Here's the Dish

Carnevale 2009

2009-02-22T17:27:00.000-08:00

Carnevale is, without a doubt, one of the best of our family feasts. Part of it owes, I believe, to the fact that we don't compete with the familial obligations some of our "usual suspects" have at other times. While the season of Carnevale is a tradition of the Church, this particular night, this Saturday night before Lent belongs to us. It is always a full house. It owes also to the simple fact that I cram as much butter, cream and eggs into the meal as possible. Carnevale means "farewell, meat" and we are determined to give Meat the happiest of send-offs. And finally, we do have time in the evening to share our Lenten intentions, a time that after 15 years with largely the same group of people, is very intimate. We bare our souls if we need to, laugh and weep as called for, and then promise to pray faithfully for each other in Lent. Commitments bound together by fat and chocolate...makes for a pretty strong bond.

We started with glasses of champagne and some Warmed Olives with Orange Zest which yes, is almost ridiculously predictable but you see, too much food is coming down the pike. I don't want everyone full already when they come to the table).

The amuse bouche of Toasted Cheese Sandwiches & Tomato "Soup" was most amusing. I was just ding-dongily proud of myself for this little smarty pants tribute to a classic comfort food combo. The toasted cheese sandwiches were made in the traditional manner...with lots of butter and mayonaisse. The "soup" was diced sugar plum tomatoes (one tiny tom to a spoon) drowned in Bloody Mary mix with a drizzle of vodka and a sprinkle of salt. (The children had a Virgin Mary version). It was delicious.
The soup course was Roasted Red Pepper Soup with a Jalapeno Cream Float and I ask you, is there anything easier than roasting peppers over a gas flame, peeling them, then setting them to simmer in beef stock? A spin with the immersion blender to puree the peppers, half again as much cream added to the mix and salt and pepper to taste. The float was a seeded and diced jalapeno slowly warmed in cream and then beated just a tiny bit to thicken so it would float on the surface of the red pepper soup. So simple. But in a martini glass it suddenly seems ever so grand.

Celery and Parmesan Salad followed the soup act. I've sung the praises of this Provencal salad before. Crazy sounding combo but it is light, refreshing and delicious.

The entree was a big steaming plate full of Roast Leg of Lamb, Mixed Vegetables with Rouille, and Potato Casserole. The Spouse outdid himself this year...the lamb was a particularly beautiful piece of meat and his judicious use of salt, garlic and rosemary brought it to perfection.
The side dishes were not from scratch and while I do not make a virtue of "semi-homemade", nor do I believe that food only "counts" if everthing was built from the ground up, so to speak. So the veggies were a wonderful frozen melange from Trader Joe's, jazzed up with a rouille - aioli with cayenne and saffron...only I couldn't find the saffron and the potatoes, well, they are only the second best potatoes you'll ever eat. (I reserve the right to find something even more spectacular...I just haven't yet).

Bertie’s Potato Casserole

a 2-pound package frozen cubed (Southern style) hash brown potatoes
1 ½ sticks of butter
1 pint sour cream
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 tsp. garlic salt
1 c. shredded Cheddar cheese
1 c. chopped onion
2 cups crushed corn flakes

Melt butter and reserve ½ cup. Combine this ½ c. butter with the corn flakes and set aside.

Mix all other ingredients together. Place in greased 9 x 13 casserole. Spread corn flakes over the potato mixture.

Bake at 350° for one hour.

Can be made a day ahead and baked before serving.

And the culinary finale was Chocolate Gourmandise, a Patricia Wells' recipe that has become the stock dessert of this feast. Rich, chocolatey and molten and the hardest part of the recipe is buttering and flouring the ramekins.
Now it is Monday morning and we're still cleaning the kitchen but it was, as always, worth it. Round the time we're getting very, very tired of simple Lenten fare we'll remember Carnevale and be content to know that our parting with meat was only temporary. Meat, like spring, will come again.

Pure Egg Goodness

2008-07-29T10:24:00.001-07:00

Much as I enjoy cooking and live to fathom depths of flavor, explore new ingredients and master the fundamentals of various cuisines; much as I love to explore and read and cook and eat, I honestly believe that some of my favorite dishes are the simplest to prepare.

I've been exploring the riches offered by a superfantastic little bakery in our neighborhood and last week I picked up a loave of their challah.

"What are you gonna do with that?" asked The Spouse.

"Toast it".

Sure, challah makes terrific French toast and is perfect for dipping into chicken soup but for my money its best and highest use is as toast, topped with a poached egg.

Now, poached eggs and toast is a delicious and pretty nutritious way to start your day. But for it to be really good, the yolks must be runny, so they ooze nicely over and into the bread, mingling with the butter and crowned by just the merest bit more than a mere bit of salt. Pepper optional.

When I was a kid, my mom had one of those aluminum egg poaching pans that had the little individual egg cups. The eggs would slide out, perfect little round shapes. Although the yolks were usually firmly set, which was fine because we didn't eat our poached eggs on toast, we ate them with toast. Whole different culinary experience.

I've never had a proper poacher but I have figured out the perfect method to get the eggs exactly the way I like them.

Poached Eggs on Toast

2 eggs
2 slices challah bread
butter to taste
salt to taste

Fill a small saucepan half full of water. Bring to a boil. (This is the point where I preheat my Dualit toaster, which is not an inconvenience because it pretty much acts as my timer).

Crack eggs into a bowl. When water has come to a full boil, gently slide eggs from bowl into hot water. Remove from heat immediately and cover with a lid.

Toast your bread. Butter it.

With a slotted spoon, remove poached eggs from water, making sure they drain well. (The moistness of toast soaking up egg yolk is very different, and far more pleasing, than the sog of toast that has poaching water on it. Eeewww). Place eggs on toast. Salt to taste. Add pepper if desired.

Poached eggs on toast can't wait. You have to sit down and enjoy it right away. Which I have for the last 2 mornings straight. Which is also why I haven't included a picture. Perhaps I'll try tomorrow, when I have it again.

Kitchen Essentials: Mandarin Olive Oil

2008-04-23T10:10:00.000-07:00

Oliviers and Co., otherwise known as O&Co., is a specialty shop that features a wide range of olive oil (and a few other treats). I wandered into their shop a couple of years ago and was captivated by their mandarin olive oil. The flavor is spectacular. They use a very light oil, which conveys the floral notes of the orange straight to your olfactories. Then you drool.

I stopped by the other day to pick up a tin and they had some for 50% off. "It's getting old," said the shopkeeper. "So you'll have to use it within a year". Oh. Really? I think I can manage that. So now I have 2 tins for the price of one. Gotta love that.

I use this oil somewhat sparingly. (It is regularly priced at $19.50 for 8.4 fl. oz). It sings on my signature salad or on a crazy but fabulous salad of oranges and olives. (Trust me). It is beautiful in a marinade. And sometimes, when no one is looking, I just drink a spoonful of it straight. Healthy and delicious.

Pork Tenderloin. With a Sauce.

2008-04-23T09:39:00.000-07:00

I have an odd relationship with pork. Bacon is, of course, essential. Ham is a dream. But if I never ate another pork chop or pork roast for the rest of my days, I would be just fine. Oh, sure, I've had some delicious pork. Seattle Coffee Girl makes a posole that is to die for. Once I had a boneless pork chop at a place in Portland. (The name of the restaurant totally escapes me). It was lightly smoked and cooked with some sort of Thai inspired sauce. It was awesome. But those are the exception. The rule is that most pork chops and roasts, no matter what you do, seem to end up rather dry. The only other cut of pork I really enjoy is the tenderloin. Now that is some good eating.

I have a recipe for pork kebobs that are marinated in orange juice and thyme. Quite a yummy summertime treat. I was craving it the other day but as we were in the midst of impossible April hail storms, grilling was out of the question. Plus I was feeling lazy and didn't feel like cubing up the tenderloin anyway. So I thought some more about the original dish and came up with this. It was very tasty.

Roast Pork Tenderloin with Orange- Thyme Beurre Blanc

1 pork tenderloin
4 oranges
several sprigs of thyme
crushed garlic
mandarin orange olive oil (regular olive oil if you don't have it)
salt and pepper
2 T. brandy
3-4 T. unsalted butter

Into a bowl (large enough to hold the tenderloin) zest the oranges, reserving 2 T. of zest for later. Juice the oranges. Pull the leaves off the thyme sprigs, reserving some for garnish, and add the thyme leaves, along with a tablespoon or so of crushed garlic. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Whisk in 1/4 c. or so of the olive oil. Place tenderloin in the marinade, turning to coat. Cover the dish and place in fridge for a few hours (or overnight).

Preheat the oven to 425°.

Remove pork from marinade and place on a rack in a shallow baking dish. Roast in oven for about 30 minutes, until internal temperature reaches 160°. Remove tenderloin from oven, cover loosely with foil and allow to rest 10 minutes.

While pork is resting, place marinade in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Turn down heat to medium high, add the brandy, and continue cooking until it begins to reduce. (I know some people say you shouldn't use the marinade once raw meat has been in it but I usually do and I'm not dead yet. If the idea skeeves you out, just make a fresh batch of the marinade. I won't tell).

Stir in the butter, a tablespoon at a time, allowing it to melt completely before adding the next tablespoon.

Slice tenderloin and arrange on a serving plate. Spoon the beurre blanc over the pork. Garnish with remaining orange zest and thyme leaves.

Bread and Butter Pudding

2008-04-21T06:18:00.000-07:00

We are not big dessert eaters; which is to say, I don't plan and execute dessert for every meal. We all enjoy the occasional sweetie, but The Child is the only one who regularly asks "What's for dessert". (Hope springs eternal, I suppose. She would consume her weight in sugar if allowed).

The thing about dessert is that all too often it calls to mind huge effort: separating eggs and frothing and macerating things, folding, whipping, and all the other (when you think on it) rather violent sounding contortions required for a mere slice of something after the roast, especially on a weeknight. Or maybe I just don't make dessert often enough and so make these associations because of the fuss I go to for holidays and occasions.

This is a dessert that bursts that particular bubble and that's a good thing because really, a sense of occasion is just as important as the occasional occasion.

In my experience a bread pudding has always been something rather heavy, studded with far too many raisins, not especially sweet and if there was any edibility, it stemmed from some kind of tasty sauce which did nothing to alleviate the overall density of the so-called dessert. (I apologize to those of you who adore that sort of pudding. You can have my serving).

This pudding is nothing like any of that. Which is why I love it. And why I make it every once in a while to the delight of the entire family. There are rarely any left-overs but if there are, they make a tasty breakfast.

The concept here is not unlike a pain perdue (lost bread), where the bread soaks in a lovely little bath before cooking. Which is probably why it is equally nice for breakfast as for after-dinner.

I serve this with strawberries but there's no reason you couldn't use any fruit you fancy and last night The Spouse was wondering if there was some whipped cream in the house (there wasn't). This is a dessert that makes a very nice starting point to any additions or amendments you might want to make.

Bread & Butter Pudding with Strawberries

4 large eggs
1 c. half-and-half
11 T. sugar
2 T. dark rum
1 T. pure vanilla extract
8 slices white bread (something like country potato, with a bit of heft to it)
4 T. unsalted butter, softened
1 pint fresh strawberries, hulled & sliced

Whisk together the eggs, half-and-half, 7 T. of sugar, rum and vanilla. Set aside

Spread top of each slice of bread with generous amount of butter. Cut slices in half on the diagonal. Overlap bread slices in oiled 9x13 pan. Pour egg mixture over bread and let stand 1 hour.

Heat oven to 400° degrees. Sprinkle pudding with 2 T. sugar. Bake until puffed and golden brown, and pudding has set, about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, combine strawberries with remaining 2 T. sugar. Let stand while pudding bakes. Serve strawberries with bread pudding.

Twists: Lemon Tart with Somethin' Extra

2008-03-24T13:53:00.000-07:00

Last summer, when we were in Chicago, I got to spend some time with my dear friend Nicole, who lives in France but was in the States visiting family. When we met she gave me this pretty little jar saying, "I have no idea what you do with it but I thought it was fun". Confit de violette? Violet jelly?

Well, sure. I'm not at all opposed to the use of flowers in cuisine. I have had some very lovely experiences with edible flowers.. the peppery nip of nasturtiums in a summer salad, a breathtaking rose ice cream...and though I say it myself, I do some rather nice things with lavender honey (grilled duck breast and a chicken/chevre thing, to name a few).

When I got the confit home I opened it. Holy mother! The fragrance was intense. Intense in a "dab some, sparingly, on all your pulse points" sort of way. Which gave me pause because the complaint I hear most often about flowers in food is that it makes the diner think she is eating linen water. In fact, 2 or 3 people said words to that effect at my Easter table last night. Only in this case, they were comments of surprise, because the guests were eating a lemon curd tart with confit de violette and they loved it.

It had occurred to me that the light purple of the confit would be a nice accent on the bright yellow of the tart. To confirm, I had tasted the confit and, to my surprise, the strong perfume wasn't present in the jelly itself. Oh, it tasted of violet to be sure, but it had a much mellower, less perfumy flavor than I had thought it would. So, what the heck?

The only problem was that when I tried to pipe the jelly onto the tart it was entirely too slippery to make the little beads I'd envisioned. So I ended up just spreading it gently onto the tart, which was then covered with a layer of whipped cream.

It was a magical pairing. The tongue first took the tart of the lemon, barely noticing the violet until the floral notes opened up in the back of the throat...a little sweet whisper on a cloud of lemon and cream.

The good news? The product (and many other delicious sounding treats) are available on the web for only a few euros per pot.

Lemon Curd Tart with Confit de violette

Prebake pie crust in a tart pan and allow to cool.

Lemon Curd
1 c. sugar
3/4 c. unsalted butter
1/3 c. fresh lemon juice
zest from the lemons
3 eggs plus 1 egg yolk at room temperature

In the top of a double boiler, combine the sugar, butter, juice and zest. Place pan directly over moderate high heat and stir until sugar melts.

Beat together the eggs and egg yolk and strain into hot mixture, stirring constantly. (You don't need to temper the eggs if you stir quickly enough because it leaks slowly through the strainer).
Cook over barely simmering water for 15-20 minutes, stirring often, or until the mixture has thickened quite a bit. It will thicken up more as it cools but you want it to have a good start.

Pour the curd into a jar or bowl, cover tightly with buttered waxed paper and chill. The curd will keep for up to 3 weeks.

Note: you can make orange curd in the same way; simply substitute orange juice and zest for the lemon.

Whipped Cream
1 c. heavy cream
1/2 t. vanilla extract
2 T. sugar

Whip cream until thick. Stir in vanilla and sugar.

Spread crust with lemon curd. Dot confit on top of the curd. Spread with a thin layer of whipped cream

I would have taken a prettier picture of the tart but it was practically gone before I remembered to pull out the camera.

Thoughts for Easter

2008-03-22T15:04:00.000-07:00

No, not those thoughts. Not the deep ones of light searing the darkness, life triumphing over death. I'll save those for church tonight and the festal celebrations tomorrow. Right now I'm engaged in the other sort of Paschal thinking, the sort that is to do with lists and last minute errands even though I thought I'd planned so well. (How is it 3 dozen eggs really isn't enough for one simple celebration?) What I do not have to think about, too much, is the menu. For the last several years it's been pretty much the same thing for the simple reason that once I hit on the crowd pleasing combination, why mess with it?

The guests who join us for Easter are in our home for other feasts throughout the year, feasts where we mix it up. They know what we can do. But Easter is one of those feasts which, for us, is a liturgical menu ...what we always eat.

My darling Kimberly Ann was sniffing around for some Easter inspiration. As I've waited until Holy Saturday to write anything it may be too little too late but here's our menu, with a recipe or two.

For aperitif we're having green olives and peanuts. I admit, this one is being phoned in a little this year. Usually there is a clever bruschetta or something. But we are also having people in for brunch in the morning and a girl has her limits.

Other than the cocktail hour, there aren't going to be any courses. We'll just have a big ol' family style dinner, the centerpiece of which will be what we all lovingly refer to as the BAH, the Big Ass Ham. The Spouse will be in charge of this beauty and the recipe, with nary a variation is straight out of Martha Stewart. The glaze is delicious.

Accompanying the ham will be these mind-blowing and marvelous biscuits:

Molasses Biscuits

2 c. all purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 T. packed brown sugar
½ t. coarse salt
1 T. baking powder
¼ t. ground ginger
¼ t. ground cloves
1/8 t. freshly ground pepper
6 T. unsalted butter, chilled and cut in to pieces
¼ c. plus 2 T. milk
¼ c. molasses
1 T. heavy cream, for brushing

Preheat the oven to 375° with rack in center. Sift together flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, ginger, cloves and pepper. Using a pastry blender cut in butter until the mixture resembles coarse meal.

In a small bowl, whisk together milk and molasses until completely combined. Make a well in the center of the flour mixture, and add the milk-molasses mixture.

Using a fork, stir the mixture until it almost comes together. Gently bring the remaining smaller bits together with fingertips. Transfer dough to a very lightly floured surface, and pat into a flattened circle about 6 inches in diameter and ¾ inch thick. Cut dough into rounds with a 2-inch cookie cutter. Gently press the excess dough together, and cut several more biscuits. Gently press the remaining excess dough together one more time, and cut one more biscuit.

Transfer biscuits to a parchment-lined baking sheet; generously brush tops with cream. Bake until golden brown, 24-26 minutes. Place biscuits on a wire rack to cool slightly.

Recipe makes 10 biscuits. I strongly recommend you double or even triple the recipe if you are serving more than 4 people. Seriously. I don't lie about these things. Or make little mini-biscuits but even then, they will be inhaled so be prepared.

There will be two casseroles on the table, the classic green bean and a potato dish. And yes, I'm making the green bean casserole you're thinking of and go ahead and smirk if you wish, because they all did the first Easter I served it. Guess what is never left over?

I do make a few changes to the standard recipe. In the first place, I don't use tinned beans because that's just evil. Rather, I substitute a 24 oz. bag of Trader Joe's frozen haricot vert, cooked and drained. I also like to chop and saute a cup or so of crimini mushrooms, just to add a little more character to the dish.

Another regular feature of the Easter board is a roasted beet salad. The Spouse does not care for beets. I don't know how this particular fact escaped the vetting process before we were married. I might have made a different choice.

I adore beets and invented this in their honor. It is particularly pretty if you can find different colored beets but Easter came too early this year so I'll be using regular ol' sweet beets.

Roasted Beet and Orange Salad

2-3# beets
4 oranges
1 t. Dijon mustard
rice wine vinegar
extra virgin olive oil

Preheat oven to 450°.

Trim beets if they still have greens, leaving on about 1 inch of stem. Poke beets a few times with a skewer and place on a baking sheet. Place in oven and roast until tender but not soft. (I can't give you a time because it depends entirely upon the size of your beets. The ones I'm roasting at the moment are mammoth so I'm not even going to check them for at least 40 minutes).

When done, remove beets from oven and allow to cool thoroughly. (You can do this a day ahead if you want).

While the beets cool, zest all the oranges, setting aside the zest. Peel the oranges. One at a time, holding the fruit over a bowl, supreme the oranges. (This is nothing more than slicing the flesh away from the membrane, section by section. The oranges will look like jewels and it's not at all difficult). When you have finished removing the fruit, give the membrane a good squeeze to get any remaining juice.

When beets are cool, peel off skins and slice (or cube) the beets.

For the dressing, whisk the Dijon into the orange juice. Add 1/4 c. rice wine vinegar and whisk in enough olive oil to emulsify dressing. Taste and adjust seasoning.

If using one kind of beet, toss the sliced beets in the dressing and arrange on serving plate. Lay supremed oranges over beets and drizzle with remaining dressing. Sprinkle with orange zest.

Salad may be served cold or at room temperature.

Note: if you are using multi-colored beets, toss each color in the dressing separately, leaving the darkest beets for last. If you toss everything together it will all look like the red beets and then what was the point of buying different colors?

