FOOD ON THE FOOD

H2O

Did you hear that Boston was without clean water for a few days?  It’s hardly as disastrous as the oil spill in the Gulf, but, boy, it really makes you realize how lucky we are to: a) have water; b) have clean water; and c) have it enter our homes through actual pipes in the walls, not holes in our basements.

The short version of the story is that there was a rupture in the 10-foot-wide water pipe that carries clean water from the Quabbin Reservoir in central Massachusetts to the Boston area.  The leak, which occurred about a mile from our house, cut off the eastward flow at Weston, leaving all of Boston, Waltham, and 27 other cities and towns without clean water (but not Cambridge, which has its own water supply).  Water was rerouted from several other area reservoirs, but a percentage of that water was untreated and potentially unsafe, so a boil order was issued mid-day on Saturday to minimize any public health implications from possible bacterial contamination.  The order was lifted today, Tuesday, after the pipe was repaired and water safety testing was completed.

So, two and a half days without clean water.  No big deal, right?  Just boil it.  Buy a few jugs of spring water (if you can find any on the empty shelves).  Except, do you have any idea how much water one uses on a daily basis?  Water that just happens to be mostly free of bacteria and parasites and random floating debris and is delivered promptly to multiple faucets in convenient locations inside one’s home?  It’s a lot.  Trust me.  Because it’s not just drinking water that needs to be clean, but also water to wash your hands, water to wash your food, water to cook the food, water to wash the dishes after you eat the food, water to brush your teeth after you eat the food.  Point is, it ends up being a lot of water.  And if you’re not prepared, you might find yourself with nothing to drink but scalding hot water like I did on Saturday night when we got home to the news and an empty refrigerator and a suddenly unquenchable thirst.  (Okay, fine, I dumped a tray of ice cubes into the recently boiled water.  Why do you always have to ruin my dramatic stories?)

While I can’t deny the inconvenience of the boil order, I guess it wasn’t that bad all in all.  I taped off the refrigerator’s water dispenser and kept jugs of boiled water in the fridge as well as some bottles of spring water that Husband scored out in Framingham.  We used these for drinking and food prep.  I covered the two bathroom faucets with a dishtowel rubber-banded over them to keep us (okay, me) from turning them on out of sheer mindless habit.  Next to each sink was a pitcher of boiled and cooled water for hand-washing and tooth-brushing, which I had to keep a close eye on lest the children cross-contaminate it with something far worse than what it originally contained.  I also had to micro-manage the specifics of hand-washing since my kids seem to like to work the soap into a thick and sickening paste on their hands, which would take an entire pot of water to wash off, and then they start rubbing their hands together again, which whips the remaining soap molecules into another hopeful lather, and for god’s sakes, kids, stop rubbing your hands together when I’m rinsing.  I’ll be boiling water all day.

We kept the kitchen sink open for pot-filling and the dish-sterilization procedure that involved soaking the dishes in a dilute bleach solution in batches and then letting them air dry.  I was not fond of this additional dishwashing step.  Not at all.  If the boil order had continued for another week, I think we’d be looking at the elimination of this step, replaced, perhaps, by preventative post-dinner shots of vodka. 

But, luckily, the water situation was just temporary.  Now I’m looking at my faucets in a whole new light.  Oh, who am I kidding, no I’m not.  I’m back to taking refreshing, potable water for granted again just like I did during the good old days of last week.  It took all of 10 seconds after the boil order was lifted and I finished flushing the bad water out of our pipes in what, to an uninformed observer, must have looked like symbolically wasteful fashion.  The moral of this story is: MWRA, please take good care of our water supply!

Love,

Tammy

Blog Post Compost

I’ve been a bit bogged down this week, so do me a favor and entertain yourselves by plugging in a search term over there in the upper right hand corner and see what comes up. Maybe something good. Maybe not, but maybe so.

I had the good folks at Lijit index my site to make it more easily searchable in case you (okay, I) remember seeing a recipe for something but can’t seem to find it in the archives. My posts don’t always seem to come up on Google, I’ve noticed. Plus, then I’m competing with everyone else who’s more popular than I am.

The search bar is also an anonymous way to request recipes you’d like to see. My account saves the search terms so if I get a lot of searches for, say, homemade corned beef, why I just might set aside my Chestnut Farms beef brisket for that very purpose. No guarantees, but let’s automatically assume that I’ll definitely be making homemade corned beef at some point. The search function will also help my dad finally complete his graph of profanity he’s been working so hard on. Accuracy is very important to him.

