Tempation v Moderation, a struggle in verse

daphne on December 17, 2009

It gets kind of heavy

This burden I shoulder

I must lighten up . . .

And yet I grow bolder

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Bolder because it makes me so mad

To think that the chicken for dinner we had

Packed a punch of hormones, a dabble of drugs

I’m a tree-lovin’ hippy; I just want more hugs

♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦

More hugs for my children

And food that is healthy

I don’t like thinking of food

As sneaky and stealthy

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Though it is a necessary chore

I find listing prohibitions to be such a bore

Despite the recent blast o’ information

I’m taking myself on a splurge-vacation

♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦

Oh the cakes I will bake

And the cookies I’ll eat

The latkes that shimmer

In oily heat

♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦

I love sugar! I do! I most definitely do!

From the tips of my hair to the soles of my shoe!

♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦

Yes, they say moderation is key

Sadly, that doesn’t quite cut it for me

For if even one crumb of a sweet does remain

It lures me; it taunts me; it calls me by name

♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦

I am weak-kneed before the goddess temptation

She’s simply superior to that wimp moderation

And yet I suppose I should balance the two

Come 2010, I promise, that’s just what I’ll do

What Not to Wear

daphne on December 12, 2009

If I could hang out with this crowd all the time my style would be all that and a bowl of keys–

disco

I know.  We look hot.  Sadly, other than an occasional 70s themed murder mystery party, my style, sweet though it may be, is grossly misunderstood.

I have a distinctive day-to-day look that’s been cultivated over the past 20 years (think: clueless 1980’s casual meets Eddie Bauer chic.) I’ll never understand how that TV show where they dole out fashion advice and five grand passed on the chance to re-design me.

I don’t get it.  Do these amber vision glasses make my roller skates look fat?

Never mind.  The public has spoken, and so I will put away my tapered-leg jeans and scruncies.  I’m content to stick to what I know: the damage being done by the stuff we’re putting into our bodies.  Someone else will have to manage the fashion police.

Speaking of experts, the food gurus have compiled a great list.  If we’ve got TV to thank for flagging the fashion potholes, then consider this list like airport runway through chemical-infested waters.

We need to get out of that water.  After all, I need to keep these hip babes healthy if I want any shot of passing on my style torch.

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Most of the time we guzzle away, innocent and unaware of the hazardous chemicals we’re inviting into our bodies.  I was shocked to learn that even canned tomatoes, a mainstay for our family once our paltry summer supply runs dry, are chock full of some pretty scary stuff.

It’s overwhelming, I know, this ever-expanding world of What’s Killing Us Now.  But stick to it.  I can’t think of anything more worth-while.  To help out, here’s a list that we are following.  It’s like a cheat sheet of what to avoid and a brief explanation.  For more detailed information you should definitely read the full reasons behind the list.

  1. Canned Tomatoes — the tin in the cans are loaded with synthetic estrogen
  2. Corn-Fed Beef — Cows evolved to eat grass. When they don’t, they get sick.
  3. Microwave Popcorn —  chemicals (linked to infertility and some cancers) in the bag leach into the popcorn
  4. Non-organic Potatoes — you can’t wash them enough to get out the layers of pesticides and chemicals
  5. Farmed Salmon– high in cancer-causing contaminants like brominated flame retardants. Mmm, who can pass on flame retardant?
  6. Milk Produced with Artificial Hormones — this stuff is banned in most industrialized nations for its link to cancers.
  7. Conventional Apples — winner of the “fruit most laden with chemicals” position.  High exposure to pesticides has been linked, most recently, to Parkinson’s disease.

Kiss Gourmet Good-bye (and point me towards tomorrow)

daphne on December 5, 2009

If you are not a fan of Broadway smash hit A Chorus Line, forgive me the title.

chorus line

If you are a fan, why don’t you take a moment and let loose with song.  I know you know the lyrics, so go ahead. I’ll be here when you’re done.  But heed this warning; I may be singing when you get back.

And there is something about me belting out show tunes that makes those with ears want to turn a deaf one.  Go ahead and turn that blind eye too, because what with my legwarmers scrunched down around my ragged ballet shoes as I gracefully flounce over piles of laundry and plié to the gurgles of Mr. Coffee I am indeed a sight to behold.

Do you want to know why the melancholic show tunes have set up shop in my heart?

It’s because yet another one of my favorite things is leaving me.  Gourmet magazine is packing it in.

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I know, I know, I shouldn’t even admit to reading a print magazine. I should be more responsible to my leaf-bearing friends.   After all, I live with some of the greenest police on earth.   Even so, green feels blue as I bid farewell to my monthly fix of provocatively posed food and witty, wonderful wordsmiths.

Et tu Gourmet?

Why is it that when I decide something is good, it is in fact over?  Some people know immediately and intrinsically what’s hot. They jump on the latest trends; they wear the cool jeans.  They know when to stop wearing scrunchies.

There must be a word for the exact opposite of trendy…

Oh yes, its me.

I am habitually late to the trend party, and when I do arrive I come armed with the kiss of death.  Two thumbs up from me is the gesture equivalent of a horse-head on the pillow.  It’s a crazy power I wield.  Just ask Northern Exposure. Or Arrested Development.  Or leg warmers.

So yes, it is with a heavy heart that I kiss Gourmet good-bye.  Especially given my recent resounding success with sweet potato gnocchi.  It was a beautiful thing; a complex recipe with unexpected twists that resulted in fluffy pillows of goodness that melted on the tongues of my darling family.

No longer will my mailbox harbor pages laden with treats for my kitchen and my writer’s heart.  That river has dried up, and I need to look elsewhere.

Perhaps a more mundane source of happiness would serve me well.  Joy-bearing items with staying power.  Ones that won’t disappear from my life like The Hooters from my tenth grade soul.

I’m hearing good things about raindrops on roses.  And whiskers on kittens.

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–

family

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.

park

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.