TIME AND A SLICE OF BREAD

Seventeen years ago today, dad died.

What strikes me as I see this on my calendar is that it seems like it could easily be 50 years.

Because my memory plays with time, and the 90s seem like yesterday, until you stop to think about it and contrast the past to the present - who I was, where our family life was and what the world was then and now.

Seventeen years ago, the kids were still in high school, living with us and going through teen things. We were in between cats. Pocono died in August, the year before and Calypso (my first act of grandfathering when Sharon got the boot order from her college residence) did not yet arrive on our doorstep. We had a station wagon in our driveway and I drove a honda to my job with J&J, still depositing mounds of traumatic stress into my PTSS account and wondering if becoming a chef would be a good mid-life career switch.

Thinking back about dad, it's like, 'dad who?'.  It is difficult for me now, to understand how I was never able to break through to him. Because I look at myself now and imagine having different conversations and creating something, even if it was only a different understanding. We never had anything that resembled an adult relationship. He was gone - as an active participant in living - long before I grew up. Checked out on life and growth and fathering somewhere along the line for reasons I can surmise but can't understand.

Last year, I wrote a song for dad. It includes music and exists in MP3 format (but not to be included at this time). Although the song relates to one of the positive aspects of his collective activity - as a man who had some skill in the kitchen, it is also littered with my own attempts to resolve ambivalences and mixed emotions. He was always living in the tense of a 3rd person, not as a "you and I" figure. The song is about an activity that should be passed on through family lines in an active sense - baking traditional ethnic foods. But as with all things relating to dad, I learned by watching and emulating what I thought I saw, or in most cases, by doing the opposite.

The bread is called hzympka - a simple, peasant bread, filled with swiss cheese or mashed potatoes. No one has any idea how to spell it, so I put this spelling together as a phonetic representation of my memory of what I heard. There is no written recipe for it and I've never been able to find anything similar in a cookbook or through the internet. Later, I'll publish the actual recipe but for now, here's the words of my song.

Hzympka  © 2009 C.Pronchik

First you have a smoke

It's gotta be a Pall Mall (pall mall)

Then don't wash your hands

You want to keep the tobacco smell (the tobacco smell)

Flour, yeast and water

Mix it up and let it soak (let it soak)

This will give you time

To step aside and catch another smoke (catch another smoke)

pomollo,  pomollo katskia

When it sponges up, add more flour and some salt

Go grease some pans;  ashes fall in - it's no one's fault (it's no one's fault)

Pull the dough into the pans

warm and soft and somewhat wetter  (it should be somewhat wetter)

Chop some cheese and mix it in 

Swiss is good but Switzer's better (switzer's better)    (don't forget the ground pepper !!!!)

Wet your fingers with your mouth; pull the dough, edge to middle

Seal it up and let it rise; you forgot the pepper, didn't ya?  (Jesus Christ, you forgot the pepper, didn't ya?)

Egg and water, glaze the top

In the oven three hundred and fifty degrees (that's 350 degrees farenheit)

Catch a smoke, pet the dog

drink a couple Balentines for me (don't forget to make the 3-ring sign for ballentine)

THE BALANCE OF THE DAY

Tuesday....

(-5) Not the best of starts... still troubled by the problems of Roger Ebert and his disfigurement. It makes me sad for him but it also brings 2 thoughts again to the forefront: how much of our perception of individuals is controlled by what our eyes show us, and how vulnerable we all are to the vagaries of life.

(+2) Sue dresses up like Jillian Mele. (this is not a kinky thing, it's just a thing, and a plus 2)

(+5) Learned quite a bit from several outstanding articles in the N.Y. Times (on-line and STILL FREE!). Forward one on PINK NOISE to my scientific son, Jeremy, another on protecting the ears of the young to the soon to be parents, my daughter and son-in-law, and a third on what the Russians think about their olympic shortcomings to my Olympics loving wife. Kept the reviews on the new TV show, Parenthood and the new movie, Alice in Wonderland to myself.

