Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
You could always count on mom to be readily equipped with the antidote to your hunger—hard candy. “Do you want a butterscotch?” she’d ask, as she desperately tried to stave off Ethiopian flies from your soon-to-be distended belly. Us kids—and later as adults—found this form of nagging to be intrusive and annoying, but if that was the extent of her yenta-ing, we’d just have to suck it up, along with the butterscotch.
Mom was not a heavy woman. She just ate like one. But mostly, she liked talking about eating. About you eating. Or you not eating enough, rather. And she had a penchant for taking home leftovers like it was nobody’s business. She carried baggies in her purse because a restaurant could not be entrusted with providing something as precious as a foil-lined paper bag. She started her ritual in the days before the ubiquitous styrofoam container became a mainstay of the dining scene. Back then, it was up to proactive women with too much plastic and twist ties on their hands.
Yes, my mother was the reigning doggie-bag queen. There was no leftover too small to leave on her plate. I remember the time in a restaurant when she had two bites of meat loaf left and asked the waiter to wrap it up. Beet-red with embarrassment, I wondered why she had to take home two measly bites. Was it from living through the Depression? Was it because an animal should not go to waste? Did she merely want to be reminded the next day of how much she enjoyed the previous night’s meal? Or did she do it to piss us off? Who knew. But that night, those two bites got lost in the restaurant's kitchen (probably mistaken for blowback), and when she found out they were never to return, the look on her face conjured up the horror in the song, MacArthur Park: “Someone left the meat loaf on the plate, and she’ll never have those last two bites again. Oh no…” Needless to say, that was the last time mom left her leftovers to fate. From that moment on, it was paws off, except for hers.
Sadly, my mom died two weeks ago, unexpectedly. When I started going through the clothes in her closet, I noticed that she had about 40 shirts, all with two pockets. The left pocket of every shirt contained three items: a folded Kleenex, a folded baggie, and a piece of hard candy. She lived in a retirement home and didn’t get out much, so chances are, she was only going downstairs to the dining room for her three meals a day. But apparently, it was far enough that she thought she might need sustenance on her journey down the elevator.
Now, with all that's happened in the past two weeks, I'm feeling kind of weak. And even though I ate a big meal just two hours ago, I could really use a butterscotch. I would give anything just to hear her ask.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
1 small onion, finely chopped
3 - 4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 TBSP fresh parsley, finely chopped
2 TBSP fresh cilantro, finely chopped
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp coriander
3 - 4 TBSP AP flour, GF flour or garbanzo flour (this works really well)
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp olive oil
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
We’re not just talking Tofurky. We’re talking a tricked-out Tofurky on rbST-free steroids that ate two other Tofurkys. Here's how it works: First you stuff an imitation turkey with a pretend duck. Then you stuff the pretend duck with a mock chicken. Then you make a stuffing out of wild rice and Fakin’ Bacon. And voila—it’s an original genuine fake.
Wait till faux agribusiness gets wind of my tagline, which by the way, is available for purchase:
Three times less cluckin’
Friday, December 4, 2009
You say potato, I say po-tah-to and fennel.
I’ve been making this enchanting soup from Mollie Katzen’s Moosewood Cookbook for years, and it just keeps getting better with age (that makes one of us). Browned onions, potatoes, minced fennel, and caraway seeds are a truly inspired combination.
I’ve made a few tiny tweaks, but nothing major. Since caraway seeds play a large part in the soup’s complex character, I double what the original Mollie Katzen recipe calls for. I also like to maximize the delicious, aromatic fennel flavor as a counterpoint to the caraway, so I up the ante there too, with 1 to 2 cups. (One can never have too much boiled fennel. Am I wrong?) I usually just get the largest bulb I can find and don’t fuss with the measuring. I'm telling you—this soup has so much flavor from so few ingredients, you’ll be peasantly surprised.
1 TBSP butter or olive oil
4 cups thinly sliced onions
2 tsp salt
4 medium potatoes (average fist-size), not necessarily peeled, and sliced into thin pieces 1 to 2 inches long
1 - 2 cups freshly minced fennel bulb (the largest bulb you can find)
1 tsp caraway seeds
4 cups water
white or black pepper, to taste
Makes 4 - 5 servings
Heat the butter or oil in a kettle or Dutch oven. Add the onions and 1 tsp salt. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, for about 15 to 20 minutes, or until the onions are very soft and lightly browned.
Add the potatoes, the rest of the salt, the minced fennel bulb, and the caraway seeds. Sauté over medium heat for another 5 minutes, then add the water. Bring to a boil, then partially cover, and simmer for about 45 minutes (the potatoes should be tender and almost falling out of their skins).
Taste to adjust salt; add pepper. Serve hot, topped with a decorative swirl of thinned sour cream and/or minced feathery fennel tops.