The Art of Decision Making

Life begins at a cycle. In which, this cycle brings out refinement. Often times, this refinement needs fine tuning. That's why we all need to make harmony in unison. It reminds me of a musician playing out his role in life. That's the way everything should be. Even good food needs something to go with the flavor! If you don't have zest in life, then what makes your heart tick? It's that vibration that opposes anything else over a rhythm that's redundant. So pound some effort into anything that requires strength. Like kneading dough. Music can make the time go by fast. So relax into the spirit of the mold. It's your heart's decision though, it may not go as planned. Keep doing it and maybe if you have heart, you can succeed at your best achievement as a human being. Make the goal the post.
You can have hope while others are stuck. This is called sheer will at luck. Also, working at the hand of another is a good sign. It's called leadership and team effort! And it accomplishes a lot more than the one at least. Also, you need a good lover to go to bed and kiss before waking up. It's called the zest and passion for the heart of life! Enjoy and devour that message. That helps with the hand. Also keep in mind that you won't stop. And you'll make the dough for getting the bread.
Sometimes, it's also good not to be thinking you can do it all yourself. Music and food need to be met with the right group. So play right and you may get hit! Stop strumming out, and listen to the music and eat the food of the tree. That's life.

The Baker or the Taker?

According to Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary, the edition that was published in 1973, ethic is defined as “the discipline dealing with what is good and bad and with moral duty and obligation.” Moral is defined as “of or relating to principles of right and wrong in behavior; expressing or teaching a concept of right behavior; conforming to a standard of right behavior.”

Ethic is a discipline, whereas Moral is a principle. Discipline is adhering to a pattern of behavior, often resulting from previous education or training. Principle is a standard based on perceived assumptions concerning truths, and predetermined laws and rules.

Although often considered synonyms, there is a notable difference between ethics and morals. People
may consider themselves to be moral, and lack ethics. Ethical people within a society may be considered to be immoral by their fellow citizens. A woman who follows the letter of the law may end up sending a man to prison for thirty years for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his children, thus proving herself to be a highly moral person. The unfortunate father, may have an ethical nature in terms of putting his children's needs first; however, he violates the moral law by engaging in the desperate act of stealing food.

Morals depend on socially accepted norms (standards), many of which have been legislated into laws. Oftentimes, these standards are determined by religious zealotry and by political systems bent on controlling the majority of people. A moral code of conduct may even include a list of rules for torturing natives, who have refused to embrace the religious beliefs of their captors.

Ethics depend on acquiring the skills that are necessary in order to make sure that the law is tempered with understanding and mercy. The fundamental concept for adopting an ethical approach within a morally dominated society is the Golden Rule—we seek to be treated well by others: This involves
doing unto others what we would have them do unto us. We adopt the discipline of reciprocity by adhering to behavior that embraces being a good example to others, because we never know when we might end up in a similar situation and need them to respond in our favor.

The Baker or the Taker

I've stolen the bread.
My children are fed.
The baker's in a stew.
What will the townsfolk do?

Hang me?
Jail me?
Starve my children?
Beat my wife?
Let me work for the baker the rest of my life?

SUNFLOWER POWER

It's another hot, humid day in the Ozarks. The front porch is pleasant this morning, although, in another hour this won't be the case. I set my fresh mug of coffee on the cast iron bistro table, and pulled up a chair. More sunflowers are beginning to bloom in front of the house. I hear them murmuring amongst themselves. Or is it merely the gentle breeze caressing every object in its path, causing voice-like vibrations to bounce off my eardrums; convincing me that the messages I'm receiving are meant for me to understand.

"We all know everything gives off a frequency--a vibration specific to a particular thing, whether it be living or considered to be nonliving." It spoke out loud, in an almost unperceivable whisper, then sighed deeply, and--and tisked. "Tisk, tisk.' Letting me know, very subtly, that it disapproved of my very existence.

"All right! That's enough! Plants cannot talk. Sunflowers are plants. You are a sunflower, therefore,
you cannot speak! So shut up!" I stupidly blurted.

"Plants vibrate with frequencies. As each stone has a particular frequency, like the quartz that vibrates inside your watch, every species of plant has its own frequency. Everything in nature vibrates, and you humans must learn to be quiet and listen to what is being taught. You always have your televisions, radios, and computers on. You're always in your cars going v-v-r-room, v-v-r-room, or talking in loud obnoxious voices at each other into those ridiculous mind discombobulating cellphones." She lectured, ignoring my command to keep quiet.

"Wh--who--wh--what are you?" I stuttered.

