Ethnic Side of Lincoln: Czech Festival

On May 6th, I went to the 43rd Annual Czech Festival sponsored by the Nebraska Czechs of Lincoln.  Upon entering the Pla Mor Ballroom, my eyes had to adjust to the dim lights of the large room.  Even if I couldn't take in the visual right away, the sound of umpas and accordions and horns let me know, I was in the right place.  After making it past the orientation table and receiving flyers for the days events and other upcoming Czech activities, I finally took in the sight.  Traditional czech garbs dotted the room.  People dancing the polka and clapping along.  Little children tired from the "Chicken Dance" running back to find their parents.

But, I wasn't there for umpa bands and arts and crafts--those were a bonus.  I was there for the food.  The flyer for the festival had read, "ethnic foods • baked goods and kolace • hot food served from 11:00-till gone."  I'd heard rumors of Kolace ever since getting to Lincoln, but had yet to encounter one.  As for main dishes, I had Czech food when I went to Prague three years ago.  However, what specifically lay in store was a mystery; all I knew was that I was excited.

At first, there was dismay.  Food options where as follows: 1.) pork plate with rye bread, sauerkraut,and green beans, or 2.) hot dog with pickles, sauerkraut, and green beans.  I don't know what I was exactly expecting; I had thoughts of goulash and dumplings and exotic Eastern European cuisine.  Neither of these two options fit the bill.  Since I was there, I got the pork plate--coming all this way for a hot dog seemed silly. 

Then, there was elation.  The pork was moist, rich, and juicy, the sauerkraut appropriately sour.  All combined on a slice of mustard and butter smeared break, quite fantastic.  The beans where ho-hum, but everything else was really fantastic.  Plus, while eating, I got to watch more of the people and I noted all the laughing and joy and enthusiasm.  Also, over dinner I got to hear the "Queen Talent Performances," one of which was a little comedy skit about cooking Czech food. 

Although too full to have dessert there, I did wander over to the baked good table to get a treat for later.  There were the usual options of cakes and things, but when in a Czech Festival, eat what the Festival champions--the Kolache.  A kolache looks  a lot like a pastry.  According to SlovakCooking.com, you take sweet leavened dough and top it with a fruit or nut topping.  I tried three: peach, cherry, and poppy seed.  The overall effect, whichever fruit topping, is a dough that is a little sweet, but not heavily so.  It isn't rich and buttery like pastry.  It's not airy like donut dough.   It is more like dense rolls.  

Of the three fruits, the first two were okay--they tasted like pie filling.  The poppy seed one was great.  It was gritty and grainy and had fun textures and flavors.  It reminded me a lot of fig preserves.  Overall, as dessert, a kolache wouldn't quite live up to a post meal challenge; however, as a breakfast treat or mid-day sweet snack, it would really hit the spot. 

I left the festival with a feeling of contentment.  The exploration into a new niche of Lincoln, NE, culture was rewarded by a savory meal, a tasty snack, and a Jiternice for the grilling season.

Coke: The Gift You Give Yourself

Both the Coke documentary as well as Coca-Cola's website takes credit for the birth of the image of Santa we know today.  Coca-Cola launched its image of Santa Clause in 1931 and his likeness was developed by artist Haddon Sundblom.  With that Coca-Cola ad, Santa moved from a small elfish character to a full-grown, distinguished man with round belly, rosy cheeks, and a wholesome twinkle in his eye ("Coke Lore").

The ad campaign was meant to help boost Coke's winter sales.  Because it was so strongly associated with a cold, refreshing drink, it was tied to warm weather refreshment.  By using Santa as a spokesman, Coca-Cola hoped to persuade loyal summer fans to enjoy Coke all year round ("Coke Lore").

In looking at Santa Clause Coca-Cola ads, the meaning of the ads centers on Coca-Cola as the gift one gives themselves.  This is a really clever tactic.  Coca-Cola could keep that connection of "refreshing," their summer weather selling point, and tack-on "pausing for refreshment."   In the ad on the right, Santa dominates most of the image.  While the kids at the bottom open presents and look up at Santa with thankful glee, Santa looks at the viewer, with a look of knowing and recognition on his face.  Santa, tired from a night of gift-giving, raises a toast to us and rewards himself with a bottle of Coca-Cola.  .

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There's also a series of Santa ads that are laid out like the ones above.  In these, there is always a tagline at the top that sounds like Santa's words of wisdom: "Thirst asks nothing more;" "'Give and take,' say I;" and "And the same to you."  All three ads also include a narrative about Santa taking time out for a Coca-Cola.  The first ad attaches drinking a coke to "the friendliest moment a busy man ever met."  The second take an intriguing altruistic turn that reminds the viewer, that Santa "gives so much and asks so little," just like Coca-Cola.  That ad then has a "real-life" demonstration of that motto by showing a little girl giving her mom the present of Coke in response to her mom bringing home several gifts.  The insinuation being the mom, who gives so much, can, like Santa, be rewarded with a bottle of Coke.   The last shows both Santa and a mother tired from shopping or wrapping packages.  After reminding the reader that even Santa takes a moment to refresh and relax with a bottle of Coke, it adds, "So this Christmas, in refreshing others, don't forget to remember yourself now and then . . . with an ice-cold Coca-Cola for the pause that refreshes."   

