goods and heroes

cooking without fumika

It's one thing to have a wonderful teacher in the room with you, guiding you through a process or a doing a bit of hand-holding, but it can be a different story (requiring some amount of self confidence) when you find yourself alone in a room, trying to launch or continue on with the same process or project and the teacher is nowhere to be seen. 

Well maybe I am overthinking this just a skinch but anyhow, the other night, I realized I had a giant bag of organic spinach that was in full-blown "use it or lose" mode. I also had brown rice cooking on the stove and I had a five year-old who snacks waaaay too much before dinner handing me his plate with a completely un-touched breaded chicken cutlet on it. I realized I needed to channel Fumika, the lovely young woman from Tokyo who, a month ago, had taught me and the boys as well as my friend Sarah and I, how to make several popular Japanese dishes. "Gomae," I said aloud to no one in particular and decided right then and there I would transform that bag of spinach into the super simple but satisfying Japanese side salad. Fumika had made it for us when she taught us how to make Tonkatsu back in March and I still had most of the ingredients. 

The first challenge was when I realized I had never written down Fumika's recipe for gomae. I was too busy pounding the bejeezus out of the pork cutlets and making sure Sam didn't deep fry his pinky finger in the hot oil. So I got on the internet. The first recipe I found didn't sound quite like Fumika's but the second one, this one, did. Sort of. When Fumika had said we'd need sesame seeds for the gomae (we were shopping for ingredients at Mitsuwa) I told her I had a large bottle of black sesame seeds at home. "No, I have never heard of using those," she said matter-of-factly and we purchased a small bag of ground blonde-colored sesame seeds. Then I found this recipe where everything was pretty much as she had done, except it called for, you got it, black sesame seeds. It's probably a regional thing, but what I was reminded of immediately is that all cultures and countries have different regions and these regions use varying ingredients. So while black sesame might be completely foreign (and possibly "wrong") to Fumika, to someone from say, Osaka or who knows where, they might be the everyday standard. And in my kitchen, ready to make gomae, all I had was black sesame seeds so I went ahead and used those.  I toasted them quickly in a skillet and then ground them up with my trusty old mortar & pestle. The kitchen smelled divine. 

My second challenge was that when I was starting to pour the Japanese "Mirin" sauce into the measuring spoon, I realized it was rather thick, kind of like corn syrup. We had picked this sauce up at Mitsuwa and so I assumed that it being imported from Japan it was superior. I stopped pouring, turned the bottle around and looked at the ingredients and sure enough, the first ingredient listed was corn syrup -- the second was high fructose corn syrup! (Apparently plain corn syrup isn't high enough in fructose.) So I poured the tablespoon of imported "Mirin" sauce into the sink and reached for my sugar bowl and my little bottle of straight Mirin (sweet rice vinegar) and used those instead. It wasn't a big deal but I'd just rather use straight cane sugar than a sauce that's basically just two types of corn syrup with some rice vinegar thrown in.  So my lesson there, as I was "cooking on my own" is that one person's "secret sauce" can easily be substitutued by something else. They both work, it's just a matter of taste and preference. 

I was ready to toss the soy sauce, mirin, sugar, sake and ground black sesame seeds with the quickly blanched spinach. But I stopped myself and remembered one trick Fumika had taught me about the gomae that I did in fact remember, even if I didn't write it down. She said that tossing all the ingredients together with chopsticks "just makes it taste better." So I grabbed a pair and did just that. And she was right. And I realized (once again!) that cooking is an on-going, wonderful, life-long learning process. I need to be inspired and educated by people like Fumika (otherwise I get bored and stuck in a rut) but I also need to go with my gut or riff on a recipe when it is necessary or i simply feel like it.  

I quietly enjoyed my solo dinner (Ted was heading out to soccer) of gomae, a gringo version of chicken katsu, sticky brown rice and a simple salad of sliced cucumbers doused with a bit of sesame dressing. I think Fumika (who has since moved away to Austin, Texas) would have been pleased with what I came up with in a somewhat impomptu manner. And besides, it tasted really good -- especially the gomae. And I think that's what she really wanted to teach me. 

