PIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

After a month of gathering contestants, judges and prizes, yesterday all my planning came together in the epic 1st Annual Pie Competition. There was so many pies that everyone's portions got smaller and smaller throughout the evening. Luckily there was wine involved during pie breaks, because we needed something to chase down the 12 pies that were entered.

We ate a Georgia Peach Pie, a Wild Berry Pie, an APPLE PEANUT BUTTER PIE (aubrey knows me too well), a beef pie, a Warrant (cherry pie) and so many more pies I can't even remember. The ballots were counted thanks to lots of friends and iphones, and the winners were announced. The only hiccup of the evening was when I asked Dominic where the prize bag was - the bag that he put in front of the door so he wouldn't forget, the bag that I asked him twice not to forget - and well, he replied, "I forgot." So he snuck out with Aubrey's husband, made a quick stop to Taco Bell (for Mike's sake) and came back without anyone realizing a thing.

Everyone got prizes, everyone got pie and everyone asked if I was doing this next year.

Total success and yumminess!

two days to make and one hour to eat.

I made apple-honey challah, homemade applesauce (from a tree right across the street), Italian-Jewish style brisket (dominic really claimed this as his own though), baba gonoush, potato latkes, matzo ball soup complete with homemade chicken stock (also a dominic contribution) and a sweet tasting kugel.

we had 7 friends come over, an extra table and chairs delivered, lots of wine as gifts, one bottle of grape manichevitz and the vegetarian even made liverless chopped liver.

we talked about religion, making tea, creating children's books, how big your thighs get when you ride a bike and i got to feel my friend's belly when the baby inside her started to hiccup.

we cooked for 2 days (the bread alone took about 4 hours to RISE and knead and so on), we ate in a matter of 60 minutes, we talked for 2 hours, we cleaned up and put everything away in a matter of minutes.

i couldn't have been happier.

Meet meat...

http://www.thunderinghooves.net/

It just so happens I'm finally getting around to reading Omnivore's Dilemma, where the chapter I'm on discusses meat and how it's basically not properly raised on most "farms". Yes, even the meat you buy from your grocery store that's labeled "grass-fed" "organic" "cage-free" "farm-fresh" still comes from a huge factory where, sure they might not use any pesticides or growth-hormones, but the way that cow is treated is exactly the same as any corporate factory you've grown to hate. The cows, chickens or pigs might have a door somewhere to be let "free" but they're still put in a big cage (or shelter, if you will) with thousands of other cows, chickens or pigs. They probably can't even see this door if they tried. They probably are stepping in eachother's shit and vomit and feathers until they die - by a machine. Basically, a slaughterhouse is a slaughterhouse no matter what pretty little sticker you put on the package.

But because I'm lucky to live in Seattle, where everyone composts their banana peels and farmer's markets are shopped at more than Safeways, I also get to do things like visit farms from where I get my cheese (which I've done) or have the farmer, who raised and yes, killed my meat, can come to a parking lot near me to sell the cow or lamb or chicken that was on his beautiful farm not so long ago.

The difference is simple. When I go to my local grocery store, it usually says a lot of things or nothing at all about my meat. Lately, I've noticed more packages with stickers that say, "From the farm" but don't say which farm or there's simply a sticker of a farm, but no mention that the cow was actually living on one. But with Thundering Hooves there's no mistaking where your meat comes from. You know the cows have plenty of land to graze on. You know that they are fed grains, and why they are fed grains. You can take tours of their farm, and see pictures of their farm from their site. You can actually meet the person who probably once handled the cow/chicken/pig that you are now about to eat.

Awhile back, Dominic and I did a taste test from meat at Safeway that was labeled, "Farm fresh, organic without fed any hormones". Then we bought a much more expensive piece of meat, the same cut, the same weight, from our local Farmer's Market. The taste of the two were so remarkably different (meaning that the Farmer's Market meat was way fucking better - like better than any fancy steak you've had at any restaurant ever). This became just one of our reasons to buy meat locally. The other reasons should be obvious and that's how I found Thundering Hooves.

