The Mouths of Babes

I have been blessed when it comes to my child and food. As far as three-year-olds go, she's not exactly a picky eater, unless you count the fact that she doesn't like white bread and can taste when grilled cheese has been prepared with processed cheese food as opposed to real cheese (She calls it "weird cheese" and then says it's gross and won't eat it. And, for the record, only her father heaps this cruelty upon her, because I think the stuff is repulsive, too). And she has a pretty advanced appreciation for things like vegetables and savory foods. In fact, in the grocery store today she pleaded with me to buy squash. We were already checking out, so the answer was not right now, but it was very hard to say no- when a preschooler asks for squash, the answer should always be yes, yes, ABSOLUTELY!

Over the years, several of my friends and acquaintance have commented on my daughter's eating habits- amazed when she wolfs down tomatoes and fennel and, yes, squash. (Don't get me wrong, she still loves candy and ice cream and such, she just likes the other stuff, too.) They want to know how I get her to eat these things and my answer is always the same: she's always eaten them. From the time she started eating solid foods, we've given her whatever it is we're eating. I'm convinced that has a lot to do with it, but I'm not sure it's the whole reason. In some ways, I'm pretty sure she just came that way. There are probably some kids who would refuse to eat at all if they were subjected to seafood and beans and oatmeal and mountains of produce from the very beginning. Hell, my 30-year-old brother would refuse to eat if I subjected him to that. But when it comes down to it, I think we parents really do shape and inform our children's palettes. If we start them out with lots of processed "kid" food, they're going to flip out when we put a pile of sauteed spinach on their plate. If we teach them to want salt and sugar and fat and grease, they're going to want that. (Not that there's no place for those things in a well-balanced diet. I really believe that there is, just in a limited way.) But if we teach them to eat well from the beginning, I really believe we have a much better chance of getting them to do just that.

What do you think? What have your experiences with kids and food been? When you were a kid, what did you eat and how does that affect you as an adult? When I do have another kid, am I destined to have one who will only eat things in chicken-nugget form? Because I'm leaning toward yes on that. WIll my daughter's teenage dietary rebellion involve daily trips to McDonald's and deep-fried Oreos? Discuss.

As a child, I never thought much about where my food came from. Clearly, it came from the store. Except for the stuff that came from our family garden. (Like the bazillion apricots and plums and almonds and pomegranates we had to clean up off the lawn all spring and summer long. Did I mention I grew up in Las Vegas? Where the summer lasts for about six months? Oh, how I hated cleaning that stuff up.) Even as an adult, I never put too much effort into thinking about the origins of my meal. I've always been most concerned with the final product, the flavors on my plate.

The last several months, however, I've thought about it more. A lot more.

When we lived in the mountains of Utah (see how I said "when'? Because we have had the great fortune of leaving Utah behind, hopefully forever.) and my husband was fishing for our dinner a few days a week and bringing home big, luscious rainbow trout and bass and happy little perch (okay, maybe they weren't so happy anymore), it was the first time I'd ever been so intimately aware of where exactly my entree came from, and the effort exerted to catch it and kill it, and what exactly was involved in the process of cleaning it and preparing it to be prepared. Sure, I'd thought about it in very vague terms before, but I'd never experienced it. I'd never sat on the edge of the river/lake/reservoir/pond hoping that my husband would catch a good one and looked around and been able to observe exactly the conditions and surroundings that contributed to my dinner.

Before this summer, I'd never shelled peas fresh from my uncle's (or anyone else's) garden. I'd never taken seeds directly from a flax plant. I'd never tasted a radish before it was all spicy and bitter and weeks away from its growing spot. Oh, and, radishes straight from the garden? Completely different than radishes from the store. Just wash, salt and eat. Gooood.

When we moved to the East Coast in the late summer, I was lucky enough to become fast friends with Ruth, who introduced me to the joys of going out to pick raspberries and apples, and who then schooled me in the art of making jam. Lots and lots of jam. Ruth also has tomato plants taller than her backyard fence and pots and pots of plants growing everything from strawberries to jalapenos. Needless to say, this girl with a black thumb is going to learn a lot from Ruth.

