Feeding the Famished

The Motivational Compass: Variations on ‘Are We There Yet?’

May 172013

Before I turned twelve, and had my tonsils removed, I used to come down with strep throat every six weeks. It was punctual, occurring like clockwork. Those streptococcal bacteria didn’t miss an opportunity to infect me. I remember a recurring dream from those days, more likely a hallucination, of being suffocated inside a massive wad of pink, sticky taffy. As I drifted in and out of semi-conscious thought, nursing those raw throats, there was a dim recognition in a small corner of my brain that the visions of taffy were fever-induced, and not reality. I recalled those pink, sticky pillows of thought the other day when my daughter Isabelle, who was heading into a grueling set of seven final exams over a five day period to finish up her first year of college, asked me if I would tell her it wasn’t necessary to work out every day during finals. My response was, “Of course not. It’s finals. All rules for real life are completely suspended.”

I suppose I could have asked her the more pragmatic question: “If you’re only taking four courses, why do you have seven exams?” I suppose it might have been effective to apply the lambswool, and pet her (in virtua via textum, which means, in Emily-Latinspeak, I was talking with her via text message), telling her she’d be all right, that I loved her, and she would get through this. I could have applied that vanilla platitude, “What doesn’t kill us only makes us (fill in your fortifier of choice here).” But no, my first thought was, Hey, if you have seven finals over five days, who says there should be any rules? You don’t need to go exercise. As long as you’re studying your brains out, there are no boundaries. Bad parenting advice?

I think I get some credit here. I didn’t tell her to pull a few All-Nighters (because I don’t think that method works, when you’re trying to stuff information into your head). I didn’t suggest she pop Adderall pills, or some other form of pharmaceutical falsification of energy, nor did I recommend a homeopathic version, the whimsical Pick-Up Drops, which promise “[i]f [lack of energy] symptoms persist more than 7 days. . .consult a physician. . .,” since finals would be over before then. I merely told her what I always do in these situations: “Nose to the grindstone! It’ll be over before you know it! Then, back to reality!”

When the press of work is upon you, do these help? Will energy pills accurately delineate where reality ends, and the impossible begins? Photo courtesy of J. Harrison Kemme

Edge.org, an online intellectual site which seeks “[t]o arrive at the edge of the world’s knowledge. . .,” poses an annual question for the rest of us to think about. For the year 2013, they encourage readers to consider “WHAT *SHOULD* WE BE WORRIED ABOUT?” from a scientific point of view. I’ve scrolled through the responses, noting that science, according to Edge contributors, covers a wide spectrum of topics. From global nuclear annihilation, the financial collapse of the developed world, the treachery of human relationships, to what will happen to our brains if we continue to subject them to the informational barrage of the Internet, the answers are frightening. There were 154 recorded responses, to date. None of them considered my daughter’s question. And yet, to a teenager who seeks that endorphinal high one can only reach after accomplishing a five-mile run, I thought it framed her mindset rather well. To my way of thinking (particularly since a five-mile run is beyond my scope of possibility), her brain was full of gooey, pink taffy. Basically, she was a mess.

I worried about her all last week, as Dr. K and I drove from Colorado to Iowa (pre-graduation visiting), a brief jaunt up to Wisconsin (conference track meet), back down to Iowa (for our son, Harrison’s, college graduation), and then all the way home. Was she depressed that she couldn’t join us for graduation (and why don’t colleges coordinate their calendars better?); was she stressed by the overload of information (certainly); why did a freshman insist on taking upper level courses? (a situation beyond my control). Those topics of worry weren’t listed on the Edge.org list, either. I suppose they weren’t scientific enough for consideration.

Over a seven day time frame, not a day passed where we weren’t rolling over miles on the car. All told, I think we logged 2,046 (and a half) miles. Yes, I was counting. Let’s just say that all that driving puts a person into a fuzzy, pink-taffy state of mind. All that driving forces you to waft in and out of reality.

The memories of four years, and many hours of meals enjoyed in this innovational little cafe in Mount Vernon, Iowa, came to an end with our son's graduation. That reality has been forged into memory.

The experiences of four years, and many hours of meals enjoyed in this innovative little cafe in Mount Vernon, Iowa, came to an end with our son’s graduation. When does reality become recollection? Does that make it less vivid? Photo courtesy of Doug Kemme

As we drove, I remembered my mom telling me when I was little, “You can go outside to play after you finish your lunch.” Upon graduating from college, people asked me, “So, what’s up next?” (Graduate school, I answered.) These days, people wonder what I’m doing. “You’ve written a novel,” they’ll say. “What are you doing now?” (Working on the next one, of course.) “How many miles left to go until we hit Beloit, Wisconsin, and I can have a martini?” (Me, posing question to Dr. K, whose response was always, “Check with GoogleMaps.”)

There is always that — next — thing. There is always that fuzzy blur, where we go can over the edge of our knowledge, testing reality.

As a writer of fiction, the goal is to encourage readers to engage in the willing suspension of disbelief. In other words, to step outside oneself, and not worry about reality. I think it happens in life, too, more often than we know.

As we rolled along those midwestern highways, green foliage spreading in all directions, one of my favorite songs played on repeat in my head. It didn’t matter that Dr. K’s iPod shuffled through 5,401 different artistically musical interpretations of life, this one kept popping up in there, pushing aside the taffy.

I want to run through the halls of my high school

I want to scream at the top of my lungs

I just found out there’s no such thing as the real world

Just a lie you’ve got to rise above

Mayer, John. (2002). No Such Thing. On Room for Squares.

Isabelle will be home soon for the summer. She’ll be working on an internship (non-paying), and has a job at a restaurant (even Princesses need to earn money). Soon, I’ll be able to talk with her face-to-face, rather than via text message. Soon, I’ll be able to tell her, “There is always another step before the next step. That’s the fact of reality, if there is, in fact, any reality at all. But, it is up to us, as individuals, to determine what the progression will be, and where we decide to take it.”

