Blog Whore

I debated that title. I really did. I considered “Blog Lady of the Evening,” “Blog Prostitute” and “Blog Hooker,” none of which had the same…je ne sais quoi. Plus, I’m pretty sure I “made you look!” to use the standard excuse for other infantile show-offery.

We will return to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow. For today, I wish to say a few things, and make a request.

I have blogged every day this month, with only a couple of “cheats” like posting lists or links to someone else’s display of food-related wit. I have blogged about things serious and ridiculous, successes and failures, and recipes good and bad. I love writing, I love cooking, and I would not call blogging “work,”

but

It does take time to write, to take or find pictures, to edit and upload pictures and to copy out recipes. It also takes time to answer comments, although it is time delightfully spent. Like all bloggers, I have fantasies of “going big,” of having my writing “discovered,” of the phone call that involves a book contract, a magazine column…something like that. I also enjoy the feeling of crisp bills between my fingers, and there are actually folks who make money from their food blogs. Some of them have posts that are so overwhelmed by pop-up thingies and blinking flashing promotions that it’s hard to concentrate on the real writing. I have chosen not to do that, because I don’t like the way it looks, and because I think that it interferes with the relationship I have with my readers. Still, I can’t deny that I am looking to promote the blog, to attract new readers, and to grow this thing and see how far I can go.

So

(This is the “whore” part) I will only ask you this once, but I have to ask. If you read this blog, and you like it, please consider doing at least one of the following things now and then:

1. Click on the Foodbuzz ad located at the top right of my home page. (It’s the big, long column). When you click, I get cash. Foodbuzz also gives you opportunities to get special deals, to help charities, and to check out other blogs you might like; it’s a win-win.
2. Click on the “stumble upon” button located under the “Subscribe in a reader” button beneath the Foodbuzz ad. (This is right near the booth in the back, in the corner, in the dark). Click it after you read a post you really like. “Stumble upon” makes that post available to hundreds of thousands of other readers who may never have seen Forest Street Kitchen.
3. Share with your friends. A couple of you have already done this, either by clicking “share” on facebook to expose all of your “friends” to what I wrote, or by adding me to the blogroll on your own blogs. I really, really appreciate this. It would be ridiculous overkill to pimp all of my posts (just sticking to my theme, people) but if you really like a post because it makes you laugh, or because you try the recipe and you love it, then you can share with genuine enthusiasm and that’s as good as it gets.

That’s all. Just those three things, and just this one “ask.” It’s a labor of love for me, this little blog, and I’ll probably never be one of the heavy hitters, but life is short, and if you don’t ask…well, you know.

Thanks to all of you who read and comment often, your support mean more to me than you know.

Life Fail?

The plan for today: work in the morning, take Mr. Annie to a (long) medical appointment, come home and reward him by making delicious fish tacos. I had wild-caught cod, tortillas, lettuce, Chihuahua cheese…the whole shebang.

What happened? I took Mr. Annie to the doctor, and during the appointment I developed a mammoth, astonishingly painful, death-dealing headache. After we came home, Mr. Annie took a well-deserved nap and I took lots of drugs. While I was waiting to become totally obliterated because I have a stash of Vicodin for the aspirin to work, Sam appeared with a friend to rifle through the kitchen and see what was available for a snack. I suggested that we had jerky, sweet potato chips, yogurt, crackers and peanut butter. Sam’s friend opined that they “had good snacks at his house, like vanilla wafer cookies and chocolate pudding.” They decided to go to his house and have a snack. On the way out, the friend advised me (in the most helpful way possible) that his mom shopped every Saturday and got lots of good things for his snacks and lunches. Needless to say, I tucked the idea away as a “must try.”

Post humiliation-by-adolescent, I decided to start the tacos. I opened the meat drawer and smelled…fish. Good fish doesn’t smell like fish. Five days was too long (I really am filing that one away for the future). The fish went out to the trash can, and I ordered hot wings.(Which were delicious, but they forgot the Blue Cheese dip).

I have disappointed wholesome youth seeking delicious after school snacks, and failed to use fish in a timely manner to delight the palate of my ailing husband. (Also, there was the Vicodin).

Better luck next time.

Carrot Cake Fail

If you were having a bad day, and it was hot and muggy, and you were just kind of overwhelmed by life, you’d make a carrot cake, right (while you were also making Spaghetti Carbonara and grilled Brussel Sprouts)? You wouldn’t make the “regular kind of carrot cake that your family loves because that would be too indulgent on a week night. You would, instead, become fixated on an intriguing “rustic” carrot cake recipe from a very high profile blog that you love, which involved no sugar and called for whole wheat flour. Also none of the usual frills like coconut or pineapple. You would blithely disregard the warning of the recipe’s creator that”if you like your carrot cake delicate with a defined crumb, you’ll actually want to pass on this one.” You would toil in your increasingly swamp-like kitchen, mashing dates and bananas, and grating carrots by hand while sweat ran down your back and your hair curled up like Gilda Radner’s, and you would generally be having an organic and virtuous good time. The cake would smell wonderful, you would cool it and frost it with a mixture of organic cream cheese and agave nectar, and

your

family

would

say

“blech.”

