Sunday, May 15, 2005

When the dust clears

11/29/98

Why envy youth? It's a time of excruciating self-consciousness and pathological need for approval. Luckily such sensitivity fades with age.

True, getting on in years is nothing to crow about: My own shallow soul has gained no depth; my blossoming wrinkles aren't a badge of anything worthy. But aging has done me one big favor. As I've careened through life, I've grown increasingly free from fear of what others think.

Considering some of the things I have to live down, it's just as well to shed my sense of shame. I've given the world some horrific headlines. Four years ago, at the end of a particularly grueling shift for a massive Sunday News-Leader, I was hit with a cheery story on choirs of children near Christmas time. My frazzled brain groped for something glittering – like "star dust" – to describe their glow, but fastened, disastrously, on "angel dust." It got into print, and no one was amused.

It stuns uptight newspups now when I freely recount this and other tales of disgrace. They would just die of embarrassment. You should see how their ears prick up when Alison speaks! What new indignity will she confess? But at 44, I bask in the scandal.

In one area, however, I'm still a victim of repression, ever sensitive to the cuisine snobs who skewer us with their sneers. Many of my generation consider cooking flops as moral failures.

I grew up to the strains of "Can she bake a cherry pie, Billy boy, Billy boy?" Cooking was the crown of womanhood, the way to earn and keep one's man. Later, when a woman's place and duties spread out beyond the home, pressures to cook well grew perversely more acute. For all my adult life, the perfect dish, the authentic spice, the original twist have been objects of worship among the culinary cognoscenti, and their religion has left deep marks on the middle-class cook. No wonder Shame is such a hot topic among the psycho-babblers.

Dirty Shame has dogged me down, from my first wretched dinner party, with its fancy soup from a can, cheap "caviar," and pie in a once-frozen 8-inch shell, to my last one, an almost studied exercise in self-humiliation.

I may someday outgrow my kitchen angst, only because each time I try something ambitious, I see more clearly that I'll never win acclaim. As long as my guests don't gag and collapse, there's some satisfaction.

Anyway, I find solace among the young adults I know. They howl at other embarrassments but will gratefully eat almost anything.

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I've been able to loosen shame's hold over the years, but I was born into original guilt – I'm given to hair shirts and self-flagellation when I think I've caused pain or inconvenience to others, even people I don't particularly like.

And I'm not consistent, allowing new openings for pain. I can scoff at and flout worries about nutrition on some days, but on others I'm haunted by my heedlessness and its dangers.

I took a perfectly luscious-looking recipe from a Junior League cookbook and did the right thing: I increased its protein substantially and at the same time slashed its fat content.

But I feel guilty about being good, too. I'm sure the recipe is heavenly with the original ingredients, and I hate to deprive you of heaven, so if you must be bad, omit the olive oil, eggs and ricotta, and use instead 1 whole stick of the butter (1/2 cup) and a pint (2 cups) of sour cream, and bake for 20-30 minutes. Maybe for company ...

SPINACH AND ARTICHOKE CASSEROLE

3/4 cup chopped green onions, tops included
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 teaspoon dried basil (or 2 tablespoons fresh basil, chopped)
2 10-ounce packages frozen chopped spinach, lightly cooked (thaw in microwave without extra water, then zap for about a minute more) and drained (or 2 pounds fresh chopped spinach)
2 14-ounce cans artichoke hearts, rinsed and drained (or 2 10-ounce packages frozen artichoke hearts, cooked and drained) – cut into halves or quarters (you want them recognizable)
3 eggs
2 cups ricotta cheese (a 15-ounce tub will do)
3/4 teaspoon salt (more to taste)
freshly ground pepper
1/8 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 cup grated Swiss or mozzarella
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan

1. Saute onions in oil and butter until almost tender (add fresh spinach here, and cook until wilted); add basil and cook about a minute. Stir in frozen spinach, and then artichoke hearts. Cut off heat, and let stand.
2. In a large bowl, beat eggs, and stir in ricotta, salt, pepper, cayenne and Swiss or mozarella. Fold veggies into cheese-egg mixture. 3. Put veggies into an oiled or buttered or sprayed 9-by-13-inch glass dish; top with Parmesan, and put into a preheated 350-degree oven. Bake about 30 minutes.

By the way, I don't belong to the Junior League. I don't think the group would have me, but, as the old joke goes, I couldn't respect any club that would.

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