Rice and peas, peas and rice

Have you ever tried ackee and saltfish? Macaroni pie? Ever sandwiched a pattie in a soft, sweet coco bread? Do you think Solomon Gundy must be a misspelling of a classic nursery rhyme*?

If you've never travelled to the Caribbean you've probably been missing out on the best of West Indian cuisine. According to Wade Lyn's post on word of mouth, The Observer's food blog, "recent research revealed that in Yorkshire 51% of people have tried a samosa and 46% a Thai curry, while across the whole country, only 13% have tried a Caribbean pattie..."

The question of some cuisines becoming more mainstream than others is a complex one that could be the subject of a PhD thesis. It's worth reading the lively debate in the comments section of the word of mouth post; it provides lots of hypotheses and recommendations from readers for place to find the best jerk and rice and peas.

*Solomon Gundy is a spicy smoked herring paste from Jamaica.

Knit night cupcakes

Just when I thought I was getting sick of cupcakes, I see these gorgeous ones from VeganYumYum via Design*Sponge.

My Kitchen Garden: Volume 5, aka Goodbye New York

My last days in New York were crammed full of deliciousness of all kinds. At first I tried to fit in all the things I hadn't done, then I went back to revisiting my favourites places. All the while I was finishing up all of my work at the pottery. Considering how quickly it was all glazed, I am happy with the results. This is one of my favourite bowls, filled with one of my favourite fruits.


I made good use of the "this is the only chance I will get to eat this" excuse, especially when it came to sweet things! Despite their beauty, I managed to resist these cookies in the window of Once Upon a Tart in Soho...


...but I went all out when we had dinner at Craftsteak. It was a scorching Sunday evening and we were treated to gorgeous buttermilk-esque dinner rolls to start.


They were followed by silky fresh Hamachi with pineapple, lavender and radish.


I deliberated on my choice of steak, but decided on medium-rare grass-fed sirloin steak (we were told grass fed beef is more hay-flavoured than buttery, corn fed beef, but slightly less juicy as it is leaner). It was delicious, and the description was spot-on. The steak was much less rich than ones I've had at other NYC steak joints - in a good way. The texture was firmer with a fresh, herbal note.


I had to try Jan's dessert before I even tried my own. From left to right, three ice creams; honey and lavender, beautiful periwinkle blueberry, and vanilla bean. The lavender overwhelmed the honey, but otherwise that would have been my favourite one.


None of the deserts topped my chocolate souffle. It was rich, thick and dark with chocolate but still light enough to be called a souffle. The mint chocolate chip ice cream that accompanied it was slightly too peppermint for me, I would have been more than happy with just the sweet, creamy custard that came in a tiny pouring boat.


I can't complain at being given a nice little muffin to take home for breakfast the next day. I didn't eat it for breakfast, but I did eat it and it was good.


This is the eco-transport of a new bakery that opened on 7th Ave at the corner of Waverly Place a few months ago; Birdbath. It might seem a little gimmicky at first but at least they are making an effort; all the furniture in the shop is made from used, mostly industrial materials, the use of energy was considered in the choice of appliances, lighting, etc, and the books and other objects they sell are all used. And the little carrot cake loaves are great too.


And this brings me to the end of my time in New York, which ended up being the end of my kitchen garden too. The plants would have died without me, so I had to get to them first - and the basil was really the only one that was ready to eat. Above the "bountiful" harvest is presented amongst some of my pieces of pottery. I call them my golf balls.


The basil was crisp and full of flavour, and it made my final meal much more notable than it would have been otherwise. Hopefully my second kitchen garden will have more longevity.

A taste of the past

My favourite NYC museum, The Lower East Side Tenement Museum, is expanding. Well, that's not really it, because the space already exists. Renovating? No. Degrading? Sort of.

According to this Grub Street post, the museum plans to expand to show more of the experience of tenement dwellers between 1863 and 1935. They will recreate a privy behind the building and restore (that's the word) the Bavarian saloon that was in the basement of 97 Orchard Street, in addition to the five apartments that are already open to the public. Apparently the Bavarian saloon of the 19th Century LES was a family affair, with wives and kids welcome. Food and drink will be in keeping with the time, as is the rest of the building. I wonder what will be on offer?

