On Saturday, we celebrated our daughter Shannon’s birthday, and the tradition in our house is for the birthday “boy” or “girl” to choose whatever he or she wants for dinner. Shannon’s choice has remained steady for many years, and it is what she picked for this birthday—Asian fish packets, a recipe from one of my Moosewood cookbooks. This recipe can be made with any fish fillet—Shannon’s favorite is salmon—and it is simple but oh so good. You cook rice, make a soy sauce/ginger marinade, then on foil, put together individual packets of rice topped with fish and marinade. Close those little packets, put them on a cookie sheet, and bake for 20 to 25 minutes.

The tricky part is getting the marinaded fish and rice out of the packets so that the plated meal looks as elegant as it tastes. It’s best done with two people, and over the years, Clif and I have developed a technique where he scoops with a long spatula, and I slide the dinner plate under the fish and rice at what I hope is just the right moment.

The Moosewood cookbooks for my generation—late baby boomers—are what Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking was to an earlier generation. Just as American cooking “before Julia” was, shall we say, a little on the bland side, so was “before Moosewood” vegetarian cooking. In fact, there is a strikingly similar note between before Julia and before Moosewood. Not that there weren’t exceptions, but onion was about the only ingredient used for flavoring in both of the cooking eras before Julia and before Moosewood. No dill, no basil, very little garlic—heck, hardly any parsley. Forget about cilantro or chili peppers. And vegetarian cooking without spices is a pretty grim affair. Onion simply isn’t enough to overcome the bland heaviness of whole wheat flour and brown rice. It is from this time period that vegetarian cooking gained its bad reputation.

Then along came Moosewood Restaurant, which opened in 1973 in Ithaca, New York, and specialized in vegetarian cooking that was decidedly not bland and boring. It was as if they took Julia Child’s principles and applied them to vegetarian cooking—ingredients that were fresh and of high quality cooked with skill as well as with herbs and spices.

Moosewood is a collective, and on their web page, their description of the collective and the restaurant is very impressive. Do read it if you have a chance. I especially liked “[w]e recognize that we’re not all equally good at everything, nor do we have to be. We find ways to accommodate our differences and play to our individual strengths, while keeping opportunities open and accessible.” My philosophy exactly.

From the restaurant came the many cookbooks that guided my generation toward vegetarian cooking that was pleasing to the palate as well as good for the planet. I have three of their books, and I use them often.

According to their website, “Moosewood was named one of the thirteen most influential restaurants of the 20th Century by Bon Appetit magazine,” and this recognition is well deserved. Even though my philosophy is to stick close to home, I would love to make a pilgrimage to Ithaca to visit Moosewood. Perhaps I will someday.

In the meantime, we will cook from their wonderful cookbooks, not only once a year for Shannon’s birthday, but throughout the year as well.

Addendum: The recipe for the Asian Fish Packets can be found in the Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home, book we have featured in this post.

The Project: To bake and give away at least one loaf of bread each week in 2011.

The Reason: A personal protest against the rampant selfishness of our society.

The Bonus: It’s good spiritual practice.

On week 14, I gave a loaf of bread to a young woman named Jenn Currier, who belongs to the Winthrop Green Committee and has been instrumental in organizing the many upcoming Earth Week activities that our town will be offering. (Here is a list of events.) My husband, Clif, and I are helping with the “Mostly Maine Potluck Dinner,” to be held on Earth Day, April 22 at the Winthrop High School. What will we be making for the dinner? A quiche made with smoked cheddar—with the eggs, the milk, and the cheese all coming from Maine. And an apple crisp—apples and butter from Maine. If we can find a good source of dried beans from Maine, Clif would also like to make a chili to bring, and it will include Maine beef, which we know we can get.

But I digress. Jenn Currier is an extremely energetic woman (ah, youth!) with two young children and a big, old house to take care of. She does this with aplomb even while she apologizes for the state of the house. “It’s a house with kids,” she explains. While there are toys in each of the main rooms, Jenn’s home is clean and organized. In other words, there is no need to apologize. In addition to being an integral part of the Green Committee, Jenn works part time at two shops in town—Apple Valley Bookstore and a gift shop called Potatoes.

“My goal is to have a key to every store in Winthrop,” Jenn deadpanned.

“Winthrop domination,” I added.

“That’s right,” she said, laughing.

Last week, there was an Earth Week meeting at her house. Clif and I are a one-car family, and as the meeting was going to take place while Clif was at work, Jenn very nicely offered to come and get me. Who better, then, to receive a loaf of homemade bread? Nobody that I could think of.

Yesterday, I drove to Portland to meet my friend Kate and my daughter Shannon for a birthday luncheon. We do this three times a year—for each of our birthdays—and Portland is a half-way point for both Kate and me. (Shannon works in Portland so it is very convenient for her.) The birthday “girl” gets to choose the place, and Shannon chose Ri-Ra, an Irish pub right on the water.

As befitting an Irish pub, the wood is dark—cozy rather than gloomy—and there is an upstairs and a downstairs. We like to eat upstairs, by windows that overlook the bay, and because we got there early, Shannon was able to pick a table that was not only by a window but also by the fire, which felt very good on a damp and rainy day. While we waited for Kate, Shannon and I looked out the window as we chatted.  Portland still has a working waterfront, and with its docks and boats and warehouses, the view is interesting rather than lovely, but nevertheless very pleasing to me. Shannon and I saw ducks—eiders, I think—swimming in the bay. We also saw a loon, still wintering on the ocean, but as soon as the inland lakes are clear of ice, I’m sure the loon will move to its summer quarters. (As of today, the ice is still on the ponds and lakes in central Maine. And no peepers yet.) The clouds moved across the sky, and patches of light shone here and there as the weather began to clear.

Kate soon joined us, and we had a good conversation and as well as a good meal.  There were little presents. Both Kate and I like to give homemade goodies as birthday treats, and she made some of her incredible chocolate cookies for lucky Shannon. With my husband’s help, I had made peanut butter balls—a whole pound of them—a favorite of Shannon’s. Then, along with the cookies, Kate gave Shannon some spices and barbecue rubs (I can’t remember the brand) that she especially likes. I gave Shannon some note cards made from pictures that my husband, Clif, had taken.

The food came—a rich seafood bisque for Shannon; a pastrami sandwich for Kate, which she proclaimed one of the best she’s ever eaten; and a grilled portobello sandwich with basil, fresh mozzarella, and roasted red peppers for me. My sandwich was so tasty that I started thinking about how I could make a similar sandwich for myself for lunch. (Clif, alas, does not like portobello mushrooms. Silly old thing!)

“I could broil the portobello for a quick lunch,” I said. “The other ingredients are easy to get.”

“Maybe marinate it in some balsamic vinegar,” Kate suggested.

“With chopped garlic,” I said.

“Maybe I’ll come over for lunch,” Kate joked.

Unfortunately, she lives too far to come over for lunch.

When it came to dessert, I decided it was high time to be stern. “Look,” I said, “here is how it usually goes. We order three desserts. I eat mine, and then because I am a glutton who can’t stand to see food go to waste, I finish both of yours as well.”

“Wait a minute!” Kate put in. “We always eat some of your dessert, too. You don’t eat it all by yourself.”

“Maybe I’m exaggerating,” I admitted.

“Just a little,” Shannon said. “As usual.”

“Still, I think we could make do with two desserts, don’t you?”

Yes, they agreed, two desserts would be plenty.

So with some very good Irish tea, we had dessert—chocolate cake and apple in puff pastry. And it was just right.