Politics, Money, and Red Meat

the bottle: 2007 Palin Cabernet
the movie: Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

the meal: Best Beef Stew, Supernatural Brownies with orange zest whip

Last week, just when we were getting into a rebuilding frame of mind, a Supreme Court ruling that essentially gives corporations the right to unlimited political spending, seemed to tear down the campaign financing regulatory structure we have made so much effort to build. This ruling will empower corporations to use their financial clout to directly influence elections of favorite politicians and judges. The headline in the New York Times read scarily, “Lobbies' New Power: Cross Us, and Our Cash Will Bury You."

The righteous argument is that corporations should be entitled to the same rights as individuals, and thus, protected under the first amendment. This decision effectively dissolves limits on the spending of corporations and unions for campaign ads. Therefore, no amount of cash is too great to spend on an agenda—any agenda you can think of. For example, say the National Salt Reduction Committee and Michael Bloomberg got together and decided they wanted to ban salt. Now they could actually make a good go at it. Oh, they’re already trying to do that, you say? Well, just imagine how much more effective they could be with unlimited Bloomberg ad spending on the case. He’d have to put his money where his mouth is, figuratively speaking, but I can almost see the ad campaign now…a time-lapse commercial where Michael Bloomberg’s appearance shows graduating hair color away from white to black as he reduces his salt consumption and becomes healthier and ever-younger appearing. (Once those ad gates are opened, I’m sure there would be no shortage of creativity to serve the cause of the first amendment.)

My final determination this week on just the right movie to tie into this groundbreaking ruling I suppose bespeaks the ultimate long-term gestalt of this blog. In floundering between the provocative The Corporation, which takes the cynical view of the corporation as human to extreme by comparing it to a mental patient, and the rollercoaster All the Kings Men, based on the great novel by Robert Penn Warren about the rise and fall of a corrupt populist politician who uses his power to make his friends richer, I chose the somewhat more optimistic Mr. Smith Goes To Washington. Because my mind takes this ruling to a such a potentially devastating place, I have to rely on my default judgment that character and integrity will ultimately prevail in politics. (Yeah, yeah, I know.) While Jimmie Stewart’s Mr. Smith might represent a kind of courage that seems sorely lacking in politics today, I trust we will find our way again, with common sense, honesty, and empathy. But I'll take a bill, too.

In the 1939, eleven-academy-award-nominated Mr. Smith, Jimmie Stewart plays a naïve and principled small town scout leader who is recruited to become the next state senator. He comes face to face with Washington’s worst form of political corruption, but refuses to back down. Quotes a reader, “Where have you gone Jimmy Stewart? We miss your innocence and your tenacity. This movie was made in 1939 but I watched it like it just came out in the theater. I cried and I laughed and in the end I felt a little better about our country and democracy. God help us, we need movies like this.” I’d have to agree.

Inspired first by the hot-blooded possibilities of All the King’s Men, and then the quandaries of Mr. Smith in Washington, I settled for a red-meat based political stew for dinner. Plain and simple, savory and deep, it’s the perfect winter one-dish to curl up on the couch with. You can prep this pot, push it into the oven for a few hours, and then you’re ready to kick back with some good crusty bread, cold butter, and a big glass of red wine. The secret to this recipe is the intense anchovy-garlic-tomato paste that slowly infuses the stew, blending and coalescing like a good bipartisan bill. Don’t worry, the anchovies may seem odd, but they serve to melt into another rich layer of depth and dimension with the wine and salt pork(I used bacon). I skip the gelatin because my sauce was thick and rich enough from the reduction prior to placing in the oven. One could add a little molasses for a sweetness or even some chipotle chilis for zest.

Our dessert this week is easy and indulgent. Plus, you get the additional benefit of a musty, chocolate-y brownie smell wafting through the house. These brownies from Nick Malgieri’s Chocolate are more fudge-y than cake-y, which is the way you want it to go, in my opinion. But there is just enough cake and crustiness to counter the fudge. All it needed was a dollop of whipped cream and some orange zest to crown the brown. The meal this week is super easy at every step, fortunately, because we just ran out of time. It’s too bad politics doesn’t work that way.

