I am somewhat of a perfectionist.
I used to think that there was no way I was a perfectionist because I would become so frustrated if I couldn't make something turn out the way I wanted it that I'd give up. I didn't realize that a perfectionist is not only someone who will do something again and again, but someone who simply isn't satisfied unless it's PERFECT.
That's me.
I find it difficult to feel satisfaction for something I've made or worked on.
This translates in the kitchen as well.
I love cooking for myself and my own cravings, but nothing brings as much pleasure as cooking for other people. I am a persistent cook, I want to know if you've liked it. Is it the best thing you've tasted all day? all week? all year? Are you experiencing a flavor combination you've never encountered? Is this new to you? Surprising? I hate when I ask, "What do you think?" and they simply reply "Good." Good just isn't enough. Good isn't satisfying.
Three years ago when my parents came to visit for my graduation, when I received my B.A., I made a tofu chocolate mousse. This year, as I prepare for another graduation, my mother inquired about the mousse. Would I be making again this time? Definitely. My mother, a woman who doesn't know the first thing about vegetarianism for veganism, loved the mousse. She thought she hated tofu, but had simply never experienced it in this way.
That was a small victory for me.
I fail all the time in the kitchen. I make mistakes. I feel hurried. I try and cut corners. I'm out of an ingredient and try to substitute, but miss the mark. There was the failure of a tofu loaf I made when I first went vegan. Made of tofu, breadcrumbs, veggies and spices, the top crisped up nicely, but when I pulled it out of the oven it and put it on a plate it turned into crumbly bits. The tofu pumpkin pie that turned into a gooey mess and couldn't be corrected.
Each time I learned something new, and either I ate the thing anyway, or accepted it's unpalatability. I sift through the pages of cooking magazines and my imagination runs wild. I think about the possibilities of taking a "rubbed pork loin" reciped and making it vegetarian "rubbed eggplant steak?" A kitchen is a laboratory, an artists studio, a Frankenstein's dream. The dish may not rise to life the first, second, tenth time. But eventually, through all that failure, comes creation. Until it seems that anything is culinarily possible. And that's what keeps me cooking, willing to see it through the disasters. Yes.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Tempeh
It took me some time to like tempeh, but now I am hooked. Some say tempeh (a patty made of fermented soybeans and held together by a fungus) is healthier than tofu, but I'm all about the flavor. Unlike the taste-less tofu, tempeh has a slightly sour, nutty flavor. It's meaty texture makes it excellent as a faux-meat, it's high in protein and probiotics. I first had tempeh in the form of a tempeh burger, but then worked my way up to the raw stuff itself. The following is my favorite tempeh recipe:
Extraordinary Tempeh Sautee
Ingredients:
1 block of frozen tempeh, thawed(I like the multigrain that has millet, flax and wild rice)
2Tbsp Braggs (or your favorite soy sauce, I like Tamari)
1 Tbsp brown rice vinegar
1 Tbsp sesame oil
1/2 bunch of Kale
1 smallish carrot
1/2 daikon radish (depends on the size)
2 cloves garlic
2tsp minced ginger
1 Tbsp sesame seeds
2 green onions
Place the Braggs, vinegar, sesame oil & seeds, garlic, ginger and green onions in a bowl, whisk thoroughly.
Cube the tempeh and put in a ceramic dish with marinade. Let set for at least an hour.
Heat pan. Chop kale (I remove the stringy vein in the middle of the leaves). Grate the carrot and daikon with a cheese grater. Add a bit of sesame oil in pan and sautee kale, carrots, and daikon. Add the marinated tempeh and heat until brown.
This goes great with rice, or eaten alone.
Delicious!
Extraordinary Tempeh Sautee
Ingredients:
1 block of frozen tempeh, thawed(I like the multigrain that has millet, flax and wild rice)
2Tbsp Braggs (or your favorite soy sauce, I like Tamari)
1 Tbsp brown rice vinegar
1 Tbsp sesame oil
1/2 bunch of Kale
1 smallish carrot
1/2 daikon radish (depends on the size)
2 cloves garlic
2tsp minced ginger
1 Tbsp sesame seeds
2 green onions
Place the Braggs, vinegar, sesame oil & seeds, garlic, ginger and green onions in a bowl, whisk thoroughly.
Cube the tempeh and put in a ceramic dish with marinade. Let set for at least an hour.
