Sunday, May 18, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

Cauliflower has been on sale at 2 lbs. for $1 recently and I just can’t resist it. I know many people who think my love of cauliflower is bizarre and tell me so. When I ask them why, they always say that cauliflower has no taste.

Oh, but it does. The problem is that most people tend to think of it raw on a relish platter where the only flavor comes from the yogurt-dill dip in the center of the plate.

That is not what I have in mind. My maternal grandmother, Julia Urban, made a side dish she simply called “breaded cauliflower” and it was one of my favorite foods as a child.

Wedding photo of Joseph and Julia (Sinkovich) Urban.

We ate dinner (meaning lunch) at her house every Sunday, and on the Sunday nearest a family birthday we would celebrate by turning Sunday dinner into a “birthday dinner.” At a birthday dinner, not only was a homemade dessert guaranteed, but the person celebrating their birthday would get to choose an item for the menu.

You could choose anything, anything at all. My mom always wanted stuffed chicken breasts, which my grandmother deemed such a hassle that she would only make them for a birthday.

I always wanted breaded cauliflower. Every year, my grandmother would look at me quizzically and say, “Is that all?” She thought of it as just a side dish. And really, truly, it was all I wanted. I would just tell her, “You can pick the rest.”

I loved it so much that I didn’t really care what else was served. I was a glutton for the subtle creamy transition the cauliflower made as it roasted slowly in the oven. What a contrast to the buttery, crunchy toasted bread crumbs. Heaven!

I had made breaded cauliflower such an event in my mind over the years that I expected it would be involved when I got around to looking for a recipe. But it is very simple, with few ingredients and not much fuss. My grandmother never wrote this recipe down, as far as I know, but I was fortunate to get verbal instructions by phone from my mom. So we don’t have any exact measurements. No matter.

Julia Urban’s Breaded Cauliflower

Submitted by: Julie Cancio Harper

1 head fresh cauliflower (or 1 lb. frozen cauliflower)
plain bread crumbs
butter
salt & pepper to taste

1. If using fresh cauliflower, remove the leaves and cut the cauliflower into florets. Parboil in salted water for 10 minutes. You do not want the cauliflower to be fully cooked at this stage, or the final result will be too soft. It should still be firm, but not crunchy. (If using frozen, just snip the bag and pour the florets into the boiling water. Frozen cauliflower will only need about 5 minutes to parboil.)

2. In a large skillet, melt 1/2 stick of butter on low or medium-low heat. Strain the cauliflower from the boiling water, and transfer it to the skillet.

3. Add salt and pepper to taste and then turn the cauliflower in the pan until it is fully coated with butter. You can add more butter to the skillet if necessary — the bread crumbs tend to soak it up. This is all approximate and you can’t ruin it or anything, so give it your best guess. It’s going to taste great.

4. When the cauliflower is coated in butter, start with 1/2 cup of bread crumbs and sprinkle them over the cauliflower in the pan. Keep stirring and turning the cauliflower over and over until the crumbs are distributed evenly and they begin to soak up the butter.

5. Keep adding more crumbs in small amounts and stirring them in until you have the desired level of breading. Some like it light, some like a lot more crumbs. I like a lot of crumbs, so I probably use 3/4 cup or more by the time I’m satisfied.

6. Once the cauliflower is coated, pour it into a casserole and bake at 375 degrees (Fahrenheit) for 45 minutes or so. It will be hot, bubbling, and nicely browned.

Posted in recipes, weekend recipe collective, youngstown, cooking, love, nostalgia, celebration | 2 Comments »

Saturday, May 17, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

It’s 82 degrees at 8:30 pm tonight. The sun is down and the sound of my neighbors’ numerous wall air conditioners taunts me through the open windows. Hummmmmmmmmmmm.

I don’t care. I’m not turning on the AC. This is my third summer in Los Angeles and I have so far refused to turn on the air conditioning in my apartment until August each year. I know it gets hot. It’s the desert. But as long as I keep the blinds drawn in the afternoon, the heat is bearable. In the evening, everything cools down and we make dinner and relax.

The weird thing is, I haven’t felt very hungry lately. When I ask myself, “What do I feel like for dinner?” I find I have no idea. I actually feel tired of foods. How about pizza? Nah. I don’t feel like pizza. Pasta? Soup? Sandwich? Mashed potatoes and gravy? Cheeseburger? Veggie wrap with garlic hummus? Tofu stir-fry? NOTHING?!?!

Nope. Nothing sounds that great. Not junk food, not healthy food, not comfort food.

This is weird. On both sides of my family, we are eaters of the first order. When they were growing up my dad and his siblings would trade you a toy for a pork chop. (They probably still would. Can anyone confirm this for me?)

