deliciously sound=soundly delicious

I'm only about three chapters in to Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and I'm hooked. I actually think I may have to put the book on hiatus for a few days (see below), but I didn't want to wait to share this quote:

"Food is the rare moral arena in which the ethical choice is generally the one more likely to make you groan with pleasure. Why resist that?"

Amen sister. One of these days, when I actually sit down and put my personal food philosophy into words, I'm guessing it will come remarkably close.

Oh, and speaking of groaning with pleasure (and also trying to figure out the complicated world of food, fuel, and the environment so I can get to the point where I eloquently define my personal food philosophy), I was delighted by the sheer brilliance of yet another solid event taking place at the Stone Brewery: the book & a beer club.

And of course, I'm even more delighted at the first book selected, as this may finally get me to pick up the book I've pledged to read for a year but haven't actually opened the cover of (although to my defense I've read two exerpts - here and, in print, here -and pretty much know the plot, moral undertones, and conclusions by heart).

Mmm. I can't think of a more pleasurable Monday evening than one spent in a gorgeous garden, sipping on a pint of Stone Vanilla Smoked Porter while contemplating how we eat. Here's to Michael Pollan for inspiring and Greg Koch for making it happen.

Morning Commute Musings

Hm. sorry for this rant--sometimes a 45 minute bus ride makes you think, especially when you forgot a book to read...

Eating is one of the most sensual acts we do. We smell a food’s aromas, are enticed by its appearance, feel its textures, taste its sweetness, sometimes even hear it sizzling on the grill. Yet a lot of times we forget this--forget to experience the pleasure of biting into a just-picked apple, of sinking our teeth into a carefully roasted loin, or letting a thick spoonful of ice cream dissolve on our tongue. And the one reason I can think of that we forget to pause and enjoy what we're eating is that we've lost a connection with our food. Eating locally, I'm convinced, not only restores that connection, but allows us to truly enjoy what we're eating to the fullest extent.

Yet if there’s one thought I wish I could pound into my readers heads it’s this: eating local is not a challenge, it is a pleasure.

And I say this because I feel like the general sentiment regarding eating locally grown, purveyed, and produced food is along the lines of: sure it’s good in theory, but requires a considerable amount of effort in practice. Part of this stems from how we hear about these efforts—as many of the stories about eating locally frame the topic with a certain amount of time. James and Alisa, of 100milediet.org undertook a strictly local diet for a year. Others have followed suit with local food challenges that have lasted a week or a month (see, for example, Pennywise Eat Local Challenge).

Just a caveat before I continue--I’m a bit torn about writing a blog post about why eating locally shouldn’t be viewed as a challenge, because there are a lot of people out there who have undertaken some sort of local food challenge--pledging to eat locally for x amount of days--and I fully support their efforts. The reason I’m writing this is not to convince other people not to do this; it is to convince those of us who might not be interested in a challenge that it’s still a good idea to eat at least something, some time, locally. So here we go:

The thought of switching to an entirely local diet for a certain period of time is daunting. It requires a considerable amount of research—finding local farmers, producers, and businesses that roast, brew, assemble, and bake locally. It requires limiting your diet—because even the most bountiful of areas don’t have someone making/growing every type of food product. And it often involves sacrificing convenience, which little of us have the ability, or desire, to do. Again, this is not to say that it can't be done--I just don't think it's reasonable for the majority of people.

I guess my feelings on eating locally sit right up there with my personal feelings on vegetarianism or veganism, or on dieting in general: while there are many out there who are strictly adhering, I've never felt it's something I needed to try on an all-or-nothing basis. I don't think it's necessary to feel guilty about if you break the habit for a day, and not something that necessarily has to come with strict limits, rules, and restrictions--you can reap the benefits even if you only practice it loosely.

