6/11/17

Video: Magical Mung Beans

Welllllll, all good things must come to an end, right? This mung-bean-centric video marks our last episode of the mom.me 'In the Kitchen with Amelia and Teddy' series. Like most endings, it’s bittersweet. It was a good gig for a freelancing mother of two young kids who is married to a shooter/director. (Here’s the youtube link to all 39(?!) episodes we did in case you want to watch my kids grow up right in front of your eyes and sure, also see the food we made.)

I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m ready to spend some time not in front of a camera. I feel like motherhood is a constant exercise of when to let your kids lead and when to assert yourself as the actual person in charge (at least until they start wondering whether anyone is ever in charge). (These days, it surely doesn't seem like it, huh?) Anyway, sometimes letting them “lead” feels like a destruction of the self. Sometimes it’s extremely freeing. Sometimes it’s both! Point being, I’m looking forward to letting this all play out behind the scenes for a bit.

Of course this does mean that I’ll need to find a new job. Maybe UCLA gymnastics is hiring? (Just kidding.) (They’re not. I already looked.)

Either way, see you soon, friends!
Magical Mung Beans
To make your own mung bean sprouts:
Rinse 1 cup of whole mung beans, then put them in a bowl and cover with about 4 inches of water and leave to soak at room temperature for about 12 hours. Drain the beans in a colander and then rinse them with some more fresh water.

Line a large bowl with a triple layer of thick paper towels in such a way that there will be some left to fold over the beans. Fully dampen the paper towels or cloths and put all the beans in the bowl. Cover with the overhanging paper, or use extra dampened paper towel if you need to.

Put the bowl in a dark, warm place (like a closet) for at least 12 hours but up to 24. The beans should sprout. Rinse them in cool water, then cover and store in the refrigerator, making sure to rinse them in cool water every day. They should keep for 3-4 days.

Mung Bean Sprouts with Swiss Chard slightly adapted from Madhur Jaffrey’s Vegetarian India

2 large stalks of Swiss chard
1 tablespoon olive oil
generous pinch of asafetida (optional) (available at Indian grocery stores)
1 teaspoon whole brown mustard seeds
2-3 cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped
1 jalapeno, finely chopped
½ teaspoon ground turmeric
3 cups Indian-style mung bean sprouts
3 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon butter
1 lime
1 teaspoon sugar

Cut the chard stems into ¼-inch dice and the leaves into 1-inch dice.

Put the oil in a large frying pan and set over medium-high heat. When hot, add the asafetida and a second later, the mustard seeds. If the oil is hot enough, the seeds will start to pop in a matter of seconds. Once at least a few of them have popped, turn the heat off. Add the garlic and jalapeno.

Put the pan back on the heat and add the chopped chard stems and stir for two minutes. Mix in the turmeric, then add the bean sprouts, fresh cilantro, chard leaves, 6 tablespoons of water, and the salt. Stir and bring to a simmer on medium heat. Cover and cook very gently for 20 minutes.

Stir in the butter. Once it’s melted, add the juice of the lime and the sugar. Taste for seasoning.

Serve on flatbread or toast with whole plain yogurt.
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6/4/17

A Butcher, a Baker, a Really Good Book-Maker: A Conversation with Cara Nicoletti

[This is the fourth conversation in a series. For the others, click here.]
In Voracious: A Hungry Reader Cooks Her Way through Great Books, Cara Nicoletti guides us through her reading life. Each chapter discusses a different book she read at a specific point in her life—from her childhood to present day. And while she uses food as a vehicle throughout these discussions (each chapter ends with a recipe inspired by the book in question), Voracious doesn’t feel limited by or overly bound to this structure. Much like the books she is highlighting, Voracious is a world unto itself. Sometimes we learn about a book’s cultural and/or historical context and sometimes about the authors themselves. All the while, we’re also picking up the story of Nicoletti’s life: her New England upbringing, her sisters, parents, boyfriends, butchering, baking, and that time she fed a mouse a cookie.

After reading it, I was left inspired both to cook (see below) and to read (Eugenides’ Middlesex). But possibly more than anything, I was inspired to instill in Teddy and Isaac the love for reading that Nicoletti has. More than once, she writes about times in her young life where she would come home from school, troubled by one thing or another, and find a book waiting for her on her bed, placed there by a parent or relative, and how usually that book hit upon something she needed to hear and/or feel at the time.

The other day at my local public library, after I’d checked out a couple of books for myself, I wandered over to the children’s section. Thanks to loving grandparents, Teddy and Isaac have an overflowing collection of books, so I rarely if ever check anything out for them, but that day I scoured the shelves for ones I thought Teddy would like. I grabbed two, drove home, and placed them on his bed—the firsts of a new tradition, I hope.

[After reading her book, I emailed a bunch of questions to Cara and she kindly emailed me back her answers.]

