In Tribute

The Workman family received bad news this weekend. Grandmother Workman, the matriarch of the Workman family, passed away on Friday night. She was 87 years old, loved and cherished by her five children, five grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren.

I didn't know Grandmother as well as I would have liked to. However, she was always extremely warm to me, always quick with a smile and a quip when I was around. Somehow, though I met her in the twilight of her life, I always felt a connection with Grandmother. Within her love of her home and her acclaim in the kitchen, I always felt that she was a kindred spirit. I like to believe that the welcome she showed me means that she felt it, too.

This evening, after the gathering of the family and the funeral, I have felt drawn to my kitchen. Doug (Grandmother's second son and my husband's father) has always said that no one cooks or bakes as well as his mother. Grandmother's fresh-baked bread and pecan pie are the stuff of legends, especially among the Workmans. So, it does not surprise me that, after paying tribute to Grandmother's life in the form of a wake and funeral, I felt compelled to enter my own kitchen and dig in to some flour. I suspect I am not the only person feeling this, as this morning there were homemade quick breads and cakes gracing the kitchen table, each brought by family members who had made them. Perhaps food is a way to deal with grief. Or perhaps a warm oven and a batter-flecked apron seemed an appropriate way to mourn a wonderful woman.

In memory of Grandmother, I would like to share my favorite excerpt from Barbara Kingsolver's amazing book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Grandmother will be greatly missed, and very fondly remembered.

I'm drawn to [The Day of the Dead], I'm sure, because I live in a culture that allows almost no room for dead people. I celebrated Dia de los Muertos in the homes of friends from a different background, with their deceased relatives for years before I caught on. But I think I understand now. When I cultivate my garden I'm spending time with my grandfather, sometimes recalling deeply buried memories of him, decades after his death. While shaking beans from an envelope I have been overwhelmed by a vision of my Pappaw's speckled beans and flat corn seeds in peanut butter jars in his garage, lined up in rows, curated as carefully as a museum collection. That's Xantolo, a memory space opened before my eyes, which has no name in my language.

When I'm cooking, I find myself inhabiting the emotional companionship of the person who taught me how to make a particular dish, or with whom I used to cook it. Slamming a door on food-rich holidays, declaring food an enemy, sends all the grandparents and great aunts to a lonely place. I have been so relieved lately to welcome them back: my tiny great-aunt Lena who served huge, elaborate meals at her table but would never sit down there with us herself, insisting on eating alone in the kitchen instead. My grandmother Kingsolver, who started every meal plan with dessert. My other grandmother, who made perfect rolls and gravy. My Henry grandfather, who used a cool attic room to cure the dark hams and fragrant cloth-wrapped sausages he made from his own hogs. My father, who first took me mushroom hunting and taught me to love wild asparagus. My mother, whose special way of beating eggs makes them fly in an ellipse in the bowl.

Here I stand in the consecrated presence of all they have wished for me, and cooked for me. Right here, canning tomatoes with Camille, making egg bread with Lily. Come back, I find myself begging every memory. Come back for a potholder hug.

TWD: Chocolate Pudding

I've never been a fan of chocolate pudding. It always seemed like a waste of dessert for me. If I'm going to eat chocolate, I'm going to eat CHOCOLATE. And if I'm going to eat my dessert with a spoon, I'm going to eat ice cream, and really eat my dessert with a spoon. Chocolate pudding was relegated to something to eat when I had teeth pulled (a common occurence when I was a child, unfortunately), or when my throat was so swollen that I couldn't eat anything else.

The thing that I never realized before was that there is chocolate pudding that is not Jell-O pudding. This chocolate pudding is not Jell-O pudding. This chocolate pudding does not deserve to have to share a name with Jell-O pudding. This chocolate pudding almost isn't pudding...it's chocolate divintiy in a glass. It is like no other "pudding" I have ever tasted before.

So, the process. It was a little involved, and I made it while I wasn't feeling well. There were a lot of steps. Melt the chocolate. Bring the milk and the sugar to a boil. Pulse together the dry ingredients. Pulse together the eggs and sugar. Run the machine while adding the hot milk. Put the whole thing back over the heat. Pulse it all again. Add the butter and chocolate. Spoon it into glasses and refrigerate for what felt like an unfair amount of time. Why bother with all of this when you can just add some powder to some milk and have chocolate pudding?

