TheLindsayist

Gendered cuisine, plus the way we’ve been eating.

It was already percolating on my mind after driving by a billboard for “Pepsi Max,” a cola for men. I do want to try it (queue ‘anything, once’ slogan) if only to understand what a focus group determined was a male flavor. Beef? Mushrooms? This beverage is taking on decidedly umami characteristics in my imagination. Old Spice?

When I arrived at the new taqueria in the Theater District yesterday afternoon, I was feeling chatty. I’d just left Grillo’s Pickles on the Common and was still glowing from the trio of garlicky spears eaten as I strolled. I’d read a positive review of the taqueria recently; as is my custom, I thought I should ask about specialties, what’s best, blah blah.

The owner answered, “Well, for the girls, they like…” and “For the boys…” explaining that the latter prefer bulky burritos while the former dine on delicate quesadillas. I immediately bristled, wondering what that had to do with how anything tasted, but it was advice I took with a grain of salt since it was, after all, pushing 90, humid, and not a day for a hefty lunch. Subtext: perhaps I wasn’t in for anything too special anyway, since there was no must-have menu star.

There was a passage in, I think it was, Tender at the Bone by Ruth Reichl, who described how it was common for a waiter to deliver her steak to her husband, while she could expect to receive her husband’s salad, swap to follow. Tim and I encounter this regularly; he’s far more apt to order a dinner salad out than I am, and likewise, I gravitate toward whatever menu item is still bleeding more often than not.

I thought of this as I ate my feminine quesadilla, which tasted vaguely of paper, and was cursed with the sort of pico de gallo you can buy in a tub near the pre-cut carrot sticks and salad bags. I’m not sure I would’ve been any better off had I ordered the burrito in question, given the faulty components. So much for heteronormative burritos.

Meanwhile, photos of a few recent meals at home, where the men and the women all eat the same thing.

North African spice-rubbed chicken, vegetals

Pan-crisped cod; dilled mashed potatoes; corn, tomato and scallion salad

Olive oil fried egg, stock-braised kale and some funny purple-grained toast

Fascination at Nantasket

Visited Nantasket Beach this weekend; icy swimming, penny arcade, hung around with several thousand people on the packed beach which usually I find intolerable but this weekend I was just so glad to take a break, my usual crowded-beach irritability giving way to patience. I didn’t find the party dude keg cup tent obnoxious, instead, I declared to Tim I could probably get us in by showing them my tattoo. We sat on the rocks and watched two kids race RC cars through the puddles for a solid half hour. I never eat ice cream anymore, and I did that. My skee ball skills were exceptional, and I won enough tickets to buy a finger trap and a whoopie cushion, which is great, because my last one broke from overuse (RIP Somerville Good Times). Also purchased a terrific print of the aforementioned “Fascination” bingo marquis from a shop that advertised its carousel sponsorship program with the unfortunate slogan, “Say it with a brick.”

Cabbage Strudel

There ought to be a law keeping me from handling phyllo dough; making it, purchasing it, processing it in any way. I’m waiting for tonight’s dinner – little Greek pies [but it's called "strudel" anyway?] of cabbage, carrots, onions, carraway and feta sauteed and rolled up. As assembled, they look like rows of those mummified Egyptian cats. But more buttery.

No pictures; I’m too ashamed. It’s bad personal PR. [To be fair, the filling is delicious.]

To be accompanied by pork chops, pan-fried, with dill and Parmesan.

A mummified Egyptian cat.

On pseudonyms.

“If you didn’t sign it,” said the King, “that only makes the matter worse. You must have meant some mischief, or else you’d have signed your name like an honest man.”

Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

New pickles, sour pickles.

Two competing crocks tonight; one vinegared, one just salt, same spice components (garlic and dill plus a cinnamon stick, mustard seed, black peppercorns, allspice, nutmeg, red pepper flakes, cardamom pods etc).

I have the impulse to check on these, about 20 minutes later, like a pan of cookies, but that is not how this works.

Thing One & Thing Two

Anatomy of a BBQ.

I’m ashamed to describe the limited scope of my BBQing history, but after the success of last weekend’s ribs, we decided to try those out on our dinner guests last night. I think my lack of experience is due to the fact that at most times, I’m surrounded by dudes who either absolutely adore BBQing (Matt coronated king of BBQ meats) or Tim, who I absent-mindedly let handle it, not that he cares much but that he can. There is some sort of gender-based complacency woven through all of this. I think to some extent, I felt about BBQ the way I felt about playing in a band; it hadn’t really occurred to me that it was something I was perfectly entitled to do.

I gave myself plenty of lead time in case something went horribly wrong, but unlike most meals where I promise a 7:00 seating and we actually eat at 11, my kitchen timing has really gotten efficient. Early views of the meat:

These were massive; one of those vertical metal racks would be a really superb idea for when I am not completely sick of ribs again. I cut each one into two and laid four across, I had just enough room to fit them all.

Rub the same as pictured earlier – cabinet content style, ditto the BBQ sauce.

Most miraculous was the temperature’s stability; last week, we fought flare-ups and blasts of high heat which created crunchy, nearly burnt edges. Yesterday, the BBQ stayed between 200-250 degrees steadily for about three hours before requiring additional coal, and asking for very little attention until it finished around the seven-hour mark. Cheers to the chimney starter.

