Thinking Outside the Lunchbox: Meet the Bento Box

Move over lunchbox, there's a new lunch box in town. Meet bento! In all fairness, bento is not technically new. It's quite old, dating all the way back to fifth century Japan. So what the heck is a bento box? I'm glad you asked. A bento is a single-portion packed meal common in Japanese cuisine. Long story short, it's a packed lunch in a lunchbox.

The term "bento" originated from a slang term meaning "convenient."  Traditionally people working outdoors (whether in the fields, mountains, on fishing boats or in town) carried their lunches with them because they didn't have time to go home for meals. These boxed lunches typically contained staples such as white rice or potatoes. The boxes provided a simple, convenient way to carry food and to eat on the go.

As time went on, bento evolved from a matter of convenience to a culinary art in its own. Today it is not uncommon to find bento arranged in a style called kyaraben or "character bento," decorated to look like popular Japanese cartoon, comic book or video game characters. Another popular bento style is "oekakiben" or "picture bento," which is decorated to look like people, animals, buildings or natural elements such as flowers and plants. Contests are often held where bento arrangers compete to design the most aesthetically pleasing bento arrangements.

Modern Japanese bentos typically consists of rice, fish or meat and one or more pickled, cooked or raw vegetables. Although bento meals are readily available for purchase throughout Japan, everywhere from convenience stores to bento shops, train stations to department stores, it is still common for Japanese homemakers to spend time preparing bentos for the family each day.

A little closer to home, bentos have hopped the pond, popping up in offices and school cafeterias around the United States. My recent re-vegetarianism has affirmed a harsh reality: it can be a challenge to find fast, vegetarian-friendly lunches on the go. (And this "harsh reality" was all the confirmation I needed to give myself permission to begin shopping for a bento box of my own!)

Below you'll find a handful of the neato bentos (and bento accessories) I have found along the way...

Not sure you can turn rice balls into adorable pigs? No worries. Here are a couple "doable" bentos even the most amateur bento makers can assemble. Click the image for the recipe...

Truckin': 9 Delicious Examples of Food Truck Typography

We are about to begin work on a new project. This is one of my favorite things about working in a creative profession. The possibility phase. Possibilities are infinite. The world is your oyster. This is the point at which we have no real direction in mind, we just know that we're going on a proverbial creative road trip to somewhere. And just like planning a real trip, we begin gobbling down everything around us for inspiration. You never know where it will come from. Often (if not most of the time) it comes from the most unlikely places. A flash of genius is just as likely to strike while I'm reading an article on sea turtle rescue or perusing street interviews from middle America as it is while I'm sitting in a form brainstorming session. Creative inspiration has a mind of its own. It doesn't really play well sitting behind a desk, but it loves to strike out of nowhere while you're at the grocery store, in the shower or driving down the highway.

This is all to say, this morning I was lounging in bed letting serendipity work its magic when I stumbled upon a series of wedding photos set around a food truck. A food truck wedding? Be still my beating heart.

A recent visit from the Type Truck has renewed my love affair with all things truck. (A blog post about this adventure is coming soon.) What's better than a cool truck / office on wheels? Truck + typography + snacks. If you could figure out a way to integrate dogs and champagne into that equation, you would have pretty much defined my version of mecca. But I digress.

Anyway, I had fun perusing some of the loveliest trucks in the land. And now I'm sharing them with you. So with no further ado, cue the apropos tunes and get ready to experience ...

9 DELICIOUS EXAMPLES OF FOOD TRUCK TYPOGRAPHY

MIHO (San Diego, CA)

Click the image below for a closer peek...

