We had a BBQ! 

Our little team pulled together a group cookout yesterday. The hotel has a grill area that is usually populated by smokers and talkers. Last night we transformed it into a party and were joined by some fellow organizers and other homesuites hotel residents. 

Early in the day decisions were made about what we should grill and who would be responsible for providing it. If you ever want to put your faith in the social justice movement to a test, listen to a group of activists plan a bbq. There was a flip chart involved. And a lot of voting. 

Somehow it all got settled. I took responsibility for corn. Since some people were vegan, I couldn’t prep it in the fashion to which I’ve become accustomed—shucked, buttered, seasoned and wrapped in an aluminum foil blanket. Instead I just swaddled those babies in the foil, threw them on the grill and hoped for the best. 

The ears were juicy and sweet. My fear was that they’d be too dry but the corn’s own “milk” keeps it pretty moist in there. 

I also used up some of my avocados to make some group guacamole that seemed to be a hit.

Booze was abundant. Someone suggested that we share some 100% agave tequila. I’m not a tequila fan at all, but this tasted as though all the nasty business, the sharp edges and chemicals, had been filtered out. What is left is a spicy sweet elixer that goes down smoothly. If I ever pull together that home bar I’ve dreamed of, this will definitely have a place on the cart.

Someone else provided Riunite Lambrusco. Childhood memories of those “Riunite on Ice, So Nice!” commercials combined with my tequila success compelled me to give it a taste. That. Will Not. Happen. Again. It’s basically fizzy kool-aid that will make you sugary drunk. 

My assignment out here is to talk to people about an upcoming election. There’s a house I’ve visited a few times with a doorstep covered in dead bees. They crunch underfoot when you walk up. No one is ever home, which is probably good because I’m a little flinchy awaiting the inevitable swarm.

I pass an abandoned bee farm a few times a day as well. Sky blue hives sit in a golden overgrown field behind a boarded up house. It’s visually stunning but I’m worried if I try to photograph it a bunch of neglected bees will chase me.

And I’ve just learned that figs contain digested wasps. The female dies inside the pod post-pollination and is digested by enzymes in the fruit. Which is to say, I’ve been eating stingers all week. 

The guacamole sandwich, however, I did not eat. It got slimey and gross. We’re going to put yesterday’s lunch on the failboard. I ended up with a turkey sandwich from Subway. 

I have to run an errand this morning so breakfast will be waspfigs and kiwis. 

Dinner last night was some figs, baby kiwis and olives. 

Baby kiwis are the little green buds in the basket with the figs. Inside they are just like a full size kiwi but without all the exterior stubble trouble. The olives are a great example of local eating at it’s best. The flavor of the actual olive shines through more than the flavor of the oil and curing ingredients (which tends to happens with jarred olives). It’s grassy and complex.

BREAKING NEWS: I have a toaster. Somehow missed it in my first sweep. Now, because this is merely a quasi-kitchen, the toaster only half works. You toast one side of bread, flip it, toast the other side. Nonetheless, I’m thrilled with this new manner for manipulating bread. 

In honor of this addition to the equipment community, breakfast this morning is toast with butter. The multigrain bread I bought gets hard and crumbles easily, making it kind of difficult to butter. Which, of course, reminded me of the scene from Truffaut’s Bed and Board featuring Claude Jade’s lesson on how to butter without breaking—put one piece under the other as you spread. It works! 

For lunch, it’ll be what amounts to a guacamole sandwich. I took an avocado, tomato, spring onions, pepper and a clove of garlic and smashed them all around. This was no mean feat, as my mushing equipment was a dinner spoon and plastic bowl. 

Before

After

Unfortunately, by time I’m ready to eat this the avocado will be brown. Which: gross. But not deadly. 

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I have been asked to live and work in a home suites hotel for one week. Having spent some time at these places in the past, I can assure you that the kitchen areas function mostly as places to create microwaved misery meals and store milk for coffee in the morning. My typical approach to the hotel room kitchen involves a trip to the local Whole Foods where I spend a silly amount of money on a bag of indulgent gourmet novelty items that were never meant to come together and create something called a “meal.” And most of them end up in the trash at the end of the trip. 