"Mother Manikiel, your personal plant guru." She offered me her largest leaf, in a gesture reminiscent of a handshake. I carefully clasped it in my outstretched hand, and attempted a delicate leaf-shake.

"I never requested a plant guru!"

"No one ever does."  Mother Manikiel responded. Her lip was starting to curl up in that disapproving sneer again.

"I think the goat milk in my coffee is rancid. I'm poisoned! That's why I'm hallucinating!" I sniffed my lukewarm mug of coffee. It smelled okay. I turned my attention back to Mother Manikiel; however, she was now ignoring me, staring off into the sun. She seemed downright contented. I decided to just let her be.

A honey bee appeared, landing on the tip of the sunflower's nose. She appeared to enjoy its company much more than she did mine.

GRIT EDITION IS NOW ONLINE

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If you're not familiar with 'Grit' Magazine, check it out for helpful ideas on country living -- "Rural American Know-How." I'll be posting inspirational vignettes on a variety of subjects having to do with the simple, downhome country life.

The current topic is FIREFLIES! From romantic appreciation to environmental concerns about their survival. Kids will love learning about these beacons that light up the night! Available only on 'Well Rounded Appetite Grit Edition'!

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SUNFLOWER SAGA BEGINS

Speaking of sunflowers; this very morning I was outside, sitting on the porch enjoying my small

daily allotment of organic coffee laced with a splash of goat milk, when I noticed another bright
yellow corona shining brilliantly from atop its long, sturdy green stem. It appeared to be trying to gain my full attention—swaying gently to and fro, in spite of the fact that there was no breeze!

I got up to investigate, closely observing the plant's large, craggy floret-face, crowned with a circle
of vibrant yellow rays, peering up at me. She wasn't exactly smiling—her expression was more like
a sneer. It wasn't a disgusting sneer; rather it was a condescending I-am-so-superior-to-you smirk. 

“What are you staring at?” She asked, her upper lip quivering slightly.

Of course, I know that a sunflower can't speak, let alone ask questions. So I continued to gaze into

the creature's frowning face; my mouth agape in wonderment. Why was I hearing voices—uh, one
voice: A plant vocalizing a legitimate, well founded question?

“Oh, I see that you are too stupid to answer. Humans usually are.” She huffed in obvious contempt;
then, sighing, she turned her large round head toward the sun, ignoring me entirely.

I went back to my bistro chair on the front porch, taking a long sip of my warm coffee. The

temperature was ninety degrees in the shade. The heat was definitely getting to me . . . .

“Manikari, Manikiel, you'll see things clearly after while. Flitter, flutter, listen to the words we
utter. Manikiel, Manikari, you'll have wisdom like a fairy.”

The sunflower mantra repeated over and over. I continued to drink from my coffee mug, determined

to pretend that the world around me was exactly the way I perceived it to be.

THE SUNFLOWER KINGDOM

We provide sunflower seeds for the local bird population, and keep a well stocked feeder year round. It's fun to watch the various species as they flit to and fro, snatching a single seed. In this frenzy, many of the seeds end up right below the feeder on the ground, where they get eaten by more birds, and the morning squirrels that come to feed on tree nuts in the early hours after the feral cats are done prowling the neighborhood.

Many of the seeds escape hungry mouths. Each spring, a little garden of tiny sunflower plants emerge to ward off attacks by the nocturnal creatures, such as raccoons, who love crisp, green seedlings sprouting fresh and dewy from the damp, dark soil!

Every two or three years, a good portion of the seedlings make it through the whole ordeal. They grow to adulthood, ruling the front of the house, their golden corona's worn proudly--like the bloomin' royalty, except for the fact that they have earned the privilege. 

Recipe for Sugar, Cinnamon, Spice, Everything Nice

Quite by accident, I invented this yummy whole grain pancake topping just this morning. I had scraped the very last spoonful of bilberry jam from its glass jar, when I noticed the little
half-empty bottle of Ceylon cinnamon on the counter top. Next to it was a large container of organic sugar, and next to that was a bottle of organic, finely ground black seeds. Hmm . . .

Impulsively, I poured about a quarter cup of sugar into the cinnamon spice jar, then added a little less than one teaspoon full of black seed powder. I replaced the cap, then shook everything vigorously until it was perfectly blended before sprinkling a generous portion on my pancake. Wow! What a flavorable combination.

Black seed is a healthy herb with interesting tasting undertones. I'm finding out that it complements a variety of foods --

from hot Mexican dishes, to sweet savory desserts. I am going to add a spoonful of whole black seeds to my black pepper grinder next and discover the subtle results during dinner tonight.

