Let’s Talk About Bread, Baby!
No, not bread as in money. Bread as in bread! You know, the good stuff. That crusty loaf of wonder that calls to you at three a.m. and tugs you from your warm bed into the kitchen. I may have a deep spiritual relationship with cheese, but I also have a an ongoing lusty affair with bread. I have always loved bread, even when I REALLY didn’t know much about it, meaning I thought there were two kinds: white and wheat. Then as I got older I discovered a whole world of bread and have made it my life’s mission to eat as many different varieties as I can…
Even as a child I was passionate about bread. I would go to my friends’ house and beg for a slice of their Wonder bread (we only ate wheat). I would marvel in its pillowy, white softness and how it was almost sweet. At home, I couldn’t wait for my parents to have an evening out. Why? So my sisters and I could eat my Dad’s bread. Oh yes, while we got wheat, he had his own personal stash of Sourdough. The minute we would hear the car pull out of the driveway, we would rush, en masse (there were four of us!), to the kitchen. Once there, my sister Judy, on her tip toes, would reach into the back of the top cabinet and pull out the sourdough. I swear that when it came out it was bathed in a golden light and I heard angels sing. She would put it on the counter and we would greedily fight to get our share. My sisters would eat it un-toasted with tons of butter and jam. They would devour their slices while still standing in the kitchen. I would toast mine and lovingly put just enough butter to make it glisten. Then I would take it into my bedroom, curl up on my bed and slowly eat it. I wanted to savor every moment.
Sourdough raids aside, it wasn’t until I got out on my own that I really started experiencing different types of bread. I was a manager at a bakery while in college, so I happily ate every bread we served. My first bread obsession was a Rosemary/Garlic Italian white. It was soft with roasted cloves of garlic and specked with rosemary. I think I must have eaten thirty loves of it in a matter of two months. Next I became obsessed with a sturdy whole wheat that had raisins and walnuts. I would bring it home from the bakery, toast it , slather it in butter and then apricot jam. Heaven. Then I couldn’t get enough Kalamata Olive bread. Huge Kalamata olives encased in a soft wheat center with a fantastically crunchy crust. This I would dip in olive oil, balsamic vinegar and Parmesan cheese. Then came the Ciabatta months, followed by the Sourdough roll weeks… I ate it all!
After the bakery, I continued my bread affair. I would drive 20 minutes just to get bread from La Brea Bakery in L.A. (before they were in every store). I went once a week and tried all their breads. I was fascinated by the artisanal quality (remember, this was back when artisanal was NOT a buzz word). I always had one of their sourdough baguettes in my house. I would eat it with all types of cheeses, but I would also cradle it in my arms and savagely tear off chunks, devouring the entire baguette in one sitting.
I even went through a phase where I was making my own bread! Yes, making it and without a bread machine. I loved the way the yeast was alive and the development of the gluten as I kneaded it. I made all types of breads: focaccia, pizza dough, whole wheat, black olive/cheddar, apricot/pecan, etc. I would give home-made loaves as gifts and would spend entire weekends baking. I once even tried to teach my sister how to make bread, but that didn’t go over too well. To me, making a loaf of bread was a transcendent thing. To her, it was just bread…
To this day, I am always looking to try a new bread. I love the mini baguettes. My new favorites are the multi-grain seeded variety and the cheddar jalapeno. Because they are “mini” I don’t feel so guilty when I find that I have eaten the entire thing in less than one day. For health reasons I try to stick to whole wheat/multi-grain varieties, but am known to sneak in a good Italian white every now and then. And yes, when I have an especially delicious bread in the house, I do awaken from sleep, stumble into the kitchen and eat a slice (or two!).
Tell Me What You Are Eating-PLEASE!
