Julia Child's "My Life in France"

Yes, I am a little late jumping on the Julia Child bandwagon, but I like to savor things I know I'm going to love, so I put off reading Child's My Life in France until this fall.

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 Is it obvious for me to just flat out say I LOVE IT? I was so devastated to finish it the other night that I even went back and read Alex Prud'homme's Foreword.

Now, saying I love My Life in France makes me feel like a scientist saying I love Science Daily. FYI, that's the only time I've ever even joked about feeling like a scientist. IRREGARDLESS, what I mean to say is that I know that not everyone loves France and cooking as much as I do, so I have to wonder if someone like T (a math major who speaks Arabic) would have more than a moment's tolerance for Julia's long descriptions of the beautiful meals she learned to prepare. I'm not sure he would, but I hope I'm wrong.

Either way, I think the reason that Julia Child has remained so popular (both on screen and on the page) is that she managed to take something as haughty as French cuisine and make it approachable, using her energetic and, at times, sloppy style of demonstration and her genuine enthusiasm. It's kind of like when you see a cat fall into a bathtub. Only the cat is French cuisine and the bathtub is a bubbly American attempting it.

Probably the most inspiring thing I read in My Life in France has to do with my propensity for Kitchen Fails:

"I don't believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. When one's hostess starts in with self-deprecations such as "Oh, I don't know how to cook..." or "Poor little me..." or "This may taste awful...," it is so dreadful to have to reassure her that everything is delicious and fine, whether it is or not. Besides, such admissions only draw attention to one's shortcomings (or self-perceived shortcomings), and make the other person think, "Yes, you're right, this really is an awful meal!" Maybe the cat has fallen into the stew, or the lettuce has frozen, or the cake has collapsed--eh bien, tant pis!"

I have a terrible tendency to base my whole appraisal of a dish I've made on whether or not T or a guest to the Kittchen likes it. Poor T has started to avoid my eye contact when he first bites into something, because I'm often standing off to the side, wide-eyed and kind of creepy, waiting for a reaction. It's so annoying.

One thing I'd really like to learn is to have the...gumption to serve the food I make without apologizing for whatever I think might be wrong with it. Hopefully, this will come with time, like it did for Julia. As she says, she came to cooking late, and was "thirty-seven years old and still discovering who [she] was."

The other thing I just adore about reading Julia's autobiography is her relationship with Paul Child. Even if musings on French cuisine and culture bore you, My Life in France is worth reading just to see a really beautiful, honest marriage at work, and it's really inspiring in our divorce-heavy society.

Since I came to My Life in France late, I'm only just feeling the surge of affection for Julia that I know many have felt for a long time. It's convenient that, during my period of EXTREME HOUSEWIFERY, her show comes on the Cooking Channel every afternoon, non?

Homemade Salad Dressings Save Money in the Kitchen

There is a general consensus in the food world that cooks (even beginners) should not buy bottled salad dressing. Why? Because it's so easy to make it better (and cheaper) at home.

Mark Bittman (I know! Will I ever stop writing about him?) breaks it down pretty simply in his How to Cook Everything: "Bottled dressing [...] is not much better than [...] an emulsion of inferior oil (usually soy or "vegetable") and liquid (often water, with some vinegar, especially in "low-fat" or "lite" dressings), seasonings (often artificial, or at least far from fresh), and preservatives."

Of course, Newman's Own and many other "guality" or "gourmet" versions of salad dressing contain higher quality ingredients, but why pay $7 or $8 a bottle of salad dressing when you could mix the same thing (or something even tastier) yourself for, like, one dollar?

Here's how simple my go-to dressing, Lemon Vinaigrette, is:

Sorry for all the product placement.
I'm not sponsored by any of these brands, but I'm willing to be!

Generally, I prefer my salad dressings a bit more acidic than most recipes call for (the typical rule of thumb is three or four parts oil to one part vinegar or other acid), and I rarely take the time to mix a dressing as simple as this before pouring it over the salad. I just add the juice of half a lemon, a splash (probably about two tablespoons) of olive oil, and a healthy sprinkle of salt and pepper to my salad, and then I mix it all together with the salad itself.

Here are the basic ingredients for a simple classic, Balsamic Vinaigrette:

Grey Poupon, you have my number, right?

This one is definitely worth making before you add it to a salad, because the mustard acts as an emulsifier, binding the vinegar and oil together so that the dressing itself is much richer, thicker, and less likely to separate than it would be otherwise. It's science.  

