First came the magazine. Then came the cookbook. The magazine folded. The cookbook may not have been remaindered but it was selling at steep discounts. There was a website that disappeared shortly after the print magazine. Now there’s an app for that!
Conde Nast had the biggest and arguably the best cooking magazine on the planet. They were shuttering a legend. To this day the Gourmet cookbook offers a free subscription to a magazine no longer in print. But the gang at Times Square knows the power of the brand. They gathered some friends, of whom they have many, and planned a limited release series of news-stand-only special editions. The first is “Gourmet Quick Kitchen” and two more, currently unnamed, are planned. If sales blossom, is a semi-annual or quarterly Gourmet big magazine in the future? We’ll have to wait to find out.
“Gourmet Quick Kitchen” was supposed to appear on newsstands Tuesday, September 7, 2010. I found it at the local Walmart on Saturday, September 4. Naturally, I bought a copy. Shopping was over for the day. I had to get home to read my treasure. The only thing I forgot was butter.
Once home, I sat down to read it. It felt good to be greeted by an unadorned gray inside front cover instead of ads. The first, unnumbered, page announces, “Here’s a secret:” and continues with a secret even better than the fact that lemon juice will curdle milk. Before the recipes begin on page 6 with Spicy Pepper and Garlic Shrimp and a handy Kitchen Tip on how to devein shrimp in the corner of the page and by the time we’ve developed a craving for snappy shrimp, we’ve already seen the Roasted Tomato Tart twice and we want to eat that too – now. The distance between pages 6 and 12 couldn’t be longer.
From the photo index on the inside back cover (no ads again!) I counted 81 recipes. All look scrumptious, probably due to the simple albeit sometimes whimsical photography. Total overall Start-To-Finish times range from 10 minutes to 3 hours. Three hours may not seem quick but good food sometimes takes time to put together and there are only a few items taking more than an hour. They look good enough to save for a less hectic day.
At 129 pages, Gourmet Quick Kitchen contains ten “chapters” of recipes, one Kitchen Notebook, one containing menus, and a recipe index. Sold in the magazine section with a cover price of $10.99, I consider it more a soft-cover cookbook than a magazine. One of the 10-minute recipes, Chile Peanuts, was similar to something I thought I invented. In contrast, one of the desserts had me slapping my forehead with the palm of my hand saying, “Why didn’t I think of that?” Nothing looks impossible for the home cook. Now the decision is what to cook first.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Birth of a Journal
I’ve attempted to write this entry two, three, four, maybe six times in the last month. Everything started out wrong, or starting right was stranded after a paragraph or two. Every failed attempt made me doubt my ability to write. This one seems to be doing the same.
An editing job has stagnated. That is totally unlike me. Normally, I dig in and mold words and sentences to say what they were meant to mean.
Am I losing my touch? Has the heat affected my brain? No, at least I hope not. I’m just getting old. Not senile, mind you, just old. My mind would rather wander to my past than work on the present. Remembering the first rose I smelled, a pink one, on October 5, 1968, will never leave my memory. It’s been said that trauma stays with you. That may be the reason I can remember the acrid smell of a forest fire when I was fourteen months old. Hogs surrounding the ’46 Nash in Farmer Paul’s field . . . .
The memories come faster now than they did a month ago. How fast will they arrive in September? When I hear my Internet friends talk about the journals they keep, I shy from the conversation as I have never kept a journal. My Aunt Evelyn gave me a diary for my birthday (or was it Christmas?). I was around ten I think. I remember unlocking the thing just to make sure the key worked. I flipped through the pages and locked it up again. That’s the last time I ever touched it. It was pink.
Dr. Judy has diagnosed a long-standing case of regret; regret that, imagining herself a writer, she has never taken the time or effort to record the things that made her who she is. Prognosis: If left untreated, the brain will clog with memories too precious or important to erase until all function ceases. There is a cure. Write about it! (That seems to be the cure to most writers’ problems.)
