Salade Aux Lardons

Reblogged from Creative Exfoliation:

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It was a rough day at work.

I’ve pledged not to air dirty laundry on this blog, so let’s just say that it was the kind of day that makes me grateful that my students are so awesome.When all else is in shambles, they can usually be counted on for a laugh and a shot of optimism.

And when their positive energy is not enough, I turn to comfort food.

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Radicchio Salad with Bacon, Beets, and Lentils

Reblogged from Creative Exfoliation:

or, A Procrastinator’s Dinner

Readers, I officially redact last week’s statement about my worst student behavior. As it turns out, my worst study habit is far more mundane than I led you to believe. I am plagued by the not-so-very-creative habit of procrastination.

I have been on vacation all week and, as I told you yesterday, I have very little to show for it.

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Cupboard Cleanout Cookie Bars

Cupboard Cleanout Cookie Bars.

Here’s a foodie post from my writing blog!

Peanut Butter Brownies

Reblogged from Creative Exfoliation:

As you may recall from a post I made a few weeks ago, WordPress.com provides comprehensive statistics on my blog’s activity. I can see which posts, photos, and links have gotten the most hits. This, combined with Facebook and Twitter activity, gives me a pretty good idea of what interests my friends and readers. It’s funny to note what captures people’s attention.

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Check out Creative Exfoliation

Hey there followers,

As you may have already noticed, this blog is on hold for now. I noticed from my stats that people seem to be more interested in my stories than my food. I’ve decided to put more energy into my writing and less into recipe development and photography. I’m not giving up on The Heartful Foodie entirely, but recently I’ve been focusing my energy on a different blog, Creative Exfoliation, which I invite you to check out!

On Gluttony and Hunting

I spent last weekend in the Great North Woods of Vermont to observe a family ritual that is older than I am: bird hunting. We convene annually in the early fall at Camp. (Note to a certain republican presidential candidate, should you happen to stumble across this blog: sometimes the simplest name is really the best choice.) Camp is a rustic three-room cabin built and shared by two families, although the clan boundaries are in name only – I think we all agree that we are kin.

Camp has been a very special place for me since childhood. This is partly because of my love of nature (that my father the hunter taught me to love the woods was no accident.) It is partly because of the comfort of family and ritual. And it is partly because of the food.

You see, visits to camp are essentially an exercise in gluttony. We bring coolers laden with every imaginable food that can be cooked on a temperamental gas range. There are eggs and sausage and maple syrup by the gallon. There are mountains of deli meat, a dazzling assortment of cheeses and finger foods, and several pecks of apples. At dinnertime, comfort food is king – we partake in savory stews, soups, and flavorful grilled meats.

There are certain matters on which we do not agree at Camp. Nowhere is this more evident than at the breakfast table where one will routinely find a chaotic assembly of butter, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, Smart Balance, half and half, skim milk, and Coffee-Mate. It’s a veritable culinary United Nations. There are certain matters that defy compromise. But we all agree that there is a time and place for bacon, and my father makes the best pancakes in the world. I do my best to keep my whole food snobbery under wraps.

On our second night together we dined on a moose ragout, but of course, we don’t use words like ragout at camp. We favor the tongue in cheek “Clara Stew” to describe the dinner made from an animal that was shot, named, butchered, and preserved by one of our own. Make no bones about it (and pardon the pun): although we go home empty-handed more often than not, this is a hunters’ camp.

Having worn at different points in my life the badges of health-conscious pescetarian, militant vegan, and culinary hedonist, I have ultimately come around to a more-or-less comfortable relationship with hunting. I don’t partake in the sport myself, but not out of any moral objection. Rather, I just never really learned how.  I have relished the visceral thrill of firing a gun, although my targets have only ever been paper.

I have made my peace with the occasional dead animal slumped in a cooler. It’s not easy to look one’s dinner in the eye, but I think it’s important to remember that our meals were not born in Styrofoam packaging. In a culture that promotes mindless eating, I believe hunting is the noblest way to eat meat.

Which is why it’s ironic that I had to drive ten miles to the nearest one-light town to buy chicken in Styrofoam packaging on our last night. I used it to make a hearty Dijon Chicken Stew with garlic mashed potatoes. Our mighty hunters tried, you see. It’s just that those wild birds are so awfully hard to catch. As it turns out, gluttony and hunting rarely go hand in hand. One must take a little help where one can get it.

The Birthday Girl is Hungry.

Dear readers, today is my birthday. I’ve spent much of this week recalling birthdays past and, not surprisingly, food tends to play a starring role in most of my birthday memories.

I remember one childhood birthday when my mother offered to make me any dinner I wanted. She was surprised when I chose meatloaf. I guess that’s not a very common request for a child, but I thought my mother’s meatloaf – studded with onions and oozy little bits of cheese – was heaven on a plate (and even better sliced on a sandwich the next day.)

My mother always made my birthday cakes, instilling in me a lifelong disdain for supermarket sheet cakes plastered with unnervingly brightly-colored frosting. My usual choice was yellow cake with chocolate buttercream frosting, and that remains my cake of choice to this day, but I also have fond memories of a whipped cream-based frosting that she would pile on in pillowy mounds.

I recall one spectacular birthday dinner at Blue Ginger in Wellesley. My then-boyfriend and I were young and broke, so this night out was a major splurge for us. I remember nearly falling out of my chair when Ming Tsai himself came to the table to ask how I liked my sea scallops with soy ginger glaze. (Needless to say, I liked them very much indeed.)

Many of my recent birthdays have been spent in my family’s cabin up in northern Vermont, as my birthday coincides with the start of bird season. With all the hunters that converge on that cabin, you would think that once in a while someone might actually get a bird, but I’ve learned that it’s a good idea to bring one from the supermarket. Tucking into a birthday dinner of chicken with forty cloves of garlic and mashed potatoes, surrounded by friends and family, is about as perfect as a birthday can get in my book.

I spent my thirtieth birthday in Las Vegas – on a field trip with twenty-seven high school students. It was not exactly what one might expect of a Las Vegas birthday celebration, but that’s okay with me – I’m not exactly a high roller. My students surprised me with a birthday cake – at breakfast – and a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

My dear friend Lianne will celebrate her birthday tomorrow. Lianne and I have much in common, including similar jobs, a love of food and wine, and the belief that being thirty, for the most part, kind of sucked. We were both quite excited to turn thirty one and start a new chapter. We decided to give our respective thirtieth years a suitable send-off and collaborated on a joint celebration.

My contributions to the party spread included a carrot ginger dip with crudités, Asian meatballs with sesame lime dipping sauce, and an assortment of pastries from Cassis bakery in Beverly. The one HeArtful Foodie original that made an appearance was a recipe specially created for the evening: my Dirty Fun Thirty-One Martini. It’s a riff on the basic dirty martini recipe, garnished with bacon-wrapped olives. Because in the culinary realm, nothing is more fun than bacon.

What are your favorite birthday food memories? Any good recipes to share?