mastering the art of the slow cooker

School starts. Monday. I can't believe how incredibly sad I am to see summer go. And how much summer stuff I still want to do. But, it's time to shift gears, make syllabi, attend faculty retreats.

Mr. Beeton and I tried our hand at some crockpot cooking in preparation for the school year ahead. For our wedding, we received an obscene, All-Clad Deluxe Slow Cooker (not on our registry). I was incensed. We have very little room in our railroad apartment for pots and pans, let alone a slow cooker that could easily feed twenty. Plus, I already had a lovely, small crockpot that my grandmother had given me. Mr. Beeton didn't want to exchange a gift we received for cash; he felt strongly about it. So, we kept it, and I fumed, frequently bringing it up in arguments that we'd have, even if those arguments weren't about slow cookers.

But, I made peace with it last winter. It's actually a fabulous way to cook a meal when you don't have a lot of time, and plus, it provides us with plenty of leftovers. During the school year, this is particularly ideal, so we are planning to put a slow-cooked meal into our regular weeknight rotation.

The recipe we tried the other night came from one of my mother's magazines. Overall, it turned out well, but I'd recommend adding an extra apple and, if you have the Super-Deluxe slow cooker, toning down the cooking time. Ours got a little mushy after six hours. Start it in the morning and eat it in the evening. That gives you a whole lot of time in between to work on that syllabus.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watching Entourage: Season Five.

fonz

onward and upward ever

Whew. Traveling can take a lot out of a person. Mr. Beeton and I are close to recovered from our trip to the Pacific Northwest. The time difference really took a toll on me, though. I feel like today is the first day that I woke up at a normal hour and ate on schedule. No wonder I've never been one of those people who dream of far-away places. I can barely travel cross country without needing to hit a reset button.

Our trip started in Portland, Oregon (after a quick switch by Continental... "You wanted to fly to Oregon? Sorry, your flight was cancelled. Why don't you take a train from 30th Street Station to Newark instead?"). We visited with family, saw the cutest kitchen in the world, played with cats, stopped in at Powell's, did some sightseeing, walked around Portland State, and enjoyed some terrific Thai food before heading up north to Tacoma. There, we stayed in a big, old, rambling beauty of a house, hugged Grammy many, many times, drove through Point Defiance, ate at Anthony's, bought some Fiestaware (it's a family tradition), and headed up to Seattle.

I don't want to offend any of my new West Coast relatives, but I have to admit that Seattle held a few "blog-worthy" gems. Among them were some delicious Dungeness crab ravioli at Volterra and a trip to Pike Place.

The two places that I want to tell you about, though, are a bit off the beaten path. The first may be familiar to virtual "foodies," but my suspicion is that not many have had first hand experience with Delancey - the pizza shop opened by Molly Wizenberg (of Organette) and her husband, Brandon. We had met Molly in D.C. at a book signing she had at Borders earlier this year. While getting our book signed, Mr. Beeton boldly told Molly that we'd be in Seattle in August and would love to stop by and try the new place out. The only thing is that right before we left we realized the restaurant would not be open. Rather, when we were scheduled to be there, there would be a series of invited dinners. Mr. Beeton insisted I write, explaining my food memoir project, and see if we could score a seat. I was too embarrassed, so instead, we drove by, took some pictures, and Auntie K scored us a menu. Molly scanned her own in, so I'll just link to her site (for copyright reasons... I am an English teacher, after all). It doesn't look like much from outside, but the smell coming from inside was fantastic.

The second spot was a little plot of land that some guerillas have taken over. Mr. Beeton's cousin K and her boyfriend M are involved in a little activity called guerilla gardening. They found a plot of undeveloped land behind their apartment and planted away, using wine bottles to warm the cold Seattle soil. I thought it was a pretty sweet spot.

