how to eat like a bird

How to Pick a Peach

I never would have thought to buy this book, or even check it out from the library. Not because I already know how to select fruits and vegetables at the height of ripeness, but because I'm unaccustomed to being vested in my produce. When faced with something inscrutable like a cantaloupe, I tend to take a wild guess or rely on the advice of discriminating older ladies at the store.

Thankfully, I won a free copy from Serious Eats, just as I am trying to make a regular habit out of actually eating fresh food rather than letting it decay in the fridge (which often happens to my great relief because then I can order nachos and not, you know, have to wash anything).

How to Pick a Peach: The Search for Flavor from Farm to Table is more than a series of recipes and a handful of pointers on what to look for when you're doing your shopping. What that is, I couldn't tell you, as I'm incredibly short term-minded, will think "I need avocados!" and turn to the page on avocados before dashing out with my newfound knowledge. --But I believe it has something to do with organic farming, where food comes from, and why things are the way they are, i.e., why it's okay to pay a couple dollars more at the farmers' market as the produce there likely has some flavor to it. Russ Parsons writes regularly for the food section of The L.A. Times and covers the harvest report, so he should know.

He also knows what to look for in search of great flavor. A good rule of thumb seems to be that good produce should seem heavy for its size. But he also gets into specifics such as looking to the neck of a pear to check for ripeness. As long as it's soft just below the stem, nevermind color, with the exception of Bartletts which will go from green to golden. Parsons covers which fruits (like pear, avocado, and cantaloupe) will continue to ripen at home, and how to store and prepare a plethora of produce, from brussel sprouts to quinces.

This is neither a diet book nor a book to convince you that vegetables can taste like bacon. Have you ever noticed how many of the 4-star-reviewed recipes on Epicurious rely on some amount of heavy cream? I find it kind of gratuitous. Okay, Parsons does turn cauliflower into a custard and there are plenty of dishes, mainly desserts, that contain heavy cream. But there are also simply prepared salads, soups, sides, and main dishes that would evoke little or no guilt. Overall, I felt I was in good hands--that the recipes were chosen to highlight the best of each main ingredient.

Some recipes I look forward to trying (in rough order of decadence): Duxelle-Stuffed Savoy Cabbage; Roasted Red Peppers Stuffed with Tuna; Artichokes Stuffed with Ham and Pine Nuts; Sweet Potato and Prosciutto Soufflé; Potato and Green Bean Salad with Green Goddess Dressing; Asian Pear Crisp with Walnut Topping; Fig and Honey Gelato; Old Fashioned Orange Cake; and Ole's Swedish Hotcakes with Quick Strawberry Compote. Doesn't that all sound good? 

I did try the Seared Scallops with Tomato Butter, and I'll post about that in a day or two.   

an heirloom tomato sandwich

Goal: To use bounty of summer as chance to wax poetic about Harriet the Spy, favorite childhood heroine who adored and insisted on a tomato sandwich for lunch every day.

Things Held in Common with Harriet: Fondness of own habits; fetishism of notebooks.

Things Not Held in Common with Harriet: Have never actually had a tomato sandwich; lack of domestic staff. 

Project at Hand: Purchase some heirloom tomatoes from the farmer's market; make homemade mayonnaise, using Julia Reed's mom's recipe. Slice tomato, slap between two pieces of bread lightly slathered in the homemade mayonnaise.

Execution: Not Good. Sigh...

Instead of listing a litany of things that went wrong, I'll list what I learned (too late): unless very fit in upper body, it may prove fruitful to invest in a $6 whisk, rather than try to whisk with a dinner fork, really fast; when your homemade mayonnaise is separating on you, you can add an egg yolk instead of chucking out the whole thing; fancy sourdough bread from the farmer's market doesn't really fit the bill--what you want is a soft, yielding bread like plain old supermarket Pepperidge Farm white bread; and lastly, a simple tomato sandwich is best enjoyed when it's simply put together at moment's notice, not when it's labored over.

Here is a lovely story on just this topic by Julia Reed, who can really make you nostalgic for times you never had. Notably, her family had domestic staff as well.

tea and fiction on a rainy day

It's a gorgeous rainy day with a chill in the air. If at all possible, you should stay in bed with a good book. And if you do this sort of thing only every blue moon, you may as well regress completely and read a nice childhood classic that will be much funnier now that you notice the wit. But if your pantry is on the meager side, you shouldn't read anything American. It ought to be English.

Because an American book will only make you ravenously hungry for items you certainly cannot produce from your sad refrigerator, containing weeks-old, store-bought bread, humble yet miraculous in its state of self-preservation, and a cube of butter. An American book, even about pioneers who have evaded the fate of the Donner party, will evoke plentiful, hearty meals--slabs of bacon, smoked barbecue and beans baked in molasses, amazing overnight waffles. (That's right, I'm thinking about you--Laura Ingalls Wilder. Sure, for one whole book, your family lived in a hole in the ground, but you also managed to make your own candy.)

Whereas the English, acquainted with the concept of war rations, will glorify thin slices of white bread, a little butter, tea. Sometimes they will go so far as to have a boiled egg. (Even when you look at popular contemporary food writing, the titles say it all: compare Jeffrey Steingarten's The Man Who Ate Everything to Nigel Slater's Toast.) I recently read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and it struck me how often they stop for tea--each meal lovingly described--in the midst of fighting evil. In her first tea in Narnia, Lucy has sardines on toast, then buttered toast, followed by toast with honey. See, this is something you could do. And C.S. Lewis makes the modest sound wonderful in a scene aglow with firelight and warmth (and a sugar-topped cake).

I'm not much of a Harry Potter fan, but J.K. Rowling won me over as a person, when she cited The Little White Horse as a childhood favorite, primarily because the author took the time to describe exactly what were in the sandwiches. I haven't read it yet, but I trust her taste because Rowling is also quoted on the cover of a newer edition of one of my favorite books of all time: I Capture the Castle. She says it's remarkable, a classic, two thumbs up! --or something to that effect. (Actually, she says "This book has one of the most charismatic narrators I've ever met.") And it's true. While it's a classic in England, it's slipped into obscurity in America. (Ignore Amazon's schlocky description, which is all factually true but aimed towards nine-year-olds, and note instead Entertainment Weekly's lovely testimony on the same page). I recommend you read it because it's endearing and funny and the only story I know where an unexpected gift of a Christmas ham is swaddled as reverently as the baby Jesus.

For my own tea sandwiches, I like to keep a jar of Branston pickles on hand. I slather a bit on white bread and top with a sharp white Cheddar and another slice of bread. I trim the crusts off and cut into triangles. Any tea will do, really--a floral Earl Grey with milk and honey, even green tea which supposedly helps along your metabolism. But when I'm reading books such as these, I like PG Tips because it's such a homey, common brand in England. If you live in New York, all your favorite English staples can be found at Meyers of Keswick or to a certain extent, Kalustyan's which you can also order from online.