The Rowdy Chowgirl

February 21, 2012

The Sauerkraut Project: Phase Two

It has been a month since I filled my giant stoneware sauerkraut crock with shredded cabbage and salt, weighted it down and filled it with water. The instructions said to wait a few days until I heard bubbling before moving the crock to a cooler place. They also said not to lift the lid for at least two weeks.

I waited for several days, and never heard any bubbling. I came and went, made coffee or toast or did the dishes or fed the cat. Silence. When I pressed my ear to the side of the crock, I imagined I could hear the ocean in there, but no bubbles. The process inside of the crock was utterly mysterious. For all I knew, Schrödinger’s cat could be in there.

You can’t hurry these things. Fermentation follows its own idiosyncratic timeline. So I left the crock in the kitchen and did not lift the lid.

Finally, just a few days ago, I decided enough was enough. It had been nearly a month, after all. So I lifted the lid to peek inside.

The water had turned a light, briny green. A distinct odor of sauerkraut emerged, but with a raw edge to it. Just from that single whiff, I could tell that the cabbage was fermenting, but was nowhere near done yet.

I gave the stone weights a good solid push, and bubbles floated up. Bubbles! Very quiet bubbles. I replaced the lid, and refilled the water reservoir that forms an airlock around the top.

The very next day I walked in to the kitchen just in time to hear a very deep bloooop sound, like a submarine breaching, followed by the tiniest pop!

The lesson I take from all this: there is a time to be zen about things and a time to give matters a push in the right direction.

The sauerkraut is now bubbling. Time to move it to a cooler location.

Stay tuned for Phase Three.

3 Comments

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Tagged as cabbage, fermentation, Food, sauerkraut

February 17, 2012

The Best Ramen in Vancouver, Part II

When in Vancouver, we eat ramen–the real, fresh, hand-made kind that engages all of the senses—the ramen dreams are made of.

We are on an ongoing quest for the best ramen, but it’s not really about declaring a winner. It’s about the journey.

The last time we were in Vancouver we ate at Motomachi, Hokkaido Ramen Santouka, and Benkei, arguably some of the best ramen-ya (ramen shops) to be found in Vancouver. We had also planned to try Kintaro, but found ourselves standing outside the closed restaurant on a Monday afternoon, noses pressed to the glass, gazing at a counter heaped with mountains of noodle dough and tantalizing piles of freshly made ramen noodles, and had to go away unsatisfied.

This time, we are determined not to miss out again. You know a ramen-ya is going to be good when there is already a line out the door by the middle of the afternoon, even on a freezing cold February day.

Inside Kintaro, we are handed menus and make our selections while still waiting for seats. We choose miso ramen and BBQ pork ramen and are then given options on our broth: rich, medium, or light, and on the pork: fatty or lean.

Once seated at a large, communal table, we have just enough time to watch the cooks in the open kitchen, eavesdrop briefly on the conversation about skiing going on amongst the college students at the other end of our table, and surreptitiously check out what everyone else is eating. The crowded restaurant is warm, full of good smells, and noisy with laughter.

Within a few minutes I am leaning over my bowl of miso ramen, topped with pork, corn, green onions, sprouts, and bamboo shoots. I lift a strand of noodles with my chopsticks and set them briefly in my spoon to cool. I try to emulate the expert staccato slurping of our neighbor across the table, with limited success. Regardless of my poor slurping skills, I enjoy my bowl of ramen. The surface of the rich broth glimmers with beads of flavorful fat. The noodles are fresh and chewy. The generous bowl is so filling that I can barely waddle back up Robson Street to our hotel, groaning all the way. We coin the term “food concussion”.

The next day, a day of bright clear skies and arctic temperatures, we sit down for lunch at Sanpachi Ramen, a sunny space with sleek wood counters facing wide windows, delicate lacquered dishes, and jazz music playing softly in the background, a distinct contrast from the shabby and boisterous Kintaro. I have the tan tan ramen—a spicy broth with peanut and sesame sauce, minced pork, eggs, sprouts, and barely wilted spinach. Michael chooses the yatai, a simple bowl of pork broth, noodles, sliced pork, green onions, and bamboo shoots.

I just look for a long moment before even lifting my chopsticks to taste, watching the steam rise from my bowl and twist through a shaft of sunlight before dissipating. When I finally start eating, the contrasting flavors and textures are a joy. It’s all there: spicy and umami and salty hit my tongue; my teeth encounter smooth, crunchy, bumpy and springy. I begin devouring the ramen, bite after slurpy, steamy, messy bite.

