Wine and cupcakes at 13 Celsius: The perfect pairing.

Jody Stevens, also known as Jodycakes, is hosting an event tonight at 13 Celsius with Lucrece Borrego of downtown’s “Center for Culinary Entrepreneurship,” Kitchen Incubator, to talk all things cupcakes. The inaugural Houston Cupcake Meetup is an event for like-minded bakers to come and discuss matters from the trivial (cupcake crawls!) to the important (the Texas Cottage Food Bill; locating commercial kitchen and/or baking spaces in the city). Having navigated the city’s baking scene for years, Jody and Lucrece are just the women you want to talk to if you’re interested in baking for profit or just baking (and eating!) for fun.

The event starts tonight at 7 p.m. at 13 Celsius and the cover is $10. That $10 will net you a wine and cupcake pairing from 13 Celsius’ knowledgeable staff and Jodycakes herself. It will also likely net you some new friends and very useful contacts.

Hell, even if you aren’t a baker, there are few finer ways to spend your Wednesday evening than with wine and cupcakes. Trust me.

I had to stop and think about it for a moment. Back in high school, I was notorious among my friends for always dragging them to the latest hole-in-the-wall I’d found or force-feeding them sashimi back at a time when sushi wasn’t nearly as accessible or omnipresent as it is today. But finally it struck me: that moment, the one that my parents still tease me about to this day.

In elementary school, my class was planning a field trip to Galveston to visit the Elissa (typical Houston schoolkid journey, of course). And while the prospect of climbing all over the old ship was charming and all, my single-minded focus at 10 years old was where we were eating while we were down there. Surely we couldn’t drive all that way and not dine at some of the island’s best restaurants!

The first stop had to be Gaido’s. I planned it all out in my head as my parents and I drove in our Suburban to the grocery store one day. Gaido’s for bisque and then perhaps Shrimp ‘n’ Stuff for fried oysters and then definitely a stop at the Peanut Butter Warehouse for fudge afterward.

Apparently, I’d gotten a very dreamy look on my face while contemplating this Galveston food crawl and had gone uncharacteristically quiet.

“What are you thinking about back there?” my mother asked.

“Our field trip to Galveston,” I answered.

“Oh yeah? Are you excited?” she asked her little fifth grader, surely imagining that I was looking forward to making sandcastles or playing with seagulls on the beach.

“I wonder if we’ll go to Gaido’s…” I mused back.

My parents simultaneously burst into laughter.

“Why would you go to Gaido’s?” my mother asked after she composed herself.

“Why not?!” I was indignant. Why was this so funny?

The laughter and the befuddlement was a reaction I’d get used to over years and years of suggesting dining destinations or asking to go to restaurants that were completely bizarre in whatever the given set of circumstances were at the time. (“You want to go eat at a place on the Ship Channel for prom?!” “You want to get Ethiopian food? I was hoping we could just go to IHOP.”)

Of course, no one was going to take a bus full of 10-year-olds to Gaido’s, but that hadn’t stopped me from dreaming it was possible. I imagined all of us sitting in that plush dining room overlooking the sea, daintily enjoying cups of lobster bisque and my teachers thanking me for the marvelous suggestion as my classmates patted their mouths with cloth napkins and remarked on how much they’d enjoyed the food. I was always a dreamer.

That, I told my friend, was the point at which I realized that my interest in food was perhaps more excessive than the average person.

But what about you? What was your moment of realization?

It’s especially ironic considering that the feature for which I’m nominated was one that caused an enormous ruckus (or so I’m told; none of the chefs interviewed have ever said a single word to me about it) in the dining scene when some of the charcuterie discussed in the article was destroyed by the Health Department. I didn’t know about this until quite a bit after the fact, and was distressed to hear that it had happened. Nevertheless, all of the chefs I spoke to for the feature were well aware of any possible risks in publicly discussing their charcuterie programs. And examining both sides of the issue is what makes a piece actual journalism as opposed to a one-sided fluff piece.

I’m still stunned and shocked to have been nominated for anything at all, and it’s all thanks to this wonderful video of Catalan’s Chris Shepherd butchering a pig. The feature was nominated in the “Multimedia Food Feature” category and it wouldn’t have been at all possible if Chef Shepherd hadn’t graciously allowed me into his kitchen and let me witness the fascinating act of breaking down an entire half a hog.