Roast Chicken with Sherry and Oranges

Main Dishes, Makes leftovers!!, One Pot Wonders, Poultry, Recipes, Uncategorized No Responses »

May 172013

As the days begin to lengthen, and the air in my garden is perfumed with spring’s heady scent of delicate, pink petals from trees in bloom, naturally, my thoughts turn to Sherry. Don’t yours? Surrounded by scent, I’m inspired to cook with wines which will bring out the deepest flavors in a meal. This classic pairing of roast chicken, sweet oranges and buttery green olives celebrates spring and the burgeoning of summer, with color, warmth, and vibrancy you can taste in its smoky sweetness.

I love Castelvetrano olives, the Sicilian favorite, are buttery, rich, and have an underlying sweet essence which makes them the perfect companion for oranges and Sherry.

I love Castelvetrano olives! The Sicilian favorite, they are buttery, rich, and have an underlying sweet essence, making them the perfect companion for oranges and Sherry.

4 T olive oil

4 lbs bone-in chicken breasts and thighs, the ratio of white to dark meat depending on your preference

1 cup diced sweet yellow onion

1 cup medium Sherry

Note: Stephanie Davis, Certified Sommelier, of Winacea (providing Wine Education, Entertainment, and Illumination), recommends preparing this dish with an Amontillado Sherry. Stephanie instructs us, “Amontillados are . . . slightly sweet. . .with fine acidity, and integrated hazelnut flavors and aromas.”

2 large garlic cloves, minced

2 T fresh oregano leaves, stripped from their stems

1 cup low-salt chicken stock

1 orange, halved lengthwise, each half cut into six wedges

1/3 cup brine-cured green olives, (such as castelvestrano), pitted

1 T honey

Sip Sherry, and let dinner cook itself, as the intense flavors of this recipe meld effortlessly in the oven. A quick turn on the stovetop finishes up the sauce, making this one my favorite One Pot Wonders!

Preheat oven to 425°F. Heat oil in a large ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat. Pat chicken pieces dry, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. (Drying the chicken allows for better browning.) Add chicken to skillet, skin side down and cook until skin is crisped and brown, and turns easily. Let it take its time! Turn and brown the other side. Remove chicken to a large bowl.

Add onions and stir until softened and beginning to brown, about 2 minutes. Add garlic and stir for 30 seconds. Add Sherry and bring to boil until liquid is reduced by half, scraping up browned bits. Add chicken stock and bring to boil. Return chicken to skillet, skin side up, along with any juices collected in bowl. Nestle orange wedges and olives among chicken pieces. Transfer to oven and braise covered until chicken is cooked through and no longer pink, about 35 minutes. Carefully remove skillet from oven (wear oven mitts, it will be hot!), and gently transfer chicken pieces to a clean bowl with tongs.

Add oregano leaves to sauce in skillet. Bring to boil over high heat. Stir in honey and boil until thickened, about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Serve chicken over rice or couscous, spooning sauce, oranges and olives over chicken.

Serves 8.

There is nothing so satisfying as home cooking. It’s healthy, too. Relax, enjoy.

An Amontillado Sherry makes the perfect pairing for this recipe. Bodegas Dios Baco is a great producer. Serve slightly chilled, but not cold. The bonus is the wine will keep, corked, in the refrigerator, up to two weeks. Unless, you finish it up with the chicken!

Stephanie Davis, Certified Sommelier of Winacea, says that her first inclination (when she began salivating while reading the recipe), is to serve the same Sherry used to prepare it. One of her favorite Sherry producers is Bodegas Dios Baco. She suggests an Amontillado. Serve slightly chilled, but not cold. Bonus: After opening, the wine can be kept for up to 2 weeks, corked and refrigerated!

I Could Have Danced All Night, But He Wanted to Sleep

Blog, I Did That Because. . . 7 Responses »

May 032013

Dr. K plays a game with me, he calls it, “What’s My Horoscope?” The idea is that he’ll select three horoscope predictions printed in the daily newspaper, one of which (purportedly), is for him. It’s up to me to determine which one fits his personality, which one would be determined by his astrological sign. His point is that newspaper horoscopes (or any new-age bunk, basically), are flexible, and can be applied to the facts, with people bending them to meet a certain expectation or hope. Generally, I guess the wrong match, which for him, proves his point. He finds this game hilarious; me, not so much. I believe that what’s in the stars, from a cosmological point of view, provides a certain validation for our everyday actions. Each zodiac sign, and hence, its associated month, carries its own set of characteristics. Take the month of May, for example. Overflowing with school activities, sporting events designed to wrap up a season, graduations, weddings, and organizational meetings concluding for the summer, May is the bull in the china closet. Why else would they have named the energy drink additive, Taurine, for Taurus, the astrological bull?

If you were to consider the rest of the months on the calendar, this all makes sense. While it’s true that Gemini has twins, making that sign a double-edged sword, Leo’s tend to be loyal, and therefore fierce, and a Scorpio’s sting is potent, there is no other month of the year quite as tiresome as May. December comes close, with holiday celebrations fighting for priority over work obligations, and yet, it doesn’t quite carry the same punch as does May. They did name the pick-me-upper sipper Red Bull, right? That’s because Taurine is “an amino acidlike substance that got its name because it was first found in the bile of bulls. . ..” They didn’t choose to call it after December’s Sagittarean Centaur. It’s not quite the same thing to label an energy drink as “a shot off the Centaur’s bow.” That, I think, would fall flat. And don’t even get me started on how there could be May-December relationships.

May Day in Colorado this year was fickle, bringing yet another snow storm. Some said it was unusual. I think it defined May’s personality very well.