The connection between drinking Coke and giving yourself a gift shows up again and again in the Santa Coke ads.  Through either modeling or directly reminding the reader, Coca-Cola encourages busy moms to reward themselves with a bottle of Coke.  The same Coke that provides a cold, refreshing break in the summer, now gives that bright little pep to your Christmas shopping step. 

Wartime Coke

From the Coca-Cola documentary I watched, one of the details about their history that struck me was what happened to Coca-Cola during WWII.  Letters from troops stationed overseas started mentioning fighting for the right to have Coca-Cola and how they missed being at home, on the front porch, drinking Coca-Cola.  So, on insistence from Eisenhower, Coke decided to make sure that all soldiers could have a Coca-Cola for 5¢, regardless of where they were stationed.  Since shipping Coca-Cola to Africa and Europe was tricky because of the priority of military shipments, Coke decided to ship small bottling plants instead.  This meant that Coke become an omnipresent icon in trenches.  In doing so, Coco-Cola became a morale booster for troops because it reminded them of better, happier times at home.

In one Coke ad I found, the connection between Coca-Cola being on the front becomes part of Coke's visual and verbal rhetoric. 

The image features several different type of soldiers, drinking Coca-Cola to escape the war around them.  The verbal rhetoric of the piece starts by saying, "The location . . . an airfield somewhere in the Pacific area," which reminds the viewer how Coke is wherever there are soldiers as "a global high-sign."  The ad continues to talk about how the soldier are served Coke "from its red dispenser just as at familiar fountains at home." This canteen ritual allows sharing Coke with fellow soldiers to be a "familiar pause that refreshes, a flashback to their own way of living . . . in one happy, home-like moment."  The patterns of the word choice--"happy," "home," "home-like," "own way of living," and "familiar"--make Coke a glass of refuge and comfort.   

Another ad makes the same connection between Coke as the "global high-sign" and being a soldier's connection to home.   In this ad, the sales text starts with "No matter where you go, somewhere near you is a big, friendly red sign with the trade-marked, 'Coca-Cola.'"  In this page, the ad places Coke in a position where it is literally looking out for soldiers, reminding them of home and the familiar. 

What is so fantastic about how Coke markets itself through these war time images is the two-fold meaning.  The first meaning is marketing to those at home who want to think about the little pleasures that their sons, husbands, and brothers are experiencing.  Although not in a way that demands thanks, Coca-Cola initiates that sense of gratitude from the family by showing how Coke gives soldiers a taste of home.  For the soldier, where they are at may not look like home and the situation is far from home-like, but the same, familiar taste and logo is what will take them back to the familiar. 

The second meaning goes beyond gratitude to Coke.  The ads circle the idea of Coke with home, friendliness, and thus peace.  In that way, drinking a Coke is more than refreshing from a hydration standpoint, it is refreshing for the soul.  To the soldiers, every Coke becomes a reminder of what they are fighting for, making Coke synonymous with America and home, better times and familiarity. 

Coke eventually profited greatly from stationing bottling factories around the world.  It gave Coke a foot-in-the-door to start selling globally.  As GI's shared Coke with people in other countries, they, too, developed a taste for it, thus creating demand.  So, the Coca-Cola campaign that worked so hard at making Coke synonymous with America resulted in making Coca-Cola a literal "global high-sign" across the world.   

The Meaning of Coca-Cola

In my freshman composition class, I've been teaching Visual Rhetoric over the last couple of weeks.  Last Friday, my students had to pick an image (an ad, movie poster, famous photo, political campaign, etc.) and write an essay that looks at the meaning of the image.

I'm about halfway through grading them and, overwhelmingly, the most repeated image chosen is Coca-Cola ads.  Although a slight coincidence, it speaks volumes.  When you look at the span of Coca-Cola's advertising history, they have been somewhat remarkable in their continual evolution of their product and how those ads become cultural icons.  Coca-Cola is such an omnipresent drink for us, that when Tom Standage wrote the book, The History of the World in Six Glasses, he listed Coca-Cola as the one that defined the 20th Century. 

So, this week, I'm going to do a series of post on the meaning of Coca-Cola as seen through its advertising.  Filling in with a documentary on Coca-Cola that I watched a couple of months ago, I wanted to get a sense of how Coca-Cola has become not just a something we drink, it is an icon that reflects us.

I'll start my first ad on Tuesday.  Hope you enjoy it!

Bizarre Ice Cream Poll

Super Bowl Gluttony

I can’t claim to be a fan of the Super Bowl.  I can claim to be a fan of Super Bowl food.  On Super Bowl Sunday, I like to just go where the food and friends are.  This year, I’m spending my first Super Bowl living with a major football fan.  Although this might have inspired me to go all out, making a huge spread to signify the date, I instead just gave into a day of low on the foodie chain fare: beer, potato chips and dip, chicken wings, and frozen pizza.  No fuss.  Lots of muss. 

