Day Two
Breakfast: Bread (made with NY-grown wheat) and honey
Lunch: Tomato, basil, cheddar sandwich
Snack: Apple
Dinner: Scrambled eggs, pork sausage, yellow wax beans, tomato salad
Day Three
Breakfast: Bread and honey
Lunch: Omelet with sausage, onion, and cheese
Snack: Toast with goat cheese and basil
Dinner: Pan-fried eggplant (breaded with locally milled corn meal), broccoli, lettuce-radish salad
11 September 2009
10 September 2009
Rules and Exceptions
So the rules:
I'm trying to eat only those foods grown or produced in the state of New York (although we adopt next-door neighbor Vermont when need be). I'm trying to source ingredients, not just where products were packaged. So, for example, I can be fairly sure that peanut butter concoctions made by a Saratoga Springs company (30 miles north) do not satisfy my requirements -- because the peanuts were not grown nearby.
I do a New York State diet rather than a strict 100-mile diet for two reasons. I've found it's a little easier to figure out where food comes from by state, than the actual distance of small towns in the Northeast from where I live in Albany County. Also (it must be confessed), the New York wine grape growing regions -- both Long Island and the Finger Lakes -- are beyond the 100 mile radius. And if I must give up beer for a month, well then, I'll need my wine.
And the exceptions:
Coffee (no debate!), oil, vinegar, spices, yeast, baking soda, and baking powder. Oh, and some fancy Italian tomato paste in a tube. And perhaps lemon juice (I haven't quite decided yet -- I may want it for flavoring baba ganoush and soups). I am giving up chocolate for the month -- which is new from past Septembers.
Many modern 100-mile dieters make exceptions. But so did Laura Ingalls, more than a century ago. In the "Little House" books, Laura dsecribes Pa hunting for meat and Ma making cheese from the cow's milk and sweetener from maple syrup. But the family traded for certain staples, such as coffee and white sugar for when guests came. I'm happy to stick to honey and maple syrup for my sweeteners for a month. But when it comes to cooking in fat, I'm going to opt for vegetable oil over the lard that Ma likely used.
I'm trying to eat only those foods grown or produced in the state of New York (although we adopt next-door neighbor Vermont when need be). I'm trying to source ingredients, not just where products were packaged. So, for example, I can be fairly sure that peanut butter concoctions made by a Saratoga Springs company (30 miles north) do not satisfy my requirements -- because the peanuts were not grown nearby.
I do a New York State diet rather than a strict 100-mile diet for two reasons. I've found it's a little easier to figure out where food comes from by state, than the actual distance of small towns in the Northeast from where I live in Albany County. Also (it must be confessed), the New York wine grape growing regions -- both Long Island and the Finger Lakes -- are beyond the 100 mile radius. And if I must give up beer for a month, well then, I'll need my wine.
And the exceptions:
Coffee (no debate!), oil, vinegar, spices, yeast, baking soda, and baking powder. Oh, and some fancy Italian tomato paste in a tube. And perhaps lemon juice (I haven't quite decided yet -- I may want it for flavoring baba ganoush and soups). I am giving up chocolate for the month -- which is new from past Septembers.
Many modern 100-mile dieters make exceptions. But so did Laura Ingalls, more than a century ago. In the "Little House" books, Laura dsecribes Pa hunting for meat and Ma making cheese from the cow's milk and sweetener from maple syrup. But the family traded for certain staples, such as coffee and white sugar for when guests came. I'm happy to stick to honey and maple syrup for my sweeteners for a month. But when it comes to cooking in fat, I'm going to opt for vegetable oil over the lard that Ma likely used.
08 September 2009
Day One, part three
I'm starting the 100-mile diet for the third September in a row. I'll get to the rules and exceptions soon, but first I want to address commitment.
I've been feeling some reluctance in recent days about doing this all again. I eat peanut butter realize I'll have to give that up. I threw out leftover bean and corn salad today because the beans weren't local -- even though the corn, onion, and tomato were. It feels silly to deprive myself of nutritious whole foods just because peanuts grow down south and the canned beans were from an California organic food company.
