The Art of Washing Dishes

      There's the James Beard Award for chefs. Celebrity chefs like Rachel Ray and Guy Fieri show off their talents on TV. Famous cooking competitions are refereed by Gordon Ramsey and other culinary stars. But as far as I know, there are no celebrity dishwashers, no dishwashing TV shows, no dishwashing competitions that bring fame and fortune to the winners.

     But there should be. There should be an award.

     Cooking is considered a highly skilled occupation, a calling, an art. But dishwashers are taken for granted, if they're lucky, otherwise they're abused and forgotten.

     But how would you like to go to a restaurant, and find old cheese hardened onto the side of your plate? Or bits of broccoli stuck to the tines of a fork, or some unidentifiable brownish stain on the bottom of your glass?

     No. Dishwashers do not get the credit they deserve.

     I know, because I'm the dishwasher in the family. And let me tell you, it is an underrated job that requires a lot more skill than people realize. 

Before

     "Oh, what are you talking about?" people say to me. "You just stick the dishes in the dishwasher. They get clean!"

     Well, I don't know how to answer these people, except to say that they are no-talent dishwashing hacks!

     First of all, not everyone has an automatic dishwasher. So you have issues involving brushes and sponges, water temperature, dish sequencing, length and strength of scrubbing . . . and more.

     But most of us do have a dishwasher. And like most modern conveniences, that only makes things more complicated.

     First, there's the sorting process. You have to decide what can go in the dishwasher. Some pots and pans are too big. Special serving platters and cut-glass bowls are forbidden by the lady of the house to undergo the trials and tribulations visited upon dishes by the electric dishwasher. 

     Then, where do the larger glasses go, where can you fit the smaller ones? Which knives and forks go straight up, which go pointy end down? (A sharp knife must go point down, unless you want to stab your finger and make a trip to the ER.) That is, unless you have a top rack, in which case sharp instruments go up there.

     You see? It's more complicate than you think. I know, because I learned my dishwashing skills at the foot of my father. When I was a little boy, my older sister had the job of doing the dishes . . . my job was clearing the table. After my sister went to college, my dad took over . . . until my mother retired my father and promoted me to chief bottle washer.

After

     Later, I honed my skills in college. I lived off campus in a rowhouse with five other guys. Two of them cooked. Three of us took turns doing cleanup.

     You'd think a bunch of college guys would have low standards in the cleanliness department. But we didn't have an electric dishwasher. A missed glob of mashed potatoes or a greasy plate brought on a major investigation -- and the sloppy offender could and would be subjected to snide cutting comments and even physical harassment. One guy (seriously) was kicked out of the house for his lax -- and somewhat disgusting -- cleaning standards. 

     After college, and a couple of difficult years with a proudly messy roommate, I moved into my girlfriend's apartment. She was a cook. So my dishwashing skills came in handy . . . and were much appreciated. So much so that we got married!

     Anyway, enough of my personal history. The bottom line is that I am somewhat of an expert at washing dishes -- how to sort, when to rinse and when you don't have to rinse, how to rinse efficiently, how to position the dishes in and around the racks, how to deal with specialty items. And finally, the best way to unload the dishwasher.

     And if you think it doesn't matter how you empty the dishwasher . . . well, clearly you have a few things to learn. Which brings me to my point about getting dishwashers the credit they deserve.

     I'm proposing an award for dishwasher of the year. The Soapy Award and the Sudsy Award have both already been claimed by soap operas. So our award could be . . . The Squeaky.

     Unless you have a better idea for a name. And meanwhile, don't be shy about nominating a candidate for the award from your own life. We dishwashers need some recognition.

Ghosts of Thanksgiving Past

      After Thanksgiving dinner was safely tucked under our belts -- standard fare of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, peas, cranberry sauce -- we joined our family on Zoom and started reminiscing about Thanksgivings past. Most of the memories were fond ones -- of mini-vacations, family get-togethers, convivial dinners and good food. 

     I recalled one Thanksgiving, back in the 1970s, when my wife and I were vacationing with a few friends. Nobody wanted to cook, but being in our 20s we didn't plan ahead, so we couldn't get a table at a restaurant . . . that is, until we found a Chinese place tucked into the back of a mini-mall. We walked into an empty room, with 20 or so empty tables, and proceeded to enjoy a great meal with great service. The cuisine seemed a little out-of-place for the occasion -- I had the pu pu platter -- but we all had a wonderful time laughing and joking about our sudden and unexpected cultural adventure.

     My sister remembered with a laugh the frozen string beans our mother used to overcook. I recalled the cranberry sauce plopped straight out of the can -- and the sweet potato casserole drenched in sauce and decorated with little marshmallows.

     "Speaking of marshmallows," my wife said, "did you guys ever have Jello with fruit in it? We used Mandarin oranges. with marshmallows and sometimes sour cream on top."