Heat pan. Chop kale (I remove the stringy vein in the middle of the leaves). Grate the carrot and daikon with a cheese grater. Add a bit of sesame oil in pan and sautee kale, carrots, and daikon. Add the marinated tempeh and heat until brown.
This goes great with rice, or eaten alone.
Delicious!
Sunday, February 24, 2008
On Beets
Scrub a beet, the deep vermilion will color the white bristles of your vegetable brush. Scrub off the thin layer of earth, only later to find that its soil has penetrated the deepest parts of the flesh. Place the beet in a small pot of salted water to boil. The water will bubble and the beet will slowly bleed into the pot until it looks like a single beating heart, thrusting against the rising currents.
The beet is the most human of vegetables.
A metaphor.
As it softens, it releases its lifeblood. Pierce it with a fork and watch the juice bleed like a wounded soldier, or a knifed assassin, a melodramatic scorned lover of Shakespearian proportion.
The dramatic effect is lost when baked or sauteed. It is simply not the same thing.
A freshly boiled beet, drained of its crimson liquid and placed steaming on a wooden cutting board is a thing of beauty.
Step away from it for a moment. Watch the steam rise and think of your own beating organ. Think of the shape, the heat of your own machinery. Palm the newly heated beet and feel its heaviness, swollen with hot water and now fleshy. Marvel over is sudden metamorphosis from hard knotted fist, to soft, delicate, meat.
The knife will cut through with very little resistance. Split at the center, the beet will astound with its presentation of the color red. Only blood has this depth in its hue, this power, this overwhelming sensuality. The center of the beet pulses red, a velvet crimson. If you touch your finger to the hot middle, it will come away with a drip of dark pink. The beet is never a solid color, it gradiates from almost black to a white-pink. It is like a dappled rose, but even a rose is not nearly this vibrant. The center of the beet swirls around, a picture of chaos, mismatched on the inside.
The steam arising from the root smells of that same earth rinsed off before cooking. Like something from deep inside the ground. The beet is a root, the lifeblood of the plant. It holds the nutrients for the plant's continued survival.
The beet is an unlikely piece of artwork. From above you would never know. The plant itself, floppy leaves, an unassuming green color, muted red veins and stems, not much different from a lettuce. It is only through digging under the layers of soot, that we recover the beet from its cloistered hermitage.
I personally, never liked beets. My mother prepared them from cans, with a bit of melted butter. She heated them in a saucepan and that was all. I thought they tasted like dirt, feet, mildew. It was only after I had come in contact with the beet on a more intimate level, taken it into my hands and cooked it for myself that I recognized something special.
A boiled beet, sliced and presented on a bed of dark greens, paper thin slices of red onion and almonds, can outdo any filet mignon. The texture is beyond delicate. It is like the most tender slice of prosciutto (a delicacy I have only had once and will never have again). A boiled beet, dressed in balsamic vinegar, fresh basil and olive oil can stand alone as a meal. I have had them baked with garlic and topped with broccoli sprouts, pickled and served with potatoes, eaten alone fresh from the pot in all their earthy glory.
The beet is a miracle of a vegetable, lowly yet satisfying and so very poetic.
Recipe:
Baked Beets
Ingredients:
As many beets as you would like, best start with 1-2
1Tbsp of maple syrup
1/2 tsp of Kosher Salt or Sea Salt
1/2 tsp of white pepper
4 Tbsp of Balsamic Vinegar
1 tsp of garlic powder OR 1-2 cloves of garlic, minced.
2 Tbsp of Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 Tbsp of dried basil or 2-3 chopped, fresh leaves
2 tsp of dried oregano or 1 fresh leave
Trim the beet(s) and scrub off outer layer of dirt and skin. Boil in a lightly salted pot for 20ms on a rolling boil.
Combine all other ingrients in a small dish. Whisk until all ingredients are incorporated.
Remove beet, rinse and run under cold water. Cube beet and place in baking dish.
Pour mixture over cubed beet and let marinate for at least 30mins.
Bake in 375degree oven for 15mins or until tender.
It is best to serve this on a pile of steamed greens. Kale perhaps?
The beet is the most human of vegetables.
A metaphor.
As it softens, it releases its lifeblood. Pierce it with a fork and watch the juice bleed like a wounded soldier, or a knifed assassin, a melodramatic scorned lover of Shakespearian proportion.
The dramatic effect is lost when baked or sauteed. It is simply not the same thing.
