It's been quite the past... while for me recently. This week, in particular, has decided to slap me across the face and leave me for a better, younger, more beautiful mistress.
The one day Berkeley decided to actually get cold, the tiny trickle of water I usually bike across on my way down the 1000-ft near vertical drop that lies between my apartment and campus turned into a several-foot-wide patch of black ice. Going down the hill at 20mph on an unfamiliar bike (mine was in the shop), of course, did not help the problem... I went flying, losing half the skin on my chin and acquiring lovely purple accents across various body parts. This, of course, was the first day of the semester.
It was also my first week of teaching, and all that is required to go along with it- planning the first week of class, teaching three discussion sections, holding office hours, answering an unending chain of emails and organizing lab groups et cetera et cetera et cetera... on the bright side, I remembered how much I love to teach.
And then Sunday happened, and among all of my various tasks of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, I gave two mini-speeches in both services at my church, trying to drum up more volunteers for the cafe I started with Aimee to provide a community space between services in the morning. It has become a "critical ministry" according to the church staff, and yet, we cannot get anyone to help out. The irony, of course, is that I myself "officially" resigned my position as director at nearly the exact same same time. Maybe they'll actually pay someone to do this now. I also realized the guy I've been dating for a year has never known me without the cafe- and getting up at 7,6, or sometimes far before to cook every Sunday morning.
But in the afternoon, I had a chance to see Rio, who happened to be nearby picking up something off Craigslist. We met in downtown Oakland at a rather sketchy by nonetheless lovely cafe, and had the opportunity to catch up a bit (how fortunate I am to have such wonderful people in my life!). On the way home, however, it was pouring, and I didn't have the chance to swerve to avoid a chunk-o-something in the road. Driving slowly through the streets of downtown, I kept praying my tire wouldn't go completely flat before I reached my mother's in Rockridge. It didn't (I have no idea how), and the neighbors helped me put the donut on and limp over to the nearby gas station to fill it up beyond the 15psi it had sat with since 2003. Hallelujah!
So that was great, but I knew I wasn't going to be able to get it fixed any time in the near future, and there remained something sketchy about the look of my donut. But lo and behold, what did it do on Monday, but rain? And what does that mean? My awesome and amazing brother (who works outside and thus couldn't go to work) arrived gallantly at my house, took the tire to four different tire guys trying to find someone to fix it (being a low-profile tire, and with a puncture on the outer edge, it needed a special type of goo or something).
So it's been quite the week. And on top of it, I've been a little cranky since D's off at a conference in Boulder and has been away since Sunday. But oh wells. My sections went pretty well, by the way. Even though I've recently become disillusioned with academia, I love teaching, so I guess I'd better stick with it.
And now that brings me to bananas. Tonight my ridiculous mother offered to give me a ride home and feed me dinner (!perks of having parents nearby!?!). After section ended at 6 (only six actually showed up), I headed over, only to find a half-baked Zachary's Chicago pizza waiting for me, and a glass of red to go along. How grateful I was, I cannot tell you. Note to self: do this for someone else sometime. As I was heading out the door, I pointed out that she needed to do something about the browning bananas in her fruit basket, to which she suggested composting. Obviously she's caught on to the recycling culture of the East Bay, but apparently not the stinginess of being a grad student (THROW OUT FOOD?!? NEVER!!!!). Of course, those little brown lumps of amazingness came home with me, and I'm currently smelling up the house with noms, which I will in turn feed to my brother, who made my life so much better this week.
Thought I'd throw down the recipe here, because someone asked for it a few weeks ago, and sometimes you just need some unhealthy, delicious banana muffins.
Here's to life relaxing a little, and maybe having time to do this that isn't midnight...
Banana-Walnut Delicious Muffins
Oven 350. Line 12 muffin cups with paper.
2-3 ripe bananers, mashed
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/4 cup milk
1tsp vanilla
1cup whole wheat flour, 1 cup all purpose flour
1-2 tsp cinnamon, 1/2 tsp nutmeg, pinch clove, pinch allspice, other tasty spices as desired
1 tsp soda
1/2 tsp powder
1/2tsp salt
1 cup walnut halves and pieces
mix bananas, oil, sugar, eggs, milk, vanilla well, so eggs are distributed throughout. in another bowl, mix all other dry ingredients to distribute soda and powder well. dump it in to the wet, mix just to moisten (lumps good), then fold in walnut pieces just til distributed. Pour into muffin cups, cook ~30min on convection, remove from oven and cool on rack. nosh.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Moldy Cheese
There are so many wonderful kinds of cheese in the world. Throughout the past several thousand years (since before recorded history), humans have concentrated and preserved milk. Nobody really knows how the first "cheese" was made, though some argue that Bedouins carrying milk in moldy goat-skin bags found their cargo clumped (and delicious!), while others say it was travelers who happened to use calf stomachs for transport. Either way, they started a delicious trend, and I am forever grateful!
The importance of cheese in American society is brought home by the sheer number of websites, blogs, advertisements, classes, tastings, artisanal producers, importers, and events dedicated to the love of our milky friend. According NPR's recent article (via the USDA's recent calculations), the average American ate 31 pounds of cheese in 2011 (along with other scary numbers).
Today while cleaning out my freezer (I figured I've lived here a year, I may as well dig and see what I need to get rid of), I happened upon a not-too-old loaf of sourdough rye bread. The next ten minutes were spent fantasizing about what to do with it, as I pulled out four (four!?!) sleeves of tortillas, a few jars of old pasta sauce, some dehydrated green beans, three tart shells, and a bag of spinach, which ripped and exploded bits of green ice everywhere. Of course, I would make a grilled cheese with tomato, and have plenty of bread left for future endeavors. And yet, when I reached for my cheddar...
Though I consider myself a cheese aficionado, I am often surprised to find several bits of moldy goodness in the place where I thought I had stored my hard-won and hunted-down New Zealand raw milk cheddar and chevre-turned-brie (otherwise referred to as Boucheron). That might be more of a statement about my life (it couldn't have been four weeks since I went to the Cheeseboard!?), but it always pains me to think that most people believe those white fuzzy hunks of amazingness have to be thrown away. Or even worse, that aged gouda 'must be bad' after a few weeks- the stuff has been around for years! It's fine, especially as it doesn't even grow mold... the worst that will happen is the fat will start pearling up on the outside if it's not properly stored.
