Trying New Foods

 I’ve found that the only way to grow as a cook and gardener is to try new things and stretch myself.  This results in eating some meals that I try to forget and killing plants.   Last week, I tried two new dishes at two restaurants that I enjoy and regularly frequent and I absolutely hated the food.  Only my manners prevented me from asking for some lemon water or soap to wash out my mouth.

Revulsion is a strange and fascinating response that is best shared.  As a teenager, our high school marching band went on tour to Victoria Island for a parade.  I remember the day that we spent exploring China Town.  A fellow student, a trombone player--if you can imagine, purchased a box of sugar cane juice and almost spat it out after trying it.  He exclaimed, “This is awful!  Do you want to try it?”  

And the box made it’s way around the entire bus and we all squinched our faces up in disgust and only afterwards did someone read the box and point out that it had passed it’s expiration date.  Ahh…that explains it, we all nodded together.  Whenever I taste something awful, I always offer to share the experience.  Fortunately, it doesn’t happen very often.

 I went out to lunch with my friend, Jill, last Monday and I led her astray when I suggested that we try the Spanish Posole for lunch at Roots Restaurant.  I’ve been wanting to try Posole after volunteering with a lovely lady from Spain that told me all about her cooking style as we weeded, and she said that Posole was her specialty.  So, when the young man on the phone at Roots, told me that Posole was the lunch soup special, I felt compelled to try it.  I took pictures of the dish and took my first bite and thought to myself, ‘ewww!’.  But, I tried to smile politely at poor Jill.  I really do hope that she forgives me.  It tasted like over boiled chicken with bland bits of hominy and unbalanced spice.  It tasted brown and weird.  Not my thing at all.  Poor Jill. I ordered their fantastic creme brûlée to try and make it up to her.  

 And then on Saturday, My Pirate and I dropped by Sushiland for like the millionth time.  I’ve been on a wild seared salmon and miso soup kick that even has the sushi chefs shaking their heads at me in bemusement.  Susie, the hostess, hugs me when I come in.  This is getting embarrassing.  Anyways, there we were eating our sushi, when the gentleman beside us asked for sea urchin.  I’ve always wanted to try sea urchin!  

So, I ordered the fresh sea urchin.  And it arrived quivering on my plate looking like the insides of a slug cut in half, with the definition of a monkey brain.  I threw it back, and it coated the inside of my mouth like raw liver with a strong bitter seafood flavor and I just couldn’t escape it.  People like this stuff?  Absolutely revolting.  And as I tried to chew my way through and swallow it, I offered My Pirate the other bite.  And he took it, the poor chump.  So, we both sat there trying to politely mask our revulsion.  We laughed in the car all the way home.

What new dishes have you tried lately? 

I Might Be Catching A Cold SOUP

Tonight, after a fantastic weekend of being spoiled rotten by My Pirate; my throat is feeling itchy and thick, my nose is running intermittently, and I’m coughing up chunks of phlegm.  There is only one thing to do:  make soup.  And not just any soup, but a nutritiously balanced soup, because my new nutritionist, Olivia at Nourish Northwest, will be asking.  I just love that about her.  It’s moments like these that make me grateful for my obsession with hoarding homemade chicken stock.

I dug through my freshly replenished kitchen since payday was on Friday.  And I quickly compiled a soup of onions, carrots, celery, cauliflower, kale, and the whole grain farro.  This is the first time that I’m trying farro in soup.   I seasoned the soup with saffron, salt, red pepper flakes, and the juice from a left over wedge of blood orange.  I even snapped a few clumsy shots of the soup with my iphone.  The soup’s burbling away on the stove top right now with the electric burner going creak, creak, creak.  The Assistant and Maya are laying on my feet.  I’ve diced up a chicken breast from a roasted Costco chicken and I’ll slip that in at the end, just to warm it through. 

I find chicken stock based soups to be an excellent way to trick my inner five year old into eating healthy.  Warm soup feels like a hug you can give yourself.  And when you fill it with nutritious veggies, whole grains, and lean protein, it is also a gift that you give your body.  I love soup. 

