Tag Food

Food Fight

Michael 2 Comments

I was making the morning coffee the other day and took a moment to bask in the aroma wafting through the apartment. It made me appreciate the small space as just the right size that it can distribute something so aromatic to every corner of my little world. Of course there is the converse that small space dwellers must also consider. Quite fortunately, not nearly as often as the good stuff. That’s when I started thinking, I really have to remember I’m retired. I don’t have to think anymore. But then…

I like the smell of coffee. Coffee beans, coffee roasting, coffee grinding, coffee brewing. But I know that not everybody likes it. I don’t understand it, but I know it. What makes that happen? It’s the same smell. Why does one person like it and one doesn’t? Or in the case of coffee, why do 7 billion people like it and, assuming that about 500 million haven’t had the pleasure of smelling it yet, 23 don’t. And while we’re at it, what makes cilantro taste earthy and sharp to some, bright and citrus-y to others, and like soap to still more? Then I started thinking more…

I was out of cilantro. I needed cilantro because I was planning on using up some leftover chicken in a stir fry that evening and I always (ok, almost always) use cilantro in my stir fries. If you toss in some peanut butter it gives it a Thai flair. To me. I think so. I don’t know what someone from Bangkok would think of it. No need to get started thinking more. But then…

Thai has gotten very popular around here. Maybe elsewhere Thai food has always been popular, but here? Not so much. Now? Oh, yeah. You can’t swing a leftover chicken around without hitting a Thai restaurant. Before, if you wanted take-out it used to be nothing but Chinese, sandwiches, and pizza. And then I was wondering how close to real is the Thai take-out? How close is the Chinese? For that matter, how close are the sandwiches? OK, maybe too far with that one. But what about the pizza? I never doubted pizza before. I know that most of the pizza isn’t anything at all like real pizza because most of it isn’t at all close to my pizza. But then, I wouldn’t have expected it because very few of the pizza masters were of the same Neapolitan background as my mother, AKA my pizza master. You’d think I would stop there but no. Forget about the pizza palaces, I can only think of one authentic full service Italian restaurant nearby. Probably for the same reason and even there I could have stopped but I was on a roll. And I don’t mean a pepperoni roll. What was I thinking…

Pepperoni roll my eye. That’s nothing but a Stromboli. Not a calzone! A calzone is pizza dough covered with mozzarella, folded in half, baked, and if you wish lightly sauced by the lucky person who gets to eat it right out of the oven. I know. Calzones originated in Naples. The Stromboli is just a pizza with whatever toppings you want, like pepperoni, but rolled up. People always get things wrong. Look at yams and sweet potatoes. Consider all the people who think peanuts are nuts. Still, those are completely different animals. You want a couple of things just as confused as the Stromboli and calzone, see il maccherone versus le macaron, or more familiarly the macaroon and macaron. But the people who do know the difference at least know how to pronounce each of them. Unlike… (yes, more thinking)

What is it with gnocchi? Nobody who is Italian, other than Italian celebrity chefs who don’t want to alienate their celebrity clientele, says “No-Key.” It’s “nyock-ee”!  It comes from the Italian word nocca, which means knuckle. (No, not knot. Knuckle. Just what it looks like. Wrinkles and all. Trust me.) And don’t ask for a plate of gnocchis. Gnocchi is plural. If you really want just one, order a gnoccho. But I bet you can’t eat just one. Anyway, if you forget, the boys of winter don’t play Ho-Key, they play hockey! And that got me to thinking…

I have to send in my payment for next year’s tickets. I gotta go!

(In case you were wondering, yes this is the famous sticky note post. Famous to me. I’ve been staring at that hunk of paper for over a week now. Thank Heaven I can throw the note away. Or do you say throw away the note. You know, I’ve been thinking about that…)

Salad Days

Michael 2 Comments

A couple of days ago I met a friend for lunch. This is a change for me as I usually meet friends for breakfast which itself was a change for me as I used to meet friends for happy hour. The things we must adjust to as we get older. Sigh.

Anyway changing from breakfast to lunch meant I had to read and consider the menu. Breakfast is easy. I check out what’s at the top of the list and say I’ll have the *full in the blank* with the eggs over easy and wheat toast. The top item is always the same, two (sometimes 3) eggs any style with three (sometimes 2) pieces of bacon and sauaage, home fries, and toast. It’s just about what I have every morning whether out or at home except that on Saturdays at home I add pancakes or waffles depending on my mood unless I completely switch things up and go with French Toast, or decide to give my heart a break (it’s one of the few organs still in its original condition) and have oatmeal.

