Selfie Book Club: Home Cooking by Laurie Colwin

So here's my resolution for 2015: I am going to read 25 books this year. 

Usually my resolutions are so vague: "I want to be healthy!" or "I might go to the gym!" But 25 books is a goal and I think I can reach it.

So to kick off the year I decided to treat myself to a food book. For many years these cooking memoirs were all I would read, and of course they made me hungry so I would have to snack while I paged my way through each journey. After reading all the Ruth Reichl and Jeffrey Steingarten I could get my hands on, I had to take a breather. Now I treat food books as chocolates. It's good for once in awhile but I can't let myself rot my brain on them. Also I can't afford that many Fritos.

So you can imagine how pissed off I get when I treat myself to what I think might be a quaint little book about home cooking in 1988 and instead I get lectured about made up nutrition pseudo-science and weird ramblings about pimento loaf. Who even recommended this book to me? How did it make its way onto my To-Read List? And why does everyone on Goodreads think Home Cooking by Laurie Colwin is "comforting," "insightful," "witty"? Did we even read the same book? These cutesy comments make me angrier than the book itself.

So I'll give her this: food memoirs were probably edgy back in 1988. There was no Food Network. The idea of celebrity chefs probably would have puzzled many people back then. She had a couple good stories and a nice appetite and probably a workable typewriter, and she went for it. She wanted to share favorite recipes and dole out advice on things that maybe she wasn't in a position to really give but fact checking was probably a lot harder without Google. 

Okay but I seriously cannot get past the fact that there is an entire CHAPTER called "How to Avoid Grilling" and it includes the message that "Grilling is like sunbathing... everyone knows it is bad for you but no one ever stops doing it" and "Since I do not like the taste of lighter fluid, I do not have to worry that a grilled steak is the equivalent of seven hundred cigarettes." 

WHAT.

Lady, you fry literally everything in tons of oil, but a grilled steak is 700 cigarettes that tastes like lighter fluid?

I also have to give her props for her opening comment, "Unlike most citizens of these United States of America, I do not grill." I guess the humblebrag really was born before Facebook.

These United States. Pssht.

But grilling is not the only thing she despises. Oh no no no. She also makes the claim that "I do not like to eat al fresco. No sane person does, I feel." I mean I get that under certain circumstances it may not be entirely pleasant to eat outside but are you really going to call every happy picnic-going family insane?

Here is a list of other things she does not like:

• (Cake) mixes: "They are uniformly disgusting"
• Stuffing on Thanksgiving (no sympathy for even the disappointed kids!)
• Little Fry Guys: for "nasty fried chicken.... crisp little baby shoes or hockey pucks"
• Fried chicken coated with eggs or crumbs
• Fish eyeballs
• The idea of sweet fruit soup
• Stuffed Breast of VealCaviar "My only allergy is a slight one, making me a cheap date" (humblebrag #2!)
• "Glamorous" food
• Dinner parties. But she throws them anyway to "keep the wheels of society spinning" so "no one will ever know how antisocial you really are." (Honey, I think they have a clue)
• Canned broth: its "pretty nasty"
• Parties at night
• Chocolate cake
• Chocolate ice cream
• Microwaves

Things Laurie Colwin likes:

• Potato salad: "There is no such thing as really bad potato salad."
• Chocolate, which she likes but does not love
• Lebanon bologna, with which she was able to (singlehandedly!) "buck the trend" of grilling
• Some weird thing called beef tea
• Pretty much anything "festooned" with something else (though I guess this does not count as "glamorous;" see above)
• Chicken salad, which has "a certain glamour," but apparently the right kind of glamour; again, see above
• Pimento

Things Laurie Colwin wrongly says "is good for you":

• Vegetable fritters formed into cakes and fried in butter
• Fried zucchini
• Broccoli di rape, which would be true, but she sells it as "a perfect foil for buttery food."