My friend Artemesia agrees that May is difficult, worse than December, in fact, when trying to schedule activities. We’ve been trying to arrange dinner out for the past month, with no success. After talking about it together (in person), then over a phone call, and finally retreating behind our emails for a week or so, we decided to give up on May entirely. At first, we were elated by some false starts: because we hadn’t written down every commitment on our respective calendars, I forgot that we had scheduled my sister’s birthday celebration on the night of one attempt, and Artemesia forgot an important holiday event. Then there were the complications of four people’s travel schedules, work necessities, and the simple fact that someone else needed to be somewhere else rather than together with the rest of us. As I read aloud through the slew of back-and-forth emails, it began to sound like the violins and violas conversing in Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 3, my mind dipping, swooping, darting and then doubling back, as it twirled through the various possibilities. This was about the time we simultaneously reached the conclusion, given all that was happening, that our brains were addled, and that hands down, the month of May is the worst month on the calendar. Artemesia says that the only reason summer exists is to allow for a definitive recovery period.

The month of May, the time when we’re all busy as bees in a field of bluebells. Photo courtesy of John Miller.

As we trekked through our (very) complicated schedules, dancing in and out of four people’s activities, Artemesia and I discovered that what’s up there in the stars had a lot to do with our difficulties. Planning for life activities, or what I like to think of as reality intervention, is particularly difficult, given busy calendars, but it gives me plenty of support for my conclusion that astrological signs clearly determine behavior patterns. Take our household, for example. There are four people, and of those, there is one Gemini, two Cancers (or the aptly named Crab), and one Leo. I’m not telling who is which, but I will say that the personalities fit the mold. I will also say that Dr. K and I are not of the same mold, um — astrological sign, that is. Neither do Artemesia and her husband share signs.

At our house, the only way that Dr. K will participate in any scheduled activity is if I formally invite him to it. I use a program on my computer calendar, one that forwards invitations via email. He usually accepts my invitations, since he admits that I exist to create his social life. In fact, he becomes upset if I forget to invite him to an event. Artemesia uses a similar method, except that her husband doesn’t always accept. He may “accept tentatively,” or even decline outright. These are great examples of why living our lives with people of other astrologic signs can be interesting.

Birds of feather may flock together, but what happens when they try to plan dinner with birds from another nest? Photo courtesy of John Miller.

Birds of feather may flock together, but what happens when they try to plan dinner with birds from another nest? Gold Crowned Kinglet. Photo courtesy of John Miller.

It’s obvious to me that our horoscopes have enormous control over all of these planning issues. Additionally, they have a lot to say about the actions we take, and how perceptions differ regarding various activities.

I don’t think the fact that one person is male, and the other female, has anything to do with it.

Spicy Puebla Chicken and Potato Stew

Main Dishes, Makes leftovers!!, Method, Mexican, One Pot Wonders, Recipes, Soups and Stews No Responses »

May 032013

I have certain recipes that I call my “go-to’s,” the ones which have method. Sway a little when you say that word. Method. I love it, because it’s an example of what I use to teach myself how to cook, and hopefully to help others learn, with easy steps. We never do stop learning. This spicy Mexican stew, created with meaty chicken thighs, spiced with chipotle chiles in adobo, is one of those recipes, because, by gently simmering the chicken in water and onion, you can create a simple broth. From there, the possibilities are endless! Here, let’s cook up a spicy chicken soup, tangy with tomatoes and flavor layered with sausage. It also makes leftovers, one of my favorite reasons for cooking at home!

A sprinkle of fresh oregano on this spicy Latin American-style stew adds another layer of aromatic warmth.

2 lbs chicken thighs, with skin and bone

8 cups water

1 large white onion, quartered

2 tsp salt

2 garlic cloves, unpeeled

1 14 oz can diced tomatoes, with juice

4 tsp canned chipotle chiles in adobo sauce, minced (or more, if you want to amp up the heat)

Note: These are available in the Latino spice section of most larger grocery stores

1 tsp dried Mexican oregano

Note: Mexican oregano is stronger and less sweet than the Mediterranean version, which is why it can take on the heat of a recipe like this one. Find it at Penzey’s Spices, or in the Latino spices section of your grocery store.

2 links pre-cooked chorizo sausage, diced into 1/2 inch pieces

4 tsp olive oil, divided

1 lb new white potatoes, peeled and diced into 3/4 inch pieces

2 oz ricotta or feta cheese

avocado slices, to accompany your creation

In large, deep pot, place chicken and two onion quarters, and cover with water. Add 1 tsp salt and bring to a boil, covered, over medium-high heat. Boil gently for 15 minutes, then remove from heat and let rest, covered, until chicken is just cooked through, about 10 minutes. Transfer chicken to large bowl, reserving broth and onions. When chicken is cool enough to the touch, dice into 1 inch pieces, discarding skin and bones, but reserving any juices which have collected in the bowl.

Charring the onions coaxes out their sweetness. Roast the garlic in its skin at the same time. It makes it easy to peel, and brings out its rich, buttery essence.

While chicken is simmering, heat 2 tsp oil in a medium, nonstick skillet over medium heat until shimmering. Brown garlic and remaining two onion quarters on all sides, using tongs to turn, about 5 minutes. Remove garlic and peel. Transfer with onion to a blender. Add tomatoes with juice, chiles, and oregano. Purée until smooth.

Cook chorizo in 2 tsp oil in same skillet over medium high heat, stirring until browned in spots, about 3 minutes. Add tomato mixture and simmer, stirring often, until thick, about 10 minutes.

Add potatoes to reserved broth with remaining teaspoon salt. Simmer covered, stirring occasionally, until potatoes are almost tender, but still firm, about 10 minutes.

Add chorizo tomato mixture to broth. Stir in diced chicken, and simmer for 10 minutes.

Serve sprinkled with cheese, and garnished with diced avocado.

This spicy chicken stew conjures up images of colorful patio tiles, sun warmed red rooftops, and leisure. Enjoy!

Stephanie says: Let's stick with the Spanish theme for our wine pairing, because the ingredients in this recipe lead me to the Tempranillo grape. This black grape creates full-bodied wines My recommended pairing is Dinastia Vivanco Rioja Reserva. This $25 bottle is a great value for an aged "reserva" and the shape of the bottle is cool too!

