doytch

Happy New Year!

I like to make a batch of black-eyed peas for the New Year. I still regret that I didn't do it last year, but I guess my head and heart weren't into it.

This year's batch is vegan, so I added mushrooms to give it a bit of umami, plus miso and a plank of kombu. To round it out, there's fresh ginger and turmeric grated into it, tomato paste and the usual carrots, onions, celery, sweet potatoes and garlic. Finished off with a swig of sherry wine and mustard powder, plus salt and pepper. I'll probably add collards tomorrow, but for now, it's pretty good as is.

Although I should have probably just ignored it, the other day I saw some article/blurb about some actress/model/somebody who twists her hair, and then lights her candle and runs the flame beneath the twist and burns off her spllit ends.

I'll be honest, I didn't even READ the article, I just saw the picture and the headline and filed that away into my little rabbit brain and then the next day, or maybe the day after, I thought to myself, "Self, that seems like a great idea!"

I took a candle (handily having just found my stash of emergency candles all prepared for an earthquake that I hope will never arrive) and I started twisting and burning. And all the little ends just kind of fizzle up and you can practically hear them saying "I'm melting!" as they incinerate. It's kind of fun and there's this added thrill of danger (it's my hair, for pete's sake, and a flame), and had only worked my way through the front left quadrant, when I hear my neighbor come down the stairs and poke around and then go back up.  I go back to singing. Then I hear him come down again and he knocks on my door and he looks so confused and his schnozz is all wrinkled up like a family of rats fought a badger and they all died in the walls, together, and he says "It's something... burning?"

Scent travels really strangely in this house. I'm on the lower level and my bedroom is at the front- above me is the neighbors' living room and then above that is their bedroom. If sear I can put on perfume and they can smell it in their bedroom. It's actually kind of annoying and I am constantly on guard about what I cook and when.

Any way, half my hair is pulled back and the other half looks like my hair stayed up all night at a very wild party and decided to forgo the walk of shame and head straight to a diner for chicken livers and pancakes and eggs with runny yolks because why not? And it smells. Bad. Like, sulfur sick stench, like the way Barbies smell when you get sick of their lame, non-growing hair and burn it off in a a fit of pique. Somehow, I didn't notice how horrible it smelled until I saw Terry's face all scrunched up in a combination of fear and concern. Like maybe I needed a safety check and yeah, he's there to DO the saftey check.

I wave off the stench a bit and tell him, "Yeah, split ends, I'm burning them off" and hold my freshly burnt twist in his face. It's so gross- how offensive is it, really, to wave my smoldering hair at someone else. He shook his head and said, "Yeah, It's weird, the way scent travels..." and trails off because he doesn't want to ask me outright to stop making such a nausea-inducing stench, but he's obviously thoroughly grossed out.  I say " Aw, no worries, I'll stop."

I then blow out the candle and take the dogs out and it's not until I come back into the house that I realize that he was far more polite about it than he needed to be. It freaking reeked.

If I slice my index finger on an incredibly sharp outer edge of hummus container while rinsing it out, is that the universe's way of telling me to that I have no business buying pre-made hummus when it is one of the five easiest foods in the world to make?

And...

Why is a tumbler of tea so much freaking hotter when you are carrying it in the dark from one room to another, than if you turn on the light in the hallway?

Hm.

And of course, I'm wishing it was already summer and even though I knew I shouldn't, I couldn't resist buying a small sugar watermelon.

It was a pale, sad comparison to the big thumpers I remember my grandparents growing in the backyard-- massive, deep coral red-fleshed beauties and so juicy each piece left your plate swimming in a pink pool that you poured straight into your gullet.

I don't think I ever completely shook the fear of growing watermelon in my stomach because my grandfather always teased that's what would happen if you swallowed the seeds.

Sorry, folks, but sometimes I fall inside my head and forget to type and share what's in there. It's a little bit like the act of cooking-- as I'm sniffing around and chopping and mixing, I'm in my world. If for some reason someone is in the kitchen with me, I'm nodding and unh-huh'ing and making comments, but odds are high that I'm not really listening closely, because I'm trying to gauge how the ingredients in front of me will agree and meld themselves inside your belly.

I've been cooking on a pretty much daily basis for my neighbors since Jayne recently broken her leg and we were able to work out a mutually beneficial arrangement for all parties. Besides being good terms financially, it's really nice for me because she's such an appreciative eater and is thoroughly unaccustomed to being pampered on this level (Terry, I shouldn't have been surprised, takes it all in stride and is completely at ease being served daily, go figure). 

I fix up little meals and treats and Jayne sits by and eats and says "mmmm" and when I check up on her, she has the sweetest grin on her face. Inevitably, she asks for a recipe and directions and even though this is my weak point-- I suck at measuring for others benefit and I know for a fact that it's not going to taste the same when she tries it, because I'm too imprecise in my repetition of the steps-- I walk her through the her notes anyway and try to keep it as simple as possible.

