I've Got a Fever . . .

and apparently the only cure for it is more cow . . . tongue. Yup, that's right folks. After being silent for so long, I've returned in full force with the large licking muscle of a bovine.

You might be thinking to yourself, "I thought the CSA only delivered vegetables; how did she get such an odd cut of meat?" or "What would possess this woman to cook cow tongue?" or "Is she freaking crazy?" And those are all valid questions. Or you might be thinking to yourself nothing of the sort. But if you belong to the latter group, I don't care and I will answer the questions of the former.

It all starts with the college-level, biology/English class I teach to a bunch of high schoolers. Part of this program entails a weekend-long retreat to a camp outside of Ramona. I am loathe to do anything outside of the class since my eyes hemorrhage regularly from grading horribly written essays, but since I've managed to evade this event three years in a row, I figured I was due. Don't get me wrong; this is a great group of kids this year. In fact, this is the best group we've ever had, but I'd rather spend the weekend hanging out with friends and family than with students.

In addition to not being able to get out of the trip, I also couldn't get out of actively participating in the planned events: namely one talent show. I was in charge of writing a skit for a group of five students to perform at the talent show. Bursting with creativity and originality, I took my pen in hand and copied out a skit I'd seen at a high school summer camp when I was--oddly enough--in high school.

The details of the skit aren't important. Just know it featured a dentist, a pair of giant pliers, and a cow tongue. Oddly enough, cow tongue isn't as difficult to find as I thought. Whole Foods had one.

Before you ask: no, I did not decide to cook the cow tongue after it had been mauled and tossed around by my students (though honestly, I wouldn't put that past me). The retreat was actually enjoyable and full of fun activities. So full, in fact, that we never did get to the talent show.

So there I was: the proud owner of a very large cow tongue. Of course I had to cook it.

Cow tongue is an amazing cut of beef. It is so exactly like a giant . . . tongue. Mottled and bumpy. Rough and heavy. Now, I am not a squeamish person. I have no problems with seeing where my meat comes from. In fact, I've even skinned a deer, plucked many turkeys, and castrated both goats and rats (don't ask and definitely don't tell anyone). I don't need to have bones removed from meat (like one of my friends does). I eat steak so rare that it is raw and cold in the center. However, cow tongue is a horse of a completely different color (if you'll excuse the metaphor).

As I pulled it from its packaging, I felt an involuntary surge of nausea come over me. I couldn't understand it. Why would this meat be different from any other I've encountered? I quickly placed the meat in the crock pot with the other ingredients and crock-potted the shit out of it overnight. The recipe calls for boiling, but I figured crock pots are just as good. Also, since it is so disgusting raw, I thought cooking it a bit might make it palatable.

Because I know you are dying to cook cow tongue on your own, here the recipe I used:

TONGUE WITH MUSTARD-HORSERADISH SAUCE
Active time: 30 min Start to finish: 3 1/2 hr

For tongue
1 (3‚-lb) fresh beef tongue
1 large onion, sliced
6 garlic cloves, smashed
1 bay leaf
1 whole star anise
1/2 teaspoon black peppercorns
2 tablespoons salt

For sauce
1/4 cup chopped shallot (1 large)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/4 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons whole-grain Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon bottled horseradish
1 tablespoon chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill
1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

Cook tongue: Rinse tongue well with cold water and place in a deep 6- to 8-quart pot. Add cold water to cover by 3 inches, then add remaining tongue ingredients. Cover pot and bring to a boil. Simmer, partially covered, until tongue is fork-tender, 2 1/2 to 3 hours.

Transfer tongue to a cutting board (reserve 1‚ cups cooking liquid) and, when cool enough to handle, peel off skin and trim any fat or gristle. Skim off fat from cooking liquid and pour liquid through a paper-towel–lined sieve into a large bowl, discarding solids. Keep tongue warm, covered.

Make sauce: Cook shallot in butter in a 2-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat, stirring frequently, until softened. Whisk in flour and cook, whisking, 1 minute. Gradually whisk in reserved cooking liquid and cream, then bring to a boil, whisking.

Simmer sauce, whisking, until slightly thickened, 2 to 3 minutes. Whisk in mustard, horseradish, herbs, lemon juice, and salt and pepper to taste.

Slice tongue and serve with sauce.
Serves 6.
Gourmet
Sugar and Spice
May 2000

I fell asleep that night to a house full of the smell of cooking cow tongue. It is a tangy greasy smell that manages to permeate the oddest things--like my hair. The next day (after a shower to get the cow tongue smell out of my hair), I took the crockpotted tongue out of the water and "skinned" it as commanded "Aha!" My mind reasoned. "It is only nasty because of the taste bud-coated skin." Ummm, yeah.

