It's been too long...

I used to blog in the mornings or early afternoons before leaving for my 4 or 5 p.m. shifts at the newspaper. I'd make coffee, maybe an egg or some yogurt concoction, then settle in for a morning of paying bills and snuggling with the dog and reading blogs and news. A couple days a week, I'd go for a hike with my puppy, Leo, either up Mount Beacon down to Dennings Point. Once in a while, I even made real food, like bread or scones, before heading in to work.

But then I got a day job—my dream job—for which the hours are Monday through Friday, 9 to 5. I catch the train at 7 in the morning and get home around 7 at night. I love everything about it.

The pace of the work suits me—no more 11:28 p.m. anxiety attacks while someone wants to change a headline and my boss is telling me to just send the page.

I'm smitten with a good deal of the content—the best hot cocoa in the world, anyone?

I learn something new every day—even if it's just that ATMs at Duane Reade are fee-free to me.

The train ride is often breathtakingly beautiful—pink fog rising from the Hudson this morning, stellar sunsets for the past two months (not anymore, of course, with the expiration of daylight savings time).

I'm exposed to things I'd never have the chance to try anywhere else—a fancy-schmancy French wine from 1995 that showed me what "elegant" means. Balsamic vinegars from Italy that poured like motor oil, aged 12, 25, and 100 or more years.

But getting home at 7 means that adventurous cooking goes on the back-burner (so to speak), a little bit. After two months in this schedule, I think I'm getting used to it, and will be able to figure out a routine that involves more cooking. Once my weekend days opened up, I got roped into (often literally: we climb) more adventures in the great outdoors. Now that the weather has chilled substantially, I look forward to spending more days in the kitchen. That said, I've saved a fair bit of money by making quick dinners at home, even if, like last night, it's just mashed sweet potatoes and stir-fried frozen veggies with Asian-inspired seasoning. That was on the table before 8, and I even played ball with Leo for a while.

I did some freezer-oriented cooking a month or so ago. I had really ambitious plans one day to make vegetable lasagna, butternut squash-apple soup, sweet potato chili, a spicy carrot-cabbage Chinese kimchi kinda thing, and ... and I can't remember what else. I took a picture of the table laden with all the food I planned to cook that day. I'll put it up here when I get home (if I remember).

It probably goes without saying if you know me, but I didn't quite get through everything on the table. I got the lasagna and chili done and frozen, and the butternut squash roasted (it's easier to prepare if it's cooked first). We went through the lasagna pretty quickly. There are still two big yogurt containers full of chili in the freezer. Unfortunately, the squash didn't get made into soup until its already-roasted freshness was already questionable, and it just tasted "off" no matter what I added to the soup. Also unfortunately, that will finally get chucked tonight so I can use the big pot for chicken soup.

There's most of a roasted chicken in the fridge, see, and I don't want it to meet the same fate as the squash. Since B and Leo will be at B's parents' place tonight to celebrate his sister's birthday, I have an empty kitchen to work with. Can't wait!

Coming soon... A roundup of some of the awesome and not-so-awesome (but usually cheap) places I've had lunch since starting the new job, and thoughts about agriculture/farming/conscientiousness since reading Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle." It's amazing. And what happened to that garden on the back deck, anyway?

An education in fermentation.(Rhyming is good, right?)

Sorry, mom and dad...
I lived in Utah for eight years, ages 18 to 26. Prime beer-drinking years, right? I guess. I only went on a booze run up to Evanston, Wyoming, one time, and although I had the world's best fake ID, I was so terrified of getting busted on the way back to Salt Lake that I never went again.

I didn't do much beer-drinking after about age 20. Not because of any kind of moral calling or righteous superiority, I just... didn't. A guy who I was with for a long time didn't drink at all. When I did buy a six-pack, four or five bottles often languished in the fridge for months (gross, absolutely; maybe even borderline criminal). I was so, soooooo boring.

At the beginning of 2008, I moved near one of the state-run wine stores downtown, and began cooking the ethnic-inspired meals nearly weekly for my friends. When possible, I bought wines from the appropriate country. Feeling kind of goofy for the last event, Morocco, I bought one wine from Spain and one from South Africa, and we roughly (very roughly) decided to split the geographical difference. There was no method, usually just madness.

Since moving here, and living with wine drinkers, I've been drinking much more thoughtfully. Which is to say, now I do more than buy whichever bottle has the more interesting label.

Right on Main Street in happenin' downtown Beacon is the Artisan Wine Shop, and these folks have helped me immensely. Although I work nights and weekends and therefore have yet to make it to one of their tasting events, the owners have steered me toward some great bottles. Also, I always assumed that good wine equals expensive, and they have shown me that that doesn't have to be true! I owe so much to these people, and they don't even know it.


