Sid Delicious

A large dairy animal approached Zaphod Beeblebrox’s table, a large fat meaty quadruped of the bovine type with large watery eyes, small horns and what might almost have been an ingratiating smile on its lips.

‘Good evening,’ it lowed and sat back heavily on its haunches, ‘I am the main Dish of the Day. May I interest you in parts of my body?’*

Shortly after I was hired to teach in the teeny, tiny town, I was required to attend end-of-year staff meetings. I had not yet found my teeny, tiny apartment, and the nearest hotel was two hours away. I was dreading having to make a good impression with my new co-workers after an early morning wake-up call and a long drive. Still, it was an improvement over making the trip from my hometown four hours away. Fortunately a friend of a friend from university heard of my dilemma. Her parents had a farm in the area and were kind enough to let me stay with them.

I arrived at their place in the afternoon on the day before my meetings. My acquaintance from school had not arrived, but her mother welcomed me and gave me a tour of the farmyard. She told me about their field crops and showed me her vegetable garden. She explained how the guinea fowl that roamed the yard helped to keep the earwig population under control. In a small, fenced pasture near the house there was a cow and her ten-day-old calf. My hostess introduced us. Both mother and son were picture-book pretty. The son was particularly adorable in that downy, big-eyed way of all babies.

My hostess was just finishing up our tour when her daughter arrived. The three of us headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner. We were having salad, potatoes and steak. It sounded delicious and I said so. That was before I found out about the steak.

I eat steak. That wasn’t the issue, but when I eat steak it’s barbequed. There is a chemistry, a magic, that happens to a steak on the grill. These steaks were being fried. I loathe fried steak. It’s one of the few foods that can make me gag, and I can eat liver without flinching. I don’t mean the kind of gagging that causes you to grimace and soldier on. I’m talking about body-convulsing, eye-watering retching. I began to worry about our shared meal.

Add to this the fact that even when a steak is barbequed I prefer it to be on the rare side of medium-rare. These steaks had passed that stage several minutes before leaving the pan. And they were huge. Really, really huge. Hanging-over-the-edge-of-your-dinner-plate huge. Things did not look good, but I was determined to be a good guest, so I sat quietly at the table and whittled away at my steak.

I had actually made some progress with my meal, and was feeling confident that I could get through dinner without mishap. In retrospect, I had probably already eaten what would be considered a serving of beef, but I had hardly made a dent in my steak when the conversation turned to the farm. That was when my hostess turned and introduced me to my steak. “This is Sid,” she informed me. “You met his brother earlier. Sid was about the same size this time last year.” Sid’s brother was the ten-day-old calf I had met in the farmyard. Needless to say things did not go well after that. It was one of the most uncomfortable meals of my life. I feel like I failed some arcane farmer’s test that day.

I was reminded of this episode when out for dinner recently. I will state right now that the food was wonderful. There was no gagging whatsoever. I tell you this so you don’t get the wrong idea. The connection between the two meals is that both relied on local food. In the case of the farm, the food was so local that future dinners were standing right outside the back door. The restaurant’s ingredients were found a bit further afield, but were definitely local.

The chef of this restaurant is on a mission. He not only showcases local foods in his creations, but he is trying to narrow the gap between producers and consumers. To promote his mission, the menu includes stories about the producers and their products. The restaurant is decorated with photos of the producers and their offerings. Hanging above our table were photos of local farmers along with their fruits, vegetables and fuzzy farmyard creatures.

I was able to convince myself that the chickens in the pictures were for egg production, and that the cattle were dairy animals, but I couldn’t find an alternate use for the pigs. They looked happy, and healthy. Their curly little tails were still intact, but they were definitely examples of pork in its early stages. Across the aisle from our table there were pictures from the local bison farm. More examples of dinner on foot.

I can’t say that these pictures influenced my decision to order a vegetarian meal that night. If they did I wasn’t conscious of it. I did reflect on their impact later though, and once again I wondered about the ethics of eating meat when I can’t look my dinner in the eye. I’d like to be able to say that I’m all about food transparency, but in the case of meat, I’m obviously not ready for complete transparency yet. Maybe some day I’ll get there. In the mean time I’ll try to celebrate baby steps in getting to know my food. And hope that they never develop an Ameglian Major Cow:

’Well,’ said the animal, ‘I know many vegetables that are very clear on that point. Which is why it was eventually decided to cut through the whole tangled problem and breed an animal that actually wanted to be eaten and was capable of saying so clearly and distinctly. And here I am.’*

* From The Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams.