A freshly boiled beet, drained of its crimson liquid and placed steaming on a wooden cutting board is a thing of beauty.
Step away from it for a moment. Watch the steam rise and think of your own beating organ. Think of the shape, the heat of your own machinery. Palm the newly heated beet and feel its heaviness, swollen with hot water and now fleshy. Marvel over is sudden metamorphosis from hard knotted fist, to soft, delicate, meat.
The knife will cut through with very little resistance. Split at the center, the beet will astound with its presentation of the color red. Only blood has this depth in its hue, this power, this overwhelming sensuality. The center of the beet pulses red, a velvet crimson. If you touch your finger to the hot middle, it will come away with a drip of dark pink. The beet is never a solid color, it gradiates from almost black to a white-pink. It is like a dappled rose, but even a rose is not nearly this vibrant. The center of the beet swirls around, a picture of chaos, mismatched on the inside.
The steam arising from the root smells of that same earth rinsed off before cooking. Like something from deep inside the ground. The beet is a root, the lifeblood of the plant. It holds the nutrients for the plant's continued survival.
The beet is an unlikely piece of artwork. From above you would never know. The plant itself, floppy leaves, an unassuming green color, muted red veins and stems, not much different from a lettuce. It is only through digging under the layers of soot, that we recover the beet from its cloistered hermitage.
I personally, never liked beets. My mother prepared them from cans, with a bit of melted butter. She heated them in a saucepan and that was all. I thought they tasted like dirt, feet, mildew. It was only after I had come in contact with the beet on a more intimate level, taken it into my hands and cooked it for myself that I recognized something special.
A boiled beet, sliced and presented on a bed of dark greens, paper thin slices of red onion and almonds, can outdo any filet mignon. The texture is beyond delicate. It is like the most tender slice of prosciutto (a delicacy I have only had once and will never have again). A boiled beet, dressed in balsamic vinegar, fresh basil and olive oil can stand alone as a meal. I have had them baked with garlic and topped with broccoli sprouts, pickled and served with potatoes, eaten alone fresh from the pot in all their earthy glory.
The beet is a miracle of a vegetable, lowly yet satisfying and so very poetic.
Recipe:
Baked Beets
Ingredients:
As many beets as you would like, best start with 1-2
1Tbsp of maple syrup
1/2 tsp of Kosher Salt or Sea Salt
1/2 tsp of white pepper
4 Tbsp of Balsamic Vinegar
1 tsp of garlic powder OR 1-2 cloves of garlic, minced.
2 Tbsp of Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 Tbsp of dried basil or 2-3 chopped, fresh leaves
2 tsp of dried oregano or 1 fresh leave
Trim the beet(s) and scrub off outer layer of dirt and skin. Boil in a lightly salted pot for 20ms on a rolling boil.
Combine all other ingrients in a small dish. Whisk until all ingredients are incorporated.
Remove beet, rinse and run under cold water. Cube beet and place in baking dish.
Pour mixture over cubed beet and let marinate for at least 30mins.
Bake in 375degree oven for 15mins or until tender.
It is best to serve this on a pile of steamed greens. Kale perhaps?
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Hunting and Gathering
My love of food has often been surpassed by my lack of money. Good food can be costly. Not always, as buying from the bulk section of the local natural foods store usually saves a few pennies, but at times, items such as kefir lime leaves, nutritional yeast, ume plum vinegar, nori, and the like have been far beyond my price range.
In the winter of 2006 for instance, I fell in love with the Thai soup Tom Ghak Gai. Not that I minded paying $7 for a serving at my local restaurant, but when I find a new dish that illicits my affection I want to learn how to master the recipe. And so I scoured "the internets" looking for recipes that closely resembled the soup made at the very particular restaurant I frequented. I knew for a fact that the basics of the soup included: coconut milk, vegetable stock (I'm sure the soup made in the restaurant had chicken stock in it), lemongrass, cilantro, ginger, chilis, straw mushrooms and fried tofu. Some recipes didn't include the mushrooms, others didn't include the chili. Some recipes called for tamarind paste, others called for galangal (a type of thai ginger). But the one incredient that would make or break Tom Ghak Gai was kefir limes leaves. Now, at the time I was working at a natural foods store, albiet a small store but still one where I could special order exotic ingredients. The big "but" was that I couldn't order Kefir lime leaves, they just weren't available. I hunted online, Amazon Gourmet Foods offered 10 kefir lime leaves, delivered within 24hours, fresh, for about $30. I wanted the kefir lime leaves, I wanted them bad, but not that bad. I forewent the lime leaves and used lime juice and rind instead, the soup turned out pretty good.
