when we eat it, we’re eating close to the earth: the animal eats off the land; we milk the animal and make the cheese—there’s something so pure about this process. (I am sitting in a coffeeshop and the person next to me just walked in with a package of cheesy goldfish cracker things for her boyfriend to snack on. hehe! Life is grand.)

I love that cheeses are all made, for the most part, from the same three ingredients, and yet they can be so different: explosive, mellow, tangy, approachable, meaty, crisp, buttery, almondy, salty, complex, rich, creamy, dense, earthy, pasturey, composty, sheepy, smokey, stinky, gooey, sticky, fruity, asparagusy, mushroomy, spicy, deep, pleasing, walnutty, pine nutty, mouth-tingling, mouth-watering, lovely, beautiful, subtle, zippy, sweet, crunchy, mustard seedy, intimately cowy, wildflowery, hazelnutty, smooth, well-balanced, milky, fresh, fluffy, melt-in-your-mouth, rich, luscious, cavey, like gym socks!—but in a good way—bright, curdy, cheddary, citrusy, crumbly, grassy, hay-like, sour creamy, parmigiano-y, dry, herbal, round, goaty, musty, opens up slowly, long finish, lingering finish, like broccoli, buttery sweetness! fudgey! chocolatey! barnyardy!

The look, the smell, the taste of cheese stirs my senses! It reminds me that I am alive.

Here’s to the farmer! Here’s to the animals grazing gracefully in the pasture! Here’s to the Calder Dairy milk delivery guy! (I think that was a shout-out? Hi, Billy!) Here’s to the world of cheese! Today I am going to buy some.

making cheese breaking cheese

A Glorious Departure

2010-01-17T23:35:00.013-05:00

Here is how I left it: We had a pizza party. I prep'ed pizza toppings. Colin brought sweets, plates and pizza stones. Ricky manned the bar. People greeted me in the kitchen as I was throwing pots and pans around and rolling dough. Neighbors were neighborly. Jenny had a camera and she knew how to use it. Keely created a trail of laughs behind her. Bill tactfully added flavor to food. Amp tossed salad. MarMar brought me supplies for the city- hand sanitizer and a hot pink boa. Maren brought a friend who was also a boy, who may or may not be her boyfriend. Dana danced and screamed. Ultimate frisbee girls ate. Janet threw peanuts and heckled people as they left. Men drank scotch in the kitchen. Rofo and Bemu caught flying tangerines in their mouths. Spanky danced congolese in the dinning area. I slid to the floor exhausted, holding a long list of places to eat in San Fransisco. We woke up early, we ate breakfast with Jenny & Bill. We ate breakfast again with Mom & Dad. We stuffed the car and said good bye. We are in Lincoln, Nebraska drinking local beer and staying in a sketchy motel. Thank you everyone. You have filled my life with splendor.

To Anyone Seeking Friendship in San Francisco

2010-01-17T20:01:00.009-05:00

Midwest girl headed your way: loyal, joyful, dynamic

Health nut, obsessed with yoga, likes to eat with her fingers

Lives the expression, "Anything worth doing is worth doing well,"

the proverb, "Love is patient and kind," and the Thoreauvian ideal:

"to live deeply and suck out all the marrow of life."

Her friendship to you promises challenge and depth;

she'll provide scope and inspiration. You'll feel thankful

to have met such a person, and your life will forever be brighter

because she was there.

hao chi zui (mouths that love eating)

2010-01-14T17:41:00.016-05:00

Have you ever had really bad chinese food? The kind of greasy goodness whose meaty treasures are nestled so snugly in sweet and sour sauce that you're not really even sure what's in it? (The menu says chicken, but then, everything tastes like chicken...) It is this particular kind of chinese food that turned me off to the stuff in the first place. But apparently there is chinese food, and then there is Chinese food. Last night, for the first time, I ate the latter.