So let's talk about this mold thing, because I am dying to talk about it, and you might want to know a little more. First off, many cheeses require mold in order to come to their full flavor (think Maytag blue, Camembert, Roquefort, Chevre-Boite, etc). So sorry to break it to you, mold is alive and well (pun intended!) on the blue-cheese-walnut-dried-cranberry salad you ordered for supper down the pub.
At the same time, though, other strains of mold will grow on any food, given correct conditions and enough time. Some of these can produce toxins that you might not want to consume vast quantities of (especially if you have a compromised immune system), but you're not likely to get sick, unless there has been contamination by other nasties (eg salmonella or staph, if it has a high pH). Food molds are fungi, so they spread by latching on to a surface and spreading in a tendril-like manner (imagine a tree setting down roots). The harder it is to break through the 'soil', the more slowly the 'tree' will grow and the more shallow the 'root' system.
Likewise with cheese- goudas, aged cheddars, parmesans, and the like will mold slowly- scraping the mold off these cheeses and taking a bit out below will leave you with a perfectly satisfactory hunk, probably 90% of its original size. But soft cheeses- cottage cheeses, ricottas, up to mild cheddars and Camemberts (besides the fact that Camemberts will become overripe and the flavor will diminish) will provide an easy breeding ground for mold spores (particularly the uber-nasty pink mold). If it's questionable with these ones, you'll want to send them out back to be composted (generally, over a week after they've been opened and you'll see mold).
So ignore the 'best by' dates (they're always so conservative, and lead to so much waste!) and when it comes to moldy cheese, consider the type of mold and the type of cheese before you tuck in... or throw away.
By the way, my grilled moldy cheddar and tomato on rye with Jewish deli mustard was, of course, delicious.
The importance of cheese in American society is brought home by the sheer number of websites, blogs, advertisements, classes, tastings, artisanal producers, importers, and events dedicated to the love of our milky friend. According NPR's recent article (via the USDA's recent calculations), the average American ate 31 pounds of cheese in 2011 (along with other scary numbers).
Today while cleaning out my freezer (I figured I've lived here a year, I may as well dig and see what I need to get rid of), I happened upon a not-too-old loaf of sourdough rye bread. The next ten minutes were spent fantasizing about what to do with it, as I pulled out four (four!?!) sleeves of tortillas, a few jars of old pasta sauce, some dehydrated green beans, three tart shells, and a bag of spinach, which ripped and exploded bits of green ice everywhere. Of course, I would make a grilled cheese with tomato, and have plenty of bread left for future endeavors. And yet, when I reached for my cheddar...
Though I consider myself a cheese aficionado, I am often surprised to find several bits of moldy goodness in the place where I thought I had stored my hard-won and hunted-down New Zealand raw milk cheddar and chevre-turned-brie (otherwise referred to as Boucheron). That might be more of a statement about my life (it couldn't have been four weeks since I went to the Cheeseboard!?), but it always pains me to think that most people believe those white fuzzy hunks of amazingness have to be thrown away. Or even worse, that aged gouda 'must be bad' after a few weeks- the stuff has been around for years! It's fine, especially as it doesn't even grow mold... the worst that will happen is the fat will start pearling up on the outside if it's not properly stored.
So let's talk about this mold thing, because I am dying to talk about it, and you might want to know a little more. First off, many cheeses require mold in order to come to their full flavor (think Maytag blue, Camembert, Roquefort, Chevre-Boite, etc). So sorry to break it to you, mold is alive and well (pun intended!) on the blue-cheese-walnut-dried-cranberry salad you ordered for supper down the pub.
At the same time, though, other strains of mold will grow on any food, given correct conditions and enough time. Some of these can produce toxins that you might not want to consume vast quantities of (especially if you have a compromised immune system), but you're not likely to get sick, unless there has been contamination by other nasties (eg salmonella or staph, if it has a high pH). Food molds are fungi, so they spread by latching on to a surface and spreading in a tendril-like manner (imagine a tree setting down roots). The harder it is to break through the 'soil', the more slowly the 'tree' will grow and the more shallow the 'root' system.
Likewise with cheese- goudas, aged cheddars, parmesans, and the like will mold slowly- scraping the mold off these cheeses and taking a bit out below will leave you with a perfectly satisfactory hunk, probably 90% of its original size. But soft cheeses- cottage cheeses, ricottas, up to mild cheddars and Camemberts (besides the fact that Camemberts will become overripe and the flavor will diminish) will provide an easy breeding ground for mold spores (particularly the uber-nasty pink mold). If it's questionable with these ones, you'll want to send them out back to be composted (generally, over a week after they've been opened and you'll see mold).
So ignore the 'best by' dates (they're always so conservative, and lead to so much waste!) and when it comes to moldy cheese, consider the type of mold and the type of cheese before you tuck in... or throw away.
By the way, my grilled moldy cheddar and tomato on rye with Jewish deli mustard was, of course, delicious.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Where are my directions?
Sometimes being a graduate student is hard.
Actually, lots of the time being a graduate student is hard.
There is no instruction manual.
There is no task list.
There is no known protocol, no timesheets.
There are no known answers.
Someone hasn't already solved the problem, you can't check the solution sheet.
Heck, sometimes there aren't even questions.
For probably the first time in your life, you are left nearly completely without direction, with only a vague research question to answer... and most of the time, you also have to develop that on your own.
So what do you do?
It is, unfortunately, a question without a good answer. If I could sit here and tell you how to succeed in grad school, I would. If I could even give you a hint as to how approach one day, I would gladly pass that on. But, my friend, I am as clueless as you.
There are a few things I've learned so far, and I'm sure I'll learn more. But for you, dear friend, who are just starting out... I want to hint at what you will learn, will have to learn on your own. So maybe this isn't going to be helpful at all. But if I can give you fair warning, maybe hearing it here one of the seven times you need to hear it before learning it... will help.
Grad school is hard. Even though from the outside it looks easy, it is hard. We are entering academia. There is a ridiculous amount of work involved in that. Do not disregard the importance and value of your work.
