So remember how, a while back, I said I wanted to write more this year?
I'm now writing for the Zingerman's Community blog. There should be posts penned by yours truly showing up there two or three times a month. And today, the first one was posted.
I'm pretty excited about this new development, and I have lots that I hope to say soon. I hope you'll join me there.
Thanks, friends.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
Midwinter break
This morning, I went to the grocery store. I knew I needed milk and yogurt and oatmeal. I didn't know I needed a carton each of raspberries and strawberries, but somehow those made their way into my basket, too. They were not cheap, but it's March now, which means springtime, which means it's time to start thinking about fresh fruit beyond citrus. (Okay, maybe not totally beyond citrus, I did grab a few oranges as well.)
The berries are bright red, beautiful, sweet, aromatic. They are also firm just shy of being crisp (it won't do to develop bruises on the long, bumpy drive from Mexico to Michigan, after all). They may not threaten to drip juice down my chin, but after all, it's only March second. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
The berries are bright red, beautiful, sweet, aromatic. They are also firm just shy of being crisp (it won't do to develop bruises on the long, bumpy drive from Mexico to Michigan, after all). They may not threaten to drip juice down my chin, but after all, it's only March second. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
One year
One year ago today, I cooked myself a bowl of oatmeal and decided to write about it.
Having just reread that last sentence, I must say I sound exceptionally boring. Thank you for choosing to read these words despite that unpromising beginning.
A year ago, I was in a very different place than I am now. A few weeks before I began writing this blog, I expected to be offered a job - one that I was extremely excited about. When that offer fell through by mid-January, I was caught off-guard. Suddenly I had no plans and no idea what to do next. I had this vague idea that maybe someday I'd like to write about food, and eventually I decided that if I wanted to write about food, there was nothing stopping me from doing it now, especially since I had all this time free due to that pesky unemployment issue. So I decided I'd start a blog, and begin to practice writing, and see where it went.
Fast forward to now. For the last few months, I have been paid to write about food. Granted, it's only a sentence or three at a time, and it makes up only a very limited portion of my income - but the fact remains that part of my job is to write about food. Though I've had some time to get used to the idea, I still find that remarkable.
As to whether food writing is really where I want to be headed - I'm still making up my mind. But I am so grateful for the opportunities I have had to learn, and to taste, and to share my learnings and tastings over the past year. And I'm grateful to you, too, for taking part in it with me.
What's next in the year to come? We'll have to wait and find out together. Except, of course, for more oatmeal, because right now it's lunch time and apparently I'm still pretty boring.
Thanks, friends.
Having just reread that last sentence, I must say I sound exceptionally boring. Thank you for choosing to read these words despite that unpromising beginning.
A year ago, I was in a very different place than I am now. A few weeks before I began writing this blog, I expected to be offered a job - one that I was extremely excited about. When that offer fell through by mid-January, I was caught off-guard. Suddenly I had no plans and no idea what to do next. I had this vague idea that maybe someday I'd like to write about food, and eventually I decided that if I wanted to write about food, there was nothing stopping me from doing it now, especially since I had all this time free due to that pesky unemployment issue. So I decided I'd start a blog, and begin to practice writing, and see where it went.
Fast forward to now. For the last few months, I have been paid to write about food. Granted, it's only a sentence or three at a time, and it makes up only a very limited portion of my income - but the fact remains that part of my job is to write about food. Though I've had some time to get used to the idea, I still find that remarkable.
As to whether food writing is really where I want to be headed - I'm still making up my mind. But I am so grateful for the opportunities I have had to learn, and to taste, and to share my learnings and tastings over the past year. And I'm grateful to you, too, for taking part in it with me.
What's next in the year to come? We'll have to wait and find out together. Except, of course, for more oatmeal, because right now it's lunch time and apparently I'm still pretty boring.
Thanks, friends.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Injecting the orphans with chocolate
Last week, Shawn Askinosie of Askinosie chocolate was in town. He came to visit Zingerman's, which sells several of his chocolate bars, and to lead a public chocolate tasting as well as two staff tastings. In the continuing chronicles of why I love my job, we can add Chocolate Tastings to that list. Shawn's tasting was phenomenal.