After sampling the saloon offerings it might be worth heading to Lorely, the German biergarten-style bar on Rivington near Bowery, to sample traditional German beer and food in a more contemporary setting. It serves the same purpose the saloon did in its time for current German ex-pats in NYC; it offers a taste of home. Kartoffelsuppe, Spaetzle and Weissbier abound. But it's not really a place for kids.

Kaesespaetzle mit Speck

Cheesed-off

Oh, the irony. I just came back from my local gourmet food store where I was browsing for dinner ideas. I decided, while in the vegetable aisle, to make some guacamole and have it with black beans and rice. I gathered ingredients then headed over to the bountiful cheese section to find something to go on top of the beans. I wanted to use a Mexican cheese - preferably Cotija, the salty, crumbly one, but Oaxaca cheese, the melty one, would do.

Of the hundreds of cheeses on offer, not one was Mexican. This in a store where the vast majority of staff are Hispanic, some from Mexico, and in a city with a growing Mexican population. The bias is towards European cheese, as it usually is, but there are hardly any American cheeses on offer either. In the end I had to buy Ricotta Salata to stand in for Cotija.

I know the reasons behind this - there is not much demand for Mexican ingredients at gourmet food stores in downtown Manhattan, there are probably hundreds of other stores in the city that sell it - but there are some anomalies. They sell fresh corn tortillas, why not Mexican cheese? Frozen burritos, enchiladas and quesadillas, but no cheese to make them. Sad.

Competition Entry

Back in March I entered the Waitrose Food Illustrated search for a new food writer. No, I didn't win, but the winning entry has been published in the August Issue of WFI and you can read it here. It's very good. And if you feel so inclined you can read my entry here:


Beast of Baking

“Off-limits” was something I experienced very little as a child. The medicine cabinet was definitely a no-go, and I wasn’t particularly welcome in my brother’s room either, but otherwise there were few barriers to my explorations at home. This made it even more frustrating that opening the deep, wide cupboard on the side of the kitchen island was prohibited. I knew what was in there, but I wanted more than a glimpse or a touch. I wanted to use it; to plug it in, to attach things and to be in control of the large, white contraption that was so powerful and enigmatic.

The electric mixer was mysterious and magical in both its physical characteristics and its abilities. It seemed to me like the heaviest thing on earth. Occasionally I would open the cupboard and try as hard I could to make the thing budge, but it wouldn’t move an inch. Lying on its side on its special pivoted shelf that rose up and locked at countertop level, it seemed like a sleeping monster in its den. The movable parts that connected to the front and underside of its hinged torso were weird and wonderful limbs with fascinating functions. It was the equivalent of a bizarre, beastly Mr. Potato Head. Its electrical umbilical cord placed it firmly on the grown-up side of the toy world and made sure that it was only for use with adult supervision.

The most fantastic part of the mixer was watching it work and imagining the outcome. On occasion I would come home to the dull, undulating whirr of the machine, and I would walk straight into the kitchen excited to see it high on its pedestal. I soon developed a hierarchy of mixer attachments: the lowest on the ladder was the dough hook, as its use meant that a thick, heavy, wholegrain bread was on the way; the middle rung was occupied by the meat grinder, which ground steak into mince for burgers or Bolognese, two of my dinnertime favourites; and finally the whisk attachment which I wanted to see most, used mainly for the magical creaming of butter and sugar that was the base of so many cakes and cookies of my dreams. I would watch in awe as ingredients were either ground, kneaded or mixed to create something new and awesome.

I wanted more than anything to be in control of the machine, to play at making a magic potion. My mother was not cruel; when she was using it I was allowed to be the kitchen helper. During those encounters I learnt that sometimes, especially when baking, it is important to be precise in the kitchen. In fact, I still think of measures in terms of the yellow cups and spoons we used. On the other hand I learnt that through practice it is possible to be creative and experiment with both quantities and ingredients. Recipes came not only from books, but also from scraps of paper on which notes were scribbled down in someone else’s kitchen. Sometimes they came straight from my mother’s head.

