FOOD ON THE FOOD

The C Word

I have some bad news.  I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just going to come right out with it.  I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer. 

No, I am not kidding.  Would I kid about cancer?  Okay, maybe I would kid about cancer.  And that, my friends, is what is known as poetic justice.  Cancer has a vast network of spies.  Be careful what you say.

I’ve struggled with whether or not to bring this up on the blog.  This is a food blog, after all, not a cancer blog.  And I don’t want this to become a cancer blog (not that there’s anything wrong with that).  But this blog is about my life through food, and if I censor my life too much, then it doesn’t feel honest.  Plus, logistically speaking, it was going to be tricky to hide it.  Sooner or later you were going to wonder why all of my dinners of late have been composed of 50% potato chips and 50% tequila.  The increased unexplained absences might seem suspicious given my previously consistent blogging schedule.  And the mood swings.  My god, the mood swings.  PMS is dreadfully boring by comparison. 

So, here I am with cancer (WTF?) trying to figure out what the hell this means for the future.  I have to assume that there will still be food to write about as I adapt to my new reality.  We still have to eat.  I still want to cook.  It will be more important than ever to eat healthy.  I’d like to keep things as normal as possible for my family and for me, and the blog could be an important part of the equation.  But, I really can’t say at this juncture what’s going to happen.  I’ve pretty much lost my appetite since I found out and most of the stuff I’ve written since isn’t fit for print, even by lowly blog standards. 

On the bright side, breast cancer isn’t automatically the death sentence I initially thought it was.  There are plenty of survivors who tell a happy story.  My goal is to be one of them.  And if I fall short of that goal, well, I’m still going to write the ending however I want, so fuck you, Cancer, you dick.  Surgery is next week and then at some future point a bunch of radioactive chemical cocktails will be prescribed.  Or something.  (I didn’t hear any of the words after they said cancer.)  I might have some posts  on the topic planned for this week since I have a few things to get off my chest, so to speak.  But then I have a guest blogger in the works to keep you guys entertained post-surgery.  I hope to find my way back to writing eventually.

Anyway, let’s not completely lose all perspective on the matter.  I mean, it could totally be worse.  It could have been cancer of the c-word!

Taking a Week Off

I need it.  In the meantime, here are some of the goofier shots from the Tufts photo shoot courtesy of Steve Marsel Studio.  To put these into context, you have to read the article.  If you’re too lazy to read the article (sigh), then just imagine what would happen if someone like me were tasked with cooking the food for a highly perfectionist cooking show.  How would that go exactly? 

I think you can guess.

Would you like some cake?  I followed the recipe, I swear.

Maybe no one will notice that my cake sucks?  Poker face, Tammy. 
(Whoops.  They noticed.)

Did I burn it?  Yup.  I burned it.  Fuck.

If you’d like the recipes for any of these, just let me know.

Enjoy the long weekend!

The Eating Habits of Ospreys

On the way to the bus stop, the Kindergartener was telling me about birds of prey.  Specifically, ospreys.  How they dive down and snatch fish right out of the water, and did I know that?  I said that I did.  (That may have been a lie.)  They eat other things, too, he told me, like dead birds.  Oh, I said.  And sometimes live birds.  Like ducklings.  My instinct was to make sympathetic noises on the ducklings’ behalf.  Who doesn’t love ducklings?  The Kindergartener tried to soften the blow: Well, not a lot of ducklings—just one duckling per day.

Tipping the Scales

Did you hear the news?  CSAs aren’t just for farms anymore.  There’s a community-supported fishery (CSF) that’s starting out of Gloucester called Cape Ann Fresh Catch.  They’re offering shares of fresh whole fish caught by real local fisherman to be picked up in the Boston area.  Thanks to Boston Localvores for getting the word out. 

Is this not the awesomest idea?  I get so frustrated living as close as we do to the ocean and yet struggling to be able to buy local fish.  Where does it all go?  Japan, I hear.  Makes me want to turn to piracy.  Aaaaarghh.  But since airborne piracy sometimes goes by another name (i.e., terrorism), a CSF is probably a better choice.

Much like CSAs, the idea is to mobilize a group of committed consumers who pay for their shares ahead of time, thereby guaranteeing buyers and a fairer price than the fishermen might otherwise get in a fickle market.  The benefits and some of the risk are shared between the provider and the consumer.  The fishermen then work with the weather and subjective patterns of nature to catch what makes sense, not just what will fetch the highest price.  They also have the flexibility to experiment with more sustainable fishing practices.  For more on how local fishermen hope this will keep their industry afloat while up against the ocean-sweeping big guys, read this article in the Globe.