I will now reveal that this is not a hypothetical situation; it is what I did last night. I have “takings,” sometimes, in which I get obsessed with something and make myself believe it is a fabulous idea. I read the carrot cake recipe in the course of my daily blog reading, loved the idea that I might get my customers to eat something tasty (cake!) in a form that offered fewer liabilities than the usual option, and considerably more benefits. Using a small windfall that was burning a hole in my pocket, I went out and bought enormously expensive ingredients including organic bananas, dates, and cream cheese, and a bag of whole wheat pastry flour. (Note: I am fully aware that neither the dates nor the bananas were grown in Michigan, but I made a “wild hair” exception for this project). As I mashed and ground and mixed, I nurtured a vision of my Green, Healthy family embracing the healthy life, asking for more sprouts on their sandwiches, and ordering their Pad Thai with tofu.

Instead, they hated it. Just hated it. (I liked it, actually, but I am a far more sophisticated and discerning creature than either of my male companions). What I learned from this episode is that this whole healthenating thing must involve baby steps. A family can’t be expected to get this for 12 years and be happy with a no-sugar substitute with no butter or powdered sugar in the frosting. I can switch the milk to organic, add a second green vegetable or a fresh fruit at every meal, and make two vegetarian meals a week instead of one, but I can’t make any sudden moves in an attempt to turn the House of Fried Meat into a vegan restaurant in Berkley.

If you are interested in eating a healthier diet, and would like a dessert that involves relatively little sugar and fat (although it is by no means “lite”), try this recipe. I find the finished product to be quite nice, and I’d almost prefer it as an un-frosted sweet bread along the lines of banana or zucchini bread. I like it that I can taste the ingredients over the sugar, and I like the wheat-y whole graininess of it. If you are still eyeing the deep fried Twinkies on a stick at the State Fair, you may need to begin the step-down program (starting with eating your Twinkies raw) before you attempt to prepare and enjoy a sugar-free, whole grain dessert.

P.S. I did get make the Spaghetti Carbonara with whole grain pasta, and they liked it. Shhhhh!

Random Dinner Snapshot: Carbonara, Grilled Brussel Sprouts and Bread

It’s Complicated….

Looking for vegetarian cookbooks at the library, I had already grabbed a (very disappointing) volume from the editors of “Vegetarian Times” when Rob joined me and pointed up to a volume called Simple Food for the Good Life by Helen Nearing. I had been hearing about Helen and Scott Nearing and their influence in the “Back to the Land” movement for most of my life, and was curious to see what kind of cookbook would come out of their self sufficient, no-frills lifestyle. I was further hooked when I saw the book’s cover, and read that it was “An Alternative Cook Book With a collection of EASY RECIPES That Have Evolved from Necessity or Available Garden Produce Intended for the Use of People of Moderate Fortune Who Do Not Affect Magnificence in Their Style of Living” authored “By That Frugal Housewife Helen Nearing.” (Although, based on the amazon.com listing, the subtitles were apparently changed at some point after the book’s publication in 1980). Given my perpetual interest in thrift and my more recent focus on eating locally and seasonally, this sounded like a perfect read.

Imagine my surprise when I read on the first page of the first chapter the following words:

It has been said (and probably by a good cook) that there are two kinds of people in the world: those who are good cooks and those who wish they were good cooks. I hold that there is a third category: those who are not good cooks and who couldn’t care less. I am happily one one of these….

This is not an auspicious beginning for a cookbook. It got worse. After explaining that, in preparation for writing the book, she spent hundreds of hours in various libraries poring over ancient cookbooks to see what had already been written, Nearing goes on to say that her book

is to be written by a simple woman who doesn’t read or use recipes, who doesn’t set a fancy table. It is to be for simple-living people who have other things paramount on their minds rather than culinary concerns, than eating and preparing dainty and elaborate dishes. It is not for those who are interested in eating as such. This is for those frugal, abstemious folk who eat to nourish their bodies and leave self-indulgent delicacies to the gourmets.

Danger, danger Will Robinson…

…and yet I read on. I considered Nearing’s assertions that “the more appetizing foods are made, the more is eaten and the worse for the health of the body” and that “[i]f you are not hungry enough to eat unsalted popcorn or bread without loads of butter and jam, or salad without a spicy dressing or sauce, why eat at all? Why not wait until you are hungry, without craving extra stimulants?” Although it begs the whole question of taking pleasure in life, I see her point. I also read her opinions on how food should be consumed raw as often as possible, how cooking was drudgery and a waste of time, and I disagreed with her and found it presumptuous for her to choose what was, or was not a waste of time for other folks who might enjoy cooking as much as she enjoyed building houses from stone. I read her eloquent explanation of why she was a vegetarian, and was moved (although unconverted); I completely endorsed her position on the preference for fresh food rather than the processed variety.

