Just a quick shout-out to all my homeys — may your green bean casserole have muenster gooing all over it, may your tummy have room for ample pumpkin pie and may your homes in the year ahead be filled with laughter, joy and more than a few happy surprises.
This is our last T-Day in this neighborhood, and I am thankful for this house and for the new home to come. Thankful, too, for:
The husband who keeps me grounded while giving me wings.
The rug-rats who make everything — everything! — worthwhile.
Family who are as loving as they are crazy (in a good way, yes?!).
Friends who are patient, kind, encouraging and an utter hoot.
My 5-year-old asked me a question the other morning about a subject that I have often wondered about but have not taken the time to find the answer — until now:
What’s the difference between jelly and jam [and preserves and marmalade]?
Well, sweet pea, here’s a short blog post to answer your question (never mind that you can’t read well enough yet to understand what I write).
Jelly — made from fruit juice (most popular is grape) Jam — made from pureed fruit (most popular is strawberry) Preserves — made from whole fruit (most popular — in our house, anyway — is blackberry) Marmalade — made from a fruit’s zest and pulp (most popular is orange)
Howie got lucky — grapefruit marmalade in a keeper jar! (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/wapster/5366804239/)
Other popular flavors of jelly and jam include cranberry, mint and jalepeño pepper. Preserves come in a wide variety, including apple, plum and orange. While marmalade is almost exclusively made with citrus, its most popular flavor by a long shot is orange; count yourself lucky if you get your sticky hands on grapfruit, lemon or lime marmalade.
Everyone seems to know everything about hors d’oeuvres until it’s time to whip up a party invitation.
How the heck is it supposed to be spelled?
Webster’s New World College Dictionary defines the singular hors d’oeuvre as “a small portion of a tasty food served as an appetizer before a meal or as at a cocktail party.” Offering more than one delectable nibble? Then it’s hors d’oeuvres.
The French term originated sometime in the early 1700s, with the literal translation being “outside of the work.” Today, it’s virtually interchangeable with the word appetizer(s). Merriam-Webster defines appetizer as “a food or drink that stimulates the appetite and is usually served before a meal.”
Whatever it’s called, I think that it’s usually the very best part of the entire eating experience.
Bruschetta — made with crusty bread, olive oil, garlic, tomatoes and herbs — is a welcome hors d’oeuvre (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/purdman1/3092767445/)
I’ll pass along a couple of my favorites:
The first is called Italian butter, and this recipe is based on the Kansas City Italian eatery’s version. Although not a transportable finger food — it’s more of a sit-down-and-sop-your-bread sort of hors d’oeuvre — there is no better version of the traditional dipping oil.
A second hors d’oeuvre to try is homemade hummus. It’s über-healthy, extraordinarily tasty and quite simple to make. This version is initially served slightly warm but, if (and that’s a big “if”) you have leftovers, you can serve it chilled. It’s lemony, garlicky and beyond fabulous.
Oh, my. This is what I’m talkin’ ’bout — writing and editing information about recipes and food! How’d a girl get so lucky?
The newest incarnation of the AP Stylebook has a section dubbed Food Guidelines. It’s not long at barely two pages, but it’s a great addition to the guide. The majority consists of rules to follow for recipe writers and editors. So I’ll mention a few of these rules now and throw in a summertime (really, anytime) recipe for your eating pleasure:
Recipes are to start with a title in all caps.
Follow the title with a start-to-finish timeline (as in how long is it going to take before you can actually eat the thing you’re preparing).
How many servings your dish makes is next.
List your ingredients in the order used (makes sense) and spell out all measurements (e.g., teaspoon (not tsp.), cup (not c.)).
If you have an atypical ingredient, you can add clarification (e.g., ghee (clarified butter).
Use numerals in all cases (i.e., measurements, times, temperatures) except for two numbers that are next to each other. In that case, spell out the first number and use a numeral for the second number (e.g., two 14.5-ounce cans).
Write the recipe instructions in short, clear sentences.
If your recipe calls for an oven, add something like “Heat the oven to 400 F” at the beginning of the recipe unless the recipe takes more than half an hour to complete. If that’s the case, either add that instruction in at an appropriate time or find a shorter recipe!