So today starts the jumbled journal that will be diary entries never written when they were new. Entries will be written out of chronological order, surfacing as they float to the top of my memory, interrupting my thoughts as they free themselves. As memories not as fresh as the eggs in my refrigerator, they may be more frantic or romantic than they originally occurred.
What use will this serve? It will free my mind to think of new things. Recording my past will give insight into my present and possibly my future. My daughter and her family will have a glimpse of my life from my point of view if they dare want it. Each entry might serve as a springboard for scenes or perhaps entire stories, long or short, when the creative well seems a bit dry.
My memory needs some exercise and starting today, it’s going to get it.
An editing job has stagnated. That is totally unlike me. Normally, I dig in and mold words and sentences to say what they were meant to mean.
Am I losing my touch? Has the heat affected my brain? No, at least I hope not. I’m just getting old. Not senile, mind you, just old. My mind would rather wander to my past than work on the present. Remembering the first rose I smelled, a pink one, on October 5, 1968, will never leave my memory. It’s been said that trauma stays with you. That may be the reason I can remember the acrid smell of a forest fire when I was fourteen months old. Hogs surrounding the ’46 Nash in Farmer Paul’s field . . . .
The memories come faster now than they did a month ago. How fast will they arrive in September? When I hear my Internet friends talk about the journals they keep, I shy from the conversation as I have never kept a journal. My Aunt Evelyn gave me a diary for my birthday (or was it Christmas?). I was around ten I think. I remember unlocking the thing just to make sure the key worked. I flipped through the pages and locked it up again. That’s the last time I ever touched it. It was pink.
Dr. Judy has diagnosed a long-standing case of regret; regret that, imagining herself a writer, she has never taken the time or effort to record the things that made her who she is. Prognosis: If left untreated, the brain will clog with memories too precious or important to erase until all function ceases. There is a cure. Write about it! (That seems to be the cure to most writers’ problems.)
So today starts the jumbled journal that will be diary entries never written when they were new. Entries will be written out of chronological order, surfacing as they float to the top of my memory, interrupting my thoughts as they free themselves. As memories not as fresh as the eggs in my refrigerator, they may be more frantic or romantic than they originally occurred.
What use will this serve? It will free my mind to think of new things. Recording my past will give insight into my present and possibly my future. My daughter and her family will have a glimpse of my life from my point of view if they dare want it. Each entry might serve as a springboard for scenes or perhaps entire stories, long or short, when the creative well seems a bit dry.
My memory needs some exercise and starting today, it’s going to get it.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Hiding Behind My Keyboard
It’s been way too hot to take Izzy eating. We learned that when we went to review Sarasota’s #1 pizza. Today’s not too bad except for the off-and-on drizzle. It’s not a good day to take my favorite canine out, though, since loud noises scare her so much and you never know where the fireworks are on the Fourth of July.
The pizza review never saw the light of day. It was a good pizza, don’t get me wrong. I’d eaten at the restaurant before when I used to work in the neighborhood. The food is terrific. The parking lot leaves a bit to be desired. The one table where Izzy might have eaten in the 90+ degree heat had an umbrella but was on a little corner of concrete jutting out at the end of the parking lot. Poor girl stayed inside the locked and running van while our pizza was cooked. We raced home to eat it. Izzy got more than I wanted to give up.
Giving up was not what we wanted to do with “Eating With Izzy.” Right now the plan is to resurrect the column when the weather cools off. We could feature a recipe eaten with Izzy once a month as a preview of an upcoming cookbook but that might compromise copyright with a publisher. I could take myself out for a meal and actually give the doggy bag to the dog and write restaurant reviews that way. I could beg off for most of the rest of hurricane season. Begging off doesn’t feel right.
I have been writing, though, and writing every day. Just this morning I finished an essay that, like most of my recent writing, won’t make me any money. Though I always caution new writers never to write for free, most of those cautions are posted on a volunteer message board. Go figure. The essay contest I just entered is taking me far from attempting to make a local name as a foodie. An international foodie name fits just fine.
