Lady T

When you turn your nose up at the produce on sale at Safeway and go to Whole Foods and pay a whole lot more instead, because (a) it's in hugely better condition; (b) it's organic; © it has a new issue of Saveur you absolutely cannot wait more than ten more minutes to read; and (d) you're voting with your pocketbook for all of the above, so that eventually the market will notice and reward people who want to eat wisely and well -- you're a foodie. No mistake. And there is, by damn, absolutely nothing wrong with that.

No camera in the house at all, at all, let alone a digital camera that speaks intelligibly to eG. The current list-in-development: Orange juice 3 packets yeast (NOT rapid rise) Green veg to be determined/what looks best: green beans, spinach? Tomatoes Mushrooms Basil Raisins (green, seedless) 4 baking potatoes 2- 4 apples More to be added. Probable marketing on Wednesday evening after work.

This resembles my modus pretty closely. I always make sure there's a solid supply of canned stuff and cupboard goods, for weeks when the paychecks aren't biting or the calendar has gone completely nutzoid. There's a list that replenishes necessities like -- oh, their name is Legion -- olive oil and Parmegiano and Emmenthaler and good sweet butter and sea salt and good peppercorns to grind fresh, and yeast and decent organic flours and honey as needed, and basic produce according to the season. Then there comes the improv-theater element: mostly a barn dance that suggests meat or fish entrees according to what produce will play nicely with them. Side dishes volunteer once the entrees evolve, and if I don't have wines to pair with them on hand already, there's a quite decent liquor/wine store a half block from my home.

Sister: Come to Chicago. I have a world to share with you, a good bit of it seen either from a bar stool or a rather classier tabletop. (Also a few lesson/demonstrations in the combined areas of crisp champagne and glorious savory unctuous cheese, right around the time the Red Flag Flies. Not to mention a steak house Zagat doesn't know about yet.)

Bad? Gracious lady, I'd say you've got it beautiful. I certainly intend to try bacon done that way some time soon, and I may do it in that quantity, too. I wouldn't surrender a blood sample for a cholesterol count for a while...but beyond that minor quibble, I think this sounds like heaven, right down to Top Chef and an amiable spouse. You go, ma'am!

You dig out the stupid green and silver-wrapped Hershey's Holiday Kisses from last Christmas and scarf 'em down. Milk chocolate. Hershey's, yet. The shame...the shame...

Nice thought, but no cookie. I bear no resemblance of face or voice or even taste to any of Chicago's prominent critics. Neither my face or my name should be known at that restaurant -- I don't think, anyhow! -- for anything more distinctive than a credit card that doesn't flinch at large tabs. And at that place, high rollers are so common as to not rate even a raised eyebrow. I go there maybe once every year, or every other year, depending on whether and how the paychecks are biting, simply to see how the culinary art is developing through this one favorite chef's particular practice. There's no reason I can see, beyond a certain pride in maintaining my constant focused attention, I guess, why I would be so...umm...cultivated. It was sure-hell fun, though!

Eh...eating either way -- alone or accompanied -- can be, and usually is, a nourishment for my soul. I like dining alone, either people-watching or with a good book, and I like, just as much, to dine with someone with whom I can share impressions. Funniest story I can tell on the subject: about four years ago, I came into a very prominent, very expensive, very well-regarded restaurant in Chicago's Lincoln Park neighborhood with a tony gastronomic magazine in hand, intending to read a bit between courses. Murphy's Law, or maybe the chef's professional pride, struck: for the rest of the evening, I got no time whatever to read at all. I was greeted at the door by name and told it'd been much much too long since I'd visited. (Huh? Wha'?) When I wasn't being served and having the list of ingredients and preparation of each course graciously described to me, or actually eating (and I should mention: the meal was as stellar as the tab was stratospheric), a parade of waitstaff on whose stations I'd eaten before came by to say 'hello.' My own server cruised through while I ate each course, asking how I liked it. The sommelier came through to discuss the pairing for each course, at length, and inviting debate and contrasting opinions. Which invitation I never ever refuse. Bus-staff circulated, keeping my table perpetually crumbed and removing dead plates/silver/wineglasses, and even the most English-challenged among them managed a polite smile and a "You enjoying? Yes?" I left with a cookbook gift and a most bemused grin on my face. Certainly nobody twigged, and I can't *prove* that there was a smiling conspiracy at the back of the house to keep my nose out of the reading matter -- but I can tell you that even though there was only one name on the reservation, I certainly didn't dine alone that night. It was great.