All of this oneness with my food and the harvest and whatnot has gotten me thinking more about not only where my food is coming from, but about my kid. And how I want her to understand that food doesn't come from a store. That someone cultivated and harvested those fruits and vegetables and those grains, and that the meat or fish on her plate had a face, it was a living animal, and we should respect that. I want her to understand that someone somewhere worked very hard so she could enjoy the bounty. I want to instill these things in her, create more of an appreciation for good food and the having thereof, but I don't want to make it a killjoy, either. Hopefully someday we'll have our own little plot of earth in which I can try to teach her these lessons very literally, but in the meantime, it seems there is much thinking to do. And eating. Because really, that is the whole point.

My Roots Are Showing

Once upon a time, I started a blog as an outlet for my obsession with food. Somehow, over time, I became delusional and started to think all I could do with that blog was post recipes. Which is dumb, because I very rarely create my own recipes. And you know, reviewing recipes is all well and good, but there are 85,000 recipe-reviewing sites out there. Plus, it bores me, this reviewing of recipes. Really, what do you care if I, who couldn't even identify a green onion not so many years ago, like a recipe or not? You don't. But you must like food because you're here. And if you've actually read a couple of my posts and you're still here, you must REALLY like food.

So kids, this blog is going back to its roots. From here and forever more, this is my place to talk about food in whatever way I so choose. Oh sure, occasionally I'll share a recipe that I think simply must be tried, but mostly not. Because there is so much more to food and endless pleasures thereof than recipes. And just as the pleasures of food are endless, so too are my thoughts and feelings and opinions and- brace yourself- issues regarding it. And lucky, lucky you, you get to hear about it all.

Hey, where did everyone go?

Rhubarb & Strawberry Crumble

A few weeks ago, I bought a half-flat of strawberries (I love spring) with grand things in mind. I was thinking jam, freezer jam, pie, strawberry-topped french toast, perhaps an attempt at homemade turnovers (never mind that I only had half a flat and not an entire pallet), but as is usually the case with strawberries, by the time I was ready to begin my culinary escapades 36 hours later, they had almost all been devoured, because really, what better way is there to eat strawberries than fresh out of your hand? I was, however, able to steal a pint from my husband and daughter. Soon thereafter I stumbled upon this recipe from EatingWell.com, and it just so happened that I had some rhubarb in my freezer. It appeared we were in business.

Aside: If you've never had it before, don't be afraid of rhubarb. Think of it as a strawberry's tart little friend. The two were made for each other, I'm pretty sure of it.


Rhubarb & Strawberry Crumble from EatingWell.com
(Did I mention that I got this recipe on EatingWell.com and didn't create it myself? I did? Oh, good.)

For the filling:

1 pound rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 1/2-inch pieces (4 cups)
1 pint strawberries, hulled and quartered
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

For the crumble topping:

1/2 cup rolled oats
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
1 tablespoon butter, softened
1 tablespoon canola oil
1 tablespoon cranberry or apple juice


Preheat oven to 375 F.

In a large bowl, mix ingredients for filling. Transfer the mixture to a shallow 1.5 quart baking dish or deep-dish 9-inch pie plate, pressing down on the fruit to form an even layer.

In a separate bowl, combine oats, 1/2 cup flour, brown sugar, butter and oil. work the ingredients with a fork or your fingers until mixture is crumbly. Stir in the juice until the mixture is evenly moistened.

Distribute topping evenly over the fruit. Bake until the fruit is bubbling and the topping is golden, 35 to 40 minutes.

Now They're Never Going to Let Me In The Club

There's something I'vs got to come clean about. It's one of my dirty little culinary secrets:

I hate bacon.

I can hear all of you gasping, feverishly racing for the "back" button on your browser, flummoxed that anyone can hate bacon, but, sadly, I do. It wasn't always this way. Once upon a time, I loved bacon deeply- bacon cheeseburgers, bacon-wrapped meat, bacon and eggs (although I never was a fan of the BLT)- and then, one day, I woke up and I didn't feel the same anymore. I don't know why. Something about the way it smells and the greasy tracks it leaves behind left me... disenchanted.

To be honest, I wish I could love bacon again. It would make my life as a pretender to the culinary throne so much easier. I wouldn't stop reading a recipe or watching a cooking show at the mere mention of bacon. I wouldn't stare perplexed at the screen when contestants and judges alike on Top Chef proclaim their intense passion for it. I wouldn't have to pretend to gag when my husband suggests purchasing and cooking the stuff. (Okay, maybe I don't HAVE to do that, but it feels like I do. You know, to make my point. In case I hadn't made it 376 times before.) But alas, my friends, bacon and I fell out of love a long time ago, and I can't pretend any longer that we haven't. However, I know I'm pretty much alone in my disdain, so, as a mea culpa of sorts, I leave you with this video, because even if we can't agree on bacon, I hope we can all agree on Jim Gaffigan.