Note 2: Sometimes I add a chiffonade of basil, if you can get your hands on some fresh. Otherwise, don't bother.

Have I forgotten anything? Oh, of course, dessert.

Easter dessert is typically a non-chocolate affair. No one notices. The Neighbor always brings a boisterously rich triple coconut cream pie from one of Tom Douglas' restaurants. I counteract all that richness (if only in theory) with a lemon curd tart. This year I'm going to try and decorate it with some violet confit that Nicole gave me last summer. It is, quite simply, a pot of violet jam. She had no idea what I'd use it for, she just thought it was pretty. It is. It smells quite strongly of violets (which is the loveliest of perfumes but perfume is the operative word) but the taste is much more delicate. (Don't ask me how they did that. Those French). I'm thinking of piping little beads of the confit around the edge of the tart or maybe even attempting violet-like flowers. But I'm not really handy with a piping bag so it will probably be beads or strips or swirls or something. But the pale purple against the deep yellow of the curd should be very pretty and spring-like, I think. Which is the point.

So that is what we are having and now, if you'll excuse me, I still have to start the dough for hot cross buns and prep the casseroles so I can have a good long Easter nap after brunch tomorrow.

Happy Easter!

Oh For Crying Out Loud: Celery and Parmesan Salad

2008-02-14T18:43:00.001-08:00

In the interest of preserving what's left of international goodwill between America and Europe, I now offer the recipe for Celery and Parmesan salad, a standard feature of our Carnevale menu. Willym is starting to stay up nights over this.

And why do we regularly serve this at Carnevale? Because the ancient Romans believed that celery leaves applied to the head was a prophylaxis against hangover. I think eating the celery is more effective. This is also a very light and refreshing salad, almost a palate cleanser. The nuttiness of the Parmesan is a perfect combination for the celery. It sounds like a wild combination but it totally works.

This recipe is an adaptation of one found in Patricia Wells' At Home in Provence, which I've already told you is one of the most excellent cookbooks ever.

Celery and Parmesan Salad

3-4 ribs of celery, sliced medium thin
Parmesan cheese
2 lemons
extra virgin olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

Juice the lemons and measure liquid. Whisk together with an equal amount of olive oil and season to taste with salt and pepper.

Toss the celery slices with the dressing and plate. Using a vegetable peeler, shave long strips of Parmesan onto celery slices, 2-3 slices per salad plate.

Valentine's Day: Chicken and Artichoke Heart Pot Pies

2008-02-14T10:08:00.001-08:00

Oh, mercy. I have so many recipes to share with you I don't even know where to start. But now there is a double request for something I mentioned in the comments of my friend Auld Hat's blog and so now I must comply.

About 8 years ago, The Spouse was sent to Philadelphia on a job. It was supposed to last 6 weeks. It lasted 6 months. He came home every other weekend, but it happened that Valentine's Day fell on one of the off weekends. I was bitterly unhappy about the fact that he was still in Philly at all so his absence on Valentine's Day stuck the knife in a little further. Granted, we don't normally make much of a fuss about VD but hey, when you're married you're supposed to have a built-in date for the big holidays, right?

I decided not to take it lying down and planned a superfantastic party. I invited my closest single girlfriends for dinner. Riffing off an idea of Ina Garten's, we had a simple but elegant little meal, champagne, chocolates, the works and then sat down for some entertainment. I had instructed each guess to bring some of her favorite romantic movies, cued up what she deemed the most romantic scene, and while we at our dessert and drank more wine, we watched all the clips. It was most awesome fun and actually, one of the best Valentine's days I've ever had.

Dinner was a variation on one of my signature dishes, chicken pot pie, tweaked to give it just a smidge more elegance for the occasion. Of course, I did it out of my head so the proportions here are somewhat variable but you get the idea. You could make this as one big dish but for a more refined presentation I made it up in individual ramekins.

Chicken and Artichoke Heart Pot Pie

3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 quart chicken stock
1 package frozen artichoke hearts, thawed
1 shallot, finely diced
2 T. butter
2 T. flour
1/2 c. cream
dillweed
salt & white pepper
puff pastry

Preheat oven to 400° (or whatever temperature is called for on your puff pastry package).

Poach the chicken breasts in the stock until cooked through. Remove breasts and chop into mouthsize chunks. Conserve the stock.

In a large saucepan, saute the shallots in the butter, over medium high heat. When they are soft, add the flour and stir for one minute. Add in 2 cups of the chicken stock and cook until it begins to thicken. Add the cream and continue stirring and cooking until you have a lovely sauce. Season to taste with dillweed, salt and white pepper. When the sauce is to your liking, add the chunks of chicken and the artichoke hearts, stirring them through the sauce. Turn the heat down to low to keep everything warm while you prepare the puff pastry.

Roll out the pastry according to the package directions (unless you happen to be one of those obsessive people who makes his/her own puff pastry). Using a large heart shaped cookie cutter, cut out 6 pastry hearts.

Place 6 ramekins on a baking sheet. Ladle chicken and artichokes into the ramekins, making sure to get a nice distribution of both meat and veg, and top the ramers off with sauce. Place a pastry heart over each and brush with water.

Bake until pastry hearts puff up and are golden brown.

Big Food

2008-01-31T06:57:00.001-08:00

Lent is coming early this year. Really early. Like, next week. Which means that this Saturday evening we'll be hosting our annual Carnevale (literally, "farewell, meat") dinner party. I don't usually go public with the menu before the event, because at least one guest reads this blog, but since I've already lost the menu once and just found it again, I thought I'd commit it to the ethers just in case. SCG, you should stop reading now and if you don't, you have to swear on a stack of chocolate bars that you won't tell anyone else. 'K?

Right.

The driving force behind this menu is to incorporate as much butter, fat and alcohol into the meal as possible. Not necessarily a heat-healthy approach, were one to eat like this every day. But since the purpose of Carnevale is to get all the feasting and revelry out of our system before the 6 week fast of Lent, that's how we roll.

Apertif

Fromage Fort with crackers

Champagne

Amuse Bouche

Blinis with salmon roe and creme fraiche

iii

Wild Mushroom & Sherry Bisque with Garlic Toasts

Parmesan and Celery Salad

(Sounds nutty but it's very clean and refreshing. Plus the ancient Romans used to put celery leaves on their heads to prevent hangovers. I think eating the celery (and drinking a lot of water during the meal) is the best preventative).

Roast Leg of Lamb with Potatoes and Artichokes

Roasted Provencal Tomatoes

Saffron Rice

Molten Chocolate Cakes

(we'll drink framboise with it, if I can find some)

I. Can't. Wait.

The Last Yam Recipe You'll Ever Need

2008-01-06T08:12:00.000-08:00

Bold words, I know. But try these and see if you don't agree.

Our Christmas feast was a Caribbean theme: tostones (twice-fried plantains) with black bean and mango salsa, jerk pork, rice and pigeon peas, sesame bread and ginger-lime yams.

(There was Key Lime pie for dessert).

Everything tasted terrific but for my palate, the yams were the brightest star in a constellation of shining dishes.

Oh. My. Yord. I've used ginger with yams before; seems like a natural and delicious pairing. But there was something nigh unto magical about the way the lime ingratiated itself with the rest of the flavors. It was subtle in the "what am I tasting here?" sort of way but it wasn't hiding, either. Perhaps it was the touch of brightness the lime lent to what can otherwise be, let's face it, a somewhat cloying dish. And this was sweet...you could shove it between 2 layers of pate brisee and be pretty happy, I reckon...but the emphasis wasn't on the sugar. That really acted only to hold things together and enhance the natural sweetness of the yams.

It was also super quick to prepare, always a bonus. Super quick, that is, assuming you own a mandolin (the cutting sort, of course, not the musical sort). The yams should be sliced thin.

This dish was so good that I made it the following weekend for our annual Sing for Your Supper (turkey) dinner. And guess what? I totally forgot the ginger and the yams were still outrageously "'may I please have some more', no leftovers" good. Ginger-Lime Yams

1/3 cup all-purpose flour
10 cups thinly sliced peeled yams (about 3 pounds)
1/4 cup butter
1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
zest of one lime
2 T. fresh lime juice (and I'm sure you aren't the sort to do this anyway but you must promise to use fresh lime juice, not that skanky stuff that comes in a lime-shaped squeezey toy)
zest of one orange
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, peeled and grated
1 teaspoon soy sauce
little pinch of salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Preheat oven to 425°.

Combine flour and thin sliced yams in a large bowl and toss to coat.

Melt butter in a small saucepan over low heat. Add sugar and remaining ingredients. Cook over medium heat, stirring, until the sugar dissolves.

Pour butter-sugar mixture over yams; toss well. Spoon mixture into a shallow 2-quart casserole dish coated with cooking spray.

Cover and bake at 425° for 55 minutes or until tender. Let stand 10 minutes.

Christmas Time Is Here! What's for Dinner?

2007-12-21T11:03:00.000-08:00

The easiest menu of the year is the one for Christmas week, based as it is on our family traditions. Christmas Eve is soup and bread, there's a feast on Christmas (the menu changes year to year, as we are wont to celebrate a different cuisine each year. This year we're doing Caribbean). Boxing Day, for us, is called Non Sans Jammie which is bad and probably inaccurate French for "Never out of your jammies". On that day we lie about all day, watching our collection of Christmas movies. I used to make Boxing Day Cassoulet, using the left-over meat from Christmas dinner, until I realized that I was in the kitchen cooking instead of lounging, so now we have the cassoulet on the 3rd day of Christmas.

All this suits me very well, a flurry of baking and roasting in the run-up to Christmas and then a few days of relative leisure in the kitchen. Both the flurry and the not so speak to my attitude toward the holidays...lots of good food, lots of time to lavish on loved ones.

Merry Christmas!

What's for Dinner?

December 21-December 27

Friday

Mexican Lasagna

Saturday

Teriyaki Beef

Steamed Rice

Stir fried Bok Choy

Sunday

Chicken in Chutney Crust

Cauliflower and Cheese

Couscous

Monday

Christmas Eve

Cream of Roasted Pepper Soup

Noel Loaf

Mixed Greens & Pears in Shallot Vinaigrette

Tuesday

Christmas Morning

Ham and Cheese Brioche

Satsumas

Mimosas

Christmas Feast

Black Bean and Mango Salsa

Fried Plantains

Jerk Pork Roast

Pigeon Peas and Rice

Ginger-Lime Sweet Potatoes

Sesame Bread

Key Lime Pie

Wednesday

Non Sans Jammie

Cold Cut & Cheese Platter with Rolls

Crudite

Satsumas (again with the satsumas...the ultimate Christmas fruit!)

Thursday

Boxing Day Cassoulet

Green Salad

Lots of Crusty Bread

Christmas Tradition: Eggnog Cake

2007-12-20T08:30:00.001-08:00

A couple years ago I'd gone to pick up The Child from a playdate. The mom was busy in her kitchen, making a raft of eggnog cakes for her family gathering. The house smelled like heaven and made me fiercely hungry so even though I don't usually have sweets in the afternoon, I happily accepted her offer of a slice. The cake was wonderful. Moist and satisfying, but not too rich. I'm not even the biggest fan of cake, much preferring pie as a rule, but this cake was delightful. I begged for the recipe.

At first my friend was hesitant, possibly even a little shamefaced. I began to think she was one of those people who doesn't share recipes (rather a huge character flaw in my book but there are people like that). Then she looked around a little conspiratorially and softly said, "Well, if I give it to you, you have to promise that you'll never tell anyone where it came from".

An odd request, but one with which I was willing to comply. "But why?" I asked. "Did you steal it from the CIA?"

"No, it's just that...well..." and her voice lowered to a whisper. "It calls for cake mix".

Oh. Is that all?

Personally, I find nothing remotely shameful in using cake mix. In fact, as someone who has made her share of genoise and sponge cake from scratch, I don’t know why one would bother when a mix will do quite ably. (Health concerns, which are legit, can be addressed by purchasing one of the many natural/organic products on the market. Trader Joe’s has some excellent ones and no, they aren’t paying me to say that). There are times and places for mixing up a cake from scratch but I've compared notes with a number of very competent bakers and we all agree that the average and even above-average person cannot tell the difference.

I have a baking pan that makes 6 baby bundt cakes. They are more ample than a cupcake, just the right size for dessert. Or tea. Or breakfast. They are also very pretty, simply dusted with some confectioner's sugar. I've taken to mixing up several batches, wrapping them in cellophane with a pretty ribbon for gifts. It's my tradition to give them out to all the teachers and staff at The Child's school. Actually, the tradition was forced on me; after giving them out the first time I started being asked, ever so coyly, by various folks if they'd be getting another eggnog cake "this year". Hey, you give the people what they want.

These cakes also freeze well so there are always a few on hand for last minute gifts or unexpected guests. Which is a nice thing to have in your back pocket during the holidays.

So here is the recipe, sans the name of the angel who gave it to me. Which is really too bad, because she deserves the credit. But a promise is a promise.

Eggnog Pound Cake

1 package yellow cake mix
1/8 tsp. nutmeg
2 eggs
1 1/2 cups commercial eggnog
2 tbs. rum (or brandy or sherry, pretty much anything but tequila or gin)
1/4 cup butter, melted

Combine cake mix, nutmeg, eggs, eggnog, melted butter and liquor in a large mixing bowl.

Beat with electric mixer about 4 minutes or 450 strokes with a whisk. Pour batter into greased 10 " bundt or tube pan.

Bake in 350 oven 45-55 min. or until a long wooden skewer inserted in the thickest portion comes out clean.

Cool in pan 10 minutes: invert cake onto a rack and cool thoroughly.

Sprinkle with confectioner’s sugar.

Note: I am a sucker for bundt pans. Williams Sonoma carries a line of very beautiful ones, in all sorts of amazing designs. But the first few times I used them the cakes wouldn't release from the pan. (I made a number of trifles back then). You just can't properly grease and flour a pan that doesn't have straight sides. I have finally figured out the trick: those wonderful cooking sprays that include flour. You can cover all the interstices of the design, it's no where near as messy as fussing with oil and flour and the cakes pop out with their designs in sharp relief.

Christmas Eve Ritual

2007-12-19T06:53:00.000-08:00

I love soup. I love just about every kind of soup there is. I love silky bisque composed of nothing but the essential flavor of one or two ingredients plus cream. I love big, chunky soup full of vegetables and pasta, shimmering in a tomato broth. To this day, after a two week stint in Martha's Vineyard when all we ate was clams the only way I can enjoy the little bivalves is in chowder. But oh, what enjoyment...little bits of clam and tiny cubes of potato bathed in sea-tinged cream - again with the cream.

When I was a singleton I ate a lot of soup. I could make a big pot of it, stowing away the bulk in the freezer for any time. I probably had soup at least twice a week, if not more. I experimented with "exotic" soup during that period: carrot soup, lentil soup...I tried to recreate my Mum's potato and corn chowder, which never tasted quite as amazing as hers but would do.

I was a big fan of avgolemano, that glorious Greek combination of lemon, chicken and rice. One year I worked the lunch shift at a Greek restaurant. I had to be at work by 10am, for an 11am opening. Since most nights I was out clubbing, and since the restaurant was a 5 minute walk from my flat, I would roll out of bed at 9:45, pull on a skirt and blouse and hie to the restaurant. I'd pour myself a cup of coffee, dip up a bowl of fresh avgo and that was my breakfast every morning for a year. I never grew tired of it. Thick and yellow but with that bright hit of lemon...it was gorgeous soup.

But alas and alack, I married a man who is not a fan of soup. He enjoys a good stew, thick with chunks of meat, but soup not so much. He hates minestrone, loathes tomato soup and merely tolerates the rich bisques I sometimes make for dinner parties, but only because it is one course and I usually serve the soup in martini glasses (for a more dramatic presentation, don't you know) and so it is over quickly.

Most of the time I don't mind the absence of soup from our menu. But in the winter it is a challenge because these are the days that cry out for soup. Not just for the satisfying warmth of a bowlful, perhaps with a dollop of sour cream and always with some nice, crusty bread for dipping but also for the satisfaction of an afternoon that is perfumed by a big kettle of something simmering away on the hob. Sigh.

There is one time when I manage to get away with soup for dinner and that is Christmas Eve. That day is always a busy one, what with us waiting until then to put up the tree and green the house. There is the last of the wrapping to do and the first of the preparations for the next day's feast. And then there is the late afternoon get-together at the grand and stately Sorrento Hotel with SCG and her family before going off to hold our places in the Cathedral for the 5:30 vigil Mass. No time to think about dinner, plus we'll each some elegant and massively overpriced noshes at the hotel. That will hold us but we'll be a little peckish by the time we return home, around 7pm and by then I'll have no interest in preparing a "real" dinner.

Soup is the convenient choice, but it is more than that. My best friend from college days was married right after we graduated and the traditions she and her husband instituted were very influential. To my mind, everything they did was tinged with elegance and romance. They always had soup and bread and wine on Christmas Eve and that became my standard. I too began to have such a supper, whether I was dating someone at the time or not. That meal was imbued with ritual. There was (still is) a French bakery in the Public Market and I would go down to get a fresh loaf of bread for the Christmas Eve soup, something round and crusty, with the word Noel written out in dough. (Not living as close to the Market these days, I have foregone that bit of the tradition, although I sometimes make my own loaf and decorate it for the season).

So it is that I still serve a soup supper on Christmas Eve. All that is required is to warm the soup, make a quick salad and serve. Still mostly full from whatever treats we had at the hotel, The Spouse is more tolerant of a liquid diet and I can indulge in a meal that is more than food; it is a cherished ritual. That Christmas Eve bowlful is a symbol to me of all the years when I didn't have someone. And now I do. Two someones, who I love very much. Even though one of them doesn't much care for soup.

Chantrelle Soup

Dust clean and slice 1 # fresh chantrelles. Saute in butter, with 1 clove finely minced garlic, until mushrooms are tender.

Deglaze pan with a shot of dry sherry.

Strain off liquid and reserve. Roughly chopped the mushrooms and set aside.

Return liquid to a large saucepan and add in one quart of rich chicken stock. Simmer to blend flavors, about 15 minutes.

Stir about 1/2 c. of cream into broth to thicken and add salt and pepper to taste.

Return mushrooms to broth to reheat.

Garnish soup with edible flowers.

What's For Dinner: Back to the Kitchen

2007-12-14T10:24:00.000-08:00

I must admit that since Thanksgiving, I've not been cooking so much as re-heating. We had a ton of left-overs from the holiday weekend, not just turkey et al but salmon and fajitas and too many sweeties. The last few weeks of menus have been more about defrosting what we already had and emptying out the panty by the expedient of tossing together this and that. "Oh! Looky! I forgot about that cod. Thaw that, throw in a can of this..." You get the idea.

Now the freezer and larder have a smidge more room in them and it's time to plan a proper menu again. Not to mention that some blog buddies have recently posted recipes that I simply must try.

Friday
Super Nachos

Saturday
Christmas Party at Dwayne and Mark's

Sunday
Kimberly Ann's Russian Stew

Monday
Spaghetti Amatriciana
Green Salad
Garlic Bread

Tuesday
Star Anise Pork Tenderloin
Green Tea Rice
Stir fry Broccoli

Wednesday
Seattle Coffee Girl's Chicken Paprikash
Buttered Noodles
Spinach Salad

Thursday
Turkey Cutlets (ironic, I know)
Cranberry Compote
"Stuffing" CousCous
Cauliflower in Cheese Sauce

Comfort Food

2007-12-13T11:23:00.000-08:00

We had to put our cat down the other day, which was very sad. The Child, in the throes of her pain, asked at one point, "Are we going to have something special for dinner tonight?"

I loved that. Of course, the "something special" in this case was Trader Joe's Orange Chicken, which is just a bag full of yum and makes us all very happy. But more to the point was that The Child has made the connection between occasion and food. The occasion needn't be a happy one, but events in want of noting require a dish.

Being around a table, breaking bread with those I love, is the holiest of symbols to me. I love that my child finds comfort in good food, even if it's pre-made. There's a big difference between eating to fill up emotional holes and appreciating its role in marking important moments. Even the sad ones.