When you taste chocolate with Shawn, he wants to make sure you get the full bean-to-bar experience. You start with a handful of just-roasted cocoa beans from Ecuador, cooled just enough that they won't burn your hands. Shawn instructs you to cup the beans tightly between your palms, to press out all of the air, and then to rub the beans to separate the exterior husks from the interior edible nibs. After maybe 10 seconds, you bring your hands to your nose, separate your palms, and inhale deeply. The nibs smell incredible – like the most decadent, delicious fresh brownie you can imagine. This, Shawn tells you, is the moment when you know the potential of the beans. This is when you discover what you'll be able to make with them.
From there, you taste through all the steps of the chocolate making process. You taste the nibs, toasty and dark with mildly bitter chocolately notes. You taste cocoa liquer, the paste that's made from grinding the nibs. Then you taste the cocoa butter and powder, and then the unconched chocolate, and finally the finished bar. Askinosie dark chocolates only include two ingredients: cocoa beans from a single origin, and organic sugar. No vanilla, no soy lecithin, nothing to take away from the flavor of the beans. The result is a chocolate that tastes like that first smell from between your palms – the promise of the beans fulfilled. Tasting through the progression is an incredible experience.
To get beans that are this great, Shawn works to educate the cacao farmers he works with to better understand the beans they grow. He visits the farmers annually, and he leads them through the same bean tasting process he teaches in his tastings with the American public. For him, the flavor is the number one priority – it needs to be, since there won't be any other flavorings to mask any off aromas of the beans.
In the pursuit of great beans, he develops strong relationships with the cacao producers. In addition to paying well above market price and profit sharing with them, Shawn works to help the communities, too. In Davao in the Philippines, Shawn worked with the local school's PTA to help bring the first computer to the area. Now, middle school students in Shawn's hometown of Springfield, Missouri regularly video chat with their Philippine pals. In Tenende, Tanzania, a remote location several hours drive from the nearest city, Shawn and high school students from Springfield helped to dig a deep-water well to bring clean water to the community. As he recounts the story, you can see the pride on Shawn's face as he humbly comments that taking his first sip of water from that well ranks among the best moments of his entire life.
Once the chocolate is made, Shawn sends the farmers chocolate bars made with their own beans. In many cases, the farmers have never tasted a chocolate bar before. Cacao grows only in tropical regions – regions where it's too hot for chocolate to stay in bar form for very long without air conditioning. Young or old, around the world, everyone has the same reaction to eating their own chocolate: Shawn describes it as reverential. They do not scarf down their chocolate; each square is slowly savored. I think we could all learn a thing or two about eating from them.
Listening to Shawn talk about his work is a powerful experience. It reminded me of a conversation I had with my friend Charlotte in college. Charlotte's mom had just called her to tell her about one of Charlotte's high school classmates. This boy had spent his summer in Africa with some kind of medical exchange program, vaccinating children and doing all sorts of valuable humanitarian work. After the call ended, Charlotte, a pre-med student, said, “Man. He goes off to Africa and injects those orhpans, and I sit and watch TV. Watching TV is bad. Injecting the orphans is good.”
As I was driving home after listening to Shawn's story, I couldn't help but think to myself, I watch TV. Shawn Askinosie injects the orphans. With chocolate.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Fried Pickles
Sometimes, I feel so incredibly lucky to work where I do. Like when I spend my day learning about cheese and chocolate and planning gelato sales games. Or when I make videos on how to fry pickles. Perhaps I should say, especially when I make videos on how to fry pickles.
It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it, right?
Hope you enjoy my work as much as I do!
It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it, right?
Hope you enjoy my work as much as I do!
Sunday, January 8, 2012
On resolutions, with a slice of fudge
It's January again. Time for new beginnings and refocusing on what's important. And for fudge.
I've never been much of one for resolutions. The last two years, my resolution, if you could call it that, was to floss more. That's not my resolution this year because I finally do floss more - maybe not so much as I should, but much more than I did a year ago. However, my flossing habits did not improve because I resolved that they would on January 1, 2011. They improved because I ended up with a $900 dentist bill in September. Somehow, that a little more motivating.