But then I remember the sense of discovery I've felt the last two Septembers. I read through my past posts and reminisce. The successful dinners and the new-to-me foods. The shift in my diet to more fruits and vegetables and less meats and grains. The experimentation in the kitchen throwing things into a pot and calling it soup -- and delicious soup at that, because I started with just-picked veggies.
On the one hand, it feels so much easier. I’ve been eating more locally throughout the year. But on the other hand, it feels less important in that lazy kind of way. I mean, I’m doing so much better, eating locally and more seasonally, why do I have to do without baked-goods-unless-I bake-them? For a whole month?
I guess I'll have to trust that I'll learn something new, something worthy, once again.
Today's meals
Breakfast: Half a melon
Lunch: Leftover cabbage-escarole soup
Snack: Apple and plum
Dinner: Pork chop, potatoes, applesauce, and tomato salad
I've been feeling some reluctance in recent days about doing this all again. I eat peanut butter realize I'll have to give that up. I threw out leftover bean and corn salad today because the beans weren't local -- even though the corn, onion, and tomato were. It feels silly to deprive myself of nutritious whole foods just because peanuts grow down south and the canned beans were from an California organic food company.
But then I remember the sense of discovery I've felt the last two Septembers. I read through my past posts and reminisce. The successful dinners and the new-to-me foods. The shift in my diet to more fruits and vegetables and less meats and grains. The experimentation in the kitchen throwing things into a pot and calling it soup -- and delicious soup at that, because I started with just-picked veggies.
On the one hand, it feels so much easier. I’ve been eating more locally throughout the year. But on the other hand, it feels less important in that lazy kind of way. I mean, I’m doing so much better, eating locally and more seasonally, why do I have to do without baked-goods-unless-I bake-them? For a whole month?
I guess I'll have to trust that I'll learn something new, something worthy, once again.
Today's meals
Breakfast: Half a melon
Lunch: Leftover cabbage-escarole soup
Snack: Apple and plum
Dinner: Pork chop, potatoes, applesauce, and tomato salad
22 September 2008
Kasha!
A new grain has entered my life.
Last night I cooked and ate kasha for the first time. (My kids are always amazed when I can tell them I'm doing something for the first time in my life. After all, I've been around for 47 years!) My husband remembered it from his visits to Russia, where kasha is commonly eaten as a hot breakfast cereal.
A grain-like side dish, kasha was most welcome as we have spurned rice and barley for the duration of our 100-mile diet. I made it very plain, following the basic instructions on the box, and discovered it carried its own nutty, toasted flavor. It made a nice match with the carnival squash we ate.
From the literature that accompanied my mail order (Birkett Mills in the Finger Lakes region of New York) I learned that kasha is not technically a grain (not from the grass family). It's from buckwheat, a flowering plant complete with fruit and seeds. The dehulled seeds and can be eaten whole -- called buckwheat groats -- or ground to finer textures -- as in kasha.
This morning, I scooped out some leftover kasha, soaked it in milk, sprinkled it with cinnamon, and topped it with chopped apple. Two minutes in the microwave and I had breakfast.
Last night I cooked and ate kasha for the first time. (My kids are always amazed when I can tell them I'm doing something for the first time in my life. After all, I've been around for 47 years!) My husband remembered it from his visits to Russia, where kasha is commonly eaten as a hot breakfast cereal.
A grain-like side dish, kasha was most welcome as we have spurned rice and barley for the duration of our 100-mile diet. I made it very plain, following the basic instructions on the box, and discovered it carried its own nutty, toasted flavor. It made a nice match with the carnival squash we ate.
From the literature that accompanied my mail order (Birkett Mills in the Finger Lakes region of New York) I learned that kasha is not technically a grain (not from the grass family). It's from buckwheat, a flowering plant complete with fruit and seeds. The dehulled seeds and can be eaten whole -- called buckwheat groats -- or ground to finer textures -- as in kasha.
This morning, I scooped out some leftover kasha, soaked it in milk, sprinkled it with cinnamon, and topped it with chopped apple. Two minutes in the microwave and I had breakfast.
