Eating the Alphabet, A to Z

[dockhl]

"L" is for "L"ights

An ingredient in haggis, along with oathmeal.

Robert Burn's Day doth fast approach, and all good Scot's should begin to gather up the ingredients, and ro lay in a good supply of malt whisky.

SB (half Scot)

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Lights in haggis?

oathmeal ?

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm................................

[Jensen]

You guys just want Grandma's pickle recipe...

("Lights" are lungs. Like srhcb, I am of Scots heritage although I now celebrate Robbie Burns Day by making lemon cheese and scones.)

I will offer the lowly Mushroom for "M".

A few years after I'd graduated from university, I moved from a small city to a rather cosmopolitan one. My hometown was based around government and the university and the move away from it also signalled a change in goals for me. I gave up my aspirations for academia and just took a position that paid the bills. I've got a busy mind (as this thread has shown, it's not always a blessing...LOL) and so, to occupy it, I took a course on writing children's literature.

In turn, that lead to a children's novel, as yet unfinished. The novel focusses on some of my favourites: alternate worlds, faeries, imagination, and even cooking. Whilst writing it, I had to invent the first meal a human child would eat after being magically transported to a faerie world. Since faerie rings had always been a big deal at my house (that Scots heritage and all!), I reckoned the first meal had to be a mushroom pie.

How would I describe this? I've never had a mushroom pie.

And so I set out to make one!

The mushrooms were sliced and sauteed in butter. Then some flour was sprinkled over it to make a mushroom-y roux. Enough chicken broth was added to make a not-too-thin-but-definitely-not-gummy gravy and, after being seasoned with a wee bit of rosemary, the mixture was put into a pie shell, topped with another crust, and popped into the oven for baking.

When the pie was cool enough, I cut myself a slice and sat down at the kitchen table with it, pen and paper by my side. It was like eating the first step you take on a forest path...the taste of the earth, of nature.

[The Old Foodie]

I'd like to hear food stories (or see a list of foods) associated with you feeling:

Afraid.

Bored.

Calm.

Disgusted.

Envious.

Funny.

Grateful.

Humble.

Indecisive.

Jealous.

Knowledgeable.

Lazy.

Mad.

Naughty.

Obstinate.

Proud.

Quarrelsome.

Rational.

Stupid.

Theatrical.

Useless.

Virtuous.

Weak.

Xenophobic.

Youthful.

Zany.

[Domestic Goddess]

I'll take A - for afraid

I was sent to China for a business deal/merger (I was working for a medical online company as its PR&advertising manager). Unbeknowst to me, I was pregnant when I flew to Xiamen, China. I found out later in my hotel room, with the half a dozen chinese pregnancy test kits given to me by our Chinese business partners.

Armed with this information, I was bolstered by the fact that now I can refuse all the alcohol suggestions (Chinese businessmen/doctors believe in the notion that the drunker you get your partner, the better hand you can get in the deal).

It was the last week I was staying in Xiamen and the head doctors of the hospital administration decided to fete me with a Chinese banquet. There was an abundance of delectable dishes, the razor clams and the crispy chicken still resonate in my memory, I was a happy pregnant person that night. Then happiness turned into fear when a a huge platter of crispy mountain snake was brought to the table.

I tried to use my pregnancy excuse to help me get out of the predicament of eating it. Cold sweat broke out on my brow as the huge platter was set right in front of me, while the head doctors smiled reassuringly for me to get some. My translator told me that it would be a huge embarassment and affront if I didn't even taste it (I think it cost an astronomical sum).

I halting repeated that I was carrying a bun in the oven but they refuse to consider and even triumphantly declared that the mountain snake dish is good for baby. I took the smallest piece I could find and braced myself for the first bite. It was heavenly, FEAR became HAPPINESS again as I greedily loaded my plate with a heaping mound of mountain snake. Our business partners were very happy and I left China with a signed merger and a happy knowledge that what you fear is sometimes the most delicious thing you can pop into you mouth.

[The Old Foodie]

That's a great story Doddie! Have you eaten mountain snake since, or do you only have it when you are pregnant?

[srhcb]

I will offer the lowly Mushroom for "M".

Would this include psilocybin mushrooms?

I had to invent the first meal a human child would eat after being magically transported to a faerie world. Since faerie rings had always been a big deal at my house (that Scots heritage and all!), I reckoned the first meal had to be a mushroom pie.

See above-referenced psilocybin link.

It was like eating the first step you take on a forest path...the taste of the earth, of nature.

←

Oh! Gottcha!

SB (We're all Bozos on this bus )

[Domestic Goddess]

That's a great story Doddie! Have you eaten mountain snake since, or do you only have it when you are pregnant?

