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Eating our way back to Normal


Metropolitan Cook Book, originally uploaded by Paula Wirth.

What happens when the world goes topsy-turvy? The shaken up inhabitants create structure where there is chaos and hominess where there is no permanence. A flood sweeps away a home and the survivor painstakingly stacks chipped mixing bowls and dishes in a pile. The stock market crashes and the Wall Street trader eats a baloney sandwich on Wonder bread because it reminds him of lunches with his mother.

For the underpaid, stressed out, unemployed, politically freaked out and fearful men and women of cities all across America, food is the easiest way to calm the F**** down.

NY Magazine reports that even though mammoth casual restaurant chains can do nothing but lose money right now, comfort food brands like Kraft Macaroni and cheese and Oscar Meyer cold cuts are “on fire”. For the first time in decades, powdered cheese on macaroni and baloney sandwich with mustard looks really, really good.

My neighborhood is better than your neighborhood

In the wake of economic uncertainty, people all over the country are suddenly filled with civic pride. Over night, foodies all over the country are clambering to define their city’s specific contribution to the national food scene. Recently, in front of a standing room only crowd in a Los Angeles auditorium, a respected panel that included Pulitzer Prize winning food writer Jonathan Gold and a handful of well-respected LA chefs, spent an evening talking through the defining terms of what constituted a Los Angeles dining scene.

On the opposite coast, NY Times food critic Frank Bruni and food bloggers ignored deadlines and spent precious time to define what was, in particular, the “New Brooklyn Cuisine”. For the fiscally uncertain and totally devoted NY foodie, that’s NBC, for short.

To qualify as the NBC, a restaurant should have “culinary sophistication melded with a wistfully agrarian passion for the artisanal, the sustainably grown, and the homespun…” something new restaurants all over our country currently share. And, following the NBC definition of clientele, people “who quote Michael Pollan and split shares in the local CSA,” I can only imagine that perhaps food loving people all over this country are craving the simple and the basic because they crave something simply NORMAL.

By embracing the back to basics ideas of artisinal and sustainable farming, we hope to eat our way back to better times.

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Food declaration

declaration of independence

Hear ye! Hear ye all food lovers! Now is the time to make your voice of concern heard!

Sensing the need for a unified voice for change, Food Declaration.org created a declaration of intent to raise consumer awareness and increase our government’s responsibility to support wholesome food, animal welfare and healthy agriculture.

Based on the organizations mission statement, the Declaration is meant to provide:

1. A clear statement of what kind of policy is needed now, which is endorsed by a broad base of organizations and individuals with a long established commitment to a healthier food and agriculture.
2. An invitation to all Americans to join in the improvement effort by taking action in their own lives and communities and by offering them a way to call on policymakers to comprehensively support change.
3. A set of principles from which policy makers may craft policy that will lead to a healthier system. –from fooddeclaration.org


Organized by Roots of Change, a handful of farmers, national leaders, writers, chefs, and food advocates joined together to create a document that demands agricultural and social justice for food growers and eaters alike.

Drafted and revised sixty times, the Food Declaration was written by a panel of well-respected and agriculturally minded people including Michael Pollan, Alice Waters, the poet Wendell Berry, and Jim Braun of Slow Food USA. The declaration was completed on August 16th, 2008.

To add your John Hancock and get more information about the declaration go here.

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Craigie Street Bistrot on U.S. Corn


Michael Pollan’s book, The Omnivore’s Dilemma, has made a real impact with a lot of people. If you’ve been reading this blog lately, you’ll know his writing and research has changed the way I eat and shop. Coming across others that have been “infected” by the fever on conscious, political eating is not only refreshing–it’s reassuring.

My friends over at the Cambridge Massachusetts restaurant, Craigie Street Bistrot continue to blow me away with their active commitment to making delicious food that’s good for the local economy, good for the local farmers and is environmentally conscious of its carbon foot print.

If you’re too busy to read Pollan’s book, you might be interested in reading this great essay on corn I found on the Craigie Street Bistrot blog.

Craigie Street Bistrot: U.S. Corn

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How to make a politically correct steak


Grass Feed Steak with Pan-Seared cherry tomatoes and basil
Adapted from Gourmet

3 tbsp olive oil
2 1 ½ inch thick Porterhouse Steaks or beef loin (about 1 ¼ lb each)
4 tablespoons of kosher salt
6 large garlic cloves, thinly sliced length wise.
4 cups cherry tomatoes
2 cups coarsely torn, fresh basil leaves

Bring steaks to room temperature one hour before cooking. Rub with Kosher sea salt.