My sensory memories of my early baking experiences are the strongest. They start with the textures of the ingredients: cold, silky butter slipping out of my hot little fingers and clouds of super-fine flour settling in my hair and on my apron. I would dip into the mixing bowl at every chance, even when the butter and sugar were hardly combined and the grains of sugar crunched loudly between my teeth. However the finished batter was always the best, and therefore I detested my mother’s rubber spatula which robbed me of some of the last of the batter that clung to the bowl (I already had enough competition from my brother). After retrieving the bowl from the grip of the machine, I would retreat to the kitchen table and use the rubber spatula to get as much of the batter as I could into my mouth. Inevitably it would coat my face and clothing too. Just as I was finishing the bowl the sweet smell escaping from the oven would announce the impending arrival of the finished treat. There was never a dull moment.

The food that came out of the mixer was not always perfect, but I learnt to appreciate the process as well as the result. Although I preferred, at that age, a delivery pizza to my mother’s whole-wheat deep pan, I began to value the fact that that bread rose out of the flour, water and yeast we had mixed together. This culinary romanticism is something I have carried through to adulthood. Food with a story just tastes better. When enjoying baked goods made with care for the village fete, imported mountain cheese made of milk from a small herd in Switzerland or homemade tomato soup, the knowledge of where the food came from and how it was made is almost as important to me as the ingredients themselves.

Before I was old enough to use the mixer independently we moved abroad and had to leave it behind. Sadly, we didn’t replace it, so when I recently invested in one of my own I knew immediately which recipe I wanted to try first. Chocolate chip cookies are heaven to adults and children alike. I like to make these with my niece, and though I now understand the concern about small fingers near mixers, sharing in her anticipation makes the baking all the more enjoyable.

Dried cherries give these a more adult flavour, but you could leave them out or split the batch. Although it is easier to make these in an electric mixer with a whisk attachment, a handheld electric whisk also works well. You can use a large bowl and wooden spoon instead, but call in the reinforcements as you’ll need a lot of elbow grease to thoroughly cream the butter and sugar together.

Cherry Chocolate Chip Cookies

Makes approximately 3 dozen cookies

225 g unsalted butter (at room temperature)
200g light muscovado sugar
100g golden caster sugar
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla
225 g plain flour
½ tsp bicarbonate of soda
½ tsp salt
250 g rolled oats
170g chocolate chips or chopped dark chocolate
100g dried cherries

Preheat the oven to 165 C (Gas mark 3). Put the top shelf about two-thirds of the way up the oven. Grease a baking tray. I like to use leftover butter wrappers for this as they have the perfect amount of butter and I can feel a little greener for it.

Whip the butter until it becomes pale. Cream the sugars into the butter about 50 grams at a time. At the end most of the sugar will have dissolved and you should have a pale and fluffy mound with just a few grains of sugar creating crunch when you taste it (which you should).

Add one egg to the mixture at a time, beating gently until incorporated. Don’t forget to use that trusty rubber spatula to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Mix in the vanilla.

In a small mixing bowl combine the flour, bicarbonate of soda and salt. Slowly add the flour mixture to the butter, sugar and eggs by the heaping spoonful, being careful not to beat the mixture too furiously as this will toughen the dough.

Stir in the oats. If all of the dough is sticking to your whisk you may need to abandon the gadgets at this point and start mixing with a spoon. Fold in the cherries and the chocolate chips. Try to distribute them evenly in the dough that there is at least a taste of chocolate and cherry in each cookie.

Using two spoons, measure generous tablespoonfuls of dough onto your baking sheet about two inches apart. Flatten the dough out with the back of a fork and place the tray in the oven. Avoid the temptation to multitask at this stage, as the cookies need a keen eye. I enjoy watching through the oven door as the dough spreads out and marks its territory on the sheet.

When you see the cookies start to brown at the edges they’re close to done. This should take 8-10 minutes depending on the thickness of your baking tray. For chewy cookies, take them out when they are golden but still glistening. If you prefer a crunch, leave the cookies to develop a rich brown border. Let the cookies cool on the sheet for a few minutes before removing them to a wire rack.

I love these warm out of the oven. If you manage to restrain yourself, they will keep for a day or two in an airtight container. If not, tuck in and indulge your inner child!

