It is Christmas Eve and I have been planning for tomorrow's feast since before Thanksgiving. It would not be exaggeration to say that a large percentage of my thoughts for the past month and a half have revolved around planning for and imagining my Christmas Dinner Extravaganza. This year is an at-home year and I volunteered to host our urban family for Christmas dinner. I have dreamed up an Italian theme and proceeded to methodically and painstakingly engineer all of the details. The past two weekends have been consumed with pre-making almost 200 ravioli with Jax, along with a lovely steamy marinara sauce. The past three days have revolved around meticulous shopping for the very best ingredients at the farmers market and various grocery and specialty stores. Today started and ended with cooking joyfully in my kitchen -- soup and tiramisu. And now, all that remains is some prep work and hosting the Best Christmas Party Ever. Yum.
The tradition in my family, as in most families I am sure, has long revolved around food on Christmas. We start at my Mom's house on Christmas eve. This happens to be the birthday of one of my "other mothers" who is also Jewish. As I grew up in the woods in a small town in Maine, this means that Marjie never had the opportunity to go out for a nice dinner on her birthday, as everything is closed. So my mom has been hosting the candle-lit birthday eve party every year since I can remember. Around 7 or so we light candles everywhere and turn out the lights and wait for our guests to arrive. Neighbors trudge up the snowy path to our door, stamping boots and shedding layers as they enter. We gather and mingle and snack and sip tea and wine. There is always a birthday cake baked specially by my mom, accompanied by sherry, which is a favorite of Marjie's. To me, this event is the epitome of Christmas spirit. A dark, snowy and cold evening warmed by flickering lights and close friends and laughter. As the years have passed the faces have changed and now there are tiny children among the celebratees, and the party wraps up a little earlier. But the heart of it remains the same -- friends and wine and chocolate and celebration.
Christmas morning is punctuated first by coffee and juice on my parents' bed while we open stockings. This favorite ritual is followed by a leisurely pajama breakfast of waffles made in an old cast iron waffle iron over the gas stove. Twenty or so years of practice have allowed Jack to hone his waffle skills and have made this scattered and delicious tradition one of may favorites. Grapefruit, maple syrup from Vermont or Canada, yogurt, fruit, tea and coffee. This meal lasts at least an hour or two and most of the time our gift thank-you lists are sticky with syrup by the time we are done.
Breakfast and gifts transition in to preparations for the next, and final, stage of Christmas: dinner at the Block's house. This dinner became a tradition before I can remember and has a unique place in my heart as a marker of a true Christmas celebration. In the early afternoon we gather ourselves and our contributions to dinner -- invariably including butternut squash soup and cheesecake -- and head out into the cold for the 45 minute drive. Dinner at the Block's is special in that it looks very much like a scene from a Rockwell Christmas card, or a Martha Stewart photo spread. An old parsonage restored to New England glory, ladies in long skirts bustling with aprons in the kitchen, men with glasses of Scotch eating cocktail shrimp around the Christmas tree. The tree is always twice as large, full, and festive as any other tree. Dinner becomes invariably delayed as everyone pitches in, cocktail in hand and visits and catches up from the year before. 12 or 15 guests in the norm and make for a vibrant evening and a cosmopolitan conversation in every room. Dinner is served in full ceremony with all of us side-by-side around the big dining table. Plates and glasses with gold-leaf edges, perfect place settings with each piece of silver in its correct orientation. A toast by the head of household, most often including a Jewish prayer as well as a Christmas blessing accompanied by one of those truly good bottles of wine that are both luxury and luscious. The first course is the curried squash soup served in dainty soup cups -- smooth and warm and creamy and sweet. This is followed by a truly impressive platter of holiday meat -- crown roast, trussed turkey, roast beef -- and every side dish appropriate. Dinner lasts forever, extended indefinitely by stories, verbal sparring, jokes, and reminiscences. At some point the plates are cleared and a palate cleanser of frozen fruit salad is served. Perfect in its molded form, icy and sweet and lush with chunks of strawberry and peach, this has long been my favorite dish of the meal. After the chilled course we retire to the kitchen to form a brigade of dedicated dishwashers painstakingly washing and drying and putting away each dish and glass and pot and pan. The camaraderie of dishwashers is such that it is more a place to congregate and share stories than a place of work. Late in the evening we wind up our festivities with coffee and pie and fond hugs goodbye. This may be the most elegant meal of the year for me.
