Bo Bigelow's Blog, page 14
August 10, 2012
Audio Clip - Wilbraham, MA - 8-9-12
I spoke outside Springfield, MA last night, on everything from the stories behind NYC food carts to how I wrote Concessions during my former 4-hour daily commute. Here's a 4-minute clip: http://bit.ly/MXeQzq
August 2, 2012
Fifty-two Summers
In an old beach house in the northeast U.S. on July 4th, I faced a kitchen full of hungry kids. Two were mine, the rest were their cousins—a sunburned, salty crew with no shoes, fresh from a full day at the beach. The dinner hour had come and I knew they would probably kill me if I didn't feed them soon.
I had packed provisions, because God help you if you don't. But the granola bars and drink boxes were long gone from our day at the beach. As I surveyed the kitchen, I saw at once that my dinner plan was doomed. There was no working grill. No toaster. And the only oven was a decaying Hotpoint probably dating back to when Eisenhower was president, when there were only 48 U.S. states.
The kitchen was frozen in time. I was making dinner in 1958.
Before the Pre-Internet Age
Picture it: a kitchen that was created and then never updated. It had somehow escaped almost every modern innovation, from the electric can opener to the microwave. All around were relics—dilapidated things that you'd find in a museum.
There was an ancient fire extinguisher, made by a company called Badger in Methuen, MA, that read: "DRY FOG, patents pending." In a drawer, there were spotted aluminum measuring spoons with almost illegible markings. The Hotpoint oven, however, was the real gem. It was a cartoonish silver, like the robot from the movie "The Day the Earth Stood Still." You could spin its dial and specify the desired number of "HOURS TO COOK." (Who spends hours cooking these days?) The inside was blackened, bringing to mind the Looney Tunes episode in which Bugs Bunny detonates a bomb inside an oven.
I suddenly needed to know how old these things were, and the Internet was no help, even with serial numbers. The closest thing to the fire extinguisher that I could find online was on a site called oldfirestuff.com, which sold vintage fire helmets, badges, and other memorabilia, including an undated Badger dry chemical fire extinguisher, "unusual design, original condition," that was offered for $75. No luck with the Hotpoint oven, either, since—as an appliance-dating website told me—it was far too old for the Internet to care: "Products made before the mid-1970's are unlikely to be able to be dated using this service."
What I Made
So what can you cook in such a place? I rifled through some cabinets, found a nonstick pan, and fired up the stove (an electric Magic Chef of indeterminate age.) Grilled cheeses all around. Carrot sticks and sliced strawberries on the side. Meanwhile, the oven actually worked. It heated right up, and cooked a frozen pizza to perfection. Nary a complaint from the kids.
In fact, the oven worked a little too well. Hours after dinner, when the kids were in bed, I opened the oven, just to be sure it was off. It wasn't. The coil was still on, and plenty hot. Its off switch evidently wasn't working, so in order to shut it down, I had to go to the electrical panel and kill the power to the entire kitchen.
I've since learned that the house was built in 1960, and I confirmed that it hasn't been updated since then. So I was pretty close in guessing 1958.
This is where we cooked before the spread of planned obsolescence. It was a simpler time, when cocktail parties featured potted shrimp pate, mushroom strudels and deviled ham. It was just after our country had added Alaska and Hawaii as states, a couple of years before a young chef named Julia Child made her TV debut. That beach house's kitchen was old, but the fact is, it worked fine.
And now I wonder: why do we update? What do we truly need?
I had packed provisions, because God help you if you don't. But the granola bars and drink boxes were long gone from our day at the beach. As I surveyed the kitchen, I saw at once that my dinner plan was doomed. There was no working grill. No toaster. And the only oven was a decaying Hotpoint probably dating back to when Eisenhower was president, when there were only 48 U.S. states.
The kitchen was frozen in time. I was making dinner in 1958.
Before the Pre-Internet Age
Picture it: a kitchen that was created and then never updated. It had somehow escaped almost every modern innovation, from the electric can opener to the microwave. All around were relics—dilapidated things that you'd find in a museum.