     "Oh, we had that stuff," said my daughter. "It was terrible. I also remember the turnips and mashed potatoes." She wrinkled her nose. "Mom used to mix the turnips in with the mashed potatoes -- thus completely ruining the mashed potatoes!"

     But then my son recalled how he loved to sit around in his pajamas on Thanksgiving day, watching the Macy's parade and helping his mom tear apart the bread and prepare the stuffing -- and how great it tasted after it came out of the turkey.

     "Yeah," my daughter added. "And I loved drowning everything in gravy. Mom made really good gravy."

     Then my other sister recalled, "Well, our mother wasn't much of a cook. But in her defense, she made a great leg of lamb -- not for Thanksgiving, but usually for Christmas."

     I remembered the leg of lamb. I don't even like lamb anymore, but I did back in those days. I liked the lamb and the roasted potatoes and all the other trimmings -- and just the fun and the warm feelings you get sitting around the table with eight or ten or twelve family members.

     "And remember Mom's hard sauce?" my sister added. "How did she make that? I think it was basically butter and sugar. It might've had a taste of vanilla and maybe some nutmeg."

     "And a drop of rum," I added. "Don't forget the rum! But . . . what did we put it on?"

     "Pecan pie," she said.

     "No, pumpkin pie," I corrected. 

     "Maybe fruitcake," added my other sister.

     "Oh, God, not fruitcake . . . spare me the fruitcake . . . "

     And thus it went. Another Thanksgiving full of family fun and fond memories. And now it's on to Christmas . . . 

Family Cookbook Project

     Do you have recipes all over the place? Do you find that family and friends sometimes ask for your recipes? Do you find yourself asking for theirs?

     My wife B has an old cookbook that was handed down from her grandmother, put together almost a hundred years ago by a Mennonite church group. B still consults it on occasion and cooks up some great comfort food -- the kind we especially appreciated during the Covid lockdown.

     So when I heard from Bill Rice, founder of the Family Cookbook Project, I was immediately interested. This is a website that helps families and individuals collect and share their memories of food -- and all that goes with it.

     I asked him for some background on his project . . . and how you go about digitalizing your recipes, organizing them on the computer and then, if you're really ambitious, printing out a family cookbook.

     This is what he told me.

                                                       *       *       *

     Genealogy is the tracing of your family roots, focusing on births, marriages, deaths. But genealogy only tells a small part of the story. So much of our lives is undocumented -- our jobs, our hobbies, our friends, our family relationships. These things are never recorded.

     One aspect of our lives that is often written down, but not always shared, is the tradition around food. Those old-time recipe boxes filled with handwritten recipes are often family treasures. The recipes may have been clipped out of a newspaper, or provided by a friend, but often there is not a lot of perspective on why that recipe was important. There's only so much you can fit on a 4 X 6 index card.

     Sharing a recipe box is also difficult as it is typically one of a kind, and it takes a lot of work to copy and share with other family members. But in today's digital world, family cookbooks have changed all that. Today we can collect our recipes, put them online, organize them, format them into cookbooks, and even have them printed. 

     These cookbooks typically contain a lot more than just recipes. They often feature photos of the ingredients, the food, and the people who made it. They usually include personal notes and memories about each dish -- when it was enjoyed, who ate it, why it was important to us.

     Preserving these recipes means we will also be remembered by future generations. For example, I was recently looking through my grandmother's recipe box. I came across a recipe for Scottish shortbread that was attributed to my great grandmother May Ann McDougall Peatie, born in Scotland in 1883. The recipe had been buried and forgotten in a pile of old papers. But now it's part of my own family cookbook . . . so everyone can now enjoy these traditional Scottish shortbread cookies, and give a thanks to Grandma Peatie.

     Here are some tips on creating your own family cookbook:

     Go through your recipe collection and pick the most meaningful recipes that bring back memories of a family gathering or special event.

     For those recipes that you never wrote down because you've made them so many times you know them by memory, make the dish again. But this time write down the recipe step-by-step as you prepare it.

     Measure the ingredients! Even if you use a "handful" of something, take a handful and put it into a measuring cup, and write it down before throwing it in the pot.

     Write personal notes about why this recipe is important, who gave it to you or any special memories of meals when it was served. My mother's Chicken Supreme will always remind me of her serving it at the rehearsal dinner for my wedding.

     Including photos is a great way to make your cookbook special, and help preserve those personal memories. 

     Consider making it a family affair. Ask family members to contribute their favorite recipes, along with their memories of why they are special or important. 

     Behind every recipe you love is a story you want to share -- and a family cookbook makes that sharing a lasting heirloom.

                                          *       *       *

     There are several ways to get your family cookbook together -- and then you can print it out at FedEx or another printing service, or publish it through Amazon's self-publishing unit. But the Family Cookbook Project website does seem to offer an easy and effective way to do it.

