Just in case anyone's been under a rock and hasn't seen the latest brilliant piece by Michael Pollan in the New York Times, get to it. It is essential reading, and we won't attempt to summarize it here since nobody can do justice to his writing.
Our own humble thoughts on food choices will soon follow....
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Cooking Deprivation
Just about when we got our first post up on this blog, the gas supply to our building was cut off due to a Con Ed leak. No cooking. Right when we launched a site about food. A touch of irony (which seems to be in no short order here in New York at the moment).
The outage lasted nearly six weeks, which meant lots of pizza, lots of take-out, and lots of thinking about why we care about cooking in the first place. We also got sort of creative with electrical household appliances, but we'll get to that.
At first we thought the situation would be resolved quickly, and took it as a handy excuse to eat out and order in without feeling guilty. In other words, see how most of NYC lives. It got old. And we got fat. We quickly realized that never being able to have precisely what we want, when we want it, made to order, resulted in eating whatever we could get our hands on and in abundance, in a vain attempt to satisfy very specific cravings. We'd be jonesing for a couple scrambled eggs on toast, and end up with a peanut butter sandwich for the protein, microwaved (shudder) soup for the comfort of warm food, and cookies and ice cream as consolation for not satisfying our original craving.
We also missed the ritual of preparing our own meals: Thinking about what to make, shopping at our favorite markets and stores, and having an activity that lets us wind down at the end of the day without lumping in front of the TV. We missed chopping. And one of us really hates chopping, so that says something. The kitchen became a source of frustration. We'd boil water in our little electric kettle and stare longingly at the stove...and eat a bag of potato chips to distract ourselves. "Work break" trips to check out the contents of the fridge lost their value. Little white cartons and plastic containers had never looked so diabolical. Even our favorite restaurants lost their charms, when the excitement of indulging in dinner out morphed into a gastroenterologically damaging march towards bankruptcy.
Desperation did prove useful in testing our ability to think outside the box. Leftover pizza needed warming, so we turned the toaster on its side and slipped in mini slices. It worked quickly, and the damage from melted cheese on the grates was reversible. But the novelty of our clever solution soon wore off. So we gave in and borrowed a toaster oven, normally a dreaded item due to the shoddy performance of modern models and the precious counter space they require. That meant we could fit entire slices of pizza—oh joy—but more importantly, we could roast about 6 oz of a given food item at a time. Pretty weak for an item that takes up more room than six Mac Classics put together.
So we had no chance at balanced, abundant meals, and ate had to eat in shifts instead. We went through a chicken thigh phase. They're a good shape (flat!) for the pathetic capacity of the oven. We'd rub them with olive oil, sea salt, pepper, some paprika and stick them in for...well, until they were ready. Anybody's guess with the volatile temperature situation. Next came potatoes, "boiled" in the microwave then subjected to much the same treatment as the thighs.
And just when we started to get advice from other toaster oven cooking veterans (eggs were the next experiment), we got the gas back. It was almost too good to be true. We had a momentary feeling of, "Wait, how does this work again?" Then we snapped out of it and quickly transfered into a pot the soup we'd been about to microwave (from our local Italian shop, as close to homemade as possible), and rejoiced at the "click click hiss" of the burner. Next came pasta. And eggs. The sensation of hunger was a distant memory and still we cooked or heated up whatever was cookable or heatable in the house. All prepared simply (salt, pepper and parmigiano on the spaghetti, eggs sunny side up etc.), but all damn delicious. We're back in business. And with spring and bursting farmers' markets around the corner, it's not a moment too soon.
The outage lasted nearly six weeks, which meant lots of pizza, lots of take-out, and lots of thinking about why we care about cooking in the first place. We also got sort of creative with electrical household appliances, but we'll get to that.
At first we thought the situation would be resolved quickly, and took it as a handy excuse to eat out and order in without feeling guilty. In other words, see how most of NYC lives. It got old. And we got fat. We quickly realized that never being able to have precisely what we want, when we want it, made to order, resulted in eating whatever we could get our hands on and in abundance, in a vain attempt to satisfy very specific cravings. We'd be jonesing for a couple scrambled eggs on toast, and end up with a peanut butter sandwich for the protein, microwaved (shudder) soup for the comfort of warm food, and cookies and ice cream as consolation for not satisfying our original craving.
We also missed the ritual of preparing our own meals: Thinking about what to make, shopping at our favorite markets and stores, and having an activity that lets us wind down at the end of the day without lumping in front of the TV. We missed chopping. And one of us really hates chopping, so that says something. The kitchen became a source of frustration. We'd boil water in our little electric kettle and stare longingly at the stove...and eat a bag of potato chips to distract ourselves. "Work break" trips to check out the contents of the fridge lost their value. Little white cartons and plastic containers had never looked so diabolical. Even our favorite restaurants lost their charms, when the excitement of indulging in dinner out morphed into a gastroenterologically damaging march towards bankruptcy.
Desperation did prove useful in testing our ability to think outside the box. Leftover pizza needed warming, so we turned the toaster on its side and slipped in mini slices. It worked quickly, and the damage from melted cheese on the grates was reversible. But the novelty of our clever solution soon wore off. So we gave in and borrowed a toaster oven, normally a dreaded item due to the shoddy performance of modern models and the precious counter space they require. That meant we could fit entire slices of pizza—oh joy—but more importantly, we could roast about 6 oz of a given food item at a time. Pretty weak for an item that takes up more room than six Mac Classics put together.
So we had no chance at balanced, abundant meals, and ate had to eat in shifts instead. We went through a chicken thigh phase. They're a good shape (flat!) for the pathetic capacity of the oven. We'd rub them with olive oil, sea salt, pepper, some paprika and stick them in for...well, until they were ready. Anybody's guess with the volatile temperature situation. Next came potatoes, "boiled" in the microwave then subjected to much the same treatment as the thighs.
And just when we started to get advice from other toaster oven cooking veterans (eggs were the next experiment), we got the gas back. It was almost too good to be true. We had a momentary feeling of, "Wait, how does this work again?" Then we snapped out of it and quickly transfered into a pot the soup we'd been about to microwave (from our local Italian shop, as close to homemade as possible), and rejoiced at the "click click hiss" of the burner. Next came pasta. And eggs. The sensation of hunger was a distant memory and still we cooked or heated up whatever was cookable or heatable in the house. All prepared simply (salt, pepper and parmigiano on the spaghetti, eggs sunny side up etc.), but all damn delicious. We're back in business. And with spring and bursting farmers' markets around the corner, it's not a moment too soon.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
For the Love of Food
We've been eating all our lives.
On six continents, in over twenty-five countries. In restaurants, on streets, in the homes of friends and strangers. Somehow it's never enough.
So we cook. We bring people to the table to commune and consume.
It's still not enough.
So now we're writing about, photographing, and filming food and the people around the world responsible for bring it to our tables. And we're posting the results here to share with people beyond our reach who also live—at least in part—for the love of food.
On six continents, in over twenty-five countries. In restaurants, on streets, in the homes of friends and strangers. Somehow it's never enough.
So we cook. We bring people to the table to commune and consume.
It's still not enough.
So now we're writing about, photographing, and filming food and the people around the world responsible for bring it to our tables. And we're posting the results here to share with people beyond our reach who also live—at least in part—for the love of food.
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