Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. 
— Plato

Poem of the Week

when one is taken with another,
where does one go?
lying on my side,
with only a window pane to separate me from the trees,
can’t tell if they’re blowing, or the house is moving
maybe the trees are just bending down for a kiss
if I were a tree who would I kiss?
if I were me?
what is subtracted from the equation?
in the economy of love,
how does a sapling grow?
do we (n)ever not get what we didn’t pay for?

by Cristina Paul

Crispy-Skinned Roasted Lemon Chicken

Serves 3 to 4

Use fresh lemon juice to achieve true lemon flavor for the delicious sauce that accompanies this dish. The baking soda mixture that is rubbed on the chicken’s skin will produce a wonderful crispiness. A sharp pair of kitchen shears will make removing the backbone of the chicken easy. Use a non-stick aluminum roasting pan for best results.

INGREDIENTS:
2 ½ teaspoons table salt, divided
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
3 tablespoons grated lemon zest, plus 1/3 cup juice from 3 lemons
1 teaspoon sugar
1 whole (3 ½ - 4 pound) chicken, butterflied (backbone removed)
2 cups chicken broth
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 teaspoons minced fresh parsley, savory, or thyme

DIRECTIONS:
1. Adjust oven rack to upper-middle position and heat the oven to 450 degrees. Combine 1 1/2 teaspoons salt, baking powder and pepper in a small bowl; set aside. In another bowl, combine the remaining teaspoon of salt, lemon zest, and sugar and set aside.
2. Place the chicken breast-side down on a work surface. Using kitchen shears, cut along both sides of the backbone of your chicken to remove the backbone. Flip the chicken so the breasts face up and press down on the chicken breasts with your palm to somewhat flatten the chicken. Trim any excess fat.
3. Pat the chicken dry with paper towels. Using fingers or the handle of a wooden spoon, carefully separate the skin from thighs and breast. Rub 2 tablespoons of the lemon zest mixture under the breast, thigh, and leg meat. Now, rub the chicken skin with the baking powder mixture, coating the entire surface evenly. Using a metal skewer, poke 15 to 20 holes in fat deposits on top of breast halves and thighs. Now place the chicken in a roasting pan. Combine the broth, lemon juice, and remaining zest mixture and pour around the chicken.
4. Roast until thigh meat registers 170 to 175 degrees, about 40 to 45 minutes. Transfer to a cutting board and let rest for twenty minutes.
5. Meanwhile, transfer the pan juices to a saucepan, whisk in butter, and parsley, savory, or thyme; and cook over low heat. Pour the sauce around the chicken on a serving platter. Garnish with lemon wedges and herbs if desired. Carve and serve the chicken.

***Butterflying the chicken helps it cook more evenly and quickly than a traditional roasted chicken.
**Baking powder is the ingredient responsible for the crisp skin of this chicken. Like baking soda, baking powder is a leavener (containing sodium bicarbonate) but it also contains a drying agent.
*Baking powder and baking soda are often used in baked goods. Baking soda alone can create a bitter taste unless countered by the acidity of another ingredient, such as buttermilk. Baking powder contains both an acid and a base and has an overall neutral effect in terms of taste.

Recipe by Cristina Paul

Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

I recently stayed at a bed and breakfast and realized that there is a funny etiquette that operates when you enter into this world of doilies and daisies. I loooooove B&Bin' it - and not just because I get to use the abbreviation as a verb. I have a strange addiction to the conversation at the communal breakfast table. A B&B is a whimsical mingling of people in close quarters, friendly innkeepers, and the serendipity of finding yourself amongst other curious travelers that have chosen this same slice of American pie. When I make may way to the breakfast table, I cross my fingers for a small number of guests so we can most effectively talk at each other. I don't care what type of cable-sweatered, weary traveler fate plops into the wooden chair across from me. The B&B beckons me to ¡EMBRACE! my fellow wanderers/wonderers - to tell them about the book I never wrote, my first crush, explain why I don't take sugar with my coffee but will add it to my tea, marvel at the local discoveries that I have or haven't yet made, realize that I REALLY like the fuddyduddies or freaks sitting within spitting distance. After an hour or two of relaxed rambling over fresh plates of fruit, I exchange emails with the honest intention of keeping in touch with these people who seemed to be so different. Now I feel irreversibly bound to my unlikely friends. If the vicissitudes of fate dropped me down on a plane seat next to this traveler, or my love of sending postcards miraculously brought me to the same post office, I would expect them to greet me by name and introduce me to a loved one. I really and truly believe that anyone I meet at a B&B will name their firstborn after me or at least beg their sons and daughters to do so.


Things I saw during my most recent travels:

The loveliest bird feeder ever
















                A happy bush

















Elephants on parade

Evolution in Indiana

I thought that species took ten thousand years
to gradually evolve new strategies
to deal with shifts in climate or environment,
but after two snow-free years in a row
the local robins all at once decided
to winter here instead of flying south.
I watched them pace my lawn in late November,
debating like small Hamlets with their instincts:
"It's way past time to migrate; why haven't I?"
Since, every fall, a few old feeble ones
decide they'd rather risk starvation here
than drop off dead of fatigue in Alabama,
at first I thought it was their kind I glimpsed
rummaging discarded Christmas trees
for grubs and squabbling with the greedy squirrels
stealing birdseed from my neighbor's feeder.
But then, one drizzly January walk,
I spotted dozens, looking sleek and healthy,
plucking worms who'd washed up on my sidewalk.
Why here, where I was forced to grub for money
all winter long, when they could fly away,
I wondered as they hopped out of my path.
Does flying hurt so much they'd rather shiver
and see the sun once every other week
than perch in palms swayed by an ocean breeze?
If I had wings, I'd use them…and on and on
I muttered as I trudged around the block
in pointless circles, just for exercise,
hands thrust into my pockets, arms tight to sides,
like some huge flightless bird, while overhead
the most successful members of my species
winged effortlessly southward in high Boeings
invisible from our side of the clouds —
we well-fed and hard-working flock of Dodos.

by Richard Cecil from Twenty First Century Blues

Winter Squash Soup with Sauteed Apples and Beer Bread

Three recipes for the price of one, people!
Serves 4 to 6

You’ll find many types of winter squash. Try something new like delicata, or kabocha for a different texture and flavor than the traditional acorn or butternut squash. A combination of different squashes is my favorite.

