When people ask me what foods I don't like, the one rising to the top is invariably cilantro. I don't like the smell or the taste, even though I make dishes with it during the summer for others. Heck, I might even grow it this year just to please my family and friends who think my cilantro aversion is nutty.
Today I read an article in the New York Times about people like me. Here are a few excerpts:
In a television interview in 2002, Larry King asked Julia Child which foods she hated. She responded: “Cilantro and arugula I don’t like at all. They’re both green herbs, they have kind of a dead taste to me.”
“So you would never order it?” Mr. King asked.
“Never,” she responded. “I would pick it out if I saw it and throw it on the floor.”
The authoritative Oxford Companion to Food notes that the word “coriander” is said to derive from the Greek word for bedbug, that cilantro aroma “has been compared with the smell of bug-infested bedclothes” and that “Europeans often have difficulty in overcoming their initial aversion to this smell.”
Flavor chemists have found that cilantro aroma is created by a half-dozen or so substances, and most of these are modified fragments of fat molecules called aldehydes. The same or similar aldehydes are also found in soaps and lotions and the bug family of insects.
The senses of smell and taste evolved to evoke strong emotions because they were critical to finding food and mates and avoiding poisons and predators. When we taste a food, the brain searches its memory to find a pattern from past experience that the flavor belongs to. Then it uses that pattern to create a perception of flavor, including an evaluation of its desirability.
If the flavor doesn’t fit a familiar food experience, and instead fits into a pattern that involves chemical cleaning agents and dirt, or crawly insects, then the brain highlights the mismatch and the potential threat to our safety. We react strongly and throw the offending ingredient on the floor where it belongs.
So I'm not crazy. I just have strong genetic memory.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Community Supported Agriculture
In my last post I mentioned that I've been craving fresh produce. So here's what I did about it.
From Local Harvest, here are the basics of Community Supported Agriculture (CSA): a farmer offers a certain number of "shares" to the public. Typically the share consists of a box of vegetables, but other farm products may be included. Interested consumers purchase a share (aka a "membership" or a "subscription") and in return receive a box (bag, basket) of seasonal produce each week throughout the farming season.
Lida Farm offers CSA shares to people in the surrounding area, and I've signed up for their every-other-week option. Starting mid-June, I should start getting fresh fruits and vegetables harvested that day and shipped to me cross-county, not cross-country.
I'll let you know how it goes. I'm excited about the opportunity to support a local business and satisfy my cravings at the same time!
From Local Harvest, here are the basics of Community Supported Agriculture (CSA): a farmer offers a certain number of "shares" to the public. Typically the share consists of a box of vegetables, but other farm products may be included. Interested consumers purchase a share (aka a "membership" or a "subscription") and in return receive a box (bag, basket) of seasonal produce each week throughout the farming season.
Lida Farm offers CSA shares to people in the surrounding area, and I've signed up for their every-other-week option. Starting mid-June, I should start getting fresh fruits and vegetables harvested that day and shipped to me cross-county, not cross-country.
I'll let you know how it goes. I'm excited about the opportunity to support a local business and satisfy my cravings at the same time!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Why Does Texas Hate Rhubarb?
It's that time of the year. You know the time. Right after the clocks spring forward, days start getting longer, and there are hints of warm days ahead. I start to crave fresh produce and exercise. I'm not crazy - I don't want that much exercise, but the Wii Fit starts getting used again.
Five more weeks in Texas before I move to my Summer Palace in Minnesota. I'm picking out vegetables to grow there this year - I might try lettuce, spinach, carrots, and radishes in addition to the green onions and tomatoes this year. Maybe I'll move the big whiskey barrel to a sunny spot and plant the veggies in it - I can call it my salad barrel.
I was perusing http://www.foodnetwork.com/ this afternoon in search of some springtime recipes to try, and looked to see what was in season. Rhubarb topped the list, along with asparagus. I thought about the moist & delicious loaf of rhubarb bread that my sister-in-law Monica gave me last year, and decided it was high time to make my own. Two loaves ought to do it - one for me and one to take to work on Monday to share.