In the Beginning, Sort Of

2007-12-02T18:49:00.000-08:00

I started throwing dinner parties in college

My senior year I had 2 housemates. One was engaged and never around on weekends. The other one and I decided that a very sophisticated and groovy way to impress guys would be to feed them. Each week we invited a different set of gentlemen to the house for a Saturday night dinner. Obviously, our motivation was to find love. That so didn't happen. We did, however, make some nice friends and have some very fun evenings.

We had one dish; you'd have to call it our signature entree. It was a recipe for chicken cooked in beer. Bone-in chicken breasts would be seared and then simmered in beer (which seemed oh, so elegant to us at the time). When the breasts were done the sauce was thickened with a roux and enhanced with the tres elegant addition of tinned mushrooms.

It was the 70s.

Despite the seemingly pedestrian nature of this dish, it was good. Served with rice and some sort of vegetable plus salad, it made a nice meal for growing boys. Then we'd impress them further with something like frozen ice cream crepes or a pie.

My university was "dry" but living off campus, I played fast and loose with that rule. While, strictly speaking, I could have been busted for having alcohol...even though I was 21 and even though the house was not owned by the university...it was a risk worth taking. That's part of what made the addition of beer so exotic. It was forbidden.

So was the Liebfraumilch or Lambrusco we'd serve with dinner. (The development of my wine palate...and the room-mate's...is another story. One must start somewhere. Imagine how cutting edge we considered ourselves when we discovered white zinfandel).

I digress.

Every Saturday we would clean the house, fold some napkins and prepare a lovely meal. We served that forbidden wine and entertained these various gentlemen with witty banter and sly jokes. We were, we thought, a pair of pips.

By winter quarter I had a boyfriend, acquired through completely other means, and the dinners stopped. The recipe was lost to time. Which is a little sad.

I should try to recreate it.

Alrighty Then

2007-12-01T12:27:00.000-08:00

Yes, I managed to go for an entire month without posting anything on this blog. And despite my benign neglect, 10 of you have faithfully checked in nearly every day. Some of you have nagged. Which is obviously what it takes to get me off the dime.

I could give you a nice long justification for the month long silence but really, do you care? Suffice to say, I know what I want this blog to be and what's required to make that happen so there you go.

But it's a brand new month and we have no time for regrets because the holidays are upon us and that means food, glorious food!

The other day I was talking with Seattle Coffee Girl about Thanksgiving. For years now we have celebrated with my family but The Spouse's work schedule has made that more and more problematic. So this year we stayed home, to be joined by The Neighbor and our Chicago friend, Buck

Many in my circle, including SCG, were curious about what sorts of twists I was going to give the feast. The answer was a resounding, "None". Because as much as I love fiddling with food, Thanksgiving is the one meal in the year that absolutely has to taste like, well, like Thanksgiving:

Roast turkey (not brined, not deep-fried...plenty of other times in the year to get all avant garde and cutting edge with turkey).

Stuffing and dressing, made with bread, onions, sage and celery.

Mashed potatoes with gravy. The potatoes are mashed with butter, cream and salt. Period. There is some debate in the house about whether or not the gravy should include giblets. Let's just say that I for one was delighted that the turkey I purchased came without them.

Here's a story about gravy. I once attended a Thanksgiving dinner wherein the hosts decided not to make gravy because "no one really eats it". Are you kidding me? I was already sad that year that I wasn't going to be with my family. But no gravy? The only Thanksgiving I ever had that was weirder than that was the one spent with vegetarians. Anyhoo, it also turned out that their turkey was horribly dry. Gravy would have saved it. Oh, it was a sad meal.

Yams. Ok, on this point I get a little more high church than the marshmallow topped extravaganza of my youth. I roast the yams and mash them with sugar, butter, brandy and some cream. Then I caramelize apples in more sugar and butter, add more brandy and cook them down until they are syrupy but still holding their shape. Then the apples are arranged on top of the yams and it's all baked together. Fab.

There is a green bean casserole and yes, you'd better believe I use French's Fried Onions.

Finally, there are cranberries 2 ways. First, cranberry sauce from a can. Because if there aren't ridges on the cranberry sauce, something is wrong.

But canned cranberry sauce is emotional food; it is overly sweet and tastes only vaguely of cranberries but it reminds me of all the feasts of my childhood so I serve it. For the grown-up in me, I also make a cranberry compote, which is a bit more lively and tastes more authentically of the tart fresh berries.

Note: when the cranberries start appearing in the market I always buy more than will be needed for Thanksgiving. They freeze very well and there are always one or two occasions throughout the year when I want them but after Christmas they are pretty much impossible to find.

I have a very loosey-goosey recipe for my cranberry compote. Definitely a "I'll know when it's right" sort of proposition. Play around with it.

Lorraine's Cranberry Compote

2 bags fresh cranberries, rinses and sorted. And yes, you have to take the time to sort them because any berry that is mooshy or unripe will be gross. It must be banished. But I think it's fun; raking my fingers through my own little bog of cranberries. It really doesn't take that much time. Lord, it's not like deveining shrimp or something.

granulated sugar, up to a cup or so

2 oranges, zested and then juiced

2 cinnamon sticks

brandy

chili powder (optional)

After you rinse and sort the berries, toss them into a large sauce pan with a half cup of sugar, the orange zest and juice, a glug or two of brandy and the cinnamon sticks. Stir and bring to a boil. After it has become good and bubbly and the cranberries have begun to pop, turn down the heat to low. Taste and adjust sweetness if the sauce is too tart. Cook on low for about 10 minutes, until sauce has begun to thicken but most of the berries are still holding their shape.

If you want to add a little kick to the compote, add some chili powder at the beginning of cooking. It makes for a surprising little zing. But only do it if your guests are the adventurous sort.

Compote can be served hot or cold, but serving it hot would imply that I'm making it as the turkey is resting and trust me, I have already done it at least a day ahead. I'm not doing anything while the turkey is resting except nibbling on hors d' oeuvres and chatting with guests.

Deep Fried Goodness

2007-10-31T11:17:00.000-07:00

I realized something about this blog and why I don't post on it nearly as much I had intended. It's because putting up recipes is hard work. "Come on, you're kidding, right?" say you. "No, seriously," says me.

Sometimes I work from an established recipe. But lots of times I'm a "this and that" cook. I have my product, I have an idea and then there's just a lot of this and that going on. I don't exactly know how I get to the final dish and then I'm supposed to turn around and tell you how to replicate it when I wasn't bothering to measure or record the process? Yikes.

So maybe I'll just have to stop holding myself to some cookbook standard and when it's warranted, give you the guidelines and see if you can manage yourself. Any of you who cook more than a little will be just fine and those of you who don't can ask questions until we get it sorted out. That'll be fun, no?

Anyhoo, Willym asked if the fried pearl onions from the Autumnal Feast would work with a roasted goose. I say, "You betcha". The batter was really simple, not too rich, and because they are just little balls of yum, the ratio of batter to onion was very balanced. I think this would be a lovely accompaniment to a fine goose or turkey. Plus, they are just more than fun to eat. I also think that in a pinch, these would make a delightful appetizer, perhaps with a yummy remoulade sauce for dipping.

In case I didn't mention it before, this delightful snack originated with my dear friend, The Hat, who shared the concept with me one evening as we were indulging in virtual cocktails.

Fried Pearl Onions

1 package frozen pearl onions, thawed in a sieve

1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
salt and pepper to taste
chili powder to taste
1 cup or so of milk (You could also use beer, which does something very light and fluffy to a basic frying batter. I was going to but turns out we didn't have any. I know. Shocking).

Preheat a deep fryer (or several inches of veggie oil in a deep pot) to 365° .

In a clean kitchen towel, gently press the thawed onions until they are as dry as you can get them without flattening the shape out of them.

In a bowl combine the flour and seasonings, then slowly add the milk, whisking, until the batter is in a state between gloppy and runny. Strive for minimal flour lumps.

Toss the onions in the batter until coated and add to hot oil. Stir gently so the onions don't stick to each other. Fry until golden brown. Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with salt, and perhaps a smidge more chili powder, before serving.

Amusing Bouche

2007-10-24T18:37:00.001-07:00

There is not real reason this needs to be confined to a starter. It could be a salad. You could use larger tomatoes and increase the recipe to make a light summer entree. The ceviche itself would also make a wonderful wrap. I could even see it, with a few slight modifications, as a stuffing for ravioli.

The recipe is given for one serving; just do the math to make it for more diners.

Tomato Shrimp Ceviche

1 campari tomato

2 T. tomato, diced

1 T. celery, diced

1 T. cucumber, diced

1 T. red onion, diced

1/2 t. fresh lime juice

1 t. cilantro, chopped

1 t. shrimp, chopped

salt and pepper to taste

Bring water to a boil, plunge tomato in boiling water and blanch 1 minute. Remove to a bowl of cold water. Remove the peel. Slice top off the tomato and gently remove the seeds and membrane. Set tomato "bowl" aside.

Combine all the other ingredients and toss gently to combine. Spoon ceviche into tomato, garnish with a sprig of cilantro and serve.

Autumnal Feast 2007: The Recap

2007-10-24T09:32:00.001-07:00

I know why it's taken me so long to get this up...it's taken me this long to restore order in the wake of the party. I only got the deep fryer and extra plates put away yesterday. Sheesh.

The evening began, as it properly should, with hostess gifts. I would never go so far as to suggest that I only entertain for the presents, but the Autumnal Feast group is particularly adept at the amazing. The Boys brought us 2 lovely glasses, silver absinthe spoons and a bottle of Pernod (because absinthe is still illegal in this country but they are determined to score some contraband for us someday). John and ChouChou arrived with a gigantic box which held this astonishing thing:

It's a wine decanter. There's a little lever there at the tip, which you push up on with your glass to fill it. It's wine sculpture. It also makes a lovely scepter:

You know how I am about kitchen tools being dual purpose.

The Boys brought the appetizer. Recently returned from Venice, they were inspired by all things Italian. They bought 2 kinds of pate, a chicken creation and a creamy pot of something called Spuma di Prosciutto, which is glorious. There were also devilled eggs, wherein the yolks had been mixed with tuna paste. Different and very delicious. We washed this down with Prosecco.

The amuse bouche was a very beautiful little shrimp ceviche served in campari tomatoes. It was intense, crisp and tart balanced by the soft sweetness of the shrimp. Glorious.

Salad was a pretty standard autumnal mix of red and green oak leaf lettuce, candied pecans and crumbled Gorgonzola. That would have been tasty in and of itself but the dressing brought all the elements together quite joyously. It's an odd little dressing in theory but it works splendidly. Thinly sliced shallots are soaked for a few hours in red wine vinegar and a pinch of salt, giving them the character of pickled onions with less effort. The shallots are removed from the dressing and tossed with the salad, then a few tablespoons of cream are poured over the salad, which is tossed again. The silkiness of the cream puts the sharpness of the shallots in their place. It's just awesome. Then, to top it all off, I baked slices of prosciutto until they were crisp and served those on the top as a sort of crouton. It was a plateful of all my favorite things, salty, sweet, tangy and crunchy.

The main course was classic American home cookin', with a twist. It all started when The Hat told me about these "onion poppers" she used to make, deep frying battered pearl onions. It sounded like so much fun that I decided to do that for the feast. And once that was decided, everything else fell into place. From the notion of a fancy variation on onion rings, I was inspired to make meatloaf. But since this was a feast, it was dressed up, wrapped in puff pastry and dubbed Meatloaf Wellington. On the side I served tomato marmalade, in place of ketchup. The other accompaniments were a green pea and mint puree and chanterelles (which are plentiful and relatively inexpensive this year since we had such a moist summer). The chanterelles, which are so hearty and woodsy on their own, need little help in the flavor department. A quick saute in butter, a shot of sherry,a sprinkle of salt and viola!

Dessert is always something apple-y. This year I made a rustic little apple tart, flavored with honey and fresh thyme. It was very simple and played its part well against the other staples of the Autumnal dessert course, Stilton and port. I totally forgot to take a picture of it, which is sad because it was very pretty with its concentric circles of apple and flecks of bright green. But sometimes the eating gets in the way of the documentation. Oh well.

Of course, the real fun, as always, is in gathering around the table with people who we have loved for such a long time that the in-jokes have subsets of jokes. They bring their spirited natures, witty banter and generous appreciation to the evening and that, my friends, is the best sauce.

I'll get the recipes up later today. Promise.

I Know. I Know.

2007-10-23T19:22:00.001-07:00

Pictures, recipes and regaling were forthcoming. All 9 of you are just chomping at the bit. (And while I'm at it, thanks to the 9 of you for putting up with me because if it'd been me, I'd have abandoned this blog long ago).

At this rate you are probably expecting to hear tales of gastronomic daring do, Bacchanalian bliss, taste sensations that took us all to new heights.

Nothing like that. But it was fabulous fun, the food was yummers and really, I swear, I start a proper reporting tomorrow.

Or the next day.

Swear.

Today is The Day

2007-10-20T13:48:00.000-07:00

The Autumnal Feast is in 4 hours and 40 minutes. I haven't done a lick, except the shopping. Napkins must be ironed and a leaf added to the table. And I have to start cooking.

A quick review of menus from years past suggest that pork is a prominent player for this feast. This year it will have only a supporting role as I am taking a slightly different tack this year. I'm planning a menu that is based on home cooking, just taken to the next level. Meatloaf, onion rings, green peas. But not presented in a typical way. I can't wait.

The guests for this feast have been the same for over 10 years. They are easily impressed, only in that they anticipate a good meal and are generous with their praise. I like coming up with dishes that will delight them and as they are predisposed to delight, I usually succeed. I do think, however, that this year could be particularly impressive just because they won't be expecting such homely fare all dressed up and decked out.

Tomorrow I'll publish the full menu and the recipes. Today I have to execute them. And perhaps sweep the house. Always a nice thing to do for a dinner party, don't you think?

The Most Important Meal of the Day

2007-10-15T15:58:00.000-07:00

"What is breakfast?"

I am a big fan of breakfast...creamy eggs, nutty Scottish oats slathered with brown sugar and lashings of cream, quiches, omelettes, pancakes studded with juicy blueberries, French toast dripping with maple syrup. Ah.... Add a cup of fresh hot coffee and some orange juice (maybe with a splash of champagne, should it be the weekend) and I am in heaven.

Only trouble is, weekday mornings rarely lend themselves to such fabulous fare. Oh sure. When school first starts I am ever so diligent. But between The Child being a bit like molasses in the morning and all, breakfast goes begging pretty quickly. Which then makes me feel like the worst mother in the world because everyone knows children learn better with a good breakfast on their stomachs.

I continue to try and start The Child (and myself) with something hearty and nourishing, but for those mornings when it's just not coming together I have developed this tasty little breakfast bar which, happily, The Child loves. It's not too sweet, it has a reasonable amount of healthful things in it, plus the little extra surprise of chocolate. Which is an antioxidant. Which is very good for you.

These also go very well with that all-important first cup of coffee.

After a couple of trials, this is a very nice combination of ingredients. But consider it a template, substituting other nuts or dried fruits if you prefer. (For example, I thought this was very nice with dried apricots. The Child not so much).

Cranberry-Chocolate Breakfast Bars

Preheat oven to 350°

2 c. rolled oats
1 can (12-0z) apple juice concentrate
1 big spoonful of peanut butter (probably 3-4 T.)
1 ripe banana, mashed
5 oz. honey

1 c. all-purpose flour
1 c. cornmeal
1 c. dried cranberries
1 c. pecans, chopped
1/3 c. coconut (unsweetened)
1 c. chocolate chips
cinnamon to taste
1 t. baking powder
pinch of salt

Soak the oats in the apple juice, honey, peanut butter and banana. Let sit for at least one hour (or overnight, if you wish).

Combine remaining ingredients in a bowl. Add dry ingredients to the moisten oat mixture and stir gently until the dry goods are incorporated into the wet.

Spread the mixture ina 9x13 inch baking pan. Bake for 20 minutes, until set and lightly brown on the top. The bars are moist and chewy, as opposed to crispy and crunchy.

Ambrosia: Pat Wells' Fruit Tart

2007-10-01T12:28:00.000-07:00

Having sung the praises of Pat Wells: At Home in Provence, I'd be remiss if I didn't give you a taste of the simple brilliance of this book. I suppose that strictly speaking I'm violating a copyright here so I apologize in advance to the legal community. But I'm not taking any of the credit.

The only adjustment I make to this recipe is that I don't use Wondra, a superfine flour, which she calls for in the cream. I use regular unbleached flour and can't tell the difference.

This recipe is perfect for any berry or stone fruit you have on hand. It's an excellent way to use up Italian prunes if you have, like I do, a neighbor with an abundant tree. With purple figs this recipe is a revelation. It's also very fun because it looks so superfantastically pretty. I use a long rectangular tart pan when I make this and the fruit all lined up looks so artistic. Creates the illusion of hours spent fussing when really this takes absolutely next to no time to whip up.

Pat Wells Fruit Tart
© 1996 by Patricia Wells, Scribner, New York, NY

One 9 inch fluted tart pan with removable bottom

The Crust
unsalted butter, for greasing the tart pan
8 T. unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1/2 c. sugar
1/8 t. pure almond extract
1/8 t. pure vanilla extract
a pinch of sea salt
1- 1/4 c. plus 1 T. unbleached all-purpose flour

2 T. finely ground unblanched almonds

The Cream
1/2 c. heavy cream
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/2 t. pure almond extract
1/2 t. pure vanilla extract
2 T. honey
1 T. unbleached all-purpose flour

About 1-1/2 pounds of fresh berries, stone fruit (pitted & halved, but not peeled) or figs

Confectioners' sugar for garnish (assuming you remember and I rarely do)

Preheat the oven to 375° .

Butter the bottom and sides of the tart pan and set aside.

In a large bowl, combine the butter and sugar and with a wooden spoon, stir to blend. Add the almond and vanilla extracts, salt and flour and stir to form a soft, cookie-like dough. Do not let it form a ball. Transfer the dough to the center of the buttered tart pan. Using the tips of your fingers, evenly press the pastry onto the bottom and side of the pan. The dough will be quite thin. (If you are using a small size tart pan, you'll have some dough left over. Press it into a flat round, wrap with plastic wrap and then with foil and freeze for another day).

Place the pan in the center of the oven and bake until the dough is slightly puffy and set, about 12-15 minutes. Sprinkle the almonds on the crust. (This will prevent the crust from becoming soggy and trust me, if you've ground them very fine it won't make for a gritty experience).

While the crust is baking, prepare the cream. In a medium-size bowl combine the cream, egg, extracts and honey and whisk to blend. Whisk in the four.

Starting just inside the edge of the pre-baked pastry pan, arrange the fruit. If using berries, line them up until the pan is full. If using stone fruit or figs, neatly overlap the halved fruit, cut side up, at a slight angle. If using a round pan, make 2 or 3 concentric circles, working toward the center. Fill the center with one or two halves of the fruit.

Pour the cream evenly over the fruit. Place in the center of the oven and bake until the filling is firm and pastry is a deep golden brown, 50 to 60 minutes. Remove to a rack to cool. Sprinkle with confectioners' sugar just before serving.

The Best Cookbook in the World

2007-10-01T12:00:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time I belonged to one of those cookbook of the month clubs. I've finally gotten wise to that racket. Those people totally have my number. I'm not the sort who will religiously fill out the little return card and get it back to them in time, thus assuring that I will be sent the "Selection of the Month", every single month. Usually, I'd just not open the package and mark it "Return to Sender" but seriously, there are just more important things to do with ones time than run to the post office every month to return a book you could have avoided having shipped to your house in the first place.

Point is, one time it worked out. I got my package and had every intention of sending it back except we were in the process of moving and it was simply not a priority. I actually packed the stupid thing and moved it to the new house. Once we were settled, I was going through the bills and discovered 2 notices for the book. Yeah, I'd had it that long. But I noticed that I was being billed for a book called Patricia Wells: At Home in Provence and I thought, "Hey, I like French stuff". So I opened it.

