Eating for Relief

You can call me shallow, if you like.

I've been looking for a Haiti relief fundraiser to attend.

Of course The Handsome Man and I have sent money already, but things are so devastated in Haiti. It’s mind-boggling. Times like this, when we're reeling from disaster, it's useful for us humans to congregate. It's a natural impulse. Also, I get a little spiritual about it, and believe that multiple well-meaning hearts gathered in one place can create a strong positive force. As I keep reading about the loss in Haiti, ugh - my soul gets heavy, and I want to be a part of a force for good.

The Colorado Caterer's Association has suggested that I might be a force for good while eating well and enjoying some quality time with my friends.

The Colorado Caterers are putting on a fundraiser this Sunday at Mile High Station from 5-9PM with live music and "amazing“ heavy hors d'oeuvres. Your $25 minimum donation grants you admission to the soiree and two drink tickets.

Good for them. Coming together is the right thing to do. Making it a fundraiser is the right thing to do. The event sponsors are being very generous (100% of proceeds are going to the Red Cross), which is the right thing to do.

And it works for me. Like I said, I've had the urge to gather.

Plus, my best pals are going, and their friends I like, and Handsome, and his friends I like.

Plus, it's at Mile High Station, where Handsome and I have been known to have a stupid good time. (We do well at weddings and bar mitzvahs.)

Plus, hello, drinks, meet the groove band.

Not to mention The Deluxe Nibblies.

It’s very much my kind of night.

Here’s my problem: the unfolding tragedy that is our raison d’etre.

I was reading in the NYTimes yesterday about the food shortages and widespread hunger in Haiti at present. It’s a desperate situation for thousands, if not millions (I’m wincing) of people. With that, how appropriate is my excitement over the prospect of tucking into those “heavy hors d’oeuvres” on Sunday? And it’s not just the food. There’s something incongruous about partying our way to disaster relief.

I don’t want to be too hair-shirted about this, or overly self-conscious about my first-world privilege or my self-indulgences or my personal good fortune. But, like I said to Handsome tonight, it’s bound to feel weird at some point on Sunday, and we might as well get ahead of it.

So here’s what we’re thinking: We’ll go to the function on Sunday, and make our contribution, and hopefully have a good time and some good eats. And we’ll do that after having had a delightful meal at home with friends on Saturday evening. (Been looking forward to that.)

But on Monday, we start a fast.

Duration: Monday through Friday. Purpose: Solidarity, heightened consciousness, sacrifice. Regimen: A vegetarian, sunrise-to-sunset, solid-food fast. Bonus: To the extent we experience any savings, we can make another donation.

It’s only so meaningful, in the grand scheme, but I think it will be centering. Also, you know... the positive force. It’s how Handsome and I plan to reconcile it, anyway.

I don't know how the event planners are going to manage the presentation of delectable cuisine and dance music against Haiti's desperation. That's a balancing act that would be tricky to emcee. It's going to be weird enough being a guest, having a good time for a good cause for such a tragic reason.

But if you believe there's value in coming together...

And/or if you were going to send more money anyway...

And/or if you think about it as sending up a light from your heart...

Maybe it's not so weird, and I'll see you there.

Our New Neighbor

A marijuana dispensary just opened at the end of our block.

I was feeling somewhat scandalized about that fact until my friend, who lives in a much nicer neighborhood than I do, lamented about the dispensary opening up at the end of her block.

Ah, Denver.

The Post recently reported that there are more marijuana dispensaries in Denver County than there are ubiquitous-ass Starbucks coffee shops. By a factor of almost 2 to 1.

I missed this coverage, which is too bad. With some prep, I could have responded to my new neighbor with much greater cool. Instead, I felt...I felt...I think I felt my property value going down.

Don’t get me wrong - I support medical marijuana. I know people who bought weed for mothers sick with cancer or chronic joint pain before the law changed, and it’s total bullshit that they had to obtain these drugs illegally. It’s appalling to me that our nation outlaws relief for those suffering from chronic illnesses if the remedy is using marijuana. That’s ridiculous.

What about our U.S. prescription drug industry? What about the many, many men, women and children in this country who use synthetic medications? Lots of Americans devour drugs, prescription and over-the-counter. What kind of self-defeating, anti-botanical hypocrisy is it to outlaw marijuana for medical purposes?

But, at the same time... a dispensary at the end of my block?

Couldn’t we have a marijuana district, or something? You could put it by the hospitals, or by the justice center, whatever. Somewhere nice and central. And not in my backyard.

(I realize this is an illogical, if not hypocritical, position. I'm working on it.)

Of course, I’m just a chronic illness away from being over-the-moon about the convenience of the whole situation.

For the record, I’ll take my health and these fleeting spells of NIMBY-ism any day, thank you.

Welcome to the neighborhood, Mary Jane. My name is Crystal, and I'll be supporting you only in theory.

