Thoughts on filling a table

This Spring, we found out that a new era of our lives will begin in August.  I'll be going to law school, which means that the kids will be in school and that running the household is going to be more challenging for all of us.

John and I have had several tense conversations about the dinner issue in particular.  The way I cook now is very time intensive.  Grocery shopping alone has gotten kind of crazy: Earth Fare has the best selection of organic and healthy food, plus the cheapest dairy.  But I'm not paying $2 for one pound of pasta, so we need a trip to Publix about twice a month so I can get Barilla, cereal, the Good Seasons packets I will never give up, and the like.  Then again, New Leaf (our co-op) actually has cheaper prices on just a few items like ricotta cheese and tortillas; plus, their locavore cred is a lot higher.  When I buy fish, it's both cheapest and highest quality at Mike's Seafood, so that's another stop.  If I want prosciutto, I need to swing by an Italian deli.  And of course I like to support farmers' markets...  The thing is, my kids actually enjoy going on these errands with me; grocery shopping is one of the many activities I use to fill our days.  But it's obviously not going to be feasible when John and I are at work all day.

Then comes the issue of cooking.  As of now, I usually spend 30-60 minutes making dinner, and if I have no help it's another half hour for cleanup.  When I haven't seen my kids all day, I'm not going to be ok with letting their dad play with them for their remaining 2 hours of waking life while I'm stuck in the kitchen.  My solution -- which I think is a common one -- is that whoever cooks doesn't have to clean.  But my husband thinks the incentive structure in this arrangement is inherently unfair.  If the cook only has to worry about the experience of eating and not at all about the experience of cleaning up, then large-scale increases to the clean-up job might be added for only marginal benefits on the eating side.  (I love being married to an economics professor almost all of the time.)  He wants us to split cooking/cleaning duties during the week.

At first, I felt pretty hostile to that suggestion because I exert a lot of control over our diets right now, and on his three days I would lose a lot of that.  I'm also remembering what he ate for dinner before I cooked for him: lots of enriched starches and dry slabs of meat smothered in barbecue sauce.

But then I had a seemingly-unrelated epiphany about sending my kids to preschool.  I've gotten them through babyhood with lots of patient nurturing, but it suddenly dawned on me that we're moving into the phase where my goal as their mother is to teach them how to live good lives without my help.  Paradigm shift!  But in the context of the food discussion, I realized that part of that goal is teaching them how to feed themselves in a healthy way.  I want them to leave my house knowing how to buy good food and make it into something delicious; that would be an even greater gift than making sure they always have a full table to sit at for dinner in my house.  And it's not going to happen if it's always me doing all the work of filling that table.

So if John and I can agree on some ground rules, I think I can accept beginning the process of letting other people in this family share the responsibility of feeding us.  Here's my first draft:

1. Every meal needs to include a vegetable.  (Ideally, we'd follow the new federal dietary guidelines just presented this week, which recommend filling a full half of your plate with fruits and vegetables.  My style of cooking tends to mix the food groups within single dishes, so it's hard to separate them out quite like they do with the new plate icon, but the point is still pretty clear.)
2. We all eat the same dinner.  Arranging it in different components is fine, but no special meals for kids.
3. Try to buy local and organic ingredients whenever possible.  I think we can do this by shopping at one big store each weekend, then making quick stops for specialty items or fresh produce on our way home on weekdays as needed.

We still need to sort out the meat issue, though.

Grandma Mel's Tomato Sauce

From camera issues to computer issues. A couple of weeks ago Ben spilled water on our laptop and it would no longer turn on. Soooooo on the advice of friends and the Internet, we baked, yes BAKED, our computer in the oven at 175 degrees for 15 minutes. It worked! ...but only for a few days, when again it wouldn't turn on. Baked again, worked again, until it didn't. New computer!  The end.

Anyway.

