Lessons from Fruit
Love yourself today! And eat some fruit.
Tag: Life Lessons
The Purpose Fairy
I read a couple articles from this blog last week and I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things a lot, especially improving my mindset and my world around me. This list was going around Facebook the other …
Procession of Game
“In 1886, we gorged. In 2012, we nibble.”
So I read yesterday in an article by Robert Krulwich at NPR on the state of overfished waters in the past century.
See White House menus from 1886 titled, “Procession of Game.”
SOUP
Venison (Hunter style) Game Broth
FISH
Broiled Trout, Shrimp Sauce, Baked Black Bass, Claret Sauce
BOILED
Leg of Mountain Sheep, Ham of Bear, Venison Tongue, Buffalo Tongue
ROAST
Loin of Buffalo, Mountain Sheep, Wild Goose, Quail, Redhead Duck, Jack Rabbit, Blacktail Deer, Coon, Canvasback Duck, English Hare, Bluewing Teal, Partridge, Widgeon, Brant, Saddle of Venison, Pheasants, Mallard Duck, Prairie Chicken, Wild Turkey, Spotted Grouse, Black Bear, Oppossum, Leg of Elk, Wood Duck, Sandhill Crane, Ruffed Grouse Cinnamon Bear
BROILED
Bluewing Teal, Jacksnipe, Blackbirds, Reed Birds, Partridges, Pheasants, Quails, Butterballs, Ducks, English Snipe, Rice Birds, Red-wing Starling, Marsh Birds, Plover, Gray Squirrel, Buffalo Steak, Rabbits, Venison Steak
ENTREES
Antelope Steak, Mushroom sauce; Rabbit Braise, Cream Sauce: Fillet of Grouse with Truffles; Venison Cutlet, Jelly Sauce; Ragout of Bear, Hunter Style; Oyster Pie
SALADS
Shrimp, Prairie Chicken, Celery
ORNAMENTAL DISHES
Pyramid of Game en Bellevue, Boned Duck au Naturel, Pyramid of Wild-Goose Liver in Jelly, The Coon Out at Night, Boned Quail in Plumage, Red-Wing Starling on Tree, Partridge in Nest, Prairie Chicken en Socle
vs. a menu from a State dinner last month:
FIRST COURSE
Crisped Halibut with Potato Crust, served on a bed of baby kale fresh from the White House garden, shaved Brussels sprouts and micro cabbage sprouts.
SALAD COURSE
Spring Garden Lettuces with radishes, cucumbers and avocodo (greens also From the White House Garden)
MAIN COURSE
Bison Wellington
DESSERT
Steamed Lemon Pudding over Newtown Pippin Apples (the apples “are believed to have been developed in Queens, New York”)
Hmm. What do you think?
See the article here.
Poetry for Your Wednesday
From “Diving Into the Wreck” by Adrienne Rich And now: it is easy to forgetwhat I came foramong so many who have alwayslived hereswaying their crenellated fansbetween the reefsand besidesyou breathe differently down here.I came to explore the wreck.The words are purposes.The words are maps.I …
Lessons Learned from Live Chats
I needed the better part of the weekend to recover from a live chat on Friday discussing the future of food writing. (Okay, so there were some parties, too.) But seriously, for the precious pearls of wisdom gained from seasoned writers dishing out free advice, …
Picky Eaters Need Not Apply
If love is a transcending experience, then I’m convinced food is the barometer for it.
I’ve theorized about this subject in the past, but pushed it aside when I stumbled upon dating prospects who lack an interest in food. I almost saw this as a redeeming quality, for perhaps I could be the one to give them a new appreciation. I now realize what a mistake that was.
My last few dating attempts proved this theory and could have spared me a lot of time and heartbreak had I recognized it at the time.
Most recently was Jim, your classic meat and potatoes guy- but way down at the Hamburger Helper and boxed mashed potato end. You all know him- this is the guy who orders chicken parmesan at a nice restaurant and it’s the most exotic thing he’s ever had. He refuses to eat anything green besides Caesar salad, but thinks he’s health conscious by drinking protein shakes and eating egg white omelettes.
Being with him made me think of the cowboy’s credo from City Slickers, that food should be “hot, brown, and there’s plenty of it.” He cringed when I made him runny yolk scrambled eggs cooked in bacon fat. Even when he couldn’t deny how much more delicious they were than his bland, low cholesterol preference, I could tell he was calculating how many extra miles he’d have to run to make up for the damage.
He also hated dessert. I can’t even get started on this.
Next was Adrian, who had the palate of a 5-year-old. Though I must give him credit for trying new things, he would squeeze his eyes shut upon tasting the tiniest speck of something unfamiliar as if it was burning his lips. He’d then promptly announce, “I don’t like it.” He hated everything.
I must take responsibility, for even on the first date, I was forewarned. After singing the praises of cheese due to my Wisconsin upbringing, he paused before flatly responding, “I don’t like cheese.” This alone was worthy of being a deal breaker. As I let the statement fully resonate, he turned to me and reassured me, “But I do love pizza.” I ignored my intuition and forged on, since his snarky puns were priceless and mozzarella cheese is only four bucks a pound.