And that’s where it happens. That magic that hits without warning, the one you can’t plan for, but can sometimes find when traveling or eating or making love, that shimmer that descends over reality and you realize that time has stopped for just a fragile instant, if you will pay attention and stop with it. Now. There is no past or future, nothing to hope or wish for beyond this beautiful now, elbow to elbow, bathed in winter sunlight, slurping noodles with full concentration.

7 Comments

Filed under Food, Story, Travel

Tagged as Japanese food, Kintaro Ramen, Ramen, ramen-ya, Sanpachi Ramen, Vancouver

February 14, 2012

Chocolate Truffle Tartlets for Valentine’s Day

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I’d love to share this decadent chocolate truffle tartlet with you. If you were here, I would sit you down at my dining room table, pour you a glass of champagne or a cup of espresso as you prefer, and slide one of these tarts in front of you, all the better to properly celebrate Valentine’s Day. We’ll just have to pretend.

My Sissy made these tarts, and we donated them to the Emergency Feeding Program Gala Auction on Sunday. Jenny M. and Jenny R. of Will Bake for Food put out a call for local food bloggers to donate desserts to this very worthy cause.

It’s a good thing Sissy is such a talented baker, because I could never have created anything so beautiful and delicious. The tartlet recipe came from The Pie and Pastry Bible by Rose Levy Beranbaum.

Even though we can’t share a Valentine’s Day dessert in person, I hope your day is full of conversation hearts, chocolate, flowers, and lots of kisses.

5 Comments

Filed under Feeding the Hungry, Food, Holidays

Tagged as chocolate truffle tartlets, dessert, Emergency Feeding Program, Food, Valentine's day

February 8, 2012

Salsify

Nearly a year ago now, I read a blog post about Salsify in Black Forest Ham at The Wednesday Chef. I had never seen salsify before, but the case for trying it was compelling. And I thought, in that way that so often happens, that having discovered salsify, I was now sure to see it everywhere. A friend would serve it for dinner, or it would jump out at me from a table at the farmer’s market and I would say, “Of course! There you are!” and tuck a bunch of them in my bag.

Actually, that does happen to me a lot, but not this time. I kept my eyes open, but I didn’t see salsify for sale anywhere. It wasn’t exactly prime root vegetable season, for one thing. But it was gardening season, so I got a packet of seeds and planted some.

Then I forgot all about that little row of seeds.

All through the summer growing season and even into fall, when I started pulling up their next door neighbors, an interesting variety of multicolored carrots and some not-so-successful fennel bulbs, I completely forgot them.

A week or two ago, I happened across that recipe again. It still looked good. I still wished I had some salsify…

Finally, I remembered those seeds I had planted on a whim last spring. I had to put on my rubber boots, and get a spade, and squint at the faded row markers in the garden to find the exact spot, then actually dig down under the remains of the snow to get to the muddy soil where a flattened line of bright lanky greens swirled all over the ground like a terrible case of bedhead. As I turned over spadefuls of soil, I discovered the long, slender salsify roots, like white, hairy carrots. Since I hadn’t thinned the row, they were a skinny tangle, but there they triumphantly were, real true salsify.

Once the salsify were cleaned and peeled, they went straight into a pot of water with a little vinegar in it, to keep them from discoloring. After simmering them until tender, I wrapped them in ham and roasted them until crispy on the outside and tender within.

Salsify are also called oyster plant, for their alleged oyster taste. I didn’t think they tasted at all oysterish though, but rather more like a carrot without any sweetness at all—mild and pleasant. And blanketed in crispy, salty, chewy ham, they were strangely delicious.

They aren’t fancy looking, in fact they are the reverse: humble, unpretentious, the sort of thing you plunk down on the coffee table without ceremony, and then find yourself nibbling through the entire plate before you realize quite how many you have eaten.

I didn’t change the simple, four-ingredient recipe at all, except that my salsify were already skinny, so I didn’t need to cut them in half. You can find it here:

Salsify in Black Forest Ham

If you can find some salsify, grab it and try this recipe. If you can’t, planting season is just around the corner.

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Tagged as black forest ham, Food, oyster plant, recipe, salsify

January 30, 2012

How to Make Spaetzle

Making homemade spaetzle is not particularly difficult and well worth a small investment of time. The irregular little dumplings are also called little sparrows, as they are shaped somewhat like a little bird, with a pointy end resembling a beak, from where the dough drops into boiling water to cook. They are excellent served simply with browned butter, salt and pepper, but also serve as an ideal stand in for rice or pasta as a base for a sauce.

