In the current storm swirling about Missouri Republican senatorial nominee Todd Akin, pundits from all sides have been focusing on his outrageous and offensive use of the term "legitimate rape." Even in his retractions, the man has been unable to hide his misogyny, re-phrasing, "I meant forcible rape." As opposed to what? Welcome rape? Accidental rape? Rape is rape. It's a violent sexual crime. I hope the controversy catapults incumbent Senator McCaskill to victory in November.
As the controversy builds momentum, what I feel to be the most concerning part of Akin's comments seems to have slid off the radar. Akin full statement was, "If it's a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down."
Let's deconstruct the temple of ignorance represented by this second phrase:
"...the female body has ways..."
You know, that grand mystery of biology called the female body. It has secret ways that started back when Eve ate the apple.
"...shut that whole thing down..."
For a man who believes that life begins at conception, he's a bit casual with his language isn't he? "That whole thing" would be a fertilized ovum implanting itself in a uterus, or in Akin's world, a citizen with unalienable rights.
And just how how does this secret process of "shutting it down" work? Does he think women secrete RU-486 (the morning-after pill) naturally at-will? If they did, I am sure people like Akin would have figured out how to outlaw it.
The bottom line here is that anti-choice, anti-women politicians like Akin operate from absolute ignorance. Akin is not just ignorant about the what language to use when describing sexual assault. He is ignorant about the basics of human biology.
I hope the voters of Missouri make sure he is never in the position to legislate his ignorance.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Okra, the philosopher
We have a lot to learn from Okra.
That's not the way most statements about Okra begin. I find that people are bitterly divided about it. "Yuck, it's so slimey," is one side of the argument. "You've never had it deep fried," is the other side. And then there are the converts, "I thought it was just a gooey green ingredient in gumbo until I had it grilled and dipped in sour cream." Okra's first, and perhaps most fundamental lesson is: Just try it. Life is filled with things that at first whiff or taste can challenge our sensibilities. If your first exposure to Okra was as the viscosity-provider for gumbo, you might not believe that it might be the vegetable equivalent to fried calamari. Just try it. Yes, it's slimey when sliced and diced. Yes, when added to a pot it can look like airplane glue. Take a deep breath, let it simmer, and soon the airplane glue disappears and you'll have a thick tasty stew made more tasty by the tender green nuggets that moments ago horrified you. Just try it. You might surprise yourself.
Buying Okra can be daunting. Years ago I would go to the Farmer's Market and have to battle with the Laotian women combing through bushels of Okra to find the smaller, tender pods; ideally should the size of thumb knuckle. Inevitably, I would lose out and end up with index finger-sized pods. One can occasionally find Okra at Whole Foods or equivalent foodie palaces, but usually it looks a bit bruised and wilted. Frozen is an option, frozen Okra works best in stews. The lesson of sourcing Okra is: Do it Yourself.
Growing Okra brings rich rewards. The first reward is purely visual. Okra flowers are lemon yellow with a dark brown center and a defined pistil & stamen. They look like hibiscus. They bloom every morning and fade and wilt before the afternoon. The lesson of the Okra flower: Get up early and enjoy the morning.
The real rewards of growing Okra are culinary, but to reap the rewards requires discipline. Ignore Okra, and the pods grow into giant, tough, inedible green missiles. Harvested daily, your options for the tender pods are endless. Small pods can be grilled or dry-fried, then eaten as an appetizer. They can be sauteed with onions, tomatoes, and peppers for an instant vegetable gumbo. They can be sliced or thrown in whole into any soup or stew. Harvesting the small pods takes a good eye. After a first round of snipping off the obvious pods, the four foot high Okra plants can seem picked clean. This is the lesson of the Okra plant: Look again. Use a different angle. Pull the plants aside. Look from the bottom. Look from the top. Okra, and life, will give you rewards if you take a deep breath and change your perspective.
The final lessons of Okra are in the pan and on the plate and echo our first lesson: Just try it. This odd little green pod, filled with seeds and slime, can deliver delight. Just try it. And try it a few different ways. Variety is a good thing.
Grilled okra
Rinse okra. Put on a grill. Turn when slightly brown and blistered. Turn again. Toss with some salt and serve dipped in sour cream. (Variation: Dry fry them in a cast iron skillet with a little oil.)
