I’ve been brought up well in a family where savings are prized and frugality is king. As I grow older, however, I’ve learned that seeking out bargains can sometimes come at a cost – one that I probably shouldn’t be willing to pay.
A couple of nights ago after work, anticipating my apartment would have that certain “tropical” feel sans air conditioning and knowing that my fridge was empty, I decided it would be the perfect time to enjoy the superb cooling system of my car and take a trip to the grocery store, one that I will hereinafter refer to as The Store That Shall Not Be Named (“TSTSNBN”).
Just like with Voldemort (that’s a Harry Potter reference for all of you confused readers), the mere utterance of TSTSNBN’s name is predictably followed by gasps, shrieks, and looks of horror. I’ll admit – it’s not my first choice in grocery venues. In fact, it’s probably not even my fifth. But when push comes to shove, sometimes it’s just not economical to do all your grocery shopping at some place like Whole Foods, or even somewhere like Safeway for that matter, especially when you can still get the same brand-named ingredients for a fraction of the cost (and at the same time brush up on your bagging skills!). TSTSNBN is truly a “no frills” kind of place. While this is something that normally would be a quality commendable in a company, it probably wouldn’t hurt if TSTSNBN had a few. After all, the typical experience at this establishment likely results in pushing your cart around at top speed (imagine the pace contestants take in the final round of Supermarket Sweep and then double it) and getting the heck out of there before the usual clientele has you clenching your wallet or handbag, all the while feeling convinced that you have lost all sense of class you thought you once had. Ok, maybe I’m being a little dramatic here – maybe a little snobby too. But if you’ve been there and you’ve experienced it firsthand, surely you’d agree with my haughty assessment.
Maybe it was the air conditioning I was enjoying so much, or perhaps it was that long day of staring at my computer in the office, but for whatever reason my latest TSTSNBN trip caught me in a more spaced out disposition, with my usual snooty guard down. Deep in thought in the leafy green section, debating the cheap bag of spinach vs. the more expensive box of organic mixed greens (the latter eventually won), my mental pro/con list suddenly got interrupted by a young man I sensed was standing directly behind me. And so I turned around.
“Hello there,” the 20-something, pimpled-face, homely-looking guy greeted me. “How are you doing today?”
“Oh just fine, thank you.” I responded. Abort. Abort. My eyes darted around, looking for my quickest escape. Avocados. Yes, I needed an avocado! So I pushed that squeaky cart (still without a decision made on the greens) and moved swiftly to the bin of avocados at the end of the aisle before he could say another word. Whew, that was a close one.
After picking out that avocado I figured would be perfectly ripe in approximately three days, I headed back to the greens, determined to make a final decision (come on, Allison, this wasn’t that difficult). Big mistake. I wasn’t there 15 seconds before I heard a familiar voice.
“Hi. Um, my name is ______. So, uh, I’m currently a student at _______ University.” Oh shoot, I thought, was this guy selling something? Turns out he was, in a sense. “I’m studying computer science. And I play the guitar.” I immediately channeled my acting days and tried my best to hold a straight face. I anticipated where this was going, and the lawyer in me kicked in to think quickly on my feet and conjure up my rebuttal after his opening statement. “And I, uh, was wondering if you, uh, would like to go out sometime.”
“I’m sorry, ________. I actually have a boyfriend.” Forgive me, Mother, for I have sinned. (In my defense, sometimes a little white lie must be told for protection.) After spewing out my fib, I realized I’ve never seen a guy take rejection so well, as he disappeared before I could even consider stupefying him. Well, at least I could check “Get hit on” off my grocery list.
I managed to dodge any and all other highly suspect TSTSNBN patrons, and I got to the checkout stand, chuckling to myself about my little run-in in the produce section and reflecting on how you never know when you’ll meet Mr. Right (no, this was not one of those times). As I placed all my bargains on the conveyor belt while reading the lastest shocking US Weekly headlines (so shocking in fact, that I have absolutely no recollection of what they were), an older, very short man (like, half my size) standing in front of me in line said something that seemed to be directed at me. I could have been imagining things, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t speaking English.
“What was that?” I asked, leaning forward and feeling like a giant.
[Inaudible.] Ok, it wasn’t just my imagination. This was definitely not English. This was Russian.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
In a very strong accent with widened eyes, he exclaimed, “You don’t speak Russian?!?!”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know lick of Russian. Why, do I look Russian?” I asked.
