Ode to Book Club

At least, a prosaic one.

The ladies are headed to my house this evening for our monthly book club. In our book club, we meet once a month. We rotate houses. We meet at 6:30 pm on a weeknight. We pay dues, which are tucked away into a cookie jar. When we have enough cash, we splurge. (Two years ago we went to the beach for a winter weekend of fine dining, hot tubbing, and book talk.) In our book club we have seven members, ages ranging from the thirties to the several decades wiser than thirties. We highly value this mixture of spunk and spit (or spit and spunk, really). In our book club, the hostess prepares a homemade meal (often lavish, but not required) from scratch and uses her good plates. Often the hostess will prepare food that fits the setting of the novel. In our book club, we have "check in", meaning we move around the dinner table telling what has happened in our lives since last book club. (Years of personal narrative add up to a rich tapestry. Ugh, that was so cheesy, but true.) We save our book discussion for after dinner. The leader, who selected the book, gets us started, often providing an author's biography or other salient details. Sometimes she uses prepared reading guide questions. Often, she just says (the equivalent of) "Go!"

American Idol for Authors

This is it: Gather.com is sponsoring an author's showdown. Post your novel on the their site and it might just be voted the next American Masterpiece. Or even nail you down to a publishing contract. Doubt your deft handling of plot and characterization? Harbor illusions of literary genius? Don't spend another moment in a dither. Take it to the readers.

The way it works: Forget about that dented manuscript scattered in chapters around your house, in your car, and at the bottom of your to-do list. You won't even need to print off a fresh hot-ink perfumed version. E-mail your full-length commmerical fiction manuscript to Gather.com. You must be 17 (or older) to submit yourself to your reading audience.

They will publish your novel online one chapter at at time. And the reading public will vote to keep you alive (or vote to eliminate you, I mean your novel). If you survive three rounds of voting and are chosen the next American Author-to-be-published, you will receive assorted cash prizes AND a publishing contract. Beware: by entering the contest you agree "that if you are selected as the Grand Prize Winner, you will sign Simon & Schuster’s standard publishing agreement within five days of receipt of the agreement."

Read all about it in The New York Times

Gather.com First Chapters Writing Competition

New Year's Day Menu

French Meat Pie
by Sister M. Concepta Mermis
(with my commentary in blue!)

31/2 lb. ground pork
1 lb. ground beef
2 tsp. salt
3 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. pepper
1 1/2 tsp. ground cloves
1 tsp. celery salt
1 c. dry bread crumbs (or more)
1 onion

Cook meat and 1 onion in water to cover meat, simmer about 45 minutes to 1 hour. Break up the meat with a wooden spoon as it cooks. Remove onion and discard--even though it must be very, very tasty. Set aside to cool. Let cool (possibly over night) until the fat congeals on top.

Skim off grease (use to make pastry). Making the pastry shell with the grease from the meat is possible and delicious, but has reduced me to tears. I use store-bought pastry shells. Add bread crumbs and seasonings. You may need to add more bread crumbs. Put meat mixture into pastry shell, top with crust. Slit the top of the crust to allow steam to escape. Bake on cookie sheet or foil in case the pie bubbles over. Bake about 35 minutes or until brown in 400 degree oven. Let stand about thirty minutes before serving.

Makes enough meat filling for 3 - 4 pies. At least that is what I have written in my family recipe book according to mom's directions. Except that I HALVED the recipe and still got two pies. So really there is generous meat for 4 (8- inch) pies.

This year I bowed to pressure and added "Hungarian" spices to one of the pies. I used a hefty dose of paprika and two garlic cloves added in large wedges (meant to be fished out for the faint of heart), leaving out the cinnamon and cloves, of course. It was decent, especially with a dollop of sour cream. But it is not French meat pie. It is not New Year's Day.

Serve with creamed peas (and/or corn) and mashed potatoes. Pour the creamed peas over the slice of meat pie for the proper presentation.

Although I grew up eating (or choking down) black-eyed peas for good luck, I left them off the menu today. Living on the edge. Tempting the legume fates.

Christmas Traditions

In the Hungarian tradition Saint Nick arrives to fill your shoes in early December. The angels bring your tree and gifts on Christmas Eve.

Since our little angel spends Christmas in New York, we have another Christmas with him a few days after the calendar dictates. This provides an excellent opportunity for community building.

The problem: we need a tree after Christmas. You can't even buy fresh cranberries anymore. I tried. I got the canned instead.

The solution: Our neighbors take down their tree the day after Christmas and leave it for us on their front lawn.

