Rhubarb Outtakes

The Rhubarb column is history, but I have a couple of extra stalks to share:

After the article ran, my neighbork Adele conferred with her friend about rhubarb. They confirmed that rhubarb is in fact a Yankee food and that they've never seen it in a Southern cook book. This quotation of Adele's was a last minute cut: "You all make strawberry rhubarb pie, but we just grew up on strawberry pie and, if we were lucky, wild strawberry pie."

Also, this was the Spoonstress' take on the Rhubarb Lime Rickey: “If I close my eyes, it tastes like I’m drinking limeade." Opening her eyes, she said, "It tastes like pomegranate." Hmm...

If there is a rhubarb association (this was the closest I found), it should market its product better. I'm thinking if they re-branded it as "Roo-Barb," used a kangaroo logo and got some outback Aussie to pitch it, rhubarb could be the next…Kiwi fruit. Who doesn't like kangaroos?

Finally, I’d like to point out that my local store was sold out of all rhubarb the weekend before the column ran. While I’d like to think that my blog posts on the vegetable sparked a buying frenzy in Chapel Hill, it’s unlikely. Instead, take it as a sign that rhubarb is a commodity on the rise—buy it while you can!

No word yet on if the shelves will be bare after the column runs (I'm not holding my breath.).

Stick a Fork in it...

...this column's done.

Those of you in this rhubarb poor region of Chapel Hill can read it in today's Chapel Hill News. Everyone else will have to rely on this rickety link.

For those arriving here after reading the column, sit anywhere you'd like and make yourself at home. You'll find previous columns on the right and please help yourself to a comment once in a while.

As for me, I'm off for a celebratory Rhubarb Lime Rickey. After all, someone's gotta finish the bowl.

Ants on a Rhubarb Log?

I've submitted the rhubarb column and it will run tomorrow. In the meantime, let's look at some rhubarb photos.

Since I had some celery and rhubarb around, I decided to compare and contrast.

As you can see, they can look eerily similar.

While that's certainly true at the green end, it's not by the crimson part of the stalk.

That's when you realize why this variety is called cherry rhubarb.

Fetching Rhubarb

Recently, I was talking to my neighbor Adele about rhubarb. She said she'd never cooked with it, and didn't even know what it looked like.

The next time I took the Spooch over to play with Adele's dog, Mr. Darcy, I brought a bag of rhubarb to show her. The Spooch and Mr. Darcy have been playing in another neighbor's yard lately. While I was putting the Spooch into that fenced yard, she got loose and I dropped the rhubarb to grab her. That very moment, Mr. Darcy zipped over and snagged the bag full of red stalks. As I grabbed the Spooch, I heard Adele exclaim, “Mr. Darcy’s got the rhubarb!”

I’ll never forget the sight of that young golden retriever pup sprinting off with a plastic bag full of rhubarb in his mouth.

After Mr. Darcy came back, we let the dogs play with a stalk. It certainly made for a good tug-of-war toy (see photo). While they were wrestling over it, Adele said, deadpan, “So that would be what rhubarb looks like.”

Rhuminations

I suppose it's finally time to get to work on June's column. Enough idle blogging.

With that in mind, I've decided to write about rhubarb. I had so much fun making strawberry rhubarb pies with Mama Fork that I figured why not experiment with the stalky vegetable some more. Plus, every time I pass those reddish rows in the produce department, they tempt me so.

I'm not entirely sure what I'll make with rhubarb, but I will definitely write more about my favorite pie. In addition, I'm toying with a liquid rhubarb concoction. We'll see if that flies.

The column should be in Wednesday's paper, so I better stop blogging and start brainstorming and baking. I'll be back soon with an update. In the meantime, I'm off to pick out some stalks and possibly this movie. Well, definitely the former.

Fresh Magnet

What the heck is that thing?

You're probably thinking something along those lines. Well friends, you're looking at the latest in food preservation--the ESMoSPHERE, by Singapore's Joven Electric. It keeps food fresher longer by emitting a 15-inch electromagnetic field.

After hearing about the gadget, I wrote about it on my Wasted Food blog. Richard Chua, who works at Joven, saw that and graciously offered to send me one (in addition to a wine-enhancing coaster that speeds the breathing process) all the way from Singapore. Ever the sucker for free gadgets, here I am writing about it.


I have yet to test the ESMoSPHERE, although I bet the fruits pictured were incrementally improved in the taking of these photos. I'll have my team of scientists mock up an experiment (complete with control item) and we'll put the protection zone to the test.

Apparently, I have the seafood model (the meat one is red). Mr. Chua recommends testing it on a brightly-colored whole fish or shrimp. Since I can't say I'd look forward to having one entire fish go past its prime and I won't be catching anything like this, I think I'll try shrimp.

In the meantime, don't tell the board of health or the unsuspecting guests I'll serve. Just kidding...we at the Forkquarters would never pull a stunt like Anthony's of Atlanta.

Butter Me Up

In addition to sweet potatoes, I've been digging another member of the vegetable family lately: butter beans.

I've been surprised by the loveliness of this legume. They've tasted so yummy recently, I've been wondering: Can butter beans really be the same as the dreaded lima beans of childhood? Yup.

Perhaps the adjective in their name has something to do with the improvement.

I had butter beans on a recent trip to Mississippi with the Spoonstress. At Oxford's Ajax Diner, I enjoyed them as part of a veggie plate--that odd, enjoyable institution where three sides make a meal.

Then this week, I enjoyed butter beans as a side to a fried chicken lunch at the Mecca Restaurant, whose name derives from its status as a meeting spot blocks from the state capitol, not any religious leanings. The crunchy-skinned chicken was tasty, but played second fiddle to the butter beans. Wow, I can't believe I just wrote that (and that I mean it).

