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I’m not a fan of chilly weather by any means, but I do enjoy the indulgences and rituals that the cold brings with it.  One of my personal favorite things on a nippy night happens to be curling up with a giant, steaming cup of tea.  I’m not a tea connaisseuse by any definition, but I know what I like and don’t like in a cup of tea.  One of my favorite go-to tea brands is Celestial Seasonings because they’re good at packing in a lot of flavor for a little price, plus they’re all natural.

Well, wasn’t I excited at the grocery store last Sunday to see a holiday flavor of Celestial Seasonings I hadn’t seen before, Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride.  Just the sight of the box made me look ahead to an unnamed evening in the coming week, my hands already mentally clutching my Pyrex two-cup pitcher (I use it as a tea mug, yes, I know it’s crazy, but it takes two hands to hold it so they both get warm).

This stuff tastes so bland and dull I can barely believe it.  Celestial Seasonings really missed the mark on this one.  Sugar cookies?!  Where?  I couldn’t even taste a crumb.  The resulting brew, even after seven minutes of steeping , was the color of pee, but with less flavor.  It’s like a couple of raw mushrooms and a vanilla bean walked past a cup of hot water without even waving to it.  Phooey.  I’ll take my Stash Creme Caramel Decaf Tea over this any day.

I made some rockin’ seafood chowder last night, and I didn’t need a lot of special ingredients to make it.  It’s true I had a few things hanging around that I normally don’t, but it was really good and cheap.  Here’s what I did.

In two tablespoons of olive oil and two tablespoons of butter, saute a quarter cup of chopped, smoked bacon.  When the bacon’s almost fully rendered, add a half cup each of chopped onion and celery, and a couple teaspoons of chopped garlic.  Season lightly with salt and pepper, and also add in an eighth teaspoon of cayenne and a quarter teaspoon of dried thyme.  When the vegetables are golden and soft, sprinkle a quarter cup of flour in and whisk for a few minutes to make a medium roux.  Still whisking, pour in a bottle of clam juice, a quart of water, a small can of PLAIN tomato sauce, and a quarter cup of sweet vermouth.  Your pot contents should be smooth and slightly thickened.  Lower heat to medium.  Dice two large potatoes and add them to the pot.  Stir it well, put a lid on, and let it simmer for twenty minutes to cook the potatoes.  Add in a pint of light cream, a drained can of baby shrimp, and a drained can of white crab (the cheaper stuff, not lump).  I happened to have a handful of scallops in the freezer, so I thawed those and added them as well.  I’m thinking that some canned chopped clams wouldn’t have hurt, either.  When the scallops were done (this took just a few minutes), I added some chopped parsley for freshness and color, tasted for seasoning, and added some more salt.  I turned off the heat and let the pot sit on the store for an hour for the flavors to blend, and just put the heat back on low fifteen minutes before dinner. 

The finished chowder had a pretty pink color, with a lovely balance of flavors.  The smokiness of the bacon was offset by the slight acid of the tomato sauce, with the sweetness of cream and vermouth holding up the seafood.  It was super yummy, the flavor was deep, rich, and interesting.  It was just the ticket on a chilly autumn night.

I’m figuring the whole pot cost about seven bucks to make.  My husband and I each ate two bowls, and we’ll easily get another dinner out of the leftovers.  With crusty wholegrain rolls and a spring mix salad, it was a warming, satisfying dinner that was not at all heavy.

Today I read that some species of predatory birds are threatened by lead poisoning, of all things.  The short version of the situation:  birds of prey often end up eating the “one that got away” from a hunter’s shot.  Over time, the continual ingestion of the lead shot can lead to infertility, illness, and death in condors, eagles, buzzards, et al.

Reading that article (a recent issue of National Geographic sitting in my doctor’s waiting room) made me sad for the birds, but it only reaffirmed the growing evidence that eating food that hasn’t been treated with chemicals is simply the wise thing to do, whether human or animal.  I’m not implying that industrially farmed food always contains chemical toxins, but when fruits and vegetables are cultivated on a large scale, chemicals are necessary to promote growth, discourage pests, and inhibit spoilage.  That’s the bottom line. 

It’s also good to know that local and regional produce often contain less chemicals because chances are a handful of actual humans watched over it as it grew.  While it might not be organic, a minimal amount of fertilizer and pesticide was probably used.  When farmers can visually inspect the health of a plant, they can know what needs to be done to keep it healthy  instead of blindly showering it with stuff.

