Or something like that. Because really, am I ever. gonna. finish. this. book?

Yes, I will. Although every time I get within spitting distance, calamity (in the form of my own stupidity) strikes and I take umpty-bazillion steps backward. 

I'm still revising the manuscript. It's all there. It's just that, well, some of the words are in the wrong order. You know?

Meantime, of course, the world rolls on, presenting me with one rant opportunity after another, and I'm resolved to ignore those opportunities. I was keeping a list of Very Important Matters On Which I Long To Rant, but the list got so long that it took over my office. 

So. The official update is: My editor doesn't even want the manuscript until March, and come hell, come high water, come Armageddon, I will get it to her then. 

Because I'm just that close and because surely there's a limit to how many times my stupidity can trip me. Right? Right????? 

See you soon!

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Ultra-quickie drive-by posting because I've got to get back to work. (I've got three weeks before my deadline to finish the manuscript of my new book.)

It's caucus time here in Iowa (What? You didn't know that?) and I'm faced with the weirdest set of options since I first caucused back in 1972. I can:

1. Stay home.

2. Go to the democratic caucus and stand for President Obama. You know, to affirm my support and all. (That kind of thing is important.)

3. Change my party affiliation and go to the Republican caucus and stand for Mitt Romney, on grounds that if President Obama loses the election, Romney is the only tolerable alternative.

4. Change my affliliation, go to the Republican caucus, and stand for Newt Gingrich, on grounds that if he gets the nomination, he'll lose and Obama will win.

Seriously --- I can't decide what to to. Option three is the least attractive: I'm not wild about the idea of going to a caucus to support a candidate. I don't mind going as a way of helping a loser win, if you know what I mean. But supporting Romney because of he might win... I don't know.

On the other hand, in Iowa's last gubenatorial race, I did do just that in our state primary. The incumbent, Democrat John Culver, was going to lose. I could have run and beat him. So we were going to end up with a Republican governor. Republican nutcase Vanderplaats stood a solid chance of getting the nomination, which scared the crap out of me.

So I changed my party affiliation (in Iowa, independents can't vote in primaries) and voted for Terry Branstad in the primary, reasoning that I'd never forgive myself if Whackadoodle Vanderplaats won.

So --- this is sort of the same thing. But not quite. And I have the feeling that, as in '08, I won't figure out what to do until the last minute. And it'll be emotional and I'll get all weepy again. Etc. 

Such is the state of politics here in Iowa, land of skuzzy towns and methheads. 

And yes, I'm really and truly and definitely almost finished with the manuscript. I think I'll make the January 15 deadline. See you then!

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By way of an update (and evidence that, yes!, I’m still alive): As I near the end of the Project From Hell, I finally understand why it has taken so. damn. long.

Well, okay, one of the reasons. (*1) And, hey, it’s connected to one of my favorite subjects --- how historians work --- and, hey, it allows me to rant, and bonus! break my rule about no blogging until I’m finished. (*2)

Here’s the deal: 

For the last two years, I’ve been at first surprised, and then outraged by my fellow historians, who, I have discovered, to my dismay, have zero interest in exploring the history of contentious contemporary issues. 

Or, as I now phrase it: WHAT THE HELL ARE HISTORIANS DOING? Besides, apparently, nothing?

Let me give you an example. It may seem trivial, but it makes my point:

For reasons that aren’t worth going into here (I’m trying to be brief), in the book’s last chapter I needed to discuss the microwave oven. That device, which can be found in 98% of American homes (and widely used in restaurants, too) is the single most important cooking tool to enter the American kitchen in the past century. 

So I needed to write two, maybe three sentences about it. But I couldn’t write those sentences until I first educated myself about the microwave oven’s history, and especially about the speed with which Americans adopted it.

Obviously microwave ovens are not my central topic. So this is a classic example of where it’s appropriate to rely on “secondary sources.” In this case, those secondary sources would be work by historians whose main topic was the microwave oven. 

So I conducted a “literature search”: I looked for other historians’ research on the microwave oven, its introduction into American kitchens, and its impact on Americans’ diets. 

Nada. Zip. Zero. Gotnuthin’forya.

Translation: in order to include those two or three sentences about the microwave oven, I had to drop what I was doing and do my own research into the history of the microwave oven, a task that would require at least a full day, but more probably two or three, just so I could write those two or three sentences.

Okay, so maybe a two-day detour isn’t such a big deal. Unfortunately, I encountered these research gaps over and over and over again --- for Major Big Deal Topics.

Consider the matter of livestock confinement, which is the practice of raising meat animals inside instead of outside on pasture. 

This is a hot button political/social issue in the US and has been for years. So it’s a no-brainer for historians, right? Surely, I assumed, someone has researched the history of confinement farming (which is now more than fifty years old). 

Nope. 

Here’s another Big Deal Topic: corporate-owned hog farms. For the last forty years, these farms, which consist of buildings that contain hundreds of thousands of hog, have provoked controversy, lawsuits and legislation (both state and federal), and have shaped environmental policies. Corporate hog farms are a BIG deal.

You’d think historians would be interested in researching the history of these farms.

Nope. Nada. Nuthin’ there.