If I had a resolution this year, it might be to write more. Once again, though, if I succeed, it's probably not because I'm saying so now. I have slightly more pressing concerns at the moment: a colleague of mine, who is well known and well respected and happens to write a newsletter that is read by thousands (if not tens of thousands) of people, wrote in this month's newsletter that I wanted to work on my writing. Wow. If that's not the writing equivalent of a $900 dentist bill, I'm sure I don't know what is.
I had this swim coach in college, John. John and I didn't chat one-on-one too often, but when we did, I was always struck by what a good judge of character he was. Once, he commented to me, "You keep your goals very close to your heart, and you aren't very comfortable sharing them with others, are you?" Though I wouldn't have said it the same way myself, I had to admit that he was spot on.
I'm not comfortable sharing my hopes and dreams and goals, I think because I'm not comfortable with the idea of presenting anything to the world in a less than fully completed state. If I'm going to do something, I'm going to do it well. If I announce my intentions, and then I fall short, then it's out there for the whole world to see. Much better to keep my hopes and dreams to myself and then quietly celebrate when I achieve them, right?
Having it announced to the world that I want to work on my writing is terrifying to me. Of course, had I objected, my name would have been omitted (and I must admit, I do appreciate the shout out). But knowing that any and all of my coworkers, that our customers, that anyone who happens to come across this article knows one of my secret aspirations... Let's just say, it's quite a motivator to get back to writing.
The last few months were a blur. My company does 50% of its business in November and December, and 50% of that in the two weeks before Christmas. To handle the extra work load, our year-round crew of about 50 balloons to nearly 450 for those two months. We all work overtime, and we all try to get our usual work done between the barrage of questions coming in from every direction, and I think we all leave at the end of each day wondering what, exactly, we accomplished. It's a wild ride, and a lot of fun, but for me, at least, it's not exactly conducive to the creative process. Perhaps I just need more practice. Luckily, now that Christmas has come and gone and we're a week into the new year, life is returning to a more normal state and I will endeavor to practice more regularly.
In the meantime, I'll nibble on my fudge.
There are so many traditional foods around the world for welcoming the new year: pork and sauerkraut for luck in Pennsylvania and Ohio; lentils that look like coins for prosperity in Italy; grapes for happiness in Spain and Peru. In my family, since before I was around (which must mean forever), it has been tradition to make fudge on New Year's Eve. I don't know that it has any symbolic meaning, but it does guarantee that each year ends - and starts - on a sweet note.
It's a simple recipe - just six ingredients - and it requires none of the marble slab acrobatics so prevalent in the fudge shop windows on Mackinac Island. The fudge it makes is rich and sweet and toothsome, and though perhaps I am biased, I prefer it to any fudge I've ever bought in a shop. It can be made in less than thirty minutes from start to finish, and because it makes five pounds and freezes well, it can be enjoyed for weeks to come. Given that it's how I always start my years, I think it's only fitting that I start this year's writing with the recipe.
Fudge
4 1/2 cups sugar
1 12-oz can evaporated milk
6 tablespoons butter
18 ounces chocolate (lately, I've used Ghirardeli 60% cacao chips, but you could use any chocolate you like)
6-7 ounces marshmallow cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
Butter an 8x8 baking dish or a 9" diameter pie plate.
Heat the butter, sugar, and evaporated milk in a large pan over medium heat, stirring frequently until it just begins to bubble. As soon as the first bubbles appear, start a time for 5 minutes, turn the heat to low, and stir constantly for five minutes as the liquid simmers and boils. After 5 minutes, turn off the heat and stir in the chocolate chips, marshmallow cream, and vanilla. Work quickly to incorporate everything, because as it cools it will be harder to mix together. As soon as it is homogenous, pour the fudge into the buttered dish.
Let the fudge cool before slicing. Eat plain, with a glass of milk and a smile on your face.
