FOOD ON THE FOOD

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving this year was less eventful than last year. However, that was only because the iron I left on while we were out of state for two days wasn’t close enough to anything flammable to set the house on fire, thank god. I guess I was too distracted by checking the oven 45 times before we left to make sure it was off to venture into the other rooms in the house. This is why I keep my ironing to a minimum.

Forty-eight hours earlier, far away from the blazing iron, Thanksgiving dinner with my dad and Nonni (now 91) was cozy and pleasant. This despite the very recent shadow of a rather significant death in the family from a rather significant disease (I’ll give you three guesses as to the culprit, but you won’t need that many). Still, the easy banter between Nonni and my dad remained more or less intact, like when my dad decided to do some of his laundry at Nonni’s house:

Her: You have some nerve.

Him: I’ll pay you for the water.

Her: The water’s free.

Him: Okay, then go outside and wash my car.

So even though it’s been a rough year for everybody, it seems, there are still plenty of things to be thankful for: a nice meal, family, free water, shelter, life, etc.

Aunt Margaret Ann Donroe Bellafronto
1942-2009

Is Anyone Hiring a Dictionary Editor?

Sometimes kids can boil things down to their best, most essential parts. Take the other night. Husband made his garlicky chicken and broccoli pasta dish. The 4YO, pleased with the dinner offerings that evening, sat down and said he was going to “enjoy” it. Not simply “like” it, but “enjoy” it. He said he hoped that we would enjoy it, too. He was very proud of his new vocabulary. Then he followed it up with, “Enjoy means you have a family, and you like the pasta. That’s what enjoy means.”

Couldn’t have said it any better myself.

Wow, Winter Share!

This was one of two winter share distributions from Waltham Fields. Contents included:

1 bag arugula
1 bag mixed salad greens
1 bag spinach
1 head lettuce
1 bunch radishes
1 bulb fennel
3 stalks Brussels sprouts
4 broccoli crowns
4 cauliflower crowns
1 bunch kale
1 huge bunch collard greens
1 bag rainbow chard
1 bunch Asian braising greens
1 Napa cabbage
1 bok choy
5 leeks
7 red onions
5 yellow onions
7 shallots
8+ lbs. potatoes
8+ lbs. sweet potatoes
8+ lbs. carrots
2 butternut squashes
2 delicata squashes

Only four squashes total. Phew!

Sugar Mama

We’re still working our way through the Halloween candy, if you can believe it. We (the kids, I mean) got an unbelievable amount this year, probably because it was so warm outside that everyone was in a good mood, raining entire bags of candy in the vicinity of outstretched plastic pumpkin buckets.

We’ve been rationing out the loot to the kids if they eat a good dinner: two pieces for them, two pieces for mommy. That means they each get to pick out one for me—their choice—although I have absolute veto power over Smarties, Tootsie Rolls, NECCO wafers, or basically anything that’s not a Snickers, Milky Way, Kit Kat, Twix, Butterfinger, you get the idea. Husband gets an automatic Almond Joy.

As the First Grader was agonizing over what he could possibly spare from his dwindling reserves, the 4YO, who is still unclear on the concept of consequences, handed me a two-pack of peanut butter cups with a smile. Score! Husband looked on in disgust:

Him: (to the First Grader) Watch out. She’ll trick you out of your best candy.

Me: (chewing) ...

Him: Notice that she doesn’t deny it.

Me: (chewing) ...

Him: She’s got guilt written all over her chocolate-smeared face.

Me: (still chewing) ...

He can say whatever he wants. I know my Miranda rights.

Maybe He’ll Get Free French Fries

Over breakfast the other morning, I was explaining to the kids why we would be seeing a lot more of daddy around the house. I said there wasn’t any more work for him to do at his old job, so he would be looking for a new job. That seemed perfectly logical to the First Grader:

Him: What kind of a job is daddy going to get?

Me: I don’t know. Maybe something the same as what he had before.

(Earnest thinking from the First Grader)

Him: I know what he should be.

Me: What?

Him: A clown.

Now, why didn’t I think of that?

Tryp-to-fun

I know. Worst pun ever. But...