Here’s another example: In the last 40 years, chicken has gone from being an afterthought to the number one meat in America. The lowly chicken toppled steak from its throne. Don Tyson built a mega-global corporation based on that change. 

You’d think someone would have researched that change, right?  

What did I find? Three short articles and one dissertation, each focusing on a narrow aspect of the American broiler industry in the mid-twentieth century. (“Broiler” is the industry term for meat chickens.)

In this case, that dearth of research translated into a month in the library --- working seven days a week, eight hours a day --- digging through poultry trade journals and newspapers and research bulletins piecing together the history of the broiler industry. 

And that didn’t include the separate topic of when and why Americans fell in love with chicken. (Which historians have also ignored.)

That’s the way it’s been for three years: one time-consuming detour after another to conduct substantive research that, by any measure of professionalism, should have at least been started by someone. 

At this point you’re thinking “Wait a sec. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? You’re writing a book about meat, so, shouldn’t you be doing the research?”

Yes and no. Yes, when I began this book, I expected to spend most of my time conducting primary research on dozens of meat-related topics.

But, again, those topics aren’t relics stashed in the dustbin of history. These are Big Deal issues NOW, right now in contemporary America: Corporate hog farms, the shift to chicken, the use of confinement, “corporate” farms versus the family farm.

These are matters that have generated controversy and legislation and environmental and agricultural policy for more than fifty years.

Because these issues are so controversial and affect us everyday, directly or indirectly, I was right to assume that some historians would have engaged in research that contributes to our understanding of them. Bare minimum, historians who specialize in agricultural history should have been working on this stuff.

Instead: nothing. 

If ever there was a time to say “What the fuck???,” this is it. 

What the fuck are historians DOING with their time (and, often, taxpayers’ money)? What? Tell me. I want to know.

In the meantime, however, historians’ do-nothingness sent me on one lengthy detour after another.

Which is why a) this book has taken sooooo much longer than I expected; and b) why, about a year ago, I decided that the back of the book will include a short essay titled “A Note To Historians,” in which I will pose that question (leaving out the “what the fuck” part).

End of rant. 

Oh, wait! Almost forgot the update: On or before January 15, 2012, I will finish this book, and it’ll show up in print (probably) a year later. 

I’ll be back --- soon.

*******************************

*1: The other being the two-year nightmare of dealing with the temporary lack of a right arm and more pain thanI could have imagined possible.

* 2: But---this counts as an update, so I’m not really breaking the rule. 

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August? Did I say August? I meant late September. 

Okay, so yes, I did think I'd be finished now. The bad news is that I'm not. The GOOD news is that I'm so close I can touch, taste, and feel "the end." I have one chapter left to write, then the introduction and the conclusion. The chapter will take about a month. The intro and conclusion three or four days.

So --- really, it's almost there. I'm feeling a bit frantic about it: I want to get into the publisher's Fall 2012 catalog and in order to do that, I gotta finish this sucker NOW, or at least in the next five weeks. 

Which is why, aside from two major interruptions, I will be keeping my head down for the near future. The two interruptions are: I'm giving three talks in the New York City area the first week of September. The talks are in conjunction with the German-American Stteuben Parade and the festivities that surround that. The second interruption is my high school reunion in mid-September. A year ago, I rather stupidly offered to help organize the event, never dreaming that the reunion would coincide with my race to the finish line with this book. (Because, ya know, I figured I'd be FINISHED with the damn thing by now.)

Anyway, that's what's new here. Or, urm, not new: more delays. Longer hiatus for the blog. But fear not. I shall return. The world keeps getting goofier, and Republican politics weirder (I live in Iowa, remember? We're neck-deep in the 2012 prez election here), so I have LOTS to say once I can get back to blogging.

Until there: au revoir. See you soon. VERY soon.

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Okay, people, I'm off again --- this time until August. The plan, according, ahem, to the contract, is to finish the manuscript by June 1. That ain't gonna happen. Sigh. But I'm SO. CLOSE. So I will now finish by August first.  

In any case, as before, I'm not kidding myself that I can blog and finish on time. My brain simply won't stretch that far. Now if I could do without sleep, food, or exercise, hey! Piece of cake. I'd have way more hours in the day and I could blog and research and write, too.

But --- ain't gonna happen. So I shall return, with any luck manuscript in hand. (And again, I take my "coffee breaks" at Twitter and Facebook, both of which require considerably less brain effort, and time, than writing blog entries.)

Adieu!

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Ohmygod, you gotta go over to Jay Brooks' blog to see more about Jack.

I knew Jack was planning to visit Russian River this week. Yesterday he did, and by coincidence, Jay, a master chronicler of all things beer, happened to be there, too. So he's got photos, a video, and therefore documentation that our beloved Jack, screwed-up arm and all, climbed a ladder to sign his old New Albion sign (of which, Vinnie and Natalie Cilurzo are the caretakers).

Damn, I wish I'd been there!

UPDATE: The next day, Jack, Jay, Pat, Natalie, and Vinnie trekked out to the site of Jack's brewery. Jay recorded the event.

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From my perspective, the InBev/Goose Island thing is a lovely coincidence: I just got home from the 2011 Craft Brewers Conference where I gave a short talk about the dangers of mindless expansion and why "mindful" growth is safer, even if that means no growth/expansion at all.

