Kitchening: Bay Leaves

Have you ever wondering why you have bay leaves? I mean, you probably have never thought to yourself, "Oh, if I could only get a good whiff of a bay leaf, then all my petty troubles would disappear." I know that thought has never crossed my mind. Couple of days ago I was perusing a food blog on the New York Times and came across a question to readers about what to do with the pile of bay leaves every cook almost inevitably has in their cabinet. There were the usual answers: stews and marinara sauce, but quite a few surprising ones I thought we should all be aware of:

1. To keep bugs at bay (oh man that was a good pun). Supposedly these innocuous leaves are a natural repellent that can help keep your flour from getting buggy--Shanghailanders take note, especially if you don't have room in your tiny little fridges for the mian fen.

2. To simmer with your chai.

3. To add some flava flave (I'm laughing at myself for typing that) to your rice pudding. Even to simmer in your milk as you're making mac & cheese (the real kind.)

4. For Indian food. Apparently loads of dishes use them.

5. To calm the stomach. Simmer a few leaves in water to make a tea that soothes the digestive system.

For more uses from NY Times readers click here. Also, are y'all listening to Toad the Wet Sprocket like I asked and hopefully squeezing in some Gin Blossoms (especially "Found Out About You")? I found the albums for $.75 a piece on half.com. I'm totally buying them.

Saltines: History in Your Mouth

Eating crackers can be a very passive affair. A little cheddar or perhaps some peanut butter spread generously on top for a snack, but that's not all there is to the cracker. So today I share with you one of my favorite facts: the history of the saltine.

Think of it. A covered wagon, the hot prairie sun beating down on a team of tired horses. Nothing in sight as far as the eye can see except more grass. Your stomach rumbles as you rock to the rhythm of the wagon on the uneven soil. Meat is scarce. Water must be rationed. What you do have, what you eat everyday, what you grumble against like a manna-eating Israelite is something called hardtack.

Hardtack was a simple concoction of flour, water, and salt baked to a crisp. The virtue of hardtack was that it would last indefinitely (though not without some vermin), which made it useful for anyone on a long journey from sailors on the high seas to pioneers heading west to soldiers fighting in the Civil War. And the coolest thing about this staple of antebellum America is the number of holes in it.

Unless you've eaten saltines with me, you've never counted them, but every saltine has 13 holes in it just as hardtack did. And why? This is the good part! Because of the 13 original colonies. Isn't that mildly fascinating? As the pioneers set out for new territories they poked 13 holes in their carb-loaded snacks as a subtle reminder of the foundation of the great U.S.A and the freedom it represented for them. No wonder they were Laura Ingalls Wilder's favorite prairie treat! (I made that up.) Now, go ye enlightened readers and partake of a saltine in honor of history.