Isn’t the binge really the point of Super Bowl Sunday?  Binging on sports.  Binging on male comraderie.  Binging on over-budget commercials and even more over-budget commercial slots.  I’m from a family of people who didn’t ever watch football.  Yet, I remember my dad having Super Bowl parties for the youth groups in which spreads of food and bowls of chili were passed around with gusto. I more recently have found out more about football from playing touch football with my boyfriend and his friends, but I still don’t really know enough to watch the Super Bowl with intrigue and insight.  Still, I’ve been to many a Super Bowl party.  Why?  Why not?

In the middle of February, with cold air and post Christmas food binging repentance keeping the ewie-gooie and fatty-fried as far away as possible, don’t we all need a reason to just have a day to stop battling the bulge? 

Over Super Bowl weekend, Americans will eat 1.25 billion wings.  We will have drunk 325.5 million gallons of beer.  Balance that with 13.2 million pounds of guacamole, 8 million pounds of popcorn, and 28 million pounds of potato chips.  One bakery even created a Chicken Wing Cupcake with cornbread, bleu cheese frosting, and, yes, a chicken wing to bring it all together. If that isn't a sign of America giving into the joy of gluttony, then I don't know what else is. 

Jewish Penicillin

This week, Dennis got sick.  So, I made his favorite “I’m sick” soup: Tortellini Soup.  As he started feeling better, I got sick.  So, I made my favorite “I’m sick” soup: Chicken Noodle Soup. 

The main reason the Chicken Soup for the Soul books caught on so was because Chicken Noodle Soup is one of the most feel good foods out there.  It’s warm and the slippery noodles are easy on the stomach and every sip seems to make the world melt away.  My guess is the reason Chicken Soup is so effective in making you feel better is that it lulls the germs and viruses and bacteria into a state of taste euphoria.  Then they don’t feel like attacking your body anymore. 

My limited scientific insight aside, the health benefits of Chicken Soup have been proven in labs.  Dr. Stephen Rennard at the University of Nebraska Medical Center decided to test Chicken Soup’s abilities and has continued to conduct research on it for over 15 years.  One things he tested was Chicken Soup’s anti-inflammatory properties.  How that works is the Chicken Soup slows the movement of the white blood cell, Neutrophil, resulting in less inflammation.  Rennard’s findings were even featured in the Great Food Almanac.

His wife, Barbara, says hers is the best Chicken Soup.  That may be so, but a better truth is that every person’s mom makes the best Chicken Soup.  It is the one you grow up eating when you are sick or when it is cold and blustery.  That serious of tastes become the sense memory surrounding chicken soup.  No can ever match it, no restaurant can ever reproduce it. 

When I made Chicken Soup this week, I took what I remembered about my mom’s Chicken Soup and did my best to recreate it, right down to the can of Cream of Chicken (one of the few times my mom ever used cream of anything).  The only thing I changed was adding spinach (because I used a pre-sliced mirepoix and so the vegetables were too tiny).  I also added curry in the hopes that the turmeric and spices would break up my clogged sinuses. 

Sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, cradling a bowl of steaming soup, it is hard to feel sick anymore.  Instead, you can’t help but feel a little comforted.  Did it work?  Well, I am still a little sick.  But think how much sicker I’d be had it not had been for the Chicken Noodle Soup.  

**If you want a copy of Barbara Rennard’s Chicken Soup Recipe or want to read the full article, check out http://www.unmc.edu/chickensoup/.  

Tales from the Groceries

I am a nosy person.  If I turn on the TV and start watching something with intrigue, gossip, etc, I nine chances out of ten stick around to see what happens.  The show could be terrible, but I just have to know.   When I was living in Staunton, which is a fairly small town, I constantly got to hear pieces of gossip.  It didn’t matter if I knew the person or not, I always loved hearing it.

Next to being a little too obsessed with food, gossip is my next biggest vice.

Even as a kid, one of the things that I loved to do while waiting in line at the grocery store was to sneak peeks at the groceries of the person before and after me.  Although I guess that isn’t but so bad, I often then made personality guesses based on the groceries.  That is pretty bad.   

What made me think of this was a trip before Christmas to the grocery store with my mom.  While in line, behind us was a woman in her early seventies.  I watched her plop her groceries on the belt.  She started with 7 medium sized frozen pizzas.  Then, she brought out English Muffins, two loaves of cheap white bread, a gallon of Hawaiian punch, three hams, and a few other items.  For a while, I couldn’t figure out what her deal was.  I couldn’t imagine a 70-some mature woman eating Tombstone pizzas, while cooking two hams, and sipping Hawaiian punch.  Then, it finally connected . . . grandmother making sandwiches for grandchildren.   

