One of my small triumphs over the past year has been, after many years of unsuccessful attempts, developing a true taste and appreciation for olives. I've always strongly identified with my Greek heritage, and the inability to appreciate a good olive seemed like a serious threat to my credibility as a good (very small) part-Greek. I think that what finally helped me over the edge was a noticeable increase in the amount of olive oil that J and I have been using in food prep recently.
"Do you think we're using too much?"
"No, it's way healthier to prepare lots of food from scratch and see how much oil and salt is going in on your own rather than buying it pre-prepared and to have no idea."
Either way, we've used a lot of olive oil recently. Still, it's hard to argue with those roasted brussel sprouts.
It would not surprise anyone that knows him that James does not like olives. This is a child who has only eaten two different types of cereals for breakfast every morning for the last three years of his life, and would certainly veto any alternative breakfast (except MAYBE pancakes, on a special occasion) in favor of these two cereals. James eats the same sandwich for lunch every day. And at dinner, no matter what we've prepared for him, he uses the exact same routine of excusing himself to the bathroom, playing with his drink, and attempting to bargain for less bites, to get himself out of eating anything that isn't a ham and cheese sandwich, sugary cereal, or dessert.
We make spectacular food for him, really. Quinoa salad with black beans and fresh cilantro. Braised lentils with mushrooms. Homemade soups and chilis, casseroles, wraps, decadent pastas, chicken dishes, and all manner of fruits and vegetables.
"Hey, you know what my favorite food is? A ham and cheese sandwich with spicy mustard cut into triangles."
Similarly, it would not surprise anyone that knows him that Owen DOES like olives. He wrinkled his nose the first time he tried one, because I'm pretty sure he was expecting (despite my warning) that it was going to be a grape. But once he figured out what to expect, he downed about six of the pimento-stuffed green olives in a row before I cut him off.
He's one of those kids that will eat just about anything, as a matter of fact. That quinoa black bean salad? He eats it by the fistful. Pickles, peppers, and onions are no problem. He would eat bread at every meal, and he's an accomplished cracker thief. (You really can't leave a bag of chips or crackers open anywhere around him. He'll have pushed a chair up to the table and be into the bag before you turn around.)
As I said, his love of olives wasn't particularly surprising. But I did think maybe he'd draw the line at a lemon. Turns out, no. He made a surprised face and his first taste of the lemon half I offered him the other night, then immediately dove into it again and carried it around with him sucking it (and squeezing the juice out all over the front of him) for about the next hour.
Bitter doesn't bother Owen, and that goes for coffee also. A few days ago while J was doing dishes in the kitchen she heard a satisfied "MMMmmm!" coming from the living room. Owen was standing on the chair at my desk taking down gulps of her old coffee, and then typing on the open laptop. (I have to unplug the laptop and put it in a drawer that he can't get open nowadays. When Owen isn't getting into it on his own James is opening it up for him and attempting to teach him numbers and letters by the "bang and mash" method of touch-typing.)
Owen was removed from the computer and and coffee, of course, but we found out later that afternoon, after I'd left part of a cup up on the table, that he doesn't particularly care whether he takes his coffee with creamer or just straight black. He thought mine was pretty good too.
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Saturday, May 7, 2016
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Pensees
I. Horse Dreams
Yesterday afternoon I had a striking and sudden daydream--not sure if that's even the right word--that would have lead me straight to a soothsayer if I had been a Roman. Even now we'd be looking at bird entrails.
I imagined us stabling horses behind our house. I imagined walking out to a barn in black rubber boots and pulling down harnesses, reins, and saddles from large iron nails and leading out a beautiful old mare that was well past mothering years and was going to spend her old age in our care. I imagined little boys growing up with the sound of hooves and snorts and whishing tails in their ears, and thought about all the hundreds of years that humankind and horsekind were in partnership. In the daydream there were vines planted behind the house on a gentle hill that had been dug up just for that purpose.
Next, just as vividly, I imagined crouching down over the kitchen floor and pulling back the old laminate so that I could put in some new tile. I imagined rented tools in the garage, and the stove and refrigerator looking out of place while they waited in the living room for the job to be done. I had no help--I had graphing paper and measuring tape on the kitchen table, and I could smell the old house smell under the section of floor that was already ripped up.
