Posts Tagged ‘cooking’

Cooking = Salvation

Thursday, February 18th, 2010

This is the first week of Lent, so I’ve been at church by night and trying to catch up on school by day.  As food for thought, however, you might be interested in this post I wrote for my current grad course, Child & Adolescent Development, about the childhood obesity crisis:

I blame parents.

Easy to say for one who is not a parent!  But I have heard too many caregivers lament that their child “will only eat” macaroni and cheese or hot dogs.  As one of my classmates points out, when given the choice, any child (or human, if allowed to act on his basest impulses) will gravitate toward the sweeter, more calorie-dense food.  It’s our instinct, derived from the days when such foods were very hard to come by — restricted to finding a patch of berries or a hive of honey.  Today, as others have already stated, such foods are actually cheaper (with externalized costs, of course) than nutritious foods, and they are certainly easier to serve.  But since when do we allow a child’s preference to govern his rules for living?  We don’t let him choose whether or not to brush his teeth, go to school, or say his prayers.  Why would we let him choose what’s on the dinner menu, beyond such reasonable choices as “green beans or broccoli?”

Many of you have indicated causes of childhood obesity with which I can’t argue: working parents, busy schedules, child-centered advertising.  I think there is one more vastly important factor: the demise of home cooking.  Statistics show unilaterally that fewer and fewer people cook for themselves — even when “cooking” is widened to mean putting together a sandwich from purchased ingredients.  Children are not learning how to come home from school, cut up carrot sticks and peel an orange — and, at a later age, to saute onions and garlic for a sauce or set bread to rise in a warm place.  They certainly are not learning where the carrots and onions come from, when to plant them and how long to wait before pulling them up.  I was lucky enough to be raised by parents who did everything themselves, but I constantly meet people my age and older who say they can’t (or just don’t) cook, and that number seems to rise exponentially as age decreases.

At this point I’d like to surrender my point of view to two gentlemen who are far more convincing and knowledgeable than I.  One is Michael Pollan, who has already been referenced several times on this board.  Please do read all of his books; they are wonderful.  However, this article (it’s long, but worth it) from the New York Times Magazine last year reinforces my argument by illuminating one of the strangest dichotomies in modern times: the huge popularity of cooking shows on television and the dearth of skilled home cooks.  We spend untold amounts of time and money watching Martha Stewart, Rachael Ray and Emeril, but we are less and less likely to translate that enthusiasm into our own kitchens and dining rooms, mostly because we haven’t seen and modeled that behavior from a young age.

However, on that note, the second reference I want to make is to this excellent lecture (about 20 minutes) by Jamie Oliver.  Yes, Jamie Oliver, the English chef / television personality.  It turns out he’s also a compassionate, dedicated humanitarian who is shocked and pained by the current crisis in child obesity, and determined to do all he can to alleviate it.  For me, the most moving moment in the film is when he confronts an obese mother with a dining-room table covered with pizza, corn dogs and sodas — all the food she typically feeds her two (also obese) children in a week.  “You are killing your children,” Oliver says simply.  It cuts like a knife, but it’s absolutely true.  This mother, by failing to pass on the skill set she never learned herself — how to make nutritious, satisfying, diverse meals — is setting her children up for severe health problems and an early death.  Sobering, but verifiable fact.

But, as Oliver points out, this crisis is entirely preventable.  Children who couldn’t identify a beet or a tomato (watch the video, seriously) can be taught to.  Children who will only eat macaroni and cheese can be taught to love spinach (and not only, Mrs. Seinfeld, through trickery.)  They love to help in the garden or in the kitchen, and they are far more likely to try diverse foods (and thus to learn weight-management behavior) when they have participated in the entire process of harvesting and preparing food.  We can fix this, one household at a time.

The Season of Plenty

Friday, October 9th, 2009

It almost seems a crime not to eat local in the early fall.  There is so much bounty at every turn.  Take for instance, this sweet potato:

Sweet Potato

Yes, that is one single sweet potato.  After admiring it for several days, I peeled and boiled it, and mashed it with butter, cream and spices, beat in a few eggs, and poured it into a pie shell for the following masterpiece:

Sweet Potato Pie

The pecans were an afterthought, because I tried blind-baking the crust only to have the edges slump down over themselves.  Storebought pie crusts are awful.  I only buy them because the ones I make myself are even worse.  I always end up cursing the dough, which is either too sticky or too crumbly.  It’s no use giving me advice, either.  I swear, I have tried every. single. method out there!

I know it’s trendy, but I really wish I were better and more consistent at preserving local foods in season.  I can a little, I freeze a little, but for the most part I just eat what’s available, and we’re coming up on a long stretch when that will be next to nothing.  I’ve wanted for several years now to have a winter garden, but that means planting in midsummer, and I never seem to get it together.  It makes me just sick to buy produce from halfway around the world — the fossil fuels are the main reason, but the cardboard flavor doesn’t help.

If I think about this sort of thing for too long, it makes me really depressed.  I try to remember that I’m doing the best I can with what I have.  Last night, what I had was sweet cream, freshly churned butter, and smooth speckled brown eggs from the farm.  “Local” spices.*  Blackstrap molasses from our Thanksgiving trip to Smithfield, Virginia last year.  A daddy-sized sweet potato.  And yes, a pie crust made from hydrogenated vegetable oil and refined flour.  It was still delicious.

*They were local when I bought them on the island of St. Lucia last summer.  I can’t really live without nutmeg and vanilla, so I figured it was better to support the local industries there than McCormick & Co. back home. And have you ever seen nutmeg growing on a tree?  It’s unreal!

