Family meal night

For this post, I'm taking a break from business topics and back to food. As in past musings about food, it’s more about the experience than the recipe.

We have always made a point to eat as a family for dinner. Breakfasts and lunches are trickier, doing our best when we can. Call us old-fashioned, but it was something that we tried to instill in our children. Having meals together is one of the best times to really talk to each other. Find out what’s happening in each other’s lives. Getting all the schedules to align wasn’t and isn’t always easy. Sometimes meals are early or late to accommodate a family member. Rather than skip or exclude we have tried to make it work.

Most days the conversation is nothing more than the usual “How was your day?” banter. But it is still conversation and usually evolves into something more serious, and sometimes not so serious. It may be only for the duration of the meal, but it allows everyone to take a breath, catch up, and recharge.

The focus on dining together has morphed into special meals and “days”. Sundays have now become family breakfast days. And although some have moved out on their own, they occasionally return for the Sunday specialties. While we each will try a unique breakfast, Sundays have become my wife’s chance to show off and make some special meals.

Pizza night

Friday’s have turned into Pizza night. Having a hankering for cast iron deep-dish pizza I set out making one. It was a hit so the next week I tried a different version of a pizza by making my own dough. The sensation caught on and now we have homemade pizza every Friday we’re home. Each of us takes a different week and comes up with our own creations, from traditional versions to exotic.

Deconstructed meals

The “bowl” options at many fast-casual restaurants have inspired us to make our own bowls at home. Mediterranean, Mexican, Japanese, even Italian, we have deconstructed just about any dish normally served in a wrap or other type of containment. It has become a happy challenge for me and anticipation for the family to see what we can break down. To add to the enjoyment the ingredients are set up in a build your own, assembly line, fashion along the kitchen counter. This allows everyone to get even more creative and adjust the meal to his or her taste.

Burrito bowls have been commercially prepared for years. Nothing new here, just a fun meal in a bowl at home. Shawarma isn’t really “deconstructed” but it is one of our favorites and still fun to build and eat with warm naan bread.

One of our all-time favorites is a deconstructed California roll, which is the bowl featured as the post picture. Made with everything you’d find in the roll such as imitation crabmeat, avocado, cucumber strips, carrots, sesame seeds, and seaweed “chips” as a garnish. I used jasmine rice for its aroma and stickiness.

Nothing here is going to end up on Food Network. This isn’t a panacea that fixes all family problems. It is a family tradition that harkens to childhoods and playing outside until called to supper. Or you heard the dinner bell. Funny thing is, my wife and I both grew up in the same state but in different parts. Not so different that both our families did, in fact, have dinner bells. And we ran when we heard them. Because you had meals as a family. That was that. At that moment in time, you know where everyone is. That everyone is safe.

Check the blog archive for other posts relating to food, meals, and recipes.

Omelet station observations July 2018

Recipe for history December 2017

Omelet station observations

Observations of human nature while at the omelet station. 

While having breakfast at a hotel restaurant I was seated at a table facing the omelet station. The station was set up along long tables/s/ that were configured with a curve. Allowing the chef to access both ends with few steps and little reach. There were no signs but it was obvious, to me at least, which end of the table the finished omelets were being dispensed. The starting point had a varied selection of ingredients and the eggs. The middle section had four portable burners. The end had a stack of plates. The chef would greet each guest at the ingredient end and ask how to prepare the omelet. The chef would fill the pan with the guest’s selection and place the pan on the next available burner to coincide with where the guest was in line. The guest, it was assumed, was to follow the pan throughout the process and pick up the finished omelet at the other end.

Throughout my meal I observed the majority of people respond to the process as described above. A very few waited at the end of the line to place their order but were politely pointed in the correct direction by other guests. My observations were not about how efficient the omelet station worked but how people act and react towards others and stimuli in general.

For the most part, everyone was polite to the chef. A few seemed to have problems with the system or were just, simply, rude. The whole process of receiving your omelet took far less than five minutes. Probably a much shorter time than would take someone to create the same meal at home. Yet, people cannot wait that long. They’d place their order and walk off. Some would go to another food station, make some choices and return. Some would wander off and return with nothing else. The problem is that they would reinsert themselves in a line that had passed them by, causing some consternation from those waiting. Additionally, their leaving the area would mess up the chef’s rhythm. He would complete an order and have no one to hand it to. I’m sure he was not supposed to or would rather not have plated an omelet and leave it to set on the table.

For some reason, a choice of cheese was made at the end of the process as the omelet finished. This caused the chef to have questions about the order. If no one were there he would have to make a decision to add or not add cheese. I saw this happen on one occasion causing the guest to complain and the chef to trash the omelet and start over.

One gentleman was on his phone during the ordering phase and then walked away. As his omelet progressed through the line he returned to the area of the station but did not approach, still on his phone. The chef waited for the man to approach, which he did not. Guessing that the chef did not want to call out across the room, he motioned to get the man’s attention and while that did work the man did not approach or pause his call to address the chef. Couldn’t tell if the final decision was cheese or no cheese.  

