Foodie Diaries: The Art of Cooking

I was on Skype last night with my (amazing) boyfriend while simultaneously sautéing mushrooms and drinking a glass of wine. Though I may have looked domestic and all, I’m hardly the type to claim I’m a stellar cook. I have my fall back dishes (enchiladas) and occasionally try a new recipe, but I’m better friends with my microwave than my stove top.

I’m learning though. Every time I come home, I cook with my mother. The kitchen is familiar and clean, and I ask my mom questions along the way. It’s like a crash course in Cooking 101.

So while I admittedly haven’t mastered the “art of cooking,” I’m working on it. And I’ve learned a couple key things about what truly is the art of cooking.

• Keep it clean. When I try to write in a dirty room, I can’t think straight; my head is as cluttered as the carpet. In the same way, I can’t (or refuse to) cook in a dirty kitchen. Working in a clean space is more sanitary and less stressful. And honestly, it’s much easier to pace and control a meal if the kitchen is clean. Wash dishes as frequently as possible. Wipe the counters. Throw things away when they smell like something died. Common sense.
• When in doubt, add garlic.
• Be creative. This comes naturally to me, probably because of my mother. She loves trying out new recipes and ideas, and she calls her dinner guests her guinea pigs. Things aren’t always perfect, but it’s always fun.
• Wear an apron. Cooking is one of the only times I get the chance to feel super girly. I love hamming it up with an apron (like this “Cuisine Couture” one from Anthropologie). And then there’s the practicality, too. Don’t want to spill on your fancy cookin’ clothes.
• Taste test right out of the dish. I swear it tastes better that way.
• Don’t try to cook and host at the same time. Honestly, I’ve seen people struggle with this a lot. And there are ways to balance the food and the friends. Either (a) cook things ahead of time so that the most you have to do is dish them out OR (b) co-host the dinner. Having someone else greeting people and starting conversation takes the pressure off the cook. Also, ask people for help. Everyone knows how to stir.
• Take photographs. Foodie photos are the best!
• Have fun. This, for me, typically entails having a glass of wine or iced tea when I cook. It helps me relax and enjoy my time and really savor all the scents and tastes in the kitchen. And if a swish or two of wine happens to spill into whatever I’m cooking, then so be it.

So. Much. Garlic. :)

Foodie Diaries: Vegetarianism

To be or not to be… that is the question.

I first started being vegetarian several years ago for Lent. But because Lenten promises don’t apply on Sundays, I would head to Carl’s Jr. for a jalapeno burger (noms). Throughout the 40-someodd days, I noticed that when I ate meat, I had scary, oftentimes violent dreams. Something in the actual meat or the chemicals or something wrecked havoc on my body.

So when Lent rolled around the next year, I gave up meat again. But this time, I didn’t eat on Sundays either. And I kept it up. I found that after a while, I stopped craving meat and it actually started to smell unappealing to me. I always ate fish; it was my way of making sure I had enough protein and folic acid and whatnot without having to take supplements. It also made eating out a little easier, too. There are surprisingly few vegetarian dishes at restaurants.

And that all worked out well for me. Until I accidentally ate bacon and decided Oh, to hell with it. I didn’t make the diet change for any real ethical reasons. I wasn’t one to preach about the disgusting nature of meat. And I never read Sinclair’s The Jungle. I liked vegetables and didn’t like nightmares. It seemed pretty simple.

Lately, I’ve been considering taking up a vegetarian (okay… that’s what I call my version. Call it pesca-vegetarian or lacto-ovo-vegetarian or whatever. I’m not getting technical) diet again. I like how clean vegetarianism makes me feel. Meals are naturally lighter and simpler.

Currently, my rule is that I don’t buy meat. First off, meat is expensive. But I also tend to eat healthier and fewer meals when I’m vegetarian. I plan them more because I know I can’t go just anywhere and get a snack.