My name is Tracy and I am an obsessive compulsive vicarious eater. Whew! I feel better! Yes, that is right, I have an insatiable appetite (pun intended) to know what everybody is eating. Not only what they are eating, but how it tastes, smells and any other details I can pry out of them. I drive my friends and family crazy with my questions. “Where did you have lunch?” What did you order?” “Was it good?” “Would you order it again?” I have to know EVERYTHING. Was it creamy, salty, fatty, cheesy, flavorful? And on and on until the poor person finally screams, “That is all I can say!”
I was always fascinated with all things food. When I was young, I would sit on the kitchen floor every night and watch my Mother prepare dinner. Asking about EVERYTHING she did. As I grew older, my friends became my target. When other girls were talking about Bonne Bell lip gloss flavors, I was asking my friends about what was in their lunch box and bugging them relentlessly until they either told me or ran screaming from me. Other girls collected pins and photos. I hoarded take-out menus. At night I would go to my stash and read (for the hundredth time) my menus, imagining how each dish would taste.
When I went to college I continued hoarding menus, but after too many, “What is wrong with her?” looks I tried to keep my vicarious eating under control. I even brought this obsession into the work place. My co-workers became accustomed to my never-ending questions about their breakfasts, lunches and dinners out. But every once in a while a new person would be hired… Once a co-worker was describing in detail the burger he had for lunch to me and this new person said, completely exasperated, “It was a burger for God’s sake!” We all flinched and the burger boy said, “Oh. I don’t mind. We all tell Tracy what we eat.” Oh boy! Was I embarrassed? Yes. Did it stop me? Hell no.
So, after years of dating non-vicarious eaters I finally found my vicarious eating soul mate. My husband will spend thirty minutes telling me about the bagel he had for breakfast. Spend an hour describing the just perfect roast beef sandwich he had for lunch. It is heaven! We pause almost every program we watch to try to figure out what they are eating. Forget the dialogue, we want to know what is in that soup and if it is too salty. We comment endlessly about restaurant commercials and the food they are hawking. Would we want to eat it? Did we see bacon in the macaroni & cheese? Etc. And, of course, we watch way too much food TV. Food Network, Cooking Channel, Bravo, Travel Channel and TLC. If it is about food, count us in! We will even watch a show one night and still be talking about the food on said show a week later! Like I said, he is my soul mate.
I now realize that I am not alone. There are thousands of vicarious eaters out there. Really it is our time. Think about it. Food blogs, food porn, food TV, celebrity Chefs, etc. We can get our food fix any time of day and from so many different venues. Still, for me, there is nothing like a good one on one recount of a recent meal. A friend of mine recently went to one of my favorite restaurants (Quince in Jerome, AZ) and I was giddy with the thought of hearing the re-play of her dinner! And, even better, we could compare notes. So when she jokingly asked, “Should I video tape it?” I secretly wanted to say, “If you don’t mind.” But I controlled myself. She came through with quite a nice recap of the dinner (even without the video) and patiently answered my many questions.
I say, vicarious eaters of the world unite! I know you are out there… Browsing food blogs, reading restaurant reviews, drooling over Anne Burrell’s latest pasta dish and asking your friends what they ate over the weekend. It is okay. You are not alone. So, really, tell me what you are eating! I would LOVE to hear. And because turnabout is fair play, here is what I ate Friday night. I had a couple of slices of N.Y. style pizza. Cheese only. The sauce was nice and they used the right amount. Not too much cheese and the crust had a nice chew. I put granulated garlic, crushed red pepper and Parmesan cheese on the slice. I ate it with a simple salad of romaine lettuce, heirloom tomato, black olives and a red wine vinegar dressing. My drink? A 2008 McManis Zinfandel. I highly recommend this wine. Forward fruit, balanced finish and just perfect with the garlic on the pizza.
Now, what are you eating?!
Italian Feast With Jersey Shore
So, as you may well know, I am as addicted to reality television as I am to really big red zinfandel. So, that Jersey Shore season two premieres tonight on MTV has me all giddy! Especially because I watched Jersey Shore season ! marathons ALL last weekend and have now worked my way into a Guido/Guidette froth.
