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by Katie Grills, Community Relations VISTA Theatre Action Project got to play a small part in planning the first local America’s Sunday Supper event in Austin to celebrate the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. on Sunday, January 15, 2012. Sunday Supper is a national night of conversation that was started two years ago to honor the spirit of Dr. King. It’s a night to come together as a community and really get to the crux of what our world needs to be a better place. The goal of this first Sunday …

I wrote this blog about participating in America’s Sunday Supper through my job. Enjoy!

Black Friday sales might have hit a record this year, but let’s face it. We’re all cutting back and looking for ways to save.

No matter how broke we might all be, never forget: saving money on gifts doesn’t have to mean a decrease in quality! Spending less means a higher investment in creativity.

One of the most precious things that we have to give in our lives is our time. Making a gift for your friends and family is one of the best ways to show true interest in what they love. When you cook or bake from the heart, they’ll be able to appreciate your gift holistically. A homemade jam or a tin of cookies is like an extended hug–the receiver uses every sense when using the gift, and they’ll feel wrapped up in love every time they spread a smear of pesto on their sandwich or sprinkle vanilla sugar on their oatmeal.

I’m going to throw some links at y’all with great ideas for what to make for your loved ones in the weeks to come after the break.

Chances are that you or a friend have been in this situation before.

A mutual friend brings friends in from their home town, and the resident creeper of the group takes a liking to his victim from afar. The person leers. They stand uncomfortably close to you without your knowing, and have an uncanny ability to be undetected until you hear them breathing down your newly purchased cowl neck sweater. The suspect wanders back to their hole of a home, but they have a persistent ability to resurface in your life. Think of this person as a Daddy Long Legs of sorts–nagging, scary, yet their relationship with humanity is benevolent and symbiotic for the most port.

Drop this pleasant surprise of life down in Italy, throw in a dash of language barrier, and we have my relationship with a man who we will now refer to as Mr. Creeper.

Mr. Creeper and his boisterous buddies would venture into Rome with a couple of really nice girls I knew from our program that lived in the same town as these clowns. They always wanted to flock to Campo dei freakin’ Fiori. That’s where a good portion of the American girls were. I would always bite the bullet and make my way a few blocks over to the ridiculous American bars, just because I wanted to see the girls.

Such a Great Group of Girls!

Of course, all of the dreamy or funny Italian guys  flocked to the other girls. The skinny ones. The ditzy, clueless ones. The ones we weren’t with. After my tenth night or so at Campo, I gave up on the romantic idea of being attractive to men for my Fellini-esque curves.

I got stuck with Mr. Creeper on the 11th night. This was probably the first night I had ever consumed beer and enjoyed it. Perroni makes the jaded state of mind taste sweeter.

Uncomfortable hours passed as I ignored awkward advances and glances. Of course, my answer was to act SUPER engaged in mindless conversations, while really I was spending a lot of time contemplating what the big picture was here in Rome’s “expat bar scene.”

The last thing I allowed myself to remember from that night was being forced into a group picture, and with Mr. Creeper trying to a.) get me to smoke his cigarette, and b.) him trying to kiss me. And everyone laughing.

The Fateful Image

Not amused.

***

A few weeks pass. My roommates decide that it’s high time we pay our rural friends a promised visit to their tiny town–Tuscania. I almost didn’t go. I have a bit of a cold. I don’t want to push it. Excuses abounded. Guilt won.

Countless shenanigans happened upon our train’s arrival in the tiny medieval town. There was the series of shots affectionately coined “agricola” by other American friends–a shot of tequila followed immediately by a shot of Kahlua, finished with an orange slice covered in coffee grounds…that I didn’t get close to finishing because I hated shots, and was sick.

Vitamin C! The best part of this experience!

There was the amazing romp through an olive orchard to some of the last Etruscan ruins that exist, and the subsequent Indiana Jones style ascent down a rope to get there. There were stray dogs to pat with happy owners, and the casting of the sun’s rays over green hills that only happens in magical places like Italy.

Then there was the pig roast.

By the time the pig roast rolled around, I was a walking petri dish. Apparently germs like to freak out and multiply when the body is exposed to rigorous activity in crisp, clean, autumnal Italian air. Did I mention that Italians don’t like to turn their furnaces on? I would sleep in our beautiful, temporary apartment with 3 hearty blankets draped over me and still wake up cold. Cold, but happy in a sick daze.

