Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
A tomato by any other name
Is it a coincidence that elementary school students from right here in Washington, NJ where I live inspired the introduction of a bill in NJ to have the tomato named the state vegetable? I think not. Initially, I wasn't sure I could really get behind this effort. Stickler for detail that I am, I stumbled on the fact that, technically, a tomato is a fruit not a vegetable. Or so I always thought. That is, until, my brilliant friend Jodee got me to do a little research on the matter.
“The supreme court - 100 years ago or so - declared it a veg. instead of a fruit so that it could be taxed,” she wrote in an email to me. “Their logic was that one eats it with dinner not as a desert.” I looked it up and it’s true.
As I was looking that up, I got sidetracked on an interesting linguistic element of this whole discussion. Something I read said that "fruit" is a botanical classification whereas "vegetable" is simply a culinary term, so it isn't really an either/or situation. I looked up both “fruit” and “vegetable” and found, MUCH to my delight, that a tomato is actually BOTH! How cool is that?
The definition of vegetable is: “any herbaceous plant whose fruit, [etc.] are used as food” or “the edible part of such a plant.” The definition of fruit is: “any product of vegetable growth.” So, basically, “vegetable” can refer to the plant itself or the fruit of said plant if the fruit is edible. Ergo – a tomato can be correctly called either a fruit or vegetable. Phew!
And now for some fun. A silly chain email also forwarded to me today:
Subject: Fw: Tomato Garden
An old Italian man lived alone in New Jersey. He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden, but it was very difficult work as the ground was hard. His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison.
The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:
Dear Vincent,
I am feeling pretty sad, because it looks like I won't be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. I know if you were here my troubles would be over. I know you would be happy to dig the plot for me, like in the old days.
Love,
Papa
A few days later he received a letter from his son.
Dear Pop,
Don't dig up that garden. That's where the bodies are buried.
Love,
Vinnie
At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug-up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son.
Dear Pop,
Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love you,
Vinnie
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
A rip-off post or "My Jersey Pride"
My aunt and I are making dinner plans for tomorrow night. She's suggested the Red Wolfe Inn and despite living in this part of New Jersey for most of my life, I have no idea where it is. I googled the place and stumbled across this fantastic description of the area in which I live.
I am often at a loss when trying to accurately capture the stealthy beauty and charm of this area, but this writer has done it. I am reprinting his words here without his permission (or that of the New York Times where it appeared), but I am hoping to be forgiven since credit is given.
The following is excerpted from "RESTAURANTS; Backroads Bonanza" written by DAVID CORCORAN and published (on nyt.com at least) December 1, 2002:
"AT THE RISK of sounding like a paid advertisement for the Chamber of Commerce, I urge you to take a drive to this corner of the state -- unless you already live here, in which case the following will not come as news.
Warren County, especially the western reaches that look across the Delaware River to Pennsylvania, is New Jersey before the era of the corporate campus, before the McMansion, before Target. Out here, U. S. 46 is actually a pleasure to drive: it hugs the plunging, silvery Pequest River on its way through tiny forgotten hamlets like Bridgeville and Buttzville, Sarepta and Manunka Chunk. Jenny Jump and Worthington State Forests are thick with woods and hiking trails.
This isn't exactly unspoiled New Jersey; it isn't Hunterdon County, say, or the outskirts of Princeton, which owe their rolling, preserved-in-amber beauty to wealth and zoning codes. The back roads here are edged with cornfields, orchards and Christmas tree farms, but also with body shops, abandoned churches and adult-video stores. It's hardscrabble New Jersey. And the Red Wolfe Inn fits right in. "
Footnote by Carole, February 2009: Sadly we do have Target out here now and McMansions too, BUT not as much or as many as other parts of the state and the rest of this description still holds true. Ok. Now I still need to go figure out how to get to this place.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Smells from the BDO: Last Night’s Roast
I love it when my house smells like warm roasting dinner. Marjoram, thyme, garlic and the melting fat getting all crispy and delicious. It reminds me of my childhood and being at my grandparent’s house. In my memory, the roast smell goes with the smokiness of the crackling fireplace, my grandfather’s musky-clean-smelling aftershave, my grandmother’s root-vegetable-kitchen smell, and the bright-sweet smell of those pink peppermints they always had out in a white ceramic candy dish on the drum table next to the front window.
Yup. Last night, as I was tinkering around the house doing little this’s and that’s while dinner cooked, I was also basking in the warm glow of these memories.
Of course this morning all that’s left is the pungent, offensive garlic smell. Which is not really a happy morning smell for me, personally. I’m sure it’s cultural and for some this would be a great smell to wake up to. But me? I want to run to the nearest Yankee Candle and get some cinnamon, maple, or vanilla thing to blast away this unpleasant olfactory assault. Funny how smells are all relative.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
I've been cheating
I've been cheating on this blog with another blog. My dearest Will is once again in Antarctica. He decided that Antarctic winter wasn't enough for him and he just had to go back to McMurdo Station to work over the summer.
Last time he went (2005), I was not yet blog-savvy and so I set up an actual website - from scratch. I updated it with new photos every few weeks during the six months he was way. What a pain in the neck that was! So this time, I was quite happy to set up a blog where I have been posting pictures and stories he sends back.
Basically this is just my most recent excuse for not posting here as much as I'd like. (Of course this one is sort of legit - I'm actually keeping up with a blog, just not this one.)
So if you're interested in the Antarctic Adventures of Will, you can visit that blog.