Looking for something to fill you up between now and Thanksgiving? Preferably something that won’t put you to sleep? A few local events to consider:

Novella Carpenter is reading from her Farm City memoir in Fort Point this evening, Friday, November 13, from 5:30 to 7:30 p.m. Yes, I know that’s just two hours from now. Did you already have plans? Joan Teebagy will also be there to talk about raising your own chickens in your backyard. Cost is $10. RSVP here. (Fort Point Artists Community store, 12 Farnsworth St, Boston, next to the new Flour Bakery, 617-423-1100)

Did you know that some of the best food around can be found at local-foods-oriented potlucks? It’s true. This weekend, Boston Localvores and the Urban Homesteaders’ League are hosting one on Sunday, November 15 from 5 to 7 p.m. in Inman Square. Bring a seasonal dish or beverage to share. Event is free. (Outpost 186, 186½ Hampshire St, Inman Square, Cambridge)

There’s a special screening of the Danish film, Babette’s Feast, at the Coolidge Corner Theatre on Monday, November 16 at 7 p.m. It will be followed by a discussion of the sense of taste led by food scientist Guy Crosby of Cook’s Illustrated and America’s Test Kitchen. Tix are $9.75 for adults, $6.75 for children, seniors, or members. (Coolidge Corner Theatre, 290 Harvard St., Brookline, 617-734-2500)

Maybe there’s some other stuff going on, too? Whatcha got?

Pilgrim’s Progress

We took the kids to Plimoth Plantation over the weekend during that wonderful spell of Indian summer we just had. (By the way, I don’t think the word “Indian” is offensive in the context of summer, do you? There were signs posted up all over the trails suggesting the use of the term “Native Peoples,” but “Native People summer” gives the impression of overwhelming numbers of native people being around during the actual summertime and so it’s confusing not to mention unwieldy, not unlike this tangent.)

If you’re not from around here and/or live under a rock that’s not Plymouth Rock, Plimoth Plantation is one of the biggest tourist attractions outside of Boston, with a full-scale replica of Plimoth colony circa 1627 complete with walking historians who act out the roles of the actual settlers, as well as a reproduction of a Wampanoag village. Maybe it’s uncool to admit it, but I was kind of excited to go back after all these years. I loved Plimoth Plantation as a kid, sneaking into other people’s homes and snooping through all their stuff. Later, as a teenager, I engaged in the fine art of Pilgrim-baiting (trying to trick the role-players into admitting knowledge of the modern world, as if no one’s ever tried that one before). Now that I’m older and oh-so-very-much-wiser, I couldn’t wait for my kids to have the same peek into 17th century life. And to tell the Pilgrims all about the Internet!

It’s a little bit awkward, though, to interact with the staff at period museums like this (Old Sturbridge Village included). You don’t want the actors to think you yourself are actually fooled by their phony accents and thatched roofs and very convincing daily chores going on around you. You know they’re just acting, and you know they know you know they’re just acting (you hope). But it’s also important to keep the magic alive for the children. What kind of a loser goes to a place like this and then refuses to participate (loud throat-clearing directed at Husband). In this vein, I was happy to aid the First Grader in his earnest quest to locate a young Pilgrim boy named Samuel Eaton he’d read about in a library book. But then maybe you might find yourself getting way too wrapped up in conversation with a possible distant relative of young Samuel to the point of cracking the eggs for her pain perdu while your children wander away.

After a while, Husband had to intervene because the other 21st century folk jammed into the one-room dwelling couldn’t get a word in edgewise:

Me: (to Pilgrim lady) So tell me again what you like to do with all these squashes.

Husband silently leads me out the door by the elbow.

Me: What?

Him: You do know they’re not real Pilgrims, right?

Me: Duh. I know that. I was just playing along.

Him: …

Me: But I was a little offended that she didn’t ask us to stay for lunch. She had three golden opportunities but kept changing the subject to the news from England. I didn’t make all those sausage patties for nothing.

That’s okay. There's always next time. I wonder what my new friends are doing two Thursdays from now?

Biggish Night

So, in a hilarious plot twist, Husband got laid off last week. At least I think it’s supposed to be funny. I keep fake-laughing and looking all around in the hopes that we’ve been punk’d by Ashton Kutcher and he’ll suddenly appear saying it was all a big practical joke so that I can punch him in the face. I’ll have to whip off my wig before the fists start flying to get the full G.I. Jane effect, especially if the cameras are still rolling. I think Ashton would appreciate the irony.

Husband doesn’t appear to be upset about this turn of events and, in fact, has a spring in his step and a song in his voice where previously there was neither. Meanwhile, I seem to be emitting a barely perceptible, high-frequency sound emanating from somewhere within my cranium which is causing all of the dogs in a five-mile radius to howl. It’s not that the layoffs were wholly unexpected. The two surprise unpaid furloughs this summer were as clear a sign as any. It’s just that, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s hard to find a job these days.

I was joking with Husband that we should empty out my piddly IRAs and throw a giant party with the works like what they did in Big Night, one of my top five favorite movies. Have you seen it? You must see it. It’s joyful. In fact, that’s your homework: to watch it if you haven’t already. You can borrow my copy, but you MUST send it back.

