A Seed's the Thing

Last week, after perusing reading a blurb in Food Network Magazine about different flavorings for roasted pumpkin seeds, I made roasted acorn squash seeds with a garam masala topping. They were smoky and delicious, and kind of exciting since I had not previously known you could toast the seeds of any squash (makes sense, right?) and the garam masala topping was a new idea for me.


Last night, after carving our pumpkins, we were ready to roast some more pumpkin seeds and try new toppings for a delicious, nutty snack. The pumpkin seeds have a much milder flavor than the acorn squash seeds, but still get nice and smoky when you roast them. Inspired by the delicious ideas in Food Network Magazine, I decided to make my own topping. I'm calling it the Maya Chocolate blend since it was based on the amazing flavor combination that Chuao Chocolatier in San Diego uses in their Spicy Maya Chocolate Bars. A good friend gave me one of these bars for my birthday last year, and I've never quite seen chocolate the same way since.

Our pumpkins

Delicious, flavorful pumpkin seeds

Maya Chocolate Blend (for roasted pumpkin or other winter squash seeds)

Mix 1/2 tsp. high quality cocoa, 1/8 tsp. cinnamon, 2 1/2 tsps. sugar, and 1/16 tsp. cayenne. It will probably make slightly more than you need, but it depends on how many seeds your pumpkin or squash has.

To roast:
Clean the seeds well, then spread them in a single layer on a greased cookie sheet. Look over them carefully and discard any that appear darker than the others, as they may be moldy inside. Place sheet in a 300-degree oven for 30 minutes to dry the seeds. Once dry, place hot seeds in a bowl and drizzle with olive oil. Sprinkle Maya Chocolate Blend over the seeds and mix to coat well. Place seeds back on the cookie sheet and roast at 300-degrees for 20 minutes or until golden.
**NOTE: When the seeds are done, they will start to make a popping noise in the oven. If you hear the popping noise before the cook time is up, do go check on the seeds to avoid overcooking.

Feminism in the Kitchen

Today I finished Judy Chicago's excellent 1975 memoir Through the Flower: My Struggle as A Woman Artist and was struck by her repeated statements about the need to be nourished by and to nourish others. She was writing about the kind of emotional nourishment that comes from leading a fulfilling life and, in her case, being part of a community of women who supported each other, collaborated, and shared their ideas and their ideals openly and honestly, but I don't see why we can't also be talking about food. In fact, back in 1972, students in the Feminist Art Program at CalArts (a program co-founded by Chicago and Miriam Schapiro) created a Nurturant Kitchen environment as part of the larger collaborative project Womanhouse. The kitchen links women, reproduction and food, asking us to think about the complex ways these concepts are interwoven and what the ramifications of his interweaving are.

Vickie Hodgetts, Robin Weltsch, and Susan Frazier. Nurturant Kitchen at Womanhouse, 1972.

Food nourishes, everyone know that, and for some of us the act of preparing a meal and sharing it with the people we love nourishes on both a physical and emotional level. But I think things become more interesting (and more complicated) when we start to think about how cooking can be a feminist act.
On her blog Deeply Problematic, Rachel McCarthy James wrote about her feelings that cooking is power, and I'm inclined to agree. Not only does one exert a certain amount of power when choosing what will be consumed and how it will be prepared, but I actually feel powerful when I cook. Cooking involves some serious skill, and when I make bread, some serious muscle. I feel powerful because I'm doing something that I love and that I'm good at. It's kitchen alchemy, and it's incredibly valuable. It feels good to do it.....you know, unless things are inexplicably going wrong and I'm staring at the blender/stovetop/oven etc. yelling "why? Why?!"

I had a trying morning and decided that I wanted to make lunch for my husband and myself--something nice, warm, cheesy, satisfying. I wasn't doing it out of any sort of obligation, but because I know that vital connections are made through everyday acts, and this was my offering to myself and my partner. This was my small way of making today a little bit better and yes, a little more delicious.

Here's what I made:

I call these toasties and I often make them for breakfast, but today decided they'd be great for lunch. These are extremely easy--basically just open-faced toasted sandwiches, but they make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

The key is in the herb butter. In a small bowl, mix dried parsley and garlic powder (be generous with both), then spread it on each slice of bread. You can put any kind of lunch meat on next, or any number of veggies (or both). I particularly love turkey with either carmelized onions or a slice of ripe tomato. Place a few very thin slices of cheese on top and toast in a toaster oven for about 4 minutes (longer if your bread was frozen to begin with or if the cheese doesn't look melted enough). If you are making a breakfast version, it's great with a fried egg. My advice is not to put the egg in the toaster oven, but to gently slide the cheese up and slip the fried egg underneath it once the sandwich has come out of the toaster oven.

UPDATE: ok, so since thinking about art is what I do for a living, I have been obsessing about this post and I wanted to clarify something. I realize that the women who created the Nurturant Kitchen (and Womanhouse generally) were critiquing the limited roles women had in U.S. society at the time. I don't want it to sound as if I missed or choose to disregard this critique. My feeling, writing several decades after Womanhouse, is that women did need to (and still need to) fight against oppression and one way to do that is by choosing your own path and your own role. In other words, we can make ourselves, and for me, taking on a role in which I get to experiment, make something with my hand, affect chemical reactions, and at the end of it, share what I made with people I love is not a burden, but something I take on willingly and yes, even joyfully.