Getting through the tough taste bud-coated skin is actually kind of hard. I had to firmly grip the tongue to pierce the hide. With the first successful pierce, a spurt of unidentified and foul-smelling liquid sailed into the air. I'm not sure if it was the crock pot water or maybe we have a layer of liquid under the skin of our tongue. I'm not about to pierce my own tongue to find out.

However, once pierced, cow tongue does "skin" with surprising ease. The "meat" inside is stringy and flaky. Oh, and it doesn't smell any better skinned or not.

My skinning efforts were rewarded with a very sad and distinctly unappetizing cut of beef.
At this point, a small part of my mind asked me, "Are you really going to continue cooking this? Are you really going to eat this?" And the other part of me, the part that insists every six months or so that I can run even though I have more metal in my left foot than bone, answered, "HELL YEAH!"

I then stared on the sauce, thinking that since this is such strong-tasting meat, the sauce will both tame and complement it, leaving me (as the brave cook) to garner the accolades of my doubting friends and family for attempting such a serious task.

And really, I think that's why I even tried to cook this cut. Do I really like beef? No. Do I regularly eat exotic cuts of any meat? No. Will a meal of meaty goodness really make me feel as satiated and good as one that is full of green vegetables? No. Honestly, I took on this task because I think a truly good cook should be able to successfully cook and serve anything that is handed to her (or him). I think a good cook should be able to shape the wildest of ingredients into something that the people who eat her food will like and enjoy. Because cooking is about skill and about pleasing others. A good cook should be able to do both with anything

. . . except cow tongue. I also think there should be exceptions to the above rule that don't compromise your status as a good cook. Sometimes there are just cultural palate preferences that we just can't overcome.

Or maybe not. Maybe I am not as good a cook as I thought I was. Maybe I am a mediocre cook who can do a limited number of things fairly well. But there is room for growth. Room to gain skill.

Maybe cow tongue is my Everest. . .

Or maybe not.

Yes!

Yes! I have in my hot little hands the hot off the presses new edition of Vegetarian Times. And this baby is loaded with awesome recipes. I can't wait.

And I didn't.

Tonight I cooked the curried penne because I need to get Christmas cards out and finish grading, so I need a quick meal.

Christmas cards have to be one of my least favorite social obligations out there (actually any card giving for that matter--I hate it). For a long time I didn't even do them; then I had a baby and suddenly it's required that you update everyone you've ever met in your entire life on the state of your child. I don't mind catching up with friends and family I haven't seen or spoken to for a while. With a military life, sometimes this card is the only contact I'll have with people I do love, but because of geographic hardships and my own inability to keep up a long-distance relationship, we just don't speak that often. However, when I print out 100 letters and pictures of my son and then have to print more, there is some sort of problem here. I don't have over 100 people who need a yearly update. I don't know how this whole card giving thing spiralled so completely out of control.

Curried Penne

penne pasta (I bought this fresh at Assenti's)
3 Tbs slivered almonds (didn't have, didn't use)
1 Tbs canola oil (I used olive oil)
1/2 onion, finely chopped
1/2 tsp whole cumin seeds (didn't have because I didn't have my spices here at this house, so I had to use powdered)
1 small tomato, diced
1 1/2 tsp mild curry powder
cayenne
1 cup frozen peas, rinsed under hot water
1 cup low-fat buttermilk
2 Tbs chopped cilantro

Cook pasta. Meanwhile, heat a large skillet over medium heat. Add almonds and toast 2 to 3 minutes, or until lightly browned, stirring frequently. Transfer to a small bowl.

Heat oil in the skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion, and cook 2 minutes, or until softened. Stir in cumin and cook 1 minute more or until fragrant.

Add tomato, curry powder and cayenne. Cook 1 minute or until liquid has evaporated. Add peas and cook 1 minute more. Remove from heat and stir in buttermilk.

Drain pasta and transfer to a large serving bowl. Toss with the sauce and top with the almonds and cilantro.

Okay, rampant use of commas in their instructions aside, there are some things to note about VT's recipe. First: don't use powdered cumin. The sauce with be too gritty. Second: make damn sure you are away from heat when adding the buttermilk because it will become lumpy. Third: the use of some pasta water during the addition of the curry powder might be helpful for dissolving the powders and thickening the sauce.

That said, this pasta was unusual and good. Not amazing but a nice weeknight dinner.

Anyway, after dinner, my husband graciously addressed the cards for me while I finished grading two of my classes. Of which I did until one in the morning. But now I am done with my comp classes! Yes! And with Christmas cards. Yes!

