Our Life

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New Love

Last week we received the first delivery from our new CSA (Community Sponsored Agriculture)–Britt Farms in Mt. Olive, NC. They don’t have a web site, but you can read about them here. We were attracted to this farm by the fact that it’s been family owned for several generations and is less concerned with the niceties of being organic than with getting us some good produce. (And we have no idea what happened to Snow Creek Organics, our CSA from last year.)

And good produce it is. Today we received spinach, radishes (gone), strawberries (nearly gone), two different types of lettuce, asparagus, and delight of delights, O’Henry white sweet potatoes. The radishes and strawberries were revelations. With the bland varieties we get in the store, I’d forgotten that radishes can have a bite and that strawberries can have amazing undertones of lemon and wine. What a great reminder of the glorious variety we can get in our vegetables.

The white sweet potatoes led me to make this interesting and delicious Mexican-inspired soup. I used tomatoes my mom grew and canned, which helps, but a high-quality store-bought version should yield good results.

White Sweet Potato Soup with Chipotle

Serves 2 as a main dish or 4 as a first course

1 onion, halved and sliced thin
1 tbsp. olive oil
3 -4 cloves garlic, minced
4 stalks celery, chopped
1 large white sweet potato, peeled and cut into 1/2″ cubes
1 1/2 – 2 cups good quality chicken stock
16 oz. high quality canned whole or crushed tomatoes, with juice
1 large dried chipotle pepper
1/2 tsp. coriander
Salt to taste
1/2 lb. elbow macaroni

Saute onion in olive oil over medium heat until translucent, adding a little chicken broth if it begins to brown. Add garlic, celery, and a few tablespoons broth. Saute over medium heat until celery is tender, about 10 minutes. Add remaining ingredients except macaroni and stir. Cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and simmer about 15 – 20 minutes or until potatoes are tender. Add macaroni and stir. Increase heat to high and bring to boil again, stirring occasionally. Cover and reduce heat to medium low. Simmer until macaroni is cooked, about 10 minutes more. Correct seasonings and serve.

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Food, Inc.

Last night we went to see Robert Kenner’s documentary Food, Inc. at the Full Frame Documentary Film Festival here in Durham. I should have loved it. The auditorium at the Carolina Theatre was filled to the brim with liberal locavore-loving foodies just like me, secure in the knowledge that our organic herb gardens were sprouting and our CSA deliveries were scheduled for just a couple of weeks away.

But if you’ve been aware of these issues since the 1980s, when you first read Frances Moore Lappe’s Diet for a Small Planet (first published in 1971), and if you grew up on a farm where your grandfather pointed out at every meal that all that you were eating had been grown right there–and more recently, if you read Eric Schlosser’s Fast Food Nation and Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma–well, you’ve seen Food, Inc. Because the director relies heavily on Schlosser and Pollan’s expertise, large chunks of the film felt like a rehash of these books. We went over the corn thing again (cheap corn makes it cheaper to feed livestock grain instead of grass, leading to factory farms, leading to the need to pump animals full of antibiotics, leading to antibiotic-resistant microbes in the food supply) we spent lots and lots of time with the vocal owner of Polyface Farms, a sustainable operation in Virginia (whom Pollan also interviewed); and we learned, again, that meat packers work in terrible conditions and that chicken farms are dreadful.

It would be wonderful if this film reached a wide audience and brought about more widespread change. For those who haven’t read these materials, the movie will no doubt be eye-opening. And the movie makes specific calls to action in the final sequence that might help us take some practical steps toward making a difference (eat local, reduce meat consumption, and of course, “visit our Web site!”).

They film is optimistic about the future, noting that the actions of consumers can change the market and pointing out that if food conglomerate seem invincible, remember that Big Tobacco, once thought invincible, had been brought down. (Or bought by Nabisco.)

But I was haunted by the thought of Lappe’s book. Her goal was to get Americans to eat in a way that would lead to reduced hunger world wide–largely by drastically reducing meat consumption. Her argument, back in 1971, was based on the idea that our meat production system was terribly inefficient, requiring 21.4 pounds of grain to cattle for every pound of beef we produced. We were misusing agricultural land by deploying it to feed animals rather than people; we should restrict livestock raising to land that couldn’t be used for other agricultural purposes and feed cattle grass instead of grain; and our use of chemical pesticides to produce food in vast quantities was getting into our meat in uncertain and potentially dangerous amounts.

We could change everything, Lappe argued, by eating differently: “The act of putting into your mouth what the earth has grown is perhaps your most direct interaction with the earth . . . . What I will be suggesting in this book is a guideline for eating from the earth that both maximizes the earth’s potential to meet man’s nutritional needs and, at the same time, minimizes the disruption of the earth necessary to sustain him. It’s that simple.”

If only it were.