I will add, at this point,  that I found the interspersing of quotes from various ancient cookbooks throughout the book to be TOTALLY maddening. The fact that someone who wrote a “booke of cookerie” in 1685 (when he wasn’t bleeding people or covering them with leeches) thought that no one should eat salt is not particularly persuasive.

Thinking that we were not exactly kindred spirits, but that Nearing had raised some good points along the way, I proceeded to the recipe section of the book. In the chapter on breakfast, Nearing first allows as how she and her husband Scott “can do without” it.The reasons for this became apparent as I read the recipes. My favorite is something called “Horse Chow,” which consists of 4 cups of raw oats, 1/2 cup raisins, the juice of 1 lemon, a dash of sea salt and olive or vegetable oil “to moisten.” This is consumed raw, lest you are imagining a bowl  hot oatmeal with raisins and odd seasonings. There is another recipe for “Miracle Mush,” made of 2 apples, 1 carrot and 1 beet grated together and topped with 1/4 cup grated nuts. These are not repulsive ideas, although the Horse Chow might be considered what my-brother-the-doctor calls “Colon Blow.”

I read on through the soups, most of which sounded reasonably good, if quite austere. There was a chapter of salad recipes which, again, were acceptable, albeit unlikely to show up on my table for the simple reason that I could not serve my family a salad of lima beans and dandelion plants. I continued through the chapter of vegetable recipes, endured an endless tirade against salt and spices in the chapter on herbs, and actually found some “keepers” in the section on casseroles and leftovers.

By the chapter on baked goods I was so accustomed to Nearing’s culinary eccentricities that I was not at all surprised to learn that she had an obsession with “over-starching,” and that she mostly preferred her baked goods not to be baked goods at all. There is a recipe for “bread” made by soaking wheatberries until they sprout, grinding them and shaping them into a loaf, sprinkling the loaf with sunflower seed and baking. This might be yummy, but it’s a safe bet that a non-vegetarian, post-Tassajara family will not scarf up the sprouted wheatberry “Wayfarer’s Bread.” On the other hand, there is an intriguing recipe for “”O-So-Easy Bread” that involves nothing more than mixing honey, yeast and whole wheat flour and baking it. No kneading, no rising. In the dessert chapter there are possible hits like candy made from oats, peanut butter, honey, vanilla and nuts and definite misses like the “Seaweed Pudding” made from dried seaweed, homemade jam and sour cream. In the last chapter, which focuses on drinks, Nearing is fiercely assertive about the fact that she and Scott rarely drank water (“perhaps in the hottest part of the summer we might drink a glass a day”) and that no one else would need to drink much, either, if they just stopped eating salty and spicy foods. This exhortation I met with a very polite “whatever, Helen….”

There is certainly evidence that the Nearing’s low-effort, high-virtue diet was healthful; Scott died in 1983 at the age of 100, and Helen died in 1995 at the age of 91. I completely agree with and admire their choice to eat local, unprocessed, high-fiber, low fat foods and I respect their vegetarianism. I find the insistence on minimal seasonings and drinking the smallest possible amount of anything to be nutty, and I do not see enough calcium in the book’s recipes to feed a growing child or a woman at risk for osteoporosis. In a “big picture” way, it’s hard not to admire people who were really pioneers, and turned away from a society that they saw heading in a wrong direction. They were true revolutionaries and extremists, and I probably should not expect their diets to include elements of the excessive and materialistic society the fled in the late 1930′s.

On the other hand, and it’s a big hand, I am stung by the implication that it is silly and lazy and dangerous to enjoy the cooking or consumption of food that is beautiful and delicious. I don’t see food as fuel, and even if it is, in part, a necessary evil, why should it not be a source of pleasure? Families and friends connect over food, food is shared as an expression of love and good will, and some of the most otherwise austere groups in the world (I’m thinking of the Amish) consider it a gift to turn the earth’s bounty into chess pies and homemade bread. I’m glad I read this book. I’m glad partly because I got some interesting recipes, and an interesting glimpse into the domestic lives of a pair of tremendously interesting and influential people.

I’m also glad because the repeated claims that cooking is drudgery and that eating is nothing more than scratching a biological itch sharpened my own sense that there is an essential spiritual component to cooking and eating. I can’t imagine a large Italian family sitting down to a Sunday dinner at Nona’s house and having nothing rich, spicy or lovingly prepared set on the table, and I can’t imagine that scenario in many Jewish, Indian, African American, Greek or Chinese families, either. It’s not about conspicuous or excessive consumption; there are cultures in which culinary miracles are wrought with very little in the way of ingredients and a great deal in the way of skill and tradition. With love. I would rather be in the desert with Bedouins tearing a camel apart with my hands, or eating (God save me) lutefisk with the Swedes in a Lutheran church basement and enjoying the moment than eat anything with the sense that I was in the hangar for some sort of soulless re-fueling.

