Marion Nestle continues to fight the good fight, trying to prevent every single American from becoming a Biggest Loser contestant in waiting.  This time, she’s taking on chocolate milk in schools and she’s taking heat as usual, being accused of being a Food Nazi and trying to tell people what they can and can not eat.

Well, screw that. 

Someone’s got to take responsibility for what’s being shoved down our kids throats if parents aren’t going to.

The milk industry is trying to convince parents that sweetened and flavored milk is about they only way they’re going to get their kids to drink it, and it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if parents fell for that argument hook, line and sinker.

Do these parents not remember elementary school, because I do. And I distinctly recall that chocolate milk was not an option back in the austere 1970s when the term “childhood obesity rate” was hardly ever used.  We all brought our 5 cents to school and got to choose between whole milk or 2% and we’d drink it every morning.  WITHOUT A SNACK!!

No one died. No one got sick.  No one complained.  We drank our milk because that just what you did.

I always wanted chocolate milk.  I would beg for it.  My mom refused about 99% of the time.  She told me it would ruin my appetite.  I sullenly drank my white milk, because she told me to.  Every once in a blue moon she’d let me have chocolate milk when we went to the local cafeteria and I got to drink it after I ate my dinner.  Once, I gulped it down so fast I threw up.

So what happened to those days? Why aren’t parents today insisting their kids drink plain milk and not viewing chocolate milk as an occassional treat?  My short answer is that parents are lazy.  It’s much easier to give into your kids who are always going to pester you for something sweet– it’s in our biological make up to want sweets.  And that is why kids are fat and getting fatter.

Someone needs to be a parent. Right now, Marion Nestle and the others who are fighting back against this chocolate milk propaganda campaign are the only ones with the balls to do it.  Call them Food Nazis if you want, but know that term is really just another term for being a grown up.

There are so many things I could write about that are food related for the Blog Action Day theme of climate change.  I’m sure a lot of food bloggers are writing about eating less meat, eating local and organics, and that’s all great.  But I’m going to focus on something a lot of people probably wouldn’t think twice about when it comes to their food: packaging.

When I lived in Australia, I began buying more fresh food than ever in my life because of the abundance of fresh food/farmers markets and fruit and veg shops.  Most butcher shops there didn’t use styrofoam packing trays for their meat, although the grocery stores did.  What I noticed quite quickly was how little trash my husband and I were creating because we ate so much fresh food.

There were very few cans, boxes and bottles in our garbage.  What few I did use, made it into the recycle bin because South Australia had a wonderful curbside recycling program.  We’d get to the end of another week and have only a puny bag of garbage to go in our great big wheelie bin.  It made me feel virtuous.

So the moral of this story is that fresh food is not only good for you, it’s good for the environment, too, because it cuts down on the packaging filling our landfills that will hang out there for who knows how long.

Apparently celebrity farmers are the Next Big Thing.  And while a humble Sonoma County vegetable grower probably isn’t going to achieve the cult status of say, Joel Salatin (who was popularized in The Omnivore’s dilemma), Leonardo Urena was a Rock Star (captial R, capital S) at the Harvest Fair yesterday.

About a dozen people surrounded him as he told the tale of his 1110 pound pumpkin which took first place in the annual pumpkin weigh-off.  He grew it organically, kept it shaded and watered, and even cut chunk out of it to prevent mold from spreading and destroying his prized pumpkin.

Watching him answer questions made me realize that for every celebrity farmer, there are hundreds- if not thousands- of others who will live their lives in relative obscurity, and it makes me glad there are competitions like this at state and county fairs because it gives these quiet people a chance to shine before they come back down to the earth to which they’re so connected.

It’s tomato season and I should be happy about that, right? Certainly I am, but tomato season brings with it the disturbing reminder that most people don’t have a clue that tomatoes even have a season, a fact that was reinforced for me twice yesterday in a most ironic way.

First, I read this great piece about workers who pay the ultimate price for our insatiable desire for tomatoes and what one woman is doing to change that.  Then, I went to dinner last night at a nice restaurant that claims to use “the freshest possible local ingredients”, and while it served me grass-fed beef, it also served a firm, flavorless tomato that was barely pink -all the hallmarks of an industrially produced tomato-with a salad.  Why on earth, when tomatoes are everywhere right now, would a chef serve this abomination to local food?  Perhaps he chooses to cut that corner because he thinks that since most people are willing to eat that kind of tomato in winter, they’re willing to settle for it at any time of year.

