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Minestrone soup for the culinarily insane

Minestrone Soup Recipe

My minestrone soup of yore

Several weeks ago my cabbagephobic husband broke his cabbage taboo and fixed a vegetable and sausage soup. The deliciousness of the sausage would outweigh any ick or stink of the cabbage, so his reasoning went. Another unusual (for us) addition to this concoction: tomato juice. The combination of tomato-based broth and mildly crunchy cabbage reminded me of a minestrone soup I used to enjoy many years ago.

This minestrone, as I remember it, had tender red kidney beans and soft but assertive elbow macaronis. The recipe, which I just dug up, called for frozen mixed vegetables, beef bouillon cubes, and a lot of celery as well; but the memorable aspects were the cabbage, tomato, and macaroni. I had made a mental note to fix this memorable minestrone sometime soon. Then I forgot about it again . . .

. . . until I started looking for a suitable use for a large amount of curly endive leftover from an overzealous greens purchase I made in pursuit of my first salad ala Alice Waters. The salad consisted only of red leaf lettuce and curly endive, the endive being totally edible and nicely bitter, but a little tough. “I feel like a ruminant,” declared my husband between chews. I conceded that this hearty green might be more easily eaten cooked, so I searched the Web for ideas and found a minestrone soup recipe on the Eating Well site. Aha! I can dig up my old minestrone soup recipe and add the endive to that!

But wait! There’s more! Let me see if The Art of Simple Food has a minestrone recipe. If it does, I’ll make that instead!
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A quick, light vinaigrette

Vinagrette ingredients

A simple fix: Wine vinegar, olive oil, garlic, salt, pepper

For the actual recipe, scroll down to the bottom of the post.

Just days after denouncing all dietary crap, I found myself in a little late-night quandary. While hastily preparing a portable lunch for the next day, I realized I had no crapless salad dressing on tap. In the home fridge we had Kraft Lite Ranch and Newman’s Own Light Lime Vinaigrette, the latter of which would have been good enough by my new standards but I really wanted to try to throw a dressing together before my quickly approaching bedtime. I’d just need a little guidance. Let me check a few cookbooks . . .

Hm. Fresh Tomato Vinaigrette or Blue Cheese Dressing from Healthy in a Hurry? Nope. No tomatoes on hand; no blue cheese to speak of. Okay, how about Apple Basil Dressing or maybe Orange Tarragon from Moosewood Restaurant Low-Fat Favorites? Intriguing, but no basil and no tarragon. And I had no creamy cucumbers, no minted dill, no lemon tahini, no fresh buttermilk, nor any ingredient these seemingly basic dressings required. I was too stubborn to Google “viniagrette” — why did none of my cookbooks have a simple vinaigrette recipe?

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Objective three: Find more cookbooks to love

Oatmeal Corn Meal Bread, from The Book of Bread by Judith and Evan Jones

Oatmeal Corn Meal Bread, from The Book of Bread by Judith and Evan Jones

While composing the opening paragraph for a post about my favorite cookbooks I realized I had only two cookbooks that I really really loved, at least in my current collection, plus a handful of hardy go-to books, the recipes and advice of which result in many a speedy or satisfying meal, but don’t possess the material or artistry or style to bring them from 4-star (like it a lot) to 5-star (love it!) status.

The two books I own that I will happily curl up with to read and eagerly anticipate what recipe I shall try next are The Book of Bread by Judith and Evan Jones and White Chocolate by Janice Wald Henderson. It’s not just that I love kneading and shaping and baking and eating bread, or am delighted by the ivoryness, creaminess, and subtlety of white chocolate, but that these are the only two cookbooks I own about foods that I adore and through which I allow myself an occasional flight of fancy.

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Nix the chix breast, briefly

The weeklong "no-chicken-breast" challenge will soon begin!

The weeklong "no-chicken-breast" challenge will soon begin!

A recent run-in with a pile of sawdust-dry chicken breast (thank you, Blue Shirt Café) has seriously maddened my chixbreastphiliac taste buds and they are rebelling — as are my teeth that had to chew, and my throat muscles that labored to swallow the tasteless mass — leaving me no choice but to ban the substance, at least for a week, so . . .

Chicken breast is dead to me (!) at least through Saturday, January 16. Most other parts of the chicken are welcome. Gary’s on board with this, too, and looks forward to a dinner of fine chicken thighs. And I’m planning meals around eggs and pork tenderloin.

It’s probably a very good thing, since chicken breast has dominated my diet for decades. It’s time to break loose and enjoy other meats and proteins for a little while. Wheeeee! I’m such a daredevil !!!!!!!!!