 

 

cooking with fumika part 2

This time we made Tonkatsu! Before I can talk about learning to make Tonkatsu from Fumika, I must first mention Sunshine Cafe. Sunshine (as we call it) has been in the neighborhood forever, or at least it seems like it has. It is a simple, non-fancy Japanese Restaurant that serves straightforward, comforting homestyle food. It has almost no ambience other than its lack of ambience, it has dusty plastic food in the window and I've always said, it feels like you're eating in somebody's Japanese Grandma's living room. What makes Sunshine so special for us are two things -- the food, which always, always tastes great and lovingly prepared -- and the staff, namely Dan the waiter, who always has a twinkle in his eye and always seems genuinely happy to see us. And the other thing that I appreciate about Sunshine is that this is one place where my picky eater Sam has always been a bit more adventurous. (Probably because he's been coming since he was in utero.) Sam likes their gyoza, their potato croquettes, their Udon and Soba and most recently, he's become a huge fan of their Tonkatsu -- which is a breaded and fried pork cutlet. I know, not the most exotic thing in on the planet, but that he is eating his way around the menu is progress for Sam.

When Sam heard I'd taken a cooking class with Fumika he pleaded with me to have her teach him how to make Tonkatsu. He didn't have to plead, I was happy to have another chance to cook along with Fumika and thrilled he was showing some interest in cooking. (I get a little bit lonely flying so solo in the kitchen at times.) So last Monday afterschool, Fumika came to our place and showed us how to make three dishes: Tonkatsu, Gomae (spinach "salad") and Miso Soup with Japanese Sweet Potatoes.

To be honest, I knew that I could easily find the recipe for the Tonkatsu and Gomae on-line (But Miso Soup with the Japanese Sweet Potatoes was totally new to me) but I wanted Sam and Ben to meet Fumika and have the experience of learning how to cook something from someone other than me. We gathered all the ingredients, put on our aprons and each had different tasks. Fumika toasted the sesame seeds for the gomae and quickly chopped up green onions and the sweet potatoes. I washed the spinach in cold water and got the super fun (and satisfying) job of pounding/tenderizing the pork. And Sam and Ben got to work the Tonkatsu station, dipping the pork cutlets into the flour, egg and then the panko crumbs. They were in heaven! And I was so tickled to have my boys and Fumika in my tiny kitchen with me. 

Sam even worked the meat in the hot oil, learning to respect it and to be careful of it. 

The other thing I liked about this experience is that our dishes didn't taste exactly like the same dishes at Sunshine. Fumika added the toasted, ground sesame to the blanched spinach and it gave this version of gomae a nuttiness that I liked. (But Ben, a Sunshine gomae freak, wasn't as impressed with this subtle change.) And the Tonkatsu that we made were larger and more tender than they are at Sunshine. Sam was super proud of this and ate his entire cutlet. 

And I prior to meeting Fumika, I didn't know what made a Japanese Sweet Potato different than an American one until I tasted it. Oh my, it's like eating chestnuts, quite nutty with that sweet creaminess you get only from chestnuts. And bobbing around in the miso broth made for such a hearty and comforting soup. I will definitely be making this soup again. Ted joined us just as dinner was being served and we sat around the table, talking about food and Japan and soccer and school. It was coming around the table in the best way for all the right reasons. 

We are so lucky to have met Fumika. Unfortunately (for us) she is moving to Austin, Texas on Tuesday so this was almsot like a chance encounter to cook with her two times. We hope to stay in touch via letters (thereby feeding my letter writing jones) where we can share recipes and news of our everyday lives. See what cooking together can do? 

You can check out Fumika's post on our tonkatsu lesson (as well as a silly shot of Sam) here. 

And now I am going to keep my eye out for other people in the city who might like to teach us other cuisines . . . pierogis, tamales, raviolis, so many opportunities!

 

 

cooking with fumika part 1

About a month ago, I was checking out the "community board" over at The Coffee Studio, when I saw a plain piece of white paper with very neat and rather small writing covering it. Upon closer inspection I saw that it read "Hello, I am from Tokyo, Japan and I can tutor you in Japanese or how to cook Japanese food." I pulled off the little tab at the bottom, went back to my laptop and proceeded to email a young woman named Fumika to inquire about teaching me as well as Sam (who is big time into Japanese culture & a few typical foods, especially Ramen) some typical Japanese dishes. 

She responded quickly and we tossed around some possible dishes. I had originally intended to cook with Sam but then we were having a hard to finding a date and a time so I asked my friend Sarah if she'd like to be a part of the cooking action and she said yes without any hesitation. Fumika and I ended up going to Mitsuwa, the Japanese superstore in Arlington Heights and she basically led me on a tour through the store showing me all the things we needed to buy.

