An Effing Foodie

Roundup 2009, Home-Cookin': Freakin' FENNEL (and Pearl Barley)

Left to my own devices in a supermarket, I get the grabbiest in the produce department.  (This is particularly true in winter, when my body gets the idea it can ingest sunlight via plant life.)

A lot of peeps who cook regularly are cooking up against the forces of meat rot--I, however, picked up my momma's penchant for picking up more vegetables than an oft-eating-alone lady can possibly consume.  It's a tarantella of cooking vs. vegetal wilt.

I tried to walk past the pile of fennel bulbs at Stew Leonard's.  NONONO.  You don't need it! You've got arugula, radicchio, avocados, tomatoes, cabbage, green chilis, apples, pears...walk AWAY from the freakin' fennel!!!

Fail whale, a la fennel-resistance.

Ditto for a package of pearl barley (AKA Fail Whale Two, Rise of the Grocery Glutton). 

I justified it this way: I'd never made fennel or barley before...I'm learning something new!

Love it when learning is tasty.  'Twas easy too: I parboiled the barley separately (about 30 minutes, with some chicken bones leftover from a previous dinner) and sauteed the thin-sliced fennel bulb and a shallot in some olive oil, butter, a pinch of sugar, salt and pepper.  Tossed the barley in with the fennel to coat, and sprinkled in the chopped fronds as I was turning off the heat.

The pearl barley had a great chew and nuttiness that complemented the tender, anise tang of fennel--it was a warm, welcoming bowl that was at once familiar and intriguing.

Feeling protein-guilt, I topped it with some diced fresh mozzarella and roasted pumpkin seeds.  The cheese was a good add--the pumpkin seeds, not so much.  There was something about them that smothered out the welcome licorice waft. 

Next time, pistachios or pine nuts...oooh, maybe crumbled bacon, or Parmesan. 

Need more convincing?  Well, both fennel and barley pack considerable fiber (always a plus); fennel brings vitamin C and potassium to the party, and barley has all the cereal benefits of iron, zinc, manganese, selenium, and niacin...all of the above are said to be helpful in combating Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD, i.e. serious wintertime funk).

Considering all the other gluttony you bear witness to, maybe revealing more acts of vegetable surrender is in order.  Remind me.

Roundup, 2009: Brekky at Crepes No Ka 'Oi, Kailua, HI

Good GOD.  HOW can it be December???
In an effort to tourniquet the spurting wound of neglected content, I'll be tossing up short hit-and-runs of things that were just too pretty or tasty to be swept into a 2009 archive folder and forgotten. If I'm too abrupt, give a shout-out in comments and I'll be happy to fill in any gaps.

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Back in May, when I was happily top-browning in the Motherland, there was a sparkling morning where I had nowhere to be, a big bad-as*ed borrowed '95 Buick LeSabre, and lingering jetlag that worked in favor of finding brekky before the crowds did.

The brunch favorite in Kailua is Boots and Kimo, but as I cruised the Big Green Buick past, there were already clusters of patient pancake fans dotting the entrance.  Waiting in line for pancakes for one?  Mmmmm...no.

But a couple of doors down, there was a sparkling space boasting happy crepe eaters:

Why not?  Crepes No Ka 'Oi was sunny and bright--I settled myself into a tall bar seat that faced a mirror, and tried not to make faces at myself as my crepe was bring made.

The older I get, the more I've come to enjoy the occasional solo meal out.  It was hard not to feel contented and mysterious as I sipped my illy coffee (PROPS!).  The only drawback was that I had to choose a sweet or savory crepe rather than sharing both with a like-minded eater.

Savory won out (doesn't it always?)--I went with the Basic Breakfast Crepe ($7.50):

(Because I was feeling vacation vegetable guilt, I had them add some spinach, too.)

The slight sweetness of the honey ham, the still-soft scrambled eggs shot through with jack and cheddar cheese, the green and gold whole enveloped by a light, crispy crepe...whatever alarmingly smarmy smugness I was already feeling about being alive and eating breakfast in Hawaii quadrupled as I tucked into the melty mass. 

