Reading about food in lieu of actual cooking

This week I read two fascinating books about food and cooking.

The first was The Feast Nearby by Robin Mather. Shortly after her marriage broke up, and she was fired from her job as a food writer, she moved to a tiny house in rural Michigan, her home state. She was supporting herself with freelance writing jobs, so her food budget was about $40 per week. Instead of feeling restricted by that, she took it as a challenge to eat delicious food sourced locally. Mather's definition of local food is interesting. She seeks out local farmers, butchers, and dairies. She picks berries in the woods and trades homemade jam and handknits for the bounty of her neighbor's garden. When food can't be gotten locally because it doesn't grow locally (think coffee and spices), she at least tries to buy food that's grown sustainably by individual farmers. She cans, dries, and freezes foods, as well as putting things up in a makeshift root cellar (the basement).

This book is studded with some recipes I want to try. She's inspired me to try canning. I'd like to try it without spending too much money up front, in case I hate doing it and don't ever want to do it again. I'm going to ask around to see if anyone I know does home canning and would be willing to give me a lesson if I buy and bring my own jars and fruit.




Next I dived into Beaten, Seared and Sauced by Jonathan Dixon. I really identified with Jonathan, he surfs through much of his 20s in the grip of depression and anxiety, doing a bunch of different jobs. He works for Martha! Stewart Living for a while, teaches, writes, but nothing really clicks. He loves writing, but it's not enough, and he's not making enough money to really cover the bills. He teaches, but it's unrewarding. He does like to cook. He likes to read recipes and books about cooks and cookery. What starts with a chance comment that he ought to think about cooking school ends up with an acceptance to the Culinary Institute of America, the CIA, in upstate New York.

Cooking school is tough! There is a lot of screaming and yelling (the teachers) and bitching and crying (the students). As a mature student Dixon had (perhaps) a better grip on himself in class than some of his young classmates, but still found the pressure caused him tons of self-doubt, exhaustion, and anxiety. His description of his externship, where he works in a NYC kitchen for 18 weeks is hellish, it made me anxious!

What he learns about food, cooking, and the way he will fit into the culinary world is a very good read.  Check it out!


In my own tiny little life, the only cooking I've done this week is making oatmeal for breakfast and cooking dog food. Yes, after going back to feeding the dogs commercial food last year, we're making another about face and making homemade dog food again. All three dogs, especially Jake, had developed what I will euphemistically call tummy trouble. They also reached the point of refusing to eat their food unless we mixed yogurt or chicken broth with it, and when these puppers won't eat, the food must be pretty lousy.

I'm following Dr. Pitcairn's basic recipes, although I do need to hit the vitamin store to get some supplements he recommends adding to the food. Right now they are slurping up ground turkey, brown rice, and pinto beans, and (thank you Lord!) the tummy trouble seems to be much improved after only a week.

The joys of perimenopause

I visited my gynecologist today for a discussion. I didn't actually have to disrobe, wrap myself in a paper sheet, and "scoot down" - today was just talking.

I've been having serious trouble with The Change this year. My hot flashes are amazing - something you can't understand if you haven't had them. The heat, the sweating, the feeling that Iwould gladly strip and roll bare-ass naked in a snow bank. It's like for a few minutes you are living in a hot, sweaty, miserable world of your own. Other people nearby are la-di-da going along with business as usual while a hormonal tornado rages inside you.

I tried to explain to Thomas how REAL they were when things started getting bad in the winter. He made the appropriate sympathetic noises, but he had no clue. One night it was about 58 degrees in the room (we keep the heat down at night) and I was burning up. I'd flung all the covers off and was lying there glowing, and he reached out and patted my shoulder, only to draw back in shock. "You're SWEATING," he said. "Duh," I said, what did you think I meant when I said I got hot?" He thought I felt hot in my imagination, that it was a sensation of warmth, not an actual physical manifestation of being hotter than the hinges of hell. No matter how dramatic my descriptions of hot flashes were, and they were some kind of dramatic, he hadn't understood that I was actually hot and sweating.

Today I visited my doc to see what she could offer in the manner of help, because the flashing, the mood swings, and the disturbed sleep are just pissing me off! She had some help to offer.

First, I'm going to get a blood test to see what my actual hormone levels are.
Then, I'm going to start taking a supplement called Estraven, which is soy and black cohosh, that helps about 60% of  Hot Flashers simmer down.
Lastly, I'm going to see her again in a month to have my yearly checkup and talk about how things are going.

So, at least she didn't just brush me off, for which I am oh so grateful. She said that I do have one thing going for me. Since I am sans uterus, if I need hormones, I won't have to take estrogen and progesterone. Those of us without all our plumbing don't need the progesterone! Woot, woot, three cheers for hysterectomies!

