Just deserts. March 13, 2010
Posted by ourfriendben in wit and wisdom.Tags: desert/dessert, English idion, English language, just deserts
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Our friend Ben is a lifelong student of language, and I’m always interested by expressions that don’t mean what they appear to say. “Just deserts” is one of them.
Almost every English speaker is familiar with this expression, as in, “He got his just deserts.” But the word “deserts” in English means arid, sandy pieces of land characterized by cacti, lizards, and the occasional cow skull. How does this relate to the literal meaning of the phrase, i.e., “He got what he deserved?” Not only that, but “just deserts” is pronounced as in “desserts,” the sweet course that ends a typical American meal. No wonder the phrase is so often misspelled! It even seems to make sense: “He got the dessert that was coming to him,” be it a luscious piece of cheesecake or a burnt, stale cookie.
Such, however, is not the case, as our friend Ben was reminded this afternoon when our friend Rob, a journalism professor, showed me a quiz from his copyediting class in which one enterprising student had changed “just deserts” to “gelatin dessert.” After I stopped laughing, I looked up “just deserts” and saw that it originated in the 1500s and derived from “deserving.”
So, for whatever reason, somebody changed “just deserving” into “just deserts.” No exile to a deserted (note, not “desert”) island. No being stuck with a really disgusting dessert because you didn’t qualify for a good one. We’re talking about karma here, getting yours. Our friend Ben can only hope that whoever invented this counterintuitive phrase has been getting his ever since.
Keeping things hot. March 10, 2010
Posted by ourfriendben in wit and wisdom.Tags: hot food, Hunan Province, keeping food hot
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Silence Dogood here. Apologies to anyone who’s rushed over here hoping to find steamy sex tips. This post is about food.
As longtime readers know, one of my food hangups is temperature sensitivity, and I don’t think I’m alone. Every time I read some diet guru screaming that people should eat their food slooooowly so they don’t overeat, I think: Has it ever dawned on you that maybe the reason some people eat their food quickly is so they can enjoy it before it gets cold?
No doubt there are lots of people who shovel food down mindlessly in front of the TV, who wouldn’t know if they were eating potato chips or shredded paper (as long as the paper was salted). But those of us who are temperature-sensitive eat quickly because, once the food we’re eating has stopped being appropriately hot, warm, cool, or cold, we don’t want anything to do with it. And that’s true even if we’ve only managed to eat one bite before it’s lukewarm, congealing, melting, or what have you. Or drink one sip before it’s watery or the milk’s coagulating on top. Eeeewwww!!!
I keep hoping that some inventor will take pity on us temperature-sensitive types and invent a contraption that will actually keep food hot at the table, so you can take your time over a meal and not know, with a sinking heart, that three bites will be about all you can manage before the temperature doldrums set in.
My own vision for this has tended to focus on the plate itself—some ingenious device that keeps your plate or bowl at the perfect temperature so that food stays appropriately hot or cold, sort of like an electric blanket or one of those mugwarmers or a thermos or even a tea cozy. But this morning, I discovered that the Chinese—who’ve led civilization in so many ways for thousands of years—had already come up with an alternate solution.
My computer opens to the MSN home page, and of course I can never resist scanning all the headlines to see what’s up in the world. This morning, some headline I can’t even recall caught my eye, so I clicked on the link. And after reading the story, I saw a link to another post I just had to read. Called “Ouch! Hunanese Hosts Turn Down the Heat in Our Food,” it was about how Americans on assignment in Hunan Province, which is apparently famous for its mind- and tongue-numbingly hot cuisine, were served flavorful but bland dishes and wondered what had happened to the fabled heat.
Mind you, Adrienne Mong, the author of this post, was referring to chile-generated heat, not the actual temperature of the dish. (Apparently the Chinese hosts, concerned about the feeble American palate, had provided separate bowls of “stewed, pickled, dried, diced, fried” assorted chiles, aka chilies or chillis, for their bolder guests.) The post is very informative, and even provides the origins of General Tso’s Chicken, so I encourage you to check it out at http://worldblog.msnbc.msn.com/.