There were beautiful photographs of delicious looking food. I started to peruse the recipes. They sounded good. Then I did something I'd never done before. I sat down and started to read the book. Not peruse, not scan - read. It was compelling. Wells has a very down-to-earth style of writing about food. She takes incredibly simple ingredients and waxes rhapsodic about them. The recipes were all very straight forward, with short ingredient lists. The food was French but it wasn't fussy or complicated. And everything sounded soooo good: I was in the game and poultry section before I found a recipe that I thought I probably wouldn't want to make. (Something to do with quail, I think; I can't be bothered with little bony birds).

After a very satisfying read, I started to cook from the book. It was summer and I exhausted every seasonally appropriate recipe. There is a gratin of tomato, basil and eggplant which became a feature at dinner parties. (People would take seconds and then ask, "What's in this?" When told they'd always reply, "But I don't care for eggplant". "Apparently, you do now," I'd reply. Her recipe for tomato confit? A pure celebration of the fruit, assuming it's been a summer for ripening (unlike this year).

She also has some very clever takes on dishes, like a penne "risotto" that has you cook the penne in oil, as you would arborio rice, then -just as you would with the rice - adding ladlesful of chicken stock until the pasta is done; finishing it off with tomato paste and rosemary. Who knew? And it's delicious.

Her recipes for bouillabaisse, roast chicken, and leg of lamb are standards in our family now. She makes a salad dressing with red wine vinegar infused with shallots that is a dream. And the desserts? Oh, lord, don't get me started. I have a tendency to drop the ball when it comes to making desserts. Baking has its satisfactions but I usually don't feel I can be bothered. She's got a fruit tart, though, that'll rock your world and it is beyond simple. (I'm going to have to give it a post of its own; yes, yes I will).

This is what my copy of the book looks like:

As you can see, I've set it on fire. Twice.

The inside is rather worn, too:

The book falls open to the roast chicken recipe. That's how often we use it.

I have no intention of replacing this well-worn volume. It's sturdily made and while it may be crumpled and burned and stained, it's holding up. In fact, I have a fantasy that some day Pat Wells will be in Seattle for a book signing and I'll take this book and ask her to autograph it. I like to think that she'd be very flattered to know it was so well used.

Scrounging: What's for Dinner

2007-09-07T19:07:00.000-07:00

School is back in session and all of a sudden we are in the throes of a very busy September. The Spouse is making a movie, with The Child and I playing the leads. We will be shooting over the next two weekends. (The weekend following, fyi, is my big huge blowout 50th birthday bash; which is awesome). Meanwhile, there are school functions and general hooha which have shaped this week into something of a scroungefest.

The Spouse tells the story that as he and his sibs got older, his mom (for many reasons which he knew nothing of at the time) began to lose interest in many homemaking activites, especially making dinner. She instituted Scrounge Night, as in, "Hey, Mom, what's for dinner?" "I don't know, scrounge around". He remembers it with some fondness. It's really rather sad. But I do not judge my MIL, may she rest in peace. Sometimes there's a little scrounge in all of us.

What's for Dinner

September 7-September 13

Friday

The Child is babysitting. You know what that means: 'picy food!

Chicken Enchilladas

Spanish Rice

Refried Beans

Saturday

NOTHING!

(The Spouse is going to a birthday party and The Child and I are going to an overdue wake for The Neighbor's Dog.

Sunday

We'll be shooting the movie and there will be craft services. Dinner will be light.

Shrimp Cocktail

Crusty Bread

Monday

Meatloaf

Steamed Green Beans with Almonds

Fauxtatoes

Tuesday

The Parent Board is having a pot luck to plan for a school meeting. The Spouse decided that he and The Child will be scrounging.

Wednesday

Curriculum Night at school. Dinner is provided. The Spouse will be staying home. He will scrounge.

Thursday

Chicken and Biscuits

Yes. Chicken appears at least twice in the menu this week and given that there's a big bag of breasts in the freezer, it may manifest on some of the scrounge nights as well. This is a week where the convenience of having staples on hand trumps high level planning. Next week I may be more creative.

Back to School: Marilyn's Banana Bread

2007-09-03T19:00:00.000-07:00

The Parent Association Board is trying an experiment tomorrow, a welcome-back-to-school coffee for the parents. We got some donations of doughnuts but decided it might not be enough so one of the board members is baking blueberry bread and I volunteered to make banana bread. This was easy because I always have a shelf of bananas in the freezer. No one in our family enjoys them when they've turned too brown, so when that happens, I toss the bananan whole, into the freezer, where it waits patiently for the Baking Bug to strike.

My recipe for banana bread is pretty straightforward, and since we are also collectively not a family who enjoys nuts in baked goods, I don't add them. But you could if you wanted. This recipe is adapted from the one my mom uses, which came from our long-ago pastor's wife, Marilyn. She was a terrific cook. She had lots of practise. She had 8 kids.

Marilyn’s Banana Bread

Combine in a bowl:

1 c. brown sugar
½ c. butter
1 c. mashed banana
3 T. sour milk (or yogurt or buttermilk)
2 eggs, slightly beaten
1 ½ c. flour
1 t. baking soda
¼ t. salt
1 t. vanilla

Combine all the ingredients in a bowl until well mixed.

Pour batter into greased and floured pans and bake at 350° for 35-40 minutes until tester comes out clean.

Variations:

Substitute 1 c. grated zucchini for the banana. To make chocolate zucchini bread, also add 2 T. unsweetened cocoa powder.

Make Up Your Mind!: What's for Dinner

2007-09-01T09:42:00.000-07:00

Planning the menu this week involved a whole lotta hooha. The Child is going to a festival with Boyfriend and his Uncle and we've invited them to dinner after. It took 2 phone calls to nail down which day this was actually happening. And then there is the whole going-back-to-school thing, which means The Child gets to pick the evening meal. And she wanted to cook.

Plus, we're approaching that odd time of the season when it's September and that tends to make all of us think of bigger, more warming food, but it could easily be summer temperatures for weeks yet.

Sometimes it's easier when I just plan the menu on my own. But it's adorable when the Family helps.

What's for Dinner

August 31-September 6

Friday

Chicken Parmesan

Linguine Alfredo

(The Spouse cooks because I had to work and he didn't. Tee.)

Saturday

Chili Cheese Dogs

Potato Salad

(The Child because she wants to).

Sunday

Talapia Roasted in Salt

Wild Rice Pilaf

Caprese Salad

White Asparagus

Plum Tart

(Boyfriend and Uncle to dinner)

Monday

Tortellini with Little Tiny Meatballs

Big Green Salad

Tuesday

The Child's Back-to-School Dinner

Fried Chicken

Mashed Potatoes and Gravy

Corn

Wednesday

Beef and Veggie Stirfry

Ginger Rice

Thursday

Grilled Cheese Sandwiches

Dressed Up Tomato Soup

Don't Mock: Chipotle Chicken Wrap

2007-08-29T17:38:00.000-07:00

This is my take on a new menu item available at a fast food conglomerate that shall not be named but golden arches are involved.

"Le horreur!", you cry. "Surely not! Why, isn't it against the International Foodie Rules and Regulations to even eat fast food, let alone fast food from (and your voice hushes to a whisper) there?"

A) Let's remember...I'm not a foodie and 2) when all you've eaten in a day is a Luna power bar and 3 cups of coffee and it's hours til dinner and you're on your way home and you are suddenly so hungry it's either pull into a drive-thru or chew off your own arm, yes, you do, in fact, eat fast food.

So I tried this particular little item and found it not at all un-tasty. It also begged for replication. My version is, of course, spicier and more loaded with veggies. And if you wanted to you could certainly forgo the flour-dredging-oil-frying method and use grilled chicken. You could even use poached chicken if you wished. You could add or delete veggies (some avocado on this wouldn't be out of line). That's the dandy thing about wraps...you can customize each one to suit the tastes of those you are serving.

Chipotle Chicken Wraps

2 large boneless, skinless chicken breasts, pounded about 1/4 inch thin and cut into strips

1 c. all purpose flour, seasoned to taste with ground cumin, chili powder and salt

olive oil for frying

1/2-1 head romaine, cut into strips

1-2 fresh tomatoes, diced

1/2-1 c. cheddar cheese, grated

sour cream

4 medium size flour tortillas (or whatever sort of tortilla you fancy)

1 c. of your favorite BBQ sauce (we happen to be fans of Sweet Baby Rays)

2-3 T. chipotles in adobo sauce (from a tin)

Pat chicken strips to dry and dredge in flour, knocking off the excess. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium high heat and saute until crisp and cooked through, 5 or 6 minutes.

While chicken cooks, warm the BBQ sauce in a small saucepan and mash chipotles into sauce, stirring to combine. (If you don't like too much spice, use a Tablespoon or less of the chipotle, to just get a bit of a smoky kick. If you are bold, use as much chipotle as you can stand).

When chicken is done, drain on a paper towel and arrange down the center of each tortilla. Sprinkle each tortilla with the lettuce, tomato and cheese. Drizzle the whole lot with BBQ sauce and some dollops of sour cream. Pull up short end of each tortilla, wrapping the long sides into the middle.

The recipe given serves 2 adults. You can obviously adjust as necessary to feed as few or as many as you wish.

On the Fly: What's for Dinner

2007-08-25T19:19:00.000-07:00

The Child helped me plan this week's menu, as we were in the car on the way to the grocery store. Sometimes it happens like that. Then she left the notebook in which she'd recorded the menu in the shopping cart at Costco. So we had to recreate in on a napkin while we had burgers and malts. Fortunately, by that point, we had been to 2 out of 3 stores so it was pretty easy to remember what was left to purchase. Sometimes it happens like that.

What's for Dinner

August 25-August 30

Saturday

Chipotle BBQ Chicken Wraps

(The Child is having dinner with her godmom so The Spouse and I can have something spicy!)

Sunday

Late Lunch at Nana's

Caesar Salad

Shrimp Cocktail

Monday

Pork Ribs

Baked Beans

Corn

(That's a classic Dad and Child dinner. I'll be at the hospital, lending succor to SCG, who's giving birth Monday evening).

Tuesday

Cafe des Artiste Red Snapper

Spanish Rice

Peas with Mint

Wednesday

Beef Ragu over Polenta Cakes

Green Beans with Lemon

Thursday

Chicken and Biscuits

Angry Entrees: Pasta with Enraged Tomatoes

2007-08-23T15:35:00.000-07:00

The tomatoes above are from The Neighbor's garden. We bought our tomato plants at the same time, from the same nursery. Hers are thriving, bearing fruit and ripening. Mine are pathetic. I think I'll be able to harvest one tomato sometime next week, if the rains hold off and the sun keeps shining. It's very sad. The garlic, however, I grew myself. It's hard to mess up growing garlic.

I learned this recipe long ago from my dear friend Lorene, who is an incomparably talented gardener and cook. She's the only person who has ever served me edible Brussels sprouts, the first person to turn me on to the joys of the fava bean. The fact that she grew those vegetables herself may have had something to do with the success of her dishes.

During our fresh-out-of-college-and-broke-beyond-belief years, she taught me amazing culinary tricks for dining well on pennies. One of those tricks was this dish, which is best, in my humble opinion, in the summer when you can get your hands on garden-fresh tomatoes that taste like tomatoes. (If you make it in the winter, used diced tomatoes from a tin and not those horrible flavourless water bombs in the produce section. Winter tomatoes: boo and hiss).

Pasta with Enraged Tomatoes

olive oil
1-2 T. chopped garlic
3-4 pounds of fresh, full flavored tomatoes, roughly chopped
2 T. fresh basil, cut in a chiffonade
red chili flakes, to taste
salt and pepper, to taste

1 # dried pasta (I like penne for this dish but you can pretty much use whatever you fancy)

Bring a large pot of salted water to the boil.

When the water boils, add the pasta and cook according to package directions.

While the pasta is cooking, heat a large skillet over medium heat. Add enough olive oil to coat the bottom of the pan. Toss in the garlic and saute quickly, taking care not to let the garlic burn. Add in the tomatoes and cooking, stirring occasionally, just until they begin to break down and a sauce starts to form. (You aren't going to cook the tomatoes all the way down, the chunks should still hold most of their shape). Turn down the heat to low if necessary to keep the sauce from cooking down too much before the pasta is ready.

Just before pasta is ready to come off the stove, add in the basil and enough chili flakes to really tick off the tomatoes. (If you are serving tender palates, go easy on the chili flakes but serve more at table for those of strong palate). Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Drain pasta and put the drained pasta in the skillet with the sauce, tossing to coat.

Turn out into a warmed serving bowl* and serve with lots of grated Parmesan cheese.

* The easiest way to warm the pasta bowl is to fill it with water from the pasta pot before draining the pasta in the sink. Let the water sit in the bowl while you toss the pasta and sauce in the skillet, then dump out the water before serving up the pasta.

Stone Fruit Salad

2007-08-23T15:11:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just want to mix it up. I am as guilty as anyone of falling back on the time honored tossed green salad as a side to just about any entree, at least for the regular day-to-day meals. And there's nothing wrong with green salad but let's face it, seeing it come to the table night after night shows an astonishing lack of creativity (despite the multitude of variations on the theme).

The other night we were having hamburgers for dinner and I wanted to do something a little different and hit on this idea for showcasing the splendid stone fruits that are available just now. You can make this with any combination of stone fruits that you like; I happened to have an abundance of nectarines and 2 kinds of plums at my disposal. Peaches and apricots would also be very nice. It was a refreshing twist on the concept of salad and the fragrance that wafted up was purely the perfume of summer.

Stone Fruit Salad
1 1/2 to 2 pounds of fresh stone fruit, in any combination (plums, nectarines, peaches, apricots, etc).
1 T. fresh basil, roughly chopped*
1 T. (or so) rice wine vinegar
1 T. (or so) olive oil

Cut fruit in half and remove stones. Slice fruit into thickish slices (you want heft) and place in a bowl. Sprinkle fruit with the basil. Drizzle on the vinegar and olive oil...not too much, just enough to add a little flavor and liquid to the dish. Toss. Can be made a few hours ahead but bring to room temperature to serve so the flavors of the fruit are not bowed by the cold.

I don't even know why I said to chop the basil. I never do. I find the quickest way to treat fresh basil is to stack the leaves and roll them up like a cigar and snip into a chiffonade with a pair of kitchen shears.

Little Presents: Fish Baked in Grape Leaves

2007-08-20T16:38:00.000-07:00

If you are fortunate enough to have grapes growing near your house, or know someone who does, this is a fun little supper to put together. The recipe calls for fresh leaves and I would think that substituting the marinated ones that are used for dolmas would not be a good idea. Partly, just because I've never been a fan of the brined grape leaf and second because I'm not sure if the marinated ones would hold up to baking. But I could be wrong.

Still, what's more fun than serving something unexpected? Especially when it takes very little skill to wrap beautifully scented bits of fish in a grape leaf package. It strikes me as a very summery thing to do. The perfume of citrus always pairs nicely with fish and the fennel gives it just a little extra kick. Plus, the fish with it's melange of accompaniments couldn't be prettier peeping through the grape leaf.

Fish Baked in Vine Leaves

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 lemon, zested then juiced
1 orange, zested then juiced

1 fennel bulb, halved lengthwise and very thinly sliced crosswise, leaves reserved and chopped
½ large sweet onion, halved lengthwise and very thinly sliced crosswise

1 teaspoon coarse salt

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

6 (6 ounce) white fish fillets, such as red snapper, bass, or halibut

3-4 large grape leaves per serving

1 lemon, sliced

In a large, shallow ceramic or glass baking dish, combine the olive oil, citrus juices, chopped fennel leaves, salt, and pepper. Pat the fish dry with paper towels and add to the marinade, turning to coat evenly. Cover with plastic wrap and marinate in the refrigerator 15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 400 °.

Spread 3 or 4 vine leaves on a work surface, overlapping them to form a large, sturdy wrapper. Place a few slices of fennel and onion in the center. Sprinkle with orange and lemon zest. Cover with a fish fillet and scatter a few more slices of fennel on top. Top with a lemon slice. Wrap the fish in the vine leaves by folding over the short sides first and then folding up the top and bottom sides.

Lay the packet, seamside down, in a large baking dish. Repeat with the remaining fillets, placing them in a single layer in the dish. Pour marinade over fish bundles and toss in any extra fennel, onion or lemon.

Bake 20 to 30 minutes, until the fish is opaque throughout; if the grape leaves have begun to brown you should be fine but you can open one package to check for doneness. Immediately transfer to serving plates and have guests unwrap the fish at the table.

French Onion Tart

2007-08-18T08:52:00.000-07:00

I first came across the idea of this tart reading Elizabeth David. She talked of an onion-anchovy pissaladiere that was, in her view, what "pizza" is supposed to be. (She has a bit in An Omelette and a Glass of Wine wherein she discusses the "debasing" of pizza).

I love onions but until I read of this onion tart, had never considered that onions could hold their own place as the main feature of a dish (French onion soup doesn't really count because the success of that is based on the depth of flavor in the broth and the cheesiness of the crouton).

My version of this tart is all about the onions. I don't use anchovies and only occasionally add good black Nicoise or Kalamata olives. Most usually it is just gorgeous thick slices of sweet onion, cooked slowly in butter and oil until they turn into deep mahogany brown morsels of concentrated flavor. Storage onions can be used in this recipe, in the winter, when fresh sweet onions are unavailable (or too dear...we've already discussed this) but in that case you will likely need to add a sprinkling of sugar to help the onions yield up their essence. Generally speaking I consider this a summer dish.

It is lovely all on it's own with a nice glass of crisp white wine. Served as a side dish, it will nudge a simple bowl of tomato soup to elegant heights.

French Onion Tart

Preheat oven to 425°.

For the crust:

2 T. yeast
2 t. sugar
1 c. warm water
2 T. olive oi
l2 t. salt
1 c. whole wheat pastry flour
3 c. (or more) all-purpose flour

Place yeast, sugar and water in bowl of a standing mixer and let sit until yeast begins to foam and bubble. Add in the olive oil and salt. With dough hook attachment, work in the whole wheat flour and then begin adding the all-purpose flour until you form a ball of dough that holds it's shape and is not sticky. Turn out on a floured board and knead until smooth and elastic. Oil the mixing bowl and return dough to it, turning once to coat. Cover with a damp towel and set in a warm spot to rise until double. Punch down and let rest for a few minutes.

Press dough out into an oiled tart pan (or pizza pan or sheet pan...whatever you prefer). Place in oven for about 8 minutes to set the crust.

For the onion filling:

1-2 T. butter
1 T. olive oil
3-4 large sweet onions*, peeled, cut in half and then sliced medium thick (not too thick, but not too thin)
2-3 t. fresh chopped rosemary
1 T. Herbes de Provence
1 handful of Nicoise (or Kalamata) olives, pitted and chopped (optional)

Melt the butter over medium high heat in a large heavy skillet (preferably cast iron if you have it and if you don't, you really should get one). Add oil to keep butter from browning.

Add in the onions. Keep an eye on them to begin with, stirring often so they cook evenly. You want them to turn a nice soft shade of brown but you don't want them to be crisp. Adjust the heat if you need to.

When onions are yielding and a good nutty brown, lower heat and continue cooking until they are a deep shade of brown and richly fragrant. Stir in the rosemary and herbes de Provence.

Remove from heat and spread over prebaked crust. Sprinkle with olives, if using.

Bake tart for about 15-20 minutes, until crust is golden brown.

* Remember that onions are largely water so they are going to reduce radically in volume. You have enough if your pan is about half full. If you have more than you need for the tart just stick them in a plastic bag and use later in the week for another dish.

Working Girl: What's for Dinner

2007-08-18T08:37:00.000-07:00

Thank heaven I plan menus. My recent re-entry into the work force is kicking my arse. If 4 o'clock rolled around every day and I had to start thinking about what to make for dinner I would probably find parts of my brain snapping off.