Again, I’m not saying undertaking a local food challenge is a bad thing for all of us. James and Alisa’s challenge needed to be done—it raised awareness about the issues involved and inspired countless others to start thinking locally. (And for inspiration I do recommend their website as well as their recent book: Plenty: One Man, One Woman and a Raucous Year of Eating Locally.) There are others for whom it is immensely practical--they live on a farm, or belong to a co-op, or raise their own food. And there are many benefits if you are already a socially conscious person who finds it easy to switch over to eating local-only food. It raises awareness, forces you to explore, and to step out of your comfort zone. But for the rest of us, making such a dramatic shift is just not that easy.

But don't let that deter you! I can’t help but fear that if eating locally is viewed merely as a challenge, the majority of people will simply choose never to undertake it, simply dismissing it as a big, seemingly insurmountable challenge that they have no interest in. And if you take a step back from things, on a global scale this is actually detrimental to the values and goals behind the local food movement! While some people eating 100% locally for one week, once, is a laudable achievement, it has far less of an impact than the majority of people eating somewhat locally all year round. But I’m distracting myself with the serious, when what I really hope to convey is the opposite. (I’ll save my tale of the planet, the greater health of the population, and the governmental policy for another day.)

The reason eating locally should be viewed as far from a challenge is because it is inherently enjoyable, even (or maybe especially) without a commitment. Tasting a tomato fresh off the vine, a strawberry that hasn't been bred for durability to be shipped 3000 miles, or a slab of bacon that has been cured in-house affords delight, discovery, and satisfaction. It doesn't matter whether you eat one local thing a month or 90% locally consistently--the pleasure is there every time you take a bite. And it is a pleasure everyone should experience.

Let’s look at my favorite moment of the week. Actually, the story starts on Sunday, so let me take you back a few days. Sunday evening, I headed to dinner at the Linkery, a slow-minded restaurant that focuses on serving "hand made cuisine" sourced from socially, environmentally, and health conscious purveyors (which also all happens to be delicious). Perusing the wine list, I noticed a meritage made in San Diego (from grapes grown in Baja), and decided to give it a whirl. I think there are at least 20 craft wineries in Southern California, but local wine is something I've not yet had the time to explore (partly because the local beer here is so amazing). So, I figured, why not start here, at one of the most purposefully-minded restaurants in the city.

With nothing to lose—my biggest disappointment could be that it was a sub-par wine, but I’d still enjoy drinking a locally-made beverage—I ordered it. Turns out the wine was delicious! It was a San Pasqual Meritage “Monte Soledad”. It was subtler than similar wines from Northern California, but had substantial body and just enough complexity to make each sip a pleasure. What a discovery!

Fast forward to yesterday, when I decided to look up the winery to see where I could get my hands on a bottle. Turns out the winery is not only located in San Diego, it is located in my neighborhood! I can't convey how excited I was to discover this. So on Monday, finding a list of independent liquor stores and wine shops that carry San Pasqual wines, I set out to one a few blocks away, and found, not one, but three San Pasqual wines (a merlot, cabernet, and chardonnay), all - get this - for $5 a bottle. The entire excursion—from a Google search to opening a bottle—took about 20 minutes, cost $15, yet afforded enormous delight! There's just something so rewarding in discovering something that you never before knew about, that you thoroughly enjoy, and that you realize also happens to be good for both the planet and your community.

I can’t emphasize enough how much you have to find this out for yourself. I encourage everyone who's reading this to seek out your own San Pasqual--maybe not tomorrow, or next week, but sometime this season. Keep your eyes open wherever you are, because I'm convinced local treasures abound.

In the mean time, here’s the delicious, and incidentally very much local meal I prepared in celebration of that bottle of wine:

Tortilla Espanola accompanied by San Pasqual “Cabrillo” Cabernet Sauvignon

Ingredients

2 tbsp. butter

1 lb. potatoes, cut into 1/2 inch dice (I used freshly dug local baby German Butter Ball potatoes)

½ onion, diced (I used a mix- ½ of a local Imperial Sweet onion and 2 local baby red onions)

2 strips bacon (not local-what was sitting in my fridge)

1 tomato (I used local heirloom from Carlsbad)

4 eggs (I used local free-range from Eben Hazer ranch)

¼ cup parmesan cheese (not local—the average grated stuff I had in the fridge)

Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

Preheat broiler. In a cast iron skillet or other oven-safe skillet, melt 1 tbsp of butter over medium heat. Add potatoes, and cook, covered, for 10-20 minutes, until cooked through but not yet tender. Stir occasionally to flip potatoes. (If the potatoes get too brown, turn down the heat). Add the onions and cook 5 minutes longer, until potatoes are barely tender and onions are soft. If using cast iron skillet, turn off heat but keep above same burner (the cast iron will retain the heat--if using other skillet you may want to keep the heat on low). Add tomatoes, salt and pepper, and cover, so the mixture continues to cook from heat of skillet. In separate pan, cook bacon until crisp. Chop bacon into small pieces. In bowl, whisk together eggs, cheese, salt and pepper. Add bacon to egg mixture. Remove potato mixture from skillet. Melt remaining tbsp of butter over medium heat, and add egg mixture. Carefully scoop potato mixture into eggs so evenly distributed. Cook, covered, over medium heat for 5 minutes, until bottom is set but top is runny. Carefully lift the skillet into the broiler and broil, uncovered for 3-4 minutes, until top is golden brown. Let sit for 5 minutes. Slice into 4- 6 wedges and serve.

the world through Chris Jordan's eyes

It’s said a picture is worth a thousand words, but often it is a picture combined with words that provides the most resonating message. Last week, I came across the work of Chris Jordan, an artist who's major works focus on visually capturing our collective impact on the planet and ourselves.

Running the Numbers: An American Self-Portrait, is his most recent collection, focuses on capturing our culture through visual quantifications, with images depicting statistics such as the number of SUV's we drive, the number of cigarettes we smoke, and the number of plastic bottles we discard. While the photographs themselves are brilliant, often stunning works of design, it is the captions—the words that accompany each work—that make each image truly powerful. These words remind us that Jordan's works are not simply talented framings of inanimate objects, they are vivid explorations on our impact, through a resonating medium where the visual meets the literal.

When you're done browsing through his image galleries, be sure to glance at his artist's statement, which strikes a frightening chord:

"The pervasiveness of our consumerism holds a seductive kind of mob mentality. Collectively we are committing a vast and unsustainable act of taking, but we each are anonymous and no one is in charge or accountable for the consequences. I fear that in this process we are doing irreparable harm to our planet and to our individual spirits."

While our anonymity and our consumerist drive aren't going anywhere, perhaps we can begin to think twice before we swipe. Jordan is certainly pulling out all stops to encourage us to do so. He explains, "So my hope is that these photographs can serve as portals to a kind of cultural self-inquiry. It may not be the most comfortable terrain, but I have heard it said that in risking self-awareness, at least we know that we are awake."

Since coming across his website, I haven’t been able to get his starkly honest images—and their accompanying messages—out of my head. Intrigued by his explanation of Running the Numbers--"My only caveat about this series is that the prints must be seen in person to be experienced the way they are intended."--I hope I have the chance to see an actual installation. (Kids out on the east coast: Von Lintel Gallery, New York, June 14 to July 30. Kids out on the west: Armory Center for the Arts, Pasadena, CA, June 30-September). www.chrisjordan.com

Local Pleasures

I feel graced. For the past three or so weeks, I've found myself within two blocks of a farmers market not once, but twice a week, now that the summer-only market commenced in downtown San Diego (Thursdays, North end of Horton Plaza). This means that for the past few weeks I've found myself faced with an abundance of local goodies at a time during the week when I otherwise would have run out from the weekend before (Saturdays, Pacific Beach Drive and Mission Blvd.). I feel like a teenager who’s just gotten her first job and suddenly has a steady income of wealth, giddily unsure what to do with it all.

Needless to say, I've been spending many more hours in the kitchen, usually after I've spent all afternoon after Thursday’s lunch hour thinking about the bag of goodies I've treated myself to. Trust me, you can’t just steam a bunch of these farmers market veggies—this time a year everything is so gorgeous it would be a disservice to prepare them in anything less than a glorious, celebratory manner. Add to this the fact that I’m growing less and less fond of my neighbor next door (a Ralph's grocery—don’t get me started), I've been challenging myself to come up with dinner concoctions that rely as much as possible on the local bounty.