The Wisdom of Soup

“Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen!
Who for such dainties would not stoop!
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!”

OK, none of it was green, and I don’t own a tureen, but it certainly was a week for soup. Hubbie had his wisdom teeth out last Tuesday, so nourishing, comforting and squishy foods were in order. Thus the soup. By the end of the week I could throw together a pot of soup with only a brief glimpse at a recipe for seasoning ideas and preparation shortcuts. Not bad, as until last week I hadn’t made many pureed soups.

I usually avoided pureed soups, as I thought that they were high in fat, boring and took too much effort for an item that could easily be purchased in a can. I’m happy to say I got over those ideas, and the results were quite good. There’s nothing boring about pear and gouda soup or Senegalese peanut soup. Even the more mundane soups like potato-leek and cream of mushroom were worth the extra effort.

The soups I prepared at the beginning of the week probably were higher in fat than necessary. By the end of the week, when I realized how flexible the recipes were, I started experimenting with lower fat ingredients. The last two soups had no dairy in them whatsoever, where at the beginning of the week I was using cream.

One of my biggest concerns about making pureed soup was the clean-up. For some reason I had the idea that these soups had to be pureed in a proper blender rather than with an immersion blender. We don’t have a dishwasher, and I’m not a big fan of cleaning small appliances. With this in mind I was hesitant to try making pureed soups, particularly last week when my blender was already being heavily used for smoothies. The idea of cleaning the blender several times a day was off-putting. Fortunately, I tried my immersion blender. It worked just fine, and is much easier to clean.

Best of all the soups were economical. All yielded more than one meal, and most could be made with local ingredients. I was glad I had planned ahead and made my own broth for freezing. In spite of this, by the end of the week I had exhausted my “stock” and had to use prepared broth. This added a bit to the expense, particularly since I opted for organic broth as opposed to the store brand. Still, it was worth the extra few cents for the satisfaction of knowing what was going into my soups.

While I’m happy that hubbie is on the mend and is now able to eat chewable foods, I’m also pleased that I had this chance to experiment with soups. Amazingly, I’m still not tired of it, even considering the vast quantities we consumed last week, and I’m looking forward to testing some of the recipes I found on the internet. Except for the mock turtle, of course.

“Soo-oop of the e-e-evening,
Beautiful, beautiful Soup!”

Ooops

In spite of my best efforts, today's post is not yet ready, and I am in desperate need of a nap before I head off to work. Look for my exciting saga of soup tomorrow. In the mean time, here is a picture of my cat to keep you amused until I can proofread and post today's article.


And if you just can't wait for thoughtful articles about what and how we eat, may I recommend "The Goods Are Odd" until I feel more awake. See you tomorrow.

PS I didn't realize that Sage's post was also about soup when I linked to her blog. Must be a case of great minds. :)

Victory!

Look! Pie! I made it myself, with supervision of course. After reading about my lamentable inability to make pie pastry, a friend offered to teach me. She came over on Friday night and we made pie, drank martinis and played on the Wii. I had my doubts about the outcome of this lesson, particularly when the pie took forever to bake. We were using frozen sliced apples, and I had forgotten to defrost them in advance. I am proud to report that in spite of the delay there were no tantrums on my part. Might have had something to do with the martinis.

The apples kind of melded together to make caramelly, custardy filling similar to a pecan pie, but the crust stayed intact. If you look closely, you can even see the bottom crust in the picture. I’m not sure if you would call it “flaky”, but it was tender enough to cut with a fork, and it didn’t require chiselling to liberate a slice from the pan. A huge improvement over pies I have made in the past. I’m quite pleased with the results, particularly since the lesson has left me with enough pastry in the freezer for three more single-crust pies. We didn’t attempt a double-crust pie. That seemed too ambitious. I hope I can remember all I learned the next time I attempt to make pie pastry.

(Note: The apples we used in the pie were from the same friend's tree. She had given me an enormous box of apples in the fall. I made some into applesauce, which I then froze. Yummy on oatmeal in the morning. The rest I sliced, tossed with a bit of lemon juice, and froze. I didn't know what I was going to do with them at the time. I never would have guessed that they would end up in a pie.)

Goal!!

Late post today, as I spent several hours shopping for new clothes. I finally got tired of wearing clothes that were too big. Yep, that’s right. I’m several sizes smaller than I was at this time last year. I couldn’t believe how many sizes smaller. I would have thought that I was a victim of vanity sizing if I hadn’t been shopping with a slender friend. We were trying on the same clothes. OK, often the clothes were too big for her, but they weren't that big.


