Thursday, March 10, 2011

a favorite cookbook

My mom gave me my first cookbook when I was 16 years old. It was Christmas 1995 and my mom made them for all the young girls in my family. Each one was an assemblage, a scrap book of sorts, of recipes my mom had collected from magazines from way back in the day. She compiled the recipes according to how much she thought each of us liked to, or didn't, cook.

I was considered "the lazy one" in my family; I was always too lazy to clean up my room, too lazy to help with chores, too lazy to cook, even when I argued it was not laziness but a young feminist resistance to homemaking duties.

My cookbook reflects my mom's assessment of my dislike for cooking. Recipes are mostly "Light & Easy," "Cooking for Two" (or just one), in addition to campy americana recipes from the 60's and 70's. (My suspicion is that the good recipes from the 90's are in my sister's cookbook.)

But the best part of the book are the blank pages in the back, space for me to write my own favorites recipes, in the case my taste for cooking developed. Little did mom know then, (but maybe she suspected?) I have scribbled recipes in a handwriting I can no longer recognize as my own,

I have glued recipes from newspaper clippings, magazines rip-outs, and have copied recipes from more contemporary, fancy cookbooks.

It's funny, this is the cookbook that has the least information (especially when compared to The Silver Spoon, Chez Panisse or The Joy of Cooking) but it is the one infused with the most love. I look into it frequently and feel transported not only to 1995, but to the decades living bound by mom's labor and now my own.

Thank you mom for my cookbook. I will always have it. I love you.

Friday, March 4, 2011

A long overdue post: Vegetarians in San Francisco

Back on April 6th, 2010, communion hosted its last dinner in San Francisco. Yes, it has taken me a very long time to discuss this, and I am very sorry for that. I realize now that that dinner was more loaded than I wanted to admit at the time or than I wanted to address. I can appreciate now a bigger picture of its complexities and nuances.

It was a vegetarian feast for vegetarians. The only two omnivores were Jacob B. and I, who cooked the meal. I wanted to have a vegetarian meal that was delicious and filling, but also one that went beyond the basic pasta primavera. In that way, it was a challenge for us doing the cooking. But furthermore, I wanted to converse about the personal journeys the vegetarians at our table had travelled. I wanted to know how did vegetarians become so and what sort of memories informed their decision then and sustains it now. But though I did not want to frontally admit this, my curiosity was hidden in a veneer of judgement, where vegetarians are a breed of the self-righteous and inflexible, and who exercise an incredible amount of privilege. It has taken me a while to contest my judgements and finally feel ready to recount our findings here, without any tongue-in-cheek bullshit.

Our first course was a purée of spinach soup, along with stories of how they first decided to be vegetarian. One of our guests recounted having to work in a meat processing facility as a teenager, not even with direct slaughtering, but packaging and shipping beef outside Berlin. Though he told his story with cool composure, it was clear how impressed and disgusted he was handling meat. He told of unhygienic premises, an assembly line layout, and a basic emotional detachment working with flesh; the impact was so big and long-lasting, he had been a vegetarian for over two decades.

The second course was one I was very happy with, especially considering my reluctance to making a savory dairy-free meal: a warm quinoa pilaf with asparagus and three-way peas. We used english peas, with their shoots and leaves, blanched baby carrots and asparagus, with walnuts and a sprinkle of minced carrot tops. We asked diners to share a moment of frustration when having to defend their diet, and most stories were of recent vegetarian converts having to stand firmly in their decisions especially with family members and loved ones. Other stories were of traveling, especially alongside carnivores and the conflicts that come up when restaurants don't offer a vegetarian option.

The third course, a leek soufflé, was a major flop. I had been practicing my soufflé techniques for weeks with pretty good results. But this time, the leeks exited the oven high and puffy, but in traveling ten feet from the kitchen to the dining room they deflated to a sad-looking blob. At least, the conversation was good: how do you manage integrity with practicality and hunger? I think this is an especially important question because in the moments where hunger pangs are the most intense, we can make the worst eating choices. A diner told us of a time he ordered a vegetarian burrito on his way home from a long day at work. As he got home and unwrapped
his dinner, he saw a huge chunk of carne asada staring at him. What to do----either get up and return it (and wait and additional fifteen minutes more) or turn a blind eye to the meat in front of him fueled by growling hunger. Not only did he spit out the food in his mouth, but he returned to the taquería for a remake.

The fourth course, grapefruit granitas with créme fraîche ice cream with questions of whether their commitment has ever wavered. It has. One diner told us of traveling to Mexico, where after starving for days, she finally succumbed to eating a turkey sandwich on a plane. The funny tidbit here is that she was on the plane alone, given she would have never done it within the gaze of her fellow vegetarian travelling partner. She broke her rule when she knew no one could see her.

Our fifth and last course, a milk and caramel tart with toasted hazelnuts. This is a dish that would convert vegans, I think, because the crust is ever so-flaky and wonderfully buttery that whoever denies themselves that gift is just plainly an extreme ascetic. But instead of asking where diners stand on the scale of vegetarianism, we asked what vegetables would they like to be. A beet: good for you and aggressive; a mushroom, which can grow overnight, and a wild mushroom, tasty or poisonous?; a carrot, unassuming and rewarding; rainbow chard, pretty and good for you; a dandelion, surprising; an eggplant, 'cause you gotta know how to treat it.

It was a fantastic dinner. Delicious, yes, but also difficult. It was one of those moments in which I, a food scholar and a proud omnivore, had my beliefs and my pride tested. And, like a note scribbled on our tablecloth said, I do always end up with picky eater friends. Thanks everyone for sharing.

communion is BACK!

Sorry for the very very very long absence. A combination of factors ---a new city, a masters program, procrastination, insecurities and blah blah blah have kept me from moving this project forward. With a new set of goals, renewed stamina and enthusiasm and commitment, I return to communion.
There are new plans, among them a communion dinner in new york city for venezuelans living here. But first, a long overdue post from our last San Francisco dinner especially made for vegetarians.
Read on.