Livingston, I Presume

Bye bye, fry

Let us bow our heads, Internets.

We come here today to mourn the passing of The Stockman's handcut french fry. In a world of industrialized frozen potato products, The Stockman's heaping plate of homemade, skin-on fries was a revelation. These were not Belgian frites, mind. They were not pretty and even and they could not have been eaten from a tiny paper cup with mayonnaise on the side. They were not double fried and extra crispy. But as American fries go, they just didn't get any better. Crisp but substantial and toothsome, tasting of potatoes--sounds obvious, but have you tasted a fast-food fry lately? It's like no actual potatoes were harmed in the development of those fries--The Stockman's fries were the perfect accompaniment to their excellent burgers. It was like Old Montana on a Plate. And the residual Scot in me loved that a single order was plenty and then some to share among a family of three.

The family and I went to The Stockman on Tuesday night. It was one of our first meals downtown since the end of tourist season. Just like in Prague, tourist town centers are often best avoided during the peak months. Imagine our distress to discover that while we had been barbecuing our own burgers and sweating in the basement, the restaurant's chief fry maker had decided that he couldn't keep up the pace anymore. He'd been preparing some 100 pounds of potatoes every single day to cope with the demand, and he was done.

The fries they're serving now are just like any other fry in any other restaurant in America. Bah.

The owners had put a notice on the menu to warn people, but really, I think they should have taken out an ad in the paper. Maybe, in fact, an obituary. And they definitely should have given us enough notice to come in and get a last fix. We could have taken up a collection to send The Potato Guy to the spa in the hopes of rejuvenation and future potato wrangling. But no. They're just gone, and we're left to pick up the precut, frozen pieces.

Finally

I've been looking for a while for a cookbook for Connery or some kind of "lunch idea" cookbook for us. Unfortunately, the books out there tend toward the "celebrity chef" side--please, God, save me from more Rachel Ray!--or toward the very specialty, i.e. when you are a gluten-free vegan who wants to eat only foods local to the upper northeast side of Berkeley. That's why I was glad to find this at the local Barnes & Noble last weekend. While it does feature a celebrity chef of sorts in that it features characters from Ratatouille, it also has classic French recipes given an easier twist to make it possible for kids to help out in the kitchen. We've already made three recipes from this book already, which has to be a new cookbook record.

In looking at other cookbooks either for kids or for parents cooking for kids, I've found other problems besides the aforementioned celebrity-specialty conundrums. There's a huge subset of "cooking for kids" books that make liberal use of the four kiddie food groups--hot dogs, chicken nuggets, pizza, and cookies--as if those foods are the only ones that will ever appeal to a child. The opposite extreme is the OMG CHILDHOOD OBESITY EPIDEMIC OF TEH FAT!?!?! cookbook designed to appeal to moms who want their kids to eat "healthy," wherein healthy means without any sugar, fat, or taste.

Now, I'm all for kids eating good food. In fact, if you ask my mom--who was in her day the strictest mom on the block in terms of what was in our cupboards--she'll call me a food nazi when it comes to what Connery gets to eat. I'll cop to being very, very label-conscious and anti-processed-foods to the extreme. But that doesn't mean I'm going to raise him on low-fat margarine and sugar substitute (See above: anti-processed-food.). What I love about What's Cooking is that I see nary a fake food anywhere in the book. Eggs, veggies, fruit, cheese, bread--basic, good food prepared in a tasty and imaginative way--predominate. Beyond that, food is presented as a real joy to prepare and consume. There are pictures of each recipe and an unabashed invitation to make the recipes together and enjoy them together.

Our society is so fraught with food issues that it's nice to see a cookbook that is trying to keep those out of our kids' heads. It's unlikely a single book can counteract the toxic celebrity culture that berates Britney Spears for being too fat and photoshops America Ferrara beyond recognition, but it's noteworthy that somebody is trying.

Travelers, not tourists

I quietly added Uncornered Market to my blogroll a couple of weeks ago and have been meaning to write up a little recommendation for it. Since most of the United States will be spending the weekend either: a) sweating b) hiding in air conditioning or c) hiding in the basement wishing for air conditioning, I thought now would be a good time. You can only watch so many movies, you know.

Anyway, Uncornered Market is the closest thing Dan and Audrey--friends of ours from Prague--have to a home right now. They embarked on what most of us would call the adventure of a lifetime--a year to 18 months of traveling around the world--earlier this year and have been writing, taking pictures and video, and posting about the whole shebang. It's the kind of site that will make you wonder why it is that you are reading blogs and not, say, being driven around by mad, drunk Georgians or boarding buses filled with Iranians or taking 10-day jaunts to Turkmenistan. (Why aren't you? Huh?)

Dan and Audrey are the kind of travelers that most of us wish we were. They're flexible, ready to rough it, and absolutely committed to seeing the "real" in any country. They aren't searching for the McDonald's or the Starbucks because they're too busy charming the locals into finding the best places to eat and drink. And with their site, they are putting together an amazing collection of information about places that most people will never see.