Write sentences with equipment or technique at the beginning, followed by the ingredients (e.g., “With the hand mixer on medium, whisk the cake mix, egg and oil together for two minutes”). That seems a bit picky for my liking, but whatever.
Any nutrition information that you’d like to add to the recipe, such as fat (!), calorie or sodium content, goes at the bottom.
Isn’t that fun? Now, for the really fun part: This recipe is something I created from memory. I had gone to a Kansas City Mexican restaurant that doesn’t exist anymore and tasted the most wonderful, flavorful, sweet guac imaginable. And the following recipe is what I came up with. The “secret” ingredient? Orange juice — it adds a hint of sweetness to this otherwise zesty appetizer. Please keep in mind that people who have sworn up and down that they are not guacamole people have tried this and loved it. They weren’t just being polite, either, so you should give it a whirl. I don’t have any nutritional information, but I do know that it’s a pretty healthy dish with healthy fats. Just as with everything, eat it in moderation — if you can.
Guacamole served in a traditional molcajete Credit: (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bionicteaching/3099666450/)
9-INGREDIENT GUACAMOLE
Start to finish: 10 minutes
Servings: 3–5
3 ripe avocados, seeded and skinned
1/3 white or red onion, diced
1 hefty tablespoon minced garlic
1 handful fresh cilantro, chopped
1 jalapeño, diced (to taste)
3 squirts lime juice (bottled or fresh)
3 tablespoons orange juice
Several shakes Lawry’s seasoned salt
Ground black pepper (to taste)
Combine all ingredients in a bowl and mash till slightly chunky. If too spicy due to jalapeño, add another avocado. Serve with tortilla chips, as an accompaniment to any Mexican meal or as a topper for grilled white fish, such as tilapia or halibut or orange roughy.
Now that’s a nice-lookin’ recipe.
Hungry for more information about this guac? Check this article out.
I love food. More specifically, if I were a player on “Survivor,” I would love food, but as I’m just an average Jane doing my thing in this world and not having to eat bugs to survive, I love good food. One part of food — one of many, I dare say — which I love most is the language of it. Food in its presentation state isn’t just food; it’s much grander than that.
For example:
Cow is not cow; it’s beef.
Pig is not pig; it’s pork.
Goose liver is not goose liver; it’s foie gras.
Bull testicles are not bull testicles; they’re Rocky Mountain oysters.
A pan full of everything but the kitchen sink is not a pan full of everything but the kitchen sink; it’s paella.
Granted, nothing in the above list would make it onto my pescetarian plate (not even seafood paella, as I’m relatively picky when it comes to seafood, as well). However, the point is the same: The language of food romanticizes what ends up plated in front of eager patrons.
One such subtle change in the language of cuisine that I’ve recently noticed has to do with beans. Yes, beans. Those plain-ol’, little, inexpensive peas, beans and lentils are also known as pulses. I think I heard the term a year or so ago (which could easily mean I heard it five or more years ago) but dismissed it as random terminology.
When it comes to pulses, it’s what’s inside that counts (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/fragiletender/3664759157/)
Pulses are random no more. Not only is Wikipedia fully up on it, but pulses also made it onto the menu of the restaurant that just topped — for the second year in a row — the S. Pellegrino World’s 50 Best Restaurants list. That’s pretty impressive for a lowly seed and its brethren.
Pulses carry with them a bevy of benefits:
High in protein
High in fiber
High essential amino acid content
Virtually fat-free
Affordable
Versatile (pulses are either a mainstay or an accompaniment in nearly every world cuisine)
For me, though, the main emphasis of this post is to emphasize the use of the term “pulse” rather than the oh-so-2010 term “bean.” Since it seems to be incorporating itself into the lexicon a bit more frequently these, days, I’m thinking that making a three-pulse salad or American chili with pulses and Cherokee purples sounds much more palatable and in-the-know.
Ever since I was a kid, my ears have liked to play tricks on me:
Excuse me while I kiss this guy!
Dirty deeds and the thunder chief!
There is a place in time sweet as honey!
All I can do is just pull some teeth or two!
So my life goes. Songs haven’t been the only things that I’ve mistakenly spoken or written about. A biggie that stands out in my mind is the beige folder that’s in every office in America. Also the beige envelope with the little button that you wind a string around to keep the envelope’s contents from spilling out onto the floor. You know what I’m talking about.
The vanilla folder.