I'm keeping it pretty simple this week. One night last week we actually ate take away pizza because the chicken wasn't thawed in time and I was too tired to improvise. Take away has it's merits but it's a little early in the game to get sucked down that path.

What's for Dinner?
August 17-August 23

Friday

Big Premier of High School Musical II

Build Your Own Pizza

(per The Child's request)

Saturday

Pork Tenderloin with Hoisin and Star Anise

Steamed Rice

Stir-fry Bok Choy

(what we were supposed to have the night we ate chicken instead because the night before we had take-away)

Sunday

Afternoon Housewarming at D & M's

Chicken Salad

(Because we won't be that hungry. D & M are wicked good cooks).

Monday

Hamburgers on Onion Buns

Crudite

Stone Fruit Salad

Tuesday

Stuffed Salmon*

Bruschetta with Tuscan White Beans & Fried Sage

Green Salad with Granny Smith Apples

Wednesday

Penne with Enraged Tomatoes

Spinach Salad

Thursday

Southwest Chicken with Black Beans & Corn

Tortillas

Tomato Salad

*Which I bought frozen and ready to cook from Trader Joe's. Delicious and convenient.

Kitchen Fun. Really.

2007-08-15T17:47:00.000-07:00

My mom, affectionately referred to in Blogopia as Dame Judi, is a wonderful woman. Of all the cooking influences in my life, and there have been notable ones, hers was the first. She is a very deft cook. Sadly, her husband (my father, Sean Connery) is not an adventurous eater. At all. So her skills were used on a regular menu of established dishes, with little room for massively creative touches lest she get a "what is this" response from the crowd.

But she encouraged me when I began to show a petite interest in cooking, allowing me to experiment and serve up my dishes to the family. She gave me my very own cookbook, a true treasure, because it had been hers before. It was a sweet little book titled Kitchen Fun: A Cookbook for Children, by Louise Price Bell, published in 1932. It was already well used when I got it, with marks and spatters on the pages and a little note beside the recipe for tapioca pudding: "icky", written in Mum's childish hand. (I write notes in my cookbooks; I realized just now that this is where I must have learned that).

Charmingly illustrated by Jessie Wilcox Smith, each ingredient for each recipe was accompanied by a little drawing, so that an early reader could still work out the recipe. The instructions are very simple, with no particular information as to cooking whys and wherefores; but then,few children will sit still for that anyway. Too much like work. True to its title what the book does do is instill a sense that cooking is fun, with fanciful dishes like Cinderella Cake, Old King Cole Spinach, and Choo Choo Salad (grated carrots combined with raisins and orange juice and served on lettuce. I don't know what is supposed to be remotely train like about this dish).

Dame Judi very patiently allowed me to try my hand, guiding and answering my questions but letting me do for myself (the best way to learn, I think). I attempted every recipe in that book which didn't sound nasty to me. (Necessarily, I heeded her advice and avoided the "icky" tapioca). The family, with rather less patience, tried my efforts.

It should be noted that, sadly, nearly every recipe in the book is quite awful; inedible in some cases. This owes to the quality (or lack thereof) of the recipes. No amount of practise or increased skill could make the fudge creamy, give the cake loft or lend savor to the salmon loaf. (The salmon loaf can accurately be described as "gak").

When The Child turned 3 her aunt and uncle gave her a cooking set, an apron and a cook book. I about plotzed when I saw it...a reissue of the self-same Kitchen Fun. Being new, it was sturdier for The Child to use. (The pages from my/Dame Judi's copy having long since separated from the cover).

I tend to be a "new one in, old one out" sort of person but I still have the old copy of the book in among the Rachael Ray, Donna Hay and Pat Wells. Of course I do. it is more than a cookbook, it is a totem.

The Child, who 0 years later is well on her way to being a very good cook and an accomplished baker, will still sometimes retreat to the childish simplicity of Kitchen Fun when she's feeling peckish. She is particularly fond of the Cinderella Cake with Jam Frosting. Unfortunately, the reissue did nothing to address the paucity of goodness in the recipes. The cake still turns out dry and flat and only the young and very sugar toothed can enjoy it. Fortunately, she's never felt compelled to prepare the salmon loaf.

Sass it Up: Wine with Rosemary

2007-08-14T18:40:00.001-07:00

If you're the sort of person who never has any "cheap" wine in the house and are all about the esoterica of oenophilia, then pass this by. But if, like me, you have no objection to the casual glass of inexpensive "house" wine (Charles Shaw, in our case; fondly known as 3 Buck Chuck) then you might enjoy this.

Now it is extremely complicated, so take notes.

1. Pour a glass of not terribly fancy white wine.

2. Stick a sprig of fresh rosemary in it.

3. Drink.

I don't know why this works, but it does. The resin in the rosemary does some sort of complimentary two-step with the fruitiness of the white wine. I suspect you'll enjoy it. And it looks groovy.

Alright, Boys: Green Tea CousCous

2007-08-13T16:40:00.001-07:00

Good thing I was making this tonight, so as to satisfy the rabid curiosity of Jon and Red. Because when they first call all pesky about the recipe I didn't have a picture. And we're all about the pictures of yummy food, are we not?

First of all, let's talk just a little about couscous, shall we? As The Spouse likes to say, "Couscous, the side dish so good they named it twice". It is a delightful semolina based product, fine of grain and easy to cook. Traditionally hand rolled in a very labor intensive process, it is now made by mechanized means. Rather than requiring long steaming and fussing, as the traditional product does/did, it is now pre-steamed and dried before packaging for quick preparation. How quick, you ask? Is 5 minutes good?

The basic method couldn't be simpler. Assume roughly 1/2 c. of dried couscous for each serving. Measure out the amount you desire. (For grins we'll assume it's you and one guest). Place the 1 c. of couscous in a bowl. Boil water. Measure out boiling water on a 1:1 ratio with the couscous. Pour the water over the couscous and give the bowl a gentle swirl to make sure water is evenly distributed. Cover with a plate. Walk away.

5 minutes later your dish is done. Fluff the grains with a fork and it is ready to serve. Plain couscous has a faint, very faint nutty essence and as is, makes a very nice bed for some sort of meat that is very juicy or accompanied by a nice sauce. The couscous will soak up the flavors of the meat and sauce and offer them back to you as a tasty little side dish.

Soaking up flavors is what couscous is all about. Traditionally, it is placed in a steamer basket atop a special cooking pot (a couscousier in French), where it sits and steams, absorbing all the goodness of whatever savory stew bubbles below it. But couscous is very malleable and responds well to any impulse to jazz it up.

The jazz in this recipe begins by using brewed green tea instead of plain boiling water for the steeping agent. The additions to the couscous flow out of that Asian influenced note. And really, like all good jazz, improvisation is key. Add riffs, float over some notes, change the key...whatever takes your fancy.

Green Tea Couscous

For the dressing:
2 T. olive oil
2 T. rice wine vinegar
1 T. fresh lime juice
1/4 c. fresh mint, chopped
pinch of sugar

For the couscous:
1 1/2 c. brewed green tea
1 T. sake
1 1/2 c. couscous
1 medium carrot, peeled and grated
6 dried apricots, cut into thin strips
3-4 green onions, white and light green bits, thinly sliced
½ red bell pepper, finely diced
salt and pepper

In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, vinegar, lime juice, mint and shallot. Season to taste with a pinch or two of sugar. Set aside.

Place couscous in a medium bowl. In medium saucepan, bring the green tea and sake to a boil. Pour over the couscous. Cover and let stand for 5 minutes. Fluff grains with a fork.

Add the grated carrot, dried apricots, scallions, and red bell pepper to the couscous. Pour the dressing over the couscous and toss to mix. Cover and refrigerate until chilled.

Planning as You Go

2007-08-10T16:58:00.000-07:00

This was one of those fill-in-the-blanks menu planning sessions. We'd have chicken. But which recipe? Similarly, what to do with the pork tenderloin in the freezer? Of course, those are the sorts of foodstuffs for which I have plenty of recipes; I just hadn't looked through them before I had to go to work today so the grocery just said "chicken veggie" and "pork veggie". I figured that once I saw what was available in that regard I'd know what to do with the meat.

Nectarines were on sale ($1/pound) and the bok choy looked fabulous. Problem solved.

What's for Dinner

August 10-August 16

Friday

Chicago-style Hot Dogs

Crudite

Saturday

Deep Dish Sausage Pizza

(Hi. We're missing Chicago)

Sunday

(I'm going to dinner with SCG & the Mister, so the fam will have:)

Babyback Ribs

Corn on the Cob

Monday

Beef-Veggie Stirfry

Steamed Rice

Tuesday

Late Summer Chicken

Nectarine-Sweet Onion Salsa

Green Tea Coucous

Spinach Salad with Almonds

Wednesday

Pork Tenderloin with Hoisin-Star Anise Sauce

Green Onion Pancakes

Stirfried Bok Choy with Ginger

Thursday

Linguini with Classic Meat Sauce

Garlic Bread

Big Green Salad

Fruity Fish: Orange Roughy in a Citrus Bath

2007-08-07T14:30:00.000-07:00

A very special dinner guest was expected the other evening, a person who is not at all picky about food but does especially like fish. I found some orange roughy at Trader Joe's and that was my inspiration for this dish. Orange roughy is neither orange in taste or appearance, but it put me in mind of summery citrusy things, nonetheless. (Orange roughy is a mild-mannered, firm white fish. It is similar to halibut in the way it cooks up, having a bit more substance to it than, say, cod).

This recipe is extremely quick to prepare and was a light, lovely entree for a summer's evening.

Orange Roughy in a Citrus Bath

4 fillets of orange roughy (or other white fish)
3 oranges
1 lemon
1 lime
salt and pepper
olive oil
1-2 T. unsalted butter

Zest the lemon, lime and one of the oranges. Set aside.

Juice all the citrus.

Pat dry the fillets, salt and pepper to taste. Heat a large skillet over medium high heat and add a scant Tablespoon of oil to the pan. Pan fry the fish in the oil, turning once, until both sides of the fillets are lightly brown and fish is cooked through (about 3 minutes per side).

Remove fish to a platter and keep warm. Deglaze the skillet with the citrus juices, stirring up the brown bits on the bottom of the pan. Allow to cook a minute or so then add the butter, stirring until it has melted into the juice. Give it a taste to see if you need a little more salt and/or pepper.

Using a strainer, pour the sauce over the fish. Sprinkle with the citrus zest and serve.

Busy Weekend

2007-08-03T07:52:00.000-07:00

Actually, I think that could be the title of every post between now and the end of September. I'm not sure how the calendar starts filling up so quickly, especially when we're still supposed to be in the midst of a lazy, hazy summer. But there you go.

Here's what's on the menu (and the calendar) for this week:

What's For Dinner?
August 3- August 9

Friday
Meatball Sandwiches
Carrot Sticks

Saturday
(The Hat Comes to Dine!)
Toasted Almonds & Green Olives
Orange Roughy in a Citrus Bath
Artichoke Heart Gratin
Steamed Green Beans with Chives
Cheesemaker's Salad
Applesauce Cake with Honey-Lavender Ice Cream

Sunday
(The G-G Collective Comes for Seafair)
Grilled Burgers
Potato Salad
Caprese Salad
Baked Beans
PG Brings a Sweetie

Monday
(The Neighbor Comes for Dinner)
Pork Tenderloin in Mustard Cream Sauce
Spaghetti with Sand
Toutoune's Salad

Tuesday
Chicken Breasts with Apricots & Almonds
Bulgar Pilaf
Spinach Machiavelli

Wednesday
Individual Zucchini Lasagna
Big Green Salad

Thursday
Baked Pork Chops
Broccoli Stuffed Potatoes
Applesauce*

(*Because The Spouse likes to walk around saying "Pork chops and applesauce" like Peter Brady).

Hot Milk Sponge Cake

2007-08-02T14:11:00.000-07:00

The Child loves to bake. She did not inherit this gene from me. I can bake and I do, but it rarely gives me the sense of satisfaction that she gets. Which is fine because every household should have at least one serious baker.

The first thing she ever became adept at baking was a "Cinderella" cake, from a child's cookbook. It's awful. But she liked it. (Because she never met a cup of sugar she didn't like). The only good thing about this cake was that it taught her the basics of cakery. For that we are grateful.

A few months ago I suggested that, given the really truly awful nature of Cinderella Cake, she should try her hand at something tastier and that is when I introduced her to this perky little sponge cake, which I adapted from an old Mennonite recipe.

This cake is very good without any adornment, but The Child is not about the unadorned anything. She wanted to make 7 Minute Icing but I wanted to not have to monitor the whole boiling-hot-sugar-syrup-whipped-around-in-a-mixer thing so decided that this was the perfect opportunity for her to learn that most valuable of life skills, how to make ganache. And voila! a pretty little cake, just in time for tea. (She decorated it, as you can see, with extra chocolate chips).

Hot Milk Sponge Cake

Preheat oven to 325° F.

2 eggs
1 c. sugar
1 t. vanilla extract
2 inch piece of vanilla bean
1 c. all-purpose flour
1 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt
1/2 c. milk
1 2-inch piece of vanilla bean, cut in half lengthwise
1 t. butter

8-inch round cake pan, greased and floured

In a mixing bowl and using an electric mixer, beat the eggs well. Add in the sugar and vanilla extract and continue beating until everything is light and fluffy.

Combine flour, baking powder and salt in a separate bowl and whisk together. By hand, fold dry ingredients into egg-sugar mixture.

Combine milk and butter in a saucepan. Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean into the milk and add the vanilla pod. Bring milk to a boil and then remove from heat. Discard vanilla pod.

Slowly add the hot milk mixture to the batter, stirring gently to combine.

Pour batter into prepared cake pan and bake for 30-35 minutes, until a tester comes out clean.

Cool on a baking rack.

When cake is cooled, frost with Chocolate Ganache.

Chocolate Ganache

1 c. heavy cream

9 oz. dark chocolate chips

Place cream in a sauce pan over medium high heat. As soon as little bubbles start to form, add the chocolate chips and stir until chips are thoroughly melted. Pour over cake and allow to cool before serving.

Lamb Burgers

2007-08-02T13:09:00.000-07:00

I enjoy a big, juicy hamburger as much as the next carnivore but I'm also a huge fan of ground lamb, especially the lamb from the Umpqua Valley in Oregon. Sure, it's free-range, pesticide, all natural lamb. But there must be something in the grass the sheep graze on. I'm guessing fairy dust. The lamb is beautifully pink and tender and full of moist, spectacular flavor. It's the only kind of ground lamb I'll buy (and I'm not usually that militant about my sources...but this stuff is special).

When I think lamb I also think "Mediterranean" so the flavors of that region factor in. Served in warm pita bread, with onion, cuke and tomato "salsa" and lashings of yogurt sauce, this is a simple summertime meal that yields big flavor for minimal effort.

Lamb Burgers

1/4 c. pine nuts

1 # ground lamb

1 T. garlic ginger paste (Look for it among the East Indian products in your grocer's. If you can't find it substitute a couple cloves of garlic, finely chopped and about 1 T. of freshly grated ginger-root. I used the paste because I had some and I was too hot to fuss much).

1/2-1 t. chili powder (to taste)

1 t. cumin seed, lightly toasted and ground

a pinch of salt

a few grinds of black pepper

In a dry skillet over medium high heat toast the pine nuts just until they brown. (Watch them...they are high in oil so they can go from perfect to ruined in the blink of an eye). Coarsely chop the pine nuts.

Combine pine nuts, lamb and seasonings, mixing with clean hands until everything is combined.

Form into patties, about 2 or 3 inches across.

Heat a teaspoon of olive oil in a large skillet. Fry the lamb, browning well on both sides.

Serve with warm pita bread and accompaniments.

Onion, Tomato and Cucumber "Salsa"

1 small sweet onion, diced

1 medium beefsteak or 4 roma tomatoes, diced

1 medium cucumber, peeled and seeded, then diced.

Combine all the diced vegetables in a bowl. Sprinkle with a pinch of sauce and stir. (You could add a handful of chopped cilantro if you wanted).

Yogurt Sauce (Tzaziki)

1 c. non-fat plain yogurt

1/2 c. diced cucumber

2-3 cloves of garlic, minced

pinch of salt

Combine all the ingredients and refrigerate until serving time. The sauce can be served right away but the flavor improves if allowed to sit for a while.

Truly Refreshing: Cucumber Water

2007-07-27T16:20:00.000-07:00

We were served this at Orange on Harrison, in Chicago. It is now The Child's and my favorite summer afternoon beverage. It's just a slice or two of cucumber in a glass of water but there's an aromatherapy component; you get a whiff of the the cuke (the definition of "fresh", in my view) before you drink the water and it goes straight to that place in your brain that regulates your perception of heat...you start to cool down before you take a sip. Trust me.

Savory and Sweet: Chicken Paillards with Lavendar Honey and Chevre

2007-07-27T08:28:00.001-07:00

I adore dishes that combine the savory and the sweet. Don't know why. Maybe because it's just such a surprise.

I read somewhere that chevre and lavender honey go well together. So I tried it on during a cheese course for a French dinner. It was a revelation. The floral notes of the honey married with the sharp tang of the cheese and took it to a whole new level. And then I thought, "How else can I use this combination?" This was my answer to myself.

It should be noted that I have tons of lavender growing around my house. I like the idea of gardening but I'm terribly capricious about the actual work involved. Lavender, it turns out, is an ideal plant for me because it makes a big statement but aside from cutting the blossoms, it doesn't need any help from me to grow big and lavish and make the bees very happy.

This is a recipe for 6 but for obvious reasons it can easily be adapted to feed one person or a crowd. And it couldn't be easier.

Chicken Paillards with Lavender Honey and Chevre

1 c. clover honey
6-8 sprigs of lavender, plus more for garnish (make sure it's organic and pesticide free)
6 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
6 oz. chevre, crumbled

Place honey and lavender in a saucepan and heat over low flame for 10 minutes.

Turn off heat and allow lavender to steep in the honey. This can be done well ahead of dinner time.

Place the chicken between 2 layers of plastic wrap and pound out to 1/4 inch thickness.

Heat large pan over medium high heat, add a couple T. olive oil and saute chicken breasts about 4 minutes on each side or until cooked through. (If making several batches, remove cooked chicken to an ovenproof plate and set aside in a low oven to keep warm).

Put one cooked paillard on each dinner plate, deglaze the saute pan with a little brandy (or dry sherry or white wine, whatever you have on hand) and spoon a little of the pan juices over each paillard. Then dress each paillard with 1-2 T of lavender honey and an ounce or so of the crumbled chevre.

Garnish with a sprig of lavender and serve.

Menu Planning

2007-07-27T07:34:00.002-07:00

I started planning my weekly menu out of necessity. My nanny job was a 2 transfer bus ride from home. I'd get home around 7:30pm, hungry and tired. Without a plan, dinner would have been a glass of wine and an omlette. Every night. And while, as Elizabeth David duly noted, there are few meals quite so simply satisfying, every night, no so much.

So I started planning a menu. And every Saturday I'd go to the Market to shop, then come home and do some prep work. I'd make sauces, miripoix, chop meat and onions and garlic, make salad dressing. Then, when I'd come home of an evening, it was the work of minutes to put together a nice little supper.

When The Spouse and I got married the tradition continued. He loved it. Part of our late week ritual would be to sit over wine and talk about what we wanted to eat in the coming week.

Late in my pregnancy with The Child some friends came to dinner. Jimmy noticed the weekly menu on the side of the fridge. "Ha! That's something that will disappear when the baby gets here," he said, almost gleefully.

I don't know for sure if it's simply that the habit was too ingrained by then or if he got my Irish up with that comment (probably both), but we continued to plan menus after The Child arrived. And still do.

I don't know how people do it otherwise. I used to work for a guy who would receive a phone call every day at 4:45 so he and his wife could have the "what are we going to do for dinner" conversation. Crazy.

