Category: food

celebration

July 4th weekend spawned a variety of commentary on what it means to be “patriotic” — some of it thoughtful, some of it less so. I’m not sure where I’d fall in the mix, but my weekend was celebratory, and further endeared to me this place I call home.

We kicked it off on Thursday with a wine and cheese tasting at nearby Blue Bistro. They’re holding these events from 6pm to 8pm every Thursday in July, but this one was especially tantalizing, paired as it was with the work-free Friday following it. It’s $20 a person for samples of three wines and three accompanying cheeses. This past Thursday included a champagne cheddar served with champagne, a something something served with a something white, and a “true” Stilton served with a something white and sweet. You can tell how seriously I take these things. Seriously, I’m all about the tasting, less about the remembering. We’ll call it, “living in the moment.” And the moment was enjoyable, largely due to the company. The event itself was, well, not so much of an event. I pictured something with a little more ceremony, but they just brought out three glasses and a plate for each person, told us about all six of the items, then left us alone. I guess I was expecting each cheese to come out separately, and in retrospect wonder if that would have made it feel more ceremonious. But whatever. The full menu was also available, and both the red pepper bisque and the polenta — which they were kind enough to serve on its own, no order of less-stellar-salmon required — were outstanding. Their polenta must be half butter, but mmmm is it good.

After we finished our cheese, we returned to the house to continue the “wine tasting”, by which I mean the “wine overindulgence”. This was the first time we’ve had non-family at the new house for any length of time, and if we’d planned it ahead of time things would have been cleaner and more organized, but I also probably would have had less fun.

Friday was all about recovery, doing the cleaning I should have done before guests came over on Thursday, and then heading downtown to see Brasilian-by-way-of-Pittsburgh singer Kenia at the Hilton. Fun music, but we were both zonked, so we headed home relatively early, just in time to hear the fireworks but, due to the opaque buildings lining Second Street, not see them.

Fireworks then became the plan for Saturday, with my family scheduled to come for dinner and a short walk down to the river. At the last minute, though, I checked the schedule again, and saw that Saturday called only for “mini-fireworks” down at Vine Street — about a mile away. So we walked, and as we walked it became clear that I had not been the only one who misunderstood what and where the fireworks for the evening would be. For a while it looked like maybe we were going have them all to ourselves, until a clarifying announcement was made over the loudspeaker, and the droves began walking south.

The mini-fireworks were to accompany the Harrisburg Symphony Orchestra’s rendition of the 1812 Overture at the conclusion of their performance. We got there early enough to hear the preceding song or two as well, stayed for the very mini-fireworks display, and then walked back along the river amidst an ever-thinning crowd while the loudspeaker intoned, “RIVERFRONT PARK IS NOW CLOSED. PLEASE EXIT THE PARK.”

And so fireworks became the plan for Sunday, despite that day’s pairing with the work-laden Monday following it. By this point we were really zonked; so zonked, in fact, that we got it in our heads that it would be a good idea to go to Toys R Us and buy bicycles. Yes, bicycles from the toy store. Whatever. We got two Schwinns, apparently models that are so low-end they’re sold only at Toys R Us and Wal-Mart, and aren’t even listed on the Schwinn website. However, they are cute as hell and have two wheels each, and they helped us propel ourselves from here to the north end of Riverfront Park and back again. I’m looking forward to travelling south from here as well, now that the festival stuff has vacated and that section of the park is again open to bikes. Just not for a few more days, until my legs recover.

Luckily, we didn’t have to walk far to get to Sunday’s fireworks. Actually, we walked several blocks further than we had to, in pursuit of a Brasilian/Bluegrass band playing the festival. The plan was to drop in there, then head up to Suba, and then make our way back to the river. We got waylaid, though, by a sign outside the Civic Club of Harrisburg, right next to the stage where the B/B band was playing, indicating that they were serving dinner. Dinner! The woman at the gate suggested that many people like to eat, then hang around for the fireworks. The Civic Club has a lovely lovely building and lovely lovely yard, and is located between the north tip of City Island and the Harvey Taylor Bridge. We were convinced.