It was mildly terrifying.
I'm not sure where the horse daydream came from, but as soon as I think about it I can remember the smell of my parent's old couch where Sam, Pax, and I would stand looking out through the big living room window that faced south and watch the horses that were pastured across the road. Sometimes we'd get walked over across the road and try to screw up the nerve to offer one of them a handful of clover. (Between the possible nip of the electric fence and the smell of their breath and the peril of the teeth, I'm not sure that I attempted this terribly often.) There certainly is something beautiful about a little boy watching a horse in wonder and fascination.
II. Roasting Coffee
I get Yirgacheffe coffee about every other order, because it's a good bit more expensive than the other varieties. I'll get something cheaper, and then by the time that I'm halfway through the bag I've realized that it simply isn't as good as the Yirgacheffe and that I'm willing to pay for the top-quality bean the next time I order. This time I wanted to save a little money and ordered the Tanzanian Peaberry. The first time I roasted it I burnt it badly--it doesn't crack nearly as audibly as any other coffees I've worked with, and I ended up stopping the roast at the burnt smell instead of the usual timing by listening. Yesterday I watched the roast (and sprayed empty husks everywhere) but came up with a much better tasting result.
III. Food in Company
Last night J got up from her book, went into the kitchen, and came back with a bowl of chips. Guess what I was doing five minutes later? Yes, eating chips and salsa. (Supper was a bowl of soup of 5 PM...we were both hungry.) But I never would have left the warmth of my blanket if she hadn't gotten up first. I think that social context is an underrated factor in eating choices. How many times do I have seconds if no one else at the table is having seconds? How many times do I turn down second helpings if everyone else is reaching in? When I eat with 90 lb vegetarian friend, neither of us are likely to finish all the food on our plate. When I eat with the trombone section of the orchestra, I'm very likely to finish my plate and have an extra half a beer as well. When I eat with J, we eat healthy and we usually don't have extra helpings. And eating with the tuba player is maybe the most impressive/disturbing thing you've ever seen.
N.B. J says she felt disgusting after eating chips at 9 PM and is never going to do it again.
IV. Food in the Iliad
I'm in Book 24 of the Iliad, the greatest and most beautiful chapter ever written. How many hero stories do you know of where the two mortal enemies (if you could consider Priam to the the "enemy" of Achilles...Achilles is really everyone's enemy, including his own) reach the climactic moment by grieving together over their losses, neither softening nor changing from their purposes, but sharing tears, honor, and then sharing a meal together? Bread, meat, and sleep...good gifts from the gods.
V. Maps
I love the map of the Mediterranean in my study. I think James gets his love of maps from me. I'd love to put some more maps up, and I know that somewhere out there is a devoted reader of this blog who used to subscribe to National Geographic and now has, sitting in a pile somewhere, a stack of old maps that they are hoping to give away for semi-educational purposes. Dear Reader, if you have maps of England, France, the Levant, or New York, I am especially interested.
VI. Florida
As far as I know my Mother and Father are still in Florida. (I'm not exactly sure when they left or are planning on coming back.) Florida is such a beautiful name for a state. (It means Flowers in Latin). It sounds even more beautiful when you look out on muddy sidewalks, piles of gray snow, and a bleak, colorless sky. I hope they're having a great time.
VII. Darwin
Reading the whole Darwin book is going to be an exercise in concentration--there are certainly sections of interest, but these only develop gradually as a punctuated variation from long passages of extremely technical biological details. (See what I did there?) One redeeming feature--he was a man (and a writer) intensely and infectiously interested in everything that he wrote about. When someone enthusiastically loves their subject, even if that subject is the tailfeathers of domestic pigeons (a species much-loved and cultivated) they are highly readable.
Yesterday afternoon I had a striking and sudden daydream--not sure if that's even the right word--that would have lead me straight to a soothsayer if I had been a Roman. Even now we'd be looking at bird entrails.
I imagined us stabling horses behind our house. I imagined walking out to a barn in black rubber boots and pulling down harnesses, reins, and saddles from large iron nails and leading out a beautiful old mare that was well past mothering years and was going to spend her old age in our care. I imagined little boys growing up with the sound of hooves and snorts and whishing tails in their ears, and thought about all the hundreds of years that humankind and horsekind were in partnership. In the daydream there were vines planted behind the house on a gentle hill that had been dug up just for that purpose.