So, this year, far away from my family traditions I am forging some new ones of my own. My dinner tomorrow will be in the leisurely luxury spirit of the Blocks and infused with the raucous joy and fun of my urban family. Christmas ravioli, fresh farmer salad, flavors and smells and celebratory cocktails will all fuse to make a new Christmas tradition, perhaps.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Patio Harvest: Greens with Radishes
The Patio Farm has been flourishing -- if slowly, given the lack of direct sun in the "middle" of winter here in the Sonoran Desert. The cooler weather and some recent spatterings of rain have greened everything up and made my plants lush and very edible looking. Time for a harvest meal. After all, what is the point of growing your own food if you don't intend to eat it?
One of my recent favorite dinner dishes lately has been greens with radishes. It is a simple idea, and one that is appropriately seasonal in Arizona. I realize that this is NOT the time of year for radishes for all of the northeast-dwellers, but you can either use your imagination, or break down and buy a bunch of them from the grocery store to go with your in-season winter greens.
I have been blessed this year with a plenitude of radishes, first from the Farm, and now from my patio garden as well. Radishes are not a vegetable that comes to mind too often for most folks, but they have come to really resonate with me and are my mascot vegetable as well. There is something so charming about a dainty little French Breakfast radish, a bouquet of multi-colored Easter Egg radishes, or the intense peppery and crisp bite into the magenta heart of a Watermelon radish. With all of the radishes available to me this fall I had to find some hew ways to eat them, besides adding to salads ... and thus Greens with Radishes was invented in my kitchen one evening. Since then, this recipe and its many variations have become a staple of weeknight dinner.
Greens with Radishes
1 bunch greens (kale, chard, spinach, etc.)
4 or 5 cloves garlic, crushed
5 or 6 radishes, sliced
olive oil
lemon juice (or vinegar)
optional: a handful of cashews or walnuts
optional: dry white wine
Wash the greens, remove tough stems, and chop the leaves into thin ribbons, or small pieces (an inch by an inch). Heat the oil in a pan wide or deep enough to accommodate the raw greens (they will shrink a lot during cooking). Add the garlic and salt & pepper and a splash of water (or wine) and cover and simmer for a few minutes to soften and mellow the garlic. Add the radishes (and nuts, if using) and then the greens and cover again. Toss the greens occasionally and cook until tender and bright green (only a few minutes for most tender greens). Remove from heat and add a splash of lemon juice or vinegar. Serve immediately and eat them all ... it doesn't get any better than this!
One of my recent favorite dinner dishes lately has been greens with radishes. It is a simple idea, and one that is appropriately seasonal in Arizona. I realize that this is NOT the time of year for radishes for all of the northeast-dwellers, but you can either use your imagination, or break down and buy a bunch of them from the grocery store to go with your in-season winter greens.
I have been blessed this year with a plenitude of radishes, first from the Farm, and now from my patio garden as well. Radishes are not a vegetable that comes to mind too often for most folks, but they have come to really resonate with me and are my mascot vegetable as well. There is something so charming about a dainty little French Breakfast radish, a bouquet of multi-colored Easter Egg radishes, or the intense peppery and crisp bite into the magenta heart of a Watermelon radish. With all of the radishes available to me this fall I had to find some hew ways to eat them, besides adding to salads ... and thus Greens with Radishes was invented in my kitchen one evening. Since then, this recipe and its many variations have become a staple of weeknight dinner.
Greens with Radishes
1 bunch greens (kale, chard, spinach, etc.)
4 or 5 cloves garlic, crushed
5 or 6 radishes, sliced
olive oil
lemon juice (or vinegar)
optional: a handful of cashews or walnuts
optional: dry white wine
Wash the greens, remove tough stems, and chop the leaves into thin ribbons, or small pieces (an inch by an inch). Heat the oil in a pan wide or deep enough to accommodate the raw greens (they will shrink a lot during cooking). Add the garlic and salt & pepper and a splash of water (or wine) and cover and simmer for a few minutes to soften and mellow the garlic. Add the radishes (and nuts, if using) and then the greens and cover again. Toss the greens occasionally and cook until tender and bright green (only a few minutes for most tender greens). Remove from heat and add a splash of lemon juice or vinegar. Serve immediately and eat them all ... it doesn't get any better than this!