I got a couple of recipes from Monica and headed to the store. I was looking for fresh rhubarb, but would settle for frozen. The frozen fruit section had raspberries, strawberries, blueberries, mango, peaches but no rhubarb, so I headed to the fresh produce section. A nice employee asked me if I was finding everything I needed, so I asked him for rhubarb. A puzzled look came over his face and he started moving through the produce section. He finally asked someone else, and they said "we don't carry rhubarb here - it just doesn't sell".
Now I grew up in a place where almost everyone had a rhubarb patch in their backyard that their parents had started many years ago. Rhubarb is wonderful as long as you pair it with sugar, otherwise it's really an acquired taste.
Feeling sorry for myself, I headed home, thinking again about the food items I can never seem to find in the local grocery stores. I practically peed myself when the stores started carrying pancetta AND proscuitto.
Here in Texas, I can't get rhubarb. Or Giant Sunflower Seeds (except I order them directly from the company and have them shipped). I can never seem to find Manchego cheese, or Fontina for that matter. Marscapone - forget about it. I can get all of those in Detroit Lakes, Minnesota though, at Central Market, the one and only grocery store in town. I can also get oxtails and suet in Pelican Rapids, Minnesota (I never have, but I could if I wanted to). And lamb - I can get it at the Halal shop in Pelican Rapids, but never see it in Texas except at the specialty markets. I can also get walleye in Minnesota. I'm not sure people have heard of walleye here in Texas.
Both places excel in Mexican food, although I think Larry's Supermarket in Pelican Rapids might do a better job at the authentic stuff, dedicated a large section to the stuff (there is a large Mexican population there, as well as a Somali, Vietnamese, and Norwegian influence.
I like my scrambled eggs with chives, and I've had to make do in Texas with the dry kind. As soon as I arrive in Minnesota though, I'll have fresh chives in abundance. I even cut the whole clump back las summer when it got a little unmanageable, and it grew back in a week or so.
In my backyard the climbing rose is about to bloom. And the chocolate mint is showing its fragrant little leaves to the sun. I've planted radishes, spinach, and green onions in a big pot, hoping I'll be able to harvest them before I leave for Minnesota. And I've started basil that I plan on taking with me to hold me over until mid-summer, when the basil in my garden gets big enough to harvest. And the catnip may go into a pot for my pet sitter to water this summer and for her to treat my cats with while I'm gone.
Here are the recipes Monica sent me today. I can't try them out because I CAN'T FIND RHUBARB!
Rhubarb Coffee Cake
1/2 c. butter
1-1/2 c sugar
1 egg
1 c buttermilk
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
2-1/2 c flour
3 cups rhubarb, sliced 1/4 inch thick
1 c brown sugar
1/2 c walnuts
Mix butter, sugar, egg, buttermilk, vanilla, soda, salt, flour and rhubarb and pour into greased 13x9 pan.
Sprinkle with the brown sugar and nuts. Bake 45 minutes at 350 degrees. While cake is still hot, spread
with the following topping which has been cooked until sugar is dissolved - about 3-4 minutes.
1/2 c butter
1/2 c light cream or evaporated milk
1 c sugar
1 tsp vanilla
Rhubarb Bars
3 cups rhubarb
1.5 cups sugar
2 Tbl cornstarch
1/4 cup water
1 tsp vanilla
Dissolve cornstarch in the water and add to the rhubarb and sugar. Cook until thick and cool slightly.
1.5 cups oatmeal
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup butter
1.5 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
Combine the crust ingredients and press 3/4 of mixture into the bottom of a 13 X 9 pan. Spread filling over the crust. Sprinkle the rest of the crust over filling.
Bake at 350 for 30-35 minutes.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
For Denise
A Mourning Dove sat on the bench on my front porch one morning as I sat down with my coffee.
"Good morning, Mr. Pigeon", I said. I often speak to the birds and animals around me, since, well, there is no one else to talk to most days.
But as soon as I uttered those words, I felt like I had to apologize to the bird.
"I'm sorry...I meant Mr. Dove! So sorry to offend you."
Okay, so most of the conversation above was in my head, but it got me to thinking about my ingrained opinions on things. For example, why do I think that a pigeon is a lesser creature than a dove? The media has something to do with it I'm sure. Pigeons are shown shitting on things, while doves are the symbol of peace. But where did the media get that opinion? Where did I get that opinion?
