Fry 'Em Up

Local Fish photo by AMR

The story starts here. With a family tradition.

Fishing.

FD and his dad go fishing every spring and summer. I went one time last summer. There's not a lot of talking unless it's about the weather and how the fish are biting, which was fine by me. I love weather, and I love talking about bites. And as weird as it sounds I appreciated silence, the quiet rock of the boat. In fact I welcomed it, and when I achieve it with loved ones I hold it like a new kitten, a small gift from above. Sometimes talking clouds the purest truth of the activity, the act that is shared. Truth be told, as much as I'm a hip-hop/dance junkie, I'm happiest cooking when I'm in the kitchen without music and Bleu is at feet.

I pretty sure in our attempt to eat local meats our families decided we should eat what they can't. In addition to what we've procured.

Early this June FD and I realized we had a deep freezer half full of Ohio/Pennsylvania-caught fish. The only way to eat over 100 fillets/5 lbs of fish is to have a fish fry, right?

Other photos by SEKL, FDR, ASC

We like alliteration. We decide a Fish Fry on the 4th.

Sarah L. & I, over several Clover Clubs (okay, really it was over lunch at Naslada, we had water, there's no drama in that) craved Southern. We needed fish, corn on the cob, greens, coleslaw, shredded beef, cucumber salad, sweet potatoes, and pimento cheese.

At 5 Sarah arrived with 5 lbs of greens. We stemmed, we washed, we rendered fat from bacon, we wilted, we simmered, we kept going.

As a hostess, I can tell you a fish fry isn't easy. There's soaking, breading, frying, draining, and several more batches. In addition to getting sides ready, making sure guests are happy, and coordinating timing. I had anticipated easy street. I was wrong.

At any given time, I was stressed, crazy, witty, bossy, meek, pissed, satisfied, jittery, relaxed, humble, loud, quiet, grateful, and, most importantly, thoughtful about food, where it comes from and who we share it with.

~

Sweet potato chips in the fryer

There are few people I am around where we don't talk and are cool. It's a weird thing to be around people in silence. Besides movie theaters and doctor offices when really don't humans speak to each other except when they are alone?

I'm loud.

Many people have told me I remind them of a cartoon character (perhaps because of my love of Hello Kitty???) and that I'm intense, animated, intimidating, etc.


I'm just passionate, honest, and enthusiastic.

Even though fishing is a quiet act, frying is not. There's oohhhing, aaahhhing, yelling for more flour, worrying about bubbling over, etc. etc.

At one point, though, we got in our assembly line rhythm, and the four of us battered and fried the last batch with almost no verbal communication. Our hands dredged fish, shook off the extra batter, placed fillets in the fryer and did it again, as if we all shared one mind.

It reminded me of the rock of the boat, the fishing poles in our hands, and dawn breaking over the lake.

~

All hands on deck

We fried 'em up on the 4th.

Sarah L., G, E.H., and I took charge. It was clear we were the food obsessed.

Or better put: we were devoted to the fish. Others were too. They would be present for start to finish of a batch, such as FD, CC, and AC, which I appreciate whole heartily. In fact, as as Gemini, I welcomed any attention. The other guests looked on like it was a train wreck. People like danger, potential fire, and drama. In a matter of two hours of this fish fry I had cooked several dishes cooked and ready, a fryer that wouldn't heat up and tripped the breaker, a severe mandolin (the knife, not the instrument) injury, and realized I was two hours behind eating time.

As an OCD hostess I was fucked.

But inviting the perfect people dissolved my need to obsess and surrender to defeat.

Several dishes were ready: right on; Jersey helped me figure out my breakers and turn shit off to turn on the fryer; my mom's hospital office job where I became friends with nurses gave me the know-how to aid a cut wound into remission (we thought we needed stitches but really only what we needed was to lay down on the bathroom floor [see being OCD does pay off; the floor was sparkling clean] with the finger in the air, some Solarcaine, a bandage, and some Sherry), and for the most part our friends like to eat between 8-9 p.m.

