Let's Talk: What I've Learned (Part 3)

I'd like to take today to conclude this series on the blog. Thanks for indulging me on all this. I've already given five things I've learned in a little over a decade in this business of writing about food. (You can find them here and here.) But there are two more. Or at least for now. And these last two are the hardest-fought of any of the lessons I've learned.

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Try This: Wild Rice

I know: you're going to ask me, "Who hasn't tried wild rice?"

Well, maybe you. Wild rice may well be one of the few grains indigenous to North America. But I got news for you: you may not have had the real thing.

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White Wine Coq au Vin

I've taken to cooking dinner for Bruce on Wednesday nights while he teaches knitting in Millerton, New York. You might not think this is much of a news flash. After all, we've written twenty-one cookbooks (that counts the ghost projects for celebs). But as I've said before, I'm the writer. I don't cook much anymore. So Wednesday nights have given me a great opportunity to get in the kitchen and create dishes on my own.

The other night, it was blustery, going down to freezing; and I wanted something warm and comforting. I wanted coq au vin. And 6:30. Not gonna happen, I thought.

As you know, true coq au vin (something like old hen with wine) is traditionally made with red wine. The tough, old layer is set in wine and aromatics overnight to soften the skin and infuse the outer surfaces of the stringy meat with some sort of flavor. In the classic interpretation, the chicken is then braised for hours and the sauce finally thickened with chicken blood. (No lie.)

As I said, not gonna happen. Not on a Wednesday night. So I set about creating a simpler coq au vin, one made with white wine, lighter by far, and with lots of vegetables. I think the vegetables are the key to a good coq au vin. It's almost as if the chicken flavors them, rather than the other way around. Sure, the meat is tender and juicy, but the vegetables really catch my attention.

So here's what I finally came up with, a dish big enough for a family supper or dinner with weekend friends. . . .

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Apple Crisp

Well, there it is, ready to go into the oven. Pretty fine, eh?

I promised some recipes that use the sugars I discussed in the last post. So here's one, a perfect dessert for a fall evening--or really anytime.

It's also made with walnut oil--which got used in the Apple Cake here. But any nut oil would work for the topping. You could even use melted butter. Wow.

This recipe has also been adapted from THE ULTIMATE COOK BOOK. There's a mix-and-match cobbler/crisp section in that book: seventeen fillings and ten toppings. Here's the apple version with an oaty, maply, nutty, crunchy topping--and with a less-refined sugar, to boot. (That said, I'll give you some "standard" substitutions as we go through the recipe.)

Honestly, I have to hold myself back from picking off that topping, leaving the fruit behind--and I love apples! You won't need any whipped cream or ice cream with this one--although I wouldn't stop you from putting a dollop or a scoop on mine if I come to dinner at your house.

Let's get to it.

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Let's Talk: Is Real Raw?

I suppose the short answer is clearly "yes." I mean, a raw zucchini is real food, no doubt about it. Right?

Of course, the reverse gets more complicated. Is raw real? (Stick with me here.) After all, "real" has many meanings, many shadings. Would you consider a raw, genetically-modified, pesticide-sprayed zucchini real food? Now THAT's a big question.

But let's table it for now and just say, for the sake of argument, that all zucchinis are the same. One is as good as another. No questions asked.

Is real food by definition raw food?

Or put another way--and I suspect the way we often mean the question--is raw food somehow "realer" than other food?

To be sure, the raw food movement has been around for a while. I thought it would be a flash-fire in the U. S. skillet (as it were) in about 2002, a sort of eat-it-raw answer to that Y2K nonsense and then the 9/11 horror. You know: assuage our fears by eating asparagus raw.

I jest--but not much. I do think something like that was going on--a back-to-basics things. But today, the movement shows little signs of abating. There continue to be raw-food gurus, newly minted; raw food restaurants aplenty in big cities; and even raw-food cookbooks, more planned in the years ahead

Bruce and I were in Vancouver a few weeks ago and the waiter at one restaurant pointed out several dishes on the menu that were "raw"--as if this designation were a huge plus. And perhaps it was. She certainly thought so.