As a delicious counterpoint to both our hearty and comfort-inducing political stew, as well as Obama’s State of the Union this week, what could be a better match than the Palin 2007 Chilean Cab? Perky and still very young, but with nice structure, this cabernet from the Valle Central region in the heart of Chile is a great food wine, and an even better value. (I found it for $12 at Esquin.) Aged for 6 months in barriques, this wine has some nice full red fruit and balanced tannin levels, which can easily stand up to the deep flavors of the stew. What I also love about Palin is her uncompromising values. Made by Chile's foremost organic/biodynamic expert, Alvaro Espinoza, from organic grapes, this is truly a wine that is made in harmony with its environment. So drink up and swill baby, swill. Oh, and if you were curious about the name, it describes a ball that was used in an ancient game played by the Mapuche, a group of people indigenous to central Chile.:-)

Recipes can be found here:

Best Beef Stew: http://bit.ly/8J1jzs

Supernatural Brownies: http://bit.ly/cqwoBu

¡Salud!

Rebuilding with forks

the bottle: 2006 Haystack Needle Sangiovese

the movie: Wall-E, 2008

the (local) meal: Pan seared and roasted pork chop with cranberries, red swiss chard, and caramelized, spiced carrots, vanilla bean ice cream with fresh frozen berries

There is a powerful rebuilding theme permeating the air, whether it relates to the economy, Haiti, health care, or the Massachusetts political system, so this week let us chew on the idea of restoration and reconstruction.

Our movie selection is the quaint and charming Wall-E because it effectively seeds a hopeful message in spite of what seems at times like insurmountable odds. How to rebuild the broken economic system of a first world nation? How to rebuild the entire infrastructure of a developing nation? These are tremendous challenges, but with faith in our best qualities we know we can build something better next time. (This time.)

In Wall-E, a cute, rusty, old-school robot falls in love with a mission-driven, high-tech bot amidst a post-apocalyptic wasteland that was earth 700 years ago. If for no other reason, watch this flick for the lovable chirps, warbles and peeps that anthropomorbot this entirely original film character. He is there to clean up the mess we left behind, and she is there to unearth clues to its demise. Deeper within the obvious but heartening theme of human triumph over technology is the subterranean connective tissue that makes us work—we are essentially a feeling, loving and caring organism, and this is what will save us from ourselves. No matter how downtrodden, worn-out or broken a system may be, rebuilding it with humanity and responsibility will surely lift us to new heights.

One area that could use a little (!) rebuilding is our food system. It’s hard to argue that industrialization of our food and economies of scale have made us better human beings. In fact, haven’t we lost some of our soul? (And soul food.)

Buying foods from your local area is one way to start pushing this massive meatball up the mountain of spaghetti before us. So this week, in service to the movement to “buy local,” I’ve made a meal that taps into our “foodshed” here in the Pacific Northwest. Heck, if we can succeed in this assignment in the dark depths of winter, who knows how far we might go? (Can anyone say localized integrated micro ag systems?)

To help you through the meal planning and execution this week (and beyond), I need to introduce you to a new friend: the Seasonal Ingredient Map at epicurious.com. This easy-to-use interactive map helps you see what's fresh in your area at any given time of the year, find ingredient descriptions, shopping guides, tips—and best of all, really simple, delicious recipes. (No, I’m not on epicurious’ payroll.)

Because your food options will vary depending on your geographical locale, you will have to improvise on this week’s meal. Try and find the ingredients we use here, but by all means, ad-lib away. It’s the spirit of the recipe in our kitchen, not the letter.

We designed our meal around some Berkshire pork chops that we had in the freezer, left over from our last quarter-pig purchase from Shelley and Mike Verdi of Whistling Train Farm here in Auburn, just outside Seattle. If you don’t know where to get local pork, or other meats, try asking at the nearest natural or health food store. If that fails, or there isn’t one, try the local farm bureau, chamber of commerce, or just try asking around town. If all else fails, google it.