Planning a menu is so simple. First, you look at your calendar to see what is going on in the coming week. Meetings? Friends coming over? Oscar Night? Volleyball game for the kid? Then you consider what's already waiting in the pantry and freezer. Then you plan. We're meat eaters so there's always a pork night, chicken night, pasta night, fish. Then it's a question of which preparation for each sounds good...what we've been craving, what the weather's going to be like, all of those things factor in. Busy nights mean the crockpot will be employed. Movie night means pizza or some other food you eat with your hands. And if we can't decide? That's a good time to pull out that big notebook full of recipes that I've culled from magazines and newspapers.

It's not a tedious process. Not to mention, that when you know what you're going to have you can plan your shopping accordingly. It saves time because you aren't standing around in the grocery store without a clue and it saves money because you're just getting what you need and not so prone to the impulse buys.

"What if you don't feel like pork chops on Tuesday?" someone once asked me. Well, golly. First of all, I don't chisel the menu into marble and never once has it come to me out of a burning bush. If you don't feel like pork chops on Tuesday, eat something else. And if you end up going out to dinner one night, well, then you have a head start on the next weeks menu because you already have the ingredients for one meal on hand. But I assure you, knowing there is food in the house and not having to wrack your brains for brilliant ideas during the time of day when you are least inclined to feel brilliant is one of the most satisfying things in the world.

And with that, I'm introducing a new weekly feature (and thanks Seattle Coffee Girl for the suggestion): What's For Dinner? Each week I'll share what's on the docket for our family. (SCG amusingly said, "I'd like to know what you eat in Ordinary Time".) And yes, the recipes for some of these dishes will be forthcoming.
I hope it will help inspire you to plan your own menues and make things just a little easier on yourself. You deserve it.

What's For Dinner?

July 27 - August 2

Friday

Shrimp Cocktail in Steamed Artichokes

Crusty Bread

Saturday

Orange-Thyme Pork Kebobs

Almond-Bulgar Pilaf

Green Beans with Lemon Butter

Sunday

Hamburgers

Crudite

Monday

Fish Baked in Grape Leaves

Rice Pilaf

Spinach Salad

Tuesday

Pasta Puttenesca

Green Salad

Crusty Bread

Wednesday

BBQ Chicken

Baked Beans

Corn on the Cob

Thursday

Beef Enchiladas

Refried Beans

Sauteed Peppers

Sweet Onions

2007-07-25T17:22:00.000-07:00

I once got into a friendly but fierce debate with a friend. The subject was sweet onions. Being from Texas, he maintained that Texas Sweets were the superior onion. I, faithful to my homeland, argued for the Walla Walla. At the time, we agreed to disagree, but really, we were both correct.

Sweet onions, from wherever they hail, are so called because they are harvested and sold fresh, as opposed to being put into cold-storage and held against the season when the fresh onion harvest is past. Just like with fresh-picked corn or vine ripe tomatoes, the closer to harvest that you enjoy a sweet onion, the sweet and crisper it will be. And so, a fresh Walla Walla that has been shipped elsewhere is never going to compare to the local produce. The closer you are to the farm from whence that onion came, the happier you will be.

There's all sorts of scientific explanations for the yumminess of a sweet onion: higher sugar, lower sulfur compounds (that would be the part that makes your eyes water when you slice an onion). If you are one of those people who avoids onions because they don't sit well with you, a sweet onion may be the solution as it is the higher sulfur content in storage onions that can trouble a tender tummy. Sweet onions also have lower acid levels than storage onions.
Isn't that fascinating?

Technically, sweet onions are beginning to be available all year round, with a different variety from a different region (or even country) coming into its own every few months. But I'm not swayed by that sort of thing. Again, there are a ton of reasons for eating locally, but when it comes to onions, one of the most compelling is just that a local onion tastes better.

I have been known to eat a fresh Walla Walla onion out of hand, just like an apple. If that seems too extreme, there's just nothing like a big, crispy slab of raw sweet onion on a burger, or diced into a salsa, or joining a skewer of meat and peppers on a kabob. Despite the aforementioned year-round phenomenon, sweet onions are a summer treat for me (the Walla Walla season being from June - August).

Later this week I'll be whipping up one of my very favorite onion recipes of all time: a Provencal onion tart. I can't wait!

That's Almost Magic: Plate Cooked Salmon

2007-07-25T13:27:00.000-07:00

You absolutely have got to try this recipe from Jeremiah Tower. The premise is delightful: take heated dinner plates, thin paillards of fish, a tasty broth and garnishes of flavored cream. Brush the hot plate with butter, add the fish, top with the hot broth and by the time you've put the finishing touches on the dish, the fish is perfectly cooked.

I know. It sounds crazy. But it's terrific because the fish retains it's fresh flavor and is cooked just to the point of flaky perfection with no chance of drying out, the bits of ginger and garlic floating in the broth hand the fish a few zippy compliments just before the jolt of chipotle cream hits you, lending its smokey goodness to the mix. It's simple to execute, lovely to look at and does a complex little quickstep on your tongue.

I've never tried this recipe with any of the suggested variations...we've been so happy with the salmon and chipotle...but the method does cry out for all sorts of interpretations; kind of a "sky's the limit" sort of thing. The only adjustment I've made to the recipe is to use a good organic vegetable broth instead of the fish stock. When you have something as splendid as a fresh piece of salmon in front of you there hardly seems a need to introduce a generic fish flavor. The broth acts as a nice supporting player to the other veggies in the dish, without stepping on any toes.

To accommodate The Child's "not too 'picy" issues, I make a cilantro cream for hers, just whizzing up a big handful of roughly chopped cilantro with about 1/2 c. of heavy cream & a pinch of salt, then gently heating it as directed. I make that first and don't bother rinsing out the blender before making the chipotle cream. Seems to me that any bits of cilantro that are clinging to the sides are going to be more than happy uniting with the chipotle.

Chicken with a Chutney Crust

2007-07-24T16:03:00.000-07:00

My friend, Seattle Coffee Girl is heading into her third trimester and eager for some new recipes. She's being very clever and industrious and making all sorts of things to put aside in the freezer, against those early days when the household is adjusting to the arrival of Baby.

Then she sent me another email, suggesting a) that I was overdue for a food post and 2) that perhaps I could offer a recipe with 5 or less ingredients.

Not today. This one has 6, 7 if you count the olive oil. Alas.

Despite not meeting the current mathematical requirements, it is a breeze to whip up, taking mere moments. Plus it passes the "sure, it's quick but does it taste good?" test. The chicken always comes out perfectly done but plenty moist, with the crispy crust giving way to just a hint of savory sweetness from the chutney beneath.

Chicken with A Chutney Crust
1 c. fresh breadcrumbs
¼ c. dill weed
½ t. dried basil
l¼ t. salt
approx. 1 c. chutney (Major Grey's is the one I always have around but any sort that you like will do)
2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
olive oil for drizzling

Preheat oven to 425 ° F.

In a large, shallow bowl combine the breadcrumbs with the seasonings.

Pat the chicken breasts dry with a paper towel. Spread both sides with chutney.

(Be safe: spoon a cup or so of chutney out into a bowl and then spread it on the chicken. Spoon out more if you need but don't go sticking that manky knife into the jar once you've started spreading chutney on the chicken).

Dredge the chutney-coated chicken in the breadcrumb mixture and place on a rack in a baking dish. Drizzle with olive oil.

Bake for about 20 minutes, until chicken tests done (meaning it's firm to the touch and the juices run clear when pierced with a skewer).

An Oopsie! that Worked Out: Pork Chops with Sweet Onion Sauce

2007-07-17T14:37:00.000-07:00

I love trying new recipes. The idea of stickng to an arsenal of maybe 15-20 dishes that are just rotated through the month doesn't work for me. But I have a bad habit. I'll read a recipe that sounds good, assign it a night on the weekly menu, put the ingredients on the shopping list but somehow not bother to read through the recipe until it's time to make dinner.

The problem with this method is demonstrated in high relief on a night like last night. I was having a leisurely cocktail hour with The Neighbor, so leisurely that The Child stopped by to ask when I was planning on starting dinner. "7:15? I'll be right home".

And I was, more or less, only to find that the total prep time on the intended recipe was 40 minutes. That wouldn't do. But the chops were thawed, The Spouse had his taste buds set to "Pork", so I had to improvise.

Such improvisations have led to the coining of the family phrase, "This is either going to be really good or it's really going to suck". Fortunately, last night it was quite tasty. The directions are a bit imprecise, but I hope you'll be able to get a sense of the dish. The caramely sweet onions with the richness of brandy are a lovely compliment to the succulent pork.

I'm a big fan of the center-cut chop, they have to cook longer because they are thick but that gives you a little more wiggle room with time and temperature to get a chop that's done all the way through without being tough. Thinner chops have to be watched more vigilantly than I can usually manage; the merest distraction in the kitchen and those little guys are reduced to shoe leather.

Pork Chops with Sweet Onion Sauce

4 center-cut pork loin chops

1 large sweet onion, peeled, halved and thinly sliced

olive oil

salt and pepper

pinch of sugar

several glugs of brandy, maybe a 1/4 c. or so

chicken stock (around a cup)

1-2 T. fresh basil leaves, torn

1-2 T. cornstarch

pinch of chili powder

Lightly salt and pepper the chops on both sides. Heat a large skillet over medium high heat until hot. Add in olive oil to coat and add sliced onions. Cook, stirring occasionally, until onions begin to caramelize. Sprinkle with a pinch of sugar.

Push onions to edges of pan and add in pork chops. Sear on one side (2-3 minutes) then turn over to sear the other side.

Deglaze the pan with the brandy, stirring up the brown bits, and moving the onions around to be sure they aren't sticking. When the sides of the chops are beginning to turn white, with just some pink showing in the middle, add in about 1/2 c. of chicken stock, sprinkle with the basil and a pinch or two of chili powder, to taste. Cover with a lid. Lower heat to medium and continue cooking for another 8 minutes or so.

Check chops for doneness. If they are firm to the touch and don't have any pink showing, you're good. Make a slurry of the remaining 1/2 c. chicken broth with 1-2 T. of cornstarch and add to the pan, stirring until sauce thickens.

Remove chops to a platter and spoon onion sauce over them before serving.

A Taste of Chicago: Deep Dish Pizza

2007-07-15T22:36:00.000-07:00

I fell in love with Chicago. Hard. Not enough to do anything rash. I remain faithful to my beloved Seattle. But something got to me in that toddlin' town that hasn't happened in many other places. I've been to cities where I've said, "I could live there" and mean it. But with Chicago, I kinda actually do want to live there. Again, no rash moves are being planned. Should I, however, fall into a bucket of money in the near future, purchase of a superfantastic downtown Chicago condo would be the first order of business.

So what was it about Chicago that got to me so much? I'm still mulling that. Certainly it has to do with the friends we have there, who are intelligent, generous, kind and funny people. But it was also the way the city felt, and that's something harder to pinpoint. I just liked the way it felt on the streets, the way it felt to sit on the 49th floor of the Marina Towers, drink my coffee and gaze at the drawbridges over the Chicago River. It was something to do with the way the new architecture of the city lives cheek by jowl with the older buildings. It had to do with the livability of the city...how the downtown was a neighborhood full of people of all ages and colors with the necessary amenities of laundries and groceries and such within walking distance. And that is something (and I've lived downtown, so I know) Seattle has yet to really manage. The city itself is quite livable, the downtown core, not so much.

But as I mull the sights and sounds of Chicago and how they got to me, I do know that one part of my new-found love owes to one magical thing: deep dish pizza.

I love pizza. We have it just about every Friday night. Pizza and a movie. It's our thing. And both The Spouse and The Child make a good pie. (So do I but I like letting the pizza making thing be theirs). We make our own, using a basic foccocia dough recipe that I've had for years. The Spouse has his own special pizza sauce, which is nothing more than this:

The Spouse's Pizza Sauce
1 tin organic tomato sauce
2 cloves garlic, minced fine
2 or so T. dried oregano
2 or so T. dried basil
smidge of salt
glug of red wine

He lightly cooks the garlic in a little olive oil and then adds in the other ingredients and lets them slowly cook on the stove during the whole time he's preparing the pizza dough. It's a rich sauce, dark with the herbs and wine and full of flavor.

Our standard pie usually includes sauteed onions, roasted red peppers, olives, some sort of pizza meat (pepperoni, sausage or sometimes prosciutto) and a cheese blend of fontina and mozzarella. Sometimes there are fewer ingredients, sometimes more depending on whim and hunger. The crust is always nice and plump. I don't care much for thin crust pizza...I like the luxury of a nice bready base for all the oozing, melting toppings. I am also one of those people who rarely eats my crust ends. Which it's why it's sorta funny to me that I would become so enamored of deep dish, because crust ends are key there.

A quick Google search shows me that there are 2 places in Seattle that make deep dish pizza. Both are in the north end of town. I live in the south end. I began to lament that deep dish is something I would have to work to get. I love it, but I also want to enjoy it in the comfort of my own home, in front of my own big screen TV.

I whined about this to The Spouse. "I know how to make deep dish pizza," he said, oh so casually. 16 years and he still has the power to surprise.

"You do???"

He looked at me with surprise, like his deep dish pizza making abilities were legend and I hadn't been paying attention. "Sure. I used to work in a pizza place that made deep dish. It was called "Chicago's", remember?"

And then I did remember. I remembered the place, used to be located near the Seattle Center and always busy. I also vaguely recalled that in true old Chicago style there was some nefarious reason why the place eventually closed. The upshot of all this, of course, is that The Spouse offered to make that week's pizza in the style I so craved.

I asked if he had a recipe. He looked at me oddly. "The one I always use is fine. I just need a deep dish pan".

"Like a cake pan?"

"Sure".

(While I was grocery shopping I picked up a couple of 9" pans...nice ones with a flanged edge. I didn't think my 8" pans were quite enough to hold what I dreamt of).

Friday came and The Child was sleeping over at a friends. We'd have a whole pie to ourselves. Bliss.

He started the sauce and began the dough.

Pizza Dough

2 T. yeast
2 t. sugar
1 c. warm water
2 T. olive oil
2 t. salt
4 c. (or more) all-purpose flour

Place yeast, sugar and water in bowl of a standing mixer and let sit until yeast begins to foam and bubble.

Add in the olive oil and salt.

With dough hook attachment, begin working in the flour to form a ball of dough that holds it's shape and is not sticky.

Turn out on a floured board and knead until smooth and elastic.

Oil the mixing bowl and return dough to it, turning once to coat. (Yes, you read that right. Put the dough back in the mixing bowl. There is no sense in dirtying up 2 bowls when making bread).

Cover with a damp towel and set in a warm spot to rise until double. Punch down and let rest for a few minutes before proceeding with the pizza-making.

Preheat oven to 425°.

Unos Pizza in Chicago lays claim to being the birthplace of deep dish. One of their signature tricks is that the cheese goes on the crust first, before the sauce. So The Spouse tried that, laying slabs of mozzarella down before giving them a (slighty too thick) coat of sauce and topping it all off with some fresh basil leaves.

About 25 minutes later it was done.

It was glorious, the crust perfectly brown and crispy, the cheese thick and silky. There was, as I mentioned, a bit too much sauce on the pie but because it was on top it was easy to scrap off. And the extra made a nice dipping sauce for the ends of crust, which I uncharacteristically ate.

The only other note: next time we'll have to make at least 2 as the pair of us dispatched this tidy little pie with ease. A taste of the Windy City in the Emerald City. I am satisfied.

Sunday Confessions: Short Cut Aioli

2007-07-15T09:21:00.000-07:00

Confession #1: Some of my bloggy buddies describe me as a "foodie". I am not comfortable with this designation for the simple reason that it implies the sort of person who is snotty and smug about food, who looks down her nose at anyone who doesn't use all fresh and natural (and preferably) exotic ingredients at all times; a person who regards cooking and dining as an extreme sport and pities those who haven't the culinary skill or highly advanced taste buds that she so clearly does.

I'm not like that.

I love food. I love to talk about it, read about it, write about it. I love to cook it and I really love to eat it. But I'm not a foodie.

I'm not a gourmet, either. Here's how our friends at Houghton Mifflin define the term:
gour·met n. A connoisseur of fine food and drink.

[French, from Old French, alteration (influenced by gourmand, glutton) of groumet, servant, valet in charge of wines, from Middle English grom, boy, valet.]

Usage Note: A gourmet is a person with discriminating taste in food and wine, as is a gourmand. Because gourmand can also mean "one who enjoys food in great quantities" or even "a gluttonous eater," care should be taken to make clear its intended sense. An epicure is much the same as a gourmet, but the word may sometimes carry overtones of excessive refinement. This use of epicure is a misrepresentation of Epicurean philosophy, which, while it professed that pleasure was the highest good, was hardly given to excessive concern with food and drink.

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

Now it's true that owing to a past relationship with a very handsome oenophile, I can tell the difference between a Bordeaux, a Burgundy and a Rhone. I enjoy a nice glass of wine. But I'm also perfectly happy with our house wine, 3 Buck Chuck from Trader Joe's.

And yes, it's probably fair to say that I'm somewhat discriminating about food. Although, as I sat here trying to think up an example, I kept remembering the Velveeta and chili dip that we eat at Dave's when watching baseball games and thought, "Yeah, maybe not so much on the discriminating thing, either".

So I'm not a foodie, a gourmet, an epicure or even a gourmand (I'm drawn to the notion that a gourmand differs from a gourmet in being more focus on the pleasures of the table than parsing what's on it but the glutton connotation is repugnant. Gluttony is one of the worst of the deadly sins in my view; pigging out prohibits savoring and savoring leads to gratitude and gratitude leads on to other joyous things, like blessing and conviviality and satisfaction. Yeah, certainly not a gourmand).

I know people are exceeding fond of labels and there's not much one can do to prevent it. But my epitaph should read: "She liked to cook". That would be enough.

Confession #2) I am all about the short-cuts.

The day I discovered Martha Stewart's recipe for making pate brisee in a food processor was like Independence Day. No more fussing with a pastry cutter? Sign me up!

Last night, I took another short-cut, and it did what short-cuts do, get me quicker to the place I want to be. And because I can get there more quickly, I'll now go there more often. I'm talking about aiolï, people.

This might not even be a revelation to some. "Well, duh", could be the general response. But see, I used to make my aiolï with a mortar and pestle, just like it said in At Home in Provence. Because Pat Wells is not a fussy cook and if she made hers in a mortar and pestle then that must be the way it's to be done.

But it was hard. It was messy. (I couldn't ever do it without splashing vast quantities of olive oil everywhere. Eeww). And I was never particularly pleased with the results. Maybe just because I had such a bad attitude by the end of the experience that it jaded my taste buds.

Consequently, I only made aiolï once a year, to go with our Bastille Day boullaibaise and then it took me another 12 months to get over my irritation at the process.

Well, last night, when it was time to belly up to the mortar and pestle (a very nice marble one, too, which I like so much every other day of the year) and began reviewing the recipe with a cold clutch at my heart I thought, "Screw it. There's no reason I can't do this in a food processor".

So I did.

And it worked. It worked perfectly well. And the aiolï was one of the best I've ever made, thick and yellow, perfectly garlicky with a nice hint of the olive oil but not too olive oil-y. (My mortar/pestle version always seemed to be too much about the oil taste).

Not only was it spectacular on the soup, but The Child slathered it all over half a baguette and there weren't even any crumbs left when she was done. And now that I have made it easy on myself, there will always be aiolï, bestowing it's unction upon the lowliest of sandwiches or tarting up a simple soup. This makes me very happy.

Short-Cut Aiolï

6 fresh garlic cloves, peeled
1/2 t. fine sea salt
2 large egg yolks, at room temperature
1 c. extra-virgin olive oil

Whiz the garlic and salt in a food processor until finely minced. Scrape the sides of the bowl

Add the egg yolks and whiz everything up again to combine and scrape the bowl again.