And yes I’ve studied the ethical reasons for why it would be beneficial to be vegetarian. Like how cows are the number one source of greenhouse gases. Or how 80 percent of the food the United States produces is consumed by cows… experts estimate that vegetarianism is the key to ending world hunger. When we consume a pound of meat, we’re basically consuming everything it took to keep that cow alive to mature. I know that animals are scalded and skinned alive, their throats cut until they bleed out and die.

I know that animals are crippled by their hormone-pickled bodies, their legs too small to hold up their amped-up muscles. I know that their cancerous tumors and infections go untreated because the USDA deems that meat approved.

And then there’s the health benefits… how people who strictly limit (or eliminate) their intake of meat are at a significantly lower risk for heart-related issues, high blood pressure, obesity, stroke and some forms of cancer.

So then why not be a vegetarian? That’s where I run into problems. The main reason is that it’s an inconvenience. People have to make an extra meal. People think I’m going to preach about ethics and green house gases while their trying to have their burger. It also means cutting out a ton of things… burgers, machaca burritos, Thanksgiving turkey. But so what. Everyone could use a few fewer burgers.

But I’ve come to a peaceful middle ground. Fish and seafood are in, albeit minimal (for price reasons). I don’t buy meat. But when it comes to “ribs or rude,” be that a meal out or someone cooking for me… whenever my diet might inconvenience others, then I will be okay with eating meat. Because, ultimately, my reasons for vegetarianism are my own. And it would be rude for me to impose them onto someone else.

Foodie Diaries: Organic Produce

If and when I can, I try to buy organic food. The problem is that “Organic” is just a label; it’s challenging to break down what that really means. According to the USDA…

Organic food is produced by farmers who emphasize the use of renewable resources and the conservation of soil and water to enhance environmental quality for future generations…Organic food is produced without using most conventional pesticides; fertilizers made with synthetic ingredients or sewage sludge; bioengineering; or ionizing radiation. Before a product can be labeled "organic," a Government-approved certifier inspects the farm where the food is grown to make sure the farmer is following all the rules necessary to meet USDA organic standards. Companies that handle or process organic food before it gets to your local supermarket or restaurant must be certified, too.

That’s all fine, but not necessarily why I choose to eat organic. I think there are many benefits, but the ones that justify my organic food choices are:

• Taste. I notice that there is a significant difference in the taste and quality of the food I buy. It doesn’t always look as pretty (because it’s, you know, a plant), but the apples are crisper, sweeter. The eggs especially taste ten times more delicious than standard eggs. You know how grapes and avocados taste better when they are forced to struggle? I think there’s a lot to be said there. Food that can brave the elements without pesticides and all sorts of chemical whozits and whatzits galore should taste better.
• Variety. When I opt to eat organic, I find I’m more inclined to eat a variety. I eat more local foods and, thus, eat seasonally. There are fewer “staple foods” because things don’t naturally grow year-round. So instead, I diversify my palette and find creative ways to incorporate whatever is in season.
• Support. Since much of organic food is local, buying organically helps support local farmers struggling to make a living (or break even) in my area.
• Health. Even if I can’t always notice the pesticides in standard food and produce, the fact that they’re there tends to bother me. My dad figures that his father’s brain cancer was due in large part to his growing up on a pesticide using farm. If I can avoid risks and eat healthy, more diverse, better tasting food, why wouldn’t I?

A Boston Organics delivery box.

When I’m back in Boston and moved into my (gorgeous) new apartment, I plan to start utilizing a program in Boston called Boston Organics. The company compiles bins of organic produce every week that they then delivery to individual homes. Patrons can choose to have deliveries every week or every other week. They can tell the company what is on their “no list,” things that they have no interest in and don’t want delivered. They can choose what percentage of fruit and veggies they want (half and half, 2/3 veggies, all fruit) and what size.

Then, patrons can also add on other organic groceries including staples, bread, peanut butter, even chocolate.