Take Time for God and Tea

Sir Kenelm Digby wrote The Closet . . .Excellent Directions for Cookery, that was published in 1669. He included a tonic/dessert recipe, 'Tea with Eggs,' which incorporated the following tea brewing instructions: "The hot water is to remain upon it [the tea] no longer than whiles you can say the Miserere Psalm [Psalm 51] very leisurely."

 

I tested his expertise yesterday by preparing this weird-for-modern-day sugar, egg, and tea concoction. I even dusted off my mother's old copy of the Holy Bible: The New King James Version, and read Psalm 51 aloud and leisurely 'whiles' brewing my organic Japanese green tea, as per instructions. It took me a very l-o-n-g two minutes and seventeen seconds to read it; however, the tea turned out to be perfect! The sugar and egg combination was set aside, and later put to use in a batch of organic sugar cookies.

 

Mother's old Bible is back where it belongs, buried deep within the lower level of one of the bookshelves, right where it will stay until the next time I decide to experiment with time, tea, and totally absurd post-Renaissance dessert recipes.

 

Depending on what biblical version one uses, and one's definition of 'leisurely,' it is probably safe to say that the perfect cuppa can be obtained if left to brew for more than two minutes, but less than three, according to God's Holy Word.

 

My Day

Gray-blue dusk washes over the yard,

Leaf-green plants fade into dark forest patterns

beckoning the shades of evening to be drawn

down--down-descending to their lowest estate.

Midnight shadows pass by on their way to usher in evening.

 

Deer walk a trail through the forest field

feasting on ever-deepening greenery during dinner hour.

Silent, blending back into the woods from which they

emerged a while earlier, disappearing into impending night.

Day carelessly slips away, never to return in its present state.

copyright © 2013 z.d. brenton

Food for Thought or Not?

Many of you may be wondering, 'What is the purpose of The Well Rounded Appetite, and why should I waste my time reading it? I thought it was supposed to be about food related topics, including recipes, ideas for meals, and little anecdotes to share at the dinner table?'

 

The Well Rounded Appetite IS about ALL those things, and it is much more. Its purpose is to get you to think about how important food is outside of the conventions of modern thinking. It will s-l-o-w-l-y draw you in, then it will make you think for YOURSELF--as an individual! Not as a collective. Not as a member of any group whatsoever!

 

The Well Rounded Appetite is YOUR brief reprieve from a busy day of doing everything that involves someone else--another person, a small business, a major corporation.

 

Perhaps you take a quiet lunchtime, away from all the madness that surrounds you; however, you may not have an opportunity to do that very often. The Well Rounded Appetite provides a five minute escape into YOUR uniqueness. This is the time for you to think about the joys of food, not only for physical nourishment, but for thought--fun, philosophical musings, problem solving.

 

Food is like _____________. Fill in the blank. Remember, to think outside the box, the container, the frying pan, the oven, the microwave.

 

Are you still uncertain of what The Well Rounded Appetite really is all about? Then, keep reading, thinking, cooking, eating, stopping for takeout after work, baking cookies at midnight on a Wednesday . . .  It will all become quite clear to you very soon!

 

I'd love to hear your food for thought, your thoughts about food!

Eggs of Gold Versus No Longer Controlled

What would possess a farmer to brutally slaughter his own pet goose? Up until the goose began laying eggs of solid gold, the creature lived a safe life as a barnyard novelty--at least she would have been safe until the Christmas holidays.

 

"Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat
Please put a penny in the old man's hat

If you haven't got a penny, a ha' penny will do,
If you haven't got a ha' penny, then God bless you."  

Was is mere gluttony, greed, or impatience, or a combination of vices on the part of the farmer when he hacked open his more than generous goose in an attempt to get all the eggs at once? Perhaps the real lesson behind the bloody rampage is more complicated.

 

Gluttony is often thought of in terms of excess consumption. Greediness is frequently defined as having the desire to possess something exclusively, while excluding everyone else.

 

'The Greedy want to possess.

The Gluttonous go to excess.'

 

The axe wielding farmer destroys his generous goose because he wants all of his golden eggs in one basket, He stops trusting the goose because it has too much power over him!. He loses his personal autonomy when he realizes he's completely dependent upon a barnyard goose for his livelihood!

 

He begins to go mad--not necessarily with greed. He goes mad simply by no longer being in control. He is now a slave to his goose--a creature who was once nothing more than a reliable food source. Now the Goose is Goddess!

