What a wonderful week of summer weather! I’m sleeping with the windows open and using a blanket again to keep the chill away. It makes me sleep more soundly and I feel truly refreshed when I get up in the morning. My mind is clearer when not filled with 80 percent humidity. I’m starting to really enjoy the vegetables appearing at the market. Snap peas and baby turnips are some of my favorites right now. It’s a luxury to be able to bike downtown and find fresh, locally grown items. As soon as they’re in my possession, I can’t resist the urge to eat some on the spot. I snap the pea and crunch into it and I find myself already reaching for the next one.
When summertime rolls around, I get great satisfaction out of simple meals centered around good bread and good cheese. Start with a great loaf of bread full of flavor and substance like a five-grain loaf or a flax seed sourdough or even a crusty French baguette. Then add a side of cheese. Along with a few fresh veggies and a glass of meadow tea, and later, some strawberries, it’s all I need to be keep my stomach satisfied.
I admit. As my father before me, I am a cheese lover. I need a little bit of cheese every day. I grew up on Emmental and Gruyere, both Swiss cheeses named after the actual areas in Switzerland where the cheeses are made. My ancestors came from this region and so I always think that maybe my genetic makeup was built on cheese! I remember when we had cheese for supper, we would always “even” the cheese chunk out, which meant slicing off a piece and eating it. My mother often served us soup for supper and along with it cheese and bread. I still have in my cupboard here at home small rectangular wooden boards that we use as plates when we have these kind of simple suppers.
The thing with cheese is that no matter what dish you make, cheese always makes it better. French onion soup, scalloped potatoes or pizza, they just would not be the same without cheese. I am a cheese snob. I can eat grocery store cheese but if I can have something more handmade with more flavor, I’ll choose that instead. I like it sharp, hard, buttery, soft or tangy. I like it blue, yellow, white or orange. I like it plain or with nuts, wine and dried fruits. I like it in chunks, crumbled, sliced, spread or grated. It doesn’t matter. Those of you who are cheese people know what I mean!
So these days, I’m truly enjoying the soft summer evenings, sitting on the front porch, with a large hunk of bread and several pieces of cheese, a glass of wine and some of those just-picked vegetables and fruits: an easy no-cook meal with all of the flavors of summer. And when fall and winter come around, I’ll be making cheese fondue and macaroni and cheese as comfort foods. Wherever I go, I pray I will never be far from a cheese shop. When I lived in Barcelona, Spain, one day I headed out to the Saturday market. As I walked through the streets, I suddenly saw a vision: coming towards me, a horse pulled a wooden cart filled to the brim with wheels of cheese. The driver was truly tall, dark and handsome. His skin was burnished by the sun and wind of the mountains he had come down from. His dark hair fell in wisps around his face and his mustache framed his white teeth smile. His beret sat proudly on his head as with one hand he held the reins and with the other he waved to me. I decided right then and there that if he would ask me to marry him, I wouldn’t think twice. I would jump up on the cart and become the cheesemaker’s wife. Back here in Goshen, a year later, I became the guitarmaker’s wife. And he likes cheese. That’s the good life (la bonne vie)!
Fondus au Fromage (Cheese Melts)
1/4 c. butter
1/4 c. plus 1 T. flour
1 c. milk
7 1/2 oz. Swiss cheese, grated (preferably Gruyere)
3 egg yolks
3 egg whites
salt and pepper to taste
bread crumbs
Melt the butter in a saucepan. Stir in the flour. Add the milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until sauce thickens and pulls away from the side of the pan. Remove from stove. Add grated cheese, salt, pepper and the egg yolks, stirring until well incorporated. Pour into a greased rectangular glass pan. Let cool and refrigerate for several hours. Cut into 1 1/2 by 2 1/2 inch pieces. Coat with flour, then dip in egg white, then in bread crumbs. Let sit in refrigerator for several hours until they are firm. Then fry them in a pan. Serve immediately. These are great as appetizers or served with a fresh green salad.
Originally published in The Goshen News, June 23, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
June is Rose and Strawberry Month
June is rose and strawberry month, it’s true. The sun is out, the rain comes down and everything is growing by inches. I found my first rose blooming on the same day I tasted my first fresh local strawberry. When I bought those first strawberries, I just popped them in my mouth as is. Then it was time to have a little shortcake and now every morning I’ve been eating them with my granola. That red color and flavor is wonderful. They carry the sun’s rays with them to my table.