These Lines

This morning, after our walk, Mom was telling me family stories about when she was a little girl. Of course, she had my rapt attention. I registered the sparkle in her dark brown eyes and the animation in her expression as she recounted tales of Meemo and Grandpa as young parents. And I noticed, once again, the lines in her face, especially the ones that frame her smile and occupy the space between her eyebrows. These are the lines I see taking residence in my own face, and I tend to regret my frequent scowling and wonder about getting Botox.

In Mom's face, though, these lines are beloved aspects. And that makes me think twice about even wanting to change time's trajectory across my face.

Instead, I'm inclined to love it.

Yep, all of it.

About That Hand-Crafted Menu

Back to the Gastro Cart Denver today for some more hand-crafted street food (that’s their term, “hand crafted street food”), and I realize my last post may not have done justice to their badass little menu.

In their words:

• Gyro: Roast lamb, taziki, napa cabbage, tomato guajillo mint foam, naan
• Veg Taco: Caramelized cabbage roll, whole grain rice, cream cheese, smoked jalapeno aioli, duxelle
• Spicy Chicken Taco: Roast chicken, kim chee, 1000 island, caraway, corn tortilla
• Quinoa seasoned with bread and butter brine

And for this week’s (Haiti relief) special:

A Slider with Crispy Pork, with a hint of Citrus (Griot), this is the Haitian word for this recipe, Spicy Cabbage, Carrot, Onion Slaw with Vinegar and Spice (Picklese) Bean Puree (Sauce Pois) all on a Cornmeal Roll

Today, Handsome and I both had combos. He got two veggie tacos w/ quinoa and a Throwback Pepsi. I had the lamb gyro, quinoa and a can of San Pellegrino carbonated lemonade.

We drove our box lunches over to the little park along the Platte River where Handsome proposed to me almost nine years ago. My, those trees have grown. But the size of the trees is far less striking than the size of the buildings that have sprung up over the years - glass high-rises, modern townhomes, street-level boutique retail. They go on and on. Things change.

The day was sunny, but windy and cold. We ate in the car, and then went for a walk around the park.

The food was amazing. Delicious and complex flavors, an experience satisfying to the mouth. I like a saucy sammich, which tends to mean a sloppy sammich. The lamb gyro was a tantalizing mess by the end of it. And lick-your-fingers good.

After the walk in the park, we went for cupcakes. I’m still savoring the frosting from the top of the remains of my red velvet.

Nice lunch. And the filtered sunlight this afternoon is so soft and sweet.

Happy Friday.

Eats and the Inevitable

I finally got to try the Gastro Cart in downtown Denver today, and ohhh yeah.

It’s just a little silver lunch cart on the corner of 18th and Curtis. They could be selling hot dogs. There wasn’t an awning, or a seating area.

But they’re working an angle, honey: it’s good food.

Run by two former line-cooks at Table 6, the Gastro Cart serves a menu that is (wisely) limited in scope. On the regular menu are chicken tacos, veggie tacos, a lamb gyro, and a side. There’s also a daily special. All this week, it’s the Haitian-style pork slider, with half the sale proceeds going to the American Red Cross for earthquake relief efforts. (Decent, right?)

The execution is incredibly low-budge. Specials are advertised on Twitter and Facebook. The menu is a photocopied quarter-page of white paper. Your pay options? Cash only.

The execution is also totally delicious. I got the special, the pork slider, and it was a really good little sammich. (With homemade pickle - cute.) Straightforward, but not simple-minded, not totally obvious. A surprisingly sophisticated combination of flavors.

I took one bite and thought, This could be habit-forming.

The Handsome Man and I are going back tomorrow for actual lunch.

I’m already loving this concept.

A movement towards really good street food. It activates my imagination: gastro carts and foodie stands on every other downtown corner, serving excellent, unfussy dishes at reasonable prices. Denver would become known for its sublime options for edgy corner dining. Our residents would come to define everyday eats as real food that supports local micro-businesses (and, preferably, local producers of produce, dairy and meat).

Let's face it - it’s only a matter of time before I find myself in a hairnet, guys. We might as well start getting our heads around it.

Yum

Yummy, yummy, yummy.

Heard about this project?

Fashion-wise, it's so delectable and provocative and absorbing.

Art-wise, and sociologically-speaking, the exhibition is still provocative, and quite absorbing, but slightly less delicious - I don’t know what’s going on with the names (slang? slurs?) that the artists have used for some of the groups. I'm devouring the thing, so I want to work with them. They’re maybe not in English? They're maybe how the groups refer to themselves? But, while there is an artists' statement, the choices of group names are not covered therein, so I’m left wondering if the artists are using their own terminology.

Not willing to unpack it right now.

View the selection at farpitz for a bite-size, tasty streetwear experience.

I Heart...Marcus Samuelsson

“To cook something, to serve it, to share it with others - each is far more meaningful than just a job, a pleasure, or even necessity. Through food we express love, we bring comfort and hope, we forge new relationships and strengthen old bonds. Food reaffirms not only our humanity, but the joy of being alive.” - Chef Marcus Samuelsson

At the outset, I want to make it plain: When I say, “I heart...xyz” it’s an expression of the kind of adoration that stems from affection and appreciation. It’s not about lust, or even romantic love. It’s really about admiration, I guess. Personal heroes. Perceived kindred spirits. Fantasy dinner guests. You get the idea.