Needless to say, I’m on board.  If you do the math, it’s a good deal ($5-$7/lb. if you subtract out the bones).  Here’s the info:

Cape Ann Fresh Catch

• 12-week subscription starts in early June

• May include fresh haddock, cod, flounder, hake, dabs, grey sole, monkfish, pollock, redfish, clams, lobsters, scallops

• Fish comes whole (cleaned and gutted, but not filleted)

• Half share: $180 (4-6 lbs per week)

• Full share: $360 (8-12 lbs per week)

Sign up here.

Test Kitchen Confidential

Every once in while, a magazine will take pity on my queries and let me write something.  It’s not often, so when it happens, it’s cause for celebration.  My latest article is in Tufts Magazine, my alma mater’s fine publication.  It’s about my short but memorable time working behind the scenes of America’s Test Kitchen.  It’s also, quite possibly, the best thing I’ve ever written (not saying much, I know).

Link is here: Test Kitchen Confidential

I wonder if Chris Kimball has a sense of humor?  Guess we’ll find out.

Shrooms

I harvested my first oyster mushrooms and, wow, were they ever pretty!  Like gorgeous ruffled trumpets.  It was painful to slice into them and listen to their Gillespie-style death throes. 

There were only four, so my plans to make mushroom risotto or a nice mushroom soup with my Baer’s Best pearl barley would have to wait for the second flush, if there is a second flush.  Instead, I made a quick bruschetta with butter, leeks, and thyme on garlic-rubbed toast.  It made a tasty, toothsome lunch.

Was it me or was there a hint of coffee flavor to my mushrooms?  I couldn’t tell if the knowledge that they were grown in coffee grounds was biasing me or if they really tasted like coffee.  Then again, why wouldn’t they taste like coffee if that’s what they were grown in?  You are what you eat.  Oyster mushrooms don't have a very strong flavor on their own.  Either way, I didn’t mind the coffee flavor.  I also felt like I had a lot more energy than usual that afternoon.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I actually cleaned one of the rooms in the house.  And did three loads of laundry.  Can anyone confirm this? 

Also, for the record, there was no vomiting.  Yay, add oyster mushrooms to the good list!  I might be developing a mushroom habit, so I hope four isn’t all I’m going to get.

Reuse is the New Recycle

I’ve been lax in linking over to my BlogHer posts lately because I’m still finding my stride.  What works over there doesn’t necessarily work over here and vice versa.  Different audience.  Different format.  I can’t write stuff the same way.  Anyway, this week’s piece on repurposing recyclables seems relevant (and applicable to blog posts, too), so here it is.  Happy Mother’s Day to all you moms out there.

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Turning over your recycling to your town every week is great and everything, but think before you fling useful trash into the recycle bin.  Recycling still swallows resources and some materials may have plenty of remaining life before they progress on their spiritual path toward reincarnation.  Here are some ideas for getting extra mileage out of your food packaging through creative repurposing.

Egg cartons

Take a page from elementary schools across the country and start your sunflower seeds or other seedlings here.  Given my particular set of gardening skills, I don't have personal experience with this but it seems theoretically possible.
         

The blog at FamilyCorner.com has 18 more ways to reuse egg cartons.  Often, local farms are happy to take your extra egg cartons off your hands, too.

Milk cartons

The possibilities for milk jugs are endless: as scoops for the sandbox or filled with water to weigh down your sauerkraut during the fermentation process.  I also use mine as semi-disposable compost buckets. 
         

They’re light and have handles so I can send the kids up the hill to the compost bin.  They think it’s fun, and I delight in their convenient delusions.  Previous buckets have gotten disgusting after a while.  Milk jugs work well because when they get too gross, I just hose them down and then recycle.

DailyEcoTips also suggests using plastic milk bottles to protect young plants in the garden from non-human foragers.  The greenhouse effect is an added bonus.

Six-pack holders

Inspired by the local pub, these can be used as handy caddies for outdoor dining.  Carry utensils, condiments, and salt and pepper shakers back and forth to your picnic table.  Flatten one of the interior separators to fit napkins.  It also gives you a good excuse to pound beers.

Jars and bottles

I use empty spice bottles for bud vases and mason jars for larger arrangements.  That’s not true, exactly.  Husband does all the flower arranging around here.  I suck.

