Take a Bite

There I am in the kitchen last night, mixing up cinnamon muffins from a box. I silently lament, “It’s too bad I was so stressed this weekend. It would have been nice to make something.” You’re quick on the uptake; you’ve already realized that I was in fact making something at that very moment. It took me a few more minutes to realize that I am the rare person who considers making muffins from a box mix “buying muffins from the store” as opposed to making them at home, i.e., from scratch.

The light bulb goes on, and all I can do is shake my head at myself.

It reminds me of a time a few years ago when we were staying home for Christmas and didn’t have a huge crowd coming in. A neighbor asked what we were doing for Christmas, and I said we’d probably just make spaghetti. The sweet lady gave me a look—eyes narrowing, head tilting. She tentatively asked, “Spaghetti? You’re more than welcome to come over…”

I looked back her, my head tilted, puzzled eyes, and after a good 30 seconds realized what the problem was. In her mind having spaghetti for dinner meant a jar of sauce from the store. For a lot of people it’s probably one of the simplest, lowest stress meals you can prepare. It’s definitely not worthy of the celebration of Christ’s birth. What she didn’t realize is that I’m Italian. We’ve been having sauce on Christmas my entire life. It’s made from scratch. It takes at least six hours. When my mom does it, it takes the form of a lasagna capable of feeding about 30 people. There is also anti-pasto salad, garlic bread, and bowls of pork and sausage cooked in the sauce. This is followed by Christmas cookies of every description, all made from scratch, and cream puffs, also made from scratch. No one leaves the table hungry—for anything—ever again.

I feel like this topic of food has come up several times now because I keep finding myself relating to food and its preparation in ways that seem to vary—sometimes wildly—from the norm.

We spent three weeks waiting for our household goods to arrive from the other side of the state. My neighbors have been so amazing. We brought some basics with us: a 6 quart pot, a griddle, a 3 quart pot, and a colander. We also had a few spatulas, can opener, etc. There were a few things I had to buy, like a cutting board and a cookie sheet. I borrowed a set of mixing bowls from a neighbor. But still, I managed to make chicken pot pie and blueberry cobbler. We only increased our meals out when we realized we could charge them to the incompetent movers.

Is that weird? It reminds me of my grandmother, who, when they camped had my grandfather improvise an oven so she could make stuffed peppers and bake a cake. They had the most popular campsite. Kids would wander over and return to their own campsites demanding to know why they were stuck with hot dogs and beans.

That’s weird, right?

The only explanation I can provide is that I’m third generation American. It’s actually kind of crazy. There’s a single branch of my family, the Sterners, that goes back to the Revolutionary War. Everyone else came from Italy in the early part of the 20^th century. All the other great grandparents were born in Italy. My dad’s mom spent World War II in Sicily after her family was trapped there when they went back to visit. Her dad was a fascist. She worked as a translator for the Allies after Sicily was liberated. My great uncle was part of machine gun crew for the Italian army. My mom grew up living above her Italian grandparents. Grandma Miraldi spoke to her in Italian, and my mom answered in English. My dad was the secret translator for his siblings when his parents spoke Italian.

It’s a different tradition when your family’s cultural heritage is still so close. My parents both grew up on Staten Island. They went to the Italian stores; they lived practically next door to their entire families. My dad has a picture of somebody’s birthday, black and white, and around the table are bodies packed just wall to wall. He can name almost every one, and they’re just about all related to him. And if you thought that description earlier of Christmas dinner was crazy, try it at my dad’s house growing up. First you had an entire pasta meal, all the trimmings mentioned above; then you had a turkey or a ham or both; then you had fruits and nuts and cheeses; then you had dessert. It took hours. And it was like that at every holiday.

I can guarantee you that none of it was pre-prepared or store bought. Of course, that’s partially because those things didn’t exist in the 1950s, but mostly it was because that’s not how it’s done.

This isn't my actual family, but you get the idea.

I will definitely continue to laugh at myself for baking “store bought” muffins from a mix. But I’m so proud of my heritage and the skills that have come with it. H loves to cook with me, and I’m so happy to pass that knowledge on to her. Not only does it mean a chance to teach her tradition and heritage, but it also means learning to understand food and appreciate it in its many wonderful permutations. Being able to cook gives you a freedom to control your destiny, while still honoring the past.

Pie!

