We all know of Ponzi schemes run by unprincipled charlatans or Governments. Recently we were willing participants in such a scheme, that asks nothing more than a few kitchen ingredients and promises wonderful taste - The Amish Friendship Bread.
As you would soon learn, its neither Amish, nor a plain bread. It is a sweet Quickbread more like a cake. But its middle name - Friendship - is definitely an important part.
So, about a dozen nights ago, someone handed a cup of 'starter' in a gallon bag, accompanied with a recipe cum instructions to my spouse. She and I decided to share the task. The instructions spanned a 10 day duration, with most days requiring me to follow the instructions verbatim - 'Do Nothing'. The remaining 2 or 3 days had incomprehensible (to me) instructions written in an ancient and secret script that only those familiar with the arcane and forbidden art of Baking could decipher.
The instruction cum recipe sheet sounded rather ominous - "Nobody except the Amish know the secret of the 'Starter'".
It added to the mystique by informing us that if we destroyed or lost the starter, then we could only wait for someone to give us another starter. That bag looked as valuable as a ticket to enter a secret society that is by invitation only. Needless to say I decided to stay as far away from it as possible, lest my expertise at being a rather dexterous kind of klutz did quick work of this mysterious and magical ticket, leaving us at the mercy of another invitation, and further leaving me at the mercy of the sovereign that rules over me.
The thing in that gallon bag soon seemed to acquire a life of its own as every now and then the bag bloated up and had to be relieved of the gaseous buildup. The tiny microbes in it seemed to be belching out green-house gases more than the cows that are now being accused of flatulently heating up the planet. (Has anyone looked into the role of yeast in global warming?)
The previous night was chosen as an auspicious one by my spouse to bake a sweet cinnamon bread with it. And what a wonderful delight it turned out to be. Great with tea, even better with coffee.
On our part, we too passed the starter on to other friends who might enjoy it.
But now the adventure - our brief sojourn into the mysterious world of delights will soon be over. And we will then be waiting for the next magic ticket - the starter - to have another go.
P.s. What gave away the part about it not being Amish was '1 packet vanilla pudding' among the ingredients :-)
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
A Wednesday ...
(No, we're not talking about the recent Bollywood thriller.)
It was a Wednesday, a few weeks ago when I was asked by the First Lady of the household to drive over to River Market in Stillwater and pickup the first bounty of nature produced and packed exclusively in our name by our favorite CSA - Little Flower Farm.
Honestly enough I wasn't very excited by the idea -
(The following statement will give you a glimpse into the workings of my mind)
either they would send too little produce that won't suffice the week, or too much and it would spoil. To say nothing about how exactly we would go about planning our meals around it. Who would I talk to - about it - at the pickup site etc etc. Big Questions gnawing at my little mind.
Yet again, I am glad to be working under the tutelage of the head chef of our domestic kitchen, aka the benevolent Dictator of the household, who set about systematically proving me wrong, as soon as the prized box was delivered in her hands. I looked gingerly on (pun intended) as she sorted through, what looked like a scary, leafy green monster into lettuce, Swiss Chard and an assortment of aromatic herbs.
At the same time her other 2 hands had put a pan on the stove, drizzled some EVOO (extra virgin olive oil), chopped garlic and started sauteeing it. By now her first set of two hands had chopped up the Swiss Chard into less intimidating pieces and was selecting the herbs to go with. Dizzied by the dexterity of so many hands flying around, I needed a drink and headed to the table - where I was served with a delectable concoction entitled - "swiss chard sauteed with garlic and parsley, served with pappardelle pasta, seasoned with lemon-pepper and garnished with parmesan cheese" by the head-chef herself. A title that contains the recipe as well.
Thanks to our CSA, a mundane midweek day has been transformed into a celebration of gastronomical delights - so much so that it has begun to rival the king of the week - Friday. And another unmentionable fact is that it is taking me - a carnivore of convictions - another step closer to total herbivorism. In this age of globalization, it is somewhat comforting to know that on at least few days - the food we eat was grown on a 2 acre farm 25.6 miles away from our kitchen. Call it our own way of going local.
It was a Wednesday, a few weeks ago when I was asked by the First Lady of the household to drive over to River Market in Stillwater and pickup the first bounty of nature produced and packed exclusively in our name by our favorite CSA - Little Flower Farm.
Honestly enough I wasn't very excited by the idea -
(The following statement will give you a glimpse into the workings of my mind)
either they would send too little produce that won't suffice the week, or too much and it would spoil. To say nothing about how exactly we would go about planning our meals around it. Who would I talk to - about it - at the pickup site etc etc. Big Questions gnawing at my little mind.
Yet again, I am glad to be working under the tutelage of the head chef of our domestic kitchen, aka the benevolent Dictator of the household, who set about systematically proving me wrong, as soon as the prized box was delivered in her hands. I looked gingerly on (pun intended) as she sorted through, what looked like a scary, leafy green monster into lettuce, Swiss Chard and an assortment of aromatic herbs.
