FOOD ON THE FOOD

If God Was Coming To Dinner

Tomorrow is my last chemo.  Maybe there is a God!  And speaking of which, my neighbor Linda, who is guest-posting today, asks the question: What would you serve if God was your dinner guest?  Read on for her menu and a recipe.  Feel free to leave a comment on what you would serve, with God defined as whomever/whatever you believe.  I’m going to need a bunch of ideas because I’ll have to make a whole buffet if God ever drops by unexpectedly.  Thanks, Linda!

Imagine you found out that God was coming to dinner some night soon—what would you make? If you’re like me, you’d probably want to serve something really good, maybe your favorite meal.  I mean, this is God, right?  You’d want it to be pretty impressive.

Some say that we create God in our own image rather than the other way around.  When I think of God, I assume that God is a foodie like me, so clearly, I’d have to serve something gourmet.  For example, I might go with Roy’s Blackened Ahi Tuna, served with jasmine rice sprinkled with black sesame seeds, mango and avocado salad with citrus vinaigrette and, of course, a fabulous chocolate dessert because I can’t possibly believe in a God who doesn’t like chocolate. 

I thought of this topic because I recently hosted a Sufi Master from Jerusalem.  Shaykh Muhammad Safiid al-Jamal ar-Rifafii ash-Shadhdhuliyyah might not be a household name, but he’s the Big Name in this spiritual path.  Sidi (as he’s known) isn’t God but he seems to have a pretty good connection with the “powers that be,” so a lot of work goes into having things just right for him.

Luckily, Sidi comes with his own cook, so all I had to do was shop.  I tried to get his cook Armany to spill the beans but she wasn’t easy to pin down.  Since Sidi is from the Middle East, his food preferences tend to run towards foods they eat there.  In fact, he eats lamb stew every night.  Sidi likes it with a layer of oil on top, but I can’t quite handle that, so I’ve slightly modified the recipe.  I did my best to get exact amounts of ingredients but that’s not really how they cook over there so adjust to your own taste.  The recipe takes several hours to make, most of it just simmering.  But, hey, since you’re cooking for someone Important, you’re not going to start at the last minute, right?

I didn’t take a picture of it because, to be honest, it’s not all that good looking.  But the taste—heaven. Sidi likes it served with Casbah Nutted Pilaf (you can sometimes find that at Whole Foods, though any other rice will do). And for dessert?  Sidi goes for the simple: Kozy Shack rice pudding or chocolate Haagen-Dazs ice cream.  (See I knew God liked chocolate!) 

So, what would you serve?

Sidi’s Lamb Stew

1 lb. lamb, cut into chunks
6-8 cups of water
2 onions, chopped
1-2 Tbsp. allspice
3 Tbsp. olive oil, or more
4-5 ripe, fresh tomatoes
One or more of the following vegetables:  3-4 zucchini, 1 pound of mushrooms, okra,1 head of cauliflower,  etc.
Cumin, turmeric, coriander (optional)
Salt to taste
Prayer (optional)

Put water into large pot. Add half the onion, all the allspice, salt to taste, and 1 Tbsp. of the olive oil.  Bring to a boil. Add lamb.  Bring back to boil, and then turn down to simmer for 3-4 hours.

Meanwhile, core tomatoes and puree in a blender. Cut up your veggies into bite-sized pieces.  In a frying pan, cook the remaining chopped onion along with your other veggies in olive oil.  (I personally love the zucchini, even though it isn’t normally one of my favorite vegetables.)  Add more allspice and salt and any of the optional spices that you like. Cook until the onion is golden and the veggies are soft.  Add the tomato puree.  Then add everything to the meat in the water. Cook all together for 5 minutes to an hour more depending on what tastes best to you.  Serves 3-4.

Salt-N-Pepa’s Here

Tricked you.  They’re not here. 

BUT.  Husband and I got the most beautiful anniversary gift from our Uncle Bob (aka Robert Spellman), an incredible artist out in Boulder.  It’s a painting of a set of turquoise salt and pepper shakers with antiqued crowns standing separate but together and strong.  Oh, look, here's a pic:

And here’s some other stuff I lifted from his web site:

                                       

Pretty.  There's more, too.  Go on and look, I'll wait.

I’m thinking maybe nine years is the charm for marriage because not once since we got that painting have Husband and I argued over who gets to be salt and who gets to be pepper.  It’s almost as if it doesn’t even matter.

(Except for the part where I’m salt.)

Snap. Crackle. Poop.

Recently, Husband came home from the store with this:

My first thought, in my chemo-weakened state, was that he was breaking up with me.  That maybe this was a Dear John letter in cereal form, fortified with extra vitamins and minerals to help me cope with the news.  Things have been getting a little too weird around here and maybe we should just be friends.  “Good” friends.  But only friends.