Hopefully, I’ll wake up feeling like a million bucks tomorrow morning, but if not, I’ll have a pot of soup to sustain me.  

Silent Saturday: A Thought on Happiness

"Happiness isn’t about being cheerful all of the time.  It’s being interested in things--finding out more about something, learning how to appreciate something better, incorporating something new that fits with what you already have."  Dr. John Sharp

My Practice Sour Cherry Pie

I’ve been meaning to tell you about the sour cherry pie I baked on Saturday with Warrant's song,  Cherry Pie, rattling around in my head. I was a complete ignoramus on the subject until last Saturday.  Sour cherry pie happens to be my friend Cindy’s favorite birthday dessert and her birthday is in February.  As you all know, I’m busy learning how to make my friend’s favorite birthday treats this year.  Because for me there is no greater cooking high than baking something special for my friends and family to enjoy. 

Anyway, I was nervous about this whole cherry pie thing.  Because, using great cherries is crucial and I didn’t know where I could find sour cherries.  Sour cherries are ripe for only two weeks a year.  My concern melted away after my first call to Joe’s Place, a local orchard; they sell sour cherries pitted and frozen in two-pound bags. Major score.  Then, I was left to pick a recipe for my first attempt. 

I turned to Melissa Clark’s sour cherry pie recipe because I enjoy her soup recipes.  Nonsensical criteria, I know…but it worked for me this time.  Her sour cherry pie recipe is delicious; I know this because I only got one bite of the whole stinkin’ pie.  And her tip to run the instant tapioca through a coffee grinder before adding it to the pie is brilliant.  It cut the tapioca into a fine flour and the juices of the pie looked beautiful without any white bits floating in it.

My friend Cindy loved the practice pie with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.  It was a little runny, just the way she likes it.  And next time, I’m going to use a little less sugar, to bring out the tartness of the cherries.  You really need to try this pie!  I know that I’m looking forward to having a whole slice to myself.  And make sure to bake two pies so you’ll have enough to share with your loved ones.

Please follow the link to Melissa Clark's sour cherry pie recipe!  

The Assistant loves to help make pie.

Visiting My Grandpa's Grave

Ever since I opened my Mom’s Christmas card and learned that my Grandpa had died last May, I have felt like scattered confetti.  I have missed appointments and meetings for no other reason than I simply forgot or forgot to even read my email.  And when a fellow master gardener wrote to ask if I was OK, I realized that my head is full of static and my heart is full of sorrow and I didn't know what to do.  So, yesterday, I found my Grandpa’s gravesite through an online search and I went to talk to him.

I picked him a winter bouquet of grass seed heads, ferns, and beauty berry from my garden.  And then we drove to the cemetery to find his grave. He is at rest alongside his fellow soldiers from World War II in a large spacious field surrounded by plantings.  And I was surprised that my Grandma, the love of his life for 70+ years, isn’t going to be buried beside him. 

For a fleeting moment, I remembered visiting this cemetery as a young child with my grandparents.  And while they placed flowers on my great grandmother’s grave, I ran through the grass doing cartwheels.  I remembered how the plaques felt underneath my young fingers before I understood what the plaques signified.

I stood in front of my Grandpa’s plaque, wiped it clean with my hand, and placed the bouquet on it.  Soft rain surrounded us, and I talked to him for the first time in 11 years.  I thanked him for all of the beautiful memories and even told him a few stories.  I updated him on My Kid being a teacher now.  Then I told my Grandpa that he had broke my heart, but that I have forgiven him. I ended with telling him about how much I love my garden (which he would hate!) and how he had passed down his gardening affliction/addiction to me.  I invited him to come visit my garden as long as he doesn’t prune it or power wash the moss off of everything.  That man adored his power washer.  I finished by telling him that I’d do my best to honor his memory. 

My Pirate held me close and then we left.  I took My Kid out for sushi and tea last night and we talked about our memories of my Grandpa.  And for a moment, I was overwhelmed with gratitude, to be sharing time with one of my favorite people. Then I went over and enjoyed time with my friends and watched American Idol.  This morning, I feel like my pieces are coming back together and I no longer feel lonely. I simply feel sad and free to remember the good times.