Deck the Halls with Vital Wheat Gluten

I hope the eight of you enjoyed festive holidays with your loved ones. We had a nice enough time in San Diego, unless you count the fact that my mom's new puppy launched a full frontal attack on me including strategically placed turd piles, vomit blobs on seating arrangements, lack of bladder control in my lap, and possibly even the triggering of my immune system with her dander. Either that or I got a nasty virus. Regardless, it succeeded in sending me to bed mere minutes before our Feliz Navidad Surf and Turf Fiesta was served. Which is to say, I missed Christmas Dinner.

But I still managed to have a little fun. Prior to the onslaught of my disease, my loving and adventurous family agreed to become guinea pigs for an all vegetarian Christmas Eve dinner. This time I stayed far, far away from Vegetarian Times, instead taking the advice of my friend Rema's friend Jen who swears by The Post Punk Kitchen blog. I actually already own Vegan with a Vengeance and have long been a fan of Isa Chandra Moskowitz's Faustess Cupcakes, but I had mostly shied away from her savory dishes. That is, until the Night Before Christmas.

The menu:
Chickpea Cutlet Parmesan
and
Mama HCB's Butternut Squash Ravioli with Sage Butter Sauce.

(No, they don't really go together, but I knew the ravioli were safe while the chickpea cutlets were a big gamble. And if you're wondering how Parmesan is vegan, it's not. The addition of cheese and homemade tomato sauce was mine.)

At first, not even Grandma was stirring...



But once everybody dug in, they couldn't stop raving about the chickpea cutlets. My parents even had seconds! A new addition the Vegetarian Recipetoire. Owww!!

Oh, and as far as the giving was concerned, everybody LOVED not doing it. We kept saying how relaxed we all were - no trash, no clutter, and no unwanted crap to store guiltily or shunt to the GoodWill. We're doing it again next year. All told, a Christmas to remember - and replicate.


Mama HCB's Butternut Squash Ravioli with Sage Butter Sauce

1 small butternut squash
Olive oil
1/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan Cheese
1 tbsp rosemary leaves, finely chopped
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Pinch of ground nutmeg
1 egg white
1 double package wonton wrappers
1/2 cup butter
36 fresh sage leaves

1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

2. Cut the squash in half, remove the seeds and then cut into wedges/disks, leaving the skin on. Place the squash in a lightly oiled roasting pan. Roast for 1 to 1 1/4 hours, or until squash is soft. Remove from the oven and leave the squash to cool.

3. Discard the skin. Pass the squash through a food mill or puree in a food processor. You need 1 cup of pureed squash.

4. Add the cheese and rosemary to the squash and season with the salt, pepper and nutmeg.

5. Whisk the egg white with 1 tsp of water. Place one wonton wrapper on the counter and top with approx 2 tsp of the squash mixture. Brush the edges of the wonton wrapper with egg white, then top with a second wrapper. Press to seal well. If desired, trim edges with a fluted pastry wheel (not even I do this). Repeat with the remaining wrappers. Place the ravioli in a single layer on towel-lined baking sheets, and cover with another towel.

6. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and drop in a small batch of ravioli. Cook until the ravioli float and become transparent, about 3 minutes. Drain well. Repeat.

7. Meanwhile, saute butter and sage leaves in large pan over medium-high heat. As each batch of ravioli is cooked and drained, add them to the pan. Flip each ravioli to coat with butter. Serve on warmed plates with a few sage leaves.

Dear Michael,

I just want to start by saying that I'm your biggest fan. I read all your stuff. I joined the Michael Pollen For Secretary of Agriculture group on Facebook. I've considered driving over to Berkeley to stalk meet you. I mean, you complete me. Are we soul mates? My heart says yes, but my lady garden says no.



I did what you suggested, Michael: I'm (sort of) growing my own food. Being that Ugly Betty is already short on living space, I thought I'd start with the wee bitty herb growing kits I received for Christmas three years ago. And sure, at first glance, those little sprouts look promising. But what if I tell you I've been growing them for OVER A MONTH? And that Fennel and Sage here are the most promising of my crops, as Basil is only limping along while Chives, Oregano, Lavender and Marjoram have downright refused my advances?





