I admit, I was never a Julia Child fan. The shows were boring to me when I was a child, and as an adult they seem dated and unhelpful. So we can cross off Julia as an influence in my interest in food and cooking. However, the PBS cooking shows in the early '90s, though I remember them only dimly, did capture my attention on Saturday mornings. Nathalie Dupree made perhaps the biggest impression on me then; her cooking style was accessible, her personality sweet and goofy (she, more so to me than the legendary Julia, is who I think of when I think of cooking show hosts who drop things, spill things, or just generally screw up and cheerfully move on). All of Ms. Dupree's cookbooks are worth a look, particularly her beautiful "Southern Memories." Rare is the recipe of hers for which you have to search out a special grocery store or ethnic food market, and rare is the use of convenience products, and yet the vast majority of her recipes couldn't be simpler and more flavorful.
There are a few other PBS chefs I remember, if not always by name. There was an Italian-American woman (not Lidia), who I have a faint memory of cooking vegetables from her garden. There was the late Justin Wilson ("I gar-on-tee!), and John Folse, of course (remember I was watching in Baton Rouge, so Louisiana shows took precedence). There was a very large chef whose name I do not recall, but who also, I believe, specialized in Louisiana cooking; I remember him mainly because his kitchen looked like, well, his kitchen--not a set. No six-burner range or Sub-Zero refrigerator there, as I recall.
Then, sometime in the mid-90s, I discovered the Food Network. My early loves were Michele Urvater, "Ready, Set, Cook!" and "How to Boil Water." If they put the original "How to Boil Water" on DVD, I'd buy it; I just loved it. I never did much care for Emeril's shows, which was inconvenient since he was on A LOT, but there was enough other programming that I liked that I could live with it.
Over the years, I lost some shows I liked, gained some I liked (and a lot I couldn't stand). I really dislike the competition shows for the most part, especially anything that has to do with building fancy cakes. I can't express how uninterested I am in that entire topic. Some of the travel shows are ok--I love Guy Fieri's "Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives," for example. He's the perfect host for that type of program, as he's genuinely friendly and outgoing and seems to get along well with the cooks he meets. It's fun to see restaurants across America, in places I might someday go and others where I'll never set foot. On the opposite end of the spectrum, I don't care for Giada di Laurentiis, and her travel show did not interest me in the least, nor do her regular cooking shows.
I know a lot of people online complain that FN is "dumbed down," that they treat cooking like it's a chore that needs to be gotten over with, in as little time as possible and for as cheaply as possible. Foodies want to be catered to a little more, with programming reflective of upscale lifestyles. While I don't dispute that FN has erred on the side of quick/easy cooking shows, I think the reality probably is that that actually is what most people are looking for. Particularly in this economy, I would guess most people would probably like to have their need to reduce the food budget acknowledged and addressed in creative ways. Of course, Sandra Lee is not the answer, but most of the TV chefs do a pretty good job using "real" ingredients that are not too expensive, Ina Garten's occasional lobster mac n' cheese excepted. I would like for the FN to order some new programming that shows us how to cook some cuisines that people are more likely to think of mysterious and complicated: Indian, Lebanese, Japanese, you name it. A vegetarian/vegan show would be nice (what happened to Curtis Aikens?). I guess Ellie Krieger isn't on any more, but I loved her approach to healthy cooking. There is room for the FN to improve, but I, for one, think that improvement can come from programming reflecting a wider variety of cooking styles. And if those shows demystify certain cuisines and are still showing how to get in and out of the kitchen quickly and cheaply, then that's all the better.
Recommended reading: "Barefoot Contessa Family Style," by Ina Garten. Yes, there are a few expensive recipes in here, but most of them aren't, and most are also easy to prepare and delicious. The Pumpkin Banana Mousse Tart may change your life, at least at Thanksgiving. Suggestion: Ina's salads are wonderful, but I find it's best to cut back her dressings by at least 1/3 to 1/2.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Why It Takes Me So Long to Shop
Relatively early in my marriage, I had gone to the grocery store--Albertson's on Perkins Road in Baton Rouge. The Internet tells me it's still there, though I don't know if the house where we lived is, but I lived about five minutes from the store. (By car, that is; one time my truck wouldn't start and I couldn't reach my husband on the phone, and I walked home carrying a large bag of dog food. That must have looked strange, and it was certainly exhausting. But this story isn't about that time, not that there's any more to tell.) Anyway, I had been gone for quite some time and Fred asked me where I had been for so long. When I said I had just been at the grocery store, I could tell that, although he believed me, he couldn't understand it. What could take so long? You go in, you get what you need, selecting the very cheapest option, and you leave. Simple. Well, it isn't for me.