(-10) I decide to go out and take care of some tasks. Look. I'm not ranting. I'm just saying the world is full of... let's just say (I'm being REALLY kind), people who can do better. Let's ignore the rude, distracted drivers on the road - here's IRONY for you: I go to the doctor's office to pick up my prescription for ADD medicine (attention deficit disorder) from a person who is struggling with some kind of attention disorder of her own - a receptionist that is apparently unable to multi-task and who pays no attention to me as I stand in front of her and she completes multiple steps of whatever it is she's doing, past the point of rudeness. Dear woman: FIND ANOTHER JOB! A receptionist needs to be able to multitask. Dear woman: All you needed to do was look up momentarily and ask what I was there for - and THEN, if you couldn't pause for the 10 seconds it takes to retrieve the prescription, say to me, "would you mind waiting while I finish this task?" (and then not take 10 minutes and not hand me my RX without a further word.) You twerp.

(-2) Was almost side-swiped IN the supermarket by a muttonhead (with a baby no less!) who is pushing along while watching his hand-held. Yes, even at the supermarket, they drive distracted. Do we need a law for this too?  (Don't get me started!)

(+2) Receive an unexpected pleasantry at Lowes from an employee (not even a greeter) who gives me a big "how are you doing sir."

(-3) BUT, Lowes has no heirloom tomato seeds. Home Depot has no heirloom tomato seeds. And Staples has no Arrow P-22 staples ! (Yes, ironic moment #2 - STAPLES has no STAPLES).

(+4) Back home, receive email from Jeremy telling me how much he enjoyed the article I forwarded to him. Further, he posts it on his facebook page and gives me credit.

(-1) F'n mailman.

(+3) Snagged the last piece of home made, exotic mushroom pizza (oyster, shitake and crimini mushrooms) from the freezer and reheat it for lunch, then eat it with EXTRA TRUFFLE OIL drizzled on top.

(+2) At chestnut hill coffee, remind myself I am 57, and have a cappuccino. No, wait, I'm 58.

TOTAL for the day.... -3

GIVING UP SWEET TREATS FOR LENT - 25% into the experiment

OK. It has now been a week and a half into this lenten experiment of mine and I believe that things are pretty much under control. Yes, I did have some treats last Sunday and I plan to do so again today, but I am not approaching it like my crazy cat approaches her food at every meal - like, 'thanks, you son of a bitch, now I can go on living again'.

During this time of sacrifice, I have been able to find, somewhat surprisingly, a number of items that satisfy - or maybe a better word is, placate - my sweet tooth. These are ways to end a meal or combat a low point in the day. It is clear though, that a bowl of yogurt with fruit does not provide the same kick that a slice of coconut cake does.

But denial is good (seriously!) and presumably, I am also doing a better thing for my body.

Of course, I wouldn't be me if I didn't try to analyze this experiment some. So, to help me and you, I've come up with a list of things that must be considered treats, and things that aren't. And, since lent is a catholic thing, and a time of DENIAL, it is only fair that we start from the negative.

The DO NOT EAT list

First, there are the obvious suspects: cake, pie, candy, ice cream, pastries, cookies, doughnuts, and danish - even the ever declining, flaccid offerings from Tastykake and Entenmann's.

Next, let's add the less obvious, but equally go-to-hell sinful:  pudding, custard, creme brulee, milk shakes, caramel sauce, ice cream toppings, sweetened whipped cream, sherbet, gelato, and girlie drinks such as frozen daiquiris and the chocolate "martini". Jello? I don't get why anyone eats this product made from cow hooves, but assuming you are eating it voluntarily and not in a hospital room, most would consider it a treat. So it's a NO GO!

But then it gets complicated. To misquote Freud in several ways, sometimes a cake is not a cake.

What about the muffin? These things range from the simple corn muffin - often not very sweet and sometimes containing vegetables like whole corn and chiles, to the healthy bran muffin - as much medicine as a treat, to something misguided but rich like the chocolate cherry crumb things sold in supermarkets. My book on this is simple - if it seems like a treat, it is a treat. A corn muffin that accompanies fried chicken is not a treat. It is the proper bread for this meal. A bran muffin is not a treat if you have trouble getting it down. Those supermarket things? Do you have to ask?

Same goes with scones. At least every scone I've ever eaten has been a wonderful thing, and therefore, a treat.