In my mom’s family, we have a joke award called “The Hogmaster” for when people do stupid things for the love of food. Like when CK split open his chin crashing an ATV in the woods and refused to go to the hospital for stitches for more than 30 minutes because he was waiting for the BBQ ribs at the party to be served.

The story goes that he said, “But they make you wait so long in the emergency room, I’ll be STARVING by the time I get back here.” Well, we wouldn’t want that. Eating ribs was clearly the higher priority over receiving treatment for his gushing head wound. He went to the ER with BBQ sauce and his own blood all over his t-shirt. Congratulations, CK, you’ve won The Hogmaster!

I don’t think I can attribute loss of appetite to the weather alone, given my family history. The hot weather is part of it, but the other part is work.

Starting in December I began to network in earnest:

• I created a profile on LinkedIn and started getting in touch with all the publishing people I’ve worked with over the years, getting caught up with them and letting them know I’ve been freelancing.
• I became active on the message board of the Editorial Freelancers Association, answering questions related to my area of expertise, copyright and permissions editing.
• I created a basic website about my services and experience at http://www.permtrackers.com.
• I wrote about the role of the permissions editor in publishing for an industry blog and a professional newsletter.
• I submitted my resume whenever I found publishers seeking a freelance permissions editor on online job boards.

I wanted this spring and summer to be the best busy season ever. I wanted new clients in general and new projects from established clients. So far I seem to be getting what I wanted. This month I added three new clients to my roster. And this week an established client showed up with a new project.

As business heats up, I’m getting more joy and satisfaction out of my work. And continuing to network and market presents a suddenly appealing creative challenge, which is a relief after I feared and avoided it for so many years. These are all positive outcomes of increasing my professional profile, and I swear I do not mean to complain. But the down side is that stopping work to cook and eat has recently been an annoying interruption to the freelance reverie. And it’s a bit of a problem for me considering the high percentage of my happiness quotient I generally expect to get from food.

Choosing not to be daunted by a lack of appetite, I decided Thursday evening that I would open the fridge, grab a veggie, chop it, and sauté it in olive oil. Then, I would just stand back and listen.

I found a carton of white button mushrooms, chopped them and turned on the burner. After a few minutes stirring with a bamboo spatula, the mushrooms whispered up from my favorite stainless steel skillet, “Garlic. Rosemary. Fresh cracked pepper.”

OK, it was working. I started cooking without any idea of the end game, and the food led me on. On my way to the spice cabinet for dried rosemary, I found the sea salt and some thyme. So I threw those in, too.

What the heck should I do with these mushrooms? I only had two notions: omelet and pizza. I ran them by Eric. He said pizza.

Fine. I had our favorite middle eastern flatbreads in the freezer. And I had a few slices of provolone. But I had no sauce. Not my problem. Just keep going. Do not get in your own way. Keep cooking.

So, I placed two flatbreads on a baking sheet and thickly covered each with half the sautéed mushrooms. Yes, I used every last mushroom on two individual-sized pizzas. I know, I didn’t expect to do it either! But it nicely made up for there not being any sauce. Next I rummaged through the freezer and found some whole frozen spinach leaves. On they went, still frozen. Then I cut two slices of provolone into tiny triangles and arranged them evenly across the toppings.

I know that cranking the oven up to 375 degrees (Fahrenheit) is a wretched, wretched thing to do on a hot evening, but I’ve decided just to get over it or else we’ll end up eating instant noodles all the time. Good food (and good living, I think) is not always about being comfortable. Sometimes happiness comes from pushing yourself a little further as long as you’re able. And being neither elderly nor infirm, Eric and I lived through a hot night without air conditioning in Los Angeles and we even dared to heat up the oven.

And I’m likely to do it again. Appetite or no.

Posted in copyright & permissions, los angeles, balance, publishing, making do, cooking, attitudes, LinkedIn, freelance, editing, change your mind, enthusiasms | 2 Comments »

Sunday, May 11, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

For years I’ve been concerned that the many fantastic family recipes I grew up with were getting lost as the older generations aged and passed away. Life and work have taken me far afield from my home and family. I want familiar, nostalgic foods to continue providing a sense of togetherness and comfort when I cook at home. And another bonus is that it gives us an opportunity to all be in better touch in the present.

As I planned my wedding last year, I thought a lot about how families evolve and grow and how food has played such an important part in the celebrations we’ve shared. And I decided that someone should create an heirloom cookbook for all of us to enjoy. I still intend to do just that, but in the middle of planning a wedding I wasn’t able to get sufficiently organized to request recipes and follow up. (The truth is out: I am not Wonder Woman.)

I’ve not given up on the idea. To guarantee I make some good progress building my recipe collection soon, I am starting a new feature here at Learning To Eat. I’m calling it the “Weekend Recipe Collective.” Each weekend I will post one recipe received from a friend or relative. I will include a story about why the recipe is special and if there are photos available, I’ll post those as well.

