Eating the Alphabet, A to Z

[srhcb]

I'm going to continue on with Janet's list, because I liked it and it gives a form to the very vagueness of life.

................................................................

"C" is for Calm

Calm is one thing in food. It is puff pastry.

Okay,

"D" is for Disgusted

Which is what I was after two attempts at making puff pastry, once following the directions in the King Arthur Flour 200th Anniversary Cookbook, and the second time according to Julia's instructions.

Even with a nice marble slab to work on in the cool environs of my garage, the rolling part proved to be my downfall both times.

Not too long ago, I was talking about this with a friend of mine formerly known as "The Teddy Bear Lady", and she had an ingenious idea.

She suggested, "Why not use your Pasta Machine to do the rolling?"

Why not indeed?

SB (may give puff pastry another try )

Edited January 18, 2007 by srhcb (log)

[Carrot Top]

Some hands are more attuned to pastry than others. The test is always a short crust, one will always discover innate potential or not, with the making of a short crust. Yet with puff pastry the test goes further. It must be babied a bit, though not indulgently, but calmly.

←

She suggested, "Why not use your Pasta Machine?"

Why not?

SB (may give puff pastry another try )

←

So the pasta machine has better hands than you? It can baby a thing better?

Karen (who prefers real to steel and something with a brain attached rather than not, any day )

(Please be sure to loudly sing opera as you roll the dough through the rollers. . . .)

[Carrot Top]

E is for Envious which is what I have been sometimes, when viewing the large, well endowed, shiny expensive kitchen that belongs to someone else.

My kitchens have been all sorts of shapes, and never yet a perfect one. Is there such a thing as a perfect kitchen? Does anyone know? How could there be such a thing as a perfect kitchen if the cooking done in it is always progressing, growing, changing, as cooking will do sometimes.

The thing is, that most of the perfect kitchens I've seen are unused. When asked, their owners will smirk a bit, with some little pride, and say. . ."Well. . .I really haven't the time to cook. . ." or " I had it done this way to improve the value of the house."

Really, though I can smile dimly in response to these things, mostly both ideas strike me as rather obnoxious. Not the people. . .but the ideas. Obnoxious ideas.

A kitchen is to be used, whether there is time for it or not. A kitchen built for monetary value gives that, and that only. And what is that?! The Emperor may hoard his gold, but sooner or later he will find he has no clothes. And he will be not only naked but hungry too.

And what will be there, with its little smirk? The large, well-endowed, shiny expensive kitchen that holds nothing to eat, nothing at all. Well. . .maybe a Frito or two. But no more.

Envious? No, no longer, not after understanding the reality of the perfect kitchen that is not.

[srhcb]

Some hands are more attuned to pastry than others. The test is always a short crust, one will always discover innate potential or not, with the making of a short crust. Yet with puff pastry the test goes further. It must be babied a bit, though not indulgently, but calmly.

←

She suggested, "Why not use your Pasta Machine?"

Why not?

SB (may give puff pastry another try )

←

So the pasta machine has better hands than you? It can baby a thing better?

Karen (who prefers real to steel and something with a brain attached rather than not, any day )

(Please be sure to loudly sing opera as you roll the dough through the rollers. . . .)

←

"E" is for Envious

Which is what I am, of those who can roll dough manually. And ....

"F" is for Funny

Which is what you might think it was, watching my efforts with a rolling pin!

"G" is for Greatful

Which you would be if you avoided being struck by flying dough and associated utensils!

"H" is for Humble

Which I rarely am, but I readily admit to being dough rolling challenged.

"J" is for Jealous

Which is what I am of those with the deft touch to roll dough. (And of those who can sing opera!)

SB

[Carrot Top]

I see that you skipped "I" for "indecisive". Not sure whether that was through exteme good manners in avoiding using "I" too much or whether you are never indecisive.

Or whether you just couldn't decide whether you wanted to be indecisive or not.

Decisions, decisions.

P.S. Puff pastry is not something everyone has to master, just as being calm is something not everyone has to master either.

Personally I haven't made puff paste in years.

Edited January 18, 2007 by Carrot Top (log)

[tino27]

"M" is for Morels.

Farmer's markets are such wonderful places. Wholesome, organic, really connecting you with the people who take pride in bringing the most flavorful and special produce to people like me. People who understand it is better to live with the memory of an incredible gastronomic experience using seasonal produce than to live with the diluted version the rest of the year.

As I was making my early Saturday morning walk through one of my favorite markets, I came across a vendor selling mushrooms. At first my eye was drawn to the old stand-byes: button, cremini, shiitake. But suddenly, as if nothing else existed in the entire room, I spotted them: fresh morel mushrooms. I knew that this would be the ONE chance in the entire year to get the fresh variety. My heart began to race as my mind contemplated the incredible flavor that was locked in those babies. How could I use these? What way could I maximize their flavor. I looked at the price -- $35 a pound! My brain said, "$35 a pound! Are you insane?" But my mouth was already salivating. I looked at the person running the stand and said, "I'll take 1/4 pound please."

