Eating Pretty: Peas, Please
I’ve just returned home from a 2-week shoot in DC for TLC’s Home Made Simple. Quick commercial: If you’re already a fan, you are in for a treat with season 2. If you haven’t yet watched, put January 14th on your calendar, and get ready to get turned on. This show will have you jumping out of your arm chair to pick up a paint brush, a skillet, or a drill; some impressive yet very simple work takes place. You’ll be inspired; I know I was.
And we’re back.
There’s one particular experience that’s ringing in my ears from my last shoot. Since I’m cooking, I get to enjoy that food television host exclusive experience of eating a piece of food and trying to convey the yum-ocity for the home viewers. You know, taking that bite, saying “Mmmm, delicious!” and all that.
I’ve always found those moments completely disingenuous and unbelievable on TV, and what’s more, somewhat selfish. What, she’ll dish up a plate of food for herself, and eat it in front of me while I’m eating a box of wheat thins? That’s lame. Reminds me more of my brother savoring the last of his Halloween candy in front of me in February after mine was long gone. Where’s the sharing? Don’t tease me woman, serve me up a plate. I’m hungry.
Or worse yet, when those really skinny newscaster chicks chew chew chew, but never seem to swallow. What’s up with that? They cut to commercial with a face full of chow (speaking with their mouth full, oh my!), then I can only guess spit the thing out when the cameras stop rolling. Doesn’t exactly sell the recipe, now does it.
That said, my manners, thought improving, are of the kitchen. You know, eating a piece of meat with your hands and really chomping on it to get the flavor. I’ve told you how I feel about working the bone; my colleagues will attest I’m not afraid to pick up a T-bone in Ruth’s Chris and go to town on it, no matter how fancy the clothes I’m wearing. I’m a bit of a heathen that way, but a happy (and well-fed) one.
So when I eat for you on-camera, I want to throw the food in my mouth, and let you know I’m really enjoying it, and hopefully you’ll get up and go fix yourself a little sumpin sumpin.
Last week I was doing a bit on salad dressing and I had a bowl full of chopped romaine to which I added a kickin’ vinaigrette of walnut oil and white balsamic (make it, 3:1 ratio oil to vinegar, you’ll thank me). I was trying to demonstrate how to taste a salad dressing by dipping a piece of lettuce into the thing and eating it.
The leaf was long, the dressing was coating it, so I dangled the thing high in the air, hung my head back, live-goldfish-eating style, and slurped it down.
The oil drizzled down my neck and the lettuce was hanging out of my mouth. I tried to play through, looking at the camera and chewing with enthusiasm (it wasn’t that hard, the dressing is fab).
The affable Magno was at the camera and immediately called for a halt to the madness. Explanation: “We can’t shoot it if she looks like a goddamn cow.” Oh the harshness of reality. In my effort to be cool, sexy and enthusiastic, it appeared that I was chewing my cud.
After a couple of embarrassing (Cow? Cow!!) retakes, they got what they needed. But for the next few weeks I’ll be eating in front of a mirror trying to feminize my fuego for the camera. Not a small bite tease, but an enthusiastic chomp that’ll stir you from your frozen-dinner, order-in malaise and get you excited enough to put some bacon in a skillet and make yourself a proper meal.
BREAKFAST PANTRY PEAS
Serves 4
Home from weeks of traveling, I can’t wait to cook myself a proper brekky, but I’ve got nothing fresh in the fridge. I’m looking at bacon and eggs, lemons and limes, shallots and garlic, beer, and a doorful of condiments. I need something green with breakfast; if the day hasn’t started with protein and vegetables, I’m likely to be half-awake for the rest of it.
Oh, blessing of blessings, inside the freezer there is a 10-ounce bag of organic baby peas. Those little buggers never let me down, and I can practice getting them on my fork and eating them with verve.
3 pieces bacon (I like Niman Ranch thick cut), try to avoid the nitrates et al
2 small shallots, thinly sliced
1 10-ounce package peas (or 2 cups of frozen peas...get the babies, or petit pois as they're tastier)
A few pinches of dried thyme, or herbs de Provence
S & P
1. Halve the bacon so that you’ve got 6 short pieces. Place them in a cold skillet and heat over medium heat. Bring them to a sizzle, inhale deep and remind yourself that pork fat is the new health food. (Don’t take my word for it, ask Nina Planck.)
2. Cook them until soft-crisp, about 4 minutes per side. Remove them to a paper towel-lined plate. Pour some of the bacon fat our so that you’ve got 1 tablespoon remaining the pan (don’t toss it, for the love of god, freeze it and we’ll use it another time).
3. Put the shallots in the skillet and cook until they begin to soften, about 2 minutes. Add the peas, 1/4 cup warm water, thyme, salt and pepper and cover. Cook until the peas are bright green, 3 to 4 minutes. Remove cover and let any excess water cook out. Taste and season with additional salt and pepper, as needed.