So, what does this have to do with how I’m eating? Well, one of my goals when I started this blog was to change my eating habits without getting fat. At that time I had lost 22 pounds with Weight Watchers' online program, and I really didn't want to find them again. By September I was tired of counting points, and I had been inspired by what I had read in Michael Pollen’s In Defense of Food. (I will mention his book often in this blog. After reading the library’s copy, I was so impressed I bought my own. In hardcover. Gotta get my money’s worth.) I wanted to “eat food, not too much, mostly plants” and maintain my new weight. I’m pleased to say that I have. Thus my new wardrobe, and this brief , late and boastful post.


Oh, and I will tell you if the weight reappears, but between the new clothes and today’s admissions, I’m going to my best to avoid having that kind of news to share.

Score!

While I was at work on Saturday, my hubbie braved the crowds at the farmer’s market and scored some beautiful locally-grown produce. How cool is that? For $20 he got purple kale, a bag of walnuts, salad greens, beets with the tops on, leeks and shallots. It was all so amazingly perfect that I had to take a picture.



Of course, by the time I thought to take the picture we had already eaten half of the salad greens. It was the best salad I’ve had in ages.

I was so excited by the selection that I had trouble deciding what to make. What a wonderful dilemma! I got over that in a hurry though, and got cooking. First I roasted the leeks and the shallots with other vegetables then used the roasted veggies to make broth. I then cooked beet tops, kale and rice noodles in a bit of the broth and topped that with baked salmon steaks. I’ve never made anything like it before, and was surprised at how well the meal turned out, particularly since I didn’t exactly follow the recipe that inspired the meal.

The broth and the salmon dish hardly made a dent in the farmer’s market haul. I still had enough broth and kale left to make smoked sausage, kale and potato soup. Again, I didn’t exactly follow the recipe , but the results were yummy. I served the soup with a side of salad greens topped with cold steamed beets, walnuts and some feta cheese left from a tart I made earlier in the week.

It’s been inspiring to see how what I have in the house works with the farmer’s market goodies. So far all I’ve had to purchase was the smoked garlic sausage and the salmon. The garlic sausage was made by a local butcher, and for less than $5 I got enough for 3 meals. The wild salmon steaks were slightly over $2 each. They were small, but with the broth, greens and noodles they were enough. The best part is we had two delicious meals, leftovers, 1 ½ litres of broth to freeze, a few snacks, several salads and I still have produce from the farmer’s market trip. I’m so pleased. Pleased with the results, pleased with the value, but most of all I’m pleased with my hubbie for his shopping expertise. I wonder if I can convince him to go again this Saturday?

Hope

News this week has left me feeling hopeful. This is unusual. I normally approach the news with healthy skepticism. OK, more like cynicism leaning toward paranoia, so it’s even more surprising that events of the week have inspired feelings of optimism.

It started early in the week when I read that Toronto council has approved a local-food procurement policy. The policy will begin in city day cares where 50% of the food served will be from local growers and producers. As I grew up in Southwestern Ontario, and think highly of food grown in that region, this was welcome news. Local farmers should be supported by government choices. The fact that several members of my family earn their living either directly or indirectly from farming added to my satisfaction in this story.

My mood was further enhanced when I discovered that the mayor of London, England is encouraging Londoners to grow their own food, and that County Councillors on the Isle of Anglesey in Wales are reviewing food service contracts to ensure schools are serving more local foods.

A story from the Dallas Morning News was the one that surprised me most. After eight years of George W. Bush, I have some fairly negative and stereotypical views of Texans. I was delighted to find that a member of Slow Food Dallas is creating an online farmer’s market. (I will admit that I was also delighted to find that there is a Slow Food Dallas. That blew a few preconceived notions out of the water.) The website will allow consumers to connect with local farmers and ranchers. I know it says a lot about my narrow-minded view of the world, but I found this story greatly encouraging.

Of course, my optimism comes with doubts. I am still a cynic at heart, but even a cynic can hope. I hope that all of these plans can be carried out responsibly. I hope that the plans are so successful that they expand and spread to other communities and organizations. The local-food issue is in the spotlight right now, so I’m also hoping that the plans are sustainable and can survive the next hot topic and the next election. I realize that is a frightening number of things to hope for, but given my current mood, I think it can be done.