When I’m in the grocery store, I wonder what people think of me and my groceries.  I tend to stand out in groceries because I’m the one in no hurry, wandering up and down aisles, checking out sales, new products, anything really.  Unless I’m just popping in for a few things, I usually can’t get out of a grocery store in less than an hour.  Now that I live in a town with a Trader Joe’s, I’m the one with eyes like saucers and literally skipping down the aisles.  This weekend, I was also the short, five-foot tall happy looking brunette asking the manager of the fish counter about fish heads they might have lying around.

We foodies are a strange bunch and I’m sure our groceries speak volumes about us.  Are you a brie, a goat cheese, or a block of sharp cheddar?  Are you romaine, arugula, or iceburg?  Do you get your chicken and red meat on the bone for flavor, do you get large cuts so you can cut them up yourself, or do you go for the tidiest one possible?  

If you were standing in line behind me at the grocery store, what would your groceries being saying about you?   

New Year Firsts

I’m not a big one for New Year’s resolutions.  This year, though, with moving to a new state, it seemed natural to think about life changes.  Since so much of my life seems to center around food, you can guess where I decided to initiate change. 

Well, the first resolution isn't directly about food and is just associated with food.  That resolution was to make more off an effort to use reusable bags.  To do that, I just need to get into the routine of putting the bags in my car and remembering to then take them into the store. 

Sponge

The second resolution was to start making my own bread.  The commitment to make my own bread came about because of Michael Pollan’s philosophy that you not eat anything that you don’t recognize as food.  Sure, store bread looks like food, but Pollan discusses how too many of the ingredients in the average loaf of bagged bread look nothing like recognizable food components.

As well as being healthier, it can be more cost effective to make your own bread.  Now, with living in a two person household and needing to pack lunches regularly, having something that is affordable and better for us just makes sense.

For those of you who follow me on Twitter and Facebook, you know that I eased into making my own bread by making pizza dough.  That proved to be a lot of fun and I’ll give you all the details about making it on Tuesday. 

Friday, I took the next big step by making a loaf of whole wheat bread, solo.  I say solo because my friend Ellie was nice enough to walk me through making a “no knead” bread before I left Virginia.  That will probably become my default way of making bread because it was unbelievably easy.  Plus, you can make up the dough and let it hang out in the fridge for a couple of days thus allowing you to just pull off dough as you need bread. 

First Rising

Before I fully commit to the “no knead” method, I wanted to try making a kneading style bread at least once so that I can compare.  So, I went to a former “bread making bible,” the Tassajara Bread Book by Edward Espe Brown.  This book is a pretty fantastic “everything you wanted to know about bread” and all of the variations.  He starts with a basic yeast base and then tweaks and adds to make all sorts of bread combinations.  It also comes with info on scones, sweet and savory breads, and details on rolls and stuffed breads.   

This recipes has brown sugar, half wheat and half white flour, salt, olive oil, and dried milk.  I did like kneading and patiently rising the dough, however I'd like to bring in the mixer to start the sponge (which requires you stir it 100 times).   

The end product looked beautiful, but needs some tweaking.  For one, the cook time was for two loaves, and so I should have reduced it.  I also learned my lesson about covering the bread with a damp cloth.  By the end of the rising, I had a bit of bread skin on the dough that kept the dough from binding with itself.  This caused the bread, when cooked, to kind of fall apart where the skin line was.  

Cook and learn.  That is the motto of food exploration. 

Overall, with its successes and failure, there really is nothing quite like having a sandwich made with bread your fixed from scratch.  Also, though I’m sure it has been said before, there is something really miraculous about making a loaf of bread.  You start with just flour--loose, formless powder.  You end up with something to eat and enjoy that has form and purpose.  That is a pretty amazing transformation.  

I think this is a New Year’s resolution worth keeping.  

Honest Eating

Because of not having a kitchen for the last month, I find myself having somewhat less orchestrated and thought through meals.  On top of my lack of burners which causes me to think a little more about "cooking," I am in the throes of packing up an apartment and in the height of grading finals and posting grades.  All of this results in late errand running and strange dinners resulting from going to the grocery store hungry.    

For these reasons, last Friday’s meal consisted of grocery store boneless wings, green pepper slices, pickles, soft cheese, and a glass of bourbon.  

As I enjoyed a meal that would make my mom a little disappointed and watched old Julia Child episodes I got from Netflix, I thought about food, satisfaction, and being a foodie.  Julia spent 12 hours cooking tripe.   I walked through the store and allowed hunger pain to cloud my judgement.  Julia walked me through the art of making my own sausages.  I pealed the foil of my cheese wedges and contemplated the tang of Vlasic pickle brine. 

Although I wish I could solely blame my meal on the lack of a kitchen, the truth is, this was the meal I wanted.  Some days, I want my meal to reflect that joy I took in preparing it.  Others, I want to satisfy a craving. 

In reading other food blogs, I get embarrassed at times at my own claim to foodism and begin to question my hubris.  One blog I follow posts three times a day about the food she eats.  Although she is also a busy person, I am amazed at the thought she has behind each dish.  In looking through photos of many other food blogs, I am always reminded of the beauty of food as proven by the plethora of lush, crisp, tantalizing food pictures.  Then, I think back on my meal with its shades of green and the dried out look of mass made wings.