Preheat gas grill (on high) for about 10-15 minutes.

Put steaks directly on grill. Cover and don’t touch. Depending on the thickness of the steak, cooking time should be between 5-10 minutes per side. Be careful not to overcook! After about 5-6 minutes, check the internal temperature of the steak with a meat thermometer. The thermometer should be inserted into the center of the thickest part, away from bone, fat and gristle.

When the center of the steak reaches 130 degrees F, you’re ready to flip over your steak for a perfect medium rare. 145 degrees F for medium. 150-155 http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.giffor medium well. 160 degrees F for Well done. For more information on cooking temps go .

Finish cooking the 2nd side (it should be about equal to the same amount of time for the first half of cooking). Put the steak on serving platter and let rest for 10-15 minutes.

Meanwhile, add the olive oil to a medium sized skillet. Heat over meium-high heat until it shimmers. Add the garlic and sauté until golden, about 2 minutes. Transfer with a slotted spoon to a paper towel or plate. Add tomatoes to hot oil (be careful! Oil will spatter!), then lightly season with salt and pepper. Cook, covered and stir occasionally, until tomatoes start to wilt, about 2 minutes. Stir in any meat juices from the serving dish. Scatter basil over tomatoes and then serve over steak.


To really bring this dish up and over the top, serve it with Zuni Cafe’s salsa verde.

Salsa Verde
Adapted from Zuni Cafe Cookbook

½ cup tightly packed, chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
½ cup mint (de-stemmed)
1 tablespoon capers (rinsed and dried between towels)
1 tablespoon chopped anchovies (packed in salt or oil)
1 tablespoon red onion, finely chopped
2 tablespoons sliced and chopped almonds
½ to ¾ cup extra virgin olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
1 lemon (remove the zest. Finely chop. Reserve juice)

Combine the parsley, mint, capers, zest, onion and a few pinches of salt, pepper or chili flakes to taste. Add half of the olive oil. Stir, then taste for seasoning. Add more oil and salt to taste. Since salt doesn’t dissolve right way, give the salt a bit of time to dissolve before you add more. Stir in rest of ingredients. Transfer mixture to a container that minimizes exposure to the air.

Don’t refrigerate, but set in a cool spot until needed. Refrigerate leftovers!

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How to eat a politically correct steak


Ever since I read Michael Pollan’s book, Omnivore’s Dilemma, food shopping is a lot more difficult. Besides the fact that finances are tight–for us and most of the people we know—I am acutely aware that how we spend our food money really can make a socio-ecological difference. Suddenly, I feel a lot like the young, political eater I used to be when I was a University of Massachusetts undergrad.

Though my days as a life-long, political vegetarian are over (I was an anemic and sickly vegetarian), I am perfectly willing and able to stop eating certain things because they aren’t good for the local economy, the environment, and—ultimately–for me. But what, from a culinary point of view, will all this political eating mean for my tastebuds?

Pollan’s book suggests that if consumers purchase local and direct from the farmer whenever possible, they not only taste a much better and healthier product, their food dollars will enable local grows to thrive and compete with big conglomerate farms that take all sorts of ecological shortcuts with chemical fertilizers and price gouging (thanks to governmental subsidies). So if I pay a little more for a gallon of milk from a family owned dairy, Pollan suggests, I’ll not only be healthier, I will be sending a message to the big dairy conglomerates that hormones, drugs and poor treatment of animals in order to make a cheaper gallon of milk, just isn’t worth it.

But just because I shop at Whole Foods a couple of times a month doesn’t mean every food dollar can enact positive social change. Though the packages on the perfectly maintained shelves of Whole Foods may say “organic” or “free range” or “all natural”, doesn’t mean they’re the best choice for the environment or my body. To be a good, political consumer, I need to be mindful and pragmatic before every purchase.

Though it’s easy to be an armchair liberal or conservative, it’s another thing to be hold a firm political position in one’s daily life.

A carnivore’s dilemma

Being a mindful and political shopper is difficult. I have to consider all sorts of questions. Do I really need to buy tomatoes shipped in from Holland if there are local farms that can sell them to me fresh off the vine at the farmer’s market? Should I forgo my menu and buy a line caught fish or should I stick to my shopping plans and get a farm-raised, color pellet-eating cousin? Can I afford the extra money to buy meat from a cow that’s free range and grass fed or should I pack up my political standards and save twenty bucks and eat one that’s been raised in a tight pen and forced fed a diet of grain–a diet it was never meant to eat?