A couple of weeks ago I walked in with a blank look on my face, and walked out with three bottles of grapey goodness. One was a white zinfandel, my boyfriend's mom's fave; one was a Spanish red with a dramatic label (I'm not totally out of the woods yet) that my boyfriend had bought before; and the third was a sauvignon blanc to pair with dinner's scallops. I'll be honest: I loved it for the cool label, and I was intrigued by its claim to having citrus notes.

But we opened it, and it really, really did have those citrus notes! It was like grapefruit (or, more accurately, grapefruit's cousin pomelo) slapping you in the tongue. In a good way, of course.

So when I walked in there a few nights ago, I knew at least one thing I wanted. But I know that I know nothing about wine, so I kind of crafted an experiment. "Would it be really lame," I asked, "to get another sauvignon blanc so I could compare them side-by-side and maybe learn more about that family?"

I felt really dumb asking. Like, really dumb. Luckily, Mei Ling So (one of the owners) is either used to dumb questions or good at hiding disdain for their askers... She told me it was actually a pretty good idea, and gave me a couple of choices. Most from France, either the Loire Valley or Bordeaux. I asked her what caused the differences, and finally learned how to pronounce "terroir." (The thing about food editing is that although I've learned to spell unusual words, I haven't always learned how to say them right, if at all. For a long time in Salt Lake, "tart-ees tate-in" was a running joke about tartes tatin...)

So I got the Mason Cellars' Pomelo 2007 sauvignon blanc, and a biodynamic sancerres from Bordeaux. She mentioned that it was citrusy, too, and I got all excited about them being similar, but she shut me down: "They're really different." Apparently the biodynamic winemakers don't "mess with" (I swear those were her words) the winemaking process as much. She described the French one as "yeasty," because fewer preservatives are added. Also, the biodynamic guys add infusions of chamomile and nettles, which is really interesting but I don't really get. Yet.

Oh, boy. Have I got a lot to learn...

Picked up sushi on the way home, and cracked open - well, unscrewed, anyway - the Pomelo. Because it was a school work night for the boyfriend, getting though two bottles of wine was out of the question and the sancerres is still chillin'.

Which means, you know, that I have to go back and get another bottle of Pomelo for an advance-planned tasting. It'll be rough, but I think I'll get through it. Here's to more sushi and wine this Tuesday!

Dinnertime...

I made this killer sandwich before I left the apartment today. Multigrain bread from the farmers market, hummus, veggie cream cheese, avocado (just a teensy bit overripe), ripe tomatoes, sharp white cheddar, lettuce, and leftover tuna that B was brilliant enough to put capers in.

Some of that spicy cranberry mustard that's hanging around in the fridge woulda been good, too.

It was warm and kind of smoggy today, so I just wanted fresh flavors, you know? I ate an apricot on the way to work, and a juicy white nectarine once I arrived at 4. By 5, I'd eaten the sandwich. It's freezing cold in the office. So, as usual, despite my best intentions, the dinner order came a-calling...

You know how when you're cold, you want hearty, fortifying foods? It could be 100 degrees outside, and if I'm at work, I'll be craving chili and cornbread because of the office's sub-Arctic temperatures.

So tonight, colleague E and I spearheaded an order effort from Ambadi, a White Plains takeout spot. It's nice to get out of the Mexican/ribs/Chinese/Uno's/any-of-several-Italian-places rotation. From the write-up the paper gave it upon its September 2004 opening:
The restaurant, which is named for the birthplace of Krishna, is a modern take on Indian, and offers small plates of street food like Bombay chaat, samosas, tandoori and korna.

I'm not sure what "korna" is... but I hope the chicken korma ordered by a co-worker turns out tasty. (This reminds me of how much I miss food editing. Sigh.)

an appetizer called samosa chaat, which reminds me an awful lot of something else, called kosta kachori.

vegetable biriyani

Hi there

Has it really been more than two months since I've trolled around here?

I've got no excuse, I suppose. Have had a to-do list as long as I am tall, but who doesn't, really? I got some big items checked off of it over the past few days, which feels good, but that doesn't write blog posts, now does it? Even when blog-writing has been on said to-do list, it still hasn't happened. To my blogging friends: How do you keep it up? Do you write whenever you're inspired? Adhere to a schedule? I need to figure out how to do this on a regular, disciplined basis, despite the pushes and pulls of everyday life.

Maybe my barrier has been one of opportunity. I've been getting outside, hiking with my puppy a lot more than I thought. Despite this summer's torrential downpours, Leo and I have had a great time. Many of the excursions have been marked with opportunities for urban foraging: mulberry trees everywhere, from a branch inching toward my bedroom window, to berry-laden fronds hanging over a trail near where we climb, to another path at Dennings Point. There's even a white varietal a few blocks over.

There are wild black raspberries growing everywhere, too: along just about every trail I hike on, including both of the aforementioned trails. On windy country roads near B's parents' house, even in their yard. I've seen wild strawberries around Dennings Point, with hypersaturated red berries. A few weeks ago, B, Leo, and I were making our way around the Beacon Reservoir and spotted blueberry bushes. Along the fence bordering our landlord's property, blackberries are peeking out from among the overgrown vines. This is stunning...

