Still thinking about making do. Here is something by one of my favorite food writers on the topic. If you haven't read John Thorne, you are in for a treat. All his books are wonderful. This excerpt is from Simple Cooking.
His essay is called Perfect Food and has an epigraph from Alice Waters, who is a force in California cuisine and beyond: I am sad for those who cannot see that a brown-spotted two foot high lettuce, its edges curling and wilted, is ugly and offensive. It is a fundamental fact that no cook, however creative and capable, can produce a dish of a quality higher than that of its raw ingredients.
I must confess that I find Waters insufferable. Even aside from that, I think I would find Thorne's view more compelling.
The cook who must carefully sniff the gamy shank of lamb or pick suspiciously through the pail of bruised berries is drawn to connection by necessity. Their scrutiny is genuine and the repayment is in kind: such stuff tells us things that perfection can never share.
This isn't to say that real cooking requires the spur of dubious materials. What I imagine as the counter to anesthetic perfection is what to the kitchen gardener is a common experience. They glory in what is perfect in their crop, but they feel attached to all that they planted, protected, plucked. These are, after all, their children too.
And the hand that happily sorts these things, gouges away the soft spots and digs out sprouting eyes, that rubs off scabs and flings small salvageable bits into the soup pot, is a hand once again the extension of the tongue. Our appetite should always be larger and more curious than our hunger, turned loose to wander the world's flesh at will. Perfection is as false an economy in cooking as it is in love, since, with carrots and potatoes as with lovers, the perfectly beautiful are all the same; the imperfect, different in their beauty, every one.
Wednesday, 11 January 2012
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
Buy the Cheapest Ham You Can Find
I was returning home after a somewhat dispiriting day, when I saw a sign outside of a tiny grocery in Robert, Louisiana: spiral ham 99 cents a pound.
Even though I am under strict orders not to buy any more food (due to over-full freezer and fridge), READER, I BOUGHT ONE. I seldom eat ham: my mother never cooked it and I cook perhaps one a year. Mostly I'm interested in the bone, from which yummy red beans and rice can be made.
Here is my favorite recipe, actually my favorite preface to a recipe. It is from Saveur Cooks American and is a recipe offered by Monte Williams, an ad executive in Manhattan.
Here is the preface. Monte Williams has used this ham as a party staple ever since, as a young arrival in town, he first had it at a glamorous New York party.
Watching the other guests devour the glazed, glistening hunk of pork, Mr. Williams begged his hostess for the recipe.
Buy the cheapest ham possible. glaze the hell out of it and cook it for a long time.
And the Saveur editors caution: So don't waste your money on a fine aged ham; use, as we do, a plain old bone-in prepackaged supermarket ham.
OK. Here is the recipe from the Saveur site. Strangely, Monte Williams has morphed into Monte Matthews. Whatever.
15-lb. smoked ham on the bone
1 1/2 cups orange marmalade
1 cup dijon mustard
1 1/2 cups firmly packed brown sugar
1 tbsp. whole cloves
1. Preheat oven to 300°. Trim tough outer skin and excess fat from ham. Place ham, meat side down, in a large roasting pan and score, making crosshatch incisions with a sharp knife. Roast for 2 hours.
2. Remove ham from oven and increase heat to 350°. For glaze, combine orange marmalade, mustard, and brown sugar in a medium bowl. Stud ham with whole cloves (stick one clove at the intersection of each crosshatch), then brush with glaze and return to oven.
3. Cook ham another 1 1/2 hours, brushing with glaze at least 3 times. Transfer to a cutting board or platter and allow to rest for about 30 minutes. Carve and serve warm or at room temperature.
Even though I am under strict orders not to buy any more food (due to over-full freezer and fridge), READER, I BOUGHT ONE. I seldom eat ham: my mother never cooked it and I cook perhaps one a year. Mostly I'm interested in the bone, from which yummy red beans and rice can be made.
Here is my favorite recipe, actually my favorite preface to a recipe. It is from Saveur Cooks American and is a recipe offered by Monte Williams, an ad executive in Manhattan.
Here is the preface. Monte Williams has used this ham as a party staple ever since, as a young arrival in town, he first had it at a glamorous New York party.
Watching the other guests devour the glazed, glistening hunk of pork, Mr. Williams begged his hostess for the recipe.
Buy the cheapest ham possible. glaze the hell out of it and cook it for a long time.
And the Saveur editors caution: So don't waste your money on a fine aged ham; use, as we do, a plain old bone-in prepackaged supermarket ham.