I was in luck.

~

Fishes in the fryer

My Pops was specific, "Fry away from the house. Put it between the house and the garage on the edge of the patio. And assign one fryer attendant. It should be you. It's our fryer. You'll know how to work it."

I was in bare feet.

That wasn't in the manual, but my Pops said, "Wear shoes."

I followed my Pops' advice. And didn't. We do that as kids. We're allowed.

This was the first meal I made that potentially risked my home, my loved ones, my clothing (which I love a lot), and my bare feet.

And I think others felt that way.

They stood and watched.

What would happen?

For the first time ever I saw concern on Sarah L.'s face. I don't know about this, her expression read in one photo. When she showed me the pic, I thought, That's my look. What are you doing???

Then she said, "That's the look you make every time I make a souffle or marshmallows. I guess I didn't realize how freaked out I was."

Deep frying is scary.

And lots of fun.

~

I had a lot of help, but I was ultimately guardian of the fryer, as my Pops had advised.

I dropped the basket in. We all watched the oil bubble up and engulf the fish, though. And G would give the basket a shake so the fish wouldn't stick too much together while I was running around organizing other things. But when the fishies were fried, it was I who pulled the basket out with its little coat-hanger-pulley-thingy. I put the lid on, let the temperature come back up to 400, assembled the assembly line and started again.

My Pops would have been proud.

~

At 9, the crew went through the buffet line and piled their plates with cuke salads, braised greens, baked beans, grilled corn, crisp coleslaw, shredded beef, and fried fish.

There was one moment of silence at the beginning as folks chewed the first bites. But then there were outbursts over flavors or new conversations.

Dessert (s'mores with homemade marshmallows, chocolate, and pralines) was just as big of a hit.

And while I made future notes to buy more Nut Thins and lemons (thanks L & S for the run to Kroger!), to put butter, salt and pepper on the table for corn, and to put out as many chairs as we have, what sticks with me more is how a family tradition became a gathering.

 There were writers and teachers, a print media-ist, a composer of music, a medical assistant, an archivist, a webmaster, a construction guru/visual artist, a dancer, and a bio-chemist. A talented motley crew with a love of fried food.  What I love about parties is sometimes these talents are brought up and other times we get to escape them for a few moments under the silent canopy of holiday lights.

From Plate to Palate--July 2011

I think it's fair to say that most food writers come alive in summer. The farmers markets are alive and bustling. There are places to go and new restaurants to test. There is finally time to wind down by campfire with a cold one.

The July issue of From Plate to Palate is dear to me because all four contributors are AWESOME. Each have written several pieces for FP2P, and that's exciting, especially considering that soon FP2P is changing its look and layout. Well, that surprise is coming soon. But in the meantime, enjoy these fantastic pieces from four stellar food writers!

Weeknight Meals, Comfort Foods, and Perfection (or Not)

 

 

Nom nom nom

It's no surprise that I usually spend a whole day cooking, especially in the summer. Whereas most people hate cooking or "being tied to the kitchen," I feel most peaceful, happy, fulfilled, and sane when I'm in the kitchen.

At the same time, I have writing projects, syllabus planning, organization projects, and lots of reading and writing I want to do this summer.

So some evenings I see what's in the fridge/freezer and cook up what we have. And it's these meals that are probably my favorites. I know the recipes like the back of my hand, and I have the cooking down to a science.

Such as was the pictured meal. I wasn't really anticipating guests, even though we had more than enough, but I was more than happy find out two of our all-time favorite people could stay for dinner: flat iron steaks with chimichurri sauce, ex-wife potatoes roasted in duck fat and smoked on the grill, sauteed greens, grilled asparagus, and Sarah L.'s homemade roasted red pepper sauce I had scored earlier that day.

I'm quite critical of my own cooking. Every meal I figure out what flavor profiles need to be edited, what elements need to be added, and how a recipe should be revised. Most meals I'm only partially happy with the results. But this meal was almost flawless. The only revision: I would have braised the greens instead of sauteing them.

