Meatless Meals

I’m giving up meat for Lent.

I’ve done that once before, but with less than perfect results. A few years ago, I realized that I was eating an inordinate amount of meat. It wasn’t on purpose, but it just grew into a habit. Every time I made a sandwich for my husband, Mike, I’d have a few slices of turkey, ham or whatever I was using. I would give my daughter a ham roll as part of a snack, and I’d end up eating two, three or more, loathe as I am to admit it. My default nibble at night seemed to always come out of the deli drawer of the fridge, or sliced off a leftover dinner roast, and a single slice or chunk of chicken would never do.

So I quit, cold turkey.

However, I didn’t “do it” right. After about two weeks, I found myself wandering aimlessly in the beef department of the supermarket – and I never buy beef – in a fugue state: I didn’t know how I got there or what I was doing, but I could not feel my arms, legs or head, much less stagger out of there and into the checkout line. I was starving and seeing double, standing still, staring at the blood-soaked packages, not even knowing how much time had elapsed. I ate meat two days later, lapsed Catholic that I am. That, and I gulped down a massive quantity of iron supplements.

But I want to try it again this year and announced as much last week, after scoring a ton of sardines in various sauces that were on sale at the supermarket.

Well, after a stellar dinner of a gorgeous filet of wild Sockeye salmon last night, served with sweet vinegared rice, edamame and salad, Mike proclaimed he wanted to give up meat for Lent as well. “Let’s all give up meat this year!” He was really into it.

“I can’t do that with her,” I told Mike, motioning my head toward our 5-year-old daughter, who was scraping up the last flakes of fish from her plate, then negotiating the skin.

She knows where meat comes from, and last night she asked why we had to kill the fish. She often asks why the chicken died. I tell her “We make our choices,” and don’t have to eat it. She will agree, then think, then completely renege and say she wants the meat, then repeats and repeats that she wants the meat, psyching herself up for dinner. And that’s fine. I wouldn’t expect anything different. I’m glad she’s a good eater.

I further explained to Mike that I don’t really know the bean-rice-lentil combinations and quantities to create that elusive “complete protein” I always hear vegetarians talk about. I don’t eat pasta, but they do, so maybe this could work. I then recalled to him the fugue state I entered each time I went to the store starving and practically cross-eyed three years ago.

“I have confidence in you. We can do it,” he said [i.e. I can do it, prepare the food in balance, and keep the Lenten promise going …]

Maybe we can. We go meatless probably more often than most American families, with an ever-evolving repertoire of grains, beans and any invented combination thereof. It’s definitely easier in the summer, when our garden produces all the produce we need to feed the neighborhood.

I’ve also had my run-ins with supermarket meat. And until a lapse last year for which I received 113 lashes, I hadn’t purchased industrial beef since I can remember.

But I obviously purchase meat and fish. I like it to an extent, and my daughter, since starting solid food, almost always eats her meat first. She (and I) also love organ meats, from hearts to livers. Although I exceed her age by a high 30+ [ahem] years, she’ll out consume me, hands down, when it comes to the innards. I will be preparing protein in various forms for her during the Lenten season. I’ll enjoy making a little something special and different for her, and she’ll feel like a big deal.

In the end, Mike also pulled back a bit, requesting only meatless dinners. The lunches I make for him to take to work usually involve a turkey, ham or other type of sandwich [Italian hero is a favorite, loaded with Coppa], although not always.

But for now, I need to do more than lay in extra supplies of tinned fish for myself: research, recipes, shopping (I’m out of both polenta and wheat berries) and planning are on the menu before Ash Wednesday arrives on the 17th. Fresh fish is costly, and I can’t shoulder that as a nightly expense.

I also hope this will bring a new spark of creativity to my kitchen. I’ll keep you posted.

I Used the Beef II

Three Down, One to Go.

The beef is making its way out of my freezer, slowly but bloodily surely.

It was very finely combined with ground pork, good parm and crusty country breadcrumbs to make meatballs in a red sauce. The meal turned into an impromptu extended-family dinner paired with an Italian Primitivo I wanted to try, which I think will be a new house red for the winter.

