Maria Holmes' Blog

Taming of the Tongue

I recently dined at the one of the newest restaurants in town.  And while I considered writing a review, the thought of it brought up some interesting issues of existential proportions. Yes, I said existential. 

The restaurant is on the very hip Alberta street in a small but open space.  Exposed brick, concrete and wood floors make for a very industrial vibe.  The chefs: two ladies and a guy who cooked for notable restaurants in New York City opened the place a few weeks ago.  And as if they somehow understood Portland's affinity to bird print and "putting a bird on it", appropriately named it: Aviary.  

Tattooed servers, great indie rock over the sound system, and Edison bulb lighting make it seem, oh-so-Portland in a great way.  

Our server had this scribed on his arm: 

You become responsible forever, for what you have tamed. 

"It's from the book, 'The Little Prince'," he smiled, cheerfully refilling our water glasses.  

Just the mention of it whisked me back to High School AP English with Ms. Kandaris. She assigned The Little Prince, and The Stranger, and others rather existentialist in nature.  I remember she explained existentialism as the search for meaning through actively questioning and seeking it.  I also remember she concluded that most existentialists decide the world is cold and meaningless. True connections to others is an illusion.  Cheerful isn't it? 

In the book, the Little Prince meets a fox.  The fox explains that to tame a fox or anything for that matter, is to befriend and forever change it. Through the relationships we create, the encounters we have with strangers, we are never the same. Items and places, colors and flavors take on meaning that did not previously exist.

The Mr. and I dined with a dear friend that evening.  We discussed books and food all the while drinking wine and receiving thoughtful and patient service.  Before we knew it we were the last ones left in the restaurant.  We finished up our coffee and headed for the door and just then I noticed her. I saw one of the owners sitting at a dining table looking over paperwork.  She looked to be in her early thirties, dressed in chef's whites, with her long hair pulled into a ponytail, bangs and glasses. She waved goodbye and thanked us for coming in.  And for a moment, I saw myself in her.  

It was then I realized I would make a terrible existentialist.  

Did I like Aviary?  No.  And then Yes.  I realize it takes more than a couple weeks for a business to find the right balance.  Consistency takes time.  

Perhaps it's my appreciation for the guts it takes to open a business (especially in the middle of a recession), or the strange connection I feel for these strangers, my Portland-ish affinity for bird related items or a combination of all three that leads me to hold my tongue for now.  I plan to go back in about six months and check it out again.  

Besides, to force my opinions as dogma is a terrible offense...even an existentialist would agree with me on this one.  

When You Say Nothing At All

I laughed quietly, thinking about the imaginative ignorance it takes to create a thoughtless sentence.

She did this all the time.  A deliberate pause followed by phrases like "and therefore," "and things such as that," and "so they say".  She peppered the spaces in between with celebrity gossip, and hearsay, declaring them as you would a headline from the evening news.

By her looks she appeared to be in her mid-thirties.  We were not friends, although she certainly assumed we were.  She had a boyfriend, had only finished one year of community of college, was now cooking food in a low end bar and was planning to leave that job for something that pays better. I knew this because she told me. She loved to talk but left little room in her sentences for substance. 

After many weeks of conversation waiting for the blue-line train I came up with a theory: when we are born we are assigned a word count for our life.  A predetermined, finite number, known only to God.  No more, no less, like heartbeats or breaths taken in a lifetime.  

Some days, perhaps out of spite,  I spurred her on and insisted she explain the latest news in greater detail.  

During one particularly long train ride, I watched birds cut across pensive skies, the grey clouds seemed heavy with thought.  It was weather that could inspire Edgar Allen Poe to fill more than a few moleskin notebooks.    A small boy in a puffy, down jacket kicked my boot as his mother pulled him down the aisle to leave and I suddenly realized she was still talking.  

My fry-cook traveling companion never seemed to mind my lack of interest.  She continued, "...And so  that's why Kentucky Fried Chicken can only refer to themselves as 'KFC'.  It's a legal thing. 'Cause it's not real chicken, so they say." 

I nodded and smiled, watching her word count increase on an imaginary word document with each utterance. 

"Word count," I whispered to myself. 

"What?"

I looked back at her as I stepped off the train and said nothing.  

 

 

Menu for the Worst Day

According to happy little equation-making scientists, January 17, 2011 was the worst day of the year.  The factors in the equation : depressingly cold weather, debt from holiday bills and the fact that most people break their New Year's resolutions by this day.  

While I survived January 17th, Tuesday morning, I might argue was perhaps the worst day ever...for my skinny jeans.  I did the skinny jean drill:  said a quick prayer, held my breath, and attempted to zip them. I celebrated, did a little happy jig and mid-victory dance the inseam split wide open.  

Awesome.