Have fun exploring!

Busted

In an effort to be solid nutritional role models, Chip and I very rarely indulge in sugary desserts. At least while Connery is awake.

So last night, we we were settling in for some ice cream and Grey's Anatomy (was it just me, or did other people feel as if they had been hogtied and forced to watch Addison's new pilot?) when all of a sudden we hear the pitter patter of toddler feet on the floor. Connery sticks his head out of his bedroom (which is right off the TV room) to find his parents in a panic.

Hide the ice cream! Behind the cat! He'll never see it behind the barely 10-pound cat! Why are we cursed with such a frackin' small cat?

"I heard a kind of clinky noise," he says. "Where's the ice cream?"

This just in!

Presumably from the same genius researchers who brought us the startling news that Fettucine Alfredo may not be as healthy as a nice baked fish comes this latest study: Chinese restaurant food is sure to cause your imminent demise! Shocking, I know, but General Tso's chicken--heavily breaded chunks of deep fried chicken parts, if I'm not mistaken--"is loaded with about 40 percent more sodium and more than half the calories an average adult needs for an entire day." And here I thought that deep fried food was the answer to all our nutritional prayers.

Thank heavens these researchers are around to remind me that the concept of moderation is still completely absent in America. Do you think that French people are hastily putting away their chopsticks after reading this? No way. Because they understand what we seem to be incapable of grasping: It is possible to be healthy while still enjoying quote-unquote unhealthy food, as long as you're not having it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Here in America, we'll deny ourselves all that quote-unquote unhealthy food for just as long as we can "be good"--conflating morality with restriction of "bad" food--and once we crack, well, watch out. We won't just go and have the Kung Pao and eat a sensible portion and take some home for lunch tomorrow, listening to our bodies for satiety signals. Nope, we're gonna eat that whole giant restaurant platter AND we'll have it with egg rolls, soup, and probably sticky buns at the end. We'll most likely feel stressed and guilty while we eat the whole thing--especially if it's a bunch of women eating together--and we won't really savor it at all.

And then, when the plates have been cleared, we'll wonder why we feel vaguely sick.

Here's how I see the psychology on this: The binging comes directly from this ridiculous notion of "good" and "bad" food and "good" eating. When we devour the Kung Pao, it's like there's no choice: We have to eat it all...don't you see? Because tomorrow we will be "good" again, and who knows when the next time is that Kung Pao will be allowed? Better to gulp it all down now before we come to our senses. Today's already shot; tomorrow we will eat only one lettuce leaf and a diet coke to make up for it, right up until the point in the day when our natural hunger cues become so strong as to make us half crazed and we eat the whole pint of Ben and Jerry's in our freezer.

It makes me crazy, even without the lettuce leaf. How much better would it be for all of us to slow down for half a second, listen to our bodies, and react accordingly? Hmmm...my body this morning says that a banana sounds really good. I could ignore that, but maybe there's a reason I'm craving that banana. Maybe I need potassium. I'm not saying that we should all eat Krispy Cremes and Big Macs, but if you do have one of those, it's not the end of the world. But note how you feel afterwards. When we traveled to California last year, we stopped for fast food several times. It tasted OK while we were eating it, but I felt like crap within a half hour. That's not what I want from my food. That doesn't make all fast food BAD, it just means that I don't like how my body reacts to it. Therefore, I don't really eat at McDonald's if I can help it. If I do get some oddball craving for it, I respond accordingly. Usually it only takes once every six months to remind me why I don't like it.

I'm drifting here, but the main point for me is this: If I decided today that I was never going to Burger King again because it was bad and unhealthy and making me fat, by this afternoon I would be driving the Bozeman Pass to get a Whopper. It's human nature. We like to rebel. If I recognize that I can have a Whopper whenever I damn well please, it's not all that attractive.

All these studies do, in my opinion, is make certain foods into the proverbial forbidden fruit. Should we all have knowledge about the nutritional content of what we're eating? Sure. But I'll tell you this, I'm a helluva lot more concerned with all the undeclared chemicals, pesticides, and Frankenfoods going into the stuff we eat every day than I'm ever going to be about a plate of Mongolian Beef. That it takes me an extra half an hour at the grocery store and a price premium of at least 10 percent to avoid high fructose corn syrup--and a far higher premium if I want to buy organic--is a problem. That most of us eat at least one meal a day at our desks in the office is a problem. That few of us have the built-in leisure time to allow for even a nightly walk is a problem. That kids get shorter and shorter recesses is a problem.

Chinese food is not the problem.

Fishy, fishy, fishy...OH!