"So, what are you going to do with these?"

Not having fully formulated a plan yet, I admitted, "I have no idea yet. But when you see fresh morel mushrooms in this condition, you buy first and ask questions later!"

I gingerly laid the bag of fungi in my basket. If I could've built some type of protective casing to prevent even the slightest bit of damage, I would have. As I walked away from that stand, I started contemplating my options. How does one built an entire meal around a mushroom? I decided two important things at that moment: 1) Beef 2) I had to share this amazing thing with my non-foodie friends. On my way home I stopped at my favorite butcher and picked up several strip steaks. I called up my friends and simply insisted that they come to dinner that evening -- I wouldn't take no for an answer. I told them I would explain later.

When they finally arrived, I was mise en placing my ingredients. Sensing my excitement, they asked what the big deal was -- I explained what we would be having. Since they don't get treated to a steak dinner on a regular basis, one of my friends commented, "Wow! I haven't had steak in a while." I chastised him. "No, no, my friends. The steak is a supporting actor." I held up a single morel mushroom and exclaimed, "These are the star of this meal!"

After explaining what a morel mushroom was and the incredibly short seasonality of the ingredient and the cost per pound (I think the cost was what put them over the edge), they just kept eying me as if I had completely lost all sense of reality. I could only placate their uneasiness by saying, "Just wait, you'll see."

I seared off both sides of the strip steaks and placed them in the oven to finish cooking. Now it was time to make the pan sauce. I started by adding a little grapeseed oil and butter in the pan. Then I added the shallots and cooked until they had softened. Now it was time for the main star. I added up the morels and gently cooked them until they had given up their juice. I now deglazed the pan with some lovely red wine and beef stock and added a couple of sprigs of thyme. I reduced. Then the heavy cream went in. I reduced. At the very end, a shot of sherry vinegar and then monter au buerre. I adjusted the salt and pepper and gave it a final taste: heaven.

My guests were already seated at the table. I quickly plated the dinner. Roasted garlic mashed potatoes. Roasted asparagus tossed in a little olive oil and sea salt. The lovely strip steak. And finally, the mushroom pan sauce to top the steak. I put a plate down in front of each of them and waited. As they began to cut a bite of steak, I admonished them to make sure they got a bit of the morel to go along with the meat. And then it happened; those looks of uncertainty and incredulity at my odd behavior thus far changed into looks of understanding and amazement.

"This is amazing! If it's actually possible, the mushroom makes the steak taste ... BEEFIER!"

I sat down to my own plate and relished every morsel. I knew I had not only done the morels proud, but the farmer from whom I bought them.

I can still taste those morels in my mind and I look forward to that one week in mid-May where I'll be able to repeat this experience all over again.

[The Old Foodie]

I see that you skipped "I" for "indecisive". Not sure whether that was through exteme good manners in avoiding using "I" too much or whether you are never indecisive.

Or whether you just couldn't decide whether you wanted to be indecisive or not.

Decisions, decisions.

P.S. Puff pastry is not something everyone has to master, just as being calm is something not everyone has to master either. 

Personally I haven't made puff paste in years. 

←

"I" is for "Indecisive" which is not a situation I find myself in often. I think that is a decisive statement. Either a decision is sufficiently clear that indecisiveness is not an issue, or not sufficiently important, in which case either decision is OK, or since you can never really be sure how the alternative decision would have worked out, why sweat over it.

However, if I do happen to be indecisive when cooking, and hesitate over how much to add or how long to cook, or some other such choice - that is when I have failures.

I have no conclusions to draw from that, but I eagerly await yours.

The stories of nothingness and calm I love.

As for puff pastry. Calm and calming yes. I make it about twice a year. Always at Christmas, and maybe one other time. I wonder ("w" for "wonder"?) why I dont make it more often, because (a) I love doing it and (b) everyone says "why dont you make this more often". I blame the food/calorie/cholesterol police for the rarity of the event. Which means I am less calm, therefore in greater health danger myself.

No more food-musings now, I must hie me off to the medical school. The new little first year darlings start on Monday, and we must appear calm and organised for them. Wish me luck.

[can someone do "O" for "Organised" for me, to soothe or inspire me this evening, please?]

J

[Carrot Top]

"I seared off both sides of the strip steaks and placed them in the oven to finish cooking. Now it was time to make the pan sauce. I started by adding a little grapeseed oil and butter in the pan. Then I added the shallots and cooked until they had softened. Now it was time for the main star. I added up the morels and gently cooked them until they had given up their juice. I now deglazed the pan with some lovely red wine and beef stock and added a couple of sprigs of thyme. I reduced. Then the heavy cream went in. I reduced. At the very end, a shot of sherry vinegar and then monter au buerre. I adjusted the salt and pepper and gave it a final taste: heaven.