The pizza review never saw the light of day. It was a good pizza, don’t get me wrong. I’d eaten at the restaurant before when I used to work in the neighborhood. The food is terrific. The parking lot leaves a bit to be desired. The one table where Izzy might have eaten in the 90+ degree heat had an umbrella but was on a little corner of concrete jutting out at the end of the parking lot. Poor girl stayed inside the locked and running van while our pizza was cooked. We raced home to eat it. Izzy got more than I wanted to give up.
Giving up was not what we wanted to do with “Eating With Izzy.” Right now the plan is to resurrect the column when the weather cools off. We could feature a recipe eaten with Izzy once a month as a preview of an upcoming cookbook but that might compromise copyright with a publisher. I could take myself out for a meal and actually give the doggy bag to the dog and write restaurant reviews that way. I could beg off for most of the rest of hurricane season. Begging off doesn’t feel right.
I have been writing, though, and writing every day. Just this morning I finished an essay that, like most of my recent writing, won’t make me any money. Though I always caution new writers never to write for free, most of those cautions are posted on a volunteer message board. Go figure. The essay contest I just entered is taking me far from attempting to make a local name as a foodie. An international foodie name fits just fine.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Decisions, Decisions!
Izzy got invited to a pizza place the other day. (See, she’s getting famous already!) We thought about going Saturday. There was one little problem. We had already planned to go to the grill we had reviewed last month to watch the World Cup. Izzy dragged her soccer ball squeaky toy from under a chair and I cleaned it up. We were ready. Then came the thought of pizza!
We really should just stay home in the heat and try to assemble our new charcoal grill. That would be the practical thing to do. Since when is a dog ever practical? (I’m a triple Virgo so I don’t count.) That grill, however, has made the list of procrastination projects. It will be quite an extensive list if given any thought. Right now it consists of mowing the lawn and putting together the grill.
But back to our Saturday conundrum. When I ask Izzy if she wants to go see Annie, her eyes get big and loving and she gets a big smile on her face. When I ask if she wants pizza, she licks her lips. It looks as if the decision will be mine and mine alone. We may be in trouble. I have such a horrid time making decisions!
The original plan was for Izzy to go out to lunch with me once a month. Now approaching the third week, one week before out next scheduled outing, we’re considering revisiting that plan. Even though we can’t really afford it, we may have to do our lunches twice a month. (Still trying to find work so we can go once a week with an occasional splurge meal just for me.)
Any self-respecting triple Virgo would have this problem solved. She’d make a schedule of lunch outings and post it on a calendar. Random choices would work. Choices made according to a pattern (any pattern) might work even better. She could map out lunches for an entire year in a short time. Maybe I should look for where I hid my self-respect and get to it. It’s always good to have a plan. The hard part comes when you try to make one. Will planning “Eating With Izzy” get a schedule for the year or will it end up on the list of procrastination projects? We should know before the soccer game.
I’ve been making a lot of lists lately. While procrastination projects pile up, I’m thinking of making a list of them. Maybe tomorrow . . . .
We really should just stay home in the heat and try to assemble our new charcoal grill. That would be the practical thing to do. Since when is a dog ever practical? (I’m a triple Virgo so I don’t count.) That grill, however, has made the list of procrastination projects. It will be quite an extensive list if given any thought. Right now it consists of mowing the lawn and putting together the grill.
But back to our Saturday conundrum. When I ask Izzy if she wants to go see Annie, her eyes get big and loving and she gets a big smile on her face. When I ask if she wants pizza, she licks her lips. It looks as if the decision will be mine and mine alone. We may be in trouble. I have such a horrid time making decisions!
The original plan was for Izzy to go out to lunch with me once a month. Now approaching the third week, one week before out next scheduled outing, we’re considering revisiting that plan. Even though we can’t really afford it, we may have to do our lunches twice a month. (Still trying to find work so we can go once a week with an occasional splurge meal just for me.)