***

Amelia Morris: The more I read about your family in Voracious, the more I liked them. The chapter about how your dad (who you call “Noodle”) makes a pound of garlicky pasta to accompany every single meal, no matter the meal, is such an amazing, telling detail of a person. (Also, as I read, I completely aligned myself with your mother because I was imagining Matt busting into my kitchen fifteen minutes before dinner was ready to make his daily pasta.) I’m curious about your family’s background. You guys are Italian and Jewish? (But there was also mention of going to church in the book?)

Cara Nicoletti: My dad is Italian and my mom is Jewish, so we were raised with a blend of the two. My dad doesn’t have much family, no immediate, so we grew up surrounded by my mom’s family, which makes me feel closer to my Jewish heritage than any other. My parents took us to church every Sunday, though. I think it was important to my dad that we have some of the structure that he grew up with. We sang in the choir and got confirmed and pretended to be sheep in the nativity play but we were surrounded by Jews the rest of the time. Jews and Italians are really incredibly similar—both are loud and hungry and tough and warm—I mean, if we’re going to make sweeping generalizations here.

AM: I never read any of the Nancy Drew books, yet I’ve always thought of Nancy as a symbol for strong independent young women. Your description, however, left me with a much different impression. As you explain, Nancy is written to appear perfect in every way, which apparently includes a restrained appetite and also some body-shaming of her “slightly plump” friend, Bess. In this way, she reminds me of a Regina George-type. Why do you think “perfection” in a woman is so often tangled up in being thin? 

CN: I think on a really basic level it has to do with femininity being wrapped up in the ideas of fragility. From an evolutionary standpoint, women are supposed to be delicate so that they inspire feelings of protectiveness in their men, which will ensure that their babies survive. As archaic as this sounds, those pressures and expectations were still very much expected in the time the Nancy Drew books were popular. That kind of old-fashioned femininity is also wrapped up in the idea of restraint. Food is a bodily pleasure, just like sex. A woman who isn’t thin is too readily open to pleasure, and that’s not lady-like. These kinds of pressures are still very much present today—even for us women in the food industry, who obviously like to eat. Male chefs are allowed and even expected to be heavy, but female chefs are expected to somehow remain miraculously lithe despite making a living on cooking and eating.
All eyes on Queen Victoria?
AM: I also love the Charlotte’s Web chapter. It’s a simple reminder of that amazing thing fiction often does, which is tackle two opposing viewpoints with nuance (the practical farmer vs. Fern who has developed an emotional attachment to Wilbur). You also discuss E.B. White’s essay “Death of a Pig,” which, you write, “demonstrates that eating and loving animals are not mutually exclusive, or at the very least that it’s okay to be unsure about the answers to these enormous questions.” I totally agree! Why do you think the world is seemingly more comfortable with binary systems, e.g. this or that, for or against, male or female, gay or straight, democrat or republican, etc.?

CN: The world is a fucking mess of gray area and we’re all trying to navigate it and figure out where we fit into it. Binary systems give us a really easy way to exist and claim space and feel ordered and protected. Unfortunately, there’s a whole lot of gray space within those binaries, so basically 
¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Maybe it’s because I live in the small weird bubble of New York City (more specifically, in the smaller and weirder bubble that is Brooklyn), but it feels like people are starting to push against those binaries in a big way. This election was a huge wake-up call that our two-party system is majorly flawed. It’s the first time I’ve been aware of there being such a wide spectrum of different kinds of republicans and different kinds of democrats—it always kind of felt, up until this point, that you were one thing or the other, but now not so much.

AM: We share two very important things in common. One, I’ve also publicly declared Pride and Prejudice to be my favorite book of all time and two, we both have food memoir-ish books that mention city chicken (which as we both know is actually pork, not chicken, on a stick). Here’s my question: which movie adaptation of P and P do you like better, the 6-hour BBC mini-series or the Keira Knightly one?

CN: If you counted every movie I have ever watched in my entire lifetime, that number probably wouldn’t come close to the number of times I have watched that BBC miniseries. I fell asleep to it almost every single night throughout high school and most of college. I played it so many times the DVD got melty and started skipping. The point is, there has never been a more perfect Elizabeth Bennet than Jennifer Ehle and probably there never will be. I went to see the Keira version in theaters when it came out and actually left the theater because I was so annoyed by it. Overtime I’ve come to accept it—it’s really beautifully shot and the music is great, but nothing will ever come close to the miniseries.

AM: In your chapter on Mrs. Dalloway, you write, “Woolf’s attitude toward food is Victorian, focusing on the grotesqueness of the flesh and the marrying of moral character with eating.” According to Google, the Victorian era lasted from 1837 to 1901 (when Queen Victoria died and her reign ended). And yet, this Victorian vibe, if you will, continues to persist! Example: The horrible YouTube comments you got on the Vice video where you mention your period. Periods = life, quite literally. Do you agree with my example or in general that this Victorian way of thinking is still hanging around?
CN: Oh man, the Victorian era still very much persists, in my opinion. We’ve obviously made massive strides, but there is still a very real fear of women’s bodies. With the overturning of the Affordable Care Act, pregnancy, or the possibility of pregnancy (aka having a vagina) will once again become a preexisting condition, which means it will be harder for women, including pregnant women, to get healthcare. But at the same time, they want to defund Planned Parenthood and make access to abortion more difficult. So basically, we have to have the babies but we can’t get the health insurance to have the babies. It’s a real head-scratcher!

