Cold creeping in

Saturday night saw the first "killing frost" of the year in Bostonland, with Sunday clear and cold. Monday much the same, especially in the morning. Soup weather. This was dinner tonight, thrown together with my usual approach. I have a pressure cooker, a stovetop machine I highly recommend, and that makes this a 20 minute affair, no lie.

Velvet Potato & Cauliflower Soup with Roasted Garlic
serves two for dinner with planovers; certainly serves four for dinner with a salad or sammich
~1 TB olive oil + 1 TB butter (omit for vegans)
~medium onion, diced
~2 cloves raw garlic, smashed and roughly chopped
~3 medium white potatoes, peeled and cut into 1" dice or so
~small head of cauliflower, florets and stems, cut into medium chunks
~5-6 c. water
~vegetable bullion cube
~1/8 tsp. dried thyme
~white pepper
~salt to taste
~1 large head of roasted garlic*
~chopped chives for garnish, optional

Heat oil (and melt butter) in the bottom of your pressure cooker or soup pot. Add diced onions and cook over medium-low until very soft and translucent. Throw in raw garlic, potatoes, and cauliflower, and toss to coat in fat. Add thyme, pepper, bullion cube, and water, and...

a. ...lock the pressure cooker down. Crank the heat to high and let it be until the vent releases a strong stream of steam, then turn down to medium-low. Ensure that a modest, quiet stream of steam continues to issue from the vent and hold at pressure for 5-7 minutes. Then, remove from heat and loose the steam release valve. When all pressure is released, crack open the cooker and proceed to the next step.
b. ...bring to a boil over high heat. Then, reduce to a simmer and simmer until vegetables are completely soft, however long that takes in a soup pot. Proceed to the next step.

Remove all cloves from the roasted head of garlic and add to the hot pot, stirring in. Then, puree soup until completely smooth in batches in a blender (I have not graduated to an immersion blender, no). Return soup to the cooker/pot and bring back to steaming hot. Serve with crusty bread and a late season salad of spinach, beets, carrot, and apple.

*What, you don't just roast a ton of garlic on the weekends in the fall? That's odd. Here's how: lay a head of garlic on its side--still in its paper--and cut off the tops of all/most of the cloves, setting this cap of cloves aside. Repeat with two other heads. Place opened heads, roots down, in any shallow oven-proof receptacle (I use a glass pie dish). Drizzle slowly and liberally with olive oil, letting oil permeate and soak in. Sprinkle with salt, dried thyme, dried rosemary, black pepper. Place clove caps back on and drizzle those tops with more olive oil. Cover the receptacle with foil, tightly crimped shut at the edges. Roast at 375 degrees until the heads of garlic yield to light pressure on their sides and the cloves are caramel-colored, about 40 minutes give or take.

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I didn't mean for this to become a food blog, honest. What I'm not telling you, here, is The Disaster of the Spaetzle. Let us never speak of it again.

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Halloween is coming up. It's pretty much my favorite holiday, though in recent years I've been disappointed in my observation thereof. I am at fault entirely on this, because I have failed to actually live in Boston since we moved here: I've failed to make friends, I've declined to learn about the social life, I don't know anything about clubs, groups, venues, events, etc. So it comes Halloween and I experience a little regret. Why didn't I make a life here, so I could celebrate my favorite holiday with friends? Why wasn't I able to do like I did in Chicago, and get through the first, difficult months of reaching out and building a social circle? And there's the answer: I already did that; I built a life in Chicago and that's where my life was. And also: Boston's only been a stopover for me, drawing even now to its close and taking any shame I feel for being aloof and unsocial with it. Next stop, New York City, which is something I can say on the record now that I've made the announcement to my uppers at work. Shuh-BOOM.

Back on it

I have shrugged off the carelessly draped sport coat of kitchen failure tonight, I tell you. Forty-five minutes from scratch to awesome:

Roasted Butternut Squash and Rice Pilaf, with Compound Butter
serves two for dinner and planover lunch; could serve 4-6 as a side to something else
~1 medium butternut squash, unpeeled, cut in half lengthwise, with seeds and pulp scooped out
~1/2 large (or one small) white onion, diced
~1 large carrot, diced
~2 ribs celery, diced
~1/4 tsp. dried thyme
~4 whole cloves
~3/4 c. golden raisins
~3/4 to 1 c. cooked chick peas
~3/4 c. uncooked brown basmati rice
~1 1/2 c. and a splash of water
~1/4 c. toasted walnuts, chopped and divided (see below)
~salt to taste

Set oven to roast (375-400 degrees). Rub cut sides of squash with olive oil and place cut side down on an oiled rimmed baking sheet. Slip sheet into oven and ignore while you prep pilaf. Squash is done when a knife point inserted into the thick neck meets no resistance (40 min? You'll know).