I pan-sear and then pan-roast these tender, thick-cut chops in my cast iron skillet, and then escort them with a runny, molten cranberry-brown-sugar glaze. And the perfect seasonal partner to these moist chops is a mineral-y, delicate, red swiss chard from Full Circle Farm here in Carnation, WA., very simply prepared in shallots and butter. And to extend the sweet tang of the porky, cranberry-brown-sugar flavors, I amplify it all with caramelized, spiced sweet carrots, using glorious reddish orange tubers from Jeff Miller at Willie Green's in Monroe, Wa. The flavor contrasts and complements abound here, but shouting out is the alliance of moist and salty, with sweet and tart. The lean, buttery, earthy chard, and the sweet, crunchy, spicy carrots are perfectly suited to stand up to the robust flavors of the chops. A true finger-mopping dish with stout flavors to perk you up and make you happy in the low leaning light of January.

For dessert, we’re going to keep it simple tonight. To round out the locavore lip lust, how about vanilla bean ice cream with melting blueberries, boysenberries and raspberries? The fruit is from Remlinger Farms and is picked locally and frozen, so we use it all year. Hopefully, you can find someone in your area doing this, because it’s a treat to have fresh, local berries in winter, even if they are frozen. The ice cream, too, is our wonderful local producer named Snoqualmie. They do fantastic, creamy, rich ice creams, and they do it with delicious conscience: Snoqualmie was the first business to receive official approval from the Snohomish County Sustainable Development Task Force for their environmentally-friendly operation. So it goes down really smoothly.

Staying on the local tack, our wine is a 2006 Haystack Needle Sangiovese, made in Woodinville near Seattle with grapes grown in the Columbia Valley. (The “sangee” grape is a classic Italian grape that is used in Italy to make Chianti and other Italian wines.) This could not be a better match. We needed: a) local wine, b) a lighter wine that would not overshadow the pork, and c) a wine that complemented the big flavors in the sauce. And we got all three. This round and supple wine not only captures some strawberry, rhubarb and raspberry aromas, but best of all, carries a distinctive dried cranberry base flavor—the perfect co-worker to the pork. Add in some balancing elements like earth, stone and leather, and you have an outstanding local pour.

Obviously, this wine pairing presents a challenge to those of you who aren’t fortunate enough to live near a grape growing region, so I would suggest nosing around to see if wines are made in your region, and if so, try one. If not, try this one. It’s another incredible find under $10! And if you can’t find it, any decent pinot will do the trick.

This week, as we reflect in our tidings of heartbreak and loss from Haiti, I would encourage you to seek the solace and comfort of friends and family, share in a healthy meal and conversation around the truly important things in our lives, and to quote Max Ehrman’s well-loved 1920 poem, “…be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham drudgery and broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.”

And if you are so inclined, an incredibly powerful, effective, and highly-respected organization to send help to the Haitian crisis is Dr. Paul Farmer’s Partners in Health: http://www.standwithhaiti.org/haiti

Recipes can be found here:

Pan seared and roasted pork chop with cranberries, red swiss chard: http://bit.ly/8k8QSI

Caramelized, spiced carrots: http://bit.ly/67TCnt

Roast chicken and salvation

the bottle: Boekenhoutskloof 'The Wolftrap' Red Western Cape 2008 (South Africa)
the movie: To Kill a Mockingbird, 1962
the meal: Edna Lewis roast chicken with herbs, Bill Neal spoon bread with grits, chiffonade of collards, lemon cake pudding

Sara and I did finally drag the tree out of the house this weekend, and we miss it already. The cats miss it, too. Although, we don’t miss the cats missing the tree. And that corner of the living room has now been reclaimed and we can return the armchair and floor lamp to their rightful places. We are officially ready for a grounded take-off into two thousand and ten.