Beyond that, the entire advertising industry is built around telling women that our bodies are gross and problematic, that we need to shave and pluck and douche and wax and never let anyone know that we bleed or poop. I work with men all day long and I make it my dang business to tell them all about my period. If it makes them uncomfortable I don’t care. It’s pretty uncomfortable to carry a cow in on my back when I’m cramping like hell, but I can still do it better than most of them.   

AM: Talking about a main character in Philip Roth’s American Pastoral, you write, “Merry hates, detests America, but she actively consumes it in the most literal way through the foods she chooses to eat—cheeseburgers, processed-cheese sandwiches on white bread, milkshakes, BLTs, pizza, onion rings, root beer floats, and French fries.” Indeed, these foods feel intensely American. In your opinion, what does this say about America?

CN: America has such a weird food identity in that we don’t really have one. There are only a handful of foods that really feel like they are ours and not just a bastardized version of a dish from another place. I’m sure processed-cheese sandwiches and BLTs and cheeseburgers are, at their very root, bastardized from somewhere else, but they’ve morphed into something distinctly American. These foods are obviously all fattening and unhealthy, but what strikes me the most about them is that they’re fast. One of the reasons we’ve struggled to find a food identity in America is that we prize quickness and convenience over most other things when it comes to food. As a culture we don’t really like to gather and linger over our meals—we’re far too busy and important—so most of our foods are quick and dirty.

AM: This is simply a practical question. But you have a few recipes for donuts in the book. I never make these at home because I never know what to do with the used frying oil. You can’t pour it down the drain, right?

CN: I very rarely fry stuff at home because it makes the house smell so weird and also I don’t crave fried food very often (humble brag). You’re right, you can’t pour the oil down the drain—it’s bad for the earth and your pipes—which is another reason it’s a lot easier to buy donuts at the store. If you’ve reused the oil as many times as you can and it’s time to toss it, just pour it into a sealable container and throw it away. Obviously, make sure the oil is fully cooled before you put it in the container. You can also search for places to recycle your cooking oil using this website.

AM: How did you find the process of publishing a book?

CN: I wrote the book in about eight months, and the entire time I was working in a butcher shop full-time. I would wake up at 4:30 a.m., write until I had to work at nine, get home at six and write until after midnight, then I’d do it all again the next day. My apartment doesn’t have heat in the winter so I spent most of the time I was writing holed up in my office under 30 layers and wrapped in blankets with a space heater blowing directly in my face. It was a physically and mentally grueling time, but I look back on it with real fondness, which I never would have expected when I was in the thick of it. For someone who loves books as much as I do, getting to be a part of that process from start to finish was completely exhilarating. It was eye-opening, too. Publishing a book takes an insanely long time—much longer than I was anticipating—and a massive number of people to make it happen. It was exhausting and really really scary, but probably the thing I’m the most proud of in my life.

AM: What’s your reading and writing life like now? Read anything good lately? Any designs on writing another book?

CN: After the publication of Voracious, I took a giant step back from writing for other people. I stopped blogging completely, which is something I feel an almost-daily twinge of guilt about, but it felt like a chapter that had ended for me in a very real way. I still try to write every day, even if it’s just a quick notebook entry about my day, but I’m a lot choosier about what I put out into the public realm.

When I was blogging, it was always a pleasant surprise to me when people read my stuff—I really was just doing it for myself and my own sanity, and the fact that people were responding to it was just a bonus. When the book got published there came a point when I had to make myself stop reading the weekly emails from my publisher detailing how many books sold and how that translated into money, because I started getting obsessed, and it started feeling bad and stressful. Writing for myself and my own pleasure again feels really good and freeing. I’d love to write another book in the future, I think about it almost every day, but the exact shape of what it would be hasn’t come yet. I’ve been working on a screenplay for some months (I’m rolling my eyes at how gross that sounds), but I have a feeling it will stay in my notebook forever, and that’s totally okay. Right now I’m reading A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara and it’s brilliant and excruciating so I’m also reading a Nora Roberts book called The Liar so that I can actually sleep at night.

***

Another thing Voracious inspired me to do was make these condensed-milk sandwiches. They come up in The English Patient, which (as I mentioned in my last post) I just read and loved. I knew they would be good, but they really surprised me by how good—they're like French toast but sandwich-ier. Here's a loose recipe to follow if you're interested.  