DOGTOWN DOGS (Santa Monica, CA)

DENVER BISCUIT CO. (Denver, CO)

SWEETERY NYC(New York, New York)

Deluxe Street Food (Denver, CO)

JENI'S SPLENDID ICE CREAMS (Columbus, OH)

PHYDOUGH (Los Angeles, CA)

WYOMING (Portland, OR)

DC EMPANADAS (DC)

RECIPE: Grandma Maxine's Chocolate Sheet Cake

This is my grandma Maxine. The one on the right, in the pink. Technically she is my "step-grandmother," but nothing about her has ever felt "step" to me. I can say with great certainty that Maxine is one of the best cooks in our family, possibly the country, maybe even the world and/or entire universe. I am biased, of course...but seriously, it's true. Arriving at my grandparents' doorstep, two things were a certainty:  you'd be greeted with a warm welcome and you'd leave with a happy belly. Hash, Homemade chicken and noodles. And my personal favorite, Chocolate Sheet Cake.

I was lounging around in bed this morning listening to NPR (a favorite weekend past-time) and stumbled across this great story from Mo Rocca. Regretful over the passing of his grandmother, Rocca set out across the globe and into the kitchens of the truest culinary masters: grandparents. Along the way he learned as much about life and love as he did about cooking. Click here to listen to the story.

I promise this blog isn't always going to focus on grandparents, but coming off the heels of "Life, Death and a Dinner Table," it felt too timely not to share. Happy listening - and happy weekend!

ps: A little gift from my recipe stash to yours. This is one of those recipes that is deceptively simple. There are no glamorous ingredients. It reads like something off a pilgrim's grocery list. It doesn't even look that special when it's complete. But I can pretty much guarantee as soon as you life the fork to your mouth it will change your life, leaving you with a whole new appreciation for the wonders of baking. All other cakes will become instantly inferior. You may even be tempted to hide it from house guests so you don't have to share. Yes. It is THAT good.

Grandma Maxine's Chocolate Sheet Cake

CAKE INGREDIENTS

• 2 cups flour
• 2 cups sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 4 Tablespoons cocoa (heaping!)
• 2 sticks butter
• 1 cup boiling water
• 1/2 cup buttermilk
• 2 whole eggs (beaten!)
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon vanilla

FROSTING INGREDIENTS

• 1-3/4 stick butter
• 4 Tablespoons cocoa (heaping!)
• 6 Tablespoons milk
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 pound powdered sugar (minus 1/2 cup)

DIRECTIONS In your favorite mixing bowl, combine flour, sugar and salt.

In a saucepan, melt butter. Add in cocoa. Stir together. Add boiling water, allowing mixture to boil for 30 seconds, then turn off heat. Pour liquid mixture over flour mixture. Stir lightly to cool.

In a large measuring cup, combine the buttermilk, vanilla, baking soda and beaten eggs. Stir buttermilk mixture into chocolate mixture. Pour into sheet cake pan and bake at 350-degrees for 20 minutes.

While cake is baking, prepare the icing. Melt butter in a saucepan adding cocoa. Stir to combine, then turn off heat. Add milk, vanilla and powdered sugar. Stir. Pour over warm cake. Optional: garnish with pecans.

Slice cake into squares. Pour yourself a glass of milk. Eat and enjoy.

Getting FRESH(ly Pressed) with New Visitors

An editor at Wordpress just e-mailed to notify me that my post "Life, Death and a Dinner Table" was selected for Freshly Pressed. Pardon me while I repress the urge to jump out of my seat and scream, throw up and throw a parade all at the same time. I am honored. It's a geeky writer's dream come true. (And an item I can now cross off my bucket list and replace with something new.) Even more, it touches my heart that a post that is so near and dear to my heart was selected for this recognition. My grandmother (whose funeral is mentioned in the post) was a writer as well. In many ways, I believe it is just in my DNA. I know she would be so proud. So thank you, whoever is responsible for this.

As for those of you who have wandered here from Freshly Pressed page...Welcome! Hello! Please feel free to wander around, peek in the medicine cabinet and make yourself at home. But before you do that, we should get to know each other.

And there's only one way to do that.

Hi. I'm Amy. Who are you? 

ps: Now for something a little happier (and a whole lot sassier)! 