So to Chef Shepherd and all the chefs who participated in the feature — Ryan Pera of Revival Market, Justin Basye of Stella Sola, James Silk and Richard Knight of Feast — and to Robb Walsh, my fellow nominee and the man who brought me to the Houston Press in the first place…thank you. Of course, there wouldn’t have been a feature in the first place without my incredible editor Cathy Matusow, without whom I wouldn’t be half the writer I am, and the beautiful charcuterie photos from Troy Fields. And it wouldn’t even have been considered for a nomination if my awesome editor-in-chief, Margaret Downing, hadn’t believed it in enough to send it in. There are so many people involved in one piece and they all deserve to be thanked, repeatedly and profusely.

Thank you.

Stay tuned when I go to NYC in May to attend the awards ceremony, try to keep from vomiting every time I see a famous person and lose to Andrew Zimmern, because…really. It’s Andrew freaking Zimmern. It’d be an honor to lose to a man who’s eaten squirrel brains and lived to tell.

To that point, I wrote this post initially for the Houston Press, then decided that it wasn’t entirely appropriate for the more casual tone of the blog and it went unpublished. But after yesterday, I chose to resurrect it. So here it is: my further explanation of the initial Foodie Backlash article, in hopes that I’ll at least be hated for my actual point instead of any wrongly perceived points.

The Pursuit of Self Via Food: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

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Considering the wave of “foodie backlash” articles lately — and the rising tide of articles quick to leap to foodies’ defense — very little has been said about the reasons why foodie-ism has gained so much momentum in the last few years.

In the Atlantic two weeks ago, B.R. Myers wrote in his piece titled “The Moral Crusade Against Foodies,” that “it has always been crucial to the gourmet’s pleasure that he eat in ways the mainstream cannot afford.”

And in that brief statement, Myers encapsulates the dark heart of the “foodie issue” as it were: using food as a status symbol in the same way that people use tools like fashion or music to separate themselves from the masses.

In a 2003 conference paper from the American Sociological Association, author Samantha Kwan put forth the idea that food is “no longer regarded as merely the satisfaction of a physiological need low on Maslow’s hierarchy. Rather, food consumption provides individuals a means for the conscious manipulation and display of self.”

More specifically, she states, “ethnic food consumption constitutes ‘identity work.’”

Eight years later, it would be easy to go one step further and add to her theory that conspicuous consumption of the latest food trends constitutes identity work of its own, just as much as shoving your love of Ethiopian food in someone’s face does.

And this, in and of itself, is not necessarily a bad thing. Pursuing a hobby out of love for, say, Ethiopian food is one thing. Pursuing it purely for selfish reasons is another.

Quick crash course on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: “Identity work” is based on the idea that once you’ve satisfied all of your basic needs — the need for food and water, shelter, employment, friends and family and, finally, more elevated concepts like self-esteem and respect — you’ll seek to satisfy that ultimate goal: individuality, whether it’s expressed through clothing or cooking.

Recreation of a Roman triclinium.

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This is, by no means, the first time in history that large groups of people have sought to separate themselves from the masses through appreciation of fine or exotic foods.

More than 2,300 years ago, wealthy Romans were reclining on lecti triclinaris in elaborately appointed triclinia as they indulged in multi-course meals that included everything from foie gras and rabbit to charcuterie and raw seafood. Not quite the Trimalchian feast of ancient satire, but close. Sound familiar?

In his book The Upside of Down, author Thomas Homer Dixon argues that the downfall of Rome can be attributed in part to a scarcity of food resources that eventually led to food crises throughout the empire. All the while, well-to-do Romans were still attempting to one-up each other via elaborate feasts as the general populace grew more and more unhappy with this widening gap — both in terms of wealth and attitude — between the rich and the poor.

And it is this crucial point in B.R. Myers’s article that may have been missed among all the vitriol and viciousness.

“Food writing has long specialized in the barefaced inversion of common sense, common language. Restaurant reviews are notorious for touting $100 lunches as great value for money,” he writes, pointing to the difficult-to-ignore issue that it’s hard to be a “foodie” in a climate where so many go without and when we’re in the midst of a global economic crisis that some consider the worst since the Great Depression.

Myers continues, “And in a time when foodies talk of flying to Paris to buy cheese, to Vietnam to sample pho? They’re not joking about that either.” Kwan, for her part, views these kinds of frenzied flights as no more than “white elites…assert[ing] a specific sense of self.”

Photo illustration by The State

Attempting to self-actualize and express your individuality through food can quickly lead to insufferable “poseur” behavior, as demonstrated here.

