Indulgence

If healthy eating is a habit to be cultivated, then the corollary is that sometimes you have to throw broccoli and self-discipline to the wind and make a pilgrimage to the local dairy bar.

On a warm spring afternoon, there aren’t many things better than sitting at a picnic table amid good company, waiting for your order number — your first of the season — to be called over the PA system. Pay for your order and grab your tray. Quick detour to the condiment bar to load up on specimen cups of ketchup and mustard, each one too small to satisfy the dipping needs of even the dantiest and most fastidious diner, but you always end up getting too many. Back to the table. Pass around the food. Grab a couple of onion rings from the communal order in the middle of the table. Eat. Talk. Laugh. People watch; families, high school kids, seniors, a business type in shirtsleeves walking up to the counter for a decidedly non-business lunch.

You’ve definitely had — and made — a better burger, but context matters. Sunny day, picnic table, not a care in the world except whether or not to go back and order a chocolate frost.

Getting all up in your grill

A week of unseasonably nice weather (for a few days, Mother Nature leapfrogged over spring to give us a little taste of summer) turned this young man’s fancy to thoughts of…grilling. After a thorough — I’m still trying to get the last of the gunk out from under my nails — cleaning earlier in the week, I’ve celebrated the end of a long winter with a few nice grill-centric meals.

Grilling lines up nicely with the healthier eating kick we’re on here at the Modern family compound. As gas prices and food prices continue to rise, we’re making a real effort both to stretch our food dollar as much as we can and to devote the greatest possible percentage of every food dollar to the purchase of, you know, food. This makes trips to the market something of a balancing act. Real food, particularly things like produce, tend to be more expensive than the packaged, processed, partially hydrogenated, high-fructosized. You get more fruit roll-ups for your grocery dollar than you can real fruit.

Okay, so none of this is a revelation. I’ve known for a long time the difference between a real strawberry (or apple, or peach) and a machine-extruded strip of strawberryish plasticine. I know which one is better. I know which one is cheaper. So what’s the point, here?

At present, mindfulness is the point. At present, we’re thinking a lot more about our food when we buy it, and when we consume it.

I’ve always been a by the list grocery shopper. Obsessive-compulsively so at times. I’m not immune to the occasional impulse purchase or good deal, but by and large I have a plan and I stick to it. Improvisational grocery shopping doesn’t work for me; it’s too easy to go over budget, and even easier to load up on things that are not remotely necessary. Lately, in addition to making lists based on what we need, I’m also becoming a circular shopper.

For a long time now, I’ve shopped at one particular store. Not out of any tremendous sense of loyalty, but because they usually offer slightly better specials, which makes them the cost-effective option. Now that I’m shopping mindfully, which has had the added effect of further simplifying an already straightforward list, I’m comparison shopping among markets a lot more. With a pared down list, the value proposition of one store over another on any particular week becomes much easier to determine. I suppose if I were truly dedicated, I would make two or more lists, and break up my shopping trip to maximize value, but I’m not there yet. The gas price and time value costs of multiple shopping excursions outweigh any marginal savings, at least for the time being.

Like the markets themselves, the circulars offer a lot of deals on things I don’t need, heavily discounted in the hope of convinving me that maybe I do need them after all. So, while my actual frozen pizza (or processed cheese single, or store brand ketchup) need is zero, I have to consider whether loading up on ten frozen pizzas for ten bucks might not be such a bad idea. Fortunately, I’m sufficiently cynical that that line of thought usually culminates in the realization that convincing people that buying a whole lot of something they don’t need is a “savings” is part of the reason our economy and our collective values are so screwed up.

So it’s grilling season, and I can get a good deal on a rainbow assortment of grilling sauces and marinades featuring our good friend high-fructose corn syrup, and its hench-additives, the nefarious twins artificial and natural flavor.

