nose dive

Not O. Something Else.

A dive.

Nose Dive is the newest offering from the Table 301 restaurant group. This gastropub (a pub serving high quality food in addition to their drink menu) is in the heart of downtown Greenville, in a Main Street location once occupied by the former high-end Restaurant O. But this is not a special-occasion-dinner kind of place...at least not like it's predecessor. Neither is it a watering hole, despite its impressive beer and wine lists and rotating taps of each.

It is, however, one of my favorite lunch spots for one reason and one reason alone: the sweet potato fries.

I've sampled just about every lunch item Nose Dive offers - the Nicoise salad with delicious candied pecans, the basil/tomato/mozzarella chicken sandwich, the humongous and delicious beer-battered fish and chips. But always, no matter what, the must-have-'em-on-my-plate are the sweet potato fries.

I really need to inquire of the chef and get the recipe, if possible. I do know that they are fried in duck fat, giving them just a hint of the rich fatty flavor of dark meat poultry, and finished with sea salt. And They. Are. Divine.

These crispy rust-colored delights are worth their weight in gold. If you've had 'em, I'd love to hear your impressions. If you haven't, you should. Or if you know of some sweet potato fries that you think could rival Nose Dive's (*harumph*), let me know and I'll put them to the test and write about it later.

practice makes perfect

"My generation is a practical generation, and I am challenged by my faith to be a practical person. Don't get me wrong: I love all verbal and theological things: story, theology, politics, and history, perhaps even inordinately.

But I believe in places. I believe that relationships, rooted in love, transform us. And it just so happens that most lasting human relationships are formed around the table." 

This is how Jeremy John begins his guest post on Tony Campolo's blog, Red Letter Christians. Jeremy writes on The Table is the Microcosm of a Practical Faith. After reading it, I realized it might as well have been written by me on this blog (although it might not have been as well-written). So, I'm sharing (stealing?) it.

Jeremy expands the theology of Eucharist beyond...well...theology. He calls us to see Eucharist in times when "the ordinary is made sacred." It is an embodied meal in more ways than one.

"The Eucharist gathers us at particular place, with a particular people, to eat particular food(s) together. While we believe theologically that Christ is present at the table with us, the Eucharist is more about what you do than what you believe...

...You may have guessed by now that I do not limit the Eucharist to Sunday morning. I believe that all of the foods we eat at our tables are sacred: not through their essential nature, but through the relationships that they represent: relationships between farmers and communities, relationships between food and bodies, food and the earth, and farms and our ecosystem."

And here's the kicker:

"Our tables are a microcosm of the way we live out our faith."

I love what Jeremy does by tying in not only the table fellowship, but the practical nature of meals: how we produce, harvest, distribute, buy, and consume food, as well as the relationships between all of the different parties involved (including creation).

And if the table is the primary place of practice for our faith, then we must ask: What does how we eat, including all of those practical concerns I just mentioned, say about our faith? It might be easier for us to determine how our faith would/could/should impact our lives, but what does our practice say about our faith? What does it say about my faith that I rarely eat with someone of a different cultural or ethnic identity? What does it mean that I view food as a commodity rather than a necessity? What does it say about my faith that I get buy what I want rather than what was fairly traded or organically grown or whatever...

So the next time you sit down at a table, ask yourself (as I will ask myself): Where did this food come from? Were those involved in its production and preparation fairly compensated? Am I willing to "bless the hands that prepared it"...and mean it? Who am I eating with? Who am I not eating with? Is my eating this meal actually taking opportunity for food away from others?
And - ultimately - what does how I practice a meal of the embodied Christ say about me as a person of faith, and my embodiment of Christ in my life?

a delicacy of despair...

...that's what PETA calls it. But it's proper name is foie gras, French for "fatty liver." It's a pate made from the fatty livers of geese or ducks.

And it is delicious. Fatty. Creamy. Salty. Succulent. Delicious.

There are lots of different ways to serve foie gras, but this is the way I first tried it (and, I think, one of the best ways): with some sea salt, a little leafy greens or some fruit compote, and a crusty piece of bread.

The first time I tasted it was last May, when I performed a destination wedding in Paris for two friends. They were married in a small garden outside of an art gallery, which afterward held the "reception" - a private meal of French cuisine. Here are some pictures from the wedding and dinner:

This should be on a postcard

Me looking very pastoral

The "reception"

Our menu for the dinner

There is no doubt that foie gras is one of the finest foods I've ever eaten (at one of the finest meals I've ever had). But there has always been a debate over how this delicacy is produced. As recently as last week, I heard a story on NPR about the controversy, rekindled by the approaching effective date of a ban on foie gras in California.

Culinary critics and animal rights activists have squared off, and both the foodies and the vegans spit some pretty nasty rhetoric towards each other. Meanwhile, I feel assaulted from both sides.

I'm conflicted.

On the one hand, foie gras is so ridiculously delicious. Sure, it's a gamble to eat it. You never know whether or not you'll clog that last 74% of open artery when you eat it. But even if you did keel over in a cholesterol-induced cardiac arrest, it would be worth it. Foie gras is that good. Plus, in the end, it's just food.

