Welcome to the Green siblings' food/cooking/arguing about food and cooking blog. For our first entry, before we get into our weekly meal, my brother and I thought that we'd lay out our thoughts on food, a little Food Philosophy, if you will, so you know why we wanted to write about food in the first place. Please enjoy the following longwinded food related essays. (Also, from here on out, I will be writing in a cool dusty blue and the Brony (brother/Tony) will be writing in "bright motha' effin' red," as he put it.)
Sister Karen's Food Philosophy:
I love eating. There are a number of factors that dictate my food philosophy, which I will get to momentarily, but the overarching theme is that I just love food and I love eating food. When you think down the list of activities you are required to do on a daily basis (brushing your teeth, showering, talking to people, evacuating your bowels) can you think of a single mandatory activity that is even half as much fun as eating? Well, I can’t. Food is delicious and the fact that I should, nay MUST, eat food every single day is just icing on the cake. Food makes any activity better, whether it be a social gathering, curling up on the couch to watch a movie, or taking a long car ride (Twizzlers, anyone?). Fortunately, my love of eating has parlayed nicely into a growing love for cooking.
Sister Karen's Food Philosophy:
I love eating. There are a number of factors that dictate my food philosophy, which I will get to momentarily, but the overarching theme is that I just love food and I love eating food. When you think down the list of activities you are required to do on a daily basis (brushing your teeth, showering, talking to people, evacuating your bowels) can you think of a single mandatory activity that is even half as much fun as eating? Well, I can’t. Food is delicious and the fact that I should, nay MUST, eat food every single day is just icing on the cake. Food makes any activity better, whether it be a social gathering, curling up on the couch to watch a movie, or taking a long car ride (Twizzlers, anyone?). Fortunately, my love of eating has parlayed nicely into a growing love for cooking.
Aside from my intense love of all things edible, I must attribute my interest in cooking to two things: first, my mother and second, Bulgaria. I must thank my mother who, despite always having a full time job with two kids and a husband who did little to no cooking (sorry, dad), managed to cook balanced meals for her family, and did so the majority of the time. Cooking was the rule in our house, not the exception. Frozen, packaged, processed, and fast foods of course made the occasional appearance at our table, but they were largely a treat or novelty, to the extent that when I would have dinner at a friend’s house and discover that they ate boxed mac and cheese or Hot Pockets most nights, I was somewhat appalled. So thank you, mom, for giving me an appreciation of real food and an early sense of superiority over those who succumbed to the greasy allure of our faux food nation. That said, I love boxed mac and cheese and Hot Pockets. More on that later.
Now, to thank Bulgaria. My love of cooking really got a kick start a few years ago when I decided to sign up for the Peace Corps and was sent to a teeny tiny village in Eastern Europe with no fast food places, one village restaurant that served french fries and meatballs, and very few packaged meals (Bulgaria has their share of chips, candy bars, and snack foods, but very few meal options akin to American frozen TV dinners). Not only was I forced to make things from scratch, but I had to start at the basics. Most meals would consist of rice or lentils, onion and garlic, and whatever vegetables were in season at the moment. Most families grew their own fruits and vegetables and raised live stock and the whole experience left me with a better sense of where food comes from and what constitutes real food.
But have I mentioned that I love boxed mac and cheese and Hot Pockets? Yes, I am aware of the growing foodie movement. I’ve done my due diligence on the local, organic, micro-biotic, vegan food movements, etc. I’ve read Fast Food Nation and The Omnivore’s Dilemma. I’ve seen Food Inc. and taken much of the information to heart. I know that I should eat real food and avoid trans fats and crazy chemicals and that I shouldn’t support giant corrupt companies that mistreat their workers, harm the environment, and make questionable and unhealthy “food.” For the most part, I try to make conscientious decisions. That said, sometimes I just want a box of Cheez-Its and an entire bag of mini-Reese's cups for dinner and I am perfectly okay with that. I’m afraid that I’m a bit too impulsive and prone to bouts of ravenous hunger and/or pure boredom eating to stick to my food principles too strictly. Plus I just like things that taste good, unlike my brother who seems to have had a trans fat detector implanted in his brain and an inhuman tolerance for salad. I’m just not that diligent.
Anyway, the last factor I will discuss at this time that shapes my relationship to food (I’m sure there are sooo many more, but all this writing has made me hungry so I’ll wrap it up) is that I am pretty much broke all the time. I would like to think that I have a sophisticated palate and can appreciate the finer things in life, but my current profession as a part time science teacher limits my food choices quite a bit. So, no caviar and gold-flecked desserts for me. A lot of my meal choices come down to me grumbling like an old lady in the grocery store (“Eh, can you believe the price of apples these days? What am I, a Rockefeller?”) and then grabbing whatever has the lowest cost per unit.