I kind of feel like I’m giving away the farm here, but a friend asked for my pie crust recipe. I am never one to deny anyone pie.

My recipe has been handed down from my grandmother. She hand wrote it for me on an index card, and it’s probably one of my most cherished cooking items. There’s something spiritually nourishing about seeing this visual link to the generations of women in my family.  If you look at the picture, you’ll also notice how much I have elaborated on what’s in the original recipe. I love that Nana wrote it knowing that I already knew all the basics because I’d watched her and Mom do it a million times.

The great part of this recipe, in addition to how super simple it is, is that it’ll make a top and bottom for one pie or two bottoms. You can freeze the dough if you don't need all of it and just defrost it in the fridge for next time. This makes it really flexible. I’ve used it for dessert pies, turnovers, quiches, and savory pies. It’ll also make enough crust to fit my deep dish, 9-inch Pamper Chef stoneware pie plate, which is an accomplishment all in itself.

One last note: I know I was talking all about whole foods last time. I totally use butter-flavored Crisco to make my pie crusts. It is not a whole food. But it does taste good. You can use butter if you prefer.

Ingredients:

2 ¼ c all purpose flour

3/4 tsp salt

2/3 to 3/4 c shortening

8-10 tbs ice water

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 425.

Fill a small bowl with ice and cold water. Mix the flour and salt in a bowl. Cut the shortening in with a pastry blender or two butter knives. You want coarse crumbles throughout the flour. Add the water a couple of tablespoons at a time, mixing the dough with a fork. Keep adding water until the dough forms a ball. Be careful not to make it too sticky. If it does get a little wet, just sprinkle with some flour.

On a floured countertop, knead the dough until it’s smooth and flexible. Divide the dough in two. Roll out using a floured rolling pin. Another trick: when you think that you’re crust is big, turn your pie plate upside down and use it as a guide to see if the crust is a bit bigger than the pie plate. You want a little overflow to help make the yummy edges.

When the crust is big enough, roll it back onto the rolling pin like you’re rolling up wrapping paper. This will allow you to roll the crust off the pin and onto the pie plate without any muss or fuss. Press the crust into the pie plate. If you just need to bottom, you can roll up any excess at the top and flute the edges. If you’re doing top and bottom, wait to flute until the top goes on.

If you’re baking the crust for a one-crust pie like a chocolate cream pie, either pierce some small holes with your fork in the bottom and sides or place aluminum foil inside the crust and fill it with uncooked, dry beans. If you skip this step the crust will puff up when you cook it. Bake for 10-12 minutes.

Let's Eat

Delicious, delicious calzone.....

 

I’ve been thinking about food a lot lately. I’ve been hearing small comments from other moms and starting to wonder if things in my kitchen are a bit unusual. It’s not that I’ve heard anything bad. Please, please, please remember that I’m not out to get anyone or accuse anyone of bad cooking. Mostly I’ve heard about how people hate meal planning, how cooking is not something they like to do, and references to how often they eat out.

Mixed in with this has been trendy eating like the whole food movement (eating/cooking foods in their most basic form), gluten free (essential for some; trendy for others), and paleo (eating like a cave man). The one that really had me confused for the longest time was the term “whole food.” It strikes me the same way “organic” gets Josh. It doesn’t matter how many times I point out that the label refers to the way the food was produced, he argues vehemently that there are no non-organic foods. He’s right. Likewise, while I understand that people are referring to non-processed foods and anyone walking into a grocery store is introduced to many items that no one should really eat, the term sits oddly with me. I think it comes from the fact that, for the most part, I was raised eating whole foods. What seems really weird to me is that anyone wouldn’t eat that way.

Here’s the thing. If we have pancakes for breakfast, I get out milk, flour, sugar, eggs, etc. and make pancakes. If we eat cookies, I get out milk, butter, sugar, chocolate chips, etc. and make cookies. If we’re having spaghetti, I get out canned tomatoes, garlic, and basil and make sauce. When we indulge in pot pie, I make pie crust, use leftover chicken I cooked, cut fresh veggies, and make a sauce with a roux and stock. Are you sensing a theme?

I’m not trying to brag. Honestly, that’s just the way I was raised. That’s how Mom did it. We’re not perfect. We totally order pizza. We don’t buy organic because the price tag gives Josh chest pains. We use lots of white flour and granulated sugar. I’m just trying to explain how puzzled I become when confronted with what is probably much more common in America—households where a lot of parts of dinner come from cans, boxes, and the freezer. And it makes me so curious.