Growing up, we were lucky to have our own strawberry patch in the backyard. I remember the plants blooming and, when the berries started to appear, we planted sticks with tin foil tails to keep the birds away. When the berries reached the perfect ripeness, we would gather them fresh for our supper table. During the month of June, when they were producing, we had them plain, with ice cream, in pie, with shortcake or in mousse. I liked decorating the top of the pie with curlicues of whipped cream.
After coming here, my mother took us to the fields to pick as many as we could to eat and to store for the winter. We would drive to the strawberry patch in the early morning, before the heat of the day became too much to bear. We grabbed the baskets and chose a row. Our fingers would find the reddest, ripest berries and slowly, our baskets would fill as our backs and our knees stiffened. In a couple of hours, we had picked enough for our family. We froze them, whole or sliced, to have in the middle of winter. We also made strawberry jam until the kitchen was sticky and sweet. The smell of those berries would fill our noses for several days and our fingers would be stained reddish green from stemming and slicing. Later, a jar of that jam would be opened when guests came for a meal and then we spread it on our breakfast toast. The frozen strawberries often made their appearance on Sunday as a special topping at the end of the meal.
The end result of that hard work was always pleasure.
What I also remember about those picking days was the time spent with family members going to the field, picking, and then talking and laughing in the kitchen as together we put away the berries. Those moments working with food created community. Later, I enjoyed similar times with friends I stayed with and with my own family. Now that we are down to two at our house, I haven’t gone picking. I just enjoy the ones I find locally and “go strawberries” for a couple weeks every summer. This week I’ll make the strawberry pie I grew up with and when I take that first bite, I will again savour the season of strawberries and roses.
Strawberry pie
1 1/2 quart of strawberries
3/4 c. sugar
3 T. cornstarch
1/2 c. water
1 T. lemon juice
1 t. butter
Line a baked pie crust with whole or halved large berries. Crush remaining berries and add to sugar,, cornstarch and water. Cook, stirring constantly until mixture is clear and thick.
Remove from heat. Add lemon juice and butter. Allow to cool before putting in baked crust. Top with real whipped cream or serve with ice cream.
Growing up, we were lucky to have our own strawberry patch in the backyard. I remember the plants blooming and, when the berries started to appear, we planted sticks with tin foil tails to keep the birds away. When the berries reached the perfect ripeness, we would gather them fresh for our supper table. During the month of June, when they were producing, we had them plain, with ice cream, in pie, with shortcake or in mousse. I liked decorating the top of the pie with curlicues of whipped cream.
After coming here, my mother took us to the fields to pick as many as we could to eat and to store for the winter. We would drive to the strawberry patch in the early morning, before the heat of the day became too much to bear. We grabbed the baskets and chose a row. Our fingers would find the reddest, ripest berries and slowly, our baskets would fill as our backs and our knees stiffened. In a couple of hours, we had picked enough for our family. We froze them, whole or sliced, to have in the middle of winter. We also made strawberry jam until the kitchen was sticky and sweet. The smell of those berries would fill our noses for several days and our fingers would be stained reddish green from stemming and slicing. Later, a jar of that jam would be opened when guests came for a meal and then we spread it on our breakfast toast. The frozen strawberries often made their appearance on Sunday as a special topping at the end of the meal.
The end result of that hard work was always pleasure.
What I also remember about those picking days was the time spent with family members going to the field, picking, and then talking and laughing in the kitchen as together we put away the berries. Those moments working with food created community. Later, I enjoyed similar times with friends I stayed with and with my own family. Now that we are down to two at our house, I haven’t gone picking. I just enjoy the ones I find locally and “go strawberries” for a couple weeks every summer. This week I’ll make the strawberry pie I grew up with and when I take that first bite, I will again savour the season of strawberries and roses.
Strawberry pie
1 1/2 quart of strawberries
3/4 c. sugar
3 T. cornstarch
1/2 c. water
1 T. lemon juice
1 t. butter
Line a baked pie crust with whole or halved large berries. Crush remaining berries and add to sugar,, cornstarch and water. Cook, stirring constantly until mixture is clear and thick.