We’ll start with a favorite from my father’s side of the family because it was the first ancestral recipe I received.

My grandmother, Lois Cancio, was the switchboard that kept our extended family informed of all our mutual news no matter where we all scattered to geographically. In her retirement, as I knew her, she loved to read books, write short stories and poetry, and eat and cook good food. She made homemade ice cream and cooked with wine, and from the perspective I had as a ten-year-old, that was all a person needed to do to be considered a gourmet.

In 1994, my cousin Eli and I graduated from high school and my grandmother had us over for dinner to celebrate that milestone. It was in the summer, before Eli left for the Navy and I left for college. She asked if I had any special dinner request, and since it had been my dad’s favorite, I asked for her deviled steak.

Lois Cancio’s Deviled Round Steak

Submitted by: Edward “Steve” Cancio, my dad

“This is one of my favorite recipes that my mother made. Before she moved to Virginia in the mid-1990’s, I asked her if she would write it down for me. She did, on the spot and from memory.”

1 1/2 lb. round steak
all-purpose flour
1 onion, minced
1 garlic clove, minced
3 Tbsp. oil
2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
dash of cayenne pepper
1 tsp. prepared mustard
1 tsp. vinegar
1/2 c. tomato sauce
1 1/2 c. hot water

Cut steak into strips across the grain. Roll in flour. Brown meat, onion and garlic in hot fat. Stir in 2 tablespoons flour and the seasonings. Add remaining ingredients. Cover and simmer for 1 hour, or until meat is tender. Serve with rice, noodles or mashed potatoes.

Serves 4.

I’m fortunate that my father asked for the recipe before my grandmother died in 1996. And I’m double-lucky to have a scan of the recipe in her own handwriting. Just click the small pics below to see the full-size recipe card, front and back.

Posted in recipes, weekend recipe collective, youngstown, cooking, celebration, enthusiasms | 5 Comments »

Saturday, May 3, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

I started my day yesterday by putting the chili on. This is a photo of the mirepoix: onions, carrots, and celery plus green pepper and three New Mexican dried chiles (seeds and stems removed, snipped with kitchen shears into small bits). Sauté in olive oil.

Next, I added minced garlic, cumin and oregano (Mexican oregano, if you have it). Then I moved the veggies to the outside edges of the stock pot, and in the center (where the heat is highest), I sautéed one pound of ground beef. I like the certified organic ground beef, but we each have to choose for ourselves. Or, skip it and keep the chili vegan. It’s fantastic that way as well. Or, if you prefer very meaty chili, kick up the quantity. One pound of ground beef to 4 cups of beans is a bean-heavy chili with an accent of beef. Which is what I like best. But it’s the cook’s choice, isn’t it? (Every time!)

I drained the beans in a colander, gave them a quick rinse, and added them to the stock pot. Here is the chili in progress:

Look at those beautiful beans!

Next, I added enough water to cover all the ingredients plus 1-inch more. Then I gave it a stir, put on the stock pot lid, checked that the flame was low, and walked away for an hour and a half.

Finally, I stirred in about 4 cups of crushed tomatoes. I buy the giant #10 cans at the wholesale club, so I’m not exactly sure how many smaller cans that would be. I like a lot of tomato in my chili, so adjust to your own taste.

I also added salt & pepper. I don’t add the salt until the beans are mostly cooked. I once read that beans that are salted at the beginning of the cooking process stay hard and never soften. I like firm beans, but they shouldn’t be crunchy, so I’ve always added the salt after an hour or more of cooking time. Since I’ve never done it any other way, I don’t know if this actually changes anything for the beans. I’ve also read conflicting opinions, so choose your own adventure.

I’m not sure how long the chili simmered before Eric and I broke down and ate — the aroma was maddening. I got distracted by the computer and anyway the passage of time gets a little fuzzy with me when I’m hungry.

This is the chili we ate on day 1:

I never want to gorge on the chili the first day because I know it will be even better tomorrow after a rest in the fridge overnight. So we each had a starter bowl of chili supplemented by a toasted cheese sandwich. Mmm. An excellent start.

But wait! We’ve arrived at Day 2: chili with brown rice and cheddar. This was dinner tonight:

Eric had only taken a few bites when he turned to ask me, “Is there more?”

This is the day the chili hits its stride. The broth flavors have melded. And yet the beans are still distinct. This is part of the joy of dried beans. The black beans are firm and the skin splits only when you bite down. The pintos are soft and yielding. The white beans (Great Northerns) are a bit in between.

I love texture and making chili with canned, precooked beans always leaves me feeling that the only statement the beans make (no matter what kind they are) is: “Moosh.” That’s it. I don’t find it inspiring.