Any self-respecting triple Virgo would have this problem solved. She’d make a schedule of lunch outings and post it on a calendar. Random choices would work. Choices made according to a pattern (any pattern) might work even better. She could map out lunches for an entire year in a short time. Maybe I should look for where I hid my self-respect and get to it. It’s always good to have a plan. The hard part comes when you try to make one. Will planning “Eating With Izzy” get a schedule for the year or will it end up on the list of procrastination projects? We should know before the soccer game.
I’ve been making a lot of lists lately. While procrastination projects pile up, I’m thinking of making a list of them. Maybe tomorrow . . . .
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Eating With Izzy For Real
Our first column appeared on LocalSarasota.com. I pulled it up this morning and immediately posted it to my Facebook page. That was five hours ago and so far no comments have been made. It’s lunch time now and restaurant people are very busy. Writers without day jobs are probably so busy writing they have no idea what time it is. Those who go off to work each day are probably so happy to be away from the desk and computer I’m the last thing on their minds.
I don’t feel slighted. I’m not the most important thing in the universe, sometimes not even to Izzy. My major fear is that my link will get swallowed up on the page. Only three people in the whole world would be tempted to click “Older Posts” three or four times until they see it.
Relatively new to posting links on Facebook, I just realized anyone can find the article in my “Links” area. It’s highly unlikely that my activities will cover that up for at least another month.
Izzy was such a lady when we went out. She wants to do it again – and soon. It would be nice if we could go out once a week instead of once a month. As it was the trip to the farmer’s market and lunch ate up my entire food budget for the week. Good thing I have food in the freezer! I didn’t really need that cake from the market but it sure was good! It’s doubtful I’ll be able to eat all the arugula before it wilts into oblivion. Maybe my neighbor can help eat it. Their lettuce has all gone to seed so they might welcome it. Izzy decided she likes the little yellow tomatoes so they won’t be a problem. And the purple pepper was so good that it’s gone!
All I really need at the grocery store this week is fruit juice and that’s on sale (on a BOGO, no less!). Let’s see if I can get into the store and out again with just four bottles of juice.
I cooked chicken breasts for the weekend. They were big! It took two days to finish one. Tonight I’ll see how much of the Cajun spiced one I can eat. That and a simple salad of arugula and baby yellow pear tomatoes sounds like a good meal for the first of June.
As I was bemoaning the fact that nobody had commented on my link one of my friends did just that. She said she wishes she could try the restaurant. Too bad she lives in Knoxville.
In a little more than three weeks Izzy and I have to decide where to eat next. Knowing me, it will take every day of those three weeks. Knowing Izzy, she’ll be happy to go wherever I take her. She’ll be a lady again and maybe she can have a little taste from my plate (again).
I don’t feel slighted. I’m not the most important thing in the universe, sometimes not even to Izzy. My major fear is that my link will get swallowed up on the page. Only three people in the whole world would be tempted to click “Older Posts” three or four times until they see it.
Relatively new to posting links on Facebook, I just realized anyone can find the article in my “Links” area. It’s highly unlikely that my activities will cover that up for at least another month.
Izzy was such a lady when we went out. She wants to do it again – and soon. It would be nice if we could go out once a week instead of once a month. As it was the trip to the farmer’s market and lunch ate up my entire food budget for the week. Good thing I have food in the freezer! I didn’t really need that cake from the market but it sure was good! It’s doubtful I’ll be able to eat all the arugula before it wilts into oblivion. Maybe my neighbor can help eat it. Their lettuce has all gone to seed so they might welcome it. Izzy decided she likes the little yellow tomatoes so they won’t be a problem. And the purple pepper was so good that it’s gone!
All I really need at the grocery store this week is fruit juice and that’s on sale (on a BOGO, no less!). Let’s see if I can get into the store and out again with just four bottles of juice.
I cooked chicken breasts for the weekend. They were big! It took two days to finish one. Tonight I’ll see how much of the Cajun spiced one I can eat. That and a simple salad of arugula and baby yellow pear tomatoes sounds like a good meal for the first of June.
As I was bemoaning the fact that nobody had commented on my link one of my friends did just that. She said she wishes she could try the restaurant. Too bad she lives in Knoxville.