According to our server and the menu, the Civic Club is open as a “restaurant” during the three major Harrisburg festivals — ArtsFest, American Music Festival, and Kipona. Food is ably prepared by Karen’s Catering, and apparently service is performed by members of the Civic Club. I still haven’t figured out what the Civic Club does, except that they have a lovely lovely building used mostly for weddings and banquets.

And a yard with a perfect view of the fireworks.

city cats

So, we’re in midtown.

Our arrival coincided rather unfortunately with a spate of violence that I’m sure those of you who live in the area heard way too much about — but despite the coincidence, I swear, it wasn’t us. Anyway, the violence appears to have subsided, at least temporarily, following a number of arrests and the arrival of a fleet of shiny new police cars. Ah, Harrisburg.

Violence aside, I do have mixed feelings about the new locale. I love that we can walk downtown, or just up the street, for a fun evening. I love that we apparently know tons of people within a radius of just a few blocks. I don’t love that I worry about finding parking in a safe place if I get home after dark, and that our “yard” is a little concrete fenced-in strip comprising something like 10 square feet. I love the house itself, I just wish it came with two parking spaces and a beautiful-but-low-maintenance courtyard. I’ll keep dreaming.

In other news, I’ve been frantically cooking and consuming vegetables in a desperate effort to keep up with the weekly inundation. The highlight was probably zucchini & summer squash with garlic scape pesto. The low was probably today’s summer squash & beets scrambled eggs. I have a whole buncha beets I need to use up. I keep fantasizing about documenting the adventures, but, you know, I can’t even keep up with this blog, so that’s not very likely.

inspiration

I received today a very inspiring email. “I really miss your blog,” it said, and that was it. I thought about hitting reply and saying, “Me too,” but thought instead that I would just bite the bullet and write something (very) slightly more substantial, and post it — wait for it — to my blog.

So here it is.

I used to spend hours surfing the web and reading news stories looking for things to blog. Now I stumble upon something cool, or hear an interesting story on NPR, and think, “I should blog that.” Of course, I never do.

I used to think this blog was mostly an exercise in narcissism, but I think one of the biggest differences between my life in the blogging-days and my life in these non-blogging-days is to do with the extent to which my attention is focused inward, rather than outward. Those days, I had very little in my own life that was fulfilling or interesting to me, and I was passionate about widening my view, about seeing and understanding (or trying, at least) the things that mattered in the larger world. These days, I have a pretty full home and work life, scads of entertainment options (more on this later), and I have this sense that it’s time to work on understanding what happens next for me. Also, I have more disposable income, so surfing Amazon.com is now less frustrating than surfing NYTimes.com, which is largely just depressing.

The past few weeks, my Amazon time has dwindled as my Monster and Craigslist time has grown. Yes, I’m on the prowl for a job. I’m hoping for something with a title like “Business Analyst,” but I’ve sent resumes off for some totally unrelated things, too. I want something that stretches my brain, requires creative problem-solving, and has room for growth. Know of anything?

Entertainment. In the past few months I’ve acquired a Wii, an Amazon Kindle, and now a Wii Fit. I’ve got fun stuff to do out the wazoo. Next month, I get a new house, in midtown Harrisburg, in which to put it all. (We’re just renting, so I don’t really get the house, just use of its walls for a year.) Today I got an entertainment hybrid, in the form of the first round of the summer’s CSA share. Maybe doesn’t sound like entertainment to you, but I had a blast this evening looking up recipes containing mesclun mix, radishes, spring onions, and more. I was going to include a link, but apparently WordPress is broken, and when I link to things, it doesn’t display anything I’ve written after the tag. Anyway, making food utilizes those creative problem-solving skills, and they’re quite yummy.

Food and video games aside, I’m really enjoying the Kindle. It’s exactly what it’s intended to be, and it’s enhancing my experience of the world. I’m reading way more since I got it, because I never have to decide which book to take with me, and I have Newsweek wirelessly delivered every week, so I’m getting print news in a way I haven’t done in years. If I could blog from it (I suppose I could, just not easily), maybe you’d be reading more updates.