At this rate, I won't be able to add flavor to my dishes until sometime in the Spring. Is this the price I have to pay for our love? Or am I doing something wrong?

Please advise.

Fondly,
pollenfan76

Altercations with Southern California Grocery Professionals

Thanksgiving 08 is at my aunt Diane's house in Palm Springs. I love the desert. Peaceful and quiet and arid. Many scenic cacti. 80 degrees in the wintertime. And filled to the gills with The Aged and/or Gays' Awesome Mid-Century Detritus.

But it is also Southern California, so local produce is basically non-existent, and the organic options are limp, anemic and most likely Chilean.

Knowing this, I planned accordingly. My trusty Golf TDI and I traveled 505 miles yesterday with a cooler full of farmer's market veggies and a trunk full of Le Creuset. (And we still averaged 41 miles to the gallon!) The only thing I needed from the desert was some dairy prod and a turkey. A local gourmet chain down the street is offering a range of Diestel birds, a company with a great reputation for sustainability, so I ordered us a zaftig Heidi's Organic 14-pounder.

I went to pick it up this morning. Now, the last time I went to Southern California, I not only accosted a retail associate at an "eco" skincare boutique, I got kicked out of a "natural" a grocery store for taking this image of sad imported vegetables:



(Okay fine, so I stormed out after an innocent teenaged deli counter employee was sent to ask me to stop taking pictures and I responded with snide remarks and a barrage of petulant inquiries regarding their store policies. Something to the effect of "Oh I'm sorry, I thought this was a free country!" I sure showed him.)

I was hoping for a better result this time, but alas. We showed up early - it was just us and one other lady at the meat counter. The guy spent several minutes rummaging around the back for our turkey, and then presented me with one that was four pounds smaller than I ordered. I kindly sent him back. He rummaged around some more and returned with one a pound heavier, saying it was the largest organic bird he had. Though mildly irritated, I kindly sent him back once more, telling him I would settle for non-organic if I could get the extra poundage. More rummaging ensued, and finally he returned with a suitable bird. And then he got sassy with me:

HIM: You know, this turkey is the exact same bird as the one you were buying. All Diestel turkeys are organic. They just pay to have the Heidi's birds certified so you'll pay more for them.

ME: Are you sure about th...

HIM: Yep. Free range. No hormones, no antibiotics.

ME: Yes, I know all about Diestel's growing policies. But there's a difference between organic feed and non-organic fe...

HIM: It's the exact same feed.

ME: Yeah, okay. I'm going to have to consider that unsubstantiated.

He then proceeded to point me to BOUILLON CUBES when I asked for housemade chicken stock. I'm calling bullshit on his ass. And then I'm calling Diestel.

I'll show you something else that's SCARY.

This was our dinner last night:



It's supposed to be Jamaican Vegetable Patties, and it's supposed to look like this:


I gathered from its name that it was also supposed to be spicy and Jamaican and, well, edible, but HCB summed it up rather succinctly when he asked, "Why are we eating peas and carrots for dinner? And why do they taste so disgusting?"

Poor man. This meal was preceded the night before by "Tempeh Triangles with Piccata Sauce," which he described as "breaded wood chips soaked in lemon juice." He dutifully ate platefuls of both, with only minimal Squishy Face.

I've been dabbling with vegetarianism for a while now, 'cause it's true that eating beef - and virtually all industrially raised animals - is really bad for the planet.



I've amassed a small but useful arsenal of veggie dinner options, including: vegggie tofu green curry, conchigle rigate with tomatoes and chick peas, and my quickest fix, quinoa-stuffed peppers. But seeing as how I can't imagine us eating curries and pasta and rice dishes for the rest of our lives, I was looking for something more meat-like, more versatile, more...square-mealish.

And so I turned to Vegetarian Times. Apparently this was the best they could do. As I masochistically masticated my peas and carrots last night, I actually shed a tear for kids who grow up this way. You know, not knowing that food can be delicious. I also shed a tear for the pain in my wrist and elbow from all the god damn chopping, mincing, slicing and peeling.

Alas, I haven't given up yet. If you have beloved veggie recipes that don't take two hours and 47 ingredients to prepare, please, I beg you, SHARE THEM.

Because I'm the Editrice Around Here

I must exploit this forum to tell you that I GOT TO BAKE SARA AND TODD'S WEDDING CAKE.