OK. Here is the recipe from the Saveur site. Strangely, Monte Williams has morphed into Monte Matthews. Whatever.
15-lb. smoked ham on the bone
1 1/2 cups orange marmalade
1 cup dijon mustard
1 1/2 cups firmly packed brown sugar
1 tbsp. whole cloves
1. Preheat oven to 300°. Trim tough outer skin and excess fat from ham. Place ham, meat side down, in a large roasting pan and score, making crosshatch incisions with a sharp knife. Roast for 2 hours.
2. Remove ham from oven and increase heat to 350°. For glaze, combine orange marmalade, mustard, and brown sugar in a medium bowl. Stud ham with whole cloves (stick one clove at the intersection of each crosshatch), then brush with glaze and return to oven.
3. Cook ham another 1 1/2 hours, brushing with glaze at least 3 times. Transfer to a cutting board or platter and allow to rest for about 30 minutes. Carve and serve warm or at room temperature.
Monday, 9 January 2012
In Defense of Making Do: Diana Phipps
Or should I say "An Apology for Making Do"? That would be an echo of Sir Philip Sidney's Defense of Poesy, which also goes by the title Apology for Poetry. How to defend something that seems frivolous, useless, and even deceitful? If you're really interested, I'll let you know how Sir Philip Sidney did it.
In the meantime, we shall turn to another aristocrat, Diana Phipps. I've written about her before. She is an aristocrat whose family lost everything, so she turned to "making do" to have comfortable spaces. Whenever I need some aesthetic inspiration, I look at her book, as much for her attitude as for anything else. For your reading pleasure, here is an old article about her. A blogger has helpfully photographed the living room DP did in London.
I lived what I think are called my formative years in a castle. Changing political and financial circumstances played havoc with our living habits. Within the first ten years of my life, my parents twice lost and once regained their properties from occupying military forces, losing them first to the Germans, then to the Russians. After that came various stages of poverty. When we finally became emigrants to the United States, at last, once again, I had a room of my own. It was in an ugly and very small house. There I first began "making do." I built my furniture out of cardboard boxes from the grocery store. Over the boxes I glued blue-and-white gingham bought at Woolworth's. I tented my bed with the same material and had masses of ruffled cushions on the floor when floor cushions were not yet the fashion. They were stuffed with clothes waiting to be ironed.
Thirty years later, I'm still doing more or less the same thing, but now the gingham occasionally also covers a grand chair.
And thirty years after that was published, she is back in her castle, courtesy of the great Vaclav Havel. I remember reading that she used masses of pajama flannel to swath some of the beds. This site shows some pictures of the beautiful interiors.
Sir Philip Sidney couldn't say that poetry--by which he means fiction in general--makes people happy. Back in the day (1500s), that wasn't a good enough reason, so he had to come up with others. I must say: making do makes me happy.
In the meantime, we shall turn to another aristocrat, Diana Phipps. I've written about her before. She is an aristocrat whose family lost everything, so she turned to "making do" to have comfortable spaces. Whenever I need some aesthetic inspiration, I look at her book, as much for her attitude as for anything else. For your reading pleasure, here is an old article about her. A blogger has helpfully photographed the living room DP did in London.
I lived what I think are called my formative years in a castle. Changing political and financial circumstances played havoc with our living habits. Within the first ten years of my life, my parents twice lost and once regained their properties from occupying military forces, losing them first to the Germans, then to the Russians. After that came various stages of poverty. When we finally became emigrants to the United States, at last, once again, I had a room of my own. It was in an ugly and very small house. There I first began "making do." I built my furniture out of cardboard boxes from the grocery store. Over the boxes I glued blue-and-white gingham bought at Woolworth's. I tented my bed with the same material and had masses of ruffled cushions on the floor when floor cushions were not yet the fashion. They were stuffed with clothes waiting to be ironed.
Thirty years later, I'm still doing more or less the same thing, but now the gingham occasionally also covers a grand chair.
And thirty years after that was published, she is back in her castle, courtesy of the great Vaclav Havel. I remember reading that she used masses of pajama flannel to swath some of the beds. This site shows some pictures of the beautiful interiors.
Sir Philip Sidney couldn't say that poetry--by which he means fiction in general--makes people happy. Back in the day (1500s), that wasn't a good enough reason, so he had to come up with others. I must say: making do makes me happy.