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“These individuals are lured to ‘authentic’ ethnic food,” she continues, “because it allows them to consume literally a symbolic embodiment of the ethnic ‘Other.’ Simply, this consumption is an attempt to align oneself with the ethnic Other and to realize the ‘Authentic Self.’”

Is this attempt to locate one’s “Authentic Self” in another culture’s food — or in multi-course, hours-long tasting menus — necessarily a bad thing? Kwan thinks so: “The consumption of ethnic food separates cultural symbols from the culture that creates them” and, in the process, “dangerously absolves elites from real dialogue with the Other.”

And the same can be said for the continued game of oneupmanship that many foodies find themselves playing with each other.

That pursuit food of as a mere carnal pleasure or as a status symbol can lead to a dangerous separation from real, crucial food issues at hand — serious issues like health and sustainabliity. If all that we, as foodies, concentrate on is the new hot chef in town or the ultra-expensive kaiseki dinner we ate in Tokyo, we’re missing the risotto for the rice.

That’s not to say that people shouldn’t continue to express themselves via food. After all, it’s as much a valid art form as sculpture, painting or poetry. But would it kill us to be less pretentious about it?

Sharon said that she wasn’t surprised I wasn’t encountering any difficulty; the real challenge, she said, would be eating off only the stockpiled pantry goods. That’s certainly a challenge for another week, to be sure. We’ll call it Hurricane Survival Week. Or Zombie Apocalypse Survival Week. Whichever I can find better art for.

This is what I made last night for dinner. As with my first meal, it made such a large quantity that I could — in theory, at least — eat on it for the rest of the week. As usual, I didn’t follow a recipe. I made this up based on what I had on hand. I hate recipes.

But if you want to try this for yourself, it makes an impressive cold salad/entree that’s tasty and moderately healthy at the same time. Sub in chicken breasts for my beloved chicken thighs if you want to go that extra healthy mile. (Boring.)

I marinated two little chicken thighs in a mixture of olive oil, rice wine vinegar, Sri Racha (a/k/a rooster sauce), orange zest, orange juice from half an orange, a few dashes orange bitters and salt and fresh black pepper to taste. I baked them in my little copper skillet (because all my baking dishes are way too large) at 350 degrees for 30 minutes, then let the chicken cool while I cooked up some orzo, wilted some spinach in the heat of the steam from the boiling pot and threw some frozen soybeans in at the end of the orzo’s cooking time to defrost them.

I strained the whole mess, shredded the now-cool chicken and threw it all together. I poured some more rice wine vinegar and rooster sauce on top (not to much) and mixed it all up with a little more kosher salt. I diced the other half of the orange and threw it in for color and flavor. Added a few sunflower seeds for crunch and DONE.

Seriously. Easy as sin. Day three done. Day four and promises of kippers lay ahead!

That isn’t much of an accomplishment for your average person. I get spoiled in my new line of work, frequently and excessively. I get to attend media dinners and eat things like foie gras torchons on a typical Tuesday for lunch and expense a significant portion of my meals. I often don’t put as much thought into the things I’m eating as I feel that I should. It’s a lifestyle for which I am endlessly thankful and one that I don’t ever want to take for granted.

The decision to eat on $20 and what’s in my pantry (as you will see, I’ve gotten better at keeping supplies on hand) was borne out of this, but also out of a desire to eat and live more simply and yet more creatively. One day into the project, and I’ve already rediscovered spices and vinegars that were hidden away in my pantry — which, as you’ll see, is already very small to begin with — and use them to my advantage while cooking. Washing dishes, trimming fat, blooming spices, zesting fruit, et cetera: All are things which make me more mindful of the food I’m eating and which provide me with a very needed sense of calm and simplicity.

The project was also borne out of a desire to truly look at the money that we’re spending on food as entertainment, not food as nourishment or food as a connection to our dining companions. $20 may seem like a difficult sum of money to eat on for an entire week, but that’s a budget that millions of people — here in America and in less wealthy portions of our world — have to adhere to every week of their lives. If they can do it, so can I and so should I. Forcing yourself to consider other perspectives and circumstances is crucial for leading a more enlightened, more considerate, more gracious and more thankful life.

I intend to do a full writeup of the project when I’m finished, but for now, here’s my starting point. Below are photos of what I already had in my pantry and refrigerator, what I bought with $19.54 at Fiesta and what I made my first evening for dinner. I’ve already planned out every meal for the week, so I’m terrifically excited for the week ahead and can’t wait to see how it all shakes out.