It all began with a book: Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper, A Sweet-Sour Memoir of Eating in China. I've been reading it with some friends and its author, Fuchsia Dunlop, has inspired a lot of conversation among us about how we cook and how we eat. This particular group of friends is largely food-centric: we eat for pleasure, we cook for creativity; when we're not cooking, we're eating (or talking about food, writing about food, photographing it, admiring fresh produce at the Farmer's Market, making a grocery list) and visa versa . We enjoy both of these things—the cooking and the eating—alone and together. But we've been challenged to consider how food is not only a delightful pastime, but that for some, [it is a refuge, a solace, a safe pleasure in which you could lose yourself without fear; it provides freedom.]* It's serious. Seriously delicious, but serious. As much as we joke about the pleasure we derive from bacon and foie gras, chocolate truffles and freshly picked asparagus, this book has served as a subtle but pressing reminder to me to be thankful for the splendor of each and every bite.

The memoir has also encouraged us to expand any food boundaries we might previously have had—my own boundaries opening wider to include a whole realm of unexplored, intoxicating Asian goodies. Firstly, The Dumpling:

Last night we made traditional Chinese dumplings at Ji Hye's house. Ji Hye spent her childhood in Seoul, so she likes to put a Korean spin on these dumplings, adding finely chopped pine nuts to them. Whatever you fill them with (veggies, meat, tofu or all) they are bound to be a delectable treat. They are simple to make and quicker to make with more hands, so invite your friends over and have a Dumpling Dinner Party. Check out my friend Corinna's blog for the recipe in case she posts it, or check out this link to a recipe online from Fine Cooking magazine, which, as always, provides user-friendly, thorough instructions.*

*Dunlop, Fuchsia. Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper, A Sweet-Sour Memoir of Eating in China. New York: Norton & Co., 2008. pp. 56.

*The recipe, along with a lot of other good recipes, tips and ideas can also be found in tangible form in the latest Fine Cooking magazine, FEB/MAR 2010, Issue No. 103, pp. 70-75.

On the Act of Eating

2010-01-13T21:52:00.015-05:00

Have you ever watched someone eat and contemplated what was happening? It is incredibly entertaining. I encourage you to try it. You can observe anyone: small kids, your friends, people at the bar. My all time favorite people to watch are teenage boys- especially when they are eating together- especially when they are hungry. It is fascinating. Their chomps per minute ratio is unusually high- although sometimes it is slow simply because the amount of food forced into their mouths is so excessively large that it takes extra time and energy to close down on it. Regardless of who you watch, it's also spectacular to see how much food disappears in a single bite. It's more than you might think. Plates that were once piled high with food become emptier and emptier with every passing moment.

Of course, eating is all too commonplace; we live with it every day, we see people do it all the time. Internally we understand eating in terms of how hungry or full we are and we simply go until our body tells us to stop. But think about it objectively, as if you were an alien who had no concept of the sensations or purpose behind eating. If you watch from the outside, where our body's signals don't exist, where there is no brain chemistry saying 'mmmm', or 'more', or 'no more', it becomes a different experience. Initially the experience is the same; the sight of food is exciting. But then, as you watch the food go into someone’s mouth, disappears, and become part of the unchanged human being, never to be seen the way it once was -ever- again, it takes on a different hue. It almost seems like magic.

Now, once you've wrapped your mind around that, take it a step further and observe the extent to which people are enjoying themselves. You will notice that enjoyment varies dramatically- the extent to which is never fully apparent from the observer’s perspective. Still, there are some tell tale signs. For example, when people chew food in the front of their mouths they usually don't like what they are eating. They have to force themselves to eventually swallow, and all the while are wishing they could spit it out. On the other hand, when people (say an 18 year old guy who hasn't eaten in 4 hours, or me in the picture above) open their mouths as wide as it will stretch and push the food back into their nasal cavity, reluctantly allowing some of it to spill out as they use their fingers to stuff the central item in quickly before their lips form a seal around it, that means they really like it. Needless to say, watching people eat is not only amusing, it's also a reminder that we are slaves to the act, we require it to survive, and everybody has their own unique way of satiating the craving.

