i can only hope i'm a coosa (a response)

the coosa that alicia made for us last week.

i wondered what it would be to get me back on the blog again, and here it is. coosa. which you'll discover by the end of this post, couldn't be more fitting of an entry to get me back in the saddle.

what is a coosa? well, that depends on who you're asking. for the past week in our home, coosa has been on our dinner plates, stuffed with spiced ground beef and rice and sitting in a broth of tomatoes. but simply, coosa is a lebanese word for squash. but then again, it's just not that simple.

alicia and i were married on august 6 in the clarence e. lewis arboretum at michigan state university. it was an incredible weekend, with family coming out of the woodworks to bring in the celebration with us. and family is what i'm getting at here.

for the aboods, alicia's lebanese side of the family, coosa is a word with many layers. for one, coosa is a little squash. as a kid, you could've told me a coosa grew from the planted thumbs of green giants, and i might've believed you. that's what they look like. a green giant's thumb. for another, and i speak from experience here, coosa is a timekey. when alicia and i sat down to eat the coosa she made last week, i could tell the dish had taken her to a place i'd never been—and eating it with her was the closest i might ever get. in that memory of a place, alicia's grandfather was there and so too were his siblings, the cousins, the rest of the family—the dish was full of memories for her. it was a special moment for me to take part in, especially in light of our marriage. but then there's the variations on coosa. if one abood cousin were to bring his or her coosa dish to another abood cousin's house, i'd put money down that the comparisons would start spilling out the moment the lid was pulled off the squash filled pot. the broth is too thick. you don't puree your tomatoes? and that squash... you over stuffed the squash. it shouldn't split open like that. and where's the cinnamon? i can't taste the cinnamon! what'd you do to that rice, sweetheart? it's puffed up like a wet sponge! and so on. one coosa is different from another.

but then there's cousin maureen, and her father. and she's the reason alicia cooked the coosa last week. maureen wrote a series of blog posts about coosa, capped off by the beautiful story about how her father called her and her siblings coosa the way other kids are called pumpkin. "now we always ask the delicious little children in the family: 'are you a coosa?!' and they laugh and smile, and know exactly what we mean." her blog post is titled "are you a coosa?" follow that link and read her story. it'd be a shame not to.

and that's the magic of food. at times, food simply fills a need. it can be a peach in the morning or a slice of cheese in the afternoon, just to appease that pang of hunger. but then food can be a whole lot more.  in this case, food tells a story about my new family. and in a way, my writing on this one dish called coosa, is symbolic of my marrying alicia a few weeks ago.

just look at that picture at the top of this post. most people have never seen a dish like this before. so where did it come from? and why is it in my house? the story is there, and it's just beginning.

family farmed expo

tomato mountain had a table last year via tammy green's photostream.

a few months ago a friend approached me about helping out on the social media for a three-day conference of sorts held in chicago called the family farmed expo. since late january, i've been doing just that. and the expo? it begins today.

looking back on the early posts of this blog, long before i had a business and did much more on twitter than scratch my head at the short and blabbering tweets that came from my own account, i never would've dreamed to be working on an event that billed itself as "a three day conference, trade show, and food festival for farmers, businesses, the trade, individuals, and families." the joke internally is that it's sort of like the SXSW of local food. but it's the 5am hour, i'm awake, and soon enough i'll be down at the expo doing my social media thang, live tweeting my little fool heart out. what a thrill for me to be working so closely with local foods, artisan food makers, and family farms.

i'm hoping i'll have moments to pause and reflect, even report, on the expo and the incredible programming that will run the next three days—but to be honest, i just don't know what to expect. this might be three days of marathon training for all i know.

in the meantime, follow along as i work my way through the schedule with @grantkessler and @localfoodwisdom while the three of us put our heads together and converge to bring as much live content to the @familyfarmed twitter handle as we possibly can.

and let's hope we serve the expo well, huh?

