Category: Happiness

In Defense of Fritos

I once was of the opinion that the simple Frito, an incredibly delicious and copiously fatty corn chip that has starred equally in the boat-ride-adventures of my youth and the roadside-frito-pie-exploits of my recent adulthood, was the devil’s handiwork. Something so delicious must be wrought of the nasties: acesulfame-k, monosodium glucanazoleium, or- at least- yellow 5.

Until today. Today I learned that the humble Frito has but three ingredients: Whole Corn, Corn Oil, and Salt. Heavens to betsy! It’s practically as natural as a home-made tortilla on the open range! Praise the lord and pass the sour cream.

You’re welcome.

frito image from here.

Mondays at Mona’s

When Banjo Jim’s closed down (teardrops in my ears as I lay on my back crying over you, Banjo Jim’s), I thought two things: a) I left the East Village right on time and b) there will never be another place where a girl could go see some great live music for free in an impossibly tiny room festooned with Christmas lights where the bartender does the sound, there’s a honky-tonk piano in the corner, the beers are $3, and the regulars with their chambray suits and silver pony tails will share their cheez-its. Never again, I thought. Well, thank goodness and bless my mess, I was wrong. A mere five blocks from the old Banjo Jim’s site is Mona’s- a marvelous hole in the wall that every Monday hosts a great bluegrass jam. A fabulous band of bearded consorts weave in and around an updated Roosevelt microphone, everyone trading fours and singing high lonesome in the way that’s just loose enough to be great. The best part? Anyone can gather round to play, if you think you have the chops, bring your instrument. And if not, it’s totally acceptable to croon whiskily from your bar seat. Perfection. Oh, and they have skee ball.

Mona’s
Every Monday starting at 9 and going til late
224 Avenue B
(between 13th St & 14th St)

It’s a Lemon

My mother keeps a meyer lemon tree in a glass room off the back of our house in Virginia and every winter it yields exactly one lemon. This year she brought this singular bounty with her up to New York for the holidays and we had big plans for it. Maybe we’d make meyer lemon hot toddies, maybe we’d put the zest over braised fennel bulbs (a recipe cut from the New York Times Magazine five years ago and so loved the paper is almost literally see-through from having been groped often by olive oily fingers), maybe we’d… make lemonade? But, alas, the lemon got repeatedly passed over in favor of Chinatown Dim Sum and Staten Island pizza. As of yesterday, it was still just sitting there. Beautiful, a saturated yellowy orange the color of organic egg yolks or fiestaware, solitary, special. So…. what to do? I did some light googling and came across this article from the LA Times, 100 Things to Do with a Meyer Lemon (ahhh California, where such lemons are so uproariously plentiful that suggestions #35 is “Throw a Meyer lemon for your dog to catch and play with; you’ll lose the lemon, but your dog’s breath will smell fantastic.”). And though I only had one lemon, I decided to make Marcus Samuelsson’s Shrimp piri piri with quick-preserved Meyer lemonsThe quick preserving of the lemon peel was absolutely fantastic- yielding a sweet-salty-sour-somewhat pickled-somewhat candied-sort of bitter-sort of crystalline zest that is making my mouth water now just thinking about it. The preserved lemon was perfect with the cilantro-and-pepper spice of the shrimp, but really, it would be fabulous on many things in many flavor directions- pricking into the slow heat and sweetness of a curry, in lieu of lime on adobo roasted chicken and rice, sprinkled over fresh pizza with thyme and ricotta, marinated with fresh fish and olives, over pasta with just a little hard cheese… So, at its heart the solitary lemon traveled up from the south to yield something even better than a hot toddy (if you can believe it): a new easy, cheap, and delicious trick to turn the usual mundane recessionary meal into something truly spectacular. Here’s the recipe for the quick preserved lemons, find the rest of the shrimp piri piri recipe here.

Quick-preserved Meyer lemons

6 Meyer lemons
1/4 cup kosher salt
1/4 cup sugar

1. Using a vegetable peeler, peel the lemons, trying to keep away from the white pith. (If necessary, scrape any pith away from the peels with a small knife.) Squeeze the juice from the peeled lemons into a bowl and reserve: You should have about 1 cup. Add water to bring the liquid up to 2 cups; set aside to reserve.

2. Place the peel and 2 cups of water in a saucepan and bring to a rolling boil. Drain. Repeat this procedure once more. Return the drained peel to the pan, add the reserved juice, salt and sugar and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside to cool. Makes about three-eighths cup.

Since I only had one lemon, I used 2tsp each of salt and sugar and it made enough preserved lemon for Sweetheart and I to totally enjoy. Good to know. When life gives you lemon, quick preserve it.