Because Monday, January 18th, is Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I want to pay homage to the man and the meaning. I’ll get to the food in a moment, but in the spirit of Dr. King, perhaps we can all create a miniature form of his “Beloved Community” in each of our own households. This can include any and all in-laws, friends, grandkids and grandparents, partners, pets, and any hungry neighbors you can coax in from the cold. And if you’re just cooking for one, then make yourself feel like 10,000! (Multiply recipe by x2500 in your head.)

And thus, the meal for this special occasion is inspired by the great food culture of the south, from two renowned chefs who blazed trails—and broke barriers—to lift southern food out of the south. And since this blogger spent a good portion of his formative years between Chapel Hill and Durham, NC, there is particular affinity here for their legacies, even if they don’t come with a basketball.

Edna Lewis was born the granddaughter of an emancipated slave in Freetown, Virginia, and went on to become the grande dame of “Southern cuisine” cooking. Often called “the South’s answer to Julia Child,” she established her reputation at Café Nicholson in New York City in 1949. Catapulting from seamstress to celebrated chef by bringing primal comfort food to the continental-cuisine-inured smart set forty years ahead of her time, she created culinary magic in a tiny Belle Epoque brownstone space, and Café Nicholson became a landmark haunt among high society and high bohemia — frequented by the likes of William Faulkner, Marlon Brando, Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote, Gloria Vanderbilt and Marlene Dietrich. So her food is good. And it touched a nerve.

One dish they all came for was this perfectly gorgeous and finger-drippingly succulent roast chicken with rustic herbs. Edna made it really simple, using a lavish butter-herb rub, and semi-blasting it at 425° until caramelized-crisp. They gobbled it up. And you’ll gobble it up, too. Note: she recommended brining, as do I, but this requires a bit more planning. (Put the bird in brine the day before.)

Bill Neal was another creative thinker who helped establish respect for southern regional cooking in the 80’s, most impressively with Crooks Corner in Chapel Hill. His iconic shrimp and grits at that restaurant paved the way for the likes of Ben and Karen Barker, and even, dare I say, Bobby Flay.

For our meal, I see his spoon bread with grits as the perfect counterpoint to Edna’s savory, moist chicken. This creamy, fluffy, and tender-crunchy spoon bread manages to feel both unctuously rich and ethereally light all at once, thanks to a few whipped egg whites gently folded in.

To say that these two dishes and their creators are symbiotic goes beyond the tastes to the times—Edna was an African-American woman in the coming of age of civil rights, and Bill Neal was a gay white man in the late 70’s and 80’s when AIDS — which took his life at 41 — was just beginning to impact the world. Each created a powerful mark in spite of, and perhaps because of, their marginalization.

I realize we went the sautéed greens route last week, but there really is no better third party for this party than collards. It’s too bad that collards get a bad rap, because they can become wondrous in the right hands—and tonight, those will be yours. But we’re going to do them quite differently. Instead of the classic long slow simmer in liquid, which often results in a murky mush, we chiffonade them into long thin strips and practically stir-fry them so that they have a crunchy, light texture. And they take about a quarter of the time. This sweet and salty, pillowy haystack of toothsome greens is a whole foods treat and a nutritional powerhouse, packed with fiber, carotenes, chlorophyll, manganese, vitamins B1, B2, B6, C, E, and several minerals, including iron, copper, and calcium. Whew! All of this goodness in such a tasty dish. (As far as I’m concerned, this can be a weeknight dinner all by itself.)

Rounding out our meal is a simple and honest lemon cake pudding, which is exactly what it sounds like—a cake-pudding hybrid that is miraculously light in its pudding-ness. The lemon zest keeps this uncomplicated dessert in the angles and edges, and it’s easy on the mouth, too. Rapturously moist and bright, crisp and yielding, this southern-style classic will linger with you and leave you craving more.

This week’s movie is none too simple, but powerfully honest. It is the story of perhaps our best selves, in the light of our worst selves, the story of innocence and faith in the battle over fear and violence—and barely winning. It’s a story that we all still struggle with today, and in light of Monday’s memorial day of service for Martin Luther King, Jr., it is a fitting tale.