But, well, the idea that chiles/chillis/whatever are hot isn’t exactly breaking news. So what was it that caught my attention in this post? It was the photos of the tables where the dishes were being served. The wooden tables looked conventional enough up to a point. But unlike our tables, the Hunanese tables were constructed with several burners embedded in the center. The dishes that comprised the meal were brought to the table in their pots and set on the burners, with bowls of condiments set all around them. Diners could help themselves, taking just as much as they could eat hot, then helping themselves to more as their appetites dictated, and all at the perfect temperature. Nobody needed to load up a plate or gobble their food. There was plenty more, and everyone knew that whenever they chose to take a bit more, it would still be perfectly hot. A meal could stretch for hours without anyone feeling rushed or disappointed by cooling food.
Talk about a civilized arrangement! I realize that it would be a bit of an adjustment for us to become accustomed to the sight of burners on our tables (or cooking pots in the middle of the table, for that matter). But I think the aesthetic tradeoff would be worth it. After all, our own tradition of plain wooden tables arose not just because we had no access to burners, but because there were historically servants rushing hot food to the table from the kitchen. God forbid that the soup or peas or breakfast eggs should arrive cold—someone would pay for that, probably with his livelihood.
These days, most of us are on our own. But the problem of getting and keeping hot food on the table remains. I’m so inspired by the example of Hunan. I’m not about to stick a burner on top of the tiny round oak table where our friend Ben and I eat our meals; we have enough problems without a house fire. But perhaps heat distributors on every burner with the gas turned to the lowest possible setting, and smaller portions with hotter refills… hmmm…
‘Til next time,
Silence
Evicted squirrels, starlings file complaint. March 9, 2010
Posted by ourfriendben in critters, homesteading, wit and wisdom.Tags: blog humor, squirrel damage, squirrels, starlings
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“BE IT KNOWN that we, the squirrels residing on the property of Hawk’s Haven, the cottage home of our friend Ben and Silence Dogood located in the precise middle of nowhere, PA, wish to file legal complaint against the said OFB and Silence for unwarranted eviction and mental cruelty.
“We, the plaintiffs, had no sooner completed a new entrance through the outer wall of the building on the property known as the ‘studio’ than the harrassment began. Our architectural improvement had taken considerable time and labor to achieve, and we were just starting to move into our new headquarters when the said OFB entered the said ‘studio’ with an item popularly known as a ‘boom box’, set it up adjacent to our entryway, and proceeded to turn it to a 24-hour sports station at an unacceptably loud volume prior to departing. As is well known, we squirrels are quite fond of athletic feats and games of all sorts, but these human games hold no interest for us, and besides, the volume made it difficult to sleep.
“However, we were at first prepared to believe that the aforementioned OFB was attempting to add to our comfort, noting our presence in the said ‘studio’, to the extent of his limited abilities, and to overlook the discomfort caused by the said ‘boom box’ and regard it as a goodwill gesture.
“But on the following day, Saturday, March the 6th, as most of us were out enjoying the spring weather, searching for nuts, trying to upend the birdfeeders, and taunting the resident cat, a new hostility of an egregious and inexcusable nature occurred. A single squirrel remained in our new residence to watch over it while the rest of us carried on with the business of the day.
“Suddenly, the said squirrel perceived a Person, unknown to us before, materialize at eye level atop a very, very tall ladder. The said Person brandished a Stick and even went so far as to insert the said Stick into our entryway with the clear and malicious intent of driving out the said squirrel. The terrorized squirrel barely had time to flee for its life before the aforementioned Person screwed a square of sheet metal over our beautiful new entryway, blocking our access to our new headquarters. This eviction was as unanticipated as it was unwarranted.
“BE IT FURTHER known that we, the starlings also residing on the property of the aforementioned Hawk’s Haven, wish to join with the squirrels to file complaint. The said squirrels had generously invited us to make use of their new entryway to remove insulation from the said ‘studio’ in order to line our nests, currently under construction.
“But, despite the most industrious efforts on our part, we had been unable to remove more than a few beakfuls of insulation before the said Person arrived and blocked access to our building materials. As a result, our home construction projects are temporarily on hold, and with so many of us hoping to move in and start families this spring, we regard this action as both physical harrassment and an act of mental cruelty, causing us to suffer acute distress.
“THEREFORE, be it known that we, the squirrels and starlings of Hawk’s Haven, have retained the services of a lawyer, Mr. O. Possum, Esq., who is seeking damages from the aforementioned our friend Ben and Silence Dogood on our behalf as follows: one (1) twenty-five (25)-pound bag of mixed nuts, and one (1) roll of insulation, as well as one (1) bag of assorted yarn, string, twine, and metallic streamers to assist us (the starlings) in our home-building efforts. We have also hired a contractor, Mr. R.B. ‘Red’ Woodpecker, to determine if more suitable entryways could be constructed in the walls of the said ‘studio’.”