Piri Piri image via Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times

 

Here’s to the simple things for the coming year

HiHat’s father Jake infamously once said “I think everyone should do what they want all the time” at their family dinner table (and then got up to watch football). On New Years eve, as we presided over the beautiful kitchen full of wine and recipes, as the boys played music, and as Janelle shucked oysters, I had a conversation with dear Sara (who is my personal guru even if she doesn’t know it). She said: “You know what? When Jake said ‘I think everyone should do what they want all the time’, that’s basically the translation of the chant we do: Om lokah samastah sukhino bhavantu– may all the beings in all the worlds become happy with simplicity and intention”. First of all, any friend who can weave sanskrit interpretation into cocktail conversation and have it come off as moving and relevant is a real keeper. Secondly, living simply with intention focusing on the things that truly make you happy? That seems like a good way to go. I usually don’t make resolutions just for the sake of New Years, but this year I’m going to resolve to continue do what makes me happy with who makes me happy. For Example…Then you’re set. Promise.

Thanks to my other dear friend Sara, from half a world away, for the first quote.

Comandante Biggie

As if the heady bready smell of Not Ray’s wafting down the stairs to greet you when you get out of the train at South Portland wasn’t marvelous enough, now Comandante Biggie keeps his eye on the block. And, to give credit where credit is due it’s all these artists that Represent baby BAY-BAY!

New Traditions

Our family has always valued tradition. Our Virginia roots stretch down deep in the clay loam of Tidewater back farther than the Whiskey Rebellion. For me, anyway, I’ve never felt as tied to my home as I do at Christmas. We chopped down our own Christmas tree every year (including the year where Daddy had suspect access to an old tree farm out in Charles City County that had been on the market for a few years and he and I went in the old pick-up truck with the Flatt and Scruggs cassette stuck in the tape player and cut a spindly ole tree down with dubious permission and had to skedaddle out of there with a banjo soundtrack when some overseers came out of the trailer on the edge of the property like enraged overalled hornets). We had fires in our fireplace that I would keep going til the last minute until it was time to put it out for the safety of potential Christmas Eve visitors. We had embroidered stockings with our initials on them that, for me, always contained a can of olives (my greatest desire) and a new toothbrush (a two-pronged attack on hygiene maintained by both Santa and the Easter Bunny). Then, when we were older, we had long Christmas day brunches, just us, for hours at the dining room table, totally content, entirely self contained. Our traditions built us up and kept us together.Though the past made us many things, I have learned that this is not what makes us family. So, this Christmas we tried a few new things, new to us but still rooted deep somewhere. Instead of the pink poinsettias that have been on our kitchen table at home every December for my birthday, this year Mama brought up the pink camellias above- cut from our Virginia garden. My grandfather brought her the plant, started from cuttings from the original- growing at my Great Grandmother’s house- he called them Sophie Davis Camellias after her. Instead of a long boozy brunch of hash browns and hominy, we went to Pell Street in Chinatown with Sweetheart’s family- in from Rockaway- for the long standing New York Jewish tradition of chinese food (in this case, vegetarian dim sum) on Christmas Day. Instead of the boxwood roping, magnolia leaves, and fresh cut trees of our old roots, we had the entire New York City skyline glittering and bejeweled, new to us but rooting us here just the same.

Amazing Mama=Birthday Scavenger Hunt

This mysterious envelope arrived for me the day before my birthday, looking vaguely official with its blue and white IRS ticking, while also looking a little Groucho-Marx-glasses-disguise-suspicious with its multiple various stamps, inclusion of my middle name, and slight lumpiness. Upon opening it, I removed a perforated parcel of purple construction paper sealed with a warning:

DO NOT REMOVE UNTIL YOU ARE READY TO GO ON YOUR JOURNEYAlong the top it said:
“Start Here and work your way down to help you discover your birthday surprise”

A SCAVENGER HUNT! After following included instructions to consult Sweetheart as to the correct time to begin, I broke the seal and was told to go north out of my apartment- after that, each paper-clipped-flap revealed further instruction on my journey to find my birthday surprise. I sang a song at the Roberson Theater, stopped in the Cuyler Gore playground, was led to Jessy’s Unisex Salon, instructed to pass by Cake Man Raven, made it to “U Kiss” Chinese all the way down to… Saffron Brooklyn! Upon arrival, I was instructed to go inside to see what Kana had waiting for me. Oh the suspense! The tiny shop smelled of spice and leather and fresh flowers…True to the construction paper oracle, Kana was expecting me- with this beautiful rose hip and juniper bouquet and an impossibly tiny envelope containing a card worth 100 smackers to get anything I wanted! YES YES MARVELOUS! This adorable shop has been here for a few years (the shop and I arrived in the neighborhood around the same time) and is basically the perfect little store for yours truly: they have worn-in classic barware and weird ephemera (a lamp made of a nautilus caught my eye), an amazing selection of vintage bags and coats, and gorgeous, gorgeous flowers- more camellia than carnation, more dahlia than daisy. Read: danger for this bird. Danger UNLESS- you have an amazing birthday scavenger hunt for presents concocted and executed by the best Mama around*.Go visit them yourselves: Start by going left…..