This week, as I strolled through the somewhat small, but nevertheless bustling, downtown market, I was drawn instantly to one thing—yellow squash. These medium sized beauties were positively glowing—not only were they a perfect golden yellow, their skin glistened, radiant. How could I not scoop up a handful? Down the table I eyed the broccoli, which I had been eyeing for weeks but passing up in favor of string beans, peas, and fava beans. But today felt like a broccoli day. And, broccoli and squash in hand, I was inspired—I had the perfect notion of how to properly celebrate the two. I quickly spun through the rest of the market, grabbing a luscious sweet onion here, and a few tender Carlsbad tomatoes there. With the garlic I had bought last Saturday, the Swiss chard begging to be picked in my garden, and the opened bottle of wine in my fridge, I knew I was all set.

On the bus ride home from work, I thought of my work ahead. Pasta primavera, the ultimate springtime dish, seemed a natural choice, but how to ensure I did it right? I decided to look up the classic recipe, the one that started it all, from Le Cirque in New York from the 1970’s. As it goes, Sirio Maccioni, owner and chef (at the time), faced with having to serve a large party with little notice, looked around his kitchen and, much the same way fresh produce can inspire anyone, came up with the dish, pasta with spring vegetables, or pasta primavera.

Maccioni’s version, while indeed a classic, is also incredibly time consuming, as it involves cooking each vegetable separately before combining them all with the pasta. Luckily, my favorite go-to source for recipes, Cook's Illustrated, reworked the dish some years back. Intent on preparing the Cook's version, I was about to head to the dreaded Ralph's for the two ingredients I needed—pasta and cream—when I couldn’t help but think the cream might be just a tad too harsh on this fine summer evening. And then it hit me—thanks to a mention of the possibility in Bon Appetit recently (in the form of a recipe for Brie, pasta, tomatoes, and olives from the May 07 issue)—I remembered I’d been dying to work Brie into a pasta dish.

Half an hour later, as I was stirring the Brie in with the tomatoes, I realized what I was making: Pasta Brie-mavera.

Pasta Brie-mavera

Serves 4

Ingredients:

4 tsps. butter

1 head broccoli, stalks removed, cut into tiny florets

1 medium yellow squash, halved and sliced

½ head swiss chard (about 6-8 medium-sized leaves), diced

1 medium sweet onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, diced

1 tbsp. fresh rosemary, diced

1 large or 2 medium vine tomatoes, diced

1/2 cup white wine

8 oz. Brie, rind removed

Salt and pepper to taste

¾ lb. fusilli, or other spiral-shaped pasta

Freshly grated Parmesan (for serving)

Directions:

Bring large pot of water to boil for the pasta.

In a large skillet, melt 1 tsp. butter over medium heat. Add broccoli and 2 tbsp. white wine. Sauté 5 minutes, until broccoli is cooked through but crisp. Remove broccoli from pan. Add melt 1 tsp. of butter, add chopped squash, and sauté 5 minutes. Remove squash from pan. Melt 1 tsp. of butter, add swiss chard, cook 2 minutes. Remove chard from pan. Melt remaining butter in pan, add onion. Sautee 5 minutes, until translucent. Add garlic and rosemary, sauté 30 seconds until fragrant. Add tomato, remaining white wine, and a dash of salt and pepper. Bring to a lively simmer. Cook 10 minutes. Remove from heat, stir in Brie, one chunk at a time, until cheese begins to melt. Cover, set aside.

When water boils, add pasta, cook according to package directions, 8-11 minutes.

When pasta is finished, reserve ½ cup cooking liquid. Drain pasta and return to pot. Stir tomato mixture until cheese is well-blended. Add vegetables and tomato mixture to pasta, blend to coat. Add cooking liquid, a little at a time, if needed to loosen sauce. Salt and pepper to taste.

Scoop generously into bowls. Top with freshly grated parmesan and serve warm.