Makes 5 pounds
I've never been much of one for resolutions. The last two years, my resolution, if you could call it that, was to floss more. That's not my resolution this year because I finally do floss more - maybe not so much as I should, but much more than I did a year ago. However, my flossing habits did not improve because I resolved that they would on January 1, 2011. They improved because I ended up with a $900 dentist bill in September. Somehow, that a little more motivating.
If I had a resolution this year, it might be to write more. Once again, though, if I succeed, it's probably not because I'm saying so now. I have slightly more pressing concerns at the moment: a colleague of mine, who is well known and well respected and happens to write a newsletter that is read by thousands (if not tens of thousands) of people, wrote in this month's newsletter that I wanted to work on my writing. Wow. If that's not the writing equivalent of a $900 dentist bill, I'm sure I don't know what is.
~*~
I had this swim coach in college, John. John and I didn't chat one-on-one too often, but when we did, I was always struck by what a good judge of character he was. Once, he commented to me, "You keep your goals very close to your heart, and you aren't very comfortable sharing them with others, are you?" Though I wouldn't have said it the same way myself, I had to admit that he was spot on.
I'm not comfortable sharing my hopes and dreams and goals, I think because I'm not comfortable with the idea of presenting anything to the world in a less than fully completed state. If I'm going to do something, I'm going to do it well. If I announce my intentions, and then I fall short, then it's out there for the whole world to see. Much better to keep my hopes and dreams to myself and then quietly celebrate when I achieve them, right?
Having it announced to the world that I want to work on my writing is terrifying to me. Of course, had I objected, my name would have been omitted (and I must admit, I do appreciate the shout out). But knowing that any and all of my coworkers, that our customers, that anyone who happens to come across this article knows one of my secret aspirations... Let's just say, it's quite a motivator to get back to writing.
~*~
The last few months were a blur. My company does 50% of its business in November and December, and 50% of that in the two weeks before Christmas. To handle the extra work load, our year-round crew of about 50 balloons to nearly 450 for those two months. We all work overtime, and we all try to get our usual work done between the barrage of questions coming in from every direction, and I think we all leave at the end of each day wondering what, exactly, we accomplished. It's a wild ride, and a lot of fun, but for me, at least, it's not exactly conducive to the creative process. Perhaps I just need more practice. Luckily, now that Christmas has come and gone and we're a week into the new year, life is returning to a more normal state and I will endeavor to practice more regularly.
In the meantime, I'll nibble on my fudge.
There are so many traditional foods around the world for welcoming the new year: pork and sauerkraut for luck in Pennsylvania and Ohio; lentils that look like coins for prosperity in Italy; grapes for happiness in Spain and Peru. In my family, since before I was around (which must mean forever), it has been tradition to make fudge on New Year's Eve. I don't know that it has any symbolic meaning, but it does guarantee that each year ends - and starts - on a sweet note.
It's a simple recipe - just six ingredients - and it requires none of the marble slab acrobatics so prevalent in the fudge shop windows on Mackinac Island. The fudge it makes is rich and sweet and toothsome, and though perhaps I am biased, I prefer it to any fudge I've ever bought in a shop. It can be made in less than thirty minutes from start to finish, and because it makes five pounds and freezes well, it can be enjoyed for weeks to come. Given that it's how I always start my years, I think it's only fitting that I start this year's writing with the recipe.
Fudge
4 1/2 cups sugar
1 12-oz can evaporated milk
6 tablespoons butter
18 ounces chocolate (lately, I've used Ghirardeli 60% cacao chips, but you could use any chocolate you like)
6-7 ounces marshmallow cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
Butter an 8x8 baking dish or a 9" diameter pie plate.
Heat the butter, sugar, and evaporated milk in a large pan over medium heat, stirring frequently until it just begins to bubble. As soon as the first bubbles appear, start a time for 5 minutes, turn the heat to low, and stir constantly for five minutes as the liquid simmers and boils. After 5 minutes, turn off the heat and stir in the chocolate chips, marshmallow cream, and vanilla. Work quickly to incorporate everything, because as it cools it will be harder to mix together. As soon as it is homogenous, pour the fudge into the buttered dish.
Let the fudge cool before slicing. Eat plain, with a glass of milk and a smile on your face.
Makes 5 pounds
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