The Van Cliburn Competition--and more

Every four years, Fort Worth hosts the international Van Cliburn Piano Competition. Young pianists come from all over the world to compete in this prestigious event--one of if not the most renowned in the world. Newspaper coverage is, of course, intense, and those of us who read the newspaper feel we get to know each competitor. The program starts with thirty; twelve make the semi-finals, and six the finals.
Fort Worth families host these young people, no small task. They have to assure the pianist will have privacy, and a grand piano or baby grand is imported into the house for practice. Some hosts request no practice after ten; others just enjoy the music. Host families provide entertainment, comfort, and support. Good friends of mine hosted a competitor this time around. He wanted steak every night--apparently our steak is better than that in his native Italy, and he wanted the protein to keep him in shape for the competition. So they took him for the best steaks in the city. My friends, Mary and Joe, fell in love with Alessandro Taverna, as they have with every competitor they've hosted, and they were crushed when he didn't make the semi-finals. In an article in the paper this morning Mary was quoted as saying Alessandro was more philosophical than she, saying he was just starting his career and he knew such disappointments were part of it. In the end, he wound up consoling her.
The article, with its quotes from Mary, got me to thinking about competitions. I admit to being fairly addicted to the Food Network, though "Chopped" is not one of my favorite programs. Still, if I'm in the kitchen cooking, I watch it and soon find myself identifying with one of the contestants. I'm always crushed when they are chopped. All are graceful about accepting it, but I sense their disappointment...and many had such great dreams of what they would do with the prize money.
Then my mind jumped to writing, not unusual for me, and I thought about all the competitions for writers. I've been fortunate enough in my career to win really nice awards for my western writing (including the Western Writers of America Lifetime Achievement Award) but none for my mysteries. I still feel a novice in the mystery field, with four books published, and am neither surprised nor disappointed. Some of the most prestigious prizes are based on votes from fellow writers, and I know I don't attend conferences and schmooze enough to get that well known. On the other hand, I treasure the fans who write me about how much they enjoy my books. And I'm not really good about submitting for contests--my children would tell me that's a defeatist attitude.
But it struck me that whatever your passion--music, art, cooking, writing and others--there are competitions and you have to go for the gold ring. Losing competitions is part of growth in your career, and more power to people like Alessandro who can be philosophical and accepting.
Tomorrow we find out who the Van Cliburn winner is, but great career opportunities will come to all those who made the competition (screening is pretty fierce) and I wish them all well as they carry their beautiful music out into the world.

Random food thoughts

This morning I was watching the Food Network and restaurant chef Anne Burrell was cooking a turkey--a brined turkey with apple cider gravy to be specific. When she pulled it out of the oven, it was a delicious dark brown color, which she attributed to the brining and then the massage with herb butter. She checked the interal temperature to be sure it was thoroughly cooked and then said she was putting it in the refrigerator, uncovered, overnight, to dry out. What? I thought the whole point of cooking turkey was to keep it moist. What's with dry out? Later in the segment (supposedly the next day) she carved it and commented on how moist it was. I'm puzzled, but I guess the skin dried out and became crisp and good--makes my mouth water. I love turkey skin! Apparently the gravy was delicious too--she not only dipped a piece in and took a big bite, she double-dipped. I had just tried to teach Jacob last night that double dipping his cracker in hummus was rude.
An odd eating schedule today--I had lunch at ten-thirty, so I could get a nap before I went to sign books at one at Barnes & Noble. Had a chicken thigh--I had sprinkled it with soy, garlic powder, and seasoned salt and baked for thirty minutes, then turned and did the same thing Thursday night for Linda and me, and I had one left over. Makes the best cold chicken thigh I've ever had. I like chicken thighs almost as much as turkey skin. (Note: sprinkle the soy first, so it doesn't wash away the powdered seasonings.