     I have not used the program myself, so I cannot personally vouch for it. But it sure looks like, uh, a tasty way to go about it, especially if you want your great grandchildren to enjoy your special cookies, or any other traditional family dish.

Lose Weight the Natural Way

     Have you gained a few pounds over the holidays? Or put on the so-called Covid 15? Need to go on a diet? You've come to the right place, because I am an expert. I have been on no less than 21 diets in my life. Every single one was an unqualified success. On my diets I have lost anywhere from 10 to 25 pounds.

     I've written about dieting before (see How to Get Fat). The only thing I can't explain is why I now weigh 20 pounds more than I did when I went on my first diet in the mid-1970s, when I gained a few pounds after I got married.

     While I am an expert on dieting, I want to assure everyone that I do not condone fat shaming. Why? Because it's not your fault! It's your spouse's fault (see above). It's your parents' fault. There may be too many fast-food places in your neighborhood, or you have poor impulse control due to an overactive pituitary.

    I've been around long enough to see the Atkins Diet, the Gluten Free diet, the South Beach diet, the Mediterranean diet, the Paleo diet, and a hundred others. Most don't work. But mine does. Why? Because with my diet you can have as much food as you want, and do whatever you want with it -- except eat it. Just follow these simple strategies:

     Honest Spillage. I got the idea for this diet one evening during dinner when I dropped some spaghetti sauce off my fork. I looked down. Oops, there it was on my sleeve. Then I looked more closely at my shirt and noticed a bit of egg from breakfast that had somehow found its way onto my collar. There was another stain on my pants . . . maybe from the French fries last night. The dietary lesson? If you spill, drop or otherwise lose 5 to 10 percent of your meal, you have cut your calorie intake by that same 5 to 10 percent!

     The leftover corollary: Be more discriminating with leftovers. I swear, B (who is thinner than I am, but how she does it I'll never know) will eat a plate of food that's been moldering in the refrigerator for a full week. And she eats leftover pizza. Leftover pizza! Yuck!  Just . . . don't . . .  go . . . there.

     Serious competition. I grew up as the youngest in a family of four kids. I had some serious competition for the mashed potatoes, not so much for the cauliflower. So I developed a taste for the vegetables that nobody else wanted.

     Later on, I would watch families eating in a restaurant. The kids would order a meal, eat about half of it, and leave the rest scattered around the table. Then the dad would go to work scooping up the leftover mashed potatoes and hunks of meat. This seemed like a good deal . . . for the dad. So after I got married I talked to my wife, and we agreed to have kids. The result? Sure, I gained a little weight. But my kids never got fat.

     The dessert corollary: B and I go out to dinner. Do you want any dessert? asks the waiter. Yeah, I'll have a piece of chocolate cake, says I. Oh, nothing for me, B demurs, just an extra fork. Well, you can see where this is going. I order dessert, B eats the lion's share of it. And I retain my thin, youthful appearance.

     Inedible meals. I recall several incidents when B and I have gone to a fancy restaurant. She would goad me into trying something new and exotic from the menu -- usually something I couldn't pronounce -- and I would feel very sophisticated, until the meal actually arrived and I would discover that the meat came from some unmentionable part of an animal's body ... and smelled like it too. I'd go home with an empty wallet -- and no bloated feeling since I'd consumed less than a hundred calories.

Doesn't hurt you if you don't eat it

     Similarly, B has a couple of favorite dishes she likes to cook. The other night she fried up some sausage (okay so far), but then in another pan she made broccoli rabe, which is like spinach, only worse. Then she throws it all together with little curly pasta that's impossible to fork up from the plate. So the stuff tastes awful, but even if you did want to eat it, you can't possibly transport it from the plate to your mouth. Sure, I go to bed hungry, but who cares if you're hungry when you're asleep?

     The European corollary: Go to France (as I once did). You won't believe what they try to get you to eat over there! No wonder French women are so thin!

     Play with your food. I got this technique from my daughter. Back when she was a teenager and experimenting with veganism, she would lift her chicken breast off the plate, let it hang there dripping over the table, and then start waving it around, complaining in a pained and exasperated voice: How can you ask me to eat dead animals? That's so gross!

     Of course, this kind of behavior, expected from a teenager, is not really acceptable for a grown man. So I use another technique, also inspired by my kids. When they were young, they could never sit still through an entire meal. It was up to me to entertain them -- push away from the table, walk them around, find something else for them to do for a little while.

     So now, many years later, I find that I, myself, can no longer sit through an entire meal either. To this day, halfway through a meal, I find myself getting up from the table and taking a little walk around the house. I come back. The table is cleared. Hey, I wasn't finished with my supper! It's too late. The dishes are cleared. Oh well, I realize, I wasn't hungry anymore, anyway.

     The chopstick corollary: Order Chinese food ... with chopsticks. You can never get fat as long as you're fumbling with these little sticks that are completely unsuitable for the task at hand.