Freshherbs: You might want to get a duplicate of this post set up in the "Elsewhere in Europe" segment of the geographic forums, just to cover all bases. Wish I could help...I have no better lead for you than that.

It's the cauliflower, no two ways about it. How anything that simple can be that good still amazes me -- and I had it at the first Heartland ingathering/feast/barely contained small riot in Michigan, coming up on four years ago in October. Maggiethecat made a big pan of it, and the predictable happened: a bunch of curious foodies gathered around and started snitching samples. Samples turned into snacks, as we all prepared our various goodies. The cauliflower simply walked away, a few florets at a time. I'm not remembering that much, if any, of that pan of simple roasted goodness made it to the table at all...

Bump. Just checking in and making sure you know we're thinking about you, Mags. A little toasted cheese sandwich with that martini, ma'am? Emmenthaler and Parmesan, maybe, with a coupla herbs chopped in? With a l'il slice of ham underneath?

Apropos of that genealogy: I'm beginning to think that Trotter's ultimate contribution and legacy -- to cuisine in general, and cuisine as it is practiced in Chicago in particular -- won't actually be what he did in his kitchen (as superb as so much of that is), so much as whom he taught. Take a gander around town and observe how many fine artists (Gale Gand, Rick Tramonto, Grant Achatz, Michael Taus, and others) have graduated from Charlie's kitchen. Whatever his flaws, the guy's got *plenty* to be proud of. So have we, in Chicago.

H'm. First things first. {[(Maggie)]} Thinking of you kindly, Lady. And the Handsome One too. I went back and forth -- heh, while fixing dinner! -- about whether I should put my thoughts out in front of folks on this thread or just PM you quietly. Most everyone else has said their say publicly, though, and most of them have spoken to the stuff that worked for me, back in the (now) Long Ago when my parents died. I can't answer for anyone else, but a lot of my Major Thinking gets done while I'm browning something. Or baking something. Or mixing something. Or freezing something. Or even pouring a glass of something (you know me, after all, Maggie!). I've seen you do some of that, too -- tell me, then, where did that inner engagement go, when you felt under the gun to produce three formal squares per day, without fail? Time. And peace. It sounds as if you need a whole lot of it, just now, ma'am. And a gradual rewriting of your own definition of the word "normal" ... which, I would bet, has been blown completely to Hell and gone. We are creatures of habit, Mags, and it will take time to re-establish the routines that normally gave you comfort and fulfillment before your mother's last illness. Allow me to suggest that, once the season begins to turn cool and brisk, that maybe at some point you'll feel hungry for a little something. Nothing extravagant: maybe just an easy little daube that you can eat a deux in front of the fire with a nice Shiraz, or a leisurely weekend brunch on nobody's schedule but your own. Maybe the most important thing I can say just now is that our thoughts are with you, and that it *will* -- whatever "it" is at this time -- be okay, eventually. We love you even if you can't stand the thought of picking up a knife right now. Be well -- SLT

On the average work day: Breakfast -- yogurt and fruit (currently farmers' market berries), inhaled before a 7 - 7:05 a.m. departure for the train. Lunch -- inhaled in front of the office computer, usually soup or roasted-vegetable salad (hello, weekend leftovers!), or sandwich plus piece of fruit, around noon. Dinner -- grocery shopping at 6 p.m. on arrival at train station near home; cooking from point of arrival at home (7 or 7:15, give or take) until dinner between 8 and 8:30. Dinner is often cobbled together from results of weekend shopping as well; when no shopping is necessary, dinner is around 7:30. On weekends or in vacation time: Early meal -- cooked cereal with fruit, juice, coffee with news, 10:30 or 11 a.m. after sleeping in. Late meal -- appetizer around 6 p.m., homecooked main course at about 7:30 p.m., cheese course or sweet dessert (it depends; not usually both) around 9 p.m. Dishes get washed around 9:30 or 10 p.m. in any case. Getting up to see the piled-up results of previous-night debauchery is depressing on a dark, cold winter morning.