When I go to the grocery store, I usually have a list, but it usually isn't a very comprehensive one. I always anticipate that I'll be looking for things that are on sale and things that are in season, so those things are hard to plan. I use coupons that they give me at the register, but I don't bother with buying the Sunday paper to get coupons, since I don't buy much processed food and it seems like the vast majority of coupons are for things like Hamburger Helper and Pop-Tarts and other things that I don't like and don't use.
Once I'm actually in the store, I start with things that don't have to be kept cold, i.e., baking goods, canned foods, and the like. I don't buy many canned items, but when I do buy them, I spend an agonizingly long time checking each can over for dents. One of my obsessive fears is botulism; I imagine carelessly using the contents of a dented can then, 18 hours later, Fred and I both struggling to reach the telephone, as the paralysis and breathing problems start taking over. So there I stand, studying my canned tomatoes and black olives and the occasional canned soup and canned beans. And for some reason tuna fish cans seem to be the worst offenders at being dented. I've shuffled through many a tuna fish can in frustration, looking for a perfect one.
On to produce--another time-consuming area. Is it even still possible to buy an orange that smells and tastes like one? There I stand, smelling oranges, trying to find out. And I smell cantaloupes. And peaches. And anything else that signals ripeness through aroma. What if I want cauliflower? Nine of ten heads have brown spots, so that takes a lot of culling. Potatoes require much study, to make sure they're firm and free of eyes and green spots. Onions have to be sorted through to make sure they have no mold. Asparagus, my most favorite vegetable--are the tips tight? Are the stalks limp? Did the store force me to buy too many poor-quality spears in order to get a few good ones? Same question with strawberries and other berries--are there moldy ones in the carton?
Produce finally over, I can move on to meat and dairy. Meats: that's a question of what's available that looks good. I can usually rely on baby back ribs, ground sirloin, and ham. But beyond that, it's a crapshoot, especially at my local grocery store. Pork chips are either too thin or ridiculously thick. Pork tenderloins come already marinated in flavors I don't want. Fred isn't fond of chicken (nor am I), so I have to really have something in mind before buying it. I've bought ribeye steaks that were too expensive to have as much gristle as they did. But we like meat and don't want grilled cheese sandwiches every night, so I do my best with what they have.
Dairy is probably the easiest. Short of making sure the milk and buttermilk aren't leaking and that their expiration date is far in the future, there isn't much to worry about. (Except, of course, the bigger questions: do I need to buy organic? Can I get away with 1% milk instead of skim? But I try not to philosophize about those things too much when I'm actually at the store; people are trying to get by.) Cheese, oh cheese--should I splurge on Gruyere or just pick up some Monterey Jack? My grocery store's house brand of unsalted butter is fine, and cheap. I admit I do like to splurge on a certain brand of free-range eggs if I'm at a store that carries them; they're $2.99 for six, but they are very fresh and have the deepest-colored yolks I've ever seen. I've bought farmstand eggs that weren't as photogenic. I don't buy much frozen food; other than the occasional ice cream purchase, I pretty much stay away from the freezers, so once I'm done with dairy, I'm (finally) ready to check out.
Even though I probably make grocery shopping harder than it should be, I really have been trying to minimize waste and carefully selecting what I need helps eliminate it. Some waste will sometimes be unavoidable, but if I plan well enough I should be able to use all or almost all of what I buy and not have things rotting in the produce drawers, molding in the cheese drawer, or becoming unrecognizable in the freezer.
Recommended reading: "Monday to Friday Cookbook," by Michele Urvater. It's a good mix of practical advice on planning meals, buying food and serving the family economically, but since Ms. Urvater's tastes are somewhat unusual it's a little different than your average family cookbook. Her rice pudding recipe, made with evaporated milk and raspberries, is the only one I've ever liked, and her polenta soup is delicious.
When I go to the grocery store, I usually have a list, but it usually isn't a very comprehensive one. I always anticipate that I'll be looking for things that are on sale and things that are in season, so those things are hard to plan. I use coupons that they give me at the register, but I don't bother with buying the Sunday paper to get coupons, since I don't buy much processed food and it seems like the vast majority of coupons are for things like Hamburger Helper and Pop-Tarts and other things that I don't like and don't use.
