Eggs and Company

The ever versatile egg has had quite a ride in the culinary traditions of many countries; it is a nutritional icon of bakers and chefs all across the nation. Home cooks rely on this quick and easy resource for thrifty meals. Children and the elderly find the soft protein chewable and digestible. and why not include the pets on this festive gourmet parade? At less than a dollar a dozen presently, the whole family can indulge.

Medical arena scare tactics have vilified the 'poor' egg industry; first it was the cholesterol, till that theory was reversed by research on the quality vs quantity  of metabolic process of the eggs. Now the focus is directed to cage-free production and salmonella or avian flu--Buyer beware! If the consumer intends to eat eggs raw in smoothies or out of shell, then it is best to depend on field raised chickens and reputable stores.

NOW! for the fun part of 'eggdom': What I do with the humble, yet majestic source of life, this egg in my kitchen.

1) Boiled Eggs, How and When:
Gently put eggs in bottom of pan--(i use a whole dozen for various purposes) cover with cold water--add a tsp of salt--bring to a boil for five minutes--turn heat off--cover with lid for five extra minutes.
--empty hot water in sink--fill pan with cold water till that is warm--empty again--Put a towel on counter--then roll each egg with GENTLE pressure to crack the surface only--pull--peel--rinse egg.( i let other eggs soak in the cold water while i peel the diaphenous inner skin off the smooth egg white) done! After admiring your handiwork, grab a sharp knife to slice or cube the perfect white oval shapes. Ready?

What to do with Boiled Eggs?:
a simple white gravy can dress up a quick open faced toast:
3 heaping tablespoons of flour--i cup of milk--salt and pepper to taste--shake all in a glass jar--let a spoon of olive oil or bacon grease or best coconut oil heat on medium in sauce pan--add liquid to pan--stir constantly till thick, add more milk or water or broth till smooth--add egg cubes--five minute total and you are serving a nutritious go-to breakfast, lunch or why not dinner.
serving suggestions: bacon bits, parsley leaves, green onion slices, pepper flakes and grated cheese all add flavor and eye appeal, savor!

Egg Salad:
 a standard which requires only clean hands and a gourmet mind:
Armed with any kitchen tool capable of smashing the rubbery food into submission; you reduce the eggs which have not quite deserved an award for successful peeling. let rest in bottom of glass bowl--now in separate bowl, you mix any or all the following ingredients--3 Tsp mayonnaise--1 tsp mustard<if you must> Dijon for sure--a dash of pickle juice ( i prefer bread-and-butter or sweet gherkins) a pinch of salt and a sneeze of pepper..red pepper flakes or red bell pepper cubes, green ones and even yellow ones for color and texture! add to the eggs. Don't taste yet! wait an hour as flavors blend and cool.
Serve on toasted sour dough or on crackers, with an olive on top of course!. let imagination play with your food! mint or parsley add to digestibility.  a discreet lemon squeeze brings out the essence of freshness.

Now for Quiche:
Easy way first:
Buy 2 pie shells--lightly poke shells with fork tips, paint surface with coconut oil or melted butter--bake in oven at 375 for only five minutes ..
In a large glass bowl, 1 cup of milk-- 3 large eggs--a dash of salt and pepper--sprinkle of onion soup mix--a tsp of baking soda--a tbsp of flour.and a bag of frozen spinach, or can of drained spinach-- mix well--pour evenly in shells--add grated cheese on top--bake 45 minutes till brown and dry crust.
 for Better Quiche?make own homemade crust--use half and half-- fresh spinach and pan fried onion cubes--fresh Gruyere swiss cheese and six eggs--rich and creamy.
 Bon Appetit!

Dress up leftovers with yellow eyed slices, or throw onto salads for that restaurant effect and taste.
cut eggs in half lengthwise and plant flowers like violets or rose petals along with bushy lemon balm or verbena sprigs on its sunny heart, pink Himalayan salt or red pepper flakes will finish the garnish;. fun and crunch!sprinkle wine vinegar or rice vinegar and oil across tops; voila!