We decided on making Okonomiyaki, a savory Japanese pancake filled with "crazy" (= Yaki) ingredients. I cannot tell you what a treat it is to go up and down the aisles of a Japanese store with someone who knows all the ingredients, can read the labels, can point you out to things you didn't even know existed (hello burdock root fish cakes and fried wheat flour). And before we even did any shopping we were even able to enjoy a couple of bowls of ramen from Santoku in the food court. Even if we hadn't cooked a thing, I so enjoyed meeting Fumika and shopping and slurping ramen with her and sharing stories with each other. 

But we did get to cook together and not only once but twice!  The first session was at Sarah's house and Fumika worked with us to make the Okonomiyaki. These are wild and "piled as high as Mt. Fuji" (as Fumika put it) with mashup of ingredients and textures. Fumika told us these are popular as street food, something fast, cheap and very filling. Every region has its own take on them (some are filled with seafood, others with meat, others just vegetables) the version we made was of the Hiroshima style. But it really seemed to be a Midwestern-meets-Japan Okonomiyaki since it was filled with cabbage, bean sprouts, pickled radish, seaweed flakes, fried wheat puffs, bacon, cheddar cheese, Yakisoba noodles and then held together with a fried egg and the thin pancakes. Talk about comfort food! Here's Fumika deftly flipping a pancake.

I was chuckling, saying that I would never, ever be able to flip the heft of those pancakes filled with all those ingredients and a few minutes later, Fumika had Sarah and I making our own Okonomiyaki and flipping them several times over. And we didn't even flub anything up! In fact, it was a lot of fun -- and isn't that the point?  That and it's a plus if the thing you created tastes good. And did it ever . . . here's my beauty shot before I dug in (using only chopsticks I will add, a proud moment for this wobbly chopsticks user). Dig the thick drizzle of Japanese "Kewpie" brand mayonaise and the sweet Okonomiyaki sauce. The green is some type of dried seaweed flakes. 

The pancake was delicious and yes, humungous, I could only finish half, but brought the rest home to share with Ted. Sarah and I really enjoyed Fumika and her teaching style which was efficient and quick and sweet. It's not every day that you open your kitchen to a stranger and you don't know how things might go, but we got very, very lucky with this. 

Fumika has her own blog and posted about our lesson, you can check it out here. I was so happy with the experience and when Sam heard about it he said, "But what about us? I'd like to make Tonkatsu with Fumika." And so I emailed her and we set up an evenng to do just that. I'll share you the wonderful details on that cooking lesson in a day or two. But I will leave saying again that opening your kitchen is a way of opening your eyes to new things, your head to new knowledge (people, I now know how to make crazy Japanese pancakes filled as high as Mt. Fuji!) and even your heart to others and their experiences. And you know that i just love it when food brings us all together. 

Should you like a more detailed recipe of Okonomiyaki, here's a link. Who knew there was a blog called Okonomiyaki World?  You can learn all about them. Enjoy!

soup & bread & a brand new cookbook

There's a lot of soup love that happens here at Goods & Heroes. Some might say I blather on a bit too much about all things soupy. But there are so many reasons why I have a deep appreciation for soup. It can be restorative or even healing. (Jewish Penicillin, anyone?)  It requires that you slow down just a little bit to make it from scratch but it doesn't have to be fussy or overly complicated. (My friend Sarah makes an exquisite Onion Soup that has three ingredients!) And soup can feed a large crowd economically but still be pleasing.

But before I go any further on my happy soup rant, I want you to know that the fabulous food writer/bartending community organizer Martha Bayne and her uber-inspired Soup & Bread events have produced a really rocking Love Child: The Soup & Bread Cookbook.

Apparently I wasn't the only person a wee bit excited about this coming -- the book release party was last night and people arrived in droves, filling the Hideout to capacity with folks spilling out into the street. And I think it's because this isn't just another cookbook and people love Martha's writing and they also love the Soup & Bread series, which gives them a place to go on a cold winter night to sample homemade soups while hanging out with other soup-loving people. (If you want to read more about Soup & Bread at the Hideout and why it's so dang cool, read all about it here.)