It wasn't a "wedding" wedding cake, just the one they cut into for pictures (they served little tarty things for dessert). But Grandma says it counts, and Bryn's mom said it had a perfect consistency.

Behold the local organic nuptial splendor:







In case you were wondering:
lemon 1-2-3-4 cake
lemon curd center
vanilla buttercream frosting
(all Martha)
mums and scabiola pods as decoration

This is easily the biggest baking achievement of MY LIFE.

Mock...Mock...Mock LOBSTER!

For those of you who wondered what a lobster mold was and what on earth I planned to do with it,

A)


[fetching, shiny, gently used, 50¢]

and B)!


[local, organic, grass-fed, crustacean-shaped]

Have you ever had meatloaf shaped like a lobster covered in bacon? If the answer is no, I highly recommend thrift shops on the Eastern Seaboard and cookbooks by Amanda Hesser. I had never even seen a lobster mold before I visited Maryland, but the minute I spotted it, I knew it was my future.

Trashcessorizing: Yummy Without the Scummy

Nothing says "kicking the ass of trash accrual" like a homemade soufflé.



This baby produced only ONE non-compostable item: a measly piece of cheesy saran wrap.

Gotta go. Headed downtown for another day of challenging societal conventions with my tupperware.

Bangles, Bonbons and Butts.

I exchanged emails with an old friend yesterday who was just recently introduced to this blog. He praised the writing (blush), but pointed to the "insanely hilarious irony of a sustainability blog that in actuality concerns itself almost exclusively with fashion, food, and your HCB's ass".

I'm pretty sure Jas was just giving me a hard time, and hey, there are a lot of booties and baked goods up in here. But I wouldn't call what I'm doing ironic. Fashion, food and HCB's ass all figure prominently in my life. And I'm trying to transition that life into one that is better for the earth, for my community and for all the baby animals on cute overload. If Prince were writing this blog, you'd probably read a lot about non-toxic purple dyes and getting it on, eco-style. (Now I wish Prince had an eco blog.)

Going personally green isn't just a bet, as Michael Pollan describes; it's also a process. I have my good days (today) and my bad days (last Tuesday), but I'm proud to let it all hang out. You're watching reading change happen, however puny and personal and imperfect it may be.

Nobody can tell you with certainty how to become 100% sustainable, because it's insanely complicated to unravel the UN-sustainability of our current lifestyle. And nobody else is you, with all the habits and passions and circumstances that make your eco challenge unique. (Though if you want an amazingly comprehensive list of eco tips, check this out. Just remember to breathe while you read.)

The way I figure it, all any of us can do is put on a brave face and try. And give ourselves permission to laugh about it while we do. Because, as one Indigo Girl once said to the other, otherwise we'd cry our eyes out.

Unjust Desserts

It's a little stale at this point (both the topic and the eclairs), but I've been out of town for a few days in the mighty County of Orange (more on that to follow), so I'm catching up.

By popular request, I give you, Dear Friends, yet more photographic proof of the underhanded ways of our Martha.

Mine:





Hers:



I'm here to tell you this: there's no way those glistening chocolate love gestures were made by a human. Martha Stewart Collection androids available at Macy*s any day now.

The only thing that rivaled the effort was the end result. I was so busy on VDay that I never even managed to get the eclairs 'n' squares into the heart-shaped box. That night, HCB and I were too loaded up on our $85 a piece in romantic vegetables (or more accurately, the copious amounts of bread and butter we consumed for fear of not being full) that we ended up rather unromantically wolfing down two-day old eclairs en route to the airport at 6:30 am. HCB then surreptitiously took his stash of Liza's lemon squares to work, which prompted Becky, a mutual work friend, to out him to Liza via an email extolling their tangy virtues. Meanwhile, Liza did fill and present her box to her honey, only to have her dogs consume it, leftover contents and all, while she was at work the next day.

Looks like next year we'll be back to good old-fashioned...uh, stuff you don't talk about when you know that your Grandma is reading.

The Giver That Can't...Stop...Giving...

Liza and I have been known to partake of nerdy, overachieving homemaker activities. I think this stems from the fact that we are nerdy overachievers.

