stellabella

right now i like dark green and deep orange vegs, as it's the time of year for hardy winter greens and root vegs. squashes, sweet potatoes, chard, collards...i'm going to cook up some collards tonight, i think. not sure how. beets seem to be the most oft-hated veg and i wonder why as i've loved them since childhood. i pickle them when we have them in our garden. and i love them steamed til tender with lots of sweet butter drizzled over and fresh cracked pepper and sea salt. steamed diced beets are also good, and beautiful, in salads.

period. awbrig, if you buy bottled salsa, don't eat it with chips. i use bottled salsa for, example, in chilaquiles. i posted a recipe on the mexico thread a long time ago for a green salsa that can be frozen, and then thawed and dumped over sliced potatoes with asadero and crema and cooked to make a great casserole. make your own--it's so easy. and if you're really picky, wait til summer when peppers and tomatoes etc are at their best.

maggie, i want to start a separate but related thread, if you'll forgive me, but meanwhile really like this one and want to respond: i cracked up my in-laws on xmas day talking about who rules the kitchen. my bro-in-law has a sometime-girlfriend whom he most certainly does NOT deserve--she seems to be a great and creative cook and loves his kitchen. amazingly, he appears to yield to her in most things food. she said that we need to get together and cook sometime and i told her i'd love to, since i rarely share the kitchen with anyone. "Of course, I've peed in every corner of ours," i snapped. laughs all around. you gotta know my husband. we plan dinner parties--we entertain in our house AT LEAST 25-30 times a year, because we live so far from civilization and because, well, we love to have people in. early on these were shared ventures. Dr. Science can cook if he wants to, but he never obsessed about it, as i became increasingly freakish about food. i started serving 10-12 people at a time and getting rave reviews. i started fantasizing about foods to cook. etc., etc. as i learned more and as i my cooking got better, his cooking started to scare me. we would have quarrels which always ended with him saying, Well, I'm SURE your way is BETTER, isn't it? and of course it really was. i mean, yes, it was. he thinks i'm a better cook now and "yields" to me, but i often feel a lot of the burden ends up on my shoulders. part of it is selfish wistfulness--i wish that he would love to cook as much as i and that we could share cooking--as i said, he's no shlub in the kitchen. he just doesn't love it anymore. he has other things to do. i want to take classes with him. not an option right now as we live really far from the city. BUT we're spending two weeks in oaxaca in june and he's been surfing the net looking for cooking schools there, and he's getting really excited--hurray--a little spark of food romance awaits!

thank you, stefany. i did mean"crackerjack" but it may have been a freudian slip. and for the record, plotnicki is sane. perhaps i should have said he was a crackerkjack crackpot celeb spotter. somehow, everyone looks like a celeb in blue hill.

Liza, every time I am in NYC, if I happen to be standing on a corner looking around, or reading a subway map, someone stops and asks me if I need directions. In London, on the other hand, people stop and ask me for directions. I would like to add, as far as friendliness goes, New Yorkers have the reputation of not being friendly, but I think they're as friendly as the friendliest people anywhere. Londoners are friendly once you know them, but seem less likely to start up a conversation in an anonymous public setting--except pubs, of course!

VISITING NYC vs. London: London: pubs. the Wenlock. drinking pints all afternoon with strangers, screaming obscentities against the Dubyah and giant American cars. sitting outside the Calthorpe on a warm summer evening, long past last bell, because your friends know the guvnuh, because this is their pub, screaming obscenities at the people at the next table, head swivelling, nose seeking the source of the reefer aroma wafting through the still air. eating fried chicken livers in Covent Garden, accompanied by a bottle of wine, a brief respite from the gruelling task of perfume shopping. afterwards, a forbidden cigarette with Ray, because he offers and I love him. evening after evening of alcoholic surfeit. conversation more stimulating than at home. NYC: a meatball hero in the Italian Market on Arthur Avenur, followed by an offal feast in Queens. walking in Williamsburg, Borough Park and Bensonhurst, pierogies in Greenpoint. window shopping in Soho. cupcakes at Cafe Spinoza in Gramercy Park. so many people living together. beautiful winter coats, jaunty scarves and recklessly conical fur hats. everythingbagelscallioncreamcheesetallwhitecoffee from the pick-a-bagel. sipping coffee in the Charbucks, because it's ass-blisteringly cold out, imagining that i live here. riding the Q back and forth between Brooklyn and Manhattan, smiling along with the natives at the skyline......

