What the World Eats

Appalling. Fascinating. Humbling. Check out this photo essay from Time magazine. Each family recorded every single thing they ate or drank for one week. The families and their foodstuffs were then assembled and arranged for portraits. I am rather disappointed in the Sicilians ... and completely amazed by the Aboubakar family ... and those Cuernavacans! All that fruit looks so goooood. You can imagine what the Americans look like. Plenty of colorful wrappers, and a few stalks of broccoli. Sigh.

Gorgeous Jello ...

... sounds like the name of a band. However, it's the medium for Liz Hickok's amazing artwork, crafted entirely from everyone's favorite sweet, jiggly dessert. Amazing. My grandmother's molded salads never held a candle to this.

5 Things About Me

I feel strangely legitimized. I've finally been tagged. Thanks, Hungry T.

1. I was really, really, really scared to become a mom. And now, as gaggingly Hallmark as it sounds, I can't figure out why I didn't do it sooner. It's, like, the most joyful, hilarious, important thing I've ever done. And it pulls me right out of my self-centered ways, so, yeah, it makes me a better person.

2. I don't like beef. In any form. I hate the texture. I hate the flavor. The only beef I have ever enjoyed is the Neua Naam Tok flank steak salad at Whiskey Soda Lounge. It's redolent with lemongrass, shallots, lime juice, and mint - and burns the back of my tongue just so. Occasionally, I will drown a burger in condiments.

3. I'm allergic to every class of antibiotic (at least, so far). When I fill out my drug allergies, my doctors always say, "Hmmm, uhhh ... so what do they do when you need an antibiotic?" To which I say, "Aren't you the doctor?" It's either swelling up and wheezing, or vomiting.

4. I equally love a very fine, exquisitely prepared meal and dive-y Mexican food and that pototoes au gratin in a box from Trader Joe's (just add water). I've made rigatoni with fried fingerling potatoes, sausage and broccolini one night ... and eaten cottage cheese straight from the container the next.

5. I really wanted Sisely to win. Minor girl crush, there.

Bourdain Speaks: The Food Network

God love him. Anthony Bourdain shows up as a guest post-er on Michael Ruhlman's blog, and gives a couple right hooks to the jaws of the Food Network chefs. I especially love his commentary on Sandra Lee, with delectable little morsels like, "I would likely be arrested if I suggested on television that any children watching should promptly go to a wooded area with a gun and harm themselves. What’s the difference between that and Sandra suggesting we fill our mouths with Ritz Crackers, jam a can of Cheez Wiz in after and press hard? None that I can see."

As an aside, did you hear? Bourdain is gonna be a daddy. And his commentary on what his kid might be like is also hi-fucking-larious.

Cheddarvision!

The West Country Farmhouse Cheesemakers claim to have a live webcam aimed at an aging round of cheddar. You, too, can watch the mold grow! But is it just me - or does that cheddarlicious onscreen image look more like a still photo than a live shot? (Um, yeah, I know aging cheese doesn't move much, but the light looks wrong, and that tag looks funny ...) Nonetheless, a nice bit of pointless, er, entertainment?

Blind tasting and Wii cooking

Cruising around the food blogs today, one link leads to another, and I found a couple of odd little morsels to share with you.

Like this Wii cooking game, for instance... I guess it's one way to practice your knife skills ... plus there's that promise of "hot kitchen action" which I'm sure Smooth Melon would not be opposed to, har har. (Has anyone read all the reports of Wii-related injuries? And deaths, even? Huh.)



And then there was this article, which is a year old, but I just spotted it ... gives new meaning to the phrase "blind tasting."

Lovely, lovely things

Chocolate tastings and exotic salts are tres trendy these days. But I'm not one of those people to stop enjoying something I love simply because "everyone's" talking about it. Salt is so essential, and chocolate is so devine, and that's that.

This afternoon, a coworker splayed out an assortment of interesting bars that she'd picked up at Cost Plus, and one of them just blew me away. Vosges Chocolate makes the Barcelona Bar - "deep" milk chocolate (a milk chocolate-dark chocolate blend; no foodie snooty nose sniffing, milk chocolate is gooood!), delicate, hickory smoked almond bits, and grey sea salt. Ohhh la la, I fear I may become Augustus Gloop. One flavor gives way to the next ... you can practically see fireworks in my eyeballs as the various pleasure centers in my brain light up.