I’ve had a spaetzle maker languishing in my pantry for months, after I bought it online in a burst of enthusiasm, then got distracted by other projects. I normally resist kitchen gadgets–particularly the single use variety–but the spaetzle maker was only about ten dollars, and well worth every penny.

With the new year, my interest in spaetzle was renewed, partly by a visit to a new German restaurant in town, where spaetzle accompanied a variety of sausages or Weiner Schnitzel.

There are a lot of spaetzle recipes out there, all generally a combination of eggs, flour, and liquid. The best recipe is probably the one your grandmother used, should you be lucky enough to have a grandmother who made spaetzle. If not, this recipe makes consistently lightly chewy little sparrows that are good enough to eat straight out of the bowl with your fingers.

The key thing is to get the thickness of the batter right, which means adjusting the amount of water you use judiciously, as flour can vary quite a bit in moisture content. After resting in the refrigerator, it should be shiny smooth and thicker than pancake batter but thinner than frosting, a little stretchy but still fluid enough to plop off a spoon.

If you happen to have a colander with unusually large holes (about ¼ inch) you can use it to make the spaetzle, forcing the batter through the holes with a rubber scraper into boiling water. But the spaetzle maker is ridiculously easy to use. It even has a lip that holds it securely on top of a stockpot full of boiling water while you fill the little hopper on top with a big glop of the batter and slide it back and forth on top of the perforated base. Little dollops of batter will drop into the boiling water, magically right-sized.

Once browned in butter, the spaetzle becomes something spectacular, with a bit more chewiness and delightfully crispy little edges here and there. We served ours with this rich and delicious mushroom stroganoff on top, and pork sausage on the side.

Watch this video demonstrating the process of making spaetzle from start to finish.

Spaetzle

(adapted from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook)

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
2 large eggs
8-10 tablespoons lukewarm water
½ tsp Salt
dash nutmeg
1 tablespoon olive oil

In a large bowl, stir together flour, salt, and nutmeg. Crack the eggs into a separate bowl; beat lightly with a fork. Pour the eggs over the flour and stir with the fork just until the eggs are absorbed, about 10 strokes. Don’t worry that most of the flour is still dry and loose. Stir in 6 tablespoons of the water, to make a heavy, lumpy batter. Trickle in the remaining water, stopping once the batter is soft and no longer holds a peak as you mix it.

Lift the fork clad with some of the batter; it should hang for a second before dropping. As it rests, the batter will smooth out and begin to look like warm taffy. Cover and let batter rest in the refrigerator for at least an hour, several hours or overnight is okay too.

Fill a stockpot with water. Salt liberally. Add the oil.

Spoon about half of the batter into the spaetzle maker (or a colander with ¼ inch wide holes), and set it over the boiling water, resting it on the edge of the pan. Press the batter through the holes. They will initially sink, but they will swell and float within 30 seconds as they fill with steam. Stop adding batter once the surface of the water becomes crowded.

Let the spaetzle cook for about 1 minute after they float. Lift them out with a skimmer or strainer, shake gently to drain, and tip them into a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking. Repeat with the rest of the batter.

Only use as much batter as you can press through in 15 seconds or less, and never add more batter than the surface of the water can safely harbor.

At this point the spaetzle can be drained and refrigerated for up to a few days. When ready to use, heat 2 tbsp butter in a large skillet, and cook spaetzle, turning occasionally, until golden brown and a little crispy in places. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Makes about 2.5 cups

8 Comments

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Tagged as Food, German food, how to make spaetzle, mushroom stroganoff, spaetzle

January 27, 2012

Roasted Delicata Squash and Tofu with Broccoli

We had a snow week last week, here in Seattle. For those of you who live elsewhere, let me explain. Mostly it just rains here in the winter. Chilly and dark to be sure, but not exactly extreme. We might get the occasional dusting of snow, but once every year or two it just keeps going and really snows, often with some freezing rain for good measure, and the city grinds to a stop for a time. We’re just not equipped for this and it can quickly turn from fun to a real drag if you actually have to leave the house.

So as the snow week ground on, I concentrated all of my energy on continually shoveling the damned driveway (and I was cursing, believe me), getting to work safely, doing my job, then making the return trek without being snuffed by out of control SUVs. No spontaneous stops at the grocery store, because it just wasn’t worth the effort to pull into a parking lot choked with six or seven inches of churned-up ice and snow and full of cars scattered every which way, as if a tornado had parked people’s their cars for them, like the world’s worst valet. No after work activities because everything was cancelled, closed, or inaccessible without crampons and an ice axe, maybe some sherpas.