How is this possible? Every summer I hear the same thing: people oohing and ahhing over fresh homegrown tomatoes and how wonderful they are and how much better they taste than tomatoes they eat in the winter.  You’d think people would get a clue and quit wasting their money on tomatoes in the winter.

I finally clued in a few years ago during my gastronomy course when our professor used the term “esculence”, which technically means suitable for eating, but her usage implied not only suitability, but perfection or a peak ripeness.  Learning that word was a game changer for me and I gradually quit buying fresh tomatoes during the winter.  And you know what? It was liberating, culinarily speaking, especially when it came to making salads.  In place of fresh tomatoes I used pears, dried cranberries, sweet mandarin slices, and-yes- even sundried tomatoes that were preserved when tomatoes were at their peak.  All of these fruits helped make the salads a wonderful change of pace from the run-of-the-mill garden salad with lettuce, tomato and cucumber that is ubiquitous because it requires so little thought.

But the best part about my wintertime tomato ban is looking forward to this time of year when we’re inundated with tomatoes of all different colors, shapes and flavors.  This summer, because Iwasn’t lulled into complacency by insipid winter tomatoes, I was one of the first people in line at the farmer’s market to buy the first homegrown tomatoes of the season.  I can honestly say I’ve savored every bite knowing that I’ll never eat a flavorless tomato again.

Big food has gone and done it again. 

Following in the footsteps of individually-owned mobile food trucks and carts, like the L.A.-based Kogi truck that became a twittering sensation, Taco Bell is now tweeting the location of its taco truck.

WTF? Why on earth would Taco Bell need a mobile taco truck? You can’t swing a dead cat and not hit a Taco Bell– they are everywhere.  The people following these tweets must be seriously impaired if they can’t find a bricks and mortar store somewhere.  They probably believe in death panels, too.

The whole idea of mobile food carts tweeting their location is because they don’t have a bricks and mortar location or a multi-million dollar marketing budget like Taco Bell.  Plus, quite often, as is currently happening in L.A., the trucks get shooed away from certain areas where they park, so they have to move along– losing clientele each time they have to pull up stakes.  It would be the equivalent of cops coming and chasing away all the customers at  a restaurant with a permanent location.

Big Food has jumped the shark again.  Never, ever doubt its ability to co-opt a good idea and make it stink.

Organic Twinkies, anyone?

Last month’s Bon Appetit feature, “Around the World in 80 Hot Dogs”, really irked me.  The editorial staff’s major “brainstorm” for a hotdog topping that screamed “Australia” was mushy peas.  MUSHY PEAS? Now, I understand this article was all in fun and wasn’t an anthropological study of hot dog toppings around the globe, but come on! Couldn’t they come up with anything better than mushy peas?

Apparently, these folks haven’t spent much time eating in Australia.  The best I can figure, they’ve been to Sydney ’s W hotel and gone to a pretty popular food cart near there called Harry’s Cafe de Wheels which does sell a hot dog with mushy peas, chili, cheese and some other kitchen sink ingredients.  The only other Australian dish that I can think of that features mushy peas, or in this case pea soup, is South Australia’s pie floater. Regardless, these two anecdotes of mushy peas hardly merit making peas a quintessentially Australian hot dog topping. 

This being my Aussie husband’s first 4th of July in the States, I decided to come up with my own hot dog toppings based on popular Australian tastes, and personally, I think they’re much better than Bon Appetit’s suggestion.

The evidence:

Hot dog with tomato-ginger-chilli jam & coriander (aka cilantro)

Hot dog with beetroot-pineapple relish, pineapple and bacon

Strawberry shortcake is, in my opinion, the most perfect dessert.  Of course this is dependent upon the quality of the shortcake and the strawberries.

In June, you can pretty much count on strawberries being top notch. I’ve also found what is probably the best shortcake recipe on the internet– one that is as good as– no, actually trumps– the shortcake recipe on the Bisquick box which was long my favorite despite the fact it was on the Bisquick box.  The completely homemade shortcake recipe was on the Food Network website and it was really wrong, but thank goodness for reviews and comments because that helped correct all its flaws.   It makes a lightly sweet, slightly crumbly shortcake that’s soft in the middle and has a pleasantly crunchy crust. 

I’ve been making this particular shortcake for about a year and have recently found myself wanting to experiment with some new flavors.  My basil is starting to go nuts and I’m not quite ready to start making pesto, so I wanted to incorporate some of that.  I made a lemon-basil shortbread a couple of years ago that was absolutely intoxicating. I figured if lemon and basil works in shortbread, why not shortcake?

