Hungry? Pass Me My Soapbox

daphne on November 30, 2009

Back in the old days nobody was allergic to food, and I was the only kid in class who had to sit out PE because of a weird breathing problem.  Now we have peanut-free computer rooms and asthma is as prevalent in schools as number 2 pencils.  Kids sure have changed.

Well, something has changed, but maybe it’s not the kids.  Maybe it’s what we’re putting into kids today that is so remarkably different.

I thought I was aware.  I thought I was doing a pretty good job with this whole food thing.  But this weekend I saw the movie Food Inc, and once again my eyes have been forcibly opened.  If you think the truth was inconvenient, you’re not going to be happy when you take a look at what’s going on with food these days.  This is not about your sweet tooth.  This has nothing to do with cutting out the fat.  The very food we eat, the food we feed to our children, has become little more than chemically and politically engineered calories.

Our bodies are not happy about that change.  Our bodies are staging a revolt.  So should we.

I know. It’s not fun, and I’m sorry.  But we need to pay closer attention to the story of our food.  The story, in short, goes something like this–

In 1994 we started engineering neurotoxins into our food supply.  The rise and acceptance of genetically modified crops and uber-processed food-like items corresponds quite neatly with the bizarre health trends that we’re noticing in our children and their friends.

As of the year 2000, 1 in 3 of our children will develop asthma, ADHD, serious food allergies, or autism.  Our cancer rates are considerably higher than all other developed countries. A person’s risk increases by 4x just by moving to the United States.

That is crazy. And terrifying.  And totally unacceptable.

It’s one thing to go overboard every now and then.  We all do it, eat junk and then negotiate with ourselves for a longer jog, a salad for dinner.  And that balancing act used to be enough.  But these new-fangled calories are different. The damage they do cannot be worked out in the gym.  Our children are not lazy; their bodies simply have no idea what to do with the junk that we shovel into them in the name of convenience.

The more refined or processed a food item is, the further away from it’s natural state a snack gets, the less our bodies are able to deal with it without getting sick. Really, really sick.

We don’t even know what we’re eating anymore, but I know this: we need to go back to eating food.  Real food with real ingredients.

It may seem inconvenient; then again, so do seatbelts and helmets.

Rules to Eat By:

  • Eat real food; that is, food that our grandparents would instantly recognize.
  • Eat food as close to it’s natural state as possible.
  • Read labels. If you can’t pronounce it or define it, don’t eat it.
  • If you’re eating meat, know where it comes from.   Cows haven’t evolved to eat corn, organic or otherwise.  It makes them sick.  Healthy cows eat grass. Healthy people eat healthy cows.
  • An average fast food burger contains DNA from hundreds or even thousands of different animals.  Even if those animals aren’t sick, it is gross, and dangerous.

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Wow, that’s sure a lot of proselytizing. So where have I gotten all my information?  Here–

Books I think are terrific:

Movies that tell the story (both are available from Netflix.)

  • King Corn – 2 guys plant 1 acre and follow it through the system and into our food;
  • Food Inc — great summary of the issues, including the politics of the food system;

Mwha Ha Ha, Mwha Ha Ha (wring hands here)

daphne on November 18, 2009

That’s the sound of my mad scientists, seen here hatching their plans to overtake the world.

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Maybe they’re not plotting intergalactic mayhem. At this moment they claim to be separating out strands of DNA from corn meal at the new exhibit at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science.

Even if they were plotting world domination, there’s something about my babies all geared up in scientist garb that’s just so darn sweet.  Even intergalactic mayhem would be palatable if it came wrapped in this package.  Am I right?

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You got me.  I just like saying intergalactic mayhem.  It’s fun.  Try it.

Know what I’m up to this afternoon?

Not much.

Just some intergalactic mayhem, that’s all.

If ever there were two intergalactic mayhem-wringing punks, it would be mine.  They are so in-sync that even their brain waves bob up and down in the same rhythm.  I know, because they hooked themselves up and I watched their brains a’waving.

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This is a game at Exhibition Health.  The player who can make her mind relax the most moves the ball across the board and into her opponent’s goal.   Not only did the girls’ battle of calmness last almost 5 minutes, but their wavelengths were completely synchronized until the final second, when, with a burst of mind control, Acadia relaxed past her sister for the win.