In wide skillet (with a tight fitting lid) filmed with olive oil, cook onion, carrot, and celery until soft. About halfway to soft, add raisins and toss. At "soft," add thyme and cloves, stir, and cook to bloom the smells, about 1 minute. Add chick peas and rice, stir, and heat through, about 2 minutes. When the heat has come up and rice has taken up some oil from the veggies and pan, add the water and pump heat up to get to a boil. After you reach a boil, reduce to a simmer and cover with tight lid. Shake periodically to ensure that nothing sticks and that moisture moves around the pan evenly. Simmer until rice has absorbed *almost* all liquid and is cooked through (30 min? Just test it and see if it's rice or it's twigs; again, you'll know when it's done. "Doin' it all at once" tip: This is a great time to make the compound butter). Turn off heat, add 1/2 of the toasted walnuts, fluff with spoon, salt to taste, and let sit, covered, until ready to serve.

To plate and serve: slip your knife through the squash half lengthwise to create a quarter section. Place quarter section peel side down on the plate. Dish pilaf over/next to squash, all arty-like, and top with a generous dollop (about 1 T or more) of compound butter...

Shallot-Apple-Sage-Walnut Compound Butter
Soften 6 T of unsalted butter and mix the following thoroughly into it:
~1 shallot, minced
~1/2 small tart apple, peeled, very fine dice
~10-12 fresh sage leaves, minced
~1/8 c. toasted walnuts, chopped very fine
~dash white pepper
~pinch salt

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It's got beans, rice, squash, nuts, raisin: a meal in itself, but I imagine if you swing such a way that this would just kill next to a pork chop.

Also, you all know that these recipes are just things I make up, and that substitutions are totally welcome, suggested, and occasionally required, right? I have always hated the Tyrannical Recipe idea--that one MUST have all of the components on hand before making something. There are recipes I follow to the letter, faithfully, because I can: I have a very full pantry and spice cabinet, so I have shallots, white pepper, sun dried tomatoes, miso, molasses, chipotle peppers in adobo, etc. etc. etc. etc. on hand almost all the time because stocking is a priority. But I would never not riff on a recipe if I found I was without something--better that than not making it at all. So if you don't have something, leave it out or substitute it. I find it hard to write down what I cook as dinner recipes sometimes, because I really just grab stuff and throw it in without thinking about amounts or how someone else (or myself) might re-create the dish. But I am trying to more faithfully document dinner, both for my twos and threes of readers, but for a certain true believer who wants these for an assemblage of recipes she's finding time to put together.

Success; failure

This is embarrassing.

I know I put it out there like I'm some sort of kitchen demigod, at least, but I must tell you, some days it just does not come together. Tonight was one of those...days.

In the last few years, my facility in the kitchen has progressed such that I rarely fall flat on my damned face, cooking-wise. In the past, major failures have been the fault of the cookbook; the repeat offender was so consistently disappointing that we threw it away after the Nth consecutive disaster (celery soup...seriously? Seriously). But anything that goes awry now is pretty much all my fault.

I was getting fancy with some risotto this evening, and through a series of steps that I'd prefer did not enter the public record, I produced pretty much the same effect as if I'd made up a pan of Campbell's Tomato soup, cranked in a little pepper, and then made risotto in that. *shudder* It felt like the Methodist church potluck version* of some bastard risotto: "Creamy Rice Casserole with Cheese." Oh, the cheese--another in a string of shameful missteps. My laziness often allows some really excellent improvisation, if I come up short of an ingredient list, but in this case, I'll just say that Monterrey Jack cheese DOES NOT belong in risotto, even under duress. Even if you're, like, camping, do not sub in this cheese if you value your personal definition of risotto--it will so harm the definitional integrity of the concept of "risotto" that the eventual, inevitable result will be that you find yourself whipping up some "risotto" for an evening dinner party by thwumping a can of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom, a can of skim milk, one diced white onion, 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder, and a jar of mushrooms (drained) into your slo-cooker in the morning, cranking that puppy to "low," and heading off to work, whistling that delightful theme from the André Riu special that aired on the PBS last night**.

In short, this dinner sits at the top of a very slippery slope. The planovers will only remind me of my failure, so I am abandoning them to my partner, who did not find dinner nearly as offensive as I did.

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As for my success: it's been just over a year since I joined the gym and I am still going. This is major, as you may recall. My results are result-y, which is good because I went in with only one explicit goal: get ripped. I'm pretty ripped, I gotta say, and it's less difficult to haul ass up the hill on my bike. I have gained and lost no weight at all, which is interesting but not at all important to me. I find, however, that it is harder to keep pushing myself to do more, to max the envelope, as it were, without the encouragement of a trainer. I had one for about eight weeks when I started and I'm thinking about signing up for a few more sessions now that I have a little more experience and focus, routine-wise. Not that my liiiiifting isn't awwwesome, dude. So go me, go gym, go triceps!

And a second success: the following represents the final payment of one of my student loans, so take THAT, University Accounting Services!

_____________________________________

* I must assure you that I love and respect the Methodist church's tradition of the potluck, and if you do not believe me, ask me for my Tuna Noodle Casserole recipe.
** I have only one beef with violinist André Riu: WGBH plays the stuffing out of his insufferably bland, occasionally absurd concerts during pledge drive week(s), causing me to miss things like Masterpiece Theatre or, worse, Nova. This prompts me to only half jokingly call him "that André Riu fucker." Special message to Mr. Riu: Sorry! I know it's not your fault; I should be calling them "those WGBH fuckers," but that does not trip as lightly off the tongue.

Pancakes are dinner too

Today's market in Copley yielded a great take of fresh, local vegetables for not a lot of money, and as I rode the train home and thought about food, as I very frequently do, a plan came together. Informed by last summer's fritter experiments and a savory spinach pancake recipe from the NYT last March, I raided the fridge in my trademark style and really knocked it out of the park. Culinarily speaking. I must say.

Chard and Sweet Corn Buttermilk (Dinner) Pancakes
serves two with a salad for dinner or one as dinner, then lunch
Prepare, combine, and set aside:
~one shallot (or two scallions, or some onion, whatever), fine dice
~kernels cut off one medium-large ear of fresh sweet corn
~about 1 1/2 c. loosely packed chopped fresh tender chard
~about 1 tsp minced lemon zest
Thoroughly mix together dry ingredients in a large bowl and set aside:
~1 c. flour
~1/4 tsp baking soda
~1/4 tsp + a dash of salt
~1/8 tsp nutmeg
~1/8 tsp cayenne (to taste)
~dash black pepper
Prep wet ingredients:
~3/4 c. buttermilk
~1 egg, beaten in to buttermilk
~2 tsp olive oil, beaten in to liquids

Heat your skillet or griddle of choice in your standard pancaking procedure. (For me, this means heating my trusty one-burner round cast iron flat griddle, which is cured as black as a spade and as nonstick as...a teflon...spade.) Add wet ingredients to dry and mix just to combine and break up lumps. Dump vegetable ingredients into batter and fold in, coating evenly. If it seems too thick, mix in a splash of buttermilk at a time until it has a bit of flow--but keep it tight. Drop onto the medium-hot pan by the 1/4 cup or so, spreading the pancake evenly out to about 1/2 to 3/4 inch thick to ensure that it cooks through. Cook on one side until golden; flip and attain goldenness on side two. You're aiming to give the vegetables a slight cooking before you've overdone the 'cake. Keep completed 'cakes warm in a heated oven (unless it's summer and that's just a stupid idea) and eat promptly with ad hoc sauce detailed below.

Impromptu tomato chutney for pancakes
~1 c. quartered grape tomatoes
~8 basil leaves, chopped fine
~juice of 1/2 lemon
~salsa to taste
Mix all together to desired taste and consistency. Eat with pancakes.

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Get to know the "planover," friend: it's more intentional than the leftover and telegraphs a certain agency and kitchen foresight to those looking at your lunch in the office, leading often to lunch envy and "oooo, are those planovers?" Yes; yes they are.

Note also that the above is a half recipe from its original jumping off point of the NYT 'cake formula, which leads me to believe that you can double it with ease and without fear.