←

Where is the drooling smilie face? Yikes, that sounds good!

The only time I've ever indulged in all the morels I wanted was in Battle Creek, Michigan of all places. There was this fantastic huge old fancy grocers right downtown in the middle of the rest of downtown, which was rather depressed. An enormous place, thirty foot high or so ceilings, food stuffed in everywhere, elegant food but not elegant tables for it. Everything was sort of wearing out in the place, though there was still a big black grand piano near the entrance where on Saturdays there was actually a man in black tie who would come play (!). I remember the meat department which had a separate cold room. . .startling. It was freezing in there. Then there was the produce. Every. single. thing. you could possibly want, laid out just funky-like.

I think it was in the Fall that one day morels suddenly appeared, huge boxes of them toppling over, mounded high. I thought I was hallucinating. No, it was morels. And though they were not cheap, they were *not* expensive, either. Three pounds I bought.

They disappeared very quickly.

I think they were there for about three weeks, in that incredible store. An astonishing find, just like yours was.

Thanks for reminding me of that time.

Edited January 19, 2007 by Carrot Top (log)

[Carrot Top]

[can someone do "O" for "Organised" for me, to soothe or inspire me this evening, please?]

J

←

I wish you best of luck, Janet, but do not think you really need it for if you are decisive enough it is possible that you might not *have* to whistle for luck to come.

Organized (or even organised) won't happen here tonight, with two children, two evening activities in different directions they need to be taken to and home from, and two different desires for what they like for their dinners.

I can decisively say that.

Edited January 19, 2007 by Carrot Top (log)

[jackal10]

From http://www.smh.com.au/news/Big-Questions/T...5582700584.html

A for Horses (Hay for Horses) A for ism (aphorism) A for gardener (Ava Gardner, film star)

B for mutton (Beef or Mutton) B for my time (Before my time) B for tea (beef tea) B for dinner (beef for dinner)

C for islanders (Seaforth Highlanders) C for yourself (See for yourself); C for Sailors (sea for sailors) C for ships, C for miles (see for miles) C for looking (see for looking)

D for ential (deferential/differential) D for dumb (deaf or dumb) D for Kate - defecate) D for n' baker (Diefenbaker, Canadian prime minister) D for rent (different)

E for brick (heave a brick) E for Adam (Eve or Adam) E for Gabor (Eva Gabor) E for Ning Standard (Evening Standard) E for you or me (either you or me) E for Braun (Eva Braun) E for knocks you rotten (Ether...) or E for Gas (Ether gas)

F for vescence (effervescence) F for lump (efferlump)

G for police (chief of police), G for get it (Gee, forget it!) G for screepers (Geefers creepers, where d'you get those peepers) G for take (give or take) G for Staff (chief of staff) G for Sis (g-forces) or G for horse (G-force)

H for respect (age for respect) H for retirement (age for retirement) H for it (Hate you for it plus other variations on Hate you eg what ya done to me, for your feets too big (popular song of the 1940s) H for weight (Age for weight) H for teen (Age 14) H before beauty; (age before beauty) H for consent (age of consent) H for love (ache for love) H for himself (each for himself) H cheer for the winner(A cheer for the winner)

I for Novello (Ivor Novello - actor composer playwright of the 1930s) I for looting (High Faluting) I for an I (eye for an eye) I for get/got (I forget/forgot) I for nate (hyphernate) I for a needle (Eye for a needle) I for no (Ivanhoe) I for the Girls (eye for the girls) I for idea (I've an idea) I for tower (Eiffel Tower) I for idea/nasty cold (I've an idea/a nasty cold) I for a lovely bunch of coconuts I for crush (I've a crush on you) I for pain (I've a pain)

J for oranges (jaffa oranges) J for dollar to spare (Do you have a dollar...)

K for answers (Kay Francis, American film star of the 1930s and 40s) K for oranges/limes (Kaffir oranges/limes) K for teria (cafeteria) K for a cuppa (Care for a cuppa) K for Kraal (Kaffir Kraal - now politically incorrect) K for warriors (Kaffir warriors - Zulu army) K for coffee (Cafe for coffee) K for butter (Copha butter) K for Corn (Kaffir Corn) K for Restaurant (Cafe or Restaurant) K for the door (key for the door) K for dates (Kaifa)

L for leather (Hell for leather)

M for sis (emphasis) M for sema (emphysema) M forces (armed forces)

N for a dig (Infra dig/ In for a dig - ie. bat at cricket) N for lope (envelope) N for eggs (Hen for eggs) N for mation (information) N for end (end-for-end) N for a penny (In for a penny...) N for it (In for it) N for pasha (Enver Pasha, a Turkish leader) N forcement (enforcement), N for red (infrared) N for terrible (enfant terrible)