Remove from heat. Add lemon juice and butter. Allow to cool before putting in baked crust. Top with real whipped cream or serve with ice cream.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Biking in Holland
Hot, humid weather is here. I feel it like a fog, pushing down on my lungs, staying on my skin, making me slow down. I can’t rush around when the air is so thick. I just pace myself and know things will get done in their own good time. I remember that plants thrive in this warm moist environment.. My basil and my tomato plants are growing by leaps and bounds. I get to pick oregano, parsley and basil for my spaghetti sauce this week.
As I peddle to work, a slight breeze breaks through the heat rising from the pavement. But as the drops of sweat roll off my brow, I know that it’s for a good cause. This is Bike to Work Week. With the high price of gas, I’ve been trying to be more religious about biking whenever I can and, from what I can tell, other s are also. So I’ve learned to carry a backpack with all the things I might need (including a jacket for drops of rain). I have found several routes to use that are safe and give me variety. I enjoy the daily encounter with the elements. Most days are favourable but at least once this week, I got caught in a downpour on my way home for lunch! I found myself singing at the top of my voice as the rain came gushing down.
On one of our trips over seas, Jim and I made full use of public transportation. We took the train from busy Brussels, Belgium to the town of Bruges, worth a story in itself. There we caught a bus to Breskens, a town on the North Sea. Next we took a ferry through rain and mist to Vlissingen and finally another bus to Middelburg, our chosen destination in Holland.
In this small Dutch town, bikes are as common as cars. The city streets include lanes for bicycles and bikes are part of the traffic as much as cars or buses or trucks. In front of every shop there are rows of bikes awaiting their owners and when you see people riding, you realize that for them it is second nature. Children grow up bicycling and seeing their parents bicycling. People ride their bikes in whatever uniform they wear to work: suits, high heels, coveralls, jeans and sweaters, skirts. We even saw two people biking side by side holding hands. Bikes also carry many things: bread, groceries, papers, laundry, tools, ropes and children to name a few.
So, of course, we went down to the train station on a typical Dutch day. The sky had traces of blue, enough to fix a Dutchman’s breetches. For a small fee, we rented bikes for the day, two very nice Batavus bikes, dark blue, three-speed with traditional handlebars and fenders. We had to first make our way through the city on the designated bike lanes which was like driving a car in an unfamiliar town. Then we got out into the open country and pedaled through fields and by canals and traditional windmills. We finally came upon Gapinge, a small town with its own church and windmill. At a small intersection, we stopped to look at our maps and found ourselves smiling hello to a man biking with his wooden shoes on. That whole day, we spent on our bikes, stopping in small towns, along canals, and sometimes pedaling along below the waterline, next to us, where the dykes keep the water out. We slowly made our way back to Middleburg, after seeing the sight of the massive dam that keeps the flow of water under control so the North Sea will not flood that area of Holland. We were amazed at the mix of old and new and how it all works so well together. And we ended the day determined to come back to the States and use our bikes a whole lot more.
So as summer comes upon us, I encourage you to get out on your bikes, feel the weather, see the sights and save yourself a little gas money. I’ll in turn leave you with this recipe for a waffle common to Belgium and Holland. My next-door-neighbor would often offer me these when I went to visit at her house.
Galettes
1 c. flour
3/4 c. sugar
1/2 c. melted butter
1 pinch of salt
2 eggs
Mix everything well. Ladle onto a heated and greased wafflemaker. Cook until brown.
These will keep well in the cookie jar.
Originally published in The Goshen News, June 9, 2008
As I peddle to work, a slight breeze breaks through the heat rising from the pavement. But as the drops of sweat roll off my brow, I know that it’s for a good cause. This is Bike to Work Week. With the high price of gas, I’ve been trying to be more religious about biking whenever I can and, from what I can tell, other s are also. So I’ve learned to carry a backpack with all the things I might need (including a jacket for drops of rain). I have found several routes to use that are safe and give me variety. I enjoy the daily encounter with the elements. Most days are favourable but at least once this week, I got caught in a downpour on my way home for lunch! I found myself singing at the top of my voice as the rain came gushing down.