I know I go through phases where I wonder if paying for local and organic food is worth the cost. Do you do that?  I look at the perfect, blemish-free commercial produce in the grocery store and then see how much cheaper it is than the local organic stuff.  But I need to continually remind myself that, number one, the local organics TASTE BETTER, and number two, they’re better for me.  As Joni Mitchell sang, “I’ll take the worm in my apple, give me the birds and the bees, please.”  Shop and eat the food that’s closest to home.  It might cost more, but in the long run it costs less.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I own and use a few pieces of kitchen equipment that are old, low-tech, and downright homely.  But I can’t bear to part with them because of how I acquired them or to whom they once belonged.  They don’t even work as well as they could, or once did.  But each time I use them, it’s a very special if brief connection to a person or a memory.  Does anyone else feel this way about kitchen tools they own, or am I the only one?

First, I have a crystal cake stand/punch bowl my mom gave me.  She is, thankfully, very much alive, but this item at one time was often used in our house when I was a kid.  It’s a clever construction wherein you can turn the stand upside down as well as the lid, and the lid’s rounded handle fits neatly in the base, making the lid a generous-sized punch bowl.  Many times I can recall seeing it filled with sherbet-and-soda concoctions, piled with cookies, or holding a cake.  Good times.  It wasn’t an expensive item, I know.  I can recall my mom getting it on sale at a a discount department store called Jamesway.  But it’s priceless to me because it evokes the feeling of childhood, family parties, and a belly full of good things.

I also regularly use my great Aunt Anna’s flour sifter.  I think it may sometime soon qualify as an antique, but for the fact that it’s definitely seen better days.  The handle sticks, it’s got a thin line of rust on its outside seam, and  it’s dented from getting banged around in a box the last time we moved.  But every time I use it I think of Aunt Anna…her poundcake, the unique old-lady smell of her house (very pleasant, actually, a combination of L’Air du Temps, laundry starch, and plant food), and the wooden crate of Coke in small glass bottles she always had around.  She could be a tough lady at times, but she liked to spoil me a little.  I loved staying overnight at her house.

I never got to know my husband’s grandmother Marie very well, something I feel a gentle pang of regret over because he was clearly so fond of her.  She passed away not long after he and I began to date.  Along with her stack of recipes, I was given the opportunity to choose things from among her bakeware.  To this day, I often reach for a cake pan she owned, another hybrid item.  It’s both a bundt pan and springform pan.  It has a bit of corrosion on the outside, but it’s a very heavy aluminum, the likes of which you just don’t find anymore.  Everytime I use it  I feel glad because what little I know of Marie, she’d be so pleased that someone was getting use out of her things, that her memory is cherished and her name spoken often.

I hope none of these things ever degrades to the point that they break or become unusable.  If you have a kitchen tools that you don’t use because they’re hand-me-downs, get them out, wash them up, and put them to use.  You’ll find yourself remembering times and people you haven’t thought of in years.

So apple season is in full swing, with the holidays coming up right behind it.  For any of you who want to volunteer to be the pie-bringer to festive occasions, don’t submit to the temptation of pre-made crust.  You can make your own magnificent pie crust with the following simple recipe, a few tools, and a few minutes.

For ONE pie crust (double this if you’re doing a top-and-bottom crust pie):

1 c. all-purpose flour, 1 T. sugar,1/4 t. salt, 6 T. very cold butter, 2 T. very cold lard, and a glass of ice water

You will need a pastry cutter, a fork, and a medium/large bowl.  In the bowl, mix the first three ingredients well with the fork.  Cut the cold butter and lard into chunks, letting them fall into the flour mixture.  Work the chunks into the flour with the pastry cutter until pea-sized lumps remain.  Put down the pastry cutter, take up the fork, and gradually add the ice water in the bowl while stirring vigorously.  Stop adding water as soon as the dough begins to form into shreds and chunks.  Check to see if the crust has enough moisture by squeezing a small palmful.  If it holds together when dropped lightly into the bowl,  you’re just about done.  If the dough chunk can’t hold together, add a bit more water, stir again, and check again.  The key to a tender, flaky pie crust is being able to see chunk of fats in the finished, raw dough.  If you can’t see the chunks, you’ve overmixed it or you’ve added too much water.  As soon as the dough is cohesive, form it into a disk, wrap it tightly in plastic wrap, and let it rest in the fridge for at least an hour.  I often let the dough chill overnight, too.