So, I'm not making a resolution, but lets just say it's time to rethink the whole work-out and food thing.  Instead of going out for dinner the Mr. and I headed to the market.  

"We're eating only brown rice and vegetables this week," I said.

"How did you read my mind?" he smiled waving two New York Strip packages in the air at me. 

"Steak is not on the agenda, sorry," I said stuffing a bunch of kale into a plastic produce bag.

Later, we loaded the conveyor check-out belt with our organic fruit, rice, and quinoa and I realized that somewhere between aisle 1 and the check-out counter a pound of steak made it into the cart.

Well,  what better to wash down all those whole grains with than...steak? You gotta start somewhere right?

 

Menu for the worst day:

Miso glazed asparagus, lemon zest, toasted sesame seeds, sea salt

Apple tamarind salad, almonds, spinach

New York Strip (to make you feel better)

 

Miso Glaze (111-33) ***

1 Miso paste

1 Vinegar

1 Sugar

3 Rice Vinegar

3 Oil  

 Yes, mix all together.  That's it. I've used this for salad dressing and for already cooked vegetables.  Great way to prevent the blandness (is that a word?) of just about anything.

Tamarind Dressing (.5-11-2-33)

.5 sambal (thai chili garlic  paste)

1 sugar

1 clove garlic

2 tamarind concentrate 

3 water

3 oil

This has become my go-to salad dressing.  It's sweet, slightly spicy, and tart.  You can get the Sambal and Tamarind at any Asian Market. The tamarind is usually marketed as "soup base". 

*** Recipes are a ratio.  When I originally made these I used a tablespoon.  So for example, miso dressing is 111-33: 1 tablespoon miso, 1 tablespoon vinegar, 1 tablespoon sugar, 3 tablespoons rice vinegar, 3 tablespoons oil.  Easy to remember, easy replicate and expand if needed. 

Side note: this blog has sadly been sitting in my queue for weeks, waiting to be published.  We're still eating brown rice and have since progressed to the much healthier option of chicken. 

Lesson From a Friend

Guess who’s procrastinating?

 So a lovely friend of mine posted a link back to this site from her blog and well, that got me thinkin’.  It’s time.  Time to write again.  Time to pick up my on-again, off-again relationship with the blog.  Oh, and this thought just so happens to coincide with the due date of a paper for my MBA program.   Perfect timing. 

 

Naturally, I choose blogging.

 

Who cares about lean production practices anyways? 

Okay, here’s the last 6 months in a nutshell:  new house, new car, new perspective.  Ready to write again.

A few thoughts on friends.  As I grow older, I realize the immense value of friendship and the importance of surrounding yourself with those who inspire you to become a better you.  I learned from a friend recently that when you loosen the death grip on the expectations associated with your plans, they are suddenly free to grow into something better than you could have predicted.  

I’m a compulsive planner and list maker.  So when I began this blog project I knew I needed a plan and a platform and timed out written pieces.  I tried to figure out what to do if I went on vacation, could I blog about that? Would they have wi-fi? What if I ran out of stuff to blog about?  OH, MY, GOD...it became overwhelming.  Oh, and have I mentioned that I'm working full-time, finishing up an MBA, and am easily distracted by, oh, everything.  I can barely remember to feed the cats...how can I feed this blog? 

Ok deep breath.  I'm gonna let this project have a life of its own.  I'm gonna feed it (but it will be less often than the cats**) and let go of expectations.  My only purpose is to make time to write and reflect and hopefully share something of use to the world.

There. Done.  First blog of 2011 is complete. 

**The cats, if you must know, get fed once a day.  They are fat and healthy. None were harmed in the making of this blog. ** 

Stuck on you...

 Over time as people age and mature and become more discerning and refined about their taste, some regard themselves connoisseurs of certain items.

Wine snobs won’t drink the boxed stuff, foodies only eat the stuff with stickers that say organic, and many literature buffs won’t go near any book with the Oprah Book Club Label. 

While grocery shopping the other day I realized I too have joined the ranks of connoisseur.  

I am a band-aid connoisseur.  Well, to be exact Band-Aid is a brand name, I’m actually referring to adhesive bandages.  And yes, I have very specific and rather refined tastes on adhesive bandages. 

I cook for a living, but have always been a little clumsy.  Why did I choose a profession based around fire and sharp things?  I guess I like to live dangerously.  Although I tend to burn myself more than get cut, I have been injured enough to have tried every shape, size and brand of bandage out there.

 

I have come to three realizations:

 

1.     Sometimes a little impracticality is fun and worth it. 

 All the pretty band aids, although sometimes less effective than the sturdier and more serious bandages can be better for the soul. There’s something about seeing Snoopy or Hello Kitty wrapped around my wound that makes me giggle and almost forget about the pain.