“Oh YES!! You could be onnnnne huuuuuuuuundred perrrrrcent Russian!!!”
Huh. What do ya know. I’ve been called a lot of things in my 28 years, but Russian was not one of them. But hey, I thought, looking on the bright side, at least he didn’t ask me out.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Yabba Dabba ZU!
Due to recent budget cuts in the clatter kitchen, I am no longer getting deliveries from Organics to You. I have every intention on picking it up again in the fall, but I’ve been finding lately that my lack of time in the kitchen has caused much of that goodness to go to waste. Without the scheduled box arriving today after work, I knew I had to find a new avenue to outsource my produce – something that could still provide fresh, local products at a reasonable cost. Nothing says reasonable cost like free, so I took to my mother’s garden over the weekend to see what I could come up with. While it was slim pickins’ (let it be known that this is in no way a reflection on my mother as a master gardener – the funky weather this late spring/summer has taken its toll on many of the crops in the area), I still managed to make a getaway with a few grape and cherry tomatoes, some green beans, a jalapeno, and a zucchini.
Late last night I watched a really terrible movie (I’m too embarrassed to reveal its title) and even though viewing it was not a good use of my time, there was one line in particular that stuck with me. This isn’t verbatim, but one of the main characters said something along the lines of, “I try to find something to love in every person.” This is certainly not an easy feat even by a figment of the imagination, but I think it’s a great philosophy - a philosophy that should apply not just to people, but to vegetables.
I’ve never been a huge fan of zucchini. In fact, up until a few years ago, I really just didn’t like it. I blame this at least partially on being scarred by anything zucchini-related after my sister attempted to bake what would become a seven pound (it could have weighed more - my younger brother even brought out the scale to measure) loaf of zucchini bread. Even if completely unfounded and unfair, I used to think of the zucchini as the ugly stepsister to the cucumber – lacking the zest, flavor, and crunch to give it that happy ending. (I could very possibly rhapsodize for hours about the many things I respect about the cucumber, but this post is the zucchini’s 15 minutes of fame.) After more thought, I’ve realized the two vegetables really shouldn’t even be put in the same category. Yes they could be siblings (and I mean blood-related, not step) because of their similarities in outward appearance, but inside they’re very different. What is it about the zucchini that made me change my mind over the years? What is the one quality that I see in the zucchini that really makes it special?
Its versatility. Just think about it. I don’t know about you, but I’m having very little trouble coming up with all the ways I’ve utilized zucchini: sautéed it with other veggies for the perfect side dish; split it in half and baked it stuffed with sausage, bread crumbs, and parmesan; drizzled it with olive oil, sprinkled with salt & pepper and thrown on the grill (ok, I haven’t done this, but if I had a grill I would); made a faux salsa verde to top some white fish (I got this idea from a recent Bon Appetit issue); and made a most delectable chocolate cake out of it (don’t even think about asking for that recipe – it’s top secret).
So what if the zucchini on its own doesn’t hold the most vibrant of flavors – it makes up for it in so many other ways. Even so, it still sure seems to get a lot of flack during the summer months. I guess it’s really no big surprise - how is that homegrown oversized, awkwardly shaped, flavorless zucchini supposed to compete with the cute-as-a-button cherry tomato, or the tall and slender green bean? If only people would learn to pick the zucchini before they get too big and turn into the garden-rejects-on-the-sidewalk-that-your-neighbors-won’t-even-take-for-free, maybe they could find something to love about it – on the inside and the outside. Perhaps instead of grabbing one to use as a bat for a game of baseball in the backyard, people could appreciate the zucchini for all that it can be. When I think of that oversized zucchini shaped like a bat, my mind goes straight to an image of Bamm-Bamm Rubble from the Flintstones. After finding this picture, I can’t help but ask with the most disdainful of looks: Betty, are you overgrowing your zucchini?!?
Late last night I watched a really terrible movie (I’m too embarrassed to reveal its title) and even though viewing it was not a good use of my time, there was one line in particular that stuck with me. This isn’t verbatim, but one of the main characters said something along the lines of, “I try to find something to love in every person.” This is certainly not an easy feat even by a figment of the imagination, but I think it’s a great philosophy - a philosophy that should apply not just to people, but to vegetables.
