About My Microwave

I’ve been thinking about my microwave lately. It’s tiny, old, and takes longer than most of us are used to to heat things up. But it’s special.

When I moved here a year and a half ago, I asked my parents to see whether they still had my college microwave somewhere. I was spending money on a lot of other things in order to get settled and thought buying a new microwave was unnecessary.

When they brought it over, I had a good laugh over the fact that it still had a sticker on the back with my college address. I enjoyed the retro-ness of its faux woodgrain sides. (I had forgotten that once upon a time it was thought that microwaves would blend more naturally into a kitchen if they looked as if they were made of wood.) And I remembered that it was older than I had thought; it was actually in my grandmother’s kitchen for a number of years before I took it to college in 1994. I remember when she first got it. She figured everyone else had a microwave so she ought to get one too, even though she rarely used it. It wasn’t until much later, after she gave me this one for college and then bought a replacement microwave, that she got into the swing of reheating soup and Lean Cuisines the modern way.

The microwave fit perfectly into an otherwise useless nook of the counter next to the fridge, so I was good to go. I pushed the button to open the door – it required a bit more effort than today’s units – and chuckled. First of all, the interior was basically spotless, presumably because I had given it a thorough once-over sometime in the late ’90s (“Gosh, it is so great that I am such a clean person,” I thought). Aside from one blemish: a brown splotch that could only be a burn. The smell of burnt microwave popcorn somehow popped in my mind. I remembered an “incident” in college when my roommate accidentally set a bag of popcorn to cook too long. Remember how the smell of someone’s overmicrowaved popcorn would linger? God, I hate that smell. It’s kind of like when someone makes an afternoon bag at work but is so psyched to eat it they stand right next to it so there’s no way it would overcook, and then instead of talking about the weather everyone else in the office is like, “Oooh, someone made popcorn!” like just smelling the stuff is the highlight of their horrible day.

And this is why instead of microwave popcorn, now I use my grandmother’s old hot-air popcorn popper. Also, it’s super fun for sleepovers with the nieces and reminds me of being a little kid.

(Well, OK, actually the main reasons I use it are that I love real butter on popcorn and because I’m cheap and prefer to buy a bag of kernels instead of a bag of kernels plus chemicals. Plus it would probably take for-freakin’-ever to pop a bag in this tiny old microwave.)

The Twelve (Food) Days of Christmas: Day Two

Day Two: Recipe Search
Well, the recipes from cousin Louise are missing. I know they are not totally missing; I think I know where they are but I don't have the energy to dig to the back of my overflowing closet right now to get to them (I'm in the midst of a big cleaning binge right now; don't ask.)

Fortunately most of the Christmas cookie favorites are easy: chocolate chip cookies, some kind of fudge, "peanut butter blossoms" (you know, the cookies with the Hershey's kisses on top? I've also heard them referred to as "titty cookies." If that helps you visualize them.) and the ever-so-1950s "Chinese Chews." These are definitely a grown-up cookie, but not in the same way as the aforementioned peanut butter treats. The main ingredient besides butter is dates. When I was a kid I didn't like these cookies, but the first Christmas without Louise I was determined to replicate her tradition to the letter so I made them anyway. And wouldn't you know ... I loved them! I suppose the dates appeal to the more sophisticated palate that comes with age and experience.

And in 2008, that "sophisticated palate" most certainly wouldn't go around calling these cookies "Chinese Chews." For Pete's sake, dates come from the Middle East. (or California.) But back in the '50s I suppose the name evoked some exotic Oriental kitchen filled with bar cookies sprinkled with confectioner's sugar. A friend asked for the recipe a year or two ago and when I wrote it out I christened them "Chewy Date Bars."

So today, after I couldn't find the recipes (and my mom couldn't find a copy either, probably because she didn't like Chinese Chews when she was a kid and so has no interest in making them herself) I decided to try the Internet. First I looked for "chewy date bars." There's no way anybody out there is calling them "Chinese Chews" in this day and age, I thought. But no luck. So I finally searched, all stealthy-like ("I hope my ISP doesn't think I'm some kind of racist") for "Chinese Chews."

Results 1 - 10 of about 7,240 for "chinese chews".

Lo and behold! There are other people out there looking for these things! Lots of them! And one fellow food blogger even posted a story about her own "hunt" for them, which seems to authenticate my own idea that they are from the Fifties.

And here is a recipe which most closely approximates Louise's, as I remember. It's so simple. The most exotic thing in them are a box of pressed dates. I get mine at Wal-Mart.


EDIT, DEC. 20, 2014: I found Louise's handwritten recipe!
Unfortunately I can't easily add the image right now from my iPad because Google wants to make it difficult for me to do so. (This is why I don't update this blog anymore! Related: Why can't this be more like Wordpress?!)