The other foodstuff I hunted for quite some time was Marmite. I had read about it, and instantly my interest was piqued. What was this sticky black goo? As soon as I read that "some Brits are addicted to the stuff" I wanted to taste it. Absolutely no stores in my town sold Marmite, and once again, online I found that I could purchase a tiny imported bottle, but it would cost $15. So I gave up, thinking I would never get to taste the British staple. Until Thanksgiving of this year when I traveled to a town with a "World Marketplace" and was able to get a 4oz bottle for about $6. It tasted much like I thought it would, a bit like beef broth and soy sauce.
Other foods have eluded me. I have still not tried marzipan. Caviar will probably never touch my taste buds. My curiosity regarding truffles (the fungus) continues, while a flimsy wallet keeps me from these delicacies. I continue to read about and seek out new foods almost continuously. I scourge through produce isles. A trip to a new grocery store always presents new opportunities. I'm channeling a primal spirit, hunting through bulk bins and peeling back the husks of corn to get a good look at the ripe kernels. An ancient part of my psyche persists to gather ingredients, to glean from the harvest in a very modern way. I click the mouse on gourmet and import websites, surfing through pages of clearance spices. No need for travel or braving bad weather anymore. It's easier than ever to be a gourmet.
In the winter of 2006 for instance, I fell in love with the Thai soup Tom Ghak Gai. Not that I minded paying $7 for a serving at my local restaurant, but when I find a new dish that illicits my affection I want to learn how to master the recipe. And so I scoured "the internets" looking for recipes that closely resembled the soup made at the very particular restaurant I frequented. I knew for a fact that the basics of the soup included: coconut milk, vegetable stock (I'm sure the soup made in the restaurant had chicken stock in it), lemongrass, cilantro, ginger, chilis, straw mushrooms and fried tofu. Some recipes didn't include the mushrooms, others didn't include the chili. Some recipes called for tamarind paste, others called for galangal (a type of thai ginger). But the one incredient that would make or break Tom Ghak Gai was kefir limes leaves. Now, at the time I was working at a natural foods store, albiet a small store but still one where I could special order exotic ingredients. The big "but" was that I couldn't order Kefir lime leaves, they just weren't available. I hunted online, Amazon Gourmet Foods offered 10 kefir lime leaves, delivered within 24hours, fresh, for about $30. I wanted the kefir lime leaves, I wanted them bad, but not that bad. I forewent the lime leaves and used lime juice and rind instead, the soup turned out pretty good.
The other foodstuff I hunted for quite some time was Marmite. I had read about it, and instantly my interest was piqued. What was this sticky black goo? As soon as I read that "some Brits are addicted to the stuff" I wanted to taste it. Absolutely no stores in my town sold Marmite, and once again, online I found that I could purchase a tiny imported bottle, but it would cost $15. So I gave up, thinking I would never get to taste the British staple. Until Thanksgiving of this year when I traveled to a town with a "World Marketplace" and was able to get a 4oz bottle for about $6. It tasted much like I thought it would, a bit like beef broth and soy sauce.
Other foods have eluded me. I have still not tried marzipan. Caviar will probably never touch my taste buds. My curiosity regarding truffles (the fungus) continues, while a flimsy wallet keeps me from these delicacies. I continue to read about and seek out new foods almost continuously. I scourge through produce isles. A trip to a new grocery store always presents new opportunities. I'm channeling a primal spirit, hunting through bulk bins and peeling back the husks of corn to get a good look at the ripe kernels. An ancient part of my psyche persists to gather ingredients, to glean from the harvest in a very modern way. I click the mouse on gourmet and import websites, surfing through pages of clearance spices. No need for travel or braving bad weather anymore. It's easier than ever to be a gourmet.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
What Couscous Can Do for You
From Wikipedia: Couscous is a food from the Magrebh of Berber origin. It consists of spherical granules made by rolling and shaping moistened semolina wheat and then coating them with finely ground wheat flour. The finished grains are about 1 mm in diameter before cooking. Traditional couscous requires considerable preparation time and is usually steamed. In many places, a more processed quick-cook couscous is available and is particularly valued for its short preparation time.
