Cooking with Justice

Food is something that is and has always been important to me. As a child, I would stand around in the kitchen, watching my Mom fry, chop, broil, and bake. The smells of homemade bread often filled our small apartment, and, though I grew up dead damn broke and on welfare, my Mom made low cost sumptuous fare...and she was so adept at it that she fooled us into thinking common dishes, like buttered egg noodles, were expensive delicacies to only be eaten on occassion.

From my Mother's kitchen to my Grandmother's kitchen, from watching my Step-Father cook to learning to avoid my Birth Father's cooking at all costs, I learned how to experiment, recreate, and create anew old time recipes and create new recipes of my own.

Please note, I am not in anyway a trained chef. As a matter of fact, I am a writer. My recipes usually come with stories. I cook at home for my partner, and it is the greatest honor I can think of bestowing on a loved one to cook for them. Knowing that I have created a palate pleasing recipe that sustains the amazing people in my life, gives me a deep glowing satisfaction that is spiritual in nature.

This is also an issue of justice. Massive food manufacturers and the fast food industry target poor and low income families, convincing them that stopping by for a burger from the dollar menu is better, quicker, faster, and more satisfying than spending that dollar on low-cost, good for you foods, that you can make at home and will sustain you for more than one meal. Not to mention the fast food and manufactured food companies do not include that by feeding yourself and your family off of the dollar menu, you are also feeding them a recipe for hypertension, heart disease, obesity, diabetes, and a whole host of other avoidable health issues.

Because I believe we need food that sustains us, celebrates our cultures, and are good for the body and soul, I have started a new blog called The Fairy Chef.

My recipes, as much as possible, use fresh products that you can get cheaply and that will feed you for more than one meal.

While I now live a comfortable life, I am in no way a wealthy person. And so it is important that I am able to make good food, with fresh ingredients, cheaply. I understand how difficult that can be in a fast food world in a fast pace life when individuals, let alone families, juggle a million responsibilities on ever shrinking budgets. The recipes you will find at the Fairy Chef should run you no more than $5 to $20 in ingredients, and, since I grew up in a large family, all of the recipes you will find at the Fairy Chef will make more than enough to feed two to four people (depending on your appetites).

Starting today, I will post one new recipe a week. Some will be oldies but goodies and others will be new experiments I've whipped up and force fed to my beloved partner David. He didn't know he was signing up for guinea pig duty when he signed up for the life time gig with me. The various recipes I have posted here at My Feet Only Walk Forward, have already been posted at The Fairy Chef.

So, grab your oven mitts and strap on your favorite cooking gear...cuz it's time to cook it up with the Fairy Chef.

Everyday Heroes: Pookie

In 2003, I was standing outside of my four-plex on 15th Avenue South, right on Powderhorn Park, in Minneapolis. It was the first Sunday in May, which in my neighborhood meant one thing: MAY DAY PARADE!

The May Day Parade in Minneapolis is no joke. What started as a small gathering of local hippie types has turned into the largest neighborhood festival in the Twin Cities. Fifty thousand individuals gather to watch a spectacular event that celebrates labor rights and the return of Spring. Life size and larger than life puppets, created by In the Heart of the Beast Mask and Puppet Theater, wander through the South Side and entered the park directly across the street from my former residence.

On this particular May Day, Lindsay Selvig, a former friend and colleague of mine waltzed over and introduced me to her girlfriend: Andrea Nordick. Little did I know that Andrea aka Pookie would become one of my best friends. Lindsay and Andrea broke up shortly after I met Andrea (from hence she shall be referred to as Pookie). The summer after their break up, Pookie and I became reacquainted as volunteers for a summer youth leadership social justice program of the Unitarian Church. Pookie, my pal Gunnar, and I were adult allies that provided mentorship to the program run by my junior high school (now former) chum Quiana Perkins (is it a coincidence that my two former friends Lindsay and Quiana are now bosom buddies...me thinks not). Anyway, that summer I discovered that Lindsay's portrayal of Pookie was actually a project of Lindsay's nutso crazytown behavior on Pookie. To be real, my love Pookie has her own struggles...but in a crazy contest between Lindsay and Pookie...Lindsay would end up in a dark padded cell, in a dirty straight jacket, licking the backs of Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches while Pookie would get off with some light therapy.

Not long after that summer, I received an email from Pookie about a job opening at the Girl Scout Council of Greater Minneapolis. At the time, I was stil working with Lindsay at YouthLink, Minnesota's largest service agency for homeless youth. I applied for the gig at the Girl Scouts, and a few months later I was switching offices from downtown Minneapolis to Sabathani Community Center.

Pookie and I started having lunch a few times a week at Quang's (best Vietnamese EVER), and that lunch time relationship morphed into a powerful friendship. There is nothing that Meatballs over rubbery rice noodles and bun (pronounced BOON) with beef and fried tofu can't handle.

