It wasn't the recipes that got me excited when I turned the pages of "Minnesota Lunch: From Pasties to Banh Mi," a new book edited by James Norton and published by Minnesota Historical Society Press. Norton, editor of The Heavy Table, a wonderful food website focused on the Upper Midwest that I read regularly, stayed at my house one night while he was doing research on pasties and collecting stories for "Minnesota Lunch: From Pasties to Banh Mi." That's not what got me excited.
As much as I try to eat foods that are as local as possible, there are some edibles from faraway places that I just don't want to be without. Call me spoiled, and I will agree. I savored my first taste of sweet, ripe and juicy mango during a trip to Jamaica when I was in college. I watched as the women in Ocho Rios walked the streets (this was way before it became a commercialized tourist attraction), balancing baskets of ruby-colored mangoes on their heads. One day, my roommate and I bought one of those mysterious fruits and took it back to the place we were staying.
Watercress often goes unnoticed in the produce department at the grocery store, maybe because there's usually not much of it. Its scarcity could be the result of supply and demand.
I can remember sitting in front of the television set with my dad when Shirley Temple, the famous, cute little dimpled and curly-haired child star of the 1930s and '40s appeared on the screen. By this time, she was very adult and had moved from acting to politics. "She's no spring chicken, anymore, but she still has that sparkle," my dad commented, meaning she was no longer young and still looked good.
I've had crème brulee on my mind since last November when a middle school science teacher borrowed my kitchen torch to make pumpkin crème brulee with her students. I remember thinking at the time that if I ever had a science teacher who did that, well, who knows - I may have been a food scientist rather than a food writer. Crème brulee's reputation as a complicated dessert is misleading. I think it's the French name, which literally means burnt cream, that ups its intimidation factor.
It's been surprising to me how natural it feels to be preparing very satisfying evening meals each week that do not include meat. About a year ago I made a conscious decision to not only take on the Meatless Monday challenge, but to try to have at least two meatless meals a week. It was a decision based on doing a small part to help care for the planet and give a big boost to personal health and wellness. As the Lenten season was approaching, I began thinking of all those Fridays from the past, when my family was young and we strictly observed abstinence from meat.
The mention of granola often brings visions of health. All those oats tumbled together with nuts, seeds, sometimes honey and often some dried fruits -- how could it be anything but health food, right? It's worth a closer look. When you mix up your own granola, you know exactly what is in it as far as sugar, salt and fat. When you purchase commercially produced granola, it's a good idea to check out the nutritional information on the package before you take it home and make it a daily meal.
As a child, I remember going out to the chicken coop with my grandma when I visited her and my grandpa at their Indiana farm. We'd walk through an area of the farmyard reserved for rambunctious geese as they honked wildly and flapped their strong wings around my legs. My grandma would protect me as she hurried me along toward the old wooden chicken coop.
"What's for supper tonight?" It's a question my husband frequently poses to me during an afternoon phone call from his office. Occasionally, the answer he hears on his end of the phone is, "I'm not really sure." The other day I suggested we eat the leftover Moroccan Chickpea and Sweet Potato Tagine that I'd packed into the refrigerator.
My dad's sister made the best kolacky in the world. That's what I've always thought. I never did have the opportunity to watch my Aunt Elinor make the fist-size, eat-out-of-hand coffee cakes, but when we had dinner at her house, I couldn't help waiting with anticipation for the minute my aunt would walk into the dining room carrying a large plate of her homemade kolacky. Each chubby round of sweet yeast dough was as light as a fluffy marshmallow in my hand.