Be Remarkable

A man sat in a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During the rush hour, it was estimated that more than 2,000 people passed him, most on their way to work. Three minutes after he started playing, a middle-aged man noticed the musician. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, then hurried on. A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip. The woman threw the money in the hat without stopping and continued on her way. A few minutes later, a man leaned against the wall to listen, but then glanced at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.

The person who paid the most attention to the musician was a three year-old boy. His mother was rushing him along, but the child stopped to look at the violinist. So the mother nudged the child forward and the child continued to walk - turning his head back toward the musician along the way. This scenario was repeated by again and again by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced their children to keep walking, hurry up and move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played only six people stopped and stayed for a while. About twenty gave him money, but continued walking on. The musician collected $32 in total. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

The violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the most renowned musicians in the world. Two days before the subway serenade, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston at a seat price of $100 per ticket. That morning in the subway station, Bell had played one of the most intricate pieces ever written on a violin worth 3.5 million dollars.

Joshua Bell's incognito performance in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people. They sought to answer several questions. Mainly, in a  commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour do we perceive beauty? Will we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?

If people do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?

In a busy world, message matters. It is estimated that on any given day we are exposed to 3,500 to 5,000 marketing messages. Is your brand Joshua Bell playing for a sold out crowd? Or are you just a guy in the metro playing a violin?

In order to thrive YOU MUST BE REMARKABLE. In order to be remarkable, YOU MUST CREATE REMARKABLE EXPERIENCES FOR OTHERS. You must have passion and a point of view. You must elevate people, invite them to the table and empower them to share your story - by making your story their story, too.

Recipe: Tart on Tart Pie

There are two kinds of people I simply don't trust in life: 1) People who don't like dogs. 2) People who choose cake over pie. If you fall into either of those categories, stop reading this post now and seek immediate treatment. Assuming you like dogs and pie (or at least pie) continue reading.

In the world of fruit pies an eternal struggle has been going on for centuries: cherry vs apple. It's fair to say this epic battle has not only resulted in the dissolution of friendships and marriages, it has lead to some disappointing dinners as well.

In order to settle the debate once and for all, I have devised a solution. I like to think of it as a little "Tart on Tart" action. So with no further ado, I give you Tart-on-Tart Apple Cherry Pie.

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Tart-on-Tart Apple Cherry Pie

INGREDIENTS

CRUST 1 pre-made frozen crust. I simply can't bring myself to battle homemade crust. If you are a masochist, a quick google should provide plenty of crust recipes. And maybe after you master that impossible skill, you can teach me how to fold a fitted sheet, too.

FILLING 1-2 cans tart cherries, drained 3 tart apples, peeled and sliced (I use granny smiths, but you can mix it up) 1/2 cup sugar 2 T. flour 2 t. cinnamon 1 t. nutmeg pinch of ground cloves

TOPPING 3/4 cup oatmeal 3/4 cup brown sugar 3/4 cup flour 6 T. butter, chilled and cubed 3 t. cinnamon

DIRECTIONS Preheat oven to 400 F. Combine cherries, apples and dry filling ingredients in a bowl. Stir and spoon into crust.

In another bowl, mix together topping flour and cinnamon. Cut in butter cubes using your hands to blend the butter into the dry mixture. If the mixture is excessively greasy, add more flour. If mixture is too dry, cut in more butter. Lightly pack topping over the filling and place pie on a baking sheet covered with tin foil. Bake pie until topping is golden (approximately 35 minutes. Cover crust edges with foil to prevent over-browning. Reduce oven temperature to 350F. Continue baking until apples in center of pie are tender when pierced with a fork and filling is bubbly and thick at pie edges (approximately 25-35 minutes.) Cool and serve.

FOLLOW REVEG OF THE NERD ON FACEBOOK BY ---> CLICKING HERE <--- (works just like a magical teleportation machine, no?)

