Old Major

Oh hey there, world. It’s been a while. A lot has changed since my last post, and yet nothing has. I still like eating the most, I’m just doing it out in Denver now.

I’ve been to a surprising amount of restaurants in the city so far considering I’ve only been here for three weeks. I’ve enjoyed most of them - a place called Humboldt is wonderful, Euclid Hall is everything you could want in a sausage, and we crashed Linger’s industry night one Monday and couldn’t have been luckier.  However, Monday night’s meal at Old Major was the closest I’ve come to feeling “home” since I’ve been out here.

Having the privilege to work at Tony Maw’s masterpiece, Craigie on Main, was one of the most humbling, difficult, and developmental experiences I’ve had in a workplace.  Physically and mentally, it was the most challenging position I’ve held to date, and I wouldn’t trade a minute of it. I respect the men and women who are still there immensely, and will continue to send everyone I know in that direction.

Tangent aside, the point is that Old Major is the first place that I’ve been out in Denver that reminds me of the Craigie mentality and lifestyle. Even the websites and pig logos are similar. These places have a profound respect for food, and it shows in everything they do.  Old Major’s “seafood, swine, and wine” mantra translates into spectacular squid with sundried tomatoes and sausage, a venison tartare with brioche and a poached egg that actually made me flush with pleasure, and pork-fat French fries. Yeah, you heard me.

I have a feeling that I will be back there often, especially when I’m missing my fine friends way out in Cambridge, MA. And I know that when they come to visit, this is the first place we’ll go.

Old Major is located at 3316 Tejon St, Denver, CO 80211.

Lemon Goat Cheese Pasta

Today was one of those days. I just needed carbs. Not a piece of toast, not a cracker, but a massive bowl of pasta. This could in part have corresponded to the fact that I was slightly hungover, but I’d like to think it was more due to the kickass workout I had at the gym earlier. Either way, pasta was needed.

I fooled around with some inspiration I’d seen online and what I had in the fridge, and came up with this lovely dish. Super easy and really fast. The goat cheese adds a little comfort, while the lemon really brightens things up. I think adding chickpeas actually would have made it infinitely better and will be doing that with my leftovers. Or maybe even sundried tomatoes.

All it takes is some pasta boiled in salted water (I used quinoa pasta) and after its done, put about a cup of the water in a large saucepan, add in about 4 oz goat cheese, a bag of spinach, the juice of half a lemon and some zest from it, and stir to combine over medium heat until the spinach is wilted. Throw in the pasta, top with finely chopped walnuts for some added protein, and maybe a sprinkle of Parmesan, and voila! Carb craving satisfied.

Lent

Lent is always a selfish time for me. I know that Lent is supposed to be a time of contemplation – sacrificing something for 40 days is supposed to mirror the suffering of Jesus and the fact that he gave up his life, etc. My issues with this are that a. nothing I give up will ever be as severe as what Jesus did and b. I like to use Lent as a much heavier-guilt ridden diet.

So due to my recent bout of food poisoning that coincided nicely with the start of Lent, I am giving up meat. (Apparently said food poisoning was caused by raw or undercooked chicken. Considering I haven't eaten chicken in months, this is alarming). Since I also didn’t eat or drink anything for five days, I am continuing to not drink coffee, and I really am not going to eat gluten. For real this time. Except for the pizza I split with Katherine last night.

Regardless, there will be quite a few recipes showing up that are meatless. Meatless doesn’t have to mean bad though, as my dinner this evening proved. I should be embarrassed to say that I based my meal off of a recipe I found in Gwyneth Paltrow’s cookbook, but whatever. The lady makes some good eats. I decided to put a spin on her side dish recipe for “Green Rice” – brown rice with kale and scallions and soy sauce. I one-upped it by adding crumbled goat cheese and a fried egg – voila! Dinner. The nice thing about this one too is that it’s pretty versatile. I might scramble an egg tomorrow and throw in some black beans and use the rice for a breakfast burrito. Yum.

2013

I just spent a solid hour in Whole Foods. Not even a casual, ADD hour but one that was focused and intent (except for the detour provided by the spicy food sample marathon that was occurring). All because on my day off, in the sleet, all I wanted to do was eat my feelings. I don’t even really have any feelings worth eating right now, but I found a brownie recipe that was sure to be life altering and so happened to be gluten and sugar free so I could pretend like I was making healthy life choices.

Do you know what possibly the WORST thing ever is? Getting home after dislocating your shoulder from cramming everything into one plastic reusable Whole Foods bag and trudging up a sleet covered brick hill, deciding that the lack of a pan to bake the brownies in can be substituted with a skillet, and a pot can become a mixing bowl, to realize THAT YOU FORGOT THE BAKING POWDER. I think that feeling might be even worse than the last breakup I had. It’s about four and a half punches to the stomach. Because no matter what, you can’t substitute baking powder with something else. Baking powder is the substitute for baking soda. Which I also don’t have. And we all know I’m not going back outside. Ugh. So now I’m eating my feelings with cheddar cheese and sesame rice crackers and debating wine while I make real food.

It’s nice to be back in the kitchen. To me, cooking feels like that scene in Bridesmaids where she’s all by herself and makes that one cupcake with such care. So basically it feels nothing like that except it brings me peace. Kind of like a calorie ridden yoga. It also feels lovely to be back to blogging about things I care about. No offense Bus2alps, it was real, but I would never blog about “we are all just people” if I didn’t have a once a week blog commitment. Blehhh. I’m embarrassed for myself. The only reason I’m not deleting them is because it would take away page views.

