My Almost Vegetarian Moment in Making Stuffat Tal-Fenek (Rabbit Stew)

I still can’t get over the fact that I’m living on my own and by myself. No parents. No Significant Other. No cats. No plants. Every day I come home and it’s just me to look forward to.

For the last month, I have had to deal with a lot of things. While Skyping and connecting with people online or in person, I have struggled with learning to live with myself. It has been both exhilarating and painful, but I’m starting to see my value and honor who I am as a person. It’s sad that I had to move halfway across the world to finally get to this point, but there you have it.

But then you split them into three categories: emotional, mental, and physical. It’s the mental part of the struggles I wish to share a story with you.

Now, everyone who knows me personally is aware that I am fond of rabbits (see photo to your left for proof). As a child, I grew up with rabbit toys I could put into my pockets or cuddle up with at night. Even the live-in nanny I remember the most had a rabbit for a while. In high school, I had this doodle I made called Super Bunny whenever I wrote in yearbooks or drew in class. Besides having kitties as part of the family, I sincerely hope I get the chance to give a rabbit a loving home when I have the ability to do so.

But here’s the thing: I also enjoy rabbit as a protein source. Rabbit is practically all white meat and the industry of producing rabbit for eating isn’t as industrialized as the others (chicken, beef, pork, etc.). In Malta, it’s a very small farmer sort of deal. For one thing, there just isn’t the space to have a lot of animals on any given farm, and for another, rabbit seems to be only available by demand. You don’t have factory-like conditions for slaughter. You just have single families making ends meet.

For weeks after I came to the island, I was so excited to make stuffat tal-fenek, or the traditional rabbit stew of Malta. But every time I went to the store and inquired about getting a rabbit, they were always out. By chance I went to the Lidl by my work and found the butcher nearby to be open (I still haven’t perfected when stores are actually open… there really isn’t a specific time or day). I walked in to find two young boys and their father behind the counter. The man looks like the stereotypical local butcher: tall, big (like a bear or an ox), muscular, and very friendly. I briefly looked around and asked about rabbit, and he said he had some on hand. Ecstatic and not really observant, I purchased one, and he cut up the carcass while I played peek-a-boo with his little boys (two and four) who were giggling behind the counter.

The rabbit was put into the freezer and saved for a day when I wanted to make it. It wasn’t necessarily labor intensive, merely time consuming. I opened the bag and marinated the thawing rabbit in red wine, garlic, salt and pepper. Again, I didn’t really pay attention or think anything was amiss, and did other things while the meat soaked up the liquid.

After eight hours (I should have done longer like the recipe stated, as the meat was still a little dry for my taste), I cut up the veggies and heated up my large pan to brown the meat. I drooled at the lovely smells of searing meat with the tantalizing aromas of the wine and garlic as I placed them one by one in the pan. And that’s when I realized I should have paid more attention to what the butcher put into the bag instead of letting excitement blur my observations.

He gave me the head.

I stared at the pan for a brief moment in absolute horror, resisting the urge to have the infamously comical “Eek! A mouse/spider!” moment. I looked at the glazed look of the long dead eyes, the teeth with the little tongue lolling to the side, and feeling my stomach turn as I considered the possibility of the brain still intact. And I was still dealing with what I thought was the ears. 

(source)

Yup... definitely ears.

Maybe if I had paid more attention and was aware of the head being included as part of my purchase, I wouldn’t have freaked out or almost lost my appetite. But I wasn’t and I  pretty much did. I was suddenly faced with a borderline-vegetarian experience. That head put a face to the meat I was consuming. It wasn’t just a nameless protein source, but once a living thing with a cute twitching nose, floppy ears, and my one of my favorite animals on the planet. A complete being had been in my freezer for a couple of weeks and I hadn’t known.

This is probably the first time I experienced cognitive dissonance so powerfully. I couldn’t handle having a head browning on the pan and threw it away, its eyes looking up at me from the garbage like a horrible zombie nightmare. Then the idea of having a head in my trashcan was even worse, and so I put it out on the curb and went back inside to resume cooking my now faceless meat. As I put the now browned meat, veggies, and the rest of the marinade in a large pot (note: Maltese recipes tend to make copious amounts of anything), my appetite was practically gone. The tantalizing smells were now nauseating. I felt guilty for how easy it was to simply throw away what made me feel so uncomfortable.

