This month my husband and I began riding our bikes to work. To celebrate our shift (and our anniversary) he sold his racing bikes and bought us a couple of cruisers. They're the kind you might have ridden as a kid, with cushy seats, gigantic handlebars, and a kickstand. (His even has backpedal brakes!) This was a quantum leap for an avid cyclist who once teased me for not removing the reflectors from mountain bike. (Extra weight! And so not cool.) But it was part of his shift to thinking of a bike as a means for transportation, not just sport.
Now my 15-minute ride to and from work is the most carefree part of my day. Remember how it felt to ride a bike as a kid? That's how this feels. I can't help but smile. I actually look forward to my commute. And I made a tank of gas last THREE WHOLE WEEKS!
The point of this story is that going green doesn't always have to be about sacrifice. In fact, many of the choices you can make to reduce your eco-footprint are actually enjoyable, economical, and downright easy. Here are a few we're exploring:
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CONTEST -- Win an eco-bag! Share your best go-green tip by adding a comment on this post. Add your comment by midnight on Sunday, August 2 (be sure to include your email address). We'll pick our favorite five tips and send the winners a reusable Chico Bag. (They stuff down into a little stuff-sack that fits in your purse or car cup holder.)
Tough times. I ran into a colleague over the weekend at the grocery store. As we lamented soaring food costs, she pointed to the meager few items in her shopping carriage and told me that to avoid waste, she’d resolved to buy less food. It’s an understandable impulse. And while I can’t say I buy much less, I think more strategically about leftovers.
But the good news is that leftovers — provided they were tasty enough the first time around — tend to get the creative juices flowing. Change their context, and it’s as if you’re eating a brand new dish. For example, my two “first-night” dishes this weekend: lamb with an eggplant, tomato, and zucchini tian on the side, and red snapper with mango-pineapple nuoc cham relish. Extra tian became Sunday lunch — a grilled summer vegetable pizza topped with fresh mozzarella (leftover from a Caprese salad earlier in the week) and arugula (above). The leftover relish helped dress a Vietnamese caramelized pork salad for Sunday dinner (below).
Also keep in mind that choice ingredients can help make these second-day dishes a little more special. A touch of truffle oil to dress the arugula on the pizza, for instance, or a Duroc pork chop for the Vietnamese salad (one chop feeds two in such a dish). Choice ingredients don't need to be particularly expensive, either. Like in-season produce. This time of year, you may even find garden-ripe fruits and vegetables more satisfying than meat, so hit your local farmers' market and load up.
Don't be afraid to get creative with your leftovers. If you need a little inspiration (or if you like to plan ahead), here are a few stories that teach how to make the most of each meal:
Chicken Tonight -- and Tomorrow (8 ways with a grilled chicken)
Take Two from the Grill (grill once, eat twice)
One Steak, Nine Ways (flank steak for dinner tonight, 9 options for tomorrow's lunch)
Play it Again, Ham (three creative menus for leftover ham)
Last week I spent a few days in Des Moines, Iowa learning more about soy beans than I can possibly fit in one blog. Now, before you say "Well thank heavens for little-tiny favors!" just hear me out. I learned some really interesting stuff, and once I have sifted through my notes and photos I look forward to sharing some of the niftier points.
Right now I am very excited to pass on a great baking tip given to me courtesy of Linda Funk, Executive Director of the Soyfoods Council. This is so cool:
Linda likes to add Textured Soy Protein to cookies for a great crunch and a hint of caramel flavor without adding extra fat. The addition of TSP also boosts protein content. But that's almost beside the point, because the added flavor and texture alone makes the addition of TSP worthwhile. I experimented at home with two recipes: a traditional chocolate chip cookie recipe (to which I added 1/2 cup of TSP) and a low-fat oatmeal cookie (pictured, in which I replaced 50% of the oatmeal with TSP).