On one of our trips over seas, Jim and I made full use of public transportation. We took the train from busy Brussels, Belgium to the town of Bruges, worth a story in itself. There we caught a bus to Breskens, a town on the North Sea. Next we took a ferry through rain and mist to Vlissingen and finally another bus to Middelburg, our chosen destination in Holland.
In this small Dutch town, bikes are as common as cars. The city streets include lanes for bicycles and bikes are part of the traffic as much as cars or buses or trucks. In front of every shop there are rows of bikes awaiting their owners and when you see people riding, you realize that for them it is second nature. Children grow up bicycling and seeing their parents bicycling. People ride their bikes in whatever uniform they wear to work: suits, high heels, coveralls, jeans and sweaters, skirts. We even saw two people biking side by side holding hands. Bikes also carry many things: bread, groceries, papers, laundry, tools, ropes and children to name a few.
So, of course, we went down to the train station on a typical Dutch day. The sky had traces of blue, enough to fix a Dutchman’s breetches. For a small fee, we rented bikes for the day, two very nice Batavus bikes, dark blue, three-speed with traditional handlebars and fenders. We had to first make our way through the city on the designated bike lanes which was like driving a car in an unfamiliar town. Then we got out into the open country and pedaled through fields and by canals and traditional windmills. We finally came upon Gapinge, a small town with its own church and windmill. At a small intersection, we stopped to look at our maps and found ourselves smiling hello to a man biking with his wooden shoes on. That whole day, we spent on our bikes, stopping in small towns, along canals, and sometimes pedaling along below the waterline, next to us, where the dykes keep the water out. We slowly made our way back to Middleburg, after seeing the sight of the massive dam that keeps the flow of water under control so the North Sea will not flood that area of Holland. We were amazed at the mix of old and new and how it all works so well together. And we ended the day determined to come back to the States and use our bikes a whole lot more.
So as summer comes upon us, I encourage you to get out on your bikes, feel the weather, see the sights and save yourself a little gas money. I’ll in turn leave you with this recipe for a waffle common to Belgium and Holland. My next-door-neighbor would often offer me these when I went to visit at her house.
Galettes
1 c. flour
3/4 c. sugar
1/2 c. melted butter
1 pinch of salt
2 eggs
Mix everything well. Ladle onto a heated and greased wafflemaker. Cook until brown.
These will keep well in the cookie jar.
Originally published in The Goshen News, June 9, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
We have had some beautiful weather lately. Deep blue skies and low humidity make northern Indiana seem like southern France! This is usually my allergy season but so far, these clear days have kept it mostly at bay. I watch everything growing: grass, gardens, ducklings, birds. I even saw a baby snapper turtle today. When I wake up in the morning and the sun is already shining through my window, I know it’s going to be a great day.
When I see how blue the sky is it takes me back to Guillestre, a tiny town in the southern Alps of France, almost in Italy. Several years ago,Jim and I went on a walking adventure. We wanted to stay somewhere in the mountains and my brother had recommended this little town to us. So we plunged ahead and took the fast train to a station on the edge of the Alps and from there, late at night, we took a slower train up into the mountains. It chugged and rattled its way around winding tracks and finally stopped in the town of Gap. We ended up, somewhat lost, trying to find our way to a hotel for the night and unsure of where we were headed the next morning. But as the saying goes, everything seems better after a good night of sleep and a quick phone call to a bed and breakfast in Guillestre guaranteed us a bed for the next night. We took the train out of town and arrived at a quaint station in the middle of the mountains where our hostess had came to meet us. She immediately took us under her wing and back to her home and our apartment in a renovated stone water mill. We settled in and soon realized that this was a wonderful spot. The town was completely surrounded by mountains-not the sharp pointed mountains of the north but rather the softer peaks of the south. Down in the valley, the turquoise waters of the river churned over rocks and through deep canyons. The sky was deep blue almost purple and we learned that this area gets 300 hundred days of sunshine a year. The air was clear and fresh.
