Herb

Yesterday at the grocery store a college-age boy was standing in the produce section looking confused. When I smiled at him he stopped me and asked me to help him. "I'm supposed to get parsley and rosemary," he said, "but I don't really know what I'm looking for."

It might have just been a line, but he really did seem confused. I showed him the (hideously expensive) prepackaged rosemary, labeled "Rosemary," and he said "Oh!" and nodded. But when I pointed out the parsley, he furrowed his brow. He reached out for a bunch, then drew his hand back. "This is cilantro right next to it," I said. "Don't get that." He looked at me, then back at the parsley. "Thanks," he said.

When I left the produce area he was -- I kid you not -- holding a bunch of parsley in one hand, staring at it, and scratching the back of his head with the other hand.

I wish I'd asked him what he was making (or who he was shopping for). Maybe he'd been told to get flat-leaf parsley, and they only had curly. Maybe he was high.

At a time when gourmet cooking and food snobbery is pushed on even the unwilling, it was kind of neat to remember that not everybody knows the same things. You and I could tell cilantro from parsley at fifty paces. That kid could not. So what? I wish I could make him dinner.

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On Cooking As You Go

Ezra Klein, whom I adore for other reasons*, occasionally posts about cooking and food policy. And today he managed to get at something that's very hard to explain: how one cooks when one cooks often and without recipes. He describes very well the squishy, wide-open recipe templates that we hold in our minds and pantries.

* 1) lucid commentary on complex health care policy issues; 2) progressive politics; 3) hotness. Mom, you mentioned below that you've been reading about politics online lately...I can uncork a whole array of quality political sites should you so desire, beginning with Ezra Klein's blog.

So: Beans and Stuff, as Mr. Klein says. That's what I ended up with tonight, too. We had bread, and I wanted soup, and we had red peppers and collards, so I made a black bean soup with onions, carrots, garlic, red peppers, a few chiltepins, collards, fresh thyme, fresh oregano, bay leaves, and stock. We will eat it with buttered bread and fresh garden chiles.

Fat, Cooking, Lamb, and the Big Why

There's nothing wrong with eating animal fat, says this Salon interview with Jennifer McLagan.

I totally called it. (Okay, it wasn't a revolutionary observation, but still.)

The best thing in the interview is this:

Cooking should be a skill everybody masters. I am not talking about professional cooking. Everyone should know how to make something to eat. We all have to eat, and cooking dinner should be a simple, everyday act. It should be valued, not seen as a chore or a competitive sport. It is a rich, sensual experience that we can all take part in and enjoy.

For me, that's what this site is about. It's about dinner, every night, night after night. It's about valuing food and thinking carefully about food with love and respect. Not obsession, not drama, not theatrics. We do those things, of course -- we get fancy, we show off. But we come back to cooking as a small daily attention.

There are cooking sites and shows and cookbooks out there with beautiful pictures and obsessive deconstruction of how to stuff a goose or make the perfect pancake. I read them. I like them.
But what we mostly do here is show each other what we made for dinner.

So in the spirit of the Salon interview, here's some kind of a lamb shank stew I made a few months ago and promptly forgot the ingredients of.

Full-fat yogurt with mint and cucumber...lamb shanks full of weird lamb fat and connective tissue that cook down to a silky rich stew...cinnamon, ginger, onions, eggplant, potatoes? That's about right. I love that huge sheep bone sticking out of the bowl.

Chicken and Lentils

I've been thinking more about my last post, which sounds like I've got it all figured out. I don't. Knowing how best to think and talk about food is really hard.

And compared to many people I know, maybe I am obsessed with food. Certainly I think about food much more. In fact, that's the real difference between someone who cooks most meals and someone who doesn't: not the time spent preparing food, but the time spent thinking about it. Sure, I often spend an hour or two making dinner, but just as often I spend only ten minutes actually working in the kitchen -- no more time than someone who heats up a few TV dinners. The difference is that earlier in the day I thought about what to make. I probably talked about it, too, or sent a few emails. I didn't have to make myself plan dinner -- it just happened.

For cooks, food takes up a certain amount of constant head space. I just try not to let it take over.

So yesterday afternoon I went to Jason and Laura's to drink and play with their Wii, and before I left I put the following items in the crockpot. By dinnertime four hours later, we had a delicious stew:

- two onions, sliced and sauteed
- somewhat less than a whole chicken, browned (I used 1/3 of it in the soup earlier this week)
- two carrots, chopped
- two cloves garlic, sliced
- a two-inch chunk of ginger, sliced
- two tablespoons pine nuts
- two small dried red chiles, deseeded
- two bay leaves (I promise I didn't mean to put two of everything in)
- one scant tablespoon garam masala
- some peppercorns
- one cup French lentils, rinsed
- water to almost cover
- salt

It was sort of like a tagine, but one made from Indian, Mediterranean, and French ingredients. So I served it with quinoa (South American) and chopped parsley. It was great. I've been making meat-free versions of similarly seasoned lentils lately, too.

Non-Obsession and A Chicken-Rice Stew

Lawson's been sick and not eating much, so I took the opportunity to think less about food this week. I was planning a week like this, anyway. I needed a ramping down. And this article and the ensuing discussion across online food communities helped remind me that, unlike a lot of other food bloggers and people who think about food a lot, I never say I'm obsessed with food. Nor do I want to be. I want to keep my relationship with food functional and balanced. Of course, that doesn't always make for good posting. Nor am I always successful.

All week we ate very little. One night we had just lentils. Another night, grits and Swiss chard. Another, pinto beans and salad. It never felt restricted -- just like I was taking a break from multi-dish meals and meat and food food food.

Two nights ago I made a very simple chicken and rice stew. I browned a chicken breast and thigh, browned onions and carrots, and cooked the whole thing in water with bay leaves, star anise, and an allspice berry. And salt. Toward the end I added potatoes and rice. When it was cooked I shredded the chicken and stirred in a handful of chopped parsley. I think it cured Lawson the rest of the way. But we're having lentils again tonight.