I spent the first few evenings in a pleasurable hibernation mode, with a crackling fire in the fireplace, and decadent dinners composed of cheese and olives. The last few evenings were all about cabin fever, watching the cat stalk to his cat door, stick his nose out, and retreat with a grumpy expression and his angriest meow. Over and over. I knew just how he felt.

But in the middle of the week, I managed to rally enough to get in the kitchen and actually cook something healthful and delicious to sustain me for the duration. I cook a lot of stir fry, but this is more of a hybrid of stir fried and roasted vegetables, which makes it more satisfying and hearty on a cold winter’s day. And instead of the usual Asian additions of soy sauce or sesame oil, Tahini gives it a Mediterranean flavor. I use baked tofu a lot, as I like the simple, chewy texture. But bits of chicken or shrimp would work equally well. The important thing is the variety of tastes and textures; crisp, smooth, meaty, tangy.

This week we were back to rain, and I’ve been enjoying the luxury of simple freedom again, to just get in the car and go to yoga class, or the library, or out to dinner with a friend. The lingering patches of snow in my yard are still retreating, but the sun is shining sweetly, a rare winter treat.

Roasted Delicata Squash and Tofu with Broccoli

16 oz firm tofu, cubed
1 delicata squash, sliced and seeded
1-2 tbsp oil
1 head broccoli florets
1 cup chopped cabbage
1 cup sliced shiitake mushrooms
½ cup onion, diced
salt and pepper to taste
½ cup cilantro, minced

Tahini Sauce

¼ cup tahini
½ cup water
1 tsp garlic
½ tsp salt

Combine ingredients for Tahini Sauce and stir until smooth.

Preheat oven to 400F. Lightly brush or spray two baking sheets with oil. Arrange cubed tofu on one baking sheet and place on bottom rack of oven. Lay squash rings on the other sheet and place on middle rack of oven. After about 15 minutes, or when starting to brown on bottom, flip tofu cubes and squash with a spatula and return to oven for about 10 more minutes.

In a large skillet or wok over high heat, heat 1-2 tbsp oil and quickly sauté cabbage, mushrooms, and onion until crisp-tender—just a few minutes. Add broccoli and a splash of water. Cover and steam for another few minutes.

Remove tofu and squash from oven when tofu is a toasty golden color and squash is tender. Add to vegetable mixture in wok and toss to combine, salt and pepper lightly.

Serve drizzled with Tahini sauce and sprinkled with cilantro.

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Tagged as broccoli, Food, roasted delicata squash, stir fry, tofu

January 23, 2012

Spaghetti Bolognese

We are seated in the back room of the Swingside Café, a sort of a candlelit sun porch used on busy weekends that is reached by scooting sideways past the kitchen and out the back door, dodging wait staff laden with plates, then down a few steps into the glassed-in annex. It is more obvious back here that these Fremont Avenue restaurants are a thin layer of converted houses, just a step from a neighborhood of actual lived-in houses.

We sip glasses of Zinfandel and dredge fresh focaccia through saucers of olive oil. As I savor my plate of Farfalle with Wild Boar and Venison Bolognese Sauce, the same scene is enacted over and over outside the rain-dotted window. A tabby cat strolls up the walk and then pauses, looking into our eyes through the window, nostrils twitching. He continues his stroll toward the kitchen door. Just as he gets there a waiter comes rushing out, and gently shoos the cat back toward the alley. A second cat strolls up, this one with a white chest and paws and a pink collar. She glances in the window at us, then makes for the kitchen door. Another waiter comes out, and says, “What are you doing here, huh?” He scoops up Miss WhitePaws and carries her away into the shadows, returning at a brisk pace without her. Mr. Tabby strolls up the walk toward the kitchen door, just steps behind the returning waiter. They reach the kitchen door together, the waiter turning just outside the door and clapping his hands, “Gowwan, geddoutaheah!”

The smells emanating from that kitchen door are enticing–garlic and roasting meat and sautéing seafood. It’s no wonder the cats persist in their efforts to gain entry.

I have been questing for the perfect Bolognese Sauce and the Swingside may well have it. Meaty, rich, impossibly mellow. But making my own Bolognese, long-simmering and rich on the stove, may be even better. Opinions differ on the components of the most authentic Bolognese, but all agree that the sauce has relatively little tomato, a touch of milk or cream, and plenty of long-simmered, tender meat.