Last Valentine's Day, for instance, we made heart-shaped boxes and filled them with homemade baked goods for our honeys.

It sounds so simple when I say it that way. But Martha's projects have a seedy underbelly. She provides purposely vague instructions to ensure her supremacy.


[Martha's box, all perfect and beautiful and secretly assembled by tiny minions.]

The boxes took several hours and involved four different craft stores, three different kinds of adhesive, unruly matte board, insufficiently sharp Xacto knives, missing rulers and illegal use of tape, booze and swear words.

The finished products came out lopsided, missing corners, and were at least two inches away from fitting top to bottom. But they were so hard to make that neither one of us will ever throw them away. We're just gonna keep filling them forever. Which turns out to be a godsend in this Year of the Nothing New.


[Mine, covered in distracting patterns and shot at its most flattering angle.]

After protracted discussion about this year's box contents, Liza chose Meyer lemon squares, and I settled on heart-shaped chocolate eclairs from the same February 2007 issue of Living.

The eclairs took several hours and involved two different grocery stores, a traffic jam, three different recipes-within-the-recipe, unruly batter, insufficient planning, missing ice baths and illegal use of fat-free milk, refrigeration and swear words.

I should have known. I did. I'm a sick, sick, nerdy overachiever.

By 10 PM, I had persevered to the last paragraph of the recipe when I read the words "Serve Immediately".

Mother F%&#er.

Before I Get Off My Cake Stand...

It's hot and sunny again today. Swathes of shockingly pale people, myself included, are pouring into parks all over town for a dose of Vitamin D.

S.A.D. is like, so last week.

It's a little off topic, but I've been thinking some more about food, and about how, all San Fran Smuggery aside, I derive so much pleasure from following the farm-to-table trail.

So I'm just going to take a second to gush about Eatwell Farm, the CSA we subscribe to in Dixon, CA.

Every two weeks, I get a box full of muddy/imperfect/delicious organic produce and pasture-raised eggs. Behold this week's cornucopia:



Farmer Nigel Walker gave my friend Jenn and me a farm tour last summer. This is a passionate, kind, intelligent man who wants the best for everybody: his customers, his employees, his sons, the earth. His seeds are happily acclimated,



his bees know exactly where to find Home Sweet Home,



and his chickens are masters of Transcendental Meditation.



Walking the fields was like plundering Whole Foods sample tables, Pastoral-style;

we ate the corn off the cob off the stalk,



selected our plums straight from the trees,



filled our cheeks with cherry tomatoes,



invented new exercise regimens for the chickens and piglets (choga and Piglates, respectively),



and got trailed by a suspicious hen.



I was ready to become Farmer Natalie right then and there.

But I know I don't have it in me. Nigel writes a weekly newsletter that accompanies the box, and he has a blog, too. This year, his subscribers have seen him weather a crippling Med Fly quarantine, the cruel murder of his lovely guard dog, Sadie,



and the infestation of his delicious broccoli by bastard aphids. It's a tough profession, full of sweat, mud, manure, bugs and disappointing P&L reports.

The more you read, the more Nigel and his team start to feel like family. You love them and root for them, and want to do whatever you can to help them succeed.

I wish I could say the same for every other business I patronize.



*You might have noticed a vast improvement in photo quality. Jenn took them.

Delicious Luxury

Today is a glorious day. Warm! Bright! Sunshine!

Today is NOT a day to complain about how hard it is not to buy stuff, no.

Today is a glass-half-full of mimosa sort of day, a day to bask in the sun for at least seven minutes before thinking about The Cancer.

So let's talk positive. There are several boutiques in town where I can shop with diplomatic immunity. Places that offer a full sensory experience: behold the colors, inhale the fragrances, partake of the hottest trends. Places even more satisfying than the secret half-off sale at ab fits.

People, when you have cash burning a hole in your pocket, I highly recommend the retail therapy available at your local gourmet food shop.

I love food. And in San Francisco, the Slower the Food, the better. (McDonald's patrons here have to battle their way through throngs of protesters hurling stink eyes, rotten organic heirloom tomatoes, and when things get really violent, lovingly worn copies of The Omnivore's Dilemma.)