In the chapter called Feeding the Fussy, she goes to extremes to tell us about how she isn't fussy and can eat pretty much anything and that makes her the "universal recipient - the O Positive for hostesses." (Insert blanching emoji that doesn't exist). She goes on to make fun of people's idiocyncracies about food restrictions, fads, diets, notions, phoebias, religious limitations, etc. I feel like she must have been a really long lag while writing this book where she forgot about this chapter and penned the later chapter called Without Salt where she TALKS ABOUT HOW SHE CAN'T EAT SALT BECAUSE SHE HAS HYPERTENSION and then reminds herself that when she's giving those dinner parties she hates that "when I feed people without salt, I am actually doing them a favor."

To boot: we are asked to take inspiration for "low tea" from P.L. Travers' Mary Poppins.

I'm sorry to hear that she died of a heart attack not long after writing this book. But I really do wish she'd done her research on nutrition before giving a condescending diatribe about the virtues of things fried in butter.

TWO STARS because maybe I should just give festooned pimento a chance 

To Huevos Rancheros and Maya Angelou

I regret taking this title from that song in Rent, but La Vie Boheme has been in my head since my parents' dog groomer was jamming to The Tango Maureen while clipping little Maggie's paws.

But to the point. Huevos rancheros. My go-to thing to order at brunch when I'm in the city. And how did it never occur to me to make it at home? 

We were watching that Amazon Prime show Transparent the other night and Mort's daughter's new lesbian lover's ex stepdaughter (it IS that kind of show) says to Mort's son  "You like huevos rancheros? It's my specialty," and a fuse in my mind blew a little. It should be MY specialty! And also Jeffrey Tambor looks awful in drag.

So here we are on Saturday morning and I'm hankering for those huevos rancheros before I'm even conscious. I read through a few recipes to see where I should even start. But when I get to rifling through the cabinet and fridge I find that I'm missing few vital ingredients. No black beans, no sour cream, no fresh cilantro, no tomatoes. So I made a few substitutions and have to report that I'm pretty happy with what I came up with.

Sorta Huevos Rancheros (for 2)

Salsa-ish Sauce

1 chipotle marinated in adobo sauce (from those little cans I always have lying around), chopped, plus some of the sauce itself

1 half onion, chopped

1 large garlic clove, chopped

1 TBS of pasta sauce (Shh, it was all I had)

1 drizzle of olive oil

Dash of cumin

Salt & pepper

Set sorta sauce in a saucepan on medium low and simmer while you arrange everything else.

Heat oil in a skillet over medium, add 4 eggs and cook about 1 minute. Then set to medium low and cover until almost at desired doneness. I turned the heat off and let them steam a bit for a nice medium sunnyside up.

Meanwhile, chop up some cheddar cheese and avocado.

When everything's good to go, fry 2 small corn tortillas over medium high heat in canola oil, about 30 seconds on each side.

To plate: Top each tortilla with 2 eggs, cover in sauce, sprinkle with cheese and arrange avocado. Add a nice dollop of Greek yogurt if you don't have sour cream. Sprinkle dried cilantro on top.

Even with all the substitutions, it came out pretty great. No 30 minute wait at Brooklyn Label necessary.

What to do with Chinese Fermented Bean Curd from Vancouver

I guess it was a happy coincidence the other day when my plans for a pork stirfry coincided with a new Chinese ingredient that Rob pulled out of his backpack at the end of the day.

"Joseph brought this for you."

Well, honestly, if it was anything other than a jar of strange liquidy red stuff with a label that I couldn't read, I would have been surprised. 

This spurred a texting frenzy where I ask our humanitarian a ton of questions: What is this stuff? How do I cook with it? Can I skip the marinading overnight and find a way to integrate into dinner right now? He gave me a few pointers before sending me off with a confident "play with it!"

So I popped the cap and gave it a sniff. I expected the sauce to be thick like a paste, but its as sloshy as thin paint and as bright red as blood. It's really bitter by itself, but can be properly tempered with sugar, cooking wine and a little soy sauce.

I have no idea if this stuff is readily available in most parts of America, but it sure isn't around here. I even went into the new Asian Market in Pullman to nose around and sure enough, no liquid fermented bean curd. For now I'll just be thankful I have a friend who takes frequent trips to Vancouver and brings us back cool stuff. 

Anyway, here's what I did, and I think it worked pretty well:

Bean Curd Sauce

three parts Chinese fermented bean curd

one part honey

one part mirin

two parts soy sauce

two parts sesame oil

splash of whiskey  

Heat over high heat in a wok for about 1 minute. Remove from heat.

