Foodie

I'm definitely not a genuine foodie, though the fact that I love food and also that I happen to be wildly, sometimes uncontrollably opinionated might lead someone who doesn't know me well to wonder where I might stand on the food snob spectrum. And the truth is that I don't really so much as rest in any particular part of that space, but rather dot around based on food to food, from the upper tiered Snob factor of an absolute, fundamentalist's belief that most American cities cannot make real Mexican food (the lackluster ketchup-y crap trying to pass as ranchero kills me...and don't even get me started on plastic Velveeta "queso") but I will settle shamelessly on the low brow spectrum of things with a big bowl of Kraft Deluxe Macaroni and Cheese, the kind with the imitation, artificial cheese goo that is just. so. delicious. And I won't even explain myself.

But more than judge it, I like to get involved with food in a way that tends to string me out as a major, and totally unnecessary stress monster, taking on waaaaay too many projects until the only logical place to go is the Land of Utter and Disastrous Disappointment. So it would be logical to assume that this year, as co-hostess of an Orphans' Thanksgiving, my ever-expanding of must-have-recipes and my ever-dwindling-graduate-school-budget would meet somewhere under the umbrella of Epic and Insane Expectation in an explosive, terrible mess.

But it didn't.

Maybe it was because my co-host mandated that I not stress. Maybe it was because I decided somewhere between three pies, two kinds of cranberry sauces, turkey, the apartment, dishes and beverages, my contribution was enough. I cut the bread last minute. I delegated the salad and potatoes to a friend. And the night before, I made three beautiful pies, two sauces, and an all-butter pastry so flaky I took food-porn photos of it, and then I went to bed. On Thanksgiving Day, I helped clean in the morning, made some breakfast and watched the parade, went for a run, then proceeded to apparently eat significantly more food than anyone else in the room without even noticing. It was perfect.

I had nothing to do with this turkey, save a minor part in the purchasing. It was the chef's first bird and it turned out perfectly!

One of our orphans was our friend Ayako, a poet from Japan, who came with these tasty treasures!

Round One.

And Two. In my defense, this plate is mostly salad.

And my big contribution: the pie plate and densely whipped, lightly sweetened cream.

I used Joy the Baker's salted caramel cheesecake pie recipe, and it was far easier than I anticipated. Making caramel made me feel kind of like a kitchen rock star.

LOOK at that pastry! After the many botches and batches of the summer, I'm a total convert to the pastry blender and the all-butter recipes for these kinds of crusts. Now if only I had a pretty pie pan...

Glistening pumpkin fresh from the oven. I got fancy with the crust, making a kind of snaggletoothed pattern that gave the pie a funny, hoe-down look. You can see the bourbon pecan pie in the background, which was decidedly the least delicious of them all- I was determined not to use corn syrup, but I also used a light brown sugar (oops) and too much whiskey. It was quite boozy!

We ended the night with a hike up Mill Mountain, a decision that really improved what would have surely been a beached-out, sickly-full kind of evening, which always sounds more fun than it actually is. We rented a movie and spooned some of the leftovers later, and I woke up feeling the most normal I've ever felt after gorging on too-much holiday food.

I am, however, trying to swing back into some kind of normal eating before Christmas, which means a ton of soups and salads this week. I've been reading Michael Pollen's Omnivore's Dilemma and keep coming across the alarming realization that much of what we eat is barely "food" at all, which makes me just want to stuff myself with nothing but organic plants and rabbits killed by my very own cat. In addition to his mantra that we should "Eat Food," he also claims we should "Eat Less," which is all a lot harder than it is obvious. In addition to all kinds of studies showing that people (and animals) with more restricted caloric intake living longer and more disease-free, American culture has ingrained a "are you full yet?" mentality that isn't essential to our health, treating our digestive system as a gas tank instead of a system of organs that may not function properly when brimming. While I'm not much for dieting (I find that saying you can't have something when you love food leads to catastrophe..) I'm a huge believer in moderation. Bottom line: I'm committed to my health, and while stuffing myself on feast days is something I never intend to change, my every day need not be quite so epic.

(Dinner tonight: half a homemade baguette from Jim Lahey's No Knead method, a bowl of bean, spinach, garlic and barley soup, and a juicy navel orange. Not pictured: apple and spinach salad in artichoke vinaigrette.)