We trudge down the block, me in my tree-collecting monstrosity of a Wild Tibetan hat, the others with thick gloves to protect against pine needles (which are decidedly dried out by this time in the tree's decorative life). It is a short block back to the house with our needle-shedding prize.

Thus, the recycled tree is reincarnated in our living room. We decorate it with szalon cukor candies (yummy zseles are our favorite) and knotted strings of orbular lights. Later, when we leave the house for a walk around the block, the angels visit us and leave our gifts. Now that is a holiday tradition.

Post Argentina From Kansas

This post is penned from my home state, Kansas. I returned to Indiana on Tuesday from Buenos Aires, went to work on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and then flew out from Chicago home to Kansas on Friday evening. I know O'Hare too well these days.

Buenos Aires deserves several extensive posts. Right there on the back of the travel guide it says it all: "Paris of the South, cafe on every corner, thick steaks, and fashionable boutiques." And yet until you walk its vibrant streets and dine on great slabs of grilled meat that bring back your faith in the virtues of beef, you can hardly believe the jewel that it is.

We stayed in a wonderful little hotel called 1555 Malabia (which is also its address) in an area of town called Palermo SoHo. The streets are crowded with cafes, restaurants, and designer boutiques. In another part of town they have the high-end international brands (Armani, etc.). Our neighborhood had local Argentine designers and the style and price ratio are literally overwhelming. Avoid the gorgeous malls, head straight for Palermo.

Of all the wonders we engorged ourselves on during our brief few days there, one of the highlights was definitely our night of tango at La Viruta, which is located minutes from our hotel in the basement of a cultural house. This is where the Argentines go to dance, and where the ex-pats go to learn. We managed to reserve a table and ordered a bottle of champagne (a break to heighten our enjoyments of the Argentine Malbec, a hearty red wine). Soon six couples emerged and strutted across the dance floor to the boisterous introductions of the "leader." We don't speak Spanish. They danced a few numbers and then the whole room assembled into three learning levels for our lessons. We were absolute beginners. It was tense at times--trying to smile our way into a clearer example via body language. But we managed to get the steps with a bit of grace to spare.

After the lesson the regular dancing began. Happily the tango numbers were interspersed with American fifties-era style songs which we managed to fake our way through. It was a wonderful night that had only begun as we left the tango place at nearly 1 am.

The rain was a wall of water.

We slipped into a restaurant next door that promised a dry table and middle-eastern food.

We ordered a Malbec and a plate of cheese, soon to be followed by the best halva I have ever eaten (and we eat a lot of it!).

The best part of this new place: A private party of about 20 Greek-Argentines celebrating the end of the school year and the start of summer. We got there as the dancing commenced. This is a restaurant--not the kind of place a group of diners would take over in Indiana, let's say. And these Greeks could really, really dance. We stayed until almost 3 am sipping our wine, watching the Greek goddesses (and one god) circle, weave, dip and "oopah" the night away right before our eyes.

The Greeks could dance, no doubt. Still they didn't come close to the smoldering tango. If only I were Argentine.

24 Hours in Argentina

This will be short. I don´t want to waste my sunshine time clacking away inside the hotel.

This is our second day in Mar del Plata, a beach town about 4 hours drive south of Buenos Aires. Yesterday a young man was making small talk with me (in English). After the first few usual topics, he asked me if I was vegetarian. Odd question unless you know that this is the land of meat. So, we ate meats--blood sausage, chorizo sausage, and a massive steak sliced and grilled before our eyes. Served slighty pink even though they didn't ask how we like it done. They just know. Divine.

We saw tango. Ate manjar (as they call it in Chile, we learned a few years ago). Walked a mile in the wrong direction (not to mention the wrong shoes). Used our umbrella on the beach (because of rain!). I took a nap. Talked to a local, who mentioned that new government restrictions have discouraged cattle production. Took a walk along the port and saw (and smelled) the local population of sea lions (very, very). Toured an aristocrat´s home, now a museum with a fantastic display of jewelry. Saw lots of stone and/or brick houses. Ate more manjar (dulce de leche).

Did I mention the cows ranging across the endless verdant plains? More grass, taller trees than in Kansas. Same oceanic skies as far as the eye can see in all directions.

24 hours in Argentina. More to come.

Post Bourguignonne

Dear Reader (Hi mom!),

The dinner party was a joy and the boeuf bourguignonne fork-tender and deceptively straightforward. Our guest of honor, G.S., recognized the dish by name, giving me a start because it is generally best to present an unknown dish and capitalize on the surprise factor. Nevermind the non-beef eating guest and the last minute vegetarian.