Here’s my thing: given a reasonably well-stocked pantry, who needs prepackaged sauces? How hard is it to mix soy sauce and ginger to make a soy-ginger marinade? Absent a smoker to give you the tang of mesquite, why not just add a couple drops of liquid smoke to some chili and lime juice? Sure, chipotles in adobo aren’t a staple in some households, but a choice between a chemical slurry of faux chipotle and mesquite flavor and picking up a can of chilis is really no choice at all. Lemon-pepper? Herb and garlic? Make them at home. They’ll taste better, and you’ll have more control over what goes onto your food.

I speak from guilty experience when I say the main reason people opt for prepackaged sauces is time and convenience. Open the bottle, glug a portion over your food, mix it up to evenly distribute the marinade, and let it sit. Elapsed time, maybe 30 seconds. Simplicity itself.

Know what else is simple? Take a clove or two of garlic, and chop it finely. Transfer to a small bowl. Give it a few shakes of oregano and basil (or toss in a chiffonade of fresh herbs if you have them on hand). Add a couple of tablespoons of olive oil, half again as much lemon juice, and a dollop each of mustard and honey. Whisk to emulsify. Pour over a boneless pork tenderloin and distribute evenly over the meat. Elapsed time, maybe three minutes, four if you take a minute to rinse out the bowl and clean your knife and cutting board. The result, however, is at least six times better than the prepackaged option:

Preheat your grill to medium-high heat. Remove the tenderloin from the marinade, and wipe off any excess. Sear the tenderloin on all sides, then grill covered for 20-25 minutes, turning periodically. Let the meat rest for five minutes before slicing. Accompaniments at the cook’s discretion (grilled tortilla and a cucumber salad go very well with this meal).

The Conclave of Shadows (series), by Raymond E. Feist

Hey, kids! Do you like fantasy stories?

How about a good revenge story?

And redemption stories; how do you feel about them?

If these are the sort of things that ring your literary bell, you could do worse than to check out this series (comprising Talon of the Silver Hawk, King of Foxes, and Exile’s Return) set in Raymond E. Feist’s Midkemia. This is the severalth series of Mr. Feist’s that takes place in that world, but encyclopedic prior knowledge is not required to follow or enjoy these books. Personally, while I have read the Riftwar series, I have not read any of the intervening Midkemia books; although the Conclave of Shadows books make reference to events in the earlier books, I found these references came with enough context that I could either understand or infer the necessary details.

The books make for quick and entertaining reading, if fantasy is your kind of thing. While the series is self-contained, it ends with a cliffhanger that sets up the next Midkemia series. Indeed, the ending plays like the season finale of a fantasy or science fiction television series, with a reveal that just begs for a To be continued…

If I could figure out how to market this, I’d be rich (Warning: contains satire)

It’s Hacksercize, the new fitness craze*!

Here’s how it works:

1) Get the flu.

2) Cough for, like, three days straight.

3) By the end of the first day, you’ll be amazed at how much of a workout this simple coughing regimen gives to various muscles and muscle groups, including your abs, pecs, obliques, and trapezius…trapeziuses…trapezii…whatever.

4) By the end of the third day, amazement will have given way to whimpering, bargaining with the infinite for deliverance from the pain, and heartfelt promises to make eating better and exercising more a regular part of your daily routine.

*Don’t try this at home. Really.

Two of my favorite ‘B’ words

I’ve been taking shots at New York magazine lately, so it’s only fair that I sing their praises when there are praises to be sung.

Thanks to Robin Raisfeld and Rob Patronite for their piece in the April 14, 2008, issue of the magazine about Don Lee of New York bar PDT and his bacon-infused Old Fashioned.

I don’t care for vodka. It upsets my stomach. So I’ve never had much truck with flavored spirits, with the exception of a tolerable blood orange tequila I had at a place in Boston once.

Bacon and bourbon on the other hand? That’s tremendously appealing. In Mr. Lee’s preparation, I imagine the smokiness of the bacon would round out the richness of the bourbon, and balance nicely with the sweetness of the maple syrup in the drink.

And given the fact that some studies indicate that moderate alcohol intake can help lower cholesterol, the cocktail provides its own remedy against any bacon fat that doesn’t get filtered out of the infusion.