Your Company is the Stories People Tell About it

I had an entirely different blog post planned for today...and then I saw the below photo (and story) a friend had posted on Facebook.

"So today I was in Hallmark buying my mom a birthday card when I noticed this old man stnding in front of the Valentines card section contemplating which one to get. I decided to go over and I asked him “Are you getting a Valentine’s Day for your wife?” to which he replied, 'No my wife died three years ago from breast cancer, but I still buy her roses and a card and bring them to her grave to prove to her that she was the only one who will ever have my heart.' "

I cannot confirm whether or not the story is true or not, but this much I know - it is powerful. I clicked on the original source this morning. In 23 hours the original post had received 373,317 likes, 119,745 shares, each of the 20,875  comments reflecting a range of emotions - hope, joy, sadness, nostalgia.

According to Hallmark, Americans send 144 million greeting cards for Valentines Day each year. I wonder if any of the cards exchanged yesterday generated even a fraction emotional connection to the brand like the above story did. The story of a little, old man (and his big love) inspired people around the world to feel, talk, connect and share. It didn't cost a penny, just a single question and a few minutes of conversation.

This is Word of Mouth - and Word of Heart.

If you open the Brains on Fire book to page 5, you'll find a quote from our Chief Inspiration Officer Greg Cordell. "Your company is the stories people tell about it."

Are you having conversations with your people? Are you asking them questions? Do you know your company? More importantly, do you know the stories are people telling about it?

I've Bean Everywhere ...except Beanfeast.

Examine the above painting closely, and you will notice a few things... 1) Rear left: drunk lady smiling drunkenly at her reflection in the mirror 2)  Front left: Drunken guest vomiting drunkenly on little girl's dress 3) Far right: Drunken woman about to "wardrobe malfunction"

WELCOME TO BEANFEAST!

"What the hell is Beanfeast?" you wonder. Well, I'm glad you asked.

According to Wikipedia, Beanfeast was an annual dinner given by an employer for his workmen. Colloquially, it describes any jollification." In layman's terms, it's a rip-roaring good time bankrolled by the boss. The term "Beanfeast," (and its shorter form "beano) is fairly common in Britain, lesser known in the United States. (Although, after reading this Wikipedia, I am already planning a stateside Beano come December 2012...)

The origin of beanfest is uncertain. In short, despite several meetings of the historical minds, nobody is really sure what the hell was going on at Ye Olde Beano, but according to all the Beano art left behind, it's safe to assume everyone was tanked and the scene probably closely resembled  18th century period pieces featuring 1980s one-hit wonders. As tends to be the case, when all else fails - blame France. And that's exactly what historians did.

The most probable theory connects Beano to the French custom of a feast on Twelfth Night at which a cake with a single bean buried in it was served to party guests. He or she who had the good fortune to bite into the slice of cake in which the bean was concealed was dubbed "Bean King" or "Bean Queen." (And occasionally broke a tooth in the process, but I'm sure we can all agree an 18th century root canal is a small price to pay to be dubbed legume royalty...)

"What the hell?" you are probably wondering. "Why would anyone partake in such nonsense?" Let us take a moment to consider a couple things:

1) Drunk. Drunk! Everyone was drunk back in those days. Trying to ward off black death was a full-time, if not a little depressing, job. And if drinking moonshine from a goat bladder and burying beans in baked goods helped people get through the day - so be it.

2) More importantly, Beanfeast was essentially an old timey office party. And if you have ever been to ANY office party with an open bar, you know how people get. There is always that one guy who can't hold his appletinis and gets dismally tanked in an impressively short amount of time immediately before doing something incredibly, horrifyingly embarrassing in front of an audience of his peers and superiors. This directly precedes the phase in said colleague's professional life wherein he will always be referred to as "That guy who XYZ-ed at the 20XX Christmas party" ...and will be remembered as such for the rest of time.

