Not woman enough
From February 2000:
Shop as if you mean it, I said. But do I mean it?
Last year, I served up a recipe using frozen artichoke hearts, and a reader complained -- these thistle treats were nowhere to be found in town, she said. I was stern; I rolled my eyes heavenward.
It may be called a supermarket, but you're really the top dog, I said, or words to that effect -- don't let its choices master you.
Easy for me to say: I was sojourning in Austin, Texas, where there's a heavy infestation of yuppies and techies, and stores are crammed with almost anything the wildest recipe requires.
Springfield, I hate to tell you, isn't yet in the same league. And here in the Ozarks, I'm not woman enough to get my food.
I'm an Aries, so I should be a pushy broad, and the spouse and my co-workers think I live up to my stars. But with strangers, I wimp out. No, I haven't even found my favorite brand of *canned* artichoke hearts here, let alone the frozen variety. Yet the remedy is easy, for any of us with guts: Ask our favorite supermarket to order what we want.
My timidity means serious hunting and gathering. Which store has cannellini, which boasts loose portobello mushrooms, which carries the best coffee, and which stocks onions that fit in one hand? My memory is a tad flabby; I often find myself ranging through two to four stores to gather ingredients for one simple recipe.
Or the memory works, but the store doesn't. Not long ago, despite time constraints, I chose the supermarket farther away because of its coffee, the French Roast that the spouse likes best. And the bean bin was empty. Grrrrr. Aaaaccccckkkk. Funny how stores don't seem to catch on, to stock *more* of the things people *actually buy.*
The nice woman at the checkout counter asked me if I'd found everything I wanted. A formulaic phrase, a mere rhetorical question, I'm sure. I usually smile and gibber, "Yes, of course!" -- I cringe under the tarring-and-feathering stares people in line throw at anyone who holds them up with chatter or price problems.
This time, though, my anger and anguish, my utter java woe, spilled out. Then I looked up. The cashier was gaping at me, wounded, nay, crushed. I didn't dare glance behind me at the seething line of shoppers. I quickly pretended I was joking -- can't afford that yuppie stuff anyway, I said -- and I scurried out with head bowed, an eternal stooge of the marketplace.
********
I chose our recipe of the week because it seemed so easy, in two big respects -- not much work to toss together, and with all ingredients readily available everywhere.
In fact, I got it from a fellow Gannetteer, one with a good reputation -- food editor Sarah Fritschner at the Louisville (Ky.) Courier-Journal -- who writes a column titled "The Fast Lane," for busy cooks (check her out online at www.courier-journal.com/sarah/).
In her introduction to the recipe, Fritschner says: "My nomination for best convenience product of the year: baby spinach, sold washed in plastic bags. At my house, we stir-fry it with garlic to serve with pasta; we add it to fried rice; we put it on sandwiches; and we make casseroles ..."
I'd never bought baby spinach, I must confess, but I was ready to shell out for the privilege. Still, I wasn't married to the idea; I was prepared to pounce on a good 10-ounce package of washed adult spinach if that was all I could find.
The supermarket I hit had bags of baby spinach; indeed, it did. But the Depression mentality handed down from my parents held me back -- the store wanted $2.99 for 5 ounces of the stuff, and I blanched. Six bucks for 10 ounces of spinach? Hopelessly cheap, I went to Plan B. I also went to another store. And the one I chose didn't have *any* 10-ounce bags of washed fresh spinach on hand. Aiiieeeee. I am cursed.
Black-eyed Peas With (Baby) Spinach and Cheese
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced (about 1 teaspoon)
10 ounces clean, fresh spinach
1/4 teaspoon crushed red-pepper flakes (or hot sauce to taste)
2 (1-pound) cans black-eyed peas
1 cup freshly grated Cheddar, Parmesan, Taleggio, provolone or other cheese
1 cup unseasoned breadcrumbs
Heat oven to 425 degrees. Grease a gratin dish or 9-by-9-inch baking pan with a tablespoon of olive oil. Mince garlic. Heat another tablespoon of oil in a wide skillet over medium-high heat and add garlic. Cook until aromatic (about 1 minute).
Increase heat to high. Add spinach and red-pepper flakes and stir until the spinach wilts. Put the black-eyed peas in the gratin dish. Spread spinach on top, then sprinkle with grated cheese and breadcrumbs. Drizzle with last tablespoon of olive oil. Bake 20 minutes, or until hot. Crumbs should be brown and mixture should bubble.
Serve with whole-grain rolls and roasted carrots. Serves 4.