Condensed-Milk Sandwiches adapted from Michael Ondaatje
butter
regular white sandwich bread or thinly-sliced sourdough
sweetened condensed milk
salt

Butter the bread on at least one side or possibly both. Heat up a cast-iron griddle. Add a tablespoon of butter to the griddle. As soon as it starts to foam, add a piece of bread, butter-side down. Drizzle about two tablespoons of the condensed milk on top of the bread. Sprinkle with salt. Top with another piece of bread, butter-side up. Sprinkle with some more salt. Cook until the underneath is crisp and browned. Flip and cook until the other side is crisp and browned. Eat while it's hot.
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5/26/17

Video: Carrot and Avocado Salad with Tahini Dressing

Apart from Matt and the kids, my reading life is what saves me over and over again. I picked up The English Patient from our bookshelves a few weeks ago, initially pulled in 100% by the cover of Ralph Fiennes making out with Kristin Scott Thomas. It also helped that tucked inside the book I found a bookmark from a bookstore in Whistler, British Columbia called Bestsellers. According to this bookmark, the following are some of the things that you can be sure to find at Bestsellers: "Books, Walkmans, Discmans, Music (CDs & Tapes), Video." I've sadly never been to British Columbia, so Matt and I have decided that his mom or dad must've bought the book while there on a ski trip, sometime in 1996 or 1997.

I saw the movie a million years ago and didn't remember much about the plot. I remembered the Ralph Fiennes character had gotten badly burned, of course (but that pre-burn he had made out with Kristin Scott Thomas). I also remembered that something bad had happened to the Willem Dafoe character. It was Ondaatje's prose that pulled me in from the very first page. Here's a moment from early on that I'm still thinking about, "Coming out of what had happened to her during the war, she drew her own few rules to herself. She would not be ordered again or carry out duties for the greater good. She would care only for the burned patient." Gaaahhh. What a treasure of a book!

As for the kitchen and cooking, lately I've not been super inspired. But this salad is delicious and easy to make. And if you served it with with some basmati rice and a fried egg (and maybe some greek yogurt on the side), it would be a dinner worth telling people about.
Carrot and Avocado Salad with Tahini Dressing adapted from Julia Turshen’s Small Victories
1 heaping tablespoon tahini
2 tablespoons boiling water
2-3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2-3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon honey
kosher salt
1 lb (340 g) carrots, thinly sliced
3-4 radishes, sliced (optional)
1 ripe avocado, halved and pitted
2-3 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds or Za’atar
2 scallions, roots and dark green tops trimmed off, white and light green parts thinly sliced
handful of roughly chopped fresh parsley (optional)

In a liquid measuring container or small bowl, stir together the tahini, boiling water, olive oil, honey, and lemon juice. Season to taste with salt. Put the carrots and radishes in a large bowl, add the dressing and toss to combine. Use a spoon to scoop the avocado from its skin and place the pieces over the carrots. Season the avocado with a bit of salt. Scatter the salad with the sesame seeds, scallions, and parsley (if using). Serve immediately.
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4/28/17

What Happened to the Home Cook?: A Conversation with Jeanne Kelley

[This is the third conversation in a series. For the other two, click here.]
When I worked at Heath Ceramics, Jeanne Kelley would come in fairly often to rent out dinnerware for photo shoots for what would eventually become her third cookbook, Salad for Dinner. Usually, I didn’t love doing rentals. It was a lot of work (for not that much money) and the food stylists who typically did the renting weren’t always very nice. But Jeanne was different—she was calm and kind. She also often brought along homemade cookies for the staff. And they weren’t just any cookies. They were special—chewy, nutty, chocolatey, and with just enough salt.

When Salad for Dinner came out, we carried it at the store, but instead of taking photos of the recipes I wanted to make with my phone, like I often did with many of the books we carried at Heath (budget-living!), I happily bought Salad For Dinner. It’s been a favorite of mine ever since—her blue cheese dressing recipe makes regular appearances at our house as does her simple croque-madame on greens. In preparation for this interview, I got my hands on her previous book, Blue Eggs and Yellow Tomatoes and even though it was published nine years ago, the recipes didn’t feel dated. I made the “Easy Banana Cream Pie” right away.

Since Jeanne lives on the east side of Los Angeles like I do, I was able to interview her in person instead of via email. She invited me over for lunch, and though I knew it was going to be delicious, once I got there I was immediately reminded that she is also a food stylist because everything was so beautiful. Just look at this salad, would ya?
I was curious to talk to Kelley as she was a contributing editor at Bon Appétit magazine for 20 years, but also because her books and articles radiate an inspiring depth of knowledge about food, cooking, and gardening too. Her most recent piece for The LA Times focuses on rose geranium. Kelley writes, “If you don’t already have rose geranium in your garden, a friend with a bush could break off a branch for you to nurture in a pot of moist soil in full sunlight.” Of course I left our lunch and conversation well-fed, but I also left with my very own rose geranium branch (and some fresh chicken eggs and a copy of her latest book to boot).

