Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Prickly Pear Jam (Arizona and the Southwest)




Where did the time go?  

It feels like it was just yesterday when I sent my husband off to one of his football weekends and I frantically called him while enroute to California to tell him about the Sarah Palin pick for vice-president.  We didn't know what to make of all of it.  Weeks earlier we had just learned about the Maverick herself from a PBS show about corruption in Alaska.  After listening to her first speech, in which she mentioned Hilary Clinton's glass ceiling, her first dude and her mavericky-ness, I thought to myself, "I wonder how this is all going to go down?"  

Well, with one week left until the election, I think it's safe to say that Governor Palin moved from her cozy home in Wasilla, Alaska to the national stage.  And, now as the campaign is huffing and puffing toward the end, Palin has made another move to right under the Straight Talk Express bus.  Oh I guess I should mention the food thing here, so I can go on about how Sarah Palin went from the Juliet to the Lady McBeth to the Ophelia of this campaign?  When my husband returned from the football game (after being deprived of constant cable news), he brought me a lovely souvenir from John McCain's adopted state of Arizona--a jar of prickly pear jam.  Hmm...what's the link between John McCain and a fruit that resides in the desert, is extremely thorny and is so desperate it accuses other fruit of outrageous things (oh, wait, I guess the last one doesn't apply to the fruit).  Let's just say that prickly pear jam best represents both McCain and Palin--thorniness, a slightly cloying sweetness, and usually the jars of jam come in bad packaging reminiscent of an earlier time.  But, unlike the jam which goes well with cream cheese and crackers, the McCain-Palin ticket is hard to swallow.  

The past few weeks of the public vetting of Sarah Palin has not been particularly yummy either. Allow me to elaborate:

1) Palin, like many in our current political moment, mistook sarcasm for political analysis.  They are not the same.  No matter how much Colbert Report or Daily Show you watch, you cannot think that being clever or even funny means you are particularly smart.  Palin's address to the RNC embodied the worst in political discourse--smug, politically immature and mocking in its tone.  Yes, the VP is the attack dog, but she was more like a pitbull, not one of Michael Vick's either, but an annoying one in Valentino.

2) Palin should have NEVER been hung out to dry on the clothing thing.  It's absolutely ridiculous.  Readers, a quick tutorial on what is sexist and what is not; please listen Elizabeth Hasselback.  It's not sexist to expose the astronomical cost of dressing her and her family.  It is sexist to portray a woman candidate as if she is Lucy Ricardo pissing off Ricky because she spent too much money at the local department store.  It is not sexist to criticize her judgment or complicity in the makeover.  It is sexist to blame the campaign's incompetence on Sarah Palin because she is one of many poor strategic decisions.  It is not sexist to point out Palin's lack of experience, lack of knowledge on the details of the position she is working tooth and nail for, and her desire to be the newest Republican sex symbol.  It is sexist for the McCain campaign to expect women who supported Hilary Clinton to sign up for her COMPLETE AND TOTAL OPPOSITE because they are both women.  It is a sexist to call Palin a diva because she is trying to salvage her political image.  It is not sexist to call her a whack job.

3) History will ultimately judge McCain's decision to entrust the future of his campaign to someone he barely knew.  Palin saw an opportunity and seized upon it because she, like McCain, have so little faith in the American public that they felt that simple manipulation, red-baiting and wild accusations could help seal the deal for the White House.  Instead their fear mongering, talking down to the working class and inability to maintain the loyalties of their parties and respective staffs, has helped seal their fate and ensure they will be punchlines in the annals of electoral history.  I hope it was all worth it.

So folks, if you are ever in Arizona pick up a jar of prickly pear jam and raise a jar to what America should be about: reasoned responses to crisis, respect for others and the ability to change the nation.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Sopapillas (New Mexico)


After recovering from the exhaustion of my Ireland trip, I had to harness the power of positive thinking to gear up for my next trip two weeks later.  My outlook changed when I realized that I would get to sample some great regional foods when I traveled to Albuquerque, New Mexcio for work. Although I planned on taking advantage of a series of receptions hosted by colleges and academic centers, my friends persuaded me to go to actual restaurants.  I sampled favorites like green and red chile enchiladas, fresh tortilla chips and guacamole, quesadillas and frijoles.