Jacob and his mom came to visit at the signing. I sold eight books in an hour and a half, which is pretty good for a "cold" signing at a big bookstore. Traffic dwindled, because the TCU footbal game began.
Tonight I fixed mashed potatoes, English peas, and breakfast link sausages for Jacob and me. He said it was the best day ever and the best dinner and he loved me. Guess I'll rush out and get more sausages. After my Scotland trip, I wanted to teach him the terminology, so we practiced saying we'd had bangers and mash for supper.
Then I discovered a recipe catastrophe. I'd spent a lot of time working out the menu and collecting both recipes and the RSVP list for my annual Christmas party. It ws all clipped together. Tonight I was going to make my traditional blue cheese ball and freeze it and came to my desk to look for the recipe. I couldn't find any of the paperwork! Not a panic tonight as I have the recipe in a cookbook and practically know it by heart, but the loss of all the other papers is a big tragedy. I can recover some of the recipes and the guest list but there were some I've never cooked before--and I want those recipes. There was a molded cheese ring with raspberry jam--and I've already bought the jam. I know all this will show up, but I may have to go through the whole file drawer in my desk. It is so frustrating.
But the best part of the day? Jacob just went off to watch TV--at 8:45 mind  you, not as though he's been glued to it all evening. And his parting words? 'Juju, I love you!" Be still my heart.

Appetizers and haggis

My daughter Jordan had a happy hour party for her girlfriends on her patio tonight and kindly invited Betty and me. Betty worried about her hairdo after a day of gardening, but I assured her the girls would never notice us old ladies. Everyone brings an appetizer--and there were some delicious things. Artichoke dip, cold cuts and cheese, a stunning vegetable tray, a casserole thing with tomato sauce over the top, a shrimp and pasta dip. We ate heartily--more than enough for dinner. Appetizers are, to me, a satisfying meal. I like a taste of this and a taste of that.
The other night I watched one of those chef face-offs on Food Network. This wasn't Iron Chef but a show called Chopped. Contestants, all established chefs, were given a basket of ingredients for each of three courses--appetizer, entree, and dessert. The requirement was that within 30 minutes they create a dish using all ingredients. The appetizer basket contained two items I remember clearly--some kind of fruity cereal loops (like Fruit Loops only not) and canned haggis. Robert Irwin, raised in England, knew about haggis though he balked at the fruit loops; Anne Burrell complained that it smelled like dog food. But they were innovative, making haggis pate and haggis patties, etc.
Haggis, in case you don't know, is a traditional Scottish dish, often piped in with great ceremony. Even Scots either love it or hate it. It basically consists of organ meats--liver, heart, lungs--mixed with spices and oatmeal--the steel-cut kind, not Quaker rolled oats) and baked inside a sheep stomach. I have tasted it--once, at a St. Andrew's dinner--and while it wasn't awful, I wasn't ready for seconds.
But I've heard that haggis, made fresh in Scotland, is a whole different thing and quite good. Hmmm--am I ready for that? If it comes in small servings, I'll probably try a bit. I know my kids won't touch it. What I'm really hoping to find in Scotland is kidneys and bacon for breakfast. Wonder if they have ketchup?