We were eager to discover the village and we were also hungry from our travels so we set out to find a place to eat. The town seemed quiet in those early afternoon hours. As we walked up the narrow main street, everything was still. The bakery was closed as well as the butcher and the bookstore. No one seemed to be about. We decided to explore and we soon saw an old church with its bell tower. We went inside and reverently stood for a moment of silence. As we came out, we noticed a stone archway to our left. We went through it and found ourselves on a beautiful small sunny square. And here we found the people. They were all eating at the little restaurant, both inside and outside where tables and chairs spilled out onto the sidewalk. Men in work coveralls, people in suits, a young family with kids had all found a place to have lunch. So we found a spot in the sun, petted the restaurant dog as he walked by and ordered ourselves a feast: first a bottle of wine, then salads and homemade pizza and house made pasta and we topped it off with real french fries. We sat in the sunny space, drinking in the views, absorbing the humanity, and enjoying the food for a good two hours. And finally, we lazily got up and wandered up the hill to see the rest of the village, with its sundials painted on the houses, and its clear fountain, and its mountain vistas. Slowly we circled back to our new abode, feeling happy and tired, and when, we finally got there, we realized we had both gotten a good sunburn! That town became our home and we walked all over its mountains during that short week of bliss, and when we left, our hostess had to hug and kiss us goodbye with a tear in her eye. Whenever I see that deep blue sky, I remember an afternoon of good food and fresh air and mountain sun that is unforgettable. I leave you with a recipe that I adapted from Jamie Oliver’s Jamie’s Italy, which reminds me of the flavors and warmth of that place.
Beef, sausage and bacon rosemary skewers
1 lb. beef fillet, cut into 1 inch cubes
1 lb. italian sausages, cut into 1 inch pieces
1 lb. good quality smoked bacon, cut into 1 inch pieces
12 fresh sage leaves, chopped
4 cloves of garlic, minced
juice and zest of 1 lemon
1/2 c. olive oil
sprigs of fresh rosemary to use as skewers
Put the cut meat in a ceramic or glass bowl, along with the chopped sage leaves, minced garlic, lemon zest and juice and olive oil. Marinate for several hours.
Take the rosemary sprigs and gently thread on the beef, bacon and sausage. Grill until done or roast in a 400 degree oven on a greased pan for 20 minutes. Serve with a lemon wedge and some wild rice.
Published in The Goshen News, June 2, 2008
When I see how blue the sky is it takes me back to Guillestre, a tiny town in the southern Alps of France, almost in Italy. Several years ago,Jim and I went on a walking adventure. We wanted to stay somewhere in the mountains and my brother had recommended this little town to us. So we plunged ahead and took the fast train to a station on the edge of the Alps and from there, late at night, we took a slower train up into the mountains. It chugged and rattled its way around winding tracks and finally stopped in the town of Gap. We ended up, somewhat lost, trying to find our way to a hotel for the night and unsure of where we were headed the next morning. But as the saying goes, everything seems better after a good night of sleep and a quick phone call to a bed and breakfast in Guillestre guaranteed us a bed for the next night. We took the train out of town and arrived at a quaint station in the middle of the mountains where our hostess had came to meet us. She immediately took us under her wing and back to her home and our apartment in a renovated stone water mill. We settled in and soon realized that this was a wonderful spot. The town was completely surrounded by mountains-not the sharp pointed mountains of the north but rather the softer peaks of the south. Down in the valley, the turquoise waters of the river churned over rocks and through deep canyons. The sky was deep blue almost purple and we learned that this area gets 300 hundred days of sunshine a year. The air was clear and fresh.
We were eager to discover the village and we were also hungry from our travels so we set out to find a place to eat. The town seemed quiet in those early afternoon hours. As we walked up the narrow main street, everything was still. The bakery was closed as well as the butcher and the bookstore. No one seemed to be about. We decided to explore and we soon saw an old church with its bell tower. We went inside and reverently stood for a moment of silence. As we came out, we noticed a stone archway to our left. We went through it and found ourselves on a beautiful small sunny square. And here we found the people. They were all eating at the little restaurant, both inside and outside where tables and chairs spilled out onto the sidewalk. Men in work coveralls, people in suits, a young family with kids had all found a place to have lunch. So we found a spot in the sun, petted the restaurant dog as he walked by and ordered ourselves a feast: first a bottle of wine, then salads and homemade pizza and house made pasta and we topped it off with real french fries. We sat in the sunny space, drinking in the views, absorbing the humanity, and enjoying the food for a good two hours. And finally, we lazily got up and wandered up the hill to see the rest of the village, with its sundials painted on the houses, and its clear fountain, and its mountain vistas. Slowly we circled back to our new abode, feeling happy and tired, and when, we finally got there, we realized we had both gotten a good sunburn! That town became our home and we walked all over its mountains during that short week of bliss, and when we left, our hostess had to hug and kiss us goodbye with a tear in her eye. Whenever I see that deep blue sky, I remember an afternoon of good food and fresh air and mountain sun that is unforgettable. I leave you with a recipe that I adapted from Jamie Oliver’s Jamie’s Italy, which reminds me of the flavors and warmth of that place.
