Posts tagged ‘Guest Post’

Today we happily welcome new contributor Berfu Durantas-Masters. Born in Istanbul, she recently married her husband John with one nagging worry—could they eat together, happily ever after? This is the first piece in a series for Good. Food. Stories.

One of the earliest conversations between my husband and me during our days of courtship was about food. He is half English-Irish and half Greek, and it was this morsel of Mediterranean blood that gave me hope that he would revel in my olive oil-based Turkish cooking. Our short food conversation ended with me asking alarmingly, “What do you mean you don’t like fried fish or olive oil? You’re half Greek, for God’s sake!!” And so our culinary adventure began.

My husband likes store-bought salad dressing, Hot Pockets, frozen pizza (frozen anything, really), Eggo’s, and American cheese. Basically his palate craves chemicals and freezer burn. This is a far cry from the fresh foods and everything made from scratch mentality that I grew up with. So as our wedding day quickly approached, the questions arose as to how I would feed the 6’3” love of my life. How could I possibly get him to let go of the butter and dip his bread into olive oil instead? Would he ever eat a salad without ready-made blue cheese dressing? Would he ever like vegetables?
>> So how did Berfu convince her John to give up the Hot Pocket and try mucver? >>

The Good. Food. Stories. team is extra-pleased to present today’s guest post from Jessie Knadler, a former Manhattan magazine writer and editor who now lives in rural Virginia with her husband, 30-odd chickens, two rambunctious dogs, and a host of farm equipment. Her adventures as a city girl attempting country living are chronicled on her “awesome blog” (her words and our feelings exactly) Rurally Screwed. We’re eagerly awaiting her canning-focused cookbook with co-author Kelly Geary that will be published by Rodale in Spring 2011.

When I first moved from Manhattan to rural Virginia four years ago, I assumed I was saying goodbye to the foodie fascism that had taken hold of the city. I took it as a given I’d never have to overhear two Brooklyn yoga moms prattle on about the virtues of free-range eggs for little Dexter and Elliot or listen to well-meaning friends pester waiters with questions like, “Is this beef really grass-fed?” I was fed up with thinking I too had to define myself by what I ate.

If only I was a little more organic, a little more free-range, steel-cut, Meyer lemon-eating, blah-blah-blah, I’d somehow be a better person. To me, the pursuit of dietary asceticism seemed like just another form of subtle social stratification, right up there with carrying the right handbag, only somehow less shallow, more “real.”

So I was excited at the prospect of moving somewhere where people, I assumed, still ate Slim Jims and where cocktail party food centered around Philadelphia cream cheese in various guises. I thought the most probing food question I’d encounter here was “Does the chicken fried steak come with brown or white gravy?”

Well, this is what happens when a pampered urbanite moves to the middle of nowhere—you quickly realize how provincial and ignorant you really are. Organic piety, I’ve since realized, extends to small-town America as well, to conservative communities where the rebel flag still proudly flies and where 30-somethings don’t think much about living in a cabin or a yurt.
>> Read on to find out about Jessie’s experiences in small-town food snobbery and how she’s fighting back >>

Today, please welcome a post from Kristen Trajan, who has meticulously scouted a few wallet-friendly NYC dining options to keep us full and on a budget.

I’ve been riding the poor train for years now, and while I’ve been known to hop off for a little Blue Hill at Stone Barns, I stay true to my cheap roots. As Danielle will attest, I’m a great dinner date, but not a terribly adventurous grocery partner. (You’re talking to the girl who recently put a $1.29 package of pasta back on the shelf after realizing I could get it for $1.19 eight blocks away.)

But we don’t always have the luxury of—or energy for—making delicious dishes for less at home. And that’s why I’m giving you the highly coveted top 5 under $5.

Under $5, you say? In New York? Yes, my friends, ’tis true. I know just about every corner, park, and questionable hole-in-the-wall restaurant for recession-friendly deliciousness. But I’m starting with five classy spots. You know, where you can take that date you don’t really want to invest in. In no particular order, I give you the first five:

>> Where can you get this bowl of filling hummus for only $5? Read on. >>

WHO DAT? The New Orleans Saints are Super Bowl-bound, and we’ve got your back with a jambalaya recipe from Nicole Canfora Lupo, New Jersey-based journalist, author of Images of America: Belleville, and lover of double coupons. She can be found at her incredible finance site, Rainy-Day Saver, where we can all learn a few things about budgeting and splurge on the good stuff, like bacon chocolate.

It’s always smart to have a filling and meaty main course on your Super Bowl buffet table. With all the free-flowing beer, your guests need something substantial to keep them energized and on their feet through four quarters of commercials that try too hard, questionable play calls from the guys in stripes, and an aging-rockers halftime show. One of my all-time favorite winter recipes rises to the occasion for this year’s Big Game—it’s not a soup, it’s not a stew, it’s that Creole creation of jambalaya.

I’m not sure when I first discovered the ricey goodness of the jambalaya. It might have been back in 2004, when I went to Oddfellows Rest in Hoboken, which specializes in Cajun and Creole cuisine. But it definitely led me to find a good base recipe and put my own spin on it.
>> Read on to get the jambalaya recipe >>

In today’s guest post, we’re pleased to present you with part three of our intrepid traveler C.C.’s adventures with British cuisine. To catch up, here are Parts One and Two.

C.C. would like to pride herself on being a “good” traveler—curious, respectful, an impeccable sense of direction, a comradely cheerfulness when slaughtering any native tongue, and a fearless approach to food. But the first week in England challenges her assumptions.

C.C. is in Cambridge to work on a video. Cambridge is lovely. Parker’s Piece is verdant, dotted with golden fall leaves. People ride by on granny bikes with twee wicker baskets and C.C. can’t stop herself from recalling Morrissey singing “Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before.” In fact, this refrain plays over and over in her head as she runs late to work, woefully in need of coffee, which she had no time to take at the hotel, and let’s not forget she’s operating on an eight-hour time difference.
 
C.C. learns a thing or two at the video shoot. There is no craft services table to speak of. Instead, there are kindly interns constantly proffering chocolate Hobnobs that C.C., who has the snacking predilections of a monkey, is constantly nibbling. The interns also offer tea or coffee, but C.C. pauses for a moment when her choice of coffee is met with the question, “White or black?” C.C. is confused and requests a “coffee with milk,” which the intern in turn translates as “white.”

The coffee arrives in a small mug, like one might find at granny’s house. And the coffee is very, very, very white. So white, in fact, you might say a dot of coffee was added to the milk. C.C. takes a sip. She tries not to make a face…
>> Read on to discover the truth about British coffee >>