     The seafood addendum:  Order lobster, mussels or clams for dinner. You actually use up more calories fighting for the food than you take in by eating it. This addendum also applies to a few fruits and vegetables, such as grapefruits, artichokes, or pretty much anything in a salad.

What's Your Favorite Restaurant?

      Our local news website just came out with a list of favorite restaurants in our town. The timing of this "favorites" list seems odd to me, since by and large people aren't going to restaurants anymore.

     A lot of people enjoyed dining outdoors throughout spring, summer and fall. Around here, indoor dining was banned for a while, then restricted to 50% capacity. Now indoor dining is banned again, through Jan. 4, since Pennsylvania is currently reporting the highest number of Covid deaths since the pandemic began (although somehow, some restaurants are still open).

     During the summer months outdoor dining thrived. Our town council closed a couple of downtown streets on weekend nights, and tables were set out along the sidewalk, people strolling up and down the street. Some intrepid diners were seen outside as recently as last week, bundled in coats and huddled under gas-fired heaters.

     When was the last time you went to a restaurant? B and I have been cautious. We have not been to a restaurant since . . . well, I can't remember exactly. We got home from South Carolina at the beginning of March just as the pandemic began. I remember I went to my last table tennis session on Mon. March 9. We had out last Senior Learning class on Fri. March 13.

     What I don't remember is whether we went to a restaurant after we came home. Probably not, since we were already getting scared, and we'd probably had our fill of restaurant meals during our February vacation. So I'm guessing our last restaurant was the seafood place on the South Carolina beach at the end of February.

     Since then our favorite restaurant meal has been take-out. We've done Chinese a couple of times. We went to a chicken place once. But our go-to is pizza. Once a week. Our favorite is mushrooms, onions and peppers.

     So according to the website survey the favorite local eatery is an Italian restaurant -- not our pizza place located behind the 7-Eleven, but an expensive Italian restaurant in town. A brew pub came in second. Third was a downtown bistro with excellent food that happens to be B's favorite restaurant.

     Fourth position was taken by another Italian place -- not as fancy as the other restaurant, but one that offers live music two or three times a week. And fifth most popular? The local diner.

     My favorite didn't make the list. It's a plain old American restaurant. The food is decent, nothing special, but it has a fantastic outdoor patio with a view of the street where we like to lounge in the summer and watch the world go by.

     I guess I'm not much of a connoisseur. To me the ambience is more important than the food. Except for Japanese. I like sushi, but I don't want cheap sushi, so there's only one Japanese restaurant I'll go to. Otherwise, I want decent food. But it doesn't have to be fancy or expensive. 

     I'm waxing nostalgic about restaurants because I miss them so much. Maybe that's the method behind the local website's madness -- why they did this survey now. We miss our restaurants, and look forward to a new thriving restaurant scene come spring.

The Perfect Food

     So we finally made it to our favorite ice-cream stand, called Sundae School, located in Harwichport, Mass., with two other Cape Cod locations, one in Dennisport, the other in Orleans.

     Sundae School ice cream is advertised as home made. I don't know exactly what that means. But it's rich and creamy, without being overly thick or solid (like Haagen Daz or Ben & Jerry's which in my opinion are so thick they leave you gagging). And the flavors are true and authentic. The coconut tastes like real coconut, not artificial. The mint tastes like real mint, without the toothpasty overtone that some mint ice cream has.

The front door

     In other words, Sundae School has the perfect ice cream. Which in my book means it has the perfect food.

     The first night I had a cup of mint chocolate chip. That's my favorite flavor of the moment. B had a strawberry sundae with hot fudge, whipped cream and a cherry. B is my wife, and she loves me. But she loves me more when I buy her some ice cream draped in spoonfuls of hot fudge. (But she wants everyone to know, she it was a small sundae, not the large . . . "It's not even a real sundae," she told me daintily, "it's just one scoop with hot fudge.")

Where the fun begins

     The second night I decided to really indulge myself. Because we're on vacation. Because I'm worth it. Because we only do this once a year. I ordered a butterscotch sundae with marshmallow topping. A real one, not just one scoop. And I ate the whole thing, with no regrets (minus the obligatory bite that my wife always takes).

     B just had a small cup of strawberry ice cream. So I guess you can tell, her favorite flavor is strawberry. Mine is, as I said, mint chocolate chip, followed by vanilla (usually with rainbow sprinkles), and then regular chocolate chip. I also like peach ice cream, when they have it, but peach ice cream is hard to find.

The piece de resistance

     I'm sure we all have our own favorite flavors, and our own favorite local ice-cream stands. But in case you think I'm just bragging, on its website Sundae School points out that it was named one of the "Best Ice Cream Spots in the U. S." by Food and Wine magazine. And it was ranked #5 in the country by USA Today.

     Which begs the question: What was rated #1? A place called Moomers Homemade Ice Cream, in Traverse City, Mich.

