BingoFest

11 March 2024

They are milestones, little ones, between Christmas and Easter. There are a number of them. Two of them are national days MLK, and President’s Day. Two of them are saint’s days that have become part of our secular culture, Valentine’s Day and St. Patty’s. Two of them are strictly cultural-The Super Bowl and the Oscars. It can be hard to know which ones really deserve your attention. The Super Bowl has a long had a reputation for being a big food day. I once read a “study” that the Super Bowl is the 2nd most food planned day of the year after Thanksgiving. Whether that is true or not, the Super Bowl is known for foods like buffalo wings, nachos, and pizza, so no need for the good silver.

I’ve never been able to bring myself to cook a large quantity of chicken wings, I get so worried wondering what happened to the rest of the little guy. Wing eating sessions are one of the only opportunities you get to see the real carnivore in so many of us homo sapiens. Wrists and sleeves covered in the blue cheese and flaming orange hot sauce while otherwise decorous friends nearly choke on grisly skin and exposed knob knuckles of bone. I must confess, I do love them. Then nibble a celery stick.

I usually love to do corned beef for St. Patrick’s Day, but this is not to be. The reason is simple-my fridge was full to bursting with food, there was no room for a big piece of brisket. Nevermind. Let it be. What has been done, has been done. What has not been done, has not been done. Of course, I will make soda bread, and have a full head of cabbage somewhere in there too.

Call me what you will, but if you meatheads can go nuts for football, I can go nuts for the Oscars, and nuts I must go. I have always loved the awards and watched them since I was old enough to operate a remote control. Many people say that they represent the worst our country has to offer. Beautiful entitled rich people congratulate themselves on their history-changing performances in an orgy of glamor, waste, and opulence, all the while looking down and finger-wagging at the unwashed masses who are warming their hands around the barrel fire. In fact, it should be celebrated for just this reason. It is the most over-the-top, in-your-face, no-holds-barred, winner-take-all, we’re-number-one evening. It couldn’t be more American if it featured a car crash.

This year, my Oscars offering was as humble as the ceremony itself. An evening of level-headed and eclectic choices for awards. Speeches brief and uncontroversial. Inoffensive dad jokes. No one was attacked or brutalized, it was kind a boring. I made one of my favorite party dishes-an old Julia Child warhorse she called Granny’s Tatoes for a Crowd, which makes it a pan in the ass to find in the index as it is not listed under Potatoes, tatoes, or Grandma, you have to get her just right. Thumbs down, Julia. What ever happened to Pommes Gratin au Grand Mere or something fincy fancy like that? It’s all good, I didn’t have to look for the recipe, it’s in my heart, I think literally. Anyway, it clogs your arteries with a rich bechamel sauce enriched with Dijon and garlic, giving it a zip and a zing. Covered in feather-light minced ham, and you got yourself a dinner. Asparagus, and rolls and this-

Now don’t worry, this was the pre-cleaned up version, I dusted away some of the crumble graham cracker crust around this creamy and splendid dark chocolate cheesecake. It was so lovely and delicious, my friends congratulated me with this magnificent centerpiece, salvaged as it was from the indifference of the city’s streets:

Hmmm, it says so much.

But, what?

5 February Monday

   In these lean days of rainy mid-winter, I open the freezer. What treasure from the past will become my dinner tonight? What a great thing, what an act of love that past me has bestowed on present me! First, a container of split-pea soup with thick red shreds of ham that I made probably in July when it’s really cold here. Then, minestrone from the summer with seasonal veggies and the wonderful chicken stock. When reheated, they are as fresh and scrumptious as they day they were made. Next, a pantry raid.

   OK, pantry raided. The above paragraph was written weeks ago, in the before time. See, since I’ve been back from my NYC trip, life has been lifeing, sometimes against my plans. The past makes the present indeed. In the first weeks of 2024, several teacher, mentor, and inspiration figures in my life died. They were long-lived, had done their work, carried their bales, and earned their rest. It is the good and natural movement. When someone from the past that I have not talked to for many years dies, I suddenly find myself recalling memories I hadn’t remembered having. It’s like the freezer of my mind. I open it up, and there they are, the encouraging words from long ago, ready to be thawed out at just the moment I need them, ready to be comforted and fed. It is sad and wonderful and all the things that are what life are. Who would you be without your people that made you who you are? Who would you be? You and I are the collection of the little bits of them that stuck to us, to our personalities and made us a little more ourselves. Like sesame seeds stick to bagels.

From the pantry-salt, yeast, flour, sesame seeds. Then

In addition to the death going around, atmospheric rivers. The atmospheric river Styx, if you will. Rain, rain, pouring down. What then to do but bake? Or, in the case of bagels, boiled then baked. Certainly wonderful, a great texture. Dense and chewy inside, light and crisp on the outside. And so easy, too easy. I would dare say the best bagel I’ve had on the West Coast. When it wasn’t raining, it was this:

Golden Gate Park on a late Monday morning, mid-winter. Between deluge and torrent.

  Life is good, and I am told, short, though my life so far has been well paced if I say so. Keep a’cooking, keep a’goin, and thanks thanks thanks to the good ole world for the funny people, and don’t forget to tell their jokes.