20 September 2008
New Habits
The 100-mile diet has forced us to break old habits and make new ones. Without making any judgment (yet) on whether my new habits are better, I do believe that it's a good thing to shake up habits every once in awhile. It allows you to step back, take a broader view, and make deliberate and informed choices in the future.
I'm in the swing of new cooking habits, such as baking bread, taking the time (and it's not that much time) to wash, trim, and chop fresh produce, making soup stocks from vegetable trimmings and chicken carcasses. I also have new snacking habits, such as grabbing an apple when I crave something sweet, or slicing some cheese when I need something more filling.
For breakfast, I've taken to eating home-baked bread made with Champlain Valley milled flour and local honey made by Catskills bees. Not only is it delicious, but I think about the Champlain Valley and the Catskill mountains every morning as I spread my honey.
I mean, when I drink my Columbian coffee, I have an image in my mind of tropical jungles and hillside fields -- but I've never been to Columbia. On the other hand, I have a very appealing picture of the town of Westport, NY where the houses back up against the Adirondack mountains and overlook the blue waters of Lake Champlain. Indeed I remember which Harry Potter book on CD we were listening to in the car that day, driving up to Ausable Chasm for a day of touristing. I also have been to the store between Tannersville and Hunter in the Catskills where Traphagen honey is sold. I've driven back roads and hiked mountains and swum ponds in the area, so dozens of memories crop up when I picture that tiny store full of honey and maple products.
Romantic as these notions sound, I think there's something to the idea that when the things in our life have stories behind them, they carry more meaning for us. Food stories and the memories they tap into can create a very visceral sense of place.
Now that's food for thought. Mmmm.
I'm in the swing of new cooking habits, such as baking bread, taking the time (and it's not that much time) to wash, trim, and chop fresh produce, making soup stocks from vegetable trimmings and chicken carcasses. I also have new snacking habits, such as grabbing an apple when I crave something sweet, or slicing some cheese when I need something more filling.
For breakfast, I've taken to eating home-baked bread made with Champlain Valley milled flour and local honey made by Catskills bees. Not only is it delicious, but I think about the Champlain Valley and the Catskill mountains every morning as I spread my honey.
I mean, when I drink my Columbian coffee, I have an image in my mind of tropical jungles and hillside fields -- but I've never been to Columbia. On the other hand, I have a very appealing picture of the town of Westport, NY where the houses back up against the Adirondack mountains and overlook the blue waters of Lake Champlain. Indeed I remember which Harry Potter book on CD we were listening to in the car that day, driving up to Ausable Chasm for a day of touristing. I also have been to the store between Tannersville and Hunter in the Catskills where Traphagen honey is sold. I've driven back roads and hiked mountains and swum ponds in the area, so dozens of memories crop up when I picture that tiny store full of honey and maple products.
Romantic as these notions sound, I think there's something to the idea that when the things in our life have stories behind them, they carry more meaning for us. Food stories and the memories they tap into can create a very visceral sense of place.
Now that's food for thought. Mmmm.
15 September 2008
Diet and Deprivation
Like any diet, the 100-mile diet has moments of temptation.
A typical weekend day for my husband John is spent taking the kids out for bagels, and then to the supermarket for the weekly shop. The first time he did this was our second full day on the diet -- and he struggled to sit and watch the kids dine on bagels, cream cheese, and lemonade. Hunger primed, walking the aisles of the grocery store, its shelves full of food forbidden to us this month, only compounded his feelings of deprivation and restlessness.
This past weekend, he was better equipped to repeat the errand. He took leftover slices of homemade, 100-mile diet pizza to the bagel restaurant.
The homemade pizza was yet another solution to the rituals of our family life. Friday night is pizza night around here and we always order from the same tiny pizzeria. We often share the meal with friends. Before starting the diet, John and I had talked about whether we make pizza night an exception. Pizza is truly a favorite of my husband's, not to mention an excuse to indulge and a ready Saturday lunch of leftovers.