Shop as if you mean it, I said. But do I mean it?
Last year, I served up a recipe using frozen artichoke hearts, and a reader complained -- these thistle treats were nowhere to be found in town, she said. I was stern; I rolled my eyes heavenward.
It may be called a supermarket, but you're really the top dog, I said, or words to that effect -- don't let its choices master you.
Easy for me to say: I was sojourning in Austin, Texas, where there's a heavy infestation of yuppies and techies, and stores are crammed with almost anything the wildest recipe requires.
Springfield, I hate to tell you, isn't yet in the same league. And here in the Ozarks, I'm not woman enough to get my food.
I'm an Aries, so I should be a pushy broad, and the spouse and my co-workers think I live up to my stars. But with strangers, I wimp out. No, I haven't even found my favorite brand of *canned* artichoke hearts here, let alone the frozen variety. Yet the remedy is easy, for any of us with guts: Ask our favorite supermarket to order what we want.
My timidity means serious hunting and gathering. Which store has cannellini, which boasts loose portobello mushrooms, which carries the best coffee, and which stocks onions that fit in one hand? My memory is a tad flabby; I often find myself ranging through two to four stores to gather ingredients for one simple recipe.
Or the memory works, but the store doesn't. Not long ago, despite time constraints, I chose the supermarket farther away because of its coffee, the French Roast that the spouse likes best. And the bean bin was empty. Grrrrr. Aaaaccccckkkk. Funny how stores don't seem to catch on, to stock *more* of the things people *actually buy.*
The nice woman at the checkout counter asked me if I'd found everything I wanted. A formulaic phrase, a mere rhetorical question, I'm sure. I usually smile and gibber, "Yes, of course!" -- I cringe under the tarring-and-feathering stares people in line throw at anyone who holds them up with chatter or price problems.
This time, though, my anger and anguish, my utter java woe, spilled out. Then I looked up. The cashier was gaping at me, wounded, nay, crushed. I didn't dare glance behind me at the seething line of shoppers. I quickly pretended I was joking -- can't afford that yuppie stuff anyway, I said -- and I scurried out with head bowed, an eternal stooge of the marketplace.
********
I chose our recipe of the week because it seemed so easy, in two big respects -- not much work to toss together, and with all ingredients readily available everywhere.
In fact, I got it from a fellow Gannetteer, one with a good reputation -- food editor Sarah Fritschner at the Louisville (Ky.) Courier-Journal -- who writes a column titled "The Fast Lane," for busy cooks (check her out online at www.courier-journal.com/sarah/).
In her introduction to the recipe, Fritschner says: "My nomination for best convenience product of the year: baby spinach, sold washed in plastic bags. At my house, we stir-fry it with garlic to serve with pasta; we add it to fried rice; we put it on sandwiches; and we make casseroles ..."
I'd never bought baby spinach, I must confess, but I was ready to shell out for the privilege. Still, I wasn't married to the idea; I was prepared to pounce on a good 10-ounce package of washed adult spinach if that was all I could find.
The supermarket I hit had bags of baby spinach; indeed, it did. But the Depression mentality handed down from my parents held me back -- the store wanted $2.99 for 5 ounces of the stuff, and I blanched. Six bucks for 10 ounces of spinach? Hopelessly cheap, I went to Plan B. I also went to another store. And the one I chose didn't have *any* 10-ounce bags of washed fresh spinach on hand. Aiiieeeee. I am cursed.
Black-eyed Peas With (Baby) Spinach and Cheese
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced (about 1 teaspoon)
10 ounces clean, fresh spinach
1/4 teaspoon crushed red-pepper flakes (or hot sauce to taste)
2 (1-pound) cans black-eyed peas
1 cup freshly grated Cheddar, Parmesan, Taleggio, provolone or other cheese
1 cup unseasoned breadcrumbs
Heat oven to 425 degrees. Grease a gratin dish or 9-by-9-inch baking pan with a tablespoon of olive oil. Mince garlic. Heat another tablespoon of oil in a wide skillet over medium-high heat and add garlic. Cook until aromatic (about 1 minute).
Increase heat to high. Add spinach and red-pepper flakes and stir until the spinach wilts. Put the black-eyed peas in the gratin dish. Spread spinach on top, then sprinkle with grated cheese and breadcrumbs. Drizzle with last tablespoon of olive oil. Bake 20 minutes, or until hot. Crumbs should be brown and mixture should bubble.
Serve with whole-grain rolls and roasted carrots. Serves 4.
posted by aparker54 at 9:40 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home