Luckily, I had CK and our mutual friends were online and talking on our group conversation via Skype.

Me: So... I'm strongly strongly considering vegetarianism.
CK: Why?
Me: It's because of this stew I'm making. Rabbit stew. The butcher left the head and I didn't realize it. It... startled me.
CK: Eeew.
Me: Yeah... I don't know if it was due to putting cute fluffy thing and dead thing to eat together or that I was legitimately startled by it. I think I'm experiencing cognitive dissonance...
CK [forever the teacher]: Learning is going to happen!
Me: I actually feel the struggle of turning the rabbit into a faceless chunk of meat now…
CK: I'm sorry.
Me: … that I threw away its head because it made me uncomfortable. This is... so new.
CK: Still doing the stew?
Me: Yes. I'm just feeling reflective. And besides, that would be wasteful… and it smells yummy. But it still affected me in a way I've never felt before. I mean, I've seen meat with the faces. I have. In freezers, and when Uncle R roasts a whole pig. But for some reason, this time it affected me. I am more grateful.
CK: *nod*
JS: It may have rattled you because you weren't prepared for it, like you were with the pig roast. You knew that was coming.
Me: yeah...

Later, after much reflection:

Me: Am I a bad person for choosing to eat meat even though I had this realization?
CK: What do you think?
Me: No. I'm not a bad person. [Sudden realization] CK, the reason why I don't eat meat while we visit one another is because I don't -need- to eat it. I enjoy it from time to time, and I can go without it. It's like you and eating gluten free... it's real food regardless. But I'm starting to see that meat was once a living creature with a gender and a life.
CK: I've never thought ill of you for eating meat, Love.
Me: I know that. I'm just worried about thinking ill of myself, which I'm not.
CK: Just be sure that, whatever choice you make, you do it because it is what feels right to you.
Me: Of course, CK. I'd only make a decision like that -only- because it's for the betterment of how I live my life.

The truth is, at this moment I don’t feel the need to go vegetarian completely because it’s so rare for me to eat meat unless I have leftovers. After my experience, I still ate the leftover chicken I had in the fridge. I still heated up the stuffat tal-fenek after a chilly walk home to warm my core with. I still have milk with coffee. I still use eggs in my pancakes. I still add honey to my tea. When CK and I are together, we make vegetarian and gluten free delights because making the foods we love is a way to connect. When we go out to eat, sometimes the only thing I can eat has meat whereas his only option is gluten and/or soy. We don’t think less of each other for it, and it makes enjoying the foods we can eat together that much more special.

But I get it. I do. I understand that there are a number of studies that try to prove that their diet is The Right Diet. I understand why it’s important to know where your food comes from, whether it’s from an animal or from the ground. I also understand this awareness is starting to alter how we look and feel about what we’re eating. There was a passage I read from Jaclyn Bauer’s (2014) “Marshmallow Dilemma: A Vegetarian’s Argument for Realistic Expectations” that really helped me deal with it:

“In the end, I told her everything only mattered as much as she believed it to matter and cared to think that it did. It is of the utmost importance to establish within your own mind your ideologies and morals, but it is equally vital to be flexible to the extent that you don’t drive yourself crazy and make yourself miserable on account of some external thought, idea or action.

Hold on to who you are, but let yourself transform with the passage of time instead of hanging on desperately to one idea you once held on to.”

My concern with going vegan is turning it into a form of control of my diet, and further restricting nutrients and making it a form of disordered eating. With orthorexia just behind me, it has been a slow but steady process from removing ‘good’ and ‘bad’ as labels for food and simply honoring what my body needs. And I know there are many practices out there that are absolutely terrible in regards to raising, maintaining, and slaughtering animals for sustenance. I’ve seen the pamphlets. I’ve read Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle. But it doesn’t necessarily make me want to become 100% vegetarian/vegan, although I respect and honor those that do take that path. If anything, it wants me to help create a better environment for animals that happen to be used for food: less process, more compassion, and with human caretakers that treat them with dignity and respect. Those photos and videos simply show what cruelty humanity is capable of, and how important it is to create localized farming movements and dispatch factory farming practices. It makes me want to show the importance of quality farming practices, perhaps basing the sales by orders and need instead of killing in mass quantities to maintain uniformity and expected waste or loss. 