In a little more than three weeks Izzy and I have to decide where to eat next. Knowing me, it will take every day of those three weeks. Knowing Izzy, she’ll be happy to go wherever I take her. She’ll be a lady again and maybe she can have a little taste from my plate (again).
Monday, May 31, 2010
Memorial Day, 2010
Happy Memorial Day, we say to friends. Are you cooking out? Going to the beach? You’re driving to Great Aunt Elsie’s? Have a safe trip.
Maybe we fly a flag. We click on videos posted by our friends and share them with others, videos of funeral processions or Arlington National Cemetery, a country song of patriotism playing over it all. We plug in a DVD and watch an “old” movie: Platoon, Full Metal Jacket, Apocalypse Now.
Memorial Day is meant to be a memorial, a day to thank the soldiers, sailors, and marines who gave their lives for their country – for our country. We cannot thank those who have died to defend our freedoms. We can pray for them if that is a thing we do. Memorial Day seems to be a Veteran’s Day with flowers.
Did we go to a parade with marching bands and the local VFW post? Did we stay home because parking was too far from the parade route? Was the parade at an inconvenient time? Talk about inconvenient with a man on a stretcher bleeding from where his leg used to be. If he lived long enough to get a prosthetic leg, he would be happy to walk a mile or more to honor those with whom he served, no matter what war at what time in which country.
We may not pray for the dead or put flowers on their graves. We may not agree with the war in which they died. Remember, though, that they did not start the war. A government did, most likely our government, the same government that began returning the dead to their homeland only since Viet Nam.
Remember the poem “In Flanders Fields?” That wasn’t Flanders, New Jersey. It was in the Netherlands, written during World War I. That was before World Wars got numbers. It was called the Great War, the War to End All War. So far we’ve gotten to number two. I don’t want to see three. But we’ll see fighting throughout the world every day, probably until the end of time.
We bring them home now, the wounded, the dead, and the nearly dead. Medical advances have almost kept up with military advances. Some of the wounded are lucky enough to heal with only physical scars. Others carry emotional scars that will follow them for life. Some have engineered parts fitted to their bodies, mostly arms and legs. I shudder to think of others. It would be interesting to know the number of “survivors” there would be using WWII or Korean “War” medical knowledge.
There are 508,152 Iraq and Afghanistan veterans as patients in the VA system. Thousands more are waiting as much as a year for VA treatment for serious ailments including traumatic brain injury. Of those, 243,685 (48 percent) are mental health patients and 142,530 (28 percent) are being treated for PTSD. (It’s interesting that post-traumatic stress syndrome patients are separated from mental health patients.)
Perhaps instead of going to the beach or Aunt Elsie’s we should visit a VA hospital and thank a vet that would have died with medical knowledge from 50 or 60 years ago. Tell him (or her) how grateful you are for your freedoms he or she defended with such selflessness. Maybe you can make a new friend.
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Maybe we fly a flag. We click on videos posted by our friends and share them with others, videos of funeral processions or Arlington National Cemetery, a country song of patriotism playing over it all. We plug in a DVD and watch an “old” movie: Platoon, Full Metal Jacket, Apocalypse Now.
Memorial Day is meant to be a memorial, a day to thank the soldiers, sailors, and marines who gave their lives for their country – for our country. We cannot thank those who have died to defend our freedoms. We can pray for them if that is a thing we do. Memorial Day seems to be a Veteran’s Day with flowers.
Did we go to a parade with marching bands and the local VFW post? Did we stay home because parking was too far from the parade route? Was the parade at an inconvenient time? Talk about inconvenient with a man on a stretcher bleeding from where his leg used to be. If he lived long enough to get a prosthetic leg, he would be happy to walk a mile or more to honor those with whom he served, no matter what war at what time in which country.
We may not pray for the dead or put flowers on their graves. We may not agree with the war in which they died. Remember, though, that they did not start the war. A government did, most likely our government, the same government that began returning the dead to their homeland only since Viet Nam.