Some people tend to have an air of superiority when it comes to the service industry. Whether they were raised in privilege or act that way when they are out, they treat food service workers as their personal servants. Few please and thank yous were provided. Personally, I try to be polite to people handling my food. You should expect to be provided with appropriate service, but ticking off the wait staff before you receive your food may not be wise. These situations seem to bring out the rudimentary manners we were all taught or neglected for basic human interaction.

The main observation was the lack of patience society has developed. Granted this was breakfast at what could be described as a business hotel. People aren’t their best in the mornings to start with, let alone while on business travel. There were no sociological breakthroughs. Just curious as I watched people interact with the chef and each other. Some over complicating a simple process. Some just go with the flow. For the most part, it was a congenial process that sent people off with a made to order hot omelet.

Recipe for history

This is a little off topic for this blog, but struck me as a good subject. My daughter has been encouraging me to write a food blog so maybe this will be the start or the transition. Don’t expect a recipe at the end though. This is a story about what is behind a worn recipe card.

Several years ago I became interested in my paternal family history. A distant relative had already completed the maternal side and no one had looked in to the paternal side of my family. Great grandparents were traced back to Italian villages. Birth/death/marriage certificates, passenger manifests, and sundry documents were located and collected. What was discovered right in my cupboard was the impetus for this blog.

I have always treasured family recipes that live on in my daily and holiday cooking. Every family has a worn cookbook or recipe card from a relative. Sometimes more than photographs these are our connections to our heritage. The dish from the past can be created and brought to life in the modern world, living anew within our kitchen. The smells and tastes transport us to that relative’s kitchen where we helped or anxiously awaited the results from the oven or stovetop.

What set me on this culinary journey was a pastry. A little cookie that is sometimes filled with a minced citrus nut concoction. The cookies were remembered from my childhood but more recently as the cookies made their way into my children’s lives. We always knew them as Gloves as that was the name passed down by my Italian grandparents. There was a lull in the glove eating business until one day a package arrived from an aunt and uncle. Stuffed full was a box of gloves! Going Christmas tree hunting the next day the gloves accompanied us on the hunt. Every year we looked forward to the treat.

Making gloves is a little labor intensive and time consuming. Although we looked forward to the arrival of the package it did not come every year. We always got a little food gift but not always the gloves. I had family recipes but I did not have this one.

When I asked about the recipe, my aunt was quick to share. She hadn’t realized how much the gloves had become a part of my family’s holiday traditions. The preparation takes a lot of work and we all get busy during the holidays. Sometimes there just wasn’t the desire or open schedule to make the cookies. I, myself, make pizzelles every year. Some years it just seems like too much of a chore. Sometimes it takes a lot to drag out the pizzelle iron and set aside the time to make them. So I understood. I also found out from my aunt that the main reason our source dried up was because the uncle in the equation didn’t leave enough to share.

Like I needed another holiday treat to make, I never attempted to make the gloves. I did get the recipe and tucked it away. Last Christmas my daughter got me a blank recipe book for me to fill with old and new family recipes. That way they are all in one book, which could become our family’s recipe book to pass on. Certainly, all of the old recipes went in. While transcribing the glove recipe I noticed that there was an omission as to how to shape the cookies and the tool to use. Knowing that we would be visiting my aunt and uncle I put the recipe on hold until I could speak to them in person.

Once together, my aunt was more than happy to pull out her cookbook. I had family recipes, but to see the original pages and cards in her and my grandmother’s handwriting was touching. It was like visiting the family homestead in the old country or holding a certificate of marriage or birth of an ancestor. History. In your hands.

I found the information I was missing but also learned some more family history that I had never known. Turns out the crimping tool that is used to make the edges of the cookie was fashioned out of car parts by my grandfather. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist but he had an engineer’s mind and apparently (another family tidbit) was helpful in the kitchen when it came holiday baking time. When observed, the crimping tool is like any you’d see for crimping the edges of ravioli, wavy metal wheel on a wooden handle. Except it was hand made by my grandfather. Another thing to hold and behold.

Also learned was that in addition to gloves, the family called the cookies ewans. Never had I heard that reference. They were always gloves and I never questioned the meaning or origin. Just ate them. Well, my aunt and uncle could not provide any insight into the naming of the cookie. We just chalked it up to Italian-English translation diluted into family colloquialism.

But I couldn’t let it go. So once home I started researching the ingredients and names I had for the cookies to no avail. Thinking about the translation angle and no “W’ in the Italian language I was curious about the family name for the cookie “ewan”. I tried searching the Italian word for gloves, guanto or guanti. Now I know I should of started there but sometimes your mind processes the way it processes. Anyway, once that search was begun-Bingo! The recipes were filling up the search returns. Continuing the search I came across similar recipes for “wandies” and one that explained why the family called the cookies “ewands”. Finally! A connection. 

Once I had all of this information I could see how the literal translation of gloves to guanti would become wandie or ewands or even ewan. 

It was an interesting journey that made me realize all of the family history that is packed into a recipe card. Although I had enjoyed the cookies for many years and passed them on to my children I had never sought the meaning behind the recipe. 

This year will be my first attempt at these cookies. Fairly confident I’ll get it close. Maybe I can encourage some family help. Make some new traditions. But I do know that they will definitely be going into the holiday baking rotation.