Saffron Brooklyn
31 Hanson Place (Between Saint Felix & Fort Greene Place) Brooklyn, NY 11217

 
*This is Mama who wants it to say on her tombstone:
“She Never Did Anything Half-Assed”

Hornsby Family Egg Nog

For me, Christmas wouldn’t be complete without making a large batch of celebrated Hornsby Family Egg Nog (made from scratch, served with love, fresh nutmeg, and ideally tons of fried chicken and warm biscuits with Smithfield Ham). This year the batch was perhaps the best it’s ever been- which is in no small part due to by the glorious gift of Araucana Blue eggs straight from Jay and Katie Rose’s chickens. Araucanas are a South American breed that lay thick-skinned eggs with yolks the color of setting suns. The shells of their eggs come in a range of beautiful delicate colors: pale aquamarine and celadon, eau de nil, sky, and light dappled ochre. See above. The fact that these chickens have beards, are named after lady blues singers, and are presided over by the Grand Plumed Rooster Alicia Jr. just makes the funfetti toned eggs all the more party ready. Which is a good thing since the nog calls for 30 of them (we triple the recipe for our holiday party, soooo, yeah). Talking about the eggs brings up the antipathy that many people have for egg nog- maybe you’ve only ever had store bought (oof), maybe you went to a party where some poor fool made it with gin (travesty), maybe raw eggs give you the willies (no help or hope for you, my friend), but this version, with its hand-written recipe and various and copious brown liquors is surprisingly, almost unbelievably light and fresh, sweet and smooth, spicy, silky, and secretly very strong. Here’s the recipe, straight out of the Hornsby family cookbook, “From the Kitchen at the Hornsby House”, written out by my Great Aunt Marian.Our family is one of barrel chested watermen-turned-oilmen-turned-land men, consummate entertainers, gentlemen raconteurs, merry pranksters, bon vivants, music makers and songstresses, and long time intimates of the marvelous stiff southern drink… when it would be Christmas at the Big House, laughter would shake the chandeliers, and instruments would be played until the wee hours. I always hope to have done them proud.

recipe notes:
– I use Benedictine and Brandy (B&B) instead of Brandy and Southern Comfort
– Tripled, the bourbon comes out to a handle, Jim Beam is more than satisfactory (though Maker’s Mark is sweeter).
– You’re left with the whites of the eggs, make a frittata!

Greene Hill Food Co-op: Open for Business!

After a few long years of hard, hard work and inspired perspiration this past weekend the beautiful and brand-spanking-new Greene Hill Food Co-op threw open its doors for the first time. The block itself seemed to roar with kale and a groundswell of happy, hungry humans with pure hearts and canvas bags. The idea of the food co-op is sort of communism-light: anyone can pay an equal, one-time, refundable share to join, everyone shares the work, and everyone enjoys the (literal, abundant) fruits of this labor in the form of gorgeous fresh produce, sweet and light loaves of locally baked bread, and chicken that perhaps wore a cowboy hat as it roamed the open range- all at reasonable prices. In a neighborhood where the food options are limited to the polarizing spectrum of corner bodegas where plantain chips are the only vegetable in sight and fancy-pants specialty food stores that have fresh figs and Humboldt Fog for $16/a quarter pound, this sort of place- where good food isn’t just well curated and lovely, but is sustainable, affordable, and available to all- is a jewel.

There are a few different options for membership plans, based on income: The Avocado Plan (where the well off can pay their share and also the share of someone else), The Lettuce Plan (where the comfortable can support themselves), The Carrot Plan (where the pretty broke can pay their share in installments), and The Apple Plan (where those who qualify pay a reduced fee and can make the membership investment in installments over the next five years- also the co-op takes food stamps). Sweetheart and I are in a weird place with this- being writers and musicians has us hovering essentially at the poverty line (eek)- but- we’re also participants in an active food culture, enthusiastic home cooks, the type of people who watch King Corn streaming on Netflix, have friends farming at Blue Hill and working for The Greenhorns, the type of people who went to Oberlin. In short: we are well armed with the righteous knowledge of food. We know how to provide ourselves with fresh, delicious meals from scratch and prioritize the ability/desire to choose to put a fair portion of our income towards eating (and living) well. Extra money doesn’t go towards physical luxuries, it gets put towards a stoop garden and non-agribusiness meats (and once- dinner at Chez Pannisse). Even though we may not have a cent to pay the rent, but we’re gonna make it, we may have to eat beans every day, but they’re going to be sustainable garbanzos. The Greene Hill Food Co-op is newly open, but the most exciting thing (in addition to a quart of Annie’s Goddess Dressing for $3.50, and the prettiest loaves of rye I’ve seen outside of Orwasher’s) is what this may mean for the future, for the neighborhood. The co-op gives a sense of ownership and personal responsibility over the food we eat, it makes the opportunity to pick healthy options not just readily available to all but totally desirable, and it shares the knowledge and power that comes from making your own food choices with everyone. It’s actually DOING something about it all instead of just reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma and being abstractly horrified at pictures of factory farms. And, of course, we’re still taking members. Sign up here and let’s go grocery shopping.Images including vegetables from the Greene Hill Co-Op’s Flickr, see more here.
Here’s an interesting, easily digestible article about food equality.