Dave and I also engaged our brainwaves in some head-to-head combat. Our game lasted a nano-second.   Maybe that’s because he had no problem closing his eyes and losing sight of his children in a crowded museum, while I remained ever vigilant.  Maybe I worry too much.  Either way, I lost the game; I retained sight of my children.  Everyone’s a winner.

Now if you’re wondering what in this crazy blue planet does intergalactic mayhem have to do with my whole eating green theme, be patient young grasshopper; I was just getting to that.

Despite the fact that Dave still has his eyes closed from his triumph in the battle of the brainwaves, do not be fooled.  He may look sleepy, but that’s just because science is such hard work.

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And if you don’t think intergalactic mayhem-making builds a mega-appetite, than you’ve got a thing or two to learn about science my friend.

Somebody’s got to feed the starving scientists.

That’s where I come in.

Mayhem-makers or not, they’re my babies.  And when they return from a long day of wreaking havoc in our solar system there will be a local, sustainably-raised, organic meal waiting for them.

I’ll Have Thanksgiving When I Want to Have Thanksgiving

daphne on November 12, 2009

The thing about holidays is that there are billions of things that can make one cranky.  Jacked-up airline prices and crowded airports; insanity at the market and children who insist on dallying with strep throat.  Not to mention the pressure, the crowds, and all those random crazy hungry people who insist they are related to you.

You can’t do much about the crazies other than learn to love ’em.  But the rest of it can be avoided if you do what I do: schedule Thanksgiving for whenever the heck it works for you.  Trust me, if you roast it, they will come.  For us, Thanksgiving was this past weekend.

I cooked this sumptuous meal–

Pictured: smattering of little people who would consume the turkey.

Not pictured: the actual turkey.

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Thing is,  I can’t figure out how those fancy-shmancy bloggies do it. I don’t know how they manage to bring home the bacon, fry it up with grease splattering everywhere and photograph it at the same time.  I get the camera into the kitchen, but when I’m up to my elbows in turkey butt with onion-induced tears streaming down my face I always forget to reach for it.

It’s probably a good thing.  Should I happen to remember one day I have no doubt that said camera would land itself right up in there with the onions and the apples and that would be no good. No good at all.

Posterity will have to wait.

Trust me when I tell you that the turkey was golden and gorgeous.  I started out with a deep muscle rub-down, a nice buttery-sage-cider massage which relaxed him enough to climb into that oven and do his job.

Mmmm, check out this golden roasted turkey–

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If by golden roasted turkey I mean a haggard bunch of related turkeys posed on the front stairs.  Which I do.

This year for faux-Thanksgiving I took an atypical laissez-faire approach towards dessert.  Not eating it, of course, but making it.  I handed that duty off to my sister, who made a yummy pumpkin cheesecake, and my brother, who under pressure and duress from the wise woman-folk in his life agreed to make the cool, free-form apple pie we found in our new Pioneer Woman cookbook.

Baby brother delivered. Check out his results.  Err, I mean, Look! It’s Grandma and Grandpa with some of the kiddies at the park.

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Hang on a second.  With someone else bellying up to the old oven, I was freed up to snap some real live food pictures–

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Viewing this lovely picture one might think that the most enjoyable part about forcing a brother to bake a pie would be eating it.  But that wasn’t so.

The best part of this pie was the post-game debriefing provided by his supportive family. We lovingly went through every step of his process to point out where he went wrong and what he could have done better.  It was very kind of us, and although he bravely declined my offer of a pad and pencil for note taking,  I know my brother was thankful for the feedback.

At least on the inside.  And because my heart is just that big, I will give him another chance to redeem himself.  Aren’t big sisters the best?

And now, with our holiday feasting behind us, let me be the first to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving.  I know, I know it’s early. But that’s the way I roll. Oftentimes I find myself ahead of the curve.

Setting the pace.

Dancing on the cutting edge.

But it’s all to your advantage dear reader.  I may completely rearrange the calendar to meet my needs, but that does not mean I’m selfish.  Just for you, you poor souls for whom the pressures of Thanksgiving still loom large on the horizon, I offer you this–an already planned, tried and true Thanksgiving menu–

My Thanksgiving Menu: The Recipes

Bon Appetit!