In a small Depression-era Alabama town, lawyer Atticus Finch, played big-heartedly by Gregory Peck, takes on the case of an innocent black man accused of assaulting a white girl. He’s up against the entrenched racial power structure of the Old South, and riding on it is not just his pride, but also the future for his children and country.

In To Kill a Mockingbird, children are the lenses through which we see ourselves, and that makes this movie quite touching. Specifically, the story—based on Harper Lee’s 1961 Pulitzer Prize-winning book that we all know from high school—is told from the point of view of Atticus Finch’s 6-year old daughter, Scout. Together with her brother Jem and friend Dill, they go about their curious and rambunctious lives, growing up as spirited children in what almost feels like a more innocent time.

A mysterious and alluring thread in the story is the character of Boo Radley, their reclusive man-child neighbor, who they fear throughout the movie until the end when he shows his true self—as a gentle and sensitive hero. And as an albino-like white man, Lee cleverly presents us with dimensions of our moral character using an ironic device in skin color—the children fear Boo Radley, an albino, because they don’t understand or empathize with him, until the end when he proves himself and their ignorance is exposed; and the “adults” fear the black man (in Tom Robinson) because he too is something and someone they don’t understand, and therefore have no empathy for. Sadly, the vilified Tom Robinson finds no salvation, and our sense of self is left morally off balance. It was a powerful theme for me and, while perhaps a bit obvious, struck me quite viscerally.

Beautifully, the angst in the movie all happens within the greater context of a child’s world of wonder, innocence, and beauty—a world almost utopian in its glorified send-up, and captured gorgeously in the opening credits with a languorous pan across objects of heightened wonder from a child’s secret box of treasures. See it for this sequence alone, and the score, from Elmer Bernstein, which is hauntingly beautiful. The movie will leave you a changed person, even in some small way. And methinks a better one.

What to sip while this incredible story unfolds? In presenting the right wine for the meal and the message, I found a wine from a progressive South Africa vintner to be a good match in more ways than one. A free(er) South Africa is making very good wines that are somewhat affordable—ours was $9—and vintners like Boekenhoutskloof (try saying that three times very quickly after one glass) are taking important steps towards more sustainable operations in production, with an emphasis on biodiversity and conservation.

Boekenhoutskloof is one of the oldest farms situated up the "Valley" in the Franschhoek foothills of the Western Cape. The name Wolftrap is a tribute to the pioneers who in the early days of the Cape, erected a wolf trap at Boekenhoutskloof, although no wolf either real or mystical has been seen in the valley in many years. For a quick translation from Afrikaner, Boekenhoutskloof, pronounced ‘book-n-howed-skloof,’ means ‘ravine of the indigenous Cape birch tree that was greatly prized for furniture making,’ or words to that effect.

This wine is a red blend, which includes Syrah, Mourvedre and Viognier, and has lots of seductive ripe black fruits, with some meaty, spicy, and wood smoke characteristics. I got some chocolate in the aroma and a touch of white pepper, which are beautiful matches for the maple and smoky essences in the collards. Once this bottle is gone, you might just decide to go back and get a case.

The meal part

Edna Lewis’ roast chicken with herbs
Serves 4
One 3.5-pound chicken, brined*
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, softened
Salt
Pepper
3/4 tsp thyme
Small onion, peeled and quartered
1/2 cup water

*brining a bird
Stir kosher salt into cold water until dissolved; 1/4 cup salt to 1 quart of water. (Don’t use table salt because it will be too salty.) Mix enough brine to cover the poultry completely in a (nonreactive) bowl or pot. Store refrigerated for 8 to 24 hours.