Being broke may actually work in my favor however, because I am also easily overwhelmed by choice. One of my biggest food dilemmas is that when I sit down to plan a dinner and ask myself, “What sounds good?” more often than not I come back with the answer, “Everything. Literally, everything.” If it weren’t for being limited by money and laziness, I might very easily spiral into a fever of indecision each night which would begin with me searching methodically through every food blog and cook book I’ve ever come across and end in me curled up on the kitchen floor, spatula in hand, smacking away hallucinatory images of beef fajitas and thai stir fry. “I want all of you! AAALL of you! Oh, why do you tempt me?!” I would cry. But luckily, I am limited by my budget and what is available to me at my local grocery stores. I rarely go out of my way to pick up hard to find ingredients. Why drive yourself crazy, right?
All right, so that is where I stand food-wise. If you share any of those interests or dilemmas then I hope you will enjoy the wacky adventures* of myself and my brother as we attempt to feed ourselves on a weekly basis.
*Disclaimer: Most wacky cooking adventures on this blog may not be considered “wacky” nor an “adventure,” but have been dramatized to appear as such. Just go with it.
Brother Tony's Food Philosophy:
Food is complicated. I have a love/hate relationship with it. It wasn’t always this way. There was a time when my food groups consisted of candy, Burger King, and whatever mom was making for dinner that night. Any food I hadn’t been exposed to in the first few years of my life, especially foods that seemed exotic, healthy, or smelled like they had mustard in them, I wouldn’t give a chance. Food was so easy. For me, at least. My mother, on the other hand didn’t appreciate my subtle supervisory role in the kitchen. “What’s that? You puttin’ that on the chicken? It’s not mustard, is it? Hmmm, smells exotic.” She deemed me a “picky eater,” a phrase that mothers regard with the same dismay as “sickly” or “lupus-filled.” I preferred to think of myself as opinionated and it was my opinion that I had already discovered all the good foods in the world and that other people had very very stupid taste buds. I also didn’t need to taste food to know that it was terrible. I went off instinct, a practice, I now realize, must have pissed my mom off something righteous.
I coasted through eighteen years of my life in ignorant bliss, never worrying what stuffing tasted like. Yes, that is how backwards I was. Stuffing! Butter and bread and butter and chicken broth and butter was deemed too much of a risk to my taste buds. I never wondered what tofu tasted like (I was shocked to discover the answer was “nothing”). I had never had Thai or Indian cuisine and I was sure Sushi was a fabrication of Hollywood. Then, within a matter of months, coinciding with my freshman year of college, I experienced a renaissance in my relationship with food. I was forced into a meal plan at school, and after a few weeks of overcooked spaghetti in “cream sauce.” I was desperate enough to venture into the world of cooking.
Concurrently, my girlfriend at the time began exposing me to all manner of food I wasn’t accustomed to. When I first gave in and tried “that green swampy muck that probably tastes like gutter water” I nearly wept. Guacamole was amazing! Thus began my love affair with avocados. I hadn’t found all the good foods. In fact, I had missed most of them. I had been wrong. So so wrong. From there, my palette exploded. I wanted to try everything. Except anything that had yellow mustard in any way associated with it. After all, a man must have a code.
I was high on the possibility of food. I even began to enjoy cooking to the point that I considered a career in the culinary arts. But my love of food was soon perverted by fear. The political side of food crept up on me, as did the vague claims of scientists and self-prescribed food aficionados. I had read Fast Food Nation a year earlier and that laid the groundwork of paranoia that would be my undoing. I became obsessed with buying only foods that were organic, non-GMO, sustainable, grass-fed, omega 3 rich, trans fat free, preservative free, free range, etc., etc., until the only thing I could eat was kale. One day, as I attempted to chew through undercooked organic kale enchiladas, I realized I had sapped all the fun out of food. It struck me with the clarity that can only be brought on by messing up an enchilada. It’s damn hard to screw up tortilla+cheese+sauce. I decided to stop worrying so much. I adopted the mantra of one of my favorite books, Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food: eat food. not too much. mostly plants. The first time through, I had missed the book’s intention of making food enjoyable again and had focused on the problems with the food industry and health concerns.
I’ve managed to mellow out a bit and I’m learning to enjoy food again, though I’ll be damned if I’m going to eat a non-organic peach and allow those cancerous pesticides to wreak their demonic havoc on MY BODY! Ok, I have a ways to go. On the positive side, my trek through the bleak world of food facts was born of a real passion and interest in food and I’ve come out with an appreciation for companies and organizations that genuinely care about the effect of food on the planet, the economy, and the health of humans.
I haven’t, however, recovered my love for cooking, as classes and work have made it merely a necessary evil. I’m resigned to the fact that I can’t make food that is restaurant quality, though I have disproved that many times. I’ve given up on making hummus altogether. I simply cannot replicate the taste of the store bought stuff. My sister has pointed out that perhaps my standards are too high.
That’s why I’m excited to spend Sundays cooking with my sister. I get to relax and take my time. We level each other out. I’m impatient and get hungry two or three times over just waiting for the oven to preheat. She’s more patient and enjoys building up a fierce hunger to pair with a meal. I’m more concerned with health factors such as additives and chemicals, and Karen is more concerned with figuring out how she can fit more cheese into a recipe. “Think I can just inject cheese right into this?” I oft hear her call as she stands over a dish holding her cheese syringe. She’s all about taste, something I need to rediscover in cooking. I’m learning to enjoy cooking again, not loving it again, but that will take time. I’ve been burned in the past.
