BingoFest

Authenticity again

May 14th, 2025

14 May Wednesday

It was an evening much like any other. We were strolling around the grocery store, not knowing what we’d have for dinner. I guess because they were on sale and we were getting tired, we settled on flank steak and broccoli for a stir fry. Beef and Broccoli, Broccoli Beef. We’ve done this before, there is nothing to it. Home we go.

Still in the stage of my Chinese cooking where I need to know the proportions of sauces and flavorings, I hied me to the library and found several recipes. Of course, this is not a really complicated formula, it’s the usual combinations of ginger, garlic, soy sauce, oyster sauce, Shaoxing wine, Sesame oil, and spring onions. The only difference really is how and when the ingredients are added. I decided on the one in The Wok by Kenji Lopez-Alt.

This Broccoli Beef begins with a technique of aggressively rinsing the beef in cold water and squeezing it tightly to get all the water out of it. Then, cornstarch is worked in with the hands, then a marinade is poured over. The water is boiled, the broccoli blanched, the peanut oil swirled into the hot wok, the beef added, then broccoli, then sauce, then serve.

Now there were a few little oversights which didn’t contribute to a great dish but certainly an edible one. Maybe the wok wasn’t quite hot enough and maybe the broccoli was a little crunchy. It was something we got right that I didn’t like. It was the washing the beef and working the cornstarch in. It made the beef tender, disturbingly so. I have had this texture before in Chinese restaurants, and I have to confess, I don’t think I like it. It takes a lot of the flavor out of the beef and it’s too soft. It isn’t slices of steak, like we’d have in a steak salad. That’s tender, it’s just tender for beef. Perhaps it was because the wok was a little cool that the beef ended up being super soft on the outside and super chewy on the inside which made it extra revolting, but I wasn’t happy. We need a redo.

As it happens, I bought enough flank steak to do this again if we wanted. Honestly, I didn’t really want to, I’m a little beefed out, but whatever. I would choose another recipe, I thought, and we can compare.

The photo on top is the first one, the one I didn’t particularly like. The one below is the recipe from Stir Frying to the Sky’s Edge by Grace Young. Her recipe was very much the same as Lopez-Alt’s except with the addition of Black Bean paste and the subtraction of the beef washing and cornstarch. There is cornstarch in Young’s, she uses it as a thickener for the sauce, not to tenderize the meat. I LOVED this one, and it will be my go-to whenever I make Broccoli Beef. The beef was steaky just like I like it, or like we like it. Strangely, it seemed more, well, what’s the word, American?

I began to wonder which of these recipes was more authentic Chinese. Then I wondered why I cared which one was more authentic. Then I wondered what other people would think if I told them that I liked the recipe that was less authentic. Then I wondered why I cared if people thought I was plebian for liking inauthentic Chinese food. And why is it important?

For the last couple of centuries, new cultures and cuisines have made their way to the USA and became part of our national cuisine. Think Chop Suey, Spaghetti and Meatballs, Pizza, Tamales. All these foods have roots in the flavors of the countries they come from, but they were all Americanized, and some of these became “types” of cuisine on their own, think “Jersey Italian” or “Tex-Mex”. After World War II, people began coming more from Non-European countries like India and Japan, there was more access to ingredients from around the world, and eating became more of a pleasurable pastime for more people. Hell, even mom got in on taco night. Thai restaurants and sushi became very popular and that was it, people were interested in food the way it is eaten in the country of origin. It even became a social taboo to like less than authentic versions of dishes. This was particularly true of Chinese food. Who eats Chop Suey or Egg Foo Young now?

So I did a little research, and found that indeed, it is “authentic” to wash the beef, and only beef, by the way, this should NOT be done with chicken apparently. I usually don’t eat beef at Chinese restaurants, and I would be open to cooking it again the washed way, but I must say, as a Westerner, I am accustomed to enjoying my beef a certain way, and I probably will always prefer that chewy, American steak in Chinese flavored sauce.