So in two weeks, I'll walk 2 miles to get meat that's only come 280 miles to get to me. And that, for some strange reason, makes me happy.

Cross it off the list.

I made cheese! Ok, well it's not really made just yet. It's drying out in a bag, hanging from our pot rack. And I really didn't have to do much. I just took the Kefir I've been cultivating for a few weeks, asked a friend for her cloth bag and voila, cheese is about to happen.

I also made something for a friend, who I doubt reads this, but just in case I'm not saying shit cause I'd like it to be a surprise. All I can say is that it's made with Nutella, butter and love.

I won't give up bread, but peanut butter is a whole different story.

Over the weekend I decided something big. Possibly life altering. That's right, folks - I'm giving up buying shitty Safeway brand peanut butter for ONE WHOLE MONTH. Ok, so this might not seem like a big deal to you. You probably eat that healthy frou frou organic, no stir shit like the rest of my health conscious friends. And believe me, I AM THE QUEEN OF HEALTHY. Give me some quinoa and zucchini and I'm in heaven. But shitty, sugary, no named brand peanut butter seems to be my only weakness. I was/am/will always be quite possibly addicted to the stuff. Anyone who has lived with me knows this obsession all too well. At first I was just having a spoonful after dinner once in awhile. Then it was every day. Then it was 10 spoonfuls. Then I was buying a container a week. I wasn't gaining any weight from it so I'm not worried about that aspect, but I was just becoming concerned that this whole shitty peanut butter thing was becoming too much. Why do I need that much of anything in one day? I eat enough protein. I eat enough nuts. And yet, every day I was going deeper into the hole. The peanut butter was taking over my life! I had to have it!

And then, this Sunday I decided no more. Fuck you peanut butter. You can't control me! You can't make me buy your delicious crunchy, buttery texture. I told my plan out loud to Dominic to make this official. I, of course, set some ground rules. And here they are:

-I can have other butters, like almond butter or shitty organic butter. The reason? Because I would never eat spoonfuls of the crap. They would be soley for pbjs and that's fine by me.
-I can have peanut butter that is already in food items, like cookies or ice cream or reeses. I hardly ever eat any of those things anyway so I'm fine in that department as well.

Basically I just can't buy/eat 10 spoonfuls of the shitty brand pb I so covet. One month. I'm on day 3 and so far so good. Instead of an apple and peanut butter for dessert (my usual) I have opted for a banana and a homemade granola bar. It's not nearly the same, but I feel slightly better that I'm not totally freaking out and getting the shakes. Although, I think about eating it every 10 seconds and purposely sent my baker friend a recipe for homemade reeses peanut butter cups just so I can have a little taste of the bad stuff. I am pathetic. I know.

Dominic's stomach says so...

Tonight I made a red pepper pesto with spaghetti and then baked oatmeal cranberry cookies (mostly for my friend, which left about 5 for us). I took pine nuts, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, parsley and then roasted a red pepper, cut it up and threw that all in my blender. All while the spaghetti was boiling and the cookies were rising.

Usually the boyfriend just tolerates my meals. I cook a lot, but not the kind of stuff he likes. He wants meat pies and stews and chicken with stuff on it. I make things like quinoa salad and beet hash. Weird, hippie shit that just doesn't satisfy this hungry man who sleeps next to me.

But tonight I did the unthinkable. We ate and he immediately said, "mmmm. This is definitely one of your top 5 meals." and gobbled it up in seconds. I left him the rest of the sauce I created to do what he will for lunch tomorrow and he was actually excited by this.

Now if only I could remember what those other 4 top meals were.

6.7 miles and I’m alive to tell about it.

