adventures in trying to get full.
Tip #21 from The Muffin Lady: “To avoid wasting the delicious vegan chocolate icing (chocolate + tofu) caked onto your immersion blender, immediately make a smoothie with strawberries and soy milk, so the chocolate gets washed into the smoothie!”
Yeahhhhh.
It’s summer, and I’m going to state the obvious: it’s hot.
Summer means feeling the balmy wind on my legs, my face sticky with watermelon juice, and bright evenings filled with potential. It has an expansiveness and sense of promise that only sunshine and heat can invite.
Still, sometimes, I yearn for winter.
I long for the insularity of snow-muffled streets, for the anonymity of being bundled in a formless winter coat with a scarf pulled up to my nose and a toque pulled down to my eyelashes. I long for the warmth and safety of snuggling at home on the sofa, with a blanket and thick novel to guard me against winter’s breath. Winter has texture and depth, with its woolly sweaters and chunky potages, whereas summer seems too superficial, glossy and cheap, with its wispy sundresses and watery beer. Girls with evenly browned skin conjure up images of rotisserie chicken; how carefully they must turn themselves as they bake in the sun…
People of northern climes seem to be especially good at complaining about the weather, and I suppose I am no exception. Perhaps though it is just that my mood leans towards the wintry, and I feel like a grey blobby sweater in a sea of rosy pink cocktail dresses, the strait-laced and thin-lipped cat lady that peers through her lace curtains at partygoers being carried home on a cloud of giggles.
And then, as humans are most complex and I cannot claim to be more than human, I find myself wanting to shake off the profundity of winter’s solitude and join the masses of sticky, sweaty skin, to laugh uncontrollably at something banal, and be swept up by the buoyancy of summer’s inebriation. Feeling a sense of belonging is one of our deepest needs, and yet I know that there is nothing to really belong to, everything just is. Besides, soon summer’s flower will wilt and we will return to the shadow of winter…
In my hunger I crave the comfort of roast chicken (was it from thinking about the impossibility of an even summer tan?!), but in a little stuffy apartment with no air conditioning, turning on the oven would be utterly macabre. So I put aside my misgivings about battery-cage chickens and buy a cooked bird from the chain supermarket. I salute the season with cucumber slices and bocconcini, clean and bland so as to avoid overexcitement in the heat. Peeling the meat off the bone with my fingers, I remember that summer’s casual mood is the best time for eating with my hands, which is my favourite way to eat.
Immersion blender, you’re the best,
The way you blend I can’t protest,
Smoothies, soups, purees and more,
Why did I not have one before?
I loooove my new immersion blender. My big boxy blender broke a few weeks ago, and it was a blessing in disguise. $19.99+tax later, I have a delightful new immersion blender that puts my mandibles and jaw muscles in danger of atrophy! I have made a ton of smoothies, gloat-worthy hummus, and my latest concoction has been broccoli soup. The multiplicity of the immersion blender’s applications is only heightened by its versatility: I can stick the blades right into a pot of soup instead of pouring hot liquid into a giant vestibule only to have the lid fly off due to steam and air expansion, sending fragments of veg all across the kitchen. And, there is smaller loss of yummy food with an immersion blender than with a regular blender! Yippeeeee!!!
Blended broccoli soup
Chicken broth
White miso paste
A couple cloves of garlic, smashed
A stalk of celery, chopped
One carrot, chopped
One potato, chopped
A head of broccoli, chopped
About a cup of plain yoghurt
Butter, cheeses that melt
Bring about 2 cups of chicken broth to a boil. Add a heaping spoonful of white miso paste. Throw in the garlic and all the vegetables. Top off with water if necessary, until the vegetables are just covered. Bring to a boil, then let it simmer with the lid on until the vegetables are soft. Bring out the immersion blender. Careful, as heaven’s angels will likely fall on their knees at this moment. Take the pot off the heat and blend its contents to desired consistency. Stir in the yoghurt and season with salt. Ladle into bowls and garnish with a loving pat of butter and grated cheese, perhaps Cheddar and Parmesan. Marvel at how easy it is to clean your immersion blender. Sigh.
Tip #43 from The Muffin Lady:
“People will have no choice but to like you if you give them a layered cake in a jar.”
Truer words were never said.