The example I used in my talk (well, one of the examples) was Leinenkugel: I argued that the Leinenkugel family had always focused its "growth" strategy not on their own bottom line, but on how growth (or not) would affect the community where the brewery was located (Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin). The family realized that if the company went under, everyone in town would be hurt by that outcome. So they always thought hard about making any kind of move toward expansion.

And when, in 1988, the family decided to sell the company to Miller Brewing, they did so not because they planned to make out like bandits, but because it was the only way to keep the company going and protect the town. (The deal they signed with Miller clearly guaranteed that Miller would leave the brewery up, running, intact, and in good health. Miller has honored that contract.)

My main point to my audience, which was composed of owners of small companies, was: Think before you leap. Because the history of American brewing is littered with the carcasses of brewers who opted for mindless expansion and failed because of that.

Anyway: on a cheerier note, my talk was brief because the main point of our conference session was to let Jack McAuliffe, pioneering microbrewer, speak. Renee DeLuca, who was also on the panel, and I asked Jack questions, and then we turned things over to the audience, many of whom were eager to tell Jack how they'd first heard about his brewery. One guy had two bottles of New Albion with him! Jack signed the labels.

Photo courtesy of Cathy McAuliffe-Dickerson

It was a deeply moving experience. Deeply moving. I meant what I said: I can now die happy because I finally got Jack in front of an audience of craft brewers so they could pay homage to him. It was all I could do to maintain my composure at the end, when the audience rose for a standing ovation.

On a more personal note: I've talked with Jack many times by phone over the years but we'd never met in person. He's even funnier in person. The  man has an incredibly sharp wit (not surprising given that he's extraordinarily intelligent). The accident that nearly killed him two years ago has taken a toll: He speaks more slowly than pre-accident, and in a softer voice. He's also lost the use of his left arm (among his other injuries was a severed nerve in that arm, which means his brain no longer sends or receives signals that enable his muscles to move).

But he's in great spirits. Turns out he hates big crowds and noise as much as I do, so, like me, he mostly hid out. But when he was out and about, it was a joy to see people approach him. As when he and I signed books after the talk.

And it was ALL worth it when he stepped on to the trade floor for the first time: the convention includes a trade show where beer-related vendors show their wares, and when Jack saw all that brewing equipment, his eyes grew three sizes and he couldn't escape from us dames (myself, Renee, and his sister Cathy) fast enough. (Jack is still an avid homebrewer and is now also distilling.)

So: a life goal achieved. Jack, my friend, here's to you.

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I just got back from the 2011 Craft Brewers Conference in San Francisco. (Yes, had a great time; thanks for asking. Well, except for the part about the no airplane available on Sunday morning, which forced me to stay an extra day spent almost entirely in an airport hotel.....)

While I was gone, Anheuser-Busch InBev announced it had purchased a controlling share of Goose Island Brewing in Chicago and would soon buy the remaining shares. (ABIB already owned a share of the company that holds the minority share.

And the hand wringing has begun. (I'd post links, but there are too many. Just roam around the beerblogosphere and you'll find plenty.)

But: why? Why the hand wringing? And why is anyone surprised? People, were ya not payin’ attention here at the ol’ blogarooney?

I told you three years ago that you could expect to see moves like this. The only surprising fact here is that there haven’t been more of such moves.

Yes, ABIB and MillerCoors will continue to grab onto craft breweries (how many of them depends entirely on who is inclined to sell. Many craft brewers prefer to keep it small/local/beautiful/whatever). And why not? The people running those companies are not stupid. They understand that a small but affluent segment of beer drinkers is willing to pay a premium for, ya know, premimum beers. Like Goose Island.

And for a beer maker, premium is where it’s at. (Premium beers take up the same amount of space in the warehouse and on the truck, but they bringer a higher profit per bottle than “regular” beers.)

So. Of course ABIB is interested. What will the company do with its new acquisition? I haven’t a clue, although it has two obvious options.

One, it can leave the beermakers alone to keep making what they make (premium beers). Or two, it can tell the beermakers to cease and desist and start making Budweiser knock-offs.

Smart money says they opt for Door Number One. Why? Because ABIB isn’t looking for Bud knockoffs. It’s hunting for premium beers. (Remember those: the ones that yield more profit per bottle than Bud?) Why screw with the goose that’s laying the golden egg? (No pun intended until I realized that, heee heeeee!, I’d just made a pun!) (I’m not so good at puns.)

Leaving Goose Island alone to do what it does best is a win-win for ABIB: It earns profit and it can start loading GI products on its trucks and selling them in a larger territory than was available to GI when it was on its own. 

So. Time will tell, but --- I’ve been a pretty good prognosticator up to now.

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I'm stopping by to drop this in so I won't forget what I did for dinner tonight. Might come in handy again.

I had a half can of tomatoes in the frig and didn't want to waste them. Because, really, what the heck can you do with a half can of tomatoes?

Well, you can use them with baked eggs. So I did.