As Bruce and I wrote our new, seven-step plan to get off processed food, REAL FOOD HAS CURVES, available here, we struggled with this raw/real question. Repeatedly. And often. So much so that we insisted the cover have things like wine and cheese and bread on it--lest someone mistake ours for a raw-food plan.

And yet. . . .

In the book, we divide our choices into four categories: real food, almost real food, barely real food, and not real food. We offer explanations of each--as well as ways to figure out how to make sense of the categories. We made these four categories because the world is not simply "real" vs. "not real." And also to give some give to the whole plan: a little grace and forgiveness.

But watch this progression, one of many in the book:

• Real food--a ripe tomato
• Almost real food--natural, salt-free canned tomatoes or sun-dried tomatoes
• Barely real food--preflavored, salted, stewed, canned tomatoes or sun-dried tomatoes packed in oil with flavorings added
• Not real food--condensed tomato soup and most bottled ketchup 

We're back to that crucial question, aren't we?

Yesterday, while I was being interviewed on a Martha Stewart radio program, the host sort of chastised me for thinking canned beans were real food. "I'd would have thought you were a dried beans kind of guy," she said.

Well, I am. Except I think canned beans can be real food, too. Or maybe "almost real food." They're certainly not raw food. But they're certainly within the realm of the "real," right? Or not?

So I ask you: is raw food real food? Or stated more clearly: is real food only raw? And raw food the only real food? And if so, is everything else some sort of falling off from that high, crunchy point?

Summer Slaw

I'm pondering all those fantastic responses to the declaration of independence post. If you haven't read through them, don't miss them here. (And thanks to everyone who has emailed me as well! It's all fodder for a new discussion, coming soon.)

Still and all, those responses at the end of the post are an excellent discussion with great honesty on the part of many--and some snarkiness, to boot.

You know I love the snark. You can't be a Southern guy lost in New England without loving the snark.

Anyway, I thought I'd take a break from thinking about all that to offer a recipe for a quick, all-vegetable slaw: all raw, no-cook, and perfect for these hot days that have descended like a scratchy wool sweater on us up here in the land of the Puritans.

This isn't going to be a recipe exactly. Rather, it's a recipe concept that you can adapt at will. So let's get to it.

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Let's Talk: My Declaration of Independence

After writing so many cookbooks, after leaving the confines of Manhattan for open-pastured New England, and after embracing everything seasonal and organic in the past few years, Bruce and I might as well be card-carrying foodies.

Except I've recently burned my card. It happened when I read this among Michael Pollan’s many food rules: It’s not food if it arrived through your car window.

That did it—even though I’d already looked the other way after reading his article in The New York Times blaming women for the obesity epidemic. Even though I’d bit my tongue when Alice Waters told viewers on 60 Minutes to buy organic grapes rather than a second pair of designer sneakers. Even though I’d chalked up Jonathan Safran Foer’s claims about the complex emotional life of chickens to a hipster misfire.

No, it's the sheer elitism of Pollan’s it’s not food that caused me to torch my foodie card. Not It’s not real food. Nor It’s not the best food for me. Instead, It’s not food.

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Danishes, Part 1

Well, really. Have you ever seen anything so gorgeous? Lightly browned, flaky, with creamy cheese centers. And completely from scratch. Nothing fake about it. All real food.

Now hold on there, you might say. I thought you guys said something about losing weight if I eat real food.

Well, we did. And we meant it.

One of the things we talk about endlessly in REAL FOOD HAS CURVES, our seven-step plan to get off processed food is making sure you occasionally treat yourself. You should eat dessert. (Right before I sat down to type this entry, I had a snickerdoodle and a glass of iced tea while sitting on the back deck, listening to the birds. I should shoot you guys a video of it. We live in a symphony here in the New England woods. And I should also add that that snickerdoodle was made with lard. Bruce's own. Rendered right here at home. And here.)

So OK, let's talk about treats. First off, they should be just that: treats. I would suggest if you're having more than one a day, there may be another problem you want to address.

Second, they should NEVER be eaten on the run. If you're going to have a treat, sit down and have it. Enjoy it. Every bite. It's worth it. I did it with my cookie on the deck. And I did it with these cheese danishes the other morning.