Who guessed I was on deadline last week? You're so smart. That and I was tired enough each night to fall asleep during whatever program we happened to be watching at 9:15. It's pathetic, really, but it's absolute proof of karma. I remember mercilessly mocking my own parents for falling asleep in front of the television. Silly, short-sighted girl. Given my overall tendency toward mild narcolepsy--I owe so many of my college and grad school professors apologies for catnapping in their classes that I'd have to start writing the apology notes right now to finish before I die--I should have known the Sleepytime TV Sandman would come to get me sooner or later. And I'm still trying to decide whether my falling asleep during 24 indicates that I will be toddling off to bed at 8:30 by the time I'm 40 or that Season 6 is just not living up to my expectations. Hard to say.

So we had some big fun at our house last night. Last week, when I was preparing our weekly grocery list, I happened to ask Connery if he would like anything specific for dinner. "It has been a while since we had any fish," he noted. So long a while in light of my irrational hatred of fish, I thought to myself, that the 12th of Never comes to mind. Still, I wanted to be a good nutritional role model, so I asked him what kind of fish he had in mind. "Fish sticks? Tuna fish?" I asked hopefully, imagining a skillful concealment of my own chicken strips with a rampart of for-show fish sticks.

"I was thinking of steelhead," he intoned.

What? All I know from Steelhead is that our lovely and talented friend Robin runs Steelhead Studios. You mean you can eat a steelhead? Can I fry it up and serve it with potato salad? Most importantly, who the hell is teaching him these things?

Turns out steelhead is a kind of salmon, available via overnight express for the low low price of just $74.99. Or, you know, it would be possible to sub in the Atlantic salmon at $3.99 per fillet at Albertson's. Unsurprisingly, we went for Albertson's (which is, by the way, the grocery store with the worst new slogan ever. Albertson's is now CRAZY ABOUT FOOD! What marketing genius thought that up?). Anyway, I bought the salmon fillets yesterday, and Chip prepared them masterfully with a fresh herb crust finished off with white wine. They looked delicious and tasted...well..a lot like fish. I told Chip that he had prepared the least bad fish I'd ever eaten, which he did not take as a great compliment, even though it was absolutely meant in that spirit.

And what of our budding gourmand, Monsieur Connery? He was cajoled into taking a single bite and then spit it out. So much for the sophisticated three-year-old palate. Next time he mentions how I am depriving him of his essential fatty acids and Omega 3s I'm pulling out the Mrs. Paul's. And I'll have some chicken strips.

Fall into the foamy brine!

I remembered that I had promised to post the turkey recipe we were planning to use this year. We've been brining our birds for several years, but it's always good to try a new formula. So here it is, shamelessly stolen from the Mothers of Organic (that's MOO to you) site:

link

Brine Cured Roast Turkey with Maple Ginger Glaze

Prep Time: 4:30

Ingredients:

1 Organic Valley Whole Young Turkey
For the Brine:
2 1/2 gallons cold water
2 cups coarse salt (sea salt)
1 cup sugar
2 whole bay leaves
1 head fresh garlic (peeled and halved)
1 teaspoon poultry seasoning
1 teaspoon black pepper
For the Maple Ginger Glaze:
1/4 cup minced onion
2 tablespoons fresh ginger root (peeled and minced)
1 teaspoon fresh garlic (peeled and minced)
2 tablespoons Organic Valley Cultured Butter
1/2 cup Organic Valley Orange Juice - no pulp added
1/4 cup molasses
2 tablespoons ketchup
2 tablespoons maple syrup (Maple Valley)
1 tablespoon honey (local)
1 tablespoon orange zest (fresh)
salt and pepper (to taste)

Instructions:

For the brine: combine listed ingredients in a large soup pot. Cook over high heat until salt and sugar are dissolved. Cool brine liquid to room temperature.

Place your thawed farm fresh Organic Valley Turkey into a large vessel (I used an insulated cooler). Remove giblet bag and neck from turkey cavity.

Pour brine mixture over the thawed turkey and refrigerate for 24 hours. If there's not enough room in the fridge, use ice packs and an insulated cooler. You may have to use a weight (heavy plate) to keep the bird submerged in the brine.

After 24 hours: pour out the brine, rinse the bird and pat dry. Stuff the bird as you wish and apply Maple Ginger Glaze.

For the glaze: in a small heavy saucepan, over low-medium heat, saute garlic, onion, and ginger in butter for 4-6 minutes.

Add the remaining ingredients. Increase heat and allow to boil for 3 minutes, while stirring. Reduce heat and simmer for 12 minutes to thicken the sauce, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and strain off the minced garlic, onion, and ginger. Cool to room temperature. Cover and keep in the fridge until needed. Please note: glaze may be prepared up to 2 days ahead.

To roast turkey: preheat oven to 325 degrees. Place prepared bird in roasting pan breast side up. Baste with Maple Ginger Glaze and cover wings and top of the turkey breast with foil to prevent excess browning. Baste when curious!

Cook until internal temperature reaches 180 degrees in the thickest part of the thigh, or 170 in the breast. Plan for a 10-18 pound Organic Valley Turkey to roast for 3 hours to 4 1/4 hours or so. Please take internal temperatures with a meat thermometer prior to serving. Allow turkey to "rest" for 20-30 minutes before carving.