If it weren't for the fact that watching someone eat could easily be interpreted as staring, I would do it all the time. For now, if you have a bored moment at a restaurant or happen to find yourself amongst a pack of college football players, after practice, eating dinner, sneak a peak. It is a bizarre and curious exercise in appreciating and understanding food.

Detroit Roots

2010-01-11T23:18:00.021-05:00

I love Michigan, and I love Ann Arbor, but I would not be here, the way I am today, were it not for the city of Detroit. As far back as I know, my family has been a product of the city. My grandmother was a Foxette (a dancer at the Fox Theater) during the roaring twenties. My mother got her teaching degree at Marygrove College, my dad worked for the auto industry throughout the majority of his adult life, and for the past two years I have been working with community organizations in Detroit to improve its residents' health through better access to food and physical activity.

Visiting the city inspires a complex array of thoughts, feelings, and perceptions. Seeing the old train station in southwest Detroit, for example, is both majestic and tragic. It is monumental not only in its scale but also in its representation of the city's grand history and demise. Spend a day touring Detroit with someone who knows it and you will fall in love with its beauty and blight.

The challenges are there, but the more you listen the more you hear about the opportunities. The magazine, Edible WOW, just ran an article about Avalon Bakery’s community driven approach to running a business. My roommate just told me about a Burlesque show she went to in the city this weekend, “It was a great time. The dancers weren’t, you know, god’s gift to man or anything, but they were cute and the performance was artful. I had a blast!” The New York Times just wrote a piece about the wave of entrepreneurship running through the city: Burton Theater, a new independent film theater housed inside an abandoned school house; a Creperie called Good Girls Go to Paris; a hair salon called, Curl Up and Dye. These new businesses combined with the awe inspiring Architecture, the Diego Rivera mural at the art museum, the River Walk, and The Hot Club of Detroit’s gypsy jazz concerts- I could write about all that the city has to offer for hours. I could elaborate for paragraphs about why the BBQ, beer, and bar tenders at Slow’s BBQ make me want to do more than just lick my fingers after a meal. Yet still, I’ve barely even brushed the surface.

If Detroit were a bottle of wine it would be one made of the finest tasting grapes. It would be made of the grapes that were starved a bit while they were growing. The ones that had to work extra hard to survive, but ended up with an even richer complexity and depth of flavor, thus making the final product, the wine, more robust and delicious upon maturation.

This is what I'm going to miss most about the mid-west and about Detroit in particular. It’s not always the easiest place to live; the sun doesn’t shine everyday, the streets aren’t flooded with young adults, and the ice doesn’t scrape itself off the windshield. But there is a tenacious spirit, a craving for authenticity, and a reverberating pride in ones community that keeps the people pressing on even through the most challenging of times. Wherever you live, it’s worth taking a trip to the city of Detroit. Above I mentioned just a few of its treasures, but if you really want to have fun, go forth and explore the city for yourself!

On Autonomy and Leftovers

2010-01-10T21:35:00.013-05:00

    When my friend Jess lived in Ann Arbor, he’d host these “Potcooks” at his apartment. Unlike a potluck, where people bring a dish to pass, a gathering of friends would come over with whatever ingredients they had on hand and everyone would create a meal together. The idea was that no one would have to spend any money, and it’d be an easy way to clean out the fridge at the end of the week. Potcooks were a hit, and have lived on since his departure from the city.
    Another friend, Aubrey, had the innovative idea of hosting a huge dinner party to raise the funds for her trip to Italy one year. She wanted to travel around the Italian countryside and learn about food. She invited everyone she knew to her parents’ home and, with help from some friends, cooked a fabulous, multi-course Italian meal, charging everyone a flat fee and accepting donations, as well. Through this one venture she raised enough money to make her dream trip come true.
   When Patrick worked at Zingerman’s with me he was a newly wed with a small child and a small budget. He and his family had a huddle once a week during which they tracked and discussed their finances. He told me once, when times were tight, that they’d decided to keep Arborio rice around as a staple for their meals; he said they ate risotto at least a few times each week and that it was amazing because it was so delicious and so cheap. I was inspired by his happy resolve in keeping with his budget.
   Each of these friends used the resources they had as creatively as possible in order to live as fully and richly as possible. They found freedom within constraints, and inspired those around them to live autonomously, too.
   Patrick taught me that not only are budgets useful, but they actually can be pretty fun, too. Bill and I enjoy budgeting for our groceries because it forces us to cook creatively. Take tonight for example: it’s the end of the week, we’re out of grocery money and out of whole leftover meals…