If I make a red sauce, which oddly is not all that often, I bring out the big guns: my favorite, tall, heavy-gauge stainless steel Williams-Sonoma pot with a glass lid. I received it as a Christmas gift, geez, probably 15 years ago. It was one of my first “good” pieces. Kitchenwise, I’ve learned that you’ve got to buy the best that you can. Things heat evenly and dependably, the pieces hold up and you’ll never have to replace a cheap pan again. This pot, together with some Le Creuset pieces, drives home what I also call The Shoe Rule: Your cheapest shoes are the most expensive, and your most expensive shoes are the cheapest. You will constantly break, repair or throw away cheapies that lose their shape and wear out before the season is through. Yet I have a pair of strappy, silver Italian high-heeled sandals from before I was married. They’re a summer constant and still look stunning.

But, I digress. Subconsciously, I’m getting off-topic, and that’s for a reason.

I’ve noticed that I have a habit of taking a long time to fess up about using the beef. This pot of sauce was made on Columbus Day, appropriately. I’m just getting around to dealing with, or at least acknowledging, my own personal fallout. It took close to one month to write about my first use of the beef over the summer.

Either way, it was a good, hearty meal for an October that’s been one of the colder ones on record.

One last block of beef remains in the freezer.

I Used the Beef

There’s blood on my hands, officially.

I used some of the beef. I made hamburgers topped with grilled Portobello mushrooms and Piave Vecchia cheese when my in-laws came over a short while ago. The meat was laced with garlic, generous amounts of salt and fresh pepper, plus finely chopped Italian parsley, then finely milled by hand and shaped into thick patties. The portobellos got a treatment of balsamic vinegar and chopped fresh rosemary after grilling. The Piave Vecchia, a hard cheese with a nice bite, turned out to be a very good substitute for the intended Taleggio, which I could not find. The burgers were served on lightly warmed buns.

No crumbs were left.

No juice went unsopped.

No pictures were taken.

No beef was eaten by the writer. But I had to come clean. I used it.

And I still have over two-thirds of it left, beating in my freezer like Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart.

$1.13. Total Cost: As Yet Undetermined.

I’ve whored myself for five pounds of meat.

And the worst kind: ground beef. I found a mis-marked package at the grocery store. I don’t know how I saw it, or even quite why I was in the beef section. I was making a loop around the cases, thinking about taking advantage of a hot Italian sausage special (I didn’t), and somehow I saw the price from the corner of my eye among the mountains of pre-packaged meat: $1.13.

I labored over it. Oh, no, I didn’t immediately dump that hulking package into my cart. But once I did, I made a loop back to return it to the case, or to one of the meat department employees. But I didn’t. I kept it. And bought it.

I haven’t purchased industrial beef in years. Thinking back, I began tapering off significantly since reading Fast Food Nation, then pretty much stopped completely with The Omnivore’s Dilemma. I’ve also had my run-ins with other supermarket meat (see Birdzilla). But I do purchase other meats and fish. Look, I like it to an extent, and my daughter, since starting solid food, almost always eats her meat first.

We do go meatless probably more often than most American families, with an ever-growing repertoire of grains, beans and any invented combination thereof. And it’s not because we’re vegan, vegetarian or even anti-flesh. It’s just a fresh, good way to eat: inventive, expressive and inexpensive, and the household enjoys it.

But, my God, what have I done.

For one dollar. And thirteen cents.


My ticking time bomb is still sitting in the lowest, coldest part of my fridge, waiting to be either divided, or pre-shaped or simply frozen into a 5+ pound block. I can’t get it out of my mind, yet can’t bring myself to face it for further butchering.

Any way you cut it, I won’t be partaking of it once prepared, or if prepared. I bought it, yes, but won’t eat it. Does that make me a hypocrite? If I serve it to my family, what does that say – it’s not good enough for me, but good enough for you? If I spread it among extended family and friends, perhaps grilled for Memorial Day, July 4th, or any given softball league weekend, am I making them all complicit in this sin? Am I being a budget-minded pragmatist by utilizing this find, or am I completely and morally compromised?

