Meyer lemon and rosemary shortbread cookies

I don't really consider myself much of a baker, though I have been known to bake up some tasty treats. To me, baking takes too much forethought to make it fun. Plus, all that precise measuring sucks even more fun out of it. For someone as slightly OCD as I can sometimes be, I am a little haphazard in my baking.

Recently though I've been thinking about shortbread cookies. It started with having one of those magnificent chocolate, fleur de sel ones from Miette Confiserie near my house. I've been wanting to recreate it, and Eleanor kindly sent me a recipe for chocolate shortbread cookies, which I still need to work on once I figure out the conversion from metric mass to non-metric volume.

Then, on Sunday, we went to Colin's mom's house in Burlingame, where we picked Meyer lemons and rosemary from the garden. I left with a giant bag of lemons (perfect for making limoncello, just as summer is nearing) and had the bright idea that Meyer lemon and rosemary would go together well in shortbread cookie form. I've never made shortbread cookies before and none of my cookbooks had a shortbread cookie recipe. But, Google gave me my answer. I went over multiple shortbread cookie recipes, found one that seemed simple enough, and got to work in the kitchen.

I followed the recipe exactly, with the addition of the lemon zest and chopped rosemary. The finished dough wasn't coming together and was all crumbly. I didn't quite know what to do. Should I add melted butter? That sounded gross. Ian suggested some water, which worked in pulling the dough together. I rolled the dough into a rectangular log, wrapped it in plastic, and stuck it in the refrigerator. Ian and I made cabbage pancakes and tofu for dinner, and ate while the cookie dough was chilling.

After dishes were done, I pulled the dough out, sliced it, and placed the slices on to two baking sheets lined with parchment paper. They went into the oven and cooked for a little while. Once done, we ate them. I didn't know how they were supposed to be, but these ones were buttery, crisp, and just barely sweet. I could taste the rosemary and wished that the Meyer lemon was more pronounced. But, overall, not bad for a first time shortbread cookie baking experiment. Ian took some cookies with him and I took the rest to school to share. The other counselors and some of the students thought they were great, heavenly even. Lauren asked me for the recipe, which I typed up for her. It follows.


Shortbread Cookies

2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup powdered sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup European style butter (Strauss Creamery butter for me)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp vanilla

1. Sift flour, powdered sugar, cornstarch, and salt together. Put in a bowl.
2. Beat butter in a separate bowl until fluffy.
3. Gradually add sugar and vanilla to the butter.
4. Stir in the dry ingredients in three batches. Do no over mix.
5. Roll dough into a log and put in refrigerator for about 2 hours.
6. Pre-heat oven to 325 degrees. Slice dough into 1/3 inch slices. (I think I would have liked my cookies smaller.) Bake for 18 minutes, turning the trays once.
7. Let cookies cool until they are cool enough to not burn your fingers and mouth.
8. Eat.

A note: I added the zest of two Meyer lemons and maybe a teaspoon or so of chopped rosemary to my cookies. I think you can really add whatever you want to the basic recipe.

Peninsula and South Bay Adventure Day!

When I suggested to Eleanor that we reinstate weekend brunches, I didn't think it would turn into an all-day adventure touring around my possible new home, the South Bay. Somehow, though, it did.

The Sunday started off like many Sundays before. I met Colin and Eleanor at the Blue Bottle kiosk. Colin and I had frothy cappuccinos out of tiny brown mugs. Ben showed up shortly, still with crutches, and ordered coffee too. Tucked out of the rain, we caught up for a bit, finished our coffee, and walked over to Ben's car. We headed to Burlingame to have brunch at Alana's and then get some photos from Colin's mom's house.

At Alana's, Ben and I split the oatmeal pancakes with bananas and the Company's Coming, which was potatoes, sausage, cheddar and Provolone cheese, tomatoes, and scallions (we asked for no mushrooms), and topped with two poached eggs. Colin and Eleanor split a variation of the same two dishes. The oatmeal pancakes were as delicious as I last remembered them. They were light but substantial, incredibly tender but not mushy, and packed full of oats. With a little smudge of butter and maple syrup, they were fabulous. The Company's Coming was good too, especially as a nice salty balance to the sweetness of the pancakes. Ben didn't quite eat his share of food though and I couldn't eat it on top of what I had already eaten, so we left some pancake on our plate.