I made my way to that pig roast. Nothing comes between me and cooked pig, especially if I’ve already smelled it roasting in a wood fire stove. A wood fired stove! A whole pig! The glee!

By 7 that night I was pliant in hunger and sick misery. It wasn’t until we pulled into the driveway that I knew we were going to Mr. Creeper’s house. The fog that had been lifted by the sweet scent of popping pig fat descended upon me again–oh, no.

We got inside. There he was, smiling at me. I sniffled, arms crossed in front of me, and waved feebly. “Ciao.” I plopped into my chair and became a very removed spectator. I was so hungry, both for food and air, that I noticed little around me until there were roasted loins and haunches plated on the table.

A tap on the shoulder.

“Sweet, I can get you something for… for…” He pointed to his nose.

A minute later I was standing in the tiny kitchen, the giant stretch of happy, glowing Italians and Americans a few feet away and all ready to feast upon the fruit of the farm we were hosted by.

“I make you tea, and take honey. This is honey from my farm. It is very good.”

He stirred the dense nectar into steaming lemon tea, all in a small steel kettle, and brought the whole thing to my place at the table.

“Please, keep the honey. Is gift.” I couldn’t help but smile and say a meek “grazie.”

I made my way back to Rome, where I promptly sought out a doctor and a prescription for strong antibiotics. I was sick for a whole week after, even with the drugs, and I went through ¼ of the mason jar full of dense, unfiltered, home-grown honey that my friend gave me.
It was the best I’d ever had. I did not want to let go of it, but I could not bring it home due to customs laws.

I made sure to “cin cin” my friend with one last mug of tea and honey before leaving.

What will that mean?

I’ll be plunging into the meaning of food being something more than just sustenance: something that facilitates celebration, a material that creates a teachable moment, a sensory experience that ties to joy.

Be ready for anything and everything–prose, ideas on how to gift a food item for the holiday season, articles about hunger, and musings on the tradition of gastronomy.

Cheers!

Have suggestions for a post? A question to answer for a post? Leave them in the comment section. I will happily oblige.

“There’s a lot of food anxiety out there right now.”

Jif Extra Crunchy--My Favorite.

No kidding.

Trinity’s food pantry serves around 60 needy families a week in one of the wealthier neighborhoods of Austin alone. According to a community partner that I got to talk with at El Buen Samaritano during their Hands for Hope Thanksgiving Basket event, nearly 20% of Austinites live in poverty situations, and a large portion of those are children.

Now, according to this AP article, one of the most nutritious and economical sources of protein, peanut butter, is becoming too expensive for food pantries to stock for all of their patrons. A wave of oppressive heat over Texas and Georgia this summer caused peanut output to be low this year, driving prices up. Many families are struggling just to get by, and higher prices mean tough decisions at the grocery store. More families are relying on pantries to make it through the month.

Non-profits that provide this food “band-aid” are also stretched for resources as the demand for their services increases.

What can we do about this?

I urge you to donate foods to your local food bank–especially protein based items that food banks receive less of. Volunteer your time at a local community garden. Lend a hand at a soup kitchen. Give $10 a month to a non-profit or charitable organization.

It’ll all help ease that anxiety, and you can feel as good about it as eating a spoon full of peanut butter does.

He’s on to something good, though.

I generally like to think of myself as a fairly spontaneous person, but I continue to surprise myself with an appreciation for everything related to repetition. I’m craving real seasons (something not abundant in Austin), the school year calendar that I grew up with,  and so on.

My favorite way to connect to a cycle? Seasonal food.

I have been trying to keep pace with the seasons in my kitchen. Here are pictures of the confections and concoctions that I’ve made up in the past few months.

Roasted Chicken, Summer Veggies, and Grapes with Basil Pesto

I made this roasted chicken as an indulgent way to savor the last fresh basil of the summer.

Almond Flavored Cupcakes with Peach Almond Butter Cream

I made these moist, super delicate cupcakes for the Open House that I planned for our volunteers and community members. I definitely wanted to celebrate the last summer batch of sweet peaches, and nothing complements peaches better than stone fruit flavor!

Chocolate French Macarons with Orange Blossom Water Butter Cream

This was my second attempt at these airy treats. I think I had beginner’s luck the first time on the execution of the notoriously difficult technique , as these guys weren’t perfect. Check out David Lebovitz’s basically fool proof recipe for the little guys here.