 

2.     Sometimes less is more.

 Don’t think you’re doing yourself a great favor buying the combo packs.  The band aid companies always try to sneak in the shapes you’ll never use.  And so they sit there in your medicine cabinet for decades.  I mean seriously, who actually uses the little dots?  Maybe I’ll save those for the next paper punch battle I get in.

 

3.     And sometimes you just need to hurry up and make a decision. 

The first aid aisle is a plethora of choices: waterproof, fabric, neon, brown, antibiotic, snoopy print, brand name, or generic, the list goes on.  I can literally become paralyzed with indecision in this aisle until I realize that if I don’t decide soon my entire life will pass before me and I’ll still be standing in front of these adhesive bandages.

 

So here’s to less band-aid filled days and if you need them, may they be sturdy and maybe even eye catching.  Haha…that sounds like a terrible drinking toast. 

 

 

Pop Video

Speaking of Popcorn...check out this video.  Slow motion popcorn.  Overly dramatic and awesome! 

The More You Eat...The More You Want

 

A piece of freshly popped corn is a truly beautiful thing.

But one covered in bacon, bourbon and caramel is well, a work of art.  I’m not usually a huge fan of caramel corn but I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for Cracker Jacks.  Do they even make those anymore?  They were packaged in wonderful cardboard boxes with paper prizes (generally the sticker, or press-on tattoo variety).  

I didn’t invent Bacon Bourbon Caramel Corn (although I wished I had).  Should you need to fill your recently realized Bacon Bourbon Caramel Corn shaped hole in your stomach and don’t want to make it yourself try this link:

http://shop.saltedcaramel.net/ 

If you want to try your hand at making it yourself try this recipe.

 

Original recipe was from:  

http://orangette.blogspot.com/2009/12/for-ever-and-ever.html

I simply substituted bacon fat for some of the butter, used bourbon instead of water and added finely chopped bacon. 

1 (3½-ounce) package plain (unbuttered natural flavor) microwave popcorn, or about 10 cups fresh popcorn popped by any method, lightly salted

1 cup packed light brown sugar

¼ cup light corn syrup

4 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted

2 TB Bacon fat

2 TB Bourbon

¼ tsp. salt

½ tsp. baking soda

2 tsp. vanilla extract

1 cup lightly salted peanuts, roughly chopped

1. Pop your corn.  Preheat oven 250°F.

2. In a saucepan, whisk sugar, corn syrup, butter, bacon fat and salt and bourbon.  Simmer (a lot of the alcohol will burn off & flavor stays).  Bring to 250°F using a candy thermometer, cook for 3-4 min.  

3.  Remove from heat, add baking soda and vanilla.  It will bubble and make a fuss, just whisk until it's all mixed in.

4. Pour caramel over popcorn on a sheet tray.  Cover evenly.  (Hint:  either spray your sheet tray with cooking spray or line with foil for easy clean up) Stick in the oven for 1 hour, stir and turn popcorn every 20 minutes.  Cool and break up pieces. 

I ate most of this all by myself. Soo good, but probably not so wise.  I shared a little with Josh and forced myself to box up some of it to give to an old friend who was visiting in town.  Already thinking of new ways to change this up...Hazelnuts and Pendleton Whisky for an all Oregon version?  Hmmm....salivating just thinking of it. 

Raindrops on Roses

 It’s Monday and over the last few years this dreaded day of most of the working world has become one of my favorite days of the week.  Since I began cooking professionally I have adapted to what I call a “restaurant week”. Wednesday is now my Monday and Sundays are my Fridays.  And although I attend church on Sunday morning, Monday is more of a Sabbath than anytime of the week.  Okay, well except for the part where I go to school on Monday nights, but a degree doesn’t just earn itself and I know that it won’t be forever. 

On my weekends I also like to a search the internet for interesting blogs.  Sometimes they’re food related but often they are just a strange hodge podge assortment of pages about crafts, clever writing, art, photography and sometimes hilarious kittens.  They’re like an odd collection of Russian stacking dolls.  Each strange page containing the link to another weird page and all of a sudden I’m reading a blog about Chinese circus cats. 

Inspired by a blog I discovered in this manner (A Beautiful Mess) I am enclosing a top 5 list of things I love (she often does this on Sunday) and this being mine…well, it’s only fitting. 

These are a few of my favorite things…. (right now).  

1.     Holga Cameras – An older camera that is actually pretty cheap to buy and it uses that thing they call film.  I think I still remember what that is.  Something about the simple and inconsistent structure of each Holga camera creates some very unique pictures. A new discovery for me and it’s on my list of things to get in 2010.