 

When he chops it apart, all he finds is meat. The Goddess existed only in the farmer's perception. Now the farmer is free to return to his true calling--farming.

 

I imagine the story didn't end there. I believe that  the farmer brought the goose into the kitchen and told his wife to bake it up in the roast pan, using all the spices she had been saving for the holidays.

 

Instead of eating crow for dinner, the entire household feasted on the Christmas goose in July.

 

'Eat, drink, and be merry . . .

the old gray goose is dead!'

--

 

Coffee or Wine with the One-Eyed Woman?

Charles Maurice De Tallyrand-Perigord (1754-1838) shared his recipe for coffee:
"Black as the devil,
Hot as hell,
Pure as an angel,
Sweet as love."

Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (1755-1826) revealed his obsession with culinary indulgences:
"Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are."
And:
"A dessert without cheese is like a beautiful woman with only one eye."
Also:
"One can become a cook, but one is born a roaster of meat."
"A meal without wine is like a day without sunshine."

Both men were well aware of the passions that simmer within one's taste buds, and how (when they are stimulated by various flavors) the entire creature experiences great and utter pleasure during the dinner hour, and beyond.

It is interesting to note that the coffee connoisseur outlived the gluttonous cheese, meat, wine and dessert lover by more than a decade!

I wonder how the conversation might have gone, if the two of them had met during the dinner hour . . .

"Charles, join me for some merriment! The one-eyed woman is serving wine. The house appears to be out of cheese!"

"All the better! Excess cheese fills out the waistcoat! How about a hot cup of coffee to heat things up, Anthelme?"

"Yes. It may make the dessert more tolerable. After that superb roast, more wine is also called for. Bring on the beautiful girls. Send the half-blind girl to the nearest farm to fetch the cheese!"

"Oh, you really need to watch what you eat. Here, sip your sweet, black coffee and forget the wine, women, and song. You'll live longer if you do."

"YOU may live longer, my good friend! However, I shall live with sunshine and wine, and dessert served with cheese, and plenty of roast beef on the table."

"If only you are able! This coffee is heaven sent." Charles smiled knowingly, and sipped his coffee.

A memory is often preserved through the act of saving a simple three dimensional object. The keepsake provides a porthole through which a special day in the past returns to the present moment to be relived with a certain vitality that transcends the original event.  When the object is viewed, grasped, held, used again, many years later--the original event comes back to be relived with a new life of its own.

 

I have a Memory Mug! Many years back, I was at a lunch counter in a local restaurant having bitter-diner-coffee with Martin, and happened to mention that I really, really liked the patriotic mug I was sipping from. By the time we left, I owned it!

 

Purple Martins return to familiar nesting grounds, and are attracted to places humans prepare just for them. Year, after year, they appear in the spring, swallowing up winter, coming to create a new beginning.

 

I sip delicious, French pressed, organic Fair Trade coffee from my old, chipped red, white, and blue mug every morning, while I watch the birds outside the dining room window. What a perfect day . . .

 

A Man's World, A Woman's Unfurled

Business and pleasure, two extremes, yet each endeavor often seeks to complement the other.  Unfortunately, it's still very much a man's world when it comes to business. Several hundred years ago, Jonathon Swift wrote, "We were to do more business after dinner; but after dinner is after dinner--an old saying and true, 'much drinking, little thinking.'"

 

A woman might once have said (after having slaved away, in a hot kitchen, making this man's dinner), "We were to do more baking after serving dinner, but after-serving-dinner is before dessert--an old fishwife said and it's true, 'to many feats, to little treats."

Eat Your Cake and Have it Too?

A visit to a Montana ghost town yielded a side trip to a historical museum. The most fascinating antique item I remember seeing was a well preserved Chinese wedding cake. At the time, it was more than one hundred years old. I said to myself, 'What would motivate someone to save this cake for so many years?' Certainly, it was passed on through several generations before ending up as an oddity in a museum.

I'm reminded of the often misquoted saying (attributed to John Heywood). "Would you eat your cake and have your cake?" In the case of the remarkably well preserved wedding cake, did the bride and groom share the lower layer of their cake with their wedding guests, saving the ornately decorated top layer as a keepsake?

According to my Aunt Dorian, who was an authority on the history of all foods involving copious amounts of sugar, the wedding cake tradition evolved through the centuries, originating in ancient Rome. There, they would break bread over the bride's head in order to endow her with fertility. Guests would gather up the crumbs and take them home for good luck.