I don't remember resolving it one way or another, so I was impressed when John didn't want to order out. He felt, as I remember feeling last year, that if he made this exception, he'd be tempted to give in to others. I think that's the beauty of limiting the diet to a month (or a week or any set period of time). It makes it easier to be fairly strict and really create new habits.
Homemade pizza was pretty easy. I use a focaccia recipe from Almost Vegetarian by Diana Shaw and topped one round with leftover homemade tomato sauce and grated local cheese, the other with sliced tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and basil leaves.
A typical weekend day for my husband John is spent taking the kids out for bagels, and then to the supermarket for the weekly shop. The first time he did this was our second full day on the diet -- and he struggled to sit and watch the kids dine on bagels, cream cheese, and lemonade. Hunger primed, walking the aisles of the grocery store, its shelves full of food forbidden to us this month, only compounded his feelings of deprivation and restlessness.
This past weekend, he was better equipped to repeat the errand. He took leftover slices of homemade, 100-mile diet pizza to the bagel restaurant.
The homemade pizza was yet another solution to the rituals of our family life. Friday night is pizza night around here and we always order from the same tiny pizzeria. We often share the meal with friends. Before starting the diet, John and I had talked about whether we make pizza night an exception. Pizza is truly a favorite of my husband's, not to mention an excuse to indulge and a ready Saturday lunch of leftovers.
I don't remember resolving it one way or another, so I was impressed when John didn't want to order out. He felt, as I remember feeling last year, that if he made this exception, he'd be tempted to give in to others. I think that's the beauty of limiting the diet to a month (or a week or any set period of time). It makes it easier to be fairly strict and really create new habits.
Homemade pizza was pretty easy. I use a focaccia recipe from Almost Vegetarian by Diana Shaw and topped one round with leftover homemade tomato sauce and grated local cheese, the other with sliced tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and basil leaves.
12 September 2008
Inventing meals
A shopping failure this week led to a new recipe -- created on-the-spot and with what we had.
In my mind, I had planned make-your-own salad night with lettuce, cucumbers, carrots, tomatoes, and chicken one night and French toast with berries and maple syrup the next. But then, I forgot to buy chicken and eggs at the farmer's market on Tuesday. A busy work week meant I might not do anymore local food shopping until the weekend. We were feeling a little stuck.
What I did have was lots of fresh vegetables: in addition the salad components, I had summer squash, eggplant (breaded and fried), and onion. They say necessity is the mother of invention. I created a vegetable terrine.
Drizzle olive oil on the bottom of a lasagne pan.
Make a layer of thinly sliced tomatoes. Salt lightly.
Add a layer of thinly sliced summer squash. Drip a little more oil around.
Another layer of tomatoes.
Lay the breaded eggplant on top.
Put a layer of thinly sliced onions next.
Then another layer of tomatoes. Salt and pepper.
Finish by sprinkling grated cheese all over the top.
Bake in 350 degree oven for about 25 minutes.
It was good the next day as a sandwich filling as well. The hubby says its a keeper.
In my mind, I had planned make-your-own salad night with lettuce, cucumbers, carrots, tomatoes, and chicken one night and French toast with berries and maple syrup the next. But then, I forgot to buy chicken and eggs at the farmer's market on Tuesday. A busy work week meant I might not do anymore local food shopping until the weekend. We were feeling a little stuck.
What I did have was lots of fresh vegetables: in addition the salad components, I had summer squash, eggplant (breaded and fried), and onion. They say necessity is the mother of invention. I created a vegetable terrine.
Drizzle olive oil on the bottom of a lasagne pan.
Make a layer of thinly sliced tomatoes. Salt lightly.
Add a layer of thinly sliced summer squash. Drip a little more oil around.
Another layer of tomatoes.
Lay the breaded eggplant on top.
Put a layer of thinly sliced onions next.
Then another layer of tomatoes. Salt and pepper.
Finish by sprinkling grated cheese all over the top.
Bake in 350 degree oven for about 25 minutes.
It was good the next day as a sandwich filling as well. The hubby says its a keeper.
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