I confess: they were pretty good! Yes! it's time for a visit! That goes for all of you! ← I'll be in Bath for Thanksgiving week. This is a finest-kind () preview, and I'll think of you kindly while I'm baking pies for my keep and taking long walks around those tough granite outcroppings by the Kennebec.

A not-too-long cab ride will get you to the blazing-hot Taylor Street restaurant district, located roughly between the University of Illinois at Chicago East and West Campuses (UICC and UIMC, for *really* old Chicago hands) will net you almost anything: good Italian ice on almost any corner, wonderful bistro food at Chez Joel, better than merely decent Italian at Francesca's, the very archetype of the submarine sandwich at Fontano's, astonishingly good food at Yummy Thai (pretty good beef salad, exemplary chicken pad thai, and more), very nice deals at wine bars along the way, and then some. Plenty of goods in the 'hood -- come and enjoy!

Good night -- I haven't seen one of these in more than passing since I was taken to Trader Vic's (downtown at the Palmer House, back when) as a little, little kid! My family never failed to order one (or two, depending on the numbers) as an appetizer, on the way to 'real' dinner. Nobody ever pretended that the food or the decor was anything but kitsch; we simply leaned into the fun of the occasion and came away well satisfied, and then went down to a favorite place in Chinatown and ordered real food, and lots of it. Some came home as leftovers, but not much. Ah, memories ...

Ohh, now *this* will be choice. I fly into Portland International Jetport once a year, on my way to visit some of my favorite folks on the planet for Thanksgiving. They live in the Bath Historic District, one good solid sneeze from the Bath Iron Works. Once a year I get to revel in the aromas of pine and woodsmoke, and pet big dogs, and indulge in some serious old-fashioned pie-making. Not to mention sleeping in, and sitting and talking (all the traditional forbiddens: politics, religion, sex, death, AND taxes!) late at night over great food and good wine, and and and. Blog on! I never get Down East during the summer!

See, sandwiches are total comfort food for me, child of the New York metro area. If there's some way to figure out/ask what would be the bereaved folks' comfort food of choice, fulfilling that would be really beautiful. I also think nomatter what the food gift is, the gesture itself can be comforting to people. (Though of course you'd also like the gift to be useful and pleasing ...) ← Mizducky, your post just kicked loose a slightly zany memory of one of the best Italian subs I ever had -- salami and provolone plus mild giardiniera peppers, onions and O & V -- on a 'mile-long' Italian loaf. It fed a dozen of us easily, including the bereaved partner, after a funeral we'd sung for free for a colleague who'd died of HIV. That, and the jug of Chianti, was as much a comfort as anything the clergy said at the service, I think. It certainly wasn't high-ticket, but at that specific moment it was just what everyone there needed.

I hear you, Pierogi. It might be a burger without onions, but...it'd be such a sad one. Let's see, now: this week's burger is bloody rare (salt and pepper and nothing else, while cooking) and not too lean, on a warm mayo-spread toasted English muffin with a slice of tomato and a generous slice of grilled yellow onion. Last week's thick burger went to a picnic in a hamper, and she went on a buttered toasted Kaiser roll, with a thick slice of raw red onion and another of tomato, and spears of fine Kosher dill on the side. I haven't figured out what next week's burger will be like, but it's gonna be fun to find out!

Yes, it could be more like an eGullet Society convention than a Heartland Gathering -- not that there's anything the matter with that! We come from the City of the Big Shoulders, and more importantly, Hog Butcher to the World. We have a year to plan this thing, and ronnie I am at your command. We'll find a way. It's gonna be beyond. ← 'Beyond.' No kidding. Tenor15 and I have been doing some Sunday restaurant exploration in the last couple years, mostly in the city but some suburban stuff too. PM or email me...I've got some gems up my sleeve for our resto crawl(s), and I haven't written about most of 'em. And: I know a professionally-stocked and licensed kitchen we might arrange to use, if needed.

Heh. I'm already here. And I am so in.

My very kindest thoughts are with you and yours, ChefG. As opportunity allows, please keep in touch with us all and let us know if, and how, we can help.

Ahh. Quesadillas with murderously hot green salsa over the fresh corn tortillas under the cheese and meats/vegetables of choice, with cold cold cold cava to drink. Summer in Chicago. Ohhh yeah.

Most delightful. Thank you. Please blog again, and soon: I can't see enough of this.