I almost repeated my veggie plate order at the Raleigh institution, with an eye on some mac 'n cheese. Luckily, my lunch partner Alex noted that it was macaroni salad. Yuck. Can you imagine expecting the creamy goodness of noodles and cheese but getting cold, oily or mayo-soaked elbows instead? That'd almost be as bad as a plate of lima beans.

Meaty Returns

I know the suspense is killing you. OK, OK, the farmer's market meat was superb.

The Spoonstress whipped up a mini-gourmet masterpiece with an assist from Fresh Every Day by Sara Foster: sirloin marinated in balsamic and topped with French fried shallots and blue cheese melted ever so slightly.

The beef's expense was somewhat offset by the assuaging peace of mind buying local brought. And that entire debate vanished from my fork-centric mind once I smelled the steak cookin'.

The above photo isn't mine, so you'll have to use your imagination to envision the meal's splendor. As a gesture to the Spoonstress, I didn't take any pictures. She'd made such a nice dinner and my photography style could be called thorough. Or slow as heck. It was the least I could do, as I was the lucky one who got to eat the meal!

Best of all, the meat went far. The Spooch got a little love on the gristle, and the majority of the leftovers turned into amazing steak burritos the next night. If this is what it's like to eat local, I don't want to leave the Forkquarters.

The L Word

After much delay, local meat has arrived at the Forkquarters.

The Spoonstress bought a cut of sirloin at the friendly Carrboro Farmer's Market. While the steak being frozen and vacuum sealed dented my idealistic view of local meat, it's probably a good thing. I suppose freezing makes sense if you're at the market all day in 90-degree weather.

The Spoonstress and I have discussed the idea of eating locally and just came across the 100 Mile Diet. While I'm suspicious of any eating plan that ends with the word "diet," I suppose it's de rigeur for marketing purposes. I'm more interested in reading the book that spawned the idea.

We've talked about trying this idea of only eating food produced within, you guessed it, 100 miles of our house. Of course, it's easy to do so in the summer. The meat now thawing in our fridge is from Creedmoor, N.C.--28 miles away. This useful tool allows you to find your local "foodshed."

On another local food note, my basil seeds are sprouting nicely. Can't get much more local than that. While my cilantro isn't doing so well, we're not going to talk about that.

Tonight we'll get to see just how local this meat tastes. But thanks to the placebo effect, it'll be difficult to accurately compare it to supermarket beef. Then again, the local food movement isn't all about taste, right?

Right?

Spoon Voyage: Mississippi

The Spoonstress and I just got back from a Mississippi jaunt. I may have left my heart in San Francisco, but I left my arterial health in the Magnolia State.

I feasted on fried catfish, fried chicken, fried pickles, French fries and (fried) hushpuppies. When you're visiting what some say is the best catfish joint in a state full of 'em (Taylor Grocery), you're gonna have it fried. At one point, I told the Spoonstress my goal for the upcoming meal was simply to avoid anything deep fried.

The veggie plate at Ajax Diner stretched that definition. The broccoli and rice casserole tasted like a Land O' Lakes recipe. Brown sugar and marshmallows galore pushed the sweet potato casserole into the dessert category, as I'd hoped.

Aside from the heart-harming (i.e. delicious) eating, I spent most of the weekend in Oxford and the Delta on a not-so-slow drip of sweet tea. You'll notice it in the foreground of the picture at right. I grew so accustomed to the sugary drink that I scoffed at the suggestion of unsweetened tea at Abe's Bar-B-Q (I mean, even this Yankee knows that's a barbecue no-no).

Breakfasts were egg-heavy and rich as heck. The a.m. creation at Puddin Place (B&B), which I'm told will grace the next issue of Southern Living, involved baking an egg atop Canadian bacon, mozzarella cheese and an English muffin.

The fun continued at Clarksdale's Rest Haven, a Lebanese outpost that cleverly mixes kibbe (ground beef, cracked wheat and onions) into a cheese omelet. The result isn't far from a cheeseburger omelet. By the way, I wasn't alone in my greasy spooning--the Spoonstress continued the BLT fun, minus the healthy 'L' with an egg, bacon, tomato and mayo sandwich at Rest Haven.

While I can't imagine living in Mississippi and keeping a solitary chin, it's a great place to eat. In hindsight, I wouldn't do anything differently.

I closed things out, appropriately, with a lunch plate of cheese-stuffed meatloaf during our second Ajax visit. As I look through the pictures a day later, one thing's for sure--I was never in danger of making this sign come true.

Kids' Cuisine?

In my casual food reading, I thoroughly enjoyed this piece on eating out with children. David Kamp, the writer, contends that across the restaurant spectrum almost all kids' menus offer the same six options: chicken fingers, grilled cheese, hamburgers, hot dogs, pizza and some kind of pasta.

The above picture was the first result in a Google Images search for "chicken fingers." In light of the homogeneity of kids' menus discussion, its source is fitting--Nawab Indian Cuisine.

Not only are restaurants offering children unhealthy choices, they're not doing kids' palates any favors. As Kamp writes,

Far from being an advance, I’ve concluded, the standard children’s menu is regressive, encouraging children (and their misguided parents) to believe that there is a rigidly delineated “kids’ cuisine” that exists entirely apart from grown-up cuisine.

Because most restaurants serve the same kids' meals, many children don't try new foods. On that note, thanks Mama and Papa Fork for keeping me away from the children's menu and close to Peking Ravioli, steamed clams and a whole mess of other foods.