Morsels

Our congresswoman, Stephanie Tubbs Jones died suddenly today. She was 58 years old and in her prime. Our first African-American congresswoman in Ohio, the first African-American on the powerful Foreign Ways and Means Committee. As a friend said tonight, if you were to use a word for her it would be “first”. Our community has lost an ally and a friend. She was the kind of person who was always bigger than the room that she was in — but not in an egotistical sort of way. Those who knew her or were around her can attest to the fact that that larger than life aspect was not about dominating the scene. She simply shone.

What has all this to do with food? I imagine, as her family grieves that they will gather and as the community expresses itself, that food will play a part. We gather together and bring casseroles. It is one of the ways that we let one another know that life goes on — that those who are left must be fed. And it is one of the ways that those who remain can express themselves.

My own transition (Arthur heading off) feels still large but also more natural (? not sure if that is the right word) — still, I spent Sunday running myself ragged what with shopping for college supplies –and I mean down to the cough syrup for the maybe cold in late September. Followed by the continued packing and accompanied by the cooking of… pesto, slow-roasted tomatoes and peach butter. So, yeah… not exactly convenience food. I mean, I am at the point of considering curing all our own meats. Obviously, working through something.

But back in the real world, the peach butter turned out to be a success. Using the crock-pot was excellent and once I bought some sugar and added it, along with a little cinnamon, allspice, vanilla paste and candied ginger, everything came together.

For the slow-roasted tomatoes, I followed Amanda Hesser’s recipe from her excellent book, The Cook and the Gardener.

Basically, you preheat the oven to 250 degrees and coat a baking sheet with olive oil. Then you slice Roma tomatoes in half, seed them and brush them with the best olive oil you have available, sprinkle with thyme and salt and pepper and then roast them in the oven until they are beginning to caramelize. I cooked them in this way and then chopped the results until the tomatoes were a little more maneuverable than those unwieldy halves I had previously popped in the oven. I then put the mixture into ice trays. So that in December, I will have sweet, unctuous tomatoes to add to my sauces and soups.

And the weak winter sun will feel a little warmer, I will have muscled my through a fall without my boy and we will have gotten a little more used to the world without those we rely on — Stephanie, thank you. We will miss you.

A week from dropping Arthur off at school and my throat seems always tight. I stayed home with him Friday because he had to get his wisdom teeth pulled (part of the get him off to college to-do list). He was groggy most of the day but relatively cheerful and yesterday (Saturday) woke up plain old happy and energetic. We went to the farmer’s market together at 9:30 a.m. and he helped me scope the best peaches and some excellent looking salsa from a local guy (Cowboy George) who has a store called Pzazz in Rocky River. I got a peck of second peaches so I could make my peach butter right away. This is a great way to buy fruit for preserving if you are like me and head to the market expecting things like peaches to be ripe, ripe, ripe. Truth is, the vendors can’t pick and bring super-ripe peaches and the like to market because they would bruise and turn so quickly. But one guy had a few boxes of seconds and I got them for half-price. I also bought several pounds of heirloom striped Roma tomatoes from Sirna’s stand. The guy working there told me that $3 a pound was a good deal. They are $6 a pound in the store. Those I plan on slow-roasting and freezing the results into ice-cube size amounts for later addition into soups, stews or pasta sauces.

I spent some time yesterday investigating fruit butter recipes on the web and found several that referenced making it in the crock-pot as opposed to standing over the stove and fretting. Currently, I am midway through the process, having decided last night that I was going to try to put as little sugar in as possible and to add it this morning once the fruit had cooked down. Well… the fruit has cooked way down and, guess what? there’s no sugar at all in the house. This would make my Chinese doctor, Dr. Mao happy. I will say that his diet of no salty, no sweety, no coffee and no wine is making me lose weight. Naturally, I am taking his advice with a, shall we say, grain of salt. So, one cup of coffee ‘fore I go (out) in the morning and one glass of wine with dinner seems to be the ticket. As for salt and sugar? I don’t eat much of it. But really. What normal household has no sugar?  Irritating. Well, when I do return with the sugar, I will add a cup to my fruit mixture and see if that is sweet enough. I also plan on adding some nutmeg, a few teaspoons of vanilla paste and, I think, some diced candied ginger.