And it also depends on what you grew up with. Family pets in certain places are part of the cuisine in others. Some people see animals as part of the labor force or as nourishment, and some see animals with the same rights we have.

Perhaps it’s only typical in the United States, but I don’t think the average person thinks of the cow that became the hamburger, or the countless chickens used for spicy chicken wings. And to be fair, we don’t ask what goes into our fruits and veggies either. But something shifted in my awareness, because everything I’ll ever eat from this point on had a path before it ended up on my plate. It had roots. It had a face. It lived. It died.

And for what went into this dish, animal and plant alike, I am grateful for the sacrifice in nourishing me.

Stuffat Tal-Fenek (adapted from this recipe) 

1 rabbit, (approx 1.5kg, cut in small portions)*
Sea salt and freshly
500ml red wine
1 tsp. olive oil
4 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
2 Red onions, finely chopped
1 790 g can/5 large tomatoes, finely diced
2 tsp. kunserva (tomato paste)
5 potatoes, cut into small (1 cm) cubes**
3 carrots, coarsely chopped
200 g peas, fresh or frozen
6 bay leaves
Pinch mixed herbs***
Marinate the rabbit eight hours to overnight in the red wine, garlic, salt and pepper in the fridge.****

In a large pot, heat the olive oil, and add the rabbit until slightly brown.
Add the onions, carrots, potatoes and the tomatoes, and pour half of the marinade on the ingredients.
Bring to boil on a high flame for about 15 minutes
Add the remaining wine, peas, bay leaves, kidney and liver and simmer on low heat for about 2 hours, stir occasionally and add some more wine if the sauce begins to dry up.
Serve hot with grated Parmesan cheese.

Makes 6 - 8 Servings.

* Mind the head and organs. While the head startled me, I was excited to have organ meat (such as the heart and liver) since they are so high in nutrients.
** Naturally Maltese Derbies. The original recipe called for peeled and quartered potatoes. While it depends on my mood how big I want the potatoes to be, I hardly ever peel potatoes (unless I’m making gnocchi). I’m of the personal opinion that the peel is the best part.
*** Mixed herbs: parsley, rosemary, thyme, mint, basil, oregano, marjoram, pepper husk
**** I would recommend marinating the meat for at least 12 hours or more. Since rabbit meat is so lean, it can be on the dry side. 

When [He's] in Rome

Long distance relationships are hard. It takes a lot of effort to keep one going while separated, but it is doable. And with the right person, it’s worth it.

In our second stretch of time that we’ve been apart, we’ve really made the effort to show that the relationship is important to us. We Skype almost every day: talking about how our day went, complete with its triumphs and grievances. The important thing in any relationship is keeping the line of communication open, but it’s absolutely fascinating how many couples tend to forget that.

The other thing we do during our talks is watch Babylon 5 episodes at the same time together. He got me hooked on the series when he was visiting over the summer, and it is an activity that helps us feel connected despite his being 4500 miles away. We’ll watch one, at most three, and I’ll hear him giggle at my expressions.

(My Can't-Look-Away Expression)

(My Season Finale Expression)

Lately, he’s been having a lack of motivation where meals are concerned. He’s a lot like me in that regard; unless it’s a moment shared with people we care about, food is typically considered food and nothing more. Sure, we are creative with leftovers and think of new things of make, but the spark of cooking just isn’t there. So we came up with a plan to use Skype for more than witty banter and Babylon 5 marathons.

Now, we use it in the kitchen.

I don’t know who decided what the dish would be, but the point of this act of connecting was the following:

1. It would be the same dish.
2. It would be from the same recipe.
3. It would be prepared, cooked, and eaten simultaneously. (My lunchtime is his dinnertime, so it works out beautifully.)

Even 4500 miles away, we can still cook together.

The dish was a Roman classic: Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe. Any Roman will emphasize that it has three ingredients and only three ingredients. Always. No exceptions.

Cheese + Black pepper + Pasta = Delizioso. 

He got the recipe off of the Tales of Ambrosia site, and although I used gluten free pasta and the wrong cheese (It was a Pecorino Romano / Parmesan blend), it was absolutely divine.