O for the garden wall (Over the garden wall) O for my dead body/ O for goodness sake//O for the wings of a dove/O for the moon, O for crying out loud! O for there, O for goldmine (Ophir goldmine) O for come (overcome) O for the fence is out (Over the fence...backyard cricket term) O for an Osram; O for a nice cold beer

P for relief (Pee for relief) also P for a penny, P for yourself, P for a whistle, P for cake (Piece of Cake) P forty two (An American fighter)

Q for rations/the flicks/for fish and chips/for tickets/for a bus (Queue for..) Q for billiards (cue for billiards) Q for ills (Cure for ills) Q for a song (cue for a song)

R for mo (Half a mo') R for Bitter (half of bitter) R for Askey/Daley/Murray (Arthur Askey, comedian/Arthur Daley/Arthur Murray) R for loaf (Half a loaf)

S for Williams (Esther Williams, aquatic film star) S for you (As for you/it's for you) S for anto (esperanto) S for mation (a flying formation) S for As You Go (As Far As You Go) S we have no bananas (yes, we have no bananas)

T for two (Tea for two) T for eating (Teeth for eating) T for Gums (Teeth or Gums) T for dentures (Teeth or dentures)

U for me (You for me) U for mism (euphemism) U for ear (euphoria) U for Fox (Uffa Fox, British yachtsman and boat-builder) U for films ( UFA films- a German film company) U for knee (euphony) U for age (youth or age) U for got (You forgot) U for Joyce (Yootha Joyce) U for ram (Ewe for ram) U for nasia (Euthenasia)

V for La France (Viva La France) V for l'amore (Vive l' amore) V for Espana! (Viva Espana!) V for Victory

W for a bob (I'll double you on a pushbike for a shilling) W for nothing/quits/ two hearts/trumps (Double you for nothing, quits etc - betting, gambling or poker terms) W for tune (Double Your Fortune - an old gameshow) W for cards, Could be updated to W for president

X for breakfast (Eggs for breakfast

Y for mistress (Wife or mistress) also Y for husband/girlfriend/lover/kids, Y for Christ's sake/God's sake/goodness sake?Y for runts (Y-fronts) Y for thin (wafer thin) Y for and wherefore

Z for breeze (Zephyr breeze) Z for motor car (Ford Zephyr); Z for his hat (His head for his hat)Z for the doctor (zend for the doctor)

Edited January 19, 2007 by jackal10 (log)

[Carrot Top]

Thank goodness you posted that, Jack. Now I'll be able to make myself understood next time I go to a Cockney Pie and Mash Evening, or a Cockney Pie and Mash Function..

Now, you may have thought that you couldn't get pie'n'mash or jellied eels anymore. You could be forgiven for thinking it had all died out along with street parties and toasts to the Queen Mother. Strangely you'd be wrong.

Now my tastebuds are all a'quiver for some jellied eels! Must go put on my Pickwick Papers cap and set out to find some, armed with my new vocabulary.

Wish me luck.

[Carrot Top]

K is for knowledgeable (a word it takes some knowledge to know how to spell).

What is knowledge?

In food, of course, as we are talking and thinking of food.

Is it knowing how to cook?

Is it knowing how to read and perhaps adjust a recipe?

Is it knowing how to cook without a recipe placed in front of one?

Sometimes you hear "That guy sure knows a lot about food!" or. . ."That woman has such little knowledge in the kitchen it is amazing her family doesn't starve!" (Gender definitions and irony intended here.)

In the past if you didn't know how to pluck a chicken, you might not be considered knowledgeable about food. . .or how to milk the cow, or make butter, or bread, or grow a garden. But that has changed, and new things have taken the place of the collection of facts now needed to be considered "knowledgeable". Does this mean we are now stupider in not knowing?

Perhaps. . .perhaps not.

My theory of knowledge is that facts are not enough. Facts (or what pass for them, sometimes, in an increasingly information-driven world) are like flies at a summer picnic - they are everywhere. They drone on at one from television commercials, they hearken from newspapers, they come and sit on your arm where you have to swat them off in zillions of cookbooks in gazillions of flavors. More and more and more.

Facts take you as far as your nose and no further, in cooking (as in all other things - love, war, or play). You can pile them on like sausages on a platter. Tell me where they take you.

Perhaps they can take one to a recitation of them, a bowing to them, a smiling nodding of "knowing", from one to another or from one at another. And where do they take you.

Whack! Smack! Back and forth the facts fly, just being facts.

Knowledge means taking the facts and kneading them into a different loaf. Make the loaf yours, if you can. Why not?

Let the facts swirl around your fine loaf, dancing and prodding at it, as they live in the air of facts. Perhaps take a fact and paint it onto your loaf - but don't do it according to any other fact. Make it your own way. Why not? What is there to lose? A fact or two? What is there to gain? Something you've cooked that is just yours, done just your way, as you like it maybe?

Make a knowledgeable chowder, a mousse, a pickled pig's foot, a deep dark sauce of your facts.