Using recipes from the different folks who have brought soup (and bread) to the the Soup & Bread events over the years, each chapter has a different theme which explores the subtle powers of soup from a community-building standpoint. It's one of those cookbooks you want to curl up with and savor one chapter at a time. Oh sure, you might be inspired to make some pretty amazing soups (Stephanie Izard's Pear, Parsnip & Pistachio Soup has certainly caught my eye) but you'll also love reading about Soup & Peace or Soup for Art. And you can even read about the Soup Swap that was held right here at Tawse-Grossman HQ last February in Chapter Two: Soup for Swapping. 

Intrigued? You can purchase the book on Chicago's own independent Bloodshot Record's website -- that's a double whammy good thing. But even if you don't or can't afford to right now, I strongly encourage you to stop by Soup & Bread one night this winter. Heck, I might even be standing behind a Crock Pot ladling up soup.

cider

Picking apples didn't happen this year. It just wasn't in the cards with everything going on. September's always a busy month for us with back to school and Sam's birthday but this year it was just bonkers. But don't feel too sorry for us -- we've had a steady influx of locally grown apples from neighbors, friends, work pals, I even bought six bushels of apples for the charrette and they were a huge hit with everyone that came into the gym. We've munched on Honey Crisps and compared the tartness of a Jonagold with the pucker of a Granny Smith. Still, I was feeling a teentsy bit blue that fall was in full swing and an apple had not been plucked from a branch.

But that all changed on Tuesday night because my old friend Nance invited the family to come to her house to press some apple cider. Nance's owned a cider press for years and I've been invited to cider making gatherings in the past but just couldn't swing it. But this year, I knew it needed to happen. And boy am I glad it did.

We arrived at Nance's place in Little Village at 6 pm. She has a slightly overgrown garden where she cultivates and cares for everything from chickens to currants. The boys, especially Ben, were in heaven. "It's like a forest in our city," Ben said, "with a rooster!"

Fighting the fading light, we quickly set to work chopping up apples that were grown on Nance's parents' farm outside of Barrington. There were seven of us cutting up small imperfect heirloom apples, so we filled our bins and buckets pretty swiftly. Ben hung out with the chickens and Sam found a bench and dove into a book.

Then the fun really began. With a fat, full moon floating overhead, we started feeding the chopped apples into the antique press named "Lawrence" (after its original owner) painted a wonderful turquoise blue with original wooden components. We took turns tamping down the apples and turning the giant wheel that pushes the apple pulp into the wooden basket. Sam quickly put his book down (it was too dark to read anyhow) and was turning that wheel with all his might. Once the basket was filled with chopped up apples, then it was time to squeeze the cider out of the pulp and into buckets and jars.

Sam hopped onto this task as well. It really took a lot of upper body strength to squuueeeeeeeze all the juice out of the apples. When the cider started trickling down the wooden channel and into a glass jar, we all sighed collectively, it was such a lovely sound. And it smelled divine.

Nance had asked us each to bring a jar so that we could take home some cider. I brought one Ball jar for our family. But she was so impressed with Sam's determination, hard work and the joy he was getting out of pressing the cider, that she sent us home with three jars. Three! What a gift.

Of course it's the most delicious cider we have ever tasted. And we are savoring it, having wee jelly jar glasses of it breakfast & supper so as to make it last. We clinked our glasses the morning after our cider making, our arms sore from pounding, turning, pulling. "To apples, to cider, to Nance for inviting us." I asked Sam if he would like to go back again and press cider next year and he said, "Oh yeah, that was awesome." Yes it was.  We will find time to pick apples next year. And hopefully bring some over to Nance's for another cider pressing party.

 

weekend away summer salad

We spent the weekend up in Michigan at our good friend Jonny's house, which overlooks Lake Michigan. This is a yearly ritual with the same core group of friends (Ted's childhood pals from Hyde Park) coming together to hang out at the beach, catch up on everyone's lives and of course, to gather around meals. And luckily, happily, this is a group that likes to cook and eat. As long as we've been doing this, we've divided up the meals so that each family pretty much prepares one meal or even a snack.

This year we were given Brunch on Sunday. This would be the last meal of the gathering. So I planned to just be super straightforward and do a mess of really excellent bacon from my buddy Crystal and farm fresh eggs, scrambled (Ted's job) and fresh slices of watermelon and a simple tossed green salad. Not complicated or exotic but still satisfying. The night before we had roasted corn on the grill and Jonny had made a ratatouille of sorts with tomatoes and zucchini. In the morning when I was pulling out the bacon and the eggs I saw several uneaten ears of cooked corn, a large uncooked zucchini, a small bag of fresh basil from my window box in Chicago, a bunch of parsely and a half a red bell pepper.