Hey, I like this idea of putting my readers to work. Soon I’ll have you writing all my blog posts for me while I lounge atop a giant pile of sliced corned beef shavings in little more than an apron. Luckily, I’m sure my readership is above typing any questionable search parameters into the engine, right?

I guess we’ll find out.

Something About An Ark

Did you hear that Massachusetts got some rain a week ago? Like, a wicked lot. More than 10 inches in 72 hours. Anyway, I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures, especially if you’ve been taking them in your own basement and possibly also your yard.

Living on a very steep hill, we got off easy—the water level in our basement never got higher than three inches. Whoever built our house nearly 100 years ago had the foresight to cut a hole in the cellar floor with a drainage pipe that runs underground, down the hillside, and through a retaining wall that opens out to the street. In fact, I remember getting into my car in the pouring rain and noticing how much water was gushing out of that pipe. I briefly wondered where that pipe was draining from, since I had never seen any water come out of it before, then promptly directed my attention elsewhere. Like to my automatic umbrella that kept spontaneously opening inside the car.

Later that evening, when the fire department arrived to pump out our next-door neighbor’s basement (apparently there’s some sort of safety hazard with regard to rising water and the ancient furnaces and water heaters the old houses in these parts have), that’s when it all came together. That’s when we had the pleasure of discovering the raging river right under our feet. Unfortunately, that aforementioned drainage hole is located in the highest area of the basement, elevation-wise, in the corner furthest from the actual leak, and so the whole basement had to fill up before any actual drainage occurred. That is, until Husband and our neighbor busted in some temporary walls and ripped out an old shower stall to access a closer drain. Then the water level started going down despite the fact that water continued shooting in like a fire hose through a hole in the foundation all night long.

One week and 20 industrial-sized garbage bags later, the basement is mostly dry and the damage wasn’t that bad. It’s not a finished basement and most of the important stuff was up off the floor. The things that got wet and ruined were mostly boxes full of crap intended for the trash or a yard sale anyway, old insulation and wallboard we were never going to use, and a couple of rodents that appeared to have met their maker long before things got all biblical.

The basement needed some serious help, anyway. Some demolition, some organization, some decontamination now that both cats have passed on. Maybe now I can get to know my basement a little better instead of avoiding it at all costs. Maybe we can organize a real workshop for Husband. Perhaps cordon off an area that the kids can use as a clubhouse. Maybe there will even be something it in for me? Something besides laundry. What it would be, I don’t know.

Wait a minute. What do we have here?

A little closet-sized room. With three sides exposed to the cold, cold ground. And a door.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Last Raffle Winner

And the winner of The Devil’s Food Dictionary is…Alexis!

Wow, I couldn’t have rigged that any better if I tried. Alexis is the reigning champion of codeSparrow so far, and I was worried that I’d have to come up with some kind of prizes for that site, too. And I’m running out. We’re down to just my sauerkraut at this point and, given how tasty it came out this time (finally), I’m hard-pressed to share. Plus, is it gross to eat somebody else’s sauerkraut? I hope not since we had our neighbors over last weekend for a sauerkraut bake with pork chops and brats and, now that I think about it, I haven’t heard from them since. Hello?

Anyway, thanks to everyone for participating. I wish I had something for each of you. And thanks to Husband for policing the whole raffling process. He’ll make an honest woman out of me, yet. Maybe.

Suddenly UnScrooge-Like, Part 3

Up for grabs in our next and final raffle is a brand new (dare I say autographed?) copy of one of the best food books out there, if truth and factual accuracy mean nothing to you. I’ve written about The Devil’s Food Dictionary: A Pioneering Culinary Reference Work Consisting Entirely of Lies before, and I likely will again. I will continue to write about this book until it takes its rightful place on shelves alongside (maybe even in front of) Ruhlman and Bourdain and Fisher. An excerpt:

fig Known as "Nature's racy metaphor," the fig is a luscious tree fruit that, at its ripest and most succulent, has a disreputable air of wantonness and sensuality. Figs can be dried into a tasty, durable snack food or incorporated, either dried or fresh, into works of fiction. Adam and Eve are said to have employed fig leaves to "cover their shame" after their expulsion from Eden. Sometime later, their son Cain murdered his brother Abel after the latter publicly joked that a whole leaf was not necessary to cover Cain's shame, but merely a single fig.

See? It’s good, wholesome fun for the whole family!

You may remember author Barry Foy as the guest poster extraordinaire who introduced us to his canned bean CSA over the summer. I came along to his Toot Hollow Farm CSA pickup last fall down a long, long, very long asphalt road in the middle of nowhere, pepper spray hidden in my pocket and firmly in my grasp the whole time, and, let me tell you, it was a delight! Really, you smell it before you see it.