Since I made it for company last Friday, I'm going to share with you one of the most valuable recipes I know.  I'll start at my beginning, although the story really begins long before that.  I met my husband in college.  He would often visit his aunt Carol, who lived not too far from campus, for dinner.  Not long after we started doing couple-y things together, he invited me over to her house for "spaghetti and meatballs."  I declined -- too much homework, and besides, I didn't like tomato sauce!  Undeterred, he brought some back for me (plus a brownie).  Well, I wasn't converted... not yet.  But I accepted the invitation the next time it was offered, and I tagged along with John to meet his mother's side of the family -- 100% Sicilian -- for the first time: his aunt (the kindest, friendliest, bubbliest woman I have ever had the pleasure to know) and his grandfather (who laughed for minutes on end when I told him how I had been repeatedly warned about his "inappropriate humor").  Unaware of the history of what I was being served, I politely (or really impolitely) asked to skip the tomato sauce so I could toss my pasta with the Good Seasons salad dressing on the table.  What can I say?  I was barely 18.

As I got to know my future in-laws, I learned that the smooth, meaty tomato sauce was actually the signature recipe of his grandmother Carmella, who died too early of ovarian cancer in 1997.  She loved organizing big family gatherings, for which a big pot of tomato sauce and several pounds of pasta is a perfect feast.  Over time, as her illness progressed, she taught her middle daughter, Carol, how to make her sauce just right -- because as with all the best sauces, of course, a written recipe will only get you so far.  In fact, legend has it that Carol couldn't get the sauce quite right until the first time she made it after her mother had passed on.

It's been ten years after that first night of pasta at Carol's house, and the family has celebrated numerous graduations, marriages, and births -- Mel's grandchildren are all grown up now.  But her three daughters still strive to get everyone together a couple of times a year, and when they succeed we always have Sauce.  It wasn't long before I learned to love it, and the year I married John, I asked Carol to teach me how to make it.  If the joy of being surrounded by people who love you unconditionally had a flavor, this is what it would taste like to me.  That probably sounds pretty cheesy.  But seriously, don't forget: it's gotta be Pecorino Romano.

Grandma Mel's Tomato Sauce

28 ounces canned tomato puree

18 ounces canned tomato paste

At least one bottle of good Chianti Classico, Grandma Mel's favorite wine

1 tablespoon olive oil

3-4 large cloves garlic, minced

2-4 bone-in pork ribs

1-2 bay leaves

Big pinch of sugar

Big pinch of baking soda

Salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

1 pound ground beef

½ pound ground pork

¼ bunch fresh parsley, chopped

1/4 cup of minced fresh Italian herbs (dried herbs to taste are fine, too)

2 eggs, plus more if needed

1 cup bread crumbs

½ cup fresh grated Pecorino Romano cheese

Extra Italian seasoning, salt, and pepper to taste

2-3 pounds of rigatoni or cappelini

Combine all the tomato products in a big stock pot. For every can of tomato paste, add three cans of water. You can use the water to get all the extra tomato off the sides of the cans.  Put the pot on the stove over low heat. Throughout the process, stir the sauce frequently so that the bottom doesn’t burn.

Now's a good time to open that wine.  Go ahead and pour a glass for yourself, and anyone else who wants one mid-afternoon (if you're among Sicilians, you'll have plenty of company).  This isn't supposed to feel like work.

Meanwhile, in a frying pan, heat a small amount of olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and sauté until it's golden, then add the garlic to the sauce using a slotted spoon, reserving the oil in the hot pan.  Add the pork ribs and brown them on both sides, then add them to the sauce. Next, add the bay leaves, sugar, baking soda, and seasoning.  Take your time.  Drink your wine.

In a separate bowl, combine the ground meat, herbs, eggs, bread crumbs, cheese, and seasonings, adjusting the ingredients so that mixture is not too dry or too moist. Roll the mixture into meatballs, brown them all over in the  frying pan in batches that work for your pan size, then add them to the sauce.

And now you can really sit down and enjoy yourself, because the real work is done.  For the next 2-3 hours, simmer the sauce uncovered, remembering to stir every now and again and doing a taste test every so often (or getting other people to do it).  Your main concerns are not letting the bottom burn and skimming off any tomato froth that may form on top of the sauce.  After about 2 hours, cook the pasta to al dente, drain, and toss with just enough sauce to prevent sticking.  Serve the pasta on individual dishes topped with sauce, meatballs, and grated Romano.  Eat, enjoy, and think of Grandma Mel.

Makes enough for at least 8 people.

Too Good For Applebee's

It used to be that going to a place like Applebee's or TGIFriday's or Max & Erma's was a treat.  I could order whatever I was in the mood for, and even get a soda or lemonade to go with it.  That was one of my favorite things to do with friends in both high school and college.

