Boxing Day Gift Ideas

Some people look forward to Christmas all year. They start designing their Holiday cards before the dye on their Easter eggs has even dried. Thanksgiving isn’t treated so much as a reflective day spent with friends and family, but rather as an appropriate time to start dragging out the Holiday decorations.

I know people like this, but I am not one of them.

My favorite December day happens to be tomorrow, known in the Commonwealth countries as Boxing Day or, more religiously, as the Feast of St. Stephen.

In brief, Boxing Day custom dictates that those of the privileged classes give something back to the little people– those folks who spend the year cleaning their toilets, corraling their children, and fetching them lattes. Little tokens of thanks are offered, like thoughtful long distance phone cards, cash, and things generally gone unused and unwanted by the rich. A dear little tradition, if you ask me.

Upon first hearing about the holiday without actually knowing anything about it, I thought the name implied the much-looked-forward-to boxing up and putting away of Christmas decorations. Upon deeper reflection, I decided it was a day spent putting unwanted Christmas gifts back in their packaging to be returned at the soonest possible opportunity.

In a way, I suppose it is such a day, only it is easier if you simply re-gift such items and hand them over to people who have nothing and, therefore, will be grateful for the sudden windfall of, say, a toaster that burns the words “I love you” into their bread. They will think you really care. In fact, they will be reminded of it daily.

In light of today’s theme, I have come across several re-giftable food-related items, a few of which I thought I’d share. If you have received anything particularly horrible this season, I would very much love it if you would share it, if not with your cleaning woman, intern, or CPA, then with me.

The Darth Vader toaster is a tough one. There is a certain geek chic to it I find (mildly) appealing, but the fact the the photo displays a piece of bread that, apart from the area charred by the dark side, looks stale and untouched. I would be inclined to re-gift this to my sister, whose Jedi name is Loreen Shadowchaser and has a sideline business of creating startlingly accurate reproductions of light sabers which are highly regarded in certain circles. The toaster is available at shop.starwars.com for a mere $54.99.

The Brownie Edge Pan sounds like a delightful gift for brownie lovers, but the uncut logs of brownie look more like uncut logs of brownie after having been digested. I can’t think of anyone upon whom I’d wish to foist this item, which is available at Get Organized for $19.80 (reduced from $19.98).

If one really wants to pamper one’s banana, the Banana Bunker is just the ticket at only $4.95 (or, if you want to shield and coddle a whole bunch, $19.95 for five). Available in fashion colors, your friends and co-workers will point out the obvious, condom-like qualities of this gadget which you will never live down. Ever. Even if you get a new job and move to another city.

The Automatic Martini Shaker can be found at Get Organized for $49.98. Get Organized, if you didn’t know, seems to be an unending font of gadgetry, spewing forth page upon page of unbelievable crap, as well as truly useful items. The Automatic Martini Shaker strikes me as a totally useless gift, of course, but especially for the wealthy, who have other people make their martini’s for them anyway. Perhaps one might give this to one’s favorite bartender with the thought of preventing the inevitable repetitive stress injury that will befall him or her a few years down the road. A thoughtful re-gift if there ever was one.

This last present, I think I would keep– it’s just too clever not to. Who doesn’t need a useful, not-so-subtle memento mori around the kitchen, especially if one is, say, carrying a boiling kettle of oil from stove to the countertop? Sadly, these Sylvia Plath oven mitts (once available at etsy.com for $28.00) have been sold out for weeks. The popularity of this item gives me hope, namely the hope that there are others out there just like me– people depressed enough by all the Holiday Cheer Pressure that piles upon us every year. Maybe, like me, they just want some quilted, poetic in-joke to cushion their heads as they lay them on the still- warm oven door , after the last gingerbread man has been baked, inhaling the sweet smell of another Christmas completed.

On My Shelf: American Cheeses

Last weekend, I wandered back into Omnivore Books on Food to pick up a copy of Margaret Visser’s The Rituals of Dinner, that store owner Celia Sacks was kind enough to order for me (without my even having to ask, thank you very much).

I knew Clark Wolf, author of American Cheeses: The Best Regional, Artisan, and Farmhouse Cheeses would be there, talking about his book with Soyoung Scanlan of Andante Dairy.

As an American who happens to love cheese, the timing of my store visit required little thought.

When I arrived a little late for the reading (owing to the fact that I had my face buried too deeply in another book, missed my stop, and had to walk an extra five blocks), the tiny book store was filled with people focused on the animated Mr. Wolf talking of his grandparents and the role they played in his culinary imprinting.

Chatty and extremely energetic in a way that I envy, but would find personally exhausting, Wolf read excepts from his book. For example, when explaining why the difference in price of cow v. goat v. sheep milk cheese:

“…sheep act like, well, sheep. If there’s a storm a-comin’ or one of the flock feels blue or there’s a new horse in the corral or a new dog in the field, they may just freak out and decide not to give milk, or be too upset to move easily into the milking barn. And when all is well, they still give only about a liter a day per sheep.”

