The Gravy Cure

Whenever vague melancholia sets in (or in my case, crippling depression), it's good to look for natural remedies. At times like this, I like to take The Gravy Cure. While it may not actually "cure" anything in the technical sense, I can prescribe it without reservation as a soothing unguent for life's downturns.

A dear friend of mine, CarmelCorn, coined the term many years ago, when we worked together in the book world. He is a kind and wise man, knowledgeable in all matters related to ethics, parenthood, American music, and The Simpsons. He also held the regional record for meal charges to his expense account, so he knows a thing or two about good grub as well.

The first time I recall hearing about it, we had just gone through some brutal layoffs (er, "restructuring" was the term they used, I believe), and our tight knit posse of hilarious geeky intelligentsia was feeling battered and broken. We were a smart bunch, with a tendency to be socially awkward and difficult to employ in the traditional sense. Multiple employees were over 30 and lived with their parents, and one had watched The Exorcist in its entirety every single day for well over a decade. Then there were the real weirdos.

It was a tough blow, as many of us had begun working for the company in its heyday, when times were booming for giant bookstore/cafes. The news was shocking, and we were all pretty upset. Since we were already drinkers - we put the fun in functional alcoholism! - something more than a good bender was called for. CarmelCorn suggested that we indulge in some good, hearty Midwestern fare, and that it should be covered in gravy, because one's mood is always improved after ingesting gratuitous amounts of gravy.

I'll be damned if he wasn't right. We ate huge amounts. Enough to feel padded against the shock. And it worked.

As a result of the upheaval, my job changed from managing the events and outreach for a single store to managing many locations in a large area. This meant I had to travel a lot, often with my boss, the Zen Master. I turned him on to The Gravy Cure, and we began spreading the news throughout the land. All were converted, and still stand by the potent remedy even now. CarmelCorn's simple idea has reached far and helped many an ailing English major, and it is my belief that we should erect a monument in his honor.

I've been given plenty of mood elevators and antidepressants by doctors, and all they did was make me numb. But good gravy has mysterious properties that can, for a short time, loft one out of the darkness. It's like a warm hug, from the inside out. It may not have kept Sylvia Plath's noggin' out of the oven, but it can definitely make the day go better.

If you live in the Midwest - or the South, or any rural area with good diners or cafeterias, you'll be fine. In the morning you can go for biscuits & gravy, and later meals can vary: chicken fried steak, roast beef manhattan, fried chicken w/potatoes & gravy. Just think of the waitress as a gentle nurse who will help heal your suffering.

If you live in a place that does not have ready access to home-style cooking, you're going to need to make your own. DO NOT open a jar, or use a packet, or do anything that that demon harpie Sandra Lee would approve of. You're gonna need to do it, and you'll need to do it right if it's going to work.

For everything you could possibly need to know, please consult the bible, McGee's On Food and Cooking (if you don't own this, you should. you really, really should.). Simply open to Sauces: Sauces Thickened with Flour and Starch: Gravy on page 619, where the perfect method is outlined in detail. Do what he says. You'll be fine.

Sadly, not every kitchen is equipped with this indispensable tome (seriously, you should get this one), therefore I offer you this tutorial from Alton Brown. Learn how to do it, and enjoy the cure - it's good for what ails you.

Salad Days

Summer tastes like cucumbers and tomatoes.

I grew up in the Midwest, where it was a rare person who did not grow their own tomatoes and cucumbers. Those rare people are always the recipient of their neighbors' insanely bountiful harvests. Everyone has these items on hand at all times - I believe it is Indiana state law.

This salad shows up on summertime tables, in various incarnations, no matter where I am or who I'm with.

My Grandfather's version, with red wine vinager instead of lemon; my Mum's, with loads of onions and sometimes yogurt or sour cream; my own, without onions, but often with jicama. It is the ubiquitous side for all hot weather meals. This is the one made by The Man of the House, using herbs from our wee urban garden.




Cucumber, Tomato, and Onion Salad
1 cucumber
~ 1 tomato
~ ½ med onion
~ Juice of 1 lemon
~ 1 tbsp fresh mint, chopped
~ 2 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped
~ 1 tsp fresh thyme, chopped
~ 1 tsp fresh oregano, chopped
~ salt and pepper

- Peel, halve, and seed cucumber, slice into thin half moons
- Seed and chop tomato
- Thinly slice onion
- Toss everything gently in a large bowl; refrigerate at least 1 hour, so the flavors marry

List: Home Cooking

I am from Indiana, and Sunday is Race Day - which is a big, huge deal there. The race in question is the the 93rd running of The Indianapolis 500. I've never been to the track; frankly watching loud cars go in circles for hours, whilst sitting in the hot sun, surrounded by drunk people flashing boobage like it was Mardi Gras holds no allure for me. But all of the coverage in the news made me a touch nostalgic, so I offer you this list:

Home Cooking: Indiana food memories

4 meals and dishes that are most specifically evocative of my hometown


1.) Breaded tenderloin sandwiches at the Triple XXX in West Lafayette
The Triple XXX is a garishly painted (wide orange and black vertical stripes, in honor of Purdue University) institution that has been in operation since 1929. They serve the classic Hoosier sandwich of a thinly pounded pork tenderloin, battered and breaded and fried up crispy, served with yellow mustard and pickles. Utter heaven.

2.) Johnny Marzetti for lunch at school
I've written about this little gem before, so just click HERE if you have no idea what I'm talking about.

3.) Chicken velvet soup at the L. S. Ayres Tea Room
Generations of kids (myself included), have warm, sweet memories of annual trips to the L.S. Ayres flagship store in downtown Indianapolis, home of the Ayres Tea Room. Most beloved were the Chicken Velvet Soup, and the children's Hobo Meal (served tied up in a bandana - the mere mention of which is enough to make my dear friend Bapho's eyes mist over). The store has been gone since 1992, but the Tea Room has been lovingly recreated at the Indiana State Museum.

4.) Summer farm stand produce
This is the taste of summer: Green beans, fresh corn (like, an hour off the stalk fresh) and wee red potatoes simmered in a pot with something porky; served with sliced garden tomatoes still warm from the sun, and a salad of cucumbers, onions, and more tomatoes dressed in a sharp vinegar dressing.