Now I feel guilty for having written that. Now I feel like everyone will think less of me for not having kept that to myself. Now I feel horrible for writing that I feel horrible because I’m worried what you’ll think of me now that I’ve shared that with you. Now I feel really awkward because I am thinking that you may have been liking this little essay until this part when I started feeling really self-conscious about how i come across in writing and how you may be judging me for coming across that way, which is not my intention. I just wanted to eat dinner.
Foreign food

April 5th, 2025

5 April 2025 Saturday

I’m laying bed, it’s a warm spring day out, and I am sipping a hot cup of coffee. Strictly speaking, coffee is a foreign food. It is not created domestically, therefore it is foreign. It’s so difficult to tell in this world what is foreign and what is not, some of the most familiar every day items we eat are foreign. So, this word, foreign, has lost a great deal of its meaning. Foreign means for many of us, anything that is unfamiliar.

I think many people would consider the Paw Paw a foreign food, even though it is the native fruit of Ohio. We’d much sooner eat a banana, even though bananas cannot be grown anywhere in the continental United States. With shipping methods, new routes, methods of preserving foods, there is no foreign. Everything is domestic in a sense in this global world. It has in fact always been global, it’s just that we didn’t know it. Many still don’t know it.

One of the best things about being an American, is that everything we eat is part of American cuisine. How many times a week do you eat Italian, Mexican, Indian, Chinese, Thai, German, Korean, or Japanese food? I bet at least three of these make it to the table every week, maybe more than once. I eat Chinese food three or four times a week. When I say, “let’s get Chinese”, I am saying “from our endless variations on world food, I want to taste the one that aligns with the flavor profile of China.” Most of our grocery stores have an Asian and/or Latino aisles with all the ingredients in that nation’s flavor profile. It’s a very American thing. I eat American every day.

Now, I am not saying that all the foods from other countries need to be “Americanized” in terms of flavor or cooking methods, we’ve really come around to eating more spicy and what do you call it, non-Yankee cooking. We eat Chinese food in an American fashion, with napkins on our laps, drinking clean water, with fork and knife, (or chopsticks, made right here in California) and in the context of our own culture. For instance, we are more likely to eat kimchi at dinner when our palates are ready for something spicy. In Korea, kimchi is eaten at all times of day, including a wonderful kimchi soup often eaten for breakfast. Most Americans who love kimchi would probably not eat it for breakfast on a regular basis. We make it an American food by interacting with it on our terms. Kimchi for dinner, not for breakfast.

Another use of the word foreign is with regard to things that shouldn’t be where they are. Foreign actors you may hear them called. Traces of a foreign substance were found in a sample of cereal, for instance. There are food cops out there all the time blowing the whistle on things found in food that shouldn’t be there. The Girl Scout cookie thing recently, where they were found to contain heavy metals, and all sorts of other not-Girl Scout cookie things. Everyone went nuts for a few hours, until the next paper concluded that you’d need to eat 73,000 cookies a day for those metals to harm you, so you’re in the clear.

No, this picture was not taken on another planet, this is Earth. You can’t see the pollinators, the foreign invaders that are the bees, but they are there in full force, making life continue.

Anyway, don’t forget to savor and enjoy all of those everyday, normal foods that are a “foreign” part of your daily domestic diet. The climate may not be able to sustain them, and you and I may no longer be able to afford them. And if you’re in Ohio, maybe start eating Paw Paws.
Baking for Spring

March 31st, 2025

31 March 2025 Monday

Like the opening of the baseball season, which also happened this week: Hot Cross Buns. Now, you all know I love these babies, and I make them every year without fail. I am completely pleased with this recipe, which I have developed over the years. A mix of bread flour and AP flour, allspice, cinnamon, cardamom, raisins, currants, candied orange peel. Bun wash after baking. Cross made with icing drizzled on after cooling. Bingo bango bongo, there are many ways to bake a bun.

There are the freshly baked rye loaves from Friday.

I don’t say this enough, but I love things smothered in seeds, in this case, caraway. Hmm, these loaves were dense, bitter, tangy, and really yummy.

There is a little of the rye bread left, and that puts me in mind of a bread pudding. A savory one, perhaps with eggs, cheese and sausage. Spinach, bell peppers. Hmm. A strata. Now, you’d think somethin’ with a fancy pants name like Strata would come from Europe or some fancy place. But apparently, strati are kind of an American thing. Now, of course, dishes like this were originally a way to dispose of stale bread, like French toast (poor Knights of Windsor), Pan Perdu. Or Panade, which was stale bread soaked in water with salt. If you were lucky, there was an onion in that water. If you were really lucky there was a beef bone with that onion and salt in that water with that stale bread. Thus, French Onion Soup.

