As my husband said goodbye to our hostess, he complained, “Heather completely misrepresented this ‘potluck.’”
He was right. I had told him we were going to a back-to-school, end-of-summer potluck with friends. “I’ll make Laurie Colwin’s Tomatoe Pie; you find us a bottle of wine,” I’d directed.
Should every potluck be like this, none of us would ever eat a macaroni salad from a paper plate balancing on the arm of a chair, or drink Yellowtail wine, again.
A couple of weeks ago I had Sea Bass in Saor at The Market restaurant in Gloucester.
“You know – Saor,” Oliver said to me, “that sauce with the sweet, red onions?”
I didn’t know what Saor was, but I vaguely thought it was something Indian.
Feeling challenged, I googled it when I got home, and learned it wasn’t Indian but Venetian, which I should have guessed becauses the Venetians are famous for doing interesting, unexpected things to fish, particularly recipes that “keep.” I’d had dishes like this in Italy: delicate fried filets marinated in white wine and vinegar, like the method “in Carpione,” which The Lake Como way of preserving a large catch of lavarelli – Italian trout.
For those of you who know Rockport, Massachusetts, imagine this: Just beyond the train station on Railroad Avenue there is a large bustling bakery cranking out warm loaves of Anadama bread. Inisde there are huge vats of dark molasses and steamed cornmeal mush ready to be kneaded into the famous loaves, actually 2600 loaves an hour. A fleet of 40 strong, square Ford F600 trucks stand solidly outside ready for deliveries to all of the New England States. If you live in Texas, the baker will mail it to you.
Les Bartlett is a photographer whose subject is almost singularly the Cape Ann quarries, the quarries of Barre, Vermont, and the men who still work in stone there. He has exhibited at the Park Avenue Armory in New York City, WGBH in Boston, and the New England School of Art and Design, among many others. In October 2007 the Cape Ann Museum held a one person show of his works.
For years I knew Les only as one of the friendly people who waved to me every morning on my run through Folly Cove to Lanesville. I didn’t know that he’d probably already been to Flat Ledge or the Keystone Bridge to catch the early light on a seeping granite wall.
Beet Risotto is not like beet anything and it’s not like risotto any other way. It’s rich without cream; it’s earthy without winter; it’s sublime without a truffle in sight. It wasn’t long ago I wrote about beet soup, its color and richness such a pleasure after a spring of baby lettuces; This time, the sometimes boorish root known for keeping peasants strong meets Northern Italia’s proud starch, for a sensual date. If you can find a cool night to stand over the pan for twenty-five minutes, you will be rewarded. If it’s a hot night, pour yourself a glass of wine and share the stirring with someone else.
School Lunch and politics: the issues, clearly stated.
08|11|10by Jill Richardson
Last week, the Senate unanimously passed the Child Nutrition Reauthorization, a bill that would do just about everything to improve the school lunch program – except fund it. This is no small exception, considering that a tiny percentage of schools are currently able to follow the USDA’s nutrition regulations. How will they be able to comply with improved regulations with only six additional cents per lunch? And, although it passed in the Senate, the bill may still die on the House floor because some in Congress think even six cents is too much.
A midsummer party is like no other. The season itself is a guest with its own sizzle, tension, and threat of a thunderstorm. It’s showtime for clouds, everything from cotton candy cumulous to a heaving black wall pushing forth a downpour. The grass is dry; the bugs are big and noisy; the birds are slow-soaring hawks.
“Not done…. not yet…. done! Get them out of there!”
I guess every hungry man has had the dream of a perfect steak.
Especially in Heather’s family, where Bluefish dominates the dinner table, a German cousin like myself craves for some red meat after a while.
My name is Noah Kruse, I am fifteen and I am visiting the U.S. for four weeks.
Organic: pertaining to, involving, or grown with fertilizers or pesticides of animal or vegetable origin, as distinguished from manufactured chemicals.
Certified USDA Organic: Big Difference. – A person should be medalled just for reading the code, let alone actualizing it. To read it, see the previous post on this blog.
These foods are beautiful, local, and raised with love, but they’re NOT “USDA Certified Organic.” For an idea of how difficult it is to become certified, take a peek at the act that makes the rules:
FEDERAL ORGANIC FOODS PRODUCTION ACT OF 1990
(7 U.S. Code including amendments as of January 1, 2004)
6501 PURPOSES.
It is the purpose of this chapter (1) to establish national standards governing the marketing of certain agricultural products as
organically produced products; (2) to assure consumers that organically produced products meet a consistent standard; and (3) to facilitate interstate commerce in fresh and processed food that is organically produced.
Everyone cooked in my family, even my brothers. We subscribed to Gourmet Magazine and hungrily read the articles about what people in little French villages were having for supper, and then my mother and I tried to recreate them ourselves.
My academic background is in painting and writing, but I waitressed at Jasper’s and Hammersly’s Bistro in the 1980’s, when dining in Boston was just becoming exciting, and the people in it - waitstaff and kitchen staff - were like a small university of students and faculty. Everyone knew each other, ate in each other’s restaurants, and were aware that dining in Boston had just turned a corner, inspired by youth, global awareness - these were chefs who had traveled to Europe - and new respect for American ingredients. It was a wonderful community of people who cared about all sorts of good food and wines. Because they cared about these arts, they also cared about growing food, preserving space for it to grow, preserving the lifestyles of people who grow it. We were all beginning to understand that caring about what was served on a plate was to care about the bigger picture.
Married, the mother of two daughters, I now live in Rockport, Ma. My daughters cook. Everyone in our house welcomes a new cookbook for the dinner and dessert possibilities it might offer, which really means the possibility of changing our lives just a little, pretending we live in a little French village for a night. Isn’t that what food does, too - a little bit of theater every single day? “What are we having for dinner tonight?” is really the question of “What is the performance tonight? Where are we traveling? Who will we be?”
I write a column called “Food for Thought” for The Gloucester Daily Times. In it and on this blog, I’m always looking for the possibility food offers for transformation and I’m looking for those wonderful communities of all kinds who care about preparing a great dish, setting a beautiful table, drinking a good glass of wine, and then having a great conversation.
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