To which document we affix our mark [X].
Witnessed this day by O. Possum, Esquire, LLD.
The kitchen waltz. March 8, 2010
Posted by ourfriendben in homesteading, wit and wisdom.Tags: Alan Rickman, Blow Dry, cooking, home cooking, No Reservations
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Silence Dogood here. Sometimes, it takes a different perspective to get your thoughts in order.
I love to cook, and I’m even capable of making an elaborate multi-dish Indian meal and getting it all hot to the table. But generally speaking, I find that a main dish, a couple of sides, and a salad are about all I can handle and still make sure everything’s delicious, cooked exactly right, and served at the perfect temperature. True, my dishes may be a pretty far cry from typical family fare or some family-style cafeteria’s “meat and three,” but still. For one cook, one cranky old stove, no freezer space, no convenience foods, and no microwave, that’s pretty much the limit, unless you can make a few dishes like cranberry sauce or coleslaw or squash casserole in advance.
Now, we all have our priorities, and one of mine is temperature. I’d gladly omit a few dishes I know our friend Ben and I would enjoy if it means bringing the ones we do eat to the table at the ideal temperature. (And hey, how many dishes do two adults and one hopeful dog and parrot need at a given meal, anyway?!) As long as every dish I do serve contributes to the beauty and flavor of the meal, that’s the thing that matters. I can always make those other dishes another time, and I know OFB and I will anticipate and enjoy them every bit as much then.
There are, of course, easy ways to get around these limitations. We love our Friday Night Supper Club gatherings, where everyone brings something, be it sparkling water or wine or just-picked veggies from the garden to eat as crudites or hot-from-the-oven bread or fruit pie or some yummy homemade applesauce for dessert. That gives me scope to make a main dish or two and a fantastic salad and know that the rest of the meal will take care of itself. Then there are the two-chef families, like our friends Delilah and Chaz, who have created a kitchen to accommodate both of them and coordinate their efforts to serve such flawless multicourse meals you’d think you’d inadvertently arrived at a four-star restaurant instead of their home.
Simple or elaborate, single-dish or multi-course, I’m always delighted as long as a) the food is good and b) it arrives at the table at its perfect temperature. If it’s elaborate but not good, for whatever reason, or if by the time it reaches me it’s too cold, I’d rather eat leftover pizza (heated to the right temperature, of course) and a salad. Ugh.
But coordinating the parade of dishes to the table so they reach your enthusiastic diners when the food’s all hot and perfectly done is no easy feat. (Keep this in mind if you took your mom’s dinners for granted back in the day.) I’ve seen fabulous meals that took days to prepare go down in flames because the cook simply couldn’t juggle all the dishes in such a way that they arrived at the table at the right time and at the perfect temperature. Talk about a heartache!
So what’s the solution here? Must you be an acrobat as well as a chef? No. But you have to be a dancer.
This revelation occurred when our friend Ben and I watched one of my favorite movies, “Blow Dry,” and a new Netflix selection, “No Reservations,” back-to-back. (Poor OFB, he’s such a sweet guy.)
“Blow Dry” is a simply delicious film starring Alan Rickman and Natasha Richardson as hairdressers entering the British hairdressing championship, with a superb Bill Nighy and Rachel Griffiths in supporting roles. (The entire supporting cast was fantastic; if you watch it, check out the mayor.)
After enjoying the film, we watched the extra features on the DVD, which included interviews with the actors talking about how they’d had to attend a hairdressing crash course and watch a few real competitions so they could look authentic in the movie. Several, including one of my all-time heartthrobs, Alan Rickman (cover your ears, OFB), discussed how choreography as much as talent contributed to success in a competition where every second counted. One of them noted that he’d attended an actual hairdressing championship with the pro stylist who’d been adviser to the movie. Seeing a flashy hairdresser at work, he’d asked the pro if the guy would win. “Not a chance,” the pro replied. “What?!!” “See, he’s wearing shoes.” Turns out, barefoot hairdressing allows more precision and speed. The resulting film emphasized the importance of coordinating your routine and staying light on your feet, literally dancing around the styling chair.