I loved her trick of putting the serving bowl on top of the pot to heat it up with steam. The only differences were I made a fourth of the recipe (enough for one really hungry person or two just hungry enough persons) and I simply mixed the ingredients in the drained pot before putting it on the hot plate. Oh, and using a blend of cheeses. (I can already feel the Romans cringing from here…)

(image source)

I still stand by my statement in saying that Tinkyáda’s® Rice Pasta is the best I’ve encountered in my gluten-free journey thus far. We use many of their products in our noodle dishes, and their spaghetti pasta was perfect to use in this recipe. Did I mention it slurps like semolina-based pasta?

Now that's what I call quality.

The Aftermath: Coming Together in Support for Sandy

Food brings people together. It is a statement so true that I have written about it over and over and over again. In most cases I say this for idyllic circumstances, where I’m surrounded by people I love, laughing over plates of delicious food, or philosophizing about something or other while sipping cider, tea, or mead. Food is a way of connecting with people as one of our most basic needs are met, physically warmed as it reaches our stomachs and emotionally warmed as we discover how extraordinary life is with those we love.

In the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, there are those out there still picking up the pieces the storm had left in its wake. While the worst I experienced were flickering lights, empty water jugs artfully flung into the grass from the porch, and a toppled birdbath, my family was still safe and warm from Sandy’s screaming winds. For days some families were without power, or unable to leave their streets because of fallen trees and large debris. Thousands had to be evacuated from their homes, and additional thousands lost them entirely. And unfortunately, we lost a few sentient beings in the storm’s havoc.

Here I was, working on my own life, and as if reawakened I was suddenly aware what was going on around me. There are others out going through the same thing I am, and I no longer feel so alone in my experiences. In times like these people realize that they aren’t alone, that they’re cared about and their lives are meaningful. So whoever you are, wherever you are, whether I know you or not, I wish you well and hope you are safe.

When the lovely Jenn of Jenn Cuisine posted “Food Bloggers Support for Sandy”, I felt that this would be a great opportunity to reconnect with others in the world, creating a virtual buffet of warmth and delight of the senses for a shared cause. This isn’t about gluten-free eating; and to be honest, it really isn’t about Sandy (although it was the event that brought Jenn and Barbara [of Creative Culinary] to create this awareness). It’s about connecting with your neighbors: the ones living next door and the ones in the states Sandy hit the hardest. It’s about remembering that, regardless of political/national/ethnic orientation, we are still people who live, breathe, laugh, cry, suffer, love, and eat.

Perhaps you will donate to the various organizations Jenn listed towards disaster relief. Perhaps you will volunteer your time to providing food and other provisions yourself. Or maybe, just maybe, you will create a dish in the hopes to create awareness and reach out to whichever neighbor happens to need you most.

Regardless, I dedicate this meal to the people who volunteered, rescued, survived, and persevered during Hurricane Sandy.

Roasted Pork Loin and Vegetables

2 lb. Pork Loin
1 lb. Brussels sprouts
3 Sweet potatoes (a little larger than hand-sized), chopped into bite-sized pieces
2 Apples (I used small Fujis), coarsely chopped
4 Garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
1 Red onion, coarsely chopped
70 ml Rendered chicken fat*
120 ml Apple cider
1 tsp. Sea salt
1 tsp. Dried tarragon
1/2 tsp. Mignonette pepper**
1/4 tsp. Powdered rosemary

Preheat the oven to 450°F.
In a x” baking sheet lined with aluminum foil, set the whole pork loin in the center to bake uncovered for 35 minutes.
In a large mixing bowl, fold the remaining ingredients until completely integrated and well mixed.
Remove the pork from the oven, pour the vegetables around the meat, and cover with aluminum foil.
Place the pan back in the oven, reducing the heat to 375° to bake for an additional hour.
Take off the foil and cook for another 30 minutes, or until the center of the meat reaches 177° and the vegetables are soft and have browned slightly.
When done, slice the meat into thick cutlets, and serve each cut with a heaping spoonful of veggies (you could also make a quick gravy with the leftover juices).
Serve warm.

Makes 6 – 8 servings.

*I usually have a jar of the stuff after making my oven-baked chicken. But if you don't happen to have this on hand, you can substitute it with your preferred cooking oil/fat.

**This is Penzeys Spices's version of "coarsely cracked pepper", so whatever cracked peppercorns you have will work beautifully.

