I spent the first half of this week with an absurd cold, and slowly rallied enough to attend three food-related gatherings this week.
Wednesday evening held forth a Mexican feast and Beatles Rock Band, hosted by friends up the street. I thought my fake instrument was drums, but I now fancy fake bass. Perhaps next time I will try “medium.”
I was going to drive home for Thanksgiving, but me finishing up being sick and my parents getting sick precluded that. Instead I had a proper Orphan Thanksgiving with my friend Patti and her family (husband, mom, and dog), complete with dilly beans and Patti’s famous biscuits. I also got to try ABC’s Terminator, which Patti had kindly brought home in a growler.
On Friday, I attended Yourwelcomesgiving with other friends in town. A mixup at the co-op made us the recipients of not the ordered 14-pound turkey, but a 25-pound turkey. I had never seen such a turkey outside of film and Norman Rockwell prints. Delicious and absurd. A communal effort resulted in two kinds of potatoes, roasted root veggies, brussels sprouts, tofurkey casserole, two kinds of cranberry sauce, fruit and thyme sorbet, two kinds of stuffing, and of course turkey. I contributed pumpkin bread and snickerdoodles. That particular crowd always has an amazing array of homemade and carefully selected booze: this time we had some local beer, some red wines, and homemade mead.
A sad tale about the pumpkin bread. I combined tworecipes, for the bread and filling respectively, but didn’t think of the results of a liquid center in a 9×5 inch pan. The 7×3 pan turned out fine, but the larger loaf vomited liquid cream cheese mixture all over the cooling rack when I tried to turn it out. Lesson learned: small pans.
Today I went to the market and got the following:
a generous quart each of beets and potatoes: $3.50
2 garlic bulbs: $2
a dozen fresh eggs: $2.50
a quart of Winesap apples: $2.50
a giant bunch of kale: $3.75
I also went to Sparrow and got a pork chop and a couple of their awesome lamb/herb sausages.
Long story short, this week I inadvertently got a much-needed break (even if part of it involved snot). I made some decisions about future plans that I’m feeling pretty good about. And ate a lot of food.
A few weeks ago my friend transiit attended the 2009 Alternative Press Expo (APE) in Southern California. I had noticed that the woman behind one of my favorite little online delights My Milk Toof was going to be there with books, and I asked if he could get me one. transiit and I talk about food a lot, so in lieu of cash he asked if I’d keep a journal of things I buy at the local farmers’ market to exchange.
My attendance at the market was limited for a while (that whole crutches thing for all of September and part of October), but I’ve recently gotten back in the swing of strolling over to Kerrytown on Saturdays. I’m going to package the journal in some nice way for mailing, but for now I thought it might be interesting to just list out what I’ve gotten since starting the journal. (Today was a particularly nice haul, I think.
October 17
“spicy” greens seasonal salad mix: $2
head of green cabbage: $1
quart of sweet onions: $2
quart of Yukon gold potatoes: $3
jar of bay leaves: $3*
about a pound of hanger steaks: $7.50*
October 31
two garlic bulbs, three shallots, and a lime: $2.15*
November 14
haruki turnips with greens: $2.75
kale: $2
quart of purple Viking potatoes: $4
dozen eggs: $2.50
cup of coffee: $2
giant plantain tamale with raisins and sauce and a side of cabbage salad: $4
*These were cheating a bit; I got them at Sparrow’s, right next to the Market.
This weekend, my friends Carrie and Joshua came to visit from Massachusetts. They drove, the brave, patient souls, and we had a whirlwind weekend of long walks, eating, and pleasantly just existing.
When I visited them for New Year’s, I was treated to beautiful homemade meals of sushi and fresh pasta, as well as a lovely exploratory walk of their town, two holiday parties and an outdoor hot tub with a neighboring wood fire. My goal was to attempt to meet this level of visit excellence. However, I—we, really—were immediately hit with a very serious problem. We had way too much food. We also planned to go biking, visit the Arboretum, visit the gems of Ypsilanti, and find the street Carrie had lived on during a very brief stay in Ann Arbor years ago. In approximately 48 hours.
In preparation for a fast-paced weekend, I had procured salad greens, tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, catfish filets, potatoes, and pasta. They brought tomatoes, herbs, and bread from the CSA. They also wanted to take me out for dinner to celebrate my new job. I also wanted to take them to my usual haunts.
We spent the entire weekend eating.
Shortly after their arrival, we headed downtown for dinner and beer at Old Town. We ate ribs, a Knight’s burger, and a reuben with pitchers of Oberon and Two Hearted. We were joined over time by friends who’d planned to join us and those who were collected along the way, maxing out around a dozen. Diagrams of how people knew each other were drawn by hands in the air. Stories were told. Design theory was hashed out. Drinks were drunk. We drifted home, full of meat and hops and goodwill toward men.
After sleeping in on Saturday, and changing the tires on my bike to the lovely road tires they’d brought me, we brunched at Northside Grill, consuming two-egg breakfasts and pancakes. We headed to the farmer’s market, intent on browsing only and full of plans to tour downtown and campus. However, we were faced with raspberries and cherries. We bought them. We continued downtown to drop by The Brickyard and had a small picnic of fruit and almonds. Another friend, just returned from the meat capital of America, called to let me know he had thick cut, vacuum-sealed bacon for my visitors. We met him upstairs, received the bacon, and wandered southward toward campus. All that walking required a snack of tomato bruschetta and ABC’s Brasserie Blonde at Dominick’s.
