Gobbling Away

As my friend Alex said, late November calls for a re-calibration of appetite. After a national holiday akin to human foie gras making, it is needed.

For example, the moment your stomach ceases to be painfully full does not mean it's time to eat again. A slice of pie doesn't necessarily follow every meal.

For the last five years, my family has had an afternoon Thanksgiving dinner with my mother's family and then a leftover turkey sandwich with the Bloom side. This Turkey Day Double Dip means the line between lunch dessert and supper is blurry one.

This year was especially fun, socially and gastronomically. My Uncle Rich brined the bird overnight in a giant Ziplock bag and it worked. Even the white meat was incredibly moist. I dodged the appetite-damaging mashed potatoes, but had loads of Ritz cracker stuffing and the traditional sweet potato and apple casserole.

After an apple crisp and some semblance of digestion, it was supper time according to the clock (but not my stomach). We zipped over to Aunt Nancy's place, where I enjoyed an iconic turkey, stuffing, cranberry and mayo sandwich on a challah roll. I managed to squeeze in a slice of Grandma Bloom's always excellent blueberry pie and a surprising number of Tollhouse cookies.

Friday was quite the same for the Spoonstress, the parents Fork and me. In an effort to enjoy all that Boston has to offer, we downed dim sum, a cannoli with coffee and dinner in a six-hour span.

The Spoonstress and I were in peak eating shape by Saturday, the day of my friend Murro's annual turkey dunk. Murro, a Cape Cod woodworker, has been deep-frying turkeys and other edibles for ages, and each year he kicks things up a notch. I was ready. The sight of a bubbling deep fryer, a chugging smoker and four birds hanging from a tree simply prompted one question--'What's for dessert?'

Now I'm trying not to ask that question after every meal. Wish me luck.

SandWHICH?

I'm now in Boston for a writing conference at a downtown hotel. After finding myself at a 7 to 8:30 p.m. "reception" without any food save cheese and crackers, I set out for a feed before the final session began.

Through possible divine intervention, the adjoining mall had an Au Bon Pain about 50 feet from the hotel entrance. For those not in the know, ABP (as I'm now nicknaming it) is a modest, dependable Boston bakery/cafe chain. Its bread, as the French name suggests, is its key.

The eatery had no line, pressuring my friend Daniel and me into quick decisions. Ever the sucker for guacamole, I went with the Smoked Turkey, Emmental Swiss and Jalepeno Guac on a baguette. Only after ordering did I read the other ingredients: tomatoes and snow peas. Say what?

While we waited for our sandwiches, Daniel said he almost ordered my sandwich, but reconsidered. "They had me until snow peas," he said.

I don't like peas. They're among the few things I won't eat. But, what was that adjective, I wondered. Snow? I like snow, even if I don't see any in North Carolina. I couldn't remember whether 'snow peas' was a dressy name for peas or pea pods, but I prayed for the latter.

Hallelujah! They were pea pods, as this rudimentary cell phone photo reveals. Not only would I get to test my long-held theory that pea pods would be a tasty sandwich pal--especially in place of the celery in egg salad--I was relieved I wouldn't have peas falling everywhere.

In the end, the snow peas were the best part, aside from the guacamole. Now all they need to do is call the green crunchers by their real name--pea pods.

Banana, Protected

During a late night internet stroll, I came across this useful invention called the Banana Guard. It's the perfect device for those who enjoy eating non-smushed bananas at work, school, etc.
According to their site, a doctor from Vancouver came up with this startlingly simple idea when he opened his lunch bag and found yet another mushy banana. The rest is produce protection history.

While Banana Guards are apparently all the rage in Canada, Wallingford Bicycle Parts in New Orleans is their only US retail outlet. Wallingford also sells them on their site, where they are quite popular with with banana-eating bikers, said store employee Dianne. "We probably sell 50 a month and nobody's ever returned one," Dianne said. "But we're not exactly staking our business on them." Banana Guard also sells the invention direct from their own site.

By Banana Guard's own estimations, 90 percent of today's bananas (including baby ones) fit in the contraption. I've emailed the good people at Banana Guard headquarters for a test copy so I can provide a firsthand report on its usefulness. In the meantime, I'll see if I can keep biting my tongue on the potential jokes.

Steaming and Smoking into a Fourth Decade

I turned 30 yesterday. It's OK, I was ready.

The Spoonstress began a day of deft moves by surprising me with a delicious breakfast--a blackberry peach scone, vanilla almond bread and some fancypants coffee. The birthday continued that way, littered with treats, well wishing, love and cheer.

More germane to this blog, I'm now the proud owner of some new food toys. Thanks to Mama and Papa Fork, I have tools to steam and serve some dim sum fun. With these great bamboo steamers and the dim sum book I previously found, the Hong Kong style dumplings can't be far behind.

Last night, at a perfect gathering over slightly high-end Mexican our close friends the Quigleys gave me a smoker. I've long pined for a device with which to lovingly smoke meat. It can be a bit tricky, but with a gauge simple enough for this Forkster, it won't be long before I'm cooking "slow and low" (time and temperature).

At present, the urge to smoke something Thanksgiving-related is strong. We'll just have to see...Of course, now that I'm a certified old man (thanks, Alex), I've got plenty of time to consider such things.

Take 5, or 6

It's November 1, otherwise known as Grownup Halloween. There's candy everywhere--at home, at work, even at the bank. Here at Forkquarters we had a reasonably quiet October 31. Despite our awesome pumpkins and a 'we'll meet you halfway' driveway candy location, we only had three takers.

It wasn't for a lack of candy. Yesterday I came across this idea that in our current obesity crisis, one could give toys or trinkets instead of candy. That brings to mind an old expression we had for Halloween do-gooders: Think globally, act locally, get yolked. (Note to kids: I would never throw an egg--I would save and hard boil it.) While this strategy makes incredible sense, I still hate it.

Last night, we had a nice selection: classic Tootsie Rolls, the Spoonstress' fave Swedish Fish and mini Take 5, the best candy out there, bar none. And that includes Hershey's defunct Bar None. Hard to believe that once-proud bar lives only in candy freaks' memories. Witness the elegy of this fan, "insearchofbarnone":

Bar None and I became so close we were like two peas in a pod. It was the only candy bar that I would eat...I can remember having this little dance that I would do just at the thought of getting one, it just made me feel so warm and tingly on the inside.

Annnyway...if you can relate to a candy bar dance, you should definitely read Steve Almond's Candyfreak (I steer you to the Amazon link at right). Even if you can't, it's still worth a gander.

Back to the Take 5--Rate It All (.com) lists it as the eighth best bar. With its shrewd union of chocolate-covered pretzels, peanut butter and caramel, there's no way the Take 5 should be outside the top three (I can't really argue with Reese's being number one). But, with candy bars a topic of strong feelings, I'll leave it at that and bid you a 'Happy Grownup Halloween!'