Too Many Cooks in the Kitchen?

Photo by Aubrey L. Stopa Photography.

Here's something that's actually very hard for me to admit to the big wide world. I don't like cooking with other people.

In fact, I remember at one point during holiday cooking last year when I specifically referred to a family member as a "sous-chef," implying that I was the one calling the shots and they could help me chop veggies. The idea of sharing meal preparation appeals to me in every way, except in practice. I get edgy, controlling, particular; anyone who's ever cooked with me knows this. I wonder why my co-pilot is chopping the vegetables on a diagonal, or shredding cheese with the wrong side of the grater, or adding the garlic at that point in the cooking.

I'm a MONSTER! Yikes!

So first off, my sincere apologies to everyone who has ever shared counter space with me before and thought, "What a {insert word of your choice here}!" I'm hoping to correct this crazy behavior before this holiday season hits us!

Recently, I've realized that this monstrous kitchen mentality means I cut myself off from sharing one of my favorite things to do with the people I love. And it's getting pretty lonely in the kitchen.

Why do I insist on cooking alone? Why am I such a control freak, a real Type A, no-nonsense cook?There is a specific way I like things done, and an order and a rhythm to my way that to some may translate to chaos. Can't I see that my enjoyment in the kitchen could be magnified if I just opened up and shared it with someone?

I'd like to change. It would be such a nice thing to enjoy preparing dinner with Ryan, or anyone else for that matter.

So how do I change my ways? I have a plan, and it goes a little something like this.

1. Bring a friend in on my meal planning. Let's take my husband, for instance: ask for (and listen to) his input on the week's meal plan. 
2. Begin to implement the plan together. This may be tricky as step one is grocery shopping and I know at least one person in our household does not enjoy that. 
3. Divide tasks ahead of time. Before we begin preparing a meal, establish clear-cut roles. 
4. Do not step on toes. I am the queen of back-seat food preparation. Step back and appreciate that everyone can bring their own creative recipe interpretations to the table. 
5. Enjoy the adventure and the experience. 
6. Stop being so formulaic about things, as evidenced by this numbered list.
7. Loosen up and let everyone else have as much fun as I do while cooking. Get creative, try things a different way, read the recipe aloud together and follow the steps—or not.

Any other tips? Have you converted to a communal cook and lived to tell the tale? Do share!

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Bread That Doesn't Taste Bad

Homemade multigrain bread with homemade peach preserves (Texas-grown, of course!).

"So, where did you find a recipe for healthy bread that doesn't taste bad?" Ah, just another glowing review from my husband to make my morning!

But truly, this was a special loaf of bread. It was (it's all gone now) fluffy and soft on the inside with a warm, nutty flavor and just enough tooth in the crust to make for perfect slicing. It toasted up great and made for a tasty sandwich bread that held together impressively well. All my previous multigrain attempts fell into piles of crumbs upon first slice, or didn't rise enough to qualify as sandwich worthy.

Admittedly, baking is not my strong suit, and I know exactly why. It's because baking is a science, and you can't just haphazardly substitute ingredients as if they were herbs, spices, or protein sources. Bread recipes are crafted because of the way a specific type of flour interacts with a specific kind of yeast; timing is important, patience is important, and following the rules is important. All things I struggle with.

Oh yes, baking bread is a great metaphor for my life that's not lost on me.

But I may have had a breakthrough this week, with my very first edible and healthy made-from-scratch loaf of bread. I didn't even use the bread maker (which was gifted to me by my husband a few Christmases ago, as a sort of polite way of telling me I needed help in the homemade bread department and would I please stop making him eat those dense whole wheat bricks that kept coming out of the oven).

Though I can't tell you how much discipline it took me to wait for the dough to rise; it involved forcing myself to watch some bad TV and I got up many times to see if it was rising faster than the recipe anticipated. Patience, patience.

Thanks to Cook's Illustrated, Pinterest, and one night at home alone with a pantry full of all the right ingredients, I had on my hands the perfect recipe for a good loaf of bread.

Here's where I found the recipe, which is from the always-wonderful Cook's Illustrated. But true to form, I made three very minor alterations to the recipe that did not seem to have an adverse effect on the outcome:

• Instead of whole wheat flour, I used whole grain spelt flour (personally I just like the flavor better). 
• Instead of 7-grain cereal, I used 5-grain cereal (which was readily available in the bulk bins). 
• And since I only have one loaf pan, I cut the recipe in half. 

A few more things I learned:

• Check the doneness with an instant-read thermometer. Turns out 200 F is juuuuust right! 
• Let the bread cool on the counter, uncovered, overnight. This helps the loaf develop a crunchy crust, cool completely, and remain soft on the inside. The next morning I was able to easily slice perfect pieces for toast. 
• It took the two of us about two days to go through one loaf of bread; breakfast two days, and lunch for me two days. It remained soft and delicious until the last crumb.
• If you're not going to eat this bread within two days, let it cool and then wrap it in two layers of plastic wrap and one layer of foil. It can then be frozen, for up to a month.

Overall, this was a wonderful experience and I can't wait to make another loaf. Not to mention, I'm working on the nutritional aspect of this bread; I hope to find out that it's significantly lower in sodium than its grocery-store counterparts (which come in at around 140 mg of sodium per slice!). 

Do you have a favorite bread recipe? Are you as impatient as me?