826chi guest post series: meat tostadas

bean and chicken tostadas from stef noble's photostream.

this is it. the last post from the 826 kids before i jump behind the bar and make a fool of myself tomorrow night—which, having mardi gras like i will, should make up for the embarrassment, yeah?

pablo closes the series out with thoughts on meat tostadas. it's been great to see the culture that comes through these pieces, even in foods as simple as rice and beans or ceviche. it shows the importance of cooking at home, and how easily these stories and recipes and memories are passed from one generation to the next. "they are special," pablo says, "because we can all be part of this tradition, too."

thanks for following along with the kids, and here's hoping i see you tomorrow night. who knows, i might even be in an extra good mood and buy everyone a round... no promises.

Meat Tostadas
Pablo C. 

It’s almost dinner time and I am hungry. I smell the yummy smell of the meat tostadas. It makes me feel warm. It makes the kitchen smell good but different. It makes me feel happy in a strange way. 

What’s in these tostadas is the sweet avocado, lettuce, and tomato. It has cheese (chihuahua) also. How I help prepare it is I put the tomato, cheese (chihuaha), and avocado, and then serve it. This food tastes like a meat bowl. 

This food is special to me because it’s a carried tradition from my family. This food came from my great grandma, who made this food every Sunday to honor the church’s time for us. My mom still makes it every Sunday, but still makes it on weekdays because it’s good. I help my mom make this food because I want to help her and be part of the tradition. They are special because we can all be part of this tradition, too. 

This food describes me by telling that I am traditional and it reminds me of my ancestors. This food is something I will never forget and I will try to keep it in my family for my whole life long, and show it to my kids to stay in tradition forever so they can learn how food can also be part of our traditions.

826chi guest post series: i love rice!

rice and beans with corn via the boastful baker's photostream.

the third in a series of guests posts from a group of kids that visited the 826 chicago headquarters and wrote about food.

the whole point to this guest series was to get more voices than my own telling short stories about foods that have a familial connection. with the last post i shared, i wrote about a connection between the two stories. and we see it again here with thoughts on rice and beans.

this all started because i'm guest bartending at prairie fire to raise money for 826 chicago, and i asked if 826 would like to share any of the kids' stories on the blog. when you read something like "rice tastes like little people in your mouth screaming to get out" from aaliyah c., you start to feel pretty damn good about asking for these stories. that's a heavy metaphor for a kids' writing exercise. awesome stuff.

a bramble via ian l grundy's photostream.

and since my bartending gig was cancelled last month because of snowpocalypse, we rescheduled for next tuesday—which happens to fall on mardia gras. so i've changed my cocktail to "the bramble" to bring a little cajun color to the night (maybe i should have beads, too...). it's a classic louisiana drink, layered on the rocks with bourbon, lemon, currant liqueur, and soda—even a non-whiskey drinker would keep ordering more and more of these they're so good. i'll be serving the drink from 6-8pm on tuesday, march 8, and any money raised for the night will be matched to hopefully give 826 chicago a decent chunk of change.

and finally, here's aaliyah, on rice and beans...

“I love Rice!” 

By Aaliyah C. 

The reason I chose rice and beans is because my family and I love rice. It is part of my culture. We like to make rice with different things, like rice with beans, rice and plaintains, and many many things. We make something different every day. Rice tastes like little people in your mouth screaming to get out. Rice smells like whole grain things. When I touch the rice it feels weird but I still eat it anyway. When I see it I wanna gobble it down. It sounds like nothing. Sometimes on special occasions we make it extra special to me and extra good, yummy. My family and I love rice and I hope we don’t stop making it!

a movie, food speak, and some grub

apples in fall shadows via green city market's photostream.

about a year ago i was just standing at the right place at the right time when a friend introduced me to jim javenkoski. jim is a midwest man, through and through, and the devoted daddy of twin two year-old boys who go with their pop every saturday morning to green city market. jim also holds a phd in food science, studying both at the university of wisconsin and the university of illinois, and is a supreme advocate for local foods and the small family farm. and he's on a mission.

every month jim holds a locavore dinner at a chicago restaurant and spreads his local food wisdom through the sensory experiences that follow—he suggests certain farms and products for the chefs to use, and in the process, these dinners have featured product the chefs might have otherwise never known about or purchased. and to top it off, the farmers are invited to the dinner to not only eat and drink, but speak about the foodstuffs and the stories therein. it's a rare chance for any regular guy like me to rub elbows with the farmers who feed me year round.