Restaurant Impossible

I'm hooked on the Food Network, though I usualy watch and listen with one eye and one ear while doing something else. Last night I put aside everything for another episode of Restaurant Impossible, Robert Irvine's show in which he takes a failing restaurant and turns it around in 48 hours with $10,000. Irvine goes in and assesses food, ambiance, and service. At last night's restaurant, the cook ("I'm not a chef but I'm a good cook") used canned green beans, instant grits and frozen shelfish among other "garbage," as Irvine called it. He tossed it all out, gave cooking lessons, and a cooking test that resulted in a switch where a younger man became head cook and the original one, a line cook. He also demonstrated that where they were spending $10 on a large can of gravy, he could make it from scratch for $1 and it tasted much better.With the help of a design crew, he tore out an old red bar-top and replaced it with a wooden bar, painted over a huge mural, brought in new chairs and chair covers for existing chairs. Then he created a new menu and sent the wait staff home to study it. Next day they were tested on it; if they passed, they got a T-shirt and worked that night; one girl failed and was sent home to study. Questions such as "Describe the fried green tomatoes" needed a fuller answer than "They're fried green tomatoes." They were served with feta on a bed of--I forget what (guess I too need more study). As his last act, Irvine carefully targets a community segment--college students last night--and passes out samples. By the time the restaurant opens--and those last minutes are hectic--there is a long line waiting outside.
At the end of the show, there's an update on how the restaurant is doing: of the few I've watched, at least one closed in six months, but most were doing alright. Last night's restaurant, owned by two young novices, three months later, was on the right track but not doing gangbusters. This must be a humiliating experience for the owner and exsting staff, but it surely works miracles.
I've always had a bit of a restaurant itch, I suppose because I like to feed people. I could see myself serving the tea-room or deli food that I love--chicken and tuna salads, Cobb salad, maybe some things with smoked salmon and anchovies. But I well know the failure rate of restaurants, and I know I have no experience, so I scratched my itch for several years by working at The Star, a cafe on the North Side owned by my good friends Betty and Don Boles. They specialize in steak, chicken-fried steak, and burgers. Best chicken-fried steak I've ever eaten--burgers and steaks are good too. I really did love talking to the customers, but I tired of rolling silverware and eventually decided that restaurant work, like anything else, had its ups and downs. So I'm back to cooking at home.
Right now I'm baking chicken that I found on one of my favorite blogs--Mystery Lovers Kitchen. I seasoned two chicken thighs with cumin, salt, rosemary, and oregano. My house smells divine. After they're cooked I'll roll them in Parmesan, olive oil, salt and garlic salt and pop them back into the oven for a minute. I promise--I'll only eat one and save the other for tomorrow night. I love cold chicken!

Food Network, Star Cafe, and how to know when you can leave a book behind

One way I got through all our snow and ice days--five in the last two weeks--was to watch the Food Network channel. When I was doing idiot work at my desk, I kept the volume on; when I needed to concentrate I muted it but kept the picture so I could check every once in a while. Some of those chefs have become friends of mine, though they don't know it. Ina Garten is cheerful, soft spoken, and the kind of person you'd like to eat lunch with (if she catered it of course). For any who've read the Diane Mott Davidson catering mysteries, I've decided Davidson had Garten in mind when she created Goldie the caterer. In my mind's eye, Goldie is Ina. Then there's Guy Fieri with the spiky hair and all those weird concoctions he eats at Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dumps. It makes the mind boggle that any one man could eat so many high fat, high calories, high everything concoctions, but I've heard that he says the bite you see him take on TV is the only bite he takes. Still, the old-time, down-home, far-out cooking he discovers is mouth watering.
Lately I've been fascinated by two Robert Irvine programs: one is America's Worst Cooks, in which people who claim they can't cook apply for the class. Irvine and his fellow chef, a woman whose name escapes me, are merciless on these people, but those who aren't dropped out of the program end up  pretty good cooks. I think I'm a good cook--and most people who eat at my table agree--but I don't think I could live up to that program. Irvine also does a program where he has 48 hours to rescue a failing restaurant. He redecorates, re-invents the menu, trains the staff, and generally turns a failing restaurant into a new one. Last night, he demoted the head chef, derided the prepared foods they were using (the canned corn beef hash tasted like dog food [I love it with ketchup] and another prepared item was costing them ten times what it would if made from scratch in the kitchen). And, of course Bobby Flay is everyone's hero these days. I wish the recipes they cook were more accessible. I'm often too pressed for time to check them on the  web.
And who can talk about Food Network without mentioning Paula Deen --I have never seen one woman, even with that outrageous southern drawl, use so much butter, sour cream, heavy cream, you name it and it's fattening. I would never dare cook--er, okay, eat--half the things she cooks, but they do look delicious.
I admit a few cooks irritate me, like the lady who prides herself on the inexpensive menus she cooks--too cute. But then Giada and her Italian food--yum!
While I'm on the subject of food, Betty and I wanted comfort food tonight, so we went to the Star, the restaurant she and her husband own and where I used to work once a week for several years. We both had our mouths set for a bacon cheeseburger, which we split, and a salad. Wonderful! Bino cooked it just right, so it was pink in the middle and juicy. I have sent an email to Guy Fieri saying he needs to check out this restaurant--I may send another describing the Star Burger, which tops a burger with cheese, chili, onion,  pickles, jalopeno, and bacon. Now who could eat that?
I read today about a longtime boookseller who invented the rule of 50. Read 50 pages of a book, and if you decide it's not for you, you can set it aside without guilt. But as the woman aged, she realized her time to read was limited and there were still so many books, so she changed the rules. After you reach 51, subtract your age from 100 and that's the number of pages to read before you decide a book is not for you. I so rarely abandon a book--it has to be really bad--but I have been known to do it.

