The Food Wars

 

Smoky salmon spread

Me: have you ever had chowder?

Christian: Clam chowder? I think so, but a long time ago. I don’t much like clams.

Me: I was thinking of fish chowder.

Howls from both of them. No fish chowder. Later I learned that they joked about it after they left my cottage.

So tonight Jordan and I had a menu planning session. One night is a potluck for some of their friends. I said I’d bring two appetizers and settled on Reuben dip, which Christian loves, and the salmon dip she’s eaten all her life and loves.

Jordan: “Christian won’t eat that.”

Me: “Why not? He eats salmon these days.” (Something he learned to like after I began cooking for them.)

Jordan: “A filet, grilled or roasted. He doesn’t want it mixed with a lot of other things.”

Then she said the problem is that they are perfectly happy with grilled meat and a salad, whereas I want to add thirty-five other ingredients. I like grilled meat and salad, but every night? Boring! Yes, I want casseroles and sauces and lots of different tastes. To complicate things, the other night Jacob said, “Meat, meat, meat. Why do we have to have it so often?” When Christian said chicken is meat, Jacob said it’s not the same. What he doesn’t want is lots of beef and the lamb that I sometimes crave. So tonight, my suggestion of Mongolian beef, which Christian does to perfection, was shot down because Jacob doesn’t like beef. A good old-fashioned vegetable soup was shot down because Christian wants meat and doesn’t really think soup is a meal. We are clearly all mismatched.

Christian looked at the appetizer recipes I’d chosen for the potluck and said he would eat lots of the Reuben dip and maybe a bit of the salmon. So I guess that’s what I’m making. The sherry/cheese paté which I love was a no go, as was the marinated goat cheese with rosemary and the sardine spread, which I didn’t even mean to include. When I ran across the recipe, I set it aside to make for myself.

My options here are limited. If I don’t want to cater to their tastes, I can cook for myself—but cooking for one quickly gets boring. I’d eat a lot of tuna and baked eggs. And in my semi-reclusive state, after a day alone at my computer, I really look forward to their company in the evening. Life, I have decided, is a series of compromises.

My friend Jean was eating with me on average once a week and welcomed my experimental cooking, but she has moved this week to Trinity Terrace and has lots on her mind and her daily calendar, like moving and getting settled. I fear she will get so wrapped up in the social life there—and the really excellent food that is part of her contract—that she will not be easily lured to my coffee table. But I am ever hopeful and have recipes waiting: cream of chicken soup from scratch (soup is a no-go around here) and the one I really like—a salmon bowl with vinegar rice and cole slaw veggies with sesame. I’m already modifying the recipe in my mind. Or I bet she’d each fish chowder.

So tonight we had wine-braised chicken thighs with artichokes and onion. Christian has not wanted thighs because there’s not enough meat, whereas I find one good-sized thigh more than satisfying. But we planned it carefully: Jacob had a golf tournament today and would be hungry at five, asleep by six, so Christian could have two of the thighs in the package. Life never goes as you plan: there were only three thighs in the package (I never can master the amount of chicken I’m ordering from Central Market, and it’s a great source of frustration), and Jacob was wide awake and ready to eat. Jordan and I split a thigh and admittedly that’s not much meat. I thought it was a great meal—I browned the chicken slowly so the skin was good and crisp; then in the same pan I sautéed the onions and canned artichokes, added a whole bunch of dry white wine, and simmered until liquid was reduced. This is one of those recipes which I wish I could cook in an iron skillet and whisk into the oven. But I scraped the vegetables into a flat oven dish, topped them with the chicken, and baked them in my toaster oven. The vegetables were soft and delicious and the chicken skin (which I love) the crispest, best I’ve had in a long while. I loved it. I asked Christian, who has only lately come to artichokes, and he said, “Well, I didn’t know how to eat them. I’ve only had grilled artichokes where you only eat the tip of the leaf.” You see what culinary educational work I have ahead of me?

How about you? How experimental are you in cooking? And eating?

 

Today’s trivia

Tomato plants in bloom

Today’s trivia because nothing significant happened today.

My tomato crop: I have a little desktop plant system—not a greenhouse, but three little pots with a grow-light that is on most of the day but off for specified periods of time, which seem to change as days go by. In the middle of the night, it lights up the cabin like broad daylight. I’ve grown lettuce in it—a medium success—and basil, which was a whopping success. I made a big batch of pesto from the first cutting of basil and have a small but respectable second cutting coming up.

First tomato harvest

But lately—for at least a couple of months—I’ve been growing tomatoes. Tiny, tiny tomatoes. I was surprised by lots of blooms, delighted by tiny green things. It took them forever to ripen. Meanwhile the vines grew out of hand and threatened to take over my desk. So today I harvested and meant to discard the plants. I suggested to Zenaida, who was here to clean my house, that she throw them in the back of the yard where they would compost naturally and provide nutrients for some of the bushes. But she wanted to plant them, so she found a pot with something that had given up the fight, pulled the dead plant out, and planted my three plants, which were more yellow than green. I kind of doubt they’ll survive the transition from indoors to outdoors, but we’ll see.

Second tomato harvest

Meanwhile, I have these tiny tomatoes, which really don’t have a lot of flavor. I think I’ll grow more basil next, or maybe oregano which I’d like to have. But for a while, I’m going to have a few less bushes on my desk. And I have a lifetime supply of dried oregano leaves in the freezer, the result of not being smart about ordering spices in bulk.

I was so sorry to read that former President Jimmy Carter fell, blackened his eye, and required stitches. But as a recent fall survivor myself, I was glad to have someone so praiseworthy join my company. Of course, he’s a tad older than I am, and he’s fallen twice within recent months. Jimmy, my advice is that you get a walker. I do admire him so much though—within hours of his trip to the ER, he and Rosalind were at a country music benefit for Habitat for Humanity. As a couple, they have built homes and done so much good for people across the world. What a stark contrast to the man squatting in the White House now who pled bone spurs to get out of service.

I went to a breakfast gathering of the Book Ladies this morning, and once again it was difficult for me. When two or three conversations are swirling around me, I simply cannot focus on anyone, no matter how good my hearing aids are. I love those ladies and long to be a part of their group. Today one treasured friend I haven’t seen in a long time was talking about the changes brought about by new ownership of Barnes & Noble, where she works part time. I probably got about half of what she said, but it all sounded good. It’s hard for me these days to pull myself out of bed early for these meetings and then disappointing not to be able to hear. And it got my morning of work off to a late start. So I may have to rethink that.

Tonight, happy hour with a neighbor and my Canadian daughter and her husband—she is a former neighbor. Our neighbor across the street promised wine and a snack, but I felt I should have something so invented a dip at the last minute—Greek yogurt, mayonnaise, buttermilk, blue cheese, lime juice, garlic powder, and finely chopped green onion. Not bad if I do say so. Margaret brought some Brazil-bites—light bread/cheese tiny things, but so good. And a chocolate nut mix that I talked her into leaving. No dinner for me tonight.

My distress at our national situation continues, with the White House forbidding people to testify for Congress and the Attorney General saying if Watergate happened today, he would not provide evidence to Congress. We are indeed held hostage by a corrupt regime. The Founding Fathers intended the Congress to be part of a system of checks and balances, but I fear that won’t work today. I shudder at the word revolution and wonder what form it would take. God help us avoid violence in our streets but also help us get rid of the people who now seemed to be exploiting the American system for their own benefit—and destroying democracy. There are many in Congress—Nancy Pelosi and Adam Schiff—devoted to saving our democracy, and I pray for them.