I also have an appointment to get my boobies smashed flat between two plates while a technician takea pictures. Hurrah for mammograms!

What does drinking, grilling, and blowing stuff up have to do with Independence Day?

I guess it's because as Americans, we are freeeeeee to celebrate however we damnwell want. Throwing large chunks of meat on a grill, drinking the keg dry, and setting off explosions are part of our cultural heritage.

We had our big July 4th celebration on July 3rd, we're always ahead of the curve. We went to Jim and Andy's for a spectacular meal: burgers or brats, grilled vegetables (they were divine, I think I saw some of the asparagus wearing halos), a spinach salad, deviled eggs, and potato salad.

One of the guests was the young boyfriend of our friend Chuck's daughter. He was right behind me in line, and he pointed to the deviled eggs and asked "what are those?" which brought the whole table to a halt. Obviously HE wasn't brought up a Methodist, and honestly, we were all a bit stunned. Not liking stuffed eggs would be okay, but not knowing what they are? Impossible! Inconceivable!

When Thomas and I got home, well fed and awash in frozen margaritas, we took the puppers for a walk. Ginger is the one that really needs these late night walks, since The Little Princess won't potty in the yard if she can help it. Sadly, she couldn't potty on the walk either because dozens of our neighbors were lighting fireworks in their back yards, and she was frozen in terror. The one time when we thought she was going to come through for us, someone nearby set something off that sounded like a gun firing directly at us, and we all conceded defeat. She was so tight-assed with fear, that if she had managed to go, she'd have pooped diamonds.

Yesterday was a pretty day, but dang, the humidity was set at "Sauna" and our morning walk felt like pushing through the jungles of Borneo. We went to see the movie Super 8 with George. It was cute. The young actor who played Joe, the hero, is cute as a button. I also loved the movie because it's set in the years of my childhood and the music was near and dear to my heart. All the clothes and hair and tv/radio you saw/heard in the background took me back to the year I got the single "My Sharona" and played it INCESSANTLY for weeks.

It was a good three day weekend. The only way it could have been better is if it was a FOUR day weekend.

Now it's Tuesday night and we are sitting here watching The Lower Depths, a not very cheerful Kurosawa film.  So far it's about a bunch of miserably poor people living in a broken down tenement in a trash heap. However, it does feature a young and handsome Toshiro Mifune, and that never goes amiss.

God bless and keep the Queen...far away from us

My friend Christine and I packed our cars with a bunch of stuff we wanted to get rid of and headed off to the Germantown flea market, which is held the first Saturday of every month.

We took her foster dog, Ayden, with us. He's a Spanador, a mix of Cocker Spaniel and Labrador retriever. What he really is, is the perfect dog. He's sweet, gentle, and very playful and friendly.

Did I mention that he is very handsome and has soft brown eyes too?

Flea marketing is so much fun. We each made some money, although not a lot. I think I came home with an extra $21 dollars, but the money really isn't the point. It's getting something for things we no longer want in our lives. I got rid of a window fan and a boom box that have been in my house for the entire 10 years we've lived here...the fan has never been used here, and the boom box has been hidden away for the last 7 or 8 years. Sold a bunch of CDs and DVDs as well as some games we don't play.

The second best thing about the flea market is the people! Humanity of all sizes, shapes, and cultures came past for our viewing pleasure. Some of them stopped to peruse our wares and speak to us. Many came to admire Ayden and make sure Christine was keeping him hydrated (dog people never hesitate to put their noses in other people's bidness).

On the way home I pulled in at Larriland Farms and picked some black raspberries. I really wanted blackberries too, but they won't be available until next Saturday. Thomas loves raspberries, so fresh berries were my gift to him. We ate them immediately with vanilla ice cream and they were delicious. I'm trying to talk him into going back next week, for the blackberries. They also are picking blueberries right now. Did you ever think that some of our names for fruit are not very imaginative? Orange. Blueberry. Blackberry.  We just name them after the colors. I'm surprised a banana is not called a Yellow. 

I've finally been doing some serious reading these past couple of weeks. Seems like my concentration is getting better. My non-fiction book for June was Martin Kihn's Bad Dog: A Love Story. Thoroughly enjoyed it. If you like dogs, I recommend it.

I heard on NPR yesterday that in a poll, 1 out of 4 Americans aren't sure what the 4th of July is celebrating. They mostly think it's National Have a Cookout Day. Some equally ridiculous number don't know that we are celebrating our Independence from Great Britain. It is to weep. While it may not be necessary to know these things to live a good life, it seems like as Americans we all ought to have a basic outline of our history, and the Reva-what-lutionary War is a pretty important first chapter in the story of the USA.

Anyway, Happy Independence Day to all of you. Enjoy your cookouts, your fireworks, and whatever else you do to celebrate that we are not citizens of the UK.