You will run into a lot of dead ends. You will come up with a lot of ideas you aren't proud of. You will look idiotic in front of your adviser at least once a week. You will seriously, seriously doubt if you are qualified to do the work you're doing. You will stand speechless in front of the leader of your field, trying to remember your name for an introduction.
You will spend entire days writing code, testing hypotheses, running experiments and simulations, that will end up being useless. There will be days when you actually just can't do anything.
There will be lots of time you feel like an idiot, or that your project is horrible or useless. But you are not an idiot, and there will be some good that comes out of it.
I know, this sounds really depressing. And sometimes it is! But take heart in the fact that one day, you will make a difference through your work. In the meantime, think about this: what else would you be doing? They say that those in a PhD program not only belong in a PhD program, but that we have no other choice: we learn and continue to learn because we must. As Ranier Maria Rilke describes for writers in his Letters to a Young Poet,
“Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depth of your heart; confess to yourself you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.”
And remember that you are not alone. There are lots of people in your situation, and a lot of Nobel Laureates were just as confused as you feel right now, in the same place as you.
Try not to get frustrated. Keep the big picture in your mind. Wear sunscreen.
The best thing is to know when you've reached a limit. When you're at capacity, and being in the lab will do no more good... don't stare at your computer screen any longer. Go outside, breathe some air. Do something that is fulfilling to you- read a book, play the guitar, call a family member. Learn to recognize when you are not being useful... and use that time to relax a little, and enjoy yourself. You will be far more energized to get back to work and make up that time (no one cares which days of the week you work!).
And remember, the most important scientific discoveries have come about by mistake. And stupidity is important.
Actually, lots of the time being a graduate student is hard.
There is no instruction manual.
There is no task list.
There is no known protocol, no timesheets.
There are no known answers.
Someone hasn't already solved the problem, you can't check the solution sheet.
Heck, sometimes there aren't even questions.
For probably the first time in your life, you are left nearly completely without direction, with only a vague research question to answer... and most of the time, you also have to develop that on your own.
So what do you do?
It is, unfortunately, a question without a good answer. If I could sit here and tell you how to succeed in grad school, I would. If I could even give you a hint as to how approach one day, I would gladly pass that on. But, my friend, I am as clueless as you.
There are a few things I've learned so far, and I'm sure I'll learn more. But for you, dear friend, who are just starting out... I want to hint at what you will learn, will have to learn on your own. So maybe this isn't going to be helpful at all. But if I can give you fair warning, maybe hearing it here one of the seven times you need to hear it before learning it... will help.
Grad school is hard. Even though from the outside it looks easy, it is hard. We are entering academia. There is a ridiculous amount of work involved in that. Do not disregard the importance and value of your work.
You will run into a lot of dead ends. You will come up with a lot of ideas you aren't proud of. You will look idiotic in front of your adviser at least once a week. You will seriously, seriously doubt if you are qualified to do the work you're doing. You will stand speechless in front of the leader of your field, trying to remember your name for an introduction.
You will spend entire days writing code, testing hypotheses, running experiments and simulations, that will end up being useless. There will be days when you actually just can't do anything.
There will be lots of time you feel like an idiot, or that your project is horrible or useless. But you are not an idiot, and there will be some good that comes out of it.
I know, this sounds really depressing. And sometimes it is! But take heart in the fact that one day, you will make a difference through your work. In the meantime, think about this: what else would you be doing? They say that those in a PhD program not only belong in a PhD program, but that we have no other choice: we learn and continue to learn because we must. As Ranier Maria Rilke describes for writers in his Letters to a Young Poet,
“Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depth of your heart; confess to yourself you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.”
And remember that you are not alone. There are lots of people in your situation, and a lot of Nobel Laureates were just as confused as you feel right now, in the same place as you.
Try not to get frustrated. Keep the big picture in your mind. Wear sunscreen.
The best thing is to know when you've reached a limit. When you're at capacity, and being in the lab will do no more good... don't stare at your computer screen any longer. Go outside, breathe some air. Do something that is fulfilling to you- read a book, play the guitar, call a family member. Learn to recognize when you are not being useful... and use that time to relax a little, and enjoy yourself. You will be far more energized to get back to work and make up that time (no one cares which days of the week you work!).
And remember, the most important scientific discoveries have come about by mistake. And stupidity is important.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Everyday Hope
A few days ago, I wrote about the importance of hope, for a country, for a group of people.
Since that time I've had a chance to discuss this with several people, and I have realized my emphasis was all wrong.
What I meant to display is the importance of hope in the lives of every one of us. There are many kinds of hope- and one way to think about it is through three important groups, great, middling, and everyday hopes.
Many people have what we might call a "great hope". Often this is a hope for their life, the overall impact they will have on the world, or for the world in general. Some of these hopes are selfish, some are incredibly selfless, and some are nonsensical. These great hopes tend to give their hope-ers a sense of purpose in their lives. They tend to pop up in every huge decision, every relationship, every career choice that their hope-er makes in their life.
For some, this is a religious principle; a deeply held belief about their purpose; a recognition of their talent and place in the world; an insatiable need to be in the public eye, or make lots of money, or find the gold at the end of the rainbow of life. One might also call these "life-hopes". These tend to last a lifetime, but are found at any point within that- some not until a hope-er is on his or her deathbed does the meaning of their life and the choices they made become clear.
Then there are "middling hopes". These tend to influence a hope-er's behaviour for a long time, and are often big goals for careers, lifestyle, home life, relationships, et cetera. They seem to affect most decisions in a certain area of life- how one acts in the workplace, how one pursues love, how one raises children, how one spends free time for some period. These are the "directors" of life. Nearly every person has these hopes and dreams and goals, whether they last a career or just help get you through university.
These are incredibly important in a person's life, and yet many of these hopes are formed around fleeting passions that occur due to one experience, one influence, or one fear. They are often not divinely or conscientiously inspired, they do not reflect the basic human needs of the hope-er or others around them, and yet they are very powerful. Inflexibility turns these hopes into goals, tangible aspirations, and can lead a person down an ill-advised path.