Stephanie Davis, Certified Wine Sommelier, says: The ingredients in this recipe lead me to the Tempranillo grape. This black grape, grown in Spain, creates full-bodied wines, perfect for the Latin American theme.
My recommended pairing is Dinastia Vivanco Rioja Reserva.
This $25 bottle is a great value for an aged “Reserva,” and the shape of the bottle is cool too! Visit Stephanie’s website, www.winacea.com, for more great wine ideas.

Adapted from Gourmet, January 2004.

Life On the Tangential Trajectory

Blog, Road Trips and Itineraries 9 Responses »

Apr 192013

Once every so often, I make a mistake. Sometimes, they’re the little ones, the kind you can easily take an eraser to, or rub it out with your thumb. Talking on my cellphone, and missing the exit on the Interstate, is one example. Dousing the soup with too much salt is another. Not paying attention to where I’m going, and stepping backwards, onto one of my collie’s paws. I feel terrible when that happens, but usually, these sorts of goofs can be fixed with a kiss on the collie’s nose. If you’re into kissing collie noses, that is. Then there are the other mistakes, the bigger ones, the ones where you were certain the track meet was on THAT day (because it always is. . .), the ones where you go ahead and purchase airline tickets, because you’ve done that, for the past three years. I think these mistakes happen, because I never stop running.

I did check the college meet schedule beforehand. There it was, a shimmering purple in front of me on the computer screen: the home track meet, on the typical weekend. That was January. That was when I told Dr. K to purchase our plane tickets to Iowa.

When I texted our son that we would be there, as always, for the home meet, he seemed perplexed.

“But, you’re still coming for graduation? That’s only four weeks later,” Harrison reminded me.

I assured him we were. When your kid decides to head out-of-state for college, you become resigned to the fact that there isn’t the opportunity to meet up for lunch after a tough exam. Over the past four years, we had attended only a handful of meets. In fact, we tend to be hard core, visiting twice a year, if that. In a way, I suppose it’s a good thing, promoting self-reliance, encouraging them to grow up, and establish a semblance of independence. It’s also difficult, after you’ve become accustomed to making their lunch every day.

I glanced at the meet schedule once more, in March. There is no explanation for why I checked the schedule one last time, but I was surprised to see the home meet had moved to the weekend before we were arriving! That, or I had goofed, big time.

I texted him again, thinking that we would bank the tickets, skip the meet. The weekend we had planned to visit had a relay meet, in Decorah, a little town three hours away from his school. He said he would probably be running it. Then he added a kicker. “You’re welcome to visit!”

When your twenty-one year old adds an exclamation point to an invitation to come see him, you do it. Even if it means a lot of driving.

Running is a grueling sport, one where athletes need all the support possible from the sidelines. Particularly when it's 32 degrees, and spitting snow.

Running is a grueling sport, one where athletes need all the encouragement possible from the sidelines. Particularly when it’s 32 degrees, and spitting snow.

I Googled Decorah, and located a cute Bed & Breakfast near the competing school. We would fly into Iowa in the later afternoon, and drive there. We could meet Harrison the next morning at the track.

When I texted him that we’d landed in Iowa, there was silence. There was no exuberation, no enthusiasm. I began to wonder if I had compounded my planning mistake with the erroneous belief that he wanted to see us. Had I misread that exclamation point? So, I called him. He answered, voice dejected. He questioned me about our plans for the night, learned of our long drive, and then sighed.

“I guess I’ll sit here and watch a movie in my room,” he informed me.

“You’re leaving early tomorrow, right?” I queried him. “There isn’t any reason for us to drive to your school now.”

He sighed again, and told me that the team wasn’t leaving the college until nine or so in the morning, and that his first race was after 1 pm. Then he was quiet.

When should you veer off course? Does it happen during initial planning stages, or is it okay to let life lead you by the nose, once in a while? When does a trajectory swerve off into the tangential?

Running has been under the spotlight this week, its importance as an American sport highlighted by the horrific tragedy at the Boston Marathon. We have been reminded, as Americans, of the marathon’s significance, epitomizing democracy. Begun by the Greeks, paralleling the “the world’s first great experiment in democracy”, anyone who can time qualify, can run a marathon. Amateurs run along the same course as the elites, and experience the same excitement generated by their fans, who cheer on the stars, and the unknowns. There is encouragement, regardless of who you are.

That’s because running is hard. There are plenty other arduous activities you can put your body through, but this is one of the toughest. I’ve recently taken up the sport, although for me, I’m more of a plogger. But, I’ve begun to understand the required dedication, the importance of routine, the stamina needed for running any length of road, be it a mile, or logging 26.2 of them.

I’ve listened as my friend, Iron Girl, (so named because she’s completed an Iron Man competition, even though she stands at barely five feet tall), details her practice routine. It’s grueling, with early hours, and regular running shoe replacements. Harrison’s coach requires him to run 80 miles each week, as conditioning, and race preparation. They both tell me of the miles they’ve put in, every week, not in disgust, not in disgruntlement. Every mile they conquer is added to their makeup; it defines who they are. Every mile has its own story.

Iron Girl was unable to complete her Boston. They pulled her off the marathon course .3 miles from the finish line. She’s going to go back, and run it again, next year. She wants to finish the Boston.

We sat at a local tavern on Tuesday night this week, surrounded by runners, and their supporters. Iron Girl and her husband had been in Boston for the Marathon, she running it, and he, standing at the finish line, waiting for her to cross it. We celebrated, raising glasses to toast the pair, because they returned from Boston physically unharmed, yet shaken by the fact that some unknown person would dare to interfere with this populist activity, an event bringing together young, old, athletes and bystanders, to cheer on human dedication to forward movement, for its own sake.

Watching friends and family run has taken us many places, areas of the country we would never have thought to visit, had there not been a race, a challenge to encounter.