Yesterday I ran the longest I’ve ever run. 6.7 miles. I definitely won’t be doing it again next weekend, or attempting that half marathon anytime soon, but I am glad I did it. And that I ran the whole thing without stopping. And that my time was about 54 minutes (real times will be posted today). That’s a little slower than average for me, but I also have to realize that I’ve never run that many miles before! And I’m not doing it to be 1st place. I’m doing it for the challenge and for the scenery and maybe even a little for the cause. I figure if I don’t have time to volunteer, at least I can give some money to Cancer Research by running my ass off in 85 degree weather.

Immediately after, I was feeling wobbly. I definitely needed some water because the tiny cups they give you along the run were used more for dumping on my head then entering my mouth. When I think about it, I don’t understand how anyone can drink out of a baby size Dixie cup while running. It’s like driving with your eyes closed, while talking on the phone and eating a pizza.

So I got some water and ate a banana. I needed that banana. The second it entered my mouth, it was gone. After a few minutes talking to Dominic and stretching, I wanted to walk around and collect my free shit! That’s right, races are the mecca for free things. I should’ve been doing this years ago.

I got fancy water galore, as many bananas I could shove in a bag, loads of bagels (I could’ve also taken pizza, but I didn’t want to eat anything but bananas at that point), trail mix from Trader Joe’s, Emergence Vitamin C packets, a free massage AND….

Dave’s Killer Bread.

Okay, that last free prize might not seem like much if you aren’t from Seattle or Portland. But if you are, then you know this is the biggest deal ever. In fact, you’ll be even more jealous because I got to meet Dave himself, in the flesh. And I got so excited that I recognized him, and he was so excited that I recognized him that he immediately gave me a shirt. The table set up he had was really just for tasting, but I told him how much of a fan I was (really, it’s great bread. His story is just great too. Read about it here.) and he looked under the counter, asking me which was my favorite. I told him Spelt, and suddenly he reappeared with a bag of Spelt bread, handing it over like it was my trophy for not winning the race.

I don’t know why that was so exciting. Maybe because I just saved my $5.70 on bread (I know it’s expensive, but I’m telling you man, this bread is worth it!) or maybe because I got to meet him in person, and he’s kind of a Seattle Bread Celebrity (Celebreadity?).

All I know is that I ran farther than I ever had before, all along the shores of Seattle, to get me some of the best bread in Seattle. And if that was always the prize, then I’d do it again. Just not next weekend.

Eat me.

-Two servings of Homemade Rhubarb Crisp from a recipe I made with fresh, Washington grown rhubarb.

-A tiny piece of a rich chocolate cake given to me by my neighbor, who bought it from Eat Local, which is a market that only carries locally pre-made foods.

-One glass of Chocolate Milk. Usually this milk would be local too, but I just didn't have the time to pick up my glass jug this week. Thus, it was Lucrene skim milk ultra pasterized, which isn't even my normal grocery store milk choice, but Dominic bought it for me so I had no say in the matter. The chocolate syrup was, of course, from Hershey's.

-One Pink Lady apple from Washington. Apples are so not in season anymore. But for some reason that never stops me from wanting 20 in a day.

-Three spoonfuls of generic crunchy peanut butter that was probably made in a factory.

This was my dinner last night. And it was fucking delicious.

Ain't he the cutest?

The boyfriend told me yesterday that he was going to make me dinner that night, at my place. I had this weird premonition that he was going to make me potato laktes because Passover started this weekend and during the holidays I usually think about my grandma and talk about her endlessly. She would make what seemed like 10,000 laktes every time I would visit and then "made" me eat them all, which I gladly took on. I tried recreating her recipe once, years ago and they didn't turn out the way she made them. I thought this would always be the case, as it's hard to copy someone's vague recipe, but then I realized I just didn't add enough oil.

Note to lakte makers: Add too much oil. The laktes should be swimming in the shit.

When I got home last night, I walked into my building and smelled something amazing. Potatoes. Onions. Love. I ran downstairs, flung open the door, and half-expected to find my Grandma standing by the stove, with her makeup all done up and her hair stuck together perfectly.