In what ways, is a strata different from a frittata? The principal ingredient in strata is bread, whereas a frittata is a strange cross between an omelette and a quiche. OK, my strata is in the oven. eggs, milk, stale rye, sausage, onion, green bell pepper. Muenster cheese. Let’s see.

Looks gorgeous, doesn’t it? Well, it didn’t taste that way. It was too bready, not seasoned enough. I am going to keep until tomorrow, and cook it with braise lamb shank in tomato sauce. That should make it great.
Spicetown revisited again

March 29th, 2025

29 March 2025 Saturday

It’s good to let go of things sometimes. I have too many books always, and have practiced the art of giving away ones I care about to others, to open the door for a new opportunity, a new slice of life for me and the books. I always tell myself that if I ever want to see that book again, it’s always at the library or book store. Generally, when I get rid of a cookbook, I forget about, never giving it another thought. Sometimes, I am delighted to get rid of a book. I remember one cookbook that was meant to be “healthy” and every recipe was a total dud, not one thing worked. I don’t miss that one. There was another book, by a famous chef I shall not name as Jacques Pepin, and it too was low-fat, low-sugar, low-everything, low-flavor, low-joy. Every recipe I tried tasted the same, like nothing. I remember one egg white pudding with blueberry syrup, which, according to Pepin, was blueberries soaked in water. Jacques, please!!! Licking stamps is more flavorful.

There is one cookbook that I gave back to the world many years ago that I have thought about and thought about and always said to myself that if I ever found it in a 2nd hand book shop, where I buy most of my books, I would get it again. Cut to ten years minus one week later, and I saw a pristine hard covered copy of the book on the shelf at Community Thrift. It’s A Book of Jewish Food by Claudia Roden. It’s a thoroughly researched history of the evolution and dissemination of the foods of this (these) culture(s). It divides into two main sections: The Ashkenazy cuisine that originated in Eastern Europe, and Sephardic cuisine which has its origins in the middle-east.

I made two loaves of Rye bread, which was deliciously tangy and bitter. I didn’t make the dough the day before, which would have made it more sourdoughy, but i did make it in the morning. I put in a can of peanut butter stout beer, which is the perfect use of the stuff. It went beautifully with the mushroom soup I served next. Mushrooms, a potato, water, parsley, lemon juice. So yummy.

Amazing and mind numbingly simple red cabbage and apples: Let them soak and stew in red wine, apple cider vinegar, SandP. then steam it on up. So so good.

And Chicken Paprikash. Oh, boy, yet another dish mired in saucy controversy, and I do mean sauce. People go bonkers, the paprika must be Hungarian, it must not have tomatoes in it, it must have tomatoes in it, there is no fresh pepper in it, it must have fresh pepper in it. And why must everything Hungarian have sour cream in it? If I think about it, it might be the most divisive issue in the world today. Well, here’s something wack-a-doodle, the recipe in this book has both fresh tomatoes and fresh pepper, and NO SORU

No sour cream. Forgive the strange typo above, which I am unable to delete for some reason. Anyway, no sour cream. Actually, no dairy of any kind. Absolutely delish. Here’s a tip when cooking from cookbooks of other cultures, I think I’ve written this before: You usually want to triple the amount of spice in almost anything. So, 4 heaping tablespoons of paprika at least, at least, to get a good taste on that.

Now, a large pot of chili is simmering on the stove top. And on PBS, speak of the devil, Jacques Pepin is cooking salmon in water. I don’t really understand him, honestly. He clearly knows how to cook, and he must have a very sensitive palette his is food is so lacking in flavor. Not like my chili.

It was purely coincidence that this chili ended up clearing a pantry. I bought a freshly ground pound of beef chuck, and the meat man asked if I wanted another pound for free. Why yes, Mr. Meat Man, I would love more meat at no cost. But wait a minute!! What’s the catch? Well, Mr. Meat Man said that is was the tray of meat that he’d taken out of the window only a moment ago, and that it had lost its pink, youthful color and had grayed. No one would buy it, Meat Man saith. I will take the rejected meat and provide a home for it, I said.