For Stirfry

Add cubes of meat (I used pork) to the wok and cook until no longer pink. Remove from heat. Add vegetables (I used sugar snap peas, broccoli and asparagus) until slightly charred but still crispy, about four minutes. Add the meat back to the wok and top with the bean curd sauce until warmed over.

Serve over quinoa cooked in chicken broth. Hey... it's still healthy!

Welcome Home Beef Stew

I'm finally home after three weeks on the east coast! It was a long visit full of rental cars and family visits, fish markets and holiday meals, mall shopping, city walking and topped off with a wedding. It was a fun but exhausting few weeks, and by the end of it I was craving my own bed, my own dog and even my own cooking. 

Throughout the long, jetlaggy Monday at the office, a tiny craving for beef stew grew steadily in my tastebuds. I wanted hearty beef, flavored with beer, no potatoes, over egg noodles. No matter what there would be egg noodles and God help me if there are potatoes. 

I made something like this a few years ago in Brooklyn when I had the day off and Rob did not. It took me all day to stew everything down and thicken the broth properly. I figured there must be a quick way to assemble it, I just needed to find a few shortcuts. So I did my research and meshed a few recipes and here's what I came up with, ready in about two hours. Let the record show that it came out almost as good as the all-day-simmer.

Mustardy Beer Broth Beef Stew

Ingredients:

2 1/2lbs boneless chuck roast, cut into 1-inch cubes

1 onion, chopped

5 garlic cloves, chopped

1 12-oz bottle amber beer (I used Full Sail)

4 carrots, peeled and chopped

1 cup chicken broth

2 tablespoons Dijon mustard

dash of salt

dash of caraway seeds

dash of black pepper

dash of paprika 

2 bay leaves

3 tablespoons Wondra flour 

Instructions:

Brown beef on all sides in two batches over medium-high. Set browned beef aside.

Reduce heat to medium low and sautee onion for about four minutes. Add garlic and stir until fragrant. Add beer, the beef with any remaining juices and the rest of the ingredients up to the bay leaves. Increase heat to high and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat to low and simmer for 1.5 hours. In a small bowl, add Wondra flour and water together to thicken the stew to taste. 

Serve over egg noodles and alongside a simple kale and cucumber salad with Parmesan dressing.

It's true that it isn't much after a week of epic meals in New York (read: hours of omakase, a giant bottle of fancy sake and flakes upon flakes of fresh-shaved truffles) but this stuff was damn satisfying. 

Selfie Sunday: Wild Eagle Cruise

When I heard that Lake Coeur d'Alene hosts eagle-watching cruises every weekend in December I immediately knew two things: one, that as a bird lover, I needed to go the first weekend I could, and two, that I'd be going alone. Everyone I know around here is busy with school or family, and since I don't have either of those to occupy my time on the weekends, I embarked on the two-hour drive north to Idaho with my 90s alternative mix CD as my sole companion.

Two hours is a long time to reflect on where I am and what I'm doing. I'm starting to accept that being on my own is a reality of this Palouse living situation. I'm just trying to make the best of it.

But am I seriously taking the whole day to be alone on a cruise in Idaho and look at eagles?

When I got to the lake, I parked the car and walked over to the resort. I bought the tickets from a woman who asked how to spell my last name while my credit card was sitting right in front of her. This was right after she told me the cruise might have been sold out before she found the right button. I asked where I meet the boat but she said she'd tell me after she was done. She promptly forgot to tell me and I had to ask again two minutes later. After I had my tickets in hand and my patience in check, I walked down to the coffee shop I first visited when we stopped in CDA on our moving trip to Pullman. It's a different coffee shop now. The counter guy was rude and sold me a stale cinnamon bun. 

The people in CDA are snooty but not very smart. It makes me glad I live in a place where people are at least friendly and humble. You'll also never see an anti race-mixing rally in Pullman. At least I hope I never see something like that again.

Eventually I made my way to the dock of the bird watching cruise. I figured that since the resort also offers a Santa cruise for kids, that this particular boat would be filled with people like me. People who want to see wild eagles. Maybe some loners with books. An old couple or two, perhaps.

