Health

This week really flew by! Remember when I used to post up to 5 times a week? Them days is over. A few too many irons in the fire now. I've been itching to talk to you about vegetables, though, and it's been too long since I shared a recipe. A couple of weeks ago, a friend told me he had been reading up on plant-based diets—books like The China Study and others by Dean Ornish, etc. But you're not interested in that, he said. He couldn't be more wrong. After reading books like this and this, I have come to understand that (non-factory-farmed) animal products are not the cause of high cholesterol and other health issues, but I do firmly believe that they should comprise a greatly reduced part of our diet. I think by now it's pretty clear to all of us that we should be eating mostly vegetables, fruits and some unprocessed grains, with small additions of high quality dairy, fish and meat products. Think of using them almost like seasoning, rather than as the centerpiece of your meal. With such a bounty of fresh produce now in season and available at farmers markets, there's no lack of inspiration if you want to start cooking more vegetable-based meals. Want a few cookbooks to help you along the path? Try this one, this one and this one.
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Much is said about change—its inevitability, its power to engender fear...and transformation. I believe that if we don't create change, change will create us. When it comes at you, you can either wrestle it like a big slippery alligator, or just do your best to ride the wave. Nine years ago, when my husband died of cancer and I was trudging through the Slough of Despond in Los Angeles, change felt like the slow flaying of my skin. Three years ago, when I left my familiar life in New York City for the wilds of Sullivan County, change was like an enormous infusion of oxygen and optimism. Life is change, and that's never more apparent than when you live close to nature and really experience the cycle of birth and death that is constantly on display. Even the simple blossoming and wilting of a flower in a single day is a reminder. Life is short, my friends, and we must not waste a moment clinging to what we have already lost. The perfection and freshness of youth is one thing, the patina and widsom of age quite another. But they are two sides of the same coin, and of equal value.
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We went to the 16th annual tractor parade in Callicoon yesterday (yes, exactly what is sounds like) and came across a stand selling raw local honey at the nearby farmers market. I love honey so much—its amber hues, its range of floral and earthy flavors, its dense sweetness—and, now that I've learned a bit more about it, I try to buy the least processed honey I can find. The next step, of course, is to start raising our own bees, and I think that's not too far off. We may try to do it on our roof so that we can avoid the whole electric fence/bear situation. These lovely people from Walton, NY, had brought a wealth of choices to the market: clover, buckwheat, basswood, wildflower, apple, goldenrod and raspberry honeys. Honey is the concentrated nectar of flowers, and its subtly detectable flavors reflect whatever blossoms are most pervasive at the moment it's made. Talk about terroir! The buckwheat is always a much darker color and has a pronounced muskiness that can sometimes be quite bold.
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The only thing better than seeing the first asparagus at the farmer's market? Finding a patch of wild asparagus. It can be hard to get to before the deer. When you spy those leggy green stalks swaying in the breeze, it really hits home that it's a sort of grass. This herbaceous vegetable has been enjoyed throughout history, from the time of the ancient Greeks and Egyptians. Madame de Pompadour enjoyed asparagus' delicate points d'amour ("love tips"). I didn't find enough in the wild to make a whole dish, just enough to garnish a platter of raw asparagus ribbons from the farmers marker, punctuated with the onion pungency of purple chive blossoms. This salad is actually a riff on this one, and is similarly adorned with thin shavings of parmesan, toasted pine nuts and a light dressing of olive oil and lemon juice. That's your recipe.
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This is kind of a random post, but it does end with a couple of recipes, since I feel I owe you. Have you been cooking? Are you ready for a summer of fresh salads, grilling and frozen treats? I sure am!Before attending the Brooklyn Food Conference a couple of weeks ago, G and I hit the Fort Greene Flea. I was instantly transported back to the days when Saturdays always included a stroll around the now-defunct 26th Street flea market in Manhattan. I have to say, though, the food in Brooklyn takes it to a whole other level. It's such a testament to the explosion of artisanal craft that's going on in this once-humble borough. Sadly, I was on a juice fast, but G ate his way through the place. I had to be content with snapping a few photos with my iphone. That's fragrant roasted porchetta, above, which they were hand-slicing to go on chewy ciabatta rolls for deliciously rustic sandwiches.
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I've lured you here today with this picture of mouthwatering chocolate meringues but it's just a ruse to make you sit still for a bit of a rant. A number of things converged in the past couple of weeks and I've really got to share this stuff with you. I had the opportunity to attend the Brooklyn Food Conference in Fort Greene and sit on a panel to discuss "women's place at the table." Frankly, I was a bit miscast as this conference is heavily oriented toward policy and the other panelists were talking about single mothers, the struggling poor and disenfranchised immigrants (and me, with my penchant for expensive ingredients!), but I was able to chime in a bit about the importance of gardening. I remembered this article, about a single mother of three who had to go back to the land to feed her family—in Brooklyn!—and wound up eating better than ever before for much less money. The idea of community gardens—even a few raised beds for growing vegetables—could help change the lives of people eating in food deserts. Then I read about Seattle's new project, creating a 7-acre "edible forest" of fruit-bearing trees and plants as part of an effort to rehabilitate their local ecosystem, and I began to have some hope for the future.
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A few years back, New York magazine announced that eating goat was starting to become a trend. A reader wrote into its website, saying, Here are white people again!!!! Acting like they invented goat meat. That's pretty funny, and also painfully true. Goat is actually the meat most consumed around the world. We're behind, people.Goat is not only delicious, it's sustainable, higher in protein than beef and lower in fat than chicken. This leanness makes it particularly good when braised or steamed so it doesn’t dry out. Fresh goat is still hard to find in New York City markets, so I imagine it's not readily available from your average grocer. Try farmers markets or Halal butchers, or look for it on the menus of hip, locavore-friendly restaurants.