Because of the break in her tibia, we've been working hard to load her up with proteins and she's been eating lots of canned mackerel and sardines for lunches when I'm not around and then of course, she's getting bored with the same tastes. I came up with a list of enhancements for her and on Saturday made a little salad with blanched broccoli, preserved lemon, capers, lightly warmed mackerel and a splash of balsamic (she doesn't do any peppercorns or red pepper flake, otherwise I would have cracked some on for a touch of heat), and tossed the whole thing over greens.

I've never seen anyone so happy over a canned fish. After eating , she started reading about the holistic properties of mackerel and then asked, "Do you ever eat a meal and you just feel happy and open?" I agreed with her, but for me, that sweet euphoria that sometimes comes from food relies on such specific parameters- but here was Jayne, exclaiming that her simple meal had made chi feel good, while all I was worrying about was the balance of sweet/sour/bitter/salty/umami and whether or not the portion was right.

I’m sure many of you know/knew this, but just in case you didn’t...

Rice, that tasty, versatile and ubiquitous grain, is also heavily laced with arsenic. Technically, the arsenic levels are not deemed “acutely poisonous” but levels can spike high enough to be of concern for anyone who eats rice on a regular basis- there are links between rice consumption and genetic damage, with a recent report clearly establishing this fact http://www.nature.com/srep/2013/130722/srep02195/full/srep02195.html. Arsenic poisoning is linked to cancer in humans (particularly in the lungs and bladder), diabetes, liver and digestive problems. I wasn’t able to find any directly related deaths to rice ingestion, but I’ve seen Arsenic and Old Lace enough times to know it’s bad for the constitution.

Recommendations for reducing exposure are first and foremost, incorporate some other grains in your diet if yours is rice-centric. I’ve been combing the internets for tips on cooking but the process is pretty-- pain in the ass onerous. The first step is to soak your rice (personally, sometimes I do, but more often than not, I don’t because when I cook rice, it’s often a last minute decision). After pouring off the water the soaking water, you can go a few steps further and cook in several more times water than normal, which then requires you to strain, then put back on the heat and…

Cute Little Chicks, Probably Disease-Ridden... (that's the caption for the image, oh hey! works for my title, too!)

I’ve handled quite a bit of chicken over the years and I’ve never really liked it that much. I like chickens, but there’s definitely something skeevy about them after they're dead. Oh hell, they can be a little weird when they are still alive and pecking. (On the day my ex business partner was having her first baby, I was left with the unpleasant task of breaking down a couple hundred chickens and about 3/4’s of the way through, every time I picked one up and gripped the cavity, I would just kind of shudder. Had to stop and leave a note for the prep cook in the a.m.) 

Anyway- the reason I don’t like handling chicken is that it’s a dirty bird. Birds, in general, are dirty, but since chicken is so ubiquitous and even people who think of themselves as vegetarians still say “but I eat chicken” (btw, if it has legs, or fins, it doesn’t count as a vegetable, you end up dealing with lots and lots of chicken in this business. It’s the go-to protein.

So, prevailing wisdom has been that you should rinse the chicken beforehand, to wash off bacteria. But, news flash- that’s just not true. Rinsing your chicken exposes you to more opportunities for contamination. http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/08/26/don_t_wash_your_chicken_campaign_why_don_t_cookbook_authors_agree.html

If you are prepping chicken, here are my tips:

Prep everything else- your vegetables, herbs, spices, etc, have it ALL ready before you put your damned hands on there.

Whatever receptacle you are using to cook the chicken in- put it next to your sink (unless you are sauteing, in which place, have a plate or sheet pan ready for transferring to the saute pan on the stove). Do the same with your cutting board if your breaking the chicken down further.

Scrub your sink- with soapy water and oh-my-lord-is-that-water-straight-from-bowels-of-hell hot water, thoroughly, and rinse it thoroughly. Then...

WASH YOUR HANDS.

Remove the chicken from its wrappings in your thoroughly cleaned sink. Throw away the wrappings.

WASH YOUR HANDS.

Prep as needed, taking as few steps between places. Don't drip chicken goo around. Use a plate! Never, ever, ever, EVER just base jump from Point A to Point B with a raw chicken. They drip. No matter what, they drip. Be aware and don't assume your dog's saliva when it licks the floor is going to take care of any wayward splotches.

Now you've prepped your bird, spatchcocked it and rubbed it with whatever and you're ready to cook. Before you move to the stove- turn on the water with your elbow, and wash your hands again, before you open the oven door or pick up anything, just do it. WASH YOUR HANDS AGAIN.

Hopefully, you are seeing a pattern here. Wash your hands thoroughly and frequently and for good measure, wash off whatever you touch and then wash your hands again. Don't use bar soap, it's a freaking den of iniquity and filth.

When you are done handling the raw chicken, wipe everything down. I know bleach is considered a no-no for the environment, but if you don’t have a good disinfectant around, use bleach. Dilute it with hot water in a clean receptacle and scrub everything down with it, with a clean sponge. Don’t use your hand towels or a dirty washcloth or sponge to wipe stuff down. When you are done for the night, nuke the sponge in the microwave. If you are a non-microwave type of person, leave the sponge in the sink overnight in an inch of water with a splash of dishwashing liquid and a tablespoon of bleach. Or, stick your sponges in the dishwasher when you load your dishes.