And finally, we have everyday hopes. Everyday hopes get us from point A to point B. They can be a hope that at the end of the day you'll get to see your lover. That it will stop raining by sundown so you can get to the baseball game, or the market will have those fresh figs you want for dessert. That you'll make it through the next two weeks of work until you have a vacation. That you'll be able to get up in the morning and start another day, the world will not have crumbled to dust as you sleep, and your mistakes will not follow you from day to day.
At some point, we all get stuck in everyday hopes; they are the only thing that keep us alive- the hope that one foot will end up in front of the other, that tomorrow might be better than today was.
Some people live entirely on everyday hope. There is much debate on whether it is a shame that everyone doesn't have a "great hope", and the responsibility of those who do have a great hope to help others find their own meaning of life. Some argue that the world needs the "accountants and secretaries" (a-la HHGTTG) to make it run smoothly, so that those who will have an impact will be able to do so, and the everybody doesn't end up trying to out-do each other in pursuing their great hopes to make the planet a better place. But then the question is, who should get to have a great hope, and who should not? Is there some kind of meritocracy of hope?
Somehow the world seems to figure this out for us. Some people do choose to live on everyday hope. But it is incredibly difficult to watch those you know well, who have great potential to have a wonderful impact on the entire planet through success in a field of science or public speaking or planning or resources management or psychology or faith, give in to the easy choice of living on everyday hope.
Perhaps the only thing that is worse... is to see them not live at all.
We all need all kinds of hope, in different dosages, to get through our lives. The more hope, the better; the happier humankind, the more success and the more we are able to work together; the more potential is realized, and the more impact we have on each other. Humans are social animals. We need societal hope, as well. I wish only to bemoan the loss of societal hope, and seemingly along with it the loss of deeply personal hopes that form each life.
It would be grand if we could all realize our potential to do good things for this world, for those we love, and for those we don't even know. But sometimes we have to live with everyday hopes. In a bastardized form of ee cummings' poem, let us continue to hope, and if you pray:
i thank you, God, for most this amazing day...
and the possibility that tomorrow might be an even better one.
Since that time I've had a chance to discuss this with several people, and I have realized my emphasis was all wrong.
What I meant to display is the importance of hope in the lives of every one of us. There are many kinds of hope- and one way to think about it is through three important groups, great, middling, and everyday hopes.
Many people have what we might call a "great hope". Often this is a hope for their life, the overall impact they will have on the world, or for the world in general. Some of these hopes are selfish, some are incredibly selfless, and some are nonsensical. These great hopes tend to give their hope-ers a sense of purpose in their lives. They tend to pop up in every huge decision, every relationship, every career choice that their hope-er makes in their life.
For some, this is a religious principle; a deeply held belief about their purpose; a recognition of their talent and place in the world; an insatiable need to be in the public eye, or make lots of money, or find the gold at the end of the rainbow of life. One might also call these "life-hopes". These tend to last a lifetime, but are found at any point within that- some not until a hope-er is on his or her deathbed does the meaning of their life and the choices they made become clear.
Then there are "middling hopes". These tend to influence a hope-er's behaviour for a long time, and are often big goals for careers, lifestyle, home life, relationships, et cetera. They seem to affect most decisions in a certain area of life- how one acts in the workplace, how one pursues love, how one raises children, how one spends free time for some period. These are the "directors" of life. Nearly every person has these hopes and dreams and goals, whether they last a career or just help get you through university.
These are incredibly important in a person's life, and yet many of these hopes are formed around fleeting passions that occur due to one experience, one influence, or one fear. They are often not divinely or conscientiously inspired, they do not reflect the basic human needs of the hope-er or others around them, and yet they are very powerful. Inflexibility turns these hopes into goals, tangible aspirations, and can lead a person down an ill-advised path.
And finally, we have everyday hopes. Everyday hopes get us from point A to point B. They can be a hope that at the end of the day you'll get to see your lover. That it will stop raining by sundown so you can get to the baseball game, or the market will have those fresh figs you want for dessert. That you'll make it through the next two weeks of work until you have a vacation. That you'll be able to get up in the morning and start another day, the world will not have crumbled to dust as you sleep, and your mistakes will not follow you from day to day.
At some point, we all get stuck in everyday hopes; they are the only thing that keep us alive- the hope that one foot will end up in front of the other, that tomorrow might be better than today was.
Some people live entirely on everyday hope. There is much debate on whether it is a shame that everyone doesn't have a "great hope", and the responsibility of those who do have a great hope to help others find their own meaning of life. Some argue that the world needs the "accountants and secretaries" (a-la HHGTTG) to make it run smoothly, so that those who will have an impact will be able to do so, and the everybody doesn't end up trying to out-do each other in pursuing their great hopes to make the planet a better place. But then the question is, who should get to have a great hope, and who should not? Is there some kind of meritocracy of hope?
Somehow the world seems to figure this out for us. Some people do choose to live on everyday hope. But it is incredibly difficult to watch those you know well, who have great potential to have a wonderful impact on the entire planet through success in a field of science or public speaking or planning or resources management or psychology or faith, give in to the easy choice of living on everyday hope.
Perhaps the only thing that is worse... is to see them not live at all.
We all need all kinds of hope, in different dosages, to get through our lives. The more hope, the better; the happier humankind, the more success and the more we are able to work together; the more potential is realized, and the more impact we have on each other. Humans are social animals. We need societal hope, as well. I wish only to bemoan the loss of societal hope, and seemingly along with it the loss of deeply personal hopes that form each life.
It would be grand if we could all realize our potential to do good things for this world, for those we love, and for those we don't even know. But sometimes we have to live with everyday hopes. In a bastardized form of ee cummings' poem, let us continue to hope, and if you pray:
i thank you, God, for most this amazing day...
and the possibility that tomorrow might be an even better one.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
A whiff of Montreal
Second head cook shift at HiP successfully completed. I'm finally sitting down after ~5hrs of ridiculousness, full and happy and tired. My hands carry a light scent of garlic and homemade Montreal steak rub, which they haven't done for a good five or six years. It was glorious to feel up that massive pork loin, chop it into roasts, season the heck out of it and smell it waft through the kitchen as we cooked the rest of dinner. There is something incredibly satisfying about roasting a beautiful cut of meat, preparing it so that it will remain moist, packing it with flavor, and watching the delighted faces as it is consumed. Nothing like it in the world. Tofu will never be as satisfying, even if someone manages to figure out how to make it taste like something (I have yet to find the answer).