My next dutch oven adventure: coq au vin.

A nice surprise: I was chatting with my mom about the dinner party and my lack of dinnerware. She was puzzled because she had given me an entire set last April. I had no idea. I thought it was a tea set. I dug into the miles of tissue paper and sure enough there was a beautiful set of china, complete with salt and pepper shakers. It was a perfect setting for our quasi-french meal. It makes me wonder what other treasures I have waiting for me in packed boxes in the attic.

This week: Book Club (our annual Christmas fete), work, and then off to a southerly clime for a few days of honeymoonish type adventures. Sun, red wine, grass-fed beef, tango. . .

My read for the trip: Amy Hempel's collection of short stories and my first goaround with Orwell's 1984. Although Borges may be a better choice. . .

Boeuf Bourguignonne

A few entries ago I mentioned that I was NOT into cooking these days. Famous last words. We are hosting a dinner party and "we" are cooking a fabulous meal for six. Inspired by Julie/Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously by Julie Powell and the culinary expertise of M. in Book Club, I am going for that classic french dish, Boeuf Bourguignonne. Alas, I do not own Julia Child's cook book. I will rely on the Joy of Cooking, which is probably a bastardization of the original. It is the best I can do.

I am glad to have the excuse to cook. This occasion has spurred me to buy my very first dutch oven. Up until now, if I saw "dutch oven" in a recipe, I turned the page. Now I can master slow cooked meats (giving me plenty of time to read while I am cooking). The dutch oven is gleaming on my stove top as I sit here and type. I even bought a 10-cup coffee maker so that I can offer coffee to my guests. Domesticity is in the air. It is snowing too.

The meat is marinating. Tomorrow I'll slow cook it. Wednesday is the event.

Boeuf Bourguignonne Recipe
(from Joy of Cooking, with thanks to Cracker Jack'd, who posted it December 13, 2005)

Cut into 2-inch chunks:

• 2 pounds boneless beef chuck, short-rib meat, or bottom round

Place the meat in a large bowl and add:

• 2 cups dry red wine (I chose a Beaujolais; Pinot Noir is recommended)
  
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 1 onion, chopped
• 1 carrot, peeled and chopped
• 1 clove garlic, chopped
• 1 bay leaf
• 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
• 1 teaspoon fresh thyme, or scant 1/2 teaspoon dried
• 1 teaspoon cracked black peppercorns
• 1/2 teaspoon salt

Stir to combine and coat the meat. Cover and marinate in the refrigerator for 1 hour or up to 24 hours, turning the meat occasionally. Drain the beef and pat dry. Strain the marinade and reserve it and the vegetables separately. Heat a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add and brown:

• 4 ounces bacon, diced (I plan to subsitute a healthy dollop of zsir-otherwise known as lard- made by my local Hungarian culinary source.)
  

Remove the bacon, leaving the fat in the pan. You should have at least 2 tablespoons of fat. If not, add some vegetable oil. Return the pan to medium-high heat. Add the beef in batches and brown on all sides, being careful not to overcrowd the pan. Remove with a slotted spoon. Add the reserved vegetables and cook until lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Stir in:

• 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

Cook, stirring, until beginning to brown, about 1 minute. Stir in the marinade, then return the beef and bacon to the pan. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and cook, covered, until the meat is fork-tender, 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Add:

• 8 ounces mushrooms, wiped clean and quartered (I bought tiny portobellos.....)
  
• 8 ounces small boiling onions, peeled (I will use pearl onions as I have no idea what a "boiling onion" might be. To peel the onions: pour boiling water on the onions and let cool. Then cut off the ends and the skin will slip off with a little push.)
  

Cover and cook until the vegetables are tender, about 20 minutes. (It took longer than 20 minutes for the onions to tenderize. You could saute them in a little butter before adding them to the stew to speed up the process.) Skim off the fat from the surface. Add:

• 1/4 chopped fresh parsley
• Salt and ground black pepper to taste

To thicken, you may add in 1 tablespoon kneaded butter (which is butter creamed with flour).

"Heavy" Readers

"For decades, reading studies have repeatedly found that 'heavy readers' not only read more books than light readers and nonreaders but also do more of almost everything else, including traveling, attending sports events and concerts, visiting museums, and participating in community organizations and politics. For many, reading is a way of being engaged with the world. These readers like to know about things and they read to find out."

"Reading Non-Fiction for Pleasure: What Motivates Readers?" Catherine Ross in Nonfiction Readers' Advisory, Robert Burgin (ed)

A Few Laughs