Anyhoo, he just did a book signing thing out in Seattle as well as a radio interview that was pretty funny. If you’d like a chance to win this book, I’ll meet you down there in the comment section.

Cookie Cutter Winner

And the winner of the train cookie cutter raffle is...Susanna!

Happy cookie-making! I’ll be in touch.

To ease the blow for the rest of you, here are some of my favorite cookies and cookie-like confections for the holidays that I’ve posted over the years. None require cookie-cutters.

Chocolate chip cream cheese cookies

Pignoli cookies

Blondies

Seven-layer cookies

Penuche

Raisin cheesecake cookies

Anginettes

Bambury tarts

There’s one more giveaway left, and then it’s back to our regularly scheduled Scrooge-like behavior.

Suddenly UnScrooge-Like, Part 2

The last raffle went well. Only 57 people hate me now.

Next up is a set of train-themed cookie cutters for your holiday baking pleasure. They’re courtesy of Ann Clark, a Vermont company that specializes in handcrafted cookie cutters in all different shapes and sizes. You can check out the rest of the inventory here (I like the cardinal and acorn ones, too). Do you know where your cookie cutters came from? Hopefully, not China.

So, if you have kids, are a kid, know kids you have to buy for, like cookies, eat cookies, eat cookies on trains, or anywhere else for that matter, leave a comment on this post. I will then write the names on little slips of paper, roll out some cookie dough, bake the cookies, insert the papers fortune-cookie-style, hop aboard a train, start eating cookies, and when the train conductor comes by and asks me for my ticket, which I won’t have, I’ll offer him a cookie instead. And the name inside that cookie will be the winner. Okay?

Get going.

Cookbook Winner

And the winner of the 5 Spices, 50 Dishes raffle is…

Amanda!

Congratulations! I hope you love it as much as I do. I’ll be in touch by e-mail. Don’t put your address in the comment section unless you want lots of hate mail.

Everyone else, stay tuned for more free stuff.

Suddenly UnScrooge-Like, Part 1

You’re such awesome readers. Not just because you visited codeSparrow like I asked, and some of you even played, but also need I remind you of the kind of content you’ve been subjected to over the years on this here blog and yet you still come back. Why? No one knows. So, I’m getting into the holiday spirit by raffling off some free stuff. See? I love you guys, whoever you are.

First up is a brand new copy of the Indian cookbook, 5 Spices, 50 Dishes by Ruta Kahate. It’s the cookbook I’ve used the most this year. I haven’t made everything in it, yet, but pretty close. The stir-fried cabbage is to-die-for, not to mention the railway potatoes, spice-rubbed lamb chops, chickpea curry with dill, sweet potatoes with ginger and lemon, beets with mustard seed, lentil rice pilaf, creamed farmer greens, red onion raita…I could go on.

As the title suggests, you only need five spices to make all the dishes, most of which you probably already have (cumin, coriander, cayenne, turmeric, mustard seed). That makes it a good gateway into the world of Indian home-cooking without having to commit to any other expensive spice relationships. I just reduce the amount of cayenne by half for my wussy, post-chemo taste buds. The other great thing about this cookbook is how many vegetable dishes there are, so if you’re in a CSA and looking for ideas, you can pretty much always find something. Oh yeah, and the recipes are relatively uncomplicated.

I thought you might enjoy it, so I contacted Chronicle Books and they generously offered to donate a book to one lucky reader. Since my copy is all splattered and singed with a broken binding from being flung all over the kitchen in a frenzied manner, I’m half-tempted to switch them out and give you the crappy one. But that would be Scrooge-like of me. I’m going for the opposite of Scrooge-like. Therefore, you will receive a pristine book with which to work your own singed, splattered magic.

To be entered in the raffle, simply comment on this post about anything, anything at all, whatever’s on your mind, before my next post goes up, which will probably be on Thursday. Then I’ll put all the names into a mixing bowl with those five spices and see which one tastes the best. Just kidding. I’ll have Husband pick the winner so you can get mad at him, not me, if you lose. I have a few other things to give away in the next few weeks, so don’t worry if you miss out this time.

Ready, set, go!

My Latest Get-Rich-Quick Scheme

Can you guess what it is?

Another blog! Not just another blog, but a blog with “advertising potential.” Possibly. You know, once it has “readers.”

