Issue No. 10: Twenty-Seven Candles

Birthday reflections and the burger that made me cry

Feb 09, 2022

Good afternoon and happy almost Valentine’s!

I’m practically drowning in all things pink and red. Because my birthday is in February, I have always felt an affinity for the holiday. I can’t stop wearing hot pink, which makes me feel happy.

I’ve just turned twenty-seven, which feels, well, older than twenty-six. Funny how that works. I had a wonderful time celebrating last week. My parents came in town and we ate our way through all of Austin (Stiles Switch BBQ, Jack Allen’s, Pinthouse Pizza, Mandola’s, Matt’s El Rancho, oh my!). Mitch and I dined at Suerte, and last weekend, I went to Odd Duck and perhaps had one of my more transcendent dining experiences, which I will discuss in detail later on. What an ordeal, now that I type it out. I’m feeling full and thankful just thinking of it all. Truly a delight.

My darling of a husband also organized a surprise afternoon tea, complete with my favorite lemon rosemary cake, a selection of English cheeses, scones, clotted cream, and a viewing of Pride and Prejudice with our friends. I was completely surprised and it was just wonderful.

In this issue of Editor &Chef, read on for a tale of my thirteenth birthday and discussion of my renewed obsession with Julia Child. Plus, yes, the hamburger that made me cry.

For anyone who is a new subscriber, I’m so glad to have you. Each issue of E&C features an essay, normally food related, a bookshelf section updating you on what I’m reading, and some food/menu ideas that I’m thinking through. I think you’ll quickly find your way around!

As always, share, subscribe, like, comment away.

XOXO – Allison

The Journal

What does a birthday taste like?

For some it's sickly sweet, cake and icing, paper plates and candles melting.

Growing up, turning another year older tasted like a chicken biscuit. Each year of elementary school, my birthday would roll around on that first day of February and I'd unwrap the crinkly silver paper that encased the warm, buttery biscuit before heading to the Scholastic Book Fair in the school library. Yes, by some great divine grace, the book fair always fell on the week of my birthday. It was always the greatest week of the school year.

I'd wander the library transformed, tables stacked with new books for devouring. I'd flip through the racks of coveted posters, wondering if there was one stylish enough to catch my eye. I'd even wake up extra early for before-school browsing. One day was Donuts with Dad, another Muffins with Mom. We'd all drag our parents into the library at some obscenely early call-time to find all the treasures we'd circled in our newsprint Scholastic catalogues. I'm sure the mothers and fathers loved it as much as the rest of us.

I loved that the book fair marked my growing up. So you can imagine how saddened, dare I say shocked I was in seventh grade when there was no more book fair in the library. We'd graduated up to the big junior high, a bleak hallway of a building where every classroom opened to one central corridor. As I approached my thirteenth birthday, there was just early morning basketball practice, where I was the trainer for the basketball team who fetched water and still ran dribbling drills in my baby pink glittery Nike basketball shoes. I could write a book about my junior high athletic endeavors, but we will save that for another day. In summary: there was no browsing the library in the early access hours with a Chick-Fil-A biscuit still fresh on my breath.

But a few of my friends kept their ties to the book fair. Their mothers still ran the show in the elementary building next door, and when the fair was on, my friends would go over to the library eat lunch with their mothers. Seeing as it was my birthday, they invited me to join them for some Chinese takeout.

What did my thirteenth birthday taste like?

Sweet and sour chicken from a to-go box amidst the books and posters of my youth. I felt like I was in on some big secret gastronomical society. Skipping out on the cafeteria to dine on American-Chinese delicacies in the library was my ideal celebration.

But reader, I must warn you: nothing will humble you like being a middle school girl trying to be cool.

At some point in this lunch, as I took another bite of chicken and reached to dip it in the sweet and sour sauce, the precariously balanced to-go box tipped over the edge of the table. An eight-ounce styrofoam container of quite literally NEON red sickly sauce tumped over—directly into my lap. Right onto the crotch of my jeans. The horror! Unimaginable suffering was upon me. If you will do yourself a favor and remember what it feels like to be on the brink of puberty and adolescence, I posit you would agree that there could be nothing utterly mortifying than a neon red blob of sweet and sour sauce on the pants of a newly minted thirteen-year-old girl.

What do you possibly do when trauma of this nature happens to you? Because you can't just, well, go on living. You can't just show up to your next class and act like you don't look bloodied and sticky, while also smelling like Chinese food.