I’ve never been a huge fan of zucchini. In fact, up until a few years ago, I really just didn’t like it. I blame this at least partially on being scarred by anything zucchini-related after my sister attempted to bake what would become a seven pound (it could have weighed more - my younger brother even brought out the scale to measure) loaf of zucchini bread. Even if completely unfounded and unfair, I used to think of the zucchini as the ugly stepsister to the cucumber – lacking the zest, flavor, and crunch to give it that happy ending. (I could very possibly rhapsodize for hours about the many things I respect about the cucumber, but this post is the zucchini’s 15 minutes of fame.) After more thought, I’ve realized the two vegetables really shouldn’t even be put in the same category. Yes they could be siblings (and I mean blood-related, not step) because of their similarities in outward appearance, but inside they’re very different. What is it about the zucchini that made me change my mind over the years? What is the one quality that I see in the zucchini that really makes it special?
Its versatility. Just think about it. I don’t know about you, but I’m having very little trouble coming up with all the ways I’ve utilized zucchini: sautéed it with other veggies for the perfect side dish; split it in half and baked it stuffed with sausage, bread crumbs, and parmesan; drizzled it with olive oil, sprinkled with salt & pepper and thrown on the grill (ok, I haven’t done this, but if I had a grill I would); made a faux salsa verde to top some white fish (I got this idea from a recent Bon Appetit issue); and made a most delectable chocolate cake out of it (don’t even think about asking for that recipe – it’s top secret).
So what if the zucchini on its own doesn’t hold the most vibrant of flavors – it makes up for it in so many other ways. Even so, it still sure seems to get a lot of flack during the summer months. I guess it’s really no big surprise - how is that homegrown oversized, awkwardly shaped, flavorless zucchini supposed to compete with the cute-as-a-button cherry tomato, or the tall and slender green bean? If only people would learn to pick the zucchini before they get too big and turn into the garden-rejects-on-the-sidewalk-that-your-neighbors-won’t-even-take-for-free, maybe they could find something to love about it – on the inside and the outside. Perhaps instead of grabbing one to use as a bat for a game of baseball in the backyard, people could appreciate the zucchini for all that it can be. When I think of that oversized zucchini shaped like a bat, my mind goes straight to an image of Bamm-Bamm Rubble from the Flintstones. After finding this picture, I can’t help but ask with the most disdainful of looks: Betty, are you overgrowing your zucchini?!?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
You can take the girl out of Lebanon...
...but you can’t take Lebanon out of the girl.
Truth be told, I’ve never stepped foot in the homeland. And to be fair, I can’t really call Lebanon my homeland either, given that I’m only a quarter Lebanese. Even so, over the years I seem to have identified more with that 25 percent than the other 75. I’ve considered the following possibilities for said phenomenon: 1) My family has been rather unclear about what exactly comprises that other 75% (I’m under the impression it’s mostly German, maybe some English?), whereas the 25% Lebanese is a done deal, no question marks. I take comfort in this certainty. 2) It’s more interesting to tell people that I’ve got Middle Eastern heritage than to say I’m composed of the expected European hodgepodge. 3) I look Lebanese(ish). I tend not to believe this one, although as aforementioned, documentation has proven my resemblance to the Lebanese ancestors. Furthermore, when I was in college, several people told me I looked “exotic”, to which I would laugh and tell them they were mistaken - I was just from Washington. 4) I love Lebanese food.
Let’s focus on #4. In fact, I can’t seem to get Lebanese food off the brain. Of course I’m blaming all of this on the family reunion we had last weekend. That hot Lebanese blood of mine has been surging through my veins for the last seven days, begging me to do something about it. The clatter kitchen is ready and willing.
Anyone who has traveled in foreign lands knows that nothing captures the essence of a culture quite like street food. The thing is, I really don’t know that much about Lebanon or its food, but I’d love to travel there someday. Until I do, I’ve had to gather all my information regarding its food from Lebanese restaurants (remember: the shadier the establishment and the more it resembles a hole-in-the-wall in the heart of Beirut, the closer it will taste to the real thing), those family members who are still living and knowledgeable about traditional fare (I’m still waiting for my grandmother to reveal to me the secrets of her famous stuffed grape leaves), and from the internet. Quick research today revealed that the two most popular street foods in Lebanon are falafel and shawarma.