Political eating

After spotting Gourmet Magazine’s cover photo of a grilled steak covered in roasted cherry tomatoes, I started planning a dinner party with some friends. I purchased cherry tomatoes, garlic, parsley and mint at the farmer’s market. Unable to make it to the neighborhood butcher in time, I ventured to my local Whole Foods at 3rd and Fairfax.

The meat counter selection offered a handful of choices: various organic beef cuts ($14.99/pound and up), free range grass-fed beef loin ($31.99/lb), and free range grain-fed (90% grass fed and 10% grain fed) organic Porter house ($27.99/lb). Based on the criteria of my political eating (force fed, pen raised beef is not an eating option), however, my choices were definitely limited.

For pure politics, I purchased almost 2 lbs of the 100% grass fed beef loin steak. For culinary and economic purposes, I saved a few bucks and got almost 1.5 lbs of the partially grain fed porterhouse (Neiman Ranch 90% grass fed and 10% grain fed beef). As I watched the butcher wrap up my steaks, I wondered, with some guilt, how significant that 10% of grain would be to the quality of the meat. Had I just let ten percent of my political ideals slip away? Maybe.

Side by side taste test

As the steaks cooked side by side on the grill, my husband and I talked with our guests about the politics of eating. We shared stories of Alice Waters, the Edible School Yard, the Center for Food Justice, Slow Food, Michael Pollan and think about it later chef types (Anthony Bourdain on any episode of No Reservations comes to mind). But when the steaks were finished cooking and were ready to serve, we carefully closed our eyes and tasted.

Bite for bite, both steaks were delicious. Granted, the two steaks were different cuts (and, to be fair, both were prepared slightly differently–the grass fed cut was cured with a salt/spice rub and the Neiman ranch was rubbed only with kosher salt), but both garnered equal amounts of praise.

The 100% grass-fed beef loin (or beef tenderloin) was incredibly tender and velvet-like. The taste of the grass fed loin was both juicy and moist.

The Neiman ranch (90/10 grass/grain fed) Porterhouse, was a meatier steak. It was also quite juicy and at times had much more flavorful morsels, thanks to the meat’s occasional marbling.

When polled, most of the table had a hard time deciding which steak they liked more. Considering the biased side-by-side tasting, it was clear a rematch was needed.

Stay tuned for an upcoming rematch…

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What you think vs. What you do


To be twenty-something is to be an active dreamer. You think about bigger picture stuff (world politics, the state of the economy, the state of technology, the state of art and commerce, fame, fortune and all the organic bits in between) and try to figure out how you, the twenty-something, fit into this big, broad game of life. Some twenty-somethings are mover and shakers that seem to have already conquered the world, while others try on different personas and job opportunities like trendy outfits.

When I was twenty something, I was in the midst of trying on lots of different personas. I was a writer, a journalist, a comedian and a bartender living in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I bartended at a tiny music club while struggling to figure out what to do with my life.

This was about when I first met Tony Maws. He was a sous chef at a fine dining restaurant and one of my late night regulars. He’d roll in at 1:30 in the morning with a bunch of rowdy kitchen guys and mouthy servers. They’d shout a flurry of desperate orders at me in hopes of beating the ticking clock of last call. Tony, with his long curly hair hidden behind a sweat-soaked bandanna, would shoot me an impish smile that could cut daggers through the dark and boisterous crowd of last-call ordering and put his request for a shot and a beer at the top of my priority list every time. After many visits to my bar (which always included a funny dance of gratuitous over-tipping and generous over-pouring), Tony and I became friends.

The thing about Tony that impressed me most was that despite all the whining and complaining of most of our twenty-something friends around us, he always knew exactly what it was he wanted to do. He’d tell me how he’d finish out “doing his time” cooking at the Blue Room in Cambridge, then work on the West coast, maybe spend some time in a kitchen in France and then, by the age of 30, he’d own and run his own restaurant. I remember the stunned feeling I had, that morning we shared a muffin and coffee at a local bakery, when he told me his plans for the future. His determination and drive made my head spin and made me wonder if maybe I should start thinking more about the direction of my life and less about “finding myself”.

Time passed and I started whittling down the many things I wanted to do and started focusing on one option: writing. In that time, Tony left town moved to Santa Fe and worked for Mark Miller at his highly celebrated Coyote Café in Santa Fe. Later, I heard through the restaurant grapevine that Tony went to France to work for Bernard Constantin at La Rivore in Lyon. I moved to Los Angeles to go to film school. Then, in 2002, I spotted Tony’s face on the cover of Food & Wine. I was happy to read that Tony had done just as he said he would. He was the chef owner of his own restaurant.