I don't mind eating less if it's good, anyway.

Ketchup

Today is another review en fotos day, and mostly just in horrible Blackberry ones (Must. Get. Camera.), though I feel a little bit better about my poor photo quality after reading this week that Joy the Baker started off using an even older camera phone. Bah, I'm just lazy. Anyway, these days have been mostly cooking, baking, and milling about my apartment in boot-slippers while drinking copious amounts of Harney and Sons tea and reading too. many. books and stressing over The Meat Parade. Along with the book-length or long poems I've been using for research (Littlefoot, Pinion, Crash Dome, Song of Myself, Venison, and I-don't-care-what-you-say-this-is-a-poem-too As I Lay Dying), I have been obsessed with cookbooks, mostly this one, and this one, though I definitely haven't outgrown Miss Dahl. David Tanis' "Heart of the Artichoke," is giving her personal essays a run for their money though-- a cookbook with top ten kitchen rituals as the first chapter? And a bread recipe for "An Honest Loaf? Sold. Not to mention the totally refreshing declaration that all a cook needs is water, fire, a good knife, and his hands. Love, love, love.

I don't have any photos from my birthday hike, as it turns out, which is too bad because it was a particularly beautiful day, and my friend's dog was particularly adorable and photogenic. We're planning on doing the same hike after Thanksgiving dinner, so I'll be sure to document then. In the meantime, please indulge my girlish need to brag about some of my gifts and activities-- it turns out that living alone in a hayloft makes it difficult to share the experience of opening really good presents without having to take to the inter webs to boast.

So this has been my life (generally) lately:

Phaidon makes the most beautiful books, and I got this on clearance at B&N for $14! J.Crew catalogs also make lovely lunch buddies. Lunch was: chicken pesto sandwiches on homemade spelt mini loaves, sparkling water, hot peppered portabello soup.

My lovely birthday pile from my family: it was truly an exercise of restraint that only a 26-year-old could commit to: not to open any of these enticing packages for the whole three days they sat on my table before my actual birthday. Though I hated the wait, I was glad I did.

Makes my heart go pitter patter...

I was lucky enough to get TWO Anthro gifts this year: my initials in these gorgeous mugs from my mostly companion...

...and this beauty from the G-pas. What I love about this shirt is that I never would have picked it out on my own, but LOVED the way the pattern breaks my usual solids or horizontal stripes habit.

This beautiful Tory Burch tote I've been lusting after is the perfect computer and book bag, and I've been carrying it with me absolutely everywhere. Love is an understatement.

Also from my sweet parents: a Wildflour cake waiting under my name on the day. Never mind that it's called Better Than Sex Cake. It was delicious.

I'm a little obsessed with my mini loaf pan, though I've decided I prefer it for quick breads rather than yeast ones. This was Sophie Dahl's Musician's Breakfast bread-- it's a really simple spelt loaf that takes absolutely no brains to make at all, though it's a little on the saltless side and tastes best straight out of the oven.

My lovely friend MC and I have begun a weekly ritual of Sunday Night Dinners, where we debrief the week and gear up for the next, over several glasses of wine, Grey's Anatomy episodes, and some ambitious recipe we'd feel too intimidated to try alone. My favorite so far has been a pumpkin mascarpone risotto, though I'm really excited for the squid pasta we're going to try next. Also on the list: Challah!

(P.S. that apron was a gift from the owner of a restaurant that hosted a reading I was lucky enough to participate in over the weekend. After I read part of the Meat Parade, the owner saw me admiring his meat-covered apron and unceremoniously gifted it to me. It was a total delight. I plan on wearing it for inspiration as I continue to hack at the thing.)

The baby kitty. He's not always such a monster.

I can't remember when this happened, but I walked out onto my porch one day and was greeted with this totally surreal, saturated world. Unbelievable.

Life is busy, and I've been working on trying to avoid the Floof Parade as much as possible by reading really good books, having long, positive conversations with close friends, and spending as much time as possible indulging in "good for me," time, like slow long runs and slow long recipes. I know that sounds super self-helpy, but anxiety- and depression-prone people do what they gotta do.

Happy Monday!