Sub-prime food posting

I haven't posted in a while, but I promise there will be many more stories coming shortly.  Stay tuned, the eating has not stopped.

All dressed up and nothing to eat

Every May brings the International Contemporary Furniture Fair, or ICFF to New York. This means lots of furniture and lots of parties (which translates to lots of interesting food). David and I usually exhibit there (he designs eco furniture and lighting) but this year, we decided to work on a large project elsewhere (an eco showhouse in the Hamptons). This also allowed us to have time to go to more of the ICFF parties.  

 

During the ICFF, design stores and design studios all over Manhattan and Brooklyn will have parties every single night. It is great fun and a wonderful way to schmooze and see old friends, but going to these types of parties means that I will be surrounded by “gorgeous nibbly things” (i.e. all of the delicious – and free - appetizers that I can not eat).  

 

I wind up being one of those impossibly annoying people who asks the waiters what every single ingredient in the food is. I try to be discreet and very polite, but I soon find myself inquiring "is it goat cheese, or cow's milk?" Or what grains the bread is made from. Waiters at these events are so patient, I really have great respect for them.

 

Most of these waiters try to understand food allergies, and will try to be helpful. But, often, you can't trust the answers, and if you are not sure, you have to skip it. It is tough to see all of these beautiful little appetizers going around, and often you think, well, a few of them won't kill me. But, I have learned to eat before I go out (so that I fill up and do not eat every single thing in sight at the parties), and then I can choose wisely, with a clear head (or, rather, a full stomach).

 

I will wind up doing things such as grabbing a piece of roast beef, rolled up on a miniscule piece of toast, and I just take the toast off and eat the roast beef (and then I collect the pieces of bread in a napkin, very discreetly). It looks weird, and I try not to let anyone see me doing this. I have really gotten quite good at doing this in the stealthiest way possible. Hey, whatever works.

 

And because so many people in New York are on so many crazy diets, it often does not matter when you find yourself standing in the middle of the room, all dressed up, taking your appetizer apart and putting on your reading glasses to examine each layer inside, one by one (ok, I don't really put on my reading glasses. Most times).

 

David and I were at a book party for our friend Rob Walker last week (for his great book, "Buying In." Check out more at www.murketing.com), and there was a tray sitting out, with lots of little pieces of toast, topped with roast beef, and teeny tiny garnishes (and yes, I have to figure out what those are, too, but they are usually something leafy or green, so they are probably safe grazing). David and I noticed that someone had eaten about 8 pieces of the roast beef, and left the little pieces of toast on the tray. I wondered if they were on a wheat free diet, or just on something like Atkin's (or just die-hard carnivores?).

 

Then while we were standing near the tray talking (just talking, we weren’t devouring ALL the appetizers), David noticed that someone had quickly eaten all of the leftover pieces of toast. So we started to watch the tray now and then to see when the roast beef would disappear, and then after that, when the little pieces of bread would disappear. Who were these mysterious (and picky) people? Were they on a diet? Or did they maybe have food allergies, like me? Or just weirdly selective taste buds? I tried to figure out who they were in the crowd, but they were very stealthy (actually, it was just a very good party, and I was distracted much of the time).

 

It was hours of entertainment, and I felt, well, thank goodness I am definitely not alone. 

Family Ties

Yesterday was Father's Day. David and I went to visit my parents in Queens, and we attempted to plan a meal, which is always more "complicated” than one would think. My family has very strange taste in food. Well, actually, they have no taste in food. You would think that this would make life simple, but it doesn’t.

 

My mother likes things that are extremely bland, and she will order the same dishes at the same two restaurants that she has been going to for decades (shrimp with lobster sauce at the same bland Chinese restaurant in Queens, or a roast beef, corned beef and turkey sandwich on rye from Ben’s deli. Ben’s is excellent, but she gets the same thing every time). My father is a tiny bit more adventurous, but my mother is worried about his cholesterol and his heart (although, really she was worried about this before he ever had heart or cholesterol issues), so she makes him eat bland things also.

 

If we all go out to a restaurant, my father will let me order a more interesting dish and he will try some of it. My mother won't touch it, always eyeing it with deep suspicion, convinced it will give her a stomach ache. She will also yell at my father, the entire time he is trying something new, saying "it's too spicy, you are going to get sick!" The rest of the family finds this endlessly entertaining.

 

I have tried to take my parents out for Japanese food (an utter disaster) and Korean barbecue (another disaster), and then I basically gave up.

 

When I was growing up, I remember my father buying a wok in the '70's and experimenting with Chinese cooking. He did a pretty good job, too. He also used to bake and was interested in various types of food, but my mother never wanted to eat them. And we didn't eat out very often - it was maybe a once a week treat - and we would always get Chinese food, “Jewish deli,” or Italian food (ie, spaghetti and meatballs, or veal parmigiana). 