Plain, Please.

Sometimes, it’s not just not a good idea to gild the lily.

Last week, as I was on hour three out of five of judging moot court at a local law school, I received the following text message from Mr. Annie: “got a box from foodbuzz. something refrigerated.” We are regularly given opportunities by foodbuzz to try new foods – the granola bars, for example, but I couldn’t remember anything that would be cold. I amused myself while listening to the same case being argued approximately 10 times by imagining what could be in the box. Epicurean pickles? Fancy jelly? A bold American Gorgonzola? Whatever it was, it would be free, and probably interesting.

I arrived home, kicked off my heels and tore opened the box to find a package of Buitoni refrigerated pasta – Wild Mushroom Agnolotti from the new “Riserva” line. This was nice, but I wasn’t that enthused; I had tried Another Brand of Refrigerated Pasta in the past, and while it was decent in a pinch, it was nothing to write home to Rome about. I sort of forgot about it (as is my wont) until I noticed that foodbuzz was running another contest, this one focused on creating a sauce for the new Buitoni Agnolotti. That reminded me that I should try the stuff, so I boiled it according to the directions on the package, and dressed it lightly with a little bit of Extra Virgin Olive Oil and some freshly shaved Parmaggiano Reggiano.

Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum. That’s all I’m sayin’. (I am not working for Buitoni, it’s heirs or assigns; I just really loved their Wild Mushroom Agnolotti). The filling was flavorful and hearty with lots of really good mushroom, garlic and cheese flavor, and the pasta itself was perfectly tender and just thick enough. My only complaint is the packaging, which seems excessive in terms of thinking “green,” but I’m not really sure how else they would package it. I guess I hope that if they come up with a more earth-friendly method of keeping it fresh and getting it to market, they’ll switch.

Finally: I can’t participate in the contest to come up with a sauce because I wouldn’t sauce this stuff. It’s perfect as it is, and any kind of sauce heavier than a little butter or oil and a grating of cheese would bury the beautiful flavor of the mushrooms, roasted garlic and Grana Padano with which they are filled. I would serve them in broth, as a first course, but again, a delicate chicken “brodo” wouldn’t drown out the flavor of the pasta filling. So try this out, if you’re so inclined – a package is enough for a light meal for two with bread and a salad. You can put sauce on it if you must, but I’ll have mine plain, please.

When Life Gives You Sausage…

I am married to a traveling salesman (and yes, I’ve “heard the one about the…”). Part of Mr. Annie’s current circuit includes the drive from Forest Street to Columbus, Ohio, and on the way to Columbus he passes Mom Wilson’s Country Sausage Mart.

I may have mentioned that I kind of hate sausage in a general sort of way; it has white lumps of fat in it, and just generally doesn’t appeal to me. I have never liked salami, or any of the other sausages found in an Italian sub, on an antipasto platter, or at a German restaurant. I could not have eaten with Tony Soprano, or Colonel Klink. I’ve never liked hot dogs much, either. That being said, I have grown fond of the sausages made by one of the vendors at our Farmers Market, because they seem to be less fatty, and more subtle and interesting in their flavoring, so the door was open enough to let a sliver of light shine through. When Rob called and said that he’d be passing by Mom Wilson’s on his way home from Ohio a couple of days ago, I vaguely remembered having some kind of spicy sausage from there that was okay, and I decided to Buck the Hell Up and eat like a real foodie. I told him to go ahead and buy some sausage – smoked to go with some shrimp I had already bought. He also bought fresh butter which Mom Wilson’s buys from an Amish farm, jerky, Snack Sticks, Jalapeno Cheese and some Hungarian hot dogs. They even threw in some homemade sauerkraut to go with the hot dogs, and Rob made a point of telling me about the great patience of the woman who waited on him while he dithered and called his wife in Michigan to make sure his purchases were approved.

I don’t know what makes the hot dogs “Hungarian” (all I see on the store’s site and in it’s brochure are “German” hot dogs) but I had not planned on having Rob home for dinner the night he came home with his Carnivorous Bounty, and I decided to use the hot dogs along with whatever I could find in the house to make dinner for the expanded group. The normal approach would have been to go out and buy buns, cook the hot dogs and eat them with the kraut and other condiments but “normal” has always seemed quite dull to me. On my reconnaissance mission, I observed that the hot dogs were dryer and less rubbery than the typical Oscar Meyer variety, and seemed to smell like they had maybe some garlic, along with other spices. I’ll admit that they were pretty intriguing. I invented a sort of hot and sweet tomato sauce using a can of tomato juice languishing in the pantry, fried up the potatoes that were intended for our broccoli and cheddar topped potatoes, and served the hot dog and tomato stuff over the fried potatoes. It was culinary insanity worthy of Kenny Shopsin, and not exactly gourmet, but it was really, really good.