As usual, I took next to no photos of the finished product, because I find mealtime photography antisocial in so many cases, and mainly because I forgot. To match the ribs though, we had Confit Byaldi, the Thomas Keller ratatouille dish that Tim tricked me into making through several cycles of reverse psychology after I suggested I’d make the simpler Mark Bittman approach (an hour at 300 or so, haphazardly piled but lovely for summer vegetables and sopping bread v. the former’s artfully coiled mandoline slices with balsamic and piperade, 2 1/2 hours at 275).

Also baked Courtney’s focaccia recipe that we first made on Vinalhaven with her last year. Kneading dough is such a pleasure, let alone the rewards. I really should do this more often.

Future Focaccia

And, second-smallest guest took a tour of our least-played musical instruments from the hutch, including the Zellophone. Times like those will justify impulse flea market purchases for years to come!

Mid-week Index

• A tiny little kid high-fived me as I finished my last lap around Jamaica Pond tonight.
• I really, really, really wish this Julia Child movie didn’t include a blogging theme.
• On my ride home down the Southwest Corridor, I saw a couple who had tossed their bikes aside onto the grass and were rolling around smooching.
  Kind of reminded me it is, in fact, summer.
• Speaking of my ride home, a dude cut me off whose truck was wearing one of those “LOOK OUT FOR MOTORCYCLES AND SHARE THE ROAD OR WHATEVER” stickers. I was about to get huffy but when I caught up to him at the intersection, I found him singing along to “Mister Jones” at the bleeding top of his lungs, and what kind of a person could stay mad at that?
• Eating Meat for the Environment
• Ate my first fresh tomato of the season, simply wedged up with salt and pepper. Slicing it felt like I was cutting through clay; very firm. I can’t wait for the messy late-summer ones.

Buon giorno, principesa!

No false alarms intended, of course.

While eating dinner tonight, I asked Tim what he would name our hypothetical children.

“Animal, and Pneumonia,” he answered. I asked what that referenced, but he said that was his own.

“I think Pneumonia sounds pretty,” he said.

Little darling.

Rise and slide.

Running late for my morning meeting, I didn’t bother to notice that I was about to brake in a location where someone had just soaped the sidewalk. I’m not going to linger on the reasons why someone might have soaped the sidewalk, since whatever it was ended up slicked down the length of my leg, but in any case, soapy cement is no place to leverage oneself while braking.

My low-speed spectacle wouldn’t have been complete unless a colleague, arriving for the same meeting, was there to watch, and certainly, we had that. As I sat on the ground tangled up in filthy sidewalk soap and bicycle, a person in a motorized wheelchair hollered, “Are you ok?”

All I could muster was a thumbs-up.

Post script: Witness claims he saw no soap, but let the record show that this witness is an extreme nerd who should, I recommend, visit his optometrist.

Recent recipes

These two made a nice lunch last week, and were cobbled together from what came in the farmshare plus what was in the cupboard. The bean dip is adapted from Mark Bittman’s adaptation of the Lidia Bastianich version. So, where one might use lemons and rosemary, I hadn’t been bothered to go to the store all week what with most groceries coming in the crates and so on – instead, vinegar for acid and whatever herbs came here. I actually, weirdly, really enjoyed the cider vinegar. The slightly sweet cider rounds the lemon’s corners somewhat.

And you can put any old thing in a salad, and it pains me to measure out these things so methodically as that is not how I cook (no baker, here), but I wanted to record. These measurements are approximations; if you find you need more acid, you probably should add that. I usually make that slaw with white cabbage, toasted pine nuts, various vinegars, honey and white peaches – alternately, yellow peaches and radicchio, but this worked. I haven’t ever done much with kohlrabi but its composition makes me want to eat it up against granny smith apples.

White bean spread

1 can white beans
2 tbsp olive oil
1 fat clove of garlic, minced to paste
Half a bunch scallions, finely chopped, and whatever other herbs you have around – I used about a tbsp of finely chopped lemon balm, basil and sage as well
1 tsp apple cider vinegar
salt and pepper to taste

Puree beans in processor (you can hand mash; I’ve done this before and it’s fine, just not the road to fluffy) while pouring in oil to lubricate.
Stir in herbs, garlic, vinegar, salt and pepper; great spread on some kind of toasted whole wheat business with thick grilled slices of zucchini on top. About four servings.

Summer slaw

Half a white cabbage, shredded
One bulb kohlrabi, matchsticked
Four beets, roasted and matchsticked
Half a bunch scallions, chopped
1 tbsp agave nectar
1 tbsp rice wine vinegar
2 tbsp olive oil
s&p to taste

Combine cabbage, kohlrabi, roasted beets, scallions, toss to mix. In separate bowl, whisk remaining ingredients. Pour over vegetables, tossing to coat evenly. Season amply with salt and pepper to taste. Wait for me to remember if there were more things in there – it seems like there should’ve been but anyway, this was simple and quick, so maybe not. Turns garish pink and incorporates several pleasing notes of sweet, sour and salty at once. Serves four.