Well, it is sort of vanilla-like in color. And a gazillion other people also call it the vanilla folder, even though that’s not the thing’s name.
This is my kind of vanilla (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/acfou/3189690364/)
That beige folder (and its kissing cousin, the large beige envelope) is called a manila folder.
The manila folder got its name from the original fiber content of the paper — manila hemp — which was derived from the leaves of the abacá (a species of banana that grows in the Philippines). Manila is also the capital of the Philippines, which is a primary abacá producer.
Coincidence? I think not.
So while a folder may remind you of vanilla and be as exciting as imitation vanilla, by any other name — and any other color — that file folder your carrying around is still a manila folder.
Ice cold and not so sweet — that’s how I like my tea. Apparently, that’s how the AP Stylebook folks like referring to the political tea party, as well.
OK, fine — I’ll try to keep my political views out of this.
The 2011 AP Stylebook succinctly explains the tea party as a “populist movement opposing [the] Washington political establishment.” That’s a short and not-so-sweet account of what the tea party is for those who may not have yet heard of the movement. All two of them.
Please note the lowercase “T” and “P” in the name. That’s really the reason for this post. I’ve seen Tea Party just about everywhere. The AP Stylebook — the ultimate writer’s guide (or should that be “the ultimate guide for writers? See? This writing gig is no cakewalk, folks) — lowercases the phrase, and so I intend to do the same. I wish the same for you.
Now this is a tea party! (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/preppybyday/5076312167/)
Iced tea, by the way, is a fantastic drink to sip all day long if you’re looking for some flavor without calories or weird sweeteners. Regular tea has caffeine, so try non-caffeinated teas if you’re worried about being too wired. Either way, drinking tea keeps you hydrated, which (in my opinion) is a quick cure for a lot of what ails us.
Look at that — not a thing to do with grammar. Oy!
For all you lovers of all things short (and I’m referring to language, not to those under 5′3″, such as yours truly), here’s a short-but-oh-so-sweet entry about two abbreviations that are often confused with each other.
i.e., = in other words. OK, really it means id est (which roughly translates to that is) in Latin. Always (always!) use a comma after the second period and, yes, always use both periods (i.e.,). Use i.e., for anything that may need to be expanded upon in a slightly different way in order for your meaning to be clear:
I went to a Dave Matthews Band concert (my fourth) last night and, yes, they were as fantastic live as ever. So what does it have to do with language? Ooh, so glad you want to know.
Going to the show, I was thinking about different songs that I hoped the band would play. (”Long Black Veil” was on my list but didn’t make the lineup.) “One Sweet World” popped into my head. (But, alas, it didn’t get any stage time, either.)
Say “One Sweet World” without thinking about a yummy scoop — or bowl — of Ben & Jerry’s “One Sweet Whirled” ice cream; it can’t be done, at least not by me.
And then I thought, “Hey, that would make a great topic for a Bloody Well Write entry.” And so it begins.
So what’s this thing called wherein two words, such as world and whirled, sound alike but have different meanings, origins and (usually) spellings? They’re called homophones, my friends.
In a perfect world (and I use the term perfect extraordinarily rarely, as it’s the unicorn of language — it pretty much doesn’t exist), world and whirled would be pronounced slightly differently, with world having a deeper, rounder sound and whirled sounding a bit more forward in the mouth, sort of tinny. As I mentioned, though, this world is far from perfect and the vast majority of folks would agree that world and whirled sound alike.
Homophones are, in the English language, words that confuse English as a second language (ESL) folks and everyone else trying to expand vocabulary. You may have a particular homophone or two that still haunt you to this day. Have no fear that you’re alone in this matter, because you’re absolutely not. Here are just a few that I usually have to look up to be doubly sure that I’m using the correct word:
For those who don’t know me well, I will share this morsel with you:
I’m all about food.
Granted, I’m a pescetarian — someone who doesn’t eat land animals (e.g., chicken, cow, pig, sheep, etc.) — but I do eat seafood and fish, in addition to fruits, dairy products, grains and the occasional vegetable. And tomatoes? They’re OK, I suppose. I’ve eaten them my entire life but haven’t really been in awe of them.
Not, that is, until the past decade, when a friend introduced me to Insalata Caprese. Now, I’m hooked.
Insalata Caprese translates from Italian into English thus:
