"have a cup of tea," indeed!

I'll be honest, the first section I reach for when I see a newspaper lying around is the Funnies section. But when I'm not concentrating on Hocus Focus, I'll keep myself pretty preoccupied with the Flavor section. It provides me with a glimmer of hope for my fellow Houstonians when this tiny section of such a huge periodical adds a hint of very much needed culture via food news. Last Wednesday (3.23.11) an article caught my eye that really perked my interest because it followed the beautiful genius that is simplicity. The concept? - enhancing a dish's entire food profile using only one ingredient.

Sophie Brickman, San Fransisco food writer, gave H-Town the scoop on using, of all things, tea leaves in more ways than a simple steep 'n' drink (my current favorite way to enjoy it). The article suggested uses like brewing in broths, replacing wood chips for smoked meats or even grinding up and adding the leaf to dry rubs as though it were a spice.
Brickman mentions tips for pairing certain teas with certain dishes that have different types of flavors and varying levels of body and fullness. It makes sense- I mean what kind of schmuck would one be if he made the blunder of completely masking the taste of a delicate white leaf tea by adding it to a robust beef broth... right? I mean right?
Basically, like with your favorite cocktail, try to keep like with like. A light chicken or veggie broth would pair with a fair-nature green tea. You would add Earl Gray to a dessert recipe for a bitterness vs. sweetness element.

You can take a peek at some of what was in the Houston Chronicle here. 

Some of the recommended teas that were mentioned in the recipes lead me to researching some names that I'd never heard of, like Lapsang Souchong (an obviously Asian, medium-bold, full-bodied black loose leaf tea). My search took me to a site called theartoftea.com. Anyone who likes tea like I do will appreciate this site. It has a lot of info on all sorts of tea profiles. It will help anyone look like a tea snob... or, y'know just find new tea flavors.

This post is dedicated to Meagan Samuelsen, whom I often think of when my kettle whistles. 

-k

the 1015s are in

Every season comes with the anticipation of certain foods that we don't eat during the rest of the year. My birthday, in October, initiates "pumpkin bread" season until Christmas. On the coldest days of winter, when our burning Texas summers seem almost desirable (almost), I find myself salivating over the very idea of a slice of watermelon. And when early spring rolls around, you can be sure that you'll find our pantry stocked with 1015 (ten fifteen) onions.


These bulbous orbs were developed by the Texas Aggies in early 1900 and were named after the date on which they are sown (October 15), in order to have a harvest in early spring. What's great about these onions is they're cross-pollinated to have such a mild, sweet flavor that you can peel and "eat 'em like an apple."


With the arrival of 1015s and the first of the season's cucumbers (Mama says $.79/lb for a cucumber is simply outrageous. Wait for the spring prices), we can finally make Womack’s House – Marinated Cucumbers, Onions and Tomatoes.


Womack’s House was a specialty restaurant in Fulshear, Texas that served home-style country cooking with attitude. The waitresses wore late 1800s costumes (complete with white linen bonnets and aprons) and served your rolls from metal pails (think Little House). Sounds like a hell of a good time, but the place burned down in the early ‘90s. But good ol’ Mama McMillen and her bad ass, recipe-clippin’ self saved a handful of recipes that were posted in the H-Town Chronicle, June 1991.


The original recipe for the marinade involves oil, vinegar and sugar (which can of course be substituted with sweetener), and other ingredients that add a real Spring Zing to the salad.


Honestly, I’m not one much for raw tomatoes and fresh herbs get pricey, so there’s actually a good handful of things that we leave out of the recipe. And dammit, that’s ok. Who died and made the recipe the boss?

One thing I always keep in mind is that unless you’re baking, which requires a lot of precision, you really have a lot of freedom as far as what you put into or leave out of a recipe.


Like pepper? – throw it in.

Hate olives? – leave them out.

Cutting back on your sugar intake? – don’t use as much.


So here, as the first recipe of the freshly revamped blog, I give you:



Womack’s House – Marinated Cucumbers, Onions and (maybe) Tomatoes


3 medium cucumbers sliced

1 medium onion sliced into rings

3 medium tomatoes, wedged

¼ c sugar

1 c water

½ c vinegar (Mama says: white works best)

2 tsp. salt

¼ tsp. black pepper

¼ c vegetable oil

1 tsp. mint


Combine the dressing mixture (everything but the veggies) in a separate bowl and let everything incorporate and dissolve. Pour the marinade over the chopped veggies and let sit covered in refrigerator for at least 2 hours. Serves about 6. Really, between Mama and myself, we end up eating most of the salad at the first sitting.

Dedicated to Mama, for obvious reasons.

-k

face lift

in changing content, i was inspired to change the formatting as well. comments and suggestions welcome.

a new recipe to come (hopefully this afternoon).

-k

oh, well. whatever. nevermind.

in review of my past few entries i've come to this conclusion:

dreams are much more important to the dreamer than to anyone else.

after coming to this conclusion with the affirmation of outside opinions, i've decided to turn towards blogging about another passion.

food.
the twist? - it will be semi-based on meals and other food-related topics involving diabetes. that's not to say that you lucky people out there with normally functioning pancreases and naturally regulated blood glucose (fun medical word for sugar) levels should drop the newly formatted blog.

i intend, like with everything i write, to add an element of voice and creativity to all entries. god knows anyone who has ever had to read and/or write informational pieces about anything (especially anything medical related) knows that it's boring as all hell.

still, it's nice to stumble upon evidence that you're not alone in the world. whether reading this associates you because, like me, you're plagued with the pain in the ass that is insulin dependency, you love any and all things food (even if it is somewhat health conscientious...) or hell- you're just bored and want something to waste time reading... consider yourself incorporated.

i will, however, be continuing with dedications, photos and frequency.

so i dedicate this entry to kyle style - who helped me to make up my mind with the affirmation of his outside opinion.

bon apetit.

oh, were you sleeping?

my mom and i will be moving in may.

and i took a nap this afternoon.

this entry is dedicated to my mom. don't worry, ma- the new apartment will work out great.

as i drifted into this dream, the scene around me made no significant change from reality. i laid there on my bed as the sun found its way through the blinds, making warm patches of bright light on the opaque white of my down blanket. i dosed and dazed, but was abruptly interrupted when i heard the clamor of clumsy entry through the front door. two uneducated-sounding male voices bantered back and forth as they seemed to be making their way towards my room, where i was... erm... less than decently dressed.
"she said they were in here, right?"
"yeah, this way"
"and there are four mattresses?"
"yeah, four mattresses and box springs. and the big one's in here"
"you got the ladder?"
"yeah"
i pulled the blanket up to my chin as i stared at my bedroom door, and watched as the sweaty, overweight movers stumbled in. they attempted to pull out my box spring from underneath my mattress and were actually successful. i land with my pillow top with a big thump as the height of the box spring is removed from beneath me.
"oh, were you sleeping?" one of the movers asks me as he slams the large frame against pretty much everything in my room, including the sliding mirror doors to my closet. the large clang that came from my closet made something within it catch my eye. sitting on the highest shelf was my old twin size bed set that i slept on as a kid. just as i realized what it was i looked up to find the movers had already gone, leaving me with a destroyed room, and a bed without a box spring.
ha-ccchhhhhhheeew!
i'd recognize that sneeze anywhere. it was jessica, my sister, who sounded like she was in the living room.
i threw on a t-shirt, grabbed the twin bed set (which was lighter than air) and walked out into the den where my mother and sister were sitting on the couch in pajamas of their own.
"didn't you say you needed a bed for catherine" i asked my sister. her daughter turns three tomorrow (literally, tomorrow) and she's been slowly transitioning into a big girl bed from her crib.
"yeah, why?" (clearly, she didn't notice the bed, box spring, headboard and frame tucked underneath my arm)
"well, i pulled these down for you"
"WHY? why does she need those? why? what's up?" my mom was particularly inquisitive...
"um, duh, ma. catherine" my mom began to stand up, and the scene begins to fade.
i'm back in my bed and i'm awake.