Long Sundays

It's amazing when a sunny day can do for your mood, much as I think I love a rainy, stay-inside day. Yesterday I was edgy, and I dreaded today, a long day with no plans. But I woke up feeling energetic and happy. Did a mountain of work (well it seemed that way) in the morning--finished cleaning out that filthy shower stall and sorting all the papers (most need shredding so now I have to find out where you take whole bags of papers to be shredded). Then, overcome with ambition, I cleaned out the catbox and the cat's bathroom, all of which made me rush to the shower, feeling dirty. I ran the dishwasher, put away folded clothes I'd been staring at, and generally put the house in order. One of the contributors to the cookbook sent me her bibliographic essay and biographical sketch, so I put them in place and then began editing one of the last chapters. "The Regal Women of the Garden of Eden" opens with a history of the Garden of Eden, a historic black neighborhood where almost all residents are descendants of Major Cheney--there were once 54 houses and now are ten or twelve, though the original homestead is still occupied. Some of the recipes reminded me of my mom, particularly seven-minute icing, in which she took particular pride. I liked it when it was fresh and soft but I remember when it sat, it developed a brittle sugar crust.

It's been a food day, although I didn't eat elegantly--my standard meal of tuna salad, hearts of palm and grape tomatoes for lunch and smoked salmon, pea salad (the rest of Jacob's peas from last night), and a bit of hummus, followed by raspberries for supper--an eclectic mix but pretty low in Weight Watchers points (tomorrow is my day to weigh). I didn't tell Weight Watchers, but I ate chocolate twice today.

I've had one eye on the food channel all day--partly because it's had lots of trailers for Julie and Julia. I've read the book, and I'm not much of a moviegoer, but I really want to see that one. My neighbor, Sue, has assured me we're going. But I'm also interested in the winner of the cookoff tonight for the next Food Network Star--the two finalists are both vital and attractive, their dishes far beyond my skills, but the woman is from a suburb north of Fort Worth, so I'm rooting for her. She also has four children under four (including twins) so I am in awe that she has developed such cooking skills while caring for such a family. I also watched three consecutive Paula Deen shows (parts of two while riding my stationary bike)--her food always looks so scrumptious, but I am appalled by her free hand with butter, cream, sugar, cheese, and sour cream. I wonder about her cholestorol--she always eats the dishes with such relish! I know the shows are taped and shown over and over again, but I did think in the third one I saw her face looked much thinner--no idea what order they were filmed in. Maybe she just changed her hairdo. Anyway, with her kitzy overdone southern manners, I do find her fun and charming--and I long to eat that way once in a while.

With the other eye, I've been reading The Diva Takes the Cake and enjoying it, though the diva in this one is a bit extreme. Still it's not one of those mysteries where I can see the ending coming, so I'm hooked.

It's been a long Sunday simply because I've had no outside contact, and I don't much like days like that. But this week I have to go into the office three days (yikes!) and I have lunch plans three days, dinner plans two. Plenty of outside contact. I tried to sit on the porch again with my book but it's a bit too hot. Our blessed spell of rain and cooler weather seems to be over.