Anyway, the point of this post is that I’ve decided this is going to be a good year. 2013; the year of blogging, the year of Boston, the year of the hot Bod, and so forth.  I’m going to try and hold myself more accountable by making it public – I know, I know, how original, but whatever. So bring it on 2013. Let’s do this.

Barcelona, I carry your heart

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A wise man by the name of Dave Matthews once wrote, “It’s not where but who you’re with that really matters.” This quote has been a favorite for a long time – I’m pretty sure it’s on my middle school yearbook page.  I like to think that I was wise beyond my years, but I’m pretty sure I google searched awesome quotes and put something cliché and naturally a DMB song lyric down.

However, as I’ve moved through life, through different places and spaces, that point has only become more and more true and significant for me. The relationships that I have made with new people in each new stage of my life are what have made those moments worthwhile.

Never has this sentiment hit home harder than during these past few months working for Bus2alps. You can look at my pictures and see these amazing places and incredible buildings full of history and say to yourself – this girl would be crazy to complain. But you can be lonely in any city, as I’ve learned in the few weeks I was in Barcelona without my roommates. And yes, I will remember the Eiffel Tower lit up at night and the tapas in Seville and the view from Eze in the French Riviera, but I’ll also remember that it was the first time that Amanda had ever been to Paris and the five amazing girls who were lucky enough to have Rafael as their guide through my favorite town in Spain and the near-fainting experience that Sydney had when we saw Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban in Eze.

I will take home with me memories of Bar del Born, the days wandering around el Gotico just because, the awe from the inside of the Sagrada Familia, the family dinners where we stayed in just to hang out together. Those “Wow, my life is incredible,” moments that stop you in your tracks as you realize that you are so incredibly blessed to be alive and to know the people you do.

This job really has been one that has turned coworkers into friends, and friends into family. My Barcelona crew is now another part of my family, the ever-growing group of people that have made their mark on my heart and who I will carry with me always.

So hasta luego, Barcelona. ...here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

In Defense of Thanksgiving

I have heard rumors that we may or may not be considering going out to eat for Thanksgiving dinner, and I am writing to implore you to reconsider.

After spending the majority of the past six months abroad and away from everything that is good and American, I have been counting down the days to Thanksgiving. The stuffing, the turkey, the gravy, the mashed potatoes, anything pumpkin, I'd love some nice roasted green beans with slivered almonds maybe...I digress. More importantly, I have been looking forward to the quality time spent with the fam and friends. The camaraderie as we all work together to accomplish one of the most delicious meals of the year. The high fives after the turkey is not burnt or still squawking. The football game on the tv in the background. The Cohn vs. Faxon touch football game that I have been meaning to tell you is occurring.

Now, I realize that with all of these feelings of warmth and tenderness can also come a lot of stress regarding the timing, the food, the cleaning, etc. And I know that as parents you get sick of cooking every day and would love to take a night off to enjoy everything yourself. So I have a solution. I'll do it. Everything. I'll make a menu and get approvals from everyone. I will do the shopping, the prep work, the table setting, the turkey basting, the pumpkin carving, the potato smashing. I've been wanting to make my own turkey for a while now, and I already have an Herb-Butter Turkey Recipe from Tom Colicchio picked out.

I will even clean. I will spend the hours or so making sure that each square millimeter of crystal is shiny and sparkling. I will make sure that the silverware is polished and back in the box, that the trash is taken out, and that the only scent remaining in the kitchen is that of lemon and thyme from the organic cleaning products that we know and love.

Your day will be absolutely stress free. I'll even schedule in some hors d'oeuvres so that you don't get too hungry, and maybe I'll employ Charlotte and Syd to pass. The wine will flow like the beer in Prague, the cheese will reek of France, and any other little European touches I've picked up can get thrown in as well.

Please just give me the go ahead, and I promise Bon Appetit will come alive in your kitchen. This would mean the world to me, and would make all of my dreams come true.

Awaiting your decision with baited breath and a growling stomach.

Best Regards,

Mel Faxon

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose

Syd and I were talking the other day, and she said to me, “the more I travel, and sit in cafés or go through airports or walk through parks, the more I realize we’re all just people. We’re all a little bit weird, and we’re all just people.”

It’s true. No matter where you go, you will always find people holding hands, there will always be moms pushing strollers and kids playing tag, there will always be guys hitting on girls in bars, or vice versa. There will always be people eating, old couples sitting down on a bench simply happy to be alive.

So often, I hear Americans say, “Oh my god, the French are so rude,” or “Italian men are so aggressive!” But my first thought is, “Have you been to New York?” or “Have you been to a frat party?” There will always be some cities where people are harder around the edges, where smiles don’t flow as easily as they do in places like the American South. I grew up in New England – when people smile at you on the street you run away. And yes, maybe in some terms Italian men get very excited about American girls, but I’ve never felt as accosted as by a fraternity brother after one too many rounds on the ruit table.

There’s nothing like a language barrier to help emphasize the fact that we are all just in this life together.  When you have to struggle to communicate, to act things out with your hands or even your whole body, when you are able to laugh at yourself in your foolishness and celebrate with the other person when you both finally get your point across – it’s one of the greatest feelings of accomplishment. And nothing unites different people like laughter.

The point is, the more that I interact with different cultures, and the more that I learn new differences, the more I realize that there really aren’t any.  I think that living abroad has really given me a gift in helping me realize this.  We’re all just people trying to live from one day to the next, and there’s no room for fear or ignorance.