Zero Waste prep post.

What binds writers and readers together in any measure is the humanity. I wish to approach the experience of Zero Waste Week from such a standpoint; not as a scientific exposé. The only research I will rely on is empiric - mine by will or accident, (and I 've had plenty of the later). My whole kitchen, my entire life has been a more or less joyful experiment in living according to the laws of nature, rather than strictly those of mere men.

 these tiny toms were ready for chutney...

I suspect our attitudes are formed early, eating habits seem ingrained by age two, oh yes I have observed lots of these little creatures that spit and squawk at the sight of vegetables..I 've been subjected to amazing restaurant displays of wee ones screaming for something 'other' than what they were served. And don't forget the parents, scoffing at a perfectly presentable dish of magnificent protein..now look behind the eatery and you' ll find all these wonderful cuts of expensive items, some nearly intact; that's enough to make a zero waster march back in and shove the indecent leftovers in the large purses of the offensive patrons.. alright I never have acted on such unsociable impulses..just indulging my wild imagination here.

Waste is no longer acceptable on a planet carrying more than seven billion people, oof! That's a lot of mouths. Think that I can instantaneously feel guilty when I must send rough peelings to the soil enrichment program; compost pile or bin..well it is a rare day when I put in more than eggshells and coffee grounds or tea leaves on there. My usual installments run along the truly indigestible or the rare rancid range of neglect. In the days when I had a VITAMIX, a superb blender by name, I included eggshells and banana peels in the smoothies for calcium phosphates and potassium. Although I did not enunciate each mineral benefit, my children still benefited of a free science lesson at every meal. It worked! Oh yes, they still eat well, in fine health.

this is the recycled industrial vacuum container for food and paper waste compost bin; see it works!

My humble secondhand blender makes use of overripe fruits and end-of-cycle vegetables. Many speedy wonders can be performed with past-their-prime veges. For example, cukes and kale leaves for a spontaneous creamy vichyssoise cold soup; just add sour cream, sea salt, pepper or in my case, a garlic clove. For Zero Waste Week, I shall drop some taste hints about more successful ways to make-do-make good recipes to avoid any waste of ANY FOOD..math tells me that zero means nada, none, zilch. That's always been my subconscious aim.

Morality does not necessarily motivate the act of saving foodstuffs, frugality plays a part in the daily activity of an inveterate saver, of course..but I believe the innate gratitude of a person remains an inherent factor in that kind of behavior toward natural resources. Well, natural has become a 'relative term' in GMO parlance. Unless you have lots of free time or money to shop carefully, you may be saving something more than organic substance. Unless you grow your own (I mean foods) you run the flexible risk of adopting unknown ingredients to sustain bodies and minds.

So, are we ready to face a whole week of No waste? Easy for me to say; this coincides with a huge cache of garden harvest. I am the fortunate recipient of gorgeous tomatoes and cucumbers from folks who appreciate my utter appreciation of their bounty. And then I have my own squash and onions, melons and grapes, apples or pears. What is a cook to do? Can-can-can do. I will illustrate the lazy kitchen maid's way to preserve goodies, so that only tails and apple worms are returned to such generous dirt as I am glad to have right here in compost heaven... 

Read you later! Comments are a rich source of innovation; crossing toes, hoping to learn and enjoy.

Snailing Night

Snailing night.

Looking in the mirror, I see the ten year old girl that I was. Stringy blond strands fighting straw like underbrush, brown, bronze and wet. A large childish smile parked on dark laughing eyes, I am rain, I am happiness. Can't wait to gross out my friends with my old recipes.

As I pull weeds in the garden, beset with a week of strong storms, I find the American Midwest akin to my temperate humid Southwestern France. I am that child again, standing in the narrow plot behind the house in Angoulême. Feet ensconced in rubber galoshes, I track mud in the paths between vegetables and flowers. It is getting dark and the chill of relentless rain penetrates perception to the bone.