"Corn salad!" I announced to the fridge. It would be just the thing to round out the brunch offerings and really make it feel of the season. I mean, if corn doesn't sing "Summer!" then I don't know what does. Plus, I have this frugal/hyper-practical side and I hate to see things go to waste. So I cut the corn off the cob, diced and quickly steamed the zucchini, I rolled the basil into tiny cigars and sliced the leaves into ribbons, diced the red pepper and chopped up about 1/4 of a cup of parsely. Finally, I tossed in some crumbled Feta to balance the sweetness & crunch of the corn and the peppers with a little creamy saltiness. And there it was, summer in a bowl.

This is so easy to riff on. Had there been asparagus or cucumbers instead of the zucchini, I could have easily used those. Instead of basil I could have added ribbons of kale or spinach or mint. Instead of the peppers, red grape tomatoes would have been lovely. I used a squueze of lime and about a teaspoon of oil to bring it together but a prepared vinaigrette would have been just fine.

We had a really nice brunch. Ted's eggs were soft & fluffy and every piece of the bacon was eaten, the watermelon was juicy & cool, the salad was a nice foil to the bacon's bad-ass-ness. But it was the corn salad that made me happiest. I hope we get the last brunch again next year.

 

 

my summer of soba

Finally, it's acting like summer. It's hot and sunny, the kids are going to their day camps, we've been hitting the beach & staying up late. And we've been eating all kinds of wonderful in season fruits and veggies. (Talk about hyperlocal eating -- we're growing raspberries in the parkway and just yesterday Ben ate the first 10 right off the bush.) In summer I tend to back way off from the hot, hot, heat kind of cooking -- you know, slow braised meats and big batches of pasta -- because our teeny tiny kitchen heats up faster than you can say Hades.  And I'm loathe to admit it, but frankly,  I'm trying choose my carb & white flour moments a little more thoughtfully these days.  Mostly. I mean, sometimes. Anyhow, if I was on a Green Bean Salad jag last summer, then this year I seem to be on a Soba Salad run that shows no signs of slowing down. That's fine with me.

First of all, soba noodles cook in about 2 minutes, so the kitchen doesn't turn into a Russian Spa just because I want to slurp up some noodles. Secondly, soba noodles are made from buckwheat, so they're actually good for you. (I used to be an Udon noodle gal but I've actually learned to like the somewhat nuttier flavor of the buckwheat.) And finally, they're super versatile. They can be served hot in soups or cold in the traditional Japanese manner called Zaru Soba where you dip your noodles into a sauce on the side. Or you can riff a little on the 80's version of a pasta salad and make a slightly wetter (and tastier) version with the soba noodles.  That's what I've been doing for the past few months, thanks to this delightful recipe from former Minimalist always brilliant Mark Bittman.

You can literally toss in whatever veggies you have in the fridge. A few weeks ago, I was using a lot of asparagus & spinach as that was what came in my Irv & Shelly's Fresh Picks box. I've also been throwing in edamame as Ben loves to help me out by popping them out of their shells and into the noodles. The shot above is from the other day. I had bok choy and another Asian braising green (its name escapes me) that had to be eaten up before my new Fresh Picks box arrived. The corn was from a leftover cob that had been boiled the night before. (Never toss out uneaten cobs! You can saw the kernels off into all kinds of things.) This version was actually edging more toward a cold, refreshing noodle soup than a cold salad, but that was fine by me. More happy summer soba slurping action for yours truly.

p.s. if you're one of those amazingly capable cooks that would even consider making your own noodles from scratch, here's a recipe with cool step-by-step photos. I doubt I'll get around to that. It would just take time away from being at the beach and enjoying summer. And more soba.

 

 

 

eating in museums, basements & gyms

My new heroes are the people who serve food to their local communities as a way to fundraise.  I'm not talking about fancy catered affairs with high ticket prices. I'm talking about grassroots events where regular folk flip pancakes, bake pies, brew coffee, wash dishes and serve home-cooked food to the hungry people who show up.

This past weekend, I was lucky enough to eat three meals of this sort. And each one made me very, very happy.