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The Wages of Gluttony

It’s a good thing Durham is indeed buried in two, maybe even four inches of snow. Last night Fred and I went on a fried chicken extravaganza that rendered us nearly motionless, barely able to drag our churning stomachs out of bed this morning. I think I consumed roughly two cups of gravy alone.

I would offer the recipe here, but all I can say at this point is that I have not cooked a really great batch of fried chicken since the late 1990s. Even Fred’s well-honed frying instincts failed us. At one point, we found ourselves staring in bewilderment at a meat thermometer sticking out of a slightly blackened thigh in gently roiling oil, as the temperature read a good 60 degrees lower than “done.”

We’ve decided that we need to try Fred’s grandmother’s technique, in which you reduce the heat immediately after placing the meat in the skillet. Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be up to eating fried chicken again until 2011.

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Losing the Grocery Game

I’ve mentioned in previous posts that Fred and I are not frugal people. But with this economic “downturn,” or whatever the latest euphemism is for the disaster that is our financial system, we decided that we should do a better job of saving money on groceries–provided, of course that we did not end up with crummy bruised fruit and limp lettuce just because it was on sale.

Our first attempt involved setting a monthly budget for food. After blithely sailing past the limit somewhere in the second week of the month, we were forced to accept that our “budget” was functioning as a testament to our complete lack of thrift or discipline. And so I signed up for The Grocery Game, which promises to lower your food bill by about 60% through clipping coupons and watching sales.

Theoretically, it works like this: For about $1.25 a week, I sign up to receive lists of items that are on sale at the two local stores where I shop. Every Sunday, I pull out the coupons from the Sunday paper. On a specified day of the week, I check the Grocery Game site for the updated list for each stores. The list tells you when items are at rock-bottom sale prices and when to use your coupons. You then visit the store to stock up on things while they’re at the lowest possible price.

Here’s how we’re doing so far:

Week 1, Sunday: I’ve signed up, paid my fee, and read the rules. They note that it takes roughly 12 weeks to get going with their system. On Sunday, Fred and I purchase a copy of The Durham Herald-Sun. I dutifully clip all the coupons and stack them on my desk.

Monday: Pile of coupons stuffed in my purse, I go to print the list at work. (Our printer at home has broken. We hope to buy a new one with the money we save on groceries.) I discover that the coupons on the list are in The New & Observer, not the Herald-Sun. Undaunted, I print the list anyway, selecting items I think I might need.

Saturday: After several failed attempts during the week, we finally make it to the store. I shuffle through lists and coupons, trying to find what I’m supposed to buy. We emerge some two hours later (our visits normally take about one) with $143 worth of groceries–cheaper than usual. We’re on our way.

Week 2, Sunday: We don’t get around to looking for a News & Observer until the evening. They are sold out everywhere. We go to Whole Foods, where we pick up enough food for about two meals for around $120.

Weeks 3 and 4: We travel for the holidays. We eat out a lot.

Week 5: Forget to buy N&O. Another run to Whole Foods.

Week 6: Decide to subscribe to N&O, for an additional $100 a year, to make sure we get coupons. Purchase that Sunday’s edition for $1.50. Re-read directions for list. Discover that we need to go on certain days of the week for rock-bottom sale prices. These days are different for the two stores we frequent. (Note: Whole Foods is not one of those stores.) Realize more planning may be involved than we initially thought.

Week 7: We make it to the store, with the few coupons we’ve been able to accumulate clutched in our hands. Begin to utilize “stockpiling” method (buying lots of items when they’re on sale). Buy 10 jars of salsa and mustard, 10 bags of Starbucks coffee, 10 bags of cat litter, and 10 cans of air freshener. (“We never use air freshener!” Fred exclaims. “That’s because it’s not on sale!” I respond.) At checkout, learn that there are limits on the discounts and that 2 of our groups of 10 won’t get it. Spend $248.

Realize we need shelves to store all this extra food. We’ve been told Costco has great deals on things like this as well as food. Head over to Costco. Purchase membership for $50. Buy set of shelves for $100.

Week 8: Shelves still not set up. N&O subscription has not yet been delivered. Forget to buy paper again. Discover we’ve missed sale days at both stores again this week, which is particularly disappointing since Harris Teeter had Bing cherries. Have dinner consisting of collard greens with salsa, both of which were on sale. Go to Whole Foods and discover whole chickens on sale for 99 cents a pound, not to mention wine. Spend $111.

This week: I travel for work most of the week. Fred will have to live on chicken and salsa.

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Fred at Durham Art Walk

We’d love it if you would come to see Fred’s work at the Durham Art Walk this weekend, Nov. 1 – 2. We’ll be in the West Village Apartment lobby, across Morgan Street from Tosca.

Our recent trip to New York, where Fred visited the Met, MoMa, and the Frick, has fueled a creative streak that’s filled our apartment with about 50 new watercolors, including the watercolor below is inspired by the Italian artist Giorgio Morandi. (It’s one of my favorites.)