Price wise, I’m looking at about $60 a month for delivery every other week. And at first it seems steep, but that’s what I would likely pay at the grocery store for that kind of produce, anyway. And this way, I get diversity. I’m forced to find new and inventive ways of cooking and storing food. It’s a learning experiment.
…
Though Boston Organics makes organic easy, there are other (more involved) ways to eat organic. My parents in San Diego actually own part of a local farm. Many farms have programs called CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). There are more than 400 participating farms in America. Basically, farms cut their land up into “shares,” which they then sell to consumers. The farmers benefit in that they are guaranteed a certain amount of income for the season and the consumers reap benefits as well.

My mom’s program is very similar to the organic delivery: She goes to a local farmers’ market every other weekend to pick up a box of organic produce. There’s always a variety of goods (some CSA’s even have flowers) and a newsletter, which includes sample recipes or ideas of how to cook some of the ingredients involved.

Though most CSA programs are like my mom’s, others offer different benefits. The may give discounts at their farm stands or allow consumers to pick their own food from the farm. But either way, the programs encourage a relationship between the consumer and the farmer. It’s important to know from whom and where your food comes from.

Foodie Diaries (Intro)

For the last several hours, I’ve been reading articles on the benefits of certain diets, the health risks of various chemicals, the pros, the cons, the debate. And it got me thinking about food and the role it plays in our lives.

I wrote before about the important role that food has played in establishing and furthering my relationships, but that’s more about the broad subject of food. What about the gritty details? What about the lifestyle choices, the health, the diets and fads and favorite meals?

The fact of the matter is that food isn’t just a source of energy; it’s an art form. And so I’ve decided to try something new—a miniseries on food.  Stay tuned.

For the Love of Food

I once messed up a box of Kraft Mac N Cheese. I am an absolutely hopeless cause when it comes to working in the kitchen. But that isn't to say I don't have a passion for it. If and when I devote the time (money) and effort to it, I thoroughly enjoy cooking. And when I can't find the time to cook, I still enjoy eating just as much. I've been spending the past couple of minutes looking through Cook's Country, some cute little foodie magazine I'd never heard of but that has amazing pictures and makes my mouth water.

It got me thinking about food, though. I walk home down Ninth Avenue and pass dozens of delicious-smelling, boutique-y, small, eclectic restaurants. Yes there are some that look like they've contracted some sort of STD, but the gems shine comparatively brighter compared to the ethnic grunge of Hell's Kitchen. I'm hungry all the time. And I'd be lying if I said I haven't Googled the best Italian restaurants or picked out where I'm making my parents take me when they come to visit. But this isn't the first time food (or the lack thereof) has defined me. For as long as I can remember, it's played an active and constant role in my life. So I decided to compile some little anecdotes about how food brought me to the three most incredible women I've ever met.

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Mom: My mom's rule when it came to grocery shopping was that whichever child went got to pick out something they wanted. For my brothers, that meant taquitos and ice cream, but for me it meant something weird. I remember the first time my mom and I found celeriac. And persimmons. She was always experimental and fun about food. Even when we didn't know what something was, we would buy it and then look up how to cook it in The New Joy of Cooking when we got home. Celeriac was middle of the road, but oftentimes our science experiments yielded incredible results. I remember I once picked out Chinese long beans because I thought they looked like some sort of monster hair. But when we brought them home and learned how incredible they are sauteed, we were in legume heaven. Mouthgasmic bliss, right there. The first time I went vegetarian my junior year of high school, my mom did it with me as our Lenten sacrifice. And though I craved Carls Jr. jalapeno burgers almost as much as chocolate, we made it fun. I remember looking through vegetarian recipes and trying to make eggplants sound appealing. We made these ricotta cheese Italian roll-up things once and I swear the prep work took two hours. But they ended up being amazing.

