Hedonia

Olive me

Three months, two food service containers, one stockpot and lord only knows how much salt later, ten pounds of olives are ready to be unleashed on an unsuspecting world.

These puppies took a fair amount longer than our last batch. But then, they're a fair bit larger than those others as well. I procured these from Penna Gourmet Olives, thanks to a tipster in the comments from last year's post. Penna is based in Orland, in the northern Central Valley. That puts them 158 miles from here, which puts them a little outside the comfort zone of hardcore locavores. I figure, these olives have been living in our house for three months, and that makes them as local as it gets.

Acting on feedback left by another (frankly rude) self-purported Italian olive grower, I upped the ante on salt content in the brine to try to stave off the scourge of mold. Using double the amount recommended in the previous version did little to keep the crud away, though it did make the olives inedibly salty. Hence, I had to go through a few cycles with less salt, and at least one with no salt to try to bring them back into a happy place.

Finally, this week they were both sufficiently de-bitter-ized and not tongue-burningly salty. Let the seasoning begin. A fistful of chili pepper flake, a sprinkle of black peppercorns, some lovely fragrant bay leaves, a fagot of finely matchsticked lemon rind and a very healthy slosh of extra virgin olive oil should just do the trick.

I'm playing it safe: I'm keeping these babies in the fridge, turning them twice daily until I can offload them or consume them. Take that, mister mold.

And so ends another lengthy, tedious and fraught food venture chez Hedonia. DPaul gets his stockpot back, I can sleep at night without dreams of encroaching mold and we can finally give our friends their Christmas gifts.

Type casting

Perhaps it's reflective of my humble nature (snicker); more likely it's early-onset Alzheimer's. Two days ago was the two-year birthday of Hedonia! Of course, as it's been in a virtual coma for the past couple months, I didn't exactly break out the champagne and cupcakes.

You see, apparently, I have forgotten how to blog. Weeks, months go by and I cannot pull the words together to fill a post. Of course, lack of time factors in heavily as well. My work is crazier than ever (and I mean that in more than one sense); the holidays washed over me like a tinsel-clad tsunami; and I remain ever stunned at, as a dog owner, just how much time you have to -- have to -- spend rubbing bellies and throwing squeaky toys. There aren't enough hours in the day.

As a result, I am rusty. As I sit to write this post (Ed. -- again; this post was started weeks ago) I find myself hesitating at the keyboard, intimidated by the virtual white page. Of late, I feel the same way in the kitchen. Whereas I used to handily churn out delicious and interesting meals, I now move a little more slowly, check and recheck measurements, constantly fear that I am skipping an ingredient.

It's small wonder. With our time as constrained as it's been, not only have I not been cooking, I've also not really been eating. I mean, sure, I've consumed my couple-thousand calories each day, but more often than not I may as well have eaten cardboard, cheerlessly choking down whatever sustenance is at arm's reach.

Not that it has all been uninteresting. Attentive readers (and close personal friends) will know that DPaul suffers from a particular back problem similar to rheumatoid arthritis. Recently, in his efforts to combat this condition, he has begun working with a naturopath. Evidently, it's quite likely that DPaul's pain may be triggered by allergic reactions to certain foods.

The good doctor had DPaul purchase a copy of Eat Right for Your Type. The author, Dr. Peter J. D'Adamo, has devised a set of diets based on each individual's blood type. By many accounts, he's on to something with this. In point of fact, in just one week of adherence to the diet, DPaul was virtually pain-free.

Of course, here's the thing: DPaul is blood-type O; I am type A. Type O is purportedly the primal blood type -- hunter-gatherers, cavemen and whatnot. The diet comprises meat, meat, meat and meat, no dairy or grains -- diet not unlike one a certain meat-eating vegan I know was forced to reconcile with. "A" types came with the next step in human evolution: Agriculture. Hence, the type A diet is, well, vegetarian. There is stunningly little overlap between the diets.

Herein lies the irony: When DPaul and I first got together, over fifteen years ago, I was fairly pescetarian, leaning into more hardcore vegetarianism for economic reasons. DPaul was a meat eater. Over the years we gravitated closer together, but left to our own devices, were we doing what our bodies told us to?

The Eatsdropper drinks wine at home

Omigod, guess what? I have a blog! Yeah, I know, I wasn't aware of it either, evidently. Luckily a couple cohorts and I still have eagle ears for other people's silly utterings. Granted, I've been sitting on some of these for, oh, three months, but hey, they're still pretty fresh. And I'll make you a promise -- if you keep sending me goodies like this, I'll keep posting them on my blog. Whatever that is.

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Coworker: "I've never ordered from McDonalds, but it just sounds like a child's dream."

- Eatsdropped by yours truly  in our New York office

Friend: "Last week it was so cold and rainy that I almost debased myself and
bought canned soup!"

- Eatsdropped by Tea

Winery employee to wine-tasting customers:
    "So, do you guys drink wine at home?"

Non-drinking Mom to wine-tasting offspring:
    "Hmph. They need a bigger gift shop for people who don't drink wine."

- Both (separately) eatsdropped by Anita at Cosentino Winery

Blonde 1: "This friend of mine has her own business and a new baby, and it just exploded over the holidays."
Blonde 2: "The baby?"

- Eatsdropped by yours truly at Il Fornaio