 

At Scarpetta, Scott Conant is known for his roasted capretto—that's Italian for baby goat aka kid. At Girl and the Goat in Chicago, chef Stephanie Izard—who got into goat (and named her restaurant for it) when she discovered that izard is a breed of Pyrenees goat—uses it in a homemade sausage on pizza and in a ragú with gooseberries and rosemary that she tosses with homemade pappardelle. Now she buys her goat from a local farm (as do I) and goes through seven whole goats each week (I do not).

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"She's really let herself go." When I hear someone say that about a woman—usually in a pitying or disdainful tone—it gets my hackles up. First of all, how often have you heard this said about a man? And secondly, shouldn't letting yourself go be a good thing? Doesn't it sound wonderfully liberating? Turns out it means she's no longer living up to the stringent standards of female beauty. She doesn't tweeze her eyebrows, wear lipstick, starve her body into submission or dye her hair. She's "showing her age." To be perfectly honest, I'm usually quite careful about the pictures I post of myself, but today I deliberately chose one in which I'm not wearing a speck of makeup and in which, frankly, I look like what I am: a happy 49-year old who doesn't smoke or sunbathe, and who gets Botox a couple of times a year. Yep, full disclosure.
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Remember "Singles," Cameron Crowe's 1992 film about young love and indie music in Seattle? No? I'm not surprised. It really wasn't that good. But I'll never forget how Bridget Fonda's character, who was hopelessly in love with Matt Dillon's indifferent rocker, waited in vain for him to say "Bless you" every time she sneezed. In my family we always said "Salud" whenever someone sneezed. To not say it was unthinkable. Like a jinx. What with spring allergies kicking in and everyone getting those changing-season colds, there's lots of sneezing going on nowadays. If you've got a scratchy throat, runny nose or just a general malaise, try this therapeutic treat. It's a sorbet—from Jeni's, of course—packed with vitamin C, soothing honey and a fiery combination of ginger, bourbon and cayenne. It feels restorative and it will definitely clear a few things right up.
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Home again, home again. As much as I love to travel, sometimes I think coming home is the best part. Especially when the transition from balmy Hawaii to balmy New York is so smooth. (Minus the jet lag, of course.) Our trip to the Big Island was extraordinary, and I plan to tell you all about it, but I hit the ground running and have not yet had a chance to sort through all the photos, much less my thoughts. So that's for next week. For now, a few glimpses of spring's first signs—it's arrived fast and furious in these parts—and links to some of my latest discoveries. I'm chomping at the bit to start foraging and have a long list of wild edibles I'm determined to find this season. By the way, I've missed you madly and realize all over again what a wonderful creative and social outlet this blog is for me.
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