Both cookies were fantastic! The TSP did indeed add a lovely crunch. The bottom of the cookies, where the TSP had direct contact with the pan, had caramelized, lacing the cookies with a rich, buttery flavor. No one would guess that the secret ingredient was soy. If you are interested in trying this tasty trick, check your local grocery or health food store for TSP.
For about two years now, I've been trying to eat as much locally produced food as possible. I support a CSA, shop at the farmer's market every week, and belong to a foodie book club (past selections include The Omnivore's Dilemma and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle). Heck, I even helped a friend raise and slaughter two pigs. Michael Pollan is basically my hero.
But even though central Alabama grows lots of food, it's nearly impossible to eat nothing but local foods here in Birmingham. The farmer's market with local produce is only open once a week, and it doesn't sell any milk or meat (there are, thankfully, local eggs, flour, and goat cheese available). Still, things are looking up. I got to see what Alabama food can do at a Slow Food Birmingham event last Sunday. It was like being a kid in a candy store. Well, more like a kid in a fruit orchard. Whatever.
About 70 people came out to Petals from the Past, a plant nursery/orchard/U-pick/education center in Jemison, Ala., to meet and greet, drink some local beer, and enjoy nature's bounty. There were samples of four kinds of figs. One local farmer handed out nectarines and Saturn peaches.
Petals from the Past is dedicated to propagating heirloom and otherwise hard-to-find varieties of fruit and flowers, and its rows and rows of trees, bushes, and vines are decidedly Eden-like. Seven different varieties of blueberries grow here. I'd never even seen a blueberry labeled with a variety name before. It was eye-opening.
We were each handed a quart box and let loose to "lighten the load on the plants." I ate about as many as I picked, and learned that, yes, blueberry variety does make a difference. Tifblues, for example, are medium-sized with less sweetness than their enormous cousins, Climaxes. In the end, my container had everything mixed up together, but I love blueberries anyway and these were certainly the freshest I could possibly get. They were wonderful, and gone in about two days.
Dinner after this included heirloom tomato salad, homemade pickles, potato salad, and Boutwell Farms organic, grass-fed beef burgers (with homemade ketchup to boot). After the meal, each of the people responsible for the food we had just shared stood up, introduced themselves, and said hello. In In Defense of Food, one of Michael Pollan's pieces of advice is to "shake the hand that feeds you." I think this is what he meant. And it was delicious.
I grew up drinking green tea every afternoon. It's as essential to my day as a morning cup of coffee. I find the making of tea just as satisfying as the drinking of it. The ritual of brewing a pot—loose leaves steeped briefly in an old dented pot—is intensely relaxing. It forces me to slow down, if only for a few minutes. In fact, I find the ritual so calming that, more than once, I've actually forgotten to drink the tea!
Many of my friends say they want to drink more green tea for its alleged nutritional benefits, but they can't get past the acidic, slightly bitter taste. Some found that adding sugar or honey made it more palatable. (I tried it, but thought it ruined the subtle flavors.) I found that simply drinking it chilled softens the edges and makes a wonderfully refreshing drink for the sweltering days of summer.
I'm a little bit picky about my tea. I insist on loose leaves (usually the basic sencha or the mellower genmaicha, with its lovely toasted brown rice flavor) for a better taste. I watch the clock to ensure I don't oversteep my tea, which makes it bitter. (The ideal steep time varies depending on each tea. Follow the directions closely to ensure the best flavor.)
If I'm traveling, I will grudgingly consent to a tea bag. (Surprise find: The Kirkland brand found at Cosco, made by the Japanese distributor Ito-En, contains a dusting of matcha and tastes surprisingly good for an inexpensive teabag.)
If you're new to green tea, you can start with an inexpensive loose-leaf brand (you can find various brands, such as Yamamotoyama, at Asian markets for as little as $3-$9 per package). Or, check out Web sites such as this one for loose tea shipped from Japan.
What is a chef? A cook? Is there a difference?
When I catered parties, worked as a line cook, and made wedding cakes to supplement my income during college, I never called myself "chef." I reserved that title for the people cooking in places with white tablecloths.