What about sweet breads? (not sweetbreads! as pictured at the right) Catholics of my mother's era used to get around this whole lenten thing with something called a hot cross bun. Even as a child, this sounded like bullshit to me and may actually be one of the seeds of my discontent with the philosophy of Catholicism - but let's not journey down that path now. The tipping point for sweet breads - buns, brioche, etc. - has to do with how much sugar is involved and what else is in it or ON IT. Just putting raisins or candied citron in it doesn't make it a treat. But if it has too much sugar, too many eggs, or has a glaze or an icing, it's a TREAT !


Toast and jelly?  Here's an interesting one. I know of at least one person, and I suspect many others, that are now eating much more toast and jelly than they did before. And eating it at odd times, like after dinner. Let's look at this one carefully.

Toast is dough, which has been formed into bread, sliced and heated until it is browned and crisp on the outside and still soft on the inside. So far, so good. Bread itself is low in both sugar and fat, unlike let's say, a doughnut. But after bread is toasted, most people spread butter on it, bringing the fat content up. And then most people, especially those lenting on sweets, pile a certain amount of jelly on top and eat it with a glass of cold milk. Hmmm... what does that sound like?

What we have is nothing more than a DECONSTRUCTED DOUGHNUT.  [buzzer sound]

Bottom line: Toast is OK with your breakfast but DISALLOWED for evening dessert!

Hope that helped. Next time, I will discuss what is allowed.

GIVING UP SWEET TREATS FOR LENT - Reflecting back on day one

Something had to be done.

My life had spiraled out of control and into a non-stop feeding frenzy of Godiva pecan turtles, chocolate chip cookies, sticky buns and mixed berry-cheese danish from Metropolitan bakery. Add the fact that I have the ability to whip up almost anything I see from scratch - such as that lemon pound cake at Metropolitan, or the maple nut scones at Starbucks, and you begin to see the problem.

At my last physical, my doctor told me that my blood work showed a glucose number that was nudging toward "pre-diabetic". I know they like to throw labels around freely, but it was still disturbing - especially to a person with a body-mass index that has always been in the excellent range. So, almost on a whim yesterday, I decided to give up sweets for lent.

I knew it would be difficult. I've seen my habit increase over the past year and I've seen my efforts to trim my habit fail. So, cold turkey is had to be!

Thank God, Sundays don't count (1).

Day 1 - Ash Wednesday

Holy cow! Day one was even harder than expected. I'm not a big meat eater but perhaps it was the triple whammy of fasting and going meatless along with my denial, that made the day so dark and empty. The morning went well enough, but lunch deteriorated from a semi-sensible assortment of dried fruits, cheese and bread into chips from the bag, honey roasted peanuts and scotch.

The slump that followed carried my depression through the evening and into an early bed.

And then there were the dreams. A road trip with my wife through the South, dedicated to eating. We had a list of places - delis, restaurants, bakeries - that I had gathered from past experiences and readings, and we stopped at each of them, filling bags of incredible take-out food. It soon became obvious that we bought way more than we could eat while on the road - something that occurred to me around the same time I remembered 2 other places that we HAD TO VISIT THAT DAY.

The dream ended when we drove the golf cart (where'd a golf cart come from?), filled with the food, through a river (huh?). Everyone else was doing it and I vaguely remembered that it was part of what we had done before. But still, I wondered if it was good for the golf cart. We were floating (mostly) but having difficulty keeping the cart above water and on an even keel.

The second dream was worse. It occurred around 5:45, just before I woke,

I was in Switzerland, having travelled there specifically to eat chocolate. At the candy store, the display of treats was overwhelmingly attractive. I asked for some Lindt dark chocolate - extra bittersweet. Since I came all the way to Switzerland for this chocolate, I figured I should get more than just what I was going to eat on the spot, requesting 2 pounds (Why not a kilo I wonder now that I am awake?). The woman reached in, past the coconut doughnuts and various truffles and chocolate covered dried fruits to reach for my candy - while telling me that they no longer called it extra bittersweet. She told me the other name but I wondered why I should care since I was dreaming, I would never need that information again and she had what I wanted anyway. She handed me a box of candy but instead of the chocolate I asked for,  I found a wild (and spectacular) assortment of all the good things they had, including those mini frosted doughnuts. It was captivating but where was the chocolate?

The woman explained to me that the chocolate was at such a premium, they could only give me one small piece when I ordered 2 pounds. The remainder would be made up of other candies - sort of as filler. If I wanted 2 pounds of chocolate, I would have to buy enough total sweets to accumulate the 2 pounds of chocolate.