 

I think that my father once was a secret foodie, but because my mother is obsessed with eating bland food, and is afraid that everything will make her sick, my father just goes with whatever her diet is, and he eats whatever is around. Plus, my father is the type of man who is very happy with eating cake for breakfast. Chocolate cake. So, he is pretty easy to please.

 

CAKE FOR BREAKFAST

When I was growing up, my father and I would wake up early and take Pepperidge Farm chocolate cake out of the freezer, and eat it for breakfast. We were both deliriously happy (being all sugared up at 8 am is nothing but FUN), until my mother came in and had a coronary about it. Of course that didn’t stop us from repeating the food felony over and over.

 

THE SAGA OF THE FAMILY BARBECUE

For this past Father's Day, David and I wanted to barbecue. We live in an apartment without any terrace or outdoor space, and we always ask my parents if we can barbecue whenever the weather allows (note: we do all of the cooking, whenever we see my family. Part of this is because we want to get my parents to try new foods, and part of this - a strong part of this - is because we want to eat something that actually tastes good).

 

Every time we go to a family dinner at my parents, we put one ingredient in the salad that they are not used to. This is not to be mean, it's just a way of making life interesting (and making our food interesting). Plus, it always makes for good stories later on.

 

The "mystery ingredient" always causes deep concern and provokes fear, and very long discussions amongst the entire family. I have three uncles and they (and their families) all react the same way as my mother. But David and I keep trying "new" things in the salad: things that will not make them sick, and things that we can explain to them easily. 

 

Every item has created a new, if predictable complication. Orange peppers once caused a furor. Yellow tomatoes caused an uproar, and nobody believed that they were not a form of some spicy, exotic hot pepper (and we kept explaining that we added those in because they were less acidic. Nobody believed us). Mushrooms created a 30 minute argument. Avocadoes created maybe the biggest scandal. Everyone was convinced I had put the vegetable equivalent of blowfish inside the salad, trying to kill us all.

 

GAZPACHO ON RYE?

My parents had a party when my nephew Dylan was born. I made gazpacho (which I can make well. As I've said, I can chop, blend, boil, bake and, occasionally, broil. I do not like to cook, but I can make enough things with those skills. And I do especially like making gazpacho, since it doesn't feel like I am "cooking").

 

My parents put out a spread of roast beef, corned beef, turkey and rye bread for the party. I brought the gazpacho in a giant bowl, and set it down near the sandwiches, along with some bowls.

 

My uncles started dipping their small plastic knives in the gazpacho, and spreading it on the rye bread. I had no idea what they were doing.

 

I walked over to one of them, to ask what he thought he was eating, and he said, "Lori, this is very good Russian dressing. A little spicy, but not bad."

 

I explained that it was gazpacho. A GIANT BOWL of gazpacho, not a giant bowl of Russian dressing. My uncle had no idea what I was talking about.

 

When I told him what it was, he said, "Oh, is that too spicy?"

 

I said, "You've been eating it; you tell me."

 

He said, "well, it's a little spicy. Maybe I shouldn't have any more."

 

It is astonishing that I even want to eat at all.

 

IT’S TOO MUCH BOTHER

So, this past weekend, planning the menu for my parents was impossible. The barbecue discussion created a huge drama.

 

My mother said what she always says:

"It's too much bother."

 

I said what I always say:

"Mom, how is it too much work, if we are doing everything, and you are doing NOTHING?"

 

We usually give in to them, but I wanted to make something special for Father's day. And, I selfishly wanted to use the barbecue, which nobody else ever uses. My parents had gotten rid of their barbecue years ago, and instead would bring a George Foreman grill outside.

 

I explained that this was not barbecuing; this was simply grilling on a George Foreman grill.

 

My mother said that taking the grill outside, officially made it a "barbecue."

 

David and I gave them another barbecue a few years ago, which they never use. It now lives in my parents' backyard shed, along with the wood chips we get from Whole Foods (instead of charcoal). My mom was worried about the charcoal (and in reality, I should not be using regular charcoal and lighter fluid, that stuff is quite nasty, when you stop and think about it), so we now use the wood chips and start the fire with newspaper in a metal can “chimney,” which works just fine.

 

David and I finally convinced my parents to let us bring food to grill outside yesterday, and then my mother said "you kids eat what you want. Your father and I are picking up Jewish deli."

 

By the way, all cold cuts in our household are called "Jewish deli." This type of food used to be called "food from the appetizing store," but now it is just called "Jewish deli."

 

So, after much, much, much, MUCH debate with my parents, I gave up (and lost my voice). David and I picked up salmon and swordfish at Whole Foods, and then we made kabobs and David grilled them, just for ourselves. I got a bit extra so that my parents could at least taste what we were cooking.