Next, just as vividly, I imagined crouching down over the kitchen floor and pulling back the old laminate so that I could put in some new tile. I imagined rented tools in the garage, and the stove and refrigerator looking out of place while they waited in the living room for the job to be done. I had no help--I had graphing paper and measuring tape on the kitchen table, and I could smell the old house smell under the section of floor that was already ripped up.
It was mildly terrifying.
I'm not sure where the horse daydream came from, but as soon as I think about it I can remember the smell of my parent's old couch where Sam, Pax, and I would stand looking out through the big living room window that faced south and watch the horses that were pastured across the road. Sometimes we'd get walked over across the road and try to screw up the nerve to offer one of them a handful of clover. (Between the possible nip of the electric fence and the smell of their breath and the peril of the teeth, I'm not sure that I attempted this terribly often.) There certainly is something beautiful about a little boy watching a horse in wonder and fascination.
II. Roasting Coffee
I get Yirgacheffe coffee about every other order, because it's a good bit more expensive than the other varieties. I'll get something cheaper, and then by the time that I'm halfway through the bag I've realized that it simply isn't as good as the Yirgacheffe and that I'm willing to pay for the top-quality bean the next time I order. This time I wanted to save a little money and ordered the Tanzanian Peaberry. The first time I roasted it I burnt it badly--it doesn't crack nearly as audibly as any other coffees I've worked with, and I ended up stopping the roast at the burnt smell instead of the usual timing by listening. Yesterday I watched the roast (and sprayed empty husks everywhere) but came up with a much better tasting result.
III. Food in Company
Last night J got up from her book, went into the kitchen, and came back with a bowl of chips. Guess what I was doing five minutes later? Yes, eating chips and salsa. (Supper was a bowl of soup of 5 PM...we were both hungry.) But I never would have left the warmth of my blanket if she hadn't gotten up first. I think that social context is an underrated factor in eating choices. How many times do I have seconds if no one else at the table is having seconds? How many times do I turn down second helpings if everyone else is reaching in? When I eat with 90 lb vegetarian friend, neither of us are likely to finish all the food on our plate. When I eat with the trombone section of the orchestra, I'm very likely to finish my plate and have an extra half a beer as well. When I eat with J, we eat healthy and we usually don't have extra helpings. And eating with the tuba player is maybe the most impressive/disturbing thing you've ever seen.
N.B. J says she felt disgusting after eating chips at 9 PM and is never going to do it again.
IV. Food in the Iliad
I'm in Book 24 of the Iliad, the greatest and most beautiful chapter ever written. How many hero stories do you know of where the two mortal enemies (if you could consider Priam to the the "enemy" of Achilles...Achilles is really everyone's enemy, including his own) reach the climactic moment by grieving together over their losses, neither softening nor changing from their purposes, but sharing tears, honor, and then sharing a meal together? Bread, meat, and sleep...good gifts from the gods.
V. Maps
I love the map of the Mediterranean in my study. I think James gets his love of maps from me. I'd love to put some more maps up, and I know that somewhere out there is a devoted reader of this blog who used to subscribe to National Geographic and now has, sitting in a pile somewhere, a stack of old maps that they are hoping to give away for semi-educational purposes. Dear Reader, if you have maps of England, France, the Levant, or New York, I am especially interested.
VI. Florida
As far as I know my Mother and Father are still in Florida. (I'm not exactly sure when they left or are planning on coming back.) Florida is such a beautiful name for a state. (It means Flowers in Latin). It sounds even more beautiful when you look out on muddy sidewalks, piles of gray snow, and a bleak, colorless sky. I hope they're having a great time.
VII. Darwin
Reading the whole Darwin book is going to be an exercise in concentration--there are certainly sections of interest, but these only develop gradually as a punctuated variation from long passages of extremely technical biological details. (See what I did there?) One redeeming feature--he was a man (and a writer) intensely and infectiously interested in everything that he wrote about. When someone enthusiastically loves their subject, even if that subject is the tailfeathers of domestic pigeons (a species much-loved and cultivated) they are highly readable.
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