I love popcorn! It’s the one food I really can’t resist. The one food I’ll eat even if I’m already full. Strange but true. I even like horrible movie popcorn, and microwave popcorn, and popcorn out of a bag with strange cheese-flavored powder on it. How do you like your popcorn? Do you like it salty? Sweet? Salty and sweet? Coated in sticky caramel and packed in a box with a toy in it? When I was in college we doused it with goyo adobo seasoning. I’ve put curry powder or other spice mixes right into the oil as it cooked, infusing every bite with flavor. But I like it best popped in olive oil on top of the stove, and generously sprinkled with sea salt and a shake of freshly ground pepper. If, like my husband, you consider it packing material, you can still revel in the fact that popcorn is the inspiration for some of the best songs ever!
“She sent for one of those squat, plump little cakes called “petites madeleines,” which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted valve of a scallop shell. And soon, mechanically, dispirited after a dreary day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. … Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy?
…
And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray … my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. … But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.”
It is remarkable how certain sensations can transport you instantly back to a specific time in your life. The taste of Dr Pepper makes me feel like I’m 9 years old, sitting in a country club in Salina Kansas. I’m eating a grilled cheese sandwich and potato chips, trying to figure out what all the adults are talking about.
Music works that way as well – songs are associated with periods in your life to such an extent that you can’t listen to them without all of the pain or pleasure you felt at that time resurfacing in you. When I was a teenager, I used to hear Mozart’s clarinet quintet in my head whenever I felt anxious. I listened to it recently, and, rather than elevate me away from my anxiety, it somehow stirred all the anxiety I had tried to escape. It’s still ridiculously beautiful, though.
Is there some food or some song that works as a time-traveling device for you?
This is basically a two-can soup (can of beans/can of tomatoes), but it’s got a deep rich flavor, and a lovely, deeply richly colored broth (black bean soups can be so drab-looking sometimes, but this has a warm mahogany hue). Simply made, but complexly flavored.
Here’s JJ Allstar’s Soup. I found a surprising number of songs about soup. Can you think of any that you like?
We got some beautiful little turnips from our CSA, so I decided to make vegetarian cornish pasties. I’ve made them in the past, and I keep tweaking the recipe a bit to add more flavor. Potatoes and crust are both very understated and comforting, but I add some sharper flavors. I add shallots, mixed with herbs and sweetened with balsamic; and turnips, of course; and gruyere cheese, which is pleasantly sharp and nutty. And I added some greens this time, because I love them. I tried to maintain the uncooked-filling rule, though, because it intrigues me.
Here’s Le Pastie de la Bourgeoisie, by Belle and Sebastian. I have no idea what they mean by it (and I’m not sure they do, either!) but it fits this blog, if by pastie you mean savory pie (no, Tom Waits, not those kinds of pasties) and by bourgeois you mean thoroughly ordinary. Belle and Sebastian – Le Pastie de la Bourgeoisie
If you’d like to see how it is really done, watch this video. It’s of Kay Bolitho, who cooks at the Port Eliot estate in Cornwall. I love everything about this video! The kitchen is beautiful, and I love the strange little objects around and about. And I love her gentle, measured voice. Making Pasties in Cornwall
Have you ever had a rotten day, and then you stop somewhere for a cup of tea, or a beer, or a FULL BOTTLE AND 2 MOZZARELLA, and suddenly everything seems better (even if you know you can’t afford it)? I love this scene! It’s so simple and beautiful. It’s such a break from the worries of most of the film.
I had mentioned that a pastry crust should be so delicious on its own that you can make it into crackers. Well, I had some oatmeal-peppercorn crust leftover, so I did just that! Light and crispy – worth mixing up a whole batch of dough just for these.
Okay, so it’s not really about pastry dough, but he does mention a kitchen range! And it is a good song! Blind Blake – No Dough Blues
Toasting oats
Here’s a recipe for Oatmeal – peppercorn crust. I like to think of any crust as something that would taste good on its own, were you to bake it into a cracker. That’s certainly the case here. It’s not the easiest to roll smooth or make neat, so pick a pie shape that’s attractively ragged, like small galettes.
Here’s some lentil-cooking music. Yes! I found a song that mentions lentils. This is Dead Prez’s Be Healthy. I love this song, because it describes some of the many benefits of a vegetarian lifestyle. And it sounds good!!
Lentil soup is mental fruit
And ginger root is good for the youth
Fresh veg-e-table with the ital stew
Sweet yam fries with the green calalloo
Careful how you season and prepare your foods
‘Cause you don’t wanna lose vitamins and minerals
And that’s the jewel
Life brings life, it’s valuable, so I eat what comes
Last week I went to our local CSA to pick tomatoes and herbs. It was a beautiful, glowing fall day, seeped in the bittersweet feeling that summer is really over. Many of the herbs were dried and done, but I found rows of purple basil, which I picked in such quantities they wouldn’t fit in my pail. The tall heirloom cherry tomato plants were full of fruit, and glowed like stained glass – walking through them was a giddy experience, with the buzzing of the bees, and the lovely smell of tomato leaves.
I came home with tomatoes of all different sizes and colors – some as small as a raisin and bright red, some larger, yellow and pear shaped. How to preserve their pretty, unique shapes and colors? I sauteed them quickly in olive oil and garlic, till they had just started to wilt slightly, and then tossed them with some diced mozzarella, and copious amounts of shredded basil.
Out of the Ordinary 