Green Eggs!

I had the rare Sunday off, and Honey and I were hungry. It was one of those days when what's in the fridge is all technically food, but whether or not it can make a coherent meal is debatable.

The cook's mind immediately goes to fantasies in the face of potential breakfast and an empty stomach. I wanted gofio pancakes, either sweet with fruit, or savory with dried porcinis. No milk, no porcinis, and only a sad banana, killed that dream.

All our cheap knives--which I'm not wild about after the dull chef's knife turned and cut my middle finger a couple of weeks ago--were dirty. So I decided a knife-skillsless meal would be a good idea.

Pancetta scraps, a grated potato and enough time to render fat and wash some dishes yielded passable hash browns.

About a half-cup of Canarian mojo verde, an ounce and a half of grated pecorino that needed to be used weeks ago, and three eggs made an olive-drab omelet batter.

This omelet was not about proportion, delicacy or technique. It was about making three eggs for two people into a meal that would keep us satisfied for more than an hour and using food that would otherwise have been wasted. It was also about being damn tasty, and I plan to keep up this practice of using sauces as omelet-extenders in the future.

American and British breakfasts are meat-heavy affairs, and I completely agree with Mark Bittman about the necessity to consume less meat. I've tried to start treating meat more like a condiment. Since this means adding bacon or pancetta scraps to nearly everything, Honey hasn't complained. And since I'm using pieces that would otherwise be thrown away, we're reducing our waste. Green eggs indeed.

Now if only we could get around to eating more of our leftovers while they're still edible...

Food News and Links I Like

USDA trims patas negras, doubles price:

Drunken Animals in the NYT

New Orleans Cookbook

Or you could call it recipes for a recession: Cheap Lentil Ragout and Pasta.

Lots of NYT links this time around. I'm cleaning out my reader after the honeymoon. Expect more from Serious Eats and Ruhlman later.

Missing the Point

In the book that I'm reading, Terry Pratchett describes a desk:

"There was a blotter on the oversize desk, but it was part of it, fused to the surface. The drawers were just raised areas of wood, impossible to open. Whoever had made the desk had seen desks but clearly hadn't understood deskishness."

Sometimes, bellying up to the English table makes me feel like sitting at this fictional desk. Sandwiches in coffee shops are freshly made every day. In factories, and then shipped in. The gourmet sandwiches advertise applewood cheddar--whatever that is--next to "reformed ham."
Pubs make their food fresh, according to recipes in the Ma Broon's cookbook. Then they store the food in a residential refrigerator and reheat it in a microwave to order. Pie and pasty shops advertise deliciously slow-cooked fillings, well-seasoned. They arrive par-baked and frozen at the shop, and a baked the day of service. This is advertised as "fresh baked." A commercial that I'm watching right now is marketing frozen salmon as the sort of high-quality product that deserves the simple treatment. Without salt. I've seen lots of cured meat labeled as salami or chorizo, but it bears no resemblance to what I've had in Spain or in fine delis. Most of it is obviously salted, cooked meat stuffed into casings.

There is a lot available here that looks like food, but it seems that an understanding of foodishness is lacking. Gorgeous Scottish or Welsh salmon could be shipped fresh to the entire country within 24 hours of being caught-there's no need to freeze it. Surely the students who work in the coffee and pie shops can assemble sandwiches and learn how to cook. And as we're fewer than 100 miles from Tamworth, namesake of the famous pigs. Perhaps we could use ham that doesn't sound like it's been on the wagon for awhile?

I'm aware that these little deceptions occur in America, but I know the language to find them there. My only salvation has come from knowledge of processes generally employed.

I've tried to be gracious and inoffensive to the country that's generously hosting me and employing me. But my inability to find the quality food that I know is produced here is frustrating. The acceptance of unpalatable food in tins and jars, just because it's sold by a high-street grocer, is a disservice to a nation that's in need of healthy, honest food. And after six months I feel like accepting these practices condones them.