I also found three slices of bacon that needed to be used. I would have added some mushrooms and a green pepper but we didn't have either of those. (And the point, of course, is to use up what's on hand, not to run to the store to get other ingredients.) (I'm getting ready to go out of town for four days and wanted to clean out the frig.)

I had dried porcini, so I used those. I intended to add some Kalamata olives but completely spaced out. Still -- the final result was delicious! 

If you decide to make this with more intention than I did, obviously you can add/subtract ingredients.

For two people:

• A few strips of bacon
• a half can of tomatoes 
• 4 dried porcinis (their flavor is so intense that you don't want to get carried away)
• a bit of chopped onion
• some dried basil
• chopped fresh parsley
• four eggs
• grated parmesan to taste

Preheat the oven to 350. That sounds high/hot for eggs, but it still took 15 minutes for them to cook. (My instinct told me to set the oven at 325, but then I looked at a few baked egg recipes and they all called for 350.So that's where I set the temp. I was glad I did.)

Boil a cup of water and pour it over the porcini to soften them. (If you're using fresh mushrooms, skip this.)

Using an oven-proof ten-inch saute pan (meaning: no plastic handle!), cook the bacon. Drain off most of the grease.

Add some olive oil to the pan and, when it's warmed, the chopped onion. After a few minutes, add the tomato and a bit of dried basil. (Fresh, if you have it.) Stir and cook for a few minutes. 

NOTE: If you're using fresh mushrooms, cook those with the onion. Ditto olives, which, again, I forgot but which would be great.

Rinse the porcini to get rid of the grit, chop them fairly small, and add them to the pan, along with the parsley.

Crack the eggs over the top of the mixture and season all of it with salt and pepper. Place in the oven. Bake for about 14 minutes. Keep an eye on it. If you want the yolks runny, take it out sooner.

About a minute before you want to take it from the oven, sprinkle the parmesan over the top. At some point (depending on how long your toaster takes), toast a couple of pieces of good bread. Butter them lavishly. ("More," said my husband as I buttered the toast. "MORE!")

Enjoy!

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Had to come out of the writing cave (yes, things are cranking right along in there) to tout a new beer book: The Best of Beervana from one of my favorite writers, Jeff Alworth.

The book is a compilation of pieces from his blog Beervana, and rangest from beer reviews (of course) to pub reviews to random rants and musings. (In other words: it reflects a perfect blog: a little of this, a little of that.) ("Perfect," of course, because, ahem, that's also a description of my own blog.)

Jeff writes with verve and enthusiasm and above all --- intelligence. If you're into beer, you're gonna love it.

You can buy the book here.

So. Whatchawaitinfor? Go do it.

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I'm moderate in my politics --- or centrist or whatever the term is for people who tend to take a balanced view of politics, government, the "process," and so forth. 

It's my view that in a democracy, compromise greases the wheels, which means that most of the time, every "side" gets a little bit of what it wants. (And, heh, it takes forever to get anything done. But hey! You stuff to happen fast? Go live in a dicatorship.)

Which is why I'm skeptical of zealots on both ends of the political spectrum. I'm dead certain people like Glenn Beck twist the facts at every opportunity and are consistently careless with words, not just in choice but in use. 

That carelessness, I assume, is intentional. "Spin" a situation ever so slightly with just the right word and just a little twist of the facts, and voila! You've revved up your followers and convinced them yet again that the "other side" is evil.

But the "right" doesn't have a lockhold on fact-twisting and intentional carelessness. The "left" can be just as manipulative. 

Consider this example. Below is tweet posted a week or so ago by a woman I'll call Madam Food Warrior. She's a Very Big Shot in the "real-and-pure" food movement. A Very Big Shot. She's holds a prestigious position. She's written several books on "food politics." When she speaks, people interested in the food movement listen. 

She's responding to news of a USDA decision to allow unregulated use of genetically modified alfalfa. (That specific context is irrelevant to my point.)

Uh oh. FSN says White House forced USDA to OK GM alfalfa so it would look business friendly. http://tinyurl.com/4h66dao 

Wow. Sounds bad, eh? The White House forced Ag Secretary Tom Vilsack to issue a decision and apparently did so to appease Big Business (which is enemy number one to people in the "real-and-pure" food movement.)  

So I clicked on the link to learn more about this pressure-from-the-top. The link led to an article at Food Safety News that contained more details about the decision about "deregulating" GE alfalfa. 

The report also contained a sentence to which Madam Food Warrior was obviously responding. Here it is:

Sources familiar with the negotiations at USDA, who preferred to remain anonymous, told Food Safety News they believe the White House asked Vilsack to drop proposed regulations so the administration would appear more friendly to big business.

My reaction?: Uh, what? 

I re-read the original tweet. As you can see, it asserts that the WH "forced" USDA to make a decision. 

Now look again at the quotation from the news report itself. According to that sentence, anonymous sources "familiar" with the negotions said that they BELIEVE the White House "asked" Vilsack to issue a particular ruling.

Did I just fall into a parallel universe?

A report from "anonymous sources" "familiar" with the situation who said they "believed" X happened is a loooooooog way from offering evidence that would have enabled Madam Food Crusader to ASSERT that the White House FORCED the USDA to act in a particular way. 