Sunday, 8 January 2012
Good Source for Temporary Slipcovers: Making Do with Uglysofa.com
While I am mulling over the definitions of making do and frugality proferred by my readers, I will give you a good source for the kind of making do (in the definite second best sense) necessary for many: slipcovers.
I am the proud owner of two vintage Henredon armchairs of pleasing shape, whose upholstery seems to have been used as scratching posts by millions of cats (of previous owner).* I am also the owner of a very shabby sofa that I got for free. Not exactly free: I bought a sofa, only to see the upholstery fabric disintegrate in less than a year. The seller (cursed be his name: Wes) said that the damage had been done by my cats. Only I didn't have any cats. I girded my frugal loins and called the company; after an investigations, they replaced the sofa and told me just to keep the old one. Thanks!
Now all three reside in my study/guest room/former room of Frugal Son. They are dispiriting to behold. Eventually, I will have slipcovers made for the chairs (at least $250 each, including fabric). Trouble is: I'm not sure where these treasures will end up and the sofa will be history pretty soon, but is useful for the nonce.
Those loosefit slipcovers which are sold everywhere are sooooooo hideous. And frugal me hates spending money on something hideous, not to mention temporary. By chance, I came upon the aptly named site: Ugly Sofa. They sell seconds from Pottery Barn: dropcloth slipcovers, and, even cheaper, the kind with separate pillows.
I bought the dropcloth because they are huge squares of fabric, which means that I can eventually use them as fabric for my "real slipcovers."
Warning: the shipping is very expensive.
Good thing: this seems to be a small family biz. One of their other offerings is Christmas stockings that came with wacky monograms. They cut the tops off and made new cuffs. Ingenious! Frugal!
Verdict: I got yards and yards of nice cotton twill that can be re-used. It doesn't look great (because I am uncoordinated and can't arrange fabric well), but it looks better than what is underneath.
I'm very happy to be making do--in this instance.
And, since I mentioned millions of cats, let me direct you to this children's book, which was a favorite of both Mr FS and his mother, Virginia. It was reprinted when our kids were little and we bought millions of copies to give as gifts.
I am the proud owner of two vintage Henredon armchairs of pleasing shape, whose upholstery seems to have been used as scratching posts by millions of cats (of previous owner).* I am also the owner of a very shabby sofa that I got for free. Not exactly free: I bought a sofa, only to see the upholstery fabric disintegrate in less than a year. The seller (cursed be his name: Wes) said that the damage had been done by my cats. Only I didn't have any cats. I girded my frugal loins and called the company; after an investigations, they replaced the sofa and told me just to keep the old one. Thanks!
Now all three reside in my study/guest room/former room of Frugal Son. They are dispiriting to behold. Eventually, I will have slipcovers made for the chairs (at least $250 each, including fabric). Trouble is: I'm not sure where these treasures will end up and the sofa will be history pretty soon, but is useful for the nonce.
Those loosefit slipcovers which are sold everywhere are sooooooo hideous. And frugal me hates spending money on something hideous, not to mention temporary. By chance, I came upon the aptly named site: Ugly Sofa. They sell seconds from Pottery Barn: dropcloth slipcovers, and, even cheaper, the kind with separate pillows.
I bought the dropcloth because they are huge squares of fabric, which means that I can eventually use them as fabric for my "real slipcovers."
Warning: the shipping is very expensive.
Good thing: this seems to be a small family biz. One of their other offerings is Christmas stockings that came with wacky monograms. They cut the tops off and made new cuffs. Ingenious! Frugal!
Verdict: I got yards and yards of nice cotton twill that can be re-used. It doesn't look great (because I am uncoordinated and can't arrange fabric well), but it looks better than what is underneath.
I'm very happy to be making do--in this instance.
And, since I mentioned millions of cats, let me direct you to this children's book, which was a favorite of both Mr FS and his mother, Virginia. It was reprinted when our kids were little and we bought millions of copies to give as gifts.
Saturday, 7 January 2012
Does the term "making do" depress you? Does the word "frugal"?
Ah, connotations! I am so happy about my new-to-me scarves, courtesy of my mother. Since I had previously fantasized about getting another Hermes scarf, I saw this as making do--in the sense of creative, economical, ecological: frugal in the best sense.
So I was surprised when Duchesse said this in a comment: "making do" so lifeless and limp. There is room in between for *pleasing*. I am referring to a certain level of "good enough" that has not a whiff of settling.