Preheat oven to 425°. Dry the bird, inside and out, with paper towels. Mix together the softened butter, salt, pepper, and thyme, and rub all over the chicken, and inside the cavity as well. Truss the chicken with twine, making sure you secure the wing tips and tie the legs so that the whole bird is in a tight, plump form. Roast in pan with onion and water for 40 minutes without opening the oven door. Then, remove the roasting pan and pour off the fat and juices from the bottom of the pan into a small bowl; reserve. Return the chicken to the oven for approximately 20 minutes longer or until the juices from the thigh run clear when pierced. Remove from oven, and transfer chicken and the onion to a warm platter. Tent with foil while you prepare the sauce. Skim off any visible fat from the bottom of the roasting pan, as well as from the roasting juices reserved in the bowl. Set the pan over high heat, and pour the juices in, scraping the bottom of the pan with a large spoon to dislodge any browned bits and caramelized juices. Boil hard for 2 or 3 minutes, until the juices have reduced slightly. You should have just a small amount of delicious sauce. Taste critically, and adjust the seasoning if needed. Carve and serve with some of the carmelized onion, spooning a little sauce over each serving. Mmmm. Tasting it all over again as I write.

Bill Neal’s spoon bread with grits
Serves 4
1 cup yellow cornmeal
1/4 cup uncooked grits
2 1/2 cups water
1/4 cup butter
1 cup half-and-half
1 teaspoon salt 3 eggs, separated (A foolproof and deliciously tactile method: pour the broken egg into your cupped fingers and let the white slip into a bowl below.)
I take the liberty off adding about a cup of fresh or frozen organic corn to this recipe, and if you like, some minced jalapeño sans seeds.

In a medium saucepan over low heat, combine the cornmeal, grits, and water. Cook slowly, stirring frequently, until mixture is thick and smooth, about 30 minutes. Add corn if you are using it. Beat in the butter, half-and-half, and salt. Beat egg yolks then beat into the cornmeal mixture. Beat egg whites until soft peaks form; fold gently into the cornmeal mixture. Pour batter into a lightly buttered 8-inch square baking pan; bake in a preheated 375° oven for about 30 minutes, until lightly browned and irresistible.

Quick-fried collards with maple and bacon
Serves 4
1 large bunch collard greens, about 1 1/2 pounds
3 tablespoons olive oil
6 cloves garlic, minced
3 slices of thick smoky bacon, cut into small pieces
1 tbsp stock
1 tbsp cider vinegar (or any wine vinegar will do)
Salt
Fresh ground pepper
1 tbsp of grade B maple syrup
A few dashes hot pepper sauce, optional

Cut off tough stems and center vein from collards, and then roll up and cut leaves into 1/4-inch strips. You should have about 6-8 packed cups. In a well-seasoned heavy skillet or wok, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and bacon and cook, stirring, until bacon is mostly cooked through. Add collards and cook, stirring constantly, for about 10 minutes, until the greens are tender. Add maple syrup and stir in. Cover and lower heat to medium low. Cook for a few more minutes, stopping before the greens lose their integrity. Season with the salt, pepper, and a few drops of hot pepper sauce, if desired. Smackin’ good!

Lemon Cake Pudding
Adapted from Georgia Kyser in Remembering Bill Neal
1 cup sugar
2 tbsp melted butter
3 eggs, separated (see technique above)
3 tbsp flour
¼ tsp salt
1 1/2 cups milk, scalded
Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon

Preheat oven to 350°. For this recipe, you’ll need a baking pan big enough to hold a 1 ½ qt shallow casserole or gratin dish. Mix together the sugar, flour, and salt. Beat egg yolks till thick. Add milk, lemon juice and zest, and melted butter. Lightly blend the dry ingredients and the egg yolk mixture until well mixed. Beat the egg whites until stiff peaks form. Fold the egg whites into the batter, ever so gently. Pour batter into the greased 1 1/2-qt shallow casserole or gratin dish. Then, place this casserole into the larger pan and fill with water half way up the side of the casserole. Place in the center of the oven and bake for 50 minutes, or until the top is golden brown and delicious-looking. Eat warm and with glee.

Beginnings and belonging

the bottle: 2007 Barbera
the movie: Away We Go by Sam Mendes
the meal: Lamb shanks slow-cooked, with root mash and sautéed braising greens



In this opening post of my new blog in this first week of 2010, what could be more appropriate than a taste of rebirth and connection?