Come on now, this is exactly what I mean. Jacques just put these strange little strips of salmon into a dry non-stick skillet with no seasoning or anything. It just looks so weirdly unsatisfying. With sorrel leaves soaked in light cream. blah.

OK, back to the chili! Having secured a large envelope of surplus beef and, having walked it home, gently, I was now in a position to decide what to cook with it. I’ve been “in the mood” for lasagna lately, but chili won. So, more beef=more spices needed to give it the good flavor. I pulled my signature blend: lots of cumin, lots of Italian seasoning, lots of smoked paprika (it’s a real paprika fest around here lately!), lots of red pepper flake, medium amounts of cayenne, medium amounts of garlic powder ( I like this sometimes because it has a little toasty flavor distinct from fresh garlic), black pepper, salt, and i think that’s it. I ended using up all of most of the above things. I know have a small army of empty spice jars. Spring cleaning means eating out the spice rack. It is not a cemetery, the spice jars are not tombstones. And Colorado Green Chile!! I’ve written about this before, the greatest of all chili blends. What a dish. What a day.

OOh, I just snuck into the kitchen for a taste of that chili. it sure is good. When I was a young fool, I would smother my chili in crackers and cheddar cheese, but now that I am an old fool, I think I like it plain. Which is, of course, not plain at all. OK, maybe a few crackers.

Finally, an editorial note before I hit publish. I always proofread this memo before sending it out and try to catch as many boo boos as I can. Lately, I’ve hit a problem: Word Press does not permit me to change anything after I’ve written it. So, the above text is completely unedited and I know there are mistakes. I regret not being able to change them. I might have even changed my phraseology or syntax and stuff. I was able, mercifully, to add this additional paragraph clarifying the reason for unaltered errata. Have a good day now.
Hungry for surprise

March 17th, 2025

17 March 2025 Monday

Perhaps because everything went smoothly, perhaps because I’d done something like this before, I forgot to write to you, dear reader. But don’t worry, I probably spared you a boring story. It would be more exciting if I were writing this from a hospital bed, recovering from third degree burns after a cauldron full of hot oil exploded in every direction after I put a rare cut of exotic meat, covered in searing hot, eye-watering chiles and spices took me to the floor, fully engulfed in flames. But I’m not. I’m just a man with an empty wok, walking the indifferent streets cold and windy. I realized recently that everything is completely meaningless, and I haven’t quite felt the same since.

Interestingly, this horrific picture was something quite lovely. I know it looks like someone dropped their doggy bag in a oil slicked drain, but it is actually pork belly simmering a marvelous stew of garlic, ginger, soy, and a new to me ingredient: Mushroom Soy Sauce. Have I not written of this elixir already? It is wonderous. Thicker and more umami than regular soy sauce, it’s also quite smoky, which makes the Chinese pork belly taste like, you know, bacon.

I braised that pork for four hours, worth every second. I have another whole pork belly in my freezer, am gonna make this again for guests.

Last week’s full moon, shortly before it eclipsed, seen over Mission Street. That’s the name of a song, appearing shortly: Moon over Mission Street. OH, the skies are playing tricks with us these days, so many changes, nothing to stop them.

Ginger, apple, upside down cake. Good, yes, good. Not enough ginger. maybe not enough spice in general. Lots of Molasses, maybe a little too molassesy. Still, good. I’m restless. I need a bigger project, maybe something with a little failure or at least risk involved. Spring is almost here, I’m ready.
The Year of the Snake

February 15th, 2025

15 February 2025 Saturday

A couple weeks ago, 29 January to be exact, we witnessed the first New Moon of the year, the beginning of the Lunar New Year Festival, which ends this evening. San Francisco is home to the largest Lunar New Year Festival outside of Asia, and baby, it’s a doozy. Fireworks exploding in every direction, clouds of gunpowder smoke fill the air, the blaring brass of marching bands, dragons and lion dancers on every corner, traditional Chinese orchestras playing, fan dancers, and oh, did I say fireworks? And every bakery, dim sum palace, noodle house, and tea service is bursting with costumers, long lines, tills cha-chinging.