this seals it for me--I need a sugardaddy. CathyL not only asked Ali for his hand--she grabbed his hand and led him in a very seductive dance. these women are multi-talented. Toby described the meal very well. I think I liked the tripe the best, because it was the first time I have ever tasted tripe and been genuinely wow-ed. the tripe itself was soft and delicate, swimming in a dark ungeant gravy with chickpeas. I loved the cold sliced tongue, spleen, lungs with the olive oil and garlic dipping paste. the eyeball was as tasty as everything else. most of my friends and family can't even hear about it, but one or two have asked what it actually tasted like. it tasted like meat--it was tender and a little fatty, and complex, because it's comprised of different tissues: the optic nerve, the retina, and the iris & inner eye fluid--which congealed upon cooking. as far as I'm concerned, eating the eyeball is not different from eating the leg muscle--it's all psychological--that said, toby's squeamishness to it was totally appropriate--no one was forced to experience anything unpleasant. and some parts of the beast are truly tastier than others. but what i am learning is that some of the tastiest parts are those which often get discarded. we didn't get to try brains. so i have to go back. thanks for arranging that, nina. you are a trip!!!!

oh, well, nevermind

Imagine eating a meal that costs as much as a cashmere sweater, accompanied by wines almost as old as you are. That's my evening at Blue Hill. As Steve poured me some Leroy he asked, "So, were you born yet?" I assured him I was already walking. For me the memorable taste was the cod in bouillabaise--I too liked the parsnip puree, Jaybee, with the flat leaf parsley leaves--I decided not to emabarass any of you by whipping out a pen and taking notes on the tablepaper, so thank god for collective memory. And egullet, of course. I must confess, when Steve turned to me and asked, "So, did you ever watch that show Ally McBeal?" I thought I was being set up. No, I never watched that show. I thought everyone would know from my posts that I'm an intellectual. Anyway, Steve has revealed himself to be, among other things, a crackpot celeb spotter: first Lucy Liu, and then Robert Goulet, both at Blue Hill on the same night. Jaybee and Steve, I gotta tell ya'll that those were the best wines I've ever had in my life. Well, maybe with the exception of a great bottle of Amarone at holidays. Jaybee, I REALLY liked the Romarantin, perhaps because I'm partial to whites that flirt with sweetness--it was indeed a good aperitif. Steve, I liked the Ogier better than the Leroy, too, but I'm not sure exactly in the overall scheme of things what that means because they were both so good. Can I thank you both publicly for allowing me to feel rich for an evening? It was a wonderful evening. I'd like to do it again someday.

Simon, I'm afraid I can't help you here, but I will share a still-poignant childhood memory. I was youngish, 9 or 10, sitting at the kitchen table with one or more sisters, staring with fear and awe at the passel of red-faced men [of whom an endless number seemed to parade through my childhood] passing around a mason jar half-filled with a clear, oily liquid. "Daddy, what's that?" we asked innocently. My dad had that look on his face, both eyebrows cocked, grinning with his cheeks pulled into his eyesockets, revealing the gold glint of his partial plates. "Why don't you try it and find out?" he hooted. I was the first to ask to have the jar passed to me. A grimy strip of masking tape stuck to the jar read "Splo." I tilted the jar towards my mouth, then recoiled in horror and pain as waves of acid heat singed my nostril hairs. But, not wanting to be humiliated in front of my earliest role models, I kept lifting the jar to my face until I was able to pour a couple drops into my mouth. After the initial shock of heat and toxicity, I was able to smell the smooth corn liquor. But it tasted bad, bad. "What is it?" I asked. Suddenly my dad wore his serious lawyer face. ''Now, girls, this is alcohol, and don't you go telling your friends your daddy has alcohol in a mason jar. We could get into trouble." At the time I wondered why in the hell my dad was drinking alcohol. Wasn't that for rubbing on cuts? Likker, fine, but ALCOHOL? Of course, this small yet significant moment has largely shaped me into the person I am today. Simon, when you get to the South next time, I say we go on a hunt for Splo.

but tony, if this were just a "schtick" [sp?], would you be participating here in this community of wannabes? [just kidding! just kidding!] your life is enviable--you travel and eat and write about it. how i'd love such a life and livelihood. good for you.

tourist. local

okay, if the choices were 1] milwaukee's beast in a can and 2] bud long necks i'd choose................c] gin and tonic [based on local availability]. but not with mexican food. oh, and another suggestion is a margarita made with mezcal, for a smoky flavor--sometimes margaritas can be too sweet and cloying, but tart and smoky margaritas go well with mexican food.

i confess to not having read every post in the thread yet, so if i am redundant, pass a law against me. if you haven't yet, read malcolm gladwell's the tipping point, the final chapter, at least, for what i believe to be the most provocative and compelling explanantion to date for why people smoke. i grew up with smoking. it's part of my family culture. i don't smoke, but in rare moments of extreme stress i've been known to bum a cigarette, from any one of my sisters, or dad, etc. and i have to say that i love the "act" of smoking; what i don't love is the way smoking makes me feel--i'm made physically ill by tobacco. and gladwell would suggest that i'm lucky--i'm part of the segment of the population who is physically immune to the tobacco industry. smoking is a hard habit to kick--i've watched people try to do it. i think that, in my heart, i feel for people who smoke. i don't mind smoky bars, but i don't like smoky restaurants. banning smoking probably isn't the answer. going after the tobacco industries and forcing them to tell the truth, fining them for lying, and coercing them to produce what gladwell calls "less sticky" cigarettes makes more sense to me. i don't like the idea that big tobacco gets fined millions of dollars when billy joe bob mcgillicutty dies of cancer down in arkansas--but the big T fatcats are lying greedy manipulative scumbags, every last one of them--they have to accept some culpability, too.

