Lunch

Whenever I travel, I bring food with me. During the long-ago days that I owned a car, I used to keep a loaf of sandwich bread on the passenger’s seat. It was for trips longer than a half mile. I’d eat a slice with one hand, keep my other hand on the wheel, and never take my eyes off the road.

I was always hungry. Afraid that I would not get enough to eat, I planned ahead. And if the planning failed me, I knew how to scheme.

Once, at a wedding in the Berkshires, the bride and groom tried to pass off passed hors d'oeuvres as the main course. I was looking around for dinner but the cake was being cut. We were miles from anywhere and I was starving. I went into the caterer’s kitchen and begged for something to eat. The only things on hand were a few eggs and some cheese. A kind chef gave me a midnight tutorial in how to make an omelet.

Over the weekend, we visited the Abuelita and went to a few parties. I didn’t do much cooking. The Abuelita decided not to buy mussels. But she did get cockles, and I used them to make a sublime variation on my linguine alle vongole.

As I’ve aged, my metabolism has slowed and I no longer worry about traveling with something to eat. This trip, however, I ended up carting food around the tri-state region for a different reason. I had a few things—basil, spinach, and chicken breasts—that were going to spoil if I left them in the refrigerator at home. So I took them to the Abuelita’s. 

My plan was to make a pesto with the basil. I even brought pine nuts with me. I didn’t have a plan for the spinach, but it didn’t matter. I never got around to making the pesto and the spinach sat unused. I poached the chicken breasts, though, before their expiration date. The pine nuts I brought back home.

Poaching chicken breasts is one of my new favorite things to do. It is very easy, healthy, and results in a tender, tasty, and extremely versatile piece of meat. It can be shredded for salads, and sliced for sandwiches. I used mine to make sandwiches at work today, pairing the white meat with ripe avocado and multigrain bread. 

Poached Chicken Breasts

• one package boneless chicken breasts
• water
• white wine, to taste
• dried thyme, to taste
• salt, to taste

        Place the chicken breasts in a low pan and cover with water and wine.
        Add the salt and turn the burner to high.
        Allow the water to come to a boil.
        Reduce to a simmer and cook until the breasts are done, from two to ten minutes, depending on thickness.

We spent the weekend visiting the Abuelita, and enjoying the turn in the weather. The children got to swim at the local town pool and explore the house I grew up in.  I know its layout and furniture well, but to them, the house is a wonderful new world. On a previous visit, Nina asked “why are there so many bedrooms?” There are only four, but to her that is a lot.

It was built in the mid sixties, so the floors don’t creak all that much. But if you step on the right place, they creak in predicable ways. There is a spot, just inside my parent’s bedroom door, that cries out with every footfall. Over the weekend, I stepped on it, and when I heard the sing-song sound of the floorboards, I was suddenly reminded of a thousand evenings of my own childhood. I could picture my parents retiring for the night. Two steps and a creak. It echoed in my mind.

I then wondered, what will my children remember? We rent our apartment. I don’t expect to still be there after they are grown and return home with their own children.  Where will their hidden memories reside? Perhaps they will be in my cooking. The flavors I share with them can have a powerful effect.

At the pool on Sunday afternoon, Nina sunk into a blood-sugar funk and spent much of the time sitting in a folding chair with a towel wrapped around herself.  I knew that she was hungry, but we hadn’t brought enough food with us.

I went to the snack bar and saw that they sold quesadillas. Bingo. She loves them, and the protein in the cheese would soon have her back in good spirits. I asked her if she wanted some, and she nodded yes. Nina took one bite and put the gooey triangle back on the paper plate. She didn’t touch the rest of them. I asked her what was the matter. “I don’t like the cheese,” she said.

They were made with American cheese. It was the first time she’d had it. I always make the quesadillas at home with a sharp cheddar, perhaps not the most traditional method, but clearly one with a strong effect. The next day, back at the house, I cooked some up for her.

• Corn tortillas
• Slices of cheddar cheese

        Heat a cast-iron frying pan.
        Place a tortilla on it.
        Heat the tortilla for a few minutes, then flip.
        Layer with sliced cheese and fold in half.
        Continue to cook, flipping occasionally, until the cheese melts and the tortilla is as toasted as desired.