What I'm wondering is why these meals happen. I think about the ones where I cook elaborate dishes that take two to three days, the holiday ones that involve brining, marinating, intense butchering, fine chopping, etc. These meals are delicious but there never perfect. And then here comes this barely-planned, use-what-you-got, throw-it-together-flavor-combos of a meal that was simply divine. Was it the weather, the vibe of the day, the element of surprise, the delightful guests, the boxed wine? It was a meal that I ate slowly, that I savored, that I will remember. Lately these are the meals I live for, that sustain me. They are so few and far between.

Comfort level with the recipe has everything to do with it, though. Later in the week we invited good friends over last minute for dinner. I was trying four new recipes for one meal (totally crazy, I know): grilled chicken thighs, ginger cilantro rice, bok choy with braised Shiite sauce, and sesame broccoli salad. The broccoli salad was great, but I heeded the reviews to cut the dressing portion in half. I charred the thighs because I decided it was time to test out lump hardwood charcoal rather than use Match Light, which I have mastered. Thankfully, our guests were gracious and kind about having to bake the thighs because charring them didn't cook them all the way through. I suck at rice; period (more on that topic soon). And the bok choy was stringy, bitter, and droopy. I wasn't trying to impress our guests; it was a meal I planned to make even if it was just for me and FD. These were recipes I wanted to test and I wanted an Asian them. But I had hoped for more of a magical meal, like the one we had earlier in the week. But no. I think it's because I tried too many new things at one time. And experimented with new methods (new charcoal). I'm an adventurer as a cook, so I have to take it in stride that not every meal is perfect. But even in imperfection, my cooking is usually edible and above par. But I'm a perfectionist with OCD and an overactive palate. I always expect more.

So does it all boil down to the comfort level we have with recipes? And does that comfort level equal comfort foods? I cook and eat ex-wife potatoes almost every night in my dreams (for real); I've grilled asparagus eight million times; I've sauteed greens for all three meals in a day and did it again the very next day; and I can indirect grill with Match Light almost better than any BBQ joint in Ohio. Give me comfort foods and I can crank out an amazing meal.

But...

I feel like my comfort meals wouldn't be comforting if I didn't have nights where I test four new recipes and fail a little (or a lot). I think most people cycle their comfort foods or the foods they think they cook well each and every week. I remember when I was a kid my mom recycled a lot of the same meals: mac and cheese with green beans; burgers and Ore-Ida fries; bubble and squeak; etc. At some point, though, these comfort foods became some of my least favorite meals. "We're having bubble and squeak AGAIN?!?!"

I use true comfort foods sparingly. For those days when I would rather read or write then cook. And trying new recipes (4-6 a week) allows me to console myself with my favorite dishes after a dinner-disaster. But it also allows me to find new favorite recipes, maybe even new comfort foods.

And it keeps my voyage as foodie ever evolving...

On Turning 34

I'm an asshole. I forget to write down the title & artist.

 I was born the year of the snake, which it's description paints me as saint and sinner.

And I'm a Gemini.

This could mean my good qualities outweigh my bad qualities. My bad qualities outweigh my good qualities.

Or that I'm a duel-minded, tortured soul.

Then again, maybe I'm the happiest person you've ever met.

Most days are a little bit of everything. Which is why this year, like every year, I vow to grow, blossom, and maybe even transcend. (Okay, I admit "transcend" is lofty.)

Lately I've been practicing intentional awareness (aka reflecting) as I'm observing my relationships with family, friends, work, hobbies, and self move into new stages and transform into something new things. Honoring my place/not place in those relationships is probably what's most challenging. From a friendship that flourishes immediately to one that fizzles out, I'm beginning to see that we all have our places and times with one another, and that each moment should be cherished, and that sometimes respecting someone else's needs before my own is/is not beneficial.

The snake and Gemini in me is skeptical of all this hippie bullshit.

But I can't deny how food is molding who I'm becoming as I step into a new year.