3) Party games are FUN! For centuries, the human urge to combine friends + booze + friendly competition has lead to ingenuity in the field of fun. Just to name a few: "CORNHOLE" (because there is nothing creepy about replicating a bean bag toss you probably played in preschool and giving it an anatomically suggestive name that makes everyone think of ...not corn), "BEER PONG" (aka "Alcohol poisoning by the numbers"), and my personal favorites "TRUTH OR DARE" and "I NEVER." As it turns out, real life isn't anything like "Taxi Cab Confessions," and when you blabber about your past there are immediate, swift and sometimes terrible ramifications. You see, clouded judgment + self-disclosure in a bar makes for some mighty uncomfortable situations. And while your priest may be forgiving of the litany of things you indirectly confess to in an alcohol-induced haze, the spouse sitting next to you - not so much. AWK.WARD.

4) If reasons 1 - 3 simply haven't convinced you of the merits of Beanfeast, let me remind you of this: we live in a time where the "Forever Lazy" exists. Let ye who has never worn an adult onesie cast the first stone.

But I digress. Back to Beanfeast...

As far as historians can tell, the purpose of Beanfeast may be tied to a once-held popular belief that the weather for the ensuing year was determined by the weather of the twelve days between Christmas to Twelfth Night. Each individual night during this period was linked to a month in the forthcoming year. Thus the King of the Bean may have originally reigned for a period twelve days, his chief duty being the performance of magical ceremonies for ensuring good weather during the ensuing twelve months. I like to believe it somehow involved a Ribbon Dancer.

Alas, much like the life cycle of a butterfly (or a Kardashian marriage) life as a royal was brief and fleeting. A mere twelve days after ascending to the throne, the spell was broken and Bean King was stripped of his crown, thrust back into a pauper's world, with the likes of those who could not afford to shop at Whole Foods and Trader Joes.

THE END.

Airport Conversations and the Secret of Success

Every once in awhile someone will ask me what I do for a living. These conversations usually occur in the kinds of places where strangers feel compelled to carry on polite chitchat. In line at the grocery store. Doctor’s office waiting rooms. Airplanes waiting to be cleared for take-off. When I tell people I am a writer, they often respond in the same way I imagine I would respond if someone told me they traveled with the circus or roadied for Def Leppard in the 80s. An incredulous mix of shock and awe, with undertones of questioning my sanity. "That's...brave," they say. What they mean to say is, "How do creative people sleep at night knowing they could be one dry-spell away from the unemployment line?" I don't have an answer for that question. If you asked a thousand different creatives, you'd get a thousand different answers. I just know this is what I was meant to do.

I was born with an innate love for language – and all the power that came with it. My childhood scrapbook, a chronicle of tidbits from my early years stealthily pilfered and loving preserved by my mother’s hand, can attest to this.

As so often tends to be the case with keepsakes, many of these artifacts are truly terrible. In many instances, what once seemed like an staggering work of genius, now seems more like the literary equivalent of those coconut monkeys souvenirs people pick on on vacation in Cabo. Given a few decades to marinate (and fester) my early works now leave me awash in a nostalgic sea of horror and delight, reveling in the absurdity and purity of first love-inspired poems, drama-laden high school notes and even the occasional elementary school valentine.

Among the written wreckage, you will find classic hits such as: a third grade essay I wrote about my teacher’s best quality (her red fingernails), as well as a pillow-side plea asking “Molly” (the tooth fairy) to keep the pocket change and leave me a unicorn. There are cleverly written scripts starring my sister and I. Staged in the living room, those performances were a relentless negotiation (with an occasional musical number thrown in for good measure) as we tried to persuade our parents to get us puppies, ponies and, when we aimed our sights slightly lower, pizza.

