Family
Winner: Go to bed with the bread
This week's champ tells of survivalist skills coming in handy at home
This winning entry for the Salon Kitchen Challenge — in which we asked readers to cook in teams — comes to us courtesy of Rebecca Farwell. Check out this week’s Challenge here.
We are an island-dwelling family, though not always the same island. Drew, my oldest, is a senior at the University of Hawaii on Oahu, clever boy. Twice a year he comes home to Bainbridge Island, where we stare at Seattle from across the Puget Sound. Kayaks replace surfboards here, for obvious reasons.
We’re not sure how he managed to reach 6 feet and 2 inches of surfer dude stature, because Drew grew up a picky eater. Broccoli, oddly, was the only vegetable he would eat, which meant he got a lot of it. Thankfully, Mexico cured him.
The day after his 18th birthday he boarded a bus in San Diego, which deposited him some miles south for three months of wilderness wandering with NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School). He learned to ration food and cook it himself, slept on the ground, and did not see the inside of a bathroom for a mighty long time.
He caught squid, pulled up clams, speared fish, and ate his haul, cooked or not, on vast, empty beaches. Each night he and his fellow wanderers mixed up bread dough, put it in a plastic pouch, and chose someone to keep it warm in their sleeping bag overnight. They called it “having a bread baby.” Influenced, I’m sure, by his constant struggle to get enough calories, Drew claimed it was the most delicious bread in the world.
About two months into their journey, Drew and crew were stranded by a hurricane and forced to ration food more severely. As the days added up, small cooking groups spaced themselves farther apart and closed their circle to block increasingly bold reconnaissance missions. Soon, they began to look at each other a bit differently.
Chubby Finger Girl, they agreed, packed a lot of calories but was wily, as evidenced by her late-night snack raids and singular ability to gain weight on a trek that stripped pounds from every other trekker. Too Nice Girl would have to do, they decided, mostly because there’d be no struggle. She’d likely offer herself up before anyone had to ask. “Oh, you guys,” they imagined she’d say, “I’m happy to be dinner tonight. It’s no problem, really.”
Drew came home from Mexico a different person; he baked bread, made salads, and concocted strange things that seemed always to include peanut butter. Now, in Hawaii, he feeds himself well, having developed a devotion to the mighty spinach leaf. He makes his mother proud.
Drew and I cooked Christmas dinner together this year, for fun and to teach each other a thing or two in the process. On Christmas Eve he mixed up bread dough and, sure enough, slept with it. Paige, his younger sister, expressed disgust, but the dough emerged a happy bloated ball next morning.
We punched it down, divided it into two loaves and let it rise again. It baked up crusty and delicious, true to prediction.
I showed Drew how to make Beef Burgundy (à la Cook’s Illustrated, sorry Julia), because knowing how to braise a cheap piece of meat seems like an invaluable skill for a broke college student.
Drew compiled his favorite salad, adding chopped pecans and pan-browned garlic. He dressed the greens with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, Dijon mustard and Worcestershire sauce. There were pear slices and Gorgonzola crumbles on top. It was damn tasty.
I made chestnut soup, demonstrating to my son that blenders can be used for something other than margaritas. He placated me with a semi-convincing nod of appreciation.
In the afternoon our friends joined us, hauling with them an embarrassment of delicious food to round out our meal: pâté and crab dip, roasted rosemary potatoes, and Brussels sprouts with pancetta. As if that were not enough, they also brought individual molten chocolate cakes that made me cry, they were so good. We have very fine friends.
I can’t remember a better meal. It went on for hours, broken up by a chilly walk to some other friends’ house, where we imposed without apology on a giant family gathering.
I had to tell our friends that my son sleeps with bread, but there are worse things a mother could say, and they didn’t seem the least bit fazed.
Sleuthing for my father
On her death bed my mother revealed a shocking secret. Now I am trying to solve its mystery
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Advice,
The last thing my mom said to me was, “When I was young …” and then she died. I had no idea what she was trying to tell me. Then I found a letter she had written to a friend saying that the man she was in love with is my actual biological father.
My dad and I were in shock with the DNA results and now I have spent countless hours trying to find out who this man is. I can’t ask anyone as they are all dead and my dad said it must have been this guy who was in town for a short time while attending ammunition-inspector school in Savanna, Ill., but didn’t know a name.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
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Where did the money go?
My parents went bankrupt twice. Suddenly I can't go to the college I want. They make good money. I don't understand
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I am 24 years old. Sometimes I get so angry that it is hard to function. Other times I get very anxious and I feel like I am on the verge of a breakdown. I think it stems from my parents. I don’t know what to do, and I need your advice.
My father is an engineer for a large oil company, and my mother works in a doctor’s office. My father has always been steadily employed (although I have lived in three different states growing up because of his job). However, I feel like my family has always been struggling financially. This has deeply affected me, especially when I graduated from college in a time when jobs were difficult to find. One problem is that I am not sure why it is this way — they live in a nice house, but definitely not one out of their means. They do not buy nice cars, and we did not go on vacations growing up. They do not eat out very often or buy anything that would be considered luxurious.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
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Me and baby, living at Mom’s
I got pregnant young, got married young and already we're separated. Now what?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Reader,
I’m taking a little vacation down in Florida. It may be possible to conduct a couple of writing workshops while I’m down there, if a space and people can be arranged. I’ll be in Fort Lauderdale Thursday the 5th, then the Gainesville area from Friday the 6th until Sunday or Monday, and then back in Fort Lauderdale the 10th through 12th. Email me if you’d like to attend or help set something up. It would be great to meet some interested people and write together.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
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More Cary Tennis.
I had to move back in with my dad
I'm a grown woman who lost her job. Now I'm living with a man who won't wash his hands
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I need your help in determining if I am an ungrateful daughter or person reacting to a shitty situation. I am a 38-year-old woman who, like many Americans, has lost my job due to the recession. However, I do bartend part time. Needless to say, I was experiencing financial difficulties and because I couldn’t find a job I decided to attend school in an effort to make myself more employable. My father expressed how impressed he was with my educational endeavors and made me an offer that I could not refuse. He said that I could live in one of his rental houses until I was out of school and I would only be responsible for utilities. This was music to my ears. Within no time I was packing my bags and moving out of my apartment. I moved to the house and paid to get new carpet and tile installed as well as have the house painted. My father was working on getting the house up to code so that it would pass inspection and after the inspection he was supposed to go back to live out of state. Here it is one and a half years later and my father has not left. The carpet that I purchased is completely ruined and so are the tile floors.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
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I’ve never had a drink in my whole life
Because of a family history, I've never touched a drop. And then there was a toast and we raised our glasses ...
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I’ve read your column often, and I think you can help me since you yourself have dealt with the consequences of addiction.
I really don’t know who else to turn to with this particular problem since most self-help books don’t deal with people who don’t drink.
I am in my mid-20s. In a nutshell, I was raised as an only child in a single-parent home with an alcoholic mother, who self-medicated with wine to deal with depression.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
- Send a letter to Salon's editors not for publication.
More Cary Tennis.
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