Lesson 3: Try new foods

I ate an orange tonight for what I believe to be the first time in my life.

Not one of those delicious dark chocolate oranges. An orange orange. Alas, not a full one, just two wedges. Just enough to be an orange virgin no longer.

I have also tried clementines recently, so I was surprised to see the eyes of my girlfriend bulge out as her jaw dropped when I disclosed to her that it was, in fact, my first time.

"How have you lived your life without ever having eaten an orange?" she asked.

"By being very sneaky," I said, standing next to her. Over the years, I had learned how to turn down politely the food that was foreign to my palate. Saying "Sorry, I don't care for (fill in the blank)" may not have been the most socially outstanding phrase to utter at a party or gathering, but it worked; my taste buds were safe and sound.

"Why didn't you tell me? If you had told me before I gave it to you, I would have had you sit down," she said as she arched her arm toward the kitchen table chair.

"... and put on some music ... and dim the lights ..." I offered, laughing.

I love orange juice, and have loved it for years. But it had to be Tropicana and with NO pulp. Pulpy orange juice ruins the flavor worse than drinking OJ after brushing your teeth. So my logic was that an actual, honest-to-goodness orange would have more pulp, or at least just as much pulp, as pulpy OJ. So I didn't touch it.

And tonight, when my girlfriend offered me a wedge, I quickly brushed away the loose white fibers and bit the wedge in half. I did enjoy the feel of the carpel, as my tongue pressed it up against the palate, rupturing its sacs and providing me with a small pool of juice that I swooshed around my teeth. And after gnawing at the remaining fibers of the carpel shell with an exaggerated yuck-yuck face, I spat the wad out.

As a child, I would sit in front of my plate at dinner and stare at the steak or other icky thing that my mother slaved over, and after everyone was done and the table was cleaned, I was stuck in that seat. I could not leave the table until I was done. But I was a stubborn picky eater, and I held out. When my mother finished washing the dishes, she would heave a disgruntled sigh, pluck my plate and, before washing it, scrape the food into the dog bowl.

In my tween days, my family would eat a scrumptious dinner while I hovered around the toaster oven waiting for my two slices of toast with a lone slice of cheese bubbling on top. (Nowadays, I stay away from cheese because I believe I'm becoming intolerant to lactose.)

As I grew up, I did become a more adventurous eater. I didn't even try bacon until I was in college. Fruits and vegetables were not in my vocabulary for a sad, long time. The only fruit I ate growing up were apples, and the only vegetables were the good ol' Maine potato and corn.

"They don't count," my girlfriend said tonight. "Corn is just starch," and same goes for potatoes.

I didn't argue with that; years ago I heard someone at the church food pantry say corn was the least nutritious food there was. And I haven't had much of it lately either. From corn, I did branch out to green veggies, firstly broccoli, then zucchini and green beans. Kale is the latest.

My diet in college was the worst. I had such a high metabolism in high school that I could eat anything and still be thin, which meant I did not worry about my weight at all. It was far from my mind. I could wolf down a large pizza by myself and still have room for soda and breadsticks. I continued my blissful ignorance through college with Hamburger Helper, all-meat combo pizzas and huge salami subs. I weighed in at 210 pounds somewhere in late 1999, early 2000, and, based on pictures of me in 2002, I weighed even more then. I remember weighing 160 pounds in the tenth grade.

Luckily, exercise helps keep the weight down. For the better part of six years, dancing tango rigorously brought me perhaps to the lowest weight I'd been in a long time, at least according to all the "Gee, are you losing weight?" comments I received. I never weighed myself during that time, but after a year of not dancing, I'm hovering between 185 and 190.

Dating health-conscious women has kicked me into the right direction, too, of course. Two vegans in a row introduced me to a world greener than I ever imagined, and while some vegan meals were barely tolerable, others were pretty tasty.

In the last year, I've had roommates who surprisingly turned out to be courageous and/or adventurous cooks, and the variety among their ingredients were a pleasant surprise. Their panache encouraged me to be daring as well; I've come up with a few recipes of my own that probably should be left to myself. My (vegan-friendly) brownie/cake has become a recurring hit, and not just in my mouth but in others' as well.

As a former picky eater, I can appreciate how daunting it might be for a new parent (or significant other) to cook for someone with a limited range. The adventure of trying new foods is a pleasure I wish my body had convinced my brain to explore much earlier. Essentially, it's all in the preparation. If kale still tastes stale, add olive oil and salt. If chicken breast doesn't work, you know why? Chicken thigh.

As an adult, I have tried many other cuisines, including Thai and Indian. I had sushi for the first time a few years ago in Providence. Gone are the days when I fall back on toast with cheese. My body is aching for more. More variety, more healthy, more flavors. I still don't know everything I'm missing out on, but there is enough ambition to cancel out the knee-jerk revulsion and have a taste.