Yes, of course I know about all the hot little chocolate shops springing up across town. Meh. I can get chocolate and new napkin rings and Valentine tchotchkes at Cost Plus.

"Twas the Season of Eating

M'kay.

So I've been so super busy (yah, I know, the excuse the of non-blogging bloggers everywhere, but sheesh. I mean, The Devouring Woman is cheating on her blog. I check every week. Such a tease.). I've been occupied with stuff like, oh, giving birth. And falling completely in love with this little morsel of sweet goodness called My Daughter.

But, that squishy-lovey subject is for my mama blog. Right here? The place for food.

And since my hands are, these days, generally either full of work or full of baby, and therefore without a lot of time to caress the keyboard, I'm gonna let the pictures do the talking. (I'm not sure anyone is still reading this anyway - but heck.)

So, the holidays brought cranberry-pomegranate cocktails (thanks, bro!) ...





Lasagna that couldn't-a been more homemade without making our own gat-dang cheese ...





And this lovely, simple Christmas brekkie of cranberry-orange scones, mini quiches, Bloody Marys (thanks, K!), and Clementines that were pretty much the only thing my darling 12-year-old cousin would eat ...





Plus, we made the family specialty - Pizzelles. I'm sorry, but these are ever so much prettier than sugar cookies. They are such a tradition in our family, they get their very own post.

New Year's Resolution #3: blog at Miss Tasty's Cafe more often!

Pizzelles

I could swear I've posted about these before ... I know that I brought them to the Childhood Favorites dinner with my dinner club. But since I can't find a hint of them in my archives, away we go ...

Every Easter, every baby shower, every bridal shower, every wake, these wafer-y, golden cookies grace the table. They look like doilies. They look like snowflakes. They smell of lemon with a puff of licorice, or licorice with a twist of lemon, depending on which great-aunt you listen to in the Ongoing Battle of the Correct Pizzelle Recipe.

They don't always make an appearance during Christmas, probably because the Family Ladies are too busy hand-rolling pasta dough (which I have written about and pictured before), pulling preserves out of the root cellar, knitting scarves for all the cousins, or, these days, biting their nails as they sit in their office counting the minutes to a mad-dash lunch hour in which they can brave the mall for last minute gifities. (Oh, how times have changed.)

This year, prompted by my Fabulous Sister-in-Law K, who honored us with her desire to learn the craft and share stacks of Pizzelle goodness with her own relatives, we dusted off the irons and ... mmmm. It was so, so good to have that smell, rising in the little wisps of steam escaping the edges of the iron, drifting through my house.

The recipe is old, and not really written down (until I transcribed a phone call to my grandmother onto a recipe card). It calls for a lot of eggs, butter, sugar, and flavourings, with flour added until it "sort of slumps off the spoon."



The first few are always burnt and off center. And then, you hit the zone. Your batter is placed perfectly, your nose prickles at just the right moment, and the lid is lifted to reveal beautiful, scalloped, sunny circles of lace.



The stacks fill the table, and shrink as little fingers steal them away, nibbling.

BLT = Late Summer Heaven

It's one of those tongue-out, scowling, limp-shouldered hot days. My ankles are giant and my with-child belly mounds up before me and the restless baby kicks make it impossible to rest a book there. So I stare out the window, and wonder what to eat.

Toasted artisan honey wheat bread ... slathered with mayo ... layered with thick slices of tomato (the thin skin giving way easily under the knife and bursting forth with all that summerlong sunshine juiced up to fat, scarlet goodness) ... the chilled crunch of iceberg lettuce ... and a crumbly, salty stack of that smoky porcine wondermeat - bacon.

Oh. More of that, please.