So, what's a good way to re-enter your "real" life after a vacation like this? With a recipe from your very own West Coast relative. Actually, I re-discovered this recipe from one of my very best roommates ever - E from Corvalis. She made it when I graduated from Delaware, and when my mother tasted it at the party, she said it was the same dish my Aunt J from California used to make. It's become one of my comfort foods since it reminds me of some of the best people in my life.

Chicken Curry With Artichokes

There are a lot of recipes out there on the web, but I like this one the best because it's my own.

• Cook chicken-flavored Rice-A-Roni, according to the instructions on the box.
• When it's done, put it in a big yellow bowl (or any other kind of happy serving bowl you have around).
• Add some artichokes and a little of the juice. I like artichokes in a glass jar.
• Add a good number of green olives.
• Add as much mayonnaise as you like.
• Add as much curry powder as you like.
• You can add boiled chicken, too, but I like it better without.

Traditionally, I believe this salad is served cold, but I can never wait. It's good warm, too.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished watching Mad Men: Season 2. Also watched Gigantic. Read The Sharper Your Knife, The Less You Cry by Kathleen Flinn.

chicken dance

It's off to Pennsylvania tomorrow to do a little chicken dancing at Musikfest before we head out to the Pacific Northwest for some fresh salmon. Enjoy the start of a wonderful August, readers.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading Amanda Hesser's Cooking for Mr. Latte (thanks, JJ!). Watching Mad Men: Season 2.

going live

I've been complaining to Mr. Beeton lately about the lack of traffic on my blog. "I really want to know how to protect my tomatoes!" I lamented. "But nobody reads my site aside from you!" "Martha," he replied. "No one - aside from me, your sister, and your brother ("And, a small sampling of random readers who stumbled upon my site," I remind him.) -  even knows your blog exists. It's your best kept secret." Hrmph. 

He's right. I haven't publicized my blog to friends or family. I guess I'm a little shy. The easiest thing to do would be to post the link on that social networking site that everyone seems to belong to. But, then I start to think about my "friends" - old high school classmates, former students, work colleagues - all of whom - if I posted the link - would be able to trawl through my postings. Would the former high school cheerleader who was never quite mean but never quite nice laugh as I complained about the drain of sifting through student source packets when she was running after three kids all under the age of four? Would the bright, excitable student from the Spring semester curse my name as she tried, desperately, to reproduce the recipe for tandoori chicken in her residence hall? Would my colleagues finally realize that sometimes, just sometimes, their excessive emails drive me batty? It's strange. I'd feel very exposed. Yet, isn't that what blogging is all about? Having an audience is what makes blogging different from diary writing, right?

Just when I've almost convinced myself  that posting my link is the right thing to do, I get all anxious about crafting that first post that they will encounter once they hit the link. Chances are, if I do post the link to my page, it might show up in my "friends'" newsfeeds. In my imagination, they'll link immediately to the page, eager to read what I've been writing, and it's imperative that I have something fabulous for them - otherwise they'll never return. A terrific recipe. A witty rumination on laundry. Something, anything, to keep them entertained. In her book Cooking for Mr. Latte, Amanda Hesser writes about the pressure she felt cooking for Mr. Latte in her home: "The first meal you cook someone is intimate. Not just if it's for a date. And not just because no one cooks anymore - it really has nothing to do with whether you are a good cook or not. It's an entry into the way you think, what you've seen and know, the way you treat others, how you perceive pleasure. Dinner guests can see by how you compose a meal if you are an ungenerous hothead or a nuturer, stingy or clever, fussy or stylish" (19). That's a little like how I feel about this post and putting up the link to The Happy Homekeeper for all to see.

So I'll start with a recipe for chickpea and carrot salad, which I adapted from the following site, A Mingling of Tastes. 