This recipe is a mash-up of bits and pieces from multiple recipes, adapted to suit myself. It is very simple to make, requiring only a bit of patient chopping and stirring, and then a few hours more of patience while the sauce simmers on the stovetop.

Spaghetti Bolognese

2 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp butter
2 medium carrots, finely diced
2 celery stalks, finely diced
1 onion, finely diced
6 cloves garlic, pressed
1 lb ground beef
1/2 lb ground pork
½ cup red wine
2 cups beef broth
6 oz tomato paste
1.5 cups milk
salt and pepper

Place a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat and melt butter into oil. Add onions, carrots, and celery and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft. Add a large pinch of salt, a few grinds of pepper, garlic and meat and cook, stirring frequently, until meat is browned. Increase heat to medium-high and add wine. Cook until wine is evaporated. Add broth, tomato paste, and milk and stir well. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, partially covered, for 3-4 hours. Stir occasionally, and add a little bit of water if sauce starts to stick. The finished sauce should be very thick. Adjust salt and pepper as needed.

To serve, toss with freshly cooked pasta and top with grated parmesan cheese.

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Tagged as Bolognese sauce recipe, Food, Italian food

January 19, 2012

The Sauerkraut Project: Phase One

I didn’t know I wanted to make sauerkraut until I unwrapped the giant box my Sissy gave me for Christmas and found a ten liter stone crock for making sauerkraut. Ten liters! I knew this was going to be great. I love fermented foods, and I love playing pioneer. Salting down a ton of cabbage in a stone crock falls squarely into both categories of goodness.

At the grocery store I filled my little cart to the top with heads of cabbage. And a box of salt.

I consulted the recipe booklet and finely shredded eleven heads of cabbage. I layered the cabbage into the crock, sprinkling with salt, then packing it down as firmly as I could.

The instructions said to only fill the crock 4/5 full. I may have gone a little beyond that in my enthusiasm…

I then placed the stone weights on top of the cabbage, poured in boiled and cooled water until it covered the cabbage by a few inches, and put the lid on the crock.

I heaved the full crock up onto the kitchen counter, and filled the groove around the lid with water.

The next step is to wait: several days until I start to hear bubbles, then I will move the crock to a cooler location for several weeks until the fermentation is complete. The instructions warn not to lift the lid under any circumstances, for at least two weeks.

It’s a little like having the Manhattan Project in my kitchen. Only better of course, because there are no bombs. Will it start to bubble? Will it start to smell? Will I be able to resist lifting the lid and peeking inside for two whole weeks?

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Tagged as Food, sauerkraut

January 17, 2012

Give in Gracefully

It started snowing Saturday afternoon. The fat flakes were just enough to derange traffic and disrupt my plans to meet up with a friend for coffee. Instead, I spent the afternoon making marmalade, filling the house with steamy warmth and the scent of oranges.

The snow continued Sunday morning, a thin blanket over rooftops and cars, obscuring the view of the lake, and stilling the sounds of the city. The kitten watched the snow fall outside the window, at first trying to move his head fast enough to capture all of the enticing motion of dancing, drifting flakes. Finally, he settled for a fixed and unwinking stare.

We bundled up and walked around the quiet, snow-dusted neighborhood, crunching on the thin layer of white underfoot, then returned to cuddle up under a blanket on the couch.

It doesn’t snow often in Seattle, but when it does it is best to give in gracefully and really have a snow day. Pare away any unnecessary errands or chores. Remember what is urgent and what is not. Use a bit of the extra time to cook something that takes a little longer than usual–something savory that will simmer or braise gently all the long, grey afternoon, filling the house with the promise of a hot, hearty dinner. Get a hot cup of tea or cocoa and a blanket and a book. Retreat to the couch. If an unscheduled nap happens while dinner is in the oven, all the better.

This whole braised chicken makes a good dinner party dish, but is also just right for a long winter afternoon when you have nothing special planned. The dough seal keeps the steam inside the pot, gently braising the chicken to an amazing degree of tenderness. The potatoes, carrots, and celery are traditional accompaniments for a Sunday roast, but here they are infused with the aroma of herbs and garlic. And there is plenty of garlic, but it is not overpowering, as the whole cloves cook in their skins and become sweet and caramelized. Serve with french bread, so that you can pop the garlic cloves out of their jackets and smear them all over the bread.