Last night, I started out thinking that I would make some sort of jambalaya-esque thing out of the smoked sausages and shrimp, but I had nothing tomato-y in the house, and even if I had gone out to buy tomato sauce or crushed tomatoes, whatever I made would have been too much like what we had eaten the previous night. I decided, instead, that I would cook the sausage, then cook onions and garlic in the sausage grease, add some broth and then the shrimp (which were pre-cooked cocktail shrimp) at the end so that they wouldn’t overcook. I intended to serve this all over pasta. The sausage was, again, less greasy than the mass-produced variety, and it smelled wonderful. It’s casing was different than what I’m used to; it seemed drier and more easily broken. I discovered, while sauteing the sausage, that it just didn’t contain enough fat to provide cooking lubricant for anything else: bad for my plans, good on general principle. It also tasted divine – smokey, with a little resistance to the tooth but none of that rubberiness that makes me gag a little.

I tinkered with the dish, adding some olive oil to cook the onions and garlic, adding peas, and finally adding the shrimp. Let me say this about buying pre-cooked, frozen cocktail shrimp: don’t. They were precisely the texture of small rubber gaskets, and had, if possible, less than no flavor. It was a violation of that beautiful homemade sausage to cook it with that vile, flavorless mockery of shrimp, and I ended up adding many things in an attempt to get the shrimp to pick up some kind of flavor including Worcester sauce, wine, and fish sauce. I ended up with an okay mixture of sausage, ersatz shrimp and peas in a flavorful sauce over pasta, but it was not a recipe that I would recommend reproducing. Last night we  the magnificently tangy homemade sauerkraut (cabbage and apples) with a roasted pork tenderloin, and I have been using the butter, which is wonderful, with what might be called “gay abandon.” The Jalapeno Cheddar (about which I was more  than a little skeptical based on some bad run-ins with Mexican Velveeta) is really nice, and Rob “is afraid to eat it because then it will be gone.” That’s pretty much the highest endorsement there is. The jerky disappeared, un-tasted, from the kitchen counter under mysterious circumstances that probably involved cats and dogs, and the Snack Sticks were kind of like Slim Jims that died and went to heaven  – all of the flavor and more, without that feeling that you are eating part of a Ziploc that someone has filled with lard, cayenne pepper and liquid smoke.

Although I am a tiny bit alarmed by some of the offerings in Ma Wilson’s brochure (“Souse,” “Puddin” and “Scrapple,” per exemplar) I would love to try their bacon, hickory smoked ham, homemade pickles, Italian Sausage and Garlic Knockwurst. I may never become one of those people who orders the Sausage Sampler with Kraut (in fact I’m quite sure I will not), but I have been persuaded that homemade sausage made by someone who knows what they’re doing is worlds apart from even the best commercial offering. If you happen to be passing through Delaware Ohio (and hurry – they close from May 31 until October because they are also operating a real 300 acre farm) stop by and check it out. Maybe some day I’ll get to stop by and check it out….

Annie’s Hot Dog Stuff with Home Fries

1. 2 baking potatoes, peeled and cut in 1/4 inch dice
2. 4 onions, diced
3. 4 cloves garlic, minced
4. Canola Oil
5. Salt and Pepper to Taste
6. 2 T brown sugar
7. 1-2 T cayenne pepper
8. 6 hot dogs, sliced into 1/2 inch pieces
9. 1 can tomato juice (Note: it would be far more efficient to start with tomato sauce, probably about 16 ounces)
10. 1 green pepper, diced

Pour tomato juice (or sauce)  into saucepan, stir in brown sugar and cayenne. Heat on “high” until juice comes to a boil; reduce heat to medium high and continue to boil it as you work, stirring occasionally. Your goal is to reduce the quantity by half.

In a frying pan, heat 2 Tablespoons Canola oil over medium-high heat, and sautee half of the chopped onions for 5 minutes. Add potatoes and garlic, stir to coat with oil, and continue to cook over medium-high heat, allowing bottom pieces to crisp and then stirring gently to expose other pieces to the heat.

While potatoes are cooking, taste reduced juice; it should be sweet and spicy. If it has not reduced to about the thickness of tomato sauce, continue to cook over medium-high heat; when it has thickened enough, adjust seasonings to suit your taste.

In a second frying pan, heat 1-2 tablespoons Canola oil and sautee green pepper and second half of chopped onion for about ten minutes over medium-high heat. Add hot dog pieces and sautee for another 5 minutes. When tomato sauce is thick and seasoned well, add to hot dog mixture, mix with solid ingredients and reduce heat to “low.” When potatoes are cooked through and crisp, serve hot dog mixture over a bed of potatoes.

Menu Planning: The First Green-ish Week

Oh, this is going to be harder than I thought. Yesterday I printed a rather optimistic plan for eating “greener” this year, including a commitment to buying and eating mostly produce grown fairly locally. I am still working out what constitutes “local.” The next town is “local,” California is “not local,” the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, although in-state, is (at 240+ miles)”not local.” This kind of determination will be easier once the Farmers Market opens (May 2!!) because no one who sells there comes from more than 50 or 60 miles away; until then I am at the mercy of my usual grocery purveyor.