After the yummy brunch, we went to Colin's mom's house, where we looked at old photos of Colin, were mesmerized by and contemplated bees, and picked Meyer lemons. We then drove to San Mateo to do some shopping at the Japanese grocery store. I picked up some sesame oil, bonito flakes, and a box of sauce for eggplant.

At the market, Colin asked if we were getting hungry yet. At first, I thought it was ridiculous to be hungry again, since we only finished brunch about two hours earlier. But, when he asked, I could see how I wasn't as full as I expected to be. I told him that I could probably eat again. Ben said that he was easily swayed. We told Eleanor that we hadn't eaten at Santa Ramen before, and that settled it. We would eat again and eat noodles at Santa Ramen. But, after a quick phone call, we had a change of plans. Santa Ramen was closed until later in the evening. Eleanor was ready with a backup: Maru Ichi in Mountain View.

We got back into the car (Colin had a triangle of rice with pickled plum and wrapped in seaweed) and headed further south. Apparently, none of us had plans for our Sunday and were more than happy to drive for more food. Downtown Mountain View looked freakishly similar to downtown Burlingame, with the exception of the angle of the parking spaces that lined the sidewalk. I was surprised at how many Asians there were and all the Asian shops. I wasn't quite sure what to expect of downtown Mountain View since this was my first time there.

We made our way to Maru Ichi and sat down at a booth. Eleanor told us that we should order the Kuro Ramen, which has a black slick of oil on top. It sounded a little gross and a little weird, but tasted amazing. The oil was made with browned garlic, which was fragrant but not overpowering. And, surprisingly, for a bowl of soup with a layer of oil floating on top, the soup wasn't oily or heavy. Was it magic? I had no clue how they did it. Other highlights were the homemade noodles, which was chewy but tender. Too bad the noodle-making booth in the corner was lacking a noodle maker.

Eleanor had discovered this place in the back of a Japanese newspaper and had tried it on her ramen noodle extravaganza. It and Santa Ramen topped her list. I was glad to know of it too. And, I would be glad to share it with all my potential Stanford friends so that I could be the coolest kid at grad school. We also talked about Colin and Eleanor now having an excuse to either visit me in Palo Alto (if I do end up leaving my Hayes Valley house) or to visit the two ramen houses. Life wouldn't be so different if I had a little San Francisco respite.

As if we didn't see enough of the South Bay yet, we made one last stop in Palo Alto, in search of Keeble and Shuchat. Colin's iPhone battery died so we had to find it the old school way, with Google text. We had a problem though: we had no idea how to spell the name. After multiple text messages to Google and some driving around Palo Alto, we finally got the phone number and went way old school and made a phone call to ask for directions.

We were all exhausted by the time we left the camera store. As much fun as the South Bay was, I think the warm weather and all the food from the day was taking their toll on us. I was ready to head back to the City.

Post-run dim sum

When Billy, Winnie, and I get together for a run, we usually end up spending more time and energy eating than actually exercising. It was no different this time when we met up to do a 5K run for liver cancer and hepatitis B awareness in Golden Gate Park. We, along with Winnie's friend Tim, ran the race together through the rain and mud. We finished in about 30 minutes, a decent time though not great. I struggled a little bit with a hill and then a cramp, but I hit a stride just as we were nearing the end. I think I could have kept running.

Afterward, we were hungry and decided that dim sum was what we wanted. Nothing beats pork and shrimp and countless dumplings after a morning run. We made a stop at my house first. Tim took a bit of a nap on my couch, while Billy showered and then lied in my bed.

At Tim's suggestion, we went to Chinatown's Great Eastern Restaurant. I usually avoid Chinatown and have only ever had dim sum in Chinatown once. But, I was game to try a new place and possibly have a dim sum go-to in Chinatown. Winnie picked us up from my house, we navigated our way across the city, and found parking relatively easily.

Though were were four Chinese people, the folks at Great Eastern didn't give us the Chinese people treatment. We weren't asked what kind of tea we wanted; we were just given the pot of house tea. And, we were even given forks! Sure, we might have all be born in the US and, sure, our Cantonese isn't all that great, but we know how to use chopsticks. We blamed it on Winnie speaking to the hostess in English to get seated.

I took me a little while to realize that there were absolutely no dim sum carts and that we had to order everything off the menu. I have mixed feelings toward the menu system. Sure, you know what you'll be getting and don't have to anxiously eye carts that come around. But, they eying and the waiting is part of the fun, part of the leisurely activity that is dim sum. Plus, with the carts, you know when to say stop. With the menu system, I've noticed that my friends and I usually end up ordering way more food than we need or want. Our eyes are usually bigger than our stomachs.