Chili for the Librarian of Congress

Tonight, I went to hear Dr. James H. Billington, the Librarian of Congress, speak. I was pretty excited about his talk since I've been researching a specific exhibition that was censored by Library officials in 1995 and have become quite concerned about some facets of how the Library operates.  I therefore have a vested interest in what he'd have to say about the Library's role in contemporary American life and how it is looking toward the future.

Although I did learn some things from Dr. Billington, the big takeaway point from his talk was that he thinks technology is dangerous. Adamant that technology would never offer a compelling substitute for "our book culture," a point on which we do not necessarily have a disagreement, Billington went on to insist that using a computer lead to isolation, that it could be harmful and have negative effects that are not present when one reads books and talks to people about what they've read. Over and over, he insisted that books foster our humanity, but computers do not.

Billington's message really upset me. I love books, but other technologies offer such wonderful possibilities for learning, too. Sure, they also have negative applications, but I think the claim that technology is bad for us and constitutes a regression or de-evolution of society (a point Billington made explicitly) is specious. Technology offers unprecedented ways for people to connect with each other. From school kids using Skype to practice newly acquired language skills with native speakers from other parts of the world to online projects that allow people to fund worthwhile new inventions, there are so many ways that technology enriches our lives and creates new possibilities.

What does any of this have to do with the kitchen, the professed theme of this blog? Excellent question. Billington's insistence that technology makes us disconnected made me immediately want to go home and connect with people, sharing something, potentially with people I've never met and will never meet. My offering is small--it's not exactly the meaning of life or an easy-to-read guide to everything Foucault's ever written, or a treatise on the rights of humankind. It's a darn good chili recipe, though, and it's a framework that you can endlessly modify to make something your own. Further, it's my mother's recipe, and I'm passing it on to you...you know, sharing ideas and connecting with people, kind of how books enable us to share ideas, except, of course, this is no book (although I guess this post is pretty long). We're all part of various communities of practice, and one of the key things I use the internet for is to connect with other people who love to cook, to eat, and to think about where our food comes from and what impact that has on our lives. I'd love to offer Billington, and all of you, a hearty, delicious bowl of chili, 'cause nothing connects us more than the internet except for, well, food.

This is more of a framework than a recipe, so feel free to experiment. Here e ingredients I used last night:
1 14.5oz can pinto beans, undrained
1 14.5oz can great Northern beans, drained
1 14.5oz can dark red kidney beans, drained
1 14.5oz can diced tomatoes
half an onion, chopped small and as uniformly as possible
1 8oz can corn kernels, drained
1/2 pound ground beef
1 McCormick's "50% less sodium" chili packet
a small green bell pepper, chopped small and as uniformly as possible
half a bottle of Blue Moon Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale

Put all ingredients in a large crock pot, stirring well. Cook on low for 3-3.5 hours, or until veggies are tender. Makes about 5 bowls of chili. Garnish with cheddar cheese, sour cream, and crumbled tortilla chips.

You can, of course, make all sorts of changes. You can eschew the McCormick's and make your own spice blend (but I still use it since it hasn't failed me yet), you can leave the meat out or sub turkey or textured vegetable protein. Change up the bean varieties, the kind of beer, leave the corn out--you get the idea.

So while I won't actually be sending a bowl of chili up to Washington, I think its meaningful to share knowledge with other people in a variety of different ways, even if it means I'm in my pajamas plunking away on my keyboard, and even if "knowledge" in this case is, well, chili.

Bread Baking for Stress Relief

There are people who think that making something delicious in the kitchen sounds like a great way to unwind after a stressful day, and then there are those who think of stirring and preheating and measuring and decide that a delivery pizza sounds like a much better idea. Me? I'm a little bit of both. I don't always have a bad day and think, "I can't wait to get home and make something," especially when I set foot in my place and get a good, long look at my couch...which I could sit on oh-so-easily rather than trying to put together an evening meal.

That said, I have, over the course of the past year, discovered the fabulous art of bread baking, and for me, it is a total de-stresser. There's something fabulous about the feel of the dough, silky and pliable under my hands, and something really pleasing about the rhythm of kneading. I even love the smell of flour, which to me always seems to signal something wholesome and delicious.

Photo: Matthew Bendert

I've learned that the true art of baking bread is that the more you do it, the more intuitively you begin to work. There's a "zone," if you will, and you start to recognize what the bread needs at what stages. Recipes become less relevant, and you become, like bread dough, infinitely malleable. For someone like me who gets totally stressed out (even over little things), there's something freeing about working with my hands, from my intuition, and having something incredible to show for it. The smell of the bread baking in the oven makes me feel like I've done something extraordinary for myself--like I've done something to comfort and take care of myself, and that's before the first morsel has even passed my lips. It's aromatherapy, without those cloying florals and things that will make you sneeze.

I could go on and on about the joys of eating the bread, but I think I'll hold myself to just saying this: when I started baking bread at home, it was the first time I ever looked forward to eating a crust. The heel, which is mostly crust, now becomes a delicacy--a lovely, crunchy piece to savor rather than the bit that ends up in the garbage can once the rest of the loaf is gone.

Bread recipes abound, but I'm indebted to Beatrice Ojakangas, whose fabulous book of bread recipes has kept me busy for about 8 months as I try to work my way through all of them. I've kind of stalled with Oatmeal Sourdough. It is perfection, and I just keep making it again and again.

Never made bread before? Start now! It's not that hard! Go forth, make bread, and feel better.

Photo: Shannon Lieberman