Brown paper packages tied up with strings...

This is not a post about The Sound of Music. Sorry to disappoint if that's where you hoped this was going. Allow me to link one quote with another, though, and I promise all will make sense by the end of this post. Ok. Kurt Vonnegut wrote something like “I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.'” 

That profound little nugget enjoyed a few years on my Facebook page, and then I decided that I was not the sort of person who quotes Kurt Vonnegut in public forums (whatever that means) and took it down, but the message has always resonated with me. It's good to be conscious of the small things that make us happy, and to be grateful for their presence. Simple pleasures, right? 

I find that my mood can be instantly improved by the presence of certain things, especially when those things manifest in the form of an SVU marathon or chocolate milk. Small digression, my coworker once bought me a carton of chocolate milk just because she knows how much I like it, just came by and plopped it on my desk, and I swear that is damn near the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. You may be thinking that people must not do nice things for me very often, but honestly I just really love chocolate milk and kind gestures. Don't you? Anyway. 

I know that I usually write about food, but today I just want to make a list of the things I'm feeling especially fond of or grateful for lately. And much of it gravitates towards the edible, so I haven't departed altogether from my usual content. Ironically, I'm not typically fond of list making, since lists are usually just full of the shit I need to do, buy or accomplish and that makes me want to take a nap. But there's something about a list of favorite things that reminds you why life is good. And I happen to think everyone should be reminded of that once in a while. Here's my list. What's on yours?

frequenting a place often enough to be considered a regular 

when vacation is close enough to really start getting excited

when my birthday overlaps with that vacation

ordering exactly the right thing at a restaurant

getting a package in the mail

reading the Sunday Times…on Sunday

the sound of peeling a clementine apart

the smell of garlic sizzling in olive oil

championing a cause you are passionate about

spring showing up for good

buying perfectly ripe avocados

unexpected opportunity

elegant handwriting

starting a brand new book

feeling confident in your choices

making dinner reservations somewhere really snazzy

nine hours of sleep or more

and finally, the rare mornings when I get a seat on the metro

on beans and bacon, and nudging dry leaves around cement

Lately I've been focused on learning to cook simply. Maybe that's not the right way to say it. It's more that I'm starting at the beginning, with ingredients that are simple, and learning to prepare them in ways worthy of their grand potential. I'm knee deep in Tamar Adler's An Everlasting Meal and it really has me thinking about the way we approach cooking. 

She writes in the first chapter, like MFK Fisher wrote for World War II era heads of house in How to Cook a Wolf, that we should be more confident in our abilities to transform the contents of our pantry into wonderful meals. We should celebrate with what we have and should shop and cook like who we are, people who are learning to cook and people who are hungry. And we should eat affordably, responsibly and well. Her words resonate with me and slow me to a pause. Reminding the reader that there is no such thing as perfect, she writes what is so far my favorite passage...

"When we cook things, we transform them. And any small acts of transformation are among the most human things we do. Whether it's nudging dry leaves around a patch of cement, or salting a tomato, we feel, when we exert tiny bits of our human preference in the universe, more alive."

That's the stuff, right? I've had her words in the back of my mind for the past few days, and I listen to them when I cook. I'm focusing on simplicity and making the most of what I have, bending it to my preference. Side bar...if you read this blog at all, you know that as a rule, I tend to buy more than I need and am intrigued by any condiment not already sitting on my shelf. I get excited for new recipes and sometimes end up buying a jar of something that I need two teaspoons of. While this has resulted in an extremely impressive array of mustard, it's also somewhat needless. So with Tamar's poetic advice, I'm focusing instead on the possibilities found in bits of onion, and other basics we underestimate.

The other night I took her words as a challenge and made dinner from only what I had on hand, save for $2 worth of endive I bought at the grocery store because I literally had nothing green in my apartment. (Shame on me.) I started with white beans, bacon and beef broth and ended with something that warmed me, filled and fulfilled me. The beans, simmered slowly in broth, glossy with rich bacon fat, were as creamy as mashed potatoes. I dressed them with a healthy drizzle of good olive oil and a hint of aged balsamic and the bowl sang.

This was just my cabinet. I strongly advise that you try the same exercise. I think you will be pleasantly surprised at what you can come up with. But if you happen to have beans, bacon and a few bouillon cubes hanging around, this is really something.

Measurements are rough...this made two healthy portions

6 pieces of thick bacon, cut into lardons
Half a medium onion, I used a red because it was all I had
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 regular or one large can cannellini beans, drained
1 cup beef broth (or one bouillon cube dissolved into one cup hot water)
1/2 lb belgian endive, cored and coarsely chopped. Kale would be nice too.
Fresh thyme, 3 or 4 stems worth
Olive oil for drizzling

Cook the bacon in a large pan over medium heat until it's crispy, then transfer it to a paper towel. Lower the heat and add the onion and saute until soft, then add the garlic, thyme and endive and saute for a few minutes, until the endive is wilted and translucent. Add the bacon back into the pan, then pour the beans and broth. Partially cover the pot and simmer on low for about 30 minutes. The longer you let it go, the more the flavors develop. (I just happened to be really hungry after half an hour.) You can always add more broth if it reduces down too much.

Ladle your beans into a bowl - they should be thick and wet, with some broth pooling at the bottom. Lavish them with a good grind of pepper and a drizzle, or dousing, of olive oil. I also gave them a little sweet balsamic love, but that's just me.

More soon with other things I'm sure this book will teach me. Until then, beans and bacon. I'm telling you.