4. Crumble the bacon and return it to the peas. Serve with scrambled eggs, toasted baguette with melty butter, and eat pretty!
And we’re back.
There’s one particular experience that’s ringing in my ears from my last shoot. Since I’m cooking, I get to enjoy that food television host exclusive experience of eating a piece of food and trying to convey the yum-ocity for the home viewers. You know, taking that bite, saying “Mmmm, delicious!” and all that.
I’ve always found those moments completely disingenuous and unbelievable on TV, and what’s more, somewhat selfish. What, she’ll dish up a plate of food for herself, and eat it in front of me while I’m eating a box of wheat thins? That’s lame. Reminds me more of my brother savoring the last of his Halloween candy in front of me in February after mine was long gone. Where’s the sharing? Don’t tease me woman, serve me up a plate. I’m hungry.
Or worse yet, when those really skinny newscaster chicks chew chew chew, but never seem to swallow. What’s up with that? They cut to commercial with a face full of chow (speaking with their mouth full, oh my!), then I can only guess spit the thing out when the cameras stop rolling. Doesn’t exactly sell the recipe, now does it.
That said, my manners, thought improving, are of the kitchen. You know, eating a piece of meat with your hands and really chomping on it to get the flavor. I’ve told you how I feel about working the bone; my colleagues will attest I’m not afraid to pick up a T-bone in Ruth’s Chris and go to town on it, no matter how fancy the clothes I’m wearing. I’m a bit of a heathen that way, but a happy (and well-fed) one.
So when I eat for you on-camera, I want to throw the food in my mouth, and let you know I’m really enjoying it, and hopefully you’ll get up and go fix yourself a little sumpin sumpin.
Last week I was doing a bit on salad dressing and I had a bowl full of chopped romaine to which I added a kickin’ vinaigrette of walnut oil and white balsamic (make it, 3:1 ratio oil to vinegar, you’ll thank me). I was trying to demonstrate how to taste a salad dressing by dipping a piece of lettuce into the thing and eating it.
The leaf was long, the dressing was coating it, so I dangled the thing high in the air, hung my head back, live-goldfish-eating style, and slurped it down.
The oil drizzled down my neck and the lettuce was hanging out of my mouth. I tried to play through, looking at the camera and chewing with enthusiasm (it wasn’t that hard, the dressing is fab).
The affable Magno was at the camera and immediately called for a halt to the madness. Explanation: “We can’t shoot it if she looks like a goddamn cow.” Oh the harshness of reality. In my effort to be cool, sexy and enthusiastic, it appeared that I was chewing my cud.
After a couple of embarrassing (Cow? Cow!!) retakes, they got what they needed. But for the next few weeks I’ll be eating in front of a mirror trying to feminize my fuego for the camera. Not a small bite tease, but an enthusiastic chomp that’ll stir you from your frozen-dinner, order-in malaise and get you excited enough to put some bacon in a skillet and make yourself a proper meal.
BREAKFAST PANTRY PEAS
Serves 4
Home from weeks of traveling, I can’t wait to cook myself a proper brekky, but I’ve got nothing fresh in the fridge. I’m looking at bacon and eggs, lemons and limes, shallots and garlic, beer, and a doorful of condiments. I need something green with breakfast; if the day hasn’t started with protein and vegetables, I’m likely to be half-awake for the rest of it.
Oh, blessing of blessings, inside the freezer there is a 10-ounce bag of organic baby peas. Those little buggers never let me down, and I can practice getting them on my fork and eating them with verve.
3 pieces bacon (I like Niman Ranch thick cut), try to avoid the nitrates et al
2 small shallots, thinly sliced
1 10-ounce package peas (or 2 cups of frozen peas...get the babies, or petit pois as they're tastier)
A few pinches of dried thyme, or herbs de Provence
S & P
1. Halve the bacon so that you’ve got 6 short pieces. Place them in a cold skillet and heat over medium heat. Bring them to a sizzle, inhale deep and remind yourself that pork fat is the new health food. (Don’t take my word for it, ask Nina Planck.)
2. Cook them until soft-crisp, about 4 minutes per side. Remove them to a paper towel-lined plate. Pour some of the bacon fat our so that you’ve got 1 tablespoon remaining the pan (don’t toss it, for the love of god, freeze it and we’ll use it another time).
3. Put the shallots in the skillet and cook until they begin to soften, about 2 minutes. Add the peas, 1/4 cup warm water, thyme, salt and pepper and cover. Cook until the peas are bright green, 3 to 4 minutes. Remove cover and let any excess water cook out. Taste and season with additional salt and pepper, as needed.
4. Crumble the bacon and return it to the peas. Serve with scrambled eggs, toasted baguette with melty butter, and eat pretty!
posted by Allison Fishman Task at 11:37 AM
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