It’s not that difficult to give dried beans a chance. And now that I have, I’m a convert!

There’s more life left in this chili. We could explore chili over macaroni (chilimac). And chili omelets. Chili and tortilla chips with guacamole. Chili burritos. Chili with salad (a.k.a. “taco salad”). Chili and fresh corn on the cob. Chili and sweet corn bread, biscuits, blueberry muffins.

Chili and . . . Any other suggestions?

Posted in soup, cooking, beans | 2 Comments »

Wednesday, April 30, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

I did not start cooking with dried beans until I moved to Los Angeles, and for the last two years I’ve been trying to make up for lost time. Until I cooked dried beans, I never knew beans could have so much flavor, intrigue and nuance.

Yes, I said beans have intrigue and nuance. They do. There are so many varieties of colorful, provocative legumes. They are satisfying. And they’ve become a staple in my diet, because I’ve discovered that not only can I eat them all the time without getting bored, but I crave them. I need more beans.

With the disrupted plumbing issues of the past two weeks, I’ve fallen out of the one-soup-per-week practice and Eric and I have suffered for it. I’m getting back into the swing now, and I’ve made a direct beeline for the beans. I want 3-bean chili.

Step one is today, and it so easy: prepare the beans for cooking tomorrow.

1. Choose the beans. When I make 3-bean chili, the bean assortment varies. Today, we’re using black beans, Great Northern beans (white), and pintos. They’re so beautiful!

2. Measure the beans. I like to have one variety that’s more prevalent (2 cups) than the other two “supporting beans” (1 cup each). The “star beans” today are black beans, so I measured out 2 cups of them, and they’re being supported by 1 cup each of white beans and pintos.

3. Sort through the beans to remove any debris like tiny rocks, then placed them in a colander in the sink. Rinse them with cold running water from the tap, then place them in a bowl. The bowl should be twice the size of the amount of dried beans.

4. Fill the bowl to the top with water, seal tightly so the water doesn’t spill out, and set the bowl in the fridge so the beans soak up the water overnight.

Why Bother Soaking Dried Beans Before Cooking?

An overnight soaking allows the beans to absorb water before they’re cooked, which results in a shorter cooking time. Plus, I feel like I’m getting away with something if I can have the same delicious chili and also keep the cost of gas for cooking as low as possible. Why pay more for the same great food?

Posted in soup, los angeles, recipes, cooking, love, enthusiasms, beans, brain food | 2 Comments »

Saturday, April 26, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

Well, yesterday was our first full day with water! Hallelujah!

There are still holes in the ceiling with sawdust and wood chips everywhere. But I refuse to complain about that. The water is on!

And because it’s Saturday and there is currently no plumbing emergency, there are no plumbers on-site today and we are experiencing the blessed quiet. What relief!

My schedule is not very compatible with plumbers. I usually wake up at about 10 a.m. to start my freelance workday. (Don’t hate me — I don’t have kids yet, I know this won’t last.) For two weeks now I’ve been forcing myself to stay asleep in spite of all the racket that usually begins at 7 a.m.

Thursday morning was a bit more than I could take with a smile and an even temper, though. I was rousted from my bed just before 8 a.m. so that plumbers could saw holes in my bedroom ceiling and route pipes through. It would not have been so horrible if we had been warned ahead of time. But no one ever mentioned they’d need access to our bedroom, let alone at a time of day when I’m very actively using it.

I finally got to sleep in today. It gives me the feeling of life getting back on track, at least a little.

On the bright side, we were cheered by our neighbors across the courtyard this week. Mr. & Mrs. B brought us lunch one day: spinach pie with corn and potato kugel. Bless them twice! All I had to do was heat it in the oven in the aluminum foil it came in. I’ve been pushing hard to keep up with all of my freelance work in spite of the loud distractions and their special lunch delivery was a miracle to me.

The B’s are retired and since Eric and I work from home, we often get the chance to chat with them about what’s going on. And sometimes Mrs. B will drop by with some kitchen talk.

It’s nice to have good neighbors like this and it is one of the things I was looking for when we moved to Los Angeles — a neighborhood with people who interact with one another.

My grandparents had this type of neighborhood, and I practically grew up at their house. And ever since I finished college and moved out into the world, I have wanted to live in a place with good neighbors.

The B’s celebrated Passover last week and they attended a dinner at Mrs. B’s sister’s house. Mrs. B volunteered to bring the Potato Kugel. But she was missing one important thing: she does not have a food processor or other electric grinder to pulverize the potatoes.

Since I’m the only other cook, she was not surprised to find that out of 11 other apartments in the complex, I’m the only person with the appliance she needed.

