Whose Birthday Is This?!

Posted on January 10, 2012 by Carol

Still wearing our Christmas clothes, Joe & I celebrate with a shared birthday cake, eight candles on his side and three on mine. (No, that's not my coffee!)

Today’s my birthday. Never mind which one. I’m past the age of wanting to count them–certainly past the age of adding “and-a-half” long about mid-summer.

I’ve always felt ambivalent about birthdays. While I enjoy celebrating those of others, when it comes to my own, I’ve grown accustomed to being lost in the holiday shuffle. For starters, my birthday comes close on the heels of Christmas, so I grew up being handed a red-and-green wrapped gift with the words, “This is for both Christmas and birthday.” No kid–or adult–wants to hear that. Add to this the fact that my brother’s birthday is three days after mine. Our family always celebrated both on the Sunday falling closest to both, with Joe’s candles on one side of the cake and mine on the other. We grew up modestly on a Tennessee farm amongst hardworking, practical people who didn’t make a fuss over such things as birthdays. It’s no wonder there were no parties and family legends of blowouts fit for the society column of the local newspaper. And it’s no wonder that nowadays if someone does make a fuss over my birthday, I get self conscious, turn red and want to hide.

When I was a kid I envied those whose birthdays were in July, who had parties at the local swimming pool. That seemed like the coolest thing ever–I couldn’t imagine anything more glamorous. But quite often my birthday was on a snow day, which was even better. “Wow! We’re out of school on my birthday! Let’s sleep late and then build a snow fort!” And make snow cream, which no July birthday kid ever got.

Celebrating with Himself--I don't mind sharing!

Now I often celebrate my birthday with Himself, whose birthday falls a week before mine. He got caught in the Christmas-and-birthday snag, too, so he understands those conflicted feelings of disappointment in being overlooked and then not knowing what to do when people pay attention. Some years we celebrate jointly. Some we don’t. This year he got his own celebration.

And today I get mine. People keep asking what restaurant we’re going to, the assumption being that with my culinary background and being a professional food writer, we’ll be splashing out at one of the poshest places in Los Angeles. But that’s seldom what I go for. I’ve had great birthday meals at Palate, Osteria Mozza and Bashan, but last year I wanted to stay in. Himself and our friend John made a huge batch of pot stickers and we feasted on a basic meal prepared with love and served from the heart. It was a fantastic evening.

Sometimes I feel like my friends are disappointed if I don’t come up with some grand scheme for celebrating my birthday. Which makes me wonder if I’m planning the birthday I really want or the birthday others seem to want for me. This year I think I want nothing more complicated than a trove of really good ice cream and a couple of spoons. Perhaps Himself and I can eat ice cream in front of the television and watch DVDs of something we love but haven’t seen in ages. And laugh and enjoy being together.

Who needs a limo, a budget-smashing restaurant charge and a three-alarm hangover? Ice cream with Himself is celebration enough for me.

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A Quiet Non-Resolution

Posted on January 5, 2012 by Carol

On the list of Christmas gifts I was hoping to receive–and which I DID receive–this past Christmas was a copy of Maria Speck’s Ancient Grains For Modern Meals. Her book is jam packed with a wealth of dishes using an array of what I’d call “Old World” grains*, dishes that are really, really good. That they are also healthy is a delightful side note.

There's also the need to unload the pantry--I counted almost two dozen open bags! More on this embarrassment later...

I want to cook every dish in this book. This is my non-resolution resolution. No grand proclamations of any sort (beyond this blog entry). Just a desire to eat a little healthier and to expand our repertoire of go-to recipes. Seeing as how I also plan to make and enjoy one of my Southern favorites each week, this is a good way to balance out some of those bacon dripping-laced culinary transgressions. I easily envision every recipe in this book becoming a favorite. I’m making notes in it as I cook, recording tweaks and ideas for variations on some fine themes.

Sometimes we need to proclaim our resolutions loudly, as a way of indirectly asking those around us to hold our feet to the fire and hold us accountable for the things we say we’re going to do when we’re in the throes of optimism (or we’ve had a little too much bubbly on New Year’s Eve). But sometimes it’s nice to simply say to ourselves, “Hey, why not try this? It’ll be fun/tasty/good for me.” No megaphoned announcements from the rooftop or on Facebook or Twitter or Google+. Just a quiet taking on of a new challenge we’re sure to enjoy and perhaps benefit from.