Only one class and 20 ten-page research papers to go. Ye--oh.

The Unknown

Today was supposed to be the day we found out about the state of the house and the timeline of repair.

We didn't.

We are now supposed to know by Friday. I know you can't hear it, but I am sighing in frustration. It's not that we aren't comfortable in our Christmas-decorated new home; it's not that my friend isn't being completely awesome and welcoming even though his place has been invaded by the queen of clutter and her loud two-year-old (my husband is amazingly neat and clean, so he is compensating for my and my son's messes); it's just that I want to know what is going on. And I want. to. know. now.

But I can't, so I am going to cook and forget the annoyance of limbo. When I cook, I can somehow release all of my stress and frustrations. The rhythmic chopping, savory smells, mix of textures and temperatures, and the orchestration of dinner always calm my soul. When I am upset I do one of two things: cook or sleep. Cooking is the more productive of the two.

Tonight, I decided to just make a sauce of my own using the fennel.

Pasta

olive oil
fennel bulb
garlic
1/2 onion

beet greens

white wine
basic tomato sauce

Chop everything up very finely. Saute the fennel, garlic, onion in olive oil until onions turn golden. Add beet greens and saute a bit more. Add white wine. Simmer a bit. Add the tomato sauce. Simmer more. Salt to taste.

Serve over spinach fettucini.

Serve with a salad: lettuce, mushroom, red bell pepper, celery, radish, avocado, tomato.

The problem with strictly CSA cooking is that I miss some of my most beloved vegetables. So I cheated on my CSA and bought broccoli and artichokes to serve with dinner (I steamed the broccoli and boiled the artichokes in water with lemon and olive oil for about 45 minutes). Luckily I did. The pasta sauce lacked something; a little je ne sais quoi. It was edible and tasted okay but way way bland. So sad. At least the cooking was theraputic. I won't stress about the house again until tomorrow.

The Christmas Spirit

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas . . . in our new home. We spent the day decorating the house. My husband and friend strung lights all over the outside while I found places inside the house for the myriad of ceramic Christmas decorations my nana has made over the years: choir boys and girls, Santa punch bowl, reindeer and sleigh candy dish, and two (count them!) nativity sets.

I love pulling out the Christmas stuff every year. It's gotten even more fun since I became the holder of the family Christmas paraphernalia when my parents moved into their motorhome and no longer have room to keep it all. So in addition to the flotsam I've collected in my travels and years as an adult, I get to pull out construction paper stars that are covered in glitter my little brother made in 1984. Or I get to pull out the three ornaments that document my first Christmas and then hang them next to the one that documents my son's. Most of the ornaments and decorations have a history, and in that, they are infinitely precious.

Further, my son is the absolutely perfect age to enjoy Christmas. He finally gets that presents and lights and ornaments and stockings and baby Jesus are all way exciting, but he has none of the annoying sense of entitlement that so many kids have. He is way stoked to get a present but doesn't' think he deserves it. He is amazed at the tiniest light as well as the most extravagant nativity we have.

After the last stocking (also made by my nana) was hung by the chimney with care, I decided that we needed some protein in our diet. So I made lamb. And because my nana figures so prominently in the house as the maker of most of the decorations, I made lamb according to her recipe. Even if you don't like lamb, this recipe will change your mind.

Nana's Really Good Lamb

Lamb, chops or a rack
olive oil
garlic, minced
rosemary, chopped
Italian style bread crumbs (or make your own with bread crumbs, ground oregano, paprika, ground sage, ground thyme, salt, pepper and anything else that you think might make the bread crumbs taste good)
sea salt

Take a rack of lamb or some lamb chops and lightly coat them in oil. Then rub the garlic and rosemary all over them. Then lightly (and I mean lightly) dust them with bread crumbs and put a little sea salt on them. Bake at 425F for about 25 minutes if a rack and you want it medium rare. For the chops, go a bit longer. Just check after 30 minutes to see if it's to your taste.

I usually pair the lamb with sweet potatoes (butter and salt) and a veggie. Since I need to kill off CSA stuff (got a shipment yesterday), I did carrots and made a salad of lettuce, celery, avocado, radish, tomato, cucumber.

And because you are dying to know, here's the latest shipment:

10 carrots
7 radishes
3 beets
5 apples
10 small oranges
butternut squash
8 tomatoes
2 lettuce
celery
fennel

Time enough

I should be grading. I should be preparing syllabi. I should be doing something to put my house in order. Instead, I took the day for me.