Since the fall of 2004, Pookie and I have supported each other through many a hard time. We have laughed together, cried together, and she even hid cereal from me. Pookie is now a brilliant lawyer, continues to be a brilliant friend, and, though she is a major worry wart and an OCD clean freak (beware of FRANKY)...I love her tons and tons and tons and tons and tons.

She is one of my everyday heroes.

Hamhocks and Witches

Last night I ate a bowl full of hamhocks and blackeyed peas before bed. In addition to having gas from hell...I had a very interesting dream.

The dream began with me as a child...I had spontaneously sprouted magnificent wings, and, a la X-Men, I shaved them off using a giant file to hide my shame and to please my parents. As I grew, I learned to love my wings, and I refused to remove them. I was chased through the night by police that were seeking to force me to cut them off or kill me. They didn't know who I was, and I managed to soar and then dive between two houses in my neighborhood. Quickly landing in my back yard, and ducking into the house.

Later that night I had to attend a black tie fundraiser with my parents. I had grown into quite the strapping young adult. I had bowed to pressure and shaved the wings off one last time. I was to appear in a fashion show that evening, as I also had a budding career as a model.

I got to the black tie event and it turned out that I was actually in a charity fashion show. As I arrived, I felt a familiar itching on my back, and my wings returned bunched under my Armani suit coat. I was distraught.

David was there, and he was directing the show. He quickly removed my jacket, and my white shirt, and with a pair of scissors constructed for me a white outfit that hugged my chest and my package, displaying the best of both. He then cut up a black belt, grommeted it, and then made a nut cup out of each, which he then cinched around my waist and pulled snug up to my crotch. The outfit was fierce. I slipped on black motorcycle boots, and unfurled my wings. All the other models had wings as well, though theirs were fake. David reassured me that I blended in. I walked the runway, and realize that my wings were a mighty gift, and I vowed never to be parted from them again.

When my Mother saw them she grew angry. She was a powerful witch, and I was afraid she was going to attack, so I flew from the end of the stage and out of the theater to thunderous applause.

For a while I escaped, and I lived happily. I was at a party with some friends, when, all of a sudden, a deep gouge appeared on my hand and began bleeding profusely. There was no apparent source of the gouge, and, a moment later, a strip of flesh was peeled from my heel.

I was under attack.

I grabbed a container of Morton's salt and drew a circle around myself. I knew the Witch was attack, and I knew she couldn't reach me through the salt circle. Unfortuantely, the other folks at the party thought I was drunk, and they kept walking into the kitchen and through the salt circle. Each time they did, I sustained an attack and desperately sealed the circle. I shouted at the idiots to keep out of my circle, but they mocked me and kept moving through to get their drinks.

The dream shifted then, and I was hiding out in a beautiful spacious house in Brooklyn. The home was owned by my friend Lynne Serpe. The sun was shining, and a beautiful yard could be seen through the back bedroom. It was fall, and a half bare sycamore tree stood, it's bark grey-green and smooth, just outside of the window.

It was a place that I wanted to live, but I told Lynne I could only do so if we moved it to Manhattan. Common sense...even in a dream.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with a circle of my women friends...all good witches. Another attack was coming from my Mother, the Witch, and they knew it. They laid matts on the floor so that the salt circle would be less easily disturbed. They covered the entire floor in these matts. I then created a large circle around myself of salt that remained inviolate. The circle was closed not a moment too soon as a faint scratch appeared on my arm just as it was sealed. Mom was at it again.

We knew that the evil Witch had to also be sitting in front of a circle that represented the circle in which I sat. But in order to battle her, we had to know where she was positioned outside of the circle.

Another witch, one of my girls, then took the salt and inscribed a symbol outside of the circle...after that she took an egg in her hands and tossed it towards me and the circle in which I sat. The egg arched through the air and landed across from me, outside of the circle. When it hit the matt it begin to sizzle as if it were frying. We'd found the bitch.

A phantom outline of her appeared, her face twisted in anger. She began chanting a new spell trying to break through my circle...I could feel an enormous pressure building, and I knew that she would soon break through...and then...my ass would be grass.

A bright light welled up inside of me and I held up a single hand, with my wings outstretched, I began chanting loudly...By the Power of Light, By the Power of God! By the Power of Light, By the Power of God! I pushed back agains the pressure and my hand began to glow with a golden light that was outlined in red. I shouted a third time...BY THE POWER OF LIGHT, BY THE POWER OF GOD. The pressure gave way suddenly, and I knew I had to bitch slap the hell out of the witch and teach her to mind her business. I gave her three hard smacks.

And then David woke me up yellin' “WHY ARE YOU HITTING ME.”

P.S. David is the hottie in the tootsie roll outfit next to the scary heifer in the picture above. Teeeheeee.

Brandon's Collard Greens Recipe

Last night, I served up a mess of collard greens at my pal Norman's Easter dinner. It was a great crowd...including a Jew, a half Lebanese girl, a Russian gal straight from the gulag and shit, a Malaysian, a me, and a Southerner. It was all diverse and stuff.