Sources "familiar" could mean janitors cleaning the hallway who overheard part of a conversation. It could mean lower level flunkies who heard something from someone who heard something from someone who heard something from someone who was there. 

The fact that these sources "believe" X happened doesn't mean they KNOW X happened. I can "believe" that Glenn Beck means well, but it doesn't follow that I know for a fact that he means well.

So what's point? 

This: Madam Food Crusader has almost 48,000 followers on Twitter. It's safe to assume that at least half are spammers, marketers, and the like who aren't interested in what she has to say.  (I took a quick look at her followers list. It's full of the usual scammers, spammers, marketers, etc. She obviously doesn't cull her list. I do cull spammers from my list and that amounts to half the people who follow me.) 

So let's say she's got 24,000 legitimate followers. Suppose all of them read that tweet. And suppose, oh, a quarter of them -- six thousand -- retweeted the tweet.

See where I'm going? Her careless (and presumably intentional) use of words created a false impression of a government decision, and thanks to the power of Twitter, that false impression then twisted and spun its way around the web.

If she were any old person, it might not matter. But she's not just any old person. She's a major figure in this movement. When she speaks, people listen. So when she speaks, she oughta be more careful about how she uses language to convey information. And so should the rest of us.

Moreover, the "food" movement portrays itself as traveling the moral high road. A large part of its thrust is that its adherents care about the planet, about poor people, about human health, and so forth, and care more than the nasty farmers and corporations who are only into food for the money. Their embrace of the moral high ground is a crucial part of their message.

But when I read stuff like this, I wonder if they've fallen off the road and into a gutter.

I know, I know: zealots are zealots because they care less about "facts" than they do about their cause. I get that. I know that. 

But in the age of the world wide web, information travels faster than ever, reaches more people faster, and, in the face of an onslaught of information, many people latch on to the easy, already-packaged conclusion. Because, ya know, it's easier to do that than it is to check out the situation for yourself.

But because it is so easy; because zealots on both sides are so ready and willing to manipulate their followers, well, I think I'll just stick with the center. Because I'm not sure that anyone at the spectrum poles can be trusted.

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Coming out of the “I MUST finish this new book” cave for a moment to comment on a video I saw via Twitter. (The video clip came to me courtesy of Adam Penenberg.)

The video in question is an unintentionally hilarious clip from a 1994 edition of NBC’s “Today” show. 

My Twitter comment was “Howling”. But even as I zipped off that response, I knew it was glib and short-sighted. In fact, the clip is a historian’s dream. It’s a powerful primary source that would inspire historians interested in the social and cultural history of the internet and the worldwide web. 

Here's the clip:

(At least I hope it's still  there. Some versions of it have been removed from the web.)

[NOTE: the day after I posted this entry, L. A. Lorek posted a Twitter  link to a 1994 article she'd written about the internet. Great companion piece.]

Okay, so yes, it’s funny, right? Hilarious, in fact. “What is the internet anyway?” "Internet is, uh, that massive computer network that's becoming really big now."

But, oh boy! The possibilities for the historian! 

Think about it. The three anchors hosted what was then, and still is, one of the most “popular” news programs on television --- “popular” meaning it commands a huge audience. Every morning, people turn in to get their news from the “Today” show. 

So you’d think these three well-known, well-paid journalists, would be, ya know, clued in on that thing called the internet, the thing that was about to change every. single. thing. about human existence.

And yet --- none of then had the foggiest.

Which means that the creation of the two most powerful technological and social tools in modern history --- the internet and the web --- apparently unfolded completely unbeknownst to what we now call the “mainstream media” (aka MSM). 

(Light bulb! Is this one reason that internet- and web-saturated folks today are so dismissive of said “mainstream media.” Can this clip help historians make sense of the history of that stance?) 

From a historian’s point of view, the three anchors’ ignorance provides a ready-made starting point for a historical assessement of that moment. Certainly it inspires a host of questions a historian would want to answer:

Why were the people who created this profound moment in human history so far off the radar of mainstream journalism? And why was mainstream media so oblivious? (Those are two different questions.) 

How, if at all, did MSM’s ignorance of the “revolution shape the early history of the internet-and-web? Did MSM's obliviousness enable those pioneers to capitalize, literally and figuratively, on internet/web potential free of the influence of mainstream corporate America? Did that obliviousness shape internet/web pioneers’ “information wants to be free” paradigm? 

When, how, and why did Gumbel, Couric, and other journalist powerhouses finally catch on? Who or what tipped them off? How did they, as journalists, then “shape” the story? How did their mainstream “story” differ from the narrative put forth by the internet/web pioneers?

I could rattle off questions indefinitely, but I’m not planning to research or write about any of this, so I’ll stop. 

But you see what I mean: This is how historians work. We look back at the past; find an interesting/worthwhile “question”; ask more questions; and then try to find the answers.

The result, eventually, is a historical narrative: a recounting of “what happened.”

And inspiration comes from odd places, even a seemingly trivial-bordering-on-silly YouTube video, which in this case serves as a truly powerful primary document. 

So. There you go.

And here I go, back to the cave, where I'm reading  up on agricultural policy during the Truman era and learning why many ag experts believed that producing more meat seemed the happy answer to the otherwise vexing “agricultural problem.” See ya!