So here’s my food philosophy in a nut shell: Everything in moderation except taste. And avocado. Tons of that. And yellow mustard. None of that.
Brother Tony's Food Philosophy:
Food is complicated. I have a love/hate relationship with it. It wasn’t always this way. There was a time when my food groups consisted of candy, Burger King, and whatever mom was making for dinner that night. Any food I hadn’t been exposed to in the first few years of my life, especially foods that seemed exotic, healthy, or smelled like they had mustard in them, I wouldn’t give a chance. Food was so easy. For me, at least. My mother, on the other hand didn’t appreciate my subtle supervisory role in the kitchen. “What’s that? You puttin’ that on the chicken? It’s not mustard, is it? Hmmm, smells exotic.” She deemed me a “picky eater,” a phrase that mothers regard with the same dismay as “sickly” or “lupus-filled.” I preferred to think of myself as opinionated and it was my opinion that I had already discovered all the good foods in the world and that other people had very very stupid taste buds. I also didn’t need to taste food to know that it was terrible. I went off instinct, a practice, I now realize, must have pissed my mom off something righteous.
I coasted through eighteen years of my life in ignorant bliss, never worrying what stuffing tasted like. Yes, that is how backwards I was. Stuffing! Butter and bread and butter and chicken broth and butter was deemed too much of a risk to my taste buds. I never wondered what tofu tasted like (I was shocked to discover the answer was “nothing”). I had never had Thai or Indian cuisine and I was sure Sushi was a fabrication of Hollywood. Then, within a matter of months, coinciding with my freshman year of college, I experienced a renaissance in my relationship with food. I was forced into a meal plan at school, and after a few weeks of overcooked spaghetti in “cream sauce.” I was desperate enough to venture into the world of cooking.
Concurrently, my girlfriend at the time began exposing me to all manner of food I wasn’t accustomed to. When I first gave in and tried “that green swampy muck that probably tastes like gutter water” I nearly wept. Guacamole was amazing! Thus began my love affair with avocados. I hadn’t found all the good foods. In fact, I had missed most of them. I had been wrong. So so wrong. From there, my palette exploded. I wanted to try everything. Except anything that had yellow mustard in any way associated with it. After all, a man must have a code.
I was high on the possibility of food. I even began to enjoy cooking to the point that I considered a career in the culinary arts. But my love of food was soon perverted by fear. The political side of food crept up on me, as did the vague claims of scientists and self-prescribed food aficionados. I had read Fast Food Nation a year earlier and that laid the groundwork of paranoia that would be my undoing. I became obsessed with buying only foods that were organic, non-GMO, sustainable, grass-fed, omega 3 rich, trans fat free, preservative free, free range, etc., etc., until the only thing I could eat was kale. One day, as I attempted to chew through undercooked organic kale enchiladas, I realized I had sapped all the fun out of food. It struck me with the clarity that can only be brought on by messing up an enchilada. It’s damn hard to screw up tortilla+cheese+sauce. I decided to stop worrying so much. I adopted the mantra of one of my favorite books, Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food: eat food. not too much. mostly plants. The first time through, I had missed the book’s intention of making food enjoyable again and had focused on the problems with the food industry and health concerns.
I’ve managed to mellow out a bit and I’m learning to enjoy food again, though I’ll be damned if I’m going to eat a non-organic peach and allow those cancerous pesticides to wreak their demonic havoc on MY BODY! Ok, I have a ways to go. On the positive side, my trek through the bleak world of food facts was born of a real passion and interest in food and I’ve come out with an appreciation for companies and organizations that genuinely care about the effect of food on the planet, the economy, and the health of humans.
I haven’t, however, recovered my love for cooking, as classes and work have made it merely a necessary evil. I’m resigned to the fact that I can’t make food that is restaurant quality, though I have disproved that many times. I’ve given up on making hummus altogether. I simply cannot replicate the taste of the store bought stuff. My sister has pointed out that perhaps my standards are too high.
That’s why I’m excited to spend Sundays cooking with my sister. I get to relax and take my time. We level each other out. I’m impatient and get hungry two or three times over just waiting for the oven to preheat. She’s more patient and enjoys building up a fierce hunger to pair with a meal. I’m more concerned with health factors such as additives and chemicals, and Karen is more concerned with figuring out how she can fit more cheese into a recipe. “Think I can just inject cheese right into this?” I oft hear her call as she stands over a dish holding her cheese syringe. She’s all about taste, something I need to rediscover in cooking. I’m learning to enjoy cooking again, not loving it again, but that will take time. I’ve been burned in the past.
So here’s my food philosophy in a nut shell: Everything in moderation except taste. And avocado. Tons of that. And yellow mustard. None of that.
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