The "staples" I had in my pantry: two cans of tuna, a tin of smoked kippers, several rices and pastas, a jar of red peppers and a can of chickpeas.

As you can see, I don't keep much in my fridge, mostly St. Arnold's and water. The broths and the shredded cheese had to be thrown away (expired), which left me with butter, mustard, grape jelly and two kinds of relish.

(Not pictured: the contents of my freezer. I have one-half a bag each of frozen green beans, frozen edamame, frozen broccoli and frozen peas.)

My "pantry" with spices, sugar, two vinegars, two oils, bread crumbs, tea, honey, a can of evaporated milk, powdered chocolate and all the "staples" put back where they belong as well as all the groceries I bought with my $20.

All of the groceries I bought for $20. Not pictured: a pack of five chicken thighs, quarantined because they were covered with gross chicken juice.

Last night's first dinner: One and a half baked chicken thighs, cooked with a mustard-tarragon sauce over garlic and onions, served with wild rice and green beans.

To go into detail about all the wonderful places we ate at while we were there would take at least a dozen different blog posts. Instead, here are some of the photos we took while we were there. I’ll let this one post act as a dining scrapbook to look back at when I start to get vacation-sick for the City of Big Shoulders.

A "North of the Border" omelet with cheddar, apples and Canadian bacon from Nookie's.

This adorable little cafe in Old Town is the epitome of a casual, neighborhood restaurant. We loved it.

We tried pho in Little Vietnam at Pho Xe Tank for comparison purposes. Houston's is still better, although the clove-saturated broth here was a nice twist.

We stumbled into Little Joe's on Taylor in Little Italy more or less by accident. No mass-market beers on draft, a great girl behind the bar who knew her microbrews and a cozy, welcoming vibe. I'd kill for a place like this down the street from me.

Afterwards, we walked down the block and grabbed an Italian beef (combo, with sausage) with cheese, dipped, at Al's.

I kind of lost my mind eating this thing, it was so damn good.

For his part, Eric enjoyed the twice-fried French fries and the bag they came in.

Sunday brunch at Bin in Wicker Park was our second best meal in Chicago, especially because of the inventive Bloody Mary and mimosa flights.

The food was also inventive: Eric's egg sandwich had lovely, peppery escarole on it and the hashbrowns had a layer of caramelized onions.

The omelet of the day was only $10 but came with fresh crab meat, escargot, Gouda and was cooked in truffle oil. I know it's overdone and slightly weary (thanks to the truffle oil), but I loved every bite.

Waiting for the Chicago Architecture Foundation boat tour, we sucked it up and ate at a tourist trap along the Chicago River.

Despite that, the food at Cyrano's Bistrot was better than expected, especially the leek quiche and frites.

Our favorite meal was at The Purple Pig, both times we went. The coppa panini with Provolone, house-pickled peppers and whole grain mustard was an amazing $8.

Salt-roasted beets with whipped goat cheese and pistachio vinaigrette were my favorite, while Eric preferred the shrimp and clams with rosamarina.

For more photos from the trip (and better photos, at that), check out Eric’s set over at Flickr. (Yes, they’re for sale.) (Kidding.) (Kind of.)

Nearly every Tuesday night, I can be found at the same place with the same assortment of friends. As I told Marc, the capable bartender at this establishment, I think it says a lot about the group of people and the libations he serves up that the night I look forward to most in my week isn’t Friday or Saturday, but Tuesday. It’s almost a reward for making it through Monday and Second Monday (because, let’s be honest, that’s all Tuesday really is).

The people that gather here every week are the brothers and sisters I never had, and the sense of family and comfort and assurance that you’re accepted as yourself at all times is strong and encouraging. As is the wine.

The cupcakes, on the other hand, are just divine.

But when it comes to the gigantic Farmers Market in downtown Dallas, I feel only a heavy heart for Houston.

It’s long been a fact that our own farmers markets have been segmented due to in-fighting and petty disagreements among the various organizers and farmers themselves. Way to let your entire city down because of ego and unresolved drama, folks.

There have been strides made, of course, and as a result we have a plethora of great markets to choose from…but most of them are only open on specific days of the week and most of them have a limited selection. How wonderful would it be if Houston had a central farmers market that was open at least five days a week, if not seven? I know full well that I’m probably the eight millionth person to complain about this and that my two cents are just that…two cents out of many.

So instead of whining and moaning, let’s be inspired by some of the photos from the Dallas market. Maybe we can be the change we hope to see in Houston.