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Too good to pass up. From an ad in Business Week, Dec. 24, 1949, p. 47.

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I've been meaning to upload this recipe for awhile. In fact, I tried to last year but couldn't figure out how to create a url for it. The recipe is long (but not complicated) and I didn't want to post the whole thing here. Much easier to make a Word document and let you have at it that way.

Anyway: homemade chicken pot pie is a glory. My kids love it. When they're all here at Christmas I make it and I swear. to. god. that they sit at the table and simply inhale it, that's how fast it disappears.

I take no credit for the deliciousness of this recipe. I got the original from Sara Gruen (back when we were in a writing group together) and then futzed with it a bit. And then I saw an episode of Barefoot Contessa with Ina Garten where she made a version and I added some of her genius to it and, hey, that's how recipes get made.

Anyway, it's not nearly as complicated as it sounds. And the bonus is that you can make it ahead of time and freeze the ingredients. Plus, if you're a small household like ours, you can make the entire recipe and freeze the ingredients for individual pies and you'll have several meals all ready to go. On the other hand, if you've got a hungry crew with discerning taste, well, make this and you will be MUCH loved by one and all.

Have at it -- and enjoy! Chicken Pot Pie. (The link leads to a Word file that will "download" on your machine.) (Thank you, Dropbox!)

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On New Year's Eve, my friend Kay (my oldest and dearest) came up to spend the night, cook, watch "Rocky Horror Picture Show" (which I'd never seen).

She opted to make a dish from Better Homes and Gardens magazine: "Rustic Swiss Chard and Mozzarella Tart." (At the site, you'll have to sign in to see the recipe).

It was delicious! And, I thought, could be even better with a little futzing here and there. So tonight I engaged in said futzing. Result? Magnifique! (If I do say so myself. Although I hasten to add that I started with a good recipe.)

Essentially this is a galette, which I typically make in the summer with fresh fruit. I have to admit that I'd not thought about the possibilities of a savory galette, but hey! Now that that I have, well, yeah, baby! (That link to the Wikipedia entry for galette is a bit limited. See this for a better image and recipe.)

Basically the recipe consists of cooked vegetables spooned onto a round of pastry. Fold the pastry and bake. Voila! (See commentary about pastry below.)

So:

• 1-1/4 c. flour
• 1/4 t. salt
• 1/2 c. (one stick) unsalted butter, very cold/frozen
• 1/4 c. ice water
• 1 bunch of Swiss chard (you could use kale or spinach)
• 1 c. chopped onion (see note below)
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• half pound of mushrooms, sliced
• handful of Kalamata or other brined olives, pitted and sliced
• 1 t. dry thyme
• 3/4 c. shredded mozzarella (see note below)

Pastry: This is not rocket science. All you're doing is mixing butter and flour using either your fingers or a machine. The main thing is not to overdo it. Don't worry if you see butter bits in the dough. No problem. If you're persnickety about it, after you've added the water and made a "dough," put it on the counter and use the heel of your hand to mush the butter deeper into the flour. But really, it's not necessary. The "trick," such as it is, is to make sure you add enough water. Most recipes say to add a couple of tablespoons. Trust me: that's not enough. A quarter cup does it.

The onion: the original recipe called for leeks, which are so expensive. So. Expensive. So I just chopped an onion. But I had some shallots, so I also diced two of those. 

The mozzarella: the original recipe called for "mozzarella." I decided to try some fresh mozzarella, along with some provolone I had in the fridge. Worked fine.

Make the pastry: Whisk the flour and salt together. Cut the butter into bits. Using your fingers (or a food processor, if you have one), cut/mix/meld the butter and flour. The usual recipe calls for "pea-sized bits" -- but really, just mix the stuff. Add the ice water and use your fingers to mix all of it into a dough. Flatten it into a circular disk, cover with plastic wrap and chill in the frig for an hour or more. (If you're using a food processor, google for some tips. I've never made it with anything other than my hands.)

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

De-vein the chard and chop the leaves. Heat some olive oil in a large pan (a 12" if you have one). Add the mushrooms and cook them over high heat for three or four minutes. Add the onion and cook another minute or two. Add the garlic and ditto. Add the chard and olives and some salt and pepper. (Be careful with the salt. If you're using brined olives, they add plenty.)

Cook till the chard is more or less wilted. I left the pan on the heat for several minutes more so as to cook off the water.

Let the mixture cool for five or ten minutes and add the cheese and, using a large fork, toss gently to mix.

Flour a work surface and your rolling pin. Unwrap your dough and have at it. Don't worry if it's not a perfect circle. You're aiming for a twelve inch circular piece of dough, more or less. If it's too sticky, put more flour on your pin and the surface. 

Move the dough to a baking sheet, preferably one lined with parchment paper. You can grease the sheet, but parchment paper is so much easier.

Using a large spoon, move the chard mixture from the pan onto the center of your dough, leaving at least a two-inch border of dough. Then fold the dough over the filling, leaving the center open and exposed, pleating the dough as you go.

Into the oven for 30-40 minutes, until the mixture is bubbling and the crust is golden brown. (Took 32 minutes in my oven, which runs a bit fast.)