     Hmmmm.  Maybe next summer we should plan a trip to Michigan . . . unless you have a better idea.

Our Favorite Restaurant

     I recently ran across an article online asking "Do You Spend More Time Planning for Vacation than Planning Your Finances?"

     I used to spend more time on my finances, back when I was working and supporting a family and saving to send my kids to college and hopefully put aside a little for retirement as well. But today, now that I'm retired, I must admit I spend more time planning our vacations.

     Most of my income now is automatic. I won't ever get any more raises or promotions. I'll just receive my Social Security, and an automatic withdrawal from my IRA. (Sorry, Tom . . . no pension for you.)

     Since there's nothing I can do about my finances, why spend a lot of time on them? But there's plenty to do about vacation . . . in part because I have more time to actually go on vacation. And even though we often go back to the same spots, we still have to figure out where we're going to stay, what we're going to do, where we're going to eat.

We pull into the parking lot ... anticipation!

     But when we arrive on Cape Cod, where we go for a week or two every summer, there's no question. The first night, we head straight to Kream N' Kone in Chatham, Mass.

Bellying up to the counter

     Now maybe your dream restaurant involves tablecloths and dimmed lighting and waiters and fancy embossed menus. Ours features picnic tables out in the parking lot, counter service, and a menu in large type displayed up on the wall.

Wide selection of refreshing drinks

     Maybe your dream restaurant features various steaks and chops, grilled salmon or swordfish, or gourmet variations on risotto or artichokes or asperges blanche.

Clam chowder ... or "chowdah" as they say here on Cape Cod

     Our favorite restaurant offers clam chowder, fried clams on a hot dog bun, piles of greasy onion rings, vats of creamy cole slaw. And for dessert . . . well, they have pretty good soft-serve ice cream at Kream N' Kone. But instead we plan to stop of at Sundae School on the way home, for the best ice cream cone you can ever find in New England . . . actually, on the whole East Coast . . . actually, probably in the whole United States.

Yes, there's a hot dog bun under there somewhere

     And the total cost? Well, let me tell you, the most I ever spent for a restaurant dinner was $328.00 for four of us. I got a gift certificate to this fancy restaurant for $100 and thought, B and I will never spend $100, even though the restaurant had tablecloths and dimmed lighting and waiters and fancy embossed menus. So we invited another couple to come along. "On us," we told them boldly.

     But the restaurant was a lot more expensive than we anticipated. And we didn't count on them having two glasses of wine. But we . . . well, we invited them out to dinner. So what could we do? At least we were out of pocket only $228 because of the gift certificate.

     But dinner at Kream N' Cone was $27.00.

     I have had cheaper dinners. But never a better one. Only problem: we were so full we couldn't even stop for ice cream. So we'll leave Sundae School for tomorrow.

How to Lose Weight ... Guaranteed!

     I read recently that the latest studies have cast doubt on the benefits of the low-carb diet. A group of people consuming a high-protein, low-carb diet lost no more weight than the control group consuming a normal diet.

     This doesn't surprise me. I've been around long enough to see the Atkins Diet, the Gluten Free diet, the South Beach diet, the Mediterranean diet, the Paleo diet, and a hundred others come and go. But . . . my diet works, guaranteed. It's called the Do-Everything-But-Eat-It diet. You just follow these principles . . . and don't worry about what anyone else thinks.

     Honest spillage. So the way I got the idea for this diet is by looking down at my shirt and pants the other evening during dinner. I thought I dropped some spaghetti sauce off my fork. Oops, there it is on my sleeve! Next to a bit of egg that somehow found its way there at breakfast. And low and behold, there was some other unidentified stain on my pants . . . maybe from the French fries last night. The dietary lesson? If you spill, drop or otherwise lose 5 to 10 percent of your meal, you have not made a mess. You have cut your calorie intake by 5 to 10 percent!

     A corollary of this technique is to be more discriminating when it comes to leftovers. I swear, B (who, by the way, is thinner than I am, but how she does it I'll never know) will eat a plate of food that's been moldering in the refrigerator for a full week. And she eats leftover pizza. Leftover pizza! Yuck!  Just . . . don't . . .  go . . . there.

     Serious competition. I grew up as the youngest in a family of four kids. I had some serious competition for the mashed potatoes, not so much for the cauliflower. So I developed a taste for the vegetables that nobody else wanted.

     Later on, I would watch people with kids eating in a restaurant. The kids would order a meal, eat about half of it -- and then the dad got the rest. This seemed like a good deal . . . for the dad. So I talked to my wife, and we agreed to have kids. The result? Sure, I gained a little weight. But my kids never got fat.

     However, now the shoe is on the other foot. B and I go out to dinner. Do you want any dessert? asks the waiter. Yeah, I'll have that caramel sundae, says I. Oh, nothing for me, B demurs, just an extra spoon. Well, you can see where this is going. I order dessert, B eats the lion's share of it. And I retain my thin, youthful appearance.