Anyway, it’s not about food or cancer. I’m branching out. It’s called codeSparrow and how it works is I, disguised as a clever and discerning bird, pick out my favorite tweets (i.e., quips from Twitter) and encode them into a cryptogram. Then you, or whoever, with your masterful grasp of the English language, solve the code and hopefully giggle instead of unfollowing me.

Why, might you ask, would anyone want to struggle to decode something that they could read on Twitter in its original form in under 1 second? To answer your question, I pose two questions of my own: 1) Is everything in life supposed to be easy? and 2) Do you know how many tweets you have to read to get to the entertaining ones? A lot. A real lot.

I love cryptograms and I know other people do, too, not just the 80-year-olds I hang out with. I’m hoping that amateur cryptography is like knitting in that you don’t know how many other knitters are out there until somebody starts a blog and then suddenly there are millions of knitters everywhere, not just your mom, but also your neighbor, as well as half the people who shop at Russo’s, even the sports bloggers have a knitting page, and, come to find out, even I, the world’s least crafty person, still remember how to do hairpin lace 20 years after my mom showed me how and could definitely produce some sort of drafty scarf if pressed by terrorists. Who also have knitting blogs.

So, I hope I can coax you guys away from your knitting to at least check it out, maybe compliment me on my bird drawing, which took about 112 tries. And, no, I don’t plan on putting ads on Food on the Food. I mean, unless things get really desperate around here. Like if you see me on the sketchy side of Moody St. wearing sparkly eye shadow and an unflatteringly low-cut top. Then you might see some low-budget advertising. Featuring me in sparkly eye shadow and an unflatteringly low-cut top.

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.)

Day Off

Can’t blog today.  Too much gorgeousness.  Tomorrow maybe.

A Few Items of Interest…Or Not

• Food for Everyone is the theme of the Spring 2009 issue of Yes Magazine, and there are a bunch of articles worth checking out, including a look at the next generation of young farmers across the country.  Two from The Food Project here in Massachusetts got a nice mention.  (BTW, I love the old school-bus-turned-greenhouse they use at Nashville Urban Harvest.)  

• Also, the Chicago Tribune called out this very blog as a must-read for the health-conscious, according to the nutritionists that were interviewed.  Which just proves that nutritionists have a sense of humor whether you realize it or not.  So, a big thanks to whomever gave them my name.  (This doesn’t change my love of lard, though.)

• I may or may not have hideous cramps right now.  Bulleted lists are usually a good indicator.

How To Repair a KitchenAid Mixer Yourself

Do you want to hear how my KitchenAid story ended?  Sure you do. 

To catch you up if you’re new, my KitchenAid mixer broke while I was using the dough hook, and it made me very, um, mad.  Because those things are supposed to last forever.  I’m a reasonable person, but, last I checked, eight years is a few months shy of infinity. 

Well, KitchenAid got in touch with me after my post and said they were sorry but they couldn’t send me a new mixer.  I told them I didn’t expect them to send me a new mixer.  I wanted my mixer.  To work.  It’s not like I’ve been mixing small- batch cement in there for foundation repairs.  Just normal batters, frostings, and the occasional dough. 

As a courtesy, the KitchenAid people offered to send me a box and a shipping label to send the mixer back to them so they could give me an estimate for how much it would cost to fix it.  In other words, they weren’t going to fix it for free, but they would cut me a break on shipping.  And let’s not forget the complimentary cookbook they sent.  Which I placed lovingly next to my broken mixer to fully enjoy the irony.  Come on, Tammy, don’t be catty.

While I did appreciate the attempt at a gesture, this just didn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense.  I’d just as soon pay a local place to fix it and skip all of the ridiculous shipping of a 30-lb. appliance.  The hundreds of food miles I’d saved by eating locally would be undone in one fell swoop.  Plus, who knows how much their estimate would be?  And I’d probably be so fed up by that point that I’d pay anything just to get my precious mixer back.

So, I decided to take matters into my own hands, literally.  I’m not super-handy, but I can generally figure things out with an Internet connection and enough time.  After all, the motor was working fine.  What was broken was the rotating part into which you plugged the attachments.  How hard could it be? 

Luckily, two web sites I found have pretty good instructions on how to take apart your KitchenAid: one for standard kitchen mixers with the tilty heads, and one for the commercial kind that I have.  Between the two, I was able to cobble together something resembling a game plan.  I’ll only gloss over things here in my “scorned woman” version of the process.  If you want to attempt the dissection yourself, you should head over to the other sites now. 

I started unscrewing things, banging the hell out of other things, and prying still other things apart.  Why, yes, that is a white sweater I’m wearing for the occasion.  I will regret that. 