It was the end of the world as I knew it.

This was the universe getting back at me, I decided. I had tried to hold on to the book fair, to dine on its literary feasts after my time was up, to partake in the exclusive lunch crowd when I should have just had lunch with my mother.

I frantically searched for a phone in the building to call my mom. (I had no cellphone!) I needed new pants and I needed them immediately. I tearfully awaited rescue. Thankfully, my house was only a block away from school and before lunch was over, my mother delivered a clean pair of jeans and consoled me while I cried for a moment. Thinking back on this day in my life, my saving grace might have been the fact that only three other people witnessed this whole debacle. Perhaps the library was looking out for me. I’m confident libraries will always keep our secrets.

With a clean pair of jeans, I went on my merry way and completed the rest of the day at school. Later that night, we dined at my favorite Italian restaurant. My parents surprised me with a brand new pink Motorola Razor phone. I practically shrieked with happiness and forgot about the sweet and sour sauce.

What does a birthday taste like?

This year, it was a gigantic mug of Yorkshire Gold tea drank in the company of all my friends. It was takeout pizza with my parents around my tiny kitchen table. It was a slice of cold lemon rosemary cake eaten straight out of the fridge, first thing in the morning. It was Chick-Fil-A in the church office at lunch time. It was confit brisket tacos and grilled sweet potatoes tossed in habanero oil. It was warm cookies sent from one friend, and a box of Vermont cheese sent from another.

These meals are how I measure my life. I'm finding that when I think of growing older, I mostly think of eating. What do I want? To share meals with those I love. To gather round a table and taste something either comforting or new. The tastes stay with me. I think about the people I was with and they joy I felt getting to enjoy the moments round tables and chairs piled high with love.

If I have learned anything, anything at all in my time on earth, there is just one thing I will impart to you: never eat Chinese food at a Scholastic Book Fair.

The Bookshelf

I have been reading Julia Child’s memoir, My Life in France. Perhaps you are surprised that I have not read this yet. I am a bit surprised myself. Julia has loomed larger than life in my mind, and she is even more present in my thoughts now that I’m actually reading her life story. I feel like I already am quite familiar given the amount of times I’ve watched Julie & Julia. I don’t know if it’s her voice or Meryl Streep’s, but as I read, it’s as if she’s reading it aloud to me. I have found myself busting out laughing at her witty outbursts, and moments later, I am in in awe of the impact she had on the entire food, media, and publishing world. In reading the story of her cookery journey, I am inspired and jealous. I only wish I could live in Paris in the 50s and write the cookbook that changes the world.

Let me know in the comments what you’re reading this month!

The Menu

I had no idea a hamburger could be so good that it could make you cry. Ok, for the record, I only teared up. But still. Odd Duck’s burger really was that amazing. Topped with braised turnip greens (woah woah!), pimento cheese, pickled pepper mayo, and chicharrones, this concoction exploded with flavor. The burger was juicy, the greens combined with the pimento cheese were creamy and rich, and the chicharrones added the perfect crunch. I hope I can taste it again someday.

Other favorite dishes from the meal: redfish ceviche with a sweet potato sauce, served with potato chips. And achiote roasted carrots on top of a burnt sourdough hummus. This hummus was grade-A crazy good! Instead of tahini in the hummus, the restaurant’s house-made sourdough was charred and puréed with chickpeas. So good. I have considered attempting to recreate it, but I don’t think I can come close to how good dish was. We also enjoyed queso fundido, cheddar cornbread, and sirloin with charred broccoli. A meal to remember! If you’re ever in Austin, treat yourself to Odd Duck. I don’t think you’ll regret it.

Before you go . . .

I’m tinkering with my Valentine’s menu. Considering perhaps a nice roast chicken or maybe a rack of lamb if I am feeling a bit crazy. I’ve never made lamb, so I’ll report back if things go that route. I will probably consult Julia for this one. Vive la France. Dessert wise, I’ve been on a real kick making Ina Garten’s bittersweet chocolate cake from her book Modern Comfort Food, but for a smaller effort, I’d always suggest for another delicious chocolatey dessert for two: Smitten Kitchen’s chocolate puddle cakes. It’s the perfect little recipe and it always turns out wonderfully luxurious.

Thank you for reading Editor & Chef! This post is public so feel free to share it.

XOXOXOXOXO Allison