Amazing!

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By way of saying farewell and adieu for another six months (at which time I surely will have written "The End" to my work-in-progress), allow me to get on my  high horse for a moment about one of my favorite subjects: food.

As food relates to money. Which, yes, it does. Consider this:

Several years ago, I was in Oregon visiting family and had dinner with my cousins at a "nice" restaurant: entrees in the $25.00 range. Good food. I enjoyed it. Drinks, dinner, wine, dessert. 

Expensive? Yes, it was. But my cousins ate there often. If I remember correctly, they'd already been there once that week. (This was, for them, a "neighborhood" restaurant.)

During the course of the conversation, one of the cousins complained about money, or the lack thereof. In his words, it was hard to "keep the wolf from the door," and if only he could earn about $10,000 a year more, he said, everything would be just dandy.

Being a polite midwesterner, I refrained from pointing out the obvious: He already HAD that "extra" $10,000 a year. Indeed, he was chowing down on part of it that moment.

Namely, all that money he spent (or threw away) every month going out to eat. I did a rough mental calculation and concluded that he and his family spent in the neighborhood of $800 a month going out to eat. By my math, which admittedly sucks, 800 times twelve equals $9,600 a year. Pretty damn close to ten thousand.

So. Looking for a new year's resolution? How about saving yourself some money (and time!) by doing some basic cooking?

That's the point of a lovely and practical essay by Mark Bittman in this week's New York Times Sunday opinion section.

Bittman writes about food for the Times and is the author of a number of cookbooks. His take on food is basic and practical: Cooking is not rocket science. Pretty much anyone can make a good meal.

EVEN WHEN YOU THINK YOU'RE 'TOO TIRED' TO DO SO. (In all caps because I want to make sure you get the point.)

He's dead right. When I'm tired at the end of the day, the last thing, and I mean the. last. thing. I want to do is drag my tired ass out to a restaurant. Get in the car or walk to a place, wait to be seated, wait to order, wait for the food, etc.

It's sooooooooooooooo much easier on my tired body, and so much more relaxing, to fix something at home. And, yes, it's cheaper!

What I especially appreciate about Bittman is his non-preachy approach to the matter: Keep some basics on hand. Learn a few (basic) skills. You're good to go!

(Unlike, in other words, the approach taken by the Food Scold In Chief [aka Michael Pollan], whose idea of cooking begins with a trip to the back yard to plant your garden. "It's not a meal, you fool! It's a political statement! Save the fucking planet first! And THEN you can eat.")

So. Do yourself a favor: read his essay, try one of the recipes. Please.

Here's my addition to his message: The smartest purchase I ever made (well, okay, the husband paid for it) was our small freezer. (If I remember correctly, it's ten cubic feet.) At any given moment, it's full of food I've cooked. Which means that at any given moment when I don't feel like cooking, well, hey, all I gotta do is trot down to the basement and pull something out, let it sit on the counter for a few hours, and voila! Dinner.

Whaddya waitin' for? Get cooking! Your brain, and your bank account, will thank you.

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This arrived in my in-box courtesy of the fine folks at Splendid Table. It's truly scrumptious and so easy that it could be called Dummy Chicken.

The recipe comes from The Splendid Table's How to Eat Supper. I'm probably violating a copyright law by posting the recipe, but . . . . On the other hand, it's a short recipe, so maybe I'm not. (Fair use allows free use of limited text.)

Oven-Roasted Chicken Cacciatora

• 2.5 to 3 pounds of chicken thighs or chicken breast bone-in
• 1/3 c. pitted Kalamata olives
• 4 - 6 thin slices of cacciatore, Genoa, or hard salami, cut in 1-inch squares (I used Molinari brand.)
• large red or green pepper, cut into 1-inch pieces (original recipe calls for red; I had a green one on hand)
• 1 large fresh tomato or 3 drained canned ones, chopped coarse (I used an entire can; didn't want to waste it)
• 1 medium to large red onion, chopped coarse
• leaves from two 4-inch sprigs fresh rosemary (didn't have any; used dried)
• 10 fresh sage leaves, torn (ditto)
• 4 large garlic cloves, minced
• 1 t. fennel seeds, lightly crushed (or not, see my note in text below)
• 1/4 c. dry red wine
• 1/4 c. good olive oil (this is the time to use the GOOD stuff; bold and fruity is best)
• salt, pepper
• juice of one lemon (which I forgot)

Preheat oven to 400.

Note: Since I didn't have fresh herbs, I just chopped up the sage, rosemary, and fennel with the garlic. Made a nice paste, it did, which served its purpose deliciously.

Arrange the chicken on a large shallow pan. The original suggested a half-sheet pan, but I used my 3 quart, shallow, round enameled cast iron pot. 

Scatter all the other ingredients, except the lemon, over the chicken. Roast for 30 minutes. Baste with pan juices, turn the chicken pieces over, and roast another 10-15 minutes. NOTE: the timing is predicated on using thighs. I used breast meat and adjusted the timing accordingly. It's done when the meat temperature reaches 180. If you wanted "browned" chicken, turn on the broiler for a minute or two. Squeeze the lemon juice over all just before serving.