I mixed the dry ingredients for the shortcake together and cut in the butter and shortening before adding in the finely chopped basil, lemon zest and lemon juice.  After I’d incorporated that, I poured in the half-and-half (did I mention these aren’t lowfat?) and stirred until the dough just came together.  The shortcakes went into the oven and came out 15 minutes later lightly golden, flecked with basil and sparkling on top from a sprinkling of raw sugar.

I couldn’t even wait for them to cool before I pulled a tiny nibble off one of the shortcakes.  They brought the memory of that lemon-basil shortbread back to life.  With ice cream and strawberries it was a  taste of summer with the basil and lemon providing a  je ne sais quois — that turned the familiar into something new and intriguing.

Next time, I’ll try the shortcakes with blueberries– I think the blueberries and basil will be an even more divine combination.

Lemon Basil Shortcake

2 c. flour
1 tbsp. baking powder
3/4 tsp. salt
1/3 c. sugar (or a little less)
2 Tbsp. shortening
2 Tbsp. butter
1 Tbsp. finely chopped fresh basil
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
2 tsp. grated lemon zest
2/3 c. plus 1 Tbsp. half and half
melted butter
raw sugar

Mix together flour, baking powder, salt and sugar. Cut or rub in shortening and butter until dough is the size of small peas. Add basil, lemon juice and zest and stir (don’t be tempted to the add lemon juice to the half and half– it will curdle it). Add the half and half and stir until all the dry ingredients are incorporated and the dough just comes together. Drop by tablespoonfuls onto a cookie sheet. Brush tops with melted butter and sprinkle with raw sugar. Bake in a 400 degree oven 15 minutes until lightly golden.  Makes 8 shortcakes.

I have found what could quite possibly be the world’s largest cinnamon roll.  I’m not counting the cinnamon rolls that are made as part of a stunt to get into some sort of world record book or in honor of National Cinnamon Roll day (if there is such a thing, which I’m sure there probably is).  I’m just talking about your everyday,  average, run-of-the-mill cinnamon rolls served at diners, cafes and restaurants on a regular basis. 

I encountered this behemoth, butter-laden pastry at the Rocking Chair Cafe in Conway, Missouri which is smack-dab between Springfield and Lebanon along I-44.  I’d read the cinnamon rolls were big here, but I was not fully prepared for what I saw as the waitress approached my table.  When she saw my face she guffawed.  Other patrons whispered and tittered as I whipped out my camera to take a photo (little did they know that I take pictures of lots of food).

It was so big it was spilling off the plate. This cinnamon roll was 7 inches across and 3 1/2 inches high in the center and about 3 inches around the outside (yes, I actually used a ruler).  And DAMN was it ever good.  Sometimes big food can be really disappointing, but not this time.  They way I figure it, it was at least 147 cu. inches of scrumptiousness.  And I know I’m a hypocrite the way I go on about this cinnamon roll because I’m the first to complain about how gargatuan portion sizes doled out at restaurants are making Americans fat, but in my defense I had to struggle to finish half of it.

I googled for photos of what other people consider the “biggest cinnamon roll” and found a few examples here and here that pale in comparison to the monster at the Rocking Chair.   Are there any other cinnamon rolls out there that can beat this one? I’d love to see it if there is.

Last month, I wrote about my roadtrip to California which included a stop at a great Mexican restaurant in Winslow, AZ where I briefly met a beekeeper who sells his honey to the restaurant.

Well, it turns out the beekeeper, Roy Crain, has family in the same are of Missouri where I currently live.  Roy’s wife, Karen, found my blog while googling camelthorn honey and told me they were coming to Missouri and were bringing me some honey.  I was THRILLED– not only about the honey, but that she’d also  stumbled upon my blog.

I chatted with Roy on the phone a few times and we agreed to meet at a little diner in Conway, MO.   Roy, Karen and their daughter Jessie and I shared a lot of conversation, coffee and the biggest cinnamon rolls you’ve ever seen (more on that in another post). 

It turns out that Roy is a railroad man, and beekeeping is his hobby.  In fact, honeybees are in his blood, you could say.  His grandfather also kept bees and Roy took it up about 15 years ago.  He was one of the first people in Arizona– if not the first– to have his bees produce camelthorn honey by setting up hives in an area surrounded by the thorny, flowering shrubs which are considered a noxious weeds in Arizona and elsewhere.  But the bees apparently love the small, pink flowers and use it to wonderful effect to make a delicate, bright-flavored honey with a hint of spice that’s  incredibly different from the typical clover honey which has a heavier, more cloying sweetness.

