A nice glass of wine with a pancake.

Last week I had trouble sleeping. I tried relaxing with tea and a book, but eventually the only thing that lulled me to sleep was watching a marathon streak of 'Scrubs' episodes. After powering through the entire season seven in a just few very late nights, one episode stands out in my memory. It's Turk and Carla's anniversary, and Turk is obsessed with having breakfast for dinner, brinner, to celebrate. The storyline reminded me of a too-long-dormant love for eating pancakes and eggs after dark. Making a good brinner at home, especially when it's cold and rainy outside, is one of the most comforting activities I know.


So when we were elbow deep in laundry late yesterday afternoon and Justin suggested an early brinner, I was immediately game. Not long after, I had slices of french toast on the stove while Justin scrambled eggs and fried bacon. We ate on the floor and watched the Eagles beat the Bears.

Turk's defense of breakfast for dinner sums it up for me, "I just don't see what's wrong with having a nice glass of wine with a pancake." Though my own brinner involved a nice glass of orange juice to help ward off an oncoming cold, I can definitely relate to the sentiment... It's kind of hard to beat brinner.


* In honor of sweet potatoes and turkeys everywhere, there will be new posts on Fresh every day this week.

Preserving traditions: The Food of a Younger Land

* Piece was first posted on the Slow Food USA blog

I am constantly curious about what other people are eating. After friends return from traveling, I want to hear about their favorite meal of the trip. If I call my mom at dinnertime, I want to know what she’s cooking. When I ran into a good friend shortly after she crossed the finish-line of the New York Marathon, I couldn’t resist asking for details on her pre-race meal, even as she stood doubled-over nursing a cramp. My friends and co-workers know that any mention of an interesting meal could illicit a number of follow-up questions from my end. I just can’t help myself… When it comes to food, I have a curious mind.

So when I came across Mark Kurlansky’s The Food of a Younger Land, based on the food traditions of the America my grandmothers grew up in, I felt I was the perfect audience. The collection of essays aims to be a portrait of American eating before our highways, chain restaurants and industrial farming made many of our dining habits homogeneous. And while I would disagree with Kurlansky’s perspective that our food traditions have all but disappeared, I won’t dispute the point that regional food is now something to be sought out; often buried under generic strip malls filled with Panera Bread, Chili’s and Chipotle. The many traditions that make up American eating have unquestionably evolved, and The Food of a Younger Land is an interesting reflection on where we’ve been.

Following his earlier food explorations, Salt and Cod, Kurlansky’s newest came together by chance. While doing research on another book, he stumbled across hundreds of unpublished essays by the Federal Writer’s Project (FWP), a depression-era employment agency created by the Works Progress Administration. The essays were meant to be published as a collective guide to regional American food; America Eats. But just as writers were sending in finished (or unfinished) pieces in December 1941, bombs rained on Pearl Harbor and the country went to war. Funding for the FWP dried up and the project dissolved before the America Eats essays could be edited or published.

As it turns out, this was at least one fortunate side effect of the war. Of the thousands employed by the FWP, a relative handful were legitimate writers and many of the essays that make up The Food of a Younger Land are drier than a high school history text-book. Other contributions are simply long lists of regional foods (though admittedly, I did appreciate the compilation of 1930’s diner kitchen lingo and will be looking for the next opportunity to use the line, “Burn one with axle grease Joe, I’ve got a blimp here waiting for a bellywash and an order of nervous pudding”). There are certainly a few good pieces of writing in the mix, like the husky recollection of cattle ranchers sharing Oklahoma Prairie Oysters and conversation around a fire; but for the most part Kurlansky’s introductions break up the monotony adding needed interest to the book.

More importantly, the essays hold more interest and benefit for the reader today, in hindsight, than they would have at the time they were written. Looking back on the way we ate two generations ago is a reminder of how far our everyday eating habits have strayed from the regional and seasonal. Without question, traditional food preparations still exist. My visits to the North Shore of Boston always include a least one bowl of signature chowder, and a recent visit to Brooklyn’s Di Fara Pizza reminded me of the care and attention some people still devote to preserving their own food traditions. But Kurlansky reminds that in the not too distant past regional eating was the standard, not the exception. And without a conscious effort to maintain regional American food cultures, they could end up a thing of the past.