That was the case this time too. We ordered tons of food and all the dishes that I grew up eating at dim sum: shrimp dumplings, chive dumplings, turnip cake, chicken feet, tripe, sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves, pork and mushroom dumplings, Shanghai dumplings, taro puff, ham siu gok (which translates to salty water corner), steamed rice noodles with shrimp, steamed rice noodles with barbequed pork, eggplant stuffed with shrimp, bell pepper stuffed with shrimp. At one point, there was no room on our little table for more plates and steam baskets. The women made faces at us. But, we worked our way through all the dishes and took two little boxes of food to go, which wasn't too bad considering all that we ordered for just four people.

Generally, the food was good. It wasn't greasy and the flavors were on spot. The taro puff was especially good though, as it tasted of taro and was crisp and light. The ham siu gok was also particularly good. If I were ever in Chinatown and had a hankering for dim sum, I would go here again. Winnie also ran into one of her former student's mom.

And, because we are that ridiculous, we stopped by Golden Gate Bakery for egg custard tarts on our way back to the car.

Hainanese chicken rice

Scott left for a three-week trip to Belgium today. As much as I like Scott, I also really like having the house all to myself. It means the usual absent-roommate activities happen: showering with the door open, walking around naked, listening to whatever music I want and turning the volume up, dancing for no apparent reason throughout the house, and doing yoga in the living room without feeling self-conscious. It also means that I use the kitchen more and cook meals more elaborate than my most recent staple of soba, tofu, and vegetables, even if it's just me eating.

Tonight, I made Hainanese chicken rice. For whatever reason, I've been thinking of this chicken and rice dish for the past several days. I remember not too long ago reading Mark Bittman's column about it and how the San Gabriel Valley--my San Gabriel Valley--is home to some of the best Hainanese chicken rice. That, coupled with the fact that I'm running out of freezer space because of all my homemade poultry stock and need to find ways to use it up, meant that chicken and rice would be dinner.

When I got home from the field trip to UC Berkeley and my walk to Whole Foods for a chicken, I defrosted a yogurt container of chicken stock and brought it to a boil with enough water to cover a chicken in my narrowest pot. I rubbed the whole chicken, both inside and out, with salt, and put some chopped ginger and garlic in its cavity. The chicken went into the pot of boiling liquid and boiled over medium heat for ten minutes. Then, I turned off the heat and went to do yoga in the living room.

After trying to hold poses and concentrating on my exhalations for about an hour, I went back to the kitchen and starting chopping. I made a ginger chile sauce for my chicken by blending Serano chiles, a lot of garlic and ginger, lime juice, sugar, salt, and water together. It was pungent; that is all I have to say about it.

I pulled the chicken out of the pot and let it cool down enough for me to handle with my bare hands. In the meantime, I got started on the rice. I sauteed some chopped shallots, garlic, and ginger in some vegetable oil. Then, I added two cups of rice and stirred that around for a bit. After, I transferred the rice to my rice cooker, added about four cups of chicken-cooking liquid, and let the rice cooker work its magic.

With the rice in the cooker, I shredded the chicken. Shredding the chicken might not be traditional, I didn't want to deal with having to pick through bone tomorrow as I'm eating the leftovers for lunch at school. I chopped up some green onions and a little more ginger. Then, I mixed the chicken, ginger, and green onions with some soy sauce, sesame oil, and salt. Again, this is not traditional for Hainanese chicken rice, but, as I was trying to figure out how to add more flavor to the dish, this made the most sense.

When the rice cooker clicked done, the rice inside was a light brown color and each grain was its own and soft without being mushy. I gave the rice a fluff, scooped a little bit out into a bowl, put some of the shredded chicken on top, and drizzled some of the pungent ginger chile sauce on top. Everything got mixed together and then went straight to my mouth. Though the dish probably no longer resembled the traditional style of Hainanese chicken rice, it was still mighty delicious.

Californians in Boston

I'm in Boston right now, sitting in Luis and Anosheh's Brookline apartment, eating their dried cranberries and busying myself before they come home to have dinner with me. I flew in late Saturday and stayed with Susie and Zyde for the first half of my stay, before moving here for the second half. On my past couple of visits to Boston, I wasn't won over by the city. But, I'm here again, trying to see if I can like it, if I can picture myself calling this place home (even if for only nine months), if I can leave California for the East Coast.