Monday, December 20, 2010
Pot Luck
I attended an event recently that brought tons of memories back to me from childhood: a potluck. Now that I reflect, it has been many, many years since I have been to a true Pot Luck. Of course, there have been dinner parties, office parties, events with friends, picnics that have included an element of contribution by all the attendees – but there is always some grand plan, some orchestration as to who shall bring what so as to fill out a complete and balanced menu. The dinner that I attended was different. This was a true potluck in the sense that it relied completely on faith and on LUCK.
Now, my worst fear of any potluck is that the buffet table ends up filled with Doritos, bags of cookies and store-bought potato salad. And this is why hosts so often tend to carefully plan and delegate their potlucks these days. Perhaps many of us are so far from being cooks any more, or too busy or lazy to come up with something creative to bring to dinner. Or many of us are afraid that our tastes may not match those of others, or the myriad food preferences or allergies or taboos has simply gotten too complex to deal with and so we either default to the easiest crowd pleaser (chips and dip!) or we overly plan to avoid offending someone’s palate.
A true potluck, however, is one which succeeds based on a blind trust in the community to provide exactly what is needed. In that sense, a pot luck is a mirror reflection of the community gathered together to break bread. It reflects the values and tastes and traditions and creativity of those involved. Do we trust that there will be main dishes, as well as drinks and desserts and finger foods? Do we rely upon luck that not everyone will bring lasagna, or chili or salad? Well, it depends on the diversity of those with whom we gather. A community is one held together by bonds of similarities, threads of commonalities, mutual respect and interest, and which values the unique contributions of each individual. A true, dynamic community then should produce a wonderfully varied and flavorful meal complete in its scope and reflective of the contributors. When we are a part of that kind of community – not just a group of people, but a COMMUNITY – collaboration in the form of shared food truly becomes a feast and a cultural exchange.
I am reminded of the weekly potlucks that I was a part of growing up. The community was diverse, passionate, creative, subversive and idealistic. Sunday nights the tribe would gather at one place or another and a table would miraculously fill with food and drink. From a child’s perspective, the table was often an array of mystery foods – many of which were brown, hard, chewy, and clearly healthy. There were crusty home-baked dark breads that took serious time and mastication to get through a slice. There were all-natural casseroles, grains, things grown in people’s gardens, or fermented in their cellars. Jugs of homemade cider, mason jars of preserves or pickles, perhaps a very dense chocolate cake made with honey and whole wheat flour. The mélange of food was always a meal, however, and never the same twice. Each family or person contributed their own spirit in a dish and the afternoon and evening were spent mixing foods side by side and people side by side into a community feast. All were provided for. All contributed. Each taste was unique and complimentary and took its rightful place. Each person had their own place in the group which formed a kaleidoscopic view of the moment in time in a small community in the woods in Maine. As far back as we go, humans have been gathering to nurture one another by exchanging food, by breaking and sharing bread.
It was a refreshing reminder that community can still exist that can support a true potluck. I tasted local-cured olive tapenade, heirloom lentils from Italy with local greens, pierogies, ravioli, green chile stew, chickpeas with chewy grains, raspberry trifle, peach pie, local cider and coffee with Kahlua – to recall only a fraction. But, more than the exchange of food, there was also an exchange of ideas and passions – gardening tips, travel stories, recipes, life experiences. For a brief evening, bundled in jackets and eating by candlelight, there seemed to be the spirit of a vital community still glowing brightly.
Now, my worst fear of any potluck is that the buffet table ends up filled with Doritos, bags of cookies and store-bought potato salad. And this is why hosts so often tend to carefully plan and delegate their potlucks these days. Perhaps many of us are so far from being cooks any more, or too busy or lazy to come up with something creative to bring to dinner. Or many of us are afraid that our tastes may not match those of others, or the myriad food preferences or allergies or taboos has simply gotten too complex to deal with and so we either default to the easiest crowd pleaser (chips and dip!) or we overly plan to avoid offending someone’s palate.