I regularly post to the food site, Honest Cooking.  The nature of the name implies a truth, sincerity, and lack of charade to cooking and food.   I wonder how we, food blog writers, really fit into our own testament to “honest cooking.”  Can we still be thought "honest" when the pictures are made with sculpted lighting and scaping, the recipes attempted multiple times, and the posts are shaped by what we choose to write about and not write about?  It makes me wonder if the amount of food blogging and food writing is slowly creating a myth surrounding cooking and eating.  Or, to ask more specifically, are we creating a "politically correct" food world in which we are loosing honest eating? 

I don’t know.  What I do know is that I really enjoyed my Friday night meal.  It may not be pretty and it was definitely not haute cuisine, but I enjoyed it anyway.  Honest eating.  

Down Home Foodie Archives: Waffle House

Sorry to say, but for once I've fallen a little behind on blogging.  The main reason is that I teach freshman composition at a university, and we are in the last two weeks of the semester.  So, with 640 pages of student work to read and grade, I wasn't able to get a new post together.  

I'll have something new for you on Thursday.  Promise.  

Until then, I went back in the vault and pulled out the first piece I ever wrote for the blog.  For those of you who have read it, I cleaned it up a bit to make it a little fresher.   For the rest of you, well it is already new to you.

The Hash Brown Rorschach Test

I read an article once called, “For the Love of Joe,” and it was about how Starbucks uses the idea of "love" to market themselves.  The article talks about how Starbucks sells love through not just philanthropic love or love for others, but self-love.  This self-love comes from being able to treat yourself by getting a cup of coffee made to order and customized just for you.    

This self-love gets mentioned in the movie, You've Got Mail.  In the film, the Tom Hanks character, Joe Fox, says, "The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino."  In this quote, ordering becomes more than just ordering coffee, it is an assertion of self and desire and individuality.  

However, Starbucks was merely copying this idea of self-love and individualization from Waffle House. Not only can you get eggs to order, pancakes in any number and of various topping (although once you go pecan you never go back), there is the Hash Brown Ritual. 

The hash brown ordering that takes place in Waffle House is a far better Rorschach Test than what kind of coffee you are.  You can be “smothered,” “covered,” “chunked,” “diced,” “peppered,” “capped,” “topped,” “country,” or “all the way.”  There is a much more open sense of eroticism and passion than to get a “tall skinny vanilla latte with no whip.”  The hash brown menu is a catalogue of the so wrong and so right.  One night over a dinner party, play the getting to know you game of what kind of Waffle House hash brown combination are you.  I like to be “peppered” and "covered."  What about you? 

Food and Happiness

In December 2010, Psychology Today posted “Top 10 Psychology Studies of 2010” written by Dr. Heidi Grant Halvorson. The article describes psychology study findings that could improve your life: i.e. breaking bad habits, making things seem easier, time management, gaining willpower, etc. One of the tips, “how to be happier,” validated something I’ve always known. That being a foodie improves my life.

Beyond the usual reasons of eating better or being more mindful of the food I eat, the study, entitled “Money Giveth, Money Taketh Away,” said that the secret to being happier is learning to savor life. Halvorson phrases it that “Savoring is a way of increasing and prolonging our positive experiences.” When you eat a great meal, enjoy it. If you see a beautiful sunset, take a picture. Instead of waiting for great things to happen, you rejoice in what you have.

Savoring life is why being a foodie enriches my life. Even the word “savor” rings so strongly with the rhetoric of the foodie world. Being a foodie means rejoicing in a unique beer from a microbrewery, a new twist on a classic dish, and a vivid plate with texture and depth.

In this line of thought, even being a food blogger enhances and enlivens the every day. Having a food blog encourages me to take the time to write about the meals I’ve eaten, the dishes I’ve made, and relive those meal, turning each bite into each word and savoring the experience. To make my write-ups accurate, I have to eat slowly, thoughtfully, so I can take notes about what I taste, smell, experience. Plus, the blog creates an archive of meals worth reliving through the act of being read and re-read.

When you sit down to dinner this Thanksgiving, take the time to really savor it. It just might improve your life.

The Height of Flavor Season

I look forward to October, November, and December as the yearly appearance of so many of my favorite seasonal dishes:  pumpkin spice soy milk, pumpkin spice lattes, peppermint lattes, gingerbread coffee creamer, mint chocolate everything.    

However, it feels like companies, when it comes to flavor creativity, shoot the wad this time of year.  For three months, the aisles are pouring with seasonal things.  The dairy section can’t contain all the coffee flavorings.  Starbucks menu can barely transition the overlap of pumpkin spice to eggnog latte to gingerbread.  Pumpkin loaves and bagels fight cranberry packed breads for space on the counters. 

And, oh yes, the eggnog.  If you can put eggnog in it, it will be there.