Remember the poem “In Flanders Fields?” That wasn’t Flanders, New Jersey. It was in the Netherlands, written during World War I. That was before World Wars got numbers. It was called the Great War, the War to End All War. So far we’ve gotten to number two. I don’t want to see three. But we’ll see fighting throughout the world every day, probably until the end of time.
We bring them home now, the wounded, the dead, and the nearly dead. Medical advances have almost kept up with military advances. Some of the wounded are lucky enough to heal with only physical scars. Others carry emotional scars that will follow them for life. Some have engineered parts fitted to their bodies, mostly arms and legs. I shudder to think of others. It would be interesting to know the number of “survivors” there would be using WWII or Korean “War” medical knowledge.
There are 508,152 Iraq and Afghanistan veterans as patients in the VA system. Thousands more are waiting as much as a year for VA treatment for serious ailments including traumatic brain injury. Of those, 243,685 (48 percent) are mental health patients and 142,530 (28 percent) are being treated for PTSD. (It’s interesting that post-traumatic stress syndrome patients are separated from mental health patients.)
Perhaps instead of going to the beach or Aunt Elsie’s we should visit a VA hospital and thank a vet that would have died with medical knowledge from 50 or 60 years ago. Tell him (or her) how grateful you are for your freedoms he or she defended with such selflessness. Maybe you can make a new friend.
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Eating With Izzy
The air is charged at my house these days with both excitement and anticipation. Izzy will be my dining partner somewhere besides our own dining room. We’re going to a restaurant! Together!
We’ve been discussing this outing for about a month. Izzy wanted to go but I kept telling her I couldn’t afford it. There was only one restaurant where she was specifically invited within my usual travel range. I’ve eaten there before and love their food. Izzy agreed that this was where she would make her public dining debut. The menu is affordable so how could I let down my best friend?
Then something fortuitous happened. I was looking for an organic farm not too far away from the house. As often happens with my Web searches, I got sidetracked. Instead of searching local farms, I ended up searching local dog-friendly restaurants. Landed on a page that looked new since it had no photos, requested from viewers, and no reviews, again viewer supplied. Izzy and I considered checking out the restaurants on their site and I made a list.
Another random epiphany grabbed us as we discussed future dining plans. Izzy and I would write restaurant reviews together. We would place them on a public forum with an international audience. People all ‘round the world could feel more comfortable about talking with their dogs instead of to them. They might find a special place to take them out to dinner when in Sarasota, Florida. Most important, though, was getting Izzy out of the house and into the public eye. She would write from the dog’s-eye view while I discussed the food and the service.
I linked up with LocalSarasota.com on Facebook and think we’re up for our first article next week. We’ll be eating out once a month if Izzy likes her first encounter. If not, guess I’ll have to write her part.
We’ve been discussing this outing for about a month. Izzy wanted to go but I kept telling her I couldn’t afford it. There was only one restaurant where she was specifically invited within my usual travel range. I’ve eaten there before and love their food. Izzy agreed that this was where she would make her public dining debut. The menu is affordable so how could I let down my best friend?
Then something fortuitous happened. I was looking for an organic farm not too far away from the house. As often happens with my Web searches, I got sidetracked. Instead of searching local farms, I ended up searching local dog-friendly restaurants. Landed on a page that looked new since it had no photos, requested from viewers, and no reviews, again viewer supplied. Izzy and I considered checking out the restaurants on their site and I made a list.
Another random epiphany grabbed us as we discussed future dining plans. Izzy and I would write restaurant reviews together. We would place them on a public forum with an international audience. People all ‘round the world could feel more comfortable about talking with their dogs instead of to them. They might find a special place to take them out to dinner when in Sarasota, Florida. Most important, though, was getting Izzy out of the house and into the public eye. She would write from the dog’s-eye view while I discussed the food and the service.
I linked up with LocalSarasota.com on Facebook and think we’re up for our first article next week. We’ll be eating out once a month if Izzy likes her first encounter. If not, guess I’ll have to write her part.
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