FOOD ON THE FOOD

Where the Wild Things Are

Much of this glorious Memorial Day weekend was spent outside: eating ribs on the porch, sleeping in tents in the backyard, and catching frogs at Great Meadows.

I call my oldest son the frog whisperer. I mean, sure, there's a lot of commotion during the actual catching process, but then look:

The frog's just sitting on his arm. He was there for a while, too. Why isn't he jumping off? It's a wild frog!

Usually you can't get your hands on a frog, never mind ask them to pose for you. And even if you do catch one, they're slippery little guys that wiggle free and execute all of these hoppy evasive maneuvers until they're safely entrenched back in the murky shallows. I thought it was a fluke, but then it happened again later with a different frog. And here he is again with a toad:

(The amphibians couldn't stand the rest of us for even one second.)

Anyway, this post isn't about frogs and toads. It's about our other Memorial Day weekend activity: trying to rein in the wild kingdom that is our backyard. It's a jungle back there! A poison-ivy-canopied, possibly-tick-infested jungle. I'd like to say it's all under control now, but the truth is, it will never be under control, and therefore my willingness to exert myself wanes before it even waxes. As long as the boys can retrieve their wiffle balls without contracting hideous, weeping rashes, I feel my landscaping responsibilities are complete.

But there were a few pleasant surprises in the yard mixed in with the unpleasant ones:

Wild black raspberries! They're not ripe, yet, but they will be in a few weeks. What started as one cane a few years ago has turned into a veritable bramble with hundreds of potential berries. The plants are aggressive and thorny, but they're better than some of the other aggressive, thorny plants I fight with every year. The compact berries are delicious for snacking, as well as in cakes, jams, and salads. We may lose a few wiffle balls in the process, but I like to think it's worth it!

I think these are wild blackberry blossoms. I know I sampled a few blackberries one year on the steepest part of the slope, and they seem to have spread. They must like the poor soil and constant erosion we have. The problem is that they're in an inconvenient spot, so I always forget to check on them at the right time, which is later on in the summer. I'm pretty sure the birds remember, though!

My first blueberries! About eight years ago, I planted three blueberry bushes. Not once have I seen a single blueberry on any of them. I checked! Well, feast your eyes on that cluster of six berries in progress! Yeah, okay, so they're the only berries on the whole bush. So what? It's better than the other two bushes, which don't have any at all.

The long-standing principle in my yard is Survival of the Fittest/Most Delicious. Let the hardiest, tastiest plants win!!

Cream of Broccoli Soup

I love soup in the springtime. I tend to be a little chilly in these transitional months, even as the temperature warms. Maybe it's the moist spring air, or because I'm exiting my layers a little too enthusiastically. Or, perhaps, it's true what Husband says: that I don't possess a functioning metabolism. Regardless of the reason, I'm in a perpetual state of goose bumps from October through May.

Lately, my cravings have been running increasingly green, just like the landscape. A few weeks ago, I had a pot of asparagus and fiddlehead soup to warm me. Now, it's cream of broccoli. The following recipe was inspired by Twelve Months of Monastery Soups by Brother Victor-Antoine d'Avila-Latourrette. Even though it was published 15 years ago, the book keeps coming up in conversations with various unconnected people. By the third mention, I knew I had to get a copy of the book. I'm glad I did. French monks really know their soups!

But there's another reason why I love this book. It's because of the image I've cultivated in my mind about the author, which I should note is entirely fictional. I imagine Brother Victor-Antoine alone in the kitchen of his stone monastery in the picturesque Hudson Valley cooking up cauldrons of bubbling soup. Meanwhile, two monks, one quite young and another significantly grayer, are walking silently down the arched, stone colonnade, their dark robes cinched at the waist with rope belts. Suddenly, as they approach the kitchen, their ears are assaulted by a tirade of the filthiest, most abominable swear words ever conceived in French, English, and Latin, as well as some that haven't been invented, yet. The obscenities, amplified by the cold stone, echo across the courtyard.

The young, sheltered monk stops in his tracks with a look of horror. The older one doesn't even break stride. "The soup must be especially good today," he notes. Observing that the young monk is still having trouble recovering, he adds, "Have you met Brother Victor, yet? He has an unholy way in the kitchen, but the soup? The soup is an act of God."

(This is what happens when my new favorite cookbook is written by a monk named Tourrette!)