29 November Wednesday

I’ve often thought that if I ever became a film or tv director or playwright or novelist or something that requires you to create titles to things, I would try to come up with titles that may be stories in themselves but have nothing whatsoever to do with the story behind it. Now, with novels, you sort of expect to the title to not really tell you anything about the story, that’s part of what intrigues us. For instance, Gone with the Wind really has little to do with weather, and The Sun also Rises is not about advances in astronomy. But with movies you kinda expect a film called Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure wouldn’t be a documentary meditation on old-world beekeeping nuns in Minnesota. I’ll start with this blog post. It’s not about biscuits, and who Barney and Boo may be is anyone’s guess. But I bet it piqued your interest. What is this post about?

Christmas baking. It’s that time again. I will confess something to you: Baking Christmas cookies is not a thing I like to do by myself. You need kids to put sprinkles on things, spill milk on things, flour flying through the air, the hot oven taking tray after tray, dad eating them with abandon still steaming hot, the sweet, avuncular croon of Burl Ives crackling forth from the ole’ Victrola. Too sentimental!!

In my sunny San Francisco bachelor pad, I will explore the cold, stony North in my seasonal offerings. I am going to work with sweet yeast doughs in fruit dribbling braids, brushed with egg wash and baked to a shiny brown. I will make the complex design for Swedish Saffron Buns for St. Lucy’s Day. This is a curious Yuletide celebration in Sweden, when young girls serve things to people while also doubling as human candle stands. I don’t mean to say curious, but I do think young people would feel very different about Christmas here in the US if they were forced to have their heads weighed down with flaming wreaths, hot wax dripping onto their eyelids, carrying heavy trays of dainty sweets, eaten by the elders right in front of them. Good thing their eyes are singed shut!

Yes, I did this.

27 November Monday

There it is. The scene from a few days ago. The dinner was a success but we knew that it would be.

That Julia Child. I cursed her name a few times while prepping this poor animal, but in the end, I and the art of fine cooking prevailed, and we all agreed that this is the best way to prepare turkey legs. Remove the thigh bone, roll up the meat, wrap the skin around the exposed meat, then truss it all up, and bang you got yourself the miracle pictured above. I should mention that before suture took place I seasoned the now boneless meat with salt, pepper, and a few fresh sage leaves. It was absolutely wonderful. This is not just meat for Thanksgiving, it is a special occasion of all sorts sort of thing. I may make it again for my birthday or something fine like that.

Thar she blows, a roasted pumpkin soup in the pumpkin. It was OK, though didn’t hold a candle to Julia’s bird. Here is one thing: because the turkey has been cut up, and partially boned it takes a lot less time to cook and consequently finished before the soup even went in. We had one little taste of turkey, and it was over. We wanted the potatoes, the green bean casserole, the cranberries, the everything else. The gravy. Large boats full of it.

A welcome and refreshing change from pumpkin pie, though we all love that too, don’t we? A wonderful, light vanilla custard topped with pureed raspberries and cranberries. Tangy and only lightly sweet. Not cloying or heavy at all. Just perfect.

That’s it, really. Pretty standard stuff, all well done. I had a weekend staying with friends, eating more turkey, telling stories, and laughing my ass off.

The view from my guest bedroom window. I tend to sleep in when I’m at other peoples houses. I have no chores to tend to so have no incentive to get up early. That’s it. I’m grateful for so much in life. We went to a plant shop in Berkeley and among the little buds, this:

A beautiful fall day in California, no doubt about it. Finally, the weekend winds down. A much needed rest. My dreams will guide my next steps. A tree? Decoration? Party? Cookies? What?

21 November Tuesday

Wow, I’m really hungry. What do I want to eat? The horrible days before Thanksgiving. A turkey that’s taking up so much space in the fridge there is room for little else. You may have seen that brief post with the pumpkin cheesecake, which is still good and waning in the fridge. This stuff has got to go if I’m gonna get a move on with that Thanksgiving dinner. No room in the freezer, no room in the fridge. That’s a problem.

See, before ya have fun and get to cookin all them yummy foods, you need to clean and clear out, and get everything ready, and go get the food. It’s the crappy part. NO, I will be of good cheer.

But here’s the exciting part. A kitchen full of treasures. I’ve decided to do a few different things this year. We’re gonna start with pumpkin. Pumpkin soup, served in the pumpkin. I have a rich and wonderful chicken/vegetable broth that will go beautifully in the pumpkin, a nice, light starter. Then, for dessert, I am going to do a Cranberry and Raspberry tart. To get our pumpkin spice fix, sweet potato casserole. Then the usual, turkeystuffinggravymashedpotatoescranberrysauce. It really is just one dish.

12 November Sunday

Above, an interesting and unusual pie, a big surprise frankly. That is Pumpkin Cheesecake Pie, a recipe from Erin McDowell, queen of pastry. A cookie crust holds the cream cheese custard extended with pumpkin puree. There is no spice of any kind. It is a cheesecake that tastes like pumpkin and it is really quite very good.

Now my thoughts turn to Thanksgiving.