Brave New World. Nineteen Eighty-Four. Fahrenheit 451. Dystopian fiction paints a picture of a world that is not, but very well could be, if power were placed in the hands of the unjust and unreasonable. A gourmand’s dystopia would be one where all food was abolished, and all we needed were “nutrients”: a little pill concoction of carbohydrates, protein, fat, vitamins and minerals, that would be swallowed thrice daily with distilled water. There would be no braising, basting, marinating. No poaching or roasting. No stir fry, deep-fry, or french fry. Agricultural pastures would be converted to parks, natural or otherwise, as it seems in vogue to call building complexes, “parks,” perhaps to soften the blow of concrete and cement to the psyche. Kitchens would be repurposed as a study/guest bedroom/walk-in closet. The art of cooking and eating would be abolished as seeming indulgent and lascivious, and Efficiency in all its fluorescent lighting and white lab coats would prevail.
Most dystopian literature hints at the high probability of its fictional environment becoming reality. Its themes of totalitarianism and censorship are faintly echoed in the flashes of daily news. Similarly, the bright shimmering lights of fast food chains, cookbooks promising meals in ten minutes, prepackaged frozen food trays, microwaves…the desire for food fast and NOW…this is the slippery slope towards Ascetica, where food is a white pill and gourmands must indulge their art in the underbelly of society, far removed from the Food Police and the disdainful glare of general surgeons and teetotallers.
Of course, not all meals have to be ten-course affairs that require you to wheel yourself away from the table because all the blood has rushed from your legs to your intestines to assist undoubtedly sluggish digestion. Toast can be made in five minutes, and another thirty seconds can be taken to spread on butter and jam, making a perfectly acceptable breakfast indeed. However, if the bread is an artisan rye, the butter from a local dairy, and the jam from your best friend’s grandmother…well, it adds another layer of enjoyment to something as simple as feeding yourself. If you must eat, you might as well do it well.
And therein lies the path to gastronomic freedom: forging between ribald gluttony and puritanical asceticism, there is room for quiet enjoyment of a well-cooked meal, and after some reasonable time has been spent savouring it, the acknowledgement of non-food tasks being of equal importance and worthy of attention.
So in the spirit of treading the middle ground, here is a meal worthy of slow and thoughtful bites, but with a terse nod at the hasty pace of life that demands high productivity for low input. Rice noodles need only to be soaked in hot just-boiled water for a few minutes, and while that is happening the tofu can be cubed and the shrimp thawed under cold water. If you are ambitious and swift with a knife, the carrots and cabbage can be julienned by hand, or simply bought ready in one of those puffy bagged salad kits. Boiling water in an electric kettle will also save you time over boiling water on the stove, as the heating element is right in the water! The stir fried noodles have an adequate balance of carbs/protein/fat, but if you have the organization and time, the chicken satay is an excellent accompaniment. Some store-bought lemon sorbet would be a refreshing way to finish the meal, perhaps garnished with a sprig of mint. A cold light lager to wash it all down. Or a glass of water, for the faint of heart.
A Menu for Enjoyment, within reason:
Stir fried rice noodles
Chicken satay
Lemon sorbet (store-bought)
For the noodles:
Place 1” thick rice noodles in a large bowl. Pour just-boiled water over to immerse the noodles. Cover and let it sit for 5-7 minutes for the noodles to soften. Drain and rinse under cold water. Meanwhile in a large skillet, heat some vegetable oil over medium-high heat. Add some slices of ginger and minced garlic. Add a cornucopia of vegetables (the carrot/cabbage partnership, but also consider bean sprouts, celery, broccoli, snap peas…) and cook until vegetables are soft, stirring often. Add tofu and shrimp, if you are so inclined. Throw the drained noodles in, and add swirls of soy sauce, a few modest dribbles of fish sauce, and maybe a light smear of tamarind paste. Toss it all together to heat through. It is ready! If you really want to impress, garnish with diced green onions and crushed peanuts.
For the chicken satay:
Marinate boneless skinless chicken (breast or thigh is fine) in coconut milk and a heavy dusting of curry powder and a whack of salt. The longer the better, but probably no more than two days. Grill the meat, or if you are confined to an apartment with no balcony, broil in the oven until brown. If you have the time, put the meat on skewers (pre-soaked in water so they don’t burn), as all food is more festive if it comes on a stick.
Make extra, so the enjoyment can carry over into tomorrow’s lunch! Eat slowly and just eat, as emails/texts/telemarketers can wait.