Quick hits

Delivery methods for Coca-Cola Classic in the order of their relative deliciousness to me, EDITED (1 being most, 5 being least):

1. glass bottle coke from Mexico (thanks for the reminders, Daisy and Vivek...)
2. from the fountain at McDonald's
3. from any fountain
4. out of a can
5. out of a 2-liter bottle
6. out of any plastic bottle

Finest of the Magnum ice cream bars (available in Australia and other UK-type locales), in order of fineness (1 being most, 5 being least):

1. Magnum EGO
2. the one that was the multi-chocolate coated with chocolate and a layer of fudge
3. Magnum Crunch
4. plain
5. the one with almonds

Subjective personal ranking of the 7 Dark Tower novels, "best" (1) to "less best" (7):

1. 7
2. 5
3. 4
4. 3
5. 1
6. 2
7. 6

When presented with a plate of nigiri-sushi and maki, the order in which I will eat it:

1. hamachi
2. cucumber roll
3. maguro
4. shrimp
5. octopus
6. eel
7. eel roll
8. hamachi again
9. oshinko roll

When presented with a long list of email addresses to send a message to, the order in which I will list them:

1. alphabetically

M&Ms varieties, from personal best to worst:

1. peanut
2. peanut butter
3. "crunch"
4. almond
5. rolled under the couch by accident
6. plain

Yes, I baked

It's well known around the House of the Rising Somerville that I am the cook, not the baker. I am more comfortable when I can add, fix, doctor as I go; the pot's on the stove and it could all change moment to moment. Baking requires faith on two levels: that the recipe will prove worth it and that I've done it right, because once I close the door it's all over. I lack this faith. It's also almost certainly a control issue--the same reason I feel safer in a car than in a plane. I need to be in charge of the stew.

All the same, I baked this past weekend. My first run at biscotti was a total success. I owe most of this to the stupid-proof nature of biscotti: sugar, flour, whole eggs, baking powder, pinch salt, butter (or not), spices, flavours, fruit (or not). The other part I owe to the best baking book I own: Cook's Illustrated's Baking Illustrated. I just like reading the dang thing, too, but every recipe we've tried has worked out. The lemon-anise biscotti was no exception, and thanks to their detailed description of how they arrived at the perfect recipe, I know why the other recipe, from a very flash looking but sadly disappointing other baking book, was good, but not The Best Recipe.

So now I have about 30 lemon-anise and about 30 cherry-almond biscotti up in my kitchen. I foresee a lot of dunking in my near future.

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The family Rocket is coming to town. Ma and Pa roll into the airport tomorrow evening, and the first thing we'll do is dunk biscotti into warm milk, before bed. The next day, I'll enlist their help in hanging the new art before we go on a rangy walk around town, hitting my high spots: brunch, museums, dinner in my favorite spot. Friday is the Canada Day of the U.S., also known as the Fourth of July, also known as the Rocket parental wedding anniversary. We'll probably make a pizza and try to overhear the Pops. Pops. I just like saying Pops. Pops. Anyway, I've shored up milk, eggs, coffee, tea, and all those things you'd need to either hit the Oregon Trail or have your folks over. Popsicles and sorbet in the freezer, white wine and sherry and beer in the fridge.

You'll understand if I'm not around for a few days. First, the walkies; then, the deeply overindulgent eating; then, the POPS; then, the recovery.

The Esteemed Stew

Woah, that got awfully heavy awfully quick, didn't it? Here's a recipe for some stew I made the other night when we didn't have too much sitting around and needed something fast. I call it "esteemed" because everyone who saw it at work the next day asked for the recipe. Which I had to come up with...

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Esteemed Weeknight Stew
olive oil
1 small or 1/2 large white onion, medium dice
1 medium eggplant, peeled and medium diced
1 can (standard can size...) diced tomatoes
1 can chickpeas
1/4 cup raisins
3/4 cup of uncooked quinoa
1 to 2 TB molasses
1 TB brown mustard
juice of 1/2 lemon
salt to taste
toasted almond slivers for garnish

spices: Measurements approximate, so add "to taste"
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp coriander
1 TB paprika OR less to taste