Toss a pizza of your facts into the air and see what comes down. Don't let the facts pile up on the tip of your nose. Cook them, bite them, lick them and digest them if possible. Cook them into something your own. Only you know what that is, true? Only you.

Edited January 20, 2007 by Carrot Top (log)

[Carrot Top]

Yeah. Well I must have been channeling Erica Jong last night. What can I say.

..................................................

Next on Janet's list is Lazy. I understand this word, and actually adore it in ways.

L is for Lazy and the best way to show the true meaning of this word is merely to repeat the words of others in place of my own.

Yesterday I bought a book called "The Little Giant Encyclopedia of Outrageous Excuses". Thinking that sooner of later, you know, I might have a chance to use each and every one, in support of laziness as opposed to the dreaded self-discipline.

Here are some listed under the category of "food and drink":

"I'm starting the Atkins diet tomorrow."

"The commercial told me I can't eat just one."

"The ants will start to gather if I don't eat it."

"If you eat something and nobody sees you, it has no calories."

"I need to make room in the refrigerator."

On chocolate:

"When I quit, I weep inconsolably and faint often."

On what to say to fend off vegetarians as you chow down:

"They're dumber than a stick and you know it."

....................................................................................................

L is also for loquatious, which is a habit of mine. I don't mean to hog the space, but will merrily prattle on just waiting for others to post.

[srhcb]

So, on this branch of the thread, M is for Mad, which I just was, when, emboldened by ignorance, I decided to bake a regular chocolate sheet pan cake in a bundt pan.

I found a conversion chart that indicated a recipe for a 9 x 13 pan will fit in a bundt pan, and that only the baking time needs to be adjusted by an additional 5-10 minutes.

All this proved to be true. However, when the cake tested done and was removed from the oven I had a problem. How long should I let in cool in the pan before removal, which is always a moment of trepidation with a bundt.

I decided to give it a try after ten minutes. Three-quarters of the cake came out perfectly, but the (baked) bottom/(finished) top remained stuck in the pan.

I was very MAD

Normally the offending food would have been sent flying through the air in the general direction of the sink or garbage pail, much to the delight of our dogs, who enjoy the unexpected bounty of scraps falling from the sky!

Today, with supreme effort, I maintained my composure, while a plan formed in my mind.

I had intended to frost the cake, and had the ingredients in place. I made the frosting a bit thinner than usual and coarsely crumbled the cake that had remained stuck in the pan.

I spread a layer of frosting, patted on a layer of crumbs, repeated the procedure, and ended with a final coat of frosting. It wasn't pretty, but I think if I'd added a sprinkle of nuts, or coconut, I could have maintained it had turned out (pun unintended) just the way I'd planned!

SB (P is for Proud of himself)

[Carrot Top]

SB (P is for Proud of himself)

←

And rightfully so! As inventor, you must know that many great inventions were discovered by Mistake. I wonder, actually, what the percentage of inventions discovered by mistake actually are. . . as opposed to those found by sitting and sternly (with visage set, of course) analyzing.

Mistakes. A Way of Life to Invention.

............................................

You passed by Naughty. You were only mildly naughty in doing so. I suspect you can be much naughtier, given the chance.

I'll talk naughtily, instead.

N is for naughty which in food means two things. It means children and it means sex.

Separately, of course, though I've heard that one can lead to the other and that one at times can prevent the other from happening.

Children can and do show horrible naughtiness with intent through food. What else does a young child have to show it with? Food is a basic, it is something that *will* appear each day in some form before them from Those Big People Who Think They Can Tell Me What To Do, and therefore is an active participant in any plans toward naughtiness.

Some ideas for any young children reading this, to aggrevate those caring for you:

*Refuse to breast feed, or alternately, bite so damn hard when you do it that one believes you have been born with dinosaur teeth.

*Drink an entire bottle of milk then purposely projectile vomit the entire thing onto your mother. Try to do this right as she has finished dressing for work.

*Cereal is an excellent tool for naughtiness. Dry, it can be found in its box and poured all over the floor as art medium, to sit in and throw all over the place, making lovely designs as you go along. That yucky wet cereal stuff, of course, is best thrown directly onto the ceiling. Accomplish this by smacking the spoon approaching you upwards, with a sudden unexpected motion. Then quickly, while all eyes are staring at the lumps of yucky wet stuff hanging from the ceiling, upend the rest of the bowl onto their laps with a loud happy cry.

*Fresh vegetables can be stuck up your nose or in your ears to try to look like an alien or walrus. If you push hard enough, this can even warrant a trip to the emergency room. Beans stuck up the nose are a classic naughtiness through the ages.

*Meat, fish, and poultry can be refused on any grounds whatsoever, worrying Those Big People into thinking that indeed, you will starve, lacking protein.

*Try to develop a hunger for soda and junk food. It is not hard, actually, for most children to do this. This will worry not only your parents but society at large, giving you a much larger scope within your naughtiness.