The Wii Fit is fun, too, in very different but still wholesome kind of way. Today’s only day two with it, so who knows if it’ll last, but I’ve never enjoyed fake hoola-hooping in my living room so much. The gluteus maximus is a little sore, though.

This is probably a very different sort of blog entry than the kind today’s emailer was envisioning that he missed. Maybe there’ll be something more relevant to other people’s lives later. Maybe not.

for the birds

I’m a pretty big fan of buying organic. I do it whenever practicable, not out of any real commitment to keeping impurities and chemicals out of my body, but because I figure it’s a painless way to at least reduce the contaminants in my blood stream, and, you know, feel like a good person.

Lately, however, I’m starting to think that pesticides are the way to go. First it was the worms in the corn, then the spiders (and their eggs!) on the kale, and tonight, well…let’s just say I don’t eat butterfly.

Chrysalis in the Rabe

away from el sol

We’ve been eating at home more frequently now that we have a decent kitchen and I have a regular schedule, so tonight, when we decided to eat out (on a weeknight!) it was something of a big deal. I, having come home and immediately changed into pajamas, even put on pants for the occasion, so excited was I to try Harrisburg’s newest Mexican restaurant, El Sol.

I’m not sure I should have bothered.

El Sol is fairly attractive. It looks like what it’s trying to be — a slightly funky, slightly upscale, casual Mexican restaurant. Except that the chairs of the first table we were taken to were so uncomfortable that we asked to move the first time an employee approached us, many minutes after we’d decided what we wanted to eat. They were friendly about the request, and moved us to a table at the bar, the only one open with a different chair/table style. But then they apparently lost track of us again, until Fred asked the woman who had seated us if she was our waitress, and she said, “No.” “But I can be. Are you ready?” We were ready, had been ready, were nearly past ready. We gave her our orders.

The sopes were good, but not nearly as good as Herby’s. Herby’s has this thing that works in Mexican food and very few other cuisines, where it tastes like it came from a street vendor. El Sol’s sopes tasted, and I know this might not make any sense, like they were made for a restaurant, but not for actual eating.

The guacamole, on the other hand, was very good. The other salsas in the salsa sampler were mediocre, though fresh. The chips were fresh, too, but also not great. We spent a while trying to decide what their odd flavor was, then decided they must have been cooked in peanut oil. I don’t know this for a fact, but if you have a nut allergy, you may want to check into it before eating there.

Or just don’t eat there. My fish tacos, on first bite, were too hot — in terms of temperature — to taste any flavor. After letting them cool a bit, they were too hot — in terms of spice — to taste any flavor. The description on the menu states that the tacos are served “with a mild green sauce.” I love heat. I love hot peppers. My tolerance has declined since I left California (where it increased greatly), but I don’t tend to be a wuss, and I do tend to be able to differentiate flavor from heat. This heat killed the cilantro and onions it smothered, and only a faint hint of fish made its way through. To top it off, the “cabbage salad” that came with it was a small pile of iceberg lettuce. Iceberg lettuce on the side is very standard, but it ain’t cabbage salad. The sliced radishes were okay. I mean, they were radishes.

It probably won’t add anything to this rant to talk about Fred’s fajitas, but since they were the worst part, they must be mentioned. First, they weren’t grilled. I’m not sure how they were cooked — maybe pan-fried, maybe even some combination of searing and steaming, but they were *not* grilled. And second, they were covered in a tomato-based sauce. The sauce itself had some interesting flavor (this based on the one bite I took), but it didn’t quite work, and it certainly had nothing to do with any kind of fajitas I’ve ever had.

My verdict is that this would be an okay place to have drinks (the margaritas were passable, though not great) and maybe appetizers if you absolutely have to eat in that neighborhood, but given my experience with Bricco (did I blog about that?), I’d recommend just finding another locale. Like Steelton, where Herby’s serves much better Mexican food for much more reasonable prices. Their margaritas are pretty good, too.

roast this

I’m feeling a little guilty about this, a little scared to admit to it, but I guess the only thing to do is ‘fess up and hope for the best.

I’ve started a new blog, but it’s not what you think.