By the end of the nineteenth century, the traditional wedding cake was becoming popular, although it usually consisted of one single layer, rather than the multi-layered confectionary masterpiece that is common today. Thus, it may very well be that the happy Chinese-American newlyweds became so enthralled with their special dessert, that they could not bear to eat ANY of it! If that was the case, they would NOT eat their cake and would HAVE their cake as long as they both shall live.

A RANGE of Appetites!

 

For many people, a RANGE is a region within an ecosystem--such as mountains, surveyed land areas, animal grazing or hunting grounds, or the natural habitat of a certain kind of plant or animal.

 

The word RANGE implies movement within certain defined areas: A driving RANGE for golfers, a shooting RANGE for target practice, or someone who has a vast RANGE of knowledge within a particular field of study.

 

 A RANGE is often thought of in terms of distance measured between two extremes.

 

For folks who spend a great portion of their time in the kitchen, a RANGE is the device used to prepare a hot breakfast, a warm lunch, a steamed dinner entrée, or a yummy baked dessert . . .

 

While a pot of water heats on the RANGE, the cook is slicing veggies into crisp, bite sized pieces, measuring portions, tossing in extra seasonings, a cup of kidney beans, a small box of pasta. Stirring, blending, adding a pinch more salt, a tablespoon of flour, a hot-as-hell jalapeno pepper, a jar of organic tomato sauce. The temperature is turned to medium-low. The timer is set for thirty minutes.

 

Cold, bland, ordinary individual food items commingle together in their new ecosystem--a large pot of gently simmering water. Magic happens! A hot, spicy pot of mouthwatering CHILI awaits us on the RANGE!

 

Dinner is served!

 

'Home, home, by the RANGE!

With a beer, where the cantaloupe lay!

Where salad is tossed without words from the boss,

And dinner is served every day!"

Starting the day with coffee, chocolate cookies, and quotes.

It's a quiet, semi-sunny, not quite too humid day in the Ozarks. I've fed the cats, prepared organic fair trade coffee in my authentic stainless steel French press, and taken Raven's amazing, organic
whole-grain, chocolate cookies out of the refrigerator to warm to room temperature for an easy, yet delicious breakfast.

My favorite coffee mugs are on the table. They are huge, white, made-in-Japan teacups bearing one simple sentence, in bold black letters that traverse the entire outer edge, right beneath the brim. "ONLY  DULL  PEOPLE  ARE  BRILLIANT  AT  BREAKFAST" -- Oscar Wilde --

My aunt Dorian, who died several years ago, was an avid cake, fudge, and pastry maker. She baked the best classic peanut bars. I fondly remember the little white rectangular cakes, coated with thick vanilla frosting before being rolled in a large bowl containing finely chopped peanuts. They were better than the ones from the local bakery. So good, in fact, that when I think about them--my mouth waters, decades later.

One of the secret spices Aunt Dorian always had on hand was Ceylon Cinnamon. I used to think it was called Sail On Sinner-Man. (My mother was a lay-minister and used to preach the gospel every chance she had).

Anyway, Aunt Dorian was an authority on all things relating to desserts. Ceylon Cinnamon is delicate, subtle and sweet. It's a pleasant shade of tan with smooth bark. It's used to enhance the flavor of desserts, fruits and vegetables. I've heard that in ancient times, it was used for embalming.

Ceylon Cinnamon enhances vanilla, chocolate, desserts and entrees. No one can bake a proper apple pie, or sweet potato dish, without adding it to the recipe.

Aunt Dorian once told me, "Ceylon is the only true cinnamon. Cassia is false cinnamon." Thus, reinforcing my original name for it--Sail On Sinner-Man!

Summer will be here sooner than expected, as can often be said of every season, of every year, in every decade. Does the calendar reveal this simple fact? Or the weather?

Calendars merely state sterile numbers on a chart, and the weather is totally unreliable now, what with global climate change . . .

What provokes me to claim (with authority) that summer is arriving ahead of schedule?

It's the synergy surrounding the events taking place throughout the day in my kitchen!

Heavy winter fare--thick, murky, heart-warming soups, bone-strengthening casseroles, dark baked breads, and steaming hot, rich sauces have been placed on the backburner. (Well, actually, in the freezer awaiting the return of autumn, much later in the year).

Raw salads, drizzled with my special balsamic dressing, fluffy rice and steamed veggies served with simple cheesy sauces, and tangy-sweet lemon bars now grace the table.

The main cooks and bottle washers are wearing shorts and tank tops, having traded in their heavier sweatshirts and jeans. Bare feet adorn the linoleum!

It's time for an early evening walk . . . all we need is a light jacket.