Friday night, somewhat impulsively, Ben and I found ourselves at the Swedish-American Museum for one of their Family Nights.  It just so happened that they were serving heart-shaped waffles to celebrate The Feast of Annunciation, commonly referred to as Vaffelsdagen--Waffle Day. So we had absolultely no choice but to have waffles for dinner. For a mere five bucks a perky blonde lady in a bright red apron brought us waffles straight from the iron. We slathered them with butter then a smear of berry jam and then a little pile of fresh whipped cream.  I was feeling really good about my Scandinavian lineage and the Swedish Museum as we munched away on our "vafflor." Ben was feeling pretty good about his waffles.

The very next morning I got up and headed over to the Mayfair Lutheran Church. On Wednesday while up at the North Park Village Nature Center, I'd overheard a couple of the octogenarian volunteers talking about an upcoming pancake breakfast. My ears tingled. On my way out I saw a funny little flyer at the front desk that specified that it was a Swedish Pancake Breakfast. So I instantly knew what my plans for Saturday morning were.

Sam was at a friend's on a sleepover and Ted & Ben were quite happy to sleep in a bit and snuggle in the covers. I went down into the Church's basement and was pleased to see my friend Sean, then my old friend Jim, who is the site steward at Gompers Park and then I saw a few of the volunteers from the Nature Center.

The pancakes were being made by two jovial gentleman while sleepy/shy tweenagers hung at the back of the kitchen slurping sodas and putting out plates and juice.

The pancakes were thin and spot-on in terms of crispness on the outside and soft inside but they were also huge. They wanted to give me three but I stopped at two. Another man, 70 years-young, shakily but sweetly put a fat sausage on my paper plate, someone else handed me a tiny cup of lingonberries. I made my way to my pals at the long table and proceeded to dress up my pancakes with butter and sugar. (That's how we ate them when I was little--only we called them rollcakes and my Grandma Ruthie didn't make them so big.)  As I ate the pancakes in the bustling basement, with a crowd that was mostly past their 60's and 70's, in a church I'd never been in before, I felt completely welcome and so happy to be there. And the pancakes were divine. I only wished Ben & Ted would have joined me. Ben would have been in heaven. (If one can be in heaven and in a church basement at the same time.)

 

The following afternoon all four of us headed to the gym of the Old Irving Lutheran Church.  This time for the Third Annual Three Brothers Chili Supper. Coordinated in part by my pal Sarah, I love this event because several generations of neighbors in the community pull it off and it feels so vibrant. Plus,  the chili's pretty-darned good and they always have the most inspired decorations. (I believe Sarah's responsible for those.) Over the years, I've gotten to know more of Sarah's friends and neighbors and so last night was like being at a raucous wedding or a really fun school dance, where you go around the gym and are so happy to see people and chat and catch up with them.

This event also had a sweets table and a raffle (Sam really, really wanted to win the overnight package at Key Lime Cove, but it didn't pan out) and my favorite new addition: a Cake Walk. You know, where they play the music and you walk in a circle and then when the music stops you land on a number. If they call your number, you win a homemade cake. Brilliant. I didn't win a cake, neither did Sam (he tried six times!) but we had fun regardless. I might have a Cake Walk at my next birthday. Only I'm going to rig it so that everybody goes home with a cake. Or a little mini cake.

Obviously every weekend one can't find themselves experiencing such amazing community-rooted food gatherings. (One being me eh.) But I am certainly going to keep my ears perked for more in the future. Heck, I might even put on an apron and help serve something. And if you know of one coming up, do please let me know!

 

swapping soup

We had ourselves a little Soup Swap here on Sunday afternoon. Actually, it wasn't so little and if you want to get all technical, it wasn't literally a swap. But it was a ton of fun and every person that arrived bearing three quarts of homemade soup went home with three different homemade soups. When I first sent the email out asking if anyone was game to come on over and swap some soup, I was hoping that maybe five or six soup-loving souls would say yes. We ended up having fifteen different soups -- there were 45 quarts of soup on our funny old table! Some in Zip-loc bags, others in jars, some in carboard containers and other in plastic tubs. Some came with garnishes such as chopped hard boiled egg, tortilla strips, cheese and cilantro, parmesan and even lovely green apples. Some were chunky, others were silky and they ranged from Polish Pickle Soup to New Year's Hot & Sour.

