Rejoice Devil’s Food Dictionary lovers, your prayers have finally been answered.  The complete Devil’s Food Dictionary by Barry Foy is out in book form, just in time for my birthday and the birthdays of other more prominent religious figures. 

What do I need another food dictionary for, you might ask?  I already have the Food Lover’s Companion by Sharon Tyler Herbst, and she ROCKS. 

She does rock.  No question.  But let’s see what she has to say about cannibals:

Actually, she seems to have forgotten to include an entry for cannibals.  Tsk, tsk, tsk.  But not Barry Foy.  Let’s see his definition:

“Cannibal: A person who engages in the culinary equivalent of incest, that is, a hunter-gatherer who hunts and gathers other hunter-gatherers, usually while they are out gathering, because they tend to be less alert at that time than when they are out hunting.  Cannibals often consume particular parts in hopes of magically improving their own corresponding parts.  For example, a warrior might eat an admired rival’s heart so as to increase the boldness of his own heart.  In a similar spirit, he might make a meal of his neighbor’s nubile and attractive wife.”

I’m sorry, what were we talking about? 

Oh yeah, buying this book.  If you know anyone who loves food, or hates food, or has a love/hate relationship with food, then this is the book for them.

I’ll leave you with one more to ponder:

“Love: The universal nutrient, adaptable to all human cuisines.  This affordable, easy-to-use substance enhances the nutritional value of virtually any dish.  Dissolved easily in water, wine, milk, oil, gravy, mayonnaise (store-bought or homemade), soy sauce, lard, ghee, or even Vegemite, it can be added either during or after food preparation and has an extremely long shelf life.  Significantly, love’s beneficial effects operate without regard to the skill level of the cook; in fact, many people look back fondly on dishes—sometimes whole meals—in which love was the only appealing or even palatable ingredient.  Best of all, love does not stain saucepans or kitchen countertops.”

For some reason, I’ve been craving an Italian sub lately. I don’t know why because the only sub that I like is a Banh Mi. So, during my lunch break at work, I decided to to check out Salem Italian Food on Moody Street in Waltham. This place has a good selection of deli items, pasteries, groceries, and other Italian goods.

I went for their Italian Sub ($4.99). It was a bargain…packed full of different kinds of meat, plenty of cheese, and tasty hot peppers.

Verdict: Delicious!!!

Over the weekend, on our way to Belkin Family Lookout Farm with the kids, we drove by two nice-looking bicycles out by the street with a "free" sign on them.  My first instinct was to fling open the door, roll out of the moving car, then dart across traffic on what really isn’t a very busy road at all.  Free bikes!!!  And they looked new.

In reality, I restrained myself.  We were already late to meet our friends, and the back of the car was filled with crap, as usual.  Plus Husband doesn’t enjoy these kinds of pit stops and he hadn’t had his morning coffee, yet, which meant we were bound to have a big fight about it.  About stupid bikes.  I had to ask myself if this was going to ruin the whole tone of the day.  I agreed to let it go.  If one of the bikes was still there when we got back, I reasoned, then I was meant to have it.

But, the bikes were not there when we got back.  Of course, they weren’t.  Who’s going to pass up free bikes?  I glared at Husband.  Without even realizing it, I had spent much of that morning’s drive charting my prospective bike routes around town.  How I could get to Russo’s by just taking the bike path along the Charles.  Ditto for DePasquale’s on the other side of the river.  Then I would hitch a double-wide trailer to the back and head out on 117 to the farmshare and really piss people off on their evening commutes.  I could do all my shopping by bike during the month of October, leaving a virtually untraceable carbon footprint, and then I would finally be crowned the winner of the Eat Local Challenge!

Not anymore.  I can’t help but think that fate got it wrong this time.  One of those bikes was supposed to be mine.  Somebody, probably in my very own neighborhood, maybe even right this minute, is riding it.  Smiling, no doubt.  And I’m mentally thrusting a stick through the spokes of the wheels riiiiiiiight…….now.

i just got back from swing dance camp, which was AWESOME. i danced all night on Sunday, straight through to breakfast at 7am, and didn't sleep except for about an hour nap in the afternoon when I finally got home.

camp food kind of sucks, unfortunately, so nothing exciting to report in that department except:

- brownies with peanut butter smeared on top are delicious, and great dancing fuel

- barbecue potato chips are much more satisfying as a mid-dance fortification than sweets

- a dark chocolate zone bar and a thimbleful of coffee is enough to get you through two dance classes if you sleep through breakfast (though a cabinmate came up with the genius idea of bringing instant oatmeal packets and using the hot water for tea to make instant brekkies)

- thousand island salad dressing makes everything taste good

Did I mention that a certain someone starts school this week?  Free school.  FREE.  All day, five days a week. 

Yes, this is the time when the Preschooler becomes a kindergartener, the Toddler becomes a preschooler, and I curse myself for thinking up names for the kids that would change every goddamned year.  (To be fair, I thought I’d quit blogging after two weeks, but haven’t I caught on by now that nothing happens like you plan?)

I was thinking of just calling the Preschooler the Kindergartener, and the Toddler the Preschooler.  Creativity isn’t my strong suit, as you well know.  But that nomenclature is likely to be confusing.  Like, how did the Preschooler go from being a sweet and gentle boy to a noisy brute practically overnight?  (Public school, that’s how.  We must all lose our innocence someday.)  So, if anyone has a better idea, let’s hear it.

