A little comic relief.

My new editor suggested that I post our favorite Eddie Izzard clip. It is food appropriate, especially in regards to Italian**, and after watching it for two years, we still laugh.

Click Here for Eddie Izzard.

** Please note: Do not eat Italian in anything called a canteen.

Thanks be to Cod.

After we travel, A. and I go into a sort of cultural withdraw. After our trip to the Yucatan, we sought out tacos and guacamole. Not only do we go to restaurants, but I make many attempts at mimicking our favorites, such as the best brunch ever. After France, we used tablecloths and listened to Edith Piaf, while I perused my Julia Child and Ina Garten books to find the best French recipes. When we travel, we take our time to enjoy the culture, and don't check things off our list. We feel really lucky to even be there and to take in the moment. Often, our long meals are what we remember best. The bliss of a conversation over a meal cultivates our passion for the food of different cultures. When we returned from Ireland, this of course occurred again.

Growing up in Alexandria, I was one of a few people with immediate Irish heritage, and certainly, I was the only dual citizen that I knew. There were the people who said they were Irish, ugh, loudly broadcasting their greenness on St. Patricks Day-- ironically, the day my grandmother loathed. In a town of Anglo-Saxon and Scot descendants, I grew up around the Scottish Games and the oldest Episcopalian church in the country. Alexandria was decidedly Protestant. With wild curly hair, big cheeks, and a Gaelic profile, I just didn't look or feel like my peers. In fact, after our last trip, I remarked to my mother how walking around Ireland I realized how much I looked like everyone. I fit in there. However, in the past ten years, the Irish finally arrived. Up and down King St, Irish chefs litter the various establishments. Upon returning from Ireland in April, we rushed to Eamonn's, named after the chef's son, and not the revolutionary. The best fish and chips this side of the Atlantic, we decided it rivaled most in Ireland. But, A. didn't stop there. For my 30th birthday, he took me to Restaurant Eve. Considered one of the best restaurants in the city, he went all out, and I still can't get over it. Dining with the likes of Denis Leary, we enjoyed a perfect meal. The food was fresh in such a way that reminds you that most food is not. I could not get over the dinner, or Denis Leary- that petite man, and it probably explained why we were pretty silent eating. No reflections about eating in Dingle at this meal. Upon leaving, they gave us a packet to make homemade scones in the morning. We jumped over to Daniel O'Connell's, this time named after the revolutionary, and shared pints in the most authentic pub in the city. I love the place, it reflects a modern Dublin pub-- because Ireland evolves, like the rest of the world. So much better then Fado's, Murphy's, or the 4 P's. Reflecting now, I can't get over how odd I felt growing up being Irish Catholic in D.C, but how hip it is now.

As if I need another reason to love Eamonn's and Restaurant Eve, yesterday the chef, Cathal Armstrong, was on NPR talking about sustainable eating, and all sorts of wonderfulness, take a moment to listen. Thank you NPR, the conversation brought me back to thoughts of Ireland again...

Please, no chicken, bacon, cream dressing, or ham.

Going to restaurants, I often need to rearrange the salads. "I would like the BBQ Chicken Salad, please. But, can you remove the chicken, add more tomatoes, and put the dressing on the side?" Ugh, I sound like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. However, salads in restaurants do not contain enough vegetable ingredients, so when the meat is removed you usually only have lettuce and carrots. I knew it was bad last summer when the waitress at Cap City knew me just by my odd order. Last night, in an effort to recover from the gluttony of a vacation in Mexico, I made the following salad. Restaurants should follow suite.

The Right Restaurant Salad.

• 1 cup of edamame
• 2 slices of a purple cabbage chopped (about 1 cup)
• 1 cup of arugula
• 1 cup of carrots shaved
• 1 cup of bean sprouts
• 1 cup of green onions chopped
• 1 red bell pepper sliced
• 1/4 cup sliced almonds
• 1 orange segmented
• 1 cup of rice wine vinegar
• 1/2 cup of lemon juice
• 1 tb sesame oil
• 2 tb soy sauce
• 2 tb of chopped fresh ginger
• 2 tp of honey

1. Mix edamame, cabbage, arugula, carrots, bean sprouts, green onions, red pepper and almonds. Plate the salad mixture, add orange pieces on top.
2. In a small bowl, whisk rice wine vinegar, lemon juice, sesame oil, soy sauce, honey and ginger.
3. Pour vinaigrette over salad.

This serves two, but if you chop up more ingredients, and put them in storage containers, you can have this for lunch the next day like I will . Creating a good salad is actually easy, if you make sure you chop the ingredients ahead of time. Assemble the dry ingredients in a Tupperware, and the wet ingredients, including dressing, in a Ziploc bag-- voila a healthy lunch. As someone who allows herself only 20 minutes to get ready at 6 in the morning for work, I can say there is no excuse for not packing yourself a healthy lunch.