Considering

There was a moment in between applying for various volunteer and intern positions this morning where I considered my favorite kinds of foods. 

Morri considering food, you say to yourself, is nothing new. 

I know.

Morri thinks about food all the time, you continue, whether it is recipes, cookbooks, philosophy, or future endeavors regarding the restaurant business or a non-profit organization. 

I know.

It’s nothing new, you conclude. 

I know.

So on this rainy morning, while considering the option to replace today’s running with Monday’s workout, I take a breather before resuming another search on idealist.org, and flashback to a conversation I had with Mama Dazz.

Photos of Community Gardening, 2009

I have a taste for the simple and the holistic, and that shows through the meals I make. Stews, one-pot wonders, and bowlfuls of everything-but-the-kitchen sink are my area of expertise. I yearn for comfort, for days of leftovers, and for food sources that don’t drain your bank account. These are the recipes that I enjoy sharing, and they are the ones I am the most proud of.

But I want to take it a step further, to show people the significant difference food from the backyard garden can make in a recipe, and to learn how to be a leader in the movement toward sustainable development in the community. I want to document all of the wonderful contributions being made by the unsung heroes of the movement, and I want to be part of it, either as a volunteer, a post-graduate intern, or having a decision-making position in the cause.

Mushroom picking in Sweden, 2010

I’m tired of waiting around for the world to give me heading; it’s time I got my hands in the soil and did something to change the way people look at food. I have to be the change I wish to see in the world, and it's time I prove it.

As mentioned before, I have a penchant for bubbling stews and soups on the stove, filling the house with enticing aromas and warmth only a well-used kitchen provides. There is one soup that I am always in the mood for, and I needed to work with what I had.

Onion soup is an amazing kind of recipe. I searched for different kinds of onion soup, but the French version is the most popular, if not the only one out there. It has everything one could ever ask for in the attempt to using up whatever is lying around: onions, leftover beef stock, stale bread, and cheese you haven’t used up yet. It is a stick-to-your-ribs kind of soup, rich and dense, with essentially all of the main food groups provided. So to no offense of the French, since I have the privilege of knowing quite a few amazing people from the country, I made my own kind of onion soup, something lighter and with a homemade chicken stock base. What’s so marvelous about this recipe is that you essentially have two meals: the onion soup and the chicken and veggies for another day. (You can also place the meats and veggies from the stock at the bottom for additional nutrition.) I made skillet cornbread, modifying the ingredients but otherwise made the same way as I usually do.

Onion Soup in a Homemade Chicken Broth

For the Homemade Chicken Broth:
2 qt. Water
30 ml Unrefined apple cider vinegar
450 g Chicken thigh meat*
6 Garlic cloves, whole
85 g Leeks, coarsely sliced
4 (156 g) Carrots, whole
2 (76 g) Celery hearts (preferably the innermost hearts**), whole

Combine all of the ingredients in a pressure cooker or large pot on medium-high heat until the meat and vegetables have softened (to the point of falling apart) and the liquid has colored slightly.
Remove the chicken and vegetables and set the broth aside.

For the Onion Soup:
Homemade chicken broth, recipe above
1 Bay leaf
2 tsp. Sea salt
1 tsp. Cracked pepper
30 ml Coconut oil
3 White onions, halved and thinly sliced horizontally
3 Red onions, halved and thinly sliced horizontally

Gouda cheese, finely grated as garnish

In a large flat-bottomed skillet pan or pot on medium-low heat, melt the coconut oil and cook the onions until translucent and caramelized (be careful not to burn).
Transfer the onions to the broth and add the remaining ingredients, cooking on medium heat for thirty minutes to and hour (I let it simmer while preparing the cornbread).
Pour the soup in up to six bowls, garnish with the desire amount of Gouda cheese, and serve hot with a side of cornbread***.

Yields 6 servings.

*This is what I had on hand, but you are welcome to use whatever parts of the chicken (or any meat) are accessible to you.
**You can use whichever part of the celery, but the innermost heart stalks are the ones I noticed people don’t eat raw, and thus perfect to use in soups.

***Goat milk Cornbread

240 g Masa flour
1 tsp. Baking soda
1/2 tsp. Sea salt
240 ml Water
240 ml Goat milk
2 Large eggs
42 g (3 tbsp.) butter
50 g Unsweetened applesauce

For instructions, click here.