Speaking of the grocery store, I called this morning to see whether the produce theoretically grown in Michigan at this time of year was available. I had on my provisional menu a great deal of asparagus, some broccoli and cabbage, and rhubarb. After a rather dispiriting conversation with the “onion and potato” guy (who consulted with his colleagues in greener areas) I got out the Wite-Out; the only things they have from Michigan at the moment are parsnips, wheat grass, sprouts, white and russet potatoes, apples and potted herbs. Since people do not, to my knowledge, actually eat wheat grass, and no one in my house eats sprouts (other than me), it’s a pretty limited selection. I am allowing myself onions and garlic, and anything I already have in the house, and I have come up with the following week of menus (and I hope we really like parsnips and can eat apples on a nearly daily basis without coming to hate them):

Saturday

Vegetarian Nachos and Waldorf Salad Well, I guess I’m also allowing myself two avocados which were almost certainly not grown in Michigan, to make guacamole. The thing is, this is one of our vegetarian meals, and I am walking a fine line with this family between “Earth Friendly” and “Punitive,” so I have to make some compromises so that the vegetarian meals do not cause violent protests and lead to my ouster. Waldorf Salad is an odd choice with nachos, but apples seem to be pretty much the only non-starchy fruit or veg we can have, and maybe I’ll add a little chili pepper and toast the walnuts…or use Pepitas instead of walnuts….

Sunday

Roast Chicken, Michigan White Potatoes and Scalloped Apples The roast chicken will give me bones to make stock, so that I can make this genius soup that uses the woody and usually discarded ends of asparagus…if there is ever any asparagus grown in Michigan.

Monday

Bucatini all’Amatriciana, Homemade Bread and Sauteed Brussels Sprouts This is a cheap and hearty pasta dish; I cheat and make it with bacon because I can’t always find (or afford) decent pancetta. The Brussels sprouts are in the freezer, and while they may have been grown on Alpha Centauri, I get to use what I already have. (She said, clutching her bag of frozen sprouts). The bread will probably be Ciabbata, and I’ll saute the sprouts with some garlic and onions.

Tuesday

Ribs, Fried Parsnips and Apple-Raisin Sautee I believe that Sam and Rob would try goat bladder, or diced camel hump if I fried it in butter. I am hoping that this trick will work with parsnips which, while certainly not appalling to contemplate, are not in our regular repertoire. The ribs will be prepared in my usual way (crockpot until tender and finished on the grill) and everyone will have had a day off from apples, so there should be no problem there.

Wednesday

Fish Tacos, Apple Salad I am buying wild-caught cod, which is not specifically listed among my “you are allowed to eat these” fish, but which I believe to be okay in an ecological sense. (If you know otherwise, please tell me!!) Since the fish tacos are fried, and fairly heavy, I’m thinking I’ll julienne the apples and hit then with some lime juice.

Thursday

Burgers, Oven Fries and Homemade Applesauce For these burgers, I will grit my teeth at the price and buy grass fed, organic beef. Actually, though, if you take at least two meat meals out of your budget, it does make it easier to buy “good” meat when you buy it. Of course the potatoes and apples will be from Michigan (“Together again for the very first time, ladies and gentleman, please give a hearty Forest Street welcome to Michigan apples and Michigan potatoes!!” )

Friday

A Sort of a Pizza Bianca Sam and I will be on our own Friday night, and there’s a good chance he’ll have something better to do. If he’s here, I am going to experiment with a pizza (homemade dough) topped with olive oil, thin slices of parboiled potato, sauteed garlic and onion, mozzarella and a sprinkling of fresh herbs (maybe basil and parsley) and baked until the cheese melts. A Pizza Bianca of sorts. I am thinking that by Friday the idea of peeling an apple will cause me to hyperventilate, so we may just eat apples out of hand to get our “fresh” in. If Sam’s not around, I’ll probably have a cheese omelette, some toast and another damned apple….

For Earth Day: Eight Green Steps

Ever since I read Russ Parson’s “How to Eat a Peach,” and a slew of articles in magazines encouraging “green” eating, I have been thinking, and sometimes writing about ways to shop, cook and eat that will reduce our carbon footprint.  True confessions: since my Earth Day post a year ago, I’ve done a pretty half-assed job. I have bought local produce when it was convenient, I grew nothing in my garden, I bought no locally raised protein, I canned and preserved nothing…my greatest effort was really switching to cloth grocery totes. There are also “green” choices that we made long ago, like cooking more often, buying fewer processed foods and choosing not to buy water in plastic bottles. There are reasons for all of these decisions and failure to decide, some good and some pathetic, but I’m ready to try again. That’s kind of the beauty of the whole “green” concept; it’s a good fit with the concepts of growth, and renewal, and cycling back to grow again another year.