What we had to work with:
1 russet potato
1 banana
lots of yellow onions
half a bag of Yukon gold potatoes
2/3 cup grated Pecorino Romano cheese
1 chicken thigh
1/3 cup cooked farro
½ cup spaghetti sauce
½ cup gravy
2 frozen venison backstraps
1 lb. frozen ground lamb
5 slices of bacon
1 English muffin
a couple of grapefruits

What we did with it:
You’ve heard of turducken, right? Or maybe, turkhamlamb? The basic idea is that meat tastes good with meat. Based on that principle, here’s what we cooked for dinner:

Chicken Fried Venison
Pound your piece of meat to 1/3-inch thickness.

Mix 1 cup of flour, 1 tablespoon salt, 2 ½ tablespoons black pepper, and ¾ tablespoons cayenne pepper in a bowl.

In a separate bowl, beat 1 large egg with ¼ cup of milk.

Dredge the meat in the egg mixture; generously coat in the flour mixture. Set on a rack to dry for 15 minutes.

Pour vegetable oil into a cast iron pan to ½-inch depth. Heat the oil to approximately 350° F. Cook for 1 minute on each side for a medium rare steak.

Serve hot; drizzle with chicken gravy.

Eat it on its own or with whatever else you have on hand (in our case, Pecorino Romano mashed potatoes and Balsamic oven roasted onions).

Salubrius Citrus

2010-01-07T16:20:00.013-05:00

There is something about winter that just screams citrus fruit to me. I have memories dating back to my brother’s middle school band fundraiser when he would sell our family big boxes of grapefruits and oranges in December, or my aunt and uncle sending up boxes of grapefruit in February from Florida where they ‘wintered’ between the months of January and March. I remember when I studied abroad in Italy, my first night there- homesick in January- my host family served tangerines for dessert. The father could tell I was out of sorts, so while we were sitting at the table, talking, he peeled his tangerine very carefully, creating one consecutive piece of rind and leaving the center rind attached to the bottom of the peel. Then he fashioned the peel back into a sphere with the central rind standing up in the middle. He poured some olive oil down the ceter rind (which formed a puddle at the bottom) and lit it on fire so as to turn the once tangerine into a glowing citrus flavored candle. And then of course, there were winter mornings before school when my mom had to leave for work before I woke up, but unfailingly left a half cut open grapefruit with honey on top and a piece of toast for breakfast on the counter for me.

What is it about these citrus fruits in winter? I mean, obviously, they are also around in summer, but my memory of them in winter is so much more vivid and alive. Maybe it’s that there are no other colorful fruits for them to blend in with. They are like a beacon of light against the cold harsh surroundings outside. And being the health-nut I am, it also intrigues me that these Vitamin C laden delights become so front-and-center during precisely the months that we need an extra immune system boost. Coincidence? I think not.

Could it be some unique form of cultural technology passed down through generations? In Peru, there are special trade markets throughout the Andes mountains; people who grow potatoes and corn near the top of the mountains trade with those who grow mangos and avocadoes in the warm (almost tropical) climate at the bottom of the mountains. In parts of Europe, there is a wintertime tradition where seaside dwellers pack up loads of salt preserved anchovies and transport them inland where they are sold and regarded as delicacies. They are also, not-surprisingly, one of the only sources of Vitamin D that inland dwellers have access to during the cold winter months. Am I picking up on something bigger than a strange wintertime affinity for citrus fruit, or am I crazy? Do people in, I don't know, Montana, have these same citrusy experiences and cravings (or other people in Michigan for that matter)? It's unclear, and to some extent irrelevant. All I know is that, despite what I think of as my somewhat hardened immune system, I've already been sick twice this season, and am trying to ward off yet another case of the sniffles at this very moment. So tonight when I get home from work, after I take a hot shower and bundle up in my PJs, this is what I'm going to be eating. Feel free to join me!