1. in olive oil in large wide stew pot, saute onions until softened and translucent
2. add eggplant, salt mildly and saute to soften slightly
3. clear a spot in the middle of the pot that reveals the bottom. Drizzle in a little olive oil and allow to heat. Add spice mix to this oil and saute briefly to "bloom" the fragrances of the spices. Should take about 60 to 90 seconds. Then, stir all together to distribute spices throughout.
4. Add can of tomatoes followed by 2 cans of water
5. Rinse and drain chickpeas, and add to pot
6. Bring to a simmer. As you bring to a simmer, add the raisins, molasses, and mustard
7. When you've reached simmer, add quinoa and continue to simmer, covered, for 13-15 minutes
8. Quinoa is done when the the grain can be easily "popped" by the teeth and when the white germ separates from the grain--it will look like little curly springs in some places. This means your stew is done.
9. Turn off the heat, add the lemon juice, taste for salt
10. Serve with almonds on top

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Coming soon - chickpea stew in the pressure cooker, and a near home run of an improvisation: "cheat"balls of tofu, nuts, etc.

Monday mailbag*

Dear iPod headphones,

I realize that, as ear-bud style headphones, you are essentially disposable, but really--already fuzzing out at what I would call normal listening volumes during what I might think of as normal levels of bass? On the fourth day of use? Come on. You'd better hope it was, indeed, an isolated incident of this evening's commute and not a distinguishing feature, for I find it vexing.

Best,
.NR.

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Dear "Extra Hot" horseradish,

Scarcely.

Best,
.NR.

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Dear Antony & The Johnsons,

Holy shit, y'all are good.

Best,
.NR.

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Dear dishes,

Do yourself.

Best,
.NR.



*not a regular feature

Dinners

Summer vegetable fritters
Grate, sprinkle with salt, and drain in colander over sink:
~one zucchini
~one beet
~one large carrot
~one medium potato
~THEN aggressively squeeze tons and tons of moisture out of that stuff, cheesecloth twist method
Mince fine a handful of garlic cloves, to taste
Small chop leftover raw chard, approx 1/2 cup loosely packed
Leftover brown rice, approx. 3/4 cup, maybe 1/2, you know I don't measure when I'm cooking on the fly...

Toss all o'that in a bowl, mix thoroughly together. Add spice, seasoning, little sauce, etc. I used Penzey's Mural of Flavour generously, with a large pinch of cumin and a big dash of vegan Worcestershire sauce and black pepper. Add some (1/4 cup?) flour for binding, mix well. Make well in center, beat one egg in well, then mix the slurry altogether. Form into smallish patties and fry up aggressively in a bit o' high heat oil (I used grapeseed augmented with homemade chili oil, also grapeseed-based). Eat with a few drops of that same chili oil as dressing, or maybe if you like ketchup (je le deteste) this would be a good time to eat some, or perhaps a creme fraiche or crumbled blue cheese. Makes "5" of undetermined size (I molded my fritters with a small mise that holds maybe 1/2 cup?), so feeds two, or one for dinner and planover lunch. Probably freezes really well. Serve with sweet corn on the cob, as I did, or with a green salad, as I will, or with some sort of chickpea number, heavy on the lime juice and green chili. This could go a lot of ways.

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Quick tofu and green bean stir fry
1/2 lb. tofu, cut into thin 1"x1/2" planks, or other pleasing shape
large couple handful of green beans, julienned (yes, it's totally worth it to do this, watch your fingers) to yield maybe 1 1/2 cups total
minced red onion, 1/4 cup or so (again, not so much with the measuring)
dried cranberries if you're feeling it
toasted almonds if you're feeling them
for Sauce, mix together a pleasing combination of:
~honey
~rice vinegar
~soy sauce or tamari
~bit of chili garlic sauce (you know, rooster sauce?)
~whatever's sitting around

In a high temp oil (see my above oil machinations), fry tofu on one side until that side is browned. At the halfway point of "browned," add most of the red onion and all of the cranberries. At the "browned" point, add the green beans and toss well over heat. Cook until crisp-tender (or to taste if you're a big soft food lover, you weirdo), adding sauce right at the end and letting it bubble like crazytime to reduce a bit. Pour over brown rice, garnish with remaining raw onions and toasted almonds and just freaking TRY not to burn your mouth, okay?

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I've gone a little nutso from the farmer's market. Tune in next time for caramelized sweet onion and goat cheese pizza with, you guessed it, homemade chili oil, and the not-quite-a-quesadilla-not-quite-a-pupusa-but-it-acted-like-both. See also Big Salads, Too Hot To Bake, and Box of Mac-N-Cheez.

Forgive me this terrible pun, but...

I've spend the summer so far meeting my (ice cream) maker.

Hee.