Some years ago, Dennis and I went to Kripalu. We met my best friend in the world, Kate, who has been my best friend before I could choose (our mothers were best friends in college, had two daughters six months apart and put us in the crib together as soon as possible). I remember when we were living on the Upper West Side in NYC in the sixties — dad a grad student at Columbia, Johnny the Shark living upstairs and making bad noises through the pipes in the bathroom — mom told me my best friend was coming to see me for my birthday. I may have been 5. And we had been in France for a year and I really didn’t remember this person. But here she came and she was my BEST FRIEND. I was giddy. She was shy. So I chased her around the dining room table telling her that we were meant to be and also meant to eat cake. It wasn’t the most auspicious beginning. Anyway, she’s in Vermont and we talk every Sunday when we can and I love her a lot.

So on this weekend, we met at Kripalu along with my other dear friends, Andrea and Sabina (about whom more later I’m sure). And there was Dennis, the lone male in our very close, very female circle not bothered a bit. Just interested in sitting and enjoying the silence and the space.

And the maple-baked tofu.

Food is so funny. You can spend a lovely weekend with friends in a beautiful setting and come away with a memory of the most perfect blueberry pie. Or whatever. So Proustian. Dennis’s Madeleines happened to come in tofu form. I bought the Kripalu cookbook. They weren’t there. And I never found the recipe either. I felt unable to come up with a fascimile because of the very precious quality of his memory. In a way, I thought, even if I did find the recipe, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill him.

But enough time has passed for his tastebuds to forget the exact quality so I grabbed Deborah Madison’s Vegetarian Cooking For Everyone and found her recipe for Mustard-Honey Baked Tofu and totally changed it. Weird. I suppose I needed the comfort of her base to finally recreate the recipe. In any case, what I came up with was good and satisfied my guy’s soul.

Make extra and serve it on a chewy whole wheat roll with bbq sauce and coleslaw or left-over greens. Serve it with homemade baked beans or, as I did, with a sun-dried tomato rice pilaf.

Well, yes, we did make the jam and I am quite glad to have had my two guides — mom and Kinloch. I remember as a child making jam with mom and having to boil those jars first and lifting them out with tongs and such and lots of carefuls and watch outs (because I was pretty young and there was a lot of boiling happening). but Kinloch says just wash your jars in the dishwasher and leave them until you are ready. The tops and the rings still need boiling as does the ladle you are going to ladle your finished jam with. But they fit in a much smaller pot and you can boil them and then leave them as you make the jam.

Other bits of wisdom? Well the jam as it gels is cooking off other elements in order to reach the particular stage you are hoping for (whether it is the Blow or the Thread) . That is why, once you hit the stage you feel that you have waited endlessly for, it comes very quickly. You should not, therefore, answer the phone during the process or try to make something else that needs watching (or for that matter, let the puppy into the kitchen).

He also told me to put down Reynolds wrap for the jars as you ladle which seemed mysterious until it was time to clean up and there wasn’t much to do except crinkle up the aluminum foil.

In the midst of stage one, as the foam began to come, Mom arrived with a toast corner and reminded me that there were very nice things already there to eat (warm jam foam on toast corners is pretty wonderful).

When it came time to pour the jam into the jars, we just lifted them from the dishwasher and put the also clean jam funnel into their mouths. I ladled the jam into the jars and then we did use tongs on the lids, placing them on the tops and then tightening them at the end. Kinloch turned them over in the end to cool and said that Lenotre says there is no way anything can live after that treatment (haven’t read that part of the book).

We all agreed that the reason that Lenotre’s recipe results in such a fruity, fresh tasting jam is that you cook the syrup separately from the fruit and then add the fruit — the flavors of the fruit have much more integrity. In the end, we had several jars of very good jam, some of which I am carting home with me along the rainy (yup, more rain even though we are now in either Pennsylvania or New York).

