i did not know today was earth day. And i have been waiting for earth day. It is my second favorite holiday after thanksgiving. Granted, it is not technically a holiday--no time and half pay if you worked today--but it is a cause for celebration, which, by definition, most all other holidays are.
So how does one "celebrate" earth day? Ride your bike to work? Mow the lawn? Climb a tree? Plant a tree? Drink some wine so you can bring the bottles to the recycling depot? All of the above. Like most all other holidays, though, earth day is best celebrated with food.
Despite not knowing how special today was, my dinner fit in quite perfectly. There was first of the season halibut with mushrooms i had dried last season. The mushrooms were rehydrated and cooked with wintered over leeks and new this year spring onions from yesterdays farmers market, and i ate it all with tiny little black lentils, also from the market. Pretty earthy.
Happy belated day, pretty earth.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
warning:
This site is in serious danger of changing from a food to a yoga blog...
then again, life is about balance--maybe there is room for both?
then again, life is about balance--maybe there is room for both?
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
(sometimes) wise words
Oh Rene. I could write a novel on Rene. Actually, more like a comic book--anyone working where i work can attest to that. He is Willi's 30 years running business partner, but could not be more different. Where Willi is quick to over-react/yell/generally increase the volume necessary for everyone else to communicate normally over him, Rene is cool/calm/collected and damn proud to be. He is damn proud to be alot of things: to be a hardcore mountain and road biker and skiier, runner, dog-lover, womanizer,-- i will admit-- good looking 50+ Swiss man (very proud of the Swiss part...). (Note: Willi is none of the above, nor is he particularly audibly--and the man is audible--proud; beautifully humble, actually). In the last four years i have come to love these things, among others, about Rene. I have also been driven completely insane by them.
Come to think of it, Rene (Haudy, as those close to him--re:Willi and i--call him; prounounced "howdy," short for his last name, Haudenschilde) prides himself on driving me--and most other staff members, Willi included--absolutely crazy. Or "hyper" as he puts it. As he puts it everyday. This is my storied point about Rene: his tendency to repetition: his slogans, if you will. Allow me to explain: almost on cue to circumstance Rene will half-thinkingly say the same thing he said yesterday under the same circumstances--and most of the time, those circumstances are Rene being bored, or Rene, being a terrible conversationalist (as opposed to Willi, who is a fabulous storyteller, and, though not always apparent, a voraciously attentive listener), throws in one of his comfortable sayings, rather than actually starting a conversation. I get: "What are you cooking Chef Anderson?" Chef Anderson is ready." "Anderson, dont make me hyper." We all get: "Somebody's gonna get hurt real bad." "So, folks." "You're killing me. Its killing me." "Dont make me hyper." There are so many more that i could list if i could remember, but to tell you the truth, i have learned to tune them out, to save myself from becoming hyper.
Now dont get me wrong. I love Rene; he has been very generous to me--far beyond giving me a desktop computer and bike rack for my car--a solid person to latch onto when the big guy is being uncontrollably audible, who has stuck up for me in these times, who has helped me (in very few words) understand and deal with attacks. We share a love of biking and dogs (but not so much womanizing...), an unfaltering hardcore passion for somewhat masochistic physical activity--though he will not come to hot power yoga with me--though i am less proud of this than him (more afraid of my own love for it). And some of the things he says not just on a daily, but constant basis, stick with me.
Like his insistence that there is nothing worse than overcooked fish. He reminds me of this everytime we cook, or even plate, a peice of fish together. Or even if i just happen to be there, glance at the fish, get caught glancing and get : "Anderson, there is nothing worse than overcooked fish--its the worst." I couldnt agree more, Haudy.
So as i sit here tonight, eating my horribly overcooked tuna steak (honestly, i might as well have opened a can of solid white packed in water for how dry ass this is...), i think of Rene. Of how maybe what he says so often actually means something. Nonono, that is not true--he repeats alot of meaningless things, intentionally i think. But i am thinking of how lucky i am to have Rene: a sounding board for when i get hyper, am being attacked by the permanently hyper, someone i have more than one thing in common with, who cares about me even if he wont say it, who in the end just wants to help everyone else be as relaxed as him without actually conversing with them for longer than necessary. Who has saved by ass on a number of occasions (and me on his, i might as well be proud of), even if he was here to save my dinner tonight.
Good thing he wasnt, either, because often he just makes me hyper.