I’ve had both beef and lamb shawarma, and it’s divine. For those who aren’t familiar, shawarma is the Middle Eastern version of the Greek gyro – meat from a spit is shaved and made into a wrap. As much as I’d love to have a spit plastered from the ceiling in my kitchen, dangling a hunk of lamb or beef that I could ever so delicately shave to create unforgettable shawarma, I’ve come to terms with the fact that this dream may have to be put on hold, at least until I’m a homeowner. While there’s no explicit language in my lease regarding spit installations in the kitchen area (I checked), the implications that this type of activity is prohibited are still evident (ok, I didn’t really check).
I would love to tackle lamb in some form someday because it’s so frequently used in Lebanese food, but tonight it just didn’t feel right (there’s also something unsettling to me about fixing lamb for a party of one). Since shawarma off the spit was also not happening, I figured my best bet would be to attempt the falafel. I didn’t have one particular recipe in mind, but I knew that I shouldn’t make it up since I’ve never made it before and didn’t really know what was in it besides chickpeas and a bunch of spices. I made it up anyway. After looking over a few recipes, I decided I didn’t feel like following anything. So I threw a can of chickpeas (i.e. garbanzo beans), a few cloves of garlic, salt, pepper, ground coriander, cumin, smoked paprika, cayenne, and fresh parsley, and hit the button on the food processor. What’s the worst that could happen?
I let the mixture refrigerate for an hour (I learned this from my research) and then formed little patties with it. Here’s my clatter confession du jour: I didn’t deep fry the falafel. I know, I know – it’s not a falafel if it’s not deep fried! But I just couldn’t find it in my heart to do it on this particular occasion. This was not the best move - while I still had plenty of oil in the pan on high heat to cook it through, the consistency was off. At least the flavor was still there.
As I’ve already revealed, I haven’t had a ton of experience in the Lebanese culinary realm, but before tonight, I’ve made a few things, the most repeated by far being tabouli (also spelled tabbouleh or taboule or tabooli. I don’t know which one is considered correct). I’ve heard some people complain that tabouli is too much parsley and not enough of anything else. There has been some debate amongst family members in terms of the bulgur wheat to parsley ratio – some think the bulgur should have a strong presence in the salad, while others believe that it should hardly make an appearance. For the record, I am Team Parsley. As far as I’m concerned, the parsley is the star. It’s what I love about tabouli – the striking parsley flavor creates a wonderful salad that’s light, fresh, and has just enough zing that it accompanies any Middle Eastern style protein perfectly. The bulgur wheat is important too, and I’m not a huge fan of tabouli that uses it so sparingly that you hardly know it’s there. The key is to find the balance, but when it doubt, use more parsley and less bulgur. Now you know my position on The Great Tabouli Dilemma. I believe settling this conundrum is the first step in bringing peace to the Middle East.
I’ve made several versions of tabouli over the years, adding and subtracting items as I have seen fit. I don’t think there’s any need for exactness (albeit I’ve provided slight guidelines below to be helpful), just make sure that you constantly taste-test as you’re making it. Excellent chopping skills don’t hurt either. I suppose you could cheat and use a food processor, but what’s the fun in that? Tabouli not only provides a delicious and healthy alternative to another boring green salad, but it also allows you to perfect your knifing skills. So sharpen your chef’s knife and get to work! Here’s the version I made tonight. The longer the tabouli sits, the longer the bulgur and parsley have to drink up all those delicious flavors.
AR’s Lebanese Tabouli
1 cup of water
1/2 bulgur wheat
1 bunch of parsley plus a little extra (I used mostly curly-leaf and a handful of flat-leaf for good measure)
handful of fresh mint, finely chopped
cucumber, tomato, red onion, all finely chopped (to put it in movie terms, these shouldn’t even get supporting cast billing – consider them only the extras)
fresh lemon juice of one lemon & a couple of tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
kosher salt & freshly ground pepper
Boil salted water, take off heat, and add the bulgur. Cover until all water is gone (should take about 20 minutes). Refrigerate until you’re ready to make the rest of the salad. Chop all parsley and veggies. Whisk together the lemon juice and olive oil. Toss everything with the bulgur, and salt & pepper to taste. Let it sit for at least an hour (preferably much longer), and taste again before serving. My guess is you’ll need more lemon juice and salt.