What do you cook? How much of it is from scratch? I would love to take a no-judgment survey and hear about what goes on in your kitchen. While we’re on the subject, does any of this make you curious what goes on in my kitchen? Is that something you’d like to hear more about?

Maybe we can cook together.

Sweet Nothings

I hate diet soda. Can’t stand the stuff. My mom gets headaches from aspartame, which was the primary artificial sweetener when I was a kid, so we never had diet anything in the house. I’ve never gotten used to the fake taste. The aftertaste is like sickly sweet fuzz coating my mouth. If you see me drinking a diet drink it’s because there are no other drinks to be had, and I’m about to pass out from thirst. And I’ll still be making a face about it.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve developed moral objections to artificial sweeteners in addition to taste objections. If you are like most people I know, you are, right now, raising one eyebrow and wondering on what grounds I can morally object to artificial sweeteners (hereby to be known as AS so I can stop typing so much). Also before I go any farther, please keep in mind that this is largely a theoretical discussion. Nothing I say here is directed toward individuals. If you drink diet soda, I will still be your friend, and I do not think you’re a bad person. K?

My objection is very simply this: things that are sweet are meant to have calories. That is the way the world was made, and we should respect it. Using AS is a way of getting something (sweetness) for nothing. It’s an extension of a trend that I see in American society at large. As a nation, we seem to want the easy road all the time. We want to eat and drink whatever we want and not work out, but also not gain weight. We want to be lazy and spend our day at work on Facebook, but still get paid. We want to run around and drink and have sex and babies, but not take care of them. Clearly, I’m making broad generalizations, but hopefully you see where I’m going.

Sweetness is supposed to have consequences. It is supposed to have calories. Why? Because we need a certain amount of it as fuel for our bodies. I doubt that sugar tastes good as a coincidence. I suspect there are deep-seated evolutionary benefits for experiencing certain foods with certain chemical properties as sweet and pleasurable. It makes us want to eat it. That gives us fuel to survive and multiply. Where we run into trouble is when we eat too much of it. This was probably less of a problem in hunter gatherer societies many moons ago—less access to sweets and more exercise. It’s a bigger problem when a month’s worth of sugar is a mere binge-of-the-Halloween-candy-washed-down-with-soda away—lots of access and no exercise.

Rather than address this problem by practicing and teaching moderation, we took that time and energy and put it into finding a way to circumvent Mother Nature. We invented AS. It tastes sweet on our tongue, but our bodies can’t metabolize the substance, so it doesn’t add to our caloric intake. Brilliant, right? All I will say on the health front is that the only healthy, natural drink I know of that is calorie free is water. If you’re drinking diet soda, you’re drinking water and chemicals. To me, that does not sound good. I’ll take the water and skip the chemicals.

As good as our intentions may have been to invent AS, they don’t seem to have really done what they were meant to do. Obesity is rampant. I’m not going to pin all of obesity on diet soda, but the get something for nothing mindset is definitely a factor.

After having a baby I’ve been watching what I eat to try and shed those extra pregnancy pounds. My husband, whose foray into his 30s came with a bit of sympathy weight, has joined me. Sunday morning as we worked on our grocery list, he tried to point out some diet sodas that didn’t taste too bad. Sucralose doesn’t taste nearly as bad as aspartame. But taste alone is not the point. As I told him, if I’m having soda, then I am acknowledging that it comes with calories—just like I would if I were having a hard cider or juice or milk or any other non-water beverage. I try to take that into account and decide if the treat of the soda is worth the extra calories at that moment of my life. I actually drink soda pretty rarely, with the exception of post-throwing-a-party soda that needs to be gotten rid of, so a Dr. Pepper with my Chipotle is a treat (and none of it figure friendly!).

I have realized that other areas of my life my benefit from the same perspective—like my chocolate cravings. But really the philosophy extends to all of life. Nothing is free, and if something is worth doing, it’s worth the price (calories, time, money, whatever) that goes along with it. Not only that but, in some cases, the price is part of enjoyment, like investing time to practice piano or go for a run or demonstrate healthy food choices for our kids. The cost can actually make the prize even sweeter.