Lemon Quinoa with Currants, Dill & Zucchini

We started with Lemon Quinoa with Currants, Dill and Zucchini, a summery dish that was welcome on an 82-degree winter’s day in Southern California. It was marvelous, replete with a blending of flavors and textures that made Himself and me smack our chops and make yummy sounds as we enjoyed firsts and seconds. And it makes good leftovers. In fact, I’m going to go polish off the rest of it right now. Bon appetit to me!

*The list includes amaranth, quinoa, spelt, millet, farro, barley and kamut, along with the more recognizable wild rice, couscous, buckwheat, oats, grits/polenta and rye.

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Good Luck for the New Year: Pass the Black-Eyed Peas!

Posted on January 1, 2012 by Carol

black-eyed peas for luck in the coming year

I’m not sure where this thinking comes from, but Southerners have long held that chowing down on a serving of black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day is essential to the coming year’s good luck. I had a college roommate who, in spite of celebrating the incoming year a little too freely, still managed to choke down a single black-eyed pea one New Year’s Day. And with that, she was convinced she’d gotten the year off to a proper start. I didn’t say anything, but I figured she needed all the good luck she could get in light of the wealth of trouble she’d stirred up the night before.

Oh well. Say what you will, but I do think that with all the culinary sinning going on during the holidays, it’s nice to have something as basic as a bowl of black-eyed peas to see you into the new year. And they’re cheap, which is a welcome relief after all the expenditures of the preceding weeks. Black-eyed peas are a great resolutions food. You know: I resolve to eat healthier next year. I resolve not to spend as much next year…

I come from a farm family where every dinner and supper (we didn’t have anything called “lunch” there) was of the meat-and-three variety. There was always a serving of meat–a hunk of meat, not just little bits of it stirred into rice or pasta–three vegetables (seasoned with bacon drippings), bread and dessert. In spite of this, I’m perfectly happy with a one-dish meal, and Himself usually prefers this, too. But if we’re going to sit down to a meal made up almost entirely of legumes and rice, it better be a dang good dish of food.

For New Year’s Day this year, it’s black-eyed peas on a bed of brown rice. There’s really not much of a recipe here. You rinse the dried black-eyed peas and sift through, looking for any small rocks that might have gotten in during the harvest. Bring them to a boil in a large pot of water, then kill the heat, slap on the lid and let them sit for an hour. Then pour out the water, add some fresh and simmer for an hour or so, until the peas are cooked to your liking. Where the creativity and personal preference come in is in how you season them. A chunk of fat back or hog jowl tossed into the pot during cooking is good. I was out of both, but I did have a nice piece of country ham with a bone in it, so I cut it into several hunks and threw those in, along with a red jalapeno pepper, quartered. The ham had enough salt that we didn’t need to add any more.

We sprinkled our black-eyed peas with some pepper vinegar and accompanied them with some home-canned watermelon rind pickles we’d bought at a recent church bake sale. It was a simple but satisfying meal–and our annual black-eyed pea immunization against all things diabolical for the coming year.

To be truthful, this isn't just black-eyed peas and rice. I was pretty generous with the "flavoring agent." In my opinion, the more pork the better!

p.s. As I was proofreading this entry aloud, when I got to the word “rinse,” I said, “rench,” which is what my dad always said. I have a feeling a lot more Southern words and pronunciations are going to come creeping in this year.

Well, thunderation! Daddy used to say that, too.

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Keeping a Slightly More Southern Kitchen in 2012

Posted on December 21, 2011 by Carol

pepper vinegar: a staple of the Southern kitchen table

After spending so much time and blog space eating and writing my way around the globe, I’ve decided to shine a little light on the foods of my native South, The Old Country, as I sometimes call it (not the least bit ironically, mind you). I’m not talking about fancy, complicated dishes, but rather the good, basic, substantial food of the rural South. Because no matter how much haute cuisine I encounter these days, it is the stuff that nourished me when I was just a wee sprout that comforts me now.

A lot of people believe that since I’m Southern, I must be cooking heavy Southern dishes every day here in Los Angeles. Except for a special occasion every so often, I reserve eating like this for when I’m back home. We used to occasionally have barbecue shipped to us from Memphis, but we don’t do that too often any more. While a couple of places in LA do a decent enough job with a Southern spread, Himself and I finally decided that when a particular food just doesn’t ring true, it’s better not to have it at all. So we go home with a list of all those foods we want to enjoy while we’re there and promise ourselves we’ll eat more responsibly once we’re back.