I asked for green coffee beans for Christmas. That’s coffee that hasn’t yet been roasted. My family has a $15 gift limit, so I figured I’d get a pound or two of coffee — just enough to try it out, see if it was something I’d be interested in doing on a regular basis. Instead, though, my grandmother, who is not bound by the limit, gave me something like eight pounds of beans.

It’s taken until this past week for me to gather the equipment, time, and guts to try roasting. It was easy and fun, and the coffee that resulted was so good and so different from any coffee I’ve ever had before that I was pretty much immediately hooked. Also, I still had almost eight pounds of coffee left to roast. All the coffee roasting sites I’ve read say you should keep a log of all your roasts — and since I found it hard to believe that I’d actually take pen to paper, well, I figured I’d start a blog.

You can find it at www.roastthis.com. I don’t plan on it replacing this one, but no promises on frequent updates. As if you didn’t already know that.

ho wah holiday

Last night my best friend and I found ourselves sans our respective significant others. Though Tammy and I became friends in high school while we were both perpetually single, since then we’ve never been single at the same time, and as a result it’s been more difficult to find time for just the two of us. She got married this past fall to a guy named Neal who, among other things, brews his own beer. More importantly, Neal’s the kind of guy every girl hopes her best friend will marry. So it’s okay that when I see Tammy it’s usually in conjunction with Neal — but it was still great to get a chance to have a girls’ night out.

In high school, Tammy and I frequented the now-defunct Mandarin Restaurant on the Carlisle Pike. It was in the boat-shaped building that now houses a mediocre Mexican restaurant. This and Taco Bell were probably our favorite spots. Anyway, I guess we’ve left behind the days when Taco Bell constituted a nice dinner, because last night we tried a Chinese place neither of us had been, Ho Wah in Lemoyne. Those of you who’ve been there probably know that Ho Wah doesn’t really constitute a “nice dinner” either, but, as I gather everyone else in the area knows already, the food was very good. I’m not sure how it differs from other Chinese food, but I do know it was better. Or at least that I enjoyed it more. (As a side note, I should mention that most West Coasters don’t like East Coast Chinese food, claiming it to be inauthentic. It might be, but I prefer it to the supposedly authentic West Coast Chinese.) It would, however, probably be better for take-out than for dine-in, as the service was pretty poor: I never got my soup, the entrees took waaaay too long to come out, and we had to make eye contact with the server several times before she gave us an opportunity to ask for boxes.

Ultimately, though, we did make it out of there with our leftovers and headed down to New Cumberland to the West Shore Theatre to see The Holiday. Before you say, “You saw what?” let me remind you that this was a girls’ night out. It was the perfect girls’ night out movie — predictable and sweet. And co-starring Jude Law. That’s important.

But more interesting to me than Jude Law was the overtly self-referential nature of the movie. Part of the movie is set in LA, and one of the main characters produces movie trailers. So right off the bat you’ve got elements of a movie about movies. Not that unusual. But there was also a character, a retired screenwriter, who named elements of the movie — in movie-speak — as they were happening. And there was the scene where the movie — which, at least at the West Shore Theatre, began without previews — interrupted itself with the green screen that alerts the audience a preview is about to be shown. What I’m saying is that this movie, in most ways just a typical romantic comedy, made a point to frequently remind the audience that this was a movie. Add to this the basic premise that by watching enough movies and living someone else’s life for two weeks you can change your own life — well, I think this may have been the first mainstream overtly postmodern romantic comedy I’ve seen.

This is not to say that it was, in any way, an intellectual or even thought-provoking film. But it did have Jude Law. What else do you need?

tradition

Monkey monkey monkey & Happy New Year.

I have been cooking somewhat obsessively lately. I’ve been spending way more time cooking than I have, say, blogging (duh). Additionally, while in Virginia Beach visiting family last week, I finished the book I was reading (The Echo Maker, by Richard Powers, which just won the National Book Award, indicating that it must have been a mediocre year for literature, because while I enjoyed the book, Powers’s tendency toward florid prose would keep me from giving it any awards), and picked up Julie and Julia at Barnes & Noble. This was a much better book, albeit slightly less, erm, intellectual. It’s about a woman who decides to cook every recipe in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume One in a year. This is a woman who clearly cooks a lot more obsessively than I do. But she inspired me.