Beef, sausage and bacon rosemary skewers
1 lb. beef fillet, cut into 1 inch cubes
1 lb. italian sausages, cut into 1 inch pieces
1 lb. good quality smoked bacon, cut into 1 inch pieces
12 fresh sage leaves, chopped
4 cloves of garlic, minced
juice and zest of 1 lemon
1/2 c. olive oil
sprigs of fresh rosemary to use as skewers
Put the cut meat in a ceramic or glass bowl, along with the chopped sage leaves, minced garlic, lemon zest and juice and olive oil. Marinate for several hours.
Take the rosemary sprigs and gently thread on the beef, bacon and sausage. Grill until done or roast in a 400 degree oven on a greased pan for 20 minutes. Serve with a lemon wedge and some wild rice.
Published in The Goshen News, June 2, 2008
Sometimes life sails smoothly by and that’s when I least notice its passing. It’s mostly when I’m nudged by those waves, threatening a storm, that I truly appreciate its glory and its humanity. This week, I felt a little like a capsized boat. I was tossed here and there by medical issues. I started out the week by dealing with the removal of two moles when I went for my annual physical. It continued with a visit to the dental surgeon in South Bend to have some work done on my gums. It ended with a quick mid-night trip to the emergency room. I usually enter these kinds of situations by thinking positive thoughts. But I discover that I never know entirely what the results will be. Though I’m told what will happen and what can happen, I can only live through it to truly experience it. Don’t worry! In all of these cases, the results were the best possible outcomes. But when I’m the middle of living them, I find myself on an uncertain footing, not knowing where it will all lead. Here is where the element of hope plays in. I hope for the best and at the same time I try to be realistic about the living of it.
So how does this relate to food, you say? Well, after going to the dentist, I discovered that I was supposed to eat only soft foods until my mouth told me it was O.K. to chew again. So I planned meals of brothy soups and applesauce, pudding and vegetable spreads. And all of a sudden, I realized that I was going to miss a whole lot of textures and flavors. I saw visions of crusty French breads and chunky granola out of reach for breakfast. I had to forego crisp radishes and baby turnips now available at the market. And seasonal rhubarb crunch could not stay on the dessert menu. I could no longer snack on carrots and nuts. I pretended that a whole world of food did not exist. I found myself trying to enjoy more subtle flavors. And luckily, ice cream was allowed!
My mouth healed quickly and now that its world has opened back up to me, I relish that first noisy crunch into celery and carrot. I savor the texture of pizza crust and croissant dough. I appreciate the grainy feel of cracked wheat on the tongue. I enjoy the crispness of stir-fried peppers and onions. I also find that food is a healer. After spending time in more institutional and sanitized medical settings, it’s good to see real food. Today, on the table, side by side, I see sliced moist red tomatoes, white and green zucchinis, smooth avocados, curly red cabbage, fine sprouts and creamy white goat cheese spread. I eye shiny red peppers, ruby beets and fragrant mint leaves alongside chewy golden focaccia bread. All that color and all that texture brings me back to life and I find myself getting back into the groove. Good food heals the mind and the body. I hope that as spring turns into summer, it will continue to feed me.
When I was thinking about soft foods, I remembered a recipe for a dessert that my Belgian best friend’s mother, Anny LeFort, made when strawberry season rolled around. My mother also made it at our house from strawberries picked in our backyard beside our red-gravelled lane. Thank you, Mother, for passing on this recipe!
Strawberry Mousse (Mousse aux fraises)
Combine:
4 egg whites and 1 c. confectioner’s sugar in double boiler and beat with electric beater on medium for 10 minutes or until the mixture is a brilliant white and takes shape (but not stiff). Cool.
