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Monday, Oct 29, 2012
Bluish Kabochas and Hubbards, orange Acorn squash splotched with green, red Kuris, ridged yellow Delicatas streaked greeny orange. Stringy Spaghetti squash, good for so little, and piles of pumpkins, from decorative ones no larger than kittens to monsters comparable to SUVs.

It’s that time of year, when the leaves turn, and the weather becomes even more unpredictable: blistering heat followed by temperate days edged with a warning chill. The sunlight thins, slants, and fades by 5PM. Summer’s vegetable bounty has surrendered to the first of winter’s staples: greens, radishes, turnips, and hard or winter squashes. Bluish Kabochas and Hubbards, orange Acorn squash splotched with green, red Kuris, ridged yellow Delicatas streaked greeny orange. Stringy Spaghetti squash, good for so little, and piles of pumpkins, from decorative ones no larger than kittens to monsters comparable to SUVs.


If you are a politically correct locavore, winter squash is unavoidable.


Unhappily, it’s easy to get sick of eating them.


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Thursday, Oct 25, 2012
The soaring demand for seafood has made fish, more than any other food source in Asia, political.

I always have a soft spot for Hong Kong, for its bright lights and spindly towers and unpretentious attitude. It feels First World and Third World at the same time, and it smells like oyster sauce, a mainstay of my childhood.  Eating is a past time and an adventure in Hong Kong, which is why the city and I get along well. I ate pastry with bean paste, soup made with tripe and offal, dumplings made with chives and mystery meat. But there is one food that I’m too squeamish to eat whenever I’m in Hong Kong: live reef fish.


Hong Kong, the portal between East and West, is the center of the live reef fish trade, an unsustainable food industry. It’s the first stop for the seafood that are farmed, harvested, or poached from the abundant waters of Southeast Asia and the Pacific Ocean before it goes to mainland China, its final destination.


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Tuesday, Oct 9, 2012
Food, chef and travel writer Naomi Duguid tells us, is the main entry point into another culture. It takes everyone to an everyday level.

Cookbook writer, world traveler, photographer and Southeast Asian food expert Naomi Duguid’s latest book, Burma: Rivers of Flavor, will first engross you with its exquisite photography and evocative writing, then send you into the kitchen to prepare dishes like chickpea soup with lemongrass and ginger, lima beans with galangal, and standout tomato chutney.


Once you’ve cooked your way through this lovely book, be sure to check out Duguid’s six other works (co-written with Jeffrey Alford).  Each is more than just a cookbook, immersing the reader in the cultures and peoples of a place using narrative, history, photography, and divine recipes.


Duguid spoke with me about Burma: Rivers of Flavor, the Burmese political situation, her work in Southeast Asia, and shooting with a digital camera.


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Monday, Oct 1, 2012
Blogger and author Luisa Weiss reassure us that "Most of the time, you can sort of salvage a screwy meal and make it taste good nevertheless."

Luisa Weiss, born in Berlin to an American father and Italian mother, had a splintered childhood. She spent her earliest years in Berlin. When her parents divorced, she moved to the United States with her father, a math professor. Vacations were spent in Berlin, where her Italian mother remained, leavened with occasional visits to Italy, where Weiss spent time with relatives. 


Despite loving family and friends, Weiss grew up profoundly unsure of herself and her place in the world.  During graduate studies in Paris, she met Max, her future husband. Fearing commitment, she ended the relationship, moving to New York City, where she worked in publishing and quickly became caught up in the fast-track life of a young woman in the city.


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Thursday, Aug 30, 2012
It's high summer in the US: the tomatoes are in. Now is the time to gorge, for all too soon August will give way to September’s lesser specimens. Come October, we're back into pumpkins. Tomato junkies had better lay in their winter fixes now.

Yes, I know. Winter? Hear me out. It’s high summer in the United States, a time when vegetables and fruits evoke adjectives like glut, plethora, cornucopia, fleeting. The tomatoes have arrived in Northern California, in all their multicolored heirloom glory. The market I frequent has bins overflowing with a multiplicity of sizes and colors. Shoppers load up greedily, furtively popping smaller tomatoes into their mouths.Now is the time to gorge: tomatoes morning, noon, and night, for all too soon—note that fleeting up there—August will give way to September’s lesser specimens, the peppers will come in, a small if colorful consolation, then we’ll be hard back into October’s orange squashes, turnips, and greens. Tomato junkies had best get their fixes now.


Of course there are ways around the tomato in winter. The first is acceptance of a Lenten abstinence, a starved seasonal waiting practiced by Chef Alice Waters and her locavore devotees. Oh, we cry, we love winter’s root vegetables, the chard and rutabagas and those enormous red kuri squashes. We love winter’s deep winey stews loaded with hearty tranches of beef.  We can wait, thank you very much, for the summer tomato. No poor quality tomatoes from faraway lands when we could be eating local greens from California’s Central Valley.


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