I even saw on Huffington Post that you can get seasonal flavored seltzer water in Eggnog, Candy Cane, Pumpkin Spice, and Granny Smith.  I’m sure there are great cocktails out there using such seltzer flavors, but does the world really need Pumpkin Spice flavored water?

If the stores aren’t bursting enough, the recipe machines are at their height.  Everyone is generating Thanksgiving and Christmas must have dishes.  Magazines and food sites are overflowing with pictures and ideas.  Everyone is rushing to get you ready for the season.     

Then, January will come.   On the arrival, it will be like the air goes out of the flavor production factory. We go back to the standards of hazelnuts and French vanillas.  Starbucks used to launch their Cinnamon Dolce Latte in January, but now those are year round.  Is there even a post-Christmas seasonal drink in Starbucks?

Although, in all fairness, the Fall is a great time for flavors.  Pumpkin and Fall squashes have so much adaptability.  Sweet, savory, spicy, filling, they do whatever you want them to.  Fall also lends itself to the warm spices of ginger, sage, cinnamon, thyme, rosemary--all such strong and familiar spices.    Then, there are the December seasonal favorites of peppermints and eggnong and gingerbread that are so completely tied to Christmas that it feels like heresy to have them any other time. 

I say enjoy it all while you can.  Get your fill of pumpkin and cranberries.  Relish the burst of cinnamon and rosemary and thyme.  Take in the creativity and nuances and variety. 

Because come January, you better have you tastebuds satiated.  When December ends, the weight loss begins, and the flavors sleep-off the three month bender until the next holiday.  

Thanksgiving Zen

So it is the week of Thanksgiving, and foodie fear is probably mounting.  Today, Food Network is hosting a live special to help deal with last minute panic.  Blog sites are filled to the brim with recipes and advice.  To help you with this Thanksgiving performance jitters, I’d like to offer a different perspective. 

That of a Zen priest and chef. 

I recently watched a documentary, How To Cook Your Life, by Doris Dörrie.  As a documentary, I have mixed feelings; but, in terms of great advice for chefs, it was well worth the watch.  The documentary is a series of interviews and documentary surrounding Zen priest and chef Edward Espe Brown who wrote, The Tassajara Bread Book, Tassajara Recipe Book, and a couple others.  Brown was the chief chef, or tenzo, at the Tassajara Zen Mountain Center in San Francisco.  Now he does cooking classes that offer one part cooking, two part Zen teachings.   

Given how much stress Thanksgiving places on all the poor foodies and cooks attempting to take on the food event of the season, here are some quotes and paraphrases to help give some perspective: 

1.  When cooking, be in the moment: When you are washing vegetables, wash the vegetables.  When you stir, just stir.  When you chop, chop.  Instead of thinking of everything and dividing your mind, embrace the task at hand. 
2. “When you’re cooking, you’re not just cooking food, you’re also working on yourself, you’re working on other people.”
3. This one is an excerpt from the chant the tenzo recites in the morning to remind him/her of the tasks of the day: “treat the food as though it were your eyesight . . . treat food as if it was that precious, as if it was your eyes. . . handle it carefully and sincerely.  . . don’t waste even a single grain of rice.”  The documentary and Brown argue that because food is such a commodity, it is no longer like eyesight, it is no longer precious.  So, when enjoying the meal you spent so much time making, really think about how cherished it is.    
4. In discussing the types of mind, Brown discusses the stages of mind in relationship to cooking:  “When the cook is joyful then you know everyone relaxes. . . when the cook is anxious then people will get anxious . . .and the food will taste better when the cook is joyful.”

Brown leading a cooking class. 

Lastly, and the one that just might take the stress out of your day, is the understanding that blemishes are a form of sincerety.  Brown tells the story of trying to make biscuits in Tassajara.  He was experimenting with proportions and the biscuits never came out just right.  He finally asked “right compared to what?”  Brown was trying to model the biscuits of his childhood, which were done by Pillsbury.  Instead, he decided to “taste the  biscuit of today” and discovered how wonderful each batch in each day was.  So, if you are fretting about the turkey coming out right, the stuffing being moist enough, remember “Right compared to what?”  Eat the Thanksgiving meal of the day and know that all blemishes and imperfections are just a form of sincerity. 

I hope this helps give a new perspective on Thanksgiving that will help you enjoy the day, enjoy the meal, and enjoy all the food you make. 

Why Do You Cook?

My summer was a crazy time of upheaval: moving out of one apartment in Virginia, setting up an apartment in Nebraska, and then coming back to Virginia to set up a room in Harrisonburg while I finish up my job teaching. 

Through all the upheaval, I didn’t do much cooking for myself.  Lots of people cooked for me and I stole some kitchen time here and there.  For the most part, though, I did more eating out, relying on premade meals, or whipping small things together. 

Once I got settled in my Harrisonburg place, I was still having problems motivating myself to get back in the kitchen.  Even by early September, the most I’d done is sauté some shrimp to go with a jar of soup a friend made for me.  

But, one day, I went grocery shopping with a friend who was preparing for lots of cooking over the next week.  Watching her look at recipes and walking through the aisles of food filled with familiar tastes and new flavors, ingredients yet to be tried and foods tried too often, I felt for the first time in a long time like cooking. 