Before the parade, we found ourselves in the Peninsula Seafood Restaurant, the menu looked good and there was seating. What we didn’t know is that there was a back room with a party of at least a hundred. We could see into the back room, where all these older Chinese folks were standing for various toasts whilst every member of the wait staff carried steaming dishes of all kinds into the dining room in what was obviously a fairly elaborate ceremony.

We were seated immediately, and the server pulled the top layer of disposable tablecloth off our table to reveal an identical layer of disposable tablecloth, our layer. A complementary pot of tea. A menu sixteen pages deep in a hard brown cover. The prices have all been hand altered with a pen, where there were prices. Many of the prices were labeled “seasonal” or my favorite, ?????????? That’s how much the specials cost. These specials are so special, even the employees don’t know how much they are worth. If there is anything this boy from Ohio has learned about Chinese restaurants over the years is if the service is bad and the menu confusing, the food will be delectable.

Soon(ish), our table was covered with terrific dishes. At just this time, the ceremony in the back ended, and the party walked out into the noisy streets, the parade is soon approaching. As they walked slowly out of the restaurant, they smiled and greeted everyone, looked at the table and smiled in approval at our choices. They were happy. This the most important holiday of the year for these folks, and we could really feel it. They were so happy and well fed, and although most of them were much older than me and my company, we could see in their faces the joy and goodwill that the New Year brings to all of us, whenever we celebrate it.

Potstickers for good luck, Singapore noodles for longevity, greens for financial prosperity. BBQ Pork buns. Shrimp dumplings. Just as in Western food traditions, pork and seafood are symbolically important to the new year, because pigs root forward and fish can only swim forward. Chicken is generally not eaten because it scratches backwards, a symbol of rumination, regret and worry. So, we didn’t eat any chicken. Save that for the 4th.

And of course, chili oil. I have learned that most restaurants make their own chili oil, and even though it is a very basic recipe (chili and oil), many eateries can make a reputation over this simple sauce.

The greens pictured above are pea shoots in a broth which I think is just the water they were cooked in with a little garlic and ginger. There may have been a little Chinese bacon in it. I can’t recall that I ever saw pea shoots on a menu until I moved to California, but they are the most delicious and delicate green I have ever eaten. I will tell you, if you ever see them on a menu, you really need to love yourself enough to order them.

Oh, the Year of the Snake. Are you ready for it? It can be a good year for voluntary growth and change, letting go of the old way of living and thinking into a new way. But this wonderful transformation is not something that is going to happen to us, it is a chance for us to transform, to impose the change on the world instead of the other way around. That’s a choice.

Choose pea shoots, whenever available.
less is enough

February 3rd, 2025

3 February 2025 Monday

I know I’ve been requested to not post twice in a day because they can’t keep up, but I’m not quite sure they read this anymore. Here it is, in its second incarnation:

The clouds parted for only a moment, the sun shone through the window onto the plate of golden sunshine, which we put in our mouths. Sparkling and delicious, fresh and deep cooked, little salty fish umami, ginger zing, garlic eyebrows. The rain is falling now on 18th St. the streets are quiet because they are streets, they are always quiet. But the people on the streets, the vehicles, the gentle raindrops and laughing ladies, running to the car, beep beep, unlock and get in. This moment which is a picture of a snapshot of a moment in this life, let’s soften it, this life which has been filled with so many stir fries, too many stir fries.

Now, it is quiet. I am contemplating many things, young ones. First, what theme should my Oscars party have this year? I was thinking Pennsylvania Dutch, I don’t know. I watched a show about the largest buffet in America, which is in Lancaster, Pennsylvania and looks amazing, with all of its chiffon and thick, gloopy sauces, and slow cooked cave man meats from ancients times. If we make all that crap light and airy and localish, I think we could invent something new, California Pennsylvania Dutch. I think I could make it chic, at least in Northern California. Fresh Dungeness Crab Corn Croquettes, and Potato Pancake Souffle with fish roe and pea shoots and no, wait, I get ahead of myself. Let’s all just relax. Let me think about it. In the meantime, go to bed early. Let the rain fall down and snuggle and cuddle for all your might. Winter too, passes and you’ll wonder where all the water went.
Mama lets her curries mellow