Once I got the whole thing open, there was a ton of grease inside there.  Moving parts require lubrication for maximum pleasure performance.  After much scooping off and wiping down, I could see the problem.

A plastic gear that got shredded.  This is actually the fail-safe gear that reader Margot had mentioned in a previous comment, which is built to fail in order to prevent the motor from self-destructing.   Cost to replace it: less than $20, shipping included. 

Here we are waiting impatiently for the part.

Apparently, I could have used this time to replace the old grease with new.  I’ll let you guess whether or not that actually happened.  Once I got the new worm gear, though, I lubed everything up really well before putting it all back together again.  And did it work? 

YES!!!  Here it is, good as new.  Okay, maybe not as good as new, but good enough (and just in the nick of time to make Husband’s birthday cake). 

All in all, I saved myself a lot of time, money, and aggravation.  Okay, maybe not time and aggravation, but there was also a certain amount of satisfaction involved, which balanced it out.  Why do I think this isn’t the last time I’ll be taking this thing apart? 

I hope this helps somebody else, too.

Spring Cleaning

I always have high aspirations for doing a thorough house cleansing and purging at this time of year, but the problem is that spring is the wrong time to do it.  Winter is the right time.  Winter, when you’re stuck in the house anyway and there’s no escaping the mushrooming filth.  Spring, on the other hand, is the time to get the hell out of the house and back into the world.  To escape said filth.  Spring is not the time to be forced into captive scullery work like a disregarded stepchild.

So, I stepped outside yesterday to breathe in the warm, fragrant spring air, and all the oxygen was sucked out of my chest by a wind so cold and bitter, I had to run back inside and cuddle up with a vacuum cleaner for warmth.  Maybe, just maybe, I thought, spring is also a time for rebirth.  A time to reinvent myself as someone who cleans the house once in a while.  Someone who takes pride in the appearance of her domicile.

Long story short, I did some spring cleaning on my blog instead.  If you put your laptop on your actual lap, your body temperature goes up by 30 degrees in five seconds flat.  Also, it has a soothing whirring sound unlike my Eureka upright. 

You may notice that there are some new links to local blogs over there on the left, some optimistically seasonal pictures on the right, and I finally fixed my FAQ page so the banner isn’t cut off halfway across (it only took two years).  I updated the questions themselves, too.  It’s not much, but it’s something.  The non-virtual dust bunnies will have to die another day. 

Bartering is Back

Here's this week's post on BlogHer:

Now that the First Lady has announced the creation of an organic vegetable garden on the White House lawn, I’m feeling empowered.  Like maybe it was my BlogHer post on the subject that may have tipped the scale in our favor.  So now I’m wondering what else we can revive, preferably a well-established idea onto which I can just piggyback at the last minute.  I know.  Bartering!

The direct exchange of goods and services for other goods and services without any money involved has been in place for a long, long time.  Since the dinosaurs, at least, like the time a Tyrannosaurus Rex reportedly bartered a delicious meal from a Stegosaurus in exchange for a swift and merciful death.  (Sorry, I’ve been playing with dinosaurs all day.)

Bartering made particularly excellent sense in the time period before currency was invented but after stealing was considered poor form:

Caveman1: What’s that?

Caveman2: A saber-toothed tiger I hunted.  You?

Caveman1: Half a mastodon.  (sigh)  Mastodon soup, mastodon stew, mastodon chowder.  I’m sooooo sick of mastodon.

Caveman2: Do you want to buy some tiger chops off of me?  

Caveman1: Only if I can sell some of this goddamned mastodon.

Caveman2: I like mastodon.

Caveman1: Okay, but I don’t have anything to give you to symbolize that I’m exchanging my mastodon for your chops.  I mean, besides the mastodon itself.  

Caveman2: Yeah, me neither.  I just have the chops.  How would we know that an actual exchange was taking place?  I mean, besides remembering what we had before.

Caveman1: There’s no way to tell.  What should we do?

Caveman2: I know.  We could just put them on either side of this rock slab and each walk to the other side and then run away with whatever's in front of us?

Caveman1: That'll never work.  We have to fight to the death.

Caveman2: (sigh) Okay, here I go again…

Once more, I apologize.  My prehistoric knowledge is limited to the Ice Age movies.

With the advent of currency, bartering fell out of favor for practical reasons.  For example, it’s hard to make change when you’re trading a mule for a bucket of eggs.  Also, coins and paper money meant that you could more easily conduct three-way, four-way, or even 16-way trades if the person who wanted to barter with you didn’t have anything you wanted (or if they had hideous taste) (or if, like me, they constantly offer poor trades).