I have set the upturned clay pots amid the thick vegetation and will return after supper to find what the traps have collected. I shake my red raincoat before hanging it on its hall hook, untie my rain cap, slip the overshoes off, and check for moisture on my felt house slippers before stepping on the bees-waxed floor. The strict protocol routine brings comfort in its predictability.

Dinner served, dishes done, I swiftly grab the one rectangular flashlight from the kitchen cupboard, there are some distant rumblings in the sky to the west. I know the sound of nature, little frogs pip in the lilacs, birds stir and shake feathers in the fat peach tree.Facing south the first cloche hides amid Swiss chards, I lift it carefully as if snails could or would run away; the light reveals a good dozen large snails, I pluck them from the safety of their newfound shelter. Guilty, yet hungry for more, checking under dripping plants, I skip from pot to pot, raise them from the rocks I have set them on, drop snails into my wire basket, their new cage.  Tremble and tumble, I moan and bite my lip at every find.

By the time I have walked the entire distance to the last one on the metal shavings pathways, the basket is heavy with the globes of brown striped common snails. A local delicacy. I have done my pesticidal duty, these won't eat our prized endives anymore. I swing the basket of live prey and apologize to them for imprisoning them in this ancient wire structure. I close the lid on them and on my conscience in one swift gesture, click! And there I go trotting to the kitchen, proud of my bounty.

Ah, not too bad says father lifting his demi-tasse cup of dark chicory that smells of Armagnac. Now the spiraling helixes will go on a fast till all fecal detritus is expelled from their systems. Down the basement, I set the tall tower on a newspaper in the ambient darkness for them to become lean and hungry. For us to satisfy a gustatory taste for rare delicacies. I bow my head in hesitant apology.

A week later I bring the terrestrial shells up to the slaughterhouse that will be the kitchen table. I check for dead ones by poking them tenderly with the point of my knife. My Pradel knife finds only two lame victims of this practice to return to the compost pile. The rest are washed in salt water, left to salivate and froth for an hour. Then I must drop them in boiling water, pull the basket up in two minutes and proceed to extract them from the shells. Wash them carefully, as the cooked creatures will be served in these.

Meanwhile I peel garlic, two entire cloves, chop parsley, two whole handfuls, heat olive oil in the sauce pan, throw the minced garlic in, stir till brown, sprinkle a handful of flour over it and pour white wine in it till the sauce thickens—not too thick- not too thin, not a single lump...now add the parsley, just in time to present at table. Perch platter on tile, add the snails and gently enrobe them with the sauce, grind pepper and sea salt over it. Cover and wait.

The plate full of scallions and fresh radishes, celery blades and carrot wedges with three salt wells full of gray Atlantic sea salt is empty, the hors-d'oeuvres plate removed, the shellfish forks installed, I majestically lift the lid off the terrine and exclaim “bon appètit!” I serve father first, line up the thin two pronged wood handled fork perpendicular with the small knife. With great care, I raise the sauce ladle full of the gourmet entree; I am not breathing, nor looking at anything but the steam rising from the centerpiece. The aroma intense in the small kitchen, the sun rays at right angles through sheer curtains, mother sits motionless on her woven reed chair. Hands on apron, I neither budge, nor blink. The suspense unbearable. The tiny fork travels slowly to his lips, I see the dark stubble of evening beard on his chin, I spy the teeth which will tell of the effort I have made.

Now I serve mother, then sit myself, no word, she takes a second bite, kicks my leg under the table. She pushes a flour lump on the side of her plate, slides her tongue on her teeth as if something distasteful had bothered her sensibilities, I dare not take a taste as yet. Just as I inhale, “ ça va, pas mal! Un peu trop salé” ( Ok, not too bad; slightly too salty) father tilts his head in cockeyed approval. I hold a runaway smile under tight lip. Mother silently keeps hunting for lumps with croutons impaled to fork. I plunge into the rare dish and savor each rubbery morsel closing my eyes at every bite, separating the flavors on my palate, grainy garlic, pungent parsley, gray spirals of smooth protein, and the semi-sweetness of the slowly simmered wine lingers on the memory.