Amelia Morris: In the acknowledgments to Blue Eggs and Yellow Tomatoes (2008), you start by thanking your mom, someone who “cooked healthy and delicious meals for seven nightly.” You were one of five children? Can you talk a little about your mom and how she approached homemaking for such a crowd?

Jeanne Kelley: Oh, I don’t know. I was born in 1963 and I’m the youngest of five, so I think my mom may have been over it a little. [Laughs.]

AM: I can hardly imagine a third kid let alone five!

JK: Yeah, I have three brothers, so she had three boys first [one right after the other]. And then came my sister, who is about 2½ years older than me, and she was probably the perfect girl baby. My mom said she never complained, she never did anything; she was so easy to neglect—in a way. So, I think I must have kind of been a mistake. But you know, she lived on a street where all the women had a ton of kids. It was easier then. They just sent them outside, sent them to other people’s houses. It wasn’t like today. We’re so focused and our kids are involved in so many activities.

AM: And so many parents today have work outside of childcare and housework. Can you talk about raising your own two daughters and working for Bon Appétit magazine?

JK: I had my kids relatively young for people my age; I was 24 when I had my first child.

AM: Oh, wow!

JK: Yeah, I mean, Celeste, my older daughter, is 29 years old.

AM: Wow.

JK: I had some problems with endometriosis, so my doctor recommended that if I wanted to have kids, for me to do it [right away]. And I was actually married already. I really wasn’t ready, but we just decided to go ahead and go for it.

I had a great job at the time too. I was a freelance recipe tester for Bon Appétit magazine. They didn’t have a formal test kitchen. They used to have people who would cook dishes at home and then transport them to the office; you’d reheat it, put it out for everybody and they’d taste it. It was great—it was a part-time job that paid well and I could do it from home.

And then I had my first daughter and when she was about 18 months old, they finally built a real test kitchen and I interviewed to be one of the people who would work there full-time. So, I basically had the luxury of being with my baby until she was 18 months and then I got a full-time job. And the way we structured daycare—god, it was so expensive—we put her in a four-day a week program and my mom, who still lived in Pasadena at the time, took her every Friday. And also, because I used to cook for the morning testing, I would get to the office really early. I would leave before traffic; the baby wasn’t even awake yet, my husband would get her dressed, take her to daycare and then I would pick her up at 3:30pm in the afternoon. Oh, and to deal with traffic back then, they came up with this amazing thing where you got a three-day weekend every other week. So you were supposed to just add maybe 45 minutes to your workday and then you got every other Friday off. And it was just perfect. I don’t know why more people don’t do that because they’re gonna get that 45 minutes out of you.

AM: So when you had your second daughter, what happened?

JK: My girls are four years apart, so when I had my second one, I looked at my salary and then the expense of daycare for two kids, and there would have been no profit. So, after my second daughter was born, I decided to quit. And I started developing content for Bon Appétit Books on a freelance basis. And that was great. And plus I could fill in at the magazine when someone went out on maternity leave or someone was sick or traveling, or etc. I already had the training, so I could work in the test kitchen or the office. I could edit. [This was] all freelance. It was a great job. I loved it. And over the years, I started writing recipes for them. And kept with it. I did food styling and different projects. I basically worked for them up until they moved to New York. And that’s when they fired everybody.

AM: And that’s when Adam Rapoport took over? And your relationship with Bon Appétit ended?

JK: Yes. I mean, I think my agent tried to get them to cover a couple of my books, but I don’t think that was ever going to happen. What did I hear—someone said that the new rule to get any sort of coverage from them—and this is from a publicist—you gotta be hot and under 30. [Laughs.]

AM: Well, they didn’t cover my book either, so now I know why! I’m curious though what you think about the current-day Bon Appétit. As I mentioned, I find it to be, ever since Rapoport took over, a rather soulless, largely trend-focused approach to food and cooking.

JK: Well, I don’t know Adam personally. But he came from GQ. He’s got a very fashion-based point of view. And I think that’s how they feel they can make it survive or appeal to young people maybe, if they’re this food and fashion thing. But for me, I don’t think food and fashion necessarily go together.

AM: And what about Gourmet? Did you like that or read that before it went under?

JK: Yes, Gourmet had this great thing about them because they had really great people that wrote for them. I heard this interview with Ann Patchett and one of the questions was what had inspired her to write [State of Wonder, a book set in the Amazon rainforest] and I was floored by her response, which was, “Oh, there was this wonderful magazine, Gourmet, and I could call the editor, Ruth, and tell her I wanted to go to the Amazon and Ruth would send me—”

AM: I think I heard that one too. And doesn’t Patchett take the blame for Gourmet’s downfall because she said she spent too much money on those trips?
JK: That is one thing I heard—that when Gourmet went under, there were millions of dollars of unused edit… They had so much money that they could produce all of this wonderful content, but they didn’t necessarily have the advertisers [for it].