I wrote this a few days ago and never posted it but it is a necessary lead up to the jam adventure that follows.

The weather has not cooperated at all – cold, rainy. Brings back memories of many foggy summers. Those would be the days that mom would announce that we were going to make lollipops or taffy. I remember everything turning out pretty sticky. Probably due to the fact that we were surrounded by dripping, perpetual fog. We have not had the fog, but we had had more than our share of rain. In our small summer cabin, there is a central living room where everyone sits in “their” chair and talks and reads and drinks and, etc…Over the course of the week, we have each built our own nests made of books, mostly. Mine has both Lenotre cookbooks, Lulu’s Provencal Table, some cookbook all about smoking food called, I think, Smoke. And then a collection of New Yorker essays on food and writing that I have barely cracked. Mom’s nest has poems by Jane Kenyon and books by their neighbor Richard Ford. Dad’s got some woodworking magazines, newspapers and some odd life insurance paper. Dennis’s? Computer, Network hub, Alastair Reynolds House of Suns and a few art tiles I purchased at the Farmer’s Market today that seemed safer over by his chair.

Tomorrow we embark upon the jam making process. We are making Lenotre’s raspberry jam only with blackberries (there has been too much rain for raspberries to do more than rot on the bushes). The secret to the Lenotre process is macerating the juice for 24 hours in sugar and that is what why there is a very large bowl of blackberries now swimming in their own syrup which they have been busily making all day.

I’m afeard of making jam, that’s for sure. Seems very boily and dangerous. But I got my mama to help and uncle Kinloch is here now and he will most likely help. I will post the results tomorrow but meanwhile here is the recipe.

Sitting out on the ledge in Maine, looking over the trees at the blue bay and the sailboats heading into the harbor. A gull flies across the treetops. One dog is lying at my feet looking out as well. The other, the puppy I just got is busy almost falling down the hill. Her little white chin is stained green from the blueberry bushes she has been worrying at. Tonight, we are making the chanterelles with peaches that I made the other night, only I am going to serve it with grilled halibut, seasoned with fresh thyme. Though the original recipe was served with pork chops, I think that the Halibut will stand up nicely (now, that’s a funny image – a standing halibut).

Meanwhile, though, I want to write about my mother who is sitting next to me. We are recovering from our afternoon in Wiscasset, where we wandered in and out of shops and galleries. Peppermint tea is pepping me up, so to speak. Mom declares that hers is soporific and has just headed into her bedroom for a snooze. Anyway, what I mean to write about is her propensity to save leftovers. I made fun of it as a kid – you never saw such a refigerator. Well, now I have the same fridge and wish I made as good use of leftovers as she does. I believe that I will make a pact with myself and my Tupperware containers – use the leftovers. It certainly makes green sense (in the ecological and the economical sense).

One of her tried and true methods is to make soup. We made light of it earlier and she narrated her recipe. But the basics are simple. Keep your chicken bones from your roast chicken and freeze them until you have saved enough for a stock. Julia Child, no less, declared that it was absolutely fine to do so since you are freezing and then boiling your bones – they are probably germ free by the time they’ve delivered unto you a fine broth. And then pull all the different left-overs you have created over the last few days and see what might fit together. Her soup featured three different greens that she had kept, labeled (key) in the freezer. She often adds a can of diced tomatoes to deepen the flavor. That same day, she also made a corn and fish chowder, which had a sweeter, deeper flavor than I expected. The secret? Using clam broth (bottled works but she had some fresh in the freezer). It was very nice and creamy and again, an unexpected ingredient did the work. This time it was condensed skim milk. The whole point of the soup was to use up a big bag of frozen corn that had thawed while they were out on the boat. It seems to me that working types like myself would want to make the broth overnight and finish it up on Saturday or Sunday – thus covering one meal right there.

But what a pity. I’m on vacation in my favorite place in the world (except for Provence) and discussing work week meal plans. Who ever heard of such a thing?