To make pork & sauerkraut because it’s New Year’s Day. This is, apparently, a tradition, although not one in which I have ever partaken before today. So, having no family recipe to use, I made the pork & sauerkraut recipe from Joy of Cooking, because I happened to have it with me in the car when I decided we just had to go to the grocery store.

It turns out that none of the four eating creatures who live in this house really enjoy pork, and only one of the four eating creatures enjoys overcooked vegetables, which, ultimately, was what I thought this dish tasted like. Not really in a bad way — I think if one enjoyed pork and sauerkraut, one would enjoy this — just in a stewed vegetables sort of way. I’m taking the leftovers to my dad tomorrow; I think he’ll appreciate them more than we did.

Anyway, I suppose this marks the conclusion of the holiday season. I’m a little relieved. This was, as I mentioned in the last post, a good one — my New Year’s Eve may have even broken my streak of horribly disappointing New Year’s Eves — but now I have three weeks before classes start and no high-pressure events in the interim.

I plan to play some Civilization, do some laundry, and cook a little food. It’ll be a good year.


that time of year

By now the guests have departed, the boyfriend is doing the dishes, and other than the cat who thinks he could write a better blog entry than I (as evidenced by his insistence on walking on the keyboard), I have peace for the first time since six o’clock this morning.

Though a long one, this was a good Christmas, full of family and food. We started at my parents’ house, opening presents and eating the breakfast I spent yesterday prepping, then moved to my grandmother’s house just a couple of miles down the road, where we opened presents with the extended family, laughed, and spent a few minutes remembering the cousin who passed away earlier this year. Since those few minutes in which we pulled rubber ducks from a stocking dedicated to her, my thoughts have returned to her and her immediate family many times. This is the kind of thing I wish I could write about, or at least wonder if it would be appropriate to write about, but know that I don’t have the words.

After the presents were unwrapped, Fred and I headed back down to New Freedom to get ready for dinner with Fred’s son and his girlfriend. I made the recipe posted in the last entry, but overcooked the meat in the interest of Fred’s tastes. Never again will I cater to his poorly developed tastebuds. The sauce was excellent, but the meat was a shadow of what I believe it could have been.

Dessert, however, was good, and if you have a cooking bone in your body I highly recommend making this Winter-Spiced Molten Chocolate Cake with Rum-Ginger Ice Cream just as soon as you can.

I have come to believe that anyone who can follow a recipe can at least pass her(or him)self off as a good cook. This is the kind of cook I am. I very rarely develop new dishes, but damn am I good at following directions. You’re welcome to come to dinner anytime between now and when classes start again. I’m always looking for an excuse to make something extravagant. Just please don’t ask about the rubber duck sitting in the living room unless you like your food extra salty.

for the sake of posting

Diego’s right — I’ve got no excuse for not blogging right now. Except that I don’t particularly have anything to say. I haven’t left the house since Sunday afternoon, when we went to Ruby Tuesday for an exceptionally mediocre lunch. Since then, I’ve mostly been doing laundry, putzing around on my computer, and watching TV. Not much blogging material there.

Most of my putzing has involved using iPhoto and iDVD, both of which I like a lot, though I wish they were a little more powerful/flexible. I suppose it’s all about the balance between power and ease-of-use, and I likewise suppose it’s no surprise that the Mac software falls on the ease-of-use end of things. So not much there for me to talk about.

Other putzing has involved looking for something to make for Christmas dinner for Fred, his son, and his son’s girlfriend. Being responsible for a Christmas meal has me feeling very grown up. Not quite sure how this has happened. Anyway, I’m leaning toward Epicurious.com’s Beef Tenderloin with Roasted Shallots, Bacon, and Port, but with regular steaks instead of the whole roast since there will only be four of us eating.

More difficult than picking a recipe, though, is not feeling guilty while trying to pick a recipe when the front page of CNN.com is this:

Rats for Dinner in Zimbabwe