But that’s an interesting thing when you think about magazines and them going under and you think of Vogue, [it makes me] so frustrated. Bon Appétit is taken over by a young man who wears skinny jeans and it’s all about fashion and New York and it’s all this youth, youth, youth thing. And you look at Vogue, which is so successful and it’s run by older women. So why can’t we have women running these magazines?

AM: I assume Bon Appétit is successful or else they wouldn’t keep doing it?

JK: I guess so? I don’t really know. I know it’s tough in the magazine industry right now. But you do start to wonder why the whole thing is to skew younger; why they feel like they need this young demographic so much. Because they don’t really have any money…

AM: And aren’t they on the Internet anyway?

JK: They’re on the Internet anyway, or they call their mom. So it’s like: why wouldn’t you focus on people who aren’t comfortable with the Internet? I guess geezers aren’t cool.

AM: I don’t think geezers are “cool”! Which reminds me: Have you ever seen The Great British Baking Show?

JK: No. I haven’t and I know I should. People say they love it because the people are really nice.

AM: And they’re old! The first time I watched it, I remember thinking: Oh, there’s an old person on my television.

JK: Imagine that!

AM: Do you watch any food television? (Because I do.)

JK: Not really. Because I find most of it sort of inane. But I’m bad in the sense that I sometimes feel like my whole world is so much about food, work-wise that I don’t necessarily like to watch shows about food or read about food. People will say, “Oh, you’ve got to watch Chef’s Table.” And I’ll say, “OK. I’ll give it a try.” But then I just forget. Maybe if I ever have some time off and I can iron or something, I’ll iron and watch a show.
But sometimes I get a little bored with chefs. They’re great, but I don’t understand the elevation of chefs to this kind of celebrity status and this sort of authority about cooking. Because I think that when you cook for a restaurant it is so different than cooking at home. They’re like two different languages, but people don’t see that. When I worked in the test kitchen, I could see that chefs don’t cook with recipes. They go off the top of their heads. Therefore, they don’t know the difference between a quarter cup and a teaspoon. They’re just cooking by feeling, which is great. Everybody should know how to do that, but not everybody can. But I don’t think that should devalue a recipe. A recipe is a great tool. It makes me feel like: What happened to the home cook? Why doesn’t the home cook have a voice so much in the whole food movement anymore? Why is it so much about chefs? They don’t cook at home. And half of them don’t know how to make something super super simple. They come home from work; they’re so over cooking, it’s the last thing they want to do.

AM: They also work all night, right? So if you had a family, when would you cook for them?

JK: That’s another thing that bothers me about the whole chef-y thing. These people have bought into it! They’re like [takes a faux macho tone]: Yeah, we don’t get paid very much and we don’t have holidays and we’re never with our families, but yeah! We have our knife tats and we’re chefs! [Back to her regular voice] But you can still cook and have some sort of quality of life.

AM: This reminds me of why I really like your cookbooks. They feel written by somebody who likes to eat and nothing is too fussy. I just made your banana cream pie and I love the press-in crust and how you just melt the chocolate right on top of the crust. Those are my kind of recipes.
(They are also clearly Teddy's kind of recipes.)
JK: I feel like you’ve got to make things easy or people aren’t going to do them. And I know that there’s this purist kind of ethos with a lot of cooking and that a lot of people would look at that pie and say, “Oh my gosh. You’re not rolling out the crust and blind-baking it and blah blah blah.” And no, I’m not, but I know that doing that whole process would add a whole other day. And I kind of just feel like: I want to cook something and be able to eat it. [Laughs.] I want it to be delicious and I guess I don’t really care about authenticity [or] if something is technically correct, if it’s good.

AM: Blue Eggs and Yellow Tomatoes comes with a "Chicken Keeper’s Guide" and in it, you say that while you’ve tended to a backyard flock of chickens for fifteen years, you don’t consider yourself a “chicken expert.” You write: “I’m a chicken enthusiast. I ‘muddle through,’ as my Pop would say, and though I may not be doing everything right, my hens seem happy and the eggless months are few.” I love a lot of things here. I kind of wish we had more self-admitting non-experts—self-admitting being a key adjective. I also love the idea of “muddling through.”

JK: There was no Internet when I got chickens. It’s not like you could Google anything that went wrong with your chickens. You’d look at some dumb book and the books were always so involved—they’d be almost written for a vet or someone. So I would just figure it out and there was this funny guy at a pet store in Highland Park and I would go talk to him and ask him questions and he looked at me one day and he said to me, [takes a very serious tone] “Lady, your chickens are making you think.” [Laughs.] It was classic. And I was like, “Oh, right. Your chickens aren’t supposed to make you think. They’re just chickens.” You drive around in Mexico, Africa, Thailand, everywhere, the chickens are just running around.

AM: Under the section, “Roosters?” you write, “I am often surprised at how often I explain that no, you don’t need a rooster to get eggs. Yes, you do need a rooster if you want fertilized eggs that hatch into chicks, but a hen ovulates, just as a female human does, with or without the presence of a male.” I’ve eaten so many chicken eggs in my life and I feel like I never really thought about this before—a fertilized egg vs. an unfertilized one. And it’s just moments like that when I feel really disconnected from my food source and like a modern jackass, basically.