Also: these were a vehicle for orange blossom water butter cream laced with fresh ground cinnamon. MMMMM.

Delicious Roasted Red Pepper and Tomato Soup. With Grilled Cheese, of Course.

 I didn’t want to let go of summer on the chilly weekend that inspired this comforting meal–hence the roasted red bell peppers and basil.

A Torte-like Red Wine Chocolate Cake

There’s something about tannin flavors that scream cozy, warm, fall-like weather to me. This Red Wine Chocolate Cake recipe from Smitten Kitchen will knock your socks off, and it gets better with age. It’s the perfect way to finish off that bottle of wine you didn’t quite finish at dinner last night.

What are your favorite seasonal foods? What food do you bite into and automatically feel wrapped in the world of the season it is harvested in? Feel free to share a seasonal recipe in the comments!

Cupcake Hat

We all have foibles. One of mine is starting a project and not following through with it. I am a woman of ceaseless interests, and I get side tracked easily.

One of the wonderful things that has been taking up my time is my new job as an AmeriCorps VISTA at Theatre Action Project.

I started this blog in the middle of the summer, right before beginning an epic trek across the United States to Memphis, then to our nation’s capital for Independence Day, back to Memphis, then back to Austin.

In the course of that time I interviewed for two jobs and got both of them. I was so lucky.  One rendered me a frustrated, albeit paid, cog in a super store chain at the busiest time of their fiscal year. The other landed me with Theatre Action Project, a small arts non-profit based in Austin.

This weekend marks three months since I made my first trip to Colorado for PSO training, and this week will mark three months as the Community Relations VISTA. In that time I’ve been so lucky to join a warm, committed, passionate team of people who genuinely believe that the arts are necessary in the lives of children, and that we can all become better people through exploration of creativity.

My job feeds my soul. I get to create. I get to coordinate volunteers to make a difference. I get to come home satisfied. I feel inspired again for the first time in some time.

When you’re in a good place, bad habits can be battled. Here’s to commitment, to persistence, and to getting around to the things we love.

We all do it. Guilty. Caught.

Luckily, we’re all becoming more aware of how to stop ourselves in our tracks.

One thing that really gets a bee in my bonnet? Seeing people throw uneaten food away. Granted, I’m occasionally guilty, too. I hate when I make my fried rice too oily to bear eating more than once, or when a baking project goes so wrong that I have no way to salvage it. I hate. Throwing. Food. Away.

The solution? Keep a (relatively) empty fridge.

I have lived the past year as an AmeriCorps member on a rather modest stipend.  I could breathe a little easier about food security by feeding myself with about $200 of Food Stamps benefits per month. The concept of government food aid gives many people the heebie geebies, but that’s for another post and another time. One thing that’s certain about subsisting on food stamps is that your eyes are opened to the world of food insecurity, what calories are more holistic, and just how terrible it is to waste any scrap of food that you have. Eliminating this costly waste of fresh fruits, vegetables and meat is made easier by only buying what I need, when I need it–save a few staples like eggs, milk and bread.

Here’s what magically happens when you have less in your fridge:

• Creativity is spurned. Only have four ingredients around? Throw some of them together with a few staples like caramelized garlic, onions, and some good olive oil. You’ll surprise yourself!
• What you eat is fresher–and healthier. The longer those “fresh” fruits and veggies chill in your crisper, the more delicious nutrients they’re losing. Now why would you want that?
• You’re challenged to diversify your diet. Sure, it might not be as fun to eat leftovers for a few meals. Being sick of that quinoa salad will really make you dream of chicken parmigiana or your mom’s best dish that you haven’t had in a while.
• You’re forced to be a smarter shopper at the grocery store, and a more local shopper. Having to go to the store or the farmer’s market 3-5 times a week makes you consider where your food is coming from, as well as how easily you can get to it.
• Most importantly, you won’t waste nearly as much precious food. According to this pretty basic breakdown of food waste collected in America by the EPA, food waste is only second in our landfills to the paper and paperboard that some of our more processed meals are delivered in.

–The Wise Words of My Mother

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I might have flown the coop, but I certainly haven’t become a hen.

A potato? That might still be in the works.

Fate’s all in the drop of a hat, right?