We aren’t going to find out about the state of our house and the extent of the repairs needed until Monday, so there’s really nothing I can do about that (or so I tell myself). So, I went downtown San Diego to one of my favorite Mexican restaurants: Pokez. It’s primarily vegan or vegetarian, but it also serves items filled with meaty goodness. I love that even if I’m not in the mood to eat a lot, I can just order a Negro Modelo and chips and salsa without any fuss.

The other wonderful thing about Pokez is that it is just a few blocks from an excellent bookstore on Broadway. Wahrenbrock's is the perfect mix of used pulp fiction, out of print rarities, and hot-off-the-press bestsellers--all set in an old, multistoried building that blends light and shadows in a way that just demands you explore and read. And I do . . . usually for hours.

I went to Wahrenbrock's for the first time two years ago. This bookstore was a discovery by my friend, and he graciously shared it with me since we both possess an avid love for books. We went with my infant son who, at that time, didn’t have much of an appreciation for anything besides a good poop and breastmilk, and he got to experience both there. That’s the other good thing about Wahrenbrock's: it has lots of secluded corners for either quiet reading or discreet breastfeeding.

So after the Reader, beer, and chips and salsa. I went to Wahrenbrock's and spent the golden afternoon hours in their upstairs front rooms, under the full wall of windows, leaning against the book stacks and reading books about Dutch and Italian painters.

In a good bookstore, time slows down. Suddenly, you have, as Rilke puts it, "world enough and time" to browse, read, think, utterly lose yourself and then find it again in the printed words of stranger. It's magical and defies explanation though, once you experience it, you will try to share it with others and will fail miserably unless they've lived a similar moment.

After the light began to fade, I recalled myself to the world of responsibility, of grading, child, and errands. However, I didn’t have to do so for very long because this was a Friday night of babysitting and pizza (for my son and his aunties) and the beautiful music of Handel's Messiah and no cooking (for me).

If you live in or visit San Diego, drop in on the folks at Bronx Pizza. As a bonus to the fun, thickly accented characters baking perfect, heavenly New York style pies, you’ll never have to leave the city to visit the East Coast. If you go in evening, you can stand outside (ok, you’ll have to, as it can get crowded) as you wait with the congenial regulars and watch the fading light illuminate the perfect evening on its way West.

Son fed and in bliss with his doting and beautiful aunties (honestly, my son is going to be so screwed up when he is old enough to date because he’s going to expect beautiful women to fawn over him), my husband and I headed downtown to hear Handel’s Messiah. Yet another experience too difficult to explain unless you managed to catch one of the performances . . .

Last Day

Today was my last day of dealing with students for this semester . . . or so I thought. Really, for professors, final's week is an absolute joke. We get all of the crazy endorphins of thinking it is the end of the semester, when really the semester is in no way over for us. I don't know how it is for those who teach other subjects, but for English teachers, we have a serious stack of papers to grade after the final. Whoever decided that the test of a student's competency in writing needed to be demonstrated in a final essay needs to be drawn, quartered and dragged through the streets while we spit on him (or her). Honestly, a simple shooting is too good for this person.

Never mind that I am the one who assigned that essay.

Oh, so back to my students--I thought that after this final, I would never hear from them again, leaving me free to grade their papers as I see fit and prepare for next semester's classes. I could not be more wrong.

The first hang up was with the student who missed the final. Yes, I just said, "missed." He didn't bother to show up. And this was a student who usually shows up to classes. Nonplussed, I administered the final to those students who decided that it was worth their time to take my final. Shortly after collecting the last final (and this was at 1pm--I had the 1030-1230 final), this absent student showed up at my office. His excuse for missing my final--he overslept. He overslept my 1030-1230 final. Granted, I am slightly skewed in my perception of oversleeping since I haven't slept past 7am in over two. freaking. years. but 1030 does seem a little excessive. He went on and on about how he'd worked until 1am (usually when I am doing laundry or grading papers) the night before and had stayed up working on another final (in my case staying up all night working means a coughing and sick toddler) the night before that so he just couldn't possibly force his tired little eyes open to get up for my little puny final.

My friend is noting right now that he can't believe I let this student make up the final. I can't either--but I did. Call me a sucker. This student once brought me a pocket periodic table and ever since then, I've been pushover.

However, this student wasn't my only post-final encounter: yet another student decided that she wasn't happy with the grade she recieved on a paper and asked to speak to me. As we went over her paper in my office, she completely melted down before my eyes. I'm talking shaking, crying melting down. I was at a loss. I have a hard time relating to people I don't know well, and this student was no exception. To my ineffectual patting on her shoulder, she explained her tragic (and I am not being sarcastic here; it truly was tragic) family situation. I honestly didn't know what to do. How does her family drama affect the grade I give her on a paper? Don't I have to hold her to the same standard as the other students?