So what am I holding up in the photograph? It’s a bottle of white vinegar with a chili pepper in it. Pepper vinegar is the ubiquitous condiment of the Southern table, whose primary function–as far as I’ve ever known–is to sprinkle on your collard greens to enliven them and tame their gaminess. It works great on black-eyed peas and other densely flavored and textured foods as well.

This bottle is quite fancy. Back home such a bottle would have originally come with a sauce of some kind in it. When it was empty, it would have been washed and filled with white vinegar and a green chili pepper, and a nail hole would have been driven into the lid. I didn’t have such a bottle, so I went all high toned and bought a bottle especially for the job. Disgraceful, I know, but I have become citified…

I spend so much time in the city now, and away from my native South, that I’m feeling the need to pay a little more attention to it and to share some of those dishes with you. Just one dish each week, because most everything from back home is so laden with butter, lard, bacon fat or some other tasty health hazard that one dish a week is probably all I should risk–unless I can get a farming job to keep me sufficiently active.

So it’s time to pull out the iron skillet and put it back into regular use. During the past few years I’ve mainly used it for making cornbread, but it really should be in everyday employment. In her cooking heyday, my mother’s iron skillets were in such good, well-seasoned shape that she could even cook eggs and fish in them without any sticking. I aspire to get my cast iron in that good a shape!

Have a great Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice and holiday season everyone. Here’s to great times–and meals!–with friends and family, and to Peace on Earth.

See you in 2012!

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Szechuan Peppercorn: Agent of “Neurological Confusion?!”

Posted on December 11, 2011 by Carol

Szechuan peppercorns

Recently Himself attended a class in making bitters and infusions and came home with his head filled with newly-learned techniques and ideas for concoctions he wanted to try. Today we hit Spice Station in Silverlake so that he could stock up on some things to infuse–Angelica, Szechuan peppercorns, sassafras root and rose petals. Tonight he’s in the kitchen making infusions.

While he was busy with his Mad Scientist measuring and pouring, I thieved a couple of tiny Szechuan peppercorns, chewed them up and held them against my tongue. Soon a strange, warm/cool tingling spread throughout my mouth and prompted uncontrollable drooling! My taste buds where riotously entertained and overwhelmed by a surge of salty, sour and floral waves. All I could do was stand there making inarticulate noises of pleasure and reaching for a paper towel to mop my soggy chin. Himself looked at me as if he was considering dialing 911.

Szechuan peppercorns, which provide the cool, tingling relief in hot Szechuan cuisine are not actually related to any pepper. Rather, they’re from the citrus family, which is why there’s a lemony component to their flavor. But they’re not at all peppery–they’re sort of heat’s antithesis. I’d say they’re as much a pepper as grapefruit is a grape.

I’ve had them in Szechuan food many times, but this is the first time I’d tried them on their own to see how they combat super-hot peppers. It was mindblowing! I knew good ol’ Harold McGee would be able to explain what had just happened inside my mouth, so I grabbed my copy of his classic On Food and Cooking. This is the tome to which every food geek turns for enlightenment and understanding on topics related to food matters. Harold never lets me down. His explanation of what happens when you eat a Szechuan peppercorn is about as trippy as the actual feeling you get from eating one! The active ingredient in it is a component called sanshools, which he says, “produce a strange, tingling, buzzing, numbing sensation that is something like the effect of carbonated drinks or of a mild electrical current (touching the terminals of a nine-volt battery to the tongue). Sanshools appear to act on several different kinds of nerve endings at once, induce sensitivity to touch and cold in nerves that are ordinarily nonsensitive, and so perhaps cause a kind of general neurological confusion.”

This may seem like a bizarre thing to want your food to do, but it’s actually a good thing. Take a look at this dish:

Szechuan fish hot pot

See all those lipstick-looking hot peppers in this Szechuan fish hot pot? The balance of those and the Szechuan peppercorns means you can enjoy the heat in the dish without being punished by it. Those tiny peppercorns relieve with their cooling and tingling, and apparently, by confusing the hell out of your senses, but in a quite pleasant and harmless way.

Hmm, I see recreational possibilities in these little jobbies….

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