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...My Grandpa Was a Farmer

This afternoon I called my grandmother and we got to talking about the vegetable beds. I told her our fall garden is starting to come up, and she said, "Well it's just about time for that, dear." And then I told her that I like to think my grandfather would be proud of me, now that I have a small farm in my backyard.

My sister and brother and I grew up on my grandparents' farm, our house nestled between fields of corn, cotton, and maize. My grandpa raised cattle and had a big garden in between our house and theirs. My mother inherited his green thumb, and now I have a feeling I got a little of it too.

And then my grandmother said something interesting: "It sounds like everybody has a vegetable garden nowadays. I mean, that's sure what I've been hearing."

Hold the phone, what's that? Even my grandma knows that backyard farming is coming into the norm? And I'll just come out and say that she's not getting this information from all the hipster blogs she's reading. No, this comes from network television and what she reads in the newspaper.

This is totally encouraging. Friends and coworkers are telling me that they're venturing into gardening—one took the simple step of getting a galvanized metal trough, filling it with dirt, and picking up a packet of lettuce seeds. She and her husband are tired of second-guessing how clean grocery store lettuce is, so they're going to grow their own. Another friend is excited to move to a house so she can try her hand at square foot gardening. And good friends of ours have been sharing their amazing okra harvest with us (we like it tossed in olive oil, sprinkled with sea salt, and grilled until they're charred).

Are you jumping on this backyard gardening bandwagon? What questions do you have about getting your garden started or keeping it going?

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Flecks of Green

Arugula sprouts up among pine straw.

This morning I woke up to water the seeds (over the weekend we planted kale, lettuce, carrots, Swiss chard, bok choi, dill, turnips, and kohlrabi) and marvel at what a difference a change in the seasons makes.

The air is cool and crisp. Dawn hasn't quite set in, so the sky is still purple with just a hint of light starting in the east. Grass under my feet feels alive. My heart lifts.

Our first seeds are starting to peek up through their compost and pine straw. The arugula I planted early last week enthusiastically bursts through to daylight. The shelling peas I planted two weeks ago are also emerging, bright green flecks in the browns and tans of the garden bed.

Now is the time I remind myself of the patience required to keep a garden. A few hours after planting the seeds, I told Ryan I was going out to see if they'd sprouted yet.

No, not quite. But the promise is there, waiting to be revealed.

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Progress: A Composter and a Refreshed Garden

New Year and Spring always get all the "fresh start" glory. But for me, Fall feels so full of hope! There is so much to look forward to.

Over Labor Day weekend, Ryan and I buckled down and got to work. We mowed, edged, trimmed the hackberry trees at the fence line, and got all of the un-fun stuff out of the way. Then it was time to focus on the garden.

A few weeks ago, I began what I imagined would be a quick, simple, and adorable compost bin building project. (Rose-colored glasses, anyone?) It only took a few twists of his arm to convince Ryan into driving around the city and loading up a truck full of free pallets. Then I armed myself with a crowbar and hammer and was excited to get to work.

The lumber is ok. The labor is crazy difficult.

That's when I learned that taking apart wooden pallets is not for the faint of heart. Or arm strength.

Ryan patiently showed me the best way to approach the situation, but I whined my way through it. I even recruited our all-too-kind neighbor, who enjoyed the opportunity to sling a heavy hammer at something for a while.

Pinterest makes it look so easy. "Build THIS shelf out of pallets! How about this chair? Pallets! Free! Just take them apart and voila! Something awesome." Don't be fooled.

If you decide to take on a pallet project, lured by the free-ness of the wood and the promise of DIY furniture just around the bend; be warned. It's not easy. And also, not all of the wood is in the best shape. But it's free, and I have to say I was happy to put in a little extra elbow grease to get us an almost-free compost bin.

After a couple of weekends spent taking some of the pallets apart, and then learning to use the circular saw, I devised a plan to build a compost bin. (Note: this began as a three-bin composting system and quickly morphed into the much more do-able single bin.)

Final touch: paint on the saying, "A Rind is a Terrible Thing to Waste"

With about 10 feet of hardware mesh ($15) and a bunch of deck nails that I had on hand, I built a passable version of what I really wanted. I was inspired by this beautiful three-bin composter. The "door" on the front can be completely picked up and removed so that we can easily turn the compost with a pitchfork or shovel.

We moved the bin to its new home in the back of the garden, and left a little space next to it for tomato cages and the wheelbarrow. It's a little bit charming, don't you think?

Meanwhile, we had a lot of other preparation to do to ready the beds for fall planting. I took a solo trip Sunday morning out to the Natural Gardener to walk the labyrinth and get pine straw and turkey compost. There's something very meditative about shoveling hot turkey manure. Or maybe that was the labyrinth.

By Monday, we were up with the dawn and turning over the dirt in all the beds. We dressed them with fresh compost and topped them all with pine straw to keep the cats out. The garden began looking like herself again!

The beds are primed and ready (almost!) to plant. 

In a week or two, after the hot turkey compost has settled and the weather has cooled ever so slightly, it will be time to plant. Here's what we plan to start from seed (direct sow):

• Shelling peas
• Snap peas
• Swiss chard
• Arugula
• Spinach
• Kale
• Lettuce
• Dill
• Bok Choi (tatsoi)
• Carrots
• Turnips
• Kohlrabi 
• Parsnips

When it's time for transplants, we'll get broccoli and cabbage. It feels so good to be in the garden again! Are you ready to plant a fall/winter garden?

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