Because I want you to know I haven't died

The sad, sad truth is that I haven't been to the grocery store in two weeks. I'm not quite sure how I'm healthfully sustaining a fetus, since all that's in my fridge are a pitcher of limeade, some desiccated ears of corn, and some expired yogurt. Smooth Melon has managed to keep fresh fruit in the fruit bowl, and Luna bars have decent vitamin content, and the cafeteria at work has a fine salad bar, so somehow, we're still thriving. Mostly, I can't drag my swollen ankles into the grocery store any more than I can fit sideways through a narrow row of restaurant tables, so we're living on takeout, cold cereal, prenatal vitamins, and water.

The nesting urge far overpowers the eating urge. Cooking dinner? Why, no! Let us paint the kitchen instead! Plus, I had the stomach flu (stomach flu! while pregnant! Oh, cruel universe! My abdomen was already a little busy, thanks!) for a week, which totally stole my appetite. People reassure me that the baby takes whatever she needs, and leaves me with the rest, which probably explains why I've been tired, and grumpy, and feeling like I've been leeched .

Actually, I have to credit my dear dinner club for my nutritional survival this past week. Veelicious and Slim Jim hosted last weekend, and very kindly set a theme of "Salads of Summer" to spare us all the heat of our ranges. It's been hot around here. The most gorgeous Lentil-Feta salad from the hosts, a toothsome wild rice creation from Chez Scoop & Cheesy T, my two curried offerings (chicken in one, artichokes in the other - the leftovers held us over for a couple of days), a smashing roasted beet-super fresh ricotta-fried basil delight from M, and Hungry T's juicy, mega-fresh Belgian Endive-Apple-Fennel presentation ... we were all set. And full. And the others consumed 9 bottles of wine between them. And the most fantastic summer pudding of challah and berries with fresh cream (two helpings for me,thanks). And the patio was lit with candles, and we pulled out the medical dictionary again ("queef" has no technical definition, FYI), and there were some vomit-flavored jelly beans snuck in as the hour grew late ... oh yes, it was your usual EP night. And I was hungry, and I ate, and all was right in the world.

And then, Tuesday, Cheesy T put on a hot little polka dot party dress, and had us all out for Tex-Mex and pinata smashing for her 33rd birthday. Aw yeah. I was full-up on chips and salsa for hours (and the most delicious blueberry-nectarine crisp and cinnamon ice cream, made by Scoop. Ohhhhh ...)!

Thank you, EP, for the sustenance! My body and soul and kid are ever grateful.

This is why I love living in Portland

In my fair city, it is almost impossible to not eat seasonally, locally, and organically. I mean, it's practically handed to us on a silver platter (ew, bad pun) for god's sake! For instance, delivered right into my inbox is a weekly farmers market update, telling me what's new (coming up soon - pickling cukes!). And they even tell me about groovy local efforts like this.

Penne alla Vodka & my darling husband

I was dragging my ass up the front steps after a horrifically long (hot) day at work, and there sat my husband. Looking sexy, I might add, in his business man attire.

"Hi! You look tired, and beautiful. [ed. note: yes, he really tells me I'm beautiful, even when I'm sweaty and grumpy.] We don't need to worry about dinner, because, gosh, we have these totally random dinner reservations - I don't even know where they came from. We can push them back if you need some time to relax ..."

"Are you kidding?" I said. "Reservations? What? What are you up to? No, let's go now! I'm starving! What is this all about?"

So we hop in the car, and he pulls a card out of the glove box.

"This was hanging around, figured it must be for you."

I open it, and it's the sweetest love note, marking our 13th anniversary - not our wedding anniversary, but the date we celebrated until we got married - the day that we met. Oh - my - goodness. What a guy!

Five minutes later we are pulling up outside of 3 Doors Down - easily one of the most consistent, delicious restaurants in Portland. Not only did he remember an anniversary I forgot, he took the time to get a table reserved at a place he knows I love, and buy a card, and write a touching, funny note in it. I am so lucky.

And I counted myself even luckier to have ordered my favorite thing, the 3 Doors Down specialty - Penne in Vodka Tomato Cream Sauce with Sweet Italian Sausage. Good god, it's amazing. This followed an appetizer of parmesan-prosciutto arancini with roasted red pepper aioli, and a butter bibb salad with bacon and creamy chive dressing, so my inner hedonist could not have been happier.

Thank you, Smooth Melon, for a fantastic evening.