Come to think of it, Rene (Haudy, as those close to him--re:Willi and i--call him; prounounced "howdy," short for his last name, Haudenschilde) prides himself on driving me--and most other staff members, Willi included--absolutely crazy. Or "hyper" as he puts it. As he puts it everyday. This is my storied point about Rene: his tendency to repetition: his slogans, if you will. Allow me to explain: almost on cue to circumstance Rene will half-thinkingly say the same thing he said yesterday under the same circumstances--and most of the time, those circumstances are Rene being bored, or Rene, being a terrible conversationalist (as opposed to Willi, who is a fabulous storyteller, and, though not always apparent, a voraciously attentive listener), throws in one of his comfortable sayings, rather than actually starting a conversation. I get: "What are you cooking Chef Anderson?" Chef Anderson is ready." "Anderson, dont make me hyper." We all get: "Somebody's gonna get hurt real bad." "So, folks." "You're killing me. Its killing me." "Dont make me hyper." There are so many more that i could list if i could remember, but to tell you the truth, i have learned to tune them out, to save myself from becoming hyper.
Now dont get me wrong. I love Rene; he has been very generous to me--far beyond giving me a desktop computer and bike rack for my car--a solid person to latch onto when the big guy is being uncontrollably audible, who has stuck up for me in these times, who has helped me (in very few words) understand and deal with attacks. We share a love of biking and dogs (but not so much womanizing...), an unfaltering hardcore passion for somewhat masochistic physical activity--though he will not come to hot power yoga with me--though i am less proud of this than him (more afraid of my own love for it). And some of the things he says not just on a daily, but constant basis, stick with me.
Like his insistence that there is nothing worse than overcooked fish. He reminds me of this everytime we cook, or even plate, a peice of fish together. Or even if i just happen to be there, glance at the fish, get caught glancing and get : "Anderson, there is nothing worse than overcooked fish--its the worst." I couldnt agree more, Haudy.
So as i sit here tonight, eating my horribly overcooked tuna steak (honestly, i might as well have opened a can of solid white packed in water for how dry ass this is...), i think of Rene. Of how maybe what he says so often actually means something. Nonono, that is not true--he repeats alot of meaningless things, intentionally i think. But i am thinking of how lucky i am to have Rene: a sounding board for when i get hyper, am being attacked by the permanently hyper, someone i have more than one thing in common with, who cares about me even if he wont say it, who in the end just wants to help everyone else be as relaxed as him without actually conversing with them for longer than necessary. Who has saved by ass on a number of occasions (and me on his, i might as well be proud of), even if he was here to save my dinner tonight.
Good thing he wasnt, either, because often he just makes me hyper.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
breakfast by, not at, tiffanys
i want to make breakfast. For a living.
Allow me to clarify: under no circumstances do i desire to be a breakfast line cook, working the a.m. rush of over-easy/medium/hard egg, dry/crustless/gluten free toast, extra crispy bacon/extra toast or fruit- instead-of hashbrowns. What i do want to do is make breakfast for people to eat in their own homes where they scramble their eggs as they like, while pouring a bowl of my granola/mueslix, slathering their buttered (or not) toast with my jam; i want to market my own line of breakfast-y things.
I could very well have started to do this two years ago when i worked at the farmers market. Every morning after set up (sometimes desperately--and therefore quite unattractively-- in between serving customers and restocking spinach), i would pull out my rather large mason jar of cereal, more specifically, mueslix. Have you heard of/tried mueslix before? It looks disgusting. Soggy, off-white-ish and congealed, it is oats and shredded apple, soaked traditionally in milk or juice and yogurt, with nuts and dried fruit to jazz it up. I jazzed mine up with chamomile tea for the most part, and, again, a rather large pour of honey. It looked disgusting yes (especially as i hoovervacked from in rather large mouthfuls), but it was filling and energizing, delicious and satiating. And, despite aesthetics--both mine and the mueslix's--not a day went by that someone asked what it was and how to make it, or went so far as to offer to buy it. I should have stopped restocking spinach and started up shop on a corner of the table, but for the most part i just wanted to eat.
It didnt matter that sometimes i was eating that same jar of cereal until noon. I love breakfast and i cannot go without it. I will sooner have two breakfasts than breakfast and lunch, and am known to travel with either that mornings meal, or prepared for the day to come. It is both my favorite meal to go out for, and to make at home. As if to support my cause, there is always the the classic movie set in my home--ok, so Breakfast at Tiffanys is referring to an infamous jewellery shop in New York and there arent actually any cereal, toast, or even pancakes eaten there but...PANCAKES! i may have mentioned my love of those before. My be-all-end-all comfort food is a soft poached egg. In fact, my dying meal would in some way involve a soft poached egg. And, a bit of a secret, my in-the-works-cookbook is titled after eggs cooked this way. Unfortunately, i cannot really sell soft poached eggs in my envisioned breakfast line. But i can sell disgusting looking mueslix.
