Life · Stiles

Several years ago we met a Jewish man who was taken aback to learn that my husband, although the child of two Jewish parents, grew up with a Christmas tree every year. He could understand if one parent was Christian, but two Jewish parents? Although he was full of civility, clearly we had just rocked his core. While I understand his point-of-view, the Christmas tree is an American cultural tradition so full of magic that it is hard to resist.

To me, the lighted and decorated tree symbolizes very little of the religious aspects of Christmas. The deep green color inside contrasting the bleak landscape outside, the spicy woody scent, the prickly touch of the needles all call out to a sensual and ancient past. They sing a song of hope in the middle of a winter gloom. And while I neither disparage nor embrace the concept of a virgin birth, the tree, to me, brings to life a true Christmas miracle.

We cut down our tree at a tree farm each year. This year, in the rain, my kids tromped through a forest of dwarf trees. The older one inspected every tree and organized the family for a vote. The 19-month-old stomped in puddles and followed her brother from tree to tree laughing and giggling.

We set it up in the living room, and again my baby was delighted with this giant plant brought indoors. She watched as I unrolled strings of lights. She puzzled as I walked around and around the tree. But the miracle happened when I turned on the electricity. She was standing just a few feet from the tree when it popped with sparkling color. OOH! She said, and her eyes grew wide, and a grin spread across her face.

I remember that reaction from my son, too. The first time a child sees the lighted tree exemplifies the whole reason for the season. The world of adults goes away for a moment, and we are all children again bathed in a beautiful light, warm and cozy in our winter den, surrounded by love and hope and joy.

Tomorrow rape victims will still be surviving, car bombs will still explode in busy markets, guns will be put into the hands of child-soldiers, people will know real hunger, but tonight little hands will clap, little pudgy feet will dance, and a little mouth will coo, “ooh!” in delight. Tonight, for one brief shining moment, there will be peace on earth and good will toward men.

That seems pretty miraculous.

The next book we rated was Mangia, Little Italy! by Francesca Romina.

I admit to having mixed feelings about this book. First, it was a gift, and I don’t want to seem ungrateful by giving it away if I don’t like it. I feel funny even expressing out loud that I might not like a gift. Second, I need to admit a deep, cultural prejudice: This book is Sicilian cooking. As a descendant of Northern Italians, I must admit that I looked down on this book and was reluctant to embrace it. I then had the reverse reaction of needing to embrace it to prove I wasn’t prejudice, which just proved that I was. I relied heavily on Cris to keep me honest in my review.

To begin, this book is filled with charming stories of Francesca’s Grandmother and other relatives both in America and in Sicily. It is a very entertaining read. I was a little annoyed with the author’s finding quaint humor in the superstitious and sometimes petty behavior of the Sicilian culture, but then again, I have some demons to wrestle here.

Mica’s Pizza with Black Olives and Onion

This recipe started with peeling 2 lbs of plum tomatoes and called for a cheese and an olive not available outside of Little Italy. The results, however, were quite good. Cris really liked it. I thought it was ok, but too much work. In retrospect, I don’t think the tomatoes need to be peeled, and Romano cheese was a delicious substitution. Cris gave it a 3, and I gave it a 2.

Veal Chops Marsala

Cris is a fan of marsala so we gave this a try, but had to substitute chicken as veal was not available in our store. This recipe was not too complicated, but lacked a vibrant flavor. We were left wanting to search other cookbooks for a better marsala recipe. We deemed that rated a 1.

Potato and String Bean Salad

I loved this recipe. It is warm boiled potatoes and string beans in a red wine vinegar dressing. It is very similar to one my mom makes. Cris found it, again, bland. The recipe actually does not call for salt, but I added some. Boiled potatoes need salt. Also, there are no herbs in the dressing, just red wine and vinegar. I gave it a 2, but Cris gave it a 1.

This book also has the flaw of having portion sized way out of whack. For example, the veal recipe serves a 10-oz chop to each person. The potatoes – ¾ of a lb of potatoes per serving. Then there were recipes like the Seven Hour Sunday Tomato Sauce which does in fact take seven hours to cook on top of needing 2.5 lbs of meatballs, 1 stuffed pork roast, ¾ lb beef stew meat and a pound of Italian sausage.