Cream of Broccoli Soup  (printable version)

I love this &*$#@^ soup! May I suggest a light grating of the sharpest cheddar cheese you have on hand? I used Cabot Seriously Sharp.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 onions, chopped
1 lb. fresh broccoli, cut into florets
3 medium potatoes, peeled, cubed
8 cups veggie stock, chicken stock, or water
1 cup heavy cream
Pinch of cayenne
Salt and black pepper to taste

In a large pot, heat the oil over medium-low heat. Add the onions and sauté until translucent, 4-5 minutes. Add the broccoli and potatoes, and stir to coat. Add the stock or water, increase heat, and bring to a simmer. Reduce heat, maintaining a simmer, and cook for 1 hour, until vegetables are tender. (Note: The original recipe calls for you to add all of the veggies to the pot with the water/stock right away, forgoing the oil. You can do it that way, if you prefer.)

If you have a stick blender, you can puree the soup right in the pot. If you're using a regular blender, let it cool until no longer hot and steamy, and puree in several batches, never filling the blender more than half full. Add the cream, cayenne, and salt and pepper. Reheat. Serve with grated sharp cheddar cheese.

Source: Adapted from Twelve Months of Monastery Soups by Brother Victor-Antoine d'Avila-Latourrette. He probably doesn't actually swear (too much!).

Learning Your Birds

The Kindergartener is crazy about birds. He has the Peterson Birding by Ear 3-CD set practically memorized, including the little mnemonics people use to remember the birdcalls. Example: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all? (barred owl)

I have a nature-loving friend who is quite artistic. She made the above illustrated poster of birdsongs, which is currently hanging above the Kindergartener's bed. It's completely charming. I thought some of you might like it, too.

(click here for more information)

The Pits

Ever since my health issues a few years back, I've gone off conventional antiperspirants and deodorants. The antiperspirant/deodorant people assure me there's nothing to worry about, that a link between aluminum and breast cancer has never been proven. My doctors concur. To them I say this: Why wait for the evidence to surface? Why not be proactive? Better to be safe than smelly sorry.

Still, it was a ballsy move on my part. I don't want to stink up the joint any more than you do. My mom suggested using one of those deodorant "crystals." A crystal? Really? I'm not trusting my personal aroma to any mystical forces, geological or otherwise. But it turns out the crystal is actually rooted in science. The smooth quartz-like rock is made of mineral salts that, when moistened with tap water, are transferred to your skin and dissuade foul-smelling bacteria from taking up residence there. Bacteria don't like salt, which is why it was such a useful food preservative before refrigeration (e.g., salt cod).

I was still skeptical. Why would it be that easy? But guess what? That shit works! It works!!! I mean, the salts don't prevent you from sweating—your body was designed to do that—but you don't stink. At least not for 24 hours, give or take. In fact, I happily used the crystal for two whole years. That's how long my $5 crystal lasted before it cracked down the middle and threatened to cut a bitch. And then? Then I tried the spray version and developed a horrible rash. Poison ivy times three. Maybe the concentration of salts in the spray is different? Anyway, now I'm allergic to both versions. I had to stop using the stuff. Total bummer. (If you have sensitive skin, I recommend just sticking with the rock version.)

I was at a crossroads. I didn't want to go back to the aluminum-laced stuff, but the general consensus seemed to be that the other natural, aluminum-free deodorants on supermarket shelves work about as well as nothing at all. I can go without deodorant in the winter, maybe, if you don't stress me out too much, but not in the heat of summer and certainly not on Zumba day. Maybe you don't care if people are dropping like flies as you pass by, but I do, damnit. I do!

So I made the rounds of the hippy blogs describing all manner of homemade deodorants I will never make, with success rates that varied wildly. I scanned the comment sections, taking notes and prioritizing the experiences of rash-prone people and those who didn't sound too crazy. This is what I came up with:

Mix four parts cornstarch or arrowroot with one part baking soda. Rub a light film of organic coconut oil on your underarms, then dust a little of the powdered mixture all up in there. Don't cake it on, just dab enough to keep the oil from feeling sticky.

That's it! You smell nice and faintly coconutty all day long! I keep the powdered mix in a clean sock that long ago lost its match, give it a few whacks under each arm like a powder puff, and store it in a little jar. So far, no rash. It's been working for me for months now, even on Zumba day. Granted, I haven't tried it out in a substitute-teaching situation—the ultimate test—but you'll have to wait until my book is done for that report (FYI: there will be no reports).

I will concede that coconut oil can be pricey, but then again, so is conventional deodorant. By weight, I bet coconut oil is cheaper. Best of all, we're talking miniscule amounts of natural, food-grade stuff. I can't imagine that it's bad for you. Nevertheless, I'm sure I'll contract some weird form of coconut poisoning eventually. Is there a such thing as coconut poisoning? If there is, I'll be sure to let you know. But I just wanted to share my discovery in case you were headed down a similar path yourself. If you have other ideas and experiences, do tell.

Tuesday Tease: Cake