Consider rats and mice. They have fur, and four legs and a tail, just like gerbils and hamsters and guinea pigs. If hamsters roamed the New York subway system eating our leftovers, would we cringe at the thought of them too? Why are they different? Is it because we were taught that they were different by our parents, who were taught by their parents, and so on? Is there some sort of genetic memory going on here?
When I would see a homeless person on the subway, or in the streets, my first instinct was disgust and avoidance. And I heard over and over again from my colleagues that they smelled bad. And that they were panhandlers who would just spend the money on cheap wine. But almost without exception, the homeless people I saw were sleeping, and didn't smell bad, at least from what I could tell sitting across from them. I never once was asked for money. And the panhandlers on the train were in much better shape, and would often perform for the money, with music, or at the very least a rousing speech about Jesus.
So why are we ashamed of people who are mentally ill, or homeless, or addicts, or prisoners? By the grace of God only I have been spared such a fate. And trust me, there are some that think that living alone with 5 cats qualifies me for at least one of the above.
The next time you have a visceral reaction to something or somebody, ask yourself this: is this something I feel for a reason, or do I feel this way because someone has told me that I should? Personally, I don't like being told what to do, so the next time I see a pigeon, or a rat, I'm going to speak to them with love and kindness. Not so sure about Mr. Snake though - the story of Adam and Eve had to be true, right???
"Good morning, Mr. Pigeon", I said. I often speak to the birds and animals around me, since, well, there is no one else to talk to most days.
But as soon as I uttered those words, I felt like I had to apologize to the bird.
"I'm sorry...I meant Mr. Dove! So sorry to offend you."
Okay, so most of the conversation above was in my head, but it got me to thinking about my ingrained opinions on things. For example, why do I think that a pigeon is a lesser creature than a dove? The media has something to do with it I'm sure. Pigeons are shown shitting on things, while doves are the symbol of peace. But where did the media get that opinion? Where did I get that opinion?
Consider rats and mice. They have fur, and four legs and a tail, just like gerbils and hamsters and guinea pigs. If hamsters roamed the New York subway system eating our leftovers, would we cringe at the thought of them too? Why are they different? Is it because we were taught that they were different by our parents, who were taught by their parents, and so on? Is there some sort of genetic memory going on here?
When I would see a homeless person on the subway, or in the streets, my first instinct was disgust and avoidance. And I heard over and over again from my colleagues that they smelled bad. And that they were panhandlers who would just spend the money on cheap wine. But almost without exception, the homeless people I saw were sleeping, and didn't smell bad, at least from what I could tell sitting across from them. I never once was asked for money. And the panhandlers on the train were in much better shape, and would often perform for the money, with music, or at the very least a rousing speech about Jesus.
So why are we ashamed of people who are mentally ill, or homeless, or addicts, or prisoners? By the grace of God only I have been spared such a fate. And trust me, there are some that think that living alone with 5 cats qualifies me for at least one of the above.
The next time you have a visceral reaction to something or somebody, ask yourself this: is this something I feel for a reason, or do I feel this way because someone has told me that I should? Personally, I don't like being told what to do, so the next time I see a pigeon, or a rat, I'm going to speak to them with love and kindness. Not so sure about Mr. Snake though - the story of Adam and Eve had to be true, right???
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Mr. Crazy Himself
My colleaugue who happened to be on the subway with me when the homeless dude started his lecture mentioned the experience to some local friends of his.
"Oh, he's a legend here in New York - been around for years", they said.
So I googled the guy, and sure enough, he is rather well known around here.
"Oh, he's a legend here in New York - been around for years", they said.
So I googled the guy, and sure enough, he is rather well known around here.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Crazy Crazy I Love Me Some Crazy
My hotel this trip is near Times Square, and I take the subway to Queens every day for work. The first 4 stops until we hit 53rd street and Lexington are always packed, and I have to stand, hoping I'll have a pole to hold on to.
Wednesday I got on, and was holding on for dear life, when I heard a booming voice behind me.
"Women are NOT equal to men. They are meant to have babies, and should not assume that they should have the same privileges a man enjoys."
I turned around to see who was speaking, something I know better than to do. The speaker was a middle-aged African American man, round and bearded, and sat by himself in the back of the subway car. He looked up, and seemed surprised because I made eye contact. I'm not sure, but I think I saw a glimmer of glee in his eyes when he saw me see him.