Hot Grapefruit Delight
(Inspired by my Mom & the infamous Hot Tottie)

1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.
2. Cut a whole grapefruit in half and place it on a cookie sheet in the oven for 10 minutes or until the grapefruit looks like it’s bursting with juice.
3. Remove the grapefruit and drizzle some honey over top.
4. Return the grapefruit to the oven for another minute or two to let the honey melt.
5. Remove the grapefruit from the oven and place each half in its own bowl.
6. Let the halves cool a bit then cut around the pulp and between the individual segments of pulp so that it is easy to dig pieces out with a spoon.
7. Pour a shot of your favorite whisky or bourbon on top and enjoy.

NOTE: The following step is my favorite and is only for the brave and savage food lovers at heart.

8. Inevitably, no matter how hard you try, it is impossible to cut around the grapefruit (Step 6 above) in such a way that you are afforded easy access to all the delicious juice sacs contained inside. So, once you have eaten all the segments of grapefruit with a spoon and have scraped away at as many of the little juice sacks as possible, take the half-grapefruit in your hand and squeeze the juice into your bowl. Then turn the pulp inside out so that the interior becomes fully exposed. Wrap your mouth around whatever hidden treats you can find. Then (ravaged grapefruit peel aside) poor the juice from the bowl into your mouth and revel in the satisfaction of having experienced the full extent of the Hot Grapefruit Delight!

One Flag

2010-01-07T14:39:00.008-05:00

    I have wanderlust. I can't help it: every six months or so I get the insatiable urge to travel, to break my routine and explore someplace new. Since I was a young girl (and an expat, at the time), I've become comfortable with this newness--grappling with a foreign language, finding my footing on unfamiliar terrain, cautiously biting into some strange, untried food--and have even sought after it. Some aspects of my life just don't feel normal without a hint of discomfort or unfamiliarity.
     Everyone travels differently. Some people enjoy following a guide and learning about a place's history; some prefer to lay on a beach for a week. I like to really live in a place for however long I'm there. Oh sure, I'll see some sights while I'm at it, but to me, the best part of being in a different place for a few days is finding out where the locals shop, buying their groceries and cooking their food. If a kitchen isn't accessible, I'm perfectly happy eating while sitting on a stoop somewhere along the edge of a street (a chunk of crusty bread and 100 grams of piave cheese will do), or finding my way to that spot where all of the locals meet, where you can really taste the essence of what that town is all about. I don't feel too much pressure to do anything in particular when I travel; I'd be happy to spend an afternoon reading a book in a patisserie, for example (of course it always comes back to the food).
    With all my fanciful notions and trip plans and explorations, however, my favorite part of leaving is always coming home. My own kitchen. My own pillow. My own space. I like sitting in a quaint town in Austria eating Apfelstrudel mit Schlag; but I love flying into a drizzling, grey-skied Detroit, walking through its bland airport with other pale passengers, waiting silently for my suitcase to come around the luggage belt. And so, an ode to home...