This time, I’m setting out on an experiment to see if we can make something better in these quasi-kitchens. Over the next six days, I’m going to catalogue what I’m able to create using all local ingredients and the tools provided by the kitchen. 

Here’s what we’ve got as far as equipment goes:

Largish pasta pot, small saucepan, medium skillet (pictured), colander, two steak knives, can opener, peeler, bottle opener, plastic spatula, spoon, longfork, microwave, electric stove top (2 burners), coffee pot and measuring cup.*

I headed to the local farmers market early in the morning on the first day to stock up. Because one could easily spoil an experiment like this by simply throwing a bunch of money at the problem and supplying all the things they need, I have limited myself to a budget of $75.

Baby kiwi, figs, water spinach, Chinese greens, baby bok choi, parsley, spring onions, cheese (a hard cheese that slices but can also substitute parmesan), butter, 6 eggs, local olives and a small bottle of olive oil, sample size balsamic vinegar, sliced brown bread, garlic, Anaheim peppers, pistachios

Then I went to the local natural foods co-op and supplemented this with skin-on, bone-in chicken thighs, milk, a bag of pasta and a cup of brown rice. 

This brought me to $72. I don’t have any salt, so if I can find a sample size of sea salt somewhere that might be where the rest of my money goes.** I also bought some fresh flowers at the market to warm up my room a bit. Maybe it sounds indulgent, but fresh flowers are always indulgent, aren’t they? They don’t last more than a week and I won’t be here more than a week. It seemed worth it to me to make the room a little homier. 

It’s the morning of day two and I’ve discovered that for this to work I’m going to have to do this project mostly at night or early in the morning (days are long here). Last night I prepared my lunch for today:

Water spinach, spring onions, garlic and hot peppers over pasta with the hard cheese and a pat of butter. I’m also taking some pistachios and figs for snacks.

Can it be done? Can I pack a lunch every day and eat it in the car instead of hitting up a fast food restaurant? Can I cook all these meals while working 12 hour days and then find the time to blog about them? Is it possible to live some version of one’s real life on the road? Let’s find out.  

*All photos taken with my iphone. That’s my excuse for them not being very good.

**I found salt packets in the common area of the hotel lobby. And stole them. 

There’s an eight quart stainless steel pot on my windowsill and my apartment smells like boiled vinegar.

Wait.

Let me back up.

I decided to try my hand at pickling this week. According to The Georgian Feast by Darra Goldstein, one of my* favorite cookbooks ever in the history of the world, a great place to start is with pickled cabbage. It takes four days from start to finish. Today was Day One.

Cabbage and beets are the main players

The mains get steeped with paprika, parsley, hot dried peppers, celery and black peppercorns.

Step one is to soften the cabbage by boiling it. A significant downside of this step is that afterward your apartment smells like boiled cabbage and, in case you don’t know, boiled cabbage smells awful.

However, Goldstein makes up for the smell when she poetically instructs you to unfold the leaves of the cabbage one by one like a giant rose. It takes a few tries to get the hang of it, but once you do the process is enjoyable and the cabbage does, in fact, look like a delicate flower.

While you’re peacefully pulling down leaves, all the other ingredients should be boiling in about six cups of red wine vinegar. The aroma of boiling vinegar will promptly replace the cabbage smell, causing you to gasp for air and cough and leave the room for a second.

Once you’ve secured your mustard gas mask, you pour the boiled vinegar mixture over your cabbage rose in a large stainless steel pot. Add some boiling water and a plate to keep the cabbage submerged and you’re done. With day one.

For the next three days that cabbage will sit in a corner of your living room, fermenting and developing pickley good flavor.

Stay tuned for the results.

*I use the term “my” here loosely. Sasha lent it to me years ago and I never returned it. For clarity, the Georgian Feast we’re talking about here takes place in Tbilisi, not Atlanta.

I’m going to try to work out stories about dinner and drinks and going to the movies. Maybe funny jokes.