Once I'm actually in the store, I start with things that don't have to be kept cold, i.e., baking goods, canned foods, and the like. I don't buy many canned items, but when I do buy them, I spend an agonizingly long time checking each can over for dents. One of my obsessive fears is botulism; I imagine carelessly using the contents of a dented can then, 18 hours later, Fred and I both struggling to reach the telephone, as the paralysis and breathing problems start taking over. So there I stand, studying my canned tomatoes and black olives and the occasional canned soup and canned beans. And for some reason tuna fish cans seem to be the worst offenders at being dented. I've shuffled through many a tuna fish can in frustration, looking for a perfect one.
On to produce--another time-consuming area. Is it even still possible to buy an orange that smells and tastes like one? There I stand, smelling oranges, trying to find out. And I smell cantaloupes. And peaches. And anything else that signals ripeness through aroma. What if I want cauliflower? Nine of ten heads have brown spots, so that takes a lot of culling. Potatoes require much study, to make sure they're firm and free of eyes and green spots. Onions have to be sorted through to make sure they have no mold. Asparagus, my most favorite vegetable--are the tips tight? Are the stalks limp? Did the store force me to buy too many poor-quality spears in order to get a few good ones? Same question with strawberries and other berries--are there moldy ones in the carton?
Produce finally over, I can move on to meat and dairy. Meats: that's a question of what's available that looks good. I can usually rely on baby back ribs, ground sirloin, and ham. But beyond that, it's a crapshoot, especially at my local grocery store. Pork chips are either too thin or ridiculously thick. Pork tenderloins come already marinated in flavors I don't want. Fred isn't fond of chicken (nor am I), so I have to really have something in mind before buying it. I've bought ribeye steaks that were too expensive to have as much gristle as they did. But we like meat and don't want grilled cheese sandwiches every night, so I do my best with what they have.
Dairy is probably the easiest. Short of making sure the milk and buttermilk aren't leaking and that their expiration date is far in the future, there isn't much to worry about. (Except, of course, the bigger questions: do I need to buy organic? Can I get away with 1% milk instead of skim? But I try not to philosophize about those things too much when I'm actually at the store; people are trying to get by.) Cheese, oh cheese--should I splurge on Gruyere or just pick up some Monterey Jack? My grocery store's house brand of unsalted butter is fine, and cheap. I admit I do like to splurge on a certain brand of free-range eggs if I'm at a store that carries them; they're $2.99 for six, but they are very fresh and have the deepest-colored yolks I've ever seen. I've bought farmstand eggs that weren't as photogenic. I don't buy much frozen food; other than the occasional ice cream purchase, I pretty much stay away from the freezers, so once I'm done with dairy, I'm (finally) ready to check out.
Even though I probably make grocery shopping harder than it should be, I really have been trying to minimize waste and carefully selecting what I need helps eliminate it. Some waste will sometimes be unavoidable, but if I plan well enough I should be able to use all or almost all of what I buy and not have things rotting in the produce drawers, molding in the cheese drawer, or becoming unrecognizable in the freezer.
Recommended reading: "Monday to Friday Cookbook," by Michele Urvater. It's a good mix of practical advice on planning meals, buying food and serving the family economically, but since Ms. Urvater's tastes are somewhat unusual it's a little different than your average family cookbook. Her rice pudding recipe, made with evaporated milk and raspberries, is the only one I've ever liked, and her polenta soup is delicious.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Confessions Of An Ex-Sort-Of-Foodie
This year, I turned 40 and, while I think I still look and feel pretty good for my age, I think I can't put off calling myself "middle-aged" anymore. (Though, for all I know I could die tomorrow, so there would be no "middle" about it; best not to dwell on that, I suppose.) Classically, this is the time of life where people take stock, let go of some dreams and start coming to terms with what really matters. Either that, or they buy a convertible and dump their spouse for someone half their age, but I'm not going to be doing either of those things. Instead, I'm blogging about food and how, why, and how much it matters to me.
Some background: I grew up in Seguin, Texas, a small town which, although not a bad place to grow up in a lot of ways, was and is not a beacon for foodies. When I was growing up, "salad" meant mostly iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, carrots and seedy, waxed cucumbers. Italian food was spaghetti with meat sauce or pizza, usually pepperoni. I was at least in my teens before I heard of a bagel.
Since my parents will be reading this, they'll no doubt want me to defend them, as indeed I should, by saying that they did have an interest in food and our meals were well-cooked, reasonably wholesome and, perhaps most importantly, usually shared together (a dying tradition). One of the exotic things I remember them making occasionally was paella, though that was an expensive treat. If they didn't cook dishes from around the world, it wasn't for lack of interest, it was for lack of ingredients. Good luck finding fresh mozzarella or smoked salmon or arugula in those days; it just didn't happen, not in Seguin, Texas. So you made do with what you had and often, it was in fact very good; it just wasn't exotic.
