stacey . smoore . the staceyfish . 
Life in a Northern Town: the exploits of an ecstatic Alaskan
Lens: the adventures of a girl and her camera
I used to think that I did a fair amount of cooking for myself. Sure, I ate pre-boxed cereals like Grape-Nuts and used mass-produced bread and turkey breast for my sandwiches, but surely that doesn't count, right? You can't make those things for yourself!!!
Then one day I woke up and realized, "Wait a minute, it is not natural for turkey breast to come in this shape. Plus this stuff doesn't have nutrition labels I can read, so god only knows what they put in it!" Luckily, I had this epiphany around Thanksgiving and I had just gotten myself a brand new roasting pan. After eating leftover homemade turkey sandwiches for a couple of days, I decided something in my daily lunch routine had to change. "What the hell," I thought. I had just started baking my own bread, so I figured I might as well go whole hog.
So I looked in some cookbooks and magazines for some inspiration. Some suggested brining before roasting, but one of the big reasons I decided to start doing this myself was to get away from all that sodium. Some suggested marinades, but I wanted a (relatively) quick fix. Others suggested lemon, but that tires pretty quickly for me.
Then I remembered our Thankgiving Turkey Trifecta: Sage. Rosemary. Thyme. And no, I am not going to Scarborough Fair!
Eureeka! It's genius. So I minced up these fresh herbs and some garlic (because garlic makes everything better). I drizzled just a tad of olive oil over the mix to make it more paste-like and easy to handle. Instead of stuffing the cavity (as is the fate of the turkey), I borrowed an idea from Cook's Illustrated and used my fingers to loosen the skin from the breast and thighs (they actually suggest using a chopstick to do this because "fingers are more likely to tear the skin" but I disagree -- your fingers can bend. I've never torn the skin with my hand) and rubbed the meat with the herbs generously. Then I prepped the limbs for the oven, turned it breast-down (this helps the white and dark meat reach safe eating temperatures at the same time), and popped it in the oven. Twenty minutes later I flipped it on its back and let it continue to cook until the instant-read thermometer said it was done.
I will swear up and down that this is the best sandwich meat ever. After cooking your own lunchmeat, I promise you will never be able to go back to the salty, processed, unnaturally shaped abomination in your grocer's deli counter again. I also promise that after you use the leftovers to make your own stock, you'll never buy that salty, watered-down abomination in a can off the shelf again either.
The first time I had gnocchi, I was pretty doubtful. Cory and I were living in San Angleo and he happened to find a package of gnocchi on the grocery store shelf. He used to make it with his family and he loved the stuff, so he bought it and cooked it for me one night. I was not impressed -- they seemed like heavy, tastless lumps in the no-man's-land between pasta and tortellini.
But then, we went to Italy.
We had gnocchi there.
And I have seen the light!
Yes, light is what they are, light and flavorful! Those potato dumplings have won a place in my heart.
I came back from Italy all culinarily inspired, even more firmly convinced than ever that when it comes to food, Americans just don't get it. To help shed some light in those dark corners, I resolved to serve a proper Italian meal to some friends -- with complete with antipasti, primi and secondi piatti, and dolci. I wanted to try something new, something delicious that I had never made before and that my guests would probably have never eaten before, so after a bit of searching, it came to me: gnocchi was the obvious choice for primi.
When I found the recipes, I realized I had a new dilemma: I don't have a potato ricer, and I have this thing about taking up limited storage space with single-use gadgets. So the stubborn, yet forsightful, bit of me decided to instead buy the Pasta Maker with Food Grinder attachment for my stand mixer, figuring that I could also use it for tomato sauces, apple sauce, sausages, and, of course, pasta.
Last week I made a test batch of gnocchi for the dinner I'll be having at the end of the month. Let me tell you, even though I'm not really sure what the authentic shape is for these dumplings, they are delicious -- especially when tossed with a pesto sauce you've just ground up yourself.
Cooking: It's a lost art in America.
People increasingly have no idea what to do in the kitchen (aside from the microwave, of course), and the scary thing is that many people think this is something to boast about. For hundreds of generations before us, cooking was a basic survival skill. It seems to now be regarded as a luxury, something that can fall by the wayside while we fill our lives with "more important" things. But cooking is the art of nourishing yourself, your family, and your friends -- what could be more important? Another aspect that's being lost is the sense of accomplishment that comes with putting a delicious meal on the table and seeing your own satisfaction reflected on the faces of your dining companions. Now that so many jobs in our society fail to put a finished product in our hands, the kitchen is one place to reclaim the sense of usefulness that you seek.
Where did we go wrong? Why is it extreme to make your own food, to feed yourself well, and do it the way that people did it for thousands of years before this scary food industry came about? Why am I the anomaly because I eat food that I made from scratch in my kitchen instead of buying in the freezer section and popping in the microwave?
Here's the thing about that food industry: they exist to make money. Plain and simple. They are going to do what they need to do to make their food sell so that they can make money and if that means plugging their food so full of preservatives, carcinogens, and saturated fats that your health is sacrificed in the process, they won't care. It's not profitable to care. Corporations don't have consciences, and food corporations are no exception. Besides, once you start cooking your own food from fresh ingredients you start to realize that processed food and most meals in restaurants taste like utter crap.
And that is why I trust very few people with my food preparation.
In fact, I think our society would be much better off if we all heard and understood the adage "if the person who made your food doesn't know you and doesn't care about you as a person, don't expect it to be good for you."
And so with those words, consider this blog launched. It'll be about a love of good food made with my own hands (with perhaps the occasional guest foodie) so that we can all rediscover exactly what the thing we put in our mouths three times a day is all about. Food is too good to be eaten mindlessly!