My Kitchen Garden: Volume 4

That was close. We were both supposed to be away for the past couple of weeks, and the herbs would have had a premature death due to dehydration. Luckily for them (but not for him), Jan had to stay at home while I was away, so the plants get to live! For now.

The basil is very upright, the parsley is a little bit wonky and the coriander is all topsy turvy. But there are real, recognisable little leaves on all of them now, the largest of which are about 15mm long. Which means it might soon be time for a microgreens salad.

Two weeks of mourning

Foods can carry strong associations with people, time, seasons, weather, moods and places. Over years of coming up to Ontario’s cottage country for a lakeside break over the summer, my family has begun to associate the cottage with grilling, and meat in particular. We’re not always a meat-centric bunch, but something about this place (might have something to do with the oven being broken) leads us to cook outside on the barbecue daily. And this means trying to source some good meat in the Haliburton Highlands, a land of mid-sized grocery stores stocking the basics and little more.

The Butcher Block & Deli in Haliburton, Ontario, used to be our saving grace. It stocked excellent quality meats including homemade sausages and a wide range of fish. The products were not organic, or particularly local, but there was an excellent range and there were definitely people who cared behind the counter. A young man owned the store and took care to stock good cuts of high quality meat and other fine foods – it was the only place for 50 km that sold wholegrain Dijon.

The first thing on the to do list at the cottage is always a trip to the Butcher Block, so you can imagine the shock we felt when we found that our beloved shop had been replaced with a women’s clothing store. The young guy who ran it couldn’t keep it up anymore and has gone into the construction business, which is booming in the area. We might as well have worn black for the remainder of our visit, we were so upset. Our moods and insulin levels were temporarily heightened by the fantastic butter tarts at Ingoldsby Junction Buttertarts (Lower Level 177 Highland St, Haliburton, ON K0M 1S0), but the sadness returned.

In the end we ended up ferrying up meat from Toronto, from Fresh From The Farm (great sausages!) and Cumbrae's (just fantastic). We even had some Ontario lamb from the local IGA in Minden (not bad either). But it's just not the same.

Butcher Block & Deli
RIP

My Kitchen Garden: Volume 3

Basil

Parsley

Coriander

We have progress! Everything has sprung up. In fact the coriander shoots are becoming a tangled mess and I'm not sure what to do about it. The most exciting development is that new, real leaves are appearing on all the herbs so they are starting to look more like their "adult" selves. I am slightly worried about what is going to happen to them while I am away over the next few weeks though. I would hate for them to wilt away for lack of watering. Can you take plants across the US/Canada border?

SF Signage

Slightly off-topic, I know, but I had to share some photos of signs and store fronts from San Francisco. I spent a lot of my time there looking up and around at the great 60s and 70s (I imagine) lightboxes, neon signs and store fronts. Check out Little Paris - a great, if slightly out of place, storefront in Chinatown. And I threw in an old rusty car for good measure.

San Francisco Treats

I could write an entry about every single thing I ate, and lots of things I only looked at, while I was in San Francisco. Unfortunately that’s too much of an undertaking right now, so here are some of the highs (and lows):

The Ferry Plaza Farmer’s Market at the Embarcadero:

This is the ultimate farmer’s market, especially at this time of year. Cornucopia would be an understatement. There is a (well, at least one) reason why most of the produce in the U.S.A, and in fact a lot of the fruit sold around the world, is grown in California; the climate is perfect for it. Year round sun and very little cold make for a very long, almost interminable, growing season.

What you get at the Farmer’s market is the perfect mix of people who care about farming, the environment, and of course, taste. There were many small, local growers, some organic, and there was a wild variety of produce. Not only were there yellow peaches and (exotic in some places) white ones, but varieties like the strawberry peach – so juicy and sweet I thought it might have been steeped in syrup. And these onions were the size of my forearm.



Mushrooms were equally well represented. In the ferry building there are many gourmet stores selling everything from chocolates to cutlery, and many stalls were selling ready made food. We sampled tamales (cornmeal steamed in a husk) for the first time, and although I have no others to compare it to, it was fabulous.