Anyway, given the new, freeing kindergarten schedule, you may be wondering how I plan to spend my time?  Rather than doing the work needed to sustain a freelance career, I think I’ll start by acting out scenes from Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown instead. 

Yes, that is a fantastic idea.  I’ll start with gazpacho.  Lots of gazpacho.  Then I’ll mope around as if I’m despondent about the recent turn of events.  Why does he have to go to kindergarten?  Why, why, WHY?  There will be much pacing and hand-wringing, not to mention checking voicemail every two minutes.  Oh, and throwing things just to be dramatic.  I really don’t do enough of that.  I don’t want to die having never thrown anything through a plate glass window in a fit of rage.  That would be a waste.

I just hope that after all of the lighting things on fire, high-speed scooter chases, gazpacho at gunpoint, and dancing half-naked in windows play out, Husband doesn’t make me go out and get a real job.

Gazpacho

This recipe is straight from Spain and is my absolute favorite.  You can thicken it up with bread soaked in water if you like.  Adding garlic is also fair game.  Sleeping pills are optional.

4 large tomatoes
1 cucumber
1 bell pepper (green is traditional, but I prefer red)
¼ medium onion
6 Tbsp. olive oil
2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 tsp. salt
Black pepper
Cayenne pepper to taste

In a large pot of boiling water, dunk tomatoes for 20 seconds or so, then submerge in ice water until cool.  The skins should slip right off.  Core tomatoes, then cut in half across the equator and squeeze out the seeds.  Cut into quarters and place tomatoes in blender.

Peel cucumber and cut in half lengthwise.  Holding a spoon upside-down by the handle, dig a trough along the length of the cut side of the cucumber to remove the seeds.  Cut into pieces and put into blender, reserving one piece to chop for garnish.  Core and remove seeds from pepper.  Reserve one piece to chop for garnish and add the rest to the blender.  Add onion (chop some extra for garnish), olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, pepper, and cayenne.  Purée until smooth.  Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary.  Refrigerate.  Serve chilled topped with chopped red pepper, cucumber, and onion.

PK & I just got back from vacation.  For the last two weeks, we were busy enjoying way too many Rotis, Doubles, Aloo Pies, Coconut Pies, Potato Pies, Shark & Bakes, and so much more while we were in Trinidad & Tobago.

Oh, and for any addicts of the cocktails at Spring Blossom, I am sad to report that they sold their liquor license.  They are still serving food, but no more delicious, dirt cheap drinks.

In the spirit of Labor Day weekend, I did manage to put in some hours of actual labor on the farm.  Although, judging by the amount of dirt all over me and pouring out of my shoes afterwards, you would have thought that something else had gone on in those fields.  No such luck.  We weeded spinach, planted lettuce and basil, and that was all.  I have witnesses.

Since there was nowhere to hide in the open fields, I finally had a chance to chat with the Farmer for more than five seconds.  Chat and plant, plant and chat.  Except chatting is something I find hard to do in combination with other things.  I’m more of a one-activity-at-a-time kind of girl.  Still, I think it’s important to stick your pinky finger out of your comfort zone twice, maybe three times a year. 

That there was any dialogue at all was a miracle given the cacophony going on in my head:

Me: What’s he talking about?

Me: Pressure cookers, I think.  Stop crushing the lettuce.

Me: I’m not.  This is what he showed me. 

Me: I’m quite sure he wasn’t pounding the lettuce into the ground with his fists. 

Me: Shut up, I can’t hear.  What’s he talking about now?

Me: How sungolds make the best pasta sauce ever. 

Me: Mmmmm, I bet he’s right.  I wonder if he peels them all.  He couldn’t possibly.  That would take freaking forever.

Me: Why don’t you ask him?

Me: No, you ask him.

Me: You better pick up the pace.  If he gets too far ahead of you, he’ll start talking to that other guy.

Me: Right.  I don’t think he’s talking anymore.  He’s not.  Crap.  Say something.

Me: Ummmmmmm…..

Me: Anything.

Me: Uhhhh…

Me: Comment on those weird-ass husk tomatoes you tried last week.  Only make it sound like you really liked them.

Me: Okay, I just told him.

Me: What did he say?

Me: He thinks they’re gross.

Me: Goddamnit!

I wonder what the odds are that any of my lettuce is going to survive?

We can’t stop the tomatoes; we only try to contain them.

We’re getting 10 lbs a week from the farm share these days, plus nearly that much from the garden. Two weekends in a row included a peel & seed session and a batch of crockpot red sauce. Three gallons in the freezer so far, separated into 1 quart containers.

Today also involved some tomato peeling & seeding, but this time for gazpacho. That’s what’s going on in the background of the photo. In the foreground you see the ingredients for some salsa verde (sans the zucchini) that will be constructed later on today. Below is the rough recipe I went by. It’s crimped from both Cook’s Illustrated and Bittman’s HTCE with adjustments for what I had and how I like it.

The Toddler needed a little extra incentive to eat his broccoli last night.  Husband, trying to improve upon his usual dinosaur analogy, encouraged him to pretend he was a giant eating his way through the forest.  The Preschooler, ever the helpful assistant, objected. 

“Giants don’t eat trees," he corrected.  "They eat Englishmen.”