Cheese to Write Home About

Thursday, September 3rd, 2009

Well, this is turning out to be a dairy-rich week.  You’d think, from these posts, that I’m lounging around all day, surrounded by tubs of cheese and butter.  In reality, I have turned down seeing two girlfriends this week.  I’ve been getting to school by 7:30, leaving around 2, coming home for lunch and a power nap, teaching lessons until 8, and then facing a wreck of a house and a most aggrieved cat.  Every year I forget how much work it is to teach, especially if the classes are new (this year, 2 out of my 3 are.)

How do I deal with stress?  I cook.  Seriously.  It is such a gift to be able to focus on something simple and beautiful that has the added bonus of being sustenance for your next busy day (or two.)

We buy raw milk from an out-of-state farmer (it’s illegal here in Maryland . . . socialists . . . ) and although it is the most delicious and healthy milk you can find, it has one disadvantage: it spoils quickly.  Purists will tell you that soured raw milk is actually better for you, as it has more beneficial bacteria and is more easily digestible.  They’re probably right.  But I just can’t drink it sour.  So when the milk goes bad, I usually have to pour it out.  At $7 a gallon.

No more!  I discovered recently that raw milk separates when it sours.  This means that when you heat it, it separates very easily into ricotta curds and clear whey.  (If yours doesn’t separate, simply add about 1/4 cup of white vinegar; this won’t affect the taste, but will help the milk curdle more easily.  This is also how you’d make ricotta from sweet milk.)  Strain the curds through a yogurt strainer or colander lined with several thicknesses of cheesecloth.  You now have sour ricotta cheese, which can be used to make this cheesecake, which will CHANGE YOUR LIFE: (more…)

Butter, Elevated

Wednesday, September 2nd, 2009

Much of what critics are saying about Julie & Julia is true — that the latter half of the title’s subject is fascinating and compelling, while the former is mildly entertaining at best — so I won’t repeat it here.  What I will repeat is Julie Powell’s best quote: “Is there anything better than butter?”

Well, yes.  Homemade butter, made from raw cream, made from cows who eat grass out of an open, sunny field.  It’s easy.  Just put the cream in a jar and shake, preferably to a Led Zeppelin soundtrack, until you have a lump of pale gold.  And if you need more convincing, here’s something I’ve been making recently, which I think I got from Martha Stewart Living but cannot locate at present:

Take 1/2 cup (one stick, if storebought) softened butter.  Finely chop and stir in about a dozen Kalamata olives, 2 cloves  garlic (I put it through a press) and 2 tablespoons toasted pine nuts.  Put into a pretty dish and leave overnight in the refrigerator.

The next day, bliss will await you — the best way to eat this is slathered on grilled ears of corn, but it’s also wonderful on stir-fried pattypan squash, or even whole-wheat toast.  It will transform anything it touches.  That’s what makes butter great.

Oh, and if you dare to try this with any of the non-butter products out there, please don’t tell me, because I will be forced to hunt you down and cause you pain.

Sweetness to the Soul, Health to the Body

Monday, August 24th, 2009

We are proud members of One Straw Farm, a CSA in Baltimore County.  (The owners, Joan and Drew Norman, were featured in Martha Stewart Living earlier this spring, much to our delight.)  Every week for half the year, we split a share of organic vegetables with my parents.  We pay less than ten dollars each for several bags stuffed with fresh produce — this time of year it’s sweet corn, summer squash of all shapes and sizes, baby red potatoes, garlic, watermelon, cucumbers, beets and lots of greens.  The farm is largely responsible for whatever healthy eating habits we have: almost every day I make a salad, throwing in some Amish eggs for protein, for an almost-completely local lunch (the dressing I make from imported oil and vinegar.)  I’m especially a fan of their red cabbage, which puts the dried-out slivers in bagged salad to shame.  Cabbage from One Straw Farm looks like an oil painting and tastes like spicy-sweet heaven.

Last week, when picking up our share, we were told that the farm had been hit hard by a tomato blight that wiped out many thousands of dollars in profit.  The situation was so dire, said the woman who runs our drop site, that if it hadn’t been for the CSA customers (who pay up front for the whole season) the owners might have had to sell the farm.

Overwhelmed by gratitude for these people, who risk their financial health so we can have nice dinners, I wrote them an e-mail.  It was brief; I just told them that they were in our prayers, and ended by saying, “It is an honor to be able to support you in some small way.  The work you are doing — bringing us fresh, healthy, diverse produce — is the greatest on earth.”

(It may sound like an exaggeration, but I swear it’s not.  I’m currently reading In Defense of Food, and it makes me angrier and angrier to see how, as a society, we’ve been tricked into eating substances that are so chemical-laden they can hardly be termed nourishment.  It is such a gift to be able to eat real food.)

I didn’t really expect a response — I know how busy farmers are — but that very afternoon Joan wrote me back, thanking me for the encouragement.  She said that after a tough morning, she had printed my e-mail and taken it out to the field (how’s that for technology?!) where Drew was working.  “I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “He is smiling again.”

Later, Drew wrote me separately:

My morning started with a complaint from a disgruntled customer.  Everywhere I turned, I ran into more headaches. I joke about spending my days putting out fires; as a rule, these fires are easily contained. Other times other times they merge into conflagrations beyond my control. Today I felt like I needed a team of smoke jumpers to rescue me. I believe you may have been that brave soul. Thank you so much for your kind words.

I was so humbled by this exchange.  Humanity is such a mysterious thing.  We can never predict how far the ripples of our words might travel through it.