Now. What do I eat? It HAS to be Italian, of course. But I would like something a little special, because it IS a premiere. Definitely pizza. Will pick up thin crust N.Y. style at Moondog’s on my way home. They do a delicious pie. Thin, not cracker like crust with just the right amount of chew. Fresh, bright sauce. Great cheese ratio and not too salty. But before Moondog’s I will have to hit what passes for a deli in this town-read supermarket deli counter. Sigh. So miss Bay Cities Italian Deli in Santa Monica, CA. The BEST subs, great cheeses, breads, meats, all the gardiniera & olive oils. So I will have to settle for olives from the olive bar, “bakery” bread, and deli cheese and meat from counter. At least I can pick up a few bottles of good Italian wines while I am there… Thinking a nice Chianti, a good toscana rosso and yes, a zinfandel.
Menu: cheese pizza (with garlic, red chili peppers & parmesan), deli platter with salami, provolone, fresh mozzarella, olives, marinated mushrooms and good (as good as it gets here) Italian bread. Served with lots of red wine. Sorry Guidos, I just can’t do shots & beer. Anymore!
GTL! GTL! GTL!
Pizza Slice? It’s Complicated.
Really, it is. Think about it, we all LOVE a great slice of pizza (wouldn’t trust somebody that didn’t), but what’s a “great” slice of pizza to me, may be disgusting to my friend. Also, a lot can go wrong with an innocent little slice: too salty, too greasy, not enough grease, crust too thin, crust too thick, cheese rubbery, too little cheese, too much cheese, etc. Finally, what do you do when your idea of a delicious slice of pizza conflicts with the one you love?
What defines a really good pizza slice? To me it is always plain cheese, with not too much cheese, a good, fresh tasting tomato sauce, that is not too salty & a thin crust. The crust can be cracker thin or chewy, I like either. Then I ALWAYS add garlic, oregano, parmesan & red chili peppers. Why do I like this kind of pizza? Because it is what I grew up eating. Growing up, every friday was pizza night at our house. How I looked forward to it! My mom would call ahead to our favorite family owned pizza place and order 4 pies. This was before, thank god, the creation of 30 minute Domino’s delivery, remember, when you actually had to place an order & wait an hour to pick it up? But boy, was it worth it! Then, if I was lucky, I got to go with her to pick it up. I can still remember the smell of garlic, yeast & tomatoes as I walked through the door. My mom would pay and let me carry one of the boxes. Then my mom would drive home as I balanced hot pizza boxes on legs, telling her, “No, they aren’t burning me. I’m fine.” They were burning me, but I was determined to keep the boxes on my lap, so I could fondle those cardboard edges & take-in all that pizza aroma. We would get home and the entire family would attack! Couldn’t even set the boxes down before my sisters were digging in. We would eat it off paper plates 7 drink cans of Tab so my mom wouldn’t have dishes to do, while my parents ate theirs with a glass of red wine. To this day, when friday comes around, I crave pizza. So, that is why I like the type of pizza I do, but for the same reason my friend Lisa, who grew up in Chicago, wants pan or deep dish with tons of cheese.
Now, to complicate matters further, is when you marry someone who as a different pizza “style” than you. It means either you go to two different pizza places or one of you HAS to compromise. And believe me, the compromised is NEVER happy. There is always pizza resentment. I am from California. My husband is from NY, so automatically he is a pizza know it all & snob. He rarely is happy with any pizza we get, which is sad. He likes a slice like I do, almost the exact same way, but he has to have a chewy crust, not cracker thin. So, we go where he likes, then we go where I like, we take turns on the pizza ride like good little boys and girls, but believe me, when we get slices from his favorite, I feel cheated and the same goes for him. So, until we get to his beloved Johnny’s in NY he will simply have to “suffa.”
Yes, pizza can be complicated, but isn’t it worth it? Really, there is nothing like eating a great slice of pizza, sipping a big red zinfandel (moved on from Tab) and watching a really bad reality show. Aaaaah, all is right with the world! At least for a moment.
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