i know, i know, i know.......

it didn't shock me to see for myself a child who had been abandoned. in fact, it made sense in a very odd way. the fact that the priest had adopted her was wonderful, and she's sweet little girl, but he couldn't adopt ten more, for example. i find the premises in ch. 3 provocative, interesting and confusing all at once.

when in mexico i drink negro modelo-- in terms of authenticity, stick with the beers. i like negro modelo better than dos equis, and bohemia a close third. carta blanca, superior will do, too. jason, corona is NOT piss. lots of people say this, but personally i like a really well-iced corona with lime in the high heat of summer. let me put it this way: i'm always grateful to see corona at gatherings where the other choices are milwaukee's beast in a can, or bud long necks, etc.

gavin & okra, you've summed up what i've read in ch. 3 so far. i am still confused--how did agriculture increase disease? it is because it concentrated populations? or was there something about having less meat in the diet that made humans more vulnerable? i'm confused about that. okra, so, hunting cultures dealt with population increase by killing off extra kids? ritualistically? interesting. can you tell us more? i bet the missionaries flipped out to add a little anecdote to this, last march i visited miazal, an ecuadorian amazonian shuar village which is open to small groups of tourists, accessible only by light aircraft. there's an ancient belgian catholic priest living among this particular group of shuar. i can't remember his name but i did meet him briefly. he's been there since the 60s and now they say he's more shuar than catholic, but, well....anyway. when i met him he was accompanied by his little adopted "daughter"--she was severely retarded, but a sweet loving little thing who hugged everyone and everything--i say she was severely retarded becasue she could not verbalize--she only made indistinct grunting noises, and she was very poorly coordinated--she could walk, but that was about it. the priest found her abandoned in the jungle. apparantly when she was born her parents knew she was "physically inferior" and they just put her out for the snakes and birds. of course my western sensibilities are slightly jarred by this, but then again, if you live in the jungle and scratch, hunt and forage for a living, do you have time to nurture a severely retarded child?

and where i live kale reseeds itself--it'll come back again and again--even a few sprigs popping up here and there make a nice compliment to other dishes.

aren't kale and sausage the core ingredients of new england portugese kale soup? i had some on martha's vineyard that was very good--a great supper on a cold wet winter evening.

a couple more thoughts: sparrowgrass, you've hit the mother load. anytime someone writes about chickens i go weak at the knees. my spouse kept them once, but doesnt care to start again--even though we've got space for them and i have their names picked out and everything. but--oh, for the garden, nothing beats chicken poopie/doodie/shittiy. hopleaf, what about worms? would you consider getting worms? i have friends near the canadian border in NY state who keep a compost bin filled with live composting worms--even in dead arctic winter the compost inside stays heated up and cooking. i'm told this a good way to compost in cold regions. i have no idea where you get worms but you could ask around. chickens, chickens, chickens. as well as goats. how i'd love a menagerie of small grazing/foraging critters.

speaking of comforting suppers, i had hot cereal for supper last night. i used up the last of my moost recent blend--i had thrown some carraway seeds into it. for the record, it was a bit too exotic, when what i really want is comfort. but still good with sliced banana, banana yogurt and crystallized cane sugar.

honey is a staple in the bella house and Dr. S and I eat a bit every day--he puts it in breakfast smoothies--there's ssupposed to be good allergy fighting properties if it's local. tupelo is the caddilac of honies, but i am partial to my neighbor's wildflower honey--clear golden and sweet, mild--she got a hive for her b-day a couple yeras ago, and there's local man who maintins it for a small fee. we went through a little hive craze in rutledge, but then some of the hives strated swarming--that's why my hub and i decided not to get one--but we were very tempted. honey can't get more local than that. i love honey on biscuits or hearty toast. also good on cold whole grain cereal with bananas. my favorite during-the-week dessert is plain yogurt with honey swirled through it.

yes, and i'm lulling a bit myself--the book is tres interesant, but i am tired. would like to hear others' thoughts about his agrarianism critique--farming actually less efficient than hunting?

bushey, i just follow a basic principle of one part mix to two parts liquid, more or less. grits are not low class. i like stone ground coarse yellow grits with cheese, and i only eat grits if i'm having eggs. i have tried grits with syrup and it doesn't taste right to me. makes me sad since it sounded so good when laura ingalls wilder described her "hasty pudding" in her first "little" book.