A true potluck, however, is one which succeeds based on a blind trust in the community to provide exactly what is needed. In that sense, a pot luck is a mirror reflection of the community gathered together to break bread. It reflects the values and tastes and traditions and creativity of those involved. Do we trust that there will be main dishes, as well as drinks and desserts and finger foods? Do we rely upon luck that not everyone will bring lasagna, or chili or salad? Well, it depends on the diversity of those with whom we gather. A community is one held together by bonds of similarities, threads of commonalities, mutual respect and interest, and which values the unique contributions of each individual. A true, dynamic community then should produce a wonderfully varied and flavorful meal complete in its scope and reflective of the contributors. When we are a part of that kind of community – not just a group of people, but a COMMUNITY – collaboration in the form of shared food truly becomes a feast and a cultural exchange.
I am reminded of the weekly potlucks that I was a part of growing up. The community was diverse, passionate, creative, subversive and idealistic. Sunday nights the tribe would gather at one place or another and a table would miraculously fill with food and drink. From a child’s perspective, the table was often an array of mystery foods – many of which were brown, hard, chewy, and clearly healthy. There were crusty home-baked dark breads that took serious time and mastication to get through a slice. There were all-natural casseroles, grains, things grown in people’s gardens, or fermented in their cellars. Jugs of homemade cider, mason jars of preserves or pickles, perhaps a very dense chocolate cake made with honey and whole wheat flour. The mélange of food was always a meal, however, and never the same twice. Each family or person contributed their own spirit in a dish and the afternoon and evening were spent mixing foods side by side and people side by side into a community feast. All were provided for. All contributed. Each taste was unique and complimentary and took its rightful place. Each person had their own place in the group which formed a kaleidoscopic view of the moment in time in a small community in the woods in Maine. As far back as we go, humans have been gathering to nurture one another by exchanging food, by breaking and sharing bread.
It was a refreshing reminder that community can still exist that can support a true potluck. I tasted local-cured olive tapenade, heirloom lentils from Italy with local greens, pierogies, ravioli, green chile stew, chickpeas with chewy grains, raspberry trifle, peach pie, local cider and coffee with Kahlua – to recall only a fraction. But, more than the exchange of food, there was also an exchange of ideas and passions – gardening tips, travel stories, recipes, life experiences. For a brief evening, bundled in jackets and eating by candlelight, there seemed to be the spirit of a vital community still glowing brightly.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
1 day in the life of a novice chef
12 hours cooking
3 girlfriends together by chance on a weeknight
2 bars, 1 banoffee pie, and too many new faces to remember
2:30 haphazard bedtime
6:30 wake up on best friend’s couch
½ cup of coffee to start the day before sunrise
3 minute drive back to the kitchen
40 slices of mozzarella and tomato shingled in a spiral on a bed of kale
96 pounds of artichoke spinach dip made in 5 heavy batches
1:00 late lunch of salad, rice and chocolate-covered strawberry
30 pounds of assorted cheese cut in cubes for plating
4 dishwashers playing prep cook
83 pounds of Dijon potato salad in plastic bus tubs
35 pounds of crudite – peppers, tomatoes, carrots, celery, cucumber and squash
2 quarts of Cesar dressing that breaks at the last minute, oil drops glistening and popping
10 minutes to clean the station for tomorrow
1 bundle of kitchen towels stashed away for the morning
13:03 hours punched on the timeclock
25 minute drive home in the dark
1 candle lighting up the patio garden
1 husband and 2 cats to welcome home
too many blessings to count
3 girlfriends together by chance on a weeknight
2 bars, 1 banoffee pie, and too many new faces to remember
2:30 haphazard bedtime
6:30 wake up on best friend’s couch
½ cup of coffee to start the day before sunrise
3 minute drive back to the kitchen
40 slices of mozzarella and tomato shingled in a spiral on a bed of kale
96 pounds of artichoke spinach dip made in 5 heavy batches
1:00 late lunch of salad, rice and chocolate-covered strawberry
30 pounds of assorted cheese cut in cubes for plating
4 dishwashers playing prep cook
83 pounds of Dijon potato salad in plastic bus tubs
35 pounds of crudite – peppers, tomatoes, carrots, celery, cucumber and squash
2 quarts of Cesar dressing that breaks at the last minute, oil drops glistening and popping
10 minutes to clean the station for tomorrow
1 bundle of kitchen towels stashed away for the morning
13:03 hours punched on the timeclock
25 minute drive home in the dark
1 candle lighting up the patio garden
1 husband and 2 cats to welcome home
too many blessings to count
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