God bless whoever commented on the previous entry.
I feel like the voice crying out in the wilderness. Imagine my shock when someone answered from behind a tree!
I have one thought for today:
When love and skill work together, expect a masterpiece. -- John Ruskin
This to me is the essence of Home Economics. And the antithesis of Costco. Sorry, Costco.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
T-Minus 7 Days and Counting to T-Day
Here at Chez Becky Home Ecky, the countdown to Thanksgiving has begun. This year, the in-laws plus two aunts will be our guests, bringing the total number of diners to six adults and two children who seem to live off turkey fumes and not much else. In other words, I don't factor them in much when it comes to actual turkey consumption. Still, I was persuaded by Joe, the butcher, God bless him and his bloody apron and handlebar mustache, to order a 14-pound bird. We all know where this leads: turkey soup, turkey bagels, turkey, turkey and more turkey.
I digress.
I do cook a mean turkey. My secret is cheesecloth. I have no idea about deep-frying or brining or any of those fancypants techniques. I just baste the sucker while it's covered in cheesecloth and remove it for the last hour. No Butterball hotline required.
To me, Thanksgiving is all about the sides. Those are the labor-intensive portion of the meal. In the spirit of learning from cooks past, I perused the recipes from my grandmother's black book (otherwise known as Command Central of the family). Guess what? There are basically no recipes for anything that isn't a dessert, and that's because my grandfather owned the town's IGA (grocery store for the non-Midwesterners out there). When the store closed on the day before Thanksgiving, Grandpa would bring home everything that wasn't sold. It was not implausible that we would find the following on our Thanksgiving table: Turkey. Duck. Goose. Beef Tenderloin. So my grandma would cook whatever he brought. Oh, but she did have a superb recipe for cranberries. My mom says that the fresh berries would "pop" when she hand-cranked them through the meat grinder. That is one thing I am making by hand. What about you?
I digress.
I do cook a mean turkey. My secret is cheesecloth. I have no idea about deep-frying or brining or any of those fancypants techniques. I just baste the sucker while it's covered in cheesecloth and remove it for the last hour. No Butterball hotline required.
To me, Thanksgiving is all about the sides. Those are the labor-intensive portion of the meal. In the spirit of learning from cooks past, I perused the recipes from my grandmother's black book (otherwise known as Command Central of the family). Guess what? There are basically no recipes for anything that isn't a dessert, and that's because my grandfather owned the town's IGA (grocery store for the non-Midwesterners out there). When the store closed on the day before Thanksgiving, Grandpa would bring home everything that wasn't sold. It was not implausible that we would find the following on our Thanksgiving table: Turkey. Duck. Goose. Beef Tenderloin. So my grandma would cook whatever he brought. Oh, but she did have a superb recipe for cranberries. My mom says that the fresh berries would "pop" when she hand-cranked them through the meat grinder. That is one thing I am making by hand. What about you?
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Payback Time
Last night I started reading "A Nation in Torment," a book written by Eddie Ellis, who was a friend and mentor. It's about the Depression. The foreward to the second edition, which Eddie wrote in 1995 (he died in 1997) was chilling. And it made me miss him dearly. He wrote of the need to understand history so that we don't repeat our mistakes, and how much the nation's status in 1995 (homeless people, the gap between rich and poor) reminded him of the set-up to the Depression. I wish Eddie was alive. I wish I knew what he thought about the economic situation of today. We need the wisdom of people who lived through the first one badly right now.
The Depression created many personal tragedies. People not only jumped out windows; less dramatically, they also died from heart attacks caused by the financial strain. My father-in-law's mother died from the tragedy of having her five children taken from her and placed in orphanges because she couldn't support the family (her husband had died as the Depression began). My late grandfather lost his college scholarship (funded by an insurance company he worked for part-time) and had to go to work to support his family (he wound up putting his brothers through college and never got to finish his own education). My grandfather (in his early 20s) drove a milk truck in Chicago, when people had their milk delivered to their homes. He told the story of a destitute family on his milk route who had no choice but to abandon Chicago and head for Kentucky, where they had family. They had no money even for gas. My grandfather loaned the father $5. That father mailed that money back to my grandfather once they got to Kentucky, one precious dollar at a time. It was a terrible time. No one now can imagine the desperation.
Somehow I feel this all ties in to this blog, to the search for things that are made by hand, that aren't a product of mass consumption. For every reaction, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and this economy is going to force the issue. We've overconsumed, and now there's going to be payback.
The Depression created many personal tragedies. People not only jumped out windows; less dramatically, they also died from heart attacks caused by the financial strain. My father-in-law's mother died from the tragedy of having her five children taken from her and placed in orphanges because she couldn't support the family (her husband had died as the Depression began). My late grandfather lost his college scholarship (funded by an insurance company he worked for part-time) and had to go to work to support his family (he wound up putting his brothers through college and never got to finish his own education). My grandfather (in his early 20s) drove a milk truck in Chicago, when people had their milk delivered to their homes. He told the story of a destitute family on his milk route who had no choice but to abandon Chicago and head for Kentucky, where they had family. They had no money even for gas. My grandfather loaned the father $5. That father mailed that money back to my grandfather once they got to Kentucky, one precious dollar at a time. It was a terrible time. No one now can imagine the desperation.
Somehow I feel this all ties in to this blog, to the search for things that are made by hand, that aren't a product of mass consumption. For every reaction, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and this economy is going to force the issue. We've overconsumed, and now there's going to be payback.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