Pok Pok rocks my world

I am so, so lucky to live in SE PDX, a couple blocks from Division. It feels like a quiet neighborhood, yet I can walk to everything I need - grocery stores, hardware stores, libraries, banks, a dry cleaner, Stumptown coffee, taco stands, sandwich shops, hot spot restaurants, thrift stores, an extinct volcano - hell, even a cement sculpture yard, in case I need a bird bath or a Virgin Mary at a moment's notice. Last night, I took an easy evening stroll down to Pok Pok. Perfect, delightful Pok Pok.

It was my third visit, and I already have my favorite menu item - the shredded pork over sticky coconut rice with a green papaya salad. Pork edges crisped just so, the rest meltingly tender, the smoky, salty richness, a scattering of caramelized curls of shallot that add a subtle, tiny crunch to every third bite, the soft sweetness of coconut milk against the toothy rice. Oh my.

They had a ramen special - those familiar slippery noodles in a beautiful, clean, clear broth, spiked with chili oil and scallions, made substantial with perfect bits of chopped rotisserie game hen. Three dollars, people! The list goes on. Plus, the owner is cute, and his concept is brilliant - buy a house property on a bustling, renewed street, convert the garage space to a small kitchen and walk up window, then as the success rolls in, remodel the house. I think he lives there - I think he might open it as an indoor dining space eventually. Whatever - it's genius.

You'll get a perfectly sized portion, for under $7, and the chance to sit at an outdoor table watching the neighbors go by. Why aren't you over there right now? Go!

**This stuff isn't your usual Thai food, with the saucy noodles and such - it's north and northeast Thai food, seems lighter with more grilled meats - see my friend Hungry T's blog entry for more detail.

How do you feel about beans?

Beans seem to live tauntingly on the edge of acceptability. Sneaky, charming little devils, like the kid in class who gets straight As without trying and spends the rest of his time cutting up - the teacher adores him and is exasperated by him but can never bring herself to punish him. People love beans - they're delicious and nutritious. People also have ... issues with beans, attributed, of course, to their sonorous end effects.

I am especially partial to chickpeas - garbanzos, cecci, call them what you will, they are the main ingredient in hummus and go with pretty much any side dish or salad. Chickpea fritters? Oh yes.

This weekend I was in a rush to throw together lunch for some guests - one of whom is allergic to dairy and wheat. (She has that stomach thing - something like "celiac" disease? - where she can't digest certain things ... it's very weird.) So pasta salad was out, anything with cheese was out, I had no meat on hand other than the cold cuts that were already being set out for sandwiches ... but I did, of course, have some cans of beans in the pantry. Everyone has cans of beans in the pantry.

Throw together one can kidney beans, one can black beans, one can chickpeas - rinse very well under cold water. Coat with a liberal amount of good olive oil, splash on some red wine vinegar, some rice vinegar (for the sweetness), generous cumin, generous oregano, chopped cilantro, diced red pepper, chopped scallions, and a few heavy pinches of fleur de sel. Refrigerate, stirring occasionally. Not too shabby! Easy picnic side dish that is devoid of mayonaisse and full of fiber and protein.

my recipe box is my pill bottle

For various reasons, I've been in some emotional turmoil. No, these are not pregnancy hormones. Rather, they are the effects of having three sharply separated areas of my life: Work, which is the midline - little drama, sort of interesting, good people ... fine. Home, which is wonderful these days, what with these burbly little sensations of baby motion in my belly, a husband who seems totally in love with watching me grow rounder, sunshine pouring in the windows of my still-new, "I can't believe it's mine" house, and really, really cool friends. Then there is The Mom Reality. I never know what to expect from the woman. She's either the warmest, safest, kindest, funniest person I know, or she is TOTALLY CRAZY. We are talking Twilight Zone, people.

So lately, whether I find myself spitting mad and throwing my arms around in the air ... or, alternately, grinning and humming and padding around the house as the Queen of Domestic Bliss, I seem always to wind up thumbing through my recipe box and pulling out cards spotted with cooking oil, lovingly creased, many written in one of my grandmothers' handwriting. This is good comfort and stress release, and it's a good companion to peaceful joy, and it just so happens to feed our faces, too. It's better than valium. It's my mood stabilizer. (It's that, or TV. I love TV. I admit it.)