When you’re ready to roll, sprinkle your surface, your rolling pin, and your unwrapped crust disk with flour.  Be sure to leave the bag of flour open and nearby in case you find the crust sticking to your counter or pin.  Grease your pie plate.  The key to rolling a round crust of even thickness is to apply even pressure from the center of the disk outward just once, then rotate the disk one-half turn, checking at each turn to make sure the dough is not sticking to the counter.  Lift it lightly and flour beneath it if it gets sticky.  When the disk is large enough, put your pin on the far side of it, flop the edge of the crust over the pin and toward you, and roll the crust up lightly on to the pin.  Place the close edge of the crust on the lip of the pie plate, and simply unroll it from the pin, letting it fall across the pie plate.  Press the crust lightly up against all sides of the pie plate.  You’re done! 

Now you’re ready to do whatever you need to with the crust.  Don’t prick it unless you’re baking the shell separately before adding the filling.  You do know about blind-baking, don’t you?  That’s a story for another day.

Oh, but here’s another quick tip.  For quiche crust, don’t add sugar, and replace the lard with another two tablespoons of butter. Or, if you’re watching cholesterol, whisk seven tablespoons of olive oil into the flour and salt, and then add in room temperature water until the right consistency is reached.  The flakiness won’t be there, but the olive oil makes the crust meltingly tender and provides an awesome flavor backdrop, especially to quiches that incorporate tomato, zucchini, artichokes, et al.

I have never intentionally cooked or eaten a bug.  Unintentionally, yes, I have.  I’ve got a few good stories about stepping on our insect friends in bare feet, too.  But the growing popularity the TV show Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmer has got me thinking.  The case for eating insects is nutritionally sound.  They’re a cheap and plentiful source of protein, and some cultures covet certain insects for their particular taste and/or texture.  In Southeast Asia, food vendors on the street sell bagfuls of deep-fried meal worms (larval crickets, I know this because I used to buy them for my lizards R.I.P.) as a popular snack.  In Thailand, red ant eggs are gleefully harvested for soup.  I’ve heard of African cultures pillaging termite mounds for a tasty treat. 

Years ago, I recall seeing something on the tube about the proud bug-eaters of America.  I think it was on that show Real People.  I don’t remember the exact details of the story, but I do remember seeing a great number of people chowing down on grasshoppers, crickets, and some kind of big ant.  It all appeared to take place in a reception hall;  it appeared to be a convention.

Well, I’ve decided to take the opportunity to eat bugs should it present itself.  Anybody else with me?  I’m not going to seek out the bug-eating experience, but if a knowledgeable bug-eater crosses my path, I’m in.  Shimmy and Sesame (my dead lizards) were always pretty darn glad to gulp down the meal worms, so maybe they, Andrew Zimmer, and half the world, are really on to something.  Maybe the rest of us are really missing out!  Maybe in a short while I’ll find myself sprinkling fried crickets on my salad like croutons.

For the past two days, I’ve had no idea what to write for this blog.  Nothing interesting has happened in the kitchen or in my head.  I’ve lacked for source material.  Until, that is, thoughts of food writing made me think of my favorite food writers.

For many years I’ve adored M.F.K. Fisher.  She began her writing career in Hollywood as a young woman in the 1940’s, I believe, and her solitary life out in California led her to cook for herself as a source of entertainment and solace.  Throughout her life of career, marriage, divorce, and love affairs, she continually cooked, ate, traveled, and wrote.  To a modern American woman, her life might seem at turns tragic and joyful, but altogether romantic and charming.  But put in the context of when she wrote, her willfulness to live life as she pleased is astonishing.  She not only cooked and ate with gusto, she did all things so.  The humanity of her writing can break your heart to this day, as well as make you ravenous.  Many of her books have now been bound together in single volumes, so if you’ve never read her, just pick one and go.  Be sure to have some good snacks on hand before you begin. 

Ruth Reichl, also editor of Gourmet magazine, has written some lovely and often hilarious books about her food adventures.  Garlic and Sapphires, in particular, chronicles the outrageous lengths to which she would go to avoid being recognized at restaurants during her stint as food critic for The New York Times.  Tender At the Bone is a poignant account of Ruth’s childhood, as necessity and circumstance led her to love the kitchen. 

Last, but most definitely not least, my favorite food writer of all time is Jeffrey Steingarten.  I’m fairly certain that if I should ever get the chance to meet him, I would be rendered stuttering and clammy.  His wit, appetite, and tenacity for perfect recipes is legendary.  You can read his column monthly, as he is food editor of Vogue (I’m still having trouble believing most of the people who read it actually eat), but his best work is contained in his books The Man Who Ate Everything and It Must’ve Been Something I Ate.  I could go on forever about him, so I won’t even begin.  You may also have seen him as a judge on Iron Chef America.  He’s the one who looks like a portly Phil Donahue and talks like a drily humorous Supreme Court Justice.