That said, I heart Chef Marcus Samuelsson. In addition to being an award-winning chef, Samuelsson is a cookbook author, tv personality and ambassador for the US Fund for UNICEF. And even when I call him “my boyfriend,” what I mean is, “I heart him!”

Photo from Google Images

He is physically beautiful. Oh, yes sir, he is.

Photo from blackpreneur.net

And he’s clearly talented in his field. Sez Wikipedia: "At 24, Marcus became executive chef of Aquavit, and soon after that became the youngest ever to receive a three-star restaurant review from The New York Times." From Samuelsson’s website:

Samuelsson was honored with the James Beard Foundation Award for ‘Rising Star Chef’ in 1999 and ‘Best Chef, New York’ in 2003. He was also celebrated as one of “The Great Chefs of America” by The Culinary Institute of America.

Born in Ethiopia, adopted, and raised in Sweden, Samuelsson manages (among other projects) a Japanese restaurant in NYC. You know how I appreciate a straddler of worlds.

He’s married to a sista, the gorgeous, Ethiopian-born, Holland-raised model Maya Haile.

Photos from Maya Haile’s Facebook fan page

I want to dress in couture with her, and travel by private jet together.

But this isn’t about any of that.

It’s about the human connection to food. The complex symbolism of food. Food as identity-marker. Our man Marcus gets it.

Submitted as evidence: He is the host of a three-episode PBS special called The Meaning of Food. First aired in 2004, the show is available today via insta-watch on Netflix. And it is just so beautiful.

Sez PBS: “The Meaning of Food is an exploration of culture through food. What we consume, how we acquire it, who prepares it, who’s at the table, and who eats first is a form of communication that is rich with meaning.” The show dashes from point to point on the globe, introducing interesting people and their food-ways.

The first episode is “Food and Life”. Want a taste?

• We learn that death row inmates are allowed to request specifically what they’d like for their last meal, and we visit with a man who for 11 years cooked the last meal for prisoners on death row. (Deal with that. The guy has a hard time talking about it, years later even. He had nightmares when it was his job.) In his case, anyway, the state tried as best they could to provide the requested meal. We see some of the menus. Sez the cook: “What if that was your son? Your brother? Would you rather he got a good last meal? ...Someone you loved... How would you feel then?”
• From the perspective of a Muslim-American HS senior, we learn about fasting during Ramadan, in the Muslim faith, and the feasting of Eid (pronounced “Eed,” which is hard for me to remember, for some reason).
• We hear from a Holocaust survivor about “cooking with the mouth”. That’s what you do when you have nothing to eat, or what female prisoners at a concentration camp in Czechoslovakia did, telling each other their favorite recipes in detail in stolen moments, nights in the bunks. (There’s a cookbook of these recipes, if you think you can stand it. Many of the recipes are convoluted or incomplete. The original manuscript was hand-sewn.)

Seriously, if you think you can get through this show without weeping, you’re a badder MF than I am.

That’s what I call good television.

And that’s just Episode One!

There’s also “Food and Culture”, where we talk about heritage and food and identity. Sez my boyfriend:

“Where are you from?” It’s not an easy answer...everywhere I’ve been, everything I am, is reflected in my feelings about food: what I like, what I cook, what I consider good to eat. Food is a form of communication, rich with meaning...what you eat tells me, better than a photograph, who you are.

And, finally, “Food and Family”: “Gathering food, preparing it, eating it together - through these small daily rituals, bonds are created and families defined.” - Marcus Samuelsson

All delicious. So maybe this post should be titled, “I Heart The Meaning of Food”. That is not an untrue statement. The show is deep.

But I love that Marcus Samuelsson hosted it.

Samuelsson is also the featured chef on an episode of another favorite tv show, After Hours with Daniel Boulud. Chef Boulud jokes about Samuelsson: “He gets high when he eats Ethiopian food.” I like the idea of getting high off of a meal.

Plus, when I read this on Wikipedia...

On November 24, 2009, Samuelsson served as guest chef for the first state dinner of the Barack Obama presidency. [!] The dinner, in honor of Prime Minister Manmohan Singh and the country of India, was served on the South Lawn and largely vegetarian. Samuelsson reportedly sought to combine sustainable and regional foods which reflect the best in American cuisine yet evoke the flavors of India. Harvesting fresh vegetables and herbs from the White House Garden, Samuelsson’s menu included red lentil soup, roasted potato dumplings, and green curry prawns.

...I cried out, “He is SO my boyfriend!”

I’m thinking if I became an award-winning author, I could date Marcus Samuelsson. You know, if we weren’t both married and, oh yeah, complete strangers.

Meanwhile, my blog seems the appropriate place to give him my heart.

And the next time I’m in NYC or Chicago, I’ll be giving him my stomach, as well.

His latest book is New American Table, a cookbook of regional American cuisine. Can't wait to check it out.