This Earth Day, I am going to commit to do eight “green” things related to food, in the hopes that I can help to preserve our beautiful earth and set a good example for Sam. I have done a little research to get ideas about what these “Green Steps” should be, and have borrowed from here and here and here and here. This is not going to be an easy thing; the budget around here is tight, and I have learned that my family will graciously eat a vegetarian entree, but that it had better be ample and hearty, or they’ll be into the snacks in two hours because they didn’t get enough to eat.  It also takes a lot (!) of hours to do a few of the things I am planning to do (gardening, canning), and I may have to make some tough choices about what I want to do with free time. (I am also hoping to blog, at least once a week, about how the Green Steps are progressing).

Finally, as I compiled this list I became aware of the fact that some of these steps will save money, some will be more expensive, and some will likely be a wash. That means I’ll need to watch that balance, too, and I’ve indicated for each item whether I think it will cost more than my previous practices, save money, or do neither.

Here’s my list

Eating Seasonally and Locally (Should Cost Neither More Nor Less)This is an easy, easy promise to make right now, and I can’t tell you that in the fall and winter I will not be buying any fruit or vegetables flown in from California or Florida. I can say that I am going to keep track of what’s in season here in Michigan right now, and to concentrate on buying those things from the most local sources possible. Consulting a couple of sites that lists local, seasonal produce, I have discovered that in April I should be concentrating on:

1. Asparagus
2. Broccoli
3. cabbage
4. mushrooms
5. “greens”
6. rhubarb

I like all of those things (although Sam hates mushrooms) and I think I can work with that list for the next week or so – May looks more promising in terms of local stuff. I will need not only to create menus starting tomorrow using these seasonal ingredients, but I’ll have to check at the store on shopping day to see if the Asparagus, Broccoli, etc. was grown in Michigan or flown or trucked in from elsewhere despite the fact that it is available locally. If it’s all “imported,” I may have to reconsider where I do my grocery shopping. This will all be infinitely easier when the Farmers Market opens…and harder again when it folds up in the fall.

Grow a Row (Should Be a Net Savings)I have already told you all that I have these fantasies about gardening; it’s time to get serious. I can’t promise a mini farm, but I can try to grow some “easy” things this summer, like cherry tomatoes, green peppers, cucumbers, strawberries and herbs. If I can really do this, it will involve O carbon footprint and save us money. It’s a big “if” though….

Save it For Later (Will Cost Money This Year Because I Need to Buy Equipment). If I can jar, can, bottle or freeze as much as possible when it’s fresh and in season, we can have at least a version of it when it isn’t without having it processed or transported. I am going to learn to do this. I am.

Less Red Meat/Make it Grass Fed (More Expensive) This is going to be VERY tough in the Nichols household, where both males are serious carnivores, and Sam’s favorite food is “steak – duh.” On the other hand, I think we need to be aware that meat comes from animals, and that as animal lovers we have some responsibility to think about where our beef comes from, and how the animals were treated during their lives, as well as how the cattle farming practices impact the environment.

In a perfect world, I would buy a side of locally raised, grass-fed beef and freeze it, but we have neither a large freezer nor the cash for both a side of beef and a large freezer in one fell swoop. Since the side of beef isn’t practical for now, my plan is to save for a freezer, and to plan that we will only eat red meat twice a week (if that) and that it will have to be grass fed/organic. It costs the earth to buy that kind of meat, and I’ll have to plan very carefully to be able to afford it, and to use it for maximum meat-ilicious impact. (In other words, if you really like meat, ground beef in a spaghetti sauce does not make your heart sing like a steak on the grill).

Choose Seafood Carefully (More Expensive) Rob and I tend to eat seafood once a week, when Sam is otherwise engaged. I’d like to bump it up to twice a week and let him eat cereal, if he insists. My sources tell me that it is environmentally unsound to buy or order: Chilean sea bass, swordfish, and ahi tuna. It’s okay to eat Tilapia, wild salmon (especially Alaskan), domestic mahi mahi, Pacific halibut, Pollock, white seabass and sardines, as well as oysters, clams, calamari, and American lobster. (I will NOT be eating any sardines, thank you very much).

Buy in Bulk (Should Save Money). Okay; this is an easy one. Anything scooped out of a bin bought in bulk uses less packaging, and I can get exactly as much as I need.

Join a CSA (More Expensive) Another no-brainer. I would love nothing more than to have a weekly assortment of locally grown CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) stuff to play with in the kitchen. There are several CSA options in our area, including one that is organized around the organic agriculture program at out outstanding local University, originally founded as “Michigan Agricultural College.” Doesn’t get much better than that.

Eat More Vegetarian Meals (Should Save Money). According to Bon Apetit: “Vegetables require less energy and water to grow and produce no greenhouse gases, so they’re a far more efficient food source than domesticated livestock.” If we can eat two vegetarian meals a week, I’ll call it a good start. Of course, Rob may call it a cold day in hell…..