Last weekend, we cancelled the reservations at the distant Bed & Breakfast in the competing college town, electing to spend the evening with Harrison instead. Luckily, there was a room available in his little town.

Instead of driving three hours in darkness, hoping to have time to catch up with him between races, and later, when he was tired, we spent quality time together that night as a family. The next morning was a leisurely drive to Decorah, following the river road rather than the freeway, not certain where it led. We drove through small villages, named in honor of European towns from where their founders had emigrated. There was New Vienna, Guttenberg, a sign pointing to New Edinburgh Manor, and we crossed the New Volga River, a couple of times. Those peoples, they too had been running, of a different sort. Maybe they had been running away from inhumane living conditions in the Old World. It’s possible they ran towards freedom, and the chance to live without oppression. All had a story, which we could only imagine, as the miles ticked off. We crossed multitudes of waterways in Iowa, plowing the hills, bridge after bridge. None were very wide, and yet, I sensed the presence of a large body of water, near us.

One more curve in the road, and there it was, the Mississippi River, one of the great waterways connecting this country of ours, North and South. It was a freezing day, but as I stood high on a bluff overlooking the silvery-gray expanse of water, buffeted by a brisk wind, I stopped running, for a moment.

There it was, the great Mississippi, linking our country, North and South. During troubled times, such as this week, it is a reminder of our country's strength, as we strive together in the spirit of democracy.

There it was, the great Mississippi, the waterway linking our country, North and South. During troubled times, such as this week, it is a reminder of our country’s strength, as we strive together in the spirit of democracy.

Braised Chicken with Red Wine Anchovy Sauce

Makes leftovers!!, Method, Poultry, Recipes, Soups and Stews No Responses »

Apr 192013

It’s mid-April, and I had thought it high time to put off sharing hearty, braised stews, at least until the snow flew again. Evidently, the weather has a grudge against my daffodils, and didn’t think we were ready for spring. As I looked outside my office windows this past week, calculating there must be at least eight inches of fresh, fluffy, white powder, I suppose the joke’s on me. So, that means we can still rustle up rich concoctions like this one, flavor-layered with herbs. Allow your braise to simmer, and take its time. That steamy, herbal infusion, trapped inside a heavy Dutch oven, will not only produce a tender, moist meat. It will perfume your kitchen, as well. Go put another log on the fire, pour a glass of wine, and let dinner cook itself, in your oven.

2 medium, sweet onions, diced

6 oil-packed anchovy fillets, rinsed and patted dry

Note: Don’t be put off by anchovies! Yes, they’re salty, and definitely, they are the one ingredient almost everyone agrees should stay off their pizza. But, these little fishies have a knack for dissolving into a sauce, ramping up the flavor element. Maybe it’s true, great things come in small packages.

4 medium cloves garlic, thinly sliced

2 T fresh rosemary, minced

2 cups low-salt chicken broth, or more if needed to cover chicken during braise

8 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs

4 bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts

sea salt and pepper

4 T olive oil

2 cups dry red wine

2 28 oz cans diced roma tomatoes

2 T red wine vinegar

Method Note: Braising, the process of slowly simmering meats in liquids over lower temperatures, is an excellent procedure for tenderizing tougher cuts of meat. As the protein cooks in the heavy, covered pot, either on the stove top or in the oven, flavor molecules circulate within the steamy space, infusing the meat and sauce, and intensifying flavor. The oven method is best, because the heat is indirect, and less intense. The sauce you create will be richer, and luxuriant.

Rich and satisfying, this rosemary-infused tomato sauce has a secret ingredient which, once dissolved, boosts sauce flavor. Can you guess? It’s the anchovy!

Position rack in center of oven. Heat oven to 350°F.

Place anchovies, garlic, and minced rosemary in a food processor and pulse until finely chopped. Add chicken broth and process until ingredients are well-blended, scraping sides of bowl if necessary, for about 30 seconds.

Season chicken with sea salt and pepper.

In deep, heavy ovenproof Dutch oven with lid, warm 2 T oil over medium-high heat. Brown chicken pieces in batches, skin side down, until deep brown, about ten minutes. Turn and brown the other side, about five minutes more. Remove chicken to large bowl, and repeat with remaining pieces, adding oil as needed.

Add onion and sauté on medium heat, until deep golden.

Return heat to medium-high, and add wine. Bring to a boil, scraping browned bits from bottom of pot with a wooden spoon. Add the rosemary-broth mixture and tomatoes. Return chicken to the pot, along with any accumulated juices collected in the bowl, spooning broth mixture over chicken. Cover pot with lid. Transfer the pot to the oven, and braise until the chicken is tender and no longer pink, approximately one hour, 15 minutes.

Carefully remove pot from oven (it will be hot!) With a slotted spoon, remove chicken pieces to a large, clean bowl and cover loosely with foil to keep warm.

Bring sauce to boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until sauce is reduced by 1/3, and thickened slightly. Add vinegar, and season to taste with salt and pepper.

Serve chicken with sauce in deep, shallow bowls. This pairs wonderfully with mashed potatoes and a simple, green vegetable, such as green beans. You can steam them quickly, while the sauce is reducing.

This recipe makes leftovers, which freeze well!

Please welcome Stephanie Davis, Certified Wine Somelier

Please welcome Stephanie Davis, Certified Wine Sommelier, to Feeding the Famished. She owns Winacea LLC, a wine education and independent wine consulting service. Visit her blog where she entertains readers with stories of wine, travel and hospitality, at www.winacea.com. For perfect pairing with this recipe, Stephanie recommends a red Burgundy, such as this Michel Picard “Clos Paradis” Mercurey 1er Cru. It’s not hard to find, and retails for under $30 a bottle. Use a similar dry, red wine for cooking with beautiful harmony.