There are so many more ways to be naughty with food as a child. Do try them all.

Add Obstinacy to your naughty food ways, and indeed you will be quite fearsome.

.........................................................

More on the other sort of naughtiness later, perhaps. There is pizza sauce on my couch that I must go clean. Naughty children.

[Kouign Aman]

May I add to the Naughty, or is that Taboo?

Forget the cereal. Pour out a large bag (Costco) of roasted peanuts in the shell. Scatter them. Stomp on them to hear the lovely crunching sound they make. Run giggling thru the house, leaving a trail ala Hansel and Gretel, then reverse course, to see how different the crunching sounds when done on carpet.

Add all your food to your glass, then empty your glass on to your plate. Finger paint the contents on the table, then, just in case the nearest adult still hasnt noticed, grab his or her shirt and hair (get them both to be sure of getting their attention), and point out your accomplishment. Smile proudly.

[Carrot Top]

[The Old Foodie]

I have a little time to take a breath, which I will use to tell you a little story, as I figure I owe you one.

This story concerns the letter “F ”, which is for Funny and Fear and Friendly.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.

Once upon a time, when I was very junior in my profession as a GP (“Family Physician” in the States?) I worked for a year in a small town in rural South Australia. We had not been there long when my in-laws (British born migrants to Queensland, which is a long way from S.A) came to stay for a holiday.

I was pottering about in the kitchen late one afternoon when the doorbell rang and my father-in-law went to answer it. A few moments later he came rushing into the kitchen, face ashen with Fear , and almost incoherent – jabbering and indicating the vague direction of the front door with his finger (not at all his normal British stiff upper lip style).

Naturally I hurried to the door, which was wide open and framing a horrific sight.

A woman stood there, cradling in her arms (as one would a baby), a bundle (about baby size, but very still and quiet) wrapped in what appeared to be a white sheet spattered with blood.

The odd thing was, she looked very relaxed and was smiling (which in retrospect may have been part of what freaked my FIL out).

She was a neighbour, a local farm wife, and they had just had a pig-killing. In the typically Friendly way of country folk, she thought the new doctor in town might like some nice fresh pork. The bundle was indeed a blood-spattered sheet, but it enclosed a large piece of what turned out to be very delicious pig.

Eventually, when he had recovered from the shock, my father-in-law was able to agree that it was very Funny . We laughed about it for years, but I had forgotten the story until this thread. Thanks.

[Carrot Top]

Forget the cereal. Pour out a large bag (Costco) of roasted peanuts in the shell. Scatter them. Stomp on them to hear the lovely crunching sound they make. Run giggling thru the house, leaving a trail ala Hansel and Gretel, then reverse course, to see how different the crunching sounds when done on carpet.

Add all your food to your glass, then empty your glass on to your plate. Finger paint the contents on the table, then, just in case the nearest adult still hasnt noticed, grab his or her shirt and hair

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I'd like to add a suggestion here. Chewing gum. Well chewed. Put in the hands that have smushed the food on the table after removing from mouth. Mix well into first your own hair then the grownups hair too, smacking as hard as you can to adhere it well, with a jolly laugh.

The bundle was indeed a blood-spattered sheet, but it enclosed a large piece of what turned out to be very delicious pig.

Eventually, when he had recovered from the shock, my father-in-law was able to agree that it was very Funny . We laughed about it for years, but I had forgotten the story until this thread. Thanks.

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Awww. A pig in a blanket.

Delicious.

[srhcb]

Q is for QO & Quaker Oats

I believe we're up to or around the letter "Q" on out semi-alphabetical list?

The posters on eGullet don't seem to need any encouragement be "Quarrelsome" this weekend, and I don't have any stories about "Quince", or "Quail", so I'm drawing upon a previous post which has both a key character and plot component bearing the initial "Q".

Anyway, at the beginning of the forementioned tale, the character referred to as QO was known as Bait, or Little Bait, after his older brother, who has a cameo later in the story, who was Bait or Big Bait. (Their real names were Mike and Tom Selenski)

Quaker Oatmeal was one of the foods (Little) Bait, Burkey and I bartered beer and whiskey for with (Big) Bate and his friend. I'd used the oatmeal to bread the fish we'd also procured via the trade.

(Little) Bait was the first of us to fall asleep in the kitchen that night, and Burkey and I were struck by his remarkable resemblence to the guy on the Quaker Oats box! We begar referring to him as QO while he slept peacefully, and by the time he woke up, that was his new name, which he bears to this day.

I've always been pretty good at assigning nicknames, but this is one of my favorites, partly because it's a component of an already good story. And it forever thereafter served to lessen the confusion between QO and his elder brother.

SB (just noticed that the story also mentions another "Q" product. Canadian Club Whiskey had one of the "By Appointment to HRM ...." stickers, and was always referred to by us as "The Queen", providing us with great fun proposing toasts in HRM's honor!)

