Author: zora

Less Dining Out, More Cooking–hell, yes!

Not that financial hardship warms my heart, but it does make me glad to read an article like the one Marian Burros has in today’s New York Times: From Dining Out to Cold Turkey.

It’s about damn time people started cooking again. There are some smart, enterprising people quoted in the article (love the woman who put up more than 700 jars of canned goods from her garden), and overall the outlook is positive, even in the face of tough economic times.

But then there’s the woman who, even though she knows how to cook and her own parents were caterers, lets her kids make her feel bad about cooking instead of going out to restaurants. Eating canned ravioli and whining when their mom makes pot roast? Somebody get those little brats in line!

Now I sound like a total I-survived-the-Depression crank, but can I say honestly? Cooking and feeding myself at home has been one of the most consistently rewarding things I’ve done with my life. And damn, but it has also saved me a ton of cash.

It is such a life-changing thing, in fact, that I’m borderline evangelical about it–I almost want to go around knocking on people’s doors, asking if I can help them get their kitchen set up (and maybe asking if their refrigerator’s running, while I’m at it).

That’s why I’ll be starting a new, more structured website dedicated to home cooking, and how to get better at it–look for it in the new year, especially if your resolution is to save a little money by not eating out so much.

Me on the Amateur Traveler Podcast

Planning a trip to the Yucatan for this winter? Wondering where you can get a mayo-slathered shrimp taco? Or just want to hear my dulcet voice and staggering wisdom? Check out Chris Christensen’s Amateur Traveler podcast, where he interviews me about travel in the Yucatan, and all the assorted things I’ve learned while writing two editions of the The Rough Guide to the Yucatan.

And if you download the iTunes enhanced version of the podcast, you get to see my photos too!

This is my second interview with Chris (I talked to him about New Mexico a while back), who’s just the kind of dedicated podcaster the world needs–if you’re thinking of traveling somewhere, check out the archives at Amateur Traveler, as he’s probably already interviewed some expert on the subject.

St Lou Pics on Flickr

Peter and I went to St. Louis for the weekend last month. We got an excellent guided tour around by my grad-school friend Jen, an archivist at the Arch (a fortuitous job if ever there was one), and her lovely husband Charley, who knows how street names in St. Louis are pronounced because they’re named for his family.

Alas, I didn’t have my camera out for, say, my massive concrete at Ted Drewes or the gorgeous Moolah Theater or the groovy sculpture park or the Tums headquarters and factory, but I did on the day when Peter and I went to the incredibly photogenic Arch…better known as the Monument to Westward Expansion, which is downright creepy-sounding. All the Arch p0rn you could ever want is up on Flickr.

Now That’s a Party!

Speaking of parties, I was finally reading Julia Child’s My Life in France, and came across the following, the description of Roger Verge’s family gatherings in a tiny village, where there was nothing to do but cook and eat. I can only aspire:

Sundays were a day of real feasting chez VergĂ©, and all the generations of his family would gather. “My mother and aunt would rise early and spend the whole day cooking,” he said. “We’d start eating and drinking around ten o’clock Sunday morning, and we wouldn’t stop till about five.” At that point, the men would all troop out into the village, where they’d spend an hour or two in a cafĂ© drinking aperitifs. The women washed up and began cooking dinner. “One of my uncles–he must have been seventy-five at the time–would get so drunk he’d fall on the floor. When the eating and drinking started up again, my aunt would take a pair of scissors and cut a vein in his ear. By the time he’d bled enough, he’d get up and join right in with the rest of us!” Those epic Sunday dinners would go till midnight.

Incidentally, I recently got bitten on the ear at a party. All I could think was, Will this sober me up?

Day of the Dead

Oh yeah. We had a party! We honored our deceased relatives. We gorged on tamales. The Hot Sardines played, and even sang “The St. James Infirmary Blues” special for the occasion.

And Karine made the cake. The most amazingly delightful and hilarious theme cake ever, to commemorate the end of the Bush era. Just when I was saying I needed more theme cakes in my life.

The only photo I have is from after we ate it:

<i>The wreckage</i>
The wreckage

In case it’s not clear, that’s Jesus bursting out of the blood-spattered head of George Bush. And, in the original setup, before we destroyed the cake by gorging ourselves on it (box mix + passionfruit curd + hella hardcore buttercream frosting = success!), George Bush is being attacked by his enemies. Plus some Mexican wrestlers, for good measure.

<i>And that's only the beginning</i>

I’m glad Angela Merkel got her payback for that icky neck rub.

Here’s one more, you know, just for scale:

<i>Mmm...brains!</i>
Mmm...brains!

A Selfish Meal

Peter was away, so I cooked a meal of foods that he’s not so into. First I put some sweet potatoes in the oven to roast.

Next, and really the main thing: liver. I’ve had a slab of pork liver in the freezer for a little while now. I suppose it’s actually an entire pork liver–more than a pound of the stuff.

I was inspired to get into it finally by cook eat FRET, and a recent post there about fegato alla veneziana. Please go read it, because it’s hilarious, but I don’t want to give away the ending, but it explains why I wanted to cook my own liver…sort of to set things right.

Anyway, I pulled it out and hacked off a piece. It will take me at least a year to eat the whole thing. I don’t think Peter will be out of town enough.

I’d recently happened to read in Joy of Cooking that it’s common to soak liver in milk, to soften the flavor. I figured this was worth a shot, since I’d also read that pork liver has a stronger flavor than calf’s liver. Plus, my liver was frozen, so the milk bath would speed up the defrosting.

Anyhoo. Soaked it till I got other kitchen business sorted, and also caramelized some onions. Got out some escarole, and some leftover vinaigrette. Got the sweet potatoes out of the oven–they’d busted open.

Sizzled up my butter, tossed my liver pieces in the pan. None of this Italiano business, though, with the tiny thin slices–I want pink in the middle of my liver.

Or I thought I did. Then I lost my nerve.

My dad always says, “Don’t overcook it!!!” And I always hear him saying that, and then I chicken out. I pulled out my liver after about 20 seconds on each side, and sliced it open. It looked good, but it oozed red. I panicked. I threw it back in. And promptly overcooked it.

Totally retarded! I should’ve reread my post about the pork liver at Joseph’s Table–turns out I ate liver in which “the inside was almost jelly-like it was so rare” and I fucking loved it. Maybe I was more remembering the totally raw pork liver I once ate at a Japanese restaurant–one of the few times I’ve actually had to hide unloved food under the garnish.

Anyway, then there was another small blunder. I thought I’d sprinkle some sumac over the liver, en homage to some fan-fucking-tastic liver I once ate at Ali’s Kabab Cafe.

But halfway through the sprinkling, I realized it wasn’t sumac between my fingers, but Sichuan peppercorn. Der. Turns out it wasn’t half bad. But the other half with sumac was better.

<i>Mine, all mine!</i>
Mine, all mine!

For dessert, I had some gingerbread, for old time’s sake.

I did the liver right…but I could’ve done it better. Next time: jelly-like!