Finally, keep this in mind: all treats are empty calories. So they should be hard to make. That's right: should be. Part of the root of the American weight gain--and now indeed the global weight gain--is that the emptiest calories are available with ridiculous ease. There aren't lovely broiled fish stands lining our roads. Instead, there are fried chicken joints. And bakeries with pastries. And ice cream stands. And even cheesecake parlors.

In other words, all the stuff that's hard to make. And it's hard for a reason. Because you're not supposed to eat it every day. (Well, it's hard for other reasons, but you know what I mean.)

So cheese danishes. They're hard to make. It'll take us three days on this blog to get through Bruce's recipe. Bear with me. We'll have fun. And it's a crazy thing to do: make your own sweet rolls. But they freeze perfectly. (So you can have one, save one back for breakfast the next day, and squirrel the rest away for company visits this summer.) And they're a great way to have a fun weekend project, something to push your boundaries a bit. And it doesn't get much more human--or real--than learning new things and having a treat at the end!

So let's get to it.

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Let's Talk: Home to Bountiful

This is how I work most days.

Well, OK, not asleep. But I sit at my desk writing with Dreydl asleep next to me. Some-times, he wanders away to go on house patrol (there's always some dratted robin to bark out of the yard)--but soon enough, he's back next to me, sighing contentedly.

I, too, am back. I'm sitting in my familiar, old, sturdy, Presbyterian chair at my small desk after an eight-city, eleven-flight, sixteen-TV-segment, kick-my-patootie book tour.

And I've come home to bounty beyond belief. It's summer here--full on, no holds barred. We went to our CSA today, the first time this year--and came home with a ridiculous haul. Plus, our neighbors brought over buckets of sour cherries and apricots from their trees. We're deep into food. Deep. Over the next few days, hold on. Strawberry sorbet, here we come. And cherry clafouti. And lots more.

But today, I think I'd like to be ridiculously self-indulgent. (I can already hear my mother saying, TODAY?!?) I'd like to tell you what I discovered on this whirlwind book tour. For what it's worth, here are my top ten lessons learned:

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Let's Talk: Convenience

As we've been on our crazy, whirlwind, two-week, eight-city, eleven-flight book tour these past two weeks, we've met a recurrent question in our talks at bookstores and cooking schools: what exactly is processed food?

My photo here might be a great example of the problem. It's a mushroom and pepper pizza Bruce made for lunch the other day.

First off, it's made with a store-bought, whole wheat pizza crust.

Real food? I would argue "yes."

Processed, too? Well, yes. But not in the way we use the words "processed food."

For example, this crust was made with nothing but all-purpose flour, whole wheat flour, olive oil, and water. No hydrogenated shortening, no stretchers, no emulsifiers. In other words, it's about how Bruce or I would make a whole wheat crust at home on our own.

As we keep saying, "convenience shouldn't be discounted, just examined."

And while we're on it, the olive oil in that crust is processed. No doubt. The olives are pressed. But Bruce and I use only "first cold-pressed olive oil." If you use olive oil from "refined olives," it means the manufacturer used chemical solvents to extract the oil from inferior or unripe olives. What was merely processed food suddenly became "processed food." (If that makes any sense.)

Or take that sauce on our pie. It was a combination of jarred marinara sauce and canned tomato paste, a combo Bruce whirred in the blender until smooth. Was it real food? I'd say so, even though both are canned.

How would I know? Because I read the label. The jarred marinara had in it just what I would make marinara with: tomatoes, herbs, olive oil, onion, garlic, and sea salt. A lot of the other jars on the shelf had corn syrup (to cover the taste of bad tomatoes), MSG (same reason), emulsifiers (not enough bad tomatoes to thicken it up on their own), and on and on.

And the mozzarella on the pie? Yes, processed. We are not advocating a raw-food diet. But nonetheless processed in a way to still make real food.

So processed food is not necessarily "processed food." Do you agree? Is our pizza "real food"? How do you make a line in the sand between the processed stuff and the real stuff? Does it have to do with the chemical signature? Does it have to do with something about taste? With labels? With recommendations from others? How can you tell?