To complete my meal tonight, I warmed a whole wheat Middle Eastern flatbread (TJs makes a good one) and whipped up some tzatziki (plain yogurt, chopped mint, lemon juice, diced cucumber, and S&P – I made this batch without garlic). Rolling a couple of spoonfuls of tabouli and falafel patties into the flatbread, I slathered it with tzatziki and a thin (ok fine, it was thick) layer of tahini, because my love for tahini runs deep.
You can imagine how messy this was to eat, but what’s street fare if it doesn’t get on your hands? Besides, after taking that first bite, my manners were the last thing on my mind. The only thing going through my head went something along the lines of: "Holy motherland, ص. لذيذ, شهي, طيب, نمير !!!!” For all you non-Arabic speakers out there, need a translation? That means “Delicious!!!” Just don’t ask me to say it out loud.
Truth be told, I’ve never stepped foot in the homeland. And to be fair, I can’t really call Lebanon my homeland either, given that I’m only a quarter Lebanese. Even so, over the years I seem to have identified more with that 25 percent than the other 75. I’ve considered the following possibilities for said phenomenon: 1) My family has been rather unclear about what exactly comprises that other 75% (I’m under the impression it’s mostly German, maybe some English?), whereas the 25% Lebanese is a done deal, no question marks. I take comfort in this certainty. 2) It’s more interesting to tell people that I’ve got Middle Eastern heritage than to say I’m composed of the expected European hodgepodge. 3) I look Lebanese(ish). I tend not to believe this one, although as aforementioned, documentation has proven my resemblance to the Lebanese ancestors. Furthermore, when I was in college, several people told me I looked “exotic”, to which I would laugh and tell them they were mistaken - I was just from Washington. 4) I love Lebanese food.
Let’s focus on #4. In fact, I can’t seem to get Lebanese food off the brain. Of course I’m blaming all of this on the family reunion we had last weekend. That hot Lebanese blood of mine has been surging through my veins for the last seven days, begging me to do something about it. The clatter kitchen is ready and willing.
Anyone who has traveled in foreign lands knows that nothing captures the essence of a culture quite like street food. The thing is, I really don’t know that much about Lebanon or its food, but I’d love to travel there someday. Until I do, I’ve had to gather all my information regarding its food from Lebanese restaurants (remember: the shadier the establishment and the more it resembles a hole-in-the-wall in the heart of Beirut, the closer it will taste to the real thing), those family members who are still living and knowledgeable about traditional fare (I’m still waiting for my grandmother to reveal to me the secrets of her famous stuffed grape leaves), and from the internet. Quick research today revealed that the two most popular street foods in Lebanon are falafel and shawarma.
I’ve had both beef and lamb shawarma, and it’s divine. For those who aren’t familiar, shawarma is the Middle Eastern version of the Greek gyro – meat from a spit is shaved and made into a wrap. As much as I’d love to have a spit plastered from the ceiling in my kitchen, dangling a hunk of lamb or beef that I could ever so delicately shave to create unforgettable shawarma, I’ve come to terms with the fact that this dream may have to be put on hold, at least until I’m a homeowner. While there’s no explicit language in my lease regarding spit installations in the kitchen area (I checked), the implications that this type of activity is prohibited are still evident (ok, I didn’t really check).
I would love to tackle lamb in some form someday because it’s so frequently used in Lebanese food, but tonight it just didn’t feel right (there’s also something unsettling to me about fixing lamb for a party of one). Since shawarma off the spit was also not happening, I figured my best bet would be to attempt the falafel. I didn’t have one particular recipe in mind, but I knew that I shouldn’t make it up since I’ve never made it before and didn’t really know what was in it besides chickpeas and a bunch of spices. I made it up anyway. After looking over a few recipes, I decided I didn’t feel like following anything. So I threw a can of chickpeas (i.e. garbanzo beans), a few cloves of garlic, salt, pepper, ground coriander, cumin, smoked paprika, cayenne, and fresh parsley, and hit the button on the food processor. What’s the worst that could happen?
I let the mixture refrigerate for an hour (I learned this from my research) and then formed little patties with it. Here’s my clatter confession du jour: I didn’t deep fry the falafel. I know, I know – it’s not a falafel if it’s not deep fried! But I just couldn’t find it in my heart to do it on this particular occasion. This was not the best move - while I still had plenty of oil in the pan on high heat to cook it through, the consistency was off. At least the flavor was still there.