Mash:
1 quart of washed and hulled strawberries and add juice of one lemon.
Beat:
1 c. heavy whipping cream.
Fold strawberries and whipped cream into the cooled egg white mixture. Keep cool in refrigerator until time to serve. Serves six.
Published in the Goshen News, May 26, 2008
So how does this relate to food, you say? Well, after going to the dentist, I discovered that I was supposed to eat only soft foods until my mouth told me it was O.K. to chew again. So I planned meals of brothy soups and applesauce, pudding and vegetable spreads. And all of a sudden, I realized that I was going to miss a whole lot of textures and flavors. I saw visions of crusty French breads and chunky granola out of reach for breakfast. I had to forego crisp radishes and baby turnips now available at the market. And seasonal rhubarb crunch could not stay on the dessert menu. I could no longer snack on carrots and nuts. I pretended that a whole world of food did not exist. I found myself trying to enjoy more subtle flavors. And luckily, ice cream was allowed!
My mouth healed quickly and now that its world has opened back up to me, I relish that first noisy crunch into celery and carrot. I savor the texture of pizza crust and croissant dough. I appreciate the grainy feel of cracked wheat on the tongue. I enjoy the crispness of stir-fried peppers and onions. I also find that food is a healer. After spending time in more institutional and sanitized medical settings, it’s good to see real food. Today, on the table, side by side, I see sliced moist red tomatoes, white and green zucchinis, smooth avocados, curly red cabbage, fine sprouts and creamy white goat cheese spread. I eye shiny red peppers, ruby beets and fragrant mint leaves alongside chewy golden focaccia bread. All that color and all that texture brings me back to life and I find myself getting back into the groove. Good food heals the mind and the body. I hope that as spring turns into summer, it will continue to feed me.
When I was thinking about soft foods, I remembered a recipe for a dessert that my Belgian best friend’s mother, Anny LeFort, made when strawberry season rolled around. My mother also made it at our house from strawberries picked in our backyard beside our red-gravelled lane. Thank you, Mother, for passing on this recipe!
Strawberry Mousse (Mousse aux fraises)
Combine:
4 egg whites and 1 c. confectioner’s sugar in double boiler and beat with electric beater on medium for 10 minutes or until the mixture is a brilliant white and takes shape (but not stiff). Cool.
Mash:
1 quart of washed and hulled strawberries and add juice of one lemon.
Beat:
1 c. heavy whipping cream.
Fold strawberries and whipped cream into the cooled egg white mixture. Keep cool in refrigerator until time to serve. Serves six.
Published in the Goshen News, May 26, 2008
Picnic and fresh ingredients
Tonight I find myself happily tired after a busy day. I just came back from the Defries Garden in New Paris where my friend, Margaret and I had a lovely picnic. First, we took a walk around the garden which is beautiful. This calendar garden follows the seasons. So the springtime area is now in full bloom with poppies and irises in vivid color. I wish I knew all the names of these flowers and plants. We made a solemn vow to go back there regularly so we can follow the seasonal flowerings.
The picnic itself was quite relaxing even though interrupted by a sprinkle of rain.Margaret brought a lovely cucumber salad, sun tea, oatmeal coconut cookies and brownies. I brought bread and cheese along with some raspberries and the dishes. Wonderful flavors from simple ingredients: my favorite motto for cooking. All you need sometimes is the right fresh ingredients to get the best flavor. For those who think that cooking is a chore or takes too much time, I find that many ingredients carry their own flavor and you don't really have to do much more than let them speak for themselves! If it's fresh, it will impart the perfect taste. So always make sure that you keep fresh ingredients on hand; they will repay you with wonderful flavor.
The picnic itself was quite relaxing even though interrupted by a sprinkle of rain.Margaret brought a lovely cucumber salad, sun tea, oatmeal coconut cookies and brownies. I brought bread and cheese along with some raspberries and the dishes. Wonderful flavors from simple ingredients: my favorite motto for cooking. All you need sometimes is the right fresh ingredients to get the best flavor. For those who think that cooking is a chore or takes too much time, I find that many ingredients carry their own flavor and you don't really have to do much more than let them speak for themselves! If it's fresh, it will impart the perfect taste. So always make sure that you keep fresh ingredients on hand; they will repay you with wonderful flavor.
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