Empire State of Mind

I’ve been absent, but I can explain. I’ve been having an affair… With New York. I never would have guessed those words would come out of my mouth. Growing up an hour outside the city, trips into the Big Apple were required each time our relatives came to visit. I loved the time with my Southern kin, but I loathed those obligatory holiday treks into the heart of Manhattan. It meant clumsy train rides, more laps around the island on the Circle Line “cruise ship” than I care to remember, crowded elevators to the tops of the tallest buildings, shuffling around a freezing Rockefeller Center and, one time, losing my baby sister for about five minutes at the Empire State Building. She ended up being fine, but I was not. I was terrified of the city. To this day the smell of midtown, a mix of roasted street nuts and sewer pipes, makes me cringe.

But my time in the Big City this fall has opened up an entirely different New York, one that I only knew existed a few years ago when friends started migrating to neighborhoods in the Village and Brooklyn. There are many, many things to talk about when it comes to exploring the city from the vantage point of lower Manhattan; the food alone is enough to keep us all occupied for months. Which, incidentally, is exactly what has happened to me.

I have been fully consumed with consuming as much of the New York food experience as I can, and I’ve been doing it all on a shoe-string budget. Luckily, it turns out that a shoe-string is all you need for a little taste of everything. I’ve tried spicy falafel sandwiches and pumpkin gelato in the West Village, chocolate chip cookies and baguettes from favorite Brooklyn bakeries, ripe pears from the Greenmarket and cheese from Murrays', and the most memorable pizza I’ve ever eaten at Di Fara (that alone, is the subject for another post). This weekend, Justin is coming up and I could not be more excited to explore the city with him while tasting more of what the city has to offer.

{ Di Fara; where the magic happens. Photo courtesy of the New York Times }

The good news is that Fresh will back with new posts next week, hopefully followed soon after by my old dress size. Enjoy the weekend everyone, and if you have a favorite NYC food spot to share we would love to hear about it here.

Happy Monday

I like the sound of this.

Tonight!

Join us for a community screening of FRESH, the movie

Wednesday evening, October 7th

Screening at 7pm, Questions & Discussion at 8:15pm

at Burlap and Bean

The Shops at Springton Pointe

204 South Newtown Street Rd.

Newtown Square, PA

$2 dollar screening donation suggested

Hope to see some of you there! 

Spilled milk

Remember our conversation about the dropping prices of dairy and the effects on our small and organic farms? Well American dairy operations aren't the only ones taking a hit from the drop in prices. According to a New York Times article Monday, protesters gathered outside of the European Union headquarters in Brussels during an emergency meeting of the agriculture ministers. They spilled milk on the streets, threw eggs and brought tractors out to block traffic; all of behalf of dairy farmers, some who are now getting paid less than 75% the cost of production.

The issue is nothing if not complicated. Subsidies and government aid could help the farmers in the short run, but this might only prolong the problem, leaving us with a ineffective system that looks like our model for corn production. For certain, a decision needs to be made quickly regarding a plan going forward, so that the dairy industry can start effectively planning for the future. In the meantime, the Brussels police force may want to invest in some goggles.

{ Photo courtesy of the New York Times: "A farmer sprayed milk on policemen during a protest against falling milk prices outside the E.U.’s headquarters in Brussels, where agricultural ministers discussed its policies at an emergency meeting." }

Welcome, fall.

We're running just a few days behind on welcoming autumn with new seasonal artwork, but welcome nonetheless. Maybe it's just me, but I'm having a hard time keeping up with the seasons this year; they seem to be speeding by. That said, I will miss summer's abundance of berries, tomatoes, cukes and basil, though fall is definitely my favorite season for food. I am a sucker for all things roasted, and would be content eating sweet potatoes, carrots, parsnips and brussels sprouts with brown rice every day until spring arrives. The cool weather also inspires me to turn on my oven more often, and so I tend to be more creative in the kitchen once fall kicks in.


This fall, because our crazy schedule seldom allows for dinner at home together, Justin and I have been making up for lost time with celebratory Sunday night dinners. Last night was celeriac root soup, poached eggs over sauteed greens and, wait for it, roasted sweet potatoes with rice. Our ancient plumbing failed us halfway through the prep when the kitchen sink clogged, and nearly derailed our dinner plans. There was talk of calling in a pizza but my sweet (potato) tooth prevailed, and I returned to the kitchen despite the dirty, dish-stocked swimming pool in our sink. By the time we were scraping up the last bites of baked apples, vanilla frozen yogurt and caramel sauce that was our dessert, I had almost forgotten the disaster in the kitchen... Almost. A credit to the comfort of fall feasts.

{ View from a speeding car in Shenandoah National Park }

Tonight I'll be picking up a CSA share of sweet potatoes, broccoli rabe, arugula and apples, and then returning home to figure out how to eat it all in the busy week ahead. I guess there is always next Sunday...