 

By the time we got to my parents (at 4pm), my mother said that she could not wait for us to eat dinner, and wound up eating her turkey and roast beef sandwich indoors, with my dad, while we were grilling outside.

 

This is typical of my family. Everyone eats something different, and they all eat at different times. But, everyone will get absolutely crazy, if you suggest that this is not a "family dinner."

 

My mother will say "what are you talking about? We are a close family, we all get along!"

 

Strangely, we all DO get along. With all of the crazy arguments about food, we honestly do love each other and are good to each other and get along. There is a lot of laughter and a wonderful, communal sense of humor in our family. But, we do not have family dinners. And, my family is crazy. I know that all families are crazy, and this is just the way in which my own particular family shows their craziness. Once I realized that, life became much easier to deal with. It could absolutely be much worse.

 

But, we do not have family dinners.

 

David did a wonderful job with the kabobs, he added peppers and onions and tomatoes to them, and we sat outside and ate them, while my parents sat and watched, marveling at David’s grilling skills. (Speaking of David’s culinary skills, he even made a wonderful marinade with wheat free tamari, just for me. Now that’s love)! 

 

I made my mother taste the salmon and then the swordfish and she said "Oh, that's delicious."

 

I said, "will you eat this next time?"

 

And she said, "Of course." Then she paused and said, "Well, if it's not too spicy."

 

We then brought out dessert, which everyone ate at the same time, in the same place (this happens in our family with desserts, because we all have huge sweet tooths and dessert seems to be far more important to eat together).

Dessert usually consists of flourless chocolate cake for both me and my sister-in-law, Jennifer (she often picks it up at great bakeries in Park Slope, or I sometimes pick it up on the Lower East Side at How Sweet It Is, which used to also be a great wheat free bakery called Happy Happy Happy), and then my parents will pick up a cake from their favorite place: Waldbaum's. They honestly aren't that bad (although, the frosting-to-cake ratio is way too high, it’s like having a little bit of hot dog with your ketchup), but I always want to get my family something “nicer,” but in their minds, nothing is nicer than Waldbaum’s.

 

The family dinners are getting even more anarchistic. At one recent gathering, each of us picked up different foods. My brother and his wife picked up deli at Ben's in Bayside; my brother's kids (my little niece and nephew) each had THEIR own cuisine (hot dogs for one, pizza with the cheese removed for the other – not to be confused with cheeseless pizza, which my nephew tells me is not the same.  And I sort of get that); David and I decided not to argue with my family about food (for once) and picked up dinner at Joe's Shanghai in Flushing (unlike the Manhattan branch, there is rarely a line here); and here is the best part - my parents picked up deli at Ben's as well, but they got hungry before we all got to the house, so they picked up the food hours beforehand, and ate before we all arrived.

 

I have often brought this topic up with my mother and the conversation goes like this:

 

ME: Mom, why can’t you wait for the whole family to sit down and eat?”

 

MOM: I have to eat the minute I’m hungry, or else I will die of hunger.

 

ME: Why can't you just eat an apple or a banana or even half a sandwich, before we come over, to hold you until we all eat together?

 

She then looks at me as if I am utterly crazy; as if I’d just asked her to remove the plastic coverings from the sofa.

 

CHICK OF THE SEA

My mother is very food obsessed. She is not, though, a foodie. These are very different things, or at least they are in my family. As I said, she does not try anything new, and is afraid of everything. She often says “I like it, but it disagrees with me.” And often, she is referring to something that she has never tried in her life.

 

But she will obsessively buy whatever she likes, and she is always afraid that she will run out of things. Whenever tuna is on sale, she will buy it. Lots of it. She usually has an average of about 74 cans of tuna, stored in the basement, at all times. She is very upset now, because of all of the mercury warnings in tuna. She has to eat less tuna, which she used to eat every single day, and so she is terribly sad over the fact that she can't continue to buy tuna whenever it is on sale. She hates to miss a sale on tuna.

 

Whenever my mother is eating a meal, she will start talking about what she is going to eat for her next meal. Or, she will ask you what you are going to eat next. I often don't know what I want to eat, until a half hour beforehand. So having this type of conversation with my mother never goes well.

 

I think that it truly is a miracle that I want to eat any interesting food at all, but I think a lot of foodies come from families like this. David is a foodie, in a low key sort of way, but his family is very interested in food. His sister Karen is an amazing chef, and so is her husband (I introduced them. I knew that they were perfect for each other when he was trying to impress her on their first date, and he made his own pasta for her). I love going food shopping with Karen, it is one of the most fascinating things I have ever seen. She will pick up things that I don't recognize, and say "what's this? And, how can we cook it?" I had never thought about food that way, until I met her.

 

I think it is hard to live in New York without being obsessed with food, one way or another. There is so much possibility around every corner. The question is whether you fear it or seek it out.