Then I looked more closely at the box.

Just look at her face.  They’re clearly not just friends.  Not even “good” friends.  They’re most definitely friendly enough to be enjoying breakfast together the next morning, and most likely breakfast in the vicinity of an event that nearly BLEW THEIR MINDS.  It wasn’t the cereal that blew their minds.  That I can tell you with certainty. 

But what sort of event would that be?  Perhaps the insanely happy expression on their faces has something to do with second chances and unexpectedly finding new love in later life.  (I’m guessing that they’re newly entangled because couples who’ve been married for 40 years do not wear that particular expression on their faces except for very special occasions.  And breakfast is not one of them.)  So it could be the love thing, but it’s not.  Could it be the residual glow of unspeakable carnal pleasures that took place between two people who bring a combined 80 years of experience (at least) to the table (or wherever)?  Tempting to assume, but, again, you would be wrong.  It’s something much, much more than that.   Something that can only be had after waiting a really, really long time for something really, really big.  And I think you know what I’m talking about. 

Dumps. 

Maybe simultaneous dumps.

That is the only explanation for the look on their faces.

“Good Friends” promises 50% fiber and my guess, based on the picture alone, is that it delivers.  I really hope so.  I’m still waiting.  Many important friendships depend on it.

Chemo, Part 3

As I was writhing around in bed waiting for the vomit to come, I started negotiating with the powers that be about my future.  God tends to be mum about these things, and I can hardly blame him what with my constant snubbing.  But the Devil’s been too goddamned busy to take my calls, lately, so I decided to bring my grievances before the inside of the toilet bowl.  It’s as good an altar as any, especially these days.

Me: So, how many years is this really buying me?

(The dry heaves begin, and then subside)

Me: It better not be five.  Five years is shit.  Five years is like why did I bother finding the tumor at all?

(More dry heaving)

Me: I don’t need 50 years.  Fifty years would put me at, I don’t know, 85?  Does anyone have a calculator?  I don’t have a lot of confidence in what this country is going to look like when I’m 85.  Will there still be farms?  What about jobs of any kind?  I can’t still be turning tricks at that age.  My heart won’t be in it.  And we all know that retirement is out of the question.

(Dry heaves turn to wet)

Me: What about 30 years?  Does 2039 sound like a good year for wine?  I mean, I know this conversation is moot because I could be struck by lightening at any time, no discussion.  And then there are all those crazy Boston drivers out there, myself included.  Not to mention how accident-prone I am on solid ground.  Okay, so forget 30.  Not going to happen.

(Vomiting.  More vomiting.)

Me: Fifteen.  I’ve definitely earned 15 with the throwing up alone, and that was before chemo.  In 15 years, the kids will be through high school.  Or they better be.  They’ll be off to college and they’ll still probably need me but at least they’ll pretend they don’t.  I won’t settle for less than 15, so don’t be an asshole.

(Vomit, etc., etc.)

Me: Make it 20.

After studying the pattern of the chunks in the vomit, trying to read my fortune like so many tea leaves, I gave up.  No way to know.  No point in trying.

Marking the Halfway Point

Tomorrow is my third treatment, which means I’m halfway done with chemo.  Boy, that sure went by fast.  For you.

To mark this important milestone, I brought out the crock for a quick fermentation project.  One that will hopefully be ready to eat by the time I come up for air around Saturday.  The goal: half-sour pickles.  You know, the kind you find in really good delis.  Because one kind of pickle in the house isn't enough. 

I’ve always called half-sour pickles saltwater pickles because that’s what they taste like and I never knew their real name.  Turns out they’re just cucumbers fermented briefly in, um, salt water.  So I was right.  Anyway, I’ve never made them before, which means the first time should be the charm and then I’ll spend the next year trying to duplicate it.  That’s fine.  I’ll take whatever successes I can get at this point. 

So that I don’t forget what I did, this is what I did:

6 cukes, scrubbed, ends trimmed
1 head garlic, cloves separated, lightly crushed, peeled
1 serrano chile, stemmed, poked with a fork
10 cups water shaken up with
4 Tbsp. sea salt until dissolved

Pack everything into a crock.  Set a clean plate on top and weigh it down with a clean jug of water or what have you so the brine rises above the plate by an inch or two.  Cover with a cloth and secure with rubber band.  Check each day, Tammy.  Each day or have you learned nothing from past failures?  Skim off any foam/ mold.  After 4-6 days they should be ready to eat.  Transfer to jars, brine and all, and keep in the fridge for up to six weeks.