Bar Tartine, The Mission District:

Bar Tartine was a chowhound discovery. I already knew about it’s sister joint, Tartine Bakery, from ogling over their cookbook – it’s been on my Amazon wishlist for months. But when I found out they had a restaurant (and people on Chowhound gave outstanding reviews overall, so I knew it would be good) I had to go.

Jan hasn’t stopped talking about it since, and he’s a bread connoisseur, so you know the bread was outstanding. It was an open texture, wheaty sourdough, served with perfectly chilled butter. The gorgonzola stuffed medjools I ordered to nibble on came drizzled with rich balsamic. Although they looked a little underinflated, the ratio of date to cheese was appropriately high once I tasted them – the cheese just cut through the sweetness of the fruit at the end.

The rest of the food was a nice mix of traditional with innovation – quite typically California cuisine (more about that later). Jan’s ceviche was simple but well executed, my zucchini flowers were stuffed with brandade rather than cheese, a nice twist, and my gnocchi were so airy that might as well have floated to my mouth. My only disappointment was dessert – while Jan’s cheese came in perfect, manageable portions, my chocolate trifle was with caramel and salt ice cream was overwhelming. A quarter of the size, with more carefully calculated ratios of cake, cream, caramel and ice cream, would have been blissful.



The décor matched the food perfectly. Simple but beautiful pieces well combined. There was one of Jason Miller's antler-inspired chandeliers, white walls, a long banquette along one side, and wooden tables and chairs. The bar was a gorgeous, solid-looking piece of marble, and the partially visible kitchen was a gleaming stainless steel. The atmosphere was relaxed, as were the clientele.

Foreign Cinema, The Mission District:

It’s dinner and a movie. Literally. At Foreign Cinema, you can watch while you eat, from either the heated and covered (with a clear awning) outdoor area, or a little less clearly from inside. A great idea.

In the summer, the movie starts late since it’s too light to show it early in the night. We just caught the beginning of Pan’s Labyrinth as we were finishing our food, and it was the coolest part of the evening.

Jan has written off Foreign Cinema since the bread was disappointing. I agree that the bread wasn’t great, and that the food was not spectacular – it was good, but not great. This is not somewhere that I would recommend to foodie friends visiting San Francisco since the food is not the highlight, but I can see the attraction of something a little different for locals. And perfect for a date.

Tartine Bakery, The Mission District:

The greatest disappointment of the trip, maybe the whole year. We rolled up to Tartine Bakery at 1.25 on Monday afternoon, hungry for lunch, and with dreams of sugarplum pastries in our heads (well, at least in mine). I spotted the display counter from across the street – glowing and glistening with lemon custard and icing sugar. As we walked closer, I eyed the plates of everyone sitting outside – sandwiches and paninis on the delicious bread we had eaten at Bar Tartine a couple of days prior. I also saw something chocolately and gooey that was calling out to me. I opened the door and was greeted by the waitress with a lovely - “We’re closed.”

Now, this took me some time to process, as it was so incongruous with the picture of a full patio and many seated at tables inside, still being served crisp green salads. I asked if I could come in and buy a pastry – no. Sure enough, the sign on the door said they were closing at 1:30 for repairs. What perfect timing. Others came and left, surprised, as I stood on the sidewalk outside as if I had been hit by a bus. How could they be eating while I stood outside hungry? And this was my only chance – our last day in town.


Taqueria El Toro, The Mission District:

The bright side of my disappointment was that this gave us time to squeeze in a “Mission burrito” which the area is quite famous for, and which have been around longer than any fancy bakeries in the area. Stuffed full of meat, beans and rice at the very least, and potentially also salsa, cheese, guacamole, they’re hefty to say the least. And I only had the “baby” size.



Chez Panisse, Berkeley:

This is a destination restaurant. El Bulli, The French Laundry, The Fat Duck, are unequivicably in the same category, and are perhaps better examples, but there are many others.

Truthfully, our trip to San Francisco was born of Jan’s Christmas gift to me: dinner at The French Laundry. After many attempts, I gave up on trying to get a reservation. I think it would be easier to arrange tea with the Queen. But luckily I’ve always wanted to go to Chez Panisse, it is closer to San Francisco than The French Laundry, and I imagine it’s more my sort of place. I would love to have tried The French Laundry, but I am not the type to buy Thomas Keller’s cookbook and derive inspiration from it. It’s a league apart. Alice Waters, on the other hand, is like my culinary guru.