     Inedible meals. The other night B and I went to a fancy restaurant in Charleston. It's been on TV. Cost way too much money. I figured I ought to be a little adventuresome so I ordered the quail, with collard greens and a side of lettuce wrapped pig's ears. I felt very sophisticated. However, the meal was absolutely inedible. The dinner maxed out my credit card. But I consumed less than a hundred calories that evening.

     Similarly, B has a couple of favorite dishes she likes to cook. The other night she fried up some sausage (okay so far), but then in another pan she made broccoli rabe, which is like spinach, only worse. Then she throws it all together with little curly pasta that's impossible to fork up from the plate. So the stuff tastes awful, but even if you did want to eat it, you can't possibly transport it from the plate to your mouth.

     But B likes it. I don't know why. She scarfs down the whole thing; looks at me and smiles. I know you don't like this dinner, she says, so thanks for indulging me. Sure, I went to bed hungry. But who cares if you're hungry when you're asleep?

     The lesson: As long as you're served food that you don't like, you'll never get fat!

     Play with your food. To give credit where credit's due, I got this technique from my daughter. Back when she was a teenager, and becoming a vegetarian (a religion she later gave up), she would lift her chicken breast off the plate, let it hang there dripping over the table, and then start waving it around, complaining in a pained and exasperated voice: How can you ask me to eat dead animals? That's so gross!

     Of course, this kind of behavior, expected from a teenager, is not really acceptable for a grown man. So I use another technique, also inspired by my kids. When they were young, they could never sit still through an entire meal. It was up to me to entertain them -- push away from the table, walk them around, find something else for them to do for a little while.

     So now, many years later, I find that I, myself, can no longer sit through an entire meal either. To this day, halfway through a meal, I find myself getting up from the table and taking a little walk around the house. I come back. The table is cleared. Hey, I wasn't finished with my supper! But it's too late. The dishes are cleared. Oh well, I realize, I wasn't hungry anymore, anyway.

     One last hint, under the heading of play with your food. Order lobster, or mussels, or artichokes. You actually use up more calories fighting for the food than you take in by eating it.

Fishing Expedition

     I grew up Catholic, and back then Catholics were not allowed to eat meat on Fridays. Honestly, I forget why. But in our house it meant that my mother served fish every Friday night. She wasn’t a particularly good cook, my mother, so we had fish sticks or fish cakes from the freezer, or frozen scallops, or some limp white pasty material covered in breadcrumbs. Every once in a while we got swordfish. Actually, I even as a kid I thought swordfish was pretty good, grilled with lemon, butter and capers.

     My mother was Catholic, but my father was not. He didn’t have to eat fish on Fridays, and sometimes he'd get a hamburger instead. But this would raise a ruckus among us four suddenly rebellious kids, so it didn't happen often. Besides, my dad was the smart one in the family. And he would tell us that fish is brain food. It makes you smart. And in his mind, being smart is about the best quality you could find in a human being.

     How smart we all became is up for debate. But whatever intellectual failings we have, it isn’t for lack of fish.

     Now that I've grown up, I actually like seafood. Or, most of it. I can't quite stomach squid or eel or catfish (can anybody?). But I like lobster and shrimp, flounder and cod and snapper and tuna and tilapia. And now I've found out that my dad was right. I read in the Tufts University “Health & Nutrition Letter” that at least in certain circumstances, seafood is indeed brain food.

     Researchers from Tufts University, in a nine-year study of close to 500 older adults, found that those consuming at least three servings of fish a week were at significantly lower risk of dementia and Alzheimer’s disease. And studies from the Rush University Memory and Aging Project concluded that people who “consumed fish once a week or more had a 60 percent less risk of Alzheimer’s disease compared with those who rarely or never ate fish,” according to researcher Martha Clare Morris.

     You do have to be cognizant of possible allergic reactions. I was once at a Christmas party, scarfing down the shrimp cocktail, when I broke out into hives. It turns out I have a mild allergy to shrimp, and apparently an allergic reaction to shellfish is not all that uncommon. I took some Benadryl and was fine, but I have to watch the amount of shrimp I eat -- and make sure to pair it with other foods.

     Also, the levels of mercury found in seafood can sometimes be a concern. The Rush University researchers did find that those who consumed a lot of fish had higher levels of mercury in their brains. But in older adults higher mercury levels were "not associated with any of the neuropathologies associated with dementia."

     Young children, pregnant and breastfeeding women, as well as women intending to become pregnant, are still advised to limit their consumption of fish high in mercury – especially tilefish, shark, swordfish, mackerel and white (albacore) tuna. But according to this research, for older adults the benefits of seafood far outweigh the risks from mercury. And the benefits are not limited to the brain. For example, the American Heart Association also advises regularly consuming seafood -- at least two meals a week.