all the flowers would have very extra special powers

 when it was time for me to fly the nest and start out (sort of) on my own, i got a job with central market, in the floral department.
for those of you living outside of texas, or even for those of you living inside of texas and haven't had the opportunity to enjoy the experience of central market, just know that it's a grocery store of imported and sometimes organic products. it's possibly one of the coolest places i frequent. and i say this after having not worked there for over 3 years.

in the floral department, i was able to learn an awful lot about not only different types of flowers and vegetation from all over the state, the country and the world, but how to care for them. that and how to create floral designs (which was the funnest part).

i took a nap this afternoon.

it was the night of the big event that had been on the books for months. all of manahattan's elite society would be there. everyone that all of manhattan's elite society was currently doing would be there, too. we being a small but growing catering firm, needed to really be on our game. there would be no room for screw-ups tonight.
i was the newest and youngest employee to the firm, and my job wasn't very specific. i wore many hats, i guess.
hey, take this order.
hey, handle that customer.
hey, interview this chef.
and sometimes i worked directly with the head of the company, who had no face, but i understood that he was a raging asshole with a short fuse.
as i'm doing my rounds through each room, making sure that everything is running smoothly, i bust into the backroom where all of the real chaos is going on. all of the guys are scrambling and yelling out different things; none of which i can really understand, but i'm sure they knew what they meant. "GOD DAMMIT, WHERE IS THE ARRANGEMENT?! I TOLD YOU TO HAVE IT HERE. WHERE IS IT?" the boss wasn't yelling at anyone in particular, but rather the entire crew. none of them seemed to really be absorbing his verbal abuse the way he'd like them to. apparently the floral arrangement(s) that were supposed to be the centerpiece to an entire display in the main hall had disappeared, and the boss was none too pleased.
"GET ANOTHER ONE IN HERE. NOW."
"we've all tried getting florists to help us out. they all know we work for you, none of them will help. they refuse. and they recognize all of us!" another worker was trying to explain how the boss had screwed himself into the ground by being the dick that he is.
"well, i'll go. they don't know me, and i can go to a nearby shop and get a new piece"
"GO. DO IT. THERE'S A SHOP AROUND THE CORNER. HERE'S $50. GO"
$50? really?... dammit, if i'm kicking in for this, they better pay me back...
(even in my dreams-- i'm broke.)
i ask a few passersby where this floral shop is. they pass me one by one, and i ask every one of them where to go. even though each one answers me with the same accurate directions, i still feel the need to ask the next one walking by where to go.
i step inside the shop where a wide enough selection of flowers are displayed in their respective buckets and bouquets. of course, though, i walked into the only manhattahn flower shop where a bunch of old, slow, southern grannies are running the show. even though i'm obviously in a rush, they're moving like molasses in winter.
"i need a big arrangement... or was it two arrangements?... maybe it was just one.... ummmm... shit, just make it two, and i'll have extra if he only wants one..." (better safe than sorry, and i'd find a way to be compensated....)
"ok, sugar what'dja like?"
"i need something big and chic for the event around the block. bold colors. scent doesn't really matter. we need curly willow. MAKE SURE THERE'S CURLY WILLOW!" why i was so hell-bent on having curly willow involved, i'm not really sure. "do you need me to de-thorn roses? i know how. i can help. i was a florist. COME ON, COME ON, LADY. LET'S GO!" i was becoming more and more like my boss, and less and less popular with these grannies. but at this point i didn't care. time was ticking.
the old gals started to work, pulling vases down off the shelves.
"i don't know if we can really help you, hon. i mean, we have a lot of called-in orders that we have to get out..." the most brightly colored granny of the bunch began. (yeah- for some reason the other women, and even the flowers seemed dulled in color. but this woman was in like technicolor.)
"you mean you don't take emergency orders?"
"well, we have one arrangement in the books specifically for this event, so it's probably for your people..." her draw made the sentence feel like it took an eternity to get out of her mouth.
"WHATEVER. IF IT'S OURS LETS JUST GET IT GOING. I'M LATE."
i turned around to see the arrangements the women in the back were making.
"here we gooooo!" one of them said with a sugar-coated voice. i looked in confused horror at the two vases in front of me. each one stood less than a foot off the table. they were solid navy blue ceramic bowl shaped urns jam packed with pink carnations.
and curly willow.
"what the hell is this?" i asked, not really wanting to know the response.
the colorful one chuckled, took the $50 out of my pocket and said, "whatever. it's yours. take it. you're late."

