- The Unbearable Sadness Of Eastern European Soups
There’s something a little Prague Spring about this photograph, isn’t there? This is zurek, a tangy Polish soup smoky with kielbasa. There should be bits of root vegetables bobbing about in the broth, but I’d probably fished them out and eaten them by the time I remembered to take a picture.
It’s a melancholy illustration for a mournful post. My computer, you see, is ailing. All is not lost: I still have a year left of a three-year international warranty. But for now, I am confined to my boyfriend’s machine, which means no photo-processing (annoying) and no privacy (near-fatal).
I’ll be back soon, friends. In the meantime, you may be interested to know that the winner of my Arbitrary Re-Ment Giveaway has received her prize.
- Down-Home Divine
Today I cooked myself a lunch of such surpassing deliciousness that I don’t even mind the blister burn I sustained on my index finger.
Move over, oven-fried chicken. There’s a new dish in town, and it’s got three times the hyphens: oven-fried-chicken-fried steak. I covered it in country gravy, served it with a side of luscious, stewed green beans, and transported myself to my beloved South, where men are men, and women cook with convenience foods.
(Only six weeks to go until I get to spend Christmas in Georgia! Newcomers to this blog can read about my love affair with the region here.)
Are you too good to cook with canned food and frozen produce? I’m so sorry to hear that.
- What My Rabbits Have Taught Me About How We Eat
In the nature/nurture debate on palate range, I used to be a staunch proponent of the nurture argument. I’ve always attributed my open, inclusive eating habits to my multicultural upbringing–one that had me munching on Époisses and pig’s ears before I could read. I have approached picky eaters with scorn, and prided myself on converting the men in my life to broccoli and sea creatures; where copious amounts of garlic have failed, I’ve relied on copious amounts of scolding.
Then I brought home my second bunny, and now I’m not so sure.
- I Didn’t Think Such A Thing Was Possible
Just look at those juices.It’s the morning after Halloween, you’re epically hung-over, and you gorged yourself on fried chicken the night before–what do you want to eat?
That’s right: more fried chicken.
Because you’re a woman who values her slenderness, you resist. Nevertheless, to misappropriate Blaise Pascal, le ventre a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point–the stomach has its reasons of which reason knows nothing. So you connive.
It occurred to me that there was such a thing as “oven-fried” chicken. I was profoundly skeptical; the concept of oven-frying seemed to belong in the same dismal bin as fat-free ranch dressing and vegan cheddar. But it was chicken or bust, so I put my faith in the bizarrely-accented star of this instructional video, and held my breath.