Pork Lemongrass Meatballs and Oriental Vegetable Noodle Soup

Main Dishes, Makes leftovers!!, Pan Asian, Pork, Recipes, Soups and Stews No Responses »

Apr 052013

I have a new love, and its name is Meatball. There, I’ve admitted it. My rationale is simple. Meatballs add variety to my cooking repertoire, and are easy on the wallet. Ground meats are easy on my heart rate, as well. There is no worry about whether they’re overcooked, too pink, or not pink enough. The Meatball is the easygoing buddy of my food world, the “everything is just right, Goldylocks” of food. Here, mold them with minced fresh lemongrass, ginger and a touch of Chinese Five Spice Powder for a zingy addition to a lemongrass-infused broth. Add fresh, oriental vegetables, and Chinese noodles, for a quick, tasty meal.

Noodles and meatballs: The multicultural comfort food!

For the Broth

4 cups beef stock (I like the Kitchen Basics brand)

4 cups lower salt chicken broth

1 tsp green peppercorns

2 star anise

1 inch piece ginger, peeled and sliced into rounds

1 large stalk fresh lemongrass, outer skin removed, quartered

2 T Chinese rice wine

2 T soy sauce

For the Meatballs

1 lb ground pork

1 egg, lightly beaten

2 T finely minced fresh ginger

2 T fresh lemongrass, outer skin removed, finely minced

1 T minced cilantro

1 tsp Chinese Five Spice Powder

1 cup fine breadcrumbs

For the Chinese Noodles

1 lb package fresh Chow Mien Noodles, prepared according to package directions. Set aside.

Note: You can usually find these in the produce section of larger grocery stores, alongside the wanton wrappers. If all else fails, substitute with frozen Chinese egg noodles. Worst case scenario (and I promise it’ll work fine) is to use linguine. After all, supposedly the Italians stole the whole noodle thing from the Chinese in the first place!

And the Veggies!

1 small head savoy or napa cabbage, core removed and cut into 1 inch sections

1 small carrot, thinly sliced

20 snow peas, trimmed and cut in half lengthwise

1 4oz package Maitake “Hen of the Woods” mushrooms, or oyster mushrooms, rinsed and trimmed

Multiple choice quiz. What is this: * close up of a pinecone * tree bark * a Hen of the Woods mushroom cluster

Multiple choice quiz. What is this:
(a) close up of a pinecone
(b) deep-fried potato chip art
(c) a Hen of the Woods mushroom cluster

Combine broths, peppercorns, star anise, ginger and lemongrass stalks in a medium sized pot. Bring to boil, then simmer, covered, for 20 minutes. Remove from heat, strain out solids, and transfer to larger pot. Cover.

Place meatball ingredients in medium bowl, squeezing mixture with hands to combine, until a smooth paste is formed. Roll mixture into one inch balls, placing on plate. There should be enough for about 30 balls. Cover in plastic wrap and chill in refrigerator.

Bring soup to low simmer, and add meatballs, one at a time. Simmer covered for 10 minutes. Add cabbage and carrot, stirring gently, and return to simmer, covered. Add snow peas and mushrooms, simmer for 2 minutes. Add rice wine and soy sauce. Stir gently.

To serve: In deep bowls, place serving of noodles. Top with meatballs and vegetables, and ladle broth over. Serve with soy sauce to taste.

Serves 4-6.

If Emily Post Played Words with Friends

Blog, Dishing It Up 11 Responses »

Apr 032013

The world has become more complicated since I was in third grade. It used to be that I knew exactly who my friends were, and I knew that because they were the ones who handed me a birthday party invitation when the teacher’s back was turned. I had a couple of guy friends back then, too; I knew they wanted to be my friend because one gave me his steelie marble, the other, a beautiful, mariner blue clearie. The friend with the clearie, I think his name was Chris, had an edge, because, although variegated cats eyes were plentiful, and steelies made satisfying, noisy clicks when they hit another marble, there weren’t all that many clear, blue marbles. It was the color of the ocean, it was the twilight blue of nightfall, before the stars came out. It was beautiful to behold. He was special for that reason, and I have his marble in my sock drawer, along with the other marbles I won in games. The rules of friendship have changed, since then. Now there are virtual friends, for whom we have strict categories, classifications and hierarchies. Now, you can purchase a ten-pack of Ice Blue Clearies for $3.50, and they’ll ship them to your door. There’s no need to get down in the dirt, and win them. There is no need to be nice to somebody, on the oft chance that they’ll give you their prettiest marble. On Facebook, friends are easy to acquire, with a quick (and soundless) click. It may be that they are a friend-of-a-friend, that’s good enough. That’s why I’m addicted to the game Words With Friends. You can get down in the dirt, scrape your knees, and really figure out what stuff someone is made of.

Don’t get me wrong. I think Facebook is an interesting game. If you choose to play (and that choice is optional), you can categorize the friends you acquire. People can be classified as acquaintances, close friends (although no guidelines on proximity are provided), or you can create your own distinctions for whatever box you feel that person best fits. I’ve never checked people off, or given them a designation. For a while, I thought about doing that, until I realized I was spending more time trying to figure out how to describe my relationship to a person I may not see more than once a year, or longer than that, if it’s a high school classmate for whom there was a rush of nostalgic affection, possibly alcohol-generated, at a reunion. I still enjoy their company, whenever I see them. The connection is as strong as ever. But, the efforts at classification were taking too much of my valuable time, which was when I made the decision to lump everyone together. Facebook friends are the cats eyes of the marble world.

If friends were marbles, what type would they be?

I enjoy the interaction on Facebook. This particular social media method is a pleasant way of keeping in touch with a whole bunch of people, sort of like a virtual drive-by at the grocery store, those brief interchanges, such as, “Hey there! Nice to see you!” It’s the type of superficial conversation which would never encroach onto someone’s personal habits. It isn’t the place to ask, “Have you put on some weight since I last saw you? Are you sure you want those four quarts of ice cream? There’s a big sale on carrots right now. Let’s go stock up on those babies!” If you get right down to it, I’ve always thought it was off limits to eye what anybody has placed in a shopping cart. It’s one of those life moments where the etiquette is blurry.

