Can Moderation Be Sexy? Chocolate Popcorn
Oh, Michael Pollan. You've done it again.
I loved your first book, The Omnivore's Dilemma. I had this strange relationship with it, much like I did with Halloween Candy, or Green Sands Shandy after a trip to Trinidad. I could make a case of Green Sands last a year. Halloween candy always made it to the end of June. I would read a bit, and force myself to put it down so that I could make it last.
When I finished the book, I was distraught. Our first experience of one another was over. I'd heard the stories about the pigs diving through refuse with their squiggly little tails in the air, read about how Americans are turning into walking corn kernels, and joined Michael for a wild boar hunt in Northern California. His stories are memorable, but when I put down the book they were all told.
But he's got me all riled up again, with seven little words:
Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.
I know that. Everybody knows that. But something about his nebbeshy authority gives me great relief when he says it. When I pass on dessert, I can do it knowing I'm being smart, not depriving myself. When I spend two hours roasting seasonal vegetables every week, I'm not some health nut; it as important as my twice-daily brush and floss. In a post-anorexic hedonistic world, when passing on the oysters, foie, steak frites, and the sticky toffee pudding makes a gal seem uptight, I feel happy knowing I could order the alfalfa sprouts and a plate of mashed yeast and he'd Clyde to my Bonnie.
Don't get me wrong -- I love nothing more than gorging myself on, well, pretty much anything -- vacation, books, movies, hikes, friends, love, food, drink...but it's warms me to think that indulging myself with vegetables and eating "not too much" isn't prissy. Moderation can be sexy.
Let's take it from another angle. I have a regular get together some food media pals. We've put in our time at Food Network, Martha Stewart, Saveur, Food & Wine, Everyday Food, yada. We write, we teach, we're around food a lot. We've had our hands in more pots of Emeril's this and Alton's that than loyal fans, because it's our job.
But when we get together, there are no four-course meals. In fact, there's barely any cooking. There's reheating (of a ragu that was on Martha's show last week), and slicing (of some cheeses that were rendered homeless on clean-out-the-walk in Friday). We assemble and reheat.
Which is odd, considering we spend our careers teaching others the simple joy of home cooking. The simplest joy, sometimes, can be arranging and under-eating; leaving yourself hungry for dessert and having a couple of bites.
Do you remember in the late eighties, when the Cosby Show took a bow at the top of their ratings? I never understood that. I enjoy the last drop, the last bite; I'm the last to leave the party. But leaving them, and yourself, wanting more has merit. It seems that in today's contemporary food conversation, and perhaps in life, hunger trumps satisfaction.
Chocolate Popcorn
This is a recipe that will never make it onto Food Network, though it was introduced to me by a friend who develops recipes there. It's gluttony in moderation. Every woman I know has a chocolate stash in her house -- maybe it's a Kit Kat thing, Ferrero Rocher, Ghiardelli chocolate chips or white chocolate covered pretzles. Whatever your fetish, you know it's there. Combine it with fresh made popcorn and get the paper towels ready (it's melty). On the plus side -- you're taking in lots of fiber with that chocolate fix. Go ahead; even the pros are doing it.
You'll need:
A big pot with a lid.
A drizzle of olive or neutral oil (1 to 2 tablespoons)
1/3 cup popcorn kernels (the organic kind tastes cornier--give it a go)
melted butter, if you like (or more olive oil)
ample kosher or maldon salt
a couple small handfulls of chocolate chips
1. To make the popcorn, heat a pot over medium-high heat. Drizzle in the oil to cover the bottom of the pot, add the corn kernels and shake the pan a bit to coat the corn with the oil. Put a lid on, count to 30 and soon you'll hear the popping. Shake the pot gently back and forth; you might need to reduce the temperature to medium. Let em pop until...they... slow...down. Turn off the heat and let em pop a bit more.
2. Open and, voila! This is the time to add the melted butter, or just give another drizzle of olive oil, salt it like you mean it, and throw in the chocolate chips. Eat em as they melt and indulge, moderately. Microwave popcorn? Who needs it?