Instant veggie gumbo
Sautee onions and red pepper. Add okra, either sliced or if small pods, whole. Add chopped tomatoes. Cook until okra is fork-able.
Senegalese stew
Sautee onions and red pepper. Add diced chicken and cook through (or use left over roasted chicken). Add okra and cook until tender. Add chicken stock and simmer. Take a cup of chicken stock and mix with peanut butter. Add to stew. Simmer. Serve with diced tomatoes as a garnish.
That's not the way most statements about Okra begin. I find that people are bitterly divided about it. "Yuck, it's so slimey," is one side of the argument. "You've never had it deep fried," is the other side. And then there are the converts, "I thought it was just a gooey green ingredient in gumbo until I had it grilled and dipped in sour cream." Okra's first, and perhaps most fundamental lesson is: Just try it. Life is filled with things that at first whiff or taste can challenge our sensibilities. If your first exposure to Okra was as the viscosity-provider for gumbo, you might not believe that it might be the vegetable equivalent to fried calamari. Just try it. Yes, it's slimey when sliced and diced. Yes, when added to a pot it can look like airplane glue. Take a deep breath, let it simmer, and soon the airplane glue disappears and you'll have a thick tasty stew made more tasty by the tender green nuggets that moments ago horrified you. Just try it. You might surprise yourself.
Buying Okra can be daunting. Years ago I would go to the Farmer's Market and have to battle with the Laotian women combing through bushels of Okra to find the smaller, tender pods; ideally should the size of thumb knuckle. Inevitably, I would lose out and end up with index finger-sized pods. One can occasionally find Okra at Whole Foods or equivalent foodie palaces, but usually it looks a bit bruised and wilted. Frozen is an option, frozen Okra works best in stews. The lesson of sourcing Okra is: Do it Yourself.
Growing Okra brings rich rewards. The first reward is purely visual. Okra flowers are lemon yellow with a dark brown center and a defined pistil & stamen. They look like hibiscus. They bloom every morning and fade and wilt before the afternoon. The lesson of the Okra flower: Get up early and enjoy the morning.
The real rewards of growing Okra are culinary, but to reap the rewards requires discipline. Ignore Okra, and the pods grow into giant, tough, inedible green missiles. Harvested daily, your options for the tender pods are endless. Small pods can be grilled or dry-fried, then eaten as an appetizer. They can be sauteed with onions, tomatoes, and peppers for an instant vegetable gumbo. They can be sliced or thrown in whole into any soup or stew. Harvesting the small pods takes a good eye. After a first round of snipping off the obvious pods, the four foot high Okra plants can seem picked clean. This is the lesson of the Okra plant: Look again. Use a different angle. Pull the plants aside. Look from the bottom. Look from the top. Okra, and life, will give you rewards if you take a deep breath and change your perspective.
The final lessons of Okra are in the pan and on the plate and echo our first lesson: Just try it. This odd little green pod, filled with seeds and slime, can deliver delight. Just try it. And try it a few different ways. Variety is a good thing.
Grilled okra
Rinse okra. Put on a grill. Turn when slightly brown and blistered. Turn again. Toss with some salt and serve dipped in sour cream. (Variation: Dry fry them in a cast iron skillet with a little oil.)
Instant veggie gumbo
Sautee onions and red pepper. Add okra, either sliced or if small pods, whole. Add chopped tomatoes. Cook until okra is fork-able.
Senegalese stew
Sautee onions and red pepper. Add diced chicken and cook through (or use left over roasted chicken). Add okra and cook until tender. Add chicken stock and simmer. Take a cup of chicken stock and mix with peanut butter. Add to stew. Simmer. Serve with diced tomatoes as a garnish.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Is it cheating if you use a mix?
Sorry, Mr. Krusteaz, but you should have eased up on your ego and not named your product after yourself. Krusteaz? Sounds like something to be removed from one's eyelids in the morning, not the basis of a delicious breakfast. Krusteaz? Maybe it would have worked for pie crust, "Don't fret over your pie crust, Krusteaz and makes pie crust a snap!" Krusteaz? Sounds like a Hogan's Heroes character, the bumbling Wermacht officer, Captain Krusteaz.