My mom didn't make me lunches until I was in high school (a little behind the curve, but I didn't mind). But her lunches were incredible. As my brother's high school girlfriend said, our lunches were "circus lunches," full of different food groups and color. When I was vegetarian, she catered to that, making falafel and packing hummus and celery. With the exception of the ever-present bag of carrots (which I always gave away), I loved every single lunch I had.

Last summer, when I went to Europe with my mom, we had an absolute blast. I've never met someone so experimental and inspiring. We would never order the same thing, always order wine and dessert, and we challenged ourselves to try things we might otherwise write off--like fresh anchovies and sardines in northern Italy or mussels and frites in Belgium. In Sienna, we stumbled around the tiny walled city for probably an hour looking for some Rick Steves-approved place before finally "settling" for a whole in the wall close to our hotel. When we saw the menu was entirely in Italian, we just signed to the waitress/owner that we'd have whatever she wanted to make. And we ended up with a porridge-y soup, some stewed meat, and spinacci (even I could read that). As we found out later, the meat was boar, not beef. But I didn't care in the least. I was too busy listening to my stomach purr.

Bo: I wouldn't necessarily call Bo's food choices diverse, but the girl knows what she likes and I have to give her that. Half a hamburger at The Cheesecake Factory, Steak at Jake's, pasta at Sammy's Woodfired Pizza. And Machaca at Rod's. Even if she weren't my best friend, I would love her for sharing Rodrigo's with me. Somehow, that little hole in the wall has seen me through some amazing transitions in my life. So many of my high school ghosts visit the restaurant (can I call it that?) that under any other circumstances, I would avoid it like the plague. But Rodrigo's is one piece of PQ that I will never quite let go of. Rodrigo's is the common stomping ground and it's a place where Bo and I can go and just be us, her and me, the Shis. Of course, it doesn't hurt that the Machaca is the shit. Hot or cold, drowning in salsa and spilling everywhere. Noms.

J: I still remember my first lunch with J. I described it once in conversation... It was awkward because I think we both knew intuitively that we were going to be close. But we had to get all the small talk and details out of the way first. But really. I remember wearing my pledge pin. I remember which corner table in Stetson East. And from then on, I spent almost every single dining hall meal with the girl. Over Colin-the-omelet-master's omelets and those amazing little rolls they have by the pizza stand, we learned the ins and outs of each others lives. We cooked Easter brunch together (or she cooked and I ate WAY too much), we made eclaire cake together (OMG, yum). Last summer I came to visit and we all had the most incredible potluck (shout-out to the "Stinky Salad"). This year, we both had kitchens and we were able to experiment even more. I remember the first time she made me a salad with a fried egg on it. I nearly died. Or making a pumpkin pie a week. Or having steak at her parents' house.

In a show of apology and gratitude to some guy friends who took care of me one best-to-be-forgotten weekend, I made enchiladas in their stunning (albeit disgustingly dirty) kitchen. The next Sunday, she made bolognese. And then one of the guys made chicken parmasean. There in that kitchen, we grew even closer. Whenever she felt inspired to experiment, I reaped the benefits. When I've been sad or upset, there's always been a heaping plate of deliciousness to cheer me up. And I remember one night when she hauled her butt across campus to the news room to bring me some southern corn chowder. I can say without hesitation or any iota of regret that my relationship with J is tied to food, to our shared appreciation for it, to our love for cooking it, for our zeal for eating it. I'm more than excited to share a (much cleaner) kitchen with her in September. The freshman fifteen will be nothing compared to the middler midsection. Bring it on.

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Food is so much more than a life force. It's a bridge connecting me to the people I love. It's a hobby and a skill. It's something I can look forward to. Though my family couldn't always come together and eat dinner (hockey and Scouts and theater and choir kind of mess with the Daniells family calender), we strove to have breakfasts together. And not the cold cereal kind. But omelets and bacon and the good stuff. The kitchen table was, and subsequently always will be, a place of conversation and community. Kind of funny that food can be so simple, but such a binding (and delicious) force. I'm loving it.