The Year of Eating Dangerously, by Tom Parker Bowles

It’s always dangerous to conflate a writer’s literary persona with their true personality. At the same time, in a work of nonfiction the reader has to assume that the persona with whom they interacts is the one on which the writer wishes to be evaluated. Based on this standard, Tom Parker Bowles reminds me of that old friend you haven’t seen in a while, the one of whom you have great memories of good times shared, but who, when you reconnect with them after a period of years seems like a bit of a jackass.

I’m not casting aspersions here. I suspect that some friends with whom I’ve lost touch over the years would feel the same way about me if we were to reunite. My insight into Mr. Parker Bowles character is therefore based on a clear-eyed assessment of my own.

As he presents himself in the book, Mr. Parker Bowles is someone who talks big, drinks copiously, and mistakes awareness of his own character flaws for deep insight. Basically, he is Anthony Bourdain with none of the chefly chops and one tenth the charm.

There is very little danger to be found in Mr. Parker Bowles culinary tour, aside from the danger to his ego of having his assumptions challenged and his preconceptions shattered. The rest is gloss. A few days in China here, a New Mexico chile pepper odyssey there, a taste of fugu in Tokyo over there, judging a barbecue contest (complete with the obligatory digression into the realm of the Arawak barbacoa to provide the necessary context for his porcine indulgence) in that other chapter. At best, he merely scratches the surface of the cuisines and cultures he explores. There is nothing wrong with that. Any of the subjects addressed in passing in each chapter would provide fodder for a book twice the size of The Year of Eating Dangerously.

The later chapters in the book are the most fascinating. His trip to Korea in order to eat dog reveals finds him wrestling with the cultural baggage of dog as protein (something for which he claims historical antecedents even in the West) versus dog as man’s best friend. Counterbalancing this is his extensive chapter on Laos. Again, he barely scratches the surface of the country, its people, or its culinary traditions, but it is clear that he was enchanted, if somewhat caught up in the dregs of 20th century imperialist fantasy, by his visit.

Ultimately, the greatest danger for the author or the reader is to take this book too seriously.

I’m havin’ an ‘art attack

At the risk of once again laying siege to the unenviable blogging niche of MASS MoCA apologist and New York magazine scold, I’ll note the magazine once again gives short shrift (whether intentionally or carelessly, I hesitate to speculate) to the museum.

The April 7, 2008, issue of New York magazine featured a profile of photographer Gregory Crewdson by Amy Larocca. In her piece, Ms. Larocca wrote,

Crewdson produces large-scale, elaborately constructed photographs taken in and around the town of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, where the Crewdson family has forever had a small log cabin in the woods.

She went on to note,

Crewdson’s method of photography is highly unusual; he has not taken a picture all by himself for the last ten years, save the occasional snapshot of his kids. He works with a crew of about 40: lighting, set, production designers, and even a director of photography.

Interestingly enough, it turns out there is a large contemporary art facility in the vacinity of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, that has hosted Mr. Crewdson and his crew in the past.

As always, let’s remember that correlation does not equal causation. The fact that New York magazine failed to acknowledge MASS MoCA’s positive contributions (such as supporting Mr. Crewdson’s work, or being the first site to exhibit Cai Guo Qiang’s Inopportune) while commenting critically on its challenges (as with its one-sided and rather judgmental coverage of l’affair Büchel) does not indicate a conspiracy on the part of the magazine against the museum. On the other hand, we all have our biases. While mine run in favor of scrappy museums in rural New England, it’s not surprising that New York magazine has a vested interest in preserving New York as the center of the art universe, and indeed of projecting and championing the image of New York as the center of every conceivable universe.

Where I have a problem — not just in the case of New York magazine, but in every corner where this lamentable facet of the human condition rears its ugly head — is with the notion that one person or organization’s success somehow threatens someone else’s identity. Is New York, the city, the magazine, or the concept, really lessened if something wonderful didn’t originate there? Are the museums, galleries, and theatres of the city truly diminished just because some museum, gallery, or theatre might get there first from time to time?