Because themed dinners are always the best kind of dinner, I chose "food my mother loves to make for my brother". First off, a Montreal-steak-rubbed pork loin, roasted slowly in the oven, as you may have guessed. I brined a whole loin roast (must have been about seven pounds and a good two feet long), overnight in a cup-salt-to-gallon-water mixture. The pallid colour of the roast is at the end of a day of brining (for this size, a couple of days would have been better, but alas, I didn't think of it on Sunday) is no indicator of the deliciousness imparted by the extra moisture the meat has absorbed (it may actually just be additional locking-in-juices, I haven't really thought about the science of this). When dried off, drizzled with olive oil, and coated in an approximation to McCormick's Montreal steak seasoning, there is nothing better. Since y'all are probably wondering what this stuff is, it's amazing, delicious, and if you eat meat, I recommend trying it on everything. Pork is nice because it doesn't have a strong flavor of its own. Serving it with dijon mustard is always a winner.
Since I didn't have any of the authentic stuff, I found an approximation on the internet, which I added to and will share below.
Next, my brother is hilariously in love with my mum's scalloped potatoes (oh wait, is that me? well, both of us). They're pretty ridiculous. Otherwise known as potatoes au gratin, these guys are cheesy creamy wonderful. Potatoes, onions, flour, milk, salt and pepper, and sharp sharp cheddar (or any other nice strong cheese, tonight I used a large block of Swiss). That's it. Heavenly. This one you'll have to email me for if you want the recipe, I'm not sharing it with the entire internet.
And then broccoli, because my mum always has to have a green vegetable at dinner. I've gotten in that habit too, as I've learned the nutritional value of lots of "vegetables" (ie potatoes are not a vegetable, they are a starch; zucchini and summer squash have almost no nutrients; corn is mostly sugar, not much good there; et cetera). Tonight I decided to make the vegans happy and make a stir-fry of wax beans (yellow green beans), broccoli, and mushrooms. Unfortunately, I gave over watching the vegetables par-boil to one of my assistant cooks, so the broccoli ended up mushy, but the effect was nice all the same. Note to the wise, which I didn't realize everyone doesn't know: if you are going to saute mushrooms (or, really, cook them at all), be sure to start with a little medium-hot oil in your pan; add dry mushrooms (mushrooms should NEVER be washed with water, or else their pores close up and you can't caramelize them because they leach out their water); and mix only occasionally. If possible, flip them only once or twice as they cook, using a quick wrist motion while holding the pan. Do not stir them constantly. If you must stir because you can't do that nifty flip of the wrist thing I'm talking about (you know you've seen someone do it), again, only do so once or twice. Otherwise you'll end up with chewy mushroom goo. Nice sauce though.
The first time I cooked at HiP, I co-headed the kitchen with Megan. We had a pretty successful night, and I received wonderful feedback (along the lines of make this again!!!!) on a variation of a recipe I learned during one of my last practical classes in culinary school. There we made our "Tuscan bread pudding" by grilling bread, cutting it into spears, fitting it into molds, and filling it the molds with a bread/tomato mixture. I knew we had a ton of stale-ish bread sitting in the pantry (since I helped unpack it Saturday), so I made another version tonight, which turned out very well (that is, after Megan was a life-saver and did some dishes so we would have pans to cook it in... one of the downfalls of cooking in a co-op, someone will inevitably blow their dishes shift the night before you cook). This guy is super easy and doesn't really require a recipe; all you need to do is get some stale baguettes (or similar) and an equal amount of tomatoes by volume, an onion or two, a handful of chopped fresh basil, some garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper. If you happen to have an oven that broils, drizzle a bit of olive oil over the bread (chunked) and broil about 4 mins either side, to crisp it up a bit. Chop up your tomatoes in bread-hunk-size pieces, saute your onions and a bit of fresh garlic til soft, and mix all the ingredients together in a pan greased with olive oil, and pat it down a little. The tomatoes and bread will sort of meld together, but you'll get bits of each. As Dave would say, nom nom nooomm.
To appease the vegans (there are lots) and vegetarians who require protein, I forged new personal territory and cooked tofu (this may have actually been the first time I've done this, at least in recent memory). [Aside: I hate tofu. It has the texture of eggs, which I can't eat because the texture literally induces an involuntary gag reflex. I'm an unhealthy vegetarian.] Not having any clue what to do, I turned to my trusty Moosewood for directions. There's an incredibly simple recipe to make "crispy baked tofu" in one of them (perhaps more), which I stumbled upon last night. It essentially said to throw some soy sauce and sesame oil in a bowl, lay out your tofu on a baking dish, drizzle this stuff over, and bake at 400degF for an hour, flipping over once. Well, that's exactly what I did. I threw a couple of squirts of soy sauce in a bowl with a bit of sesame oil, some random spices I pulled off the wall (red pepper flakes, mustard, garlic, onion powder, ginger, and I think turmeric, though that didn't do much in such company), and poured it over my tofu and a couple of onions I chopped up. One of the assistant cooks asked when we were eating how I had made it, even though he was there the entire time- must have been un-noticeably easy! To serve, I sauteed a few more mushrooms and threw them in the mix, because no one in their right mind would choose to eat tofu on its own.
So... I forgot to tell the assistant cook who was cutting up bread when to stop. We ended up with a large bread bag (these are actually 50-lb flour bags that Acme gives us bread in) full of 1-inch chunks! I had planned on the Tuscan bread pudding, and this gave me an opportunity to try a sweet vegan bread pudding I had been considering for a while. When I brought this up in the office today, Lauren suggested we look up recipes to figure out how they dealt with the lack-of-egg thing. It looks like arrowroot is the answer, but I just ended up throwing together a bunch of soymilk, some sugar, a bunch of spices (we were all out of cinnamon!!!?!) vanilla, and a tiny bit of cornstarch, which I poured over the bread, along with some raisins, apple slices (not actually a good plan for the pudding, but it kept one of my assistants busy for a while), cashews, and cranberries. This went in the oven at 375degF for a while (time didn't matter since there wasn't anything raw in it).