Instead I found my boyfriend, sitting on the couch looking very pleased with himself. And I was pleased too. Because:

a)he made me something very special
b)he knew to get the good honeycrisp applesauce (NOT SOUR CREAM) at metropolitan market
c)the kitchen was spotless

He did make the same mistake I had made with the oil, but that's okay. I figure the next time I'll show him how it's done. Or at least buy them from a place that knows how it's done.

I could make someone a good wife if they like bland food and all.

Last week I got my first bin from a CSA. What is a CSA? Well, actually I don't know. It stands for Certified something something. Basically, it means I get fresh produce delivered to my apartment and it's mostly from local farms.

When I told my Mom about this, I think she got confused because she kept comparing what I'm getting to what she used to get when Publix, the huge supermarket in Florida, delivered everything from tampons to zucchini. This is not that. This is a local food delivery service. No tampons. No beer. Just fruits and vegetables. From farms in like Snoqualmie, WA. Not Venezula.

AND I LOVE IT!

Yesterday, I couldn't have been more pumped when Dominic dropped me off at 4pm. I spent the next FOUR HOURS cooking everything for the following week ahead. I decided planning ahead like this is the best option for me, because I've noticed lately how tired I get after work and thus I end up eating Trader O's for dinner. And I guess cereal could be okay every now and then, but a week of it gets as old as your grandma.

So I made:

Zucchini Bread for the next knit meet up.

A big salad to last me a week for lunch. It's contents include, avocado/lettuce/cabbage/argula/mozzarella cheese/rainbow chard leaves/mangos/balsamic vinegar

A very modified version of this broccoli and millet recipe. Except I barely had enough millet, so I added wild rice and then tofu and then the stems of the rainbow chard. Voila, dinner for the week and if the salad runs out then it turns into lunch too.

And to top everything off, I made Cabbage and Potato soup!
It's sitting in the freezer right now, as an in case I don't have any food heat this shit up and feel all warm inside emergency.

On Saturday I also made French Toast from beer bread I made a week (or two) ago and it was pretty darn good. But I wouldn't say I'm a chef by any means. Actually, most of the shit I make turns out kinda bland and it never looks as good as the pictures shown on these blogs I turn to. But that really doesn't matter to me. I just love making it all.

Like a website or a scarf, I seem to like to create things. Even if it means burning the shit out of my cutting board and slicing my finger along the way, I'll do what it takes to make me some real home cooking.

SOUP!

I think it was when I moved to Michigan when I really started making soup. I'm no pro, but I like doing it. A lot.

My grandma used to make the best soup in all the land. She only made 3 kinds. Matzo Ball soup, Chicken Noodle soup and Split Pea soup. All amazing. The aroma of seasonings and broth and veggies filled the house the minute we opened the door. It was always the first course. Oh yes, at grandma's we always had at least a four course meal. Soup and chopped liver (or gefitle fish) on a bed of lettuce and potato latkes and steamed carrots and brisket and dessert. Seriously I don't know how I stayed as thin as I did.

But it was always her soup that I would easily slurp up. Grandma's house was the only place I'd be allowed to pick up the bowl and drink the remaining bits. And the only place I'd actually want to, because soup anywhere else just wasn't the same.

One day her soup didn't taste right. I came home with a belly ache, and told my mom something was wrong. A month later she fell in the middle of the road. She died a few days after Mother's Day about 5 years ago.

Before she died she would actually send me mail. Remember mail? Usually it was just, hi I'm lonely and wish I could see you kinda stuff. But at the end of each letter she'd supply a recipe of something I'd love to eat. Like Split Pea soup.

Yesterday I found the recipe and made it. Everything was very vague. Like add onion, carrots, celery and split peas to a pot of water. She never really measured (as all good cooks shouldn't), so I just had to wing it as she would. Needless to say, as a newbie, the soup didn't come out nearly as good as hers. But the house did smell pretty darn good.