As I said; I’ll keep you posted. I’m committed to trying, and I’ll make the menus, ask the questions, call the CSA, buy the seeds and canning jars as promised, but there will have to be a workable balance for the members of my family who are not making this commitment. You know, though, as long as we’re trying to make life cleaner and greener on this  earth on which we hurtle through space,  we might as well keep the ride interesting, too…..

Confessions of a Dilettante Food Blogger

It is not uncommon these days for a friend to remark that they are embarrassed to bring a dish to a pot luck I’m attending, or have me to dinner because I am a “food expert.” I’ll give you that I’m a pretty good cook, and that I spend a lot of time reading about food, watching foodie TV and listening to podcasts about food, but there are gaping holes in my knowledge and experience sufficient to make me something of a dilettante rather than an “expert.” Maybe if I confess a few “home truths,” those near and dear to me will stop worrying, and start sharing in the confidence that I will not rush home and write about the dry noodles sticking out of the edges of their lasagna, or the fact that they grill their steak until it could be used to re-sole Doc Martens. I won’t.

Confession #1: I burn stuff all the time. There is a little gavotte that takes place in Forest Street Kitchen on a regular basis. I start cooking something at a prudent temperature, get impatient and turn it up, get distracted by another dish, or facebook, or a phone call, and Rob notices the food on the Edge of Incineration and turns it down. If he turns it down, I get annoyed and tell him I was too paying attention, and  stand fixedly in front of the stove until it’s cooked. If Rob doesn’t notice it, or if he’s too late, it burns. I burn rice, soup, sauces, vegetables…I am an equal opportunity burner.

Confession #2: I have never had any real truffle. Truffle oil, yes, truffle butter, yes, but I have never even seen a “live” truffle. I just thought you should know.

Confession #3: There are, at this moment, Doritos, Iced Animal Cookies, American Cheese and (forgive me, Lord) Kraft Parmesan Cheese in this house. (At least the latter is the kind that’s shreds of cheese instead of the powdery stuff that looks like dandruff). I think there may also be a box of Kraft Mac & Cheese in the pantry.

Confession #4: I know absolutely nothing about wine. I like it, some is red and some is white, and it comes from different countries including (surprisingly) Australia. I know that I am not supposed to like it if it’s sweet, even if it tastes good, and that I am supposed to let the waiter or sommelier uncork it and pour me a bit in a fancy restaurant so that I can smell and taste it and say whether it’s okay. Let’s just say that Meryl Street has nothing, nothing on me when it comes to pretending to know how to put on that kind of performance. I hear and read snippets about wine so that I can say, with a certain panache, “I’d like the Shiraz,” and I know that I am to nod sagely when others delve into notes and varietals. That’s it.

Confession #5: I don’t know much about beer, either. Guinness is dark and heavy (and I like it) and people stare at you if you order Blue Moon in December. Other than that, I order whatever the most astute beer drinker at the table is having.

Confession #6: I like Mac Donald’s cheeseburgers. Not every day, but there is some magical alchemy that takes place when white bun meets patty, cheese food, pickle and condiments, and I find it sublime when I’m in the right mood.

Confession #7: Until recently I told people that I loved sushi, but I had never actually eaten anything other than a California Roll. I am now in the clear, having eaten “real” sushi (with sashimi in it) on a number of occasions, but I did lie so that I would appear more sophisticated.

Confession #8: I once ordered Feijoada, the speciality dish of the Portuguese in a restaurant in Boston (in order to appear sophisticated, natch), and was so embarrassed that I didn’t know what to do with all the parts (and there are a lot of parts) that, rather than asking, I spent the whole meal trying to hide the condiments by blending them into the stew. Until I found what was clearly a pig foot in the stew, at which point I told my dining companions that I was feeling sick and I went home. It has been 16 years, and they are still laughing at me.

Confession #9: I panic when asked to “bring a dish to pass” because I have made such a big deal out of my Culinary Mastery-hood that I think I’ll look ridiculous if I show up with hummus and pita, chips and salsa, or a dish of homemade macaroni. I will often spend hours looking through recipes to dazzle people (more than half of whom are under the age of 12) with my prowess, and often end up so exhausted and demoralized that I end up making…hummus and pita or a dish of homemade macaroni and cheese. Every time this happens I tell myself that my contribution is eaten up, and that people really appreciate something humble made well (and leave things like the tuna-mango mousse with Quinoa crackers to desiccate on the buffet table), but then my amnesia kicks in again.

Confession #10: I never believe anything I cook is going to turn out. Never. It usually does, but I anxiously wait to see if bread will rise, cakes will be moist, sauce will be balanced, every single time no matter how many times I have successfully made the same dish. When things turn out well, I tell myself it’s no big deal because I should be able to cook anything, at this point. When the rice is crunchy, the Buche de Noel falls apart as it’s rolled, the fried chicken remains uncooked in the middle or the long-cooked casserole is bland and uninviting, I feel justified in my eternal vigilance. This is why I am not likely to be a candidate on “The Next Food Network Star” any time soon.