And, I'm starting to really feel that I can't. I came here with all the best intentions of keeping an open mind, but it's impossible to not compare this city with San Francisco, especially in terms of food. I'll write more about all the meals I've had here later, when I find some more time, probably back home in SF.

Korean taco truck!

Every now and then, I'll miss LA. And, it's not just because I'll miss my family there. I'll miss things like going to the beach and lying on the sand, winding along the 110 with the car windows rolled down and the music turned up, the warm sun against my bare skin, the endless expanse of different landscapes and neighborhoods (which, on my anti-LA days, I'll agree to call "urban sprawl"), and delicious Asian food that I've never tasted the likes of at any Bay Area restaurant during all my years living up here.

And, today, I found another reason to want to be in LA: Korean Taco Truck! It's like all my favorite things rolled into one tin rectangle on wheels! Tacos, spicy food, kimchi, being Asian, questionable food service method!

I still need to hunt down Seoul on Wheels and make time for Mission Street Food. So little time, so many eats.

Meat pies, reprise

I feel like I've been making lists of goals and things I want to accomplish, as if I'm about to die or something. Included on this list of things I need (or want) to do is clean out my freezer and cupboards. There has been food in there from who knows how long. I'm sure there are things in there that are no longer edible too.

Last night, feeling lazy and unmotivated, I walked over to the freezer and pulled out the portable meat pies I made almost a year ago. There were five little half-moons of meat and pastry tightly wrapped in plastic and placed in zip-lock bags. I couldn't eat five and didn't want to waste energy cooking up just one, so I put two pies on a cookie sheet lined with foil in the oven. I turned it on to 375 degrees and set the timer for fifty minutes. I had no idea how long they should cook for and at what temperature. I just assumed that since they were frozen, they should probably want not too much heat so they could defrost and that they would also want a fair amount of time in there to go from frozen and raw to fully cooked. And, things would turn out okay as long as the smoke detector didn't go off.

About forty minutes later, I went to check in on those little buddies. The crust looked nice. And, some of the juices had leaked out and was burning along the edges. Maybe they were done? I stuck my meat thermometer in them; it read 200 degrees. I don't think I've ever seen my thermometer read that high. The pork pies must be done. They smelled great, but I told myself to be patient. I didn't want to get a mouth burn and a finger burn and a lip burn. I made a little green salad dressed in the last of my balsamic vinaigrette in the meantime.

When all was ready, I plated up. My pork pie on one side and my salad on the other. I tried to pick up my pie with my hands. It broke apart at the middle. Hm...not as portable anymore. But, I didn't want to use a knife and fork, so I stuck with eating the pie with my hands and chopsticks for my salad. The crust was still flaky but not as buttery as I last recalled, which was probably a good thing. The filling was okay. I remember the filling being wonderfully fragrant of sage and apples and cinnamon. This time, it was still reminiscent of those items but not as pleasantly pungent. That's probably what happens when food gets tucked into the back of the freezer for almost a year. I ate up my little pie, licked my fingers, and wrapped up the other one in foil and put it in the refrigerator for the next day.

And, today, reading the Sunday New York Times as is my weekend habit, I found this: Put a Lid On It. Was it merely coincidence that I was just thinking of meat pies, ate one last night and had one waiting for me in the fridge for today, and that the dreary, wet weather in San Francisco had me thinking of baking up a pot pie, and the Times had a piece about meat pies on the same day? I think I'm more superstitious and a believer in fate and destiny than I'd like to admit. Damn, Serendipity!

Better days at Bar Jules

When Kirk asked me if I had a hot date tonight and if that was the reason I wasn't joining him and other folks at the Mint, I said, "Yes. I do have a hot date. With one very pretty lady." And, it was true. Eleanor is one very pretty lady, and she and I had a dinner date.

I hadn't seen her in what felt like forever (even though it must have only been a few weeks), I had tons of big news to fill her in on, and spending hours with her and catching up with our lives seemed worlds more appealing than listening to people belt out "Don't Stop Believin'" at a karaoke bar. Plus, it was part of my new goal of trying to be a better friend, which is not to say that I'm not a good friend already. I think I'm a great friend--incredibly loyal, thoughtful, caring--but, recently, I've come to the realization that I can make more of a concerted effort to spend time with the people I care about most and who have made living here home for me. So, it started with Eleanor.