This is where we descended into madness.
Still wanting to take me out to dinner, my guests suggested that we go to eve in Kerrytown. I reminded them that they were leaving on Sunday afternoon, so our only chance at a fish and potato dinner would be that very night. They made the obvious point that we would just have to have two dinners. Reservations for a late dinner at eve were made, and after an attempt to triangulate Carrie’s old neighborhood, we began the march home to fix dinner number one.
We drank cranberry juice and Vernor’s and made insalata caprese, garlic mashed potatoes, and milk-soaked, flour-dredged fried catfish. We all remained prone for approximately an hour, with Carrie and I elevating our various bad joints made worse by walking nearly all the way to the Zen Buddhist Temple on Packard and back, then rose and dressed for dinner number two, which consisted of really delicious cocktails, appetizers (curry mussels, chicken dumplings, and scallops), and desserts (with wine, of course). Creme fraishe was the order of the evening.
On Sunday, sure we would never eat again, we rose and began to plan the bike ride, which got increasingly short as we discussed it, despite our clear need for exercise. Then, an IM from my usual weekend brunch companion sent us rolling toward the Roadhouse for oysters, grits, eggs, huevos rancheros, and pastries. Afterwards we slowly prepared ourselves for exertion and rode the paved path around Argo Pond, stopping occasionally in search of wormwood. Successful, we returned to my apartment, packed their car, I sent them off only 2 hours behind schedule. I was left with the beginnings of bathtub absinthe, leftover potatoes and fish, several tomatoes, and a surprise bottle of 10-year Laphroaig.
These people are probably the best house guests ever.
Last weekend I went back to Pennsylvania to see my family. While there, I swung by Knoebels to see my old stomping grounds and see what’s changed over the years since I visited last.
While I was home I also stumbled across my grandmother’s recipe box. It is full of mid-20th century delight, including both her original recipes and those collected from friends and periodicals. Some highlights include a recipe for smoking 100 lbs. of pork, jello salads clipped from magazines, and 11 ways to make pickles. Also: white wash.
I’m currently planning to scan or photograph the cards, as well as to enter the contents into a database or XML file.
Today I went to Morgan and York with a friend for coffee and cookies. They have Easter-themed items out now.
The odd placement of the icing prompted said friend to remark that the bunny looked like it was wearing a gimp mask. Things, as would be expected, went downhill from there.
Every good gimp mask needs a mouth-zipper.
It says a lot about how awesome the folks at M&Y are that at this point the gentleman making our coffees suggested that we should put the gimp bunny back in the display case. His sentiments were appreciated, but the gimp bunny was taken away and consumed.
On Saturday night I saw the Handsome Furs at the Blind Pig with someregular partners in crime and additional brave compatriots. After a delicious homemade dinner of fish stew and wine, we trundled downtown and got a pitcher* in the 8 Ball, then headed upstairs in time to see the second opening band, Child Bite (think: tenor-sax-wielding bastard child of Man Man, Les Savy Fav, and the hardcore band of your choice).
Handsome Furs are a husband-and-wife duo from Montreal. He plays guitar and sings, and she pushes buttons and wears amazingly absurd outfits. They were incredibly energetic and excellent performers.
Their most recent video, for a song on their new album, Face Control, has zombies and making out:
*The conversation when the $4.75 pitcher of beer was brought to the table went something like this: Jane: What did you get? Jessica: Very cheap beer. Jane: But what kind? Me: OLD STYLE. Jane: … Matt: It doesn’t need a name. It has an adjective.
Update: I am reminded by Une Petite Friponnerie’s post-show post of one of the other conversational highlights of the evening. The Handsome Furs rolled into Ann Arbor on St. Patrick’s Day Observed, and at the beginning of the main set, vocalist/guitarist Dan Boeckner described what they’d seen as “Mad Max meets American Pie.” Having passed some underdressed, green-bedecked undergrads on my way to dinner, I can imagine that the carnage was alarming.
This weekend I helped a friend work on clearing out a house that belonged to a recently deceased relative. My sorting powers came to good use. As a reward, I received three cardboard boxes full of vintage sewing notions, mostly from the late 1950s through early 1970s.
Thanks to a friend with even better OCD than me, I’ve started absorbing some of the items into my own collection. But, I’m also very happy to be spreading items around with crafty friends, and some of the ways that the items have been stored make me very loath to deconstruct the ones I keep. Many items are in contact-paper-covered cigar boxes and tiny bags, or the original packaging.
There’s something delightful in seeing into how someone collected, stored, used (or didn’t use) items in their daily lives.
me: instead of leaving in the previous soups of the week, or just leaving them blank, whoever prepared the sign for today just left “Soup 1″ and “Soup 2″ in earlier slots. my boss: so, did you pick soup 1 or 2? me: oh, today was chili or NE Clam Chowder. me: yesterday I probably would have chosen #1. me: because I like being #1. my boss: “I’ll take what’s under lid #1, Chuck.” me: “You’ve won…MINESTRONE.” me: *flashing lights and bells*
Hi. This blog is by Devon Persing. She mostly writes about work (information science and publishing), food, and crafts. You can write to her, if you'd like. You can also follow her on twitter or check out things she saves on delicious.