I first heard of her while reading Adam Gopnik’s book Paris to the Moon. He discussed how she was asked to consult on the menu for the new cafes when the Louvre was redesigned. He mentioned her restaurant in Berkely as the epicenter of a new culinary movement in the USA, now often called “California cuisine”, with seasonal, local ingredients as building blocks, prepared with traditional, minimalist techniques to showcase the best the market has to offer. I was mostly impressed with the fact that such a grand French institution had brought in an American woman to tell them about food. She had to be good.

Then I found out that Sally Clarke, of Clarke’s in London, had studied with Walters and emulated her ideals in her own restaurant and bakery. I still have yet to eat at the restaurant, but I had heard great things, and the bakery has always been outstanding.

I could go on and on about the many great things I have heard about this place. I am happy to say now that I agree wholeheartedly with everything I have heard. Chez Panisse is the type of restaurant I would like to have. Homely and warm yet professional, gastronomically innovative yet traditionally rooted, ethical without giving up quality, and ravely reviewed yet approachable. Even the graphic design and interiors are traditionally inspired by the Arts and Crafts movement, yet do not have a “copy cat” feeling; they just fit.

Two friends who didn’t know I was going to San Francisco both asked, on my return, “Did you go to Chez Panisse? What did you have?” We had, between us:

Local hook and line-caught halibut tartare with avocado, cucumber, and cherry tomatoes, $12.00
Bellwhether Farm ricotta with roasted peppers, grilled summer vegetabes, and salsa verde, $10.00

Summer cassoulet with duck confit, grilled garlic sausage, shellbeans, and stuffed tomato, $24.00
Grilled Marin Sun Farm sirloin with shoestring potatoes and morel mushroom sauce hachee, $27.00

Nectarine and blueberry cobbler with peach leaf ice cream, $9.50

Since we ate upstairs at the café, we were spoilt for choices. Downstairs at the original restaurant there is a set menu every evening, priced differently on different days of the week. It is perhaps slightly more involved food in terms of preparation from what I can tell from the menu, but locals have told me the quality is equal.

The halibut tartare was the best dish either of us had over our four days in California. It was idyllic. The bread was excellent and the rest of the food was exemplary, too. The cobbler was as simple as it sounds, but it was perfect – the fruit was perfectly sweet-tart, the topping was buttery and light, and the peach leaf flavour of the ice cream was the perfect twist to take it away from something you may have dreamed up at home. It elevated the dish from comfort food to a step above.

Everyone in the room seemed happy.




Sonoma and the Sonoma Valley:

Jan is slightly sad about this part of the trip. Since we’ve been back from California we’ve only been drinking European wines. Having expected lush green vineyards, we were greeted by a dry, golden environment of rolling hills covered with heavily irrigated vines. The two vineyards we visited, while very friendly, lacked the soul that I was expecting. I am sure it exists, but I’ll have to put in some effort to find it next time.



The best part of our trip was Sonoma was eating the two perfectly ripe figs that Jan picked from the fig tree in the courtyard at the El Dorado hotel while we were having lunch. What was initially a rather ordinary lunch became very special.

My Kitchen Garden: Volume 2

I've been checking on my little darlings at least a few times a day. I thought it was all in vain until last night I saw a glimmer of white sprout - and this morning there was quite the show! The basil turns out to be a little precocious, sprouting on day 3, no less. Still no sign of the parsley or the coriander - maybe they're feeling shy.

My Kitchen Garden: Volume 1

Yesterday I took the plunge and planted the seeds I bought back in February. I'm using a planter that came with the soil included, in pellet form - perfect (I hope) for the urban gardener. Just add water.


I've planted Italian parsley (seeds above), as well as coriander and basil, since they are my most frequently used herbs. My punishment for procrastinating is that there will be no homegrown cherry tomatoes to go with my basil. They would hardly be rosy, let alone a deep red, before I head back to London in August.


The packets said the seeds should germinate in 7-14 days, but I'm hoping that the little greenhouse they are in will help them sprout up a little faster. Stay tuned.