JK: [Laughs.] No, so many smart people have brought this up to me. You know, I did that thing—[talks self-mockingly] I was an exchange student in high school. I lived in the southwest of France out in the country and got to see where they kill the pigs and make the sausages. [Returns to normal voice] But we’re not going to live on farms. I don’t want to move to a farm.

AM: Right, right. I guess I just worry that the more disconnected we get from our food source, it’s easier to lose touch with Mother Nature.

JK: Yeah, my concern is with a lot of diet trends, which I think are so unsustainable. I’m supposed to be doing some recipe development for this German book project and they were telling me how in Munich and Berlin, poke is a big trend. And I’m thinking: "Oh, great. That’s just what we need: people in Central Europe eating raw tuna." Tuna is overfished. And if you’re going to eat poke, it’s supposed to be eaten fresh, so that’s why they eat poke in Hawaii where they’re on an island surrounded by it. The idea that it’s then flown off to all these places just doesn’t make sense. I also don’t think the paleo trend is super sustainable either. I sometimes wish people could think more about: well, what can we eat that’s good for our environment instead of [being] so self-centered with their eating.

AM: Ah, well that kind of brings up this other question I’ve been asking everyone in this series so far, which is about this 30-day detox touted by Goop. Here are the first seven of fifteen guidelines: “1. No alcohol. 2. No caffeine. 3. No dairy. 4. No eggs. 5. No beef, no pork. 6. No shellfish, no raw fish. 7. No gluten.” What are your thoughts on detoxing? Have you ever tried one?

JK: I guess I don’t quite understand the whole thing about detoxing. Am I naïve? What are these people doing? What toxins are they filling their bodies with? Vodka and cocaine? And if you’re somebody who reads Goop, aren’t you already into eating a lot of kale anyway? And all of the medical science says there’s nothing to it.

I get the idea that if you’ve gone on a trip where you feel like you’ve eaten too much meat. Or maybe you got back from Italy and you’ve been eating a lot of pasta and cream, I could totally see you wanting to eat a lot of vegetables. Or if you were on a trip and you’d been drinking a lot. I get that you would want to take a break for a while. But I don’t understand these rigid diets.

AM: Right. My problem is that I feel like my twenty-year-old self would’ve totally taken these kinds of detoxes very seriously. Because my main goal most days was to be pretty and thin.

JK: Oh, yeah. My girls get mad at me all the time. One day I said something like, “Are you sure you want another piece of pie?” And they get so mad. They said: “You can’t body-shame me!” or something like that. But I just feel like: Yes, I cannot help but be a product of my generation, which was: I want to be pretty and thin. I remember being in high school and living off of Tab, cottage cheese, and carrot sticks.

AM: You thought that was healthy?

JK: I thought that was healthy. But this was also pre-Jennifer Lopez. We were all humiliated by our “thunder thighs.” We would tie sweaters around our waists to cover up our butts, but now you see girls and they’re proud of their bodies. And that’s great.

AM: Where do you find your cooking inspiration?

JK: Traveling. Or learning about a new ingredient and then reading up about it. I don’t go out to eat very often. A lot of times it feels like a chore. It’s hard to get in, hard to get reservations. But I look at the papers. And when I do go out to eat, I like to go to restaurants that do interesting things with vegetables. I’d like to go to Destroyer. When I worked at Bon Appétit, I used to have the opportunity to go to a lot of tasting-menu type places and I realized that I don’t like eating that way. I think it leads to palate confusion and I never feel good after those meals and [even though] you’re drinking very little, the next day I would feel like I’d gone on a bender. I don’t think you’re supposed to eat that way.

AM: Where else in LA do you like to go?

JK: I love Baco Mercat downtown. And he [Josef Centeno] has got this new one P.Y.T. that’s a lot of interesting vegetables. I like Everson Royce Bar. I feel like you can really judge a restaurant on their salad and they have a salad on their menu, I think it’s called The Boring French Salad. It is such a nice salad. It’s got really fresh greens, radishes and this really nice herby, buttermilk vinaigrette. The food there is so simple, but it’s done in such a quality way.

[Around this point in the interview, Jeanne starts assembling a dessert for us to eat.]

AM: What is the dessert here?

JK: So, I’m sort of on this rose geranium jag. I had a bunch of lime, so I made lime curd with rose geranium in it. And I had some blackberries that I’m going to sweeten with rose geranium. In my latest book, Portable Feast, I [do something similar]. I make this kind of crumble and layer everything in these jars, so they’re like lemon meringue pie jars. That way you can make the components and you can just have a little bit. Because if you make a whole pie, you gotta eat the whole pie. And if I’m home with a pie, I’ll eat it.