The Paisley Farmhouse has lots of other ideas for mason jars, too.

Anyone else?

New High Fashion Log For Girls

I was never much for dolls growing up.  The only doll I remember having was when I was maybe 3.  It was an ethnically ambiguous Afro-Inuit doll with dreadlocks named Mukluk.  My maternal instinct was…how do I put this delicately: underdeveloped.  Mukluk’s disappearance still remains a mystery to me.  There were no other dolls after her aside from a short-lived and unexplained Barbie fetish in my tween years.  Maybe there were some paper dolls at some point.  I had this bucket of small wooden blocks that I’d build houses and stuff with, and sometimes I’d draw a person onto a block with magic marker.  Does that count? 

Husband would say that my lack of dolls explains a lot about my nurturing side.  Husband would do well to fuck off.  But it’s become clear I could use a female alliance around the house, even if it is mostly symbolic.  I’m hideously outnumbered by males and my remaining cat, a female, hates me because, in her minuscule cat brain, I’m the one who came between her and Husband in their very one-sided, cross-species love affair.  Don’t ask.  But I’m not kidding. 

This is where the logs come in.  I know.  Finally.  The best way to grow shiitakes is in logs.  My preferred doll medium seems to be log-derived.  Why not cross-purpose my shiitake logs and relive my lost youth?  Ren and Stimpy know how much fun logs can be.

First I had to find some logs.  Not dead, rotting logs you find in the woods, as I had planned, because they’re already inhabited by competing fungi.  No, you need recently cut logs.  Except I didn’t want to cut down any trees.  So, I asked myself, what would Barbie do?  Barbie was useless.  She was too busy admiring her boobs in the mirror, as usual, so I asked Ken.  Ken suggested trolling the neighborhood for wood in his convertible.  Ken always got a bad rap.  He’s actually very smart for plastic. 

Sure enough, there was a big pile of logs on the curb down the street.  Turns out everyone cuts down trees in the spring.  Yay, deforestation!  But, boy, those logs are heavier than they look.  I cradled them lovingly in my arms one by one and deposited them in the trunk.  And that’s where they stayed for about two weeks to let the wood’s anti-fungal compounds wear off and to protect them from rogue spores.  (Or because I forgot about them.)  Then I got my drill and punched holes two inches deep about four inches apart, staggered all around the four logs. 

This took much longer than expected because, apparently, I have Black & Decker’s Strawberry Shortcake Purple Pie Man edition of a cordless drill, which has no power even when I recharge the spare battery pack and swap it out and put my full weight on top of it, and then have to wait around for an hour while the other one recharges, and repeat six times.  (Stupid piece of shit.)  (But it smells like strawberries!!)

Anyway, with the 100 or so holes drilled, I banged in the plug spawn with a hammer. 

See?  My doll has implants, too.  Then I brushed the holes with melted beeswax to protect them from insects (messy and a pain to clean up, but at least I made use of all those beeswax sheets I meant to turn into candles for wedding favors but then never did).  With the logs inoculated, you water them once in a while and store them in the shade.  After enough time has passed (about a year, I hear) and the right conditions present themselves (whatever those might be), fungus will start to emerge in ruffles all around the log like an ill-conceived, earth-tone flamenco dress.  If you’re lucky, you can strip down the logs and dress them up again for a good seven years!  My logs are going to be sooooooo pretty.  I can’t wait to have a tea party!

So, if you see me talking to my logs, that’s why.

What Are You Doing On Saturday?

This Saturday, May 9, Boston University is hosting an international conference called The Future of Food: Transatlantic Perspectives, which is free and open to the public.  They have five sessions scheduled with a host of international speakers to discuss the sustainability of our current food system, including a closer look at the global food chain, geopolitics, food safety, climate change, and the ethics of eating.  Speakers include Sandor Ellix Katz, author of Wild Fermentation; Mark Winne, author of Closing the Food Gap: Resetting the Table in the Land of Plenty; and Michael Ableman, farmer and author of Fields of Plenty.  Did I mention it’s free?  And open to the public?  (There are also some other events this Friday, but those have limited seating and may be full—you’d have to check.) 

The schedule is here.  Go if you can.

May in Verse

In case you were wondering who the real writer is in this family, I give you a poem that the Kindergartener wrote at school.  Except he got mad when I called it a poem.  It’s an “acrostic.”  Sorry.

Here it is.  Spring by the Kindergartener:

All rights belong to the kid.