Carrot Top

It's true that my children are *experts* in the impious art of alternately embarrassing me in public and/or making me laugh so hard that tears fall down my cheeks and it is hard to stand up. It's interesting to imagine how they each might answer this thread, some years forward, when they too are what we call "grown up". Lovely story, Rachel.

You silver-tongued devils, you. Thank you for making my day!

I am really longing for more people to post limericks here. May I hope to persuade you to give it a try with the fact that limerick-writing is good for your health? You will laugh or giggle, either outwards or internally based on your disposition, as the silly thing becomes itself, and everyone knows that laughter is every bit as healthy as science now tells us a glass of red wine is with dinner. Then we will all laugh and be happy, too. Do give it a try! At the very least, so that those around you will ask "What are *you* laughing about?" Pretty please, with caviar and toast points on top. P.S. Sorry, Maggie, if this is posted in the wrong thread, not being a limerick itself, but my mind got tumbled about in its state of limerick love lust.

I LOVE your idea! Just too adorable and too delicious. What will you call them - Cabbage Patch Dolls on a Scary Night?

Yes, clean up as you go is my style, as is a firm belief in temperature control. Then again, the few times I've ever gotten sick from food it was at fast-food places where one *knows* that sanitation policies and procedures *must* be in place and supposedly (apart from human laxness) they are being followed. (Yes, I do fast food once in a while though that, too, is obviously an alien plot foisted upon us!) Yet where food and family and the past converge in talk, so much rises in our hearts, really - whether we are focusing on realizing that fact or not. In the hearts where family interaction was full and good in these past times, a warming glow extends beyond the mundane. And where family interaction in the past was perhaps not all that one could desire, the food and the foodways take on shapes of their own that define and represent as proof in memory of "how things were". A biggie here - I did not learn at my mother's knee that food could show love. Food was fodder to her, and love itself in her life was something that was not easily accessed. I did learn it at my mother-in-law's knee, though, and every time I think of that, my heart swells and tears start to my eyes (eh. What can I tell you - I cry easily ). *That* is the one thing, technique, recipes, foodways aside, that I feel truly blessed to have learned. What's odd is that it is not held in the recipe or the technique, this sense. It's held in memory. The food *might* be frozen veggies (though that is something less possible than if the care was taken to work with fresh good things) but the warmth that the food carries comes through. That warmth and love was palpable in the posts about the food held in the ovens. And *that* is good.

I am sensing from these reports that Foods Themselves were a bolder, braver, stronger sort back then. Science. Always trying to trick us into buying new refrigerators and plastic wrap. Pah. P.S. ( )

Thank you! It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it. Okay, so here's the next idea. Little scary guys all in a row on a plate, ready to be eaten. Make enchiladas - bake them "blind" without sauce - here's a link to a site that has a rather nice photo: Enchiladas Place them on a serving plate all in a neat row, then top them with scary heads made of the top part of some parsnips that have been peeled and cooked so as to be easily edible, but *do not* remove the dead sprouting greens - leave them as hair. Faces can be made either by cutting out eyes and such, or by using a tiny round pastry tip to draw on the elements with taco sauce. Or even with Velveeta. Heat in oven, serve, and dine. Ahhhh. P.S. Even the parsnips alone might be scary enough.

We should request that the title of this thread be changed to "Guinea Pigs and Guns" maybe. There is an absolutely wonderful personal essay/"creative nonfiction" (sic) in the current issue (#2) of Alimentum, by Lynn Levin with the title "How to Eat a Pet - A Gastronomic Adventure in the Andes" that is all about how she dined on our subject at hand, the humble Peruvian cuy whom she continues to think of at odd moments as Fluffy, the pet she had as a child. Worthwhile reading.

If you could only get Chufi to say how to make these little things, that would be wonderful, too. I've never quite forgotten these little guys, the upside down happy frog guy with his murdered companion stuck in a bookbag: (See Post #31). Gallery of Regrettable Foods Adorable yet so. . .well. . .*frightening* in a fairy tale sort of way. They have made a home in my heart forever.

That's great! ← Now *that* takes a brilliantly twisted mind, to develop Velveeta as a sculpture material. Kudos! .................................................................. Thinking of Velveeta-Cheese-Sculpted Heads, how about a Cornered Rat Meatloaf? You could shape a big rat out of a good meatloaf mixture, bake it then glaze it with a shiny glaze. I guess if you wanted to make him look furry, a swiss meringue baked, broken up into small bits then dusted with cocoa might be stuck onto the glaze. . .His face would have to be mean looking, with big whiskers angling up sideways, his head low with horrid little raisin eyes. His whiskers would be made out of Pocky, perhaps. Ears swiss meringue or maybe even a Frito cornchip would do. A long tail extending in an angry curl could be made out of cooked perciatelli and he could be in repose on a grassy bed of julienned cooked zucchini/yellow squash. If you wanted to have a Murdered Cornered Rat, a small sharp knife could be stuck protruding from his side with some chili sauce oozing down from it. More chili sauce to be served on the side for bloodthirsty types. Ah well. It's quite made my morning, thinking of it all!