The answer, upon tasting the results, is obvious. This is something beyong pudding. This is almost mousse-like. This holds its bittersweet flavor and therefore isn't cloyingly sweet like the boxed variety. This pudding does not need to be a component. It is a wonderful, satisfying dessert all on its own--yes, even without whipped cream. This chocolate pudding is well worth the extra steps. This chocolate pudding, it turns out, is anything other than a waste of dessert.

Chickpea-Kale Stew with Chorizo

I had a whole, long post typed out catching up from the last time I posted, and my computer just ate it. Gone. So, out of sheer laziness, I am picking up with tonight. Sorry about the lack of catch up.

Lately, I've been inundated with greens from my CSA. The list of items I am getting is long, but most of them fall into the same category--leafy greens. Now, I might get kicked out of the kind-of-crunchy club for saying this, but I don't like dark leafy greens. I'm sorry. I just don't. I love spinach. I've learned to like chard, but it has taken work. Kale? Escarole? Collards? They kind of make my stomach turn.

I recognize that early in the growing season--spring and early summer up here in New Hampshire--are the time for greens. I've read Animal Vegetable Miracle, and I know what the vegetannual looks like. I know leaves come first. I wish I could feel a burst of excitment when I see piles of greens on my table after our pick up at the CSA. But, I don't. All I see is a bump in the road that I have to pass on the way to my favorites--the summer squash and zucchini and tomatoes and carrots and potatoes and basil.

Bump in the road or not, the greens have to be consumed. I cannot stand by and let a farmer's hard work go to waste--especially not a farmer I have to look in the eye the next time I pick up my share. And so the hunt is on. I need to find recipes that incorporate greens without making me gag.

I was shocked. I found one tonight. Not only did it not make me gag, but I liked it. I mean, really, actually liked it. The recipe is for Chickpea-Kale Stew with Chorizo, originally from the December 2007 issue of Cooking Light. I used chorizo that is made at a local butcher out of happy pigs (well, probably not happy anymore, but they lived happy, healthy, uncaged lives). I also used canned chickpeas, because that was just easier for my time schedule. If you make this recipe, do not leave out the lemon wedges. They give the whole stew a new spin and bring everything together. Ultimately, it was the lemon that made the kale--dare I say it?--taste good to me.

Overall, I've learned two valuable lessons tonight. Next time I'm looking for a kale recipe, look for one that incorporates lemon juice. They seem to go well together. The other lesson is one that I probably knew before, but kale made me doubt. If I look hard enough for a good recipe, and keep trying without giving up, I can learn to like any vegetable in at least one application. Thank you, Cooking Light, for finding the key to kale for me.

TWD: Mixed Berry Cobbler

For years, I never knew there was a difference between a crisp and a cobbler. As a matter of fact, I wasn't aware of the difference until this week's Tuesdays with Dorie recipe came out. Let it be known, there is definitely a difference.

Now, I'm not necessarily saying that a cobbler is fussy. But, I will say that cobbler is far more fussy than a crisp. A crisp is a 10-minute affair. You can chop the fruit, toss together the topping, and have it ready to bake before the oven is even preheated. Not so with a cobbler, which requires making a dough similar to a pie crust.

The end result was excellent, so I'm not complaining. The frozen mixed berries worked perfectly, and didn't require chopping, etc. The topping was crisp and crunchy, and just right under the mushy berries and melting vanilla ice cream. If I had to change anything at all, it would be the fruit. I have an aversion to anything that tastes too much like artificial raspberry flavoring--a lasting result of having Lyme disease at nine years old, and having to take a raspberry-flavored medicine that made me feel seasick all summer. The combination of the raspberries (which I have no trouble eating fresh) with the sugar and cornstarch came a little too close to hitting that old gag point. Next time, I might stick to blueberries and strawberries. Or, maybe take Dorie's suggestion in "playing around," and try it with apples and maple syrup. Yum!