This week it is a cream-enriched frozen yogurt, sweetened with honey and then brightened with a pint of blueberries and a bit of rum, from a recipe on Apartment Therapy. I'll make it again, but next time with less cream (mouthfeel too rich in the original iteration) and with a stronger flavoured honey. The ice cream maker may be a unitasking appliance, but I think it is worth the space up which it takes. Seriously, there is no easy way to get ice cream home from the store on your bicycle, without packing coolpacks and concertedly hauling ass.

In a great segue from hauling ass, I've joined a gym. It all started in the winter, when I lost some stress weight. I didn't mean to lose it, I don't feel like I needed to lose it, but with it gone, I realize I am in bad shape. And I am getting older. And I am less active than I was in Chicago. So I'm taking advantage of My Big Employer's Corporate Health Plan-sponsored gym discount, and of two free summer months. My first complimentary personal training session is Wednesday. It's really taking a lot of mental energy to make myself commit to this--I mean, the last time I was in a gym was my required year of phy ed my freshman year of high school, and I clearly recall the stereotypical set of feelings I had about the situation at that time. Luckily, I am no longer 13, going on 14.

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From our department of "the hype is kind of mostly true, in my opinion," I drove a Prius today. The best part might have been just being behind a wheel again--any wheel--but the distinctly precious and toy-like nature of the Prius was pretty beguiling. Though I don't really like the push-button start; call me a traditionalist, but I do so love to turn a key. When I filled up the tank (gas included in the car share! gas included in the car share!), the attendant at my local station (full service) was totally hitting on me. An older Pakistani gentleman. As a holdover from my busted-ass-car-owning days, I still think it's a good idea to be on excellent terms with your local service station, so though I will not be taking him up on his offer to let me borrow *his* car whenever I wanted, I will be waving when I walk by and getting fuel there henceforth.

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Do you think that John Waters knew that his original "Hairspray" would be adapted to the stage and then back to the screen in this manner? I'm going with no.

Down the block, around the corner

It's amazing how rosy my disposition has become. Love the new apartment, love the new neighbourhood, love that Johnnie's Foodmaster down the block had Boca fake sausage, faux burgers, and meatless patties on sale, two for five. I got four for ten. Bring on the summer grilling season and whathaveyou: I am ready to hit the park, the beach, the streets.

Today I picked up ingredients for a sorbet I saw in The New York Times: buttermilk lemon. Buttermilk is one of those items that you really need when you need it and have no idea how to use otherwise. So now I have, in addition to a really stellar tart-sweet sorbet (so what if a certain someone is stuffing her piehole with gelato even as we speak (well, 6 hours ahead of our speaking time...)), about three-quarters of a cup of buttermilk. Waffle party? Waffle party. Additionally, as I was feeling ambitious, a big dinner: roasted sweet potato, beet, and quinoa "salad" with orange-shallot-garlic dressing. Big on quinoa right now. Very tasty and, if I can believe the box top (seems the honest type) amazingly healthy in that whole-food-for-a-whole-planet way. Also fun to pronounce: Keen Wah. Wah ha! Will make a great lunch tomorrow with that avocado I've been waiting on all week.

You may not believe me, but I write about food about 1/3 as much as I talk about food, and about 1/5 as much as I think about food. When I am bored at work I think about food, and when I'm waiting for my ebay auction on cherry red danskos to end I shop for tiffin boxes.

It do not feel like October

The breeze today feels warm, and the sun is out, so it feels a little more like mid-June. I know, however, that it is October, for the Halloween decorations are going up in front of our little owner-occupied two flat. Wait, that's a little passively constructed... Our landlords are putting seasonal decorations up in the front lawn of their building. They are most certainly au courant in their choice of decorations, as their inflatable ghost popping out of the pumpkin and the giant blow-up Tigger dressed like Dracula have both also been erected by the house down the block.

The house down the block, it should be mentioned, makes my landlord's efforts look like crap, shoddily applied. The house down the block is either occupied by someone who works for the electric company or by someone who is wealthy enough to retain the services of a personal electricity consultant, as there is always a truck from National Grid parked at the over-lit, overly whimsical house, with its alternately delightful and completely stupid pastiche of funny, cute, and scary Halloween decorations. They have the flattened witch-n-broom plastered to their tree, to imply that this wholly non-threatening creature has mistakenly flown into the tree and sustained injury. They also, in contrast, have the newspaper-stuffed front stoop zombie and the simulated grave stones in the side yard. This cemetery simulacrum is next to the inflatable Dracula-Tigger, though, so it gives one less pause than it might otherwise. Strings of sticky-looking cotton spider web and of orange colored Christmas lights (are they still called Christmas lights out of season? Methinks it's like calling a tissue a Kleenex...) hang from the trees, the porch, and the chain link fence. There is even a mummy. The house down the block has been decked out in this manner since mid-September.