The no-whining dining wine list

I know next to nothing about wine–how to sip it, how to describe it, nor why anyone would drink anything with “leathery undertones.” Still, I’ve decided to have a few sips of red wine (3 ounces or thereabouts) with my suppers for some far-out health reasons. But what the hell.

Here’s a running list of what I’ve sipped and what I thought about it. If I learn anything more about the stuff I’ll add some flowery descriptive prose to the entries.

Wines NWD would buy again

  • 2008 Yellow Tail Shiraz (South Eastern Australia) ($7.99, Berman’s Wine & Spirits, Lexington, MA)
  • 2008 La Vieille Ferme Côtes du Ventoux Rouge (Rhône Valley, France) ($7.99, Berman’s Wine & Spirits, Lexington, MA)
  • 2007 Red Diamond Merlot (Washington State) ($10.99, Downtown Wine & Spirits, Somerville MA)

Wines we’d drink but not necessarily buy again (except maybe for cooking)

  • 2006 Ravens Wood Vintners Blend Merlot (California) ($10.99, Downtown Wine & Spirits, Somerville MA)
  • 2003 Glen Ellen Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon (California) ($5.99, Berman’s Wine & Spirits, Lexington, MA)

Never again . . .

Objective two: Relearn how to cook

The Art of Simple Food

The Art of Simple Food

What I mean by “relearn how to cook,” is learn and understand enough cooking and baking basics so I am no longer at the mercy of other people’s recipes. I want to be able to look in my fridge and kitchen cupboards and have some inkling how I can combine certain items to create a dish or a meal without consulting a cookbook or Googling anything.

The list of dishes I can create in the absence of guidance is limited and includes French toast, scrambled eggs, tuna salad, various stir-fries, basic baked fish or chicken, smoothies, and sauteed vegetables. There’s also a short list of self-created concoctions I make more often than other dishes, such as The Marcia Mash (mash together one can black beans, one ripe avocado, and one cup jarred salsa; serve with tortilla chips or just eat it straight) and Cauliflower Surprise (combine or cook together all or most of the following ingredients: Thai-flavored tofu, one small head caulifloer, one can chick peas, a handful of raisins, peanut sauce to taste, curry powder to taste [optional]).

Ironically, if I want to be able to cook without constant guidance, I’ll need some guidance. To that end, I’ve selected Alice Waters’s The Art of Simple Food as my cooking primer. I’ve already read the first few pages; it looks like the first issue I’ll address will be replacing many items already residing in my fridge and cupboards.

Objective one: Stop eating crap

In Defense of Food

In Defense of Food

Last month I embraced the key directives of ditching the Western diet as explained by Michael Pollan in his book In Defense of Food and embellished in Food Rules. It’s a simple mantra: Eat Food. Not Too Much. Mostly Plants.

For starters I swore off Cool Whip, instant pudding, diet soda, and frozen dinners, threw away my desk-drawer stash of Slim-Fast bars, and vowed to cook more of my own foods and shun processed or manufactured foodstuffs (“edible foodlike substances” in Pollan’s terms) to the extent practical.

This month, this nonscientific experiment of mine will fully, if slowly, set in and hopefully take hold. This year I’ll learn if I will really have the time, energy, desire, or wherewithal to cook most of my meals, including bag breakfast and lunches, or if I’ll deem the endeavor impossible and give up within months. I’ll find out if I really will or can bake my own pita bread. I’ll discover how long I can last before succumbing to York Peppermint Patties or microwaveable popcorn. But most notably, hopefully, I’ll experience the joys and sorrows, rewards and frustrations, of making and eating real food.

I’ve still some to-be-banished items lurking in my kitchen cupboards and I haven’t decided if I’ll just toss any of it my husband isn’t interested in, or if I’ll slowly consume the items, deep-six them before long, or let the product’s expiration dates make the decision for me. Probably it’ll all be decided item by item. I face dilemmas such as: should I make hot cocoa from scratch (rather easy) and toss the rest of the Swiss Miss with Marshmallows even though I paid $2.79 for several packs of brown powder and crunchy white pellets?

The Swiss Miss with Marshmallows brings up another issue I hope to address this year: disturbingly excessive food packaging. One quick example of this: My box of Swiss Miss “Sensible Sweets” “Fat Free Marshmallow Lovers” eight-serving box actually came with 16 packets — eight packets of instant cocoa, eight packets of instant marshmallows. You’re supposed to add the marshmallows after you’ve mixed the instant cocoa with the water. I guess to keep the white pellets crunchy as long as possible? Anyway, now you’ve got two pouches for each six-ounce cup of cocoa.

I’m leaning towards tossing the remaining three (er, six) packets. The net cost: about $1.50. The benefits: a bit of modified whey, sugar, and corn starch I won’t be drinking, plus about 112 cubic inches of shelf space.