Penne with Spring Vegetables

Sometimes you just want something light, fresh, nutritious and filling- but not too filling- and still delicious.  And sometimes, all you need to get that is a few fresh vegetables and some pantry basics.  (Hey, I never claimed to be a revolutionary.)  

Penne with Spring Vegetables

1/2 lb. dried penne pasta  (I like Barilla Plus or Ronzoni Smart Taste)

1 medium Italian yellow squash

1 medium zucchini

2 small broccoli crowns

1 red onion

1 garlic clove

A handful of grape or cherry tomatoes  OR  2 Roma tomatoes

Extra-virgin olive oil (The good stuff-  cold-pressed, imported from Italy)

Balsamic vinegar (Again, a good one)

Salt & pepper

Bring a large pot of water to a boil, then add the penne and a small amount of salt.  Continue to cook penne according to package instructions.

Meanwhile, heat a large saute pan over medium-low heat. 

Halve the squash and zucchini lengthwise.  Halve lengthwise again, so you have long triangular sticks.  Chop the sticks (haha) into pieces approximately 1/4 inch thick.  Cut broccoli crowns off the stem, creating large-ish florets.  If using grape or cherry tomatoes, halve them.  If using Roma or another variety of tomato, seed and dice them.  Remove the skin from the red onion, and slice off two very thin, uh, slices.  (Note to self: work on cooking vocabulary.)  Mince garlic or press in garlic press, whichever you prefer.

Add a couple of tablespoons of olive oil to the saute pan.  Let it heat through for about a minute, then add the vegetables and garlic, except for the tomatoes.  (If you prefer, you could keep the broccoli out and steam it.  But that means another pot to clean, and I do enough dishes already.)  Cook, stirring frequently, until vegetables are tender-crisp or desired doneness.  Remove from heat.

See, it's even pretty while it's cooking.

Combine penne and cooked vegetables in a serving bowl.  Add the tomatoes.  Drizzle with olive oil and balsamic vinegar to taste.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper, also to taste.  Toss to coat.  Admire its gorgeousness.  Serve warm.   (Serves 4.)

People (Person?) for the Ethical Treatment of Vegetables

One of the mistakes I think a lot of us new-ish cooks make is focusing all of our attentions on the entree and then realizing about ten minutes before it's ready that we need some sides, too, at which point we grab the bag of frozen peas out of the freezer and zap them in the microwave, hoping a bit of butter and salt and pepper will atone for the cavalier abuse we so shamelessly heaped on the little green orbs.  Which is also probably why a lot of kids grow up hating vegetables.  

So, with spring and all its abundance upon us (Or at least hopefully heading our way.  Please.  I mean really, can the snow just STOP?), let's all take a moment to reconsider how we (mis)treat our veggies.  Even the frozen guys deserve more than a spin in the radiation-box from time to time.  Let's take the time to plan ahead and saute, roast, grill, steam, sweat, dress and otherwise LOVE the ones who do so much to love us back.  

In the spirit of abandoning thoughtlessly-prepared vegetables, I thought I'd share with you one of my favorite preparations for one of my favorite spring vegetables: asparagus.

One of the things I love most about vegetables is that if you treat them right, they will reward you handsomely.  Like when you broil asparagus- the sugars caramelize and the tips get a little crispy and it's a whole new level of asparagus delightfulness.  And for those of us are who are busy or scatter-brained or just plain lazy, broiling asparagus is simple and relatively quick.

Broiled Asparagus

1 lb. fresh asparagus, washed and trimmed

Olive oil

Salt 

Pepper

Raise your oven's top rack to the uppermost position and then preheat your oven's broiler. Place the asparagus on a baking sheet in a single layer.  Drizzle with olive oil and season with salt and pepper.  Place baking sheet in the oven until asparagus is charred, but not burnt.  (Keep an eye on it- it took about 6 minutes in my toaster oven back in Las Vegas and about 15 in my mom's oven at 6500 feet.)  Serve immediately.  Thank me later.