        Note: You can use olive oil in the pan if you prefer, but I've found that it is completely unnecessary.             Also, quesadillas lend themselves to a number of additional fillings, from chicken to avocado. Feel free         to experiment.

(The photo is of two roses that the Abuelita gave to Nina and Pinta. Maybe they'll remember the flower's sweet smell, too.)

After weeks and weeks of rain (one of my colleagues told me that she recently dreamed of being on an ark), the weather finally broke here today. The sun was shining when we got up. Inspired by the clear skies and seasonal temperatures, we headed to the Greenmarket for clams and mussels. We wanted to have our seafood extravaganza for lunch. Last week, Nina was sick and she couldn’t have her “soupy pasta” as she called linguine alle vongole.

On the way to the Greenmarket, we passed a mobile beverage vendor. This being Park Slope, they weren’t selling soda, they were selling handmade lemonade and limeade, at $5 a cup. Nina wanted some, but I had just bought her a Tootsie roll, at 15 cents, and pointed out to her that she’d already had a treat for the morning. She was not particularly happy with this reply, but she accepted it.

Santa Maria, being more inventive and loving by nature, volunteered to make fresh lemonade when we got home. Alas, we didn’t have any lemons in the house, but we did have limes. She made limeade, and it was one of the most fantastic things I’ve ever tasted. Fresh and sweet and sharp, just like her.

Saturday Limeade

• 2 limes
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup water
• 4 sprigs mint

Boil the water, and stir it into the sugar to make a simple syrup.
Juice the limes.
Mix the lime juice with the simple syrup and 3 cups water.
Garnish with mint leaves and slivers of lime peel.
Serve with ice.

The more I learn about the avocado, the more I like it. According to Connie Barlow’s 2001 book, “The Ghosts of Evolution,” the oily fruit co-evolved with ground sloths during the Pleistocene epoch. Sloth? That’s practically my middle name.

The theory looks at the world from the plant’s perspective. The plant needed to spread its seed, so it encased it in a delicious layer of fat, the wonderful green fruit we all are familiar with. The sloth was just the right sort of animal for the job. It had a mouth big enough to eat the fruit whole, right off the tree. In wandering around, the animal spread the seed far and wide in its excrement.

I don’t often see things the way a plant might. Michael Pollan’s “The Omnivore’s Dilemma” has an eye-opening explanation on how corn has become a dominant starch by manipulating humans, rather than it being the other way around. 

I’ve been eating a lot of avocados these days. I started buying them for Santa Maria, who likes them in a salad with scallions and Romaine. We’d have them around the house and the tricky thing about avocados is managing their ripeness. Often, they’re not ripe when they come from the store, so you can’t really buy one and expect to use it. It’s better to buy one and let it sit around. Of course if you buy two, so much the better, but then you might end up like me, with a bunch of ripe avocados staring you in the eye. There’s little else to do than to eat them. Once they’re ripe, they go bad quickly.

They’re also full of good things: vitamins, minerals, monounsaturated fats, and other healthy compounds like carotenoid lutein, carotenoids and tocopherols, which, reportedly, do everything from help with one’s eyesight to prevent cancer.

I had an avocado today. I’ve started to take whole ones to work with me. This afternoon, I sliced it and made a sandwich on fresh bread with some chicken breasts that I had sautéed with lemon before leaving for work. There’s another benefit of avocados—they’re mighty filling. I didn’t need to eat again until dinner, which is a rarity for me.

Photo copyright and courtesy of California Avocado Commission

A lot of the work I do in the kitchen is utilitarian. I cook because the family (by which I really mean me) needs to eat. With so many mouths to feed (and mine counts for about three—if you knew me personally you might even say four), a full-time job, and a (teetering) social life, there isn’t much time to experiment.

Still, we can’t eat the same thing week in and week out, so I was excited to try a recipe a friend had given me for Vietnamese chicken salad.

I don’t have any idea how authentic this dish is. My friend didn’t give me a source for the recipe. All she said is that she visited Vietnam and Cambodia in '95 or '96 and came back in love “a cuisine (Vietnam's) and some temples (Cambodia's)." And in my bleary-eyed, sleep deprived state I misread her instructions and substituted ginger for garlic in the dressing. No matter; it was fantastic.