But over time, I just stopped wanting to go to restaurants like that. At a certain point, John started joking about it: "when did we get too good for Applebee's?"  At the time I was just a graduate student with school loans and credit card debt, so it definitely wasn't because I had outgrown Applebee's financially.  But we just stopped going.  We'd either go to little hole-in-the-wall local places we'd found, or we'd go to a nicer restaurant if we had a reason to celebrate -- and we can always find one!

This weekend, we drove over to the Jacksonville Zoo, and on our way home we needed to stop for dinner.  Our choices were limited since we didn't know the area and are still, sadly, without smart phones.  We knew we didn't want a fast food joint, but it needed to be somewhere you could take a one- and three-year old and be able to make it through the meal.  Applebee's it was.

Their menu actually looks quite impressive.  There are all kinds of choices for different price ranges, health considerations, flavor preferences, etc.  I ordered some grilled seasoned shrimp, skewered and served on a bed of tropical rice pilaf, with broccoli on the side.  The picture looked appetizing, and it was only $11.

When our (super nice and helpful) server brought out the food and I saw what their version of grilled shrimp on rice pilaf looked like, it suddenly hit me that I knew the answer to our question: "when did we get too good for Applebee's?"  It was when I started cooking.  It was when I went there and ate a pasta dish that just didn't measure up to what I would make for myself on a weeknight.  It was when I started unconsciously thinking of it as fast food -- food I didn't have to cook -- only a little more expensive and not as fast.  Cooked by college students instead of high schoolers, perhaps.

I don't mean to sound all snobby about Applebee's.  To be honest, these days I'm skeptical of most food that isn't cooked by me or someone I know.  And that isn't because I'm the world's greatest cook, obviously.  It's because when I cook, I cook it just how I want it, and I have a good idea of where everything comes from (although not good enough).  Taking those two things away for the convenience of not having to cook is, frankly, usually not worth it to me.

At least I'm eating well

I hope my blog is proof that my family has access to good food every night, because sometimes I really worry.  Maybe that worry is just a given for mothers and I'll get used to it over time, but I can't help but notice how little the kids are eating at mealtimes lately.  It's possible they have physical issues going on that are making them confused about what they food they need, but I don't think that can completely account for it.  I believe I'm relatively stingy with snacks, but lately they seem to be really depending, both nutritionally and emotionally, on those once-or-twice-daily offerings of crackers and pretzels.

Sophie is now down to eating only her banana at breakfast, skipping lunch entirely, and limiting herself to eating whatever morsels of fruit I may have included with dinner.  Possibly also some protein here and there, if it's something she likes (less than half the time).  This isn't too different from her normal attitude toward food, but with her baseline being so far toward the "picky" end of the spectrum anyway, I can't help but feel some anxiety as I watch her get more extreme.

Ben's change is more pronounced.  He's been a great eater since he started eating solid food, but I see that wonderful quality disappearing and I can only hope it's temporary.  He asks for food all day, and then doesn't eat it once I've given it to him -- it's starting to feel like a major waste of groceries, time, and money.  He's learning to pick out only his favorite parts of a meal and leave the rest; for example, he now picks apart his PBJ and only eats the bread with the jelly on it.  He asks for carrots and dip so that he can just eat the dip.  He also seems to be developing some mental idiosyncrasies about his food.  Like, he only wants to eat what's on his plate if there's way more there than he plans on eating; if you give him just a few Cheerios to reduce waste, he asks insistently for more Cheerios.  And he's been a lot more likely to eat food if it's from my plate than if it's on his plate.  I know that is common, but I'm not used to it.  I like my food to be MY food.  Just because I'm a mother doesn't mean I lose all my boundaries.

Last night was even more discouraging than usual because I made some gorgeous-looking sushi rolls, and I was the only one who ate them.  It's not John's fault; he was feeling sick and raw fish just wasn't going to happen for him last night.  I ended up having to dismantle his rolls, sear the tuna, and make a sushi bowl out of the components for lunch today.  Ben actually wanted to share it with me, despite having none of it for dinner the night before.

Tomorrow night we're eating Chick-Fil-A take-out for Sophie's birthday.  So if nothing else, for one night I won't have to deal with the nagging question of whether my children are starving themselves.  That, and no dishes!