On Facebook, we can be “likers,” which translates into a noncommittal, “Uh huh, that’s cool,” or possibly more enthusiastic, “Nice job! Go get ‘em!” You can click through a newsfeed fairly quickly, with those “likes,” and I suppose it makes people feel you’re tuned in to them. I know it makes me feel that way.

At times, I get an overwhelming urge to comment, something I do infrequently, for the reason that my comments tend to pop off the top of my head (as does much of my conversation), and I worry about what will people think I meant, by saying that? I spend a lot of time worrying, “Will that sound sarcastic?” (Probably) “Will people think the comment is mean-spirited?” (It is not). Or most often, “Maybe I should just say nothing at all.” I err on the side of inclusion, I suppose. That’s why I spend many nights, losing sleep.

I bet I’m not alone in these worries; even etiquette maven Emily Post has waded into the jellyfish-infested waters of getting along with each other, Social Media style. I’ve considered Liking her Facebook page, but know that, if I spend all my time reading the rules, my mouth will stay permanently taped shut.

I’ve decided WWF isn’t the venue to show off vocabulary skills. Unless, you happen to hit a triple word. It’s a great way to stay in touch with people, though! Any hints what to do next? Or would Emily Post frown on that?

That’s why I’ve become so fond of Words With Friends on my iPhone. To begin with, it’s limited. You may only have twenty games running at any given time, and no one need know with whom you are playing. I tend to run games in two’s, mainly because it’s difficult to keep track of who started one. If you lose, should you be the initiator for the next game, showing what a good sport you are? Or, would Emily Post recommend that the winner take the plunge, indicating that even though they walloped you by 120 points, they still believe in you, that there is merit to your attempted competition?

Once the game is on, a whole playbook of etiquette-driven issues must be broached: May players utilize the ubiquitous, and therefore wimpy copouts, such as “xi” or “xu,” when dealt the x tile, or is it better gamesmanship to wait in agony in the scant hope that a “t”, “a”, and “i” will materialize before your eyes? After all, what else can you spell with an “x”, other than “taxi?” Don’t even get me started on the groans I let out when dealt a “q”. “Qat?” The only time I’ve heard that one used in real life is when my son’s mouth was stuffed full of gauze after his wisdom teeth were pulled, as in “Qat did you say, Mom?”

Way back when, in the days when Scrabble was made out of cardboard, and tiles were silkily smooth pieces of wood, if someone played a word, there was always the option to challenge it. This meant that an opponent had to own a workable vocabulary, and back it up with a dictionary-approved definition. WWF allows the player to test the market. You can switch around tiles until the cows come home, or at least until something finds accord with the WWF dictionary, much of which is incomprehensible to me, a person who has a thing for words. You can’t challenge, unless you want to look like a sourpuss.

The social element of playing a game remains; I have some opponents who enjoy bantering while they play, others are ominously silent. They can be steelies; they mean business. I learn strategy from all my opponents. The game gives insight into how people think, even if we’re not face to face. Do they build alongside other words, foregoing opportunities to show off their linguistic prowess (which, as we know, ends up sacrificing points)? Or do they aim to win, with minimalism their creed?

My WWF people, they test boundaries, and often joke about it, sharing their day with me, in the best of virtual manners. I think Emily Post would agree: they are the ocean blue clearies in my virtual life.

Do I Have to See the Light?

Blog, What If's. . . 2 Responses »

Mar 212013

I was standing in the laundry room last week, folding clothes, when my gaze snagged on an artificial wreath hanging on the wall. Made up of pale lavender and green silk hydrangeas, it looked fuzzy. Fuzzy leaves, fuzzy vines, fuzzy stems. On closer inspection, I realized that the fuzziness was furze, that the wreath was coated in dust, and the only reason I could see this is because it was SO painfully bright outside. It wasn’t something I’d noticed before, because it wasn’t prominent in the gloom of winter. I know there are sprays available for cleaning artificial flowers; supposedly, they eat the dust. I’ve avoided buying them, because, truly, would you want to spread a dust-eating chemical around your home? I understand that cleanliness is right up there with Godliness (according to Sir Francis Bacon, and captains of ships), and I do try to keep things picked up, but letting loose radically uncontrollable dust eaters doesn’t seem prudent. This furziness continued to bug me, leading to an activity I try to avoid. I drove over to Target, to check out their new spring wreaths. I’m convinced that it was the bright light of Daylight Savings Time that made me do it.

I have no control, given the lure of a Big Box Store. What’s up with that? Photo courtesy of Jackie Emrick.

There is something unaccountably alluring about time spent in one of those Big Box Stores, and I will unabashedly admit that Target is my favorite. It may have to do with their windowless existence; there is a sense that, once I’m inside, no one out there need know what I’m up to, which generally turns out to be spending money. I’ve mulled over why this happens, and have come up with the solution. It has two fronts.

First, the store layout is uncannily set up to foster confusion. I would bet that, from a bird’s eye view, Target stores are a quagmire of interlocking mazes. If you’re heading over to men’s socks, and veer left to check out the new cellphone covers (because, who isn’t attracted to a bright, colorful cover for man’s best friend?), and then head right (avoiding small toys) in order to check out kitchen gadgets, I promise the Target shopper will become eternally, and disorientingly, lost.

Then there’s the problem of all that light. It’s enough to dull the senses, those things which, if functioning normally, would raise a warning alarm when the Target shopper adds a set of olive green nesting mixing bowls into their cheery, red shopping basket. All that light creates a film over the shopper’s mind, making them forget that the last time they underwent a Target excursion, remarkably similar turquoise green bowls were added to their home collection.