So, she scheduled me — a month in advance! — to come over with my Kitchenaid stand mixer with food grinding attachments to grind all her potatoes and onions for the kugel. That was on Friday, April 18. It was a delight to help out and it was even better to get to sample the results. Simply delicious — and I will make it myself soon.

I was fortunate to get a copy of the recipe:

Mrs. B’s Potato Kugel

10 large baking potatoes
2 onions
6 eggs
2/3 cup matzo meal
3/4 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon baking powder

1. Peel and slice the potatoes to fit into your food grinder chute (or, if you’re lucky, a 14-cup food processor — it’s faster). Process potatoes until ground. If they’re very watery, drain out the water using a strainer.

2. Peel and slice the onion into wedges to fit into your food grinder chute (or food processor). Process onions until ground.

3. Beat eggs in a large mixing bowl. Add all remaining ingredients, including potatoes and onions and mix well.

4. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees (Fahrenheit).

5. Liberally grease a 9″ x 13″ casserole or pan with vegetable oil and preheat the empty pan in the oven.

6. Once the pan is hot, spoon the potato kugel mixture into the hot pan. Bake a 400 degrees (Fahrenheit) for one hour until firm.

Posted in los angeles, balance, making do, recipes, cooking, attitudes, pie, sleep, love, freelance, miracle foods | 4 Comments »

Monday, April 21, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

Last week was brutal.

Starting last Monday, April 14, the very old plumbing in our apartment building decided to give up. My next-door neighbor got the worst of it, including a flooded kitchen and living room, ruined carpeting, and a jackhammer busting through the concrete slab underneath the carpet so the plumbers could repair the main water line. This is still going on, so we will not have water fully restored until the end of this week. If more complications arise, it may be longer.

Eric and I have been making do as best we can, with some interesting results. For the first few days, we were disappointed and a bit cranky, but we’ve now gotten into a rhythm and having limited access to water is not so horrible. Our neighboring building across the courtyard still has water, so we’ve been using my giant stockpot to draw water from their laundry room sink. That allows us to flush and wash enough to get by.

It occurred to me yesterday how much water we must be saving. I was able to “shower” (standing in the tub and using the help of a big plastic cup) with about one half of the filled stockpot. I’m sure I use a lot more than that taking a traditional shower, and now it seems like showering the regular way is a lot more of a luxury than I realized.

While the water issue is an inconvenience, the noise of plumbers at work is much more disruptive. They’re cutting through the building walls, sawing pipes into proper lengths, and don’t forget the jackhammering through concrete. Most of the noisy work is done while the other tenants are at their jobs for the day, but our peace is doubly wrecked by this plumbing breakdown because we work from home. To make a business call without deafening, pounding interruptions, we have to take a long walk or get in the car.

Anyway, in the midst of this, I somehow managed to cook one decent dinner. On Saturday I made a homemade chicken pie. I did take photos and I have a little story about it and making do, but I’ll have to reserve it for when my nerves are a little less jangled.

In the meantime, please take a look at Cooking to Ground: Daily Acts as Sacred. It’s an article I recently wrote for AmericanMetaphysics.org, which was posted to the site on Sunday, April 20.

Posted in balance, making do, los angeles, cooking, dealings w/feelings, energy | 5 Comments »

Wednesday, April 16, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

I finally made that pie I dreamed of. And it was better in real life.

It’s the pan. I know it’s the pan. I’ve baked dozens and dozens of pies and this is the first time I have ever inspected the crust and the word “perfect” left my lips in a whisper. It was evenly golden brown from the crusty fluted edge to the center of the bottom.

No dark spots, and no vaguely overbaked too-dark aftertaste. Also, no soggy part there in the middle because you took it out early worried that the edge would char.

And I did not shield it while it was in the oven — neither with one of those aluminum shields nor with foil. I didn’t need to because the stoneware pan baked the most fantastically even crust. I’m not going back. Not ever.

The photo above is of the first pumpkin pie in the Pampered Chef Stoneware Deep Dish Pie Plate in Cranberry. I made a second one this past Sunday when I had out-of-town guests stop over for dinner. It was as perfect as the first. Yes, I know that may be difficult to believe, but you’ll either have to trust me or get a hold of one of these pans and test it yourself. (If you need a PC consultant, I can refer you to mine. Just drop me a line.)

There has got to be a lot more pie now. Not only because I loved the fantastic results from the first two pumpkin pies. But also because baking pies this past week reminded me how easy it is to make something that improves my life by leaps and bounds.

I know there are people who fear pie baking because the crust makes them nervous. I think pie baking has a lot to do with confidence. And if you’re not confident from the start when you’ve made your first few pies, you need to keep baking more pies until you earn that confidence. It will come. And in the end you too will get fantastic results.