Ode to One Pie

There are a lot of things I love about New England: fresh seafood, colorful leaves, ornery folks. But something I especially love is the variety of old-fashioned regional foods. Chief among these is One Pie, and chiefest among the One Pie varieties is the squash. Squash is at once deliciously bizarre sounding and ordinary. At some times of the late summer the squash is so common, and then so abundant in Ziploc freezer bags, that the thought of buying commercially canned squash would be ridiculous. But yet for many New England cooks the One Pie squash is both secret weapon and, I think, uniquely odd thing that we embrace simply because we are known for embracing uniquely odd things.

It’s darn near impossible to find much about One Pie (of West Paris, Maine) on the Internet, but what I do find definitely falls into the “ornery New Englanders” category. Pretty much all I found was a bunch of complaints from Thanksgiving 2007 that the recipe for squash pie on the labels everyone bought was wrong. Seems the recipe is supposed to call for 20 minutes of baking at one temperature and then another spell of baking at a lower temperature. But somehow the labels most cooks ended up with last fall had just the 20-minute bake mentioned. Awful lot of angry cooks. What I don’t understand is, you say you’ve been using One Pie Squash to make yer Thanksgiving pie for yer whole life, and yer mother before ya too. So how come when you read the label and it says to bake it for just 20 minutes you thought that all of a sudden this year it would be different? This observation also flies in the face of the Hardy and Thrifty New Englander stereotype: I would have thought these people would be cooking their squash pie from an old label they tore off a can years ago and saved. I know I have a One Pie label kicking around somewhere around here.

Ah, the labels. Probably the best thing about One Pie is the old-fashioned typography and design of the label. The only other thing I found online about One Pie was a blog entry from some sort of city folk about the label. It even features nearly the same photo I took of my One Pie can: http://brooklynometry.blogspot.com/2007/12/one-pie.html

Only the photo of my can of One Pie is probably the best kind: a freshly emptied can.

Here are some of my favorite recipes featuring One Pie:

SQUASH

Ann’s Pumpkin Cookies

(OK, so these are supposed to be made with the pumpkin. But one time in college we wanted to make them but all we had was squash in the pantry. I actually liked them better with the squash and make them with squash whenever I can.)

Ingredients:

• 1 can of canned squash or pumpkin
• 1 egg
• 1/2 cup oil (or applesauce for low-fat version)
• 1 cup sugar
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 2 cups flour
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1/2 tsp baking soda, dissolved in 1 tsp. of water
• Optional: nuts, chocolate chips, etc.

Directions: Mix all the ingredients together. Put cookie-sized blobs of mix on a greased cookie sheet and bake in a 375 degree oven for 12-15 minutes. The cookies come out the way they look when they go in. You can also make these cookies with fresh pumpkin or squash but it makes the mix runnier, so adjust accordingly.

PUMPKIN

Ina Garten’s recipe for Soupe au Potiron. It’s a French recipe that she says is usually made with potirons, a kind of French pumpkin. But she recommends using canned pumpkin.

BONUS!

And here is a recipe for something I just tried. It was super easy and turned out fine, although I think it needs a little more flavor: Penne With Pumpkin Cream Sauce from the magazine Everyday With Rachael Ray.

As always, I made it with Romano cheese instead because I didn’t have any fresh Parmesan, with a tiny bit of garlic because I didn’t have any onions, and with a mix of half-and-half and 1 percent milk because I didn’t have any heavy cream. Still, not bad. Probably just needed a little more cheese.

Mac and cheese for grownups

Mmm ... risotto.

I know what you're thinking, "risotto," oh puh-leeze. But I'm not just being snooty, I'm getting in touch with my heritage. When my grandmother was a little girl in Italy she went to work with her mother in the rice fields. I've seen photos.

So anyway, it's now one of my favorite foods and one which I'm proud to be able to make. I think I must have inherited my forebears' hardy spoon-mixing wrists, so if you're prone to carpal tunnel disease, kids, don't try this at home. But if you'd like the comfort-foodiness of some Kraft Cheese and Macaroni but want the agony and ecstasy of standing at a hot stove for 40 minutes to prepare a meal that people think is "hard," have at it:

"More Risotto and Cheese, Please!"
6 tsp olive oil
2 cups Arborio rice
1 cup white wine
One box and a can or two of chicken broth
1/2 to 1 cup parmesan cheese (adjust to your taste and lactose tolerance)
4 tbsp butter
a little bit of parsley, for color
salt & pepper to taste *

Heat the olive oil in a heavy-bottomed saucepan (I like using my new cast iron dutch oven, but if I halve it I use a regular old Farberware saucepan). Heat the chicken broth in a separate saucepan. Add rice to the oil saucepan and cook, stirring (I use a wooden spoon), for 5 minutes or so; until the rice starts to--for real--sound like glass beads clicking together. Carefully add the wine and stir. When the wine looks like it's all absorbed, start adding hot broth to the rice a ladleful or two at a time. When the spoon leaves a trail in the rice, add more broth. Keep doing this and keep stirring until the rice is all done, about 25 minutes or so. Keep stirring. Add butter, parsley and cheese, salt & pepper to taste. Stir it up a little more. Serve hot all lumped up in a bowl.
Calories: a lot
Servings: a lot


* you may note there are no onions. Often these dishes will start off with onions. I dislike onions.