I recommend following the oil/vinegar rule of thumb here and mixing three parts oil (maybe six tablespoons) with one part vinegar (so...two tablespoons), then adding anywhere from a half- to a full tablespoon of mustard, depending on your taste. Add salt and pepper to taste, as well. You can blend this all together with a fork, a whisk, or a blender, or shake it together in a condiment squeeze bottle or a covered jar.

The best part about making your own salad dressing is that the possibilities are really endless. You can add a little honey to the Balsamic Vinaigrette if you prefer a sweeter dressing, or you can mix the ridiculously delicious oil leftover from roasting cherry tomatoes with a splash of balsamic to create a salad dressing so heavenly, God himself once gave me a pat on the back for it. Sorry, that was blasphemous.

Adding fresh or dried herbs to a simple oil and vinegar dressing will totally boost the flavor, too, and can even help you ensure that your side dishes match the flavor profile of your entrée (rosemary on lamb, for example, would be complemented perfectly by a pinch of crushed rosemary in your salad dressing).

The one thing I do recommend is that you stick with olive oil, by far the healthiest oil because it's high in monounsaturated fat. (By the way, I cannot believe that Rachael Ray has her own brand of EVOO in stores now...who knew that, by simply repeating your stupid pet name for something ubiquitous, you could make so much money? I'm going to start calling butter B-B-B-BUTTAH and see if I can get the same deal.)

This post is starting to feel disjointed, but I feel the need to say that I do realize, by the way, that the ingredients for these dressings have the unfortunate characteristic of high up-front cost. But imagine how many batches of dressing you can make from a bottle of balsamic--far more than the amount of servings you'd get from one bottle of store-bought dressing!

In the interest of being honest with you, my dear two or three readers, I must admit that I'm still guilty of buying some bottled sauces. I haven't had the guts, for example, to try making my own marinades or barbecue sauces for meat, even though I know it's ridiculously easy. Give me time, though. Some day, I'll make my own everything.

Except clothing. My high school math teacher used to make her own brightly-colored clothes about five sizes too big for her tiny, cross country-runner body, and she'd stick her hands in her giant square pockets and wrap her dresses around herself as she listened to us struggle to give un-stupid answers in Geometry, and it just gave me a bad impression of the whole "sewing" thing.

How to Talk to a Wedding Caterer

This post has been brewing in the back of my mind since we committed to our caterer, because I found choosing a caterer to be one of the most difficult components of planning my wedding, and I want to share some tips on dealing with wedding caterers with the brides out there who, like me, are maybe not great at standing up for themselves when they get overwhelmed.

Here's a pretty picture of the head table, to lure you into reading all the way to the bottom of this post:

[DISCLAIMER: Our experience was...atypical in several ways:

1. Our engagement lasted only four months, because:
1. T and I dated for so long (like...seven years) that, once we got engaged, we wanted to get married quickly (with a little prodding on my part).
2. The first round of information the Marine Corps gave us had T deploying in December of this year. Thankfully, that has changed (for the time being).
2. It was a military wedding, so we were getting some pretty sweet discounts. (Thanks, Berruti's Harvest House, for donating all of our flowers!)
3. We didn't have to worry about getting a wedding cake, because T's mom co-owns Lucy and Ethel's and made it herself.

OK...I think that's more or less it.]

Negotiating: Be up front with every caterer about your food preferences and your budget. Don't feel badly about openly comparing prices and shopping around; I found myself feeling guilty when I'd mention a better deal to a caterer, but it's the best way to a) let them know that they need to get your business, and b) get them to at least talk about lowering their price. Only one of the bazillion caterers we spoke to ever actually stuck to her initial proposal cost, and we certainly didn't hire her.

A story: One caterer came to T's house and totally sweet-talked T's mother and me, to the point where all we wanted to do was lie on a chaise lounge all day and eat his food while pool boys fanned us with giant palm fronds. Then he sent us his estimate, and it was twice what we were prepared to pay. This was really our fault, because we weren't clear enough about how strict our food budget would be.

Package Deals: A lot of caterers offer package deals that include a choice of hors d'oeuvres, two or three entrées, and several sides. This is often a great way to save money, and most caterers will give you a little menu wiggle room if you explain that the thought of eating grean beans at your wedding makes you want to cry.