Not just cooking, though, creating.  While walking around the grocery store, thinking about a desire dormant and a desire rekindled, I asked myself, why do I cook?  Why do any of us foodies cook? 

Sometimes, cooking really isn’t about the food.  After a long day, I cook to forget about the day.  I get lost in methodical chopping, sizzling pots, and fresh aromas.  The murkiness of the day melts away like butter in a pan.  In those days, I cook to relax and the action is less about the destination and more about the journey.     

Then, there is the debate about whether do you cook for you or do you cook for others.  Although in January I’ll officially settle in Nebraska with my boyfriend and so start cooking as a twosome; currently and for the past 7+ years or so, I’ve just cooked for me.  At times, cooking for one can feel a little sad.  If it is great, now one can praise you.  Yet, it also has moments when the act is about me, like taking a bath to relax, buying flowers to decorate the kitchen, or take an evening stroll.  I do it to enjoy a great meal, made just for me. 

Mostly, I cook to create.  I get a big kick out of experimenting with ingredients.  A strang time for exciting cooking was when I was moving out of my Staunton apartment and had to finish out my cupboard.  I really couldn’t buy that many new ingredients because then, if I didn’t finish them, I would have to move all those things.  Plus, with all the expenses of moving, there wasn’t a lot of grocery money.  So, for a month, I got to figure out dinner based on odds and ends.   I could subsidize and fill-in here and there, but I had fun just playing with my food.  My best success was a tomato-based sauce that used out the rest of my red lentils.   I’d never known that could work unless faced with trying to pull dinner out of a hat. 

Why do you cook?  I’d like to know.  Is it for the ingredients, the creation, the “oohs” and “aahs,” the thrill of a success, or the validation of turning something bad into a something good?  What, dear reader, is the joy of cooking for you? 

Sunday in Charlottesville: Crozet Pizza

This month’s Food Network Magazine featured 50 Pizzas from 50 States.  The pizzeria they selected fom Virginia was Crozet Pizza.  Since we were in Crozet visiting Starr Hill, it just made sense to stop by and see what the "Best Slice in Virginia" tastes like.  

The Food Network pizza of choice was the white mushroom, which combines shitake and portabella mushrooms and a sauce of herbs and olive oil.  I’m not always a fan of mushrooms, but wanted to see what the "best slice in Virginia" tasted like.  It was pretty fantastic.  There was earthiness and muskiness, but none of the weird mushroom texture.  Plus, a healthy sprinkling of thyme and oregano added extra earthiness, helping make the mushrooms simple and full. 

But best pizza for the state?  

After finishing, I found myself wondering how Food Network came up with their criteria.  I rechecked the write-up, and they highlighted the crust and combination of mushrooms.  Ellie and I both agreed that we really enjoyed the pizza, but neither of us felt that it was the best pizza we had ever had in Virginia. As mushroom pizzas go, this was the best mushroom I’ve had and probably will have, but the "best" for Virginia? 

I’ve never been comfortable with “best” designations.  Whether it be films, books, songs, or food, whenever anyone asks me “what is the best . . . ,” I usually blank.  I can’t think of any movie I’ve seen or restaurants that I’ve gone to or foods I've eaten.  I'm intrigued when someone else can use the term "best" with such proficiency because God knows I can't.  Don’t get me wrong, I really love watching shows like Food Network’s “Best Thing I Ever Ate . . .” series.  In fact, I actually had to stop watching them because I was irrationally starving after every episode and nothing I had in my house matched the 30-minutes of delicacies and dishes I been drooling over.    

I think the biggest fault I have with this superlative is that how can my criteria be your criteria, my tastes your tastes, my expectations your expectations?  When I come across “best” lists, I try nowadays to expect that it will good, maybe great, but how can a list know what is my preeminent slice when I, myself, usually have a hard time deciding what I think is tops.  I can usually say this is the best of a thing I’ve had to date, but I doubt it will go down as the best ever.  If at 29 I have the best slice of pizza of my life or best meal of my life, wouldn't that be sad?    

Do I have to even know what is the best?  Silly question and somewhat rhetorical, I know, but really, think about it.  As food writers and bloggers, it is very alluring to weigh down in authority on what you recommend, what you qualify, what you call the best.  Why?  Can’t we settle for, go try it and here's evidence as to why.  Or, recommend that if in getting pizza in Virginia, got to Crozet pizza because there is a mushroom pizza there that is worth trying.   Does it have to be the best in Virginia?  Can it be, universally for all, the "best?"  

IHOP Calories Take the Hop out of My Step

Normally, going to IHOP is a rather happy experience. I take either a pile of papers to grade or something to read and indulge in creamy coffee, crispy hash browns, and syrupy pancakes. I know they are not healthy, but that is kind of the point, isn’t.

Saturday when I went, a new menu item took the hop out of my IHOP. Calories.

