May 11th, 2011
My son’s class (and two others from his school) took a field trip today to the Florida Avenue Market, a no-frills purveyor of produce, meat, battered catfish filets, men’s tube socks and jumbo boxes of Rice Krispies, among many other things. The kids in his school’s early-childhood program have been learning about how seeds grow into vegetables, where milk comes from, stuff like that.
Which is why the cow tongue probably blew their young minds.
April 20th, 2011
Most of the time, I still refer to the directions on the package of frozen corn to check how much water to add, then pour it into a measuring cup before I add it to the pot.
It’s so very lame, I know. An instinctive cook I am not.
But lately, I’ve been getting a little more freewheeling about swapping this ingredient out, the other one in. Or about eyeballing the water or the chopped cilantro or the grated nutmeg called for in the recipe.
Tonight, I really tore it up. By my standards, anyway.
Several weeks ago, I clipped a stovetop macaroni and cheese recipe out of a Woman’s Day that was part of a stash my pal Stacey recycled my way. Through the addition of hot sauce, ground ginger, garlic powder, creme fraiche and broccoli florets, the recipe made an old standby quite a bit more compelling. It was no stretch, I predicted, that Small and Tall would both dig it. And heaven knows I cannot walk away from any starch entwined with or layered over or smothered beneath melted cheese, be it Velveeta or Gruyere or Monocacy Ash.
November 4th, 2010
The lunches served at my son’s school are really rather astonishing.
Check out the menu from this past Tuesday. And I quote: ”Toasted mozzarella on whole wheat with fresh tomato slice. Marinated Mediterranean chick pea salad. Seasoned locally grown broccoli. Cinnamon-spiced applesauce.”
Or hey, look at next Wednesday. The tots will be served sweet n’ sour chicken with carrots, orange rice pilaf, Asian slaw and something called a pineapple cup.
Mercy. Those are some healthful eats.
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September 28th, 2010
In the rogues’ gallery of food I can’t bear to think about eating again, there is one item in particular whose memory fills me with revulsion - even as it transports me back to 1979.
It’s a day or two after Christmas, and my cousins and I have stayed up late wallowing in new Barbie paraphernalia. Bleary-eyed, padding downstairs toward my grandmother’s kitchen, I know – from the distinctive odor that already pervades the first floor – what awaits me on the breakfast table.
The internal organs of brown-eyed, spotted quadrupeds named Bessie.
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September 22nd, 2010
I tested out one of those neat Trader Joe’s ready-to-roll-out pizza dough balls last night. Briefly considered throwing the flattened dough in the air like some Mulberry Street pizza-parlor badass, but refrained.
Instead, I sliced up a ball of fresh mozzarella, opened a can of tomatoes (don’t dis, please; their flavor is often superior to fresh, ya know), and plucked a dozen-plus basil leaves from my parched little plant out back. Slapped it all on, sprinkled it with freshly ground black pepper and a drizzle of olive oil, and slid it into a 425-degree oven.
Nine minutes later, there it was in all its oozy, red-flecked glory. I goofed in putting the fresh basil leaves on top before baking it, as they crisped up into little grey-green wizened shards, so that wasn’t so hot, but the thing still tasted great. And looked pretty darn appetizing.