Makes 1 batch and 8 servings.

Hard Lessons of a Gluten-Free Undergrad

Picture this, if you would. There’s a gluten-free student living in a college dorm for five weeks. There is no kitchen to use, not even a fridge. The college isn’t particularly gluten-free or allergy friendly, but the student wants to be as nutritionally balanced as possible.

Until the end of July, this will be my reality.

I’ll be honest; I thought eating would be the most challenging part of this internship, but it isn’t. I miss my kitchen, and my family (no more than fifteen minutes away) misses my cooking, but I’ve made do with what I have in my dorm. Since last Wednesday, a coffee maker, a rice cooker, a water purifier, and a mini fridge are the only appliances I’ve brought with me. The closet, particularly the top and third drawer of my dresser, is my pantry for eating ware and foods that do not need refrigeration. The meals I’ve been making are basic, easy to put together, and similar day-to-day, but I anticipated that. With all my running around, basically working eighteen-hour days until today, I’ve resulted to eating three meals a day. I think I’ve lost a little weight, with all my walking and carrying things all over campus, but it’s nothing too severe or worrisome.

In fact, this is the first in a long time that I’ve felt like “me”. I was always the girl who was optimistic and energetic, the girl with a personality you couldn’t contain, and because of that I could relate to a wide spectrum of people. Maybe it was the trip to Sweden that changed me, a paradigm shift that made me more introverted and rarely reaching out to people. Maybe there was an evolution in my emotional intelligence or, maybe, that I’m finally being treated for my hypothyroid condition like I should have been all those years ago. Yet this internship, the fellows who came here and the colleagues I work with, have turned back the clock to the Morri I thought had disappeared.

For years I had worked on leveling out my extremes. I was either high on life, a ball of energy, or crashing for a few days after to recover. If I wasn’t smiling, there was the assumption that life was not kosher in the Land of Morri. I was either grounded and calm or fluttering in the breeze. There was no middleman. It was a crazy roller coaster ride.

Looking back on that part of my life that, strangely enough, was up until the end of my freshman year in college, I realize that there’s a significant difference to then and now. Those were manic extremes, true, but I believe a part of the old Morri has shined through because I have something to do that I wholeheartedly believe in. I have wanted to be a part of this program since last summer, and the fellows are such wonderful kids. I’ve learned how to say things in multiple languages. I’ve had deep, philosophical discussions with them randomly throughout the day. I’ve listened to a sad story of one, where I spent the majority of Sunday afternoon sobbing like I haven’t done in such a long time.

In less than a week, I’ve learned a series of hard lessons. Despite my being the youngest mentor of the Institute and, at most, only being a few years older than these kids, it was extremely difficult to realize that I wasn’t a fellow. I wasn’t one of them. No matter how much they like me (and I them) and regard me as their friend and confidant, I am still their mentor and have to walk the very fine line between authority figure and “buddy.” Not only that, but as mentioned before I had to listen to an extremely sad story, who was asking – no, pleading – me and the other young mentor that they wished to stay, their parents telling them to not come home because it was so dangerous... I felt so helpless. With blurred eyes I glanced across the table at the other young mentor did I realize he was just as horrified and felt just as vulnerable as I had.

I wasn’t prepared to hear the very real injustices and cruelty that existed in this world, and I briefly questioned if I was in the right field. As an undergraduate CAR student, I haven’t gone abroad and experienced conflict first-hand like my colleagues with their Masters and PhD's have. I’ve only sat in classrooms where documentaries showed how vicious people could be (and Sweden doesn’t compare to places in the Middle East or Africa), but that is significantly different to listening to someone you’ve grown to care for, someone you’ve taken under your wing and developed a connection with. I have become so attached to many of them that I wish I could tell them it will be okay. I wish I could scare the boogeyman that haunts us all, and keep them here where it is safe. But that isn’t fair to them; all I can do is be there and honor them by listening to their stories.

My biggest fear is developing such a thick skin that I become numb to these types of stories. It is a blessing to experience empathy and compassion with all your heart and being, no matter how upset you become. I am sure to hear many more stories, and I may hold them and cry, but while they’re here I can guarantee safety and love. While I’m here, I’ll never stop caring.