Poorly named product, aside, Krusteaz Buttermilk Pancake Mix is my secret weapon. Like orange juice, it's not just for breakfast anymore.
Most summers I am overwhelmed with zucchini. Turn your back on these squash and your garden becomes overwhelmed with obscene, forearm-sized monstrosities. The British, who call zucchini by their french name courgette, call these over grown green giants marrows.
You can stuff a marrow with cheese, bread crumbs, and finely diced pieces of itself. You can chop a marrow and stew it with tomatoes and eggplant for ratatouille. You can make zucchini bread, muffins, and even chocolate cake, but by August, you're sick of it, and your friends are sick of it, and you risk an obscenity charge whenever you leave the house with a well-formed marrow stuck under your arm.
This is where Mr. Krusteaz's mix saves the day. Grate three or four cups of a giant courgette, add some chopped herbs, a bit of grated gruyere and enough pancake mix to dust it all and you have the batter for zucchini blinis. Spoon the batter into sand dollar sized shapes on the griddle, flip 'em, then serve them warm with creme fraiche and chopped basil.
The savory secrets of Krusteaz mix do not end with blinis. Scared of real chile rellenos? You know, the kind dipped in batter and deep fried? Skinning and seeding roasted poblano peppers is treacherous enough, but stuffing them and battering them without tearing the peppers into shreads? Forget about it. Just slice the peppers in half, stuff them with cheese, and then pour a light batter of pancake mix over them and bake them at 400 for 25 minutes. You'll save the hassle and mess of frying and probably save a few calories (but seriously, chile rellenos are probably not recommended for serious calorie counters.)
The fun doesn't have to stop there. Eggplant torta? Roast some eggplant --lightly painted in olive oil-- for 10-15 minutes in a 400 degree oven. Sautee some onions and red peppers. Mix an egg, a spoon full of yogurt or sour cream, and a 1/2 cup of parmesan with about a 1/2 cup of pancake mix. In a cast iron skillet or round baking dish, place a layer of eggplant, peppers & onions, batter, then a final layer of eggplant. Top with thinly sliced tomatoes and more parmesan. Bake at 400 for 25-30 minutes.
Poorly named product, aside, Krusteaz Buttermilk Pancake Mix is my secret weapon. Like orange juice, it's not just for breakfast anymore.
Most summers I am overwhelmed with zucchini. Turn your back on these squash and your garden becomes overwhelmed with obscene, forearm-sized monstrosities. The British, who call zucchini by their french name courgette, call these over grown green giants marrows.
You can stuff a marrow with cheese, bread crumbs, and finely diced pieces of itself. You can chop a marrow and stew it with tomatoes and eggplant for ratatouille. You can make zucchini bread, muffins, and even chocolate cake, but by August, you're sick of it, and your friends are sick of it, and you risk an obscenity charge whenever you leave the house with a well-formed marrow stuck under your arm.
This is where Mr. Krusteaz's mix saves the day. Grate three or four cups of a giant courgette, add some chopped herbs, a bit of grated gruyere and enough pancake mix to dust it all and you have the batter for zucchini blinis. Spoon the batter into sand dollar sized shapes on the griddle, flip 'em, then serve them warm with creme fraiche and chopped basil.
The savory secrets of Krusteaz mix do not end with blinis. Scared of real chile rellenos? You know, the kind dipped in batter and deep fried? Skinning and seeding roasted poblano peppers is treacherous enough, but stuffing them and battering them without tearing the peppers into shreads? Forget about it. Just slice the peppers in half, stuff them with cheese, and then pour a light batter of pancake mix over them and bake them at 400 for 25 minutes. You'll save the hassle and mess of frying and probably save a few calories (but seriously, chile rellenos are probably not recommended for serious calorie counters.)
The fun doesn't have to stop there. Eggplant torta? Roast some eggplant --lightly painted in olive oil-- for 10-15 minutes in a 400 degree oven. Sautee some onions and red peppers. Mix an egg, a spoon full of yogurt or sour cream, and a 1/2 cup of parmesan with about a 1/2 cup of pancake mix. In a cast iron skillet or round baking dish, place a layer of eggplant, peppers & onions, batter, then a final layer of eggplant. Top with thinly sliced tomatoes and more parmesan. Bake at 400 for 25-30 minutes.