She stopped by my house, where I was watching my boyfriend John Cusack in Serendipity. I printed out our list of "Things to Eat Before Death," hoping that we would be able to cross one of those things off. But, upon closer inspection, we noticed that most of the places on our list weren't in San Francisco and most of the items listed weren't really dinner-time fare. So, off to Plan B: walk the block and a half to Bar Jules and have dinner there.

I peeked in the tiny restaurant earlier on my walk home from work to see if Carlo was working but didn't see him. He might have been tucked behind a counter or something, but when Eleanor and I got there, our doubts of him working tonight were confirmed. Oh, well. We told the cute hostess that we would wait for our table and that, no, we didn't want wine just yet. We stood along the sidewalk and chatted. Bar Jules looked so charming at night, with its dim lighting and candles in short vases lining the wall, the single wall painted a cheery, bright blue, and all the diners looking so happy and engaged in the food and each other.

I was thinking of how things change in a year, and how, almost exactly one year ago, I had dinner with Eleanor, along with Colin and Scott, at Bar Jules. It had just opened so Scott and I had to go to the semi-sketchy liquor store up the street for a bottle of cheap wine since the restaurant didn't have its liquor license yet. I had just found out earlier that day that I wouldn't be going to Yale as I had hoped for. And, the four of us, were having a who-needs-them-anyhow celebration of me staying in San Francisco a little longer. Now, a year later, I was telling Eleanor of how, in not too many months, I might actually leave for another Ivy League school. As a fortune cookie once told Brynn: change--it's not a part of life, it IS life.

But, back to dinner. Eleanor and I got seated in a cozy corner spot next to the window. After straining to read the menu and some discussion on what looked best and assessing our level of hunger and how much our stomachs could take, we decided on sharing the carrot soup, the baked ricotta, the grilled quail, and the salmon. Eleanor ordered a glass of the Gruner Veltliner and I a glass of the Grenache.

Our food came out slowly, which was nice as it meant that we could space out all the food we were about to consume and we would have plenty of time to catch up. And, one of our servers was the guy with the sizable 'fro and large glasses who is always generous and patient with me at Bi-Rite Creamery, which, for whatever reason, made us both a little happier. The carrot soup was thick and sweet, with the fragrance of dill, and was a lovely, warm way to start the meal.

The baked ricotta came out next. I was assuming the ricotta to look like slices of baked polenta, but it wasn't. Instead, it was in a small dish on a plate with two slices of toasted, very buttery bread and some greens. The ricotta was rich and creamy, and we didn't have enough toasted bread slices for it, so I slathered the cheese liberally on to the bread we did have. I ate the salad with my fingers (with Eleanor's approval, of course) and could taste the individual grains of salt.

The quail followed, and it was two pieces of quail (we were both surprised at the generous portion) with artichoke hearts, portobello mushrooms, braised endive, and bone marrow sauce. The quail was delicious. It was tender and barely, perfectly, seasoned with just some salt. I told Eleanor I was going to eat that with my fingers too, and she whole-heartedly approved. I rubbed the pieces of quail on my fork all over the bone marrow sauce before popping it into my mouth. The Afro-ed server took our dish with the bone marrow sauce away before we could stop him, which was a little sad and disappointing.

Then, the female server asked if we were ready for dessert, and I said that we ordered the salmon too. Oh, she said. She didn't put that down but we'd get it right away. That was okay with us. It just meant we would have a little food break and that we would have more time to talk. When the salmon did arrive, I looked at it a little confused. Was this cheese on our fish? Nope, I remembered. It was a grated hard-boiled egg. The salmon was just barely cooked and still velvety. I couldn't really taste what the egg added to the dish. But, the beets and frisee were nice, though covered in a touch too much oil for my taste.

I was stuffed and a little warm after two glasses of wine. We decided against the chocolate nemesis, and agreed that she should call me when she has her random days off as I have plenty of sick and vacation hours to use up.

It was so lovely having sharing a leisurely meal with Eleanor. She was the best Friday night date I'd had in a little while, and I was so glad she took me home with her that one night several years ago. Over dinner we talked about my new goal of being a better friend, her goal of trying to be more open and how that is my goal too, and how I'm going to steal her motto for this year of "It's never too late."