The next night, our friend Ben and I watched “No Reservations,” a predictable romance involving two chefs. Since it was a chef-centric film, it had more restaurant-kitchen scenes than I’d seen since “Ratatouille.” And sitting there, bored with the plot, I guess my mind spun out and focused on the interplay between the staff in the kitchen. In its timing, its efficiency, its perfection, it was like a ballet. Nothing was wasted. Everyone knew his or her role and everyone performed it to the split second. Just like, just like… the hairdressing championships.
Thinking this over later, I saw the connection. Cooking is a dance. Even the simplest dish is a dance: a slow dance, a tango, a waltz. Seeing and overseeing every single step, orchestrating the music, assembling the dancers and making sure every one knows his or her steps perfectly, that every nuance is in place, is the role of the chef, the composer, the conductor, the ballet master. Oh, wow. It’s so true. A solo cook (OFB’s a darling about doing the dishes), I sing and dance and waltz around the kitchen and pantry preparing our meals. (And yes, I do cook barefoot except when it’s freezing.) Ella and Louis—whom I often have on as background music, there’s no way I could cook without music—have nothing on me. I sing along, waltzing from fridge to stove to pantry to mudroom to garden to cookbook shelf or recipe file and back, frantically assembling a world of disparate ingredients into a harmonious whole.
I’m not exactly coordinated, and though I love to sing, my vocals aren’t going to land me on “American Idol” anytime soon. But it’s true, it’s the rhythm and pace that makes or breaks any meal. (And the music that, in my view, makes or breaks any cook.) The kitchen waltz: Aaaaahhh, how romantic. And how ultimately delicious.
‘Til next time,
Silence
Kicking ice. March 7, 2010
Posted by ourfriendben in homesteading, pets, wit and wisdom.Tags: blog humor, Shiloh, signs of spring
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“OWWWOOOOO!!!”
Silence Dogood here. “Who’s hurting Shiloh?!!!” Dropping the broom I was using to sweep up birdseed while cleaning the cages of Plutarch the Parrot and our three parakeets, Taco, Belle, and Laredo, I rushed to the deck door. I’d exiled our friend Ben and our black German shepherd, Shiloh, to the Great Outdoors so I could clean the cages unmolested. I’d assumed that OFB had parked himself in one of the deck chairs, with the Sunday paper and a margarita, while Shiloh gamboled contentedly around him.
Then I heard that noise. Before I could even get to the door, I heard the long, plaintive wail again. Hysterical, I hauled open the sliding glass door, ready to beat whatever was hurting Shiloh to death with the dowel we use to secure the door, when I saw… our friend Ben kicking the remaining snow and ice on the deck into chunks. And Shiloh, beside herself with delight, leaping around, trying to grab every ice chunk, and wailing as if in extremis. “OWWWOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
Well, it didn’t use up more than five of my remaining lives. I couldn’t even take it out on OFB, who, after all, was not only doing us a service by getting that snow and ice off our deck, but was treating Shiloh to the time of her life. Just, I tried to tell myself while willing my heartbeat to return to normal, another sign of spring.
We’ve had a number of signs that were less upsetting: Our snowdrops, winter aconites, and early hellebores are in bloom; our greenhouse overheats at this point so we have to open windows and doors for daytime ventilation; birds are courting (we know this because the hawks are pairing up, the starlings are raiding our studio for insulation for their nests, and our winter birds’ calls have changed dramatically as courtship commences); the days are longer; and the snow has almost melted.
Welcome spring! Welcome every second of additional light, every moment of high-thirties warmth that lets me sneak out for the paper or to run errands in my tee-shirt sleeves, and every inch of snow-free ground.
“OWWWOOOOOO!!!!”
Shiloh, the cages are clean and I’ve swept the kitchen floor. Please come back inside, calm down, and SHUT UP. And OFB, here’s a little hint: Stop kicking ice, or I’ll start kicking ass.
‘Til next time,
Silence
What are they doing to Ben (and history)?! March 7, 2010
Posted by ourfriendben in Ben Franklin, wit and wisdom.Tags: $100 bill, Benjamin Franklin, historical bloopers, new $100 bill
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Our friend Ben read with interest this morning that the U.S. Treasury will unveil a new design for the hundred-dollar bill on April 21st. Fearing that our hero and blog mentor here at Poor Richard’s Almanac, the great Benjamin Franklin, was about to be booted off the iconic “Benjamin” in favor of Ronald Reagan or, say, Michael Jackson, I rushed to click the link and see what was going on.