We had more bread yet, so I threw together yet another bread pudding, this one more traditional. It had eggs, milk, and the like. I'm not entirely sure how, but it ended up kind of salty (?). Maybe I accidentally put some in while trying to cook the other billion things I had going at the time. Meh, one failure isn't too bad for a night.
And then, to finish off, I made a chocolate trifle. I asked Adam, the kitchen manager, to get some heavy cream for me... to make whipped cream. It is hilarious how shocked people are when they see how easy making your own whipped cream is! It's simpler than opening that ridiculous spray can it comes in, seriously... and especially if you have a massive Hobart to help you out. So I made a chocolate sponge cake, layered it with whipped cream and ganache (cream and chocolate), and the HiPsters were happy.
And so was everyone's tummy :)
Because themed dinners are always the best kind of dinner, I chose "food my mother loves to make for my brother". First off, a Montreal-steak-rubbed pork loin, roasted slowly in the oven, as you may have guessed. I brined a whole loin roast (must have been about seven pounds and a good two feet long), overnight in a cup-salt-to-gallon-water mixture. The pallid colour of the roast is at the end of a day of brining (for this size, a couple of days would have been better, but alas, I didn't think of it on Sunday) is no indicator of the deliciousness imparted by the extra moisture the meat has absorbed (it may actually just be additional locking-in-juices, I haven't really thought about the science of this). When dried off, drizzled with olive oil, and coated in an approximation to McCormick's Montreal steak seasoning, there is nothing better. Since y'all are probably wondering what this stuff is, it's amazing, delicious, and if you eat meat, I recommend trying it on everything. Pork is nice because it doesn't have a strong flavor of its own. Serving it with dijon mustard is always a winner.
Since I didn't have any of the authentic stuff, I found an approximation on the internet, which I added to and will share below.
Next, my brother is hilariously in love with my mum's scalloped potatoes (oh wait, is that me? well, both of us). They're pretty ridiculous. Otherwise known as potatoes au gratin, these guys are cheesy creamy wonderful. Potatoes, onions, flour, milk, salt and pepper, and sharp sharp cheddar (or any other nice strong cheese, tonight I used a large block of Swiss). That's it. Heavenly. This one you'll have to email me for if you want the recipe, I'm not sharing it with the entire internet.
And then broccoli, because my mum always has to have a green vegetable at dinner. I've gotten in that habit too, as I've learned the nutritional value of lots of "vegetables" (ie potatoes are not a vegetable, they are a starch; zucchini and summer squash have almost no nutrients; corn is mostly sugar, not much good there; et cetera). Tonight I decided to make the vegans happy and make a stir-fry of wax beans (yellow green beans), broccoli, and mushrooms. Unfortunately, I gave over watching the vegetables par-boil to one of my assistant cooks, so the broccoli ended up mushy, but the effect was nice all the same. Note to the wise, which I didn't realize everyone doesn't know: if you are going to saute mushrooms (or, really, cook them at all), be sure to start with a little medium-hot oil in your pan; add dry mushrooms (mushrooms should NEVER be washed with water, or else their pores close up and you can't caramelize them because they leach out their water); and mix only occasionally. If possible, flip them only once or twice as they cook, using a quick wrist motion while holding the pan. Do not stir them constantly. If you must stir because you can't do that nifty flip of the wrist thing I'm talking about (you know you've seen someone do it), again, only do so once or twice. Otherwise you'll end up with chewy mushroom goo. Nice sauce though.
The first time I cooked at HiP, I co-headed the kitchen with Megan. We had a pretty successful night, and I received wonderful feedback (along the lines of make this again!!!!) on a variation of a recipe I learned during one of my last practical classes in culinary school. There we made our "Tuscan bread pudding" by grilling bread, cutting it into spears, fitting it into molds, and filling it the molds with a bread/tomato mixture. I knew we had a ton of stale-ish bread sitting in the pantry (since I helped unpack it Saturday), so I made another version tonight, which turned out very well (that is, after Megan was a life-saver and did some dishes so we would have pans to cook it in... one of the downfalls of cooking in a co-op, someone will inevitably blow their dishes shift the night before you cook). This guy is super easy and doesn't really require a recipe; all you need to do is get some stale baguettes (or similar) and an equal amount of tomatoes by volume, an onion or two, a handful of chopped fresh basil, some garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper. If you happen to have an oven that broils, drizzle a bit of olive oil over the bread (chunked) and broil about 4 mins either side, to crisp it up a bit. Chop up your tomatoes in bread-hunk-size pieces, saute your onions and a bit of fresh garlic til soft, and mix all the ingredients together in a pan greased with olive oil, and pat it down a little. The tomatoes and bread will sort of meld together, but you'll get bits of each. As Dave would say, nom nom nooomm.
To appease the vegans (there are lots) and vegetarians who require protein, I forged new personal territory and cooked tofu (this may have actually been the first time I've done this, at least in recent memory). [Aside: I hate tofu. It has the texture of eggs, which I can't eat because the texture literally induces an involuntary gag reflex. I'm an unhealthy vegetarian.] Not having any clue what to do, I turned to my trusty Moosewood for directions. There's an incredibly simple recipe to make "crispy baked tofu" in one of them (perhaps more), which I stumbled upon last night. It essentially said to throw some soy sauce and sesame oil in a bowl, lay out your tofu on a baking dish, drizzle this stuff over, and bake at 400degF for an hour, flipping over once. Well, that's exactly what I did. I threw a couple of squirts of soy sauce in a bowl with a bit of sesame oil, some random spices I pulled off the wall (red pepper flakes, mustard, garlic, onion powder, ginger, and I think turmeric, though that didn't do much in such company), and poured it over my tofu and a couple of onions I chopped up. One of the assistant cooks asked when we were eating how I had made it, even though he was there the entire time- must have been un-noticeably easy! To serve, I sauteed a few more mushrooms and threw them in the mix, because no one in their right mind would choose to eat tofu on its own.