A story: T's mom and I went to meet with one caterer who told us that, in addition to a pasta bar, we could also add a baked potato bar (with toppings like broccoli cheese sauce and bacon) to our package. Since we were planning a wedding and not a Superbowl Party, this detail helped clue us in that maybe this caterer wasn't the right choice for us.

Tastings: DO NOT sign anything without trying the caterer's food; any good caterer will let you come taste his or her food for free. Only one caterer charged us for her tasting, and, again, we didn't hire her. Be clear about what you want to try at the tasting; if the caterer only serves you the most expensive items he or she features, you won't get a good sense of what your food will taste like. Try to narrow it down to a few choices from the menus you can usually find on a caterer's website, so that what you're tasting is food that might actually put in an appearance at your wedding. Leave the baby crocodile-encrusted filet of white dove to someone else.

A story: I found what looked like a fantastic option at a much lower price than the other caterers I'd spoken to, and went to a tasting. The caterer had only prepared hors d'oeuvres for T and me, so we had no idea what his entrées or sides would taste like. If his hors d'oeuvres were any indication, they would have tasted like country club food: pretty good, but safe and boring.

Service Options: Ask your caterer to come to your site (for us, it was T's house) and talk you through his or her thoughts on the best method of serving the food. For us, the steep hill between the garage and the backyard made a sit down meal nearly impossible, and stations quickly became the right choice.

A story: One caterer insisted that he didn't need to see our site, and then took two weeks to send us his proposal. This was a pretty good indicator of his level of interest and willingness to work with us, so we went ahead and didn't hire him.

Drink: Caterers will also offer drink packages, usually dependent on a fixed price or consumption. There are decent arguments on both sides, and another argument that it's easier to buy and supply your own alcohol and just hire some of your caterer's staff to bartend. Most caterers are happy to let you do that, but be sure that they'll allow you the use of their liquor license, or you could get in a whole mess of trouble.

Also worth noting is that caterers tend to recommend that you skip the champagne toast, which we did, with no problem. Not that many people actually like champagne (although I myself am a lover of the bubbly), and it's a colossal waste of money to pour a toast for every guest when half of them will just set their champagne down on a table somewhere after raising their glasses. We also decided to skip the hard alcohol, but that was because most of our guests were our age, and we didn't want any vomiting going on on the dance floor.

A story: We were dead set on supplying our own booze, and made sure that we found a store which would allow us to return whatever we didn't consume. And then we got overwhelmed and let our caterer talk us into letting him supply the beer and wine. We went based on consumption and were only a hundred or so dollars over his estimate. It was super.

Setup and Presentation: If you don't have the presence of mind to do it yourself, task a bridemsaid with typing up a list of very clear setup instructions for the caterer (i.e. what goes on each table, where to put favors, where to put gifts, where to put place cards, etc.). This way, you avoid any confusion or mistakes.

A story: Because I didn't put up a sign that said "PUT THESE OUT," but just left them next to all the other items to be put on tables, our caterer never put out our place card holders or the seven thousand disposable cameras we had purchased, so they sat untouched in the garage. Now T's family will have disposable cameras for every vacation they take for the next seven years, and could set up a small forest of topiary placecard holders that would have been perfect on the tables at our garden wedding. I am still angry about that.

Whew! That was a lot of advice. Please feel free to use the comment section below to ask any questions you might have about how to deal with wedding or event caterers that I neglected to answer above. The wedding industry makes its money on young, inexperienced brides, and, having been one, I see it as my duty to protect them!

Now here's a pretty picture of one of our guest tables to reward you for reading such a long post:

Kitt Says Relax: Chilling Out about Thanksgiving

Good evening, this is the pot, and I'm about to call the kettle black. Cooks need to relax in the kitchen, especially around Thanksgiving and the winter holidays. These holidays are about family and the time spent together, not about slaving away in the kitchen and bursting into tears when the roast isn't perfectly cooked.

I came to this realization via a total Kitchen Fail I had while my boyfriend was visiting recently. I'd been cooking a lot and feeling pretty sure of myself in the kitchen, when the night in question occurred and reminded me that I've been cooking pretty much only for myself, and that I am a Master Rationalizer who can cast any failure in a successful light if I try hard enough. And that I'm not very good at strategies.

Enter T, the boyfriend, who is supportive and kind and has been really sweet during other Kitchen Fails. I want to cook a wholesome meal for T that consists of more than one dish, so I decide that the best choice is to cook two things I've never tried making before (sautéed asparagus and herb roasted chicken) and one thing I know pretty well (acorn squash). This does not occur to me as a poor choice.