I’m fortunate to have learned pie baking at the elbow of two fine ladies – my maternal grandmother and my step-mother – and neither of them had any pie fear. Both made the crust by hand by cutting vegetable shortening into flour with a pastry blender or with a fork. Both got delicious results.

I’ve done it that way and I’m nostalgic about the method because it’s what I first learned. But, in my adulthood, I’ve been fortunate to receive a KitchenAid stand mixer as a gift and I recently have used it to blend the fat into the flour. It is very fast and thorough, which is especially good when you’ve got more on your to-do list today than “bake pie.”

My current pie pastry recipe contains all butter (plus flour, salt and water) and comes from Rosie’s Bakery All-Butter Fresh Cream Sugar-Packed No-Holds-Barred Baking Book by Judy Rosenberg (see the recipe on page 175 for Basic Pie Crust 1). I have also enjoyed using a crust based on vegetable oil, which I learned in my home economics class in the seventh grade. I think that there are lots of good crusts out there and I don’t think any are inherently better than others since taste and preferences are very personal.

But I tend to go back to the all-butter crust time and again because (1) it’s butter, and butter tastes better to me and (2) I have such excellent results rolling out this crust. I place the refrigerated disk of dough on waxed paper or plastic wrap, and I roll it out with my rolling pin using no additional flour. As long as it stays reasonably cold, it does not stick to the pin. If you need to work very slowly, just slide it gently back into the fridge when it starts to stick. Slide your hand under the waxed paper or plastic wrap and the gently turn it dough-side-down into the pie plate. Then gently peel away the paper or plastic and guide the dough to fill all corners of the plate. Fancy up the crust with your favorite design — I prefer crimping by hand.

For the pumpkin filling, I did a search through my recent favorite cookbooks. I did not want to trudge up to the store just to buy the evaporated milk that is an ingredient in many pumpkin pie recipes. Instead, I found a lovely alternative in From Amish and Mennonite Kitchens by Phyllis Pellman Good and Rachel Thomas Pellman.

Their recipe on page 212 contains the usual ingredients with the addition of one tablespoon flour (as a thickener, I think), one tablespoon molasses or King Syrup and one tablespoon of browned butter. Where they called for one half cup each of milk and cream, I substituted one cup of whole milk. I spiced it with ground ginger and cinnamon and left out the nutmeg because I’m running low and needed it for my secret ingredient in mashed potatoes.

This is a fantastic pumpkin custard — so delicious, soft and smooth. Once again, I’m not going back to the old way with the canned milk. I like this better. It is simpler because I often have milk in the fridge but have to buy evaporated milk just for pumpkin pie. What for? No reason, it turns out. It seems like lots of interesting things happen when I make do instead of buying ingredients just because they’re listed in a recipe.

I had been putting off pie baking for months, as I mentioned in my post about Pie Dreams, and as I slid the first pumpkin pie into the oven, I thought, shame on me! This was not some sort of difficult project to dread and delay. It was easy and fun. But I let myself get too busy and forget.

It’s amazing how finally doing something you’ve had on your mind opens the world up to you. I need to start baking pie all the time; weekly, at least, because I need to solidify my relationship with it. So I’m adding that to the cooking plan. My last pie was this past Sunday, so I need to get another one in by the end of the weekend. I’m going to go for the other dream pie: Amish-style oatmeal pie. Then we’ll see where the wind takes me.

Posted in change your mind, energy, attitudes, nostalgia, cooking, love, pampered chef, celebration, pie, dreams & dreaming, books, enthusiasms | 7 Comments »

Tuesday, April 8, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

I’ve been a freelance permissions editor for eight years now, except for four months last year when I worked full-time as a permissions editor for SAGE Publications, Inc. When I decided to return to freelancing, one of several factors affecting that decision was food.

With the long commute and the rigid schedule required by office work, I could not seem to get any cooking done. It was a high-stress position, and I used each weekend to recuperate from the past week and get ready for the next.

Somehow I could not scrounge up any creative energy or joy to plan new meals, restock the pantry, and cook to fill the freezer. I hoped that over time it would get easier, but months passed and it didn’t. Eric and I ate through our stockpile of frozen, pre-made and portioned foods and then turned to take-out in desperation.

I live in Los Angeles, and everyone here seems to eat out as the solution to finding food on a busy schedule. But I have trouble feeling satisfied with take-out. When it becomes a habit, it tends to make me feel dull and listless. I can never answer the question, “What do you want to eat?” when handed a fistful of take-out menus.

I guess I get confounded by take-out because what I want is usually found in a home kitchen. I want variety and convenience. I want high-quality, inexpensive, home-cooked food. I want to eat an incredible soup and sandwich combo ten minutes from now for under $1. I want an organic omelet with eggs laid by happy, vegetarian chickens living la vida free-range.