Oh, I was so very wrong.

An over-enthusiastic lady in a Santa hat greeted me at the dock. I stuck out like a sore thumb sitting at a table by myself with my Oscar Wilde book while families of 5 and 10 and 20 started to board, eventually taking over the rest of my table. There were babies spitting up and young moms that talked too loud. I got up and tried to find a quiet spot outside in the cold, but you couldn't go about 10 seconds without wild kids running past and almost knocking you over. 

The boat left the dock and the Christmas music started. Moms loudly asked Dads if they could please go to the bar and get the hot chocolate?! No, not that hot chocolate, that other kind? And a regular for the kids! All 42 of them!

Half an hour later we arrived at the eagle destination. A woman on a microphone pointed out the eagles as she saw them. "There's one right at one o'clock, swooping down," she'd say.

"Teeth! Show mommy teeth when I take your picture! Show teeth you silly knucklehead!!"

I'm straining to get a good look at that first eagle but I'm getting too annoyed. I move to the other side of the boat and go up another flight to the second level.

"Gimme those armpits! I'm gonna tickle those armpits!" 

"Heeheehee! HAHAHA!"

The guide says, "it behooves the female eagle to be larger, because she alone must incubate the eggs for 30 days nonstop," but I can't make out what the rest of what she's saying. The dad came back with the hot chocolates. There is too much excitement. I went back downstairs.

A few adults are blocking the window, but they aren't looking outside. They're in the middle of a conversation about nothing. They're just as bad as the kids. They give me a dirty look for trying to look past them. I don't bother with this spot anymore.

I go back outside and up the stairs again. Now there's a guy on a cell phone. He's talking loudly about his business trip coming up. I went starboard.

I found two guys that had binoculars and SLRs, who actually wanted to see some birds. I stood just close enough to hear them point out the eagles they saw. I could still hear the lady with the Santa hat trying to get a good picture of her kids with armpits and teeth. 

I tell myself not to let this experience mar my feelings about people and Christmas. But right now I don't like people and I certainly am not excited about Christmas. I'm not so wild about kids right now, either.

A tip for future eagle-enthusiasts: You can skip this whole cruise abomination and just set up shop along Beauty Bay. Christmas music optional. Just drive along the lake until you see the guys with fancy cameras on tripods. Pull over there. Bring your own spiked hot chocolate in a flask for your own measured amounts of holiday cheer.

When I saw them, I considered swimming to them and just leaving Oscar Wilde behind.

Selfie Book Club: Of Mice and Men

I have not been handy in the kitchen lately.

In fact, everything seems to go to crap when I try to get dinner started. The utensil drawer broke. I reached for a bowl along the top of the cabinet and the entire shelf came crashing down on me. I tried to make a mascarpone-egg cream for fettuccini and it curdled on contact. I went to get the food processor out of the closet and it fell and shattered -- on the carpet. THE PLASTIC SHATTERED ON CARPET! How is that even possible?

A wise woman put it in perspective and told me "maybe part of you is rebelling against this homemaker stuff you're trying to force on yourself."

I took her words to heart. I'm not the person to greet people at the door with a perfect cake in hand. I'm not going to have a home-cooked dinner on the table when my husband gets home because I WORK TOO! And he gets home when I get home, because I'm the driver, too! I guess I'm trying to pigeonhole myself into something I'm not. But when a city girl gets stuck in a place like Pullman, what else should I do to satisfy the needs of time passing, entertainment and creativity?

I suppose reading books answers some of those questions. Maybe writing about reading takes care of the rest of it.

I've been devouring old classics that I never had a chance to read. Last night I finished the quick novella Of Mice and Men, since I loved Steinbeck's epic East of Eden so much.

"Take a real smart guy and he ain't hardly ever a nice fella."

This line about sums up the text. Big dumb Lennie and smaller, slightly smarter George are off to find the American dream, working together on farms in an attempt to save up and buy their own house on a small plot and live off the "fatta the lan'."

I never knew that this funny cartoon was a parody of this classic. I kept picturing these two knuckleheads out trying to make a living together.

I think this is the right image. I don't know.