Now the Slower the Food, the faster the Benjamins fly. But I can feel GOOD about blowing my wad on this stuff. Happy, organic, know-thy-farmer food costs more $$$ because those farmers take the time, energy and patience to make your victuals delicious and nutritious. These are some Q1 profits I WANT to boost.

I went to BiRite yesterday and had a $117.78 ball.











I know what tree my kumquats came from, I know the life history of the guy who made my bittersweet chocolate, and my $12 worth of ricotta cheese came with the dairy farmer's cell number on the container.

And then Martha helped me turn it into this:



I'm happier than J.Crew's Spring color palette.

A Moveable Feast, with Disappearing Candlesticks

This weekend we had Ted and Misty and Dylan and Emily over for what turned out to be an excellently raucous dinner party.

I was thrilled with the general outcome. Apart from the fantastic company and crackling conversation, the meal was lip-smacking and the table was eye-catching, all dolled up in trademark Ugly Betty hues of mandarin, robin's egg blue and mango, with my vintage California pottery proffering the luscious comestibles.

So contented was I that I let myself drift off into the dancing flame of my bold, beautiful dripless candlesticks. Drunk Entranced, I watched them ever so slowly disappear into the ether...

And then I realized they were slowly disappearing into the ether. And I wasn't going to get another set until 2009.

And then I was mad.

"This whole stupid exercise is a stupid exercise," asserted my finely honed Sense of Entitlement.

"You can get another pair! Dripless candlesticks are the least of the world's worries," said my expert enabler, Rational Thought.

"I REQUIRE pretty stuff!" screamed my Inner Martha.

And then I told the voices to shut up and got back to forcing my political views on my dinner guests.



Anyway, the point is this: I am sad that these beauties are half gone, and when this retail South Beach diet is over, I wouldn't be surprised to find myself back in that adorable shop in Laurel Village, handing over gobs of money for a lifetime supply. But not until it's over. Because I'm beginning to think the candlesticks are the whole point. I love beautiful things, but I was already surrounded by them: the Hottest Canadian Sous Chef (HCSC) ever; hilarious, informed, intellectually engaging friends; standing rib roast so rare it mooed us a love song; wine, wine, more wine, wine; and the requisite artisan dairy prod, including fresh horseradish cream and a kick-ass cheese course.

Now really, that doesn't sound much like doing without, does it?

Denouement

JANUARY: A recap

Blog posts are supposed to be short, but it's been a month fraught with unforeseen challenges. If you get bored, skip to January 12th.

January 5th:
I am wild with desire for homemade pumpkin muffins. I have all the ingredients, but discover that I sold my large muffin tins at the garage sale we had before moving into Ugly Betty (the nickname for our tiny, ugly, $$-saving apt). The old "tins" were made of silicon, and I was afraid they would give us cancer. So I sold them to someone else. I should probably examine this behavior.

January 6th:
I have been to three Goodwills, and no muffin tins.

January 11th:
I dream of muffins. In other news, my favorite and only wristwatch breaks in an irreparable way.



January 12th:
What the %$#@%^&! My trusty five-year-old iBook, which has never once forsaken me, has a fatal meltdown. To fix the logic board will cost $500, more than the computer is worth, with no guarantee that it will be fixed for good. Did I mention that I write (on a computer) for a living? My Hot Canadian Boyfriend gives me one of his old watches. Still no muffins.



January 14th:
Oh Steve Jobs and your sexy talk! The MacBook Air. So light, so suave, so purportedly earth-friendly! Steve, Steve, Steve. Could your timing be more opportunistic?

January 20th:
A trek to the ultimate vintage cooking store, Cookin', provides me with the shiniest, most professional, most indestructible, least used-looking used muffin tins a girl could ever hope for. Better than Williams Sonoma, and only $11! While there, I also purchase wholly unnecessary (but used) placemats.

January 23rd:
My genius HCB performs a hard drive transplant, placing my iBook brain in a vintage Carrie Bradshaw-era PowerBook he had lying around the house. I now lack the processing power for YouTube, but that's probably for the best. Hopefully this fix will get me through the year.

January 30th:
Despite availability of muffin tins and looming expiration date of necessary dairy products, I have yet to make muffins. But I will. I will make them and I will post pictures of their yumminess cast in the romantic afternoon light. And then you too will be wild with desire for homemade pumpkin muffins.