Food matters on my mind

 

Don Artemio's
because I forgot to take a picture of our home-done dinner tonight

First, food is on my mind because I cobbled together a dinner of this and that, with low expectations except that it got us fed and used up some leftovers. Jordan raved about it and said, “Mom, keep this recipe.” I wanted to ask, “What recipe?”

Jamie had given us three free trial meals from Home Fresh. I explained to him that his gesture was sweet and considerate, but meal planning and preparation were part of my joy. And generally I think I do it better than prepared kits. Christian and I used two of the meals when Jordan was out of town, but tonight we had the chicken breasts left over. (The green beans had long since bitten the dust.) I cut the chicken into chunks, salt and peppered it, and tossed with olive oil. Topped with fresh herbs from the garden.

Then I scraped and cut up those last three lonely carrots in the vegetable bin. Tossed that with the chicken in olive oil and baked for 25 minutes. Christian has always shied away from cooked carrots because they’re mushy, but not when you do them in a sheet pan. Just cooked enough. Served with leftover Caesar dip from last week’s happy hours because I dislike a plain dry chicken breast. I was afraid over time the anchovy taste would get too strong, but no. Jordan raved about it, said to save the recipe. Should I tell her she’s eaten it with potato chips a lot in the past?

Meantime, I goofed, again! on my order from Central Market and ended up with a bag of spinach, plus a small fresh bunch. The bag is for a company meal later in the week, but the small bunch was extra. So I blanched it, drained it and squeezed off the liquid, cut it up so it was chopped, and put it in a skillet with melted butter—a lot of work for a tiny bit of spinach, but the story gets better. When Jordan asked what to do with it, naïve old me asked, “Do you want creamed or plain spinach?” She was astounded. “I don’t eat it cooked,” she said. (I knew Christian didn’t, but I swore she did). I asked her to salt and pepper it and add a big dollop of sour cream. Instant and easy creamed spinach! And it was so good, even if I was the only one eating it. Jordan made a big salad to finish our meal. When I looked at my plate, my instant reaction was, “That’s a lot of food.” “Oh, it’s mostly light stuff, like salad and spinach,” Christian said.

The kids were invited to an eight o’clock dessert gathering at the neighbors’, so I got to do the dishes. I can’t complain, because Jordan had them all scraped and stacked and almost always she washes them.

But the other food thing tonight was that I watched the James Beard Awards Ceremony. I got started on it because Don Artemio’s, where I’ve had several good meals, was a finalist for best new restaurant. It didn’t win but hey! Finalist status is in itself a win. But the awards and the general atmosphere of the ceremony intrigued me. One presenter said, “Restaurants build community,” and I thought about how true that is. There was a wonderful sense of community in this large audience. Anthony Blinken, U.S. secretary of state, spoke about the way immigrant culture contributes to our food world and announced an alliance between the administratioin and the James Beard Foundation—what a fitting alliance.

The chef who was named best new or upcoming chef intrigued me, because his restaurant, Virtue, is in the heart of the Hyde Park Neighborhood in Chicago. In fact, I can picture the location at 53^rd and Harper. Hyde Park is, of course, where I grew up and where my Irene in Chicago Culinary Mysteries are set. As I said to Jordan, “Irene will be so excited that it’s a Hyde Park restaurant.” Then again, who can predict Irene’s reactions? Chicago—and Hyde Park—are still on my bucket list, so who knows? Maybe I’ll get to eat at Virtue. It’s southern cooking, with a twist, of course.

Big day tomorrow, so I’m off to bed early. Then again, it doesn’t take much to make a big day for me.