When I went to culinary school at the CIA I thought: Hard Study + Diploma = Chef.
In hindsight, my first truly mature thought about the question came at my CIA graduation. I received an Academic Achievement Award, which earned me a nifty statue, and, more excitingly, a few moments with the graduation speaker Eric Ripert.
Eric Ripert is the soft spoken, hugely talented force behind award winning restaurants such as Le Bernardin. A cookbook author, a philanthropist for causes including City Harvest, and a recent guest judge on Top Chef, he is deservedly admired both in and outside of professional food circles. He is also my age and already SO accomplished. So when I asked him for career advice, I was not being polite; my ears were wiiiiide open.
He was kind, unhurried, and specific. (Imagine this in a heavy French accent):
"Learn how to be the best cook you can be. To be a great chef you must first be a great cook. Have the ego to try new things, and to fail, and to try again -- and have a small enough ego to always be learning. If you can no longer learn, you are finished."
Eric Ripert is a really, really smart guy.
I thought long and hard about his advice, and I took it to heart. I understood that learning basic skills and practicing them over and over and over is the absolute breath of good food. No breath, no life. No basics, no tasty food.
I grasped that the world is full of great lessons in food and cooking -- they can come from schools, but also grandmas, books, push-cart operators, lunch programs, magazines, soup kitchens, etc. A street vendor's carnitas or the blue-plate special downtown hold the same potential for excitement and pleasure as the latest haute cuisine.
I don't think learning necessarily means liking. For me, tasting foods that I do not like is just as important and informative as munching on favorites. Personal taste -- and the cooking you do as an expression of it -- is a constantly evolving thing. I try to keep my mind, heart, and palate open to the world. Because that's where good food comes from.
I now call myself a chef because I parlay my food and cooking experience into making a living. It is a professional label. I call myself a great cook because I work on my skills with diligence, I craft food with pride and pleasure, and I try to learn every day.
If you say I am a good chef, I will appreciate it. If you say you love my cooking, then you will have complimented me to my core.
As promised, a few words about my meal at Per Se in New York. Maybe more than a few words, if you’ll indulge me. It’s the kind of once-in-a-lifetime dining experience that simultaneously defies and demands description.
Upon entering, what first strikes you about this restaurant is that all 16 dining room tables afford a panoramic view of Central Park, with the gilt statues of Columbus Circle in the foreground, and East Side towers off in the distance. But folks don’t make reservations here two months in advance because of the view. Once the food hits the table, it’s the sole focus of attention.
Regarding menus, Per Se offers nothing a la carte, but rather three standing choices: a five-course tasting, a nine-course chef’s tasting, and a nine-course vegetarian menu. My table went for the nine-course chef’s tasting and wine pairings of the sommelier’s choice. Our thinking was, hey, if you’re there, you may as well go all the way. Which is exactly the kind of reasoning that leads to controversial wars, unexpected offspring, and in this particular case, deep and enduring fiscal woe. But — in this case — not a drop of regret.
Before I left, I threatened to give you a course-by-course recount of the whole ordeal. I’ll spare you that level of detail. Because when the dust settled, tallying extra dishes (not including canapés, amuse bouche, and mignardises) sent from the kitchen, we had 12 courses. A couple were transcendent. Let's start with those.
“Oysters and Pearls,” the first course on the menu, is a Thomas Keller signature dish, which he also serves at The French Laundry in Yountville, Calif. It’s a tiny plate of Island Creek oysters and a fat quenelle of Sterling white sturgeon caviar, all bathed in buttery pearl tapioca sabayon flecked with tiny chopped chives. The dish pushes the acceptable boundaries of richness; the full-flavored elements combine to produce the most opulent comfort food ever. But you come to realize that the uniform texture of the dish is as equally wondrous as the taste. It needs no crisp or crunchy component. Oysters, caviar, and tapioca all squish and burst in your mouth in salty, sweet, unctuous explosions, and anything else would be a needless distraction.