Spicy Mixed Bean Chili was on the menu this weekend, and it's so easy - toasted cumin seed, sauteed onion and garlic, minced chipotle in adobo, a can each of red kidney beans, pinto beans, and diced tomato (undrained), ancho chili powder, good dried oregano, simmer, serve with mom's cornbread, sour cream and cilantro, and think about the 1970s and how mom used to cook beans in a pressure cooker that shot steam three feet into the air, spitting hot water and howling its whistle ...

Or maybe it's Strawberry Buttermilk Ice Cream (yes, I know the strawberries are still from California at this time of year, but who can resist those shiny, happy red piles tumbling from those green plastic baskets?). Two cups water, two cups sugar, brought to boil and cooled completely, 4 pints pureed strawberry and two cups buttermilk - everything into the ice cream maker for 20 minutes and it's right back to 1982, sitting sticky-handed in the backyard and licking it right off the paddle ...

Or maybe it's Sweet Onion and Feta Risotto, my favorite meal in college, when all I had was one big pan and so many things to procrastinate, the stirring and stirring was just the ticket. Warm chicken stock, spoon cup by cup onto arborio rice as liquid evaporates, stir until creamy, throw in some feta, sauteed onion and chopped parsley before serving. Think about 1994, that crappy apartment, ugly birkinstocks, and eating bowl after bowl to gain the freshman 15 (and an additional sophomore 15) ...

Or maybe it's Gram's Lemon Merigue Pie, adapted with Meyer lemons. Her recipe card, in her loopy script, reminds me to take the "secret step" to make sure the filling turns out just right ... not revealing that here, no way, do you want me disowned?! Pull it from the oven just when the peaked whites turn that lovely amber shade and think about the way Gram still to this day deliciously licks her fingers after she's scraped the last filling from the bowl ...

Tonight - Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies. Not from the recipe box, but from that same old trustworthy recipe on the chocolate chip bag. Hot cookies, cold milk, and (ahem) some TV should do the trick.

Pesticides - blech!

I've always loved - and preferred - local, seasonal, organic foodstuffs. Yeah, all those buzzwords. But it's true - I was destined for that after being fed baby food that my mom made by hand in her mouli mill from stuff grown in her very own garden. Or purchased from some recluse farmer - eggs, goat cheese, and milk all arrived in our house in battered cardboard crates after long, bumpy trips down dirt roads in our VW poptop bus. She was a cook and baker at a (hushed voice) health food store when those were hidden, tiny places with names like "Mountain Mama's" and "Rainbow Crystal Market." She baked bread and made soup and said things like "co-op," and "brewer's yeast" and fed me carob stars. She might have made her pie crust from whole wheat flour (good god) and forced quinoa down my throat two decades before it was the Next Hip Thing - but she also set a standard for the taste of spring lettuces still tinged with the mineral taste of warm dirt, and the sour sunshine flavor of apricots shaken right from the old orchard trees. I love her for that.

Now that I'm looking toward my own mamahood, and thinking about the fact that a freakin' brain stem is taking shape in there, I've become even more dedicated to drinking organic milk and choosing pesticide-free fruits and veg. I mean, with it so readily available (even at Safeway!), why not? I don't even have to haul the kids to the outskirts of town and make friends with weird hermits to get the stuff. It's worth the extra buck per gallon or pound when I'm growing an entire nervous system for another human being.

That said, it isn't always possible to buy organic. What if I really, really need that guacamole for my shredded guajillo pork tacos, and organic avocados are nowhere to be seen? Thus, the handiness of a recent study that measured the amounts of pesticide in produce, and broke them down into two lists - stuff you should definitely try to buy organic, and stuff that has a consistently low pesticide load. Handy info! I first read it in Consumer Reports, but it's also posted online here. And here's a short version for Miss Tasty readers:

12 Most Contaminated with Pesticides - Buy These Organic
• Apples
• Bell Peppers
• Celery
• Cherries
• Imported Grapes
• Nectarines
• Peaches
• Pears
• Potatoes
• Red Raspberries
• Spinach
• Strawberries

12 Least Contaminated with Pesticides
• Asparagus
• Avocados
• Bananas
• Broccoli
• Cauliflower
• Corn (sweet)
• Kiwi
• Mangos
• Onions
• Papaya
• Pineapples
• Peas (sweet)

See you in the aisles. (And by the way - I still hate brown rice.)