So tonight I tried another clementine. I pierced the rind with my thumbnail. Picked off the strings of albedo. Peeled away the skin of the carpel, revealing the beautifully tender juice sacs in all their pulpy glory. My girlfriend joined me and tore apart her own fruit, having been able to peel off the carpel skin in one impressive translucent piece. She waxed poetic, and compared it to a jellyfish. She fished her finger around inside to get at the sacs, the juicy gems, she called them. She offered her now wet and sticky finger to my lips.

Trying new things can be so much fun. This time, I wasn't at the table for long.

Recipe: The "I Can't Believe It's Not a Brownie" Cake

I did it again, and it is glorious.

Only the fourth iteration within the last 1.5 years, what began as a hasty, emotional solution to a culinary accident has turned into a sensation. Manifesting itself much like the blue moon or Haley's comet, when only a few have tasted the goodness and have extolled its virtues far and wide, the "I can't believe it's not a brownie" cake is a precious site to behold. The thickness has to be seen to be believed. The warmth that emanates from it is surprising every time. Oh, just look at it!



It is, without a doubt, the best, truly the best, thing I have ever made.

You don't have to take my word for it. Just ask Debbi or Amy or Shane. Or Elizabeth and the sangha when they try this Wednesday night. Or you can try it for yourself, if you dare.

Plus, your vegan friends will love it, and so will you. It's dairy-free, gluten-free and wheat-free. (It's so free of gluten, that the lettering for it on the package is bigger than the description of the actual product.)

I Can't Believe It's Not a Brownie Cake

Dry ingredients

• Bob's Red Mill GF Brownie Mix
  
• Bob's Red Mill Chocolate Cake Mix
  
• Trader Joe's semi-sweet chocolate chips (optional)
  
• walnuts or pecans (optional)
  

Other ingredients (as listed on the mix packaging)

• 1-1/4 cups melted butter or margarine (such as Smart Balance light)
  
• 3 large eggs (or a flaxseed meal alternative; see below)
  
• 4 tsp. vanilla extract
  
• 1 cup milk (cow, soy, rice or nut; I use Rice Dream)
  
• 3/4 + 1/3 cups warm water
  
• 1 Tbsp. lemon juice
  

Directions

This is really easy. Essentially, all we're doing is following the directions on each of the Bob's Red Mill mix packaging simultaneously. I've done this slightly differently each time I made it. The last time, I mixed the two powder mixes together first, then added the liquids, etc. Today, I added the powder last.

1. Generously grease a 13"x9" Pirex pan. This will give you a THICK cake. (If you want a regular brownie thickness, you'll want TWO 13"x9" pans!)
   
2. Place the butter in a VERY LARGE mixing bowl. (I actually didn't notice it was supposed to be melted until I started typing this, but if it's whipped or at room temperature, it's OK.)
   
3. Add the eggs. (Or if you're vegan, or bought a whole package of flaxseed meal once like I did and need to use it for something as delicious as this, grab a cereal bowl and put 3 Tablespoons of flaxseed meal and add in 9 Tablespoons of water. Mix and let it settle for a few minutes.)
   
4. Add vanilla and lemon juice.
   
5. Add the (3/4 + 1/3 cups) water.
   
6. Add the milk.
   
7. Now add the flaxseed meal mix if you didn't add eggs earlier.
   
8. Use an electric hand mixer on the lowest setting, and mix these liquids together, just a little bit. Try not to splash a lot on yourself.
   
9. Now add BOTH the brownie mix and the chocolate cake mix.
   
10. If you want the room to have chocolate dust float in the air, turn on the electric mixer. If not, best use a big spoon to blend the dry with the wet first, until you see a typical wet chocolate batter.
    
11. Mix with the electric mixer for a few minutes, on the lowest or second-lowest setting. (There may be more batter than the mixer beaters can handle. Use your best judgment on how to overcome this obstacle.)
    
12. Add the optional chocolate chips. (The brownie mix recipe says to add 1/4 cup, but I added just about 1 full cup! Mmmm. And I'm pretty sure Trader Joe's chips are vegan-friendly. Crossing fingers.)
    
13. Add the optional nuts, and perhaps whatever else you dare to. (Today I didn't add nuts because I'm not sure if my recipients are sensitive to them.)
    
14. Pour contents into the pre-greased pan(s). (Women or small people may need a helper to hold the bowl for them while they scrape out the batter.)
    
15. If you're a chocoholic like I am, sprinkle some more chocolate chips (or nuts, etc.) on the top of the batter.
    
16. Bake for 38 minutes. Best to check it at 30 minutes to be safe.
    
17. Let it cool for awhile, but do try a piece while it's still warm. That is when it's the yummiest.
    
18. Refrigeration is not recommended. Group consumption is.
19. Keep in pan under cling wrap to hold in the moisture.
    

Cross-section of yummy goodness!



Don't deny it. You want it. (Thanks to my roommate Shane for the photos.)

Alternatives (as if you need any!)