We decided this book isn’t best suited for our shelves so out the door it goes.

Well, it’s not actually a problem. Not that I’m justifying the addiction, just that I don’t think certain addictions are problems. Yes, it sucks up my money and my time. Yes, I pressure my friends to participate. Yes, it affects my social life, spills into my work and consumes my attention so that I can stay up late engrossed in it, but I admit nothing.

I do, however, have a confession: At last count I own over 160 cookbooks. There, I said it. I’ve read every one, and cooked out of almost every one. I can no longer fit them all in my kitchen. I realize that I am becoming a weird cat lady of cookbooks. I am also finding it hard to justify bringing more cookbooks into the house. I picture myself in my old age, in a one-bedroom apartment hunched over and hobbling around 6-foot-high stacks of cookbooks. Really, I need an intervention so here is one of my own devising.

Over the next year I shall evaluate each cookbook. Here are the rules:

1) I shall select 2 recipes from it that I have not cooked before.
2) C shall select 1 recipe.
3) I shall make the three recipes.
4) We shall evaluate the merits of the cookbook based on those three recipes and any others that we may have cooked out of it previously.
5) If the cookbook is found lacking, out the door it goes.*

*No cookbooks shall be harmed in this process. All discarded cookbooks shall be donated to a book sale.

Stayed tuned for the results.

C and I take a few opportunities each year to dine out someplace other than a family restaurant chain.  After viewing many seasons of Iron Chef, we have become increasingly discriminate.  No longer do we use adjectives like great, fine or ok, but we critically engage in picking apart dishes that just a few years ago would have wowed us.  We try to eat with honest criticism.

 

With that said, we have thought for some time about sharing our musings.  So it begins.

 

October 13 was our wedding anniversary.  What better way to celebrate seven years than with the seven-course tasting menu at Radius, with wine pairings, of course.  Unfortunately, I’m writing this a little too long after the meal so any of the nuances have been lost.

 

Amuse-bouche 1: a large white Asian spoon appears with a bite of white fish ceviche topped with a gooseberry.  It was fresh and light and the flavor danced across one’s mouth.  It was a lovely awakener.

 

Amuse-bouche 2: This member of the anniversary couple was less enthusiastic when the next mouth amuser was placed in front of her: a small cup of lentil truffle soup.  I love lentil soup, but am quite put off by truffles.  The sight of large shavings of truffle atop a plate makes me gasp, not from the cost factor, but the flavor which I find overpowering.  Oh me of little faith.  The chef had such a light hand.  The essence of truffle in the soup was earthy and paired superbly with the heartiness of the lentils.  The soup was hot enough to feel cozy, but not so hot as to require one to blow on it.  In a word, perfect.

 

Course 1: Scallop Ceviche with pickled corn, avocado mousse, citrus and sea beans

                2007 Cederberg Chenin Blanc

To begin, the Chenin Blanc was light and crisp with a touch of citrus.  This ceviche was so different from the taste that started the evening.  The blood oranges in it tasted like they had been picked off of a Florida tree just hours before serving adding a tropical freshness.  I’ve never had raw scallop, but it was creamy and tender.  Sea beans are the stalks of a bush called glasswort that grows along seashores.  They were crisp and salty.  Add to them the crunchy, tart corn and the smooth fatty avocado, and the result was a flavorful intense salad.  The wine completely changed complexion once drunk with the ceviche.  It lost its citrus taste, promoting a sweeter flavor that both brought out the citrus in the dish and complimented the saltiness.

 

Course 2: Scottish Salmon with lobster mushrooms, marcona almond puree, crispy duck and meyer lemon mouse

                2007 Renoud Macon-Villages

Again an ingredient I had never heard of: lobster mushroom.  Maybe you don’t want to know, but a lobster mushroom is a mushroom that has a bright orange fungus that has grown over the top forming a hardened shell.  Good thing I didn’t know that while I was eating it.  It had a mild earthy taste, not unlike a white mushroom, but had a firm bite which was more pleasant than a mushroom and paired with the tender fish quite well.  The salmon was perfectly cooked, the meyer lemon in small enough quantity so as not to overwhelm the taste, and the crispy shreds of duck meat could have been a meal in themselves.  Fortunately, they were sparse because their flavor was intense and could have easily overwhelmed the delicate fish.