Tonight we are in the Finger Lakes with Christopher and Dennis’s dad, Andy. Dinner was lamb marinated with olive oil, cumin, coriander and cardamom then grilled. But I think the best dish was a rice blend stirred with dried apricots, chopped almonds, shallots and a sprinkle of cardamom. We grilled eggplant as well and there was a salad tossed with a basil vinaigrette and topped with ripe tomatoes and bufala mozzarella. My plan was to load up on the grains and the vegetables as I have recently consulted with a certain Dr. Mao, a Chinese herbalogist and acupuncturist. He was really a warm and kind man who felt my pulse for an overly long time and asked me to stick out my tongue and asked me if my mouth was often dry or if my heart pounded quickly… answer yes. So I got some herbs and an hour of acupuncture and a dietary recommendation. My suggested diet is on a sheet of paper with careful handwriting and at the top it says: “no sweety, no salty, no alchohol, no coffee, no canned food, no frozen food, etc” and to eat 35% - 40% whole grains, 35% fresh vegetables, 10% fruits, 0-10% animal products (including meat, dairy, eggs, etc). ” In any case, lamb is to be eaten in small portions and wine is to be avoided. As for the acupuncture treatment, it was, in the end — wonderful. At first, as he inserted the needles into my scalp and then my hands and feet and said nice things like “breathe deep” and “listen to the music, just the music” — I felt claustrophobic. How was I going to manage to lie perfectly still with needles in me for an hour? But then it was okay. And then it was very good. I felt calm and happy. He had told me that I would. Did I mention that he himself was very nice and happy? I wanted to ask him if he performed acupuncture on himself regularly but it seemed inappropriate.

Anyway, here I am in the NY House feeling residual calm (not kidding) even in the face of three males (Christopher, Andy and Dennis) spraying a huge yellow jacket nest that seems to have a back door into our living room. The whole corner of the house is humming, the dogs are quiet. And I can’t wait to get to Maine.

We plan on leaving early in order to get there by dinner. I promise posts full of sea and sun and lobsters. Today at lunch (New York Wine and Culinary Center in Candandaigua), we discussed oysters, mussels, steamers, lobsters, crab rolls, fried clams, crab rolls. Hello? Where are the vegetables in this litany? As an aside, our appetizer at lunch was wonderful: Baked Oysters topped with a mushroom duxelle, bread crumbs and a bit of white truffle oil. I want to recreate it.

Here is an excellent piece about the politics of food. I found it linked from Michael Pollan’s blog. True, it is in American Conservative Magazine and there may be some asides that I don’t agree with. But the author’s core point is spot on.

This is what happens when life gets so crazy that I can’t find time to blog — I end up having too much to tell. On Wednesday, my mother-in-law Cindy showed up with, umm a maltese puppy for me. Now, those of you who know me realize what a non-starter a small dog should be for me. But, when Arthur the elder went off for high school I experienced cravings for a small dog that I could hold in my lap. Sounds silly in retrospect but it took a few weeks of introspective thinking to make the tie between growing boy and need for puppy. Anyway, when I found myself in tears because I was making the (almost) last sandwich for his lunch the other day, I decided that I just needed to acknowledge what I am feeling. Cindy had a litter of puppies and Dennis mentioned she might bring one for us to meet. Sophie arrived and she is funny and sweet and not yippy. And I miss her when I am away from her. So, a huge, huge thank you to Cindy who brought funny Sophie into our lives. She is sleeping against my knee right now.

This week also brought two strange deliveries: a copy of Lenotre’s Desserts and Pastries and Lenotre’s Ice Creams and Candies. Now… I have a guess who they are from but they just arrived on our front porch from Alibris and another online book store with no note. Still, I am pretty sure that Kinloch (that fine Uncle of mine) — or Mary, my aunt (who is also quite wonderful, btw) is/are the likeliest suspects. Here’s why. They make the most wonderful strawberry jam and it is from the Lenotre book on Ice Creams and Candies. And I was talking to them about it in France (the jam). Funny, I am so afraid of canning but I’ve been wanting to try it for years now. And then there’s that post about how bad a baker I am. But here’s the copy from the back inside flap of the Desserts and Pastries:

“Although Gaston Lenotre is a professional chef, the recipes he selected for this book are perfectly suited for the home baker. In fact, many of the recipes in this book are surprisingly easy to prepare. Lenotre asked his daughter, Sylvie Gilles-Nave,…to test all the recipes herself. They worked perfectly for her and they should for you. ”

Wow. Ok. So here’s the deal. I’m going to Maine at the end of the week to visit my parents and I’m thinking there might be an opportunity to try out at least one of these “easy” recipes. Maybe even make some jam? Mom used to make a lot of jam so she would be a very good partner in crime. There are also loads of recipes for fruit jellies (we had some tremendous rosewater jellies when we were in Paris) — so that might be fun. Anyway, mystery cookbook gifter people THANK YOU and I will embark on some (hopefully) tasty culinary adventures shortly. And if I mess them up? Well… I guess I will have to face that disgrace when or if it occurs. And, of course now that I’ve publicly guessed who I think the culprits are I’m somewhat concerned that I might be wrong?

My latest “adventure”? Have to back up to Wednesday, I think, when we at cleveland.com hosted a lunch for some local food bloggers to invite them to post in a public food blog we are creating, called Food Groups. We had a lively discussion and I think we will be launching soon, which is exciting because there are some good local bloggers and the food scene here continues to get more and more interesting. In any case, Linda Griffith who hosts our food forum and, along with her husband Fred has authored many cookbooks was there and I told her about my chanterelle haul from the weekend. She leaned toward me and in a conspiratorial whisper said I should look into sauteing them with some peaches because it “brings out their peachy flavor”. It sounded sort of strange but then I googled chanterelles, peaches and came up with this suggestion:

Saute thinly sliced shallot, chanterelles and peach together. Finish with port wine. So I did that and served them with pork chops and they were absolutely delightful. While we had ours with the pork chops, Arthur stirred his into some Quinoa that I had made for him.. so it is also versatile. I could see stirring it into brown rice as well. Here’s the recipe. I wouldn’t make this with any other mushroom other than chanterelles, I don’t think. Maybe, maybe oyster mushrooms because they have a very light flavor.

Meanwhile, and back to LeNotre.. here is a nice post about searching (it seems all of) Paris for the perfect cup of hot chocolate. Check out the pictures of the little macaroons. It’s enough to make you want to try making some….

It has been too hot here (as I hear it is on the coast of Maine, where mom and dad are; Pittsburgh, where my brother is; Cleveland, where Arthur is). So, I have been slow. Heat and I do not do well together. I would much, much rather be braving the cold, my layers and scarves and I working it together.

It has also been too humid. I think Dennis said 80% humidity. On the way home from town, you could see the humidity cloying to the hills. And here, a bit cooler, but still the air was thick. I sat on the front porch and read a terrific graphic novel called Blankets.

I really couldn’t put it down. The boys (all three of them, Christopher, his friend Stuart and my Dennis) were out shooting at targets in the woods. So there was the occasional POP POP POP and the rustle of a robin in the nearby tree eating a red berry. Then the rain came. First as a cooler wind, then its own rat a tat on the roof and finally, the water on the pond woke up. Pocked and alive. So Chloe-dog and I walked into it. And I was back in my maine summers where the warm rain was a wonderful romp. Now, of course, if it rains I am on my way to work or between meetings and there are nice shoes and dresses to contend with. Not to mention the hair. But today, the rain was a way to cool off and the dog and I ran into it, taking shelter under the trees when it got too fierce, walking by the pond when it lightened a bit. I saw a tiny frog sitting on a lily pad. He didn’t mind the rain at all. And, naturally, neither did we.

Here’s what we had for dinner tonight: Chicken Marbella (from the ubiquitous and enlightening 80’s cookbook, The Silver Palate) and a green bean and tomato salad with fried shallots and Lundberg mixed wild rice blend. The chicken was an old and really good standby that I used to make for crowds back in the day. The salad is an adaptation of one I found on a Portland, Maine blog called Speakeasy. More rain in the form of storms and a cooling trend tonight. I can’t wait.