Now that none of us has any money, bartering has gone mainstream, with sites like Craig’s List ready to set you up with someone who wants your used crap as much as you want theirs.  Bartering never really went out of style with the culinarily inclined, who might trade a jar of this for a jar of that to manage their surpluses or just to keep things interesting.  But now, with the miracle of the Internet, it’s taken on a whole new dimension.  Soup Swaps have sprung up all over the country from Seattle to Boston, where people make a batch of soup, portion it into a designated number of containers, freeze them, and then meet at a predetermined location to socialize and exchange with the other participants.  Joelen of Joelen’s Culinary Adventures hosts meal exchanges in Chicago called Brunch & Barter, where everyone meets for brunch and exchanges pre-portioned meals in much the same way.  It’s a lot like a holiday cookie swap but without the guilt and self-loathing that occurs when you go home and eat them all in one sitting.

But bartering doesn’t necessarily require that much orchestration.  It can be as simple as exchanging baked goods for fresh yogurt and raw honey from local farmers, as Kate of Living the Frugal Life demonstrates.  Or it can inspire some pretty interesting business arrangements, like the Will Work For Food Project.  The owner of a Boston-area design firm, Gates Studio, forged a relationship with several small area farms in which she offered marketing and branding services in exchange for locally grown food.  The response was overwhelming.

An economy in the toilet can mean new opportunities to get creative with your own skills and resources.  I'd like to see more of this.  Do you barter?

Holiday Gift Guide for the Cheap, Hungry, and Procrastinating

Looking for that perfect food-related gift under $20?  Here are some things I have and like:

• The Devil’s Food Dictionary ($17.95): I believe I’ve mentioned this before.  It’s still funny.

• Printed bird dishtowels ($15): I like the quail, rooster, and Massachusetts state bird.

• Raye’s herring and mustard pack from Maine ($19.95):  Everybody loves mustard!  Herring, too, I’m sure.

• French carbon paring knives ($7.95): Because everyone can use a sharp knife in a cool color.  Me, I prefer to get new knives rather than sharpening the ones I already have.  That’s green, right?  (Or you can get the $5 workhorse Wusthofs at TJ Maxx.) 

• Organic lip balm ($5.99): Try the lavender vanilla and just see if you can stop kissing yourself. 

• Flat of the Hill on Charles St. in Boston had some cute aprons for $20.

• Regifting the cookbooks you don’t use is totally fair game, in my opinion.  Stop being so stingy with your stuff! 

And, finally, want to give a gift to yourself?  Sign the petition asking Obama to appoint a sustainable secretary of agriculture, should this sound appealing to you in any way.  It’s free.

No, This is Not a Cat Blog

However, I had to put my cat to sleep, so that’s what we’ve got to work with today.

What can I say about Mr. Nathan?  He was a cat.  He was gray.  He was none too bright.  He was also my very first pet (if you don’t count all those fish I killed).  As college seniors, my BFF and I went down to the Union Square animal shelter looking for some cute decoys to stall our biological clocks for as long as humanly possible.  One little kitten crawled into my lap and fell asleep.  I swooned.  At the time, I didn’t realize he was only looking for a warm place to sleep, it didn’t matter where (a trait that would remain constant throughout his 14 years).  No, I thought he was claiming me.  And I wanted to be claimed.

He was a loyal friend, Mr. Nathan.  He saw me through five apartments, six jobs, and one very persistent boyfriend.  Did he complain when I got married, had kids, and then barely paid him any attention?  Yes, actually, he did complain about that.  As he should have.  But did he complain when I actually named one of the kids a variation of his own name, because it really was one of the few names I liked, thereby infringing on the only thing he could truly call his own?  He probably complained about that, too.  I don’t speak cat.  But the point is that he didn’t throw in the towel.  He might have run away a couple of times, but he always came back.

In the end, it was a tumor blocking his intestines that promised to starve him to death before too long, so we made a call.  No cat chemo.  No surgery.  Just a week of full-on attention like the good old days.  Jazz and tuna fish milkshakes. 

I loved that stupid cat.

(Or was he a llama?)

A Candle for Bri

As some of you know, Briana Brownlow of Figs with Bri lost her battle with cancer earlier this week at age 32.  Her husband Marc has written a beautiful tribute here.  Sending warmest thoughts to Marc and the rest of her family.  Bri’s wonderful, vibrant presence in the blogging community will not be forgotten.