As always, I’ll keep you informed of the outcome.  They smell delightfully briny at this point.  I can only imagine what I’ll think of that smell in approximately 24 hours.

Dill and Repose

Do you know what’s really good for cancer patients?  Spending time on a farm.  Snipping flowers.  Picking yellow, green, and purple beans.  Falling asleep amid the scented, feathery fronds of dill blowing in the breeze.  (Just kidding.  I wasn’t really asleep.  Just resting.)

Here’s a great recipe that will use up the rest of that big bunch of dill you don’t know what to do with.  After all, one can’t live on pickles alone (at least if you want to keep your red cell counts up).  This easy curry dresses up a can of beans from the pantry, which means you won’t use up the day’s energy making lunch.  And if you do, well, I know a nice, cozy spot where you can spend the rest of the afternoon.  Just watch out for tractors.

Quick Chickpea Curry with Dill

The original recipe calls for two whole bunches of dill, but that seems a little extreme.  One suits me just fine.

2 Tbsp. canola oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1-inch piece of ginger, minced
1 tsp. ground coriander
½ tsp. turmeric
¼ tsp. cayenne (or more to taste)
1 medium tomato, finely chopped
1 cup chopped fresh dill (or more)
1 15-oz. can chickpeas, drained (I like Goya)
¼ cup water
1 tsp. salt

Heat oil in medium saucepan over medium heat.  Sauté onion until softened, about 5 minutes.  Add the garlic, ginger, coriander, turmeric, and cayenne, and stir for 3 minutes or so.  Mix in the tomato and cook until soft, about 5 minutes.  Add the dill, chickpeas, water, and salt, and simmer until the dill is tender, maybe 5 minutes more.  Serve warm or at room temperature.

Source: Adapted from 5 Spices, 50 Dishes by Ruta Kahate.

A Pickle A Day

It should come as no surprise that chemo isn’t sitting well with me.  I’ve heard of people who hold down full-time jobs during chemo.  Who go to the gym during chemo.  Who have sex during chemo.  Possibly.  To all of you out there, I salute you.  You are made of stronger stuff than I.  Chemo is my kryptonite, and my superpowers are suspect as it is.

Many of the side effects of chemo remind me of the first trimester of pregnancy, although the killing of cells rather than the nurturing of them gives the process an altogether different patina.  There’s the nausea, of course.  The fatigue.  Heartburn that feels like a chemical spill from your diaphragm right up to your chin.  The aversions to certain tastes and smells.  And weird cravings for things like pickles.

Luckily, though, it’s cucumber season and we’re getting them in our CSA by the bushel.  If you, too, are going through chemo, are pregnant, or just happen to love pickles, do I have the recipe for you.  Bread and butter pickles: an oldie but goodie.  Quick and easy refrigerator pickles that are perfect for burgers, sandwiches, or snacking.  And unlike some of the other pickles I’ve made this year (I’m looking at you, butternut squash), these will not languish in the fridge for months on end, tying up a perfectly good jar.  No, these will be eaten in a flash.

Bread and Butter Pickles

These can theoretically hold in the fridge for at least a month, but please don’t insult the pickles like that.  Dig right in and pretty soon you’ll be putting them on everything. 

3 lbs. pickling cucumbers
2 medium onions, peeled
3 Tbsp. kosher or sea salt
3 cups cider vinegar
2½ cups brown sugar
1 Tbsp. yellow mustard seed
1 tsp. celery seed
1 tsp. turmeric
¼ tsp. allspice (optional)

Trim thin slices off both ends of the cucumbers.  Cut cucumbers and onions into ¼-inch thick rounds.  Toss them with salt in a non-reactive bowl, cover, and refrigerate 1-2 hours.  Drain well, rinse, drain again, and set aside.

In a nonreactive pot, combine vinegar, brown sugar, and spices, and bring to boil over high heat, stirring occasionally to dissolve sugar.  Reduce heat to low, simmer for 3 minutes, and then pour hot liquid directly over cucumbers and onions.  Let cool to room temperature, then jar and refrigerate.  Makes 8 cups.

Source: Adapted from Quick Pickles by Chris Schlesinger, John Willoughby, and Dan George.

Chemo, Part 2

One of the side effects of chemo that I wasn’t prepared for (or maybe it’s the anti-nausea meds) is the firestorm in my brain at night.  I wake up at 2 in the morning, my mind racing, and I can’t get back to sleep for all the static cluttering up my brain.  Me, who can sleep anywhere, anytime.  I don’t have much experience with mind-altering drugs, but it seems a lot like speed.  Or perhaps a mild panic attack.  I’ll just be lying there trying to relax and within moments I’ve levitated three inches off the bed, making a whirring sound like a crazed but paralyzed moth.

