Always organic? Not in this economy...

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So I try to buy organic as much as I can- it tastes much better, helps preserve the environment and often supports mid-sized and small farms- but (as I'm sure many of you understand) in the last few years it's become too expensive to buy everything organic.
So then how do I decide, standing there in the produce aisle biting my lip, which kinds of apples to buy? For a while I was choosing based on price: potatoes, onions and carrots are cheap anyway, so going organic there wasn't much of a price jump. Raspberries? Forget about it.
But I recently came across this handy pocket guide and thought it might help my readers too. Below is a little card you can print out and put in your wallet that shows which produce gets coated in pesticides (so buy organic!), and which ones are less heavily sprayed (so save your pennies!).
Plus, it's cute.

T-Day Countdown

Two days and counting, dear reader! Are you ready? Or preparing to be ready? I have my next few days all planned out, I love this time of year.
My Thanksgiving dinner should be great: I plan to spend it with some excellent friends, several of whom are part of my chosen L.A. family. I love these cats; the year my Uncle Tyler died and I had to catch a red-eye Thanksgiving night, they moved dinner earlier so I could still participate. They were also patient and kind when I freaked out at a friend who accidentally added my soup garnish (delicate fried apple peels) to the salad. You can't ask for a better family experience than that. We've celebrated assorted holidays together through divorces and break-ups, promotions and moves, deaths and new loves. Good times.
This year I will be contributing 3 items to the table
1) A Wild Mushroom Soup, which started out as a recipe by Michele Scicolone but has evolved enough that now I consider it my own. I was not planning on making soup, but Ray and David tag-teamed me in a flattery throw-down on Sunday. I was helpless to say no.
2) An Italian Broccoli and Cauliflower "Flan" with Spinach Bechamel Sauce (though it's really more of a gratin), and
3) Cranberry Sauce. There are 3 cranberry sauces on the docket... it's not a competition, but I predict mine will rock the house. It has a secret ingredient that makes the flavor pop. No, not MSG. Ok, I'll tell you, but you have to keep it between us (no one needs to know how basic these things are): just add a dash of salt. Every year I turn out a nuanced and interesting cranberry sauce that is embarrassingly simple. That's my favorite kind of cooking.

This afternoon David and I will make a pilgrimage to IKEA to purchase the remaining plates and wineglasses for our crowd of almost 20, and afterwards I will head to the grocery store to buy fresh mushrooms and cream, broccoli, cauliflower and spinach. I wisely purchased cranberries this weekend- Ray would have a fit if I showed up sans sauce! Last year I had to elbow past an elderly lady to snatch the last bag of cranberries, oh it was ugly. (Yes, I know there's a tart circle of hell reserved just for me. Mmmm, but my sauce was fantastic...)

Tonight I will make the cranberry sauce, tomorrow the soup, and the morning-of my house will smell of broccoli and butter. And you, dear reader? What are you making (or buying!) this year? Let's put it out there- you know me, I love the dish.

Eggs Foo Young

Growing up I loved the one Chinese restaurant in town. The red walls, soy-salty air, and (no joke) backlit moving waterfull artwork seemed magical to my wide blue eyes. I loved that the owners talked differently, that the names of the food held promise and mystery. General Tso's Chicken- who was this general? Why did he care so much about chicken? Did he eat it before battle and emerge victorious because it warmed his belly? Egg Drop Soup sounded so friendly: in my house if I dropped an egg I'd be in big trouble, but at Lotus Chinese that same mistake turned into delicious soup.
And I loved that every time I ate there, the owners brought me strawberry ice cream for dessert, whether or not I ordered it. Even when my mother protested, they wouldn't take the dish away until a scant spoonful of ice cream soup was left.
I will tell you a secret: I didn't like strawberry ice cream. I don't care for it now, just give me chocolate. But I'd eat it and say thank you while they smiled and nodded at me. I felt we were friends in a way. I like to think they noticed the goofy little white girl who was really into their food, who gobbled up everything (even broccoli). Actually, my love of their broccoli got me into trouble many times.
"Why do you eat their broccoli but turn your nose up at mine," my mother asked whenever we ate there. I'd shrug helplessly. It wasn't until years later I figured out it was a texture issue. In traditional Chinese cooking, veggies are generally cooked until they're crisp-tender, not a second more. This keeps them delicous (plus they retain more nutrients). My mother's background was English, German, and Donna Reed Casserole. All that history was an unstoppable force: she couldn't help but boil broccoli for a solid ten minutes. I'd smush it with a fork just because I could; obscene amounts of butter and salt still didn't make it edible. My dog wouldn't touch it. But oh, the beef and broccoli with its hearty crunch and sweet, salty sauce. Powerful.
After I learned to read I started pointing at the menu, What's that? And that? By the second grade I had mastered chopsticks, much to everyone's surprise (a story for another day). I took great pleasure in trading in my fork for two rough wooden sticks and consuming slippery lo mein noodles and eggs foo young with aplomb.

Today if we were to dine, I'd take you out to the heart of Chinatown. There hardly anybody looks like me, and the food is a clever symphony of funky and mellow, bitter and sweet, crisp and soft. I'd show off my affection for jellyfish and chicken feet, and probably act confused if you asked about moo go gai pan (a dish my father loves that I suspect only the white man eats). I might even wrangle you an invite to my pal Vanessa's Chinese New Year feast (sweet Jesus it's amazing). And I'd certainly deny ever eating at a little spot on Santa Monica where forks are on the table, moo go gai pan is on the menu, and everything needs more soy sauce to give it flavor... but I recommend their eggs foo young.