Whole Braised Chicken in a Pot

(adapted from Around My French Table by Dorie Greenspan)

2 lemons, washed and quartered
5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 large potatoes, peeled and each cut into 8 same-sized pieces
2 medium onions,
2 shallots
8 carrots, trimmed, peeled, and quartered
4 celery stalks, trimmed, peeled, and quartered
4 garlic heads, cloves separated but not peeled
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 tbsp thyme
1 tbsp parsley
3 rosemary sprigs
1 whole chicken, about 4 pounds
1 cup chicken broth
½ cup dry white wine
About 1½ cups all-purpose flour
About ¾ cup hot water

Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 450 degrees F.

Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a large skillet over high heat. Add the vegetables and garlic, season with salt and pepper, and sauté in batches until the vegetables are brown on all sides. Spoon the vegetables into a 4½- to 5-quart Dutch oven or other pot with a lid and stir in the herbs and half the lemon quarters.

Return the skillet to the heat, add another tablespoon of oil, and brown the chicken on all sides, seasoning it with salt and pepper as it cooks. Place remaining lemon quarters in the cavity of the chicken, then tuck the chicken into the casserole, surrounding it with the vegetables. Mix together the broth, wine, and the remaining olive oil and pour over the chicken and vegetables.

Put 1½ cups flour in a medium bowl and add enough hot water to make a malleable dough. Dust a work surface with a little flour, turn out the dough, and, working with your hands, roll the dough into a sausage. Place the dough on the rim of the pot — if it breaks, just piece it together — and press the lid onto the dough to seal the pot.

Slide the pot into the oven and bake for 55 minutes.

Use the point of a heavy knife or screwdriver as a lever to separate the lid from the dough.

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Tagged as braised chicken, chicken in a pot, Dorie Greenspan, Food, snow

January 13, 2012

Such Richness

I don’t have a recipe for you today. I meant to update you on the sauerkraut project, but that will have to wait a few days.

I went to a funeral this morning. I actually go to a fair number of funerals, as a member of Saint Vincent de Paul. It’s an elderly bunch. And I’ve learned a lot from watching my older friends navigate these funerals with an enviable circumspection about the realities of life. They mourn their dead and enjoy seeing all their old friends on the same occasion. They dab away heartfelt tears, then laugh and tell stories through the funeral lunch.

The last time I saw Virginia was at another funeral, and she gave me a hug and a kiss, then held my hand in hers for a few minutes while asking me about my life.

Today I watched Harold, Virginia’s husband of 64 years, and their many children and grandchildren follow her casket up the aisle. The church was filled with family and friends, music and incense. A Catholic funeral is at once grand and simple, solemn and familiar. The well-known rhythm of the mass reminds me of the unceasing river of life itself with its seasons of birth, growth, and death.

As a member of Saint Vincent de Paul, Virginia worked tirelessly to feed the poor for decades. I took over coordinating the SVDP Thanksgiving and Christmas baskets from her six years ago, after she had done it forever. She mentored me through my first few years, answering questions, offering support and encouragement, and smoothing my way.

During the homily, the priest reminisced about Virginia bringing Irish Soda Bread to the rectory for all the priests every St. Patrick’s Day.

In his eulogy, her son-in-law talked about the importance of faith, family, and friends in Virginia’s life. He also shared memories of favorite recipes, birthday cakes, desserts, special dinners, her spaghetti, and especially her cookies. He spoke of the racks of cookies always cooling on her counters, and I remembered the times I when would visit Harold and Virginia, and she would smile and say, “Would you like a cookie?” If I hesitated at all, she would say, “Of course you do, dear!” and hold one out on her spatula with a smile. I felt about eight years old. But in a good way–cherished and fed.

The eulogy concluded with the observation that food was Virginia’s way of bringing together her faith, friends, and family.

And that, of course, is the secret wisdom of the very best cooks, who delight in feeding others, and whose generosity of spirit is made manifest in every dish their hands produce.

Such richness!

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Tagged as cookies, Food, Saint Vincent de Paul, Virginia Venable

The Rowdy Chowgirl

The Sauerkraut Project: Phase Two

The Best Ramen in Vancouver, Part II

Chocolate Truffle Tartlets for Valentine’s Day

Salsify

How to Make Spaetzle

Roasted Delicata Squash and Tofu with Broccoli

Spaghetti Bolognese

The Sauerkraut Project: Phase One

Give in Gracefully

Such Richness

The Rowdy Chowgirl

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