Or, you know, don’t eat chicken. But honestly, the same sort of care should apply to whatever you are cooking- no, you don't need to be super fanatical, but if your hands are touching unlike items, wash them before going on to the next thing. Make sure your work space is clean and that your utensils are properly disinfected.

I'm all for letting natural bacteria form in the gut and all that. But most of us get a more than our share of stomach "flu" or upset throughout the year, not realizing that it's often food-borne related. Food-borne illnesses are the culprit for long term disease and are a concern for EVERYONE- not just seniors and kids.

Custard Cream Castle

Courtesy of my friend Natalie, I've looked at this picture every day for a week and what in the name of all that is sane... wha?

Here's the article: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-cumbria-23798997

Custard creams are like Oreo's with a vanilla cookie instead of chocolate. Okay. I'm down with that. But...

I guess it's that dismal froggy green that I find so disconcerting. What creeps me out more is, after 3 days constructing it, and people dipping, dying, smushing cream together and standing and breathing and talking over it, OTHER people ate it? For real? Gloves or no, that is beyond me.

Pulling Mussels from the Shell-- Squeeze

One of the more interesting aspects of the food business is that you really do need to rely on all of your senses as well as your deductive reasoning skills. For instance, when frying onions in a pan, as soon as your pour in oil and set the burner, you can tell by the way the oil slicks across the surface and see the first few bumping heat waves whether or not the onion is ready to go in. Some eye/hand coordination is necessary to flip the contents a few times and get everything nicely coated. Your nose tells you that all those molecules are getting ready to their optimal tasty tenderness- everything comes together to help you discern when its time to take your next step. Your brain is registering all these cues—and when you are serving food, the true is same only its that much more important that you are alert to whatever is on the plate.

So, granted, a piece of focaccia- once baked and cut and ready to serve- isn’t a particularly aggressive product when it comes to getting and keeping your attention. But, as you are prepping, slicing and packaging it, its safe to assume that your eyes should be able to clue you in on a few problems, your nose should come into play and for heaven’s sake, that squirmy motion emanating from the top cheese layer? That is a sign that something is wrong.

Which is why the following story is super disturbing. Some guy stops at an airport café, orders a focaccia sandwich, gets on the plane, opens the box and sees—maggots squirreling over the top. Gotta hand it to the guy, he didn’t jump out of his seat and flip the freak out; no, he took video footage (!), closed up the bag and box, went about his business and then upon returning home, brought the meal to the attention of the proprietor.

Gross, gross, gross, but what’s really head-slapping stupid is, the owner/manager/whatever immediately plays the blame game and points fingers at his baker. If they received product that day, then yes, of course, you have a dirty baker. But—what the hell is your server doing not paying attention to the bread they are serving that's MOVING.

And when the word gets to the local inspector, of course, they came out and said the facilities looked fine. Really? Duh. You gave the guy a week to make sure everything was spotless, so only a drooling idiot would ignore the obvious tactic of cleaning the joint from top to bottom before somebody showed up with clipboard in hand.

Here’s the link: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2386521/Passenger-discovers-maggots-sandwich-Atlanta-airport-parmesan-cheese-curls-start-moving.html .

And that's why you don't ever pour fat down the drain...

There was a "fatberg" lurking in the sewers of a London suburb-- a 17-ton blob of fat (mixed with baby wipes... just ew), clogging people's toilets and just days away from blowing manhole covers sky high. There's a video of it here: http://www.slate.com/blogs/the_slatest/2013/08/06/london_fatberg_17_ton_ball_of_fat_found_in_london_s_sewer.html

One would think that people living in a city with what is probably one of the oldest working sewage systems in the world would be aware of the fact that you can't dump fats and oils down the sink. We all have seen oil congeal in a pan once its cooled, so of course all those fats molecules are going to find one another and conjoin and make a big old fat bomb. Glory be, that is some disgusting stuff. 

Random Manias

Does anyone else ever do this kind of stuff, when you get a little whack-a-doodle about grooming or some habit? And because you went a little nuts, there’s pain involved, but it’s pain that kind of catches you off guard?

Yeah, well, even if you said no, I’m sure you have other problems. For some reason I just went to town with the nail file on my nails, and it wasn’t even because I was reading some food safety horror story. I didn’t realize that I’d filed my thumb nail beneath the bed until cooking something (like those forlorn habaneros in the background). I crack myself up. It reminds me of the time I watched Tony Kushner being interviewed and I came home so jazzed up and inspired, I took off half an eyebrow while tweezing and then said screw it, they might as well both come off all the way. At the time, most of my friends were club kids and drag queens, so I fit right in with the crowd. I did look perpetually surprised for about six months because I was too lazy to draw them in. And they will never, ever grow back to the eighth grade Frida Kahlo splendor of my yesteryears. (Okay, they weren’t THAT thick, but it was impossible to convince me otherwise).