My absolute favorite item on my New Mexican tour was the complementary basket of sopapillas and the squeeze bottle of honey that accompanied it.  Prior to my first trip to Albuquerque, (when I traveled with my then-boyfriend and now-husband from Chicago to Los Angeles after knowing each other a total of six weeks; I was lucky that it all ended in love and marriage and not a Lifetime Movie entitled "Highway to Death: The Regional Food Reporter Story," starring Markie Post as yours truly), I had only heard of sopapillas from one of my favorite Judy Blume books, Tiger Eyes

Sopapillas have the consistency of fry bread (see Indian Tacos) and the puffiness of Indian naaan.  The doughy treat itself is not sweet, but with the a touch of honey, it's transformed into a perfect sweet ending to any meal.  In Tex Mex restaurants, they often come as part of your meal and they can be a nice way to mediate the carb withdrawal felt after finishing an entire basket of chips and a warmer of tortillas.  Sometimes, restaurants will dust the sopapilla with powdered sugar and cinnamon to evoke a funnel cake feel, but the honey is what really makes it taste like pure heaven.  You can also find sopapillas filled with beef, pork or beans in the Southwest.

Happy Eating!

Monday, October 20, 2008

Special Report: Sticky Toffee Pudding (U.K.)


While I was away on my European tour, I made an effort to eat as many local or national specialties I could get my paws on. It was quite a challenge, but I sacrificed my fiber intake and HDL levels to report back on the best of Ireland. I ate scones, drank Guinness, paired chicken curry with chips, scarfed down the plate piled high with boiled potatoes and nearly choked on shepherd's pie. I was a real trooper. The best of all these culinary opportunities was the ending to a risotto-steak-lots of red wine-chips meal. I skipped past the tiramisu and cheesecake and ordered a lovely sticky toffee pudding. I had only heard of the dessert from the expletive-loving television chef Gordon Ramsay. And I didn't f---g regret it.

Sticky toffee pudding is a simple dessert of sponge cake made with finely chopped dates drenched in a caramel-colored toffee sauce. With each sweet spoonful, I thought about all the sticky situations the world's leaders find themselves. Okay, I didn't really think about that, but I finally have a dish that yields an easy passage into politics talk. Just let me have this one.

If only a nice dish of dessert could fix awkward moments like if you were running for Vice President of the United States and you start mistaking people shouting your name for people protesting against your crazed, reactionary political rhetoric, but then you find out that they were just asking you to speak louder. Or maybe when you are losing a presidential election and start resorting to the underhanded tactic of robocalling, even though that same method was used against you in a racist ploy to hamper your chances of winning the Republican presidential nomination, wouldn't some sticky toffee pudding be nice? Or perhaps, you could keep some sticky toffee pudding handy in your car if you are an asshead radio show host who has so little regard for a general who exemplifies the values you purport to defend, that you suggest that his sophisticated and thoughtful explanation of his support of a political candidate is only about race, as if your entire career was not only based upon race, but also racism and racial hatred; wouldn't a pudding be more beneficial than prescription medications?

See folks, sticky toffee pudding is as reliable as the pro-Americans in the pro-America part of America. Oh wait, sticky toffee pudding is not American, so can this dessert help pro-Americans be pro-Americanish while doing pro-America activities? Don't fret dear reader, I have a version of this recipe that will fulfill your desire to be pro-American, and it will save your teeth from a serious sugar soak. Besides, you probably need to save on visits to the dentist. For a Freedom version of sticky toffee pudding, may I suggest using a basic angel food cake, then preparing a sauce of sugar-free pancake syrup, chopped walnuts, and diced apples. Heat the sauce ingredients over medium heat until the syrup thickens. Pour over angel food cake and let sit to allow cake to absorb the syrup. Serve warm with chopped walnuts. Then, go out and get into even stickier situations.

Happy Eating!

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Special Report: English Tea Sandwiches (U.K.)


Folks, I've been out of commission for a little while, and I apologize for leaving you without that witty and slightly caustic perspective you have come to rely upon in these dizzying times. My trip to Europe was so overwhelming, it took me a while to find the food that best exemplified my experiences as a member of the TN2020 experience. The British Council's one-week summit brought together an assortment of public servants, politicians-in-training, intellectuals, artists and activists to discuss the historic, yet currently strained relationship between North America and Western Europe. Against the backdrop of the verdant cities, hills and mountains of Ireland, I spent a week asking some critical questions about what it means to be an American in the era of American imperialism. So, where does tea time fit in to all of this? Well, while I was in the Emerald Isle, we were often treated to fabulous lunches of English tea sandwiches. They were so neatly arranged on platters; each sandwich had the crusts removed, which allowed me a better view of the brightly colored and flecked fillings and layers. The challenge and the beauty of these sandwiches is that you may discover you love a new flavor combination your palate has never experienced (like yummy coronation chicken) and a few items that you wish you never encountered (is that beef tongue or shrimp in mayo?). The lovely assortment of sandwiches was not unlike the lessons learned while across the pond. So, allow me to share in a segment I like to call, "Good Sandwiches" and "Sandwiches that Make me Want to Vomit."