Again: variety, convenience, high-quality, inexpensive. I want all of it together, and it’s not really out there. It’s in here, in my own kitchen.

Perhaps most people don’t find cooking at home to be convenient. You’ve got to have the right ingredients on hand and they need time and attention, and then don’t forget all those dirty dishes at the end.

Sure, that’s true. But I have a basic pantry of dry goods. I keep a small array of veggies on hand (onions, peppers, carrots, celery, potatoes, cabbage), and since I’m cooking every day it’s easy to eat things before they expire. I keep some meat in the freezer. And I strategically selected this apartment because it’s walking distance to three major grocery stores: Trader Joe’s, Ralphs, and Gelson’s. There is also a small produce market nearby. If I really want something else, I just need to put on my walking shoes.

The time and attention that go into cooking are an important draw to get me away from this computer screen, which I would otherwise gaze into all hours of the day. And the dish washing doesn’t bother me. I do most of it in the morning while I clear the sleep from my mind, plan my important to-dos for the day, and get that breakfast oatmeal on the burner.

I don’t have a rigid cooking plan because I don’t respond well to rigid anything. I would only cause a mess by planning a week full of square meals because I would start with good intentions Sunday and by Tuesday be angry that I was stuck with all these square meals. It doesn’t matter that I chose them myself before shopping carefully on Sunday — by Tuesday I would feel penned in, not liberated. Sometimes you have to anticipate your failings and plan to succeed around them.

My cooking plan instead involves loose cooking practices. I started with a small one, the oatmeal habit (see my first post, Donut Consequences, for the origin story). That is my breakfast default. If we have a box of celebratory donuts on the counter, then I can choose to go ahead and eat one. Or, if it’s the weekend, I may splurge and make a special cowboy breakfast of fried eggs, hash browns, beans, toast and coffee. But if I wake up and have no clue what I want for breakfast, I put on the oatmeal. It keeps my brain from starving on days where I need to stay focused on work (all of them, really).

Next, I rely heavily on soups. I make a giant vat of some new soup each week, store four or six portions (where a portion equals one meal for two adults in my household) in the freezer for later use, and then serve the remainder of the soup with different accompaniments for lunch all week. Some soups are vegan, some are vegetarian, some have meat or meat stock.

There are a few favorites that I keep on hand almost always. I have a standard all-vegetable soup based on cabbage, carrots, potatoes, and kale in a tomato broth. It’s vegan, incidentally, and homey and delicious. I’ve fiddled with the recipe, but it started as Southern Vegetable Soup from Victor-Antoine D’Avila-Latourrette’s Twelve Months of Monastery Soups.

I made it yesterday, in fact. It goes with toasted cheese one day, then fresh hot cornbread the next, then whole-wheat crackers, then a fried egg on toast. On day five, Eric and I discuss: “Should we go back to toasted cheese or make more cornbread? We haven’t made bean and cheese quesadillas yet . . . ooooh, that’s it!” It stays interesting this way. And honestly, I love that soup so much that I could eat it alone every day for a very long time without tiring of it. It is homemade and it is mine.

I love to keep a pureed pinto bean soup that also doubles as an excellent dip when boiled down with shredded cheddar melted into it. I made this one last week. It starts out vegan (before you add dairy to garnish it) and is fantastic paired 50/50 in a soup bowl with cooked brown rice. Garnish with salsa, scallions, cilantro, a squeeze of lime, sour cream, yogurt, cheddar, whatever you have.

Again, I was inspired by a cookbook and then altered the outcome according to what I had on hand. See page 53 of Vegetable Soups from Deborah Madison’s Kitchen for the original Pinto Bean Soup. I tend to add carrots, celery and green peppers where the recipe suggests only onions, garlic and chiles. I like adding more veggies to this one especially because they add complexity to the flavor when I use the soup as a dip, which I do often. It also converts quickly to refried beans (remember cowboy breakfast?) or a filling for quesadillas and tacos.

As I prepare for a busy spring and summer I will stay diligent, cooking and freezing portions of a new soup each week. I want to cook far enough ahead so that when I am hungry I can heat up something great without needing any more brain cells than boiling requires. As I mentioned before, by the time I’m hungry my IQ has dropped considerably. And I need to eat, get smart, and get back to work!

In a way, the freezer becomes a kind of freelancer security as the schedule fills up. It keeps me eating well when I’m under deadline pressure. And hitting those deadlines keeps the grocery money flowing in. When the system is working, it’s all one complete circle. And when it’s not — like last summer — I feel lost. I seem happiest when my life, work, and universe revolve around one small apartment kitchen and the tiny, cluttered desk parked near it.

Food and work are the center of my life. They feed each other. And they feed me.