I can tell you who’s also in love with this salad: Santa Maria. I made it this morning before breakfast while she was out biking. She came home hungry and instead of pouring herself a bowl of cereal or cooking some eggs, she dove straight into this salad. She couldn’t stop eating it, and raving about it.

For me, this was an experiment in technique as well as in foreign flavors. It was the first time I poached a chicken breast. It's much easier than I imagined. And I liked the way the breasts plumped up as they cooked. I put them in a large frying pan, with just enough water to cover them. I tossed in some salt, mint, and ginger; brought the water to a boil; and simmered for just a few minutes. The meat came out moist and delicious.

One utilitarian note: I took the salad to work today for lunch, and noticed that the mint didn't age well. In the future I would travel with that separately and add it to the salad just before eating.

• 2 or 3 boneless chicken breasts
• 1 small cabbage, shredded for slaw
• 1 bunch carrots, julienned into matchsticks
• 2-3 handfuls of chopped peanuts (I substituted cashews because I didn’t have any peanuts in the house)
• 1 bunch of mint, torn or cut into chiffonade

        For the dressing:

• 1 lime, juiced
• 1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger
• 2 tablespoons rice-wine vinegar
• 2 tablespoons fish sauce

        Poach the chicken breasts with some ginger and mint (you can use salted water or chicken stock).
        Shred the cooked breasts.
        Combine the cabbage, carrots, mint, and chicken.
        Dress and serve.

        Note: I doubled the amount of dressing. And used half a head of cabbage. And added white wine to             the poaching liquid.

Santa Maria’s folks, who are in their eighties and practically more hale than I am, were planning to visit this weekend. Years ago they used to sleep on our pull-out living room sofa. That came to an end when we had kids and the sleepless nights commenced. But, knock on wood, the kids have been sleeping okay and we were set to have them stay in the living room once more.

Santa Maria had to work today on a film shoot. I took the day off from the office to watch the Nina and Pinta. Knowing that my in-laws were due to arrive later in the day, I headed with the kids to the Food Coop, for a massive, early morning shop. I piled port-salut (a favorite of Santa Maria’s mom), a whole watermelon, four heads of broccoli, two roasting chickens, and more into the cart to get ready for their stay.

Back at home, Nina, who had been very lethargic and who had shown little appetite, developed a fever at about 10 a.m. As soon as I realized that she was coming down with something, I called my in-laws and told them to postpone their trip. Following a previous visit a few years ago during which one of our kids was a bit sick, Santa Maria’s mother ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. They might be fit, but you can't discount their chronological age too much.

I was left with poor suffering Nina and a refrigerator full of food. (I’d also placed a large order with Fresh Direct, but what I’m going to do with the stack of four-minute meals that arrived this evening is a yet-to-be-told story). The food won’t go to waste. We’ll eat it over the next week or so no problem.

Pinta, thus far, has been unaffected by whatever has sickened her sister. She was in high spirits all day. I’m hoping she’ll stay that way. Actually, I’m doing more than hoping. I’ve been plying her with fresh fruit. Perhaps a good dose of vitamin C will make a difference.

The fruit-a-thon began and ended with the watermelon I’d bought earlier in the day. After her nap, Pinta and I were sitting with the refrigerator door open looking for a snack. She saw the big, green ball of fruit sitting on the lower shelf.  “Wawamemon,” she cried out. “Wawamemon!” I promptly took it out, sliced it open, and started serving her pieces.

The watermelon turned out to be orange. It didn’t seem as sweet as other watermelons I’ve had. This might be the case because it is so early in the season. Or maybe that’s what makes an orange watermelon different than a regular one. I’m going to have to contact the producer, a small organic outfit called Lady Moon Farms, and see what they tell me.

Orange or not, Pinta loved the succulent fruit. Whether or not it will keep her from getting sick remains to be seen.

I love fish. I grew up eating it every Friday, but that’s not why I like it. As I am one of five children and money was somewhat tight when I was young, the fish was often was bluefish. It was never salmon, sword, or anything fancy (this was before farming made salmon relatively cheap). Often, it was awful. The unfortunate truth about bluefish is that it spoils quickly.