Why I Love Living in the States:
Democracy
Freedom of speech
Many cultures, one flag
The Joy of Cooking
Simon and Garfunkel
How the color of dirt changes as you travel south through Kentucky, Tennessee and Alabama
Old Ford and Chevy pick-up trucks
Apple pie & Vermont cheddar
The Fourth of July
Radioflyer
The Rat Pack
The Great Lakes
Easy travel from State to State
All of the different accents we speak with
Patty Melts
Corn on the Cob
The Four Tops
Up North
Down South
Palm Trees and Pine Trees
Metroparks, National Parks, Park and Rides
Our National Anthem
The Blue Angels and the Thunderbirds
The Ford Mustang
The Pageantry of Football Games and Tailgating
Chicken Fried Steak
The Blues
Rogue River Blue Cheese
Hollywood movies
My neighbors
My home
The mountains
Zingerman’s
The blue birds in the snow outside my window
The University of Michigan
The Silver Palate Cookbook
US-23
The Chicago to Mackinaw Regatta
Cafes Zola (Ann Arbor) and Lula (Chicago)
Oreos
N.Y.C., for all its grime and beauty
e.e. cummings, Thoreau, Hemingway, Billy Collins
Netflix
The train to Chicago
Disney World, Lego Land and Cedar Pointe
Sweet Grass Dairy, Jasper Hill and Twig Farm Cheeses
Rufus Wainwright, Sufjan Stevens, Norah Jones, Pink Martini
Michigan Rest Areas along 1-75
Mac ‘n’ Cheese
The Mamas and the Papas
The Beach Boys
Pop tarts and marshmallow cream
The Big House
Borders
Top Gun
Big tires, muddy roads and Bud Light
BBQ
The Ann Arbor Farmer’s Market
The Temptations
The West Coast
The East Coast
Alaska & Hawaii
Chocolate chip cookies

jj's CCC's
I read in a food memoir* recently that back in the day, some master chefs would provide their apprentices with false recipes so that they could never quite reproduce what their masters made. No recipes should go to the grave. These are my chocolate chip cookies:**

Ingredients:
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 1/2 tsp. salt
1 3/4 sticks butter, softened
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
2/3 cup white sugar
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 large eggs
1 1/2 cups bittersweet chocolate chips
1 cup toasted, chopped pecans

To Make:
Preheat oven to 375° F. Toast the pecans and take them off the heat to let cool. Mix together the flours, baking soda and salt in a small bowl. Beat butter, sugars and vanilla in a mixing bowl until creamy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well until fully incorporated. Gradually beat in the flour mixture. Stir in chocolate chips and cooled pecans. Portion heaving spoonfuls onto a baking sheet and bake for 12 minutes or until slightly browner than golden brown. (Share them.)

*Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper: A Sweet-Sour Memoir of Eating in China, by Fuchsia Dunlop (Norton & Co., 2008).

**A special thanks to Andy H. for the tip about the salt, and to Matt and Kelly G. for the idea of using some whole wheat flour.

A Toast

2010-01-04T20:03:00.006-05:00

   Julia is a fireball with steely blue eyes and big pretty lips. When she speaks, she uses her body as a prop like in a play. Her stories are full of physical animation, moving hands and raised eyebrows—you can't help but stare in wonderment, even if what she is telling you is completely ordinary. But she rarely says anything ordinary: she was introduced to this type of music when she was living in a tent on a farm in Hawaii, or her Italian boyfriend’s Grandma insisted that she take some Parmigiano home with her so she arrived in the States with an eighth of a wheel of cheese in her backpack. The only reason I believed her stories at first was because there was always someone sitting next to her nodding, saying that it was true. After awhile I became that person.
     The first time I met Julia, I was annoyed with her. I had just begun working at the Deli and one of our balsamic vinegar producers came to visit us. Signore T. spoke no English and his assistant spoke little more than that. There were forty people sitting in the outside tent waiting to hear all about his fabulous product and no one to convey the message he had brought. In a spur the moment remembrance—I had written ‘Italian’ as one of my two college majors on my application—my manager came to find me and asked if I would translate. I became extremely anxious, suddenly. I hated speaking in front of crowds, had loathed it since Middle School when we had to stand up and give presentations in front of the class. But they were clearly in a bind and I was their only hope, so I put on a brave face and followed her to the tent. When we walked in, a tallish blonde—a natural blonde at that—had command of the microphone and everyone’s attention was on her. “He’s saying that the production of balsamic vinegar is an important tradition in Italy,” she told the crowd confidently, “and that up until recently, people didn’t make it as an item to sell. It stayed in the family.” I was relieved in a way but also disheartened that I wasn’t the one everyone was counting on anymore. She went on and conveyed information and gestured with her hands and the crowd was really into it…until there came a moment when she couldn’t translate something. “He’s saying that the tradition of making balsamic is still kept within the family," I snuck in. "When his son was born, he and his wife filled a barrel with vinegar and it’s been aging ever since. As it ages, it evaporates and thickens, so they’ve transferred it into smaller and smaller barrels. When their son gets married, they will give it to him; he and his wife will have a small barrel of twenty- to thirty-year old balsamic vinegar as a wedding present.” The crowd had stars in their eyes and so did Signore T. I knew this was an important story for him to tell. I glanced at Julia and offered her a shy smile. I hadn’t wanted to step on her toes—she had been doing so well translating thus far. She grinned at me. At that exact moment, I had the distinct feeling that we'd be lifelong friends.
     As my comrade prepares for her departure for California, I've been reminiscing about old times, and naturally most of my memories are intertwined with recollections of meals we shared together, ghosts of sensory stimuli past. Here is a recipe, vivid in my mind, and oh so Julia. Let's call it...