This guy had a radio voice. As if he was reading from a script, he gave his opinions on women, Obama, and other assorted topics. I was crammed in the subway, so I turned to my colleague while "The Prophet" broadcast his views. I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. My colleage, mistaking my demeanor for discomfort, asked me if I wanted to get out and take another train. I laughed and said "no, I wouldn't miss this for the world!"
At the next stop, I was disappointed to see The Prophet exit the subway. I turned around to watch him leave, and as soon as he stepped onto the platform he turned to face me again. He continued his rant even as the doors closed and the subway pulled away from him.
New Yorkers are pros at ignoring strange behavior. If you don't believe me, look at the YouTube video of the man who got on the subway with a chicken.
But as soon as The Prophet got off, previously indifferent travelers started to laugh and talk about this guy. "You can't argue with the crazies", one older lady said. We all agreed that the guy had a perfect radio voice and ought to have his own show, but then we decided that there were already plenty of shows just like it.
I love this city!
Wednesday I got on, and was holding on for dear life, when I heard a booming voice behind me.
"Women are NOT equal to men. They are meant to have babies, and should not assume that they should have the same privileges a man enjoys."
I turned around to see who was speaking, something I know better than to do. The speaker was a middle-aged African American man, round and bearded, and sat by himself in the back of the subway car. He looked up, and seemed surprised because I made eye contact. I'm not sure, but I think I saw a glimmer of glee in his eyes when he saw me see him.
This guy had a radio voice. As if he was reading from a script, he gave his opinions on women, Obama, and other assorted topics. I was crammed in the subway, so I turned to my colleague while "The Prophet" broadcast his views. I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. My colleage, mistaking my demeanor for discomfort, asked me if I wanted to get out and take another train. I laughed and said "no, I wouldn't miss this for the world!"
At the next stop, I was disappointed to see The Prophet exit the subway. I turned around to watch him leave, and as soon as he stepped onto the platform he turned to face me again. He continued his rant even as the doors closed and the subway pulled away from him.
New Yorkers are pros at ignoring strange behavior. If you don't believe me, look at the YouTube video of the man who got on the subway with a chicken.
But as soon as The Prophet got off, previously indifferent travelers started to laugh and talk about this guy. "You can't argue with the crazies", one older lady said. We all agreed that the guy had a perfect radio voice and ought to have his own show, but then we decided that there were already plenty of shows just like it.
I love this city!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Random
Someone told me tonight that the Mayor of New York City offered a one-way ticket anywhere in the USA for any homeless person that wanted one. Now Miami has a lot of bums.
My commute to work every day involves 3 elevators, 4 flights of stairs, one subway, and about a block walk.
Tonight I walked from Times Square to Grand Central Station. I'm really glad I wore the long johns. If I do that again I think I'll wear two pair.
My Kindle is broken, and I'm in panic mode about what I'm going to read. But Amazon is going to get me a new one tomorrow. I love Amazon.
I don't have to go to work until 2 am Saturday morning. I feel like I'll have a whole day off tomorrow. Bad news is I have to be back in bed by 4 pm tomorrow afternoon in order to get a solid 8 hours, since my first shift is 18 hours.
A mentally ill person near Grand Central Station tonight was yelling at the pavement about being the prime minister of Nigeria, and fuck the people. I wonder if Nigeria is missing a prime minister?
My commute to work every day involves 3 elevators, 4 flights of stairs, one subway, and about a block walk.
Tonight I walked from Times Square to Grand Central Station. I'm really glad I wore the long johns. If I do that again I think I'll wear two pair.
My Kindle is broken, and I'm in panic mode about what I'm going to read. But Amazon is going to get me a new one tomorrow. I love Amazon.
I don't have to go to work until 2 am Saturday morning. I feel like I'll have a whole day off tomorrow. Bad news is I have to be back in bed by 4 pm tomorrow afternoon in order to get a solid 8 hours, since my first shift is 18 hours.
A mentally ill person near Grand Central Station tonight was yelling at the pavement about being the prime minister of Nigeria, and fuck the people. I wonder if Nigeria is missing a prime minister?
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