 

Course 3: Pan-Seared Rouget with fennel puree, fregola, tomatoes and laurel emulsion

                2007 Domaine des Garrigons

Rouget is a small Mediterranean fish.  The entire fillet was about the size of a playing card and barely ¼ inch thick.  It was pan-seared so that the skin around the edge was crispy.  It was served with both a fennel puree and fresh sautéed fennel.  The two media worked in conjunction, with the puree giving more licorice flavor and the sauté giving more crunch.  What can I say about the laurel emulsion except that foams are fun, and this one was intense in flavor?  A foam is a wonderful way to impart a taste that is strong because the foam is so light.  Each bite will have the barest hint of it.

 

Course 4: Miso-Braised Kurobuto Pork Belly with sweet potato, peanuts, edamame and thai basil

                2006 Domaines des Segrieres Lirac

Some people are daunted by pork belly because the ratio of fat to meat is about 1:1, but in a two-bite portion, the blend is excellent.  This portion was seared to a crisp yet the meat was fall-apart tender.  The sweet potatoes were diced into such tiny cubes that you almost missed them until you bit into one and got a shot of sweet flavor cutting across the fattiness of the meat.  The peanuts were lost for me. I couldn’t discern them at all and can only trust that their absence might have been noticed.  Instead I was aware of a ginger puree which added such a bright sparkle to the dish, again playing against the fattiness of the meat.  The wine was described as a light red, and was, to my mouth, the perfect weigh for a red sipping wine.  It held its own against the pork without overpowering the lighter flavors of sweet potato and ginger.

 

Course 5: Olive Oil-Poached Lamb Tenderloin with fresh garbanzo puree, eggplant and baby zucchini

                2005 Terredora Aglianico

I’m not a lamb fan, but if every time I ate lamb it tasted like this, I sure would be!  The tenderloin was about the width of a sausage and half as long.  It was cooked perfectly rare and was moist and tender.  The tiny eggplant and zucchini were sautéed just enough to add caramelization and still had some crunch which contrasted nicely with the tenderloin.  This wine was heavier than the previous, but still smooth.  It eliminated any gamy flavor the meat had to create a beautiful dish.

 

Course 6: Slow-Roasted Ribeye of Beef with pommes robuchon, pearl onions, haricots verts, carrots and red wine sauce

                2005 Joseph Carr Napa Cabernet Sauvignon

My favorite cut of meat meets one of my favorite wines.  This wine was heavy.  When drunk alone the tannins left a mouth pucker, but this cab cut nicely across such a hearty piece of meat.  The ribeye was so tender that we believed it was the tenderloin.  Pommes robuchon is a fancy phrase meaning the best darned mashed potatoes you ever ate.  We are sure that they follow the classic restaurant recipe of 1 part potato, 1 part butter and cream.  The pearl onions, green beans and carrots were just cooked through and had just the hint of a sweet glaze, and the wine reduction was so intense that more than a tablespoon of it on the plate would have been overwhelming.  Again all elements of this dish melded into perfection, and despite how full I was, I was left wishing there had been more.

 

Course 7: Dessert

                2007 Marenco Braccheto d’Acqui

We’ve been served this wine before at Radius.  It is a bright purple color, looking more like grape juice than wine.  On first taste it gives the same impression, very grapy and sweet.  I wouldn’t care for this as a sipping wine, but pare it with intensely sweet and rich desserts, and it loses its child-like grapiness to a simple sweet alcohol taste that handles both chocolates and creams.  It met both those challenges tonight.  We were served two desserts.  The first is called their candy bar.  It was a rich, almost nougat-like hazelnut mousse covered in dark chocolate served with a scoop of banana ice cream.  The second was a goat-cheese cheese cake with a berry sauce. Each dish was served with a tall candle in it and the words “Happy Anniversary” scrawled in milk chocolate across the top of the plate.