←

Nope, not only when I'm pregnant, if I could find it, I'm eating it every chance I get. I have been unsuccessful in trying to find a chinese restaurant that served that crispy mountain snake platter. I guess it was that Xiamen Restaurant's specialty. I have dreamt about that dish on and off for years.

Oh, one major item I forgot. It was CAVE mountain snake that was served to me. Really extra special.

Edited January 15, 2007 by Domestic Goddess (log)

[Carrot Top]

Oh.

If I was rude in any way earlier, I apologize.

(But not really.)

(Lots of wonderful stories. . . )

[srhcb]

Oh.

If I was rude in any way earlier, I apologize.

(But not really.)

(Lots of wonderful stories. . . )

←

I thought it was me who was rude?

But, if you want to take the blame, I'll gladly shirk the responsibility!

It looks to me like by the time we get to "Z is for ...", we'll easily be able to go back and construct a menu for a complete dinner. Maybe even more than one?

SB (thinking of issuing forth a few recipes)

[dockhl]

SB (We're all Bozos on this bus )

PLEASE tell me that you found your old Firesign Theater albums in your trip down memory lane! I want a copy, please !

K (happy to pay for it in preserved lemons or any other currency that strikes your fancy )

[Carrot Top]

I'd like to hear food stories (or see a list of foods) associated with you feeling:

Afraid.

Bored.

Calm.

Disgusted.

Envious.

Funny.

Grateful.

Humble.

Indecisive.

Jealous.

Knowledgeable.

Lazy.

Mad.

Naughty.

Obstinate.

Proud.

Quarrelsome.

Rational.

Stupid.

Theatrical.

Useless.

Virtuous.

Weak.

Xenophobic.

Youthful.

Zany.

     

←

A. . .is for Afraid, of Cave Mountain Snakes while pregnant.

B. . .is for Bored. Bored into Turning On The Stove for the first time ever.

It was a hot summer day. The sunny days stretched endlessly then, when one was ten years old with no school, no duties, no set times for anything, anything at all. In the morning one would watch TV, sprawled out on the couch trying to find something to watch on any of the three channels that were available then. Bozo the Clown sometimes was on at 8:30, but from there on in, it could quickly become boring. "What's My Line?" and "The Price is Right!" giggled in jolly content from the screen endlessly. How many women with tight-knit curls would jump up and down screeching with pleasure at the hand-mixer they had won? How many men with black glasses and white short-sleeved shirts would look up at the game show host after serious deliberation, and answer a question with pompous nods of their heads at the world?

Mid-day a bike ride, a jump in the local pool, hoping that the bully eleven-year old boy would not push one off the diving board once again, scraping one's legs into slices as he laughed uproariously with his friends. Maybe a friend would be around, maybe she would be allowed to come visit (not too likely in most cases, most times, as there were no adults home at my house).

One day I was lucky. My friend was allowed over, from some odd chance. We played Mad Libs (our absolute favorite, we laughed and laughed at the stupid sentences we'd made!) and listened to records and finally got hungry.

Her mother cooked, in her home, and she did not know how to really make anything to eat. My mother cooked also, but I was used to making sandwiches and eating all sorts of lovely junk that happened to be around. One summer I believe I lived on popsicles and raw bacon, with a smattering of grapes, and it did me no harm.

We decided to cook something, on the stove. We got out a 10" teflon saute pan and got to work.

We had no preconceived ideas of what it was we were going to cook, so just started in on whatever came from the refrigerator or cupboards. Honestly, I can not remember a single ingredient, but do know that not a single one went together in any way whatsoever.

The gas heat simmered the mixture as it came along, growing into whatever it was growing into.

First it was beige, then it somehow became a sickening green color, and finally, with a loud stench emitting from it, it turned a lovely purple.

We laughed and laughed (as ten year old girls are wont to). It was the gloppiest, most colorful concoction ever invented. Was it food anymore? I doubt it. Somehow we had transformed normal ingredients into the completely inedible.

I left it on the stove and we made some bologna sandwiches.

My mother didn't say much when she saw it when she came home, except "Karen, clean up your pot," as she walked away. (A typical WASP response to such a thing.)

B is for Boredom, and how it can make one turn on the stove to make some really messy things.

Edited January 15, 2007 by Carrot Top (log)

[srhcb]

SB (We're all Bozos on this bus )

PLEASE tell me that you found your old Firesign Theater albums in your trip down memory lane! I want a copy, please !

K (happy to pay for it in preserved lemons or any other currency that strikes your fancy )

←

While Preserved Lemons would make a nice contribution to the menu for an Eating the Alphabet Dinner, I haven't run across any Firesign recordings yet.

Maybe we could do (Firesign) dinner theatre?

SB (Do they still have those, or maybe they're already being revivied?)

[Carrot Top]

PLEASE tell me that you found your old Firesign Theater albums in your trip down memory lane! I want a copy, please !