Maybe the next time I head out (tomorrow?), I'll remember to bring a clean container for collecting. Recipes like this one, for rosemary ice cream with mulberries (the same dappled ones I've seen more of recently), have inspired me to do something with the mulberries before it's too late. I'm new to this gardening stuff, and newish to the Northeast, and totally new to making ice cream (that one time in preschool where we shook some container of something does not count), and I have no idea when "mulberry season" is over, so I guess I better get on this.


Late-spring dinner. Fiddlehead ferns sauteed with shallots, butter and some lemon juice (thanks, Lesli, for the prep idea). Garlic mashed potatoes, half-sweet and half-red. Thyme-poached salmon (thyme from my pots!) with a random concoction of a yogurt-sour cream sauce with tarragon (tarragon from my pots!).

I've still been cooking up a storm — fiddlehead ferns have been among the more unusual ingredients around the kitchen. There's a nascent container garden on my deck, too: fennel, onions, rosemary, lavender, basil, parsley, tarragon, lettuces, red and green bell peppers, jalapeño peppers, eggplant, cucumbers, three kinds of tomatoes (small, medium and large), chocolate mint, thyme, broccoli, and collard greens. The photo above is from May 13...

From around the same time, here's a view of Leo in the "garden," before seedlings and starters from Adams were even potted:


I took new pictures today, and can't wait to put them up for comparison.

The lettuces in the pot right now aren't doing so hot, so I bought some seeds, which I need to start. It rained for a month straight starting around Memorial Day, but we've had some hot, sunny days in the past week so I hope the plants start really growing. But not like the lettuce and basil that bolted. Still not sure what to do about those.

I see things every day and think of content I'd love to write about, but never get around to it. Among those items: my newfound love of kimchi, this article from the NYT, how much I miss food editing, and my summer food love adventures... all of it TK, as we say in the biz. Which reminds me - also TK was more info on the tubers... Did I ever finish that? No? Well, that also is TK.

Meals, Ready to Eat

for the MRE project (before)
Originally uploaded by Amelia PS

I received this e-mail Monday afternoon from my coworker and friend Matt.

"I'm working on an article about military MREs. As part of our extensive reporting on this very important topic, we've invited some of Utah's top chefs to come and review 20 of the military's infamous travel-ready meals.

"And I'm going to need some help.

"I need three people to help me cook & plate the MREs, beginning Monday at 9:30 a.m. and lasting for about two hours. Experience with these nasty things is nice, but not necessary. (I'll give a quick crash course on the preparation of these fine meals and then let you go at it.)

"If you're interested, please check with your editor to make sure it's OK to burn a couple hours this way and then let me know if you can lend a hand. The expressions on these gourmets' faces should be enough, but I'll also make it worth your while in other ways (read: booze.)"

Not noticing the email's timestamp, I assumed the request was for the same day (one of my days off) and I blew it off, looking forward to hearing about the results.

Apparently, response wasn't what he expected (or editors wouldn't OK the time), because he tapped me to help out next Monday. He thought it might be worth bloggin about. I hope so.




The Italian challenge went well – eventually. Pictures and a longer post TK.

one.

I love food. Is that quite clear yet? I guess this blog exists for me (and you, my dear potential readers) to explore what that means.

One of my main interests is yoga. I often think, and say, that doing yoga gives me permission to eat whatever I want and enjoy it. I don't mean that in a calories-in-to-calories-out-ratio kind of way. I mean it like this: Yoga has taught me, and continues to teach me, that being a human being is very much about the senses. The act of creating meals from scratch tickles allll the senses. Smelling sweet, spicy, and savory aromas wafting through the whole apartment. Seeing brightly colored fruits and vegetables mingling in the pan, mellowing with a little cream. Hearing the crackling, popping sound of seeds, or the low roil of boiling water, full of potential. Feeling the dry, comforting heat of an oven or the sharp OW! of a slipped paring knife. And the best - tasting not just the finished product, but during each step along the way.

Yoga also teaches me that enjoyment is a good thing (I know - who has to be taught, right?). And cooking is downright fun! The process of creating a unified something from a bunch of little somethings is so fulfilling to me. And then, of course, there's the eating.

Before I worked at the paper, I liked food, a lot, but now cooking is part of me. When I started there in January 2005, I became responsible for the production of two weekly features sections. I refer to only one of them as "mine." This attachment wouldn't be the case if not for the amazing women I work with, reporter Kathy and editor Lesli.

Oh - and for the record, I'm a stickler for Associated Press style. I must differ, though, on one point. The stylebook lists "chili" for all food-related uses. I diligently, if begrudgingly, follow that rule for print copy. Here, you will see that spelling used only if I'm referring to a concoction headed for a bowl. Members of the capsicum family are, of course, "chiles."

If you happen to be a member of AFJ, lobby your representative to lobby AP. Peppers everywhere are counting on you.