 

As we left, the sommelier said he hoped he’d see us again before our next anniversary.  We hope so too.

I was hoping for a cornucopia of plum tomatoes from my garden, but alas it was not to be this year.  Instead I went to a farm stand and bought this $10 bushel of beefsteaks.

I peeled and pureed them and started the long boil.  Unlike Sarah, I like to make a marinara sauce to which I can just add meat later, so I add onion, basil, oregano, wine, salt and pepper.

This is what I started with.

This is half way through the cooking.  beefsteak tomatoes have so much more water in them than plum tomatoes, that it took two days of cooking.

This is the finished sauce.  As you can see, I went from two pots full to one.  It's still a little sour so adding meat and cooking another two hours or so should make it perfect.  I froze it in 2-quart bags which so each produce a pot of sauce (3 bags worth).

I really like trying to come up with something different for each day of this make and tell, but alas, the weekend did not lend itself to creativity.

Friday, I decided that I didn't like the way my crocheting was coming along.  My circle was doing the wave, not laying at all flat.  I did some internet research and found a better plan so I started a new one.  The pattern is 1) make your chain of 6. 2) join it in a circle and double chain in each link.  3) for the next row, double chain in every other row.  4) for row 4, double chain in every 3rd row.  5) Continue.

There is one small problem which you can see here.  Although it lays much flatter, you can just detect a spiral pattern from the increases.  I don't know if that's a problem with my stitches, or just a fact of life if you follow the pattern.

On Saturday, I pulled out he wobbly bits of the first one and started it over.

The original is the one in the back.  It's laying much better now, but between the two I decided to keep with the new one.

Sunday, I spent more time on it and am now at row 20.  I figure I have about 20 more rows before I start the design pattern around the edges.

So about a year ago I was thinking to myself that my old, small, portable sewing machine that really only sews straight lines was getting old and needed to be replaced.  For my birthday I got a new, not expensive or fancy, machine that, presumably does WAY more than my dinky old machine did.

So I decided I should sew stuff.

The only things I've sewn to this point have been wear-once, no-one-sees-too-well-in-the-dark, Halloween costumes for toddlers, and some pillow cases.

So I bought a pattern for a child's winter coat.

I cut the pattern last winter, but just got around to sewing it today.  Fortunately, my son decided to stop growing a size a year this year so it will still fit him.

I sewed the pockets on.  So far so good.  They looked pretty nice.  It's fleece which is pretty forgiving of crooked lines.  Then I went to tackle the zipper.  I couldn't find the zipper.  I had to drive out to the fabric store which didn't have the matching zipper I know I had bought before so I had to settle for ecru.  I sensed that putting in a zipper was a bad idea and was even more afraid of button holes so I looked for toggles, but couldn't find any.  Yah, not a great fabric store.

I was right on the zipper.  Coat zippers do not fit nicely underneath a zipper foot.  The front of the coat is wavey, but since the fleece is bunchy, I'm hoping this won't be noticed.

I made the wise decision not to put elastic in the sleeves at the wrists.  Instead, I reversed the seam about 6 inches from the end so it can cuff with no seam showing.  The sleeves and the pockets look pretty good.

Here our model displays the coat prior to hemming or attaching the hood.  I hadn't undone the seam on the cuff yet either so it's a little bunchy.

Here's the finished coat. This is a better shot of the color, too.  If you don't look too closely, not too bad!  And, yes, for those of you with eagle eyes: I did sew the pockets on backwards on purpose.  You can tell that the color and texture is slightly different because it is the reverse side of the fabric.  Hand stitching a decorative ribbon around the bottom, up the zipper and around the hood would cover a lot of crooked seams, but that will have to wait for the hand-me-down phase, if it lasts that long.

Cris thought it was bought in a store - win for me!  David loves it and wore it during breakfast - another win for me!

Here are two shots of the finished coat.

Several days ago I was complaining about my son's lunches having to be packed with no garbage.  That is plastic bags or other throw-away wrappings.  So today I'm reading my Family Fun magazine from last month (which isn't so bad considering I've yet to read my Sept 2008 copy of This Old House).  What do they have in there!  Is it an article on making reusable containers our of garbage?  Why yes, it is!