"I judge you when you use poor grammar"

There is a Facebook group called "I judge you when you use poor grammar." It irks me. Although it is supposed to be a joke, I know the people who are in the group actually do judge people for grammar. One can improve their grammar and writing, and I work with my students all the time to help them with this. I also get corrected by colleagues; I love them, but it makes me very frustrated. I do believe that all people make grammatical errors, and to judge, or comment on, a person for their grammatical mistakes is ridiculous. In teaching, I see there are many, many reasons someone might make grammatical errors (learning disabilities, types of intelligences, ESL, certain academic strengths, weak elementary school focus on grammar, speed, colloquialisms, basic human error), and none of them worry me. We are all works in progress. To me, it is the content of what someone is saying, not the comma or spelling. So, really, I want to make a Facebook group that says "I don't judge your grammar; I judge idiocy."

Well, this rambling is to apologize for my grammatical errors, and there are many. Blogger does not have a good spell check, and I have a propensity for flipping then/than, except/accept, effect/affect. I re-read each entry twice, and try to read it again after publishing. But, as you can see, that does not guarantee perfection. I wanted this blog to be about a love for healthy food, and not repeating the hours of meticulous academic writing which I must complete for my PhD program. I wanted this to be fun, and not for me to be afraid of the grammar fascists. I wanted to share with the friends and family who often ask for recipes. Luckily, I married one of those meticulous grammar people, and he will now run a quick eye over the entries to appease those of you who are writing structuralists. Us idea people? We will go cook a good meal, while you grammar judges focus on the minutia.

You say Frittata, I say Italian Omelet

When I was little, I thought Richmond was centuries away from D.C. All I knew of the state capital was that my grandparents, artists from Brooklyn who lived in a beautiful old Victorian, lived in a house with enough music and sculpting equipment to start a commune. Richmond was the center for my family, abstract sculpture, jazz music, innovation, culinary perfection, and Italian New Yorkers. So hysterical, now that I think about it! We would drive the long, hard, one hour and fifteen minutes, to arrive in time for lunch. A young vegetarian, rejecting meat at age 12 because of a monumental viewing of a cow slaughter on TV, my Grandmother found ways to appease me. She set out the cold cuts for the family, and an Italian omelet for me. I never knew what was Italian about it, other than the fact that my grandmother, from Bari, created the meal. Now this omelet was nothing like Dad's Sunday omelet, enriched with flavor, filled with depth, the omelet allowed me to eat at Grandma's without feeling empty at the end. It tasted like family, and was never found at Italian restaurants.

After college, my roommate F. cooked dinner for the two of us. She announced, "Oh, I am going to make a frittata." I was clueless. What is this wondrous Spanish dish? Why did it sound so fancy? She poured the eggs in the pan, with spinach, and potato. It looked familiar, but I wasn't sure how. We sat down and gobbled up our meal, and then, it dawned on me: frittata= Italian Omelet. Now, eight years later, a frittata is trendy-- a brunch staple. However, 20 years ago, this remained lunch or dinner for our family, and reminded us all of our grandmother, the champion of all familial folklore. Apparently Serafina translated all her meals to her silly grandkids, who would eat anything called Italian. We ate Italian eggballs, or pasta, or sauce, or bread. Now, I know them as arancini, or penne/fusilli/farfalle/cappellini, or puttanesca/bolognese/al burro e panna, or focaccia. By the way, the name cappellini always threw me through a loop. I would beg my mom for the cheap angel hair pasta served at friends houses, where her box of de Cecco cappellini was the superior version. Oh, kids.

And now, I introduce my interpretation of the Frittata, but please realize the measurements and timing are estimates.

Serafina's Lunch

• 6 eggs
• 1 cup of milk
• 1 tb olive oil
• 1/2 bunch of asparagus/ chopped
• 1 potato sliced thinly
• 1 tb Herbs Provence
• 1/3 cup scallions chopped
• 1/3 cup feta
• Salt and pepper to taste
  

1. Preheat oven 400.
2. Mix the eggs, milk, Herbs Provence, salt and pepper in a bowl. Whisk.
3. Pour olive oil in a saucepan, heat medium.
4. Saute potato slices, 5 min.
5. Cook asparagus 1 min in microwave with water. Drain.
6. Pour egg mixture into saucepan, let sit for 2 min. Meanwhile, use a spatula to loosen the edges.
7. Add scallions, asparagus, feta, and let eggs sit. Still run the spatula under the mixture.
8. When the mixture has solidified, place in the oven for 10 minutes.
9. Serve with a side salad and bread.

Serves 4-8 depending on sides.
FYI: Frittata doesn't work on the spellcheck

Try a few new ingredients tonight...

I used to be afraid of Barley and Leeks. As exotic ingredients, I was convinced I would never know the mystery behind how to cook them. Instead of using a new recipe in one of my cookbooks, I altered a fairly familiar fail safe recipe I use with pasta. And, I found, I actually love Barley. Cooked in enough liquid, it can be creamy like risotto, but it is also a very filling grain. Leeks can be intimidating because you need to soak them. However, this only takes one extra step, and such a payoff to eat an interesting alternative to the onion. When we vary our ingredients, home cooked food does not bore us.