 
 
 

2.     Toasters.  Specifically, the new Magimix toaster sold at Williams Sonoma.  Okay, let’s face it, 90 percent of the time a toaster is simply on the counter to be, well, esthetically pleasing.  So it should be beautiful and practical.  This one fits the bill perfectly. It's also see thru so you can watch your toast...toasting. So what if it’s like $300, right?  Sigh, maybe I’ll wait for a clearance sale for this one.

 

3.     Rock sugar from Teavana.  Water sometimes tastes so blah and tea hot or cold just seems to hit the spot.  This German Rock Sugar from Teavana adds just a hint of sweetness, the crystals are unprocessed and have about half the calories of regular white sugar.  Equally awesome is the beautiful glass jar the sugar comes in.  I imagine it would look lovely sitting on the counter next to my Magimix toaster.  Okay, I have to say it (go ahead and cringe)…this rock sugar ROCKS!

 

4.     Bourbon.  Yeah, bourbon…the drink of refined gentlemen and southern ladies.  And with the Kentucky Derby this past weekend I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention mint juleps.  Here’s a lovely and light recipe from Epicurious.  This is more of a spritzer and is easy to swallow, even for those who typically shy away from such spirits.

 

5.     Lists.  I love lists, I love to write them, I love to check the items off and looking at the completed items with satisfaction.  Sometimes I put on already completed tasks on my list just to give me a head start…like “eat cereal”, “check facebook”.  Wow, I’ve already completed two things today, and then I cross them off and feel oh so productive.  But seriously, the world must depend on and revolve around lists.  Here’s a link to none other than a list about the top mobile and web based list making tools. 

How to Rise Up Like Fresh Popcorn

 My dad never cooked much, the kitchen was my mom’s territory.  When he did venture into the kitchen my dad’s repetoire included the basic food groups: eggs, bacon, toast and popcorn.  

We used to make popcorn the old fashioned way, you know, like when people didn’t have microwaves.  He would take out this old heavy bottomed steel pot that used to belong to his mother, pour oil and popcorn kernels into it and we’d watch the beautiful corn jump up.  In a blink they transformed from homely little seeds into light and fluffy deliciousness.  Simply magical. 

Which makes me wonder, why do people use butterflies and not popcorn as a metaphor to describe incredible transformations?  She once was a humble little kernel…who knew that one day she would rise up and become popcorn, light and delectable? I can see it now, Celebrity stories on Biography channel: from seed to “popped” fame.  But I digress...

It’s funny how the memory of something is sometimes better than the reality.  When I told my mom I was making popcorn the old fashioned way she reminded me of the mess of burning popcorn, the smoke alarm, and all of the other reasons I should probably stick to the microwave. 

Tell me not to do something and I will figure out a way to do it anyway.  I turned to the trusty internet and found detailed instructions that are a lot better than the package directions.  Seriously, had I used the package directions I probably would have burned something, check out Simply Recipes for better instructions.  I think I only had 2 un-popped kernels, no burned pieces or smoke alarms.  Fantastic!

Part 2 (coming soon): What to do with your popcorn?  Make Bacon Bourbon Caramel Popcorn of course. 

Houseless and Happy in Portland

 I grew up living in apartments my entire life.  I always thought houses were something for rich people on TV, like the Cosby’s or that family from Mr. Belvedere but that never stopped me from dreaming.  Actually, I think it was more about the puppy my dad promised we’d get once we had a yard rather than the home itself, but either way, I understood the importance of having a place to call your own. 

My parents never got that home, and by the way I'm still waiting for the puppy, but a few years ago Josh and I purchased our first place.  It was a lovely house but it never truly felt like home because we knew we’d be moving in a few years.  All the special projects we intended to do fell by the wayside and when we finally moved out the yard was as boring and plain as the day we moved in.  Could we have loved that house a little better? Yes.  Did we truly appreciate what we had? Probably not, or at least not as much as I will appreciate my next home.

After dealing with two terrible renters, we decided to put the home on the market…right before the economy fell and the housing marking went bust.  Perfect timing.  So it sat on the market for about two years, sucking my income and sanity.  

But a few days ago (I can’t believe I actually get to say this) our house finally sold.

I’m almost afraid to type those words out of superstitious fear that I’ll somehow cause the ink on the contract to dry up and disappear.

But there it is. True and wonderful.  The house belongs to someone else.

Despite all the trouble and the headache of waiting for this house to sell I am grateful for the entire experience.  Grateful for the ability to own a home, the possibility of a new one, and for family who selflessly gave their time to help us paint and renovate last year.  

And it is with gratitude that I say good bye to that old house.  But I think that grey-braided philosopher, Willie Nelson said it best… 

Maybe I didn't love you

Quite as often as I could have

Little things I should have said and done

I just never took the time….

Good-bye old home.