Today's make is a milk jug sandwich container.

Mark up your milk jug with 3 short sides and one tall side.  Notice the little curl where the lines meet.

Cut along said lines.

Punch holes 1/4 inch apart around the base of the flaps.  Fold along the dotted lines, first out and then in to make a nice crease.  Attach a velcro sticky dot where the large flap folds over, and Viola!

A handy little container just the size of a sandwich.  M son doesn't need this because he has a sandwich holder, and he's not a big fan of sandwiches.  I think I'm going to use it as a dice container.  We'll see how it works.

Warning: decorate to your heart's content, but not with permanent markers.  They will rub right off the plastic as you can see.  I was able to wash off all my lines.  Goo Gone also removed the labels effortlessly.

At Rosh Hashanah service last night our Rabbi talked about the book, The Seven Questions You’re Asked in Heaven by Ron Wolfson.  In the preface Mr. Wolfson poses the question, “What do you think you’ll be asked when you reach heaven?”  Our Rabbi asked us to ponder that question and invited answers from the congregation.

 

People made responses like the following:

What did you do with your life?

Were you a good person?

What were you thinking?

 

But my thought was this.  “Were you happy?”  This is a simple question, but not necessarily easy to answer. 

 

I frame this question in thought of another inspirational book, The Art of Happiness by The Dalai Lama.  If you have ever had the privilege of seeing the Dalai Lama, you are struck by how joyful a person he is.  He giggles like a child and takes great joy in simple things.  He is not austere or serious the way you think he ought to be given his position.  He is happy.

 

His book makes a few fundamental points.  The purpose of each life is to find happiness.  The way to find happiness is to transcend the material world and reach out to other humans.

 

So back at the pearly gates God asks, “Were you happy?”

 

We each choose a path to find happiness.  Some seek to acquire money, some power, some fame.  Some seek martyrdom, or knowledge, or love.  Some spend their days in constant pursuit, some steeped in stress, some in worry.  Some keep busy, shunning idleness.  Some are always searching for another person to tell them what to do.  We all strive for some purpose.  Is that purpose making us happy?

 

When you sit in your room surrounded by your possessions, or your trophies, or your children, do you feel contentment in your heart?

 

Are you happy?

 

I spent my day today talking like a pirate, making pies and eating apples dipped in honey.  And thinking about the question, “Am I happy.”  I realize that the answer is, “Mostly.”  I have some work to do.  The new  year gives me an opportunity to ask that question now, to make changes in my path while I still have time.  I invite you to do the same.

 

L’Shana Tova Umetukah.  May you have a sweet and good new year.

Until this Make and Tell challenge, I used this blog almost exclusively to write essays.  I've neglected that for a while so today's Make is an essay.

You’re Not the Boss of Me!

 

I’m having a crisis of faith, so to speak.  My fundamental beliefs are being shaken.  I’m a person who wants to believe I can think on my own, forge my own path, make my own rules.  Not so much.

 

When I was a kid in Catholic school, I both really liked and really hated my uniform.  I liked that I didn’t have to give much thought to getting dressed.  I liked that I got to wear a skirt every day and no one laughed at me.  I hated that I was so limited in choice of color, texture and adornment.  (I did go to high school in the 80’s.)

 

Even as a young person I was keenly aware of the multiple purposes of a uniform.  It creates a school identity.  It reduces peer pressures.  It creates an academic atmosphere.  It also fosters conformity – as you dress, so shall you think.  I was aware of self-expression being stifled, or at least being forced underground.  I was also aware that the boys didn’t have a uniform.  They had a dress-code.  What I think that was saying in terms of free thought and self regulation between the genders, I don’t have time to get into.

 

I was unsurprised by the uniform given it was Catholic school which is not all about raising the thinkers of tomorrow, but about raising the Catholics of tomorrow.  It’s not about free thought; it’s about the right thought.

 

As I grew up, I became more aware of the history of the feminist movement.  In particular, I became aware of the strains the Babyboomer feminists put on my mother’s generation.  The women who went to college in the 60’s and 70’s broke glass ceilings and paved new roads for women, to be sure.  And we owe them a debt similar (although not as great, in my opinion), as we do to our great grandmothers who cast off corsets, cut their hair, exposed their ankles and won the vote.