I was just wandering among the shelves of the library when a book peered out at me. It is titled "Cooking with Grace" by Grace Pilato. It's about Italian cookery. I am not sure if this might be an answer to your question, but it seemed close enough so, there it is! Wonderful phrase, though. Even from reading your topic title, it's been lurking around my edges of thought. In a story recently I read the line "You can not summon grace with a whistle." Indeed not. But how wonderful when it does appear.

Ah, no no no no! Of course I did not serve vegetables like that. Simplify, simplify, simplify! I merely took the butter slices themselves, placed them smack-dab on a lightweight flexible metal spatula, and when the guests sat down to dine, I would come to the table, say "Open wide, dearies!" and fling the chilled butter slices from the top of the spatula with a whizzing sound directly into their mouths. Yum. But whereas your mother was always on the outlook for salmonella and/or donkey meat, I once was very surprised when I arrived one afternoon at the home of a woman I knew - our children were in pre-school together, and we were going to put together some sort of dinner thing for some function. I was going to cook, she was going to provide the raw ingredients. Raw indeed. On her kitchen counter was this slab of reddish purple meat in a zip-lock bag, soaking in a strange-looking puddle of its own uh. . .juices. . .to be polite about it. It looked really wierd and I did not want to approach it - it was scary - but I did, and felt it. It was very very much room temperature. "Sandy", I said. "When did you take this meat out of the refrigerator?" "Oh, last night!" she breezily replied with a smile. "I wanted to be sure it got defrosted." Um. She could not understand, really, why I said that I could not and would not cook that meat. Her mother had often left meat to defrost on the counter overnight - at least when she did cook something not from a package. I would have had to use A LOT OF seasonings to avoid having that meat taste like donkey meat. Besides the possiblities of the all sorts of lovely buggy things that could have grown in it.

The strangest picture just popped into my mind. I'd forgotten all about it. My mother's usual way of serving vegetables (always canned, never fresh or frozen please ) was to heat them in a saucepan then dump them onto the plates, each serving bearing a small slice of salted butter balanced on its top. The butter never melted for some reason, so you'd have to take your fork and try to break it up and of course the veggies turned into an absolute chopped up mess. On holidays, the veggies were in larger serving bowls with larger slices of butter cut directly from the stick. Rather imperious looking they were with their butter crowns. But this was only for me and her, which composed our family. Always, in an unchangeable pattern, when I'd bring a friend for supper, she would serve spaghetti, so the secret was safe. (Almost forgot to add "the lesson". Uh, butter does not melt unless a good enough heat is applied to it somehow.) (And of course one could think of those butter slices as merely unfinished Parmesan cheese shavings - that might work a small mental miracle. )

I like kasha for breakfast, too, hot, with just a touch of milk and some good honey. I've always bought Wolff's kasha at the grocery store - it comes in a 13 oz. box and is usually in the little "kosher" section of the store. It used to be that I cooked it the same way you do, but was startled recently one morning when staring at the box half-asleep to see that it offers a microwave method. Seemed like a great idea for portion control (I always make too much when doing the stovetop method) and is also good when you have to get going and run out of the house in the morning. 2 Tbs. kasha, dash of salt, 2/3 C water or milk, 2 to 3 C bowl. Microwave 5 to 8 minutes. I used a soup mug with high straight sides, hoping to avoid over-boiling. In my microwave, it's ready in about four minutes. Eat directly from bowl, no pot to wash. Good stuff.

Yeah! I particularly like that Tub of Fifty. Sigh. But that is a product for the countryside, and I no longer reside in the countryside. One can do so very much with a large hayfield and a pitchfork, though. And now there are other things that could be said, but a line has just popped into my mind - some old saw about discretion and valor. I do love valor.

Oh well. Always trying to introduce new things to the market, you know, Steve. It might be best if I stick to drinking Rachel's Fairy Tea. If she will put some in her shop. This morning, at Glorious, I am planning on offering Studmuffins for breakfast. Usually, it is true, Studmuffins are best eaten at home, but then again you never know how many people might have access to them or not. They do require a bit of cooking skill, but not very much. Today will be a special promotion - all the Studmuffins you could ever want, for one low price. Today only, you understand. Tomorrow your Studmuffin will cost you, and cost you dearly! There are several varieties. Oh! First of all, a Studmuffin is a muffin made in one of them there Texas-sized jumbo muffin tins. It must be a gorgeous sort of muffin to begin with, a muffin that gleams with perfection. It swaggers a bit, and must be watched to be sure it does not trip over itself and fall over sideways sometimes. I prefer my Studmuffins made of stone-ground cornmeal, with bits of fresh corn, jalapenos, maybe a bit of cheese for attitude. Or sometimes banana-oat with walnut bits. Or in the right sort of mood, double chocolate chip. It then has to be filled with things that make it full of itself, very full of itself. This is part of the charm of a Studmuffin. The cornmeal ones I like to eat filled with ham in cream gravy with bits of caramelized onion. The banana ones, sometimes a nutty fruit chutney, which gives that particular muffin a vacuous air that is more-than-slightly appealing. Double chocolate chip? Well. Fill it with cream, baby. Whipped. Be sure that there is lots of filling if the Studmuffin is in your kitchen. You might have to pull out some of his crumb to do so, but it is absolutely worth it! Who will join me in eating their very own Studmuffin for breakfast? I would love to hear more recipes, too!