And there is nothing wrong with a six-pack of chicken nuggets now and again. I like to share them in the car with a friend, sitting in the parking lot under the giant yellow M, laughing at ourselves at how silly we feel in our momentary naughtiness, but secretly hoping we don’t run into anyone we know, for their sake and ours.
Muffins wearing little hats = cupcakes!
It is with sheepish hesitation that I admit that I don’t follow the news that closely. The topics are rather disconcerting; on the off occasion that I read a news article, it usually results in me dissolving into a crumpled heap, weeping because the world appears hopeless and just plain mean. Of course, this is underscored by a cloud of guilt that I am generally not being socially responsible and staying informed about the events around me…
Anyhow, my broad understanding of the current state of political affairs is that it is a grim situation. Exploitation of power, disinterest in taking care of the environment, random gang violence…on and on it goes. But what can I do? I cannot shoulder all of the world’s problems. I can make myself better, in the hopes of inspiring others…but somehow that doesn’t seem good enough, not radical enough. The world is changing so quickly; the work of decades can be taken away with the introduction of a budget cut. Such swift change seems to beg for swift reaction – but intelligent, creative reaction. Better yet, a response.
However, my knee-jerk defense mechanism is to make a joke about the situation. Usually something crude or cheesy, likely with reference to poopies and farts. Barry here tends to turn to drink:
We can’t all soak ourselves in flammable liquids though. So instead, I propose this:
Guerilla Cakefare.
Guerilla Cakefare is an event where I bring cake, everyone brings forks and plates, and we meet at a previously disclosed location and eat the aforementioned cake. We can talk about politics, the environment, the merits of buttercream icing versus fondant, or whatever. Others can bring cake or other yummies if they so desire. The purpose of Guerilla Cakefare will be to connect with others in the community to inspire intimacy and goodwill, to share ideas for creative and sustainable change, so that when we part all will leave filled with hope and sugar.
Yeah? Yeah. I’m thinking the last Tuesday of every month. Get your forks ready: it’s cake time.
Camping = beans + sausage + Hello Kitty pasta
In a previous life I worked two summers for a local baking company at their production facility – they specialized in hand-finished cakes, cookies, tarts, and other tempting treats. I learned many things over those months: how to create busyness for myself when no one else would, how to divert the flirtatious advances of boys who mixed giant vats of cake batter, how to lift 10 gallon pails of frozen banana mush without breaking my back, and many, many other important life skills.
My desk was back to back with one of the sales ladies who received orders from sugar-deprived restauranteurs and cafe owners across the city. Usually sweet and sparkly (probably due to the effects of smelling cake 40 hours a week), sometimes my back would turn rigid when I heard her scold someone who hadn’t paid for their previous order. However, her effervescence always bubbled to the surface when we spoke, and often we’d swing around on our chairs and she would chatter with rapid fire intensity to me about this and that between calls. Once she told me about her dream to eventually open up a little restaurant that served only pulled pork.
“WewouldservepulledporkonbunsIlovepulledporkmmmmmmmmm!!!”
“We’ddoitrightyouknowcookitforhoursandhours!!!!”
“It’sjustsojuicyanddeliciousssoooohhthere’sthephone!!!!!!!”
It wasn’t the first time (or the last) that I had met people who submit to a career that is simply a means to an end (usually a “week” end), or of the top executive/lawyer/financial planner who decided that after a lengthy and successful but wholly unfulfilling professional life that their real passion is cupcakes/burritos/hot dogs (artisan, please) and so they take their life savings to open a little operation in the up and coming part of town unto which they can invest their dream of retiring quietly but well, amongst icing sugar and natural casings, while food bloggers tout their offerings as the Best They’ve Ever Eaten.
Oh but my cynicism carries me away sometimes. Even if we fall into the cliches of capitalistic career dissatisfaction or just really, really like food that comes in a cute little wrapper of sorts (wax paper, tortilla, bun or otherwise), it seems important to dream. While eating foods certainly has an effect on the physical body, eating foods we love has an immeasurably positive effect on the emotional body. In the same regard, the thoughts we have, the aspirations and plannings of the future…this is what the soul feeds on, to keep it motivated while we push paper and chase clients who owe us money. And those of us who are brave enough to jump into the depths of personally defined endeavours – how admirable!
I wonder if there is a new pulled pork joint in town.