Danny was the most difficult to pin-point. He loved food and cooking new things, he was open-minded to food adventures and curious about trends and the buzz. For this, my hat goes off to him as he coins himself a “wannabe foodie.” Going out to eat with him was a blast, so long as I discreetly added a few bucks to his tip on our way out, but that’s another story. We never went to the same place twice, he was humble and not afraid to ask questions about the menu, and there was nothing he wouldn’t try.
For me, the mismatch lay in how he ate. He was someone who would eat a candy bar with a knife and fork. When we cooked together, he would gingerly roll up his sleeves over his delicate corporate wrists and touch food with his fingertips to avoid getting too dirty. He hounded me when I added things to the pot, asking “how much salt was that?” or “is this considered a small dice or a brunoise?” I don’t know, it’s an 8-o’clock-and-we-haven’t-had-dinner-yet chop. He wasn’t amused.
And why did you continue? you ask. I have no excuse. Maybe I didn’t want to discriminate against anti-foodies or be a food snob. Maybe I wanted to be the mentor they needed to break the chain of being a bad eater. Or maybe I was just following my heart when I should have followed my stomach.
Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon, they say. Can you do one recklessly and not the other? If one can’t comfortably rub a chicken in butter or do blind taste tests when I hold out a spoon, how can they possibly love me when I come home from work with flour in my hair and chocolate on the backs of my arms?
The beauty of love is in spontaneity and the adventure of the unknown. The beauty of food is trying new things, exploring another culture and breaking from pattern and comfort. In a busy world of routine, food can be the most accessible way to make each day different and memorable. What other way could a relationship deepen than with a dose of dining together with a little spontaneity in the menu? For many couples, breaking bread is the only quality time they can get on a daily basis.
So gentlemen, I implore you. Let her eat off your plate. Try what she has when she holds out her fork. Order dessert. Bring home that weird thing you saw at the grocery store. Even if it turns out to be terrible, you will probably have a new inside joke or learn something about your loved one.
Some Lessons from Whitney Houston
Love will save the day. Say a prayer with every heartbeat. Never walk in anyone’s shadow. Sometimes broken hearts can find their way home. Don’t change all your colors for another. Be every woman. Take a chance on loving, no matter the price. Find hope …
Address the Present Moment
My fabulous aunt introduced me to the blog by Flux Capacitor a couple months ago. I check in when I need sensitive insight and feel starved for rich writing. The other day I stumbled upon this beautiful post from her and I think you should, too. …
How Punky Brewster Changed My Life
It is not uncommon for me to wake up with a random song in my head, and this morning was no exception. As I let the chickens out and sipped my brewed coffee, a flute tinkled in the background of my brain, an accent to the ongoing soundtrack of my life. What was that ditty from? Oh yes, the interlude music to Punky Brewster, my all-time favorite show as a child. Nothing like an odd start to the day.
A few years ago, I Netflixed a few seasons of the show on a whim. I often revert back to childhood themes and corny movies during times of strife. I also thought it would be wildly entertaining for me and my roommate, who happened to be an old friend from camp whom I knew would appreciate the sentiment.
The memories came flooding back- missing my cat having kittens because I couldn’t bear to miss a single episode (those were the days before Tevo), standing in front of my closet each day thinking WWPW (what would Punky wear), and of course, the harsh life lessons ingrained in the show. Lessons such as, don’t joke around in CPR class because you never know when your friend might get trapped in a refrigerator and need to be resussitated, and you don’t want to be the guy who can’t do it because you weren’t paying attention. Or the importance of literacy in case your little brother drinks poison and you need to read the label. You don’t have to do drugs to be popular. And of course, the subliminal messages of our need to buck the system and rage against the flaws of beaurocracy.
The themes were heavy. Maybe a little too heavy for innocent girls everywhere who had never had to dig through trash for dinner or break into a deserted apartment for shelter. When I watched with my roommate, she realized watching Punky Brewster was the reason she suffered so much separation anxiety when her parents went out. If Punky could be abandoned in a grocery store parking lot, how could any of us be safe? In a chaotic, right-wing time of Reaganomics and a national obsession with money and status, the message was clear: if an orphan and her puppy could make it in the school of hard knocks, then so could you.
But there were simpler lessons, as well. It’s okay to be weird. Be yourself, and love who you are. Be a devoted friend.
Punky’s indefatigable spirit and iron clad moral constitution set in motion for me a lifelong role model of the kind of person I wanted to be. She was a gal who could see the bright side of things and keep it all in perspective. The adoption agency won’t approve of an old man becoming her foster parent? Just another administrative hoop to jump through. Bad things will always happen to good people, and all you can do is keep being good and hope for the best. Do things for others and be the best you can each day, and all will turn out right.
A nice reminder from the adorable 80s theme song on my internal loop this morning.