At the same time her other 2 hands had put a pan on the stove, drizzled some EVOO (extra virgin olive oil), chopped garlic and started sauteeing it. By now her first set of two hands had chopped up the Swiss Chard into less intimidating pieces and was selecting the herbs to go with. Dizzied by the dexterity of so many hands flying around, I needed a drink and headed to the table - where I was served with a delectable concoction entitled - "swiss chard sauteed with garlic and parsley, served with pappardelle pasta, seasoned with lemon-pepper and garnished with parmesan cheese" by the head-chef herself. A title that contains the recipe as well.
Thanks to our CSA, a mundane midweek day has been transformed into a celebration of gastronomical delights - so much so that it has begun to rival the king of the week - Friday. And another unmentionable fact is that it is taking me - a carnivore of convictions - another step closer to total herbivorism. In this age of globalization, it is somewhat comforting to know that on at least few days - the food we eat was grown on a 2 acre farm 25.6 miles away from our kitchen. Call it our own way of going local.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Of Sandwiches and control
What might buying a sandwich have to do with control issues one might wonder!
A lot, especially if you pay attention.
On one end of the spectrum is Jimmy John's where you in effect, cede all control over how your sandwich turns out. About 120-130 seconds after you uncertainly utter the number of the sandwich you want, and while you were still thinking of the veggies you might request or dressing you might want to hold, to assuage your guilt, the sandwich wrapped up is in your hands. If you start getting proactive and start rattling off your preferences right after choosing the sandwich number, you might as well be talking to the wind. The friendly order taker patiently waits through, what apparently she thinks is your "yadda yadda ... blah blah ...", until you pause to catch a breath, when she yells only your number to the production crew.
It makes you wonder though, somebody must have sat down to decide how much lettuce or mayo should go or not in a sandwich. From the taste of the finished product, that somebody seems less likely to be a chef and more likely a corporate head honcho.
See now what I meant about control? For your lunch, you in effect ceded control to a corporate suit to decide its specifics. I am sure it makes you feel so much better :-)
If it bothers you though, there is the other end of the spectrum in - Subway where the preparer is an artist of a very liberal predisposition and in effect refuses to accept the certainty of anything on her canvas - your sandwich, even bread. So you make choices over every little detail - salad/sandwich/wrap, bread (6 kinds), cheese (no,yes,double out of 5 kinds), toasted or not, meat selection and quantity, veggies out of a dozen choices and finally dressing - out of yet another dozen choices.
You cannot just point to a sandwich off the board and hope to escape the decision-tree that ensues. At the end of which, you have lost all interest in food and just want to pay and escape their clutches. No guarantee of taste here either, but at least it was you in the driver's seat.
If either extreme isn't for you, there is a middle of the road at Potbelly's where you have either choice. Pick a number and let them do it all, or pick a number and customize. They achieved this nirvana by limiting your choices to a handful (again that head honcho, but at least not a micro-manager). But if this were it life would be too simple. I have been there many times, but somewhere they manage to sneak in, what seems like a pint of olive oil into the sandwich, which drips to the wrapper, smears on your fingers and seems to stay with you for at least a week.
Any better suggestions? All I want is a decent sandwich.
A lot, especially if you pay attention.
On one end of the spectrum is Jimmy John's where you in effect, cede all control over how your sandwich turns out. About 120-130 seconds after you uncertainly utter the number of the sandwich you want, and while you were still thinking of the veggies you might request or dressing you might want to hold, to assuage your guilt, the sandwich wrapped up is in your hands. If you start getting proactive and start rattling off your preferences right after choosing the sandwich number, you might as well be talking to the wind. The friendly order taker patiently waits through, what apparently she thinks is your "yadda yadda ... blah blah ...", until you pause to catch a breath, when she yells only your number to the production crew.
It makes you wonder though, somebody must have sat down to decide how much lettuce or mayo should go or not in a sandwich. From the taste of the finished product, that somebody seems less likely to be a chef and more likely a corporate head honcho.
See now what I meant about control? For your lunch, you in effect ceded control to a corporate suit to decide its specifics. I am sure it makes you feel so much better :-)
If it bothers you though, there is the other end of the spectrum in - Subway where the preparer is an artist of a very liberal predisposition and in effect refuses to accept the certainty of anything on her canvas - your sandwich, even bread. So you make choices over every little detail - salad/sandwich/wrap, bread (6 kinds), cheese (no,yes,double out of 5 kinds), toasted or not, meat selection and quantity, veggies out of a dozen choices and finally dressing - out of yet another dozen choices.
You cannot just point to a sandwich off the board and hope to escape the decision-tree that ensues. At the end of which, you have lost all interest in food and just want to pay and escape their clutches. No guarantee of taste here either, but at least it was you in the driver's seat.
If either extreme isn't for you, there is a middle of the road at Potbelly's where you have either choice. Pick a number and let them do it all, or pick a number and customize. They achieved this nirvana by limiting your choices to a handful (again that head honcho, but at least not a micro-manager). But if this were it life would be too simple. I have been there many times, but somewhere they manage to sneak in, what seems like a pint of olive oil into the sandwich, which drips to the wrapper, smears on your fingers and seems to stay with you for at least a week.
Any better suggestions? All I want is a decent sandwich.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