and this month jim's throwing us a curveball. he's hosting a movie screening.

beth eccles, center, led the RIA and balsan restaurant crew on
a tour of green acres farm in september, and i tagged along.

the film is called "INGREDIENTS", and a copy of it is sitting in our dvd player right now. a food documentary that went straight to disc and never had life in the theaters, the film shifts between ohio, oregon, and new york city, focusing on the relationships between the small family farm and the cooks who have committed to working with the ingredients those farms put out year-round. this film gets to the very heart of what i write about on this blog, what jim advocates at his dinners, and what is slowly catching the eye of more and more americans.

the dinners usually set you back about $75, but this time around the cost drops all the way down to $25 a pop. which, just to hear jim speak and see the film is worth the price of admission, but jim's sweetened the deal a bit. matt maroni and gaztro-wagon, the pioneer of chicago food trucks, will be dishing out his naanwiches and munchies for the movie, there'll be an open bar featuring local brews, and after the film, beth and brent eccles of green acres farm and marianne sundquist of in fine spirits—she hosted and cooked for the most recent locavore dinner—will host a panel discussion moderated by jim.

here's a short clip of the film's opening, anchored by none other than berkeley local food maven, alice waters:

the event is tuesday, february 22 at 6:30pm at logan square kitchen, a rentable and shared space that's helped artisan food makers find a certified kitchen for the foods they sell at green city market. and i think it goes without saying, i'll be there.

826chi guest post series: my amazing summer

ceviche in peru via .mayli.'s photostream.

yesterday it was hawaiian pork chops. today, it's ceviche.

this is the second in a short series of guests posts from the kids at 826 chicago, and while in just two posts the kids are finding a connection to these family table foods, there's also a common thread that's formed. on the surface the kids identify with the foods enough that for an exercise that calls for "recipes and reflections," we've seen two that span a generational gap in each family. what's beneath the surface though is that the kids aren't quite developing the understanding of this significance. the question isn't being asked, "what story is behind my mother's ceviche? how did she learn to make it?" instead the reflection we get is scene specific to the memory: watching the clouds pass overhead, dropping the bikes before going inside, and drinking lemonade.

which is refreshing for me to see, because it's easy to forget we once were at that point, too. a time when enjoying a simple thing like fresh ceviche, and sharing it with friends after a day in the park, was all it took to make the best day of the summer. it's called innocence—or naïveté or, calling a spade a spade, just plain youth—and it's given me pause to think back on those moments when i finally did ask the questions as to why a thing was what it was, and how did it get there, and why was it in our home?

call it sentiment, but i get a kick out of wondering what that ceviche will mean to tiffany ten years from now. my guess is that summer day will be a forgotten memory, but the stories of the ceviche, the time spent with her mother learning how to make it, will surface.

“My Amazing Summer” 

By Tiffany M.

It was a nice beautiful day. I was hanging out with my best friends Jackie, Lorely, and FiFi. We were lying down on the grass in the park. We were watching the clouds, relaxing, and there was a wonderful breeze. Jackie, FiFi, Lorely and I then got hungry. So we decided to go back to my house for lunch.

We took our bikes and rode them as fast as lightning because we were so hungry. When we got to my house we dropped our bikes and went inside. We sat on the couch drinking lemonade and trying to decide what was for lunch. Then I faced them and said, “Why don’t we have ceviche?” Jackie, FiFi, and Lorely agreed. So my mom helped me cook the ceviche. Jackie, Fifi, and Lorely gathered half a pound of cubed fish, 5 limes, 1 big red onion, half of a green pepper, 1 small tomato, 1 teaspoon of salt, ¼ teaspoon of pepper, 2 spoons of vegetable oil, and a bunch of cilantro. We cut all the ingredients and mixed it up. I served everyone and we ate it all. It WAS DELICIOUS!! This was the best summer day EVER!! THE END.