With the motor running, begin to drizzle in the oil, just a teaspoon or so at a time until it begins to incorporate into the egg-garlic mixture. When it starts to emulsify (you'll be able to tell because it will start looking like mayonnaise...which is what aiolï is, after all) gradually increase the stream of oil, pouring slowly and steadily into the mixture. When the last of the oil is in the food processor let it run just a few seconds longer to incorporate and stop the motor. The sauce should be thick and a sunny shade of yellow with no obvious oil slicks.

The sauce will keep, covered, in the fridge for a couple of days. Return to room temperature before serving.

Breakfast in Chicago

2007-07-14T15:02:00.000-07:00

It seems we did nothing but eat while we were in Chicago, which I suppose it as it should be. We did all the standards, of course; Chicago-style hot dogs (love the sport peppers), steak, deep dish pizza. We also ate Thai, Cajun and Szechuan. I cooked for people, too, since that was sort of my point in going to Chicago in the first place.

The first night we were in town we caught a Food Network show wherein Giada Delaurentiis ate her way through Chicago. She featured a breakfast place called Orange on Harrison that got The Child very excited so I promised her we'd visit. We finally made it there on the last morning of our stay.

It's a hip little spot, sunny and open, with service that is casually friendly and quick. The Child was enamoured of the faux orange trees that "grew" out of the walls.

I'm all for cute restaurants and pleasant waitstaff but the tell is the food. And Orange delivers. We were drawn there by specific menu items and although the breakfast selections were all very tempting, we ordered what we came for.

First, The Spouse and The Child indulged in Orange's do-it-yourself juice menu. You pick the combinations, they juice it up for you on the spot. The Spouse stuck with orange juice but The Child ordered watermelon and lime (inspired, no doubt, by her Uncle Buck's frozen watermelon dacquiries. And of course hers was a virgin drink. Sheesh). Her only complaint was that she didn't order a larger drink because it was very refreshing. (I stuck with coffee).

Then it was on to the appetizer course of "fruishi".

Is that adorable or what?

The sticky rice is slightly sweetened and then rolled like regular sushi. The morning of our visit the fruishi menu was kiwi sashimi and strawberry rolls. The fruit was perfect, the rice spot on and not too icky sweet. We could easily have ordered more but there were other things to try.

Specifically, I was in the mood for French toast kabobs, bread soaked in coconut infused milk and eggs shares the skewer with strawberries and pineapple and is then grilled. (They also serve you a couple regular slices of French toast, so it's a substantial meal). The skewers rest on a compote of mango and coconut and the plate is decorated with purees of strawberry and mango. The waitress pointed out the maple syrup on the table, but much as I love syrup on my French toast, it wasn't required. The purees were just little pure puddles of fruit essence and served the toast very well.
The Child ordered green eggs and ham, a mound of the same, scrambled with pesto and topped with big slabs of mozzerella. Bits of tomato hid in the scramble, giving it the air of a caprese salad. It came with some sort of potao side that we never even tried, the eggs being quite enough to satisfy hunger.

Another little treat was the water. It was served with a round of cucumber floating in it, something I've never had before, and it was wonderful. In fact, the other day, when the temperatures reached into the high 90s, we made ourselves some and it was tres refreshing. Highly recommend it.

It was a lovely breakfast and ample enough to fuel a walk to the Art Institute and keep us sated until well into the afternoon. If you are ever in the Windy City you have to give Orange a try.

Orange on Harrison
75 W. Harrison, Chicago, IL, 60605
312.447.1000

When It's Too Hot to Cook: Pan Bagnat

2007-07-13T11:03:00.000-07:00

We've had some scorching, for us, temperatures this week here in Seattle. Thank heaven for the Big Ass Grill.

But for me, summer time food isn't always about grilling. I yearn toward simple dishes with bright flavors, crisp textures, things that are cool on the tongue to begin with, sending the message to the rest of your body that there are viable (and delicious) alternatives to sweltering.

I first encountered this dish the summer I decided to grow haricot vert and was looking for recipes to use them up. Now, strictly speaking, haricot vert is simply French for "green bean". But haricot vert are small and thin, something you can eat whole without any trimming of ends or snapping into bits. They are crisp, tender, not stringy and the very essence of a green bean. Plus, they have all that French attitude.

They are also fairly hard to come by unless you grow them yourself, have a good farmer's market or a hipster produce vendor. It is entirely possible to make this with regular string beans but look for ones that are young, thin and tender.

There are lots of different recipes for this Provencal classic. Mine has a few more ingredients than some of the other recipes I've found and I like it that way. You can certainly play with it, using chopped tomatoes instead of cherry toms or leaving out ingredients you don't like or can't find (I couldn't locate any fennel the other day, for example). You'll likely end up with more of the tuna-veggie mix than you need, which is just fine. The longer the ingredients have to sit, the better. In fact, the evening after we had the sammies for dinner, The Spouse and I ate the rest of it, tossed with romaine, as a salad. It was delicious.

Pan Bagnat

¼ pound haricot verts
½ red onion, thinly sliced
½ bulb fennel, thinly sliced
1-pint cherry tomatoes, quartered
½ red pepper, seeded and diced
¼ c. Nicoise olives, pitted and roughly chopped
2 T. capers
2 6.5 oz. cans tuna, drained
4 large crusty rolls
2 hard-boiled eggs, sliced

Make 1 c. vinaigrette dressing (I like a simple balsamic vinegar-olive oil dressing, almost equal parts vinegar and oil, for this but any vinaigrette that you like will work). Toss first nine ingredients with ¾ c. of the dressing.

Slice open rolls and scoop out some of the bread on the top half of each roll. Brush rolls with more vinaigrette. Pile salad mix on bottom half, top with egg slices and cover with top of roll.

More Pictures of Paintings of Food

2007-07-08T18:05:00.000-07:00

I have always been drawn to paintings that celebrate food and the table. Possibly because I have no artistic ability myself but wish I did. There's a reason most still-lifes feature food. It is beautiful. It is deceptively simple. "Oh," you say, "an orange. It's round, it's orange, I can draw that". But then, if the you is me, you can't. Because "round" and "orange" are only the beginning. There are bumps, divots, shadings. And while I have enough of an artist's eye to see these things, transferring what I see from my eye to my hand to paper, not so much.

So I look at the paintings of others. And love them. And feel hungry.

"Still Life: Corner of a Table", Henri Fantin-Latour, 1873, oil on canvas

The Child was enamoured of this still life of fish. Here's a close-up.

"Still Life with Fish and Shells", Baron James Ensor, 1898, Oil on canvas

"The Basket of Apples", Paul Cezanne, 1893, Oil on canvas

Good Enough to Eat

2007-07-07T19:40:00.000-07:00

We went to the Chicago Art Institute yesterday and I found this painting by Renoir. I'm starting to think about Provencal food now...

"Fruits of the Midi", 1818, oil on canvas, Pierre Auguste Renoir (French, 1841-1919)

Too Busy Eating to Blog

2007-07-03T08:57:00.000-07:00

My vacation joke: "Hey, I weighed 98 pounds when I got here and now look at me!"

We're having the bestest time EVAH in Chicago, and pretty much all we're doing is eating. Or it seems that way. No one has actually experienced hunger since we got here. Thai food on Friday, dinner party on Saturday, deep dish pizza on Sunday and yesterday was a Creole lunch and "dinner" at the Taste of Chicago. I'm booking the gastric bypass surgery for next week.

But since you troubled to come by, here are some photos of some of the things we've been eating.

Saturday night Jon and I fulfilled a year long dream to cook together. That in itself was superfantastic. The fact that we fed a table full of wonderful, funny people was the buttercream on the gateau.

Fat slabs of pork loin chops were marinated in basil, olive oil, red chilies and garlic. The Spouse grilled them and they were served with a cherry-jalapeno salsa.
Dinner started with a mesclun salad in shallot vinaigrette, with a goat cheese crouton. Please note the tablescape. That was Steve's job, and a fine job of it he did. He was thrilled to pull out all the glassware and please note there was white wine, red wine, water and dessert wine. Plus the champagne flutes for the tapenade starter.
Iwanski (with the lovely Miss Healthypants), displaying the plate o' meat.

The pork chops were accompanied by steamed asparagus with a lemon compound butter and sprinklings of lemon zest and a gratin of summer squash and pine nuts.
Someone at the party must have taken a photo of the strawberry-nectarine kabobs with caramel and limoncello scented creme fraiche. But the real hit of the dessert course was the whiskey and maple syrup cordial from Canada, displayed here by guest Harry. It was De.Li.Cious.

Yesterday we had lunch at a Cajun-Creole place called Heaven on Seven.

I started with fried green tomatoes in a perfect remoulade sauceand followed up with very tasty Louisiana crabcakes and slaw.The Spouse enjoyed this substantial spicy chicken sandwich.The Child stepped up to a plate of ribs. This was the appetizer size, btw.She enjoyed them. They were just the right blend of sweet and spicy and properly messy.Hot sauce anyone?
Today we may forage out for a Chicago dog. We can eat nothing but celery and drink nothing but mineral water when we get home.

Adventures in Dining

2007-06-28T09:36:00.000-07:00

Some of the best meals I've ever had have been in cities, even countries, not my own. A big part of the thrill of travelling is eating the food of the area. Sometimes it's the best way to understand the culture and attitudes of a place. You snarf down a hot dog on the streets of New York and it connects to the pace of that city. Sometimes the food, or the place where you eat it, says something about history. I also once had breakfast in the Rose Room of the Algonquin (poached eggs, toast and coffee) just so I say I'd been in the same room as the Round Table.

BBQ in Dallas, my first fajitas in Houston, clams, clams, and more clams on Martha's Vineyard. Chinese food in Chinatown (SF). Supper in Napa. Salmon and pink wine in Nantes. Oh, if I were to start down the memory lane of food I've eaten other places we'd be here all day. And I can't. Because tomorrow we leave for a week in Chicago and there are things to do!

I can tell you, however, that eating will be a key part of this adventure. I will be cooking for people (at least one nice dinner party plus corn dogs and baked beans for the 4th of July...which for reasons known only to Chicagoans will be celebrated on the 3rd because that's when they do their big fireworks display). And there will be dining out. Our host already has a list as long as his arm of places at which we absolutely must eat. Plus The Spouse intends to go to the Taste of Chicago, which is something on the order of a pilgrimage for him. There's a little piano bar at which I must have a drink. I fully intend to sample the street food. I must have a Chicago-style hot dog, which I've done before under other circumstances but not in Chicago. And perhaps I'll get a definitive answer to the question "Exactly what is a sport pepper?". I have to see if their coffee is any good.

Oh, it's going to be a cook's tour if ever there was one and I can't wait. I should have been consuming nothing but celery and water this week, in preparation. (I didn't).

So watch this spot for updates as we eat our way through the Windy City.

Applesauce Cake

2007-06-26T12:35:00.000-07:00

It started last summer. Our apple stick had yielded a lot of fruit and I was thinking of things to do with the bounty. Of course, pie, but there were so man, I had to think of some other uses. I started to crave applesauce cake and wrote about it in my blog. Well, there's apparently something about applesauce cake that spoke to a deep and ancient place in my readership. Because there was much virtual yumming going on.

And it became an icon, an in-joke. When someone had something to celebrate, I "baked" them an applesauce cake. References to applesauce cake abound in both posts and comments. Maybe there's just something sort of amusing about applesauce cake. Say it. It sounds kinda funny.

But applesauce cake is also very yummy. I'm a bit of a purist when it comes to cake. While nuts and raisins hold important places in my culinary adventures, in pastry not so much. Somehow, it just feels like too much work to eat a slice of cake that's full of bits. Pure and simple, that's the way to go. But if you like those things in your applesauce cake, by all means add them in.

This cake is very pleasant as is and unadorned. (Especially for breakfast). It is also very nice with a snowfall of confectioner's sugar or a saucing of creme anglaise or whipped cream. But it is out-of-this-world with a candied ginger buttercream.

Lorraine's Applesauce Cake

1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
2 cups brown sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 1/4 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg pinch of cloves
½ teaspoon powdered ginger
2 cups applesauce

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

In a mixer fitted with a whisk attachment, cream the butter. Add the brown sugar and continue mixing. Add the eggs, 1 at a time, and vanilla, then mix until well blended and fluffy.

In a separate bowl, sift together the dry ingredients. Add to the creamed mixture alternately with the applesauce. Pour batter into a greased and floured loaf or tube pan and bake until firm to the touch, about 40 to 45 minutes. Let cool in the pan, then turn it out.

To serve dust with powdered sugar or frost with Gingered Vanilla Buttercream Icing.

Gingered Vanilla Buttercream Icing

3 c. confectioner’s sugar
1 c. butter, softened to room temperature
1 t. vanilla extract
1-2 T. whipping cream
¼ candied ginger, chopped up fine

In a standing mixer fitted with a whisk, mix together sugar and butter. Mix on low speed until well blended and then increase speed to medium and beat for another 3 minutes.

Add vanilla, 1 T. cream and the ginger and continue to beat on medium speed for 1 minute more, adding more cream if needed to reach spreadable consistency.

Melon Soup

2007-06-26T09:19:00.000-07:00

Strictly speaking, I don't find myself a big fan of chilled soups. Soup is for cold winter nights, when you need something hot and sustaining to give you hope that spring will someday return. But it just isn't the sort of thing one thinks of first on a warm summer evening.

That said, The Child and I were planning a menu for a baby shower and she remembered a melon soup that I'd made once long ago. I had no recollection of it and couldn't find the recipe, but the idea had appeal. It's easy, it looks pretty and we were going for an easy, pretty, elegant vibe for the menu.

When in doubt, ask Martha. I found this recipe on her site and didn't change it a lick. It wasn't the least bit fussy but the mix-and-match element of it sounded fun. And it was. The two soups were delicious, although I think the honeydew was the favorite. When I make it again, and I will, I think I'll make the honeydew for everyone with just a dollop of the canteloup for counterpoint.

It was served it in martini glasses, which is something I've done for hot soup as well. It's an elegant presentation and it makes the serving size just right when the soup is served as a course and not the main event. It might have been the glasses that made Stina think that mixing the soup with vodka would result in a spectacular summertime drink. I could see it, blended with ice to make a kind of adult smoothie. It would also have been perfectly fine for dessert but as it was, coming between the bruscetta and chicken salad, it was a surprising, refreshing twist.

And did I mention that it was easy?

Summer Solstice Feast 07

2007-06-25T10:19:00.000-07:00

The first day of summer is June 21 but the season begins for us officially when we gather the usual suspects for our Summer Solstice feast (always held as close to the 21st as possible).

Summer bounty is not yet at its peak in June but the menu always revolves around a light entree (it's been chicken 7 out of 10 times) and simple preparations that allow the ingredients to shine. ChouChou and John are in charge of the dinner wine, The Boys always provide the "pudding" and we do the rest.

This year we began with a classic aperitif of olives and salted peanuts, accompanied by what I called a Clafoutis Cocktail. I used the reserved juice from the clafoutis I'd made the night before and mixed a tablespoon of juice in a glass of champagne. It was a brilliant garnet color and very delicious.

Then we sat down to the amuse bouche, wild mushroom dumplings in a gorgeous tomato sauce.

Won Ton and Wild Mushroom Amuse Bouche
12 won ton wrappers
1/2 c. dried wild mushrooms, rehydrated
2 T. butter
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 T. dry Vermouth
1 T. fresh thyme leaves
1 shallot, finely chopped
½ c. heavy cream
3 t. tomato paste
fresh thyme sprigs for garnish

Rehydrate the mushrooms in a bowl of warm water. When mushrooms have plumped up, remove and gently squeeze out the excess water. Reserve the "mushroom juice" and rough chop the mushrooms.

In a skillet over medium high heat, sauté the mushrooms and 3 garlic cloves in 1 T. butter; add 1 T. of the Vermouth and continue cooking until all the liquid is absorbed. Add the thyme and 1 T. or so of the mushroom juice and gently cook until liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat.

Place approximately 1 t. mushroom mixture in the center of each won ton. With your finger, moisten edges of wonton wrapper and gather together to form a purse. Seal the edges.

To make the sauce, melt remaining 1 T. butter in a skillet over medium high heat. Add the shallot and 1 garlic clove and sauté until translucent. Add the Vermouth, whipping cream and tomato paste. Continue cooking until cream coats the back of a spoon. Remove from heat and add salt and pepper to taste.

Just before serving, bring a large pan of water to the boil and pop wonton purses into rapidly boiling water for about 1 minute. Remove from heat and drain won tons. Place a dollop of sauce on serving plate, put a single wonton on plate, garnish with sprigs of fresh thyme and serve.

Because the meal in general was going to be very light, I actually served 2 won tons per person.

I love using wonton wrappers because they aren't fussy things like, say, phyllo dough. They are already a manageable size, you don't have to keep them covered while you're trying to work with them, they seal easily and they are super inexpensive. Plus, they keep forever in the freezer. Love. Them.

It also doesn't take a lick of culinary skill to make the cute little purses. See?

Put the filling on the wrappers.

Seal the edges with a little water.

Pull the edges together, first into a triangle

and then bring up the outside corners and press together.

You can make these ahead and keep them covered with plastic wrap until you're ready to cook.

This is what the plate looked like. Don't worry, I wiped off the sauce splashes. The sauce was so delicious that everyone spooned it up when the wontons were gone. You could easily increase the amounts to make a superfantastic sauce for pasta.

Then we had my signature salad, because as often as I've made it, it had never been served to this particular bunch of guests. The recipe varies a little, sometimes I make it with spinach, sometimes I add bleu cheese. But this time it was just romaine, mandarin oranges and candied pecans.

Lorraine's Signature Salad
1 head romaine lettuce, cut into strips (or use a bunch of spinach)
1 tin mandarin oranges, drained and juice reserved
1 c. pecan halves
2 T. butter
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. crumbled bleu cheese (optional)

Prepare the pecans. Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium high heat and saute the pecans for a moment or two. Add in the brown sugar and stir until it combines with the butter to form caramel. Stir constantly, taking care not to let the sauce brown and until pecans are well coated. Pour out on a piece of parchment paper and allow to cool.

Make the dressing:
1/3 c. reserved juice from mandarins
2 T. rice wine vinegar (or to taste)
approx. 1/3 c. mandarin orange olive oil (or regular olive oil)
1 t. Dijon mustard

Whisk together the juice, vinegar and mustard. Taste and adjust with a little more vinegar or mustard if needed. Whisk in the olive oil until it emulsifies.

To make the salad toss the greens, oranges and cheese (if using). Toss with some of the dressing. Add pecans and toss again.

The Spouse was in charge of the entree, which was Chicken Piccata. I'll try to snag the recipe from him later. Suffice to say that it was perfect. He put the lemon in its place, it wasn't tart but just offered up all its sunny essence. This was accompanied by a summer squash gratin and a fun twist on a caprese salad. Instead of slabs of tomato and mozzarella, I diced the tomatoes, cut the basil into a chiffonade and tossed them with little pearl sized mozzarella balls in balsamic vinegar and olive oil. I served it in egg cups so the dressing wouldn't interfere with the piccata sauce. It was a cute presentation and everyone was absolutely delighted by the tiny balls of mozzarella.

The original squash recipe called for a pound of zucchini and was made in a large gratin dish. I made a smaller amount and served it in individual gratin dishes.

Summer Squash Gratin
2 T. olive oil
1 medium zucchini
1 medium yellow summer squash
1/2 c. pine nuts
2 garlic cloves, peeled and minced
1/4 c. whipping cream
salt & pepper to taste
1/4 c. freshly grated Gruyere cheese

Preheat the broiler.

Trim the ends of the squashes, cut into round slices and then quarter the rounds, to make largish chunks.

In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium heat. Add garlic, squash and pine nuts. Cook for about 5 minutes until squash begins to brown. Lower heat, cover dish and cook until soft, about 10 minutes.

Divide the squash among gratin dishes. Drizzle each with cream. Sprinkle to taste with salt and pepper. Sprinkle cheese over the squash. Place under the broiler until the cheese melts and turns golden and the cream is bubbly, about 3 minutes.