Most of the folks in the room had never had greens before (let alone hamhocks). By the end of the night all that remained in the bowl was the skin of one of the hamhocks and there were calls for my recipe. Here it is.

This recipe will cook roughly a half stock pot full once full cooked and boiled down. It will comfortably feed four to six.

Brandon's Hell's Kitchen Collards

4 to 6 bunches of collard greens
1 red onion
1 to 2 jalapenos
Crushed red pepper
3 to 5 garlic cloves
4 smoked hamhocks
salt
black pepper
oregano (dried)

Cooking instructions:

Wash the collard greens and make sure there is no dirt and grit on them. Then, peel the leaf off the stock and away from the center stem. Discard the stalk and stem and set the leafy greens in your stock pot.

Once you have cleaned the greens and placed them in the pot, get your hands way down in there and tear the leaves into smaller pieces.

Add the hamhocks to the pot.

Dice the onion and garlic and jalapenos and place those in the pot as well.

Fill the pot with water leaving about an inch of room at the top of the pot. Then sprinkle in the salt, pepper, dried oregano, and crushed red pepper. If you like your greens hot...use more pepper...if not...use less. Same goes for the jalapeno.

Turn the greens on medium high heat and bring to a low boil. Cover them bad boys up and then let 'em percolate for the next four to six hours. The longer you let them cook, the better the flavor...when you taste the greens...and they melt like butter on your tongue...they are done man. If you are in a hurry, you can eat 'em after about four hours cooking time.

You can do all of this in a crock pot as well.

Also, from time to time add water to the pot--make sure the greens are always covered...and stir occassionally to make sure they don't stick to the bottom of the pot.

For good luck, make you some black eyed peas and rice and serve 'em up with the greens.

And there you have...when folks smack their lips together and are rubbin' their bellies...tell 'em Brandon sent ya.

Chittlin's Are Good For the Soul

(This article was written for and submitted to BlackPower.com)

Three times a year, I wake up before the sun, put pots of various sizes on the stove to boil, spend hours dicing, chopping, cleaning, tearing, baking, frying, broiling and carving up a feast. Collard greens slow cooked for hours with hamhocks, until the meat is falling off the hock and the greens are smooth as silk and melt on your tongue. Macaroni nd cheese that is akin to one of Pele's sacred mountains, cheese bubbling and percolating throughout layers and layers of macaroni masking as sediment, top golden brown and crisp with occassional butter, mozarella, and cheddar magma breaking through the surface. Turkey, slow roasted in the oven, garlic cloves slipped beneath the skin, the skin rubbed with olive oil, seasoning salt, garlic salt, pepper, and pats of butter snuck inside to make sure it stays so moist that the juices bead on the surface and sweat down the sides when you pull it from the oven. Mash potatoes and homemade turkey gravy. Stuffing. Pies. Glorified rice. Gizzards and neckbones. These are the blessings that I lay on the people I love, these are the spells and incantations I work to bring health and strength to my family, these are a holy inheritance that has sustained my people and my family for more than three centuries. This is soul food.

For those that did not grow up in a black family or a Southern family, soul food is viewed as a quaint regional cuisine. Perhaps you have had chicken and waffles at Amy Ruth's or sampled the greens and mac and cheese at Gladys Knight's Chicken and Waffles. Perhaps you have tried chitterlings on a dare or ate jambalaya while on vacation in New Orleans. For those of us that know better, we know that soul food is the way that our family keeps our history alive. Standing around the kitchen on Easter, watching my Great Aunt Sis cleaning chittlin's and telling me how putting a potato and an onion in the pot kills the smell was always the signal that a story was on its way. She would then turn to me and, in the same breath, tell me how the black community burned down the Negro school when the Supreme Court orderd the end of segregation so the white folks could never make them go back. With a chuckle, she would stir the greens, wink, and say, “But I don't know nothin' 'bout that.”

In my time, I have had to confront rabid vege-naziis that rail at me for eating meat. Having no understanding of what it means to take what was once thrown at you....trash given to trash...and making living, delicious, sustenance out of it. Pigs feet and chitterlings, neck bones and hog maws, tails and tongue. These were the things doled out to the least and from which we made the most. These are the foods that fed Martin Luther King, Jr and Malcolm X (minus the pork). These are the foods that fed Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth. These are the foods that fed Assata Shakur and Marcus Garvey and Maya Angelou and all of those black folks that laid the bricks of the road we now travel so much more easily because of their sacrifice and the celebration they made of scraps and ends.

On Thanksgiving morning, Christmas morning, and Easter morning, I wake up with joy in my heart. I turn on the stove, and I look at the bountiful blessing of histoy laid out in front of me. I lose all sense of time as I pour my love, joy, affection, sorrow, pain, and hope into every dish, into every cut and slice, into every pot. This is soul food. Food that sustains the soul, that is a gift, that is to be cherished and treasured and eaten as a way to celebrate family, history, the ones we love, and ourselves.