Since I'm an English teacher, I'll tell you that my tragic flaw is an utter inability to plan things out rationally, especially when under pressure (pressure being my baseless conviction that T will not like me anymore if I cannot manage to cook a decent multi-part meal).

Right around Wheel of Fortune time (7 pm), I start cooking. Instead of putting the acorn squash in the huge toaster oven that's hogging counter space in my kitchen, I decide I'll cook it in the oven and do the chicken after, since the two dishes require different temperatures. Does it occur to me that this eliminates the possibility of eating both dishes fresh out of the oven? Nope!

While I'm waiting for the acorn squash to cook (which takes between 40 minutes and an hour, by the way), I decide I'll make the asparagus. I peel, chop, and sautée the asparagus, and it turns out great. It also turns out to be ready about 40 minutes before the squash, and the chicken is still straight chillin' in the fridge, un-herbed and un-roasted. I get nervous about how long everything is taking and serve T the asparagus, trying to pass it off as a "salad course."

Then, I remove the acorn squash from the oven after a few pokes with a fork indicate that it might be done (it isn't) and put the chicken in to roast for, oh, another 30-40 minutes. By the time T and I have eaten our asparagus, suffered through undercooked acorn squash, and finally eaten some (admittedly tender and juicy) herbed roasted chicken, Jeopardy (7:30 pm) is long gone and The Office (9 pm) has taken over. Planning: Fail. Timing: Fail. Kitchen Fail.

But you know what? That asparagus was pretty damn good (thanks, Mark Bittman), and the chicken was flavorful and juicy. T got some good mileage out of just how faulty my planning skills are, and I got some material to share with you, dear readers, so that I might help you to avoid making the mistakes I make.

Whether you're cooking a meal for twenty or for two, the key is to get over it before you even start. You're just making food for people, and you're doing it to bring them together so that they can talk and laugh and tell embarrassing stories about you while you run to the kitchen for more cranberry sauce.

Let the day happen. Enjoy Thanksgiving, and I'll try to, too.

Foodie Manifesto: End Kitchen Illiteracy

There has been some really interesting feedback to Mark Bittman's recent article on kitchen illiteracy and convenience food, which was written in response to this article by Tom Laskawy.

In his argument against convenience food, Bittman notes that "both preboxed macaroni and cheese and Pasta with Butter, Sage, and Parmesan take 10 minutes to prepare from the time the water comes to a boil," and that "both provide decent fuel for the body." The difference, though, is that only "one provides a genuinely delicious eating experience and a link to traditions older than collective memory." One of the most common themes in the responses that disagree with Bittman's article has been the cost of ingredients, while those who agree with Bittman lament the state of cuisine in America in general. In my humble opinion, Americans need to quit complaining about the cost of ingredients that will make their families healthier, and, instead, cut spending on the types of goods (iPods! cell phones! plasma TVs!) that will just end up in landfills anyway.

Laskawy's article also deals with convenience food and kitchen illiteracy, but he goes on to explore the idea that "if you offer consumers real, fresh food products which save 10 minutes in the kitchen, you just might change people’s cooking habits for the better." Laskawy's mention of pre-washed and cut servings of fruit and vegetables in the grocery store is a perfect example of a means of steering the general public towards healthier eating habits.

One feature of Bittman's article that really stood out to me was his suggestion that homemade food offers us "a link to traditions older than collective memory." To me, one of the worst things about the spread of kitchen illiteracy is how foreign the idea of a recipe (especially a family recipe) is becoming to America's youth. Earlier this year, I was talking with some of my lacrosse players about living alone, and none of them (at fourteen and fifteen-years old) could believe that I made my own dinner every night. Now, I'm not a pro in the kitchen yet (hence the whole premise of this blog), but I can at least make food for myself on a regular basis. This is largely because my family members made it a priority to share what they knew about cooking with me as I was growing up.

Which brings me to Jamie Oliver's Ministry of Food project, an idea that's changing the way England cooks at home. Oliver's concept is a simple viral model: he teaches recipes to local residents, and asks them to pass the recipes on to five friends each, etc. In doing this, he hopes to slow the scarily aggressive obesity rates in England, and to make up for the fact that "two generations [in England] have not been taught the basics" of cooking.