My Kitchen

Some of you have kindly asked me to stop talking about my kitchen.  You will soon get your wish.  Right after I force you to look at pictures.  But first, lower your expectations right now.  Design*Sponge this is not.  I was just trying to make my dysfunctional kitchen slightly more appealing to the eye while on a tight budget.  Okay?  Are you ready?

Here’s what it used to look like. 

As you can see, the previous owners had a country kitchen thing going on, which really isn’t me.  But after stripping wallpaper off of every other wall in the house (and me being pregnant with the Preschooler at the time), we were too exhausted to do anything except plunk all of our stuff in there and start cooking.  Notice the lovely fruit border?  That image fueled me through the six hours it took me to strip it off.  (Curse newfangled adhesive technology.)  As you can see, I was also in the midst of ripping down the gingham shutters on the windows.  That was quite satisfying, actually.

Here’s what it looks like now.  And, swear to god, if you say it looked better before, we’re through.

 
The yellow paint is Broadway Lights by Benjamin Moore, which may be the first time I’ve ever diverged from my irrational obsession with paint colors named after food.  I was back to my usual tricks with the trim and cabinets, though (Vanilla Ice Cream, also by Benjamin Moore).  The paintings are by Chicago artist Mark Zapf. 

Now here’s the cooking part of the kitchen before painting: 

Notice how I didn’t really bother to tidy up too much?  I thought about not cleaning for the after picture, too, so we can compare apples to apples, but let’s not automatically assume I’m going to revert back to my old housekeeping ways.  Why be cynical?  People can change.

All of my cooking takes place on this beautiful strip of countertop you see here.  You may notice that it’s not a very large space for doing all my cooking.  This is why I fly into a rage when non-cooking-related items get placed on it.  Things like cell phones and wallets and keys and mail and hammers and weed-whacking equipment.  Put them Somewhere Else.

Here’s a close-up of what the cabinets looked like before, as you may recall:

Any better?

God, I hope so.  It seemed a little stark at first, but now I’m used to it.  What you’re looking at here is part of the “butler’s pantry” between the kitchen and the dining room.  Unfortunately, the previous owners ran off with the butler.  He would have come in handy. 

I just have to mention that the cabinet doors took two coats of primer and two coats of paint ON EACH SIDE.  That’s eight coats per door for you math geniuses.  And I only had room to paint them in batches of five or six at a time.  So I guess what I’m trying to say is—cut me some goddamned slack.

Oh, did I forget to show you my refrigerator strategically blocking the doorway?  Silly me.  Here it is:

See?  There are a good two and a half feet over there to shimmy your way in.  Good enough, I say. 

So there you have it.  Would I do it again?  Probably not.  Was it worth wasting my entire summer to get it done?  I guess it depends on how much you like summer.  Although I did have the foresight to pick the rainiest one in human history, so that’s something.  I will say that my kitchen is much cleaner now.  And even though I liked cooking in my kitchen back when it was ugly, I like cooking in it even more now!

For the Preschooler

This is the best I could do today.  A moth.  My salad photos came out like shit.

Scenes from Cape Cod

We were down the Cape again visiting the in-laws and attending an annual family get-together with just about the cutest bunch of kids you’d ever want to see.  You know, if you like that sort of thing.

Just a few snapshots:

The bay side is where it’s at for little kids.  Tidal pools with hermit crabs and snails to play with at low tide.  Fine-grained sand perfect for building drip castles.  And lots of open space for running.

Anna, a 12-year-old marine expert (her dad is a Chatham fisherman), tracked down this horseshoe crab, which I snapped before we sent him on his merry way (yes, it was a boy—she checked).  The last time we were down here, we saw a fisherman collecting horseshoe crabs, scanning the shallows in his boat and using a pole to lift them out of the water.  I thought it was strange because I’d never heard of anyone eating horseshoe crabs.  But it’s not the meat they’re after, it’s their blood.  Here’s why. 

Husband has lots of artists in the family.  Here, I’m looking through Aunt Kathy’s stack of watercolors inspired by her Colorado home: a strikingly different landscape. 

As the tide was coming in on First Encounter Beach, we saw a woman clamming.  She explained that you look for small holes in the sand from where the clams are filtering and spitting out water.  Then, you use a special rake to get deep enough to dig them out.  The rusty ring you see on the bucket lets you know if the clams are big enough to keep.

A fisherman’s platter from Arnold’s in Eastham, where fried fish is an art form.  Clams, calamari, shrimp, scallops, oysters, and cod.  My lack of self-control came in handy once again. 

Cape Cod, I never seem to get sick of you.