A big, delicious food bender with friends and large quantities of spirits sounded good to me, but Husband said he didn’t want to make a big deal about it. Sigh. As a compromise, I blew a cool fifty on wine, bread, cheese, pate, and olives at a local cheese shop and we had that instead. The wine was a Spanish tempranillo called Ultimatum. Perfect! I forgot the cornichons, though. Husband didn’t miss them. I believe his exact words were, “What the fuck’s a cornichon?”

Anyway, the moral of this story is: a) somebody please hire Husband; and b) as far as my job search is concerned, if anybody calls you for a reference, regardless of whether I’m actually qualified for the job at stake, you are to say that, no, I don’t write a blog, you don’t know what they’re talking about; that, yes, I’m healthy as an ox and will not put any sort of strain on their company’s health insurance premiums, no siree; that, yes, I get along well with others, and, in fact, contrary to what they may have heard, I have a very, very sparkling personality. Okay? Practice this ahead of time if you can’t say it with a straight face.

Soup Season

It’s that time of year again when I live on soup. When I dig out the stored-up bones in the freezer from the spring and summer, and combine the resulting stock with local beans and late season vegetables like kale and sweet potatoes. This recipe for Cuban black bean and sweet potato soup came from The Chopra Center Cookbook by Dr. Deepak Chopra, a practitioner of the Ayurvedic health traditions of India. I’ve been reading up on the different ways one might modify one’s lifestyle to reduce the risk of a cancer recurrence. You know, just to educate myself on the different philosophies in case I might be open to any lifestyle adjustments at all. It’s unclear at the moment. Especially if it means not eating so much Halloween candy. But I’m always open to soup. Soup seemed, at the very least, an okay place to start. Except that I think we can use an entire tablespoon of oil for that whole big pot of soup, maybe two, instead of the meager 1 teaspoon called for in the recipe. Sheesh.
Cuban Black Bean and Sweet Potato Soup It seems like a lot of black pepper, I know. I held back at first, but then I ended up adding all the rest of it in at the end. It works. 1 cup black beans, sorted, rinsed, and soaked overnight in water 2 bay leaves 1 Tbsp. olive oil 1 cup leeks or onions, diced 1 cup celery, diced 2 Tbsp. soy sauce 1 tsp. black pepper 1 cup carrots, diced 1 large sweet potato, peeled, cut into ½-inch cubes 2 tsp. cumin 1 tsp. cinnamon 1 tsp. oregano 1 pinch red pepper flakes 1 cup diced tomatoes (from a can is fine) 4 cups chicken or vegetable stock 2 cups torn kale ½ cup cilantro, chopped Salt and pepper to taste Drain and rinse the soaked beans and place in a large pot. Cover with water by several inches, add the bay leaves, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until soft (about 1 hour for my beans). Reserve 1 cup of bean stock, then drain off the rest and set beans aside, discarding bay leaves. In the same pot, heat the oil. Add the leeks, celery, soy sauce, and pepper, and simmer for about 3 minutes. Add the carrots, sweet potato, cumin, cinnamon, oregano, and red pepper flakes. Sauté for 5 minutes, letting mixture brown slightly. Add the beans and the tomatoes. Simmer a few more minutes, and then add the stock and reserved bean cooking liquid. Add water if the liquid doesn’t cover the contents of the pot. Simmer the soup until the sweet potatoes are soft. Add the greens and stir to wilt in the hot soup. Season with salt and pepper. Garnish with cilantro just before serving.

Local Sources: Sweet potatoes, carrots, leeks: Waltham Fields, Waltham, MA Black beans: Baer’s Best (Moraine Farm), Beverly, MA (via Russo’s) Chicken bones for stock: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA

Sauerkraut Redux

Cabbage, salt in.
Sauerkraut out.
You know the drill.
Forty days, 40 nights,
God willing,
For an early Christmas present.

Don’t fail me, Self.

Closing Out the ELC

I forgot to show you my last Eat Local Challenge meal of the month: Indian cauliflower and potatoes, ginger-creamed kale, and chicken tikka masala over rice. The rice was not local, but let me remind you that I was not officially doing the Eat Local Challenge this year. Just a scaled-back effort in spirit and solidarity. So although I had my local Baer’s Best barley at the ready to substitute for the rice, I didn’t wanna, and so I didn’t. I have other plans for that barley, which don’t involve pretending that it’s basmati rice.

Also, what you can’t see in the picture is that Husband and I consumed the whole meal while floating on our backs in a swimming pool, trays of food resting on our chests. Because we’re both such excellent swimmers!

Local Sources:

Onions, cauliflower, kale, garlic: Waltham Fields, Waltham, MA

Potatoes: Picadilly Farm, Winchester, NH

Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT

Ginger: Me, Waltham, MA

Chicken: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA

Yogurt: Liberté, Montréal (technically Canadian, but they use milk from Vermont farms and I LOVE their yogurt)