I’ve been pretty lucky with fate thus far. I have a wacky mom that lends me all sorts of colorful inspiration and tells me I will turn into an inanimate object, a hell of a grandmother who has always been my rock, a sister to always challenge me, and a whole mess of other amazing individuals that make my life vibrant.

While Fate could take a turn for the worst and turn me into a potato, a la Gregor Samsa…I could at least take breaks from contemplating the number of buds growing on my new brown, rough skin by remembering the many lovely places I’ve been to and people I have seen.

Happy Place #1? Rome.

Happy Food #1? Potato Pizza

Yep. You heard that right. Pizza. With potatoes. I would say carb watchers be damned, but that just wouldn’t be very nice, now would it? They’ll just have to have a smaller share than the rest of  us!

This is my somewhat successful attempt at creating a favorite from my study abroad stint in Rome, Italy. I happened upon potato pizza one stressful Wednesday night and the legacy of my potato addiction was justified. Grazie mille, bella Roma. 

Pizza Patate (adapted from a Jim Lahey recipe)

1 Ball Whole Wheat Pizza Dough*

1 Large Bowl of Lukewarm Water

4 Teaspoons of Sea Salt

1 lb. Miniature Potatoes, Skin On (Yukon Gold, Red, or Purple–your choice, or mix them up!)

1/2 Onion, Diced

1/2 Teaspoon Fresh Ground Black Pepper, Give or Take

1/2 Olive Oil, Or More to Your Preference

6 Sprigs of Fresh Rosemary, more to garnish

Preheat oven to 500 degrees. The hotter the oven, the better the pizza! 

Combine salt and water in a large bowl until salt has dissolved. Use a very sharp chef’s knife or mandoline to cut potatoes very thinly (we’re talking transparent thin, or less than 1/16th an inch–great knife skills practice!). Immerse potato rounds in the salt water mixture immediately upon cutting. Once they are all sliced, allow potatoes to brine for an hour. This can be done for longer, but allow for an hour.

In the mean time, prepare your dough on your cooking surface. I used whole wheat pizza dough from Whole Foods. If you bat your eyelashes at the pizza boys, they will throw a ball of the dough in a box and put a price tag on it for you. I drizzled mine with a little olive oil, sprinkled my work surface with some flour, and pressed my dough into a large rectangle.

Once your dough is spread and has rested for a bit (an hour!), remove your potatoes and drain them in a colander, making sure to remove as much moisture as possible by pressing firmly with your hands. Pat dry, then return to the empty bowl. Toss potatoes and onions with olive oil, salt and pepper. Also–do not worry about the olive oil! There is a lot…that is spread out over many servings. It’s a good fat, too!

Spread the potato and onion mixture over your prepared dough, and sprinkle with rosemary leaves. 

Bake your pizza for 20-35 minutes. “But, that’s such a large window of time,” you say! This is because all ovens vary in calibration. It’s better to be vigilant and have a perfect, golden brown pizza than to have a burned, sad pile of inedibles! Once you remove your masterpiece, sprinkle with more fresh rosemary, and leave a few whole sprigs for garnishing your plates. Your dinner mates will thank you for the extra intensity of scent!

Slice. Savor. Save any you might have left (hah!) and store cold or at room temperature, and repeat. 

If I ever turn into a potato, first try to turn me back into a human. If that doesn’t work, I give you permission to turn me into this pizza, and enjoy.

That is all.

Sense – n., any of the faculties, such as sight, hearing, smell, taste, or touch, by which humans or animals perceive internal or external stimuli. v. to grasp the meaning of; understand.

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Welcome to Victual Sense.

Food traditionally makes up a minimum of three parts of our lives, each and every day. One might point out that some love breakfast more than others. Some never eat breakfast. Some never eat breakfast because they have no choice to, either from scarcity or because their busy lives do not allow them to prepare the food. Sometimes breakfast is coffee and a cigarette.

Victual Sense is a place to explore the diverse relationships that we each have with our food, as our breakfast-oriented friends in the example above illustrate.

Some of us, like myself, live for the meal they’ll cook for dinner as an expression of passion. There will be posts for that.

Some of us struggle to receive the proper nutrition, for sundry reasons. There will be posts about that.

Some of us wear our food (*cough* Lady Gaga *cough*). There will beposts about that.

Bottom line? Victual Sense is here to examine recipes, food metaculture, cooking passion, technique, and new-found thrills in gastronomy and beyond.

Cin cin, friends.