Carmelized Onion and Cornbread Stuffing

daphne on November 12, 2009

I may not be Southern, but somehow Thanksgiving and Cornbread stuffing have always gone together in my mind.  Here’s how I do it–

  • 1 pan of cornbread*  (*I use the recipe on the back of the cornmeal package, but whatever the recipe I always add a heaping TBLS of sour cream to the batter.)
  • 2 Tbls butter
  • 1 cup or so of dried apples, chopped
  • 2 onions, chopped fine
  • 1 egg, beaten
  • 1/4 cup half and half
  • 1/4 chicken stock
  • 3 Tbls dried sage
  • salt+pepper

Preheat oven to 375.

Cut the cornbread into smallish pieces and spread out on a baking sheet to dry out. Here in Colorado it takes no time as any moisture is sucked out of anything in minutes.  If you live anywhere less desert-like, put the baking sheet in a 200 degree oven for about 20 minutes to achieve the same results.

Melt the butter in a medium pan.  Add the chopped onions and saute for about 10 minutes, or until soft.

Crumble dried-out cornbread into a bowl.  Add the onions, apples, sage and salt and pepper.

In separate bowl whisk together the egg, cream and chicken stock.  Pour over the cornbread and stir. together.

Put into a buttered 9X13 baking dish.

Bake 30 minutes until hot and crusty on top.

Cranberry Orange and Apple Relish

daphne on November 12, 2009

Cranberry sauce in a can is gross.  I don’t care what you’re used to, it is time to grow up and make your own.  There are many reasons–

  1. Kids love the cool popping sounds that the berries make as they explode juice all over the stove top
  2. It’s better, that’s why
  3. All the cool kids are doing it.

Glad you’re on board.  Here’s how it’s done:

  • 1 orange
  • 3/4 cup sugar
  • 1/4 cup port
  • 1 12oz bag of cranberries (not dried)
  • 1 apple, finely chopped

Grate the zest and squeeze the juice from the orange into a medium sized pot.

Add the port.

Over medium heat, dissolve the sugar in the orange juice and port.

Stir in cranberries, zest and apple.  Cook uncovered for 8-10 minutes, or until the popping has stopped and the mixture becomes thick.

Remove 1/2 the mixture and blend it until it forms a smooth jelly.  Add back into the pot.

C hill for about an hour, and serve cool or at room temperature.

Delicious Thanksgiving Turkey

daphne on November 12, 2009

  • 15 lb turkey — I went for the natural one at Whole Foods, which was going for 99 cents/pound.  They even defrosted it for me and kept it chilled until I needed it.
  • 1/2 stick of butter
  • 1 large onion
  • 1 apple
  • 1/2 lemon
  • 1/4 cup of apple cider
  • 10 dried sage leaves, or a few Tablespoons of dried sage

Prop the turkey up on a counter somewhere and take a good look.  A good look inside.  Typically the neck will be tucked into one end. Remove it and save it for my father.  He insists that it’s the best part.

Now peek into the business end of the turkey.  Reach in– there will be a baggie of giblets.  Do not cook the bag inside the turkey (I have. I don’t suggest it.)  Remove it and set aside for gravy making.

Melt the butter–until it’s mushy but not liquid.  Add the crumbled sage and the cider to the butter.

Roll up your sleeves.  Massage the butter combination into the turkey, all over, even a little on the inside.

Chop the apple, the onion and the lemon in big chunks and throw them into the roasting pan.

Place the turkey, breast side up, into the roasting pan, uncovered.

Roast at 425 for 30 minutes, then reduce heat to 375.  At this point if the turkey is brown enough already, create a little tent of tin foil to cover the turkey loosely.

Begin checking with a meat thermometer after 3 1/2 or 4 hours.  Our 15 pound turkey, cooked at altitude, took 4 1/2 hours to cook.

Cheater’s Gravy (Make-It-Ahead)

daphne on November 12, 2009

I cheat.  Not only do I make my gravy ahead of time but I make my turkey gravy from chicken parts.  Which leaves you with two choices: You can go out and slander my name all over this turkey lovin’ country, or you can do what I do: cheat.

Welcome aboard.  Here’s how it’s done.