February 3rd, 2025

3 February 2025 Monday

I feel my sub-conscious absorbing the ways of the wok. Velveting is a wonderful thing, and I wonder how I can use it to tenderize other things. I toss the chicken breast slivers in a mixture of soy sauce, sugar, fish sauce, ginger, garlic, and potato starch. Now, I have learned of the subtle and horribly disappointing differences between cornstarch and arrowroot (please read some post from the distant past). But I have had No such feelings for potatostarch. Could it be the starchiest starch in town, with everything you need for perfect velveting and battering? I will use potato starch going forward indefinitely, and if I do change starches, I’ll let you know. We’ve got too much in the trust bank for me to keep that from you!!

Mission and 18th, awaiting an “atmospheric river”. Another day, another curry. This noon: a chicken breast, potato starch, salt, fish sauce, red bell pepper, garlic, ginger, a Japanese curry blend, lime juice, eggplant, green beans, sugar, coconut milk.

Now, perhaps I was a little big for my britches that my last stir-fry had gone so well. And although the ingredients were the right ones, the proportions were not quite right. Also, a slight controversy around the coconut milk involved opening a second can. Pro tip-coconut milk separates naturally in a can. You’re supposed to blend it up. If it smells nice and tastes nice, it’s good. Lesson learned.

It tasted good, but it didn’t really come together the way I wanted it to. What was it? Well, I decided to leave it on the stove top and reheat it for dinner. It tastes much better. It just needed to mellow and come together. And I thought, that’s it, that ‘s what we all need-we all need to mellow and come together. That’s how the wonderful curry could community can happen! If community can happen, why not curry it in a gentle blend of spices? Now I know what you’re not thinking, you’re not thinking, BEN!!!! Why did you put Japanese curry in coconut milk like a Thai curry. I don’t know why I did that, but I did. It really is a Japanese curry, the coconut milk having lost its distinctive delicacy, meaning I can’t taste it at all. Anyway, it’s good, everything’s fine, and I’m not special. I don’t have a picture of today’s curry, but I do have a picture of last week’s pizza:

Now she’s a real beauty. My done-in-a-jiffy-crust, smothered in olive oil, blanketed with fresh pizza sauce, bespeckled with mushrooms, bell pepper, broccoli, and Genoa salame, the whole being suffocated in snowy hills of cheese. And it’s a good thing we like pizza around here because I was gifted this:

That’s a big bag of flour! That’s a lotta pizza! What’s your favorite kind?

OK, let that curry mellow friends,

Let it come together.

For we all taste better

after we’ve mellowed.
We all scream for parsnips!

January 11th, 2025

11 January Saturday

In these strange and surreal, hold-your-breath, is this really happening, hellshit nightmare of bleak mid-winter, let’s pretend that we are not horribly distracted and exhausted by the realities of the world fresh in 2025. Some enthusiasms may need to be manufactured. Now, I will tell you, I’ve made some lovely things since last I wrote, but nothing of note. Until the other day.

Little dramas like this, I can handle. While at a friend’s for dinner recently, we all went down a YouTube hole of beef. Steaks, chucks, marbled, butchered, cuts of all kinds and shapes and preparations. Bloody aprons, sinew, fat, and bones flying through the air. It was wonderful. I don’t know, it put us in the mood for beef. And for me, far preferable than steak, is stew, or today, pot roast.

Now there are two types of beef stew I may get a hankerin’ for, when I get a hankerin’ for beef stew. The first is the French daube type, usually made with wine and thickened with Beurre Manie, or Old Fashioned All American Beef Stew, made with Beef, water, salt, carrots, potatoes, and that’s it. OK, maybe a little more fancy. Green Peas. Pearl Onions. And Parsnips.

Parsnips! Think of them as white, sweet carrots with a slight anise sort of flavor. You can do so many fun things with these little guys. They make good “fries”, soup, purees, and are great roasted with their friends, the carrot, turnip, and potato.