 

Our suffragette sisters made an interesting social comment: We can be women AND vote.  The feminine was part-and-parcel with the feminist.  Our Babyboomer sisters lost that.  Since corporate doors were opening, women who chose wifery and motherhood were shunned and chastised.  My mother and mother-in-law both keenly felt the disdain.  The Betty Friedans of the world hadn’t opened the door and given women choices.  They’d merely changed the path women were to be thrust down.

 

Again, it’s not about free thought; it’s about the right thought.

 

Now I have a son who has started Kindergarten at a Montessori school.  I love the place.  I love the Montessori model.  It’s about self-expression, self-modulation, self-progression.

 

But then it also has some rules: There’s a dress code.  Not a uniform, but a strict set of color options.  Nothing from clothing to backpacks may have cartoon characters on it.  Lunches may not contain trans-fats or sugars, and should be packaged in a way that produces no garbage.  No brown bag with a fluffer-nutter for my kid.

 

Other than having to limit my son’s color choices on weekdays (something he has yet to even notice), these rules have had very little effect on me.  My kid has never had a fluffer-nutter.  I don’t buy Disney clothing.  And I know that at the heart of his education it a wealth of freedom.  He tells me every day about a story he’s writing in his journal all about a headless monster.  A story I’m sure would be raising red flags for some other teachers.

 

Yet again, I’m left thinking: It’s not about free thought; it’s about the right thought.  And I wonder if free thought is something that exists outside of the concept being discussed in university philosophy classes.  It’s always struck me as funny when I meet people who think that they are non-conforming, and they’re really just conforming with another group.  Except for the odd hermit in the wilderness, we all follow a path set before us by someone else. 

 

But then, I think that’s what a society is.  Take a group of people who live together, and some of them have come up with some pretty cool ideas about how to do that.  They pressure others to conform to their ideas, and suddenly a society is born.  This society depends on everyone (or mostly everyone) following the same set of principles, or it all breaks down.  Some of the greatest societies manage to maintain order and foster great personal expression.  Greek plays, Roman poetry, Persian libraries, Muslim calligraphy are a few shining examples. 

 

So if it’s not about free thought, where does that leave me?  The freedom isn’t about setting your own rules, or foraging your own path.  It’s about choosing your own group.  I guess I’ve chosen mine.  My son will continue to tell stories of headless monsters and save the planet by eating a sandwich not put in a plastic baggy each day, and I’ll continue to believe in my heart that free thought can exist every time my 1-year-old daughter puts her hands on her hips and growls at me with a defiant stare.

 

She can’t talk yet, but she says if for us all in her own way: You’re not the boss of me.

At our annual BBQ every year, we smoke over 150 lbs of meat which includes at least 25 lbs of brisket.  This is my favorite thing, and also my personal responsibility.  I also never get to eat more than a mouthful of it.

First, after 12 hours of cooking, beginning at 4am and culminating at 4pm when 100 people descend on my house, I'm full just from smelling everything, and I'm exhausted and just want to sit down.  Second, the brisket disappears within about 30 minutes of hitting the buffet table so there are never any left-overs.  Before the bbq season ends, I like to get in one more 12-hour day of smoke.

Sunday involved a 7am to 7pm schedule, much more manageable that 4am.  It was actually very relaxing.  The dirty little secret of smoking meat is that you don't have to do much more than add woodchips and water every 2 to 3 hours.  The rub is a personal concoction adapted from a friend's recipe. 

This is my smoker.  It has space for 5 shelves and a water pan inside.  I get flack from some bbq purists who regale against the propane tank, but here in New England, even in the heart of summer, 4am ain't so hot.  Propane maintains a consistent temperature throughout the day with minimal effort.  Also, see Dirty Little Secret (TM) above.  Adding extra charcole over 12 hours just makes you open the smoker too many times if you don't have a side fire box.

This is inside the smoker after the meat is done.  I did not open the smoking smoker long enough to take a picture during the cooking process.

One done brisket.

Two done briskets.

Beautiful sliced meat!