So, that top item on the breakfast menu. It’s always the same but I have to take a quick glance at the menu to see what that particular restaurant/diner calls it so I can *fill in the blank* for the server. Even the most greasy-spoon-ish diner will have some cute name for it. Grandpa Bob’s Favorite or Harvey’s Hungry Meal or The Lumberjack Special. Bob and Harvey make sense because we’re usually eating at Bob’s Breakfasts or Harvey’s Hungry House. But a bunch of places have a lumberjack meal or two and I don’t know that this spot on Earth is known for commercial forresting. It’s their places and their menus so I guess they can call ther meals whatever they like.

But I digress. Again. On this particular day I wasn’t eating breakfast out and had to get accustomed to a whole new set of menu selections. Did you ever notice that restaurants/diners don’t give lunch offerings cute names? A grilled chicken wrap is a grilled chicken wrap. I guess by lunch most of the diners have fumbled their way through a half day of work, school, or shopping and just want to eat.

I checked out the offerings and made my choice. I might have mumbled sort of out loud that I was going on the light side and order a salad. That’s when my lunch companion just had to remind me that salad does not always equal light and healthy. Especially at this spot on Earth. Around here our best selling salad whether at restaurants, diners, or at the bar during those once happier happy hours is the steak salad.

Now at those places on Earth that might recognize that you can make a salad out of a steak might just add some grilled steak strips onto a bowl of lettuce and it’s usual accompaniments. Not here. Here we take a whole steak, perhaps even a strip steak, and drop it on top of a hearty salad that by itself could serve 3 or 4, then add cheese, hardboiled eggs (at least two), and french fries. And the only dressing allowed is ranch. And never on the side. Yep. Not exactly light.

So, I decided against the steak salad and tried to stick with something “on the light side.” And I found it, right there in the salad section. A taco salad. It didn’t even come with dressing.

How much lighter can you get?

That’s what I  think. Really. How ’bout you?

Half-Baked

Michael 2 Comments

I baked cookies yesterday. Hold your applause. They were just oatmeal cookies. Oatmeal cookies are like the Blue Apron of the baking world. No thought required. The most difficult step is finding the measuring cups.

You all already know I enjoy my time in the kitchen but it’s almost always cooking. Baking is a whole different animal. It requires measuring stuff, preheating the oven, using the timer even. As a person who spent his whole career in a regimented, scientific occupation you’d think the most comfortable thing I could do in the kitchen is fall into the baking regimen. Nope, I prefer the loosey-goosey world of cooking.

Maybe that’s because I enjoy the freedom of modifying the dish I’m working on based on what’s fresh, what’s handy, what’s tasting good. Maybe it’s because most of the dishes I started out cooking were family recipes which changed as the family moved from Italy to America and ingredients changed based on what was available. Or maybe it was because some of those recipes were written in a combination of Italian and English and we weren’t always sure what was supposed to go into that pot so we improvised.

Or maybe that’s because it’s just the way I’m wired.

While I was deciding if I wanted to weigh or measure my dry ingredients I did some thinking about just that. Does our personality reflect our cooking style – and shouldn’t it also compare to our chosen lifestyle? Here’s what I came up with.  . . .  Maybe.

Take me for the first example. Even though I decided on keeping the wolves from my door in the highly regulated, policed, and exacting world of health care I tend to keep most of the rest of my life in the “let’s see what’s up” end of the spectrum. Back in the day when I actually made plans my idea of making plans (unless it involved non-refundable air fare), was “hey I heard about blah-blah-blah on the radio this morning, let’s go!” Thus my life in the kitchen is more a matter of “hmm, I wonder what’s in the refrigerator that hasn’t changed color yet, let’s eat!” And 9,999 times out of 10,000 it will be good.

Consider the ex. I’ll not be bad-mouthing anybody here. I’m just using her as an example. Her idea of spontaneous was using only two sources of information for research on a place, restaurant, movie, or wall-covering. But boy could she bake. Pies, cakes, breads, cookies. If it involved a rolling pin (no, I won’t go there), she had it mastered.

Now, let’s look at the daughter. The mix of the aforementioned Thing One and Thing Two. On one hand she’s creative enough to have selected one of the most imaginative fields you can imagine to make a living at and is making a living at it. On the other, she’s making a living at it by working for herself and manages to handle all the requirements of self-employment successfully enough to still make a living at it. Her style in the kitchen? She can bake a mall-worthy cinnamon roll in the morning and finesse her way through a dinner for four with whatever might be in the pantry after not shopping for two weeks in the evening.  Living at both poles and baking and cooking with aplomb.