——-
Here is my pulled pork recipe. It never turns out the same, because I never measure anything (because I’m badass). I just figure it requires a balance of salty/sweet/sour, and go from there.
My Pulled Pork
A largeish shoulder of boneless pork (size depending on the number of gaping mouths at your table)
Salt components: salt, soy sauce
Sweet components: maple syrup, brown sugar, molasses, maybe even Aunt Jemima’s table syrup if you want to get so so trashy that it becomes trendy
Sour components: red wine vinegar, apple cider vinegar
Other good things: ketchup, BBQ sauce (though I like to save this for when I’m actually eating the pulled pork), a few splashes of vegetable oil, some dribbles of orange juice
So: fit your hunk of pork into a slow cooker. Add generous sprinkles of salt and sugar, good sloshes of soy sauce and liquid sweetness, and a few light splashes of one type of vinegar. Squirt in a sizable amount of ketchup. Turn the meat over and over to mix everything together. Turn the slow cooker on high for 4-5 hours, or until the meat shreds easily between the tines of two forks. Eat wedged inside a soft doughy bun, possibly adorned with coleslaw, caramelized onions and mushroom, sharp mustard, or whatever else your heart desires. Eat with the anticipation of better things to come.
Ah, spring. A time for sticking your head out of the ground under which you have burrowed for the winter to sniff at the air. And what does it smell like, my woodland creature?
Change.
While a part of me would rather give a dirty look to those green shoots coming out of the earth and roll over for another snooze, the vibrancy and tenaciousness of growth all around is somewhat contagious. It’s time to Do Stuff. But what?
Life’s ambitions seem to be multifold, multistage, multifarious endeavours. Where to begin? And there are so many potentialities: make money, travel, get married, make babies, be successful in your career field, wah wah wah…
This is when that groundhole starts to look reeeaaal cozy.
Really though, I’m not sure if I want any of those things. Or to be more accurate, they are conditional desires. I would like to make money, but just enough so I don’t have to stress about the cost of buying organic celery over conventional. I would like to travel, but only to realize that the world doesn’t revolve around me and there is much more to learn and be inspired by. I would like to get married, but only if we can see ourselves being only mild to moderately sick of eachother in twenty years. I am terrified of making babies (buns only in convection ovens, please). I would like to have a successful career, in that I have done my job wholeheartedly every day, with unwaning faith in what I’m doing.
Ultimately, my life ambition is to be a Good Person. Good to myself, and to others. How come there’s no Bachelor’s degree or salary for that?! Harumph!
It really is all quite overwhelming. So much to do, so little time! One must take baby steps. If I learned anything from high school Guidance class, it’s that when approaching one’s endeavours efficiently, it requires the breakdown of large tasks into smaller tasks. So if you will indulge me, here is some modest Guidance to that end:
How to get Things done:
1. Start with a clean work space. It’s hard to wash lettuce/rinse noodles/fill the kettle with water when the sink is crammed with remnants of meals past. Wipe the slate clean.
2. Start each day right.
Which, let’s face it, means breakfast. How can one achieve higher echelons of professional, mental, moral, spiritual development if one’s belly is crying for sustenance? It is nigh impossible. And being a staunch proponent of carbohydrates and their nutritional value on multiple levels, varying from the physical energy boost to the emotional coddling provided, I think breakfast muffins would be an excellent send-off into the day. Nothing stands a chance to the steadfast support that their stubby stumps impart.
Breakfast Muffins
6 tbsp vegetable oil
1 egg
1/2 cup plain yoghurt
1/3 cup water
1-1/3 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup wheat germ
2-1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cups sugar
1/4 tsp salt
Other good things: lemon zest, seeds (pumpkin, flax, sesame, sunflower, poppy), nuts, raisins, chocolate chips, rolled oats…
Mix together all the wet ingredients. In a separate bowl, mix together the dry ingredients. Slowly whisk the dry ingredients into the wet until just incorporated. Pour batter into a greased muffin tin. Sprinkle over the Good Things you so desire (or stir them into the batter, if you’d rather). Bake in a preheated 350 F oven for about 15 minutes, until golden. Let cool before serving. A smear of butter or jam would certainly be welcome here.
Eat over the now empty sink, basking in the optimism of fluffy sweetness and plotting the attack on your to-do list.
Go get ‘em, tiger.