Roy now runs anywhere from 50 to 100 hives around Arizona and makes several different kinds of honey including a Winslow Wildflower which is almost as dark as molasses and has a deeper, more complex taste than the camelthorn–Roy calls it burnt–  that tickles the back of my throat.

As sweet and good as Roy’s honey is, it’s even sweeter that this blog and a shared interest in food could allow us to cross paths again.  It’s further proof of my belief that people who appreciate and produce good, honest food are usually good people.

If you ever find yourself in Winslow, Arizona– sure go by and see the famous corner– but also make it a point to look up Roy and try some of his honey.

Painted Desert Honey Co.

928-289-4863

Elko, NV

Interstate 80 isn’t exactly a backroad, but if you’ve ever been on it, you know you’re pretty much in the middle of nowhere.  It seems to be a vast nothingness– sort of like outerspace– but occasionally you’ll bump into a star, or in my case the Star Hotel.

By this point in the trip, I was pretty much ready to get home, but my day brightened considerably when the Nevada tourist information book said that our evening’s destination, Elko, was a center of Basque culture and had several Basque restaurants.  We chose the Star, which was highly recommended by the clerk at our motel (which had a Basque restaurant right next door, but didn’t get her resounding endorsement).

I had no idea what to expect when I got to the Star– I’ve never had any Basque cuisine nor have I read much about it (except one chapter in Bourdain’s A Cook’s Tour), but once I saw the crowded dining room, I figured this place must be doing something right.

The Star Hotel was originally a boarding house for sheepherders (and still is, apparently; the waitress told us they ring the dinner bell for the boarders at 6:15 every night) and the tables are still communal and the meals are served family style. 

A word to the wise: come hungry.  Another word to the wise: if there are just two of you, split an entree because the amount of food they give you could feed an army.  If you do this, the restaurant charges the entree price for one person and then a charge for just the side dishes for the other person.

The minute we sat down, our waitress presented us with a loaf of bread and a giant bowl of cabbage soup with orzo in a broth that had a faint hint of saffron. 

We gobbled up our soup while we checked out the menu.  We decided to share a one pound ribeye and a bottle of wine.  The menu featured several bottles from Spain and we picked out the Sangre de Toro– blood of the bull– a natural choice to go with our steak.

Next, the waitress delivered a bowl of salad which was a crispy iceberg lettuce lightly coated with a creamy, garlicy dressing that was so good I could have picked up the bowl and licked all the dressing out of it. 

Then came the ribeye (which looked to be much bigger than one pound) topped with slivered garlic and a jaw-dropping array of side dishes: french fries, green beans, pinto beans, and spaghetti.  

According to our waitress, the pintos and the spaghetti were dishes commonly served at the hotel– my guess is that they provided good stick to your ribs food for the cowboys who were probably pretty hungry after a hard day of herding cattle.  The french fries were excellent– crisp and hot.  The spaghetti and green beans were okay, but the pintos were nice– perhaps a bit skimpy on seasoning, but they were properly cooked instead of being mushy blobs.  You can always add salt, but you can’t do much about overcooked legumes.  The ribeye, by the way, was great.  Cooked exactly the way we ordered it (medium), and the garlic scattered on top was a welcome condiment.  When we finally pushed back from the table, I felt liked I’d gained 10 pounds, but I was totally content and thrilled that I’d discovered a new American regional cuisine that I didn’t even know existed.

If you’ve been to Spain and have tried traditional Basque cooking and come here expecting more of the same, you’re probably going to be disappointed.  This isn’t totally traditional Basque cooking.  It’s Basque-American and reflects how Basque immigrants adapted their culinary tradtions to a new continent with different ingredients, which in my opinion is more “authentic” that trying to precisely mimic dishes being cooked 6000 miles away with an entirely different larder of ingredients.  For instance, many traditional Basque dishes use seafood because the region is bordered by the sea, but in the mountains of Nevada, seafood doesn’t make sense. Lamb and beef does.

Of course, I’m sure they get some seafood in for Paella night, which is Tuesday night at the Star Hotel.  I was sorry that it was only Friday and that we couldn’t stick around to try it, but if I ever find myself back in Elko, I’ll make sure I’m there on a Tuesday.