Food offers me sustenance, but beyond the basics it challenges me, comforts me, eases my worries, creates worries, motivates me, and provides me with connections to others.

Sarah L.'s Hello Kitty Birthday Cake

Take for instance Hello Kitty birthday cakes.

Last year practically-my-sister SEM made me a kick ass Hello Kitty cake.

And this year Sarah made a gluten-free version with all of my FAVORITE flavors: rhubarb, strawberries, pistachios, meringue, lavender, and chocolate. Thoughtful and fucking delicious.

It's a blessing to me that both Sara(h)s meshed my ultimate icon with my number #1 passion: food.

Being surrounded by love only proves to me that good food is a form of good love. 

[OK, so here's a blogging moment where I don't feel I'm communicating what I want to communicate. Or that it sounds more "out there" than is my intention. Sure, I feel good food means pure, local ingredients from local farmers, butchers and gardeners. But more so, I just love how food brings people together, and how those who love me know my stomach and heart are the same organ. And I fully appreciate that. From the-what's-left-in-the-fridge-becomes-amazing dinners with FD to Kiderowski Bakery's cupcakes to Sally's seven-layer salad to Babine's simple syrup to Sarah's Ex-Wife potatoes to Revolver's Polenta to Tator Tots after a very gourmet meal to Better Made BBQ Chips to all the meals I've had and shared with my peeps far and wide, my post-birthday wish is that food continues to nourish my relationships and continues to draw me closer my passions and callings. I appreciate every food moment in the present and past moments. As tacky as it is, it's truly how I feel. Food is similar to spirituality, at least in my forever-clashing brain. And I hope it gives me enough sustenance for another 34 or more years.]

In the next year I wish to make even more good food to show some good love.

And So It Goes...

The semester is drawing to an end.

For some that means graduation is right around the corner. All the excitement of the future is ahead of them. Along with the wonder, frustration, hope, and possibility.

And while I'm excited with them, I'm sad because it means some very good friends will be moving away.

I don't take good-byes well. I never have. I prefer the "see you later" approach. But year after year of friends leaving is making my heart feel just a bit more heavy.

Last year was Babs, and this year is Amy, Chris, Alex, Nikki, and Ian.

The hardest part for me is that I happen to make friends with folks who love food, who love to eat, and who are frequent dinner guests at our house. Come this summer, Sundays will just be a little quieter. Picnics at the quarry will be a little smaller.

I'm not sure how I feel about this.

Right now we're trying to get in as many games of Blokus and rounds of The Game of Things as possible. We're trying to eat as many kale salads and tofu bites as possible. We're spending as much time together as possible. FD's beer cellar is slimming down a bit, and the liquor cabinet is almost empty.

Of course the greater parts of my days are spent grading, presenting, student conferencing, food writing, editing, and cooking because I have to but mostly out of avoidance. I just don't want to see our good friends leave. But so it goes...

In the meantime, there's a polenta tarte in the oven, pork tenderloin to roast, and glasses to clink before the formal good-byes begin.

VOTE!

Chef Micheal Bulkowski from Revolver, our all-time favorite restaurant, is up for Food & Wine's The People's Best New Chef 2011.

Vote for him.

He's put Northwest Ohio on the map as a culinary destination. He's talented, humble, thoughtful, playful, and RAD.

Vote for him. Right now!

Resolutions (Of Sorts)

Every new year I make a list of resolutions--most of which I abandon at the end of January.

Last year I wanted to bake our bread instead of buying it. I attempted one loaf that was way too dense to eat. I'm okay with buying bread from Zingerman's at Happy Badger; it tastes better. I did cook with rutabagas, though, with much success. There were other resolutions too, but I've forgotten them.

This year my only resolution is to not have resolutions. To not limit myself to list but be open to whatever adventures arise.

And turn this blog into a space for ??? (??? = something but I don't know what).

While I'm figuring out the ???, be sure to check out my BG News column every Friday and From Plate to Palate at Connotation Press.

Until the next post, eat more offal.