Some days are all about food

A current local thread on Facebook asked what restaurants now gone people missed most--my gosh, you'd never know Fort Worth had so many defunct restaurants. There are currently over 625 comments on that thread (no I didn't count them--the original questioner announced that). I did respond early on, so now I get all future responses in my mailbox. Some are getting quite repetitive, and I've resisted the urge to add Papa Joe's on NW 28th St. to the list. It was a hole in the wall, and I doubt many remember it but it sure had good chicken fried steak. Salad was a wedge of lettuce and a bottle of French dressing on the table, and I never ate there without thinking the back room was a fire trap. It's long gone.
One person asked why there is always so much interest in food, and I appreciated the response someone else gave to the effect that food binds us together. We share our lives when we share food; we become family and community at meals.
As if to prove that, I had dinner tonight with two longtime dear friends. We were celebrating one's birthday--and instead of letting us pamper her she served an appetizer (Havarti and apple slices--I ate so much I wasn't hungry) followed by dinner at the restaurant of her choice--already full, I had a small plate of crab and salmon cake. And then back to her house for chocolate crème brulee. (I really meant not to eat dessert but since it was a birthday and it was chocolate....) We had a wonderful time talking about everything from ailments and doctors (we've reached that age) to travels and animals and careers. I am blessed to have such friends.
But today it seems food was the highlight of my day. It began with grocery shopping and a bit of thinking about menus for the week--a post on Mystery Lovers' Kitchen reminded me that my version of curried chicken salad would be good. Beyond that, I'll live on tuna and ham salad and eggs--and meals out.
Then a friend and I had lunch at George's Imported Foods, a Greek deli. I had a wonderful Greek turkey sandwich, which was turkey and good Greek salad in French bread (pita was a choice, but I'm just not a pita fan). So good especially because the bread soaks up that lemony dressing--and I brought half of it home.
I stepped on the scale this afternoon, and it reminded me that I need to have fewer days about food. Writing? Nope, didn't get any done. Yesterday, almost 3,000 words; today none. Not a disciplined way to write a novel.

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.

JFK assassination

A friend in Fort Worth started a Facebook thread by asking,"Where were you when you learned that JFK had been killed?" In Fort Worth, that question has particular poignancy because Kennedy's last speech, last public appearance was here. The response has amazed me in its sheer numbers but also by the similarity of so many answers. With few exceptions, respondees were in school, from elementary to high school. Some had been to the Hotel Texas with their classes to see Kennedy or stood on the highway to watch the motorcade. Most can remember what teacher's classroom and what subject. A very few seemed out of school, and a similar low number were either infants or not yet born.There are whole generations that didn't respond to this, and I'm curious about why one age group--granted wih a twenty-year span or so, answered in such heavy numbers.
I was twenty-five years old, living and going to school in a small town in Missouri. I was also working for an osteopathic medical school, and one of my jobs was to do a 15-minute radio show once a week at the local station interviewing physicians on problems of interest to the general patient. Sort of, "Tell me, doctor. If I have a pain in my side, is it appendicitis?" The station was, well, casual in its organization. So on November 22 I was driving through town in my old VW with the local station on when the announcers seemed to lose it--there was obviously confusion, an utter inability to know what to do. I heard mumbles and mutters, the shuffling of  papers and incoherent phrases. And I laughed to myself. "Those guys can't ever get it together." Of course in a minute, they did get it togther, and I hard the awful news. I remember going back to the office and saying to my boss--not my favorite of men--that the president had been killed."President?" he said sharply. "What president?" Did he think it was the president of the school?
The friend who originally posted the question was right. Those of us who lived through that day will never forget where we were when we heard the news. Nor will we forget that riveting weekend when we all stared at the TV without break. I remember I had stepped away on Sunday just long enough to miss Jack Ruby shooting Oswald. My brother called and said, "You better turn that TV back on." Of course, we saw re-enactment after re-enactment.
This struck me as strange timing, since the thread appeared during the Democratic National Convention, the first at which the Kennedy legacy wasn't a large presence, principally because of the death of Ted Kennedy. Yes, there were tributes, and we saw Patrick Kennedy and Caroline, but it wasn't the same electric presence we'd come to expect. I missed it, and I feel lucky to have lived through the Kennedy era and on to treasure the legacy, no matter how tarnished. Camelot existed, however briefly.
No I won't ask where you were. I don't want to answer that many memories. But do think about it