[Which is the perfect segue into this video and recipe for her banana cream pie?]

This interview has been condensed and edited.
**
Easy Banana Cream Pie from Jeanne Kelley’s Blue Eggs and Yellow Tomatoes
Makes one 9-inch pie

Crust:
1 1/2 cups unbleached all purpose flour
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
¼ pound plus 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
3 ounces bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped

Filling:
2 1/3 cups whole milk
1 vanilla bean, split in half lengthwise
5 egg yolks
½ cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
¼ cup cornstarch
2 tablespoons dark rum
2 small or 1 ½ large bananas, sliced
1 cup heavy cream, chilled
chocolate shavings, optional
Additional banana slices, optional

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter a 9-inch pie dish.

Combine the flour, sugar, and salt in a bowl. Add the butter and stir with a fork until moist clumps form. Press the dough evenly onto the bottom and up the sides of the prepared dish.

Bake the crust until golden brown, about 20 minutes.

Remove the crust from the oven and sprinkle it with chocolate. Let it stand until the chocolate melts, about fie minutes. Using the back of a spoon, carefully spread the chocolate over the crust. Chill or freeze the crust until the chocolate is set, about 30 minutes in the refrigerator or 10 minutes in the freezer.

To make the filling:
Bring the milk and vanilla bean to a simmer in a heavy, medium-sized saucepan over medium heat.

Whisk the egg yolks, ½ cup of the sugar, and the cornstarch together in a large bowl. Gradually whisk the hot milk into the egg mixture. Return the mixture to the saucepan and whisk over medium-high heat until the custard thickens and boils, about 3 minutes. Remove from the heat and whisk in the rum. Cool the custard to room temperature.

Stir the custard until smooth; remove the vanilla bean. Spoon half the custard into the piecrust. Arrange the banana slices over the custard. Top with the remaining custard. Chill until set, about two hours. (Can be prepared to this point up to 1 day ahead. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate.)

Whip the cream with the remaining 2 tablespoons sugar to soft peaks. Spread the whipped cream decoratively over the pie. Garnish the pie with chocolate shavings and additional banana slices.
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4/16/17

Video: Pasta with Sardines

So many things I'd like to recount and not enough quiet time to recount them, especially right now since Teddy's on "spring break" and my mom and brother are in town visiting. But here I go anyway...

1. Thank you for your responses/comments on the two interviews I've done so far in the not-yet titled food and politics conversation series. I've got two more in the works, which I hope to share soon. Also, if there's anyone you'd like me (to try) to talk to, please let me know! 

2. Teddy is pretty into Moana. (If you run into him, the chances are high that he will tell you, "I'm Maui! I have a magical hook!") I bought the soundtrack and now we cruise around town listening to it. Though I haven't seen the movie (Matt took him a few months ago.), I think the music is so good. And for some reason (because of the grandma and Moana finally learning to trust her inner voice?), the tenth track, "I am Moana (Song of the Ancestors)" is enough to bring me to tears while driving. A lot of the music was written by Lin-Manuel Miranda, and can I just say: that guy is a national treasure! (Love the music of Hamilton and this Fresh Air interview with him too.) 

3. Sardine pasta! This is a controversial meal in my family; the first time I made it, Matt ate a fairly large portion and then declared that he didn't like it. Hmmm? I chalk these mixed feelings of Matt's up to what I see as his aversion to / wariness of fish in general. For example: he likes smoked salmon and will eat raw salmon in sushi, but he doesn't like salmon in any other format. Either way, according to Matt, the sardine flavor in this pasta was a little too intense for him. In short, the next time I make this, I'll have to make less since I couldn't quite finish a pound of pasta on my own in a timely-ish manner.

Pasta with Sardines slightly adapted from An Everlasting Meal by Tamar Adler
serves 4

2-3 tablespoons olive oil
½ onion, sliced
2 cloves garlic, sliced
1 can olive-oil-packed sardines
1 lb. dried spaghetti
salt
1 bunch of parsley, roughly chopped
1 cup toasted breadcrumbs
grated Parmesan
dried chile flakes (optional)

Heat the olive oil in a large pan. Add the onion and garlic and cook until soft, about 5 to 7 minutes. Add the sardines and their olive oil. Fry as you break the sardines up with a wooden spoon. Once the sardines have been broken down, turn the heat off.

Cook the pasta in salted boiling water. While it’s cooking, chop the parsley, removing any pieces of thick stems. Just before pulling the pasta, scoop out about a cup of the pasta water and set aside.

When the pasta is almost al dente, turn the heat back on under the pan of sardines; remove the pasta from its pot with tongs and drop it directly into the pan. Start by adding about ¼ cup of the pasta water and mix the sardines and the onions through the pasta. Add more water if it seems at all dry. When the noodles and sauce are nicely mixed, add half the breadcrumbs and parsley and mix them through.

Serve the pasta in bowls, topped with more breadcrumbs, parsley, Parmesan, and dried chile.
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