And she went on and on, explaining to me the rationale and the finality for their approach, and endless justifications, and reasons the decision was irrevocable, as only the Swiss can, including details on the cost to make the extra bitterweet variety - 18 euros a pound (again, no gram-speak?).

And I'm thinking, how long is this going to go on and when can I start eating my chocolate?

Waking around 6:00, I spent the next 15 minutes ruminating on these dreams, trying to make some kind of sense out of them, while searching for the power to pull myself out of bed. A torturous start to day two.

One down, 39 days and how many more junkie-dreams to go?

-------------------------
(1) Do the math yourself... Ash Wednesday through Holy Saturday WITHOUT sundays is 40 days. With them, it is 46.

RECIPE FOR GROUNDHOG MEATLOAF

• 1 -2 lb. ground groundhog
• ground pork (optional)
• garlic
• onion
• 1 carrot, shredded
• juniper berries, smashed
• 1-4 chipotle peppers, deseeded and finely minced (optional)
• bread crumbs
• 1 egg
• ketchup
• red wine (I wouldn't use anything too fancy here)
• worcestershire sauce
• parsley (optional)
• salt 
• black pepper

Serves 2-16

This recipe, first published in the Larousse Gastronomique (the bible of French cuisine) has also appeared in the Betty Crocker Cookbook (country edition), but has since gone out of print. I came across it at a yard sale in the Poconos.

Note that this is not city cooking, so amounts are not detailed and vary according to local availability and your own personal taste. If you can't deal with this level of imprecision, just go to the store and buy a frozen groundhog loaf for your fancy-schmancy microwave oven.

Instructions

Pour some vegetable oil in a pan. Finely chop the onion and add it to the pan with the carrot and at least 6 garlic cloves that have been smashed. Saute until translucent. Remove from heat and allow it to come to room temperature.

Place the groundhog in a large bowl and sort through the meat to remove anything that looks like a bone or a tooth or a claw. You might want to wear gloves. A certain amount of bristly hair is unavoidable (and some say, desired for digestive purposes). I recommend you use 100% certified, shadow-seeing ground groundhog meat (available at Whole Foods stores, and various other delis in and around Punxsutawney). Be sure to use only certified ground hog. Other purveyors add up to 20% other rodent (*) and/or unidentified road-kill meat as filler. [(*) Yes, in addition to "the other white meat", there is "the other rodent meat", which includes squirrel, rat, field mouse and in some countries, nutria.]

Add pork if desired. The addition of pork definitely changes the flavor, but it also adds juiciness and some say, a complimentary flavor component. Remember, although it's "the other white meat", it is still in the hog family.

Lightly whip the egg and pour over the meat, then add all other ingredients. Season with salt and pepper to taste and work it all together with your hands. Form into loaf (optionally, shaping it into the figure of a prostrate Punxsutawney Phil).

Place on a baking sheet that has a rim (to catch all the juices) and put into a preheated, 350˚ oven. Bake for at least a 90 minutes to kill all the parasites. But if after an hour, your house fills with the yummy aroma of roasted rodent, and your family is drooling uncontrollably and you can't wait any longer… hey, it's your life.

Serve with any remaining, chilled Iron City lagers. (Best to have been drinking the first case while you were preparing the meal.)

Chefs Notes 

In some areas of the country, the meat may be labeled "ground woodchuck" or "chicken mc nuggets". Don't worry, it's the same stuff !

Most people say they can't tell the difference between shadow-seeing ground hogs and the regular kind, but I say, you eat with more than just your mouth and taste buds. So, go for the real stuff, even if it is more expensive.

The worcestershire sauce adds a certain something that can't readily be identified and elevates the dish in flavor and depth. It also allows you to think its the worcestershire you're tasting.

Remember, you don't want ground chuck - you want ground phil.

I apologize for the quality of the picture. It is the only know picture of this dish in existence.

Lastly, there is a rumor going around the internet that the company that sells shadow-seeing ground hog meat to Whole Foods, uses a technique where they flash a bright light into the groundhog pen immediately before processing. This has never been proven in any court of law and we all know the internet is full of outlandish rumors and contrived stories - what some might term, utter BS. I wouldn't believe any of it.