Buzz

The Preschooler’s ladybug larvae have finally arrived!  Thank god.  He got a ladybug habitat for Christmas, and we were waiting for warm enough weather to send out for the eggs.  He’s obsessed with bugs, you see, and drags me all around the yard, forcing me to dig for worms, and capture and correctly identify all manner of flying insects.  He’s finding out what a disappointing lab partner I am. 

Anyway, he’s been despondent with the waiting.  What was taking so long, he demanded?  I didn’t know.  Maybe the lady ladybug wasn’t in the mood?

I’m not sure what this has to do with food (except, maybe, that ladybugs are good for gardens, which I don’t have).  It’s really all just an excuse to show you this: an entertaining/disturbing look at the mating practices of certain insects, as interpreted by one Isabella Rossellini.  Reader Tim sent me the link and said it was safe for work, but it’s not clear just what line of work he’s in, exactly. 

(Don’t miss the bee one.)

In the Test Kitchen

I’m working on a freelance article, and, of course, it has to be about squash.  I’ve been putting it off and putting it off because, you know, it’s about squash.  None of my previous stabs at original squash recipes had driven me wild, but finally, finally (on my last CSA butternut), I came up with a recipe I love.  I even heard myself say out loud to no one in particular, “This is fucking delicious.”  And you know I don’t like to bandy about gratuitous profanity. 

Unfortunately, I can’t share the recipe right now.  The magazine is paying me actual money, and you, my friends?  You are not.  But if you’re still with me in September/October 2008, I promise to tell you then. 

(Update 8/08: I lied.  It would be bad form to post the recipe while the magazine is still on newsstands.  Maybe later if you ask nicely.)

What the World Eats

Last year, Time magazine ran a three-part photo essay called What the World Eats, which was taken from Peter Menzel’s book, Hungry Planet.  It is absolutely fascinating to see what, and how much, people in different countries eat.  Also, how much money is spent.  Amazing how much you can glean from a picture.  Go look, right now.  Thanks to Ali at Henbogle.

What the World Eats: Part I, Part II, Part III

No Drum Roll Today

A fond farewell to the only roach who gets free range in my kitchen.  The Regattabar won't be the same without you.

Quickie Interview

When Isaac of Family Oven asked if I wanted to be their featured blogger for the week, I asked, who me?  How many other people did you ask first?  And, also, do I really want to sort through four years of digital photos to find the only shot of me where I managed not to look completely haggard, as if my children hadn’t sucked out every ounce of my will to live? 

But, because I love both family and ovens, I agreed.  Any excuse to wax philosophical on rice pudding.  You can find it here.

Scenes from the Weekend

We spent Memorial Day weekend on the Cape.  If you're not from these parts, that means Cape Cod.  My in-laws retired there 10 years ago, which was a stroke of fantastic luck for us.  We can often be found squatting there on sunny weekends. 

They live on the Lower Cape, which is the elbow, forearm, and fist of the flexing peninsula.  I always mix this up because the Lower Cape is actually further north than most of the rest of the Cape, including the Upper Cape.  Doesn't matter, though, since there's nothing to see here.  You hear that?  Nothing at all.  Might as well stay in Hyannis. 

Here are some pictures from our stay, where I lifted not a finger except maybe to change a diaper once per day.  Maybe.

A canopy of wisteria.

Sunday morning doughnuts (the way they're supposed to be) from Hole-in-One Donuts in Orleans.

Random rowboat seen from the dock.

               

Flower amidst the gravel.

Grandpa P's shish kebabs with brown rice and corn.

The End.

Local Link Love

A Russian, a German, a Filipino, a Latvian, and a couple of mongrel Americans walk into a room.  They come bearing food.  Food and conversation about the best pork on earth (Tamworth, apparently) and how to find it locally (not easily).  Which fish has the most interesting parasites (try butterfish).  And unfortunate incidents with chickens.

There’s no punch line to this joke.  In fact, it’s not a joke at all.  It was simply the happy intersection of several area food bloggers in Cambridge over the weekend.  Kathleen of New England Grown hosted a potluck dinner in her bohemian digs, where the guests nibbled and tippled and prayed their dish wouldn’t be the one to suck the worst.

These were serious food people.  People who order a whole cow from a farm and then divvy it up, bones and all, amongst friends.  People who fast periodically to better understand their relationship to food.  People who wouldn’t think twice about killing you with chocolaty goodness or the best rhubarb dish you’ve ever had.  No wonder we never got around to changing light bulbs.

The Boston bloggers in attendance:

The Seasonal Cook

Beyond Salmon

Off the Bone

The Urban Agrarian

Check them out, if you haven’t already.