INGREDIENTS:
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 shallots, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 carrot, finely chopped
1 rib celery, very finely chopped
Bouquet garni (1 bay leaf, 1 sage leaf, 2 sprigs of thyme, 10 whole black peppercorns, tied together in cheesecloth)
3 pounds winter squash, peeled, seeded, and chopped
3 cups chicken stock or low-fat, reduced-sodium chicken broth
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tart apples, such as Granny Smith, peeled, cored, and diced
1 sprig thyme
1/4 cup heavy cream (optional)
1 teaspoon firmly packed dark brown sugar
3/4 teaspoon coarse salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground pepper

DIRECTIONS:
1. To prepare the soup, in a large, heavy-bottomed Dutch oven, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter over medium-low heat until foaming. Add the shallot, garlic, carrot, and celery. Cook, stirring frequently, until soft and translucent, about 3 minutes.
2. Add the bouquet garni, squash, and chicken stock. Season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil over high heat, decrease the heat to low, and simmer until the squash is tender, about 30 minutes.
3. Meanwhile, to cook the apples, in a skillet, heat the remaining 1 tablespoon of butter over medium heat. Add the diced apple and remaining sprig of thyme; season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the apple is tender and lightly caramelized, about 5 minutes. Set aside and keep warm.
4. Remove the bouquet garni and discard. In the Dutch oven, using an immersion blender, puree the soup to the consistency of your liking – chunkier if you prefer something rustic, smoother for something more refined. Alternatively, ladle the soup into a blender and puree until smooth a little at a time. Add the cream, brown sugar, salt and pepper.
5. Adjust seasoning and ladle immediately into warm bowls and garnish with the sautéed apples.

Beer Bread


Makes one 9 x 5 x 3-inch loaf

Different beers produce breads with different flavors and textures. This recipe calls for stout, producing a darker crumb and more complex flavor. It goes well with a hearty stew or pot roast. Lighter ale produces a lighter loaf and would be more appropriate with milder dishes such as this soup.

INGREDIENTS:
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted, plus more for the loaf pan
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/4 cup ground flax seeds
1 tablespoon baking powder
3 tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh herbs (use rosemary, thyme, tarragon, marjoram, or chives)
1 (12-ounce) bottle stout, at room temperature

DIRECTIONS:
1. Preheat the oven to 375 F. Brush one 9 x 5 x 3-inch loaf pan with some of the butter.
2. In a bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt. Add the beer and 2 tablespoons of the remaining melted butter, stirring just until combined. (The batter will be somewhat lumpy.)
3. Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan and drizzle with the remaining 2 tablespoons of melted butter. Bake until a skewer inserted into the center comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack to cool slightly, then invert onto the rack to cool until warm. Serve warm or at room temperature.

***There is no fixed recipe for a bouquet garni, although most recipes do include parsley, thyme, and a bay leaf. If you don’t have cheesecloth, use a tea-brewing ball when making a bouquet garni. Just stuff the herbs and peppercorns into the ball.

Recipe by Cristina Paul

Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

I feel like Walker Evans with heightened senses (think amplified fly buzzing, a keen awareness of miniscule sounds and movements like the hard swallows that accompany Adam's apple disturbances, clicking of pens, the feathery-butterfly sound of eyelashes touching, and quiet sipping of coffee) while observing folks during my daily commute. Here are some of Mr. Walker's photographs of his fellow commuters. Plus some of my thoughts about the types I've stumbled into, over, but (fortunately) never under while aboard the train.

There are those who shut their eyes tightly so they look like the puckered part of a citrus where the fruit meets the branch. These people usually rock back and forth subtly as if they were trying to sense the motion of the earth while aboard. In their heads, they recite angry, imaginary rosaries and open their eyes just in time to bumble off to their memorized destinations.

There are others who speak your language with "American" accents, but they don't sound like you. They talk like people who leave the TV on, even when they have no iintention of watching or being in the same room as the humming set. It's a comfort to them to busy themselves and nearby strangers with the soundtrack of the quotidian - cereal box words.

Then there are the suspicious coveters. They want whatever you got. These aren't always young, catty women spying another younger, cattier woman's newer designer purse or shoes either. Sometimes they are older foreigners with no carrot-stick incentive to take interest in other people's stuff. They're nondescript limbs attached at acute angles to empty and envious hearts that long for the gadget peeping out of someone's bag, the watch on the arm that is clutching a pole to steady a body that no one will remember.

My least favorite species of commuters are the ailers. I especially despise the sneaky ones who sit next to you or stand above you as you are seated, breathing normally without any visible accoutrements of the sickly. Then BAM like a fart in church, they hack up something mucilaginous, whip out a covert pocket-pack of tissues (or worse, a yellowed hanky) and continue to ooze their diseases through pores, orifices, and contaminated clothing which, by now, have taken on a scent (imagined or real) of the ill. They are the reason I wake up an hour earlier and wait around work reading many chapters before making my way home on a slightly less crowded train.