So... I forgot to tell the assistant cook who was cutting up bread when to stop. We ended up with a large bread bag (these are actually 50-lb flour bags that Acme gives us bread in) full of 1-inch chunks! I had planned on the Tuscan bread pudding, and this gave me an opportunity to try a sweet vegan bread pudding I had been considering for a while. When I brought this up in the office today, Lauren suggested we look up recipes to figure out how they dealt with the lack-of-egg thing. It looks like arrowroot is the answer, but I just ended up throwing together a bunch of soymilk, some sugar, a bunch of spices (we were all out of cinnamon!!!?!) vanilla, and a tiny bit of cornstarch, which I poured over the bread, along with some raisins, apple slices (not actually a good plan for the pudding, but it kept one of my assistants busy for a while), cashews, and cranberries. This went in the oven at 375degF for a while (time didn't matter since there wasn't anything raw in it).
We had more bread yet, so I threw together yet another bread pudding, this one more traditional. It had eggs, milk, and the like. I'm not entirely sure how, but it ended up kind of salty (?). Maybe I accidentally put some in while trying to cook the other billion things I had going at the time. Meh, one failure isn't too bad for a night.
And then, to finish off, I made a chocolate trifle. I asked Adam, the kitchen manager, to get some heavy cream for me... to make whipped cream. It is hilarious how shocked people are when they see how easy making your own whipped cream is! It's simpler than opening that ridiculous spray can it comes in, seriously... and especially if you have a massive Hobart to help you out. So I made a chocolate sponge cake, layered it with whipped cream and ganache (cream and chocolate), and the HiPsters were happy.
And so was everyone's tummy :)
Recipe #1
Montreal Steak Seasoning (after McCormick)
1/2 tbl garlic powder
1/2 tbl crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 tbl thyme
1/2 tbl rosemary
1/2 tbl fennel seed
4 tbl kosher salt
1 tbl black peppercorns
1 tbl onion powder1/2 tbl garlic powder
1/2 tbl crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 tbl thyme
1/2 tbl rosemary
1/2 tbl fennel seed
1/2 tbl coriander seed
1/2 tbl spicy paprika
1/2 tbl caraway seeds
Grind these ingredients a bit in a mortar or, if you don't have one, a metal bowl, using a glass jar as a pestle. You just want to get the big pieces crushed. If you don't have these ingredients whole, using ground is fine, you'll just end up with a bit different flavor. Use with steaks, roasts, chops, and in braises, stews, etc.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Anniversary, Part II
Today has finally occurred, this day of remembrance.
And I am surprised at my own blase treatment of the whole thing in last night's post. This anniversary is not a time to bemoan the horrible things that have happened, the unfortunate events and choices that have been made.
It is a time to be grateful for the past ten years. I was allowed a little bit of reflection this morning while making granola and listening to the 9am service/discussion between Dr. Rahim Nobahar and Sam Keen through the doors of the kitchen.
Ten years ago, I was sitting in Dr. Zilian's Ancient and Medieval History class, learning about the Spartans. And then the first plane hit, and then the second, and we were called in to assembly. The feeling of intense joy that hit me after finding out my dad was not in the city that day was unbelievable. And since then, much much much has happened to be grateful for, even in my one little life.
The past ten years have included my entire high school career, and all that went with it, good teachers, horrible teachers, fighting The Man, finding that I could have niches, learning to tell people I could be good at math and science even though I was a girl. Discovering the words of philosophers, and the concept of Utopia. Learning to love throwing and basketball and running (sort of), and then being told I could never play again, dislocating my shoulder (and later surgery). Learning to love, and learning to live through pain and the loss of a good friend (and a couple years later, another good friend). Being almost adopted by a friend's family. Living in New Zealand at 17 and traveling alone around the country; graduating from culinary school with distinction and winning silver medals in two competitions. Going to Mudd, learning ridiculous things about special relativity and then idolizing Feynman. Leaving Mudd, co-coordinating a fashion show, finding a home in sculpture, learning how to love and support a young mother. Learning the importance of understanding how people think. Transferring to Swarthmore, becoming an engineer finally, exploring combinatorics and the cloudy ideas of complex algebra. Learning about food, food processing systems, food politics, agriculture, becoming addicted to sustainability, co-founding the Good Food Project. My first stint directing a student ministry. Throwing for a collegiate track team. Making concrete over and over again. Building steel bridges. My first research. Writing a model for runoff from suburban watersheds from scratch. Teaching younger students. Deciding I want to be a professor. Getting into grad school; receiving the NSF GRFP. Moving to Berkeley. Moving to Berkeley. Finishing an MS. Starting a cafe ministry. Working on an unbelievably interesting project, and learning the awesome field of fluid mechanics. Presenting my first scientific paper.
And along with all of this, learning every kind of love available. My heart breaking several times, for different reasons. Learning that the deep connections are the only ones worth making; that pain is part of life, and I will lose people throughout my life, but there will always be someone else who could benefit from being loved by me, or I by them. Learning that there are people in every place who are worth getting to know, though they may not fit the profile of whom you'd expect to become your friends. Learning to treat each day as a precious gift, since we never know when it's going to end, and learning to hope that each day will be better than the last, trusting that that is the only way it could be.
My brother explained an interesting metaphor today about those who die young. He just lost another friend (this makes four? five?) two weeks ago (don't become friends with us, unless you want to die young), and the young man's mentee was distraught, so Patrick went to comfort him.
Why did Matt have to die so young? Well, perhaps each person has a life-tank. At the beginning, everyone's life-tank is full up. But we all drive different cars of life. Maybe the 90-year-old man down the street has been driving a Neon. Your mother is at least driving a Corolla. Patrick's maybe driving a sedan (what does this say about when he's going to die??). But Matt was driving a Ferrari, at full tilt. They say only the good die young because the burn through their life-tank quickly. And by doing so, they live every single moment to the fullest, meet every person they can, take every opportunity to spread branches in this world and do something good. So yeah, they're good, and their time comes for them early on.