Swoon. Swoon again a couple of nights later when you eat the leftovers. (Put dish, covered, in a cold oven. Turn the temperature to, I dunno, 250? 300? Heat for fifteen or so minutes.)

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I found this recipe in the New York Times. It's staggeringly delicious and so simple. The original recipe regards it as a stew, to be served in a bowl. In my opinion, it cries out for a dish of good rice. This freezes well, so don't worry about having too many leftovers.

I'm always paranoid that links will go dead, so I'm including the recipe here:

• 2 T. oil, olive or whatever
• medium onion, chopped
• 4 garlic cloves, minced
• 1-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and grated (I just chopped it)
• 1-1/2 t. garam masala (*)
• 1-1/2 t. curry powder
• jalapeno pepper, or other hot pepper, seeded and minced (or, if you're that kind of person, leave the seeds in)
• 4-5 c. vegetable broth (I used chicken)
• 2 pounds sweet potatoes, peeled, cut in 1/2 inch cubes (s. potatoes are the ORANGE ones)
• 1-1/2 c. dried lentils (I used basic brown ones)
• bay leaf
• pound of chard, ribs removed, leaves sliced thin
• 1 t. or more of kosher salt, ground pepper to taste
• 1/3 c. chopped cilantro
• grated zest of one lime
• juice of half a lime (I added the juice of the whole thing)
• 1/3 c. chopped almonds for garnish (optional; I opted out)
• 1/4 c. chopped scallions for garnish (I forgot them)

In a large saucepan (I used a large skillet), heat oil over medium heat. Add onion, saute until translucent. Add the garlic, ginger, garam masala, curry powder, and hot pepper. Cook, stirring, for a minute.

Stir in 4 c. of broth, the potatoes and lentils and bay leaf. Increase heat to high and bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium or lower, and simmer, partially covered, for 25 minutes. (If the lentils look too dry, add more broth.) Add chard, salt, and pepper, and continue cooking until the lentils are soft and chard is cooked.

Just before dishing, add the cilantro, lime zest and juice. Garnish with almonds and scallions. Or not.

* I make garam masala using the recipe in Julie Sahni's Classic Indian Cooking.

• 1.5 T. of black cardamom seeds
• 1.5 cinnamon sticks
• 1/2 T. whole cloves
• 1/8 c. black peppercorns
• 1/4 c. cumin seeds
• 1/4 c. coriander seeds

Crush the cinnamon sticks with a mallet or rolling pin (or the nearest hard-headed person you can find). Put all the spices in a small, heavy saute pan and roast them over high heat for a minute or two, until the scent fills the room! (Watch them. You don't want to burn them.) Grind the mixture. Store in an airtight container in a dry, cool spot.

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And humbug.

No, I did not finish the manuscript. Not even close. Which, okay, I knew would be the case back in October. But I gave it a good shot. 

The new deadline date (chosen by my editor, who apparently has an absurd amount of faith in me) is June 1. Now that I think I can manage.

So what does this mean? Well, alas and alack, the book won't come out in 2011. Which means, ugh, it will come out during an election year, which is precisely what I was trying to avoid.

(Because elections function as media sponges, absorbing every. last. bit. of media attention there is to be had. Leaving people like me out in the cold. Which, okay, is where I'd be anyway because I'm neither Famous nor Important so my books, which are neither Sexy, nor Groovy, and contain neither sex nor vampires, get little attention.)

But I'm one of those stupidly optimistic people for whom hope springs eternal, so hey, I'm gonna give all this my best shot. My 150%, all-in, all-out, pedal-to-the-metal shot at both a June 1 completion and a reasonably successful publishing experience. (Do me a favor: don't ask me to define a "reasonably successful" publishing experience. The reality is too damn depressing.)

So. I'm going to post some recipes (been cookin' up a stormy heaven in my new kitchen), and then create another hiatus post in which I shall bid you, dear friends, farewell for another six months.

And yes, I have missed blogging to an extent that I'm embarrassed to admit. 

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I'm well past the half-way point on the new manuscript, and still determined to finish it by December 31. I mean, okay, if I DON'T finish it, it's not like I'm gonna throw myself off the roof or anything. Still --- it would be nice.

That means I'm down to the wire. I've still got three chapters to research and write. That's a lot of work in three months.

And to that end, I'm no longer pretending that, okay, I can post the occasional blog entry. Believe me, the temptation is there. I read something that other day about doing history in the digital age that launched me straight into a diatribe. But I could tell it would turn into another of my multi-part series, so I backed away. Set it aside. Maybe later. 

The fact is that a substantive blog entry takes me several hours to write. At least. And that's several hours taken away from the main task at hand.

So. No. More. Blogging. Until I finish this manuscript. No more. Period. No "In the Kitchen." No rants. No beer-world updates. Nada.

Now if you're desperate to read my brilliant prose, please, be my guest! There are more than a thousand entries here. And three previous books. Have at it.

But nothing new until I finish the project at hand. I'm still taking my coffee/water cooler breaks at Twitter, and I peruse Facebook once or twice a day. But those are quickie breaks, just to remind myself that there's a world out there. 

Otherwise, however, I'm in the cave.

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