Perhaps my favorite relic, however, is the neatly folded copy of a letter I sent to former Ohio governor George V. Voinovich. In the letter, I implore the governor to help me save the environment (and future of the world) by becoming a partner in my third grade fight against the formidable styrofoam lunch trays used in my elementary school cafeteria. Apparently Governor George was busy with other things, because he never did stop by to rally against lunch trays and the certain doom they would bring upon the world. He did, however, send me an autographed headshot and a letter encouraging me to “keep it up”. The day I received that piece of mail was one of the most thrilling afternoons of my young life.

When I was in high school, a college admissions counselor asked me what I wanted to do. “Write,” I said. She looked at me, laughed and said, “Write? You might as well go into philosophy. Writing is a useless degree.” I spent much of my early college experience fighting what I really wanted to do – and what I was good at – as a result of that single conversation.

While on delay in Charlotte over Christmas, I had one of the airport conversations I mentioned in the beginning of this post. I took a seat next to an older gentleman. In a sea of earbuds, laptops and ipads, he was the last of a dying breed, perusing the newspaper with a quiet sort of page-flipping dignity. We exchanged the usual pleasantries of strangers who are temporarily forced, more by inadequate airport seating than by choice, into each other’s lives and personal space. After a a few minutes of smalltalk, he asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was a writer, expecting the usual reaction.

Instead, he looked at me, smiled and said: “A writer is who you are. Writing is what you do. Never confuse the two.”

Brain Pickings recently featured a letter sent to a 16-year old Jackson Pollock by his father in 1928. In the excerpt, Pollock’s father writes, “[The secret to success is] to be fully awake to everything about you.”

It's a tidbit of wisdom that holds true for all of us. Whether a brand or an entrepreneur, a leader or a wandering soul. Whether a marketer trying to create powerful change for a client or a non-profit trying to powerful change in the world, a retiree closing one chapter or a college applicant just about to open a new one…it is by becoming fully awake to who we are that we are able to become courageous in what we do.

Popsicles, Sparklers and Creative Inspiration

Last weekend the weather was delightfully warm here in Greenville. The sun was shining, the birds were singing - it felt like spring. On one of several strolls with my dog, I came across three little boys playing with a box in their front yard. As I watched them play, it was obvious the box was not just a box. It was a fort, a playhouse, a tank, an infinite number of possibilities limited only by their imaginations. My Saturday stroll was a good reminder of how differently we think as children. When kids look at a box, they don't just see a box - they see possibilities. They see a box not as it is - but for everything it could be. Childhood is an infinite summer (even when it's just a winter reprieve in late January.) As time marches on, we begin thinking more concretely. We see a box where we see a box. Our days cease to be defined by quickly melting popsicles and tire swings, bellyflops and neighborhood games of "Kick-the-Can." We begin to mark our days and months with rituals of responsibility - bills paid, inboxes cleaned out, items marked off our TO DO list. Slowly, in a little boat for one, we allow the splishing and splashing of the tide to draw us out into the sea of adulthood, drifting further and further away from fun, imagination and possibility.

For the creative adult, we spend most of our lives trying to find a way to return to the eternal summer of childhood. A place where the mind and imagination work in harmony - one challenging the other to be better, do more and dream bigger. A time when mistakes were nothing to be feared, just a spark for improvisation. A moment when night writing with wildly twinkling sparklers made all of us feel like the poet laureate of our front yard.

Hemingway once said, "The thing is to become a master and in your old age to acquire the courage to do what children did when they knew nothing." I am inclined to agree.

Today I'm encouraging all of us to think differently. Tap into our imaginations. Change up the drive home. Stand on our heads. Challenge yourself to see something you've seen a thousand times before in a new light. Try to describe the taste of  a strawberry. Pick up a piece of sidewalk chalk and write a love letter to someone in your life. Practice seeing possibility instead of accepting reality. Find your inner child and give him/her a spin on the tire swing.

It's Wednesday, after all.

ps: I stumbled across this video over the weekend. A look at well-known logos through the eyes of a 5-year-old. If you haven't seen it - take a peek. And enjoy.

http://youtu.be/N4t3-__3MA0