It looks like this:
From Me:
Couscous is extrememly versatile, not to mention easy to make. Couscous in the US is always prepackaged, and dried. It can be used like rice and provides a light, fluffy texture.
I personally don't like using too much wheat, but I like how fast couscous is to cook and how it absorbs surrounding flavors.
My all time favorite way to make couscous is as a breakfast porridge. This is especially good when I'm running behind on time and need to get my day started. Here's my very own, all orginial recipe:
Harvest Breakfast:
1 cup whole wheat couscous
1 can of yams with the liquid
1/2 cup soy milk
1tsp pumpkin pie spice
2tbsp cocunut flakes
a handful of dried cranberries
a sprinkling of almond slivers
Directions: Put yams and soymilk together in a pot, add spice, cranberries, coconut and almonds. Mash the yams and bring the paste to a boil. Add soymilk as needed, the mixture shouldn't be too thick. As soon as the mixture is boiling add the couscous and boil for about 1-2mins. Remove from heat and let stand with a lid for about five minutes.
That's it! Fast, delicious and nutritious.
It looks like this:
From Me:
Couscous is extrememly versatile, not to mention easy to make. Couscous in the US is always prepackaged, and dried. It can be used like rice and provides a light, fluffy texture.
I personally don't like using too much wheat, but I like how fast couscous is to cook and how it absorbs surrounding flavors.
My all time favorite way to make couscous is as a breakfast porridge. This is especially good when I'm running behind on time and need to get my day started. Here's my very own, all orginial recipe:
Harvest Breakfast:
1 cup whole wheat couscous
1 can of yams with the liquid
1/2 cup soy milk
1tsp pumpkin pie spice
2tbsp cocunut flakes
a handful of dried cranberries
a sprinkling of almond slivers
Directions: Put yams and soymilk together in a pot, add spice, cranberries, coconut and almonds. Mash the yams and bring the paste to a boil. Add soymilk as needed, the mixture shouldn't be too thick. As soon as the mixture is boiling add the couscous and boil for about 1-2mins. Remove from heat and let stand with a lid for about five minutes.
That's it! Fast, delicious and nutritious.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Coming Out
The other major thing I have to get off my chest right away is that I am vegan.
Yes.
A lot of people would think that this means my food options are limited.
Not so.
In fact, when I first went the vegetarian/vegan route three years ago, I discovered an entire universe of food I never knew about. I discovered Japanese cuisine, a dairy-free haven of delicacies. Purple broccoli, daikon radish shredded and salted, pickled plums, arame seaweed rinsed and boiled with plum vinegar, tiny white eggplants that fit in the palm of your hand.
The world is ripe with edibles, but that's not the impression you'd get from an average grocery run.
If a Martian landed in a small town in Nebraska, they'd get the idea that us Americans subsist on beef, corn and potatoes. All nutritiously lowly. And not all that delectable. The American cuisine, rife with pork tenderloin, rump roast, spaghetti and meatballs, and fried spam sandwhiches, has got to be one of the most boring dietary palettes on the planet. High fat, high sugar, high salt, but low on complex flavors.
I've gotten many a perplexed commentary on my diet. Some think it's "radical" it's "too strict" it's almost ascetic. But I sit in my corner with a big bowl of udon noodles and I laugh and laugh. Because most people eat the same thing day in and day out.
Spaghetti,
Meatloaf,
FastFood,
Pizza,
Pork Chops,
Mashed Potatoes.
Hamburgers.
That's it. Over and Over and Over. The endless cycle of boring foodstuffs.
My palette is broad and varied.
One night: lime curry, with sauteed onions, tofu and garbanzos.
The next night: purple cabbage and snow peas over teriyaki rice.
My father calls it "Vay-gun." He thinks I only eat lettuce. When I was a child my impoverished diet consisted mostly of spam, velveeta cheese, bologna and ramen noodles. "Salad" was an awful affair, something to keep you"regular." In no way was salad a delicacy in my childhood home. Usually, it was iceberg lettuce, strips of bologna and velveeta smothered in ranch dressing.
My salads are rife with dark green leaves, spinach, arugula, blanched Kale, dandelion. They consist of such goodies as golden raisins, pumpkin seeds, sundried tomatoes preserved in oil, fresh basil leaves, baked beets, sunflower seeds, baby corn, radish sprouts. They explode with earthy flavors, textures from the smooth soft beet to the crunch of seeds. My salads are extravagant, but humble. Relatively cheap to produce, and yet so packed full of vitamins and minerals I need never worry about taking supplements.