On the other hand, I think that animals should be treated humanely. Unnecessary suffering should not be inflicted on any being, human or otherwise. But I'm not one of those people who curls up in a ball on the floor and sobs uncontrollably anytime I hear Sarah McLachlan's Angel from the ASPCA commercial.

























I love the food, but I hate what happens in the production.

But why is it this issue that bothers me? There are a myriad of ways that I enjoy the benefits produced through the suffering of others, and many of those relate specifically to the production of food (non-fair trade foods, for instance).

I suppose this just exposes my larger hypocrisy. I affirm the sacred nature of Creation, and yet I enjoy this food which is produced through unjust, irresponsible, and cruel means. As much as I claim that food is a justice issue, I still want inexpensive tomatoes from Publix (harvested by unfairly-paid exploited farmworkers), just like I want to be able to eat foie gras.

In the end, I don't know if legislation is the answer. Neither do I know if it will be enough for those of us who feel strongly about food justice to (not) put our money where our mouth is(n't) - that is, to let our buying habits reflect our values.

Because ultimately, it's not just food...at least not until we consider food production as an issue of justice. "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they shall be filled." (Matt 5:6)

mother's milk

Being a new dad, I can't avoid breastfeeding. I've learned more about the topic than I ever thought I would - a proper latch, clogged ducts, foremilk, hindmilk, you name it. Breastfeeding is a regular part of Suzy and the baby's daily schedules - and a part of all three of our nightly schedules - and Suzy has nursed our baby just about everywhere. She's tried to avoid having to breastfeed in Target (it seems they don't take to kindly to it)...

...but she has never nursed on the cover of TIME magazine.

Jamie Lynn Grumet and her 3-year-old son
May 21, 2012, vol. 179, no. 20

There's been quite a hubbub about this cover and the related story on attachment parenting. Pundits, bloggers, and comedians have jumped all over it, including SNL's Weekend Update. You can read about the sketch and watch the video clip here.

But no matter who is doing the talking, people are voicing their opinions. And they're not pulling any punches. 

The Christian Science Monitor asked, Did TIME sexualize breastfeeding with its cover?

This morning, an older gentleman asked Suzy if she had seen the cover, commenting that "it's inappropriate" and that TIME shouldn't have put something like that on the cover because "it's a choice" (to breastfeed? to watch someone breastfeed? i don't know...).

I realize (a) I'm a man, (b) I've never breastfed, and (c) I have nothing to gain from jumping into this discussion...

...but I will anyway, because ignorance and apathy have never stopped me before.

International symbol for breastfeeding

To me, it seems like most of these commentators are just (...wait for it...) "milking it." They are jumping all over this magazine cover because they know that it will increase their readership/viewership, the same way TIME knew that putting a model-esque 26-year-old blond breastfeeding her 3-year-old would sell magazines. 

TIME magazine cover
Third full moon, 2012 B.C., vol. 1, no. 1

And while I definitely have an opinion on breastfeeding, I would never tell someone else whether or not to breastfeed their child, and definitely not how/where/when to do it. If I've learned nothing else in my very short time as a parent, I am convinced that each mother has to do what is best for her baby and herself. If that means nursing the kid until he's 4, fine. If that means not breastfeeding at all, fine. But I know that breastfeeding is what is best for our family, and for that - like Jamie Lynn Grumet - I will not apologize.

So here's my reflection that has come out of all of this:

In a way, breastfeeding is our first communion. We are nurtured in a relationship with One who loves us through nourishment. By consuming life-giving food, we commune with the One who first gave us life. 

"A mother can give her child milk to suck, but our precious mother, Jesus, can feed us with himself. He does so most courteously and most tenderly, with the Blessed Sacrament, which is the precious food of true life. With all the sweet sacraments he sustains us most mercifully and graciously." - Julian of Norwich

Thanks to all the moms who offer the sacrament of mother's milk, the precious food of true life; all the mothers who, breastfeeding or not, care for their children mercifully and graciously...especially our Heavenly Father, who loves us like a mother.

Happy Mother's Day!

sauces and sautes

After my last cooking class experience (flying solo at the "Tuscan Romance" class), I decided to take Suzy with me this time.

We returned to The Cook's Station for another hands-on class taught by Chef Corie Martin of The Pink Lady Catering. This class' theme was using citrus in sauces and sautes, perfect for a warm late spring evening. There was an orange or a lime or some lemon juice in everything. (I just knew I would get a small cut at the beginning of the class and be in constant pain for the rest of the time. Instead, I just didn't cut anything the entire time...never picked up a knife.)

We made a citrus vinaigrette for a spinach salad, bruschetta with ricotta and citrus salsa, lemon chicken with capers, and bananas foster with orange liqueur. Sadly, I didn't remember to take any pictures, but here are the recipes:

We broke into three groups of four, and our group assembled the bruschetta, and everyone did the bananas foster - a rich, buttery, caramelized fruit, drenched in rum, set on fire, and poured over ice cream... What's not to love?! Now that I know how to make it, I'm worried I'm going to keep bananas, dark rum, and vanilla ice cream always on hand at my house...and gain 200 pounds...and burn down my house.