Julia Salad
Note: For this particular salad, it is absolutely a pre-requisite that you use your hands, not kitchen gizmos, throughout every part of this process, just as Julia would. It will taste better.

Ingredients:
Lettuce
Whatever you have on hand
(examples: cherry tomatoes, avocados, dried cherries or raisins; pine nuts, walnuts, pecans or hazelnuts; chunks of cucumber, carrots, celery, etc.)
Olive Oil
Vinegar
Salt
Pepper

To Make:
Toast the nuts in a small pan over medium heat; when you smell them, it's usually a good sign that they're done. Take them off the heat. Wash and dry your lettuce. Rip it into easy-to-eat pieces. Begin adding your ingredients, one at a time, and toss. (For example: tomatoes, toss; carrots, toss; raisins, toss.) Toss in the nuts when cool.

In a small container with a lid, pour in some good quality olive oil and less vinegar (anything you want-- white wine vinegar, balsamic, sherry vinegar), cover and shake vigorously. *Pour over your salad and toss, just before serving.

*At this point, you can use a kitchen gizmo, like tongs. ;)

A Brief Aperitif!

2010-01-02T11:35:00.008-05:00

A few years ago Jen and I met while working at Zingerman’s Deli in Ann Arbor, Michigan. We found our passion for food, books, and life in general were so much in line that we not only wanted to explore our community’s unique flavor together, we wanted to turn it into a radio show that could be shared with anyone and everyone who would listen. We came up with the idea of creating a live broadcast that would highlight what we thought of as Ann Arbor’s unique terroir. Unfortunately, our proudly named show, Radio Free Bacon, turned into something much different than intended and we eventually moved on. Nonetheless, our enthusiasm and friendship grew stronger through the years as each of us embarked on other exciting adventures. I traveled to Brazil and then began a master’s program in Public Health. Jenny got married and continued to cultivate her passion for writing and food.

Now here we are at the start of 2010 still in love with the world of food, and both determined to keep our thriving friendship alive. As I move across the country to San Francisco and Jen continues to shape her life in the Ann Arbor area, we are re-igniting the Radio Free Bacon flame—only this time with a slightly different twist. Instead of focusing on one community’s local terroir, we are expanding our reach to, well, just about any place, and while the focus is still on highlighting the fun, interesting, complex, and unique characteristics of our communities, it is also how we will communicate about the rich and vibrant experiences of our everyday, ordinary lives. Here you will find anything from short vignettes about music we’ve encountered to pictures and descriptions of our favorite meals. Our hope is simply to breathe life into fleeting moments and inspire others to live richly.

The Webster-Merriam Dictionary defines feast as, “an elaborate and usually abundant meal often accompanied by a ceremony or entertainment,” and also, “something that gives unusual or abundant enjoyment." Here we mean for it to encompass all facets of our daily experience, from eating, to working, to sitting on the porch. So with that, you are invited to join our cyber-table. We hope you enjoy the feast!