My father looks into the deep salad bowl, brimming with the aroma of orange poppy dressing. He eyes the roasted red peppers, the purple slices of onion, the flecks of almond slivers. He doesn't know what to think. This is alien to him. He's afraid he'll take a bite and actually enjoy it, enjoy it so much he'll give up his precious beef shortribs, never to return. He passes the bowl, not willing to compromise and instead laments the missing steak. I smile after the first forkful. I know what he's missing.
Yes.
A lot of people would think that this means my food options are limited.
Not so.
In fact, when I first went the vegetarian/vegan route three years ago, I discovered an entire universe of food I never knew about. I discovered Japanese cuisine, a dairy-free haven of delicacies. Purple broccoli, daikon radish shredded and salted, pickled plums, arame seaweed rinsed and boiled with plum vinegar, tiny white eggplants that fit in the palm of your hand.
The world is ripe with edibles, but that's not the impression you'd get from an average grocery run.
If a Martian landed in a small town in Nebraska, they'd get the idea that us Americans subsist on beef, corn and potatoes. All nutritiously lowly. And not all that delectable. The American cuisine, rife with pork tenderloin, rump roast, spaghetti and meatballs, and fried spam sandwhiches, has got to be one of the most boring dietary palettes on the planet. High fat, high sugar, high salt, but low on complex flavors.
I've gotten many a perplexed commentary on my diet. Some think it's "radical" it's "too strict" it's almost ascetic. But I sit in my corner with a big bowl of udon noodles and I laugh and laugh. Because most people eat the same thing day in and day out.
Spaghetti,
Meatloaf,
FastFood,
Pizza,
Pork Chops,
Mashed Potatoes.
Hamburgers.
That's it. Over and Over and Over. The endless cycle of boring foodstuffs.
My palette is broad and varied.
One night: lime curry, with sauteed onions, tofu and garbanzos.
The next night: purple cabbage and snow peas over teriyaki rice.
My father calls it "Vay-gun." He thinks I only eat lettuce. When I was a child my impoverished diet consisted mostly of spam, velveeta cheese, bologna and ramen noodles. "Salad" was an awful affair, something to keep you"regular." In no way was salad a delicacy in my childhood home. Usually, it was iceberg lettuce, strips of bologna and velveeta smothered in ranch dressing.
My salads are rife with dark green leaves, spinach, arugula, blanched Kale, dandelion. They consist of such goodies as golden raisins, pumpkin seeds, sundried tomatoes preserved in oil, fresh basil leaves, baked beets, sunflower seeds, baby corn, radish sprouts. They explode with earthy flavors, textures from the smooth soft beet to the crunch of seeds. My salads are extravagant, but humble. Relatively cheap to produce, and yet so packed full of vitamins and minerals I need never worry about taking supplements.
My father looks into the deep salad bowl, brimming with the aroma of orange poppy dressing. He eyes the roasted red peppers, the purple slices of onion, the flecks of almond slivers. He doesn't know what to think. This is alien to him. He's afraid he'll take a bite and actually enjoy it, enjoy it so much he'll give up his precious beef shortribs, never to return. He passes the bowl, not willing to compromise and instead laments the missing steak. I smile after the first forkful. I know what he's missing.
Statement of Purpose
This blog is about food.
It is about my obsession with food and food culture.
The poetry of baking,
The artistry of
The mechanics of
The chemistry of
The alchemy of
cooking not just to live,
but living to cook.
Here I will pontificate on my readings by food writers,
I will argue with myself and the world.
I don't hope to come to any conclusion, just debate
The politics of food,
The overwhelming human fear of hunger,
The American uses and abuses of food culture.
Food is life.
Heaven can be found in the pantry.
All I hope is to compose my little odes on the lima bean.
It is about my obsession with food and food culture.
The poetry of baking,
The artistry of
The mechanics of
The chemistry of
The alchemy of
cooking not just to live,
but living to cook.
Here I will pontificate on my readings by food writers,
I will argue with myself and the world.
I don't hope to come to any conclusion, just debate
The politics of food,
The overwhelming human fear of hunger,
The American uses and abuses of food culture.
Food is life.
Heaven can be found in the pantry.
All I hope is to compose my little odes on the lima bean.
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