........................... A limerick a day keeps . . .well it keeps something or other away. At the very least, it is a good way to avoid doing unwanted other tasks. ............................. There once was a fry-cook from Malabar Who made blowfish taste sweeter than azucar "Fabulosa!" they cried And he puffed up with pride Son nombre? Es "Magnifico Superstar"! One day a fine damsel was the bar She enticed him to sizzle her, in her car And after, he stumbled The fish cleaning, bumbled (In not getting the poison parts out too far). A man ate that fish (with his salad bar) He'd come here to eat quite afar from Quaatar "Blech-hooey!" he cried Then keeled over and died And that fish dish is no longer too popular. .................................................... P.S. Naturally you must understand, this is a Morality Tale.

Dere once was dis chick from Manhatton Whose diet was solely fried grattons Till one day dis guy Looked her straight in de eye And said "Dahlink, you look like George Patton".

It is very difficult to break out of thinking of the words and sounds that we traditionally associate with things. All these "cr" sounds with bread crust (in the English language anyway) crispy, crackly, crunchy. And when there's no crust, crappy. Something might be done with the term "bloom" which is a term bakers use (from a word reference site).Last night the term "blowsy" came to me, like a woman - who is slightly coming apart at the edges. There's underlying tones of fragility (like bread is, inside), perhaps an aura of danger as if she might start to crackle if touched - and a sense of that yeasty femininity that all good bread holds. Oh well. That's as far as I got with your task. P.S. I wonder if the English language has this potential, really, to do it in one or two words. When I think of crust as it should be, my mind goes to Italian, with all the "sbr" and "ch" and "ttt" sounds all in the same word possible, like the sound of crust breaking. Then I wonder if it is the fault of our language that our breads are so often as they are or if it is the reason of the way this tribe baked breads way back in time that shaped our linguistic sounds of them. Maybe the ovens weren't hot enough due to whatever, or the wheat was too soft wherever. I think I'd better stop now.

Yesterday while (or "whilst" if we are going to be talking with Diogenes and his ilk) walking through town, I realized that there was one more tisane (so much nicer sounding than "herb tea blend" don't cha think) that would have to be offered on a daily basis in this college town. The "Please help me my butt crack is showing over the top of my jeans" blend. I am positive this would be a best-seller.

................................ That was a wonderful story, starting with a bite of the magical thing called "bread". I can still remember my first bite of "homemade" bread as if it were happening this very moment. It was a big round sourdough loaf from a "hippy" store on a small street in Hartford, Connecticut. I was thirteen and had never seen such a thing. It looked good, and homely, and I thought it would fit in well with the dreams of incense burners and tie-die curtains that filled my inner life. I walked out of the store after paying for it with my babysitting money and took a bite, walking down the street. If that moment had been recorded by a painter of the Middle Ages, there would have been angels circling my head, flying about and blowing their horns to announce the moment. I agree with Rachel. Aaaaaahhhhhhhh.

Yes, Hercule used to urge them on his friend Hastings as being important in assisting "the little grey cells" to work properly. Hastings never quite took to tisanes, though. And his little grey cells continued to suffer. The tisanes likely assisted Hercule in moustache maintenance, being full of good things that make one healthy. And of course the only other man I know with a moustache like Hercule's was Jim Quilleran but he probably drank his tisanes in secret. Wasn't Diogenes that guy that used to walk around on Greek hills with a large staff to lean on (maybe that was his lantern pole?), a dirty robe, and a bunch of sheep to keep him company when he wasn't distributing philosophy? I'd be cynical too it that were my lot in life.

You guys are really good. ................................................................... There once was a man from Hong Kong Whose plum strudel was wider than long But when one took a bite He showed such delight That one felt Other Strudels were Wrong.

You and me both, bud. I always pack a pistol when carrying small rodents. One can never be too careful. .......................................................... I've decided that my foodshop will have to carry tisanes. They will be available at all hours, made in gorgeous silver antique samovar thingies maybe. You can choose from four distinct varieties each day. I like some of the brews shown on this site. "Philosopher's Brew" is their best seller, and no small wonder with all the philosophers wandering around looking for a decent tisane nowadays. I would add (have to create them somehow, must study Ayurveda and such) the "Exhausted Mother" brew; the "My Gun is Bigger Than Yours" brew; and the "Just a Little Loopy" brew.

Such hubris shown on the part of the guinea pig, don't you think? It would have to be a tale full of intrigue and manifest destiny. Featuring vegan food.