Eventually, as I went to college, got married, and then moved to Baton Rouge for law school, I became more and more exposed to what the food world had to offer. I had flings with vegetarianism and semi-vegitarianism along the way. I loved reading cookbooks and in Baton Rouge, a food town, I was able to find a lot of the ingredients that I had never seen before. I began to get a little (ok, a lot) snobbier about what was "acceptable," and to look down my nose at Wonder Bread and Velveeta. This, even though I am married to a man who thinks Velveeta is perfectly lovely, and who would buy Miracle Whip if I let him grocery shop. After we moved back to Texas in 1999, my location about 2 hours from San Antonio allowed me to shop sometimes at Central Market, a place that for me is better than Disneyland: I can get anything from Tomme d' Savoie cheese to garnet sweet potatoes to French wines to garlic-marinated olives to fancy prepared foods to Dr. Pepper, all under one roof.
But I noticed somewhere along the way, in my late 30s, that I was getting, in a way, a little tired of thinking so much about food and continually upgrading my limit on what was "acceptable." I started disliking myself for thinking that way when so many people worldwide don't have enough to eat and would love to have the variety of ingredients at my closest supermarket; what I find inadequate (why don't they have flank steak? why did they quit carrying White Lily flour?) would seem like paradise to many. I'm still fascinated by food, but now I'm more interested in where it comes from, how much is wasted, how healthy (or unhealthy) it is, and even how to grow (some) of it. It is not my intent to be judgmental or condescending about the foodie culture in this or future posts; I just want to think through some of the other issues surrounding food, and to remind myself to be grateful for what I do have.
Recommended reading: "The Silver Palate Cookbook," by Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins, a book that opened up a whole new world for me in the 1980s. I still flip through it from time to time.
Some background: I grew up in Seguin, Texas, a small town which, although not a bad place to grow up in a lot of ways, was and is not a beacon for foodies. When I was growing up, "salad" meant mostly iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, carrots and seedy, waxed cucumbers. Italian food was spaghetti with meat sauce or pizza, usually pepperoni. I was at least in my teens before I heard of a bagel.
Since my parents will be reading this, they'll no doubt want me to defend them, as indeed I should, by saying that they did have an interest in food and our meals were well-cooked, reasonably wholesome and, perhaps most importantly, usually shared together (a dying tradition). One of the exotic things I remember them making occasionally was paella, though that was an expensive treat. If they didn't cook dishes from around the world, it wasn't for lack of interest, it was for lack of ingredients. Good luck finding fresh mozzarella or smoked salmon or arugula in those days; it just didn't happen, not in Seguin, Texas. So you made do with what you had and often, it was in fact very good; it just wasn't exotic.
Eventually, as I went to college, got married, and then moved to Baton Rouge for law school, I became more and more exposed to what the food world had to offer. I had flings with vegetarianism and semi-vegitarianism along the way. I loved reading cookbooks and in Baton Rouge, a food town, I was able to find a lot of the ingredients that I had never seen before. I began to get a little (ok, a lot) snobbier about what was "acceptable," and to look down my nose at Wonder Bread and Velveeta. This, even though I am married to a man who thinks Velveeta is perfectly lovely, and who would buy Miracle Whip if I let him grocery shop. After we moved back to Texas in 1999, my location about 2 hours from San Antonio allowed me to shop sometimes at Central Market, a place that for me is better than Disneyland: I can get anything from Tomme d' Savoie cheese to garnet sweet potatoes to French wines to garlic-marinated olives to fancy prepared foods to Dr. Pepper, all under one roof.
But I noticed somewhere along the way, in my late 30s, that I was getting, in a way, a little tired of thinking so much about food and continually upgrading my limit on what was "acceptable." I started disliking myself for thinking that way when so many people worldwide don't have enough to eat and would love to have the variety of ingredients at my closest supermarket; what I find inadequate (why don't they have flank steak? why did they quit carrying White Lily flour?) would seem like paradise to many. I'm still fascinated by food, but now I'm more interested in where it comes from, how much is wasted, how healthy (or unhealthy) it is, and even how to grow (some) of it. It is not my intent to be judgmental or condescending about the foodie culture in this or future posts; I just want to think through some of the other issues surrounding food, and to remind myself to be grateful for what I do have.
Recommended reading: "The Silver Palate Cookbook," by Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins, a book that opened up a whole new world for me in the 1980s. I still flip through it from time to time.
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