Mercifully, it turns out that old Ben and the bill are just getting a makeover in an attempt to prevent counterfeiting of the popular currency. Our friend Ben can only hope that the Treasury has chosen a more cheerful image of Dr. Franklin, one of the merriest souls who ever lived, to replace the grim portrait that currently stares out from the bill as though daring you to spend it.
However, it appears that Ben isn’t the only one getting a makeover—American history is as well. Returning to MSN’s home page to find the link so I could write this piece, our friend Ben saw that a more recent article had been filed by something called the [sic] Post Chronicle. “New $100 Bill? Ben Franklin Gets a Facelift,” the title announced, followed by this opening line: “President Ben Franklin, the historical figure whose face has graced the $100 bill since its creation, is about to get a facelift.”
Now, we here at Poor Richard’s Almanac can think of no figure in all of American history more deserving of the Presidency—or more likely to have been successful in the position—than Benjamin Franklin. A brilliant statesman with unparalleled people skills and international connections and influence, plus the perfect combination of a lofty vision for the new country and a practical view of how to go about realizing that vision, Ben was the ideal choice. But sadly, he never had the opportunity to prove us right and strut his stuff as the leader of our country.
Why not? Bad timing. Ben, who was born in 1706, was America’s elder statesman by the time we finally shook off the colonial shackles and became recognized as a nation in 1783, when the Treaty of Paris was signed. (Ben was one of the principal signers.) It wasn’t until April 30, 1789 that George Washington took his oath of office as the new nation’s first president. Ben Franklin died less than a year after Washington took office, on April 17, 1790, at the age of 84. He told Washington that one of the proudest accomplishments of his life was to have lived long enough to see him (Washington) take office.
There is no doubt that George Washington would have become America’s first president even if every great man then living had run against him (as it happened, he was unopposed). He was America’s liberator, a noble figure, the living symbol of American freedom and honor. Most Americans (and all Europeans) assumed he would become America’s king or, at least, president for life. That Washington instead walked away from power after two terms as president shows how very well-placed America’s trust in him proved.
But had Ben Franklin been a younger man, there’s no doubt in our friend Ben’s mind that he would have become America’s second president instead of the choleric, unpopular John Adams. And there’s no doubt in my mind that he would have been America’s greatest president.
There is, however, considerable doubt in my mind about the nature of a publication that would print a news item for national release beginning with “President Ben Franklin.” Just what is this Post Chronicle? Scanning the web page, our friend Ben could not find what it was, where it was published, or who published it. Our good friend Google provided our friend Ben with a breakthrough of sorts when I resorted to the old trick of looking up its advertising page, on which it positions itself for prospective advertisers. “The Post Chronicle or tPC is the New Media News leader and among the fastest growing Websites on the internet. Our readership’s range is varied and multi-cultural. Spanning the globe and reaching nearly 100 countries. The age group range is from 16 to 65 years old. These are people seeking information on breaking news, entertainment and industry rumors and thought provoking social & political commentary.” [sic] But I still couldn’t find anything on who owned it. Google gave me endless links to Rupert Murdoch, CEO of News Corp., but no straight answer as to whether News Corp. owns the Post Chronicle or not. Not being a reporter, our friend Ben decided that I’d wasted enough time on this and gave up.
Our friend Ben is an editor, however. And I’d like to offer a little advice to a publication whose motto is “News*Information*Insight”: How about some oversight? Who’s providing your content, sixth-graders? Where’s the editor or copyeditor or fact-checker or even proofreader who’s keeping such egregious errors from being sent out to readers in “nearly” 100 countries?! Yeesh.
If we could rewrite history, we here at Poor Richard’s Almanac would definitely put Benjamin Franklin on a pedestal as our greatest president. Maybe someday our friend Ben will write a historical novel that does just that. But unlike the Post Chronicle, I won’t try to pawn it off as fact. However, in my secret heart of hearts, I confess to being thrilled that the legend of Ben continues to grow…
Get creative about promoting local food. March 6, 2010
Posted by ourfriendben in wit and wisdom.Tags: Buy Fresh Buy Local, crafts, local food, local food awareness, No Farms No Food, organic food, PASA, promoting local food, Willi Singleton
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Silence Dogood here. Our friend Ben and I are enthusiastic about PASA, the Pennsylvania Association for Sustainable Agriculture, and its “Buy Fresh, Buy Local” logo. (Hey, that bumper sticker is on our car—along with “No Farms, No Food”—and if that’s not commitment, what is?!) So when we got an e-mail from them this morning, I checked it out. And had a revelation.