K (happy to pay for it in preserved lemons or any other currency that strikes your fancy  )

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How about a preserved lemon story? There has to be one. There always is one where there are preserved lemons.

Connect it to the Firesign Theatre, even. Even if it isn't really real.

(Example: One night, I was dreaming of the Firesign Theatre albums. A huge twenty foot high mushroom appeared before me and said, in a strangely squeaky voice for such a very large handsome mushroom, "Take me to your leader. And make me some preserved lemons, tout suite, while you are at it . . .") etc etc.

Hmmmm?

[Carrot Top]

SB (anyone got a good Butter story?)

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Not unless you want a replay of certain parts of "Last Tango in Paris". One of those things one never forgets.

SB (has plenty of beer stories)

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So? Share? Don't be selfish now. One among many won't hurt, will it?

[Carrot Top]

I'm too late to play my "A is for Asafetida",

but then I'll save it for "H is for Hing"...

Miraculous spice...

Are we at E now? 

E is for Eggplant (in some form of entree) on

the menu.....

Milagai

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Milagai, you are an excellent storyteller. You can play asafetida or hing. I do not have stories of either, myself. A tale of your youth perhaps?

[Carrot Top]

Since "C" wasn't for chili, "H" has to be for hot peppers! You want a story, Karen? In Malay, there's a saying that goes like this: "Tak ada cili, tak ada rasa." That means "No chili, no taste"!

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I love the saying but want to know how you heard it, Michael. Who said it and when? What were you eating when it happened?

Just send the story, by way of this thread, to:

Lo Bak Dou

[Carrot Top]

I'd like to hear food stories (or see a list of foods) associated with you feeling:

Afraid.

Bored.

Calm.

Disgusted.

Envious.

Funny.

Grateful.

Humble.

Indecisive.

Jealous.

Knowledgeable.

Lazy.

Mad.

Naughty.

Obstinate.

Proud.

Quarrelsome.

Rational.

Stupid.

Theatrical.

Useless.

Virtuous.

Weak.

Xenophobic.

Youthful.

Zany.

     

←

And which of those will you choose to regale us with a tale of, Janet?

Our ears are perked and waiting.

[The Old Foodie]

I'd like to hear food stories (or see a list of foods) associated with you feeling:

Afraid.

Bored.

Calm.

Disgusted.

Envious.

Funny.

Grateful.

Humble.

Indecisive.

Jealous.

Knowledgeable.

Lazy.

Mad.

Naughty.

Obstinate.

Proud.

Quarrelsome.

Rational.

Stupid.

Theatrical.

Useless.

Virtuous.

Weak.

Xenophobic.

Youthful.

Zany.

     

←

And which of those will you choose to regale us with a tale of, Janet?

think I have a story to fit each one -

Our ears are perked and waiting.

←

I'm pretty sure I have a story to match each one - but am a bit snowed under right now, not the least because keeping track of the 6 degrees game in another thread is taking the little time I have at present to 'play'. Sad, isnt it? I wear an academic hat on a part-time basis, and the academic year is about to start, so it is all a bit hectic. You know how sometimes you bite off more than you can chew ?

I'll try to post something this evening - am at work now and my staff are giving me scowls as they walk past the door and see this blue and white page, when it should be grey and white with some red .......

[Carrot Top]

I'll try to post something this evening - am at work now and my staff are giving me scowls as they walk past the door and see this blue and white page, when it should be grey and white with some red .......

←

Maybe wait till you catch up (whenever that may be, and certainly not tonight!) and then try writing something on "tired"?

Edited January 16, 2007 by Carrot Top (log)

[The Old Foodie]

I'll try to post something this evening - am at work now and my staff are giving me scowls as they walk past the door and see this blue and white page, when it should be grey and white with some red .......

←

Maybe wait till you catch up (whenever that may be, and certainly not tonight!) and then try writing something on "tired"?

←

Tired.

Tea.

[Carrot Top]

In the best British tradition?

Then Tumble into dreamland. Ta!

[Brad Ballinger]

Inspired by M.F.K. Fisher's "An Alphabet for Gourmets", I thought it might be fun to have our own banquet of words and food, from letter to letter, all along the alphabet.

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Awwww. I thought perhaps you might have been inspired by those of us in the Wine Forum drinking through the alphabet -- Wine Tag, A to Z.

[Carrot Top]

Awwww.  I thought perhaps you might have been inspired by those of us in the Wine Forum drinking through the alphabet -- Wine Tag, A to Z.

←

Yeah, Brad. Yeah, that was it. I was just confused for a moment.

All I know is, "L" is for Latour.

Sigh.

[srhcb]

N is for Nothingness

The cousins on the Serbian side of my family and I have decided that when we gather for an Easter feast at Dr Mike’s this year we’ll make a particular effort to pay tribute to our Grandma Baich, who passed away over thirty years ago.