Well, it wont look disgusting when i sell it. Mostly because it would be dry. It would magically transform from oaty nutty loveliness to mush in your fridge when you soaked my cereal overnight. And because not everyone is into mush, and because i have recently perfected my granola recipe. Please dont take this as hyperbolic bragging-- because i have been practicing batches of granola almost weekly, i have also been gifting, to quite exaggerated applause so to speak (no one is actually moved to a standing ovation, but wouldnt it be great if cereal could do that for people? i know i feel like giving a big ol woop woop when an egg is perfectly soft poached, but then, i pretty much live for them...). So i feel i am ready to make people pay for this granola--thats right friends, no more freebies!
So thats the idea folks. It is just an idea, that i will probably mention in several posts to come as i begin to obsess over how much i would like my lifes work to be... breakfast.
ps: i thought about posting a picture here of soaked mueslix...but i kinda want your support of my lifes work one day...
ps 2: perhaps i should think about adding a pancake mix to this imagined line of breakfast goods--that would be really taking this seriously...
Allow me to clarify: under no circumstances do i desire to be a breakfast line cook, working the a.m. rush of over-easy/medium/hard egg, dry/crustless/gluten free toast, extra crispy bacon/extra toast or fruit- instead-of hashbrowns. What i do want to do is make breakfast for people to eat in their own homes where they scramble their eggs as they like, while pouring a bowl of my granola/mueslix, slathering their buttered (or not) toast with my jam; i want to market my own line of breakfast-y things.
I could very well have started to do this two years ago when i worked at the farmers market. Every morning after set up (sometimes desperately--and therefore quite unattractively-- in between serving customers and restocking spinach), i would pull out my rather large mason jar of cereal, more specifically, mueslix. Have you heard of/tried mueslix before? It looks disgusting. Soggy, off-white-ish and congealed, it is oats and shredded apple, soaked traditionally in milk or juice and yogurt, with nuts and dried fruit to jazz it up. I jazzed mine up with chamomile tea for the most part, and, again, a rather large pour of honey. It looked disgusting yes (especially as i hoovervacked from in rather large mouthfuls), but it was filling and energizing, delicious and satiating. And, despite aesthetics--both mine and the mueslix's--not a day went by that someone asked what it was and how to make it, or went so far as to offer to buy it. I should have stopped restocking spinach and started up shop on a corner of the table, but for the most part i just wanted to eat.
It didnt matter that sometimes i was eating that same jar of cereal until noon. I love breakfast and i cannot go without it. I will sooner have two breakfasts than breakfast and lunch, and am known to travel with either that mornings meal, or prepared for the day to come. It is both my favorite meal to go out for, and to make at home. As if to support my cause, there is always the the classic movie set in my home--ok, so Breakfast at Tiffanys is referring to an infamous jewellery shop in New York and there arent actually any cereal, toast, or even pancakes eaten there but...PANCAKES! i may have mentioned my love of those before. My be-all-end-all comfort food is a soft poached egg. In fact, my dying meal would in some way involve a soft poached egg. And, a bit of a secret, my in-the-works-cookbook is titled after eggs cooked this way. Unfortunately, i cannot really sell soft poached eggs in my envisioned breakfast line. But i can sell disgusting looking mueslix.
Well, it wont look disgusting when i sell it. Mostly because it would be dry. It would magically transform from oaty nutty loveliness to mush in your fridge when you soaked my cereal overnight. And because not everyone is into mush, and because i have recently perfected my granola recipe. Please dont take this as hyperbolic bragging-- because i have been practicing batches of granola almost weekly, i have also been gifting, to quite exaggerated applause so to speak (no one is actually moved to a standing ovation, but wouldnt it be great if cereal could do that for people? i know i feel like giving a big ol woop woop when an egg is perfectly soft poached, but then, i pretty much live for them...). So i feel i am ready to make people pay for this granola--thats right friends, no more freebies!
So thats the idea folks. It is just an idea, that i will probably mention in several posts to come as i begin to obsess over how much i would like my lifes work to be... breakfast.
ps: i thought about posting a picture here of soaked mueslix...but i kinda want your support of my lifes work one day...
ps 2: perhaps i should think about adding a pancake mix to this imagined line of breakfast goods--that would be really taking this seriously...
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