I loved your first book, The Omnivore's Dilemma. I had this strange relationship with it, much like I did with Halloween Candy, or Green Sands Shandy after a trip to Trinidad. I could make a case of Green Sands last a year. Halloween candy always made it to the end of June. I would read a bit, and force myself to put it down so that I could make it last.
When I finished the book, I was distraught. Our first experience of one another was over. I'd heard the stories about the pigs diving through refuse with their squiggly little tails in the air, read about how Americans are turning into walking corn kernels, and joined Michael for a wild boar hunt in Northern California. His stories are memorable, but when I put down the book they were all told.
But he's got me all riled up again, with seven little words:
Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.
I know that. Everybody knows that. But something about his nebbeshy authority gives me great relief when he says it. When I pass on dessert, I can do it knowing I'm being smart, not depriving myself. When I spend two hours roasting seasonal vegetables every week, I'm not some health nut; it as important as my twice-daily brush and floss. In a post-anorexic hedonistic world, when passing on the oysters, foie, steak frites, and the sticky toffee pudding makes a gal seem uptight, I feel happy knowing I could order the alfalfa sprouts and a plate of mashed yeast and he'd Clyde to my Bonnie.
Don't get me wrong -- I love nothing more than gorging myself on, well, pretty much anything -- vacation, books, movies, hikes, friends, love, food, drink...but it's warms me to think that indulging myself with vegetables and eating "not too much" isn't prissy. Moderation can be sexy.
Let's take it from another angle. I have a regular get together some food media pals. We've put in our time at Food Network, Martha Stewart, Saveur, Food & Wine, Everyday Food, yada. We write, we teach, we're around food a lot. We've had our hands in more pots of Emeril's this and Alton's that than loyal fans, because it's our job.
But when we get together, there are no four-course meals. In fact, there's barely any cooking. There's reheating (of a ragu that was on Martha's show last week), and slicing (of some cheeses that were rendered homeless on clean-out-the-walk in Friday). We assemble and reheat.
Which is odd, considering we spend our careers teaching others the simple joy of home cooking. The simplest joy, sometimes, can be arranging and under-eating; leaving yourself hungry for dessert and having a couple of bites.
Do you remember in the late eighties, when the Cosby Show took a bow at the top of their ratings? I never understood that. I enjoy the last drop, the last bite; I'm the last to leave the party. But leaving them, and yourself, wanting more has merit. It seems that in today's contemporary food conversation, and perhaps in life, hunger trumps satisfaction.
Chocolate Popcorn
This is a recipe that will never make it onto Food Network, though it was introduced to me by a friend who develops recipes there. It's gluttony in moderation. Every woman I know has a chocolate stash in her house -- maybe it's a Kit Kat thing, Ferrero Rocher, Ghiardelli chocolate chips or white chocolate covered pretzles. Whatever your fetish, you know it's there. Combine it with fresh made popcorn and get the paper towels ready (it's melty). On the plus side -- you're taking in lots of fiber with that chocolate fix. Go ahead; even the pros are doing it.
You'll need:
A big pot with a lid.
A drizzle of olive or neutral oil (1 to 2 tablespoons)
1/3 cup popcorn kernels (the organic kind tastes cornier--give it a go)
melted butter, if you like (or more olive oil)
ample kosher or maldon salt
a couple small handfulls of chocolate chips
1. To make the popcorn, heat a pot over medium-high heat. Drizzle in the oil to cover the bottom of the pot, add the corn kernels and shake the pan a bit to coat the corn with the oil. Put a lid on, count to 30 and soon you'll hear the popping. Shake the pot gently back and forth; you might need to reduce the temperature to medium. Let em pop until...they... slow...down. Turn off the heat and let em pop a bit more.
2. Open and, voila! This is the time to add the melted butter, or just give another drizzle of olive oil, salt it like you mean it, and throw in the chocolate chips. Eat em as they melt and indulge, moderately. Microwave popcorn? Who needs it?
posted by Allison Fishman Task at 11:42 AM
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