KUIDAORE

This is too beautiful not to share. Check out the gorgeousness of KUIDAORE, a new favourite food blog of mine (that's new to me, not new to the world). Joycelyn writes mostly, though not exclusively, about baking and sweet things. Her writing is engaging, her photos are delectable and I imagine her food is both.

This little piggy ate junk food

The Food Section linked today to a highly disturbing article from the Wall Street Journal. Lauren Etter reports that due to rising demand for corn-based ethanol, a biofuel subsidized by the U.S. government, corn prices have risen so much that farmers are seeking other foodstuffs to feed their livestock. The result? Pigs and other animals are increasingly being fed "cookies, licorice, cheese curls, candy bars, french fries, frosted wheat cereal and peanut-butter cups" and other "human" junk food as a main part of their diet. Some farmers even feed piglets a "Cocoa Puffs"-like mixture of chocolate powder and cereal.

Why is this so shocking, when humans eat this stuff every day? I'm not a nutritionist, but it is generally accepted that junk food is not good for you and is only acceptable as part of a balanced diet. According to the WSJ article some farmers are using 100% "byproducts" to feed their livestock. I accept that this may be a passable way to put flesh on the bones of these animals in terms of food safety (without considering animal welfare), but I don't eat cheesies and trail mix all the time and I don't want to eat an animal that has, either.

Lauren Etter also commented that "Thanks to the ethanol rush, the price of a bushel of corn for months has hovered around $4 -- nearly double the price of a few years ago. That has prompted livestock groups like the National Cattlemen's Beef Association and the National Chicken Council to call for an end to federal ethanol subsidies, including a 51-cent-per-gallon tax credit offered to companies that blend gasoline with ethanol. For now, livestock must pay up or make do with alternatives."

Of course farmers are concerned about their bottom lines and have to maintain a profit margin, but environmentally it seems to me that the business of feeding animals junk food goes against the grain (better watch out for those puns). Is it energy efficient to feed animals highly processed food so that corn can be used to produce subsidized biofuel? I don't know.

A "good thing"

While waiting for a friend the other day I got a chance to go into a bookstore that I have always wanted to peruse - McNally Robinson (52 Prince St). Not only do they have a little cafe with handsome baked goods (unfortunately I had just had breakfast so I didn't get to try any), but they have a well organized selection of books and magazines.

The periodicals were already looking good from afar with a couple of my favourite titles such as COLORS, the visually arresting, socially conscious magazine and Adbusters, the Canadian quarterly that is "concerned about the erosion of our physical and cultural environments by commercial forces." But the display featured a few titles I hadn't heard of, including a new-ish publication called Diner Journal.

Apparently the adage "good things come to those who wait" holds true in this case; I was waiting, and a good thing appeared. Diner Journal is a delightful small-scale quarterly published by the staff of Diner and Marlow & Sons, two restaurants in Brooklyn. Unusually, Diner Journal is committed to showcasing the restaurants' own recipes and sources for local, seasonal food. Highlights in the current Spring issue (No. 3) include maple syrup stories, an interview with Guy Jones of Blooming Hill Farm, and recipes featuring asparagus, ramps and rhubarb. Although they are not written for the novice cook, these recipes will inspire you to head to your local farmers market and try something new. Although I haven't cooked directly from the journal, I did use their advice about ramps ("use them in everything as you would garlic") inspired me to put them in an asparagus and lemon risotto to great effect.

Diner Journal is not technically a zine since it is a commercial venture, but the layout and typography (and handwriting) and limited distribution (as far as I know DJ is only available at McNally Robinson or by subscription) of the publication place it in the middle ground between independent zines and bigger restaurant mags. The BLT restaurant empire has recently come out with BLT Living, a high-gloss quarterly complete with full page advertisements which is given to customers at BLT restaurants free, as reported in an article by Florence Fabricant in The New York Times. Diner Journal has no advertising (but has a cute grocery-style price tag of $7.50 on the inside cover) and comes with three hole punches down the side to help you store and reuse it.

A short piece in New York Magazine also contrasted Diner Journal with BLT Living, but likened it to Chez Panisse publications, which I have never had the fortune of reading. There must be many more small, worthy food publications, so I'm on the lookout.