To me, the solution to kitchen illiteracy and our nation's dependence on convenience food (not to mention our own embarrassingly high obesity rates) needs to be a combination of Bittman, Laskawy, and Oliver's approaches. We need Bittman's nostalgia to make cooking something more important than just throwing together Hamburger Helper. We need Laskawy's emphasis on making fresh, healthy foods more convenient. Most importantly, though, we need Oliver's determined, grassroots approach to educating people at all socioeconomic levels how to cook fresh food and how to share what they've learned. I'm not asking that the average American suddenly be able to make a soufflé, but I do believe that having an arsenal of simple, healthy dishes is an attainable and a worthy goal to set for ourselves.

The cure for kitchen illiteracy won't happen overnight, and it certainly won't happen until our government and our society can commit to ending this dependence on "time saving" convenience food. In a country that prides itself on being a bastion of higher education, it's a shame that food education is such a low priority.

You Can Do It: Homemade Vegetable Stock

It is my sincere belief that canned and dried stocks are gross. Whether chicken, beef, or vegetable, canned stocks are always so...canned tasting that they overpower the dish they're supposed to enhance. Dried stocks (like bouillabaisse cubes) are usually too salty, and nothing that comes in a tin foil-wrapped cube can be very natural, n'est-ce pas?

Given how easy it is to make your own stock, I'm going to go ahead and make the claim that there's no excuse for store bought stock. One of the first things I taught myself to make this year was vegetable stock, and I keep a few containers of it in the freezer at all times.

There are two main benefits to cooking with stock. First, it's an instant flavor boost to any dish. Don't want bland rice again? Replace some or all of the cooking water with stock and see how much the flavor improves. Second, you can make stock with almost anything, and it's a great way to make use of those old vegetables that have lost their crunch from sitting in your fridge for too long but are still edible.

My recipe for homemade vegetable stock is below. The batch I photographed was a simple homemade celery stock, but the effect is the same no matter how many or few vegetables you add.

Homemade Vegetable Stock

• Two carrots, roughly chopped
• Two celery hearts (the paler, leafy part at the center), roughly chopped
• 1/2 an onion, diced
• Two cloves of peeled whole garlic
• 4-5 quarts of water (it's up to you--the less water, the stronger your stock will be)

1. Place vegetables in a large pot or dutch oven, and add the water. Bring to a boil.
2. Once the mixture is boiling, reduce to a low-medium heat, and let simmer for as long as you have. I like to let my stock cook for at least an hour, but you can get a pretty good concentration of flavor after just 45 minutes.
3. Let the mixture cool a bit, then strain out the vegetables. Use or freeze as you see fit.

**One note on peppers: they aren't good for making stock. They make it bitter.**

Now do you see what I mean? Making your own stock is easy, and it will improve the flavor of your dishes a lot. Plus, you're cutting out the additives and high sodium content of canned and dried stocks sold at most grocery stores. Hooray!

I Like Big Pots and I Cannot Lie: Cooking in Bulk

If you're like me, you live alone (thanks, grad school, for stealing my boyfriend) and are so tired by the time you get home from teaching and coaching that cooking is sometimes beyond you. Finding the time/motivation to cook a full meal can be especially hard when there are papers to grade, webisodes of The Daily Show to watch, Skype dates to keep, and...oh right, sleep to be had.

That said, there are only so many PB&Js and Top Ramens a person can make before defenestration starts looking like a really good option. My solution? Cook real meals in bulk. Preferably on Sunday afternoons, when you're well rested, Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me! is on NPR, and the reality of school the following morning is just distant enough to be successfully forgotten. Store what you don't eat that night, and heat individual portions for the rest of the week.

The biggest benefit to this method is that it allows you to eat healthy, substantial meals on weeknights, when it can be all too easy to settle for a handful of Triscuits and a few slices (or a whole brick) of cheese. Sure, it can be a little monotonous to eat the same thing every night, but you can always add some pasta or rice, or thin your bulk dish into a soup with some stock.

My standby this winter was a giant vat of tomato, chickpeas, and lentils, to which I added various spices and other veggies from week to week. If you can handle carcass, another great option is to roast a chicken and eat it throughout the week. You can turn some of it into chicken salad, and then save the bones in the freezer to make homemade chicken stock the next time you have three hours free to sit around the house.

Of course, making a big batch of tomato, chickpeas, and lentils is less learning to cook and more throwing some stuff in a big pot and letting it stew for an hour, but it's a step in the right direction.

Baby steps, folks, baby steps.