Things to eat before death

7x7 Magazine published an article about San Francisco food titled "The Big Eat SF: 100 Things to Try Before You Die." I went through the list and was able to check off about 23 things I've eaten so far, though there were plenty of places on that list where I had eaten but not the specific dish the article mentioned.

I forwarded the list on to friends and asked who of them would be willing to join me in eating my way through San Francisco. Carlo responded first with this: "Love this idea...maybe we can up the ante a little and make it a little more personal. How about compiling our own list of favorite tastes in the city. If people are in, then send in your top-5 or top-10 favorite tastes in the city. The 7x7 list is good, but maybe we can do one better." That is why I love Carlo!

A few people have emailed in their lists so far. Here they are and in the order they arrived (I assume that for everyone it got a little tougher to list things that weren't previously listed).

CARLO'S LIST
1. Any pasta from Quince
2. Chilequiles from the Primevera stand at the Saturday Farmer's Market
3. Bakesale Betty fried chicken sandwich (Oakland)
4. Tonkotsu Ramen at Santa Ramen (San Mateo)
5. Oysters at the Marshall Store (Marshall)
6. Crab roll and a bottle of crisp white wine at Fish (Sausalito)
7. Burger and a Bloody Mary at Zeitgeist
8. Coffee with Miette cookie pairings at the Blue Bottle kiosk
9. Clam chowder and some really good beer at Bar Crudo
10. Sitting at Dolores park with 2 scoops of Bi-rite ice cream

SUSAN'S LIST
1. Tacos from the Sinaloa truck on International at 22nd (Oakland)
2. Pork and 1000 year egg rice porridge with fried Chinese dough from Hing Lung
3. Mini barbeque pork buns from Koi Palace (Daly City)
4. Eating samosas (or anything else, really) from Vik's while watching the windsurfers at the Berkeley Marina (Berkeley)
5. Warm croissants from Tartine
6. Fleur de sel caramels from Michael Recchuiti
7. Cheese Board pizza eaten on the grassy median of Shattuck Ave. (Berkeley)

BILL'S LIST
1. Super Carne Asada Burrito from Ocean Taqueria
2. Pot-Roasted Shortribs and a Chimay from Park Chow
3. Italian Paradise at Paradise Pizza
4. Four-way combo plate from Everett & Jones BBQ
5. The Chef Roll from Live Sushi Bar
6. A Liter of Radeberger and a Kielbasa at Gestalt Haus
7. A Bloody Mary from The Hotel Utah
8. Beef Colorado and a shot of Don Julio 1942 from Don Ramon's
9. One slice of pepperoni pizza and a Coke at 3:00 a.m. from Seniore's
10. Fish and chips from all three of the following places: 21st
Amendment, Edinburgh Castle, and Weird Fish (with sweet potato fries)
* A tamale from the Tamale Lady.

ELEANOR'S LIST
1. Fish n' Chips from Fish (Sausalito)
2. Lumpia from Andy & Cindy at East Bay Farmer's Markets.
3. Fresh Daifuku from Benkyodo in Japantown
4. Soup Dumplings and Eggplant from Shanghai Restaurant (Oakland)
5. Bratwurst and a beer from Walzwerk
6. Omakase sushi from Ebisu or Jimisan
7. Any pizza from Gioia (Berkeley)
8. Oatmeal Pancakes from Alana's (Burlingame)
9. Pork and Vegetable buns from Dim Sum Nice Food
10. Corn Cherry Scone from Arizmendi on Lakeshore (Oakland)
11. Ice cream from Ici (Berkeley)
12. Burger from 900 Grayson (Berkeley)

Oh, my! I am so ready to get my mouth and stomach working on this list.

What the World Eats

When Ian and I were at the Museum of African Diaspora on Saturday, I noticed a large photo of a family in its kitchen and surrounded by food. I stared at it for a little bit, trying to make sense of what it was and a little disgusted by all the unhealthy food products. Ian told me that it was part of a larger photography project by Peter Menzel called "Hungry Planet: What the World Eats."

Time and NPR covered the project, and you can read about it at these links: Time and NPR.

It's amazing and disturbing to get such an intimate view of a family, its lifestyle and relative wealth, through what they consume. And, it's frightening to recognize familiar products repeated throughout the photos.

Maybe Jacob Leland was right when, as we were sitting in a New Orleans bar in the Marginy, he said that I should be a food anthropologist.