The lamb course, the second of two meat courses and our seventh overall, was just as stunning. The lamb was prepared three ways. First was roasted rack. Second, braised breast that had been pulled, reassembled, wrapped in caul fat to maintain moistness and flavor, and then roasted. The third was a fantastically innovative use of the rack’s fat cap. Our waiter explained that the cook working the meat station recently lamented how all the scraps from his frenched lamb racks were simply thrown out. And so he hatched a plan to use the fat almost like pork belly. Cooked until slightly browned and meltingly tender, the lamb fat morsel was an inspired companion for the date puree also on the plate.
(You may have noted that I’ve mentioned fat a lot in this last course. Per Se is not for the abstemious. New York magazine put the nine-course menu to a nutritional analysis, and concluded that it’s the calorie and fat equivalent of more than four Big Macs. I remained unfazed. I figured that since I hadn’t had a Big Mac since about 1998, I was due.)
Not every course hit the mark. We learned that the butter poached lobster tail was cooked sous vide, with a pat of butter in the pouch along with the lobster, rather than submerging it (and truly butter poaching) in beurre monte. Keller poaches his lobsters in this simple butter emulsion at the French Laundry, and the result is impossibly tender lobster meat. While the sous vide lobster at Per Se wasn’t overcooked, it was hardly remarkable. But the bigger problem was with the accompanying lobster broth, which was overwhelmingly spicy and just clobbered the lobster’s delicate flavor. Disappointing.
A fellow Time Inc. employee and food blogger took these and other photos of her Per Se lunch earlier this year for a post on her blog, A Gluten-Free Guide. She also had a tour of the kitchen. The flat screen monitor you see on the kitchen wall projects two scenes simultaneously: the action in the Per Se kitchen, and the crew in the French Laundry kitchen. Our waiter explained that Keller likes to promote a sense of unity between the two staffs, and for Keller, I suppose, this approach makes perfect sense. A less extreme chef might just encourage them to become pen pals.
Our table also had a kitchen tour. The facility was pristine and relatively roomy, as would be expected. But beyond appearances, what seemed to separate it from most other commercial kitchens was that folks inside clearly knew they were putting out a special product. It wasn’t arrogance, but rather an acute awareness. The awareness was almost palpable, something in the air. And the awareness was no accident. A plaque below the kitchen clock reads: “Sense of Urgency.” Another plaque over the kitchen door reads: “Finesse: Refinement and delicacy in performance, execution, and artisanship.” According to our waiter, when a Per Se staffer has a bad night — say a line cook overcooks a table’s rabbit loin, forcing the kitchen and servers to scramble to give the guests an extra course to buy time for the rabbit loin to be refired — he’s shown the finesse plaque. Then he’s shown the exit sign directly above it. “And he’s told that the choice is up to him,” the waiter tells us with a smile, pausing briefly to wipe the sadism from the corner of his mouth.
Plaques — vaguely Soviet, yes, but every workplace could benefit from them. What a simple and efficient way to deliver a mission statement. We have no plaques at Cooking Light, save for those designating the men’s and ladies’ rooms. And to lead a wayward employee by the ear to the restrooms and tell him to make a choice would be just, well, weird.
I’ve rambled on. Sorry. The topic excites me. In my adulthood I’ve come to collect menus like I once collected baseball cards as a kid, and this one to me has all the value of a 1954 Ted Williams. If I ever get to El Bulli, I will be utterly unbearable.
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Photos courtesy of Catherine Oddenino of A Gluten-Free Guide. See more of her Per Se photos on Flickr.
A recent pass by the Freebie Table yielded roughly 100 of these wee buckets 'o buzz. Enough, I presume, to carry an entire editorial staff through one cycle of production. (If you're new to this blog, see our Our Freebie Table Disclaimer.)
Q: How many warnings can fit on a package the size of a non-dairy creamer?
A: A whole latte.
