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Sunday, March 29, 2009

Haugwash

“A real grillmaster doesn’t let rain or snow get in his way.” At least, that’s what the guy at the local Whole Foods told me. Spoken like someone who doesn’t own a grill.

Now, to be sure, my grill’s worked very hard through all four seasons over the last five years. But there are certain circumstances in which the better part of valor is to fire up the stew pot instead. Like yesterday. Picture me, in the driving sleet, brushing BBQ sauce on baby back ribs. The grill went out twice in the course of two hours. Damn sleet! It’s Chicago, I should have expected a snowstorm a week after spring had officially begun.

Oh, but to the real point of this post: JB’s Fat Boy BBQ products. Mark at Holzkoph’s Meat Market just started carrying their stuff. Astoundingly yummy! I started with the Ride ‘Em Cowgirl rub and then followed with a chaser of Haugwash sauce. Best ribs I’ve had in a long time, even with the sleet. 

Friday, March 27, 2009

In Late Winter, We Ate Pears

Honey P. and I having been talking about our eventual move to Woodstock, Vermont, for a couple of years now. We’ve even got our daily routine planned out--living on the Green, walking to the local coffeeshop with the dogs in the morning, and dinner more often than not at pane e salute.

Deidre and Caleb have a new book, In Late Winter, We Ate Pears, coming out in June. You can pre-order it on the Chelsea Green site. You can also watch a terrific video of them talking about slow food and the heirloom recipes that they bring back from Italy during their annual travels.

If I could, I’d fly to Woodstock once a month, just to have dinner there. Hopefully, in roughly four years, we’ll be able to stroll there more often.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Home Alone

Ken comes later today to pick up the sofa, loveseat, and coffee table from my den.

The impetus, Honey P. and I had decided a bit ago to replace them with furniture that was more conducive to entertaining people ... and to give the dogs more room to sprawl out when we’re watching TV together at night. Granted, it’s currently “dog,” but we link to plan ahead.

It’s a bit of a deal for me, you see, because these pieces are the last bit of furniture in our home together that came from my first home alone.

I was in my 20s when I moved out of my parents house to a one-bedroom apartment in Andersonville, just west of Ashland Avenue on Catalpa. The third-floor walkup was in need of repair--there wasn’t a right angle to be found along the doors, windows, or corners of the place. The fridge was antique and large and blocked ready access to the pantry and porch door, the kitchen floor simply worn, and the bathtub enamel stained beyond help. But I loved the place! I moved in with a bed, a couple of bookcases, oak map tables that Grant had saved for me from his offices in the city back when he ran a design firm of his own, a CD player that my singles group had bought me for by birthday, an old rocking chair I had reupholstered myself, and my Martin guitar.

Over time, I filled the space as I could afford to add a table here, a wall hanging there. My greatest acquisition came from a long-gone store in the neighborhood called South & West: this set of overstuffed mocha leather chairs with brass rivets and hand-carved wood pumpkin-shaped feet. Karen, who ran the place, told me it was the last set made by a man in Austin who’d since hung a “gone fishing” sign permanently on his studio door. I’d wanted the set for months and was finally able to afford it by living on pub food and duty-free gin for three weeks while on assignment in Oxford. Have per diem, will scrimp for furniture.

To be sure, they weren’t the best chairs for me. The armchair was too wide and long for my five-foot-six-inch frame. And the loveseat too small to curl up by oneself and too strangely angled to really snuggle up with someone else.

But I’ll miss the idea of that furniture the way I sometimes miss at least the idea of my first place. It was a wonderful time in my young life, and I recall sitting back in one of those chairs more than once and thinking about how good things were and could be.

Funny enough, the coffee table Ken’s claiming is the last piece from Honey P.’s first apartment alone in Evanston. And from what I understand, they’re all going into Ken’s first apartment in Chicago. Some things, I guess, are simply meant to be. 

Sunday, March 22, 2009

A Great Idea for Packing Lunches

Reading this month’s Eating Well issue, I ran across a reference to laptoplunches.com, a site that sells bento-box systems for people who like to pack their lunch. What a perfect way to pack fruits, vegetables, and other munchies for a day of healthy eating!

Friday, March 20, 2009

An Idea, Planted

I’m finding that, at least for me, there’s no big secret to losing weight--you simply have to starve yourself.

Actually, I’m kidding about that. It only felt like I was starving yourself for the first few weeks, and then it got easier. And to-date, I’ve lost 11 pounds, the equivalent of one notch in my belt and one trouser size.

I’d written a little bit ago about using more spices to flavor food with minimal fat (and let me tell you, I appreciate butter A LOT more now that I have it so rarely). This gave way to another idea--container gardening. I realized that not only do I need to add spicy punch to the food to make it more satisfying, I also need to up my fruit and vegetable intake substantially in order to be alert, lift strong, and have general energy within my 1,800-calorie window. So why not grow some of them for myself.

McGee & Stuckey’s Bountiful Container arrived today, I’m really looking forward to reading it this weekend and to transforming one of our decks into an edible garden.

The New York Times ran a story yesterday that tickled me: Michelle Obama’s plans to plant a garden on the White House grounds. I scribbled down from her garden plan some of the things I’d also like to plant: tomatillos, cilantro, tomatoes, hot peppers, and leafy greens. Honey P. reminds me that I’ve got a small deck, she’s got a big lawn. But I’m not feeding the White House.