There are lots of food writers out there who deserve mention here as well,  Elizabeth David and James Beard chiefly.  And Isabel Allende, acclaimed novelist, had written one amazing food book in the nineties called Aphrodite.  Check some of these folks out.  You’ll be glad you did.

Tonight I’m making a “white” chili for dinner, a heresy to those who grew up in the southwestern US and Texas.  And yes, I’m putting beans in it, great northerns, to add another slap in the face of tradition.  It truly is delicious, though, otherwise I wouldn’t bother at all.  You’ll need a pound of lean ground turkey, garlic, onion, green pepper, a can of some sort of white bean (drained), a large can of chopped tomatoes with juice,  chicken broth, salt, cayenne pepper, cumin, coriander, brown sugar, olive oil, and flour.

Chop the onion, pepper, and garlic.  Saute them until soft in medium-hot olive oil.  Season with the salt, spices, and sugar according to your tastes.  Zip the heat up to high and add the turkey, browning the meat and breaking it up.  When the meat is browned , sprinkle a couple of tablespoons of flour into the pot, stir well for a few minutes.  Pour in a cup and a half of broth slowly, stirring to evenly thicken the mixture.  Add the drained beans and the tomatoes with their juice.  Bring to a simmer, put on a lid, lower the heat, and let it hang out on low for a couple hours, stirring occasionally.  It really is yummy, but lighter than traditional chilis.  I serve it with some grated cheddar and sour cream.  I’m also planning on making a bacon and jalapeno cornbread and a green salad to go with it.  Such a gringa, I am.

Just want to get everyone prepared for November’s nice little gift.  No, not Thanksgiving, although that’s a wonderful thing, too.  I’m talking about that once-a-year, flash-in-a-pan, fun wine…beaujolais nouveau!  It is made from some of the first pickings of gamay noir grapes in any given year.  It’s light, full of a thin and refreshing juiciness, and is nice with a slight chill on it.  It’s the red wine for those who say they don’t like red wine.

It’s great to have a bottle or two around the holidays because it’s so easy to drink and goes well with party-time nibblers like assorted cheeses and nuts.  It also goes great with turkey, which is odd for a red wine (except for maybe some pinot noirs).  Be sure you sample some as soon as it comes out so you can figure out which ones you like best that year, and go back to buy as much as you think you’ll want/need.  It’s usually inexpensive, unless you find a “villages” you like.  And once it’s gone, it’s gone, never again to be the same.  So grab some of whatever beaujolais nouveau grabs you.  Shop early for it if you’re able so the selection will be good;  the nouveau is officially shipped out of Burgundy on November  3rd.

My favorite part about beaujolais nouveau is that in order to enjoy it while it’s in top form, it must be consumed between November and January.  After the new year, it loses its characteristic charms and becomes boring or unappealing, sometimes even downright vinegar-y.  Don’t hold it against your nouveau if this happens.  It’s typical.

Beaujolais grapes harvested later make a lovely wine that can age beautifully, like other Burgundy reds.  The nouveau uses only gamay noir a jus blanc, which refers somehow to a dark grape with a white juice.   The nouveau is a special, bright, young thing.  Give it a try!

I’m aware of the importance of whole grains in a healthy diet.  You can’t get away from whole grains these days even if you tried.  And while I’m far from a health food fanatic, the truth is that a lot of whole grain foods are truly tasty.  I cook with them often, even going so far as to make barley pilaf instead of rice.  And as far as rice itself goes, I’m much more inclined to use brown rice, unless on the rare occasion I make risotto.

Yesterday, though, I decided to see if I could sneak a cup of whole wheat flour into a chocolate and strawberry cake.  My theory was that the intense flavor of the cocoa and the fancy vanilla extract would completely obfuscate the whole wheat flour’s presence.  And in a further fit of health-conscious substitutions, I decided at the last minute to not use any butter in the cake.  I used a mixture of apple sauce, raw sugar, canola oil, and two eggs for the liquid.

Well, the cake was really, really moist, a good thing.  But it tasted of the whole wheat flour, which was a disappointment in a piece of chocolate cake.  I learned a lesson (for the umpteenth time) that despite what you might hear, healthy substitutions do not always work out for the better.  I would sooner have no cake at all than a lackluster, “healthy” cake.  My suspicion that you’re better off having a decadent dessert just once in a while as opposed to fiddling with a good recipe proved true.

The upside to the whole story is that I had no qualms about eating a piece of the cake this morning.  It made a fine breakfast, with whole grains and fruit to boot!