As I’ve already revealed, I haven’t had a ton of experience in the Lebanese culinary realm, but before tonight, I’ve made a few things, the most repeated by far being tabouli (also spelled tabbouleh or taboule or tabooli. I don’t know which one is considered correct). I’ve heard some people complain that tabouli is too much parsley and not enough of anything else. There has been some debate amongst family members in terms of the bulgur wheat to parsley ratio – some think the bulgur should have a strong presence in the salad, while others believe that it should hardly make an appearance. For the record, I am Team Parsley. As far as I’m concerned, the parsley is the star. It’s what I love about tabouli – the striking parsley flavor creates a wonderful salad that’s light, fresh, and has just enough zing that it accompanies any Middle Eastern style protein perfectly. The bulgur wheat is important too, and I’m not a huge fan of tabouli that uses it so sparingly that you hardly know it’s there. The key is to find the balance, but when it doubt, use more parsley and less bulgur. Now you know my position on The Great Tabouli Dilemma. I believe settling this conundrum is the first step in bringing peace to the Middle East.
I’ve made several versions of tabouli over the years, adding and subtracting items as I have seen fit. I don’t think there’s any need for exactness (albeit I’ve provided slight guidelines below to be helpful), just make sure that you constantly taste-test as you’re making it. Excellent chopping skills don’t hurt either. I suppose you could cheat and use a food processor, but what’s the fun in that? Tabouli not only provides a delicious and healthy alternative to another boring green salad, but it also allows you to perfect your knifing skills. So sharpen your chef’s knife and get to work! Here’s the version I made tonight. The longer the tabouli sits, the longer the bulgur and parsley have to drink up all those delicious flavors.
AR’s Lebanese Tabouli
1 cup of water
1/2 bulgur wheat
1 bunch of parsley plus a little extra (I used mostly curly-leaf and a handful of flat-leaf for good measure)
handful of fresh mint, finely chopped
cucumber, tomato, red onion, all finely chopped (to put it in movie terms, these shouldn’t even get supporting cast billing – consider them only the extras)
fresh lemon juice of one lemon & a couple of tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
kosher salt & freshly ground pepper
Boil salted water, take off heat, and add the bulgur. Cover until all water is gone (should take about 20 minutes). Refrigerate until you’re ready to make the rest of the salad. Chop all parsley and veggies. Whisk together the lemon juice and olive oil. Toss everything with the bulgur, and salt & pepper to taste. Let it sit for at least an hour (preferably much longer), and taste again before serving. My guess is you’ll need more lemon juice and salt.
To complete my meal tonight, I warmed a whole wheat Middle Eastern flatbread (TJs makes a good one) and whipped up some tzatziki (plain yogurt, chopped mint, lemon juice, diced cucumber, and S&P – I made this batch without garlic). Rolling a couple of spoonfuls of tabouli and falafel patties into the flatbread, I slathered it with tzatziki and a thin (ok fine, it was thick) layer of tahini, because my love for tahini runs deep.
You can imagine how messy this was to eat, but what’s street fare if it doesn’t get on your hands? Besides, after taking that first bite, my manners were the last thing on my mind. The only thing going through my head went something along the lines of: "Holy motherland, ص. لذيذ, شهي, طيب, نمير !!!!” For all you non-Arabic speakers out there, need a translation? That means “Delicious!!!” Just don’t ask me to say it out loud.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree...
(and I'm not just saying that because I grew up in Washington state!)
Well folks, August has arrived. I considered extending my blog-cation (yes that’s the love child of blogging and vacation) European-style and not writing again till September, but I couldn’t in good conscience do that to my ever-devoted readers. My delinquent behavior is not one that should be easily forgotten, but I do hope you will find it in your (hungry?) hearts to forgive my distracted mind and busy schedule to keep reading. Plenty of happenings have been cooking in the kitchen, although admittedly so not so much in my own. This past weekend was my big family reunion. Before we cue the moaning from the audience, turns out what should have been that dreaded, obligatory familial duty one must endure at least once in his or her life really wasn’t dreadful at all. Folks from my mother’s side of the family flocked from many pockets around the U.S. to gather nowhere else but the beautiful city of Portland, Oregon to celebrate our Lebanese heritage.