After Wolf’s presentation, I decided to buy a copy of the book, having liked what he said enough to want to read more about American Cheese. And, no, not that kind of American Cheese, though that is briefly but firmly discounted in the book. I then asked him to sign my Margaret Visser book, since she was not present.

I’m glad I bought the book. It is as personable and informal as Wolf is in person, which is a good thing. Though not encyclopedic in its scope, there is a lot of good information to be gleaned from its pages.

From such basic information as the definition of what constitutes cheese, the different categories of it , how each is made, and good looking recipes in which they might find good employ, to the short biographies of America’s leading cheese producers, it reads more like a “getting to know you” book– as though, through reading, you have casually picked the brain of an entertaining cheesemonger, which is essentially how Clark Wolf began to gain his 30-plus years of cheese-related knowledge in the first place.

But what , if anything, defines a cheese as “American”? Is there some unifying factor? Some unique coagulate or binding force? Not exactly. When asking, for example, a Southern cheese maker in what ways her colleagues were regionally unifiable and identifiable, he received this response: “Absolutely no way at all. We’re each completely different.” And that was just the Southern contingent. If one starts to think about California cheese makers, one’s head might explode trying to come up with an answer.

Perhaps this lack of cohesion is what makes American Cheese makers, well, uniquely American. Or perhaps not. I shall look to the French,as so many cheese makers have done in the past, to put things into perspective. I will leave you with the unmistakably French shrugging-of-the-shoulder cynicism of Charles de Gaulle:

“On can’t impose unity out of the blue on a country that has 265 different kinds of cheese.”

Bourbon Balls

It’s the Holiday Season, if you haven’t noticed. Sappy music is piped into our ears if we dare venture pretty much anywhere outside. Macy’s is back to putting live kittens in their store windows. People are stressed out at the thought of having to entertain, buy presents, and spend their dwindling piles of money.

And I’m busy– I’ve got lots of parties to go to. Because I’m that popular.

I have decided that this year, in light of my own evaporating bankroll, I shall indulge in the spirit of giving by sharing with my friends and loved ones items I have made with my own little hands. Or not so little– I have more than an octave reach, in piano terms. Not that I play the piano.

This year, I am making Bourbon Balls. No jokes, please. They contain all the vitamins and minerals necessary to get me through the Season: sugar, chocolate, and alcohol. They are relatively easy to make, but look as though I’ve slaved away at them. And they’re good. Chocolaty, not too sweet, slightly salty, and just a little boozy.

The way I see it, the chocolate boosts not only one’s endorphins, thus enhancing one’s Holiday mood, it helps out the immune system, too. Alcohol, of course, lowers one’s inhibitions, which helps at just about any party I’ve ever been to. This leads me to the conclusion that, if there is some hot stranger in a Christmas sweater you’ve been eyeing from across the room, I might prescribe several Bourbon Balls before making your move. With the resultant boost in mood, courage, and disease immunity, you’ll be nicely set up for an approach. If he or she simply stares blankly and then proceeds to sneeze on you, you’re well protected. If this is the case, return to the plate of Bourbon Balls and repeat with your #2 choice of mate.

Bourbon Balls

The basic recipe seems to be comprised of crushed cookies, nuts, bourbon, and cocoa powder. None of the recipes I perused included salt, which I found alarming. So I added some. I would advise against going overboard with the Bourbon. You want the balls to taste of Bourbon, but not reek of it. Again, no jokes, please.

Makes about 25

For the filling:

28 to 30 vanilla wafers, finely crushed (about 1 cup)

1 cup toasted, shelled pecans, finely chopped

3 tablespoons good, unsweetened cocoa powder

2 tablespoons confectioner’s sugar

1/4 cup light corn syrup

3 tablespoons bourbon. Might as well make it a good one.

1/8 teaspoon kosher salt

For making them presentable:

25 whole pecans. On the small side. Either toasted or candied. I chose candied because, well, I’m making candy.

About 12 oz. of good bittersweet chocolate

Preparation:

1. Mix crushed wafers, pecans, sugar, cocoa, and salt together in a medium bowl. Combine bourbon and corn syrup in a separate, smaller bowl, add to the wafer mixture and stir well until combined. With a teaspoon measure, scoop a small bit and roll into a ball approximately the size of a walnut in its shell. Transfer onto a sheet pan lined with paper towels. Repeat, of course until done.

I say paper towels because, these balls are going to weep, which is not entirely surprising, given the faced that they have been so mercilessly plied with booze. It happens and we must be prepared.

2. In a double boiler or glass bowl which fits snugly over a saucepan with a little water in it, melt the chocolate. Gently place the balls, one by one, into the chocolate, turning them around with a fork (do not impale them. I use a small fork to allow excess chocolate to drip off the balls with ease.). Lift the ball out of the melted chocolate, and shake gingerly to remove excess chocolate. Place on a sheet pan lined with waxed or parchment paper. Repeat until all balls have been dipped. And you can stop your giggling now, thank you very much. While the chocolate is still wet, top each ball with a candied nut. Let them cool.

You may keep these refrigerated for up to one week, but I don’t think they’ll be around that long. Really.

