Team Chili and the Frito Pie

In an earlier post I mentioned a chili-making scheme that my coworker and I hatched.  Today it came to glorious fruition.  The idea was that we needed to make Frito pies for an event and [here I feel it incumbent on me to explain the Frito pie: our boss who grew up in Texas told us of the snack, which she said was served at high school football games and the like--it consists of a small bag of Fritos corn chips slit open with chili poured inside, topped with diced onions and cheese] the typical way is to use canned chili.  Well, my coworker and I were dismayed by that idea, and we proposed to make the chili ourselves instead.  Dubbing ourselves Team Chili, we donned aprons this morning and chopped onions and browned ground beef on the stove.  We poured these items with chili spices into Crock Pots along with canned beans and tomatoes.  All day long, one end of the office was filled with the aroma of chili as the Crock Pots did their slow-cooking magic.  Then tonight we were able to share our creations (one pot of beef chili and one of vegetarian).  Having never tried a Frito pie before, I discovered they're quite tasty.  And the novelty of eating out of a tiny bag of chips using a spoon is quite satisfying.

Some of you may have noticed that my drawings have become less intricate of late.  It's partly because I've been tired out and trying to finish them quickly, but partly because I've been using a thicker pen.  It's not better or worse, but the thicker tip does have a noticeable effect on how I draw.  Sometimes it feels freeing not to need to add as much detail and other times it feels stifling not to be able to.  I would have liked more detail in this picture, for instance, but that's a key part of this blog--embracing imperfection and moving along.  Now to bed with fond memories of Frito pies still in my head . . .

Really Good Food

Good food is special.  Maybe there are places where all food is good food--nourishing and satisfying and prepared with care and attention--but I expect they're few and far between.  Here in the U.S. all too few of our meals fit into this category.  We're always on the go, always trying to save a few minutes here and there so we can cram more into our days.  But in so doing, we end up feeding ourselves poorly.  We consume processed foods that are quick to eat and that fill our stomachs, but that fail to deliver balanced nutrition or satisfy our senses.  We almost forget what a really good meal tastes like, what it feels like.  But when we do eat one, the difference is stark.  The flavors jump out with clarity and simple potency.  The multiple facets of our hunger, physical and mental, are satisfied, filled, relieved.  Our bodies feel energized rather than bloated, light rather than sluggish, alert rather than lethargic.  I had a really good meal tonight when the place where I work held a benefit dinner.  A barbeque pit master from South Carolina prepared a whole pig, cooking it all day long until the meat was extremely tender and juicy yet not greasy or heavy.  Local chefs prepared sides: pinto beans, cornbread, collard greens, pickled vegetables, and coleslaw, each traditional yet vibrant and with a fresh twist.  There was rich yet fluffy pound cake, the best banana pudding I have ever tasted, peanut bar cookies, and multiple kinds of wine and beer.  It was a really good meal not because of the selection of dishes, but because of the quality of the ingredients, the imagination with which they were combined, and the care with which they were prepared.  After eating I felt sated in all regards, not just full in stomach, but full of life.

Mortar and Pestle and Garam Masala

I told myself this wouldn't happen, but I knew it would.  I've fallen behind in my blog posts.  Fear not, though, for I'm catching up tonight with two posts.  First, making Indian food from more-or-less scratch, which I did last night with a lovely lady ducky (you can tell by the kickin' hair bow).  It was not only simpler than I'd thought it would be, but also even more fun than I'd hoped.  And cooking together is an excellent way to see how compatible two people, *ahem* or ducks, are.  I'm pleased to say we got along swimmingly in the kitchen.  We toasted spices to intensify their flavors and ground them in a mortar and pestle to use in a masala sauce.  We coated chicken in a yogurt sauce before broiling it, cutting it up, and adding it to the sauce.  We crushed garlic, plucked cilantro leaves from the stem, and grated ginger up the wazoo.  And it ended up absolutely perfect.  The chicken was tender and not at all overdone, and the sauce was flavorful and just spicy enough.  Mmmm!  And we were just going from a recipe off the internet.  It's inspired me to branch out more in my cooking.  Culinary adventures, here we come!

Pi Day

Today is Pi Day.  It's Pi Day because when you write the date like we do in the U.S., March 14th looks like 3/14, which looks kind of like 3.14, which starts off the decimal approximation of pi, the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter.  Pi Day would no doubt be but a blip on the pop-cultural radar were it not for the neat coincidence that "pi" sounds like "pie," and pies are tasty.  So Pi Day becomes for many an excuse to bake and eat pies, a pastime with which few of us could quarrel.  This evening I'm missing out on Pi Day festivities at Johnny's in Carrboro because I'm still a bit sleepy from the time change to Daylight Savings Time yesterday.  I'm also going to a concert later, so I figure I need to marshal my strength.  And do this blog post before I head out.  A few years back I was very enthusiastic about Pi Day and brought pie materials in to work so I could bake a pie in the kitchen.  I did this, and it remains one of my proudest workday achievements.  That year, Pi Day also fell on a day in the NCAA tournament when UNC was playing (actually, it might have been the ACC--I can't remember), so I went back and forth at lunchtime between checking on the pie and watching the game with my coworkers.  It was a good day.  And a good pie.  Have a very happy Pi Day, everyone!

Desperation Dinners

I called this post "Desperation Dinners," because I'm a sucker for alliteration, but I prefer to think of them as "adventure dinners."  You know the kind, where you come home after a long day and open the cupboard to find nothing you're looking for and a bunch of ingredients that don't really go together.  For some people, that would mean it was time to go shopping.  For me?  It's time to get creative.  And that's how I end up eating things that I could never in good conscience serve to anybody else: scrambled eggs over rice with sardines on top, sandwiches with nothing but cheese and mustard, microwaved frozen veggies over spaghetti with hot sauce, and so on.  I honestly and truly do not mind these concoctions, but I will admit that they're not usually meals I would choose to repeat.  Tonight I had a perfectly respectable swiss cheese and mushroom omelette with some of the aforementioned frozen vegetables on the side.  And unlike this duck, I am careful not to leave things on top of inactive burners on the stove.  Fire safety, people.  Good luck with all of your future adventure dinners!

Unexpected Serenades

Yesterday my housemate cooked dinner and I serenaded him in the kitchen.  He enjoys cooking, and reassured me that he would like it just as much if I were playing and singing as if I were helping him chop vegetables, etc.  For my part, I had gotten home from work with a hankering to play the guitar and sing a few old favorites.  Yes, I did in fact have a music stand in the kitchen to hold the lyric sheets, and no, our kitchen is not so cavernously large as this hastily sketched drawing would have you believe.  My mom used to refer to me as a wandering troubadour when I would walk around the house with my guitar, playing as I popped my head into the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, and all over.  Unexpectedly being sang to, I believe, is a real treat, and one I like to bring to others when the occasion feels right.  And sometimes I need to do something in the kitchen, say, but I'm just not ready to put down my guitar quite yet, so I'll be standing in front of the refrigerator, trying to grab the milk and sandwich materials without banging the guitar into anything.  Assuming I succeed, I'll be all ready for a snack and a song (in between bites, of course)!