Husband: (half-asleep) Go take an Ativan.  That’s what they’re for.

Me: No.  Everything’s fine.

Brain: Beepbeepbwopmmmmbwopbeepboopboopbeepbeepboop...

Me: (Toss.  Turn.  Reposition.)

Brain: Bizzbuzzbuzzbizzbizzbizzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…crackle…

Me: Shhhhh.  Quiet.  I’m trying to sleep.

Brain: I’m going to get you.

Me: Pipe down.

Brain: I’m going to geeeeeeeettttt yoooouuuuuuu….

Me: In that ridiculous getup? 

Brain: BOOM!!  CRASH.  SLAMMMMMM.   SSSSSSSSS…

Me: My, what sharp, needle-y feelers you suddenly have.

Brain: Hisssssssss…spit…spit…hisssssssss…….

Me: You don’t scare me with your thousands of eyes and hairy mouthparts...

Brain: (weird licking sounds)….SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEECCCCCCH…

Me: Mommy!

Ixnay on the oxicitytay

Insert Cherry Joke Here

Lat month, we picked a whole bunch of cherries from Carver Hill Orchard in Stow, same as last year.  As I popped out the stems, rolling the orbs around in my mouth and pushing the stones out with my tongue, I thought about what flavors would work well with them.  Almonds, I thought.  Maybe the woodsy character of fresh rosemary.

So, I got to work on a tart.  I stripped the leaves from a sprig of rosemary into a mortar filled with sugar and ground it with a pestle until the leaves just started to abrade.  The idea was for the essential oils to be transferred to the sugar so the leaves could be sifted out.  I made a lovely lard crust, loaded it up with the pitted cherries and rosemary sugar, and sprinkled it with slivered almonds.  The result?

DIS. GUS. TING.

It was the worst pie I’ve ever made.  Ever.  The herbal “tinge” I was going for was harsh and overwhelming.  Like cough syrup, but chunky.  I would have sooner eaten chicken fried in castor oil.  (I did eat the crust, though.  At least that which was untainted with the blood of a thousand defiled cherries).  I really hope this new trend of mine, to derive culinary inspiration from the field of medicine, is only temporary.

Next Time, Dinner on the Yacht

I had my second round of chemo yesterday, and, boy, they just keep on getting better and better.  So, let’s see what lovely guest poster we have today: Amy from Very Culinary.  Be sure to pop over and say hi.  Thanks, Amy.

Greetings everyone. Regular Food on the Food follower and huge fan here. I hardly feel worthy of sitting in this awesome chair, and considering the circumstances in which I was invited, I feel a little guilty. But in the name of chemo and Tammy needing to get well, I’m giving it a whirl. My observations tell me that you’re a nice group of people. Be kind—please hold your tomato-throwing until the end.

Speaking of not feeling worthy…my husband and I recently met a great new couple. Fun, smart, easy-going, and they have two kids about the same age as ours. For all intents and purposes, they seemed “normal.” When they first extended a dinner invitation to us at their home, we happily accepted.

As we drove up to their house, however, I instantly felt out of my league. Their front lawn alone is big enough for our house. And that was nothing. Entering their front door, I thought, “So, this is how the other half lives.” Three living rooms, five bedrooms (each with their own private bath), a mudroom that a mother of six would fantasize about, a detached guesthouse. And the kitchen? Jaw-dropping.

Luckily it turned out, they are normal—well, normal, if you’re used to socializing with people who own a yacht—and we had a great time. So when they asked us to come back again, we looked forward to it.

The second invitation, though, came with a special request. Would I do the honors of cooking and make use of their kitchen? Because they don’t, of course. (Why is it that everyone who has an amazing kitchen, doesn’t actually cook?) We would also be joined by another couple, the husband of which was employed by the ultimate seafood supply company in the Twin Cities.

Once I got over my anxiety of: a) cooking for someone who probably works around top-notch food people; and b) creating in a kitchen I’m unfamiliar with, the size of Manhattan, I was able to actually focus on the food.

Seafood Guy would kindly provide me with anything I’d like. My choice of any fish or crustacean, for real? I had goose bumps just thinking about it. I hemmed and hawed. Scallops, perhaps? No, wait. Oysters. I rarely get to have oysters. But soft-shell crab is in season. Hmm. Oh, maybe whole trout…

I made my decision. I was going to make Prosciutto-Wrapped Scallops in a Chive Butter and Egg Sauce (sounds fabulous, right?). But at the last minute, I found out one of the fine diners has an allergy. Heavy sigh.