The e-mail was showcasing upcoming Philadelphia events that focused on local foods, wines, and beers, high-end affairs that our friend Ben and I applaud but are about as likely to attend as a wedding at the Vatican. ($170 a couple?! We have heating bills to pay, a stove to fix, squirrel damage to repair…) Nor are these local-food dinners exactly breaking news. (And yes, that’s really good news. The more the merrier!)
So what was the revelation? That OFB and I can’t afford take-out pizza, much less dinner in Philadelphia? That Philadelphia’s caught on to the local food thing? That some enterprising squirrels have been marketing Hawk’s Haven’s organic black walnuts, butternuts, and hickory nuts behind our backs and investing the proceeds in peanut butter stocks? Sorry.
What caught my attention was that the chefs and local food organizations had paired up with local potters as well as local vintners and brewers. Handmade regional ceramics would not only be used to serve these meals, but would be for sale at the events. I thought that this was more than brilliant, and would be a good starting point for other groups who wanted to promote local food, organic food, fresh food, and/or whole food in their areas.
Maybe it’s just because our friend Ben and I love pottery and ceramics of many sorts—from contemporary and historic Pueblo pottery, Pennsylvania redware, Moroccan, Japanese, and artisanal contemporary ceramics, to our very local Willi Singleton masterpieces made from Hawk Mountain clay and fired with cornstalks from area fields—but we see the integral connection between food and the vessels it’s made and served in. The earth that grows the food and the earth that makes the vessels. Local food, local pottery makes perfect sense to us.
We don’t know if buying functional local dishware and serving vessels is as irresistible to everyone as it is to us, but if it makes sense to you, you might consider doing something like this at your next local/organic/etc. food function. It’s not just a way to bring more people in or to raise much-needed money. You’re also giving your local artists exposure along with local farmers, chefs, bakers, brewers, vintners, and etc. You could give woodworkers, beadmakers, fiber artists, and so on space and publicity as well, or people who craft beautiful glassware or are keeping the art of metalworking or basketry or quilting alive.
The point is, combining local foods with local crafts to raise awareness and appreciation of all of them makes so much sense. Someone who might think about going to a local-foods supper but not really commit themselves might think twice if some great crafts were also on offer. And having a selection of those locally made wines, beers, condiments, cheeses, preserves and the like for sale certainly wouldn’t hurt, either.
What about pushing a little bit further out? A brunch with dishes and beverages made from locally grown herbs, where guests could customize their own take-home herb tea blends at the end? A “girls’ night out” featuring local foods and wines, with a local beadmaker and hairdresser doing beaded braids? A local cheese and beer tasting with fondue lessons featuring cheese-and-beer fondue and artisanal breads? Local foods, featuring lamb dishes and sheep cheese, with a crafter of handmade, hand-dyed wool yarns selling yarn, handcrafted wooden needles, and knitted items, and perhaps offering a beginning knitting lesson? The possibilities are endless.
Obviously, you don’t want to lose the local food message. But maybe expanding the focus to other local crafts would help ensure the success of your event. Think about it. And good luck!
‘Til next time,
Silence
Eat more fruit. March 5, 2010
Posted by ourfriendben in gardening, homesteading, wit and wisdom.Tags: fruit, healthy eating, Not Dabbling in Normal, Real Food Challenge
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Silence Dogood here. For those who missed yesterday’s post, “Cooking from scratch,” the good folks over at Not Dabbling in Normal (http://notdabblinginnormal.wordpress.com/) have declared a challenge for the month of March, the Real Food Challenge. Its focus is to use more unprocessed, unpackaged foods, and anyone can sign up to join the challenge. (It’s not too late!)
They’ve made it really easy: You just have to make one change. Examples (mine, not theirs): Buy whole heads of lettuce for your salads instead of prepackaged mixes, or make your own salad dressings instead of buying bottled dressings. If memory serves, they suggested making one meal a week at home instead of buying all fast food and/or getting takeout and/or nuking prepared meals, but it’s so depressing to think that people only cook one meal a week at home that I can’t really bear to think about that; maybe I misread it.