I guess that’s make her sort of a hybrid.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Brutalbee Honest

Michael 2 Comments

Don’t be shocked. I may get a little ranty here. I try to be fair and respectful to everybody regardless of their views. But things I’ve heard in the media lately have gotten me over my edge. One thing I insist on is honesty. At lest from my food.  Apparently food feels it no longer feels it has to hold up its end of the deal.

Once upon a time, honesty in food was a given. “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” took honest to the brutal level. (And now that I think about it, I can’t begin to count the number of women who I’ve tried to tell that honesty doesn’t have to be brutal.) (But I digress.)  But at least the Not Butter people were honest enough so that if you did pick up a stick or two of the stuff you didn’t expect it to be butter. After all, Not Butter is right in the name.

honeybeeOk, food hasn’t always been honest. Sweetbreads don’t come from the bakery. Head cheese doesn’t start out as milk. Neither does soy milk. And don’t bother to bring up lady fingers. But for the most part when you  see something that isn’t it usually says so, like salt substitute or butter flavor popcorn.

However, this latest aberration in food dishonesty has gone too far. Apparently the latest craze is beeless honey. Not only are the proponents of this deviation from good taste (and from good tasting food) dishonest, they claim that this, this, this stuff is protecting the bees. And what are they making this misrepresentation from? Apples. Bananas. Dates. Flax seed oil. All good stuff (well, three out of four) but nothing that could keep a bee buzzing for very long. If you want to sell fruit paste than make it the best tasting fruit paste you can and give it a catchy name like Kit Kat, A1, V8, New Coke. But please, leave the honey business to the experts. Honestly.

No, honesty.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

PS: Happy Groundhog Day!

Buffets Make Strange Plate Fellows

Michael Leave a comment

Yesterday I went to brunch at a local family restaurant. Not a fancy Sunday Brunch at a high end establishment. Not a how-much-can-you-pack-on-this-here-plate carnival at a big national chain. A nice, tasty brunch buffet with soups, salads, breakfast regulars, lunch goodies, baked goods, fruit, and desserts at a place you’d not be ashamed to bring your mother to. And while I was there I had one of those “did your mother teach you to do that?” moment. Several, actually.buffet

I suppose I have made some unusual looking plates at a buffet. No matter how structured you might plan your how ever many trips to those tables something in the organization inevitably disappears. Oh but yesterday’s observations took the cake. Or pancake. Or waffle. As in waffles with pierogis? Or fried chicken and sausage gravy with biscuits? Or how about mashed potatoes and scramble eggs all covered with thick, rich brown gravy?

Mind you, I‘m not saying any of those are wrong. Unusual? Yes. Unconventional? Yes.  Unexpected? Certainly to me. But then I did walk away with a plate featuring French toast, sausage patty, eggs, and a selection of olives. I wasn’t going to but I just love those briny, little fruit and it had been so long since I had any. When I heard the containers calling my name I was certain they’d be offended if I asked them to wait until my next trip when their presence on my plate might not raise eyebrows. So I succumbed.

At least I was somewhat original in my combination platter. Not like the guy who ran around from end to end selecting chicken and green beans from the lunch offerings and the waffle and bacon at the breakfast side. Where’s the dare in that? No, my vote for most unusual (at least among those on the same replenishment schedule that I was on) was the lady with a bowl of chili topped with pierogis, bacon, and pine nuts. Now there was a lady who understood the challenge of the buffet!

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Oil’s Well that Ends Well

Michael Leave a comment

There’s a new ad on TV for Country Crock margarine that makes note of that it is made from plants. I never thought about it that way but, yes, margarine is made from plants in that it is made from some vegetable oil and indeed, vegetables are plants.

Now this revelation didn’t have much of an impact on my life. (And to be honest, neither did the ad but I really can’t bad mouth ads much more in these posts as most of you know that advertising is my daughter’s bread and butter and that it’s probably ad money that will determine if my retirement village (and/or nursing home) will have an all-season pool and hot tub. (Probably not the nursing home.) In fact, I basically put it out of my mind as soon as that ad gave way to the next ad when uppermost in my mind was how many ads until the show comes back on.) (But, as so often, I digress.)