On the one hand, Sara and I are itching to take all the ornaments off the tree, so that we can put them away until next year. Then we can take the tree out of the house with its trail of dried needles, compost it, and get started in the new year with all we have in store.

And yet…we think we’ll leave it up just one more week.

This tree seems like a good metaphor for a certain tension between the desire to stay grounded, connected and together, and the yearning to write a new chapter. (Come to think of it, if new starts weren’t as terrifying as they are exhilarating, we'd surely take more swan dives.)

Grounding, versus soaring. The tension between the two themes is powerful, and they make for...a great start to my blog.

Our meal to start the year here is as rooted as it gets, with slow-cooked, unctuous lamb shanks simmered in the oven in wine and balsamic vinegar until meat falls off bone. The secret glory of this dish is the sweet perfume of a mess of sautéed red onions that caramelize down into beautiful, redolent nutty-ness. To balance out the sweet intensity of the lamb, we enlist a regular—a sturdy sauté of savory braising greens, spiked with smoked bacon. And a creamy, rootsy mash is the perfect referee.

Such a meal will make you stroke your shins and twiddle your toes in a state of utter rapture. Such a meal—it brings belonging and home together on a plate.


And home is our ultimate destination in the completely wonderful small movie, Away We Go. Released in 2009, this dramedy is the story of an average 30’s couple on a journey of discovery as they travel the country, pregnant, visiting friends and family, trying to figure out together where to settle down and be a family. It sounds a bit implausible, but director Sam Mendes pulls it off with the help of some magic between the fantastic couple, Maya Rudolph and John Krasinksi. Her down-to-earth, about-to-bear-a-first-child foil to his dutifully expectant hey-it’ll-all-work-out naïvéte works beautifully, largely because Krasinksi’s charm is irresistible. Some of my favorite lines in the movie come from his sweet yearning for authenticity in the rearing of their child-to-be, and the desire to simply be a really good dad:

Verona (Rudolph) wakes up to find Burt (Krasinksi) whittling away on a piece of wood: “I really want to be that dad that knows how to make stuff out of wood, you know? I just want our kid to wake up in the morning and walk out onto the back porch, and find me cobbling.”

Or, “Oh honey I got this great book on knots—300 knots. I’m going to learn how to tie them all!”

And best of all, deep in thought: “I really want her to have an epic kinda childhood. I want her to run along streams, know how to work a canoe, be able to entertain herself outside. I want her childhood to be Huck Finn-y."

Thank god we didn’t lose (writers) David Eggers and Vendela Vida to the ad biz.

This film manages to ground and soar by being both optimistic and realistic at the same time, and the takeaway is some warm comfort in our quest for meaning and belonging in a world that seems to dole out anomie by the app. Scottish-born Alexi Murdoch’s beautiful soundtrack, mixed with gorgeous scene transitions, completely
sets the stage by managing to evoke emotionality without being sentimental. You’ll buy it on iTunes even before dessert.


I’ll save the trampoline "promises" scene near the end for you to discover. It’s Sara’s favorite part, and even more tender than the lamb.

So let’s meld all of this ooziness of the meal and the movie with a nice bottle of 2007 Pico Maccario Barbera d'Asti Lavignone, which I found for under $10 at Esquin wine merchants in Seattle.

Barbera d'Asti is a hard-workin' Italian red wine made from the Barbera grape in the hilly areas of Northwest Italy. What could be better a place for grounded connection than the earthy, romantic Piedmont area of Italy, famous for its truffles, hazelnuts, herbs, and full, bass tone red wines. The 2007 Pico Maccario is made from older vines and represents the modern style of Barbera, which is rounder and more full bodied than its tart ancestry. When young, like the 2007 Pico Maccario, Barberas give you an intense aroma of fresh red and black berries. Mmmm. Stick your nose deep into the gorgeous, deep red rubyness, with floral aromas of black cherries, violets and ripe plums. (Wait, is it spring yet?) Tease out some leather with your first sip, and then as it passes through your mouth, you'll maybe get some black currants, and finally a jammy-ness with even a bit of licorice undertone as it goes down. It's just delightful—like Burt's playful shouting at Verona to scare mom's, and thus the baby's, heart rate higher. And it complements the lamb beautifully by reflecting and mingling the dark and sweet flavors of the reduced red onion balsamic wine sauce. (Another full-bodied Barbera will serve as a fine alternative.)

