Trying new things on for size: micro-seasonal eating and other traditions

For those who grow their own food or eat with the seasons, you well know the difference between a plump tomato just plucked from its vine and still warm from the sun and its sad wintry counterpart, the mealy, pale, flavorless orb. The former needs no ornamentation, the latter requires a dramatic amount of it.

I've learned a lot by eating seasonally. What's available in my garden or at the farmers market is what's at the peak of freshness because it's what grows well at that given time.

I've also learned a lot by eating in an even more micro-fashion; the old When in Rome. What's available fresh in any given city or area -Gullah food in coastal South Carolina, for example- or what is traditionally served on a given holiday in a certain part of the world -the Christmas Eve Feast of the Seven Fishes in Italy, place-specific stuffings on Thanksgiving Day in America...

Although St. Patrick's Day in the U.S. is most definitely a uniquely American variation on its real Irish counterpart, celebrating the day because it's also Oliver's birthday, has led me back to the annual delight of a corned beef and cabbage feast. 

Literally, I make this once a year, but it's a culinary way to mark this bit of time in March. It's a way to make Ol's birthday mean that much more, linking it to a tradition and country larger and beyond him and us and our family. It's an excuse to read books, study traditions and learn more about a culture, people and language we might not otherwise. 

Sometime during the week leading up to March 17, we start toasting each other with Sláinte (meaning Good Health in Gaelic), talking about the whys and hows behind the celebration of St. Patrick, learning a bit more each year about Ireland and its history, and looking forward to visiting that country some day.

The capstones are Ol's party and our family dinner, and even though the boys still don't like turnips, still prefer raw cabbage to poached, and the unyielding fact that we have zero Irish ancestry, I like the tradition of the whole thing and appreciate the ways in which food can enlarge perspective and understanding and palate, all in one delicious bite after another.

We gain so much by seeking to experience new and unfamiliar tastes and experiences, places and tongues, people and systems of belief. Doing these things is the path to greater understanding: of self, other, and the countless ways we're all connected. If we don't do so, we stagnate and become smaller, closed, less engaged and committed to the greater global community than we can and should be.

Eating well

My mom and dad have long had a set of double old-fashioned glasses that are etched with the inscription: Living Well Is The Best Revenge.

I think eating well is equally marvelous, and despite the harried pace I've lived of late, the quality of my dinners has not suffered one bit. Touché, Life.

Last night, Tom came home to find me outraged over the mixer. Because, the fucking frosting. You know when you dig in your heels about something, even if what you're digging in about is not remotely proportional to what you're digging in to?

Having done all the baking and made all the frosting, I just could not deal with more. No more than a 1x frosting recipe would I make! Not this gal. So I whipped up the damn 1x amount and then spread it atop the cupcakes in paper-thin whirls. Apparently, it and the minus-one-ingredient vanilla cupcakes were hits today. A win.

But anyway, T found me nearly apoplectic in the kitchen and suggested take-out. I nearly cut his nose off. 

"T, the LAST thing I need right now is shitty take-out," asserted I. "I will figure something out, so help me god. I mean, the vegetables in our fridge need tending."

It was abundantly clear that he picked up on my madness (finally, I see what it takes) because the man offered to GO OUT TO Whole Foods and pick up something fresh.

Will wonders never cease?! I immediately agreed, lest he change his mind, and said that if he'd bring home some fish, I'd take care of the rest.

An hour later, we supped on plank-grilled salmon with a mustard-maple glaze and a mushroom and freshly-shucked English pea saute with Humboldt Fog, a marvelous ash-infused goat cheese from Cypress Grove Chevre. I delighted in smearing the cheese on slices of warm baguette and then spooning golden mushrooms and buttery peas over it all.

Revenge indeed.

Today, Ol wore his gaudy and wonderful Pot of Gold hat to school. I delivered the cupcakes, warned the teachers about the possible vanilla cupcake fail and hurried home to do many things that I don't recall now except for having started my Corned Beef and Cabbage for tonight.

I make this recipe every year, and every year, I love it that much more. When the boys got home, Jack said "it smells SO bad in here," and Ol said, "I just want cake!" and then Tom called and said, "I have a last-minute work dinner tonight," and I thought, "Well, revenge on all y'all because this girl gets your shares."

And I did.