Lord knows, I don't know when I'll be back.  So to the folks back home, go quickly and often!  And if you go alone (which I recommend) nut up the way I now wish I had.  Get a savory AND a sweet one.

Enter the Durian...Wafer Cookie

As I get older and crankier, I'm finding that I'm definitely tilting toward the salty/bitter end of the food universe (insert snarky quips accordingly). 

Point is...things change, tastes change, palettes evolve.  Though my list of food dislikes is pretty short, I make it a point to revisit anything I've deemed heinous periodically, just to make sure it wasn't a fluke.

Durian's a tough one.  Like many food obstacles, this one's rooted in childhood--an unforgettably wretched afternoon in Bangkok involving a long van ride with no air conditioning and a spiky rank-a** backseat companion. 

You don't get to cry about the smell until you've faced down a fresh specimen--and if you aren't somewhere in or near Southeast Asia, you're not going to get to (the ones in markets stateside are previously frozen and thawed).

Momma Foodie loves the stuff (as did our gracious Thai hostess, to whom we were ferreting the fetid thing in the first place).

Roadkill perfume aside, the fruit itself is intimidating; once you crack open this heavy, barbed bomb, the innards are creamy, yellow, stringy--much more evocative of something animal or alien than plant.

Fresh or frozen, I wasn't feeling that ambitious...my latest encounter with this foul nemesis was in cookie-form.

I've been a fan of Garden Wafers since I was a kid--styrofoamy, trans-fatty and sweet, what's not to love?  They came in tons of flavors--vanilla, coconut, lemon, peanut, taro--but I preferred the Pepto-pink Strawberry variety. 

The Man and I were happy rooting around in Kam Sen, a Chinese supermarket in White Plains, when I passed the mass of Garden Wafers in the sweets aisle.  I have eyed the olive-green package of the durian-flavored wafers over the years, but only to crinkle my nose and move on. 

I am older! Tougher! The time had come for me to approach the king of fruits, if only in bantamweight wafer form.

Flipping the package over..."artificial flavor".  Faux-funk!  How bad could it be?

Back at the lair, I cut the package open a took a sniff. 

And squalled.  And almost dropped the package.  FAUGH!!!! 

It was nowhere near as intense as the real deal, but impressively nasty and pervasive.  How could something so denatured be so appallingly authentic? 

Don't be such a puss, you weak American crybaby! It's just FN cookies!! 

The Man watched from a safe distance, goggle-eyed, covering his nose as I bit into the crispy wafer and chewed.

Tastes like...(taking another bite, just to be sure)...

...yep.  Festering garbage.  Like banana and stinky runny cheese blended together and left to ferment in the blistering bloody sun.  In sweetened wafer form. 

I went for a third bite, but it didn't take.  I sealed the rest of the wafers in a baggie, tossed said baggie in the trash, and brushed my teeth.  I had some chocolate.  I had some scotch.  The taste of rotting eggs wouldn't go away, and I could smell the cookies wrapped in the depths of my trash can.

Total defeat.  Durian/Durian Duplicated Products: 1, EF: 0.

Super-Expressive Foods: Hawt Pocket of Despair

It's hard not to feel like a smug, lucky duck on a plane to (or from) Hawaii.

That is, until they park this puppy in your face:
 
Behold, the Pulled BBQ Chicken Hawt Pocket of Despair. Crying into a tiny wastebasket of ranch.

I Heart Food Idioms: Spilled Milk

How often does one actually come across spilled milk? 

I think the universe was trying to tell me not to sweat the small stuff.

I Spy*: Scrambled Eggs with Spinach and Rosemary Flowers

*I have a lot of pictures.  I mean...A LOT.  A**loads of wasted food portraits that never get written about or otherwise posted.  So welcome to I Spy, where one can get the bits and bites that so often fall between the cracks.

 
The Man's family home has a garden just bursting with roses and herbs, and when I was last there, the bees were drunk and loopy on a plethora of rosemary flowers...seemed as good a reason as any to try them.

Eye-catching, delicate, and delicious, these 'lil violet blossoms are ideal for when you want a herbaceous hint, rather than a pine-y shiner.  They throw open the doors for subtler foods that rosemary proper tends to bully.