Hmmm. What she means by pleasing, I mean by making do. My scarves are more than pleasing, however: I like them a lot. In these last days of my winter break, I am finding lots of ways to make do: with some book shelves and with some slipcovers (more about these choices later, maybe).
The word frugal has a similar effect. When I teach Ben Franklin, who has a lot to say on frugality beyond the "penny saved, penny earned" saying, I find that students are repulsed by the word frugal. EWWW, they say, that means cheap No it doesn't.
So, as to the questions in my title, what do you think of these words?
So I was surprised when Duchesse said this in a comment: "making do" so lifeless and limp. There is room in between for *pleasing*. I am referring to a certain level of "good enough" that has not a whiff of settling.
Hmmm. What she means by pleasing, I mean by making do. My scarves are more than pleasing, however: I like them a lot. In these last days of my winter break, I am finding lots of ways to make do: with some book shelves and with some slipcovers (more about these choices later, maybe).
The word frugal has a similar effect. When I teach Ben Franklin, who has a lot to say on frugality beyond the "penny saved, penny earned" saying, I find that students are repulsed by the word frugal. EWWW, they say, that means cheap No it doesn't.
So, as to the questions in my title, what do you think of these words?
Friday, 6 January 2012
The Lure of Perfection and Making Do: My Mother's Scarves
Like many other bloggers, I sometimes have the urge to buy one perfect item--and be done with it. I first had a glimpse of this orientation many years ago, when I dined with a person who is somewhat famous: I'm sure she doesn't remember me and, in fact, took no notice of me at the dinner. All I recall, other than her indifference, was her pronouncement that for the past few years, she had bought a single Armani suit each year. And that was all. So impressive! Since she was pregnant when I met her, and wearing borrowed maternity clothing, I couldn't gauge the success of her choice.
But whenever I think this is the way to go, something happens to make me reconsider.
We recently took a family trip to Florida. We rendezvoused with Miss Em's friend Mr C in Pensacola, where he left his car and joined us for the journey. Miss Em put some of her stuff in the trunk of the car, so Mr C could bring it to school for her in January. A few days later, Mr C got a phone call: someone had thrown a rock through the window of his car! My first thought (after condolences to the car owner, of course): oh no! All of Miss Em's expensive new items are in her expensive new backpack!
As it happens, the vandal just wanted to make a mess and everything was safe in the trunk. And I also remembered that homeowner's insurance would cover any stolen items anyway.
Still, owning expensive items can be stressful. I loved the fact that if my young children spilled grape juice on their thrifted outfits, I could remain nonchalant about the whole thing. I know if I did buy that Hermes scarf (about to go up in price, by the way) I would worry about losing it, spilling something on it, etc etc.
My mother gave Miss Em and me a few pieces of jewelry that belonged to my grandmother and great-aunt. I asked my mother if she had any scarves she wanted to get rid of. As it happened, she had a whole pile of lovelies from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. She bought them many years ago when she attended some lectures there. I don't think she's worn the scarves for 20 years. She was happy to give some to me. She may, in fact, have gotten the scarves at a discount, since my father's cousin does research at the museum.
So, my mother decluttered. Miss Em and I got some pretty scarves: ecological and economical at the same time.
And I can still save up for the perfect one.
Do you make do or go for perfection?
But whenever I think this is the way to go, something happens to make me reconsider.
We recently took a family trip to Florida. We rendezvoused with Miss Em's friend Mr C in Pensacola, where he left his car and joined us for the journey. Miss Em put some of her stuff in the trunk of the car, so Mr C could bring it to school for her in January. A few days later, Mr C got a phone call: someone had thrown a rock through the window of his car! My first thought (after condolences to the car owner, of course): oh no! All of Miss Em's expensive new items are in her expensive new backpack!
As it happens, the vandal just wanted to make a mess and everything was safe in the trunk. And I also remembered that homeowner's insurance would cover any stolen items anyway.
Still, owning expensive items can be stressful. I loved the fact that if my young children spilled grape juice on their thrifted outfits, I could remain nonchalant about the whole thing. I know if I did buy that Hermes scarf (about to go up in price, by the way) I would worry about losing it, spilling something on it, etc etc.
My mother gave Miss Em and me a few pieces of jewelry that belonged to my grandmother and great-aunt. I asked my mother if she had any scarves she wanted to get rid of. As it happened, she had a whole pile of lovelies from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. She bought them many years ago when she attended some lectures there. I don't think she's worn the scarves for 20 years. She was happy to give some to me. She may, in fact, have gotten the scarves at a discount, since my father's cousin does research at the museum.