[Carrot Top]

Good story, SB. I almost decided to write on "Quarrelsome" (strange word to spell, with that qua thing going on) but got into a quarrel with myself over it and decided not to.

I remember that story about the blizzard of the century from when you first posted it. Blizzards seem heaven-sent as story material, don't they?

......................

Let's see if I can do the next three: Rational, Stupid, and Theatrical.

When cooking something, it is not neccesary to stick to one way of being. I remember one time when I was cooking something that I was three things at the same time! (At least three things - there may have been more that I am merely forgetting due to alphabetic restrictions in this moment. . .). I was rational, stupid, and theatrical all at the same time.

"How wonderful!," some of you may cry, those who love the way confusing layers of things seem to exist in life.

"How utterly ridiculous!," others may mutter to themselves, thinking that life surely is not as flimsy or uncontrollable as to encompass three conflicting feelings or actions within one split second of time.

"She's whacked out!," may escape unwittingly from the sides of their mouths, from others. Well, perhaps.

But here is how it happened:

It was approaching lunchtime. I was a sous-chef then, in a small private trading concern on Wall Street. Most of the prep had been done, but the dessert needed finishing. It was going to be a chocolate-ginger roll. . .a sponge roll filled with vanilla-flavored whipped cream and crystallized ginger, enrobed in a dark chocolate glaze, decorated simply with candied violets and bits of crystallized ginger in a classic fashion.

Time was short. I finished it and set it to the side of the countertop, balanced on a raised cake dish. It looked beautiful, and I knew it would taste wonderful. This cake could be drowned in, eaten over and over again, it was that sort of cake. Light yet. . it had an urgency of taste about it that made the tongue cry, "More! More!"

It was busy that day, and the space became crowded, elbows and hips started bumping into each other in the small kitchen as the pace of lunch raced around itself. Different things to be made and served at different times, all with an air of utter control and laissez-faire with a winning smile to those at the tables.

In one movement made during this rush, somehow I pushed something sideways, hard, into the cake in the crowdedness of it all. It toppled sideways, and as it was a gentle soft thing, it smooshed. It smooshed into a big mess in the middle of the crowded countertop. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why hadn't I put it up out of the way?! What would we do?!

My heart sunk to my toes, almost. Now I realize that this is a common saying, but if you focus in on times when things like this happen, you actually can physically feel this. Depending on the occurence (I haven't analyzed these occurences thoroughly yet, but hope to write a scholarly study on it some day, and maybe even get grants for it) your heart will either go to your toes or to your throat. Mine was in my toes. There was no sense of me, above the feeling of my heart in my toes, which feels really awful, really strange, awfully disconcerting.

But then something happened in my brain, which I had not believed was still existing. Rational thought entered into it through some mysterious process, and a voice said (hollowly, as these voices do), "Make a trifle. Make a trifle. Make a trifle."

Quickly I scooped up the remains of the sad cake. I found a big glass bowl and started chopping and layering. A layer of smooshed cake. A swoop from the bottle of amaretto, which was the first bottle of spirits I could easily lay my hands on in the muddle of bottles set high up on shelves so that I had to climb on the little folding ladder. Another layer of whipped cream. Luckily there was pastry cream, too, made, with a bit saved, from something else the day before. A layer of that. Some sliced berries. And on and on, the towering "trifle" became its rather obnoxious self.

Dessert was to be served. It was time. Naturally the server did not want to serve it, as it was *not* on the menu requested and planned.

Ahh. Time to dance. A neatening of the hair, a removal of the disgusting chocolate and everything else smeared apron. A straightening of the shoulders and a planning of a pirouette in the center of the room, all while graciously smiling at the table of somewhat crumpled looking (they often were somewhat crumpled looking, somehow) be-suited business-people. Enter the (sous) chef, with a dessert planned and made just for the occasion. Named, even, for the occasion, with the name made up as my mouth opened that very instant of speech. It was very theatrical. Which is as it should be.

That dessert became a favorite of the man who ordered that lunch. It nibbled a warm place right into his heart. He even sounded sad when one would try to convince him to try something different for dessert.

Moral of the story? Sometimes a trifle is not merely a trifle, and sometimes, even the merest of trifles can whirl one into unexpected places.

Edited January 28, 2007 by Carrot Top (log)

[srhcb]

U is for Ugli Fruit and Useless

I'm still amazed to think that way back in 1968, the Red Owl store in Virginia, MN, (not exactly a bastion of gastronomic adventurers now, let alone back then), carried Ugli Fruit!

I don't remember who first told us about the "ugly fruit", but one night some friends and I, probably out of sheer boredom, drove the 18 miles from our hometown to Virignia to procure some of the exotic citrus.

The supermarket night manager directed us to the proper department after correcting our pronunciation of the fruit's name to Ugli Fruit (You'-Glee Froot).