I really hadn’t thought at all about margarines and oils coming from plants until I was cleaning the kitchen counters and took a good look at the array of oils hanging out next to the stove. A couple of olives, a corn, a canola, a nondescript vegetable, a few favored with basil, thyme or some other herb, and one in an unlabeled bottle that I didn’t even remember pouring or flavoring. (Tasting it didn’t help much so it became the one eventually discarded making me feel good about having undertaken that whole particular chore.) But all that did make me think about where all these oils come from.

Olive and corn are pretty self-explanatory. But what is a canola? And just what vegetables are in vegetable oil? Since I also as so often have that kind of time, I looked them up. Canola is kind of scary in that it’s a genetic manipulation of rapeseed and those aren’t the kind of words you want in a sentence describing what ingredients you used in supper. Vegetable oil has no standard makeup but most have palm oil. Coconuts come from palm trees so where does palm oil come from? Apparently from a palm tree that doesn’t grow from a coconut which technical grows up to be a coconut tree.

Once I was done with the oils and moved onto the spices it didn’t get any better starting with old fashioned pepper. I have black, pink, and white. It seems that two of the three, black and white, come from the same plant which also gives us green and red (but not the red pepper that ends up as crushed red pepper – that’s a chilI which are the source of the peppers you slice, stuff, or otherwise turn into or in to tasty meals). The pink is some other plant all together. I got pretty confused by then and forgot what plant but I figured I really didn’t need to know.

Seeds opened up a whole new can of confusion. For instance, did you know about the caraway seed? It’s also know as Meridian Fennel and Persian Cumin, two spices that taste nothing alike. And it’s a relative of parsley even though they don’t look alike. But cilantro which grows from coriander seed does look like parsley but they aren’t related. Who know?

The whole thing made me happy I mostly stay out of that corner of the kitchen when I’m not cooking.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?

Flavor of the Month

Michael Leave a comment

“Orange or grape?”

It was a simple enough question given the context. Where my mind went added a level of complexity three words had rarely seen. Orange or grape? Well, some orange stuff actually tastes like orange. Orange juice (the good stuff.) Orange marmalade. Chili orange stir fry sauce. They taste like orange because they come from oranges. Then there are orange popsicles, orange jello, orange baby aspirin. Hardly orange.

But at least orange has some orange tasting progeny. Grape. Poor grape. I have eaten thousands of grapes over the years. Perhaps hundreds of thousands. And I have had many grape things: juice, jam, gum drops. Some are good. Some are questionable. Some just suck. But none taste like the grapes that I chow down in when I’m looking for a tasty snack. Just what are those things flavored with? I don’t understand.

And while we’re at it, another food thing I don’t understand is why crackers are perforated. Go on. Check out your graham crackers and saltines in your cupboards. They’re not like the Townhouse Crackers are they? No, those got cut all the way through at the cracker factory. If you want two Townhouses you take out two. If you want two grahams you have to snap them apart yourself. And douse your counter/table/lap with graham crumbs.

But the question is “orange or grape?” What was it? A shot of a protein drink. I figured neither was going to taste like the real thing. In fact, they probably taste the same.

There are all kinds of flavors that when you have them the first thing you say to yourself is “yum, grape.” Unfortunately, none of them are grape flavored.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?

Uncovering a Hidden Harvest

Michael Leave a comment

Every now and then, someone does something so terrific you have to sit back and say to yourself, “Wow, there are some really good people out there.” I recently saw a story in the news about what I hope isn’t a unique program to rescue food right from our collective backyards.

Every major metro area has some kind of food rescue program where restaurants and retailers donate unused prepared food or near to expired meats and cheeses or bruised produce to local food banks rather than toss it all into the dumpsters. In Pittsburgh there is a group that is rescuing food going to waste right under their noses. Or rather, above their heads. That is the unharvested fruits and nuts from neighborhood trees.

fruitThere probably isn’t a neighborhood in the country where fruit and nut trees don’t provide shade and beauty to their homeowners. But how often does anybody consider how much food those tress, so often considered solely ornamental, bear? Apparently the Hidden Harvest Pittsburgh group, and now as part of 412 Food Rescue, has considered just that since 2014.

Considering that there are fruit and nut trees all over America there must be similar programs elsewhere. But a quick internet search came up pretty empty. In fact, I had a hard time finding much information about the Pittsburgh group and I was certain that I hadn’t imagine the news report during some weird dream filled night. If that was the case, I would have given up trying to find out more about them. But I pressed on, or more accurately, clicked on.