I do. And I did.

Somewhere between the running mascara and hugs, we discussed plans for her to rewrite her paper. By this time, I was more than burnt out. I was charred out.

Because I just don't have the gumption to face some accusing, organically and locally grown vegetables, I made crock pot chicken soup.

vegetable stock

chicken breast with bones
onion
garlic
fresh thyme
bay leaf
chile pequin

zucchini, sliced
yellow squash, sliced
some light green squash, sliced
carrots, scrubbed (not peeled) and sliced
yukon gold potatoes, scrubbed (not peeled) and sliced in rounds
salt
lime

Make a vegetable stock. This can be pretty much any vegetables you have lying around in your fridge and their scraps. Mine was of leek ends, wilted celery, carrots, carrot tops, garlic, onions, thyme, bay leaves, and parsley. There are many ways you can prepare your stock. You can roast the veggies first then boil the heck out of them; you can brown them in olive oil and then boil the heck out of them. Or you can just do what I did and boil the heck out of them with little to no pre-cooking. If you intend to use this stock as a base for a further meat stock, then my way works fine. If you intend to use this stock as the main stock, then you should do one of the other two methods first. It really brings out the flavor of the veggies. I made this stock the night before as I was cooking another dinner. It is pretty simple. Boil and then strain out the veggies. You can then freeze or refrigerate the stock as you wish.

To this vegetable stock (and in my case, in a crock pot), add the chicken, onions, garlic, thyme, bay leaf, and chiles. Cook this for however many hours you are at work. When you get home from work, strain this new stock. You so don't want all of the fatty mush that develops.

Put this beautiful new broth in a regular pot. Then add the potatoes and carrots. Bring to a boil while you shred the chicken. Then add chicken and squash. Simmer until the carrots are tender. Season with salt and lime (better with lemon but I didn't have it) juice.

Because I am so sick of students and lettuce, I served the soup with steamed beets and sliced avocado, topped with lime juice and salt. I also had tomatoes, basil, fresh mozzarella, salt, and olive oil (aka caprese salad) as another side.

Oh and if you are wondering what happens to the apples in my order, my son eats an apple a day. He's figured out that while I'll ignore his whines for goldfish crackers or candy, I'll always give him an apple.

Not even remotely inspiring, I know; but never fear (in a no way annoying high-pitched squeal), tomorrow is only a day away.

A Plethora of Avocados

So my landlords, as a consolation for being out of hearth and home, have given us a mass of avocados. And when I say mass, I mean enough for a vat of guacamole or enough to do 55 cobb salads with leftovers for those starving children in India. There is a freaking lot of avocados, and if I knew what a plethora was, I might say I have a plethora of avocados.

All of these avocados are going ripe at the exact same time.

I seriously don't know what my landlords were thinking. If I dont' have a home, what the heck am I to do with a crumb load of avocados? The fact that I do have a home during this time of displacement is irrelevant, they don't know that.

So as I wait to hear about the state of my flooded home and as I occupy my new home, I'll include avocados in my recipes as if they came from my CSA. Lord knows, I am as strapped to deal with them as I am with all the other vegetable crap.

To celebrate my inordinate amount of avocados, I've decided to cook a dish that does not contain one single avocado in it:

Butternut Squash Stew

2 large leeks, white parts only
roasted peanut oil
garlic cloves, minced
1 jalapeno, deseeded and deveined and minced
fresh ginger, minced
kale, finely chopped [my own thing]
1 Tbs curry powder
1 tsp light brown sugar
3 Tbs soy sauce
3 cups chicken stock
1 can (15-0z) coconut milk (unsweetened)
1 medium/small butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
salt
firm tofu, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
lime juice
raw peanuts
fresh cilantro, chopped

Halve leeks and place them with the kale in some cold water to shake out the dirt.

Fry tofu in a little bit of peanut oil.

Heat oil in a wide soup pot. Add leeks and cook over fairly high heat, stirring frequently, until partially softened (about 3 minutes). Add the garlic, chile, ginger, and kale. Cook about 1 minute more, then add the curry, sugar, and soy sauce. Reduce heat to medium, scrape the pan, and cook for a few minute more. Add the chicken stock, coconut milk, squash, and 1 tsp salt. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer, covered (about 15 minutes). Add the tofu to the stew once the squash is almost tender and then simmer until squash is done. Taste for salt and add lime juice.

Fry peanuts in some peanut oil over medium heat until browned, then coarsely chop. Serve the stew over rice and top with peanuts and cilantro.

This is from Deborah Madison's book and way kicks ass. I totally burned the peanuts, but it tastes good even without them.

Viva la avocados!