Name notwithstanding, it was a damn ugly fruit. It looked like a small rotten grapefruit, but in the spirit of adventure we bought a couple. We ate them in the car on the trip home and agreed they were damn tasty!

Every few weeks, or if we found ourselves in Virginia for any other reason, we'd return to the Red Owl for Ugli Fruit. Sometimes they had them, but more often they were out of stock. After a few months we kind of forgot about them.

The next winter I made my first trip to California to pick up my friend TLee, who'd been staying in Santa Monica with relatives. I was amazed to see citrus growing in every yard, and I'll never forget the first time I ate a warm orange right off the tree!

One day, while exploring the neighborhood, we spotted a small tree bearing what appeared to be Ugli Fruit! After dark we snuck into the yard, stole about a dozen, and hurried back to TLee's uncle's garage to partake of our bounty! Thinking of how much better fresh oranges were than the ones we were accustomed to getting from the grocery stores in Minnesota, we had great expectations.

Unfortunately, what we had stolen proved to be the Ugli Fruit's visual doppelganger .... actual rotten grapefruit!

Useless!

SB (hasn't has a Ugli in ages)

Edited January 29, 2007 by srhcb (log)

[Carrot Top]

Hmmm. You may have posed a problem in terms of menu-writing from the stories, SB.

Will it be Ugli Fruit on the menu or rotten grapefruit? And will it have to be stolen from someone's yard on a dark night?

We want authenticity here, you know.

[The Old Foodie]

Hmm.

From Janet, who would have been more Zealous in posting, had there not been so many other demands on her time of late…..

The most this not-very Zealous poster can do is post a list of foods beginning with ‘Z ’ (zed, or zee, depending on from whence you hie). I leave it to those of you who still have some Zeal to think of food ideas for our menu from these ingredients, because I don’t know what most of them are, really.

From Waverley Root’s “Food”

zachun-oil tree

zahidi

zamang

zamia

zebra

zebrafish

zebrawood

zebu

zig-zag scallops

zucca

zucchini

Zulu nut

And from Alan Davidson’s Oxford Companion to food (with the repetitions from the above list removed)

zaatar

zabaglione

zakuski

zampone

zander

zedoary

And from Larousse (1961 ed) (duplicates removed)

zampino

zeeland (oysters)

zest(e)

zibet

zingara

zwieback

And good old reliable Cassell’s Dictionary of Cookery (1870’s) has Zandrina pudding, so it looks like we are OK to end the meal at the end of the alphabet.

Zandrina Pudding.

Pick some fresh ripe raspberries. Put them into a jar and cover closely; set the fruit in the oven in a tin of boiling water, and keep the water boiling around it till the juice flows freely. Boil it with half its weight of sugar to a syrup and let it get cold. If fresh fruit cannot be procured, a jar of raspberry jam may be dissolved, mixed with a little thin syrup, and rubbed through a sieve. Beat six ounces of fresh butter to a cream; work in six ounces of powdered white sugar, six ounces of dried flour, and the well-beaten yolks of six eggs. Whisk the whites of the eggs to snow, and add them to the mixture, together with a wine-glassful of the raspberry syrup. Pour the mixture into a buttered mould which it will quite fill, put the cover on it, and put it in a saucepan containing boiling water to the depth of three inches or thereabouts, according to the depth of the mould. Keep the water boiling round the pudding till it is done enough. Take it up, let it stand a minute or two, and turn it out carefully upon a hot dish. Serve, with a little of the syrup whisked with an equal quantity of thick cream, poured round it. If liked, the pudding can be baked instead of being steamed.

Time to steam the pudding, an hour and a half. Probable cost, exclusive of the sacues, two shillings. Sufficient for six or seven persons.

I look forward to a recipe for zebra or zedoary.

[Carrot Top]

I leave it to those of you who still have some Zeal to think of food ideas for our menu from these ingredients, because I don’t know what most of them are, really.

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Nice pudding recipe, Janet.

And you made me quite happy listing all those Z words, because as I am one of those odd people who read encyclopedias for pleasure ( ) and who is lucky enough to have all three of the books you mentioned, I knew most of what you listed, which made me feel as if I'd wandered into an beautiful encyclopedic paradise where I almost knew how to speak the language.

And strangely enough, I had the same idea myself, while falling asleep last night, to list foods for a letter so the menu making can begin. Could it be the effects of the Moon?

Anyway, it was "V" I was going to do. But as I was falling asleep I kept getting "Virtuous" mixed up in my head with "Vulgar" and could not sort it all out. They don't go together too often, do they?

V will be for Virtuous

The Top Five Virtuous Foods:

1. Brown Rice

2. Green Salad with Lemon Juice, No Oil

3. Wheat Germ

4. Pressed Tofu Strips

5. Brewer's Yeast

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(Excuse me, must run now, am feeling an urge to say something Vaguely Vulgar. . . .)