This evening, with its sensory delights, will surely warm your spirits and salve your soul. No dampness, nor cold, nor snowy bulwarks or dark short days might resist this balm of camaraderie and cookery. You are home.

Verona: Are we screw-ups?
Burt: What do you mean?
Verona: I mean we're 34
Burt: 33
Verona: We don't even have this basic stuff figured out
Burt: We're not screw-ups
Verona: We have a cardboard window...

The Meal Part
Our stuff is as easy to cook as watching a movie. (Unless it's Scarface.) Take it slow and easy, and don't worry about a bit too much salt, or leaving something in the oven for ten minutes too long. It will all turn out great. It's about showing up, slowing down, enjoying the process, and hanging out with family and friends. We could all use a little of that.
Recipe for lamb shanks
(Adapted from Rogers Gray Italian Country Cookbook)
Serves 4
4 meaty lamb shanks
4 red onions (any sweet onions will work great) sliced thin
3 cloves of garlic or more if you like, chopped
¾ cup of balsamic vinegar
1-¼ cups of red wine (a “plonk” as my Mum used to call it, i.e. cheap and hearty)
Sea salt, pepper
Handful of rosemary, chopped
Olive oil
Some flour

Heat oven to 325 degrees. Thoroughly dry, and then dust lamb shanks in flour with some essandpee. In a good heavy and big saucepan that has a partner lid, brown the shanks all over on a medium high heat in a few tablespoons of olive oil until dark and toast-colored. (I like some burnt bits.) Then remove. Lower the heat and add onions. Cook for a while, until they brown and get soft and gooey—20 minutes or so. Add rosemary, and garlic and cook for ten more minutes or so. Then, raise heat, add the balsamic and wine and reduce at a quiet simmer for five minutes. Then, bury the shanks under the onion goo, place the lid on and stick in the oven for about 2 1/2 hours. See below what fantastic molten alchemy we create.

Recipe for rootsy mash
Serves 4
One Idaho potato
One fat carrot
Two Jerusalem artichokes
One rutabaga
1/4 to 1/2 cup half and half
4 tbsp butter
½ cup chicken or veggie stock
Salt and pepper

Peel and chop first four ingredients into 1-inch pieces. Steam them until a fork firmly pierces the hardest of the lot—about 20 minutes or so. Drain. Mash. Add butter, cream and ¼ cup of stock, adding more liquid to get to desired creaminess. Add essandpee.

Recipe for savory, sauteed braising greens
Serves 4
4 big handfuls of mixed braising greens, including kale, mustard, chard, cavolo nero (also called dino or dinosaur kale), and if you can find them, some of the stranger but delicious ones like dandelion, burgundy-hued amaranth, broccoli rabe, or pungent Asian greens like pak choy
3-4 slices of good smoked bacon (like Harrington’s) cut into smallish pieces
Some minced shallot
Some minced garlic
2-3 tbs olive oil
Some stock
Salt and Pepper
Sweat the bacon in a wide medium depth pan until it renders some of its fat, add olive oil and garlic and shallot. Cook over medium low heat until shallots and garlic start to turn gold and bacon looks mostly cooked through. Add the greens and toss with the oily shallot bacon mixture. Put a few tbsp of stock into the pan and cover with lid. Stir a bit. Then let cook, stirring occasionally, on medium low heat for about 15-20 minutes until the greens are wilted and soft.

With such a satisfying meal, we'll go light for dessert. We love a rich, full-fat greek yogurt swirled with a little maple syrup or honey, and topped with a handful of chopped walnuts or pecans.

Voila, dinner is served.