Carrot and Chickpea Salad with Olives and Cumin Vinaigrette

Julie says, to make the vinaigrette, mix the following ingredients:

• 1 medium garlic clove
• zest of 1/2 a lemon and juice of the whole lemon
• 1 tbs. ground cumin
• 2 tsp. Hungarian paprika
• pinch of cayenne pepper
• 1 tsp. salt
• black pepper, to taste
• 3 tbs. extra virgin olive oil

I say, "Cut up four carrots into small, round pieces. Boil them until they are tender. Mix them with a can of drained chick peas, a little yellow onion (or some scallions), and some green (or black) olives. Coat with vinaigrette and chill in refrigerator until ready to eat."

We ate this salad with tandoori chicken and lemonade mojitos last night. The chickpea salad would be easy to make if you live in residence hall downtown, but the tandoori chicken would not. And, hopefully, if you're a first-year student you'll avoid the lemonade mojitos until you're of age. If you're an aging cheerleader, however, I'd encourage you to have two.

And, now, I'll just sit back and wait for some dear readers to discover...

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading Climbing the Mango Trees by Madhur Jaffrey.

land of the living

I never realized how much of my life revolves around food. Right now, of course, my academic work is focusing on food, but it's more than just that. I use food to mark occasions - from the big events in life like anniversaries to birthdays to the everyday small stuff like finishing an article or actually having cleaned the house. Essentially, ever since my high school days when Twin Peaks first aired, I've lived by Special Agent Dale Cooper's philosophy:  "Harry, I'm going to let you in on a little secret.  Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don't plan it. Don't wait for it. Just let it happen. It could be a new shirt at the men's store, a catnap in your office chair, or two cups of good, hot black coffee." For me, these presents nearly always revolve around food - frappucinos, take-out sushi, fresh veggies. Even more likely, I get this tendency to celebrate gastronomically from my Nana. She always used food to express her love, and I remember a lot of good times at her house that involved some sort of deliciousness (I'm still searching for a recipe of hers that resulted in a dreamy, blended jello/ice cream dessert... I inherited her dishes to serve it in, but I can't seem to get the measurements exactly right to reproduce the darn thing).

The reason I'm reflecting right now is because I am finally - after a painful week - able to eat. My summer bug turned out to be strep throat, and it had progressed so far that, after attacking my tonsils, it actually crawled out of my throat and started assaulting my mouth proper, causing painful blisters all around the inside of my mouth. Most of what I ate caused my mouth to burn, burn, burn, so I was reduced to a diet of yogurt, applesauce, oatmeal, and buttered 'ronis. So painful. Even more painful than the blisters. 

But, today, for the first time, I feel better. The blisters are almost healed, and I'm celebrating with a roast - some serious comfort food. I popped it in the crock pot for the day with half a box of beef stock, some cut up yellow onions, some sliced red potatoes, and some carrots. I can't think of a better way to celebrate. My Nana would be proud.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watching Mad Men: Season 1. Finished reading Climbing the Mango Trees by Madhur Jaffrey.

summer buggin'

I've got some kind of weird summertime bug. It's causing me aches, chills, nausea, headache, swollen glands, and some kind of weird, burning rash-type thing in my mouth. It's bizarre. I went to the dentist today, thinking I had something lodged in my gums which was causing everything else, but he said it's a virus. Tomorrow, I'll get a second opinion. I need some sleep and some relief from the throbbing in my mouth.

On the bright side, it looks like it may have been squirrels and not deer responsible for our tomato pillaging. Okay, that's not particularly good either. Especially when the culprits are now running around in the space between our ceiling and our roof. Apparently, they've evicted the birds who are much quieter and claimed the space as their own. Calls to our management company have gone unanswered. 

My sickness means that I haven't been able to post a recipe for lemonade that I made up the other day - in part, because I still need to pick up some ingredients to finish it off. It's half-finished right now in the fridge, and it combines a part of the white sangria recipe I posted about earlier and Paula Deen's recipe for homemade lemonade. If and when it gets done, I'll share.

For now, I need to rinse with salt water. That will cure anything.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watched Grey Gardens (HBO) and Bride Wars.