1) Good Sandwich: One of the highlights of the summit was the opportunity to discuss issues such as leadership and voting on BBC's fabulous "World Have Your Say" radio show. The voting segment involved a debate on whether voting should be made mandatory. I entered the debate on the "what a ridiculous idea" side of the discussion. I raised the issues of cost, general ineffectiveness, the creation of a massive bureaucracy and the sacred nature of the vote considering the work of the Civil Rights martyrs (see Mississippi Mud Pie) as all reasons to why voting or not voting is an important right to be preserved and not trampled upon in order to give the appearance of democracy in action. I was told by a peer from a Western European nation which will not be named, (but I will say this place is known for its fine wines, love of Jerry Lewis and penchant for exploiting the binding powers of butter), "You can't make Americans do anything." Damn, right. U-S-A. Drill, baby drill. Just kidding on that last one, I'm not an idiot.

2) Bad Sandwich: Not unlike that gelatinous beef tongue treat I accidently tasted, there were some moments of unease for me as I engaged in political discussions with my fellow conference folks. I was expecting some critical perspectives on Americans; I am a part of the liberal elite, so I share some of my European pals concerns about U.S. imperialism, the Bush administrations erosion of transatlantic cooperation and the number of Eddie Murphy 'family movies.' Yet, I was a bit surprised by some of my fellow Americans' distaste for the values I hold dear. A few conversations with some of my more conservative pals revealed that some of the young blood of the right are painfully in love with the past. Due to my support for an unnamed candidate for president (hint the guy who doesn't need to suppress his rage in order to get through a debate), I was called a communist, a socialist, and un-American. I was admonished for suggesting that race matters in America, and that the aforementioned candidate's often erratic and problematic message may have to do with race in America. (Gasp!) Even better, were young conservatives suggesting that Hilary Clinton was a victim of sexism and that Sarah Palin is a feminist hero, meanwhile refusing to take seriously the problems of gender inequality, homophobia and the subjugation of women of color in foreign wars and domestic affairs. What bothered me the most of this attitude toward Obama supporters or liberals in general, is that my peers are steeped in an anti-intellectual, Cold War era sensibility that should serve as a cautionary tale, not a political strategy for people of my generation.

3) Good Sandwich: One evening while experiencing a beautiful retreat in the Wicklow Mountains, some of the participants decided to cross our cultural divides by staging an experiment in Transatlantic Dating. Each participant represented their homeland by pretending to be on a first date. Some of my colleagues were in love instantly, others relied heavily on dirty jokes and references to football teams to guide them toward true love and others determined that love is indeed a battlefield and deployed the aloofness that only a person who has never been to therapy could enjoy. And at the end of the day, I discovered that as an American, I believe that the values of the marketplace, the conventions of the workplace and the sexual standards of MTV's "The Real World" cast are great models upon which to set my love and dating priorities. And, I'm proud to be an American. U-S-A. Drill, baby drill. Nope, still stupid.

4) Bad Sandwich: Like the stomach-churning cheddar chutney tea sandwich I gagged on, financial crisis 'jokes' are not appetizing. Whilst attending a 'political cabaret' 'performance' by a 'political comedian' who considers himself 'talented,' 'amusing' and 'educated,' I was treated to an onslaught of anti-American jokes. While I'm willing to skewer our leaders and institutions like a chicken kebab, I truly believe some thing's aren't amusing; they are just plain sad. Whether you are pro-bailout or not, the realities of the market meltdown is now the business of all Americans. For people my age who have many years ahead of them, we can wait this out, and we can learn a valuable lesson about living on borrowed money and in a financed world. For working-class older folks who need to retire soon, life just got a little more complicated. I heard one man say after the bailout passed that he wanted to see people "pay for their mistakes." By people he meant the people who are facing foreclosure, possibly headed toward homelessness, moving their children away from friends and schools, taking extra jobs to make ends meet, having their voter rights challenged and hoping they can crash on their kid's sofa until the market comes back up again. Yeah, those people are not paying anything for the nationalization of previously private industries. If you stand quietly, you can hear the sound of the government drilling all those people a new one.

So dear readers in these tough economic times, save a few bucks with some of these delightful tea sandwiches with an American twist. How about peanut butter and apple with honey on a nice wheat bread? Or use leftover stew meat and simmer in your crock pot with barbeque sauce and serve between some split Jiffy mix cornbread, with a nice pickle slice sandwiched in there? May I suggest a festive lunch of tomato slices and some cream cheese and basil? Then, invite Joe Six Pack, Joe the (Lying) Plumber and Joe who Just Lost his Job over and learn how truly wonderful it feels to 'spread the wealth' of a nice meal with someone who needs it. Try it and see if you turn into a socialist afterward.

Happy Eating!