Anyway, finishing this book made me sit there and stare at that last Penguin publishing page and try to gather my thoughts. The kind of stewing in your mind that makes you jump when you get caught.

The plotline is so simple, but the themes that lay below the surface are numerous: race, inequality, marriage, friendship/companionship, too much love, not enough love. And dreams. I guess dreams and wishes and wants are the big ones.

Poor Lennie has so much love in his heart that he can't properly express without squishing animals to death. Mice, dogs. Plus one woman. Poor Curley's wife, who didn't even have a name that we knew. She was always looking for attention, and she finally got by getting her neck snapped. Her crime was letting Lennie pet her hair, lovingly brushed to silky perfection.

George did what he felt was right and decent for his friend. Lennie was off looking in the distance repeating the long-repeated dream about a farm with rabbits that will be fed plenty of alfalfa when (spoiler alert) George fixes him the way that stranger fixed 'ol Candy's dog. He aimed that rifle right at the back of the head, where he won't feel nothin'. And so Curley can't come after him.

The dream, the friendship, the giant heart of love! All blown to bits for the poor guy's own good. Lennie dies. Mean Curley lives on. Maybe Steinbeck was saying that Darwinism isn't always on our side. 

"(Lennie) subsided, grumbling to himself, threatening the future cats which might dare to disturb the future rabbits."

Poor Lennie. He might have been a pretty good rabbit-keeper.

Spicy Chipotle Skirt Steak Chili

It's been balmy and mild out for almost-mid-December. No complaints here, as the one snowfall we've had so far had me creeping down Sunnyside Hill sideways for awhile before I gained traction on State Street. Maybe I'll need snow tires after all? Stomping into work that day felt like familiar deja vu. I'm not ready for another round of winter here in ice-slicked and hilly Pullman. And I'm too stubborn for those $900 snow tires anyway. You know, if we all just paid half of that in taxes we could just have the roads plowed in the winter and be done with it. 

Pullman is clearly not a democracy.

Anyway, considering the warmish weather, I didn't have a reason to start craving chili. But there I was at work yesterday thinking about all the things I had back home that I could build into a hearty stew: chipotles in adobo sauce. A skirt steak. Avocado.

I have a hard time staying focused sometimes.

Anyway, I researched a few recipes for inspiration and ran to Dissmore's IGA after work to bulk up on whatever I might be missing (read: beans). I was home and had dinner done in under an hour. Too bad Rob was stuck at school for another 2 hours after that. I guess it gave the flavors time to mellow.

I'd recommend this recipe only if you really like spicy food. Most recipes called for only one of those chipotles, but because it comes in that cute little can that isn't really dividable, I just threw the whole thing in there. The heat is strong, but enjoyable in that way where you keep eating more in order to keep your mouth from that burning thing called oxygen, and the next thing you know you ate it all too fast but you feel sooo satisfied and ready for a bear nap.

I may or may not be battling a mild case of sadness with food and sleep.

Anyway, enjoy the chili!

Spicy Chipotle Skirt Steak Chili with Avocado Topping

Ingredients:
1 red onion
2 cans black beans, rinsed and drained
1 can diced tomatoes
1 can white beans, rinsed and drained
1 small can of chipotles in adobo sauce
1lb skirt steak, cubed into small pieces
ground cumin
lime juice
cilantro
2 avocados

Directions:

Add onion to a food processor and chop to a small dice. Set aside.
Add 1 can of the black beans, tomatoes and chipotles to the food processor and process until smooth. Set that aside too.
Heat a small amount of oil in a dutch oven over high heat. Add steak and cook, stirring, until all the raw color is gone. Remove and set aside.
Add all but about 2 tbs of the red onion to the now empty pan. Season with salt. Cook about 3 minutes, then reduce heat to medium. Season onion with cumin to taste. Add the chipotle mixture along with the white beans, the black beans and the steak. Simmer until the husband gets home. Off the heat, add lime juice, cilantro and salt and pepper, if needed. 

For the avocado topping: mix the remaining onion with 2 diced avocados seasoned with lime juice, cilantro and salt. Top chili bowls with the mixture.

You can also add tortilla chips, sour cream and shredded cheddar to help cool the spicy chili. I only had cheese on hand, but it was glorious.