She was a twelve-year old orphan when she came to this country in the early 1900’s as a virtual indentured servant. Grandma never spoke much about the old country, but we gather her life there hadn’t been easy. For instance, we know that just before embarking on the voyage she had gotten her first pair of shoes.

For three years she cooked and cleaned for the family that had paid her fare. At age fifteen she married my Grandfather, in what we suspect was something like an arranged marriage. He had immigrated several years earlier, and was already a successful local businessman.

She raised seven children, (and lost one), and kept house in the rooms above my Grandfather’s clothing store during the school year, and at their farm outside town in the summer. Like most women of her generation, homemaking occupied most of her time, and a good percentage of the time was spent in the kitchen.

Grandma’s cooking was legendary. The culinary high-point of every year was the pig she’d roast for Orthodox Christmas. Her apple and cheese strudels, using her homemade phyllo, has proven impossible to replicate. She taught my Mother and Aunts to cook, but nothing ever turned out quite the same as when Grandma made it.

I have the cookbook she brought with her from Serbia, but it does me about as much good as it did her. I can’t read Serbo-Croation, (in Cyrillic Script yet), and she couldn’t read any language at all.

Oddly, Grandma never are with the rest of the family, but stayed by herself in the kitchen during the meal. My Sister theorizes this was a habit from having been a servant before marrying, but I suspect she may have enjoyed this brief chance to be by herself.

Grandma Baich used lots of colorful sayings, even if they probably lost something in translation. Many of them, not surprisingly, had to do with food. If she had to repeat something you’d missing by not paying attention, she would say, “I don’t chew my cabbage twice.” A common saying at mealtime was the self-explanatory, “You want it or not, you got it.”

My favorite though, partly because it’s such a typical Serbian sentiment, is, “It smells of it’s nothingness.” While this was generally applied in the case where everyone wanted the last piece of something just because there wasn’t enough to go around, I wonder if maybe Grandma had first heard the expression as a little girl when the “nothingness” referred to was not virtual, but quite literal?

Although Grandma had no formal education, that concept of “nothingness”, expressed through an adage about food, is positively existential in scope when applied as an observation about life in general.

As we gather for Easter; my Mother, the last survivor among her siblings, and my cousins and their partners, numbering among them a doctor, a nurse, two teachers, two engineers, an international industrialist, a philosopher/caterer, the administrator of a world wide charity organization, an architect, and yours truly, with our fancy educations, will pay homage to the barefoot twelve-year old orphan who risked the only thing she had, her life, to come here and spend that life caring for others, never expecting or asking for anything more.

Life may smell of it’s nothingness, but it’s rendered meaningful by the “somethingness” left for us by prior generations.

Easter Dinner, as usual, will feature great food, fine wines, and stimulating conversation. None the less, I’m sure all of us who are her direct descendants would gladly trade the experience for just one chance to eat in the kitchen with Grandma Baich.

Edited January 18, 2007 by srhcb (log)

[Carrot Top]

Not for Nothin', SB, but that was beautiful. Previous to this, my belief was that where beauty exists, there can not be Nothingness. But you've turned that concept upside down now, haven't you.

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.

Puff pastry can not be made well unless there is a calm enough atmosphere surrounding it, and unless it is handled calmly. It can be made competently if calm is not there, but not really well.

The cool flour feels like silk in the bowl. Run your fingers through it - smooth, soft, light, and somehow enchanting. If it does not feel this way, if it feels coarse, sticky at all, warm, or heavy. . .there is something wrong already.

The dough must be handled in a calm manner or it will become angry. "Be swift and deft!" are the instructions I remember reading in an old cookbook, a regular cookbook, not a fancy one, one written sometime in the 1940's for housewives. . .and each time since then when approaching making a pastry dough, the words slip into my mind. "Be swift and deft!"

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.

It must rest. It must be folded just so, again and again. Inbetween the folds a measure must be taken, a sense of whether the dough is ready to fold, whether it wants to be folded just yet over the chilled dense molded butter that will fill it with air and height and a towering magnificence that almost reeks of deity invoked when done perfectly, or whether it is resisting the forward movement into becoming what you intend it to be. Any urgency during this time will tilt the progress sideways a bit, edging the final product into a slightly different shape and taste, texture and look.

The butter itself is calm, or should be. It should not be hot or weepy, stiff or cranky. It must be ready and willing, desirous even, of being wrapped within the arms of the soft yet strong dough that encloses it.

"Be swift and deft! Have a light hand!", exhorted the old battered cookbook. How else to retain a calm dispostion in the face of struggles toward things larger than we think we can become, just as the homey untried ingredients of flour, water and butter meld together in inspired concert to become not just one's daily bread, but instead a castle of edible dreams.