You may want to do the Fudge topping recipe on the Brownie Mix package. I haven't done it. The same package also suggests going a step further to create Cream Cheese Brownies. With the "I Can't Believe It's Not a Brownie" Cake, that would be an interesting next step in the evolution. Try it and let me know how it goes.

There is also a cupcake option on the Chocolate Cake mix, but I believe the "I Can't Believe It's Not a Brownie" Cake is too dense for cupcakes. Perhaps a lover of cupcakes can try it and report back.

Comments welcome!

Blog topic ideas

No, I'm still alive. I haven't updated my blog in a while, but that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about it. In fact, I have many items buzzing around in this hollow head of mine. So as a teaser, I suppose, this post is the list of ideas I'm brewing to write about.

• 7 obscure things about me. I was tagged by my friend Kate (more than a month ago). I'm still thinking about it. That's a tough one. (link added 12/20/2008)
  
• TANGO with STANGO. A blog post about my story with Argentine tango. I already have a request for this, and to that person, I can probably guarantee some surprises.
• Trip to Texas. I visited my sister and her husband in Dallas over Thanksgiving, and then went to Austin to complete the weekend.
• Calexico. They're my new favorite band. I saw them in concert in November.
• "At the movies" -- Ask anyone close to me, and they'll make fun of the fact that I hardly watch any movies. Lately, I've been trying to change that.
• Craigie On Main. I developed this restaurant's new website, and learned a lot along the way.
  
• "Dealing with Loss" -- a title I thought of back in September that would track my (feeling of) transformation and all the stuff I was losing in the process.
• Impermanence and attachment. You may know I started meditating in the summer, and learned some principles of Buddhism along the way. These two concepts have still eluded my grasp to understand them. (As have the grasp of many other people, apparently, someone suggested to me recently.)
• Healthy eating. Almost every woman I either just liked or dated have been very health-conscious, even to the point of being vegan or becoming vegetarian. Being aware of this pattern is interesting and has affected my diet... slowly but steadily. (Please overlook my recipe for Crunchy Eggs Dinner for now.)
  
• Truth. Truth, versions of truth, how people act and react around their own perceptions of truth.
• Trust and patience. I may need to rollover this one into 2009. haha.
  
• Hair, and perceptions. Hmm, I wrote this idea down one day. This could be either one or both of two concepts.
  
• Life is a traffic jam. I thought of this while in one, and wrote it down in a notebook I keep in my car.
• Life is a dream. I first read this in "A New Earth" by Eckhart Tolle and realized how true that can be. Strangely, it also made me think of the campfire scene in Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. That then led me to realize that its widely regarded bad storyline had some interesting points.
• Changing "never enough" to "never IS enough". Similarly, "not good enough".
• Jealousy and fear of rejection. Ah, this old chestnut!
• Clarity and perspective. Related to truthiness (see above).
• My accomplishments of 2008. Because there are a lot of them?
  

Any other requests?

I hope to address some of these in the next couple of weeks. At least one of them!

The revenge of the mysterious green plate monster

The following is an exercise in writing fiction that I did at a Grub Street workshop this month. That day was the first time I had written fiction in years, and to be honest, this is more like an embellished "based on a true story." Actually, a lot of what I wrote that day was not really fiction. I felt rusty and out of practice. I did not read this out loud to the class, but I let my friend read it soon after and she loved it. Hopefully, it's not only because it's about her. Please comment if you wish.

She was excited to eat at this vegetarian restaurant, and as I was tasting the edamame for the first time, and the rubbery blocks of tofu squishing between my teeth, I asked myself, what had I gotten myself into?

I wanted to impress her by being adventurous, but being a meat-and-potatoes and sometimes-junk-food kind of guy, this felt more like I was jumping off a cliff and reaching for anything resembling food. I suppose I did grab a branch or something, because the next foreign object I had cautiously put in my mouth had all the flavor and texture of a twig.

I toyed with the generous pile of green leaves on my plate. It wasn’t lettuce or kale, but it was stringy, sticking to each other and the cubes of tofu and chick peas. I picked at the green monster, imagining myself as the little kid in the Calvin & Hobbes comic strip, in which his food comes to life and begins to orate the Hamlet soliloquy. I start wrapping the sticky, stringy green mess around my fork like I do with spaghetti. I held it up to my nose and steal a whiff. I was hoping for some redemption, some essence of hope that perhaps it only LOOKED horrible and that the smell would offer a hint of delectable bliss that I had yet to encounter. Instead, it was a neutral-to-pale scent that conjured up images of steamed broccoli and my laundry basket. I sighed, and looked at the rest of my plate. Eyes of quinoa were staring at me, pleading with me to run away and take them with me.

I had no option but to taste it. I stuffed it into my mouth and squirmed. I closed my eyes until it was successfully down the hatch.

I looked at her. She was all smiles and looked content. She looked at me, rolled her eyes and pointed her fork at her plate of the same concoction.

“This,” she said, “is the best I’ve ever had. I’m really glad we chose this place.”

Hmm, I said, and poked my finger into the tofu. It bounced back.