In my quest for a healthier mid-day meal, I started packing a bento lunch. Inspired by the traditional Japanese meal, which combines balance and variety with petite portions, I found a portable bento kit that is almost as fun to pack as it is to unpack and enjoy. As I did a little research, I discovered a fascinating bento subculture, with wonderful blogs such as Lunch in a Box, which highlights useful tips, easy recipes, and links to other bento resources.
There's something about having four little containers to fill that encourages me to make smarter choices about what to put in them. I always try to put a different color in each one, which usually results in a greater variety of flavors, textures, and nutritional benefits. And because the containers are fairly small, I can fill them to the brim without letting my portion sizes get out of control.
As you can see in this photo, you don't need to stick to Japanese food to enjoy the bento's benefits. While the typical Japanese bento contains rice, soup, fish or meat, and fresh, cooked, or pickled vegetables, the same approach -- variety -- works well with any cuisine. The other day I packed a decidedly un-Japanese meal consisting of grilled-veggie pasta, cucumber salad, carrots with hummus, and fresh blueberries.
Another bento benefit is reducing the waste I generate every time I order take-out food or eat at a restaurant that uses disposable plates, utensils, and napkins. It's a small step toward green living, but one that adds up over time.
While you could accomplish the same thing with any reusable food storage containers, a well-designed lunch pail makes packing lunch a bit more enjoyable. Mine (a Mr. Bento model) has an insulated thermos with four containers. The rice bowl and self-venting soup bowl sit in the insulated thermos, which keeps them warm enough that I usually don't need to re-heat them for lunch. The other two containers sit above the thermos inside the lid, which prevents them from getting warm (great for fruit or salad). It also comes with a carrying case and chopsticks or a fork. I added a pretty cloth napkin.
I don't have time to get beyond the basics with my bento lunches, but I do enjoy checking out the elaborate creations of some bento fanatics, who create edible masterpieces. If you want more ideas, explore the bento subculture, with its many photo-sharing Flickr groups, communities, and blogs.
Continue reading "Bento Benefits"
From a nutrition perspective, I can’t think of a better snack than nuts. Dry-roasted or plain, salted or unsalted, nuts pack in healthful fats, a host of vitamins and minerals, fiber, and little sodium (even some salted ones have as little as 95 milligrams sodium per ounce). While a one-ounce serving of nuts has more calories than pretzels, it also comes with protein and fat, staving off hunger for longer than many starchy or sugary snacks.
And I’m not the only one who knows nuts are good, as a stand-alone snack or an ingredient in recipes. Some of the latest research on these nutrient rich nuggets shows promise:
A review of studies published in 2001 showed that consuming just one ounce of nuts — of any variety — up to five times a week is likely to help reduce the risk of heart disease. (However, the results cite that it’s not just a matter of adding nuts. One must replace other calories consumed with the nuts as well as swap some of the artery-clogging saturated fat for the healthy types of fat in nuts.)
The Nurses Health Study of more than 85,000 subjects also linked nut eaters with a lower risk of heart disease risk factors than those who did not consume nuts.
While vitamin E in supplement form hasn’t shown to be effective in promoting health benefits, almonds supply vitamin E, an antioxidant, which may — along with other nutrients in the nut — help prevent “bad” LDL cholesterol oxidation, supporting heart health.
The May 2008 Journal of Nutrition issue includes a preliminary study, possibly helping to explain the almond’s heart healthy attributes. The article identifies additional antioxidants contained in the skin of whole almonds, which may play a role in reducing oxidative stress as well as reducing LDL cholesterol.
So instead of munching on animal crackers or pretzels, try a serving of whole almonds. You’ll gain heart-healthy benefits along with a satiating snack.
Quick Tip: Portion size matters. One ounce of almonds equals about 22 nuts, enough to cover a square sticky note pad or enough to fill a quarter-cup dry measuring cup. This serving size supplies about 164 calories, 3.4 grams fiber, and 15 grams fat (though only 1 gram saturated fat). The trick is managing portion size and calories, which is hard to do with the satisfying crunch and delicate flavor of almonds.
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Kathy Kitchens-Downie, RD, is an Associate Food Editor for Cooking Light.