All was not lost. I went with salmon. And instead of experimenting with something new, I went with a dish I know is delicious and sure to please: Broiled Salmon with Lentils in a Mustard Vinegar Sauce.

The sauce is a perfect complement to salmon, mellowing its strong flavor. And bonus: health benefits of Omega-3, fiber content, very little fat, and by leaving out the optional butter, it’s perfect for anyone with a dairy allergy. It did not disappoint.

And what would a yummy dinner be without a yummy dessert? Incomplete, I say. These are my favorite cookies. They have chickpeas in them. Yes, you heard me right. Chickpeas.

They’re also kind of ugly, like they belong on the island of misfit cookies. But what they lack in beauty, they make up for in personality.

We went home with smiles on our faces and full bellies. And this is what I learned:

1. Most kids will eat just about anything if you drown it in mustard or ketchup.
2. I like my tiny kitchen. My food tastes just as good. And I don’t break a sweat walking from the sink to the garbage can.
3. Having a lot of money allows you to buy lots of big statues.

P.S. If Tammy ever invites me back, I can tell you about their garage.

Hair Day

Last week, my BFF and I went shopping for a wig.  Because even though I hate shopping, I was a little bit worried about how the children might react when I suddenly go bald.  Also, how I might react.  I mean, we all know my hair and I haven’t always been on the best of terms, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to sever all ties.  Surely we could work out a mutually agreeable arrangement. 

No?

Anyway, I already have a few bandanas I got at Target for the really hot days when having no hair is an actual blessing.  But not every occasion lends itself to a bandana.  Like all of the fancy wine tastings I never go to.  Also, events at exclusive country clubs I’m not a member of.  Job interviews I don’t get.  Prom invitations that never materialize.  I need to be prepared. 

So we went and I tried to keep an open mind, she who has never dyed her hair in her life nor changed her hairstyle in 15 years.  The wig lady showed us lots of options.  There were dark chocolate bobs and pixie-ish cuts the color of flax seed.  There were sleek cascades of mahogany with cherry highlights, and mad tangles of curls in strawberry blonde.  I thought I wanted a black blunt cut à la Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction, but I wasn’t sure I would have the intensity to pull that off.  I never win in staring contests.  Especially not dancing, staring contests.  And certainly not dancing, staring contests with murder lurking in the air. 

Husband had put in a vote for the pink wig that Natalie Portman wore in Closer.  I did try on the pink wig.  I did, but there were about 100 reasons why that wasn’t going to work, starting with the pink color.  If you ever want to look like death warmed over, put on a neon pink wig.  Sorry, Natalie, but I don’t need any more help in that department, and, frankly, your luminousness is a long shot for anyone on a good day.

Believe it or not, trying on all those wigs was not depressing at all, and, in fact, was quite fun.  Like I could just up and decide to be anybody I wanted.  It made me fantasize about being a spy in a really, really non-dangerous type of situation.  Like if my client, let’s call him Charlie, very badly needed to know what Jon Hamm of Mad Men orders when he goes out to eat.  Then I would be your woman.  I might be very interested in such an assignment, actually, which would be fine with Husband because he would be over at the bar courting January Jones, and whatever happens in the restaurant bathroom stays in the restaurant bathroom, no questions asked.

In the end, I couldn’t decide, so I got two: one short, cropped wig in my regular chestnut brown and one shoulder-length blonde one.  Well, not blonde so much as straw-colored (but on me it looks BLONDE!).  Does it look ridiculous?  Kinda.  But, guess what, I don’t care.  I’ve always heard that blondes have more fun and now’s my chance to find out.  Of course, there are probably more boobs involved in that equation normally.  And less vomiting.  But I’ve been wrong about stuff before.

So, this recipe goes out to all my blonde friends (and one particular red-head).  We’ll compare notes later.

Blondies

For maximum fun, make a pan of these and a pan of your favorite dark chocolate brownies and let your guests duke it out over which is better and why.  That always gets the party started.

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
2 cups brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
2 cups flour
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. kosher salt
1 cup chocolate chips
½ cup butterscotch chips
1 cup chopped pecans
Sea salt for sprinkling

Preheat oven to 350°F.  Butter a 9”x13” pan and line with parchment paper.

Cream butter and sugar with an electric mixer until smooth.  Add eggs, beating well after each addition.  Add vanilla and mix again.  In a separate bowl, mix flour, baking soda, and salt.  Add dry ingredients and mix on low until just combined.  Stir in chips and nuts.  Spread in prepared pan and sprinkle top with a few pinches of sea salt.  Bake for about 30 minutes, until top is golden brown and the middle yields slightly to gentle pressure.