Anyway, I loved the wake-up call of the challenge. My problem was, what could I do in order to participate? Our friend Ben and I already eat pretty much all scratch-made meals. Our idea of “processed foods” is pasta and butter and cheese and maybe canned beans or crushed tomatoes. I could have decided to bake all our bread—I have a fabulous no-knead recipe from our friend Fritzjambo that makes simply delicious bread (see our earlier post “The best no-knead bread” for the recipe)—but we have two problems: First, we have to keep our house so cold (a warm and welcoming 56 degrees) to save money on our heating bills that bread dough won’t rise, and second, our ancient Caloric propane stove’s oven has gone on hiatus and we haven’t yet been able to find anyone who knows how to fix it.
So homemade bread is out. We already eat tons of veggies, both cooked and fresh in salads, every day. We recycle or use every scrap of packaging as kindling. How could we challenge ourselves to eat more “real” food?
Aha, an answer did at last present itself. We desperately need to eat more fruit. This is an ironic state of affairs to say the least, because I’m one of the apparently few people on earth who not only prefers fruit to any other form of dessert, but who loves fresh fruit better than any cooked fruit there is. Not that I don’t love cobblers, preserves, fruit tarts, and fruit bars, or that I’d willingly walk away from a yummy tiramisu or trifle or toffee-chocolate chip-oatmeal cookie or toffee shortbread or fudge—are you listening, Alan?!—or chess or pecan pie. But offered a piece of perfectly ripe fresh fruit over any dessert on earth, I’d go for the fruit every time.
Mind you, we are talking about perfectly ripe fruit here. We’re not talking about overripe, grainy watermelon slices (eeeewww), or ghastly overripe bananas (unless, that is, we’re contemplating making banana bread, yum). Nor are we talking about hard, starchy, green bananas or those horrid whitish rock-hard flavorless strawberries that show up in groceries this time of year, or the grainy, mushy apples that some stores carry at the tag end of apple season. But when fruit is at its perfectly flavorful, fragrant, textural peak, I can’t imagine anything more delicious. (There are only two fruits I’m not crazy about: kiwis, which I’m happy to eat but don’t find especially flavorful, and papayas, because I can’t bear the texture.)
In fact, I’m happiest if someone hands me a big bowl of fresh fruit salad or a slice of ripe cantaloupe or watermelon or a bowl of berries or cherries, or sliced peaches or mango or grapefruit or… If you want to make me happy, when we get together for a communal supper, bring fruit. If you want to give me a gift I’ll cherish, give me luxury fruits like Medjool dates or glaceed Australian apricots or dried cherries.
So where’s the challenge?! Just this: Our friend Ben and I seldom eat fruit. In season, yes, I’ll indulge in fresh blueberries, strawberries, apples, pears, and the like and add them to our salads along with nuts and cheese. But, except for the occasional indulgent brunch, we don’t eat breakfast. I don’t snack. Working at home as I do, I eat when I’m hungry, which is typically around 10 a.m., when I have lunch, and not again until supper. And my appetite is not what you’d call extensive. A piece of cheese and a handful of sweet potato chips at lunch, half a plate of pasta and veggies (or half a bowl of chili or what have you) and half a bowl of salad at dinner, and I’m done. It’s not that I wouldn’t like to have a piece of fresh fruit for dessert, but rather that I don’t have room for any kind of dessert, or even the rest of my supper (fortunately OFB takes care of that).
So far too little fruit is being consumed here at Hawk’s Haven. The challenge is how to get more of it into our daily routine. I would love to manage to work a whole piece of fresh fruit, some berries and citrus, and some luscious, indulgent dried fruit into our diet every single day. It hardly seems like too much to ask.
Here are some solutions that occur to me: Have an apple or other seasonal fruit and a piece of cheese for that 10 a.m. “lunch” rather than a carb like chips or popcorn or a nice crusty hunk of baguette. (Sob.) Make sure that fruit goes into our salads every single night, not just for special occasions. Try to work up some enthusiasm for an afternoon fruit break—maybe a tangerine or a handful of berries or some apple slices or grapes—around 4 p.m., knowing that supper won’t be until 8 (or 9).
Other suggestions would be oh so welcome.
‘Til next time,
Silence