We drank chardonnay with the amuse bouche (3 Buck Chuck...why not?) and with dinner we had a nice Kendall-Jackson Cabernet Sauvignon (2004) and a delightful Bordeaux style "claret" from Robert Karl, a 2004 from the Columbia Valley.

The Boys provided a delicious tart for the pudding course, made with chocolate, orange and pine nuts. It was beautiful to look at and a sheer blessing to eat. They brought along some 2005 Essensia, an orange muscat, which was of course, a perfect complement.
The meal was spectacular but one of the best moments for me was when The Spouse and I were in the kitchen, him finishing up the chicken and me broiling the gratin and helping with the plating. Very happy conversation was floating in from the dining room, The Child and guests engaging in comfortable, flowing talk. It was so lovely, as the hostess, to be away from the table and know that we weren't required to keep things going. But then, I shouldn't have been surprised. We realized mid-way through dinner that this is the 10th Solstice Feast we've celebrated together. I suppose people know each other pretty well by now.

Potluck Classic: CousCous & Black Bean Salad

2007-06-25T09:38:00.000-07:00

I've had two potluck events in the last week. I love the idea of a potluck, and never cease to be amazed at the way in which something that isn't planned can result in so much harmony. Even if 3 people bring the same sort of salad, all 3 will have a twist that sets it apart from the others.

I have one go-to dish that I like to bring to such affairs. It's usually the only one of it's kind on the table, it's delicious and it literally takes maybe 7 minutes to put together. Yesterday, for example, I was totally occupied with other things leading up to a 2pm party and I made this at 1:30, just before I had to leave the house.

When I was a kid and reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder "Little House" books, I came across the description of a church potluck. When the family left the party Ma's dishes were empty and Pa said something about it being a credit to her cooking. I've always held that in mind and feel inordinately pleased when I cart home an empty dish. Which I did this week. Twice.

Couscous and Black Bean Salad

1 c. whole wheat couscous
1 c. boiling water
1 red pepper
1 c. frozen corn
1 tin black beans
1/4 c. cilantro
balsamic vinegar
olive oil
salt

Put the couscous in a serving dish and pour the boiling water over it. Cover the dish with a plate.
Seed and dice the red pepper.

Drain and gently rinse the black beans in a colander. Shake off excess water.

Rough chop the cilantro.

By the time you've assembled the other ingredients the couscous will be done. Fluff the grains with a fork and add the pepper, beans, corn and cilantro. Toss to combine.

Sprinkle the salad with balsamic vinegar and olive oil, add a pinch of salt and toss again. Taste and adjust seasonings.

(I didn't give you a measurement for the vinegar and oil because I honestly don't know how much I put in. My oil and balsamic live in matching Eiffel Tower bottles with pour tops. See?

I just drizzle each over the top of the salad, from one end of the dish to the other and that's usually enough. (Maybe a Tablespoon or so?) Then I taste it and if necessary, I just sploosh on a bit more. Trust your tastebuds.)

Salt of the Earth

2007-06-24T09:06:00.000-07:00

Faithful reader and general bon vivant, Red asked a question about the post "DSP" which really deserves a proper post of its own. Specifically, he queried as to the uses for red and black salt. (He also wondered why he tends to speak in Elizabethan tones when leaving comments here. That I can't help him with).

In recent years the forces of Foodism have elevated sodium chloride from useful, necessary culinary compound to an art form. Remember when using kosher salt instead of regular old table salt was considered cutting edge? Now it's all about the designer salts... fleur de sel and knowing the origin, appelation and terroir of the salt. "Oh, this? It's a lovely little fleur de sel, from the south side of a little-known beach in Brittany. Plucked only by unsullied virgins and carried from the sea in gilded bowls". I have even heard of salt tastings. Really? Seriously? We can't think of anything better to do with our time then sit around tasting a variety of salt and ranking them, as we would wine? Surely there's a rerun of "Whose the Boss" to catch up on.

All this hooha does beg the question: is there a difference? Better palates then mine have attempted to answer the question and it is the work of minutes to see what they learned. But you know what I think?

Salt is salt.

That's right. Regardless of the harvesting methods, the region, the color or the unsullied virgins involved in the process, salt need only be salty to win my admiration. Yes, there is a subtle whiff of the ocean that can be detected in sea salt that you won't find in run-o-the-mill salt. But once it hits the food you really can't tell. I'd suggest that anyone who says they can tell is a pretentious toff. But that would be judgemental and I'm kind.

There is something to be said for the size of the grains, for sure. You don't want to put big hunks of NaCl into a baked good, for example, as the salt needs to dissolve quickly so that it can react with the other chemicals and not crunch. But otherwise, I can't tell the difference. I've tried. I can discern the difference between a Bordeaux and a Rhone so it's not that I have no palate. But if there are flavor differences between the varieties of available salt in the world, they are completely lost on me.

So, you rightly ask, what's with the variety of salt in your kitchen? Simple. I think they are pretty. I buy my red and black Hawaiian sea salt at Trader Joe's because they look cool sitting in their little latte bowls beside the stove. And sometimes I also have a greeny-grey Celtic salt that I can get in bulk at my co-op. I sprinkle the colorful salt on veggies just before serving. The large grains dissolve slower than kosher or table salt so they give a little discreet visual kick to dishes. I don't use them in cream or yogurt based sauces, because the color runs. Especially with the black one. It can look quite nasty.

But once the salt reduces to it's briny essence, it is merely saline. Nothing spectacular. Nothing to make you stop and say, "Golly, that was some salt you used on those steamed beans, missy!"

So by all means, if you find some groovy looking salt buy it and put it in a sweet little bowl on your kitchen counter. But please, when your friends ooh and ahh, be honest. Tell them you like the look of it and be done with it. Loving good food and being a twit about it are two completely different things.

Summer Chicken Salad

2007-06-23T12:55:00.000-07:00

The mission: light but elegant entree for a summer evening baby shower

Solution: this.

("Mom, why are you always taking pictures of my food?" asks The Child).

It is a pretty salad, a very refreshing salad, and a salad that is full of gorgeous flavors that stand distinct and yet work together beautifully.

I was very pleased with the outcome of this salad. It was a cobbling together of a couple different salads I've tried before. This little fusion worked particularly well and best of all, it didn't give the mother-to-be (or anyone else, for that matter) heartburn. It uses a smidge of curry, just to get the flavor but not the heat. This worked particularly well for the couple of guests who are not fans of curry. If you have no such issue at your table you could increase the amount of curry, but frankly, I wouldn't do it by much. It's more the essence of curry you're going for here, so that the other flavors are allowed to play nicely but stand on their own.

Lorraine's Chicken (Curry) Salad

5 poached chicken breasts, cooled
(Yes, of course, substitute left-over chicken if you have it)
1 head romaine lettuce
4 sugar mangos (or 2 regular)
1/2 c. chopped fresh cilantro
2 red chilies
1 bunch scallions

Dressing
1 c. plain yogurt
2 T. mango chutney (such as Major Grey's)
1 t. curry powder
1-2 T. rice wine vinegar
olive oil

Dice the chicken in largish chunks and place in large bowl. As you prepare each of the ingredients, add them in with the chicken.

Cut the lettuce into a chiffonade.

Slice the mangos lengthwise, on either side of the pit. Make cross-hatch cuts in the fruit and scoop out the flesh into the salad.

Cut chilies in half, seed and finely dice.

Rough chop the cilantro.

Thinly slice the scallions, using the white and green parts.

When everything is in the salad bowl, gently toss with your hands until all the ingredients are evenly distributed.

For the dressing: place all the ingredients but the olive oil in a blender and whiz for a couple minutes until everything is well combined. You can try taking the little top off the blender lid, running the blender on low and slowly pouring in a stream of olive oil but as that method results in my having to change clothes right before the party, the better bet might be pouring the dressing into a bowl and slowly whisking in olive oil, just until dressing begins to emulsify. This is supposed to be a thin dressing so you'll only use a few Tablespoons of oil. Taste and adjust seasonings. You might want to add a little salt.

Pour dressing over salad and toss again. May keep chilled for a couple hours before serving.

Clafoutis

2007-06-23T10:17:00.000-07:00

The first time I ever had clafoutis (clow (as in, "Ow! That hurts!)-foo-tea) when we first moved into our house, 10 years ago. My friend Nicole had come to help me unpack my kitchen and brought along a swellegant little supper for us, which included a clafoutis for dessert. It was a little bowlful of heaven.

I have a sweet tooth but am not usually one for the big, gooey dessert. Dessert is, in fact, not a standard course in our house; usually making an appearance only at dinner parties and even then, I've sometimes been known to forget to serve it. And unless I'm serving dessert to ChouChou, who is the world's greatest chocoholic, I prefer fruit desserts like lemon curd tartlets or Tarte Tatin. Clafoutis is my idea of a perfect dessert, full of cherries baked in a very light custard-like cloud of yum, not too sweet and not too filling. It is also very quick and easy to make and virtually impossible to screw up.

Clafoutis is traditionally made with cherries and so holds a place as a go-to dessert for summer parties. It can be made with other fruits (although in France it is then called a flognarde (or flaugnarde. Which I don't think that sounds nearly as dreamy as clafoutis). The hard-core traditionalists do not pit the cherries, claiming that the pits impart a stronger flavor. That is no doubt true, as cherry pits have an almond-like thing going on. But I personally don't regard dessert as an extreme sport, nor does it seem very thoughtful to ask guests to risk the threat of dental work.

Recipes vary. Some stick to a straight-on custard approach: sugar, eggs and cream. Period. Others go for a more cake-like consistency by using flour or cornstarch. I do something in-between, using just a little flour to bolster the custard and give it a wee bit more body. Clafoutis is best served at room temperature the day it is made. Although I've been known to eat left-overs for breakfast.

Cherry Clafoutis

2 T. kirsch (although since I never have kirsch in the house, I use vodka, red wine or even water with a little almond extract in it)
1/2 c. plus 2 T. sugar
2 pounds pitted cherries (you can use frozen cherries if you like)
2 large eggs
6 T. heavy cream
6 T. milk

3 T. flour
Confectioner's sugar for garnish

Preheat the oven to 425 ° F.

Combine the liqueur and 2 T. of sugar, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Mix in the cherries and toss to blend. Pour everything out into baking dish. Put in the oven and bake about 10 minutes, until the fruit is hot.

Transfer the fruit to a colander to drain. (Reserve the juice...it makes a nice little addition to mineral water or champagne).

Lower the temperature of the oven to 350° F. Return the drained fruit to the baking dish, arranging it in a single layer.

In the bowl of an electric mixer beat the eggs on high for a minute or two until light and frothy. Add in the 1/2 c. of sugar and beat until well-blended, another minute or two. Add the cream, milk and flour; beat until blended.

Pour batter over the fruits, filling just until the cherries are covered. Bake until the batter is golden and firm, 35-40 minutes.

Let baking dish sit on a rack to cool. Sprinkle with confectioner's sugar before serving. You might also serve the clafoutis with some ice cream or whipped cream that you've flavored with some of the juice from the pre-baking. (The cream will turn a very pretty shade of pale pink).

DSP

2007-06-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

One of the things I love about cooking is that it is always new. I've been cooking for a long time. There are dishes I prepare without ever even looking at a recipe. Certain instincts have been developed over the years that go to timing and flavors and all the rest. But this hardly means I can rest on my bay laurels, smugly thinking I am a repository for all the food wisdom of the ages. Hardly.

Take the other day, for example. I learned something new. A minor thing, perhaps, but still. I have some lovely measuring spoons from Nigella Lawson. I like her products. They are beautiful and well-made, which is important to me. They are also sensible. Her mixing bowls, for example, are egg-shaped, so they fit perfectly into the crook of your arm when you're stirring up something and then you can pour the batter or whatever out of them without it slopping all over everything. And when I can have a sensible product that also looks good, I'm a very happy camper.

Right. So I bought the measuring spoons because I fell in love with them. But I was always confused by one of the spoons, a smidge smaller than the tablespoon and marked "dsp". I had no idea what that was supposed to mean and it wasn't noted on the box. So I looked it up and it turns out that "dsp" stands for "dessert spoon". It's a UK measurement. I don't know that I've ever seen it in a recipe before. Certainly, I'd never used a dessert spoon of anything.

You know how chefs on cooking shows will often say something like "add a teaspoon of salt" and then they'll just pour an amount into their palm and toss it into the soup? Once, long ago, I realized that they can do that because they know what a teaspoon of something looks like. I measured out a teaspoon of something, put it in my palm and looked at it. "Ah! That's a teaspoon!" Then I did the same with a tablespoon. In my hand a tablespoon of something is basically a palmful. The point is, knowing this, I don't always have to reach for a measuring spoon because I know what I'm dealing with.

I gave myself a visual the other day. A tablespoon of black salt, a teaspoon of white and there, in the middle, is a dessert spoon's worth of red salt.

Even as I tend to throw ingredients around willy-nilly, without benefit of measuring, there are plenty of times when I am more precise...when trying out a new recipe and certainly when baking. In the first case, I have to know how something is intended to taste before I decide if it needs fiddling with and in the second case, baking relies on scientifically proven chemical reactions. If something reads "add 1 Tablespoon baking powder" this is not a suggestion but a requirement.

I am now enamoured of having a measurement called "dessert spoon". I's a cute little measurement, I think. I suspect that UK cooks don't limit its application to the dessert course but it seems to me that would be logical. A dessert spoon...more sweetness than a teaspoon but less than a tablespoon. When something calls for a sprinkling of sugar, I'll bet the intent is for a dessert spoon amount. At least, that's the way I will be thinking about it.

Sandwiches

2007-06-19T18:22:00.000-07:00

Today marked one of my favorite rituals in the course of the school year: the final lunch-packing.

I do not enjoy packing my child's lunch, despite the fact that it really isn't all that difficult. There's just something about it that annoys the grape jelly outta me. Maybe it's the fact that no matter how well-balanced, nutritious and even cute the lunch is, the odds are 50/50 that The Child is going to eat it.

And sure. She's old enough to be packing her own lunch and sometimes she does. But this usually involved just dumpting the sugar canister into her lunch bag.

Today I made her a chicken, mozzarella and pickle sandwich in pita. (This picture amuses me...it looks like the sandwich is sticking out its tongue). Perhaps this sounds like a disgusting combination to you, but she likes it. And today she actually ate it.

It got me thinking, though, about some of my best sandwich memories.

#5 Salmon & butter on white bread.

When I was about 12 we went to visit my mom's sister, who was living in Sekiu, Washington, with her family. Every day my dad, uncle and older cousins went off on a fishing boat, catching salmon in the Straits of Juan de Fuca. It was the proverbial shooting fish in a barrel scenario, with the menfolk catching salmon every time they dipped a rod to water.

Each afternoon they would take their catch in to the cannery and come away with the equivalent amount of salmon in tins.

I can't tell you the exact amount of our share but it was a lot. The gleaming tins lined one entire shelf in Dame Judi's pantry. Of a summer afternoon I'd go into the pantry, grab a tin and open it up. I'd slather 2 slices of bread with softened butter and load it up with the salmon. No adornment, no fussy lettuce to get in the way. Just pure, silky butter and pure oily salmon. Heaven.

#4 BTLs, any time.

This is a sandwich that you cannot screw up. Well, I suppose you can; like anything else, if the ingredients are inferior it can be a disappointment. But a ripe tomato, crisp lettuce, thick bacon cooked nice and crisp, wheat bread lightly toasted and good mayo and you have the perfect lunch. Or breakfast. Or dinner. Or snack.

#3 Egg salad, anytime.

This is another childhood favorite only for whatever reasons, it was treated as a special treat. For me, it is one of things so connected to a specific set of circumstances that, in memory, it is an iconic sandwich, the sandwich. Specifically, it was my "field trip" sandwich, a special treat that was oft accompanied by another special treat that rarely otherwise came into our kitchen, the Twinkie®. And yes, I avoid thinking about the health implications of eating either or both an unrefrigerated egg salad sandwich and a Twinkie®. Suffice to say, what doesn't kill you makes you strong.

Egg salad is another simple recipe (which illustrates, my puppies, that simple is very, very often the best): hard boiled eggs, which are grated and combined with mayo and just a touch of mustard.

This is still one of my sammies of choice, although I haven't the metabolism now to indulge as often as I might.

#2 A ham sandwich.

In this case, a specific ham sandwich. We were in Gare de Nord in Paris, waiting for the train to take us back to London. We'd just spent 5 glorious days in Nantes, at the wedding of a dear friend. And needless to say, we'd eaten very, very well. The wait for the train was long and The Child was only 4. Peckishness called so I took our last francs to a little stall in the station. I try very hard not to be an ugly American. So rather than assume the girl at the counter spoke English, I attempted to order in French. My French, it should be noted, is tres limited. I saw the word jambon and knew that was ham so simply said, "Un sandwich du jambon, si'l vous plais" or some such thing.

The girl handed me a long baguette, wrapped in white paper. Inside was butter and layers of thinly sliced ham. The outside of the baguette was perfectly crusty, shattering into lapsful of crumbs with every bite, but the bread closest to the ham was soft and yielding. As was the ham. The 3 of us shared it in perfect, comfortable bliss.

The number one best sandwich I ever ate was the turkey sandwich they brought me after I birthed The Child.

It had been a good 18 hours since I'd eaten anything, 12 of which I'd spent issuing a human from my body. I was famished. Wheat bread, turkey, some mayo and mustard. There might have been lettuce and tomato, I really don't remember. I just remember how absolutely perfect that sandwich tasted, how it's nourishment flowed straight into my labor-weary cells.

The fact that I was blissed out on hormones and drinking Veuve Cliquot might have enhanced the experience, particularly given that everything else I ate during my hospital stay was unspeakably foul. And that includes the oatmeal.

But every time we pass the hospital I tell The Child, "And there's where you were born. And where Mommy ate the best turkey sandwich of her life".

What's your favorite sandwich?

I Had a Little Lamb: Chops with Ras el-hanout & Mango Salsa

2007-06-18T09:18:00.000-07:00

I grew up on a farm and even though my dad was a school teacher, we kept a few animals. Mostly sheep, as they are fairly low maintenance.

The sheep were named and loved by us kids. The matriarch of the herd was a ewe named Endora. There's a reason real farmers don't name the food that they are eventually going to eat. One night Dame Judi served mutton stew and we all cried when we realized who it was.

After those days, I was not a big fan of lamb. I never cooked it myself, never ordered it in restaurants. And then I met The Spouse. He is a big fan of big meat. We started serving leg of lamb at our annual Carnevale dinner and while I can't say it moved lamb into my top 10 list, it did get me over the hump. (Oh, the things that man can do with rosemary and garlic).

This year at Carnevale we mixed things up with rack of lamb, cooked with ras-el-hanout and served with an utterly spectacular shiraz-honey sauce. The other night I put lamb on the menu and at the last minute decided to keep things simple and use some of the ras-el-hanout as a rub for the chops and just grill them.

Ras-el-hanout can be purchased in ethnic shops or you can make your own. There are myriad recipes for the stuff but I put together a combination that uses some of the most common and accessible ingredients:

Ras el-hanout

2 cinnamon sticks, broken into several pieces
1 T. cloves
1 T. coriander seeds
1 T. fenugreek
1 T. fennel seeds
1 T. mustard seeds
1 ¾ oz. dried rose petals (or substitute 1 T. dried rose hips, just make sure the roses are pesticide free)

Place all the ingredients in a metal frying pan and place over gentle heat. Cook until the seeds begin to pop in the pan. Toss as they start to pop and cook for a couple more minutes, taking care not to let them burn.

Remove from pan and grind the mixture in a spice grinder while still warm.

Store in an airtight container.

Lamb Chops

With this gorgeous rub on hand a plate of delicious lamb chops is the work of seconds. Simply pat the chops dry, lightly salt & pepper them and then rub both sides of each chop with the ras-el-hanout. Grill the chops until done. Voila!

I served them on a bed of spinach with mangos. A little bite of mango with the lamb