Parsnips! I exclaimed as we strolled through Whole Foods on that Tuesday mid-morning. “Parsnips are essential. Nature’s candy.” I said. “Really? Who is going to notice parsnips, and then appreciate them after noticing?” Well. We did find parsnips. They were tiny, withered, wobbly and miserable. I wondered if we happened upon a pod of partially decayed alien babies. I grabbed a giant handful, and threw them into the basket. There is no way I am making a beef stew this week without these little horrors. And what a cool funky taste that goes so well with beef, especially beefy beef. I love a good Beefy piece of beef. I cook that baby low and slow. Low and slow, for say, 5 hours, at 300F. I know it sounds nuts, but I think you can’t go wrong with low and slow. That is! if you love your beef absolutely fork tender beyond beyond. When you pull the lid off the pot, we beheld the beef undulating like jello, that’s just how tender it was. The knife slid effortlessly through the meat, which melted away in tender slices.

The guests assembled at the table. The dish of rich, sumptuous meat, surrounded by the noble sentry of vegetables, and enrobed in hearty jus was set forth to oohs and ahhs. The plates were passed, the cutlery clicking, and the wine glasses clanking. The knife tapping against the plate while the drink is slurped. Someone, swallowing, clearing the throat, made a HMM sound and asked, “Is there cinnamon in this?” I could have giggled with delight. “No,” I said. “But you have detected the magic ingredient.”

Parsnips! Parsnips! Everyone shouted in unison, and we all had a jolly laugh, raised a toast to the parsnip, grabbed the hands of the people next to us, and danced around the table till we all fell to the floor in a heap of rags!

Well, it didn’t really happen that way. I said “Oh, that’s parsnips” and everyone said “Oh.”

“Parsnips are good, you don’t always get them in things. They’re nice.”

And so, our year begins.
The new moon

December 1st, 2024

1 December 2024

Something sad about eating with the seasons- we become acutely aware, more than with anything else of the passage of time. Weren’t we just eating the summer peaches? The ripe tomatoes? And why didn’t we get more of them and savor each bite? Why did we forget that they would be gone soon, and we’d have to wait for another summer? Has Thanksgiving past already? I was there, right?

A new moon, today 1 December. The first day of the liturgical year, Advent 1. A Sagittarius new moon. What does all this mean? Well, nothing. Or almost nothing. It means the same as everything else, which is also as meaningless as you wish. Most stories, I find, have only a sliver of truth. But if you put those slivers together, well, you might have something there.

Much has been made of that most famous Sagittarian, Beethoven and his being deaf. There have been many well known blind musicians and composers, but a deaf one? What futility! To write one’s own music but never be able to hear it. Sagittarius lesson #1-we must work as hard as we can and bring that work to fruition, even if we ourselves can never fully enjoy that produce. The marvelous, joyful futility of our lives. A season to celebrate our own passage. The futility of our own work. In the tarot, Sagittarius season corresponds to the 8, 9, and 10 of Wands, the defense, exhaustion, and confusion of continuing on with our futile quest. Yet, we continue on, because, what else is there? Isn’t it funny, that this is time of year we are most likely to go into our attics, rummage around, pull out old decorations, and seemingly “waste” time putting up wreaths and lights and thotckes? Aren’t we like Beethoven, making all this music we can’t really hear? Sagittarius- Art for its own sake. Sagittarius-eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow……Sagittarius-to make a fire in winter snow will keep us warm, if just for this moment. Scorpio-to mourn, remember, and accept. Sagittarius-to accept our mortality with creativity and celebration. Capricorn- to take the creativity and contain it for the winter ahead-life goes on and the days begin to lengthen.

So, what to eat then with all this other stuff swirling around? Of course, with this cold, all taste is compromised. That’s no excuse! If Beethoven can write a symphony being deaf, I can make a meal without a sense of taste! Well, perhaps after a nap.

We’re in leftover land, and of course, the turkey was savagely massacred leaving nothing but bones, gnarled twisted knobs with little scraps of meat and flabby skin. A pan of green beans, mountains of mashed potatoes, absolutely no gravy (which makes the whole thing really lamentable). I think I’ll make a green bean, mashed potato casserole and keep it moist with human tears. Then, we gonna go wacky.