And the soup makers were a great mashup of family, friends, neighbors, former colleagues (and a lot of those categories tend to blend and bleed into each other) hanging out while the kids tore around the basement wearing capes, crowns and masks. This was my first time hosting any sort of a swap and it was a breeze to organize and a lot of fun to host.  The website SoupSwap (yes, such a thing exists) provided me with guidelines -- for example, for the first round of "swapping" we used the number-in-the-hat method that is suggested. But for the second and third rounds we got a little more creative, using birthdays (going backwards) and first initials of people's names. Also, I didn't go with the suggestion to have people bring six quarts of soup. That just struck me as way too much to make and take home. (I know I don't have room in my freezer for six quarts of anything!) So I halved it and went with the odd but lovely number of three. Nobody seemed to balk at that quantity.

I don't know for certain but it seemed like everyone went home happy and genuinely looking forward to trying their soup. I know I am. I was lucky enough to get Fran's Cream of Spinach Soup soup, (a gorgeous, grassy green, we're having for supper tonight) Teresa's Split Pea "Zupka" and the Kuzma's Chicken & Sweet Potato Stew. Oh and I made Creamy Artichoke soup. And it wasn't khaki-colored and it tasted like artichokes!

Now I am wondering what sort of food swap is up next . . . maybe a Bread Swap? Or perhaps a Pickle Swap? I'll keep you posted.

  

 

re-thinking soup

I have wanted to go to Re-Thinking Soup at the Jane Addams Hull House Museum for almost three years. I am not exaggerating. But it takes place on Tuesdays at noon and I always worked on Tuesdays and it just didn't seem like I could swing getting there and back without eating up a couple of hours. And when you only have five hours of office time, twice a week, a couple of hours is a lot to burn up. However, this past Tuesday, now recently liberated from the concept of "office time," I finally, finally made it to Re-Thinking Soup. I tell you, anticipating something for several years can be tricky. I mean, you get so full of longing that there's a very good chance whatever you are patiently waiting to experience might not be as fabulous and good as you had built up in both your heart & brain and you'll just end up crestfallen. Or at least rather disappointed. But I am thrilled to say that Re-Thinking Soup was all that I had hoped it would be.

Here's the concept in a nutshell: take the soup kitchen model and tweak it in such a way that anyone can come and have a nutrtitious, hot bowl of soup for free whilst listening to someone, say a farmer, artist, historian or community activist, talk to the group about current economic, social, cultural and political issues.

I enetered the old Residents' Hall, heavy on dark wood beams and gorgeous old windows and it was packed. In fact all the communal tables were taken, but there were chairs and benches along the wall. Apparently it was in this very room that Upton Sinclair, Ida B. Wells, W.E.B. Du Bois, Gertrude Stein and other important social reformers would come together to discuss ther issues of their day. Solid people & predecessors if there ever were for soup eating! After standing in line I was handed a deep, white bowl of tomato-basil soup. (I loved that my bowl had a teeny chip on it.) The tomatoes were grown a block away at the Hull House Urban Farm last summer and then frozen. I also grabbed a homemade seeded hard roll out of a giant basket (I have a thing for hard rolls, they're so utilitarian) and it turns out they were made from flour from Sarah Kavage's Industrial Harvest flour art project. So this wasn't just some soup poured out of #10 cans and nasty white bread from a factory. This was soup made from locally grown tomatoes in a kitchen a few feet away and rolls with a very good back story. Sigh.

I found a spot right under one of those wonderful windows and I looked around the room. I'd say about three-quarters of the group appeared to be students but what I loved was it was students of every size, shape and color. And then those of us who are no longer college age were a motley crew as well: hippies, artists, a tiny bird lady, one grizzled old guy, a fetching man in a beret and a couple of big guys in Carhartt's that looked like they worked the grounds at UIC. We were all there packed in pretty cozily, slurping up our soup (which had a bright summery tomato flavor) and some of us were dunking our hard rolls into the soup and then happily tearing away at the bread. 

The speaker was just okay, she only spoke for like 17 minutes but I did learn a little bit more about the Little Village Environmental Justice Organization. I didn't mind, it was just great to sit with a bunch of strangers enjoying homemade soup on a cold winter's day in Chicago. Next week the speaker is Steve Pincupsy from the Safer Pest Control Project and he's an excellent speaker. Total natural in front of crowd. You should go and listen and have some soup. You might just see me there.