Increased light can rattle mammal’s brains, particularly after emerging from the depths of winter’s darkness. For example, the three Ukrainian dolphins, I’m certain you’ve heard about them, it was all over the Internet last week, who were said to have escaped from their military training pod, equipped with knives strapped to their heads. While the story turned out to be a hoax, for several days, I received emails from people who thought this would be great blog fodder (it is), and who posed the question of what would happen should a swimmer encounter a killer dolphin. As it so happens, both the Ukrainian and U.S. Military do train dolphins for combat.

The story has cast an entirely new spotlight on Flipper, my most favorite childhood hero.

Sometimes, light is shed on people long gone, those who are stuff of misanthropic legend, for whom, once dug up (literally, as in the recent discovery of King Richard III of England’s skeleton underneath a Leicestershire parking lot), new efforts are spent to untarnish their reputations.

That may not always be the best idea.

There are times when a bright light may bring too much into focus. Or illuminate things which ought to remain in the dark.

I know. The Richard III Society was founded in 1924 with the stated intention “to strip away the spin, the unfair innuendo, Tudor artistic shaping and the lazy acquiescence of later ages, and get at the truth.” Richard, the last King of England to have been killed in battle while on the throne, has been considered the ultimate arch villain for the past 500 years. According to history (bolstered by the ultimate wordsmith, William Shakespeare), Richard committed quite a number of nasty deeds during his short life, with murder of relatives standing in the way of his accession to the throne topping the list as one of his favorite pastimes. Of course, Shakespeare had a greater interest in promoting Richard III’s murderers (the Tudor family, who succeeded on the throne after the Battle of Bosworth), since they were the ones who would come to watch Shakespeare’s play. It is always about where you can get people to spend their money, after all.

I’m not going to hash over old history, or take sides, because, first, I wasn’t there, and moreover, there are plenty of people who have taken up the battle standard to clear Richard’s name. It’s interesting reading from the sidelines.

I’ve been wondering what Richard III would have to say about all of this recent attention?

There is the possibility that he might not approve. After all,

One can survive everything nowadays, except death, and live down anything except a good reputation.

Oscar Wilde (1854-1900).

The most famous playwright in modern history vilified Richard in a play that has been reenacted thousands of times on stage, and been the subject of at least eight major films. As an anti-hero, the guy is memorable. Lose that, and he may as well remain stuffed naked into a hole under a parking lot in drizzly England. Being the bad guy, particularly if you only got to be King for a measly two years, might not be so awful, if people are still talking about you five hundred years later.

I do worry about the Ukrainian attack dolphins, though. From here on out, whenever I’m lazing on a beach, and spot a pod of those gray, finned spines, gracefully rolling through the waves, I’ll always wonder.

Hoisin Scallops and Brown Rice Noodle Stir Fry

Main Dishes, One Pot Wonders, Pan Asian, Pasta, Recipes, Seafood No Responses »

Mar 202013

Feeding other people is a challenge. I’ve never known anyone who can say their family members are all in accord with what’s for dinner. Have you? There is always some food stuff that someone refuses to eat. The refusals are variable, and the accompanying rationales as plentiful as there are grains of rice. I have tried to reason with the people for whom I cook (my family), but have come to understand how pointless it is. Instead, it’s pushed me to become more inventive with my creations. This recipe for Hoisin Scallops, served on top of a brown rice noodle stir fry, with plenty of veggies, is one example. If scallops aren’t your thing, substitute firm tofu.

8 oz package brown rice noodles (Thai Kitchen makes a great product, with individually wrapped two ounce sections. It’s available in brown or red rice varieties, and is Gluten Free, Dairy Free, and Vegan)

3 T peanut oil

1 medium onion, thinly sliced

1 tsp peeled and minced fresh ginger

1/2 tsp (or more to taste) hot red pepper flakes

12 white mushrooms, stems trimmed, sliced

1 lb baby bok choy, green parts of leaves removed, and bulb sliced into 1/2 inch strips

6 scallions, sliced

1 lb sea scallops, rinsed and patted dry

1/4 cup Hoisin sauce

2 cups low-salt chicken broth

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 T Asian toasted sesame oil

1 small jicama, about 1 lb total, peeled and cut into 2-inch julienne

1/2 cup cilantro leaves, stems removed

A hot wok is perfect for a quick, one pot wonder! Have your ingredients ready to go because once you start cooking, you’ll be on your toes!

Soak noodles in cold water to cover for 15 minutes. Drain and cut in half with scissors.

Combine scallops and Hoisin sauce in small bowl, stirring to coat fish.

Heat wok or large heavy skillet over high heat until a bead of water dropped onto cooking surface evaporates immediately. Add 1 T peanut oil to wok, swirling to coat evenly, and heat until smoking. Stir-fry onion, ginger, and red pepper flakes for 1 minute. Add mushrooms and stir-fry until tender, about 2 minutes. Transfer mixture to a large bowl, and season with salt to taste.

Add another 1 T peanut oil to wok, again swirling and heating until smoking. Stir-fry bok choy about 1 minute, until just tender. Add scallions and salt to taste. Stir-fry an additional minute, or until bok choy is crisp-tender and still green. Add to mushroom mixture.

Add remaining tablespoon peanut oil to wok and heat until smoking. Remove scallops from bowl, leaving behind as much Hoisin sauce as possible, and gently place in wok. Stir-fry scallops about 4 minutes, or until scallops are cooked through, using spoon to break into smaller pieces. Remove scallops to clean bowl and cover.

Note: If you have an diner who would prefer that the scallops aren’t cooked in the wok which also will continue cooking the noodles and vegetables, prepare this step separately in a small skillet.

Add broth and garlic to wok and bring to a boil. Stir noodles into broth and boil until tender and most of the broth is absorbed, about 4-5 minutes.

Return vegetables to wok and stir-fry for 1 minute, or until heated. Add toasted sesame oil, jicama and salt to taste.

Serve in bowls, topped with scallops for those whom would like them, and sprinkled with cilantro leaves.

Serves 4.

The perfect solution for diners with a variety of tastes.

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