Another note--you can ignore Dorie's pleas to eat this the day it is made. We did, of course. But, as a two-person household, we weren't about to finish it in one night. Unrefrigerated, it kept quite nicely and was very satisfying today. So, rest assured, if you do not finish it in one sitting, it will keep just fine overnight.

Overall, this was a great recipe. I'm definitely looking forward to using it for the base for many future variations.

TWD: La Palette Strawberry Tart

This week's Tuesdays with Dorie challenge was for a strawberry tart. It was an odd recipe for me, in that it was hardly a recipe in all. Instead, it was more, make a pie crust, put some jam and fruit on it, and serve, with something creamy on top. Easy enough.

The hard part was the strawberries. You see, I'm a bit of a stickler for the local/in season thing. I know that, for most places on the East Coast, this was a seasonal recipe. But, up in New Hampshire, strawberry season has not yet sprung.

So, I sat with my conscience to figure out how and if I could do this recipe. On Sunday, I determined that I could--I would just go to the local farm stand, which would have gotten the strawberries as locally as possible (they have sister farms throughout the East Coast). I resolved to start the crust when I realized that I was out of powdered sugar.

I went to the supermarket to fulfill my powdered sugar need (and, in the meantime, restock my butter supply, which it seems TWD quickly depletes). The heat got the better of me. It went from 60 degrees on Friday to 95 on Saturday, and it maintains, still today. At the supermarket, I got to thinking "do I really want to go all the way to the farm stand in this heat? Nah. Better to pick up the strawberries now, while I'm here." So, I did. My good, usually localvore self, bought California strawberries at a huge chain supermarket. Shame on me.

And, honestly, my dessert showed it. My tart would have been so much better with local, just-picked strawberries. The tart crust was wonderful (I've eaten pieces of the unassembled, leftover crust on its own since Sunday). The jam--which was locally produced in MA by Trappist monks--was wonderful. The fresh whipped cream, heavily dosed with vanilla, was wonderful. The strawberries...were okay. They were cold. And, in that point in time, this was a major attribute. But, they weren't strawberries. They were...well, strawberries.

So, I found myself a great recipe to use the next time that I have real, fresh, locally-picked fruit in season. At that point, this recipe will be nothing less than stellar.

As a side note, I did end up going to the farm stand later in the afternoon. So, this dessert followed the first all-local meal of my season--scrambled eggs with asparagus, spinach and blue cheese. Here's to the start of a season filled with ripe local fruits and veggies!

All About Me

Lisa, of Bumblebutton, tagged me for a meme. I'm pretty new at the whole blogging thing, so I hope I do this right.

The rules: Each participant answers questions about herself. At the end of the post the participant tags 5 people. Their names are posted letting them know they've been tagged. They then have to read the participant's blog. The tagged lets the tagger know when she's posted her answers.

What was I doing ten years ago? Ten years ago, I was just barely 17 years old. I had just completed my junior year of high school. The summer of 1998, I went with USY to Poland for ten days, and then spent six weeks in Israel. It's hard to believe that was ten years ago. It's also hard to believe that Israel felt so safe back then. I came home from that trip with such a heightened sense of myself--of who I am, and where I came from. I also came home with what was probably my only true tan in my entire life.

What are five (non-work) things on my to-do list for today:
1. Get my poor, sprouted potato seeds planted. I seem to have over-ordered seed potatoes, and don't have quite enough containers to plant all of them (okay, fine--I'm short 9--but at least we'll have lots and lots of potatoes to eat next fall/winter.).
2. Go to Wilson Farm stand. The TWD challenge is a strawberry tart, but it's a little early for strawberries in NH. If anyone will have them, Wilson will.
3. Bake the TWD tart, if I do find strawberries. If I don't, well...I guess I'll have to sit out this week. I'm pretty stubborn about not using produce that comes from all the way across the country.
4. Call Kelsey to work on ordering invitations for Amy's bridal shower.
5. Take pictures of my garden to share with friends and family who don't live nearby.