Not all of the stalls are "farmers." Some, like the stalls at the market on Airline here in Houston are simply "produce vendors." There's a difference, obviously.

Inside the covered, air-conditioned bays are vendors selling ready-to-eat, already-prepared foodstuffs or products like soap and candles. There's also a wicked map of Texas produce inside.

Outside are several covered areas for sitting and enjoying entertainment like this four-piece tuba band, which was playing Beach Boys hits. On tubas.

Produce vendors have a much larger selection than the farmers, but you have to be careful about the provenance of the food. Most of it isn't local.

There is plenty of local food if you look for it, though, like this okra from East Texas.

And these sweet red onions. Myself, I bought a giant bag of cream peas that can be hard to find in Houston.

There are also places like flower/herb vendors and restaurants - such as this one, which serves excellent breakfasts -- ringing the market on its periphery.

I found even more unusual produce as we shopped, like these cue ball squash.

I also found things I wasn't particularly interested in trying, like Kool-Aid pickles. I have limits sometimes...

Located right in the shadow of downtown, the Farmers Market is easily accessible for most Dallas residents.

One thing I did notice that the market was seriously lacking? Hispanic produce, herbs and spices. At least we’ve got them beat there.

What would you like to see in a large, centralized farmers market in Houston?

I am no longer employed in the HR department of a large, corporate behemoth, but am now working for an alt weekly.

I am no longer married, but am now kicking it Mary Tyler Moore-style surrounded by amazing friends and a supportive family.

I am no longer living in a thoroughly modern condo in the suburbs, but am now the current custodian of a lovely 1920s slice of history in the inner city.

And soon I will no longer be the web editor for the Houston Press, the amazing job that I’ve held for the past year and a half.

The story of how I ended up at the Press in the first place begins here, at she eats. And it begins with Robb Walsh, my favorite food writer and the first ever commenter on this blog. It was certainly an auspicious beginning to a blog that had started merely as an outlet for my two great loves: food and writing. Within a year, Robb had invited me to lunch at Bistro Don Camillo for a review he was writing. It was close to my birthday and I remember thinking it was possibly the best birthday gift I’d ever received (even if it was inadvertent on his end). He talked to me about freelancing for the Press and I nearly fainted in the booth.

I started writing for Eating…Our Words in December 2008. Befitting a true Texan, my first post was on Dr Pepper. Before long, I was asked to sub for Robb when he went on vacation, turning in a few print reviews. Textile was the first restaurant I ever reviewed for print, in March 2009, and I strongly recall being abjectly terrified when I saw Scott Tycer stride into the dining room on my second visit. He looked like a man you didn’t want to write bad things about…ever.

As I continued writing for the Press, it became increasingly clear to me that I had ferreted my way into the wrong line of work…in my day job. I was miserable during the day, blogging furtively at my desk and looking forward to 5 o’clock when I could be alone with my laptop (hey, I’m an introvert, in case anyone’s somehow missed that along the way). And then the call came from Keith Plocek, the former web editor at the Press who was leaving for L.A. Could I possibly do his job?

I was already blogging for Houstonist at the time in addition to she eats. and the Press, so I was more than familiar with the blogging software and the intricacies of the Interwebz (LOLcats, check; 4chan, check; LOLrus missing his bukket, check; TotalFark, check), Facebook and Twitter. And so in April 2009, I became the web editor and have loved every single day, hour, minute and second of the job. It’s afforded me opportunities I’d never thought would be available — I’ve covered festivals like ACL and SXSW, learned about the ins and outs of the newspaper industry and journalism, met incredible people and been inspired by them on a daily basis — and has brought me happiness that I never thought I’d have in a career. I never intended to leave the web editor role unless it was pried from my cold, dead hands.

So why am I leaving?

Well, I’m not. Not really.

Life comes full circle, after all. And where people like Robb Walsh and Alison Cook have tread before me, so shall I tread now. I’m happy and terrified to say that I’ve been offered the job as the new food critic for the Houston Press. And I took it.

I’ll only say this: Believe me when I say that I don’t take this job lightly. It’s an incredible honor and there are enormous shoes to fill — I frankly don’t think I ever will fill those shoes. But I promise that I’ll do the best job possible, try never to lead readers astray, introduce people to as many new restaurants and cuisines as possible and hopefully change a few minds along the way.

After all, injera bread only looks like a Dr. Scholl’s insert. It tastes much better, I promise.