What I did find out about them is that 412 Food Rescue’s Hidden Harvest team uncovered 2300 pounds of food from backyard and city park trees this year. Now that’s a ton of rescued food. Literally.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

To see the news cast that I didn’t dream up, click here.

Just Like Mom Used To Make

Michael Leave a comment

What’s the first thing that comes to mind when I ask where your favorite food comes from?  Now, what is the first thing that you think of when I ask where the best food comes from? Although not mutually exclusive, they are also often not consistent.

Often, though not always, a favorite food is home cooking. This makes sense since you are your best personal chef. If not you then your mom, dad, spouse, child, significant other, or, for some, your personal chef knows what you like, how you like it, and makes it often enough and well enough that you probably have a recipe file full of favorites. But the best stuff is partly the best stuff because it isn’t done at home. It’s something you can’t make, can’t get the ingredients for, can’t master the technique of, is something special, is a treat, is made, served and cleared by somebody else.

My favorite food is pizza. Any pizza, though I have a soft spot for pizza margherita. I’ll make it, I’ll buy it, I’ll fashion it out of foods that probably shouldn’t even go together. Chicken, bacon, spinach, and ricotta with garlic ranch dressing come to mind. There’s something quite comfortable about pizza. There must be. It’s managed to work its way into a few handfuls of posts, including one devoted entirely to pizza.

Where do I feel the best food comes from? Mind you, not the best single dish I ever had but in general the consistently best food I can count on having at any given time. It’s not at home. I’m pretty good but I can screw up a meal on a frighteningly regular basis. (And I really have to move that smoke detector a little further away from the kitchen. The neighbors always know when I’m working on a stir fry.) The best food I ever and always have is at a little neighborhood diner. In general I like diners. They also have appeared in more than a few posts here including one that combined diners and pizza (before this one). But this particular diner is the best of the bunch. The gravy is a cardiologist’s nightmare (or dream if he happens to need to make a couple of boat payments), and everything has the option to include an egg on it, including the pizza. I have never walked out of there without saying to myself, “I’d order that again” yet have never ordered the same thing twice. I’ve tried to order the Reuben omelet twice but it’s only available on the second Saturday of the month and I usually sleep in on that one.

What’s your favorite food choice? What’s the best food to you? Are they the same? Try answering those questions without thinking. Just jot down the first thing that comes to your mind. Then give it some thought. You might find yourself spending more time that you think over that one.

And you might find me having pizza for lunch today.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Falling in Line

Michael Leave a comment

It’s officially fall in my living room. I have the previously posted about fall peanut butter cups (see “Caution, Fall(ing) Pumpkin Ahead,” Aug. 29, 2016) and pumpkin spice Hershey’s Kisses (which in two years I’ve neither previously seen or really even wanted) spilling out of their candy dishes.  It won’t be much longer before I’ll start seeing the Fall Fifteen around my midsection. Certainly you’re familiar with the Fall Fifteen – every bit if not much immutable as the Freshman Fifteen yet not restricted to young college goers.

It’s no wonder that by the last week of December so many around the world consider “lose weight” a leading New Year’s Resolution candidate. We’re just barely into fall, not even to October, and cooking magazines, Internet sites, and television shows are expounding on fall 20160928_193516flavors, all of which come in hearty (aka “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing”) stews, soups, and sandwiches. From classic cassoulet to common casseroles, from homey hashes to homemade pot pies, calories are on the menu!

Just a week ago I was grilling salmon with peach salsa and roasted corn with fresh fruit for dessert and yesterday I was roasting a whole chicken with potatoes and beans, followed by a maple, brown sugar, spice cake with butter cream icing for dessert. That would make it about 150 calories versus 8,574. (I made those numbers up. You may recall just a few weeks ago I listed calories among those things I just don’t know. See “I Didn’t Know That,” Sept. 12, 2016.)

Often people will justify that by saying, “But winter’s coming. You have to prepare for it.” What are we, polar bears? The only prep we need to do is making sure the car has enough gas to get to the megamart. Well, and that we are appropriately attired for the weather, whether it’s weather out there or not. (See “Winter Rules,” Feb. 17, 2014.) But if that’s what it takes to get you to justify all the yummy soups, stews, casseroles, and roasted beasts, I say go for it.

As for me, I’ll just enjoy the extra calories and won’t even fret about putting “Lose Weight” on a New Year’s or any other resolution list. In fact, I resolve to enjoy all things fall. However, I do reserve the right to try the pumpkin spice kisses first.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?