5 Snacks I enjoy:
1. Hummus with celery sticks.
2. Fruit--whatever is in season.
3. A cold glass of herbal iced tea. Maybe not a "snack," but I make it during that 3 PM hungry time at work pretty often to put off actual snacking until I get home.
4. A square of good chocolate.
5. Whatever I've recently baked. During the summer, this usually includes zucchini bread.

Things I would do if I were a billionaire:
This list could go on and on, but for now:
1. Buy a nice, fertile, flat piece of property to grow a lot more food on. I'd like it to be able to support lots and lots of veggies, a berry patch, and an orchard with all of the fruit trees I desire (apples, peaches, pears, and plums).
2. I love my house, so I'd probably stay there. But, I would like to give it a second floor, add on a deck and screened-in-porch, and remodel the bathroom (because it needs it), and the kitchen (because I'd like to).
3. I'd buy my family houses in the area that I live in. Not that they would have to live there full-time, but at least so that they could come for extended visits and have their own space.
4. Travel more--I'd definitely like to go out to California again, explore Washington and Oregon, and, of course, there is traveling to see my family more.
5. Buy a VW Westie, fix it up, and use it to go camping (Sally dog in tow, for this one).
6. Go to all the live concerts my heart desires, without worrying how far away it is (and having to get up in the morning for work), or how much the tickets are. I guess I already did this back in 2001-2003, but I'd love to have the ability to be that care-free again.

Places I have lived:
Hauppauge, NY
Boston, MA
Somerville, MA
Southern NH

Jobs I have had:
Office clerical
Bookseller at Waldenbooks, Borders, and Barnes and Noble (during various summers)
Cashier at HMV records
Ticket seller at the Children's Museum of Boston
Clerical in shoe buying department at Filene's
Financial Analyst at Filene's
Financial Analyst at a company that shall remain unnamed

And finally, those lovely bloggers that I have tagged...
Robin, of Made with Love
Danielle, of Sweet and Savory Eats
Steph, of A Whisk and a Spoon
Jacque, of Daisy Lane Cakes
Hygeia, of Phamished

Have fun, ladies!

TWD: French Chocolate Brownies

This past week, I joined Tuesdays with Dorie, a weekly baking group. I have been reading a number of blogs from people who participate, and knew it was something I would like to join. What could be better than the promise of weekly sweets, while stretching my culinary skills?

The first recipe, French Chocolate Brownies, chosen by Di of Di's Kitchen Notebook, definitely did push me to try something I probably wouldn't have otherwise. First of all, there is the fact that they are homemade brownies. Now, I'm all for made-from-scratch. I'm probably too all for made-from-scratch for the tastes of the people around me. However, those brownies from the box are damn good. So, I leave it to other people around me to bring the brownies (made from the red box, of course), while I concentrate on made-from-scratch goods that are different, or at least where the box varieties kind of suck.

The second "stretch" for this recipe was the raisins. I love raisins. I stick them in quick breads, and yeast breads, and bread puddings. My husband, who was fairly anti-raisin when he met me ("Why ruin a good oatmeal cookie?"), has even come around to the raisin side of things, due to my baking. But, raisins in brownies even made me raise my eyebrows? Why embellish a brownie?

For those who know me, you know that I believe firmly in trying a recipe exactly as written the first time around. That way, I have a feel for what the author intended, and I can tell if the recipe, itself is worthy. All bets are off if and when I make the recipe again. Then, I improvise to my heart's content (my mother's chocolate 10-pound cake comes to mind, the latest incarnation of which was a pistachio-white chocolate chip 10-pound cake). So, with that spirit, I pushed down my doubts and tried this raisin-enhanced brownie recipe.

I'm really glad I did. The rum-flamed raisins (the flaming part was surprisingly fun) served as moist little morsels throughout the already-moist, very smooth brownie. As a matter of fact, the brownies were so smooth and melt-in-your mouth that I dare say the raisins gave me something to chew. Otherwise, the rest could just dissolve blissfully without much help from my teeth.

So, the end result was that the raisins were a good idea. The other end result is that these made-from-scratch brownies were far better than the red box ever even dreamed of being. So, the next time someone says, "Why don't you bring some brownies?" I might not be so quick to decline in favor of something more complicated. These brownies brought brownies back to something that I am willing to make, and with pride.