While I’m sure you’re dying to have me rehash every detail of my sixth degrees of separation from every last one of my ancestors from Lebanon, tell you the story of how my great-grandmother and great-grandfather met (even if it is a good one), or present side-to-side photo comparisons of the freaky, uncanny resemblances between my siblings and me with my relatives from many generations preceding us (we have now put to rest any rumors of adoption), I’ll cut right to the chase: I’ll talk about the food. Wipe that shocked look off your face! I wish I could take some credit for what was eaten this weekend, but I was merely an innocent bystander, as we kicked off the weekend with an event that was entitled something along the lines of “Flavors of the Pacific Northwest.”
If there’s ever a time to show off how truly great the Pacific Northwest is, we’re in the thick of it. Ask anyone who lives here and they’ll tell you that the summer months make putting up with the rest of the year worth it. That’s almost true, until you remind them of that eight week stretch in the spring when we didn’t see the sun once. Even so, the summers are pretty damn great if I may say so myself, and that crappy weather on either side of these months really only makes us appreciate them more. There are so many things that make this place superb, and as a cook and enthusiastic eater, I believe it all begins with what's in our backyards. It’s no big surprise that Portland and Seattle in recent years have become two of the most important hubs for young, innovative chefs wanting to use only the freshest, most local, organic, sustainable ingredients they can get their hands on. In fact, I had a conversation with my brother-in-law the other day about how many new (and old) restaurants there are in Portland that I still haven’t tried. While Fenouil, Paley’s Place, and Wildwood all top my wish list, my brother-in-law (a Portland restaurateur himself) and I both laughed about how many of these restaurants all take such a similar approach that it’s hard to tell them apart – they boast their style to be something like "new American cuisine with a French twist, using only the freshest, most local, organic, sustainable ingredients”. We can laugh, but really, why would they create a delicious plate of food and dining experience in any other way? It’s no big surprise this is the approach they take – heck, if I was starting a restaurant here, I’d probably be doing the exact same thing. When you have to work with what you’ve got, and what you’ve got is vibrant produce from your local farms or fresh seafood from the coast, you’d be a fool not to take advantage.
And so with that long-winded paragraph now behind us, I return to the Flavors of the Pacific Northwest. My parents hosted the event at their house, and they couldn’t have shown off the best of the Northwest summer better than they did. Not only did my parents drive up to the Gorge to buy a Chinook salmon caught earlier that day in the Columbia (look for a Native American man in a parking lot in Cascade Locks next time you need one) as the main event, but their menu was also jammed packed with the best of the locals: green beans from the garden, homegrown blueberries, neighborhood blackberries, Lapin cherries, Oregon Pinot Noir and microbrews, etc. etc. etc. It was a feast, and one that I’m sure many of my out-of-town relatives will not soon forget. I live here, and even I felt a little stuffed by the end of the evening because I just couldn’t get enough. At Saturday night’s event we enjoyed traditional Lebanese fare which was great, but personally, Friday night’s meal was the one that had me swooning – with every bite, I fell in love with the Pacific Northwest all over again.
After the weekend was over and the relatives trickled back to their homes around the country, my parents asked me if I was going to report the weekend on clatter. I promised them I would (my mom's response: "You better!!"), but I still wasn’t sure which angle I wanted to take. It didn’t take long before we all agreed that the key to their successful event on Friday night was simply letting the ingredients speak for themselves. As my dad explained, even someone who doesn’t know anything about cooking (him) could prepare fresh salmon on the grill with only lemon, salt and pepper and never screw it up. While my mom vehemently disagreed with his assessment (“Oh you’ve screwed it up before!”), he did have a point (and for the record, his salmon on Friday night was perfection). It takes very low maintenance to highlight the Northwest’s best, and the ingredients offered during the summer make that even easier. You don’t need heavy dressings or sauces and you don’t need to take complex steps to prepare a meal. By all means, take the backseat approach when you’re cooking in the summer, because those ingredients will do all the talking for you. And let me tell you - they’re going to make you look good, whether you deserve it or not.
Well folks, August has arrived. I considered extending my blog-cation (yes that’s the love child of blogging and vacation) European-style and not writing again till September, but I couldn’t in good conscience do that to my ever-devoted readers. My delinquent behavior is not one that should be easily forgotten, but I do hope you will find it in your (hungry?) hearts to forgive my distracted mind and busy schedule to keep reading. Plenty of happenings have been cooking in the kitchen, although admittedly so not so much in my own. This past weekend was my big family reunion. Before we cue the moaning from the audience, turns out what should have been that dreaded, obligatory familial duty one must endure at least once in his or her life really wasn’t dreadful at all. Folks from my mother’s side of the family flocked from many pockets around the U.S. to gather nowhere else but the beautiful city of Portland, Oregon to celebrate our Lebanese heritage.