826chi guest post series: hawaiian pork chops

the infamous index card recipe from gherringer's photostream.

to be totally candid, i couldn't wait for wednesday morning to roll around so that i could begin posting this guest series from a group of kids who recently took a field trip to the 826chi center with a theme of "recipes and reflections." when i approached 826 about raising money for them when i guest bartend next week, i had no idea there was a food theme in their program. here's the prompt they offer for teachers on the theme:

Everyone loves food, but what does it really mean? During this field trip, students bring a family recipe and discover how food holds more meaning than just the ingredients in the recipe. Students work with volunteers to write reflections, incorporating memories of the recipe and its place in their lives. At the end, volunteers type the stories and the class is mailed a class book with their class photo on the back.

so much of what i've found through this blog is rooted in the premise of this simple exercise. there are endless stories to tell surrounding our food—which is why i can't get my fingers to type fast enough to introduce to a new way of storytelling on this blog. writing on "hawaiian pork chops," and the first in what will be a series of posts from the 826 kids, here's dylan's reflection on his family's recipe...

"Hawaiian Pork Chops"

By Dylan C.

The recipe for Hawaiian pork chops runs in my family. They taste really good and also they are easy to make. We make them for holidays or just days that we just like to have good food. It tells people that I really like yummy food. Also every time I hear “Hawaiian pork chops” my mouth waters, especially when my dad makes them. Some ingredients are brown sugar, ketchup, salt, pepper, and plenty more. The holiday we usually make it on is the Fourth of July. When I hear the word I get really hungry. When we make them everyone can help themselves—or at least if you hurry up.

charity guest bartending for 826chi

this isn't my drink, but it'll look something like it,
ward eight via cookthinker's photostream.

a week from tonight, for two hours, i'll be wearing my bartender pants. thing of it is, i've never worn those pants before. i don't even know what they look like. so one can only hope pants like those have pockets full of whiskey, right?

i'm guest bartending. i've been fortunate to cross paths with sarah stegner at prairie fire here in chicago, who is both co-chef and owner of the restaurant. every tuesday night the restaurant hosts a guest bartender, inviting them to serve a cocktail of their own recipe, with any tips raised going to a charity of that person's choosing. when sarah asked me a while back if i'd come in and do this, i didn't really hesitate to say yes.

i'll be pouring out a ward eight, which is a classic whiskey drink with somewhat of a story. the drink is named for a boston politician appointed to state government in 1898, and it was the voting margin in boston's ward eight that helped push him over the top. and the restaurant that created the drink? locke-ober. a place that is alive and kicking pretty strong near beacon hill still today—and brings the story full circle, with our short-lived boston roots. but i'm calling mine a ward826.

most major cities in the u.s. have an 826. l.a. has one, and so does boston. and there was one down the street from alicia and i in chicago last year, and we didn't even realize it—which made us feel pretty small, with our mfa-creative-writing-gung-ho-literary-student-loan-debt-enthusiasm and all. that's because 826 is a non-profit writing and tutoring center, for children.

"the facade of 826chi. the boring store is a front for the spy store is a front
for the after-school writing program," via rcavalcante's photostream.

the 826 centers are a product of writer dave eggers, whom a lot of people know from his book a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. when i was writing more, his mcsweeney's collection of stories and essays was the one publication i wanted to see my work published in. the writing is off-the-grain, unique, and the kind of stuff we'd all be better off with stumbling across just a bit more.

a student reads in november via 826 chicago's photostream.

so even though i've worked closely with taste of the nation and am more recently working with green city market and the upcoming family farmed expo, there wasn't much hesitation when i decided to go to 826chi with my tips for next tuesday night. and they reciprocated. so much so that they've shared a few samples of student writings from a recent "recipes and reflections" field trip to the center. the kids bring a family recipe with them on the trip, and the point is to discover how food holds more meaning than just the ingredients in the recipe. if you've read this blog before, that should sound just a tad familiar, no?

everything looks better upside down, via 826 chicago's photostream.

so for the rest of the week leading up to my stint behind the bar at prairie fire, i'll be featuring an entry a day from the kids.

and in the meantime, if you're in chicago, make plans for next tuesday night. i start pouring my ward826 (whiskey, oj, lemon, and grenadine i'm making myself) at 6pm and won't stop until 8pm. and the kicker? the auer family foundation has stepped up as a matching donor for the night—so whatever tips are raised, we're now throwing the kids twice as much.

cheers to that.