Pancake combos--880, 980, and 1030. The biggest pancake option, the “Ultimate Bacon and Sausage Combo,” weighs in at a hefty 1260. Then, if you go with the never-ending stack, add 490 calories extra per triple stack. Does that include syrup? If not, add an extra 100 for good measure.

I’m not someone who is overly conscious about calorie counting. There is a number I like to keep my weight at to stay healthy. If I go below, great, if above. . . well, it will balance out eventually.

Yet, seeing those calories written down made it hard to get the breakfast option I wanted, thought about in the car ride over, and inspired me to come to IHOP in the first place. Suddenly I found myself scanning to find the “Simple and Fit” options. In a nutrition driven focus, I looked over the things I wanted—caramel apple pancakes, chocolate chip pancakes, hash browns— and started thinking about “Healthy Grain” and “Granola” and, the most un-IHOP of all, “eggs substitute” and “turkey bacon.” I love turkey hot dogs and sausages, but bacon is sacred. What was this calorie awareness doing to me!

So, I got the “Simple and Fit 2x2x2:” two pancakes, two pieces of turkey bacon, and scrambled egg substitute. 400 calories.

It was good, fine even. But, it was missing the fantastic bliss of indulgence, knowing you are being bad and not worrying about how bad. Sure, I still got pancakes and bacon and eggs. I had coffee and graded my papers. It was just that the delicious tawdriness and naughtiness of the experience was gone.

I know America has gotten obese. When I heard about places posting calories, I was all for it. Yes, make people think twice about super-sizing their Big Mac combo. Yet, when faced with giving up a longed for moment of sheer gastronomical excess, I’d say ignorance is bliss.

When I go to Panera’s and Einstein, I like calorie perspective. In Subway, the knowledge that I’m not breaking the calorie bank gives me pride. I can give up a tall mocha for a skinny sugar-free vanilla latte; I don’t feel like I’m missing out. I can give up my fries for a side of vegetables; I could use the vitamins. But please, let me have IHOP pancakes with a generous drizzling of oblivious contentment. In giving up as much as I do for nutrition, please leave me this.

First Published for Technorati on Sept. 13, 2011 . . . http://technorati.com/lifestyle/article/ihop-calories-take-the-hop-out/#ixzz1YQNHaP00

When Did Food Get More Complicated Than Sex?

Food Network’s Extreme Chef. Molecular Gastronomy replacing olive oil with olive oil powder. Restaurants where naked women are the new serving platters. The One Hundred Dollar hamburger.  The Five Thousand Dollar hamburger.

When did food get so complicated?

I wonder if food, like sex, has become needlessly complicated in the 21st century. I have taught several sexuality and literature courses over the last couple of years and once tried to engage my students in a conversation about what does sex really mean. To get the conversation started, I told them that at the core, sex is like shampoo directions: lather, rinse, repeat as needed. Yet, it is everything attached to sex (religion, morals, culture, etc.) that has made it so much more complicated. Food is like that, too. At the end of the day, food is just eat, chew, digest. Yet, at some point, expectations got so much higher and technique got more complicated making cooking and a food a far cry from readily recognizable.

In doing sexuality studies, I read the Kama Sutra-- the real book, not the westernized version that calls every position by the name of an animal or flower. The title Kama Sutra translates into the idea of sensual teachings. The story itself is more a drama of “Man about Town” than a sex guide. The story does include one book on biting and scratching techniques, types of oral sex (like “sucking the mango”), and a variety of positions. This section, though, is a really small part of the overall tale of a man going from single to married to finding courtesans and finally to becoming old and impotent. The myth of the Kama Sutra and the elaborateness and exoticism of the idea of the text far skewed the actual story.

In cookbooks and food trends, the myth of food preparation is getting almost to the epic level of the myth of the kama sutra. In my own life, I’ve gotten to the point in my cooking and food quests where I am losing track of how to cook honestly. When I make applesauce, I use ginger and cinnamon infused water. My coleslaw has tequila. My meat has to have a post-pan sauce reduction. Although I take pride in these things and really enjoy eating and making them, do they have more impact on my life than when my boyfriend made me fish tacos with a seasoning packet and a side of avocado, salsa, and cheese? No, not really. When you think back on the really good sex you’ve had in your life, titillation and taboo probably mark some of the other top 5, but in the best sex, I would probably bet you money, that over the top elaborateness wasn’t a factor. So, why is that we insist that the best meals of our life, have to be doing a high wire act while balancing spinning objects?

At the end of the day, does the ability to know the kama sutra make sex any better ... maybe. Does knowing how to caramelize or sous vide make a meal better, probably. But, at some point, when every night of sex has to involve a new position, then won’t it become ordinary. Conversely, when you eat too well what happens to your love of the basic? Do you lose it or just learn to appreciate it more?

I’m trying to remember to be a foodie who appreciates a great plate of pizzazz with a nice hint of wild technique on occasion. But, I’d like to also be a foodie who doesn’t ever stop loving a good missionary meal.

First Published for Technorati (July 14, 2011): When Did Food Get More Complicated Than Sex?