While I’m sure you’re dying to have me rehash every detail of my sixth degrees of separation from every last one of my ancestors from Lebanon, tell you the story of how my great-grandmother and great-grandfather met (even if it is a good one), or present side-to-side photo comparisons of the freaky, uncanny resemblances between my siblings and me with my relatives from many generations preceding us (we have now put to rest any rumors of adoption), I’ll cut right to the chase: I’ll talk about the food. Wipe that shocked look off your face! I wish I could take some credit for what was eaten this weekend, but I was merely an innocent bystander, as we kicked off the weekend with an event that was entitled something along the lines of “Flavors of the Pacific Northwest.”
If there’s ever a time to show off how truly great the Pacific Northwest is, we’re in the thick of it. Ask anyone who lives here and they’ll tell you that the summer months make putting up with the rest of the year worth it. That’s almost true, until you remind them of that eight week stretch in the spring when we didn’t see the sun once. Even so, the summers are pretty damn great if I may say so myself, and that crappy weather on either side of these months really only makes us appreciate them more. There are so many things that make this place superb, and as a cook and enthusiastic eater, I believe it all begins with what's in our backyards. It’s no big surprise that Portland and Seattle in recent years have become two of the most important hubs for young, innovative chefs wanting to use only the freshest, most local, organic, sustainable ingredients they can get their hands on. In fact, I had a conversation with my brother-in-law the other day about how many new (and old) restaurants there are in Portland that I still haven’t tried. While Fenouil, Paley’s Place, and Wildwood all top my wish list, my brother-in-law (a Portland restaurateur himself) and I both laughed about how many of these restaurants all take such a similar approach that it’s hard to tell them apart – they boast their style to be something like "new American cuisine with a French twist, using only the freshest, most local, organic, sustainable ingredients”. We can laugh, but really, why would they create a delicious plate of food and dining experience in any other way? It’s no big surprise this is the approach they take – heck, if I was starting a restaurant here, I’d probably be doing the exact same thing. When you have to work with what you’ve got, and what you’ve got is vibrant produce from your local farms or fresh seafood from the coast, you’d be a fool not to take advantage.
And so with that long-winded paragraph now behind us, I return to the Flavors of the Pacific Northwest. My parents hosted the event at their house, and they couldn’t have shown off the best of the Northwest summer better than they did. Not only did my parents drive up to the Gorge to buy a Chinook salmon caught earlier that day in the Columbia (look for a Native American man in a parking lot in Cascade Locks next time you need one) as the main event, but their menu was also jammed packed with the best of the locals: green beans from the garden, homegrown blueberries, neighborhood blackberries, Lapin cherries, Oregon Pinot Noir and microbrews, etc. etc. etc. It was a feast, and one that I’m sure many of my out-of-town relatives will not soon forget. I live here, and even I felt a little stuffed by the end of the evening because I just couldn’t get enough. At Saturday night’s event we enjoyed traditional Lebanese fare which was great, but personally, Friday night’s meal was the one that had me swooning – with every bite, I fell in love with the Pacific Northwest all over again.
After the weekend was over and the relatives trickled back to their homes around the country, my parents asked me if I was going to report the weekend on clatter. I promised them I would (my mom's response: "You better!!"), but I still wasn’t sure which angle I wanted to take. It didn’t take long before we all agreed that the key to their successful event on Friday night was simply letting the ingredients speak for themselves. As my dad explained, even someone who doesn’t know anything about cooking (him) could prepare fresh salmon on the grill with only lemon, salt and pepper and never screw it up. While my mom vehemently disagreed with his assessment (“Oh you’ve screwed it up before!”), he did have a point (and for the record, his salmon on Friday night was perfection). It takes very low maintenance to highlight the Northwest’s best, and the ingredients offered during the summer make that even easier. You don’t need heavy dressings or sauces and you don’t need to take complex steps to prepare a meal. By all means, take the backseat approach when you’re cooking in the summer, because those ingredients will do all the talking for you. And let me tell you - they’re going to make you look good, whether you deserve it or not.
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