During a summer vacation when I was about ten (or twelve, or fifteen; what’s memory but a skipping disk of old songs?) we stayed at the Engleside, a longstanding hotel on Long Beach Island, New Jersey.  During the trip, my mother cooked many of our meals in the hotel room, which had a little stove top and a small fridge.

On day she went down to the other side of the island, where the sport fishermen dock their boats, talked to some talented (or lucky) fishermen, and bought dinner. I’ll never forget eating what she served. It tasted unlike anything I’d ever eaten before. I thought the sea had landed on my plate. I had a hard time believing my mother when she told me we were eating blue fish.

We don’t have to go to such lengths to get fresh fish. Every Saturday, there’s a greenmarket at Grand Army Plaza just up the block from us. One of its purveyors, Blue Moon Fish, has some of the best seafood in the city. They catch it during the week off of Long Island and sell it just days later. During the summer, we make weekly pilgrimages to their stand.

Today, it felt like summer so Santa Maria suggested that we indulge in one of our seafood extravaganzas. She biked to the market this morning and came back with three dozen little-neck clams, a pound of cleaned squid, and a pound of fluke. We were set for the day (our other favorite, mussels, aren’t in season yet).

We had the clams for lunch, over pasta, in this case spaghetti. I make a very basic, but very savory white clam sauce.  I learned the recipe years ago when I worked as a clerk in a retail fish market, fine tuned it by reading Mark Bittman’s nifty paperback “Fish: The Complete Guide to Buying and Cooking,” and refined it by eating exceptional versions of it at restaurants like Al Di La, which I’m pretty sure is where I got the idea to add mint to it.

There are countless ways to make this dish (The website for “The Sopranos” even has a recipe). Bittman’s blog has an enticing and slightly more sophisticated variation. He suggests making it without wine. I would try it if I wasn’t so happy with what I’ve been making it for years (and if I hadn’t, about a decade ago, made such a dry version of this dish for a small dinner party that my sister and her husband were prompted to ask when I placed their dinners before them, “where’s the sauce?).

I love the way my sauce tastes, and so does Santa Maria and Nina (Pinta, who normally eats everything, refused to try the dish today—maybe she’s been reading Bittman).

Lately, I’ve been trying to economize by bringing my lunch to work. This has always seemed like a simple idea, but I’ve never been able to pull it off with any regularity. This is partially because cooking for everyone else in the house uses up all my energy. After spending hours making food for the girls and Santa Maria, it’s hard enough for me to think of my own dinner, never mind my lunch. Plus, my office has a very good and, at least for midtown Manhattan, reasonable cafeteria. So I haven’t been all that motivated to bring my lunch. But as I’ve watched the economy wither and thought a bit about what that might mean, I’ve started to reconsider. I’m making a renewed effort to save money.

Last Monday night I happened to have cooked one of our old favorites for dinner: shrimp and fennel risotto.  I make this recipe with a whole lot more shrimp (a pound), rice (about three-quarters of a cup), stock (four cups, or so), and fennel (two organic heads, which tend to be smaller, or one large conventionally grown one). Sometimes we eat all of it. Sometimes there’s enough left over for one more meal, such as lunch.

This morning, Santa Maria had bold plans for the children. She was taking them to the Liberty Science Center. She’d heard great things about it, and was determined to go, even though getting there involves three different modes of public transportation and the crossing of state lines. It’s in New Jersey. We live in Brooklyn. We don’t own a car. This led to a lot of mad scrambling to get out the door early.

Santa Maria grabbed the lingering plastic container of risotto on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. I scratched my head and tried to figure out what I would eat for lunch. I reached deep into the fridge and came up with a container of chicken, which Santa Maria had picked off the bone after our Sunday night dinner, and some rice from the day before. And then there was all of that glorious basil I had washed the other morning.

I paired the chicken with the rice and basil to make a salad, something I learned from Santa Maria, who learned about them years ago when she lived in Spain. I put the three ingredients together. They looked sad and boring. I went back to the refrigerator and found green olives, and my saving grace–a ripe avocado. I cut it up and carried it to work in a separate container, and mixed it in right before eating. Not a half bad way to save money, at all.