Much as I love Fred’s work, I would be thrilled if it could find a home outside our dining room. To address this problem, we’re buying a house in Trinity Park with an art studio. You can come see paintings and watercolors there too.

Through all this, I keep cooking–the only thing that keeps me sane. This weekend, we returned to an old favorite: pinto beans and cornbread. I firmly believe that only two people raised on “country cooking” in the South can fully appreciate the joy of a dinner consisting of pinto beans and cornbread. I don’t see a point in offering a recipe–you put a pound of beans, a few slices of salt pork or bacon or ham, onions, and salt in a crock pot and cook on high for 4 – 5 hours, or low for longer. But when you’re buying a house, there’s no dish that can make you feel more frugal and virtuous.

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So Much Going On . . .

I have been so busy trying to put together a panel today on sustainable agriculture at Duke Divinity School, which employs me, that I did not even think to publicize it in this blog. It was a lively discussion about how better to feed the poor in this country while improving our agricultural practices. The upshot: We need policies to fight poverty, not just food banks to plug up the holes that exist. And we need to develop economies that will make healthy, fresh foods available to all, not just those who can afford to buy local, organic produce.

Panelists were Mark Winne, author of Closing the Food Gap: Resetting the Table in the Land of Plenty, and Divinity faculty members Norman Wirzba and Ellen Davis, both of whom write on ecology, agriculture, and the Bible. (Ellen’s new book, Scripture, Culture, Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible, will be out next month.) These are authors worth reading, and a subject worth discussing, especially in the land of Whole Paycheck.

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Education

My confidence as a cook was somewhat restored last night when I used my Ranney Ranch soup bones in what I can only call Un-Split Pea Soup. (I don’t offer a recipe, though, because while the beef was good, the recipe itself still needs work.) These tasty little morsels consist of a bone (obviously) surrounded by about three inches of meat. This time I kept it simple–searing the soup bones in a little olive oil, sauteeing with onion, adding garlic and then soup ingredients. The smell of the meat cooking in the pot was heady, with a slight undertone of something else–cloves, perhaps, or New Mexico grasses, or maybe just a memory of home.

I also discovered that the ranch offers a recipe for arm steak on their web site. It does not call for smothering the meat in bad barbecue sauce.

As for the Un-Split Peas: These were acquired on our trip to Food World (home of the mysterious and delicious little peppers I have yet to identify). I was excited to try them. They were labeled “whole dried peas,” and they consisted of small, yellowish-green pods that I imagined would puff up slightly, like black-eyed peas, and might make an interesting addition to a salad.

It’s probably pointless to go on. You know how the story went–the slowly dawning realization during cooking that the pods looked an awful lot like peas, only dried; the wonder at how quickly they were softening; and the final burst of insight upon tasting them: “Whole dried peas. Oh yes. Split peas, only . . . not split.”

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In a Rut

Many thanks to those of you who have offered restaurant suggestions to include in our next Barbecue Taste Off. We are looking forward to trying them.

The Taste Off has been the bright spot in the bleak landscape of our culinary life. Cooking has degenerated to a sad post-work effort to get food on the table before we fall into bed at 10. Our meals consist of various combinations of onions, garlic, and random vegetables sauteed in olive oil and chicken stock served over pasta. We are, however, in the middle of an interesting experiment to determine the effects of eating a chicken roasted after thawing on a countertop for twelve hours on a warmish day. So far, we’ve had nothing to match the raw seafood consumed in London on our honeymoon, which demonstrated the depths of our commitment to each other “in sickness and in health.”

I blame fall. We continue to receive tomatoes, eggplant, and cucumbers from our CSA, but the thrill has worn off as the flavors pale with the waning of the sun. We’re in that liminal space between the heady delights of peaches and the rich flavors of butternut squash. We’re in that sad, brief time when we realize how achingly beautiful and painfully short life really is.

Even the cicadas are nearly gone.

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Apologies

We regret that trivial activities such as our jobs have prevented us from engaging in the important work of writing up our barbecue revue. We really, really will post it this week.

Fred, meanwhile, has obviously gotten light-headed from his weight loss. I arrived home last week to be met with this astonishing news.

Fred: “I got us some new Clorox wipes at the store today. I noticed there were some stains on the kitchen floor, so I wiped them up.”

I stared. I looked at the floor, where two coffee stains, not Swifferable, had been lingering. I looked back at Fred.

“You did what?” I croaked.

“I wiped up the stains.”

“Let me get this straight. You actually noticed there were stains, and you wiped them up?”

Fred began to look worried. “Well, yes,” he said.

He should be worried, I thought. He’s gone mad. How long can this go on?

Later, I noticed a large quantity of paint on the $50 wooden display we’d bought to hold prints for his upcoming art show. Apparently Fred had decided it would make a great easel. “What about the extra easel you have sitting over there?” I asked. “Isn’t that what it’s FOR?”

“Well, it’s all beat up and has paint on it.”

My faith in humanity was restored.