Veggies and Barley

• 2 Cups of Pearled Barley
• 3 Cups of Water
• 3 Cups of Veggie Broth
• 2 Leeks
• 1 cup of chopped Carrots
• 4 cups of Baby Spinach
• 2 Zucchini
• 2 Yellow Squash
• 1/2 Purple Cabbage
• 1 package of Baby Bella Mushrooms
  
• 2 cups of Fresh Basil
  
• 1 -2 tb of Kosher or Sea Salt
• 1-2 tb of Olive Oil
• Pepper to taste
  
• 1/2 cup Romano cheese

1. Preheat oven at 375.
   
2. In a large pot, boil water, veggie broth, and barley. Once water boils, turn it down to low, place to lid on top of the pot, and let the barley cook. If it is stiff, feel free to add more water to make the barley moist.
   
3. Meanwhile, chop the leeks. Place them in a bowl of water to soak out the sand. Continue chopping the zucchini, squash, carrots, mushrooms, cabbage, and basil. With a slotted spoon remove leeks from the water.
   
4. Lay veggies and basil on a large sheet of aluminum foil, which sits on a baking sheet. Mix in Salt, Olive Oil, and Pepper. Cover the foil, and place in the oven for 20 minutes or until the carrots are tender, but still a little crunchy.
5. Once everything is cooked, ladle barley into a bowl, add the mix of veggies on top, then the Pepper and Romano cheese.
   

This recipe serves 6, but freezes really well.

Tony may hate Vegetarians...

Anthony Bourdain hates vegetarians. As a chef he fosters a real hatred for people who only subsist on veggies, which rests on a theory about microorganisms which haunt vegetarian digestive tracks. Now, I don't let his crackpot theory limit me. His show, No Reservations, and his books assist any chef who is interested in exploring new foods. We often watch his show, which travels across the world looking for the most unusual foods, as well as the best. Some of the meals he ingests bring up other issues for the digestive track.

The other day, while driving out to a horse farm retreat with my students, I listened to his book Kitchen Confidential. Despite his brief anti-vegetarian moment, I found the book to be an amazing help for my understanding on how the restaurant industry works, as well as how to build my own kitchen. I learned when to eat fish in restaurants, what not to order, as well as which restaurants to avoid. He also gives many unbelievable stories about what happens behind the swinging doors. In many ways, he reassured me that my path into teaching was more appropriate than the wild ways of the gourmet restaurant-- which come to think of it got me worried about my cousin who works at Bertrand Chemel's new place, 2941 (I am never above plugging family accomplishments). Anyways, Bourdain's stories, sometimes boastings, create a fun and informative read, which I recommend, even for the vegetarians.

Don't call me Martha.

I continue to be suspicious of Martha Stewart.

My mom and I used Martha's early holiday specials as potential entertainment. We laughed ourselves out of our chairs each time she uttered "all you need to do is just..." which she always followed with the most complicated task in history. My mom-- a woman who went back to school, held a full-time job, raised three children, sewed, and is an amazing chef-- scoffed at Stewart's insistence that all women have time for her complicated tasks. Now as an adult, working woman who went back to school, I finally really get it. I do not dislike Martha for her white collar crime, her pimping of her brand name on her show, or her general idea of creating quality thoughtful goods from scratch. The problem with Martha Stewart is she projects an image of feminine homemaker which traps women into an impossible ideal. The woman sleeps three hours a night, which explains her testy demeanor. As a fellow insomniac, I do not trust a woman who irons with a Milele Rotary Iron at 4 am; when I wake up that early I can hardly manage a book or the remote. Entrenched in upper-class, white values, Martha recreates the 1950s myth that women can/should keep a perfect home. However, she is not old-fashioned, Martha believes women should work as well. Her well-sculpted image traps women in an ideal of material perfection. However, Martha's modern domestic loses the point of the various activities because they focus on image, not enjoyment. A home is not a place to outfit with perfect Pottery Barn furniture, Williams Sonoma kitchenware, and a scrap booking room. A home is a collection of memories which meld together to create a mosaic.

What I hate even more? Being called Martha Stewart. Yes, I cook, sew, and garden, but I don't think these activities should trap women into a 1950s myth. For a man to participate in these activities, he is modern and strikes interest of all in conversation. For a woman, she is Martha. A man who cooks at home is a gourmand, a woman is just fulfilling centuries of domestic separation. A man who sews should be on Project Runway, a woman Holly Hobby. A man who gardens is communing with the earth, a woman is beautifying. I cook because I enjoy excellent food. I sew because I can make gifts/clothes/bags better than what I see in the store. I garden because I want fresh ingredients for previously mentioned excellent food. What is lost on many Americans is the enjoyment of slowing down activities and becoming a part of the process of creation. Many of my friends say "I don't cook" or sew, or embroider, or garden because there is a negative image attached to doing formerly domestic activities. It is time to remove the gender from the activity, and understand that creating is something everyone can do. So no, I do not read Martha's magazine, buy her goods, cook her recipes, search her website, or watch her show. I refuse to believe that her image is the modern solution to the female domestic past.