     It seems that fish oil or fish extract does not offer the same benefits as consuming real fish. One five-year trial of more than 3000 participants reported no benefit from supplements. Apparently the process of how fish benefits our brains and our bodies is more complicated than just delivering a few pills from a bottle.

     Once again science has confirmed something our parents -- and apparently the Catholic church -- knew all along. So I try to eat plenty of fish. I'm just careful about the shrimp. And still avoid those frozen fish sticks.

Harbinger of Summer

     I was in the grocery store yesterday and saw my first container of blueberries. The blueberry season is upon us, and it brings back memories.

     I remember when I was a kid, for several years our family rented a cabin on Crystal Lake in New Hampshire. We'd go in July for two weeks. My older brother set a goal of swimming across the lake, about three miles, and by the end of our first summer he made it, with my dad and me accompanying him in a rowboat.

     I also remember picking off the blood suckers that would sometimes attach themselves to our arms and legs, and private parts too, like the scene in Stand By Me. I also recall that each time we went to New Hampshire we'd spend a day or two scrambling over the rocks and scratching through the bushes to pick blueberries, which we gorged on until our tongues turned blue. Then my mother, who was not a particularly enthusiastic cook, was nevertheless inspired to bake blueberry muffins, make blueberry pancakes, and cook up a shelf full of blueberry pies.

     In New Hampshire the blueberry season comes in July and August. But these days Georgia produces more blueberries than new Hampshire ever did, and so the blueberry season begins in May. After that, blueberries start coming in from Oregon and Washington, Maryland and Michigan. Surprisingly, New Jersey is a big producer of blueberries, and Hammonton, NJ, makes a claim to be the "blueberry capital of the world."

     My parents lived relatively long and healthy lives -- my mother died at age 89, my dad at 91 -- and if I ever make it past 90, I will attribute it to all those blueberries I ate as a kid, and still consume as an adult. I don't know what it is -- maybe it brings me back to my youth? -- but I love blueberries. I eat them plain, or in a bowl with milk. I sprinkle them on vanilla ice cream, and pretty much every morning from May through August I top off my cereal with a few tablespoons of blueberries.

     Blueberries are credited with containing lots of antioxidants, including a class of flavonoids known as anthocyanins, which are responsible for giving foods like blueberries (as well as cranberries, red cabbage and eggplant) their purple, bluish color. All these foods are associated with lower rates of cancer, diabetes and heart disease. According to a recent study from the Harvard School of Public Health, regular consumption of anthocyanins can reduce the risk of heart attack by 32% in young and middle-aged women.

     Another study from the University of Cincinnati suggests that blueberries also help improve memory and brain function in older adults. Researchers monitored 47 Americans over age 68 who had shown minor cognitive impairment. Participants in the study were given either dried blueberry powder, or a placebo, every day. The people who took the blueberry extract saw their memory improve, performing better on tests asking them to retrieve words and concepts. The improvements were confirmed in MRI brain scans that showed more intense brain activity in the blueberry group compared to the placebo group.

     Of course, we all know that sometimes researchers and the media exaggerate the health benefits of various foods. But get this: Blueberries have been shown to prevent skin damage caused by the sun, pollution and smoke. In other words, blueberries prevent wrinkles and improve your skin tone.

     Regardless of whether all this is true or not . . . blueberries sure do taste good, and for me at least, are a welcome harbinger of summer.

How Could I Be Hungry?

     A picture is worth a thousand words. We recently went to Costco. We were in the checkout line and, well, this just struck me as funny ...

What Are Your Least Favorite Foods?

     Yesterday B sent me up to the store with a short shopping list. I thought I knew all her preferences. Tropicana orange juice with no pulp. Twinings tea, not Lipton; decaffeinated. And we both drink only 1% milk.

     But I made a mistake. I brought home Hunt's ketchup instead of Heinz.

     "Well, what's wrong with Hunt's?" I asked. "Besides, you didn't specify Heinz."

     "You never looked in the refrigerator, and noticed what kind of ketchup we have?"

     "Um, I guess not," I confessed.

     So do you have your favorite foods, and your favorite brands? And the ones you simply cannot tolerate? It seems silly. What's the difference between Hunt's and Heinz? And yet, I know, Coke and Pepsi are essentially the same thing -- sugar water with food coloring. But I like Coke, not Pepsi.

     When I was a kid, each of us was allowed to "reject" one food that we didn't like. If my mom served it, we didn't have to eat it. But otherwise, we were expected to eat what was served to us . . . because, you know there were people starving in China. My parents were children of the Depression. And they did not like to waste food, or anything else.

     I rejected broccoli. But when my mother served cauliflower, I would claim that, no, it wasn't broccoli I'd rejected, it was cauliflower. No, not broccoli, cauliflower!

     But now, ironically, I actually like both broccoli and cauliflower.