So, my mother decluttered. Miss Em and I got some pretty scarves: ecological and economical at the same time.
And I can still save up for the perfect one.
Do you make do or go for perfection?
Thursday, 5 January 2012
Multi-Generational Housing? Retirement?
I guess I never told you that we were going to Florida. Well, we're back, and Miss Em is off to her next adventure.
I'm in the waning days of my vacation, and love nothing more than curling up with a good book. FROM THE LIBRARY. Everyone knows that is a key part of Frugality 101: use the library.
One book I'm reading and loving is this.
Yes, I am thinking about multi-generational housing.
Every few days, it seems, there is some article on the increase in multi-generational housing brought on by the financial meltdown, We hear of college grads or young adults moving in with parents; parents moving in with kids; the middle-aged moving in with even older parents; or the same older parents moving in with their middle-aged kids. This is always presented as some dire necessity,* to be escaped from ASAP.
The parents of the baby boomers are especially horrified at the prospect. My mother--aged 81--was talking about assisted living, and I suggested she move in with us if she needed extra care. She said, "That is the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me." I didn't mean it that way! I thought I was nice.
Anyway, the dire articles always have zillions of comments, most, like my mother, horrified. Then there are those, mostly of Asian descent, who say: That's how we do it! Some point out that college grads who do that can save up for a house. The elderly can hang with their grandchildren and children. Multi-generational housing is presented as positive--something that can be pro-active, rather than simple re-active to economic or other emergency.
That last has been especially on my mind. Instead of a few intense (and not always in a good way) visits to relatives, wouldn't it be nice to have a more low-key relationship--every now and again, for a short time?
The book pictured above shows many ingenious transformations of houses (and not Mcmansions) to accommodate more than one family, with opportunities for togetherness and lots of privacy. I've already figured out how my 2000 square foot house with small back building could accommodate not one, but two families in addition to Mr FS and me.
Food for thought. What do you think of the issue of multi-generational housing?
*After writing dire necessity, I knew it was from somewhere. It is: Milton's Samson Agonistes. This tells of Samson's death, when he pulls the walls of the temple down, killing the Philistines and himself.
O dearly-bought revenge, yet glorious!
Living or dying thou hast fulfill'd
The work for which thou wast foretold
To Israel, and now ly'st victorious
Among thy slain self-kill'd
Not willingly, but tangl'd in the fold
Of dire necessity
I'm in the waning days of my vacation, and love nothing more than curling up with a good book. FROM THE LIBRARY. Everyone knows that is a key part of Frugality 101: use the library.
One book I'm reading and loving is this.
Yes, I am thinking about multi-generational housing.
Every few days, it seems, there is some article on the increase in multi-generational housing brought on by the financial meltdown, We hear of college grads or young adults moving in with parents; parents moving in with kids; the middle-aged moving in with even older parents; or the same older parents moving in with their middle-aged kids. This is always presented as some dire necessity,* to be escaped from ASAP.
The parents of the baby boomers are especially horrified at the prospect. My mother--aged 81--was talking about assisted living, and I suggested she move in with us if she needed extra care. She said, "That is the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me." I didn't mean it that way! I thought I was nice.
Anyway, the dire articles always have zillions of comments, most, like my mother, horrified. Then there are those, mostly of Asian descent, who say: That's how we do it! Some point out that college grads who do that can save up for a house. The elderly can hang with their grandchildren and children. Multi-generational housing is presented as positive--something that can be pro-active, rather than simple re-active to economic or other emergency.
That last has been especially on my mind. Instead of a few intense (and not always in a good way) visits to relatives, wouldn't it be nice to have a more low-key relationship--every now and again, for a short time?
The book pictured above shows many ingenious transformations of houses (and not Mcmansions) to accommodate more than one family, with opportunities for togetherness and lots of privacy. I've already figured out how my 2000 square foot house with small back building could accommodate not one, but two families in addition to Mr FS and me.
Food for thought. What do you think of the issue of multi-generational housing?
*After writing dire necessity, I knew it was from somewhere. It is: Milton's Samson Agonistes. This tells of Samson's death, when he pulls the walls of the temple down, killing the Philistines and himself.
O dearly-bought revenge, yet glorious!
Living or dying thou hast fulfill'd
The work for which thou wast foretold
To Israel, and now ly'st victorious
Among thy slain self-kill'd
Not willingly, but tangl'd in the fold
Of dire necessity
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