What bothers me further is that I keep coming up with ideas for variations on the basic burger, and I can’t help it. This boatload of beef could be turned into enough burgers to feed the neighborhood and cover all tastes and preferences: Microplaned garlic mixed into the beef and a knob of Gorgonzola tucked inside the patty. Mixed olive tapenade inside the burger, topped with Iberico or Zamorano [yes!] sheep’s milk cheese, served with a slightly chilled Tempranillo. Thinner patties, topped with grilled Portobellos, fresh rosemary from the garden, aged balsamic and melted, oozing Teleggio cheese. Or I could try a variation of a Sicilian meatloaf I have made with ground pork: integrate grated aged Provolone cheese into seasoned meat full of fresh Italian parsley, with a slice of hard-boiled egg in the center. Trust me, it’s delicious. Choose your Italian red to accompany.

I disgust myself.

And I can’t give the beef away. My church always accepts foods for the needy in our area, and we donate to the box on the occasional Sunday or whenever there’s a drive. But this is packaged meat, not a canned good or boxed cereal. I could return it to the grocery store, but it would not be accepted back. If it were, it would be discarded. I’ve thought about divvying it up between my parents and in-laws. Remember, I’m a believer in a well-stocked freezer. But see the paragraph above beginning, “Any way you cut it.” It’s the same as cooking and serving it to them as guests.

I don’t think anyone enjoying a burger in my backyard or a Sicilian meatloaf in my dining room would take this as seriously as I am right now. And, given the problems in the world, and my coming up a little short on my daughter’s preschool tuition this month, my considering this $1.13 Styrofoam pallet of beef so extensively is a luxury.

I should just take it for what it is. And try to live with myself later.

I’ll let you know if I can.

Birdzilla

I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Or held anything like it. Or thought it could have existed. But factory chicken farming has gotten out of hand. Look to the right and you’ll witness it for yourself:

A two-pound single chicken breast.

Really. This thing weighed close to 2 lbs. if it weighed an ounce. I try not to buy a lot of supermarket meat. I haven’t bought industrial beef in years, and try to limit other types of meat. But in all practicality, I have to feed my family. When a reasonably sized package turns up during a sale, I consider purchasing it. It’s rare to find anything other than a double-pallet-sized Styrofoam boat of meat any more, especially when the cut is on sale. This $6 package weighed about three pounds. I counted five breasts glinting through the plastic wrap. Perfect: grill two small ones tonight, then freeze the other three, cut and divided into scant one-pound portions for future use.

This giant breast showed through the wrap just like the others, a squeezed-in triangular sliver peeking out amidst the other four. When I opened the package to divide the contents for freezing, I was completely dumbfounded as to how I was going to divvy up the contents. Then I was just dumbfounded. How did this chicken walk, much less breathe with two, count ‘em, two breasts this size? And how did they grow this big, that fast? Supermarket chickens live an average of six or seven weeks before slaughter. That’s between 40 to 50 days. By law, they’re not given antibiotics or hormones. Hell, they don’t live long enough to need them.

Now, I’ve purchased the ol’ reliable Perdue Oven Stuffer Roasters – remember, I’m a believer in a well-stocked freezer. Plus, they’re great for extended family dinners or for a week’s worth of leftovers served six ways. I know the Oven Stuffers come from a different breed of bird, but they’ve been bred and are raised for the same qualities: large breasts, lots of meat, short lives before slaughter for lower feeding and housing costs to the farms.

I’ve never gotten a single breast or even a combined pair of breasts off of an Oven Stuffer that came close to the size of this monster.

And in the end, the chicken didn’t even have any flavor or texture. Yes, I used it that night. I had to cut it into pieces similar in size to each other for grilling then similar in size to the other four breasts I prepared for freezing. I did a simple marinade of fresh garlic, lemon juice, cracked black pepper and olive oil, tossed the pieces on my grill pan, then topped them with crunch of sea salt, a squeeze of lemon and a sprinkling of fresh chopped Italian parsley. Side dishes of my summer zucchini sautéed with sweet onion and corn kernels, and penne alia oglio rounded out the meal. I achieved nice grill marks on the meat, and this is usually a good, foolproof and tasty preparation, with leftovers sliced over a salad or tossed into the pasta the next night. However, there was no chicken flavor to be had and the mealy texture certainly didn’t help.

True, Birdzilla’s breast could have fed my family for a month. But I won’t be buying skinless boneless chicken breasts again any time soon.