Posted in cooking, editing, soup, los angeles, balance, copyright & permissions, freelance, energy, enthusiasms, brain food, beans, books, love, oatmeal habit | 4 Comments »

Monday, March 31, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

The first thing that Eric ever cooked for me was Chinese pie. When he described what he was making, I said, “You mean shepherd’s pie?” And he said, “I guess, if that’s what you’d call it.”

Back then we were still sorting out our regional differences — which mostly had to do with having different names for the same thing. I grew up in Youngstown, Ohio and Eric grew up in Dracut, Massachusetts. No one told me until I went to college that I was from the Midwest. I grew up with an extremely liberal father and had always felt as though I belonged to the East coast cultural experience. We make maple syrup, they make maple syrup. How different could it be?

I was visiting him at his dad’s house one summer and was baffled by long conversations the two of them would have each night before we’d go out to dinner.

His dad would ask him, “Are you wearing dungarees or chinos to dinner?” And Eric would say, “Well, where are we going?” And they would discuss the restaurant options, and for anything that wasn’t a pizza parlor, his dad would say, “Maybe I should wear chinos.” And Eric would say, “No, no people wear dungarees in there all the time. Chinos are too formal.” And his dad would say, “Are you sure? I usually wear chinos.” To which Eric responded, “You dress too formally. I’m sure dungarees are fine.” And this would go on and on as they tried to get dressed.

I was already starving and ready to go, sitting in the parlor and thinking that I wished they would sort out the apparel debate so we could get out the door. But I couldn’t offer help because I had no idea what they were talking about.

I knew they were talking about pants. But I couldn’t figure out what KIND of pants.

Growing up, there were no restaurants that I ever went to that had any sort of dress code — implied or spoken. As long as you wore a shirt and shoes and bottoms of some kind (pants, skirt, shorts, etc.) you were in the clear. So I had no idea why Eric and his dad were so troubled by the formality of their outfits. And, dungarees and chinos sounded like cowboy words to me.

Not wanting to sound like a rube by asking, I kept my mouth shut and puzzled over it myself. Eventually I figured it out: dungarees are jeans, chinos are khaki pants.

So what about Chinese pie? Is it just another term for shepherd’s pie?

Not quite. It has similarities: a layer of ground meat is topped with mashed potatoes and baked until golden brown and bubbling. But Chinese pie has a middle layer of corn (either canned, creamed, frozen or a combination) between the meat and potatoes. The meat — usually ground beef — is sauteed with onions, and sometimes green peppers. Each family recipe differs slightly, but Eric’s experience and Wikipedia agree that Chinese pie is a valid term with origins in the New World.

Chinese pie is a nostalgia food for Eric. He does not make it often, but when he does it means more than dinner. It is one of the dishes his mom used to make, and since she died when he was 16, cooking Chinese pie is a way for him to get back in touch with what dinner and family meant to his mom.

I’m a tinkerer. And when Eric’s not in the mood to make strait-laced Chinese pie, I offer variations.

We once made a “Tex-Mex” Chinese pie where one pound of organic ground beef was cooked with cumin and garlic, the mashed potatoes were full of sharp cheddar, and the corn layer was similar to Mexicorn® (corn with peppers), which is a registered trademark of General Mills and which I ate often when I was a kid. This gave me the chance to feel nostalgia connected to the Chinese pie experience, too.

Since I had the separate ingredients on hand and lacked brand-name Mexicorn®, I prepared my version of the corn layer from scratch: dice one onion, one jalepeño, half a red bell pepper; sauté in butter; add frozen corn, salt and pepper to your liking; cook through until hot.

It was very tasty.

I also have visions of an Irish-style pie where the mashed potato layer is replaced by colcannon. Perhaps the corn layer can be replaced with cubed carrots? Or parsnips? I haven’t decided yet — this one’s still in development.

Well, all the tinkering over time inspired Eric last Saturday. While I sat at my computer typing away, he sneaked off to the kitchen. It was not long before I peeked my nose around the counter to ask, “What is it that you’re cooking?”

It was a new Chinese pie. The organic ground beef was sautéed with one-inch slices of onions and diced green bell pepper. There was cumin and garlic and . . . something else in the beef. I wasn’t sure. It smelled exotic. “Cinnamon,” he said, and smiled. Whoa! A curveball from the traditional New Englander!

We made the mashed potatoes with non-fat yogurt (32 oz. on sale for $1!), a bit of cheddar, and a drizzle of olive oil to smooth them out.

“It’s my best Chinese pie EVER,” he said. I think and hope he meant “so far.” We don’t know what to call this one, but it doesn’t matter. The food, the enjoyment of cooking, and the memories of home, family, and love are all evolving each time.

Posted in cooking, youngstown, new england, trademark, nostalgia, love, dealings w/feelings, pie | 5 Comments »