Craigie Street Bistrot

Living on the west coast as a film school student presented plenty of worthy distractions and even more financial obstacles to keep me from flying back east to try out the new restaurant of my long-ago friend. But then, after years of frustration over dead-end Hollywood jobs, I decided to move back home to Massachusetts for the summer to make some fast money bartending and waitressing at a busy sea-side restaurant and decide, once and for all, if I should give up on my dreams of being a screenwriter.

Strangely enough, one of the first things I did when I got back East was try to make a reservation at Craigie Street Bistrot. I was pleasantly disappointed when I heard a voice mail explain that the restaurant would be closed for the first few weeks of summer for “a well deserved vacation.” I smiled to myself as I hung up the phone. Without tasting a morsel of food or seeing his dining room, I already knew Tony’s restaurant would be unlike any other I had ever visited.

Booking a reservation

My east coast summer experiment offered many unexpected insights. I had changed. I didn’t fit into my small town. I thrived on the diversity of the city of Los Angeles. Most importantly, I realized that writing was in my blood—there was no avoiding it. So after a long and difficult summer in Newburyport Massachusetts, I was ready to move back to LA—for good. Just before packing my car up for the long ride west, I booked an early reservation at Tony’s restaurant for my sister and I.

Just blocks from Harvard University’s campus, Craigie Street Bistrot is a tiny place that requires patience in finding. Located on a side street in the basement of an unassuming brick building, the dining room of Craigie Street Bistrot is smaller than many of its well-heeled customers’ living rooms.

Chef Tony creates his menus daily, based on what is available from local purveyors and farmers. This is no little feat, considering the fickle New England weather and harsh winters Massachusetts suffers. Regardless of the season’s bounty or limited availability of anything beyond tubers and squash, Tony never fails to find inspiration for his ever-changing daily menu. Even when snowstorms strike and crops fail, his market fresh dishes are so delicious and thoughtful, diners often forget they’re in a small (albeit homey) and nearly windowless basement dining room.

His dishes engage the eater to try something new. House-Cured Greek sardines with
preserved lemons and pickled peppers challenge the typical fish and chips eaters while meat lovers are given a chance to experience a little snout to tail eating with the Organic Smoked Hangar Steak with
bone marrow, smoked beef tongue ragoût, shiitake mushrooms, foie gras onions, parsnip purée. To finish, there may be a mind bending Verbena Ice cream or bruleed Warm Sweet White Corn Grits with hazelnuts and dried fruit compote.

Beyond being delicious, Tony’s food is political. In the dead of winter he refuses to succumb to the urge for ripe tomatoes flown in from Chile and finds inspiration in what is available. Tony’s commitment to stay faithful to local farmers across Massachusetts and neighboring Vermont and New Hampshire not only supports local agriculture in the most difficult months, but also helps to quietly educate his customers about sustainable agriculture and cooking only with fresh and seasonal produce.

Intelligent Cooking

Beside the numerous awards Tony and his restaurant staff have won, one of the most inspiring thing about Tony and his staff at Craigie Street Bistrot is their unyielding commitment to responsible dining and intelligent consumerism. Tony not only cooks great food, but he’s actively engaged in a political and philosophical way of cooking that goes beyond just local eating. Tony creates his seasonally driven dishes from local ingredients that have been raised responsibly and with the greater good of the environment and the eater in mind. Tony may not be the first chef in America to think that local and seasonal cooking is the only responsible
way to run a restaurant (thanks Alice Waters), but he is a powerful spokesperson for responsible consumerism in agriculture.

If you don’t believe me, just read Tony’s thoughtful and intelligent response to a disgruntled customer here. Most chefs are passionate, but few are as thoughtful, political or philosophical about food. With so much about the global economy seeming to be beyond an individual’s control, it’s good to see someone take a stand for a local food economy.

Dream big and make a plan

Now that I’m in my thirties, where I stand in the world makes a whole lot more sense. I know who I am, what I want and what I care about. Despite the years and the thousands of miles, it’s amazing to realize Tony and I actually still share a lot in common. We are political eaters. We love food and are committed to creating great dishes that are not only flavorful but are socially respectful of local agriculture.

By deciding what we eat, or where we eat, we let our dollars do the talking. To quote my new favorite author Michael Pollan, political eating really can make a difference. “At least in this one corner of your life, you will have begun to heal the split between what you think and what you do, to commingle your identities as consumer and producer and citizen.”