What you’ll need:

  • 1 package of chicken parts (4-6 wings or thighs or drumsticks)
  • 2 medium onions
  • 2 Tbls butter, optional
  • 1/4 cup apple cider, optional
  • 4-6 cups chicken stock
  • Pepper — a couple teaspoons or to taste
  • 3-4 Tbls Sage
  • 2-4 Tbls flour or more

Heat oven to 400.

Put wings in a single layer in a roasting pan. Scatter chopped onions around and on top and Roast for 1 1/2 hours, or until meat is cooked.

Remove chicken parts and onion chunks from the pan and put them into a large soup pot.  Add 4 cups of stock, pepper and sage and apple cider.

Into the still hot roasting pan, add 1 cup of water, which will hiss and start to boil. Scrape at all the dark stuff (this is where the good flavor comes from) so it mixes into the water.  Add to the pot.  You can repeat this step, with a little bit of water at a time, to get at all the good, baked on stuff.

Bring to a boil, then reduce and simmer for another hour or so.  The house will start to smell divine at this point.

Remove the meat and save for another day.

Strain the broth into a saucepan, pressing against the onions and bits to get all the liquid out.

At this point you can put it in the fridge, which makes the fat solidify at the top of the container.  You can easily remove the fat and throw it away before finishing the gravy on game day.

Heat the strained broth in the saucepan.  Remove about 1/4 cup of the broth and put it in a bowl with a couple TBLS of flour.  Whisk together until all lumps disappear and add to the pot.  Continue to do this until it reaches the thickness you like.  Keep it simmering stove top, stir occasionally.

At the very end, you can add a couple TBLS of butter into the gravy and whisk it in as it melts. This makes it shiny and pretty and tasty. I totally forgot this step this year and no one seemed to miss it at all.

And There I’d Keep Him Very Well

daphne on November 4, 2009

The “there” of which I speak is this inconceivably large pumpkin shell.  Care to guess whom I would like to stuff inside?

pumpkin shell

You might be thinking Dave, particularly if you have read the lyrical ode to my over- ambitious pumpkin-seed loving husband.  Perhaps putting him in a pumpkin shell is the consummate solution to a spouse mad out of his gourd.   I do like the way you think,  but it was actually this little guy I had in mind–

miles

This pint-sized delicious nephew of mine is coming to visit, and I know if given the chance I could keep him very well inside a giant pumpkin shell. But his mama is relatively new at all this baby stuff;  I bet when they arrive later this week she’ll insist on napping him somewhere clean and non-vegetative, like a pack+play.  New parents can be so unimaginative.

No sweat.  I already found a new occupant for the remains of the pumpkin shell abode.  You remember this guy?  We’ve renamed him ‘El Gordito’ after his recent pumpkin binge.

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He is thrilled with his edible bed.  Especially after I generously moved it out of the snow.  He was none too happy with the blizzard last week that left his stomping grounds looking like this —

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Before I moved his meal, El Gordito performed an interpretative cold paw dance on the snow that expressed his deepest desire (warm feet.) I should have caught it on film, but I have my reputation to consider. I don’t want people thinking that I’m spending too much time alone.  Alone, with squirrels, I mean.

Some would have me focus on the more human yet also cute inhabitants of this household.

Fine. For the record, cute humans that also reside here–

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Pictured: Sister Hermione, Sister Black Cat, and Mama Cowgirl.  Not pictured: Papa, sigh, Cowboy.  You’ll have to take my word for it.  Crazy-pumpkin-seed boy makes a mighty fine cowboy.  Yes-sir-ree-bob, he does.

Any-hoo, back to El Gordito.  I think I heard that you can actually bake things right inside a pumpkin shell.  Boy oh boy this year’s Thanksgiving dinner is practically preparing itself.

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Mmmm, Pumpkin roasted squirrel. Gotcha, Gordito! (That’s where I slam the whole squirrel-gourd combo into a big casserole and pop ‘er into the old oven.)

No, not really.  Here’s what I did do with the giant pumpkin shell.  In my quest for the title of  Auntie-of-the-Year, I pureed that 287 pound beauty.  I roasted. I diced.  I pureed and I pureed and I pureed.

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So here’s the deal baby Miles:  You can sleep wherever your newbie parents want you to sleep.  Just be sure to be hungry.  Be very very hungry.

Because, my dear boy, you have 875 pounds of pumpkin to eat.