There was an ancient fire extinguisher, made by a company called Badger in Methuen, MA, that read: "DRY FOG, patents pending." In a drawer, there were spotted aluminum measuring spoons with almost illegible markings. The Hotpoint oven, however, was the real gem. It was a cartoonish silver, like the robot from the movie "The Day the Earth Stood Still." You could spin its dial and specify the desired number of "HOURS TO COOK." (Who spends hours cooking these days?) The inside was blackened, bringing to mind the Looney Tunes episode in which Bugs Bunny detonates a bomb inside an oven.
I suddenly needed to know how old these things were, and the Internet was no help, even with serial numbers. The closest thing to the fire extinguisher that I could find online was on a site called oldfirestuff.com, which sold vintage fire helmets, badges, and other memorabilia, including an undated Badger dry chemical fire extinguisher, "unusual design, original condition," that was offered for $75. No luck with the Hotpoint oven, either, since—as an appliance-dating website told me—it was far too old for the Internet to care: "Products made before the mid-1970's are unlikely to be able to be dated using this service."
What I Made
So what can you cook in such a place? I rifled through some cabinets, found a nonstick pan, and fired up the stove (an electric Magic Chef of indeterminate age.) Grilled cheeses all around. Carrot sticks and sliced strawberries on the side. Meanwhile, the oven actually worked. It heated right up, and cooked a frozen pizza to perfection. Nary a complaint from the kids.
In fact, the oven worked a little too well. Hours after dinner, when the kids were in bed, I opened the oven, just to be sure it was off. It wasn't. The coil was still on, and plenty hot. Its off switch evidently wasn't working, so in order to shut it down, I had to go to the electrical panel and kill the power to the entire kitchen.
I've since learned that the house was built in 1960, and I confirmed that it hasn't been updated since then. So I was pretty close in guessing 1958.
This is where we cooked before the spread of planned obsolescence. It was a simpler time, when cocktail parties featured potted shrimp pate, mushroom strudels and deviled ham. It was just after our country had added Alaska and Hawaii as states, a couple of years before a young chef named Julia Child made her TV debut. That beach house's kitchen was old, but the fact is, it worked fine.
And now I wonder: why do we update? What do we truly need?
Shrimp Nachos
The ultimate August app.
1/2 lb cooked shrimp
tortilla chips (I like Montecito Roadhouse these days)
1/3 C cheddar cheese, grated
1/3 C cotija cheese, crumbled
ground cumin
On a piece of foil, spread a layer of chips. Cover with shrimp, then cheeses, then cumin. Bake until cheeses melt. Great with my salsa verde.
August 1, 2012
Salsa Verde
Iris is the heroine of CONCESSIONS. She also makes a mean salsa verde. It's a quick, easy option on hot summer days.
1 lb tomatillos, husked, rinsed, and chopped
1 bunch cilantro
juice of 1 lime
1 t sugar
1 t salt
Puree in blender or food processor. Refrigerate before serving for best results.
July 9, 2012
Social media, food-biz posers, and, ahem, reactions to food
Here are 5 questions about CONCESSIONS for your book club: http://bit.ly/NflEdp
June 16, 2012
Concessions: The Trailer
Here's the 45-second trailer I made for CONCESSIONS, my new book about food trucks. You can buy the book now on Amazon.
June 5, 2012
A novel about food carts...or is it food trucks?
In just a few weeks, you'll be able to buy my new book, CONCESSIONS, a novel about food trucks. This one'll be available in print and ebook.
June 4, 2012
Afternoon of Doom
Filmed in Falmouth, Maine -- here's a short film called Afternoon of Doom, written and filmed in one day, on Memorial Day 2012. Dana wrote it with his cousins and I helped them shoot it. Afternoon of Doom
May 25, 2012
An Ever-growing Tribe of Food Enthusiasts in Portland
Portland Roots is changing. Up to this point, we've been planning large-scale "eventgames," like spy games, lawn projectile contests, and board game competitions. But now, less about games. More about eats. Read the new manifesto.