dedicated to mayra, who kept me sane on the rough days and was just plain great to have on all the other days.


-k

true dreams

i've decided to do a couple of things here.

• actually keep up with this damn blog... somewhat
• dedicate entries to those who've touched my life, that closely relate to the topic of said entry
• add photographs as often as possible
• base this blog on a dream diary, as my dreams serve as a dependable source of strange, whimsical and often entertaining stories, as well as a solid reason to abstain from doing most (if not all) illicit drugs.
• other entries will include, but are not limited to food diaries (but hey, food... sleep... who wouldn't want to read about these important topics?...)

and so - let's begin...

i dedicate this entry to rho, who updates her own blog with inspirational regularity and... well... dedication. 

i was late for school. i didn't even know why i was late for school, since i don't have morning classes. still i found myself wandering around in my car in the rich neighborhood near my old apartment. i got the wild hair up my ass that my wandering had gone on long enough, and now it was really time to get to campus.
i hit the gas and make a deliberate effort to reach 65/mph as quickly as possible. oddly, cars around me are dodging safely out of my way to let me pass them without having to honk, slam on my breaks or jump in and out of lanes. my happy cruising gets interrupted by the random and very sudden presence of po-po - riding my ass like a horse without a saddle. great, here come the flashing lights and siren.

hmm-- no lights yet. 
and he's still riding me... but i'm late. i'm not friggin' slowing down...
still, no lights... still on my tail. 
all right, my luck isn't going to last much longer; i'm going to pull into that gas station and pretend that i really have to pee- that way if the cop tries to pull in and write me a ticket, i have an excuse. yeah. that's all i need. a really good excuse, and i'll be home free.
good.

so i pull in. before i even have a hand on the car door, 5-O has already screeched up next to me, close enough to my car that getting out will be complicated to say the least. i open my door, and the cop (of an abnormally massive size) completely decked out in his motorcycle gear (even though he was driving a patrol car) is waiting for me with his arms folded across his chest.
"is there any reason you were driving so fast in a residential area?"
i wedge my way out of my seat.
there i stood, wearing one of my favorite outfits, which included a shorter-than-catholic-school-uniform-length skirt. and instead of explaining myself honestly, and pleading with him to let me go without penalty, i gather my skirt between my legs, gave it a little hike, bent my knees and said,
"do you have any idea how much harder it is to hold it when you're wearing such a little skirt?!"
my voice was not my own, but a higher pitched one; not very different from betty boop. and i had an uncanny capability to bat my eyes rapidly.
in fact, the longer i stood there with my lashes fluttering fast enough to provide the cop decent air conditioning, his face (and overall size) seemed to melt-- and he actually let me run inside and pee.

my view within the dream made an immediate switch without transition (as my dreams often tend to do), and i found myself walking towards the cop once again; this time after having filled my tank at a pump. go figure: even in a dream i'm still running errands.
the cop has a smirk on his face and a yellow ticket in his hand with something written on it. i'm thinking man, even after all that, this fucker is still going to give me a goddamn ticket...
the cop hands me the slip of paper with a phone number written on it and says,

"slow down and call me, cutie."