Eggs - Essentially Bizarre, Totally Yummy

I want this book.



Eggs are weird, certainly. They fall along the same line as placentas (see my previous post) if you think about it for a couple minutes. But they are so delicious! And so necessary to so many things - cookies, cakes, custards, and for god's sake, breakfast.

I love them - especially the yolks. I also love the beautiful ovoid shape, the colors they come in, and the sound of cracking the shells against the rim of my grandmother's stoneware bowl.

In fact, I really want two chickens so I can have fresh eggs with deep orange centers that actually taste rich and deep, but Smooth Melon grew up on a farm and he hates the very mention of this. I also had a friend suggest that I'd infect my neighborhood with avian flu. Oh, c'mon people. A couple little cluckers = the best omelettes ever.

sweet potato salad & pork loin (& placentas)

Visited the in-laws this weekend. They made a gorgeous slow-cooked pork loin, served with a simple green salad and some delicious sweet potato salad from New Seasons. It's just like regular potato salad, with the creamy dressing and so forth, but with sweet potatoes - not only was it delightful in its surprising sweet earthiness, but the orange-ness of it made my plate a very nice study in color balance.

I think Miss Fetus liked it, as well. And speaking of that, I have realized that placentas are pretty miraculous things. I mean, when else do adult human beings ever grow a whole new, essential organ, keep it functioning for nine months, and then get rid of it? But I still can't deal with the idea that some people eat their placenta. That just freaks me out. I bet my friend Hungry T, who is all into eating exotic meats and wants to try horse someday, wouldn't even do it. (And I won't be offering. No way.) There are probably placenta recipes on the internet somewhere, but I refuse to look. What, with onions or something, like liver? Made into a pate? Ground and mashed into burgers? Puh-leese.

Girls Love Chocolate

Well, okay. Most people love chocolate. But I have had this feeling from the very beginning of pregnancy that I was toting around a little girl in there. And when I felt movement (just like hunger rumbles, or popcorn popping, only not) for the first time after eating a bag of M&Ms, I thought, hmmmm. That seems like a girl thing to do.

And I was right. Found out yesterday that Baby Tasty is 90% certain to be una bambina!

And in other news, I visited one of my standbys the other day, Aqui - a (tex-ish) mexican cafe in my old neighborhood. Hungry T just posted about this place, and reported that their chips are way too salty. I agree - though I love salt lately, so I didn't do any scraping. But they could definitely stand to be unsalted. I had to order their guacamole, which is delicious. I never order the salsas, because I think it's a rip off to pay for salsa, even when they give you three kinds. I hate tomatillo salsa anyway, so it doesn't pay off for me. I scarfed down my usual, the carnitas soft corn tacos with a side of their "Potatoes Ole" which consist of mashers, tons of cheese, and sweet corn kernals all melty and yumm together. MMmm, mmm. My only complaint there is that they need a little pico or sour cream or something to dress up the tacos. My friend only finished half her plate, so I'm not sure if she just didn't like it, or got full, or what. But I do recommened Aqui, and they have a patio and serve margaritas - an ideal combo on the ever-warmer evenings.

Looking back to last weekend, Easter brought the traditional baking handed down from my great-great nonna Ricci. We bake what's called "doll." Because they are shaped like little chubby women, I guess. Though the boys often get "doll" shaped like baskets or chickens. Basically, they are just like biscotti only not baked, sliced, and baked again - they are baked once and left whole, and frosted. Anise seed, lemon, eggs, flour, sugar. Frosted with beaten eggs whites, sugar, and the tiny ball-shaped colored sprinkles, my family has been making and eating these for at least five generations. Simple and devine with coffee, they get crunchier and yummier with each passing day.

We also had the usual homemade pasta, and my sister-in-law nicely contributed the all-American honey baked ham - which (gasp!) I had never had before. Delicious.