By these standards, our landlords are, at least from this modest start with the two trendy inflatable objets d'automne, phoning it in. Unless they have something else up their sleeves, I'm going to have to conclude that Christmas is more their house-decorating occasion. Can't wait.

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I also can't wait for our landlords to cash that rent check we wrote 17 days ago, along with the one we wrote on the 1st. Our checking account looks falsely awesome, and I can't handle that right now.

+ + +

Last night's dinner featured my very first attempt at scalloped potatoes, cribbed with a few alterations (smaller size, added onion and turnip, tripled garlic content) from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Vol. 1. It worked, which pleased me. We ate it with a perfect roasted beet each and a small dish of Brussels (Brussel? brussle?) sprouts with dill butter.

Today, however, I tried to make cream of tomato soup out of a can and something went horribly awry. This hasn't ever happened to me in my nearly three decades of Campbell's Tomato experience: the milk curdled, stuck to the bottom of the pan, and in general, precipitated disgustingly out of the soup-solution. I trashed it and ate a granola bar for lunch instead. Adult.

In which we speak of food

Greetings, True Believers.

In my spare time, I have been applying myself to the art of baking bread. That's not exactly accurate...I've been assembling ingredients and letting the bread machine do all the work. I am taking the credit, though, so that must count for something...

I started with a really great cardamom-sultana bread, which made excellent breakfast toast but was not as good for sandwiches. I moved through a nice hearty rye, then a buttermilk wheat that was perfect (great crumb, great crust, nice density). Then, I experienced my first failure. I am comforted by the fact that is was a failure of ambition, however: I am trying to make my first sourdough from my own, first sourdough starter. I followed the directions exactly, but when I opened the space age hatch on my space age baking box, I beheld a fallen loaf.

I may have erred in my alteration of the recipe--I was aiming for a more tart loaf. I may have added slightly too much yeast. Or, the least encouraging possibility: I might have a not good starter. It looked good to me and it smelled exemplary, but what do I really know about it. A new friend of mine here who bakes sourdough says that my starter looks a little thin. Very well; I shall add more flour and have another go. I may fail again before I really succeed, but the last failure was edible. That's the finest kind of failure.

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Dinner on Friday: miso glazed eggplant with garlic kale and vegetable-mushroom fried rice. I rule.

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I am very, very jealous of Don and Kash, who left Chicago for southern California, which means that they have farmers' markets all year long. Boston has its share of markets; I could hit one almost every day of the week, if I could navigate my way to each one. They stop in mid-October, however, and that's coming up a little faster than I like to consider. Last Friday at the Copley Square market, we got Brussels (Brussel? brussel?) sprouts (yes, I love them), a melon that turned out to be mediocre, some small squash, basil for pesto, golden cauliflower, a pound of honey, the aforementioned eggplant, and a pint of raspberries that didn't last us more than 10 minutes. Num. The previous week it was kale, turnip, beets, carrots, and grape tomatoes that, again, didn't last me more than 10 minutes. Love those. But in a few weeks, no more markets.

In Chicago, we belonged to a produce co-op that, through a series of arrangements with like-minded farms, was able to deliver all winter. The co-ops I've investigated here don't do that, and we're far too late to join one for this winter anyway. We co-oped in Chi for three years; I don't really remember how to buy (non-organic, non-local, non-seasonal, less high quality) produce at a grocery store, nor do we live near a good market with a good produce section. Whenever I'm at the store I can't stop thinking about how expensive it all is, and for an inferior product. The way I eat changed so much with the discovery of the co-op and the neighbourhood produce market; now I have to change back. No small feat.

What it underscores for me is that the way I'd come to consume food--the way I collected and prepared the nutrients I need daily--is really different from both the way I'd consumed most of my life, prior, and also the way that I'm going to be consuming for the near future, until I get myself together and make the effort (for it does take more effort to eat like I eat) to consume that way again.

So here's to making the effort to eat more true-ly. It's going to be more difficult for a while, and then it'll get easier again.