This is how I like to imagine I looked as I made Bananas Foster...
(and if you sprinkle cinnamon over the flame, it sparkles!)

...but this is probably a more accurate depiction.

One of the nicest parts of the entire evening was chatting with the other two ladies at our table. One was a professor at a nearby college; the other was a mother of two who runs an investment company with her husband. We shared great conversation around the table, talking travel, food, careers, kids...

But one comment stuck with me. At one point, the professor said, "It is so nice to just be able to sit together with other people and talk and get to know them."

Indeed. It's sad that we need a cooking class to force us to sit together (and cook together) before that actually happens. It's easy to strike up a conversation over food. But we would have to be willing to sit down at a table with people different than us and spend the length of a meal making "small talk," which is no small task.

Our chef told us that all of these sauces and salsas are even better if you let them sit for a while. It allows the flavors to blend together. The longer you do allow it to sit, the more the sauce "comes together," with the different flavors adding complexity and deliciousness to the sauce, making each individual flavor more tasty because of it's relationship to the other flavors, and making the sauce as a whole better. All it takes is time - time to just sit...together.

My guess is we'd all be better if we did that more.

pierogi

There's really no definition for it/them, whether you're talking about just one or many.

Pie.ro.gi - noun \pi-'ro-ge\
plural    pie.ro.gi


They are, simply, half-moon-shaped dough filled with some kind of savory filling (like cheese, potatoes, or sauerkraut), boiled and then pan-fried in butter. They are the ultimate comfort food. After all, what could be more comforting than anything pan-fried in butter?

In case you were wondering: Yes, that is an entire stick of butter.

Grandma Betty, my stepmom's mother, first made them for me. They have always been my favorite of her dishes, even back when I would put ketchup on them (an almost-unpardonable sin, forgivable only because of my childish naivete). When she came to see our baby for the first time, she brought two 1-gallon bags of frozen pierogi with her, and on Sunday we cooked them.

First, we diced an onion and melted a stick of butter in the pan.

Then, we sauteed the onions in the butter and put the frozen pierogi in the boiling water until they float.

Once they float, boil for a minute or two then carefully transfer them to the butter and onions to fry up.

Once they get a little cooked, take 'em out...

...and serve with pepper and sour cream (no ketchup!).

You can add even more butter if you want...just check out the half-used stick on the counter in the background.

They were buttery, cheesy, potato-y, savory...delicious. The best baby gift we could have gotten. 

Comfort food for a growing family, born out of a family's rich ethnic-cooking heritage.

Grandma Betty's family immigrated from what is now the Czech Republic when she was a young child, and brought with them a culinary history, including pierogis. Sadly, we American's don't have this kind of heritage. Our food culture is a bastardized mongrel cuisine. (Not that it's always bad...it does provide some great combinations, though, like the Caribbean-Mexican fusion restaurant, Chicora Alley.) But we don't have any culinary tradition upon which to draw, unless you count fried-anything in the South. 

Maybe that's why Suzy and I enjoy ethnic foods so much. Thai. German. Mexican. French. We love it all. The only food we don't like as much is American. Call me un-patriotic, but most of the time I would rather have curry, rouladen, enchiladas, or duck confit than a hamburger...even with freedom fries.

gardening. gleaning. generosity.

I'm feeling very alliterative today.

I'm also feeling like I finally have time to get back to blogging. It's been a crazy couple of weeks: getting the house on the market, showings, a baby boy who is eating like a teenager and starting to teethe...

No excuses, though. I've got some ideas lined up. Here's a little preview of the coming attractions:
- Perogi: Eastern European comfort food
- Cooking class with Suzy
- Retrospective: Mustards in Napa Valley

In the midst of our busyness, I ran into an acquaintance from divinity school who now lives in Greenville. She told me she volunteers with an organization called Generous Garden. The group has a 2.5 acre garden in which they grow fresh produce for local shelters and food banks. They, too, have a blog - Garden Talk. Unfortunately, it's not updated very often (I know, I know...pot and kettle). But the group sounds great, and I'd like to check out the garden sometime.

I've also been getting a ton of emails from a national gleaning organization called the Society of Saint Andrew. I had originally gotten in touch with the local group to hopefully glean as part of our culinary care Lenten experiment. We weren't able to, but now I get emails when gleaning opportunities come up... like when unseasonably warm weather makes strawberries come in early, before the farmers are prepared to harvest them and they need to be picked before they rot in the fields. You can volunteer whenever a convenient opportunity comes along...and I hope we will.

It really amazes me that in our world of fast-food meals, canned-anything, preservatives in everything, there are still groups that help to relieve hunger by gardening and gleaning - by growing fresh fruits and vegetables, and by picking produce that would otherwise spoil before any ever had a chance to eat it. It is perhaps the best stewardship we can practice: to cultivate what we can and share it with others, and to make sure that what God grows does not go to waste.