Chowder, Chowder

I’ve had chowder on the brain ever since I attended a rally a couple of weeks ago at which I mistook the crowd’s chant of “Louder! Louder!” as– thanks to people blowing horns into my ears– “Chowder! Chowder!” I was teased about it by a friend of mine (the proud owner of two hearing aids, no less) who leaned over to me afterward to say, “All this heat and talk of marriage is making me crave a hot, milk-based soup.”

Sometimes, we hear what we want to hear.

I’ve been craving it ever since. Chowder, not marriage, I mean. Popping around the corner to Swan’s Oyster Depot is easier said than done, thanks to the usual line several eaters-deep on any given day. I don’t want it from a can– that’s too I’m-a-single-man-living-alone pathetic for my tastes. I’d hate to have anyone find the can in my garbage, because I have a reputation to protect. Since no one has offered me a steaming bowl of the stuff lately, nor is anyone on the horizon likely to, I knew I would have to make it myself.

But what kind?

There are any number of chowders to choose from. New England, Manhattan or Shrimp Chowder from the Gulf Coast? There are chowders made with oysters, with clams, lobster, crab, fish, and even corn. Thin and milky, or thick and creamy? There are as many types of chowder as there are people who make it. No two chowders are the same. There is not one particular recipe that defines the word, no matter what you might hear to the contrary. I have the feeling one could put Rice Krispies in a bowl with some potato, salt pork, and milk, heat it up and still get away with calling it a chowder, however the people of the North Atlantic Coast of this continent might complain.

The word “chowder” is most likely derived from the chaudière, the three-legged pot or cauldron in which it was cooked, in various forms, all along the Atlantic Coast of France in the centuries prior to European colonization of America.. Others might claim that the word is the bastard child of the Old English jowter, or fishmonger. I vote for chaudière, because I am, at heart, a francophile.

Coincidentally, Atlantic Seaboard-residing, pre-Columbian Native Americans made their own form of chowder which the early English colonists were initially hesitant to latch onto, since they seemed as mistrustful of shellfish as they were of just about everything else. Preferring bivalves to starvation, early settlers added their old standbys of ship biscuit and salt pork to the pot. The rest is, I believe, history.

Corn and Clam Chowder with Bacon

Since just about anything is fair game, in terms of chowder-making, I decided to combine two of my favorites, just to see how things went. A lobster chowder sounded wonderful, but too expensive. Crab, which was local, was at about $30.00 per pound. No thank you. I found some lovely Manila clams, which were not exactly local, but neither were they from Manila. The price was good, so I took them home in a little net bag with the thought of steaming them to death in the near future.

I love corn chowders, too, and anything with bacon it. I thought I’d throw all of these things in my own, legless chaudière and see what happened. The results were excellent. Nothing earth shattering but, then again, I have no plans to change the world by virtue of chowder making. Still, I am pleased.

The various amounts of ingredients are approximate, since I was just letting both the creative and clam juices flow. I neglected to write everything down.

Serves 4

Ingredients:

2 lbs. Manila clams, rinsed clean

1 stalk celery, coarsely chopped

1 medium-sized carrot, likewise chopped

1 yellow onion, peeled and diced.

1 bay leaf

3 stalks of thyme

several black peppercorns

1/4 lb salt pork, diced

3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced

3/4 pound ( five or six) red or other waxy potatoes, cut into 1/2″ cubes

2 cups fresh or canned yellow corn kernels, depending upon the season.

1 cup half and half

pinch of pimenton, or cayenne pepper

4 thick slabs of bacon, diced

salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:

1. In a saucepan large enough to accommodate them, lay the clams in with enough water to cover the bottom of the pan about 1″. Steam them until they are dead and have released their juice. Remove any unopened clams and give them a proper burial. Remove clam meat from shells. You may either discard the shells at this point or save them for a future crafts project. Set meat aside.
2. Add four cups cold water to the clam liquid, along with carrots, celery, peppercorns, thyme, and bayleaf. To make even clammier, you may add bottled clam juice to this mix. I did not. Cover and simmer on low heat for 45 minutes to one hour. Strain stock through a fine mesh sieve. Return to the same pot and reduce by half.
3. To the chaudière of your choosing, add bacon and fry slowly, rendering as much of the fat as possible. Do so until pieces are crisp. Remove and drain. To the hot bacon fat, add diced salt pork, and sauté over medium-low heat until likewise crisp. Drain and remove.
4. Add onions and garlic to the hot, double pig fat. Cook over low heat until soft, about 20 minutes.
5. Add onion mixture to the clam stock, along with the potatoes, salt pork, and corn. Simmer for about 10 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender. Stir in clams, a pinch of pimenton or cayenne pepper, and half and half. Do not boil, or you will regret it, deeply. Simmer for another 3 to 5 mintues.
6. Ladle into warm bowls and garnish with thyme and crispy bacon which you have not let anyone eat prior to serving. Eat with beer and oyster crackers, unless you have found clam crackers, which I have never in my life heard of. If you have, please send me some.