We talked even more in depth on the need for the end of one life to not be the end of another. The death of a young person does not need to mean the essential death of a friend or family member. Besides what would be desired by the deceased, we all must move on with our lives after mourning a loss. We are human, and we understand death, perhaps in a unique way among animals. But we also have coping mechanisms, and we should use them. We are made to get up and keep going with life, but too many people become married to the idea of a lost loved one. That keeps them from moving forward, ties them inextricably to the past, and makes them less productive members of society. This is not a good thing. Mourn your losses, certainly. But know that wallowing is not a good idea.
In a way, I feel like the American people are stuck in that mourning mode, as I said earlier. We are mourning in particular the events of September 11, 2001, the loss of our friends and families, and the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina in 2005. Yes, we MUST NOT FORGET. But there is a difference between forgetting and forgiving, forgetting and moving on with life, taking our pain and turning it into strength.
Ten years later, it is a time to look forward with hope, and most importantly, love. Pat de Jong spoke today (updated on Tuesday) of the multi-faith vigil service held in Berkeley on the evening of 9/11/01. She talked of the love and prayer that emanated from the crowd of believers in... something... and the forms of plea and prayer and remembrance that were brought by leaders of all faiths in the area. The collective grief. But also the collective hope that, if somehow these cultures and beliefs and faiths could convene here in Berkeley, there might be some hope that they might be able to do the same around the world, some day. That is a tall order, but I believe it could happen. Maybe we all just need to stop saying we, and only we, are right.
And I am surprised at my own blase treatment of the whole thing in last night's post. This anniversary is not a time to bemoan the horrible things that have happened, the unfortunate events and choices that have been made.
It is a time to be grateful for the past ten years. I was allowed a little bit of reflection this morning while making granola and listening to the 9am service/discussion between Dr. Rahim Nobahar and Sam Keen through the doors of the kitchen.
Ten years ago, I was sitting in Dr. Zilian's Ancient and Medieval History class, learning about the Spartans. And then the first plane hit, and then the second, and we were called in to assembly. The feeling of intense joy that hit me after finding out my dad was not in the city that day was unbelievable. And since then, much much much has happened to be grateful for, even in my one little life.
The past ten years have included my entire high school career, and all that went with it, good teachers, horrible teachers, fighting The Man, finding that I could have niches, learning to tell people I could be good at math and science even though I was a girl. Discovering the words of philosophers, and the concept of Utopia. Learning to love throwing and basketball and running (sort of), and then being told I could never play again, dislocating my shoulder (and later surgery). Learning to love, and learning to live through pain and the loss of a good friend (and a couple years later, another good friend). Being almost adopted by a friend's family. Living in New Zealand at 17 and traveling alone around the country; graduating from culinary school with distinction and winning silver medals in two competitions. Going to Mudd, learning ridiculous things about special relativity and then idolizing Feynman. Leaving Mudd, co-coordinating a fashion show, finding a home in sculpture, learning how to love and support a young mother. Learning the importance of understanding how people think. Transferring to Swarthmore, becoming an engineer finally, exploring combinatorics and the cloudy ideas of complex algebra. Learning about food, food processing systems, food politics, agriculture, becoming addicted to sustainability, co-founding the Good Food Project. My first stint directing a student ministry. Throwing for a collegiate track team. Making concrete over and over again. Building steel bridges. My first research. Writing a model for runoff from suburban watersheds from scratch. Teaching younger students. Deciding I want to be a professor. Getting into grad school; receiving the NSF GRFP. Moving to Berkeley. Moving to Berkeley. Finishing an MS. Starting a cafe ministry. Working on an unbelievably interesting project, and learning the awesome field of fluid mechanics. Presenting my first scientific paper.
And along with all of this, learning every kind of love available. My heart breaking several times, for different reasons. Learning that the deep connections are the only ones worth making; that pain is part of life, and I will lose people throughout my life, but there will always be someone else who could benefit from being loved by me, or I by them. Learning that there are people in every place who are worth getting to know, though they may not fit the profile of whom you'd expect to become your friends. Learning to treat each day as a precious gift, since we never know when it's going to end, and learning to hope that each day will be better than the last, trusting that that is the only way it could be.
My brother explained an interesting metaphor today about those who die young. He just lost another friend (this makes four? five?) two weeks ago (don't become friends with us, unless you want to die young), and the young man's mentee was distraught, so Patrick went to comfort him.
Why did Matt have to die so young? Well, perhaps each person has a life-tank. At the beginning, everyone's life-tank is full up. But we all drive different cars of life. Maybe the 90-year-old man down the street has been driving a Neon. Your mother is at least driving a Corolla. Patrick's maybe driving a sedan (what does this say about when he's going to die??). But Matt was driving a Ferrari, at full tilt. They say only the good die young because the burn through their life-tank quickly. And by doing so, they live every single moment to the fullest, meet every person they can, take every opportunity to spread branches in this world and do something good. So yeah, they're good, and their time comes for them early on.
We talked even more in depth on the need for the end of one life to not be the end of another. The death of a young person does not need to mean the essential death of a friend or family member. Besides what would be desired by the deceased, we all must move on with our lives after mourning a loss. We are human, and we understand death, perhaps in a unique way among animals. But we also have coping mechanisms, and we should use them. We are made to get up and keep going with life, but too many people become married to the idea of a lost loved one. That keeps them from moving forward, ties them inextricably to the past, and makes them less productive members of society. This is not a good thing. Mourn your losses, certainly. But know that wallowing is not a good idea.
In a way, I feel like the American people are stuck in that mourning mode, as I said earlier. We are mourning in particular the events of September 11, 2001, the loss of our friends and families, and the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina in 2005. Yes, we MUST NOT FORGET. But there is a difference between forgetting and forgiving, forgetting and moving on with life, taking our pain and turning it into strength.
Ten years later, it is a time to look forward with hope, and most importantly, love. Pat de Jong spoke today (updated on Tuesday) of the multi-faith vigil service held in Berkeley on the evening of 9/11/01. She talked of the love and prayer that emanated from the crowd of believers in... something... and the forms of plea and prayer and remembrance that were brought by leaders of all faiths in the area. The collective grief. But also the collective hope that, if somehow these cultures and beliefs and faiths could convene here in Berkeley, there might be some hope that they might be able to do the same around the world, some day. That is a tall order, but I believe it could happen. Maybe we all just need to stop saying we, and only we, are right.
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