     Today, there are a lot of cheeses I do not like. Blue cheese, for example, and Parmesan. And I do not like goat cheese. B and I were out the other evening, and we split a sandwich. B asked me if I liked it. "Yeah, it was pretty good," I replied.

     "It had goat cheese in it," she said.

     "It did?" I replied, startled. "No, it didn't. I didn't taste any goat cheese."

     "I'm pretty sure it did." She was enjoying this . . . maybe she thinks I'm a finicky eater. I swore off red meat a few years ago. I don't like garlic. I don't like a lot of New Agey stuff like couscous and hummus.

     I couldn't believe there was goat cheese on the sandwich. Goat cheese has such a distinctive flavor -- it tastes like a barnyard. I would have noticed it. So I asked the server. And he informed me that, yes, the sandwich did indeed have goat cheese in it.

     So don't tell us your favorite food -- it's always chocolate, right? Don't tell us what you're allergic to -- like gluten or peanuts. Tell us: What foods do you just not like? The foods you cannot stomach. I do not like foods that stink (like goat cheese or blue cheese). I do not like croutons in my salad or soup. (Why would you put toast in your soup?!?)

     And despite what B thinks, I believe I'm being perfectly reasonable -- not like, you know, making a big deal out of ketchup.

     Anyway, I guess the French have a phrase for it: a chacun son gout. But I have a new theory -- I think that goat cheese gave me bad dreams the other night!

I Like Vanilla Ice Cream

     I was watching a rerun of Breaking Bad the other night, and after one of the ad breaks a couple of the actors came on and offered a few comments about what made the show special to them. Bryan Cranston, who plays chemistry teacher/coke cooker Walter White, says one of the things he likes about the show is that it's not for everybody. "If you like vanilla ice cream," he says, "then Breaking Bad is not for you."

     What he's insinuating, of course, is that vanilla ice cream is for boring people who have mundane taste, who like things that are bland and insipid. And Breaking Bad is anything but bland and insipid. It's bold, edgy, violent, sometimes downright shocking.

     I agree with Cranston about Breaking Bad. It's not for everybody. B wouldn't watch it. She doesn't like violence in movies or TV shows. She doesn't like stories that are creepy or scary, or that glorify immorality. And Breaking Bad is all of the above.

     But I do not agree about the vanilla ice cream comparison. Vanilla ice cream is for people who have, not boring, mundane taste, but fine discriminating taste. People who are sensitive and can appreciate delicate, understated flavors. For vanilla is a subtle flavor, but in that subtlety it is exotic and haunting. After all, the vanilla bean, like the cocoa bean, originates in the tropics, where the trade winds blow, the palm trees sway, strange animals lurk in the forest, and drums beat in the distance.

     Chocolate ice cream is more like Breaking Bad. It, too, is exotic. But while vanilla is soft and seductive, chocolate is more obvious. It's strong, dark, with a bolder flavor.

     People like Bryan Cranston look down their nose at vanilla, passing it off as routine and uninspiring. But most people disagree with him. Virtually every survey ever taken concludes that vanilla is the favorite flavor among ice cream consumers. The food channel ranks vanilla the favorite of 29% of ice cream lovers, followed by chocolate at only 9%; and butter pecan and strawberry at 5%.

     Meanwhile, Baskin-Robbins reports that its top-selling flavor is -- you guessed it -- vanilla. Followed by chocolate, mint chocolate chip, then pralines and cream.

     One reason vanilla is so popular is that it can also play a supporting role. With pie or cake, for example, as a la mode. But vanilla ice cream is also strong enough to take on the leading role, with other flavors in supporting positions. Vanilla ice cream makes a wonderful summer treat when topped with blueberries, strawberries or raspberries.

     I like peach ice cream. But I like vanilla ice cream with fresh peach slices better.

     But most of the time I like my vanilla ice cream straight up. Nothing in it, or on it. Just the pure thing. Neat.

     Now, there's nothing that says a person can't like different things, for their different moods. I also like mint chocolate chip ice cream, and pralines and cream. I used to like coffee ice cream -- until I tried vanilla ice cream with a drizzle of espresso over the top. Boy, is that good!

     But I cannot abide peppermint ice cream, which tastes medicinal to me. And I'm not much of a fan of cookie dough ice cream. Whoever ginned that one up must have thought people can't taste anything at all unless you bomb them with everything you've got. Kind of like Breaking Bad. So what are you? Are you a Breaking Bad fan, or do you tilt toward vanilla?

     Or . . . there's no reason why you can't like both the subtlety of vanilla ice cream, but then on occasion, for a change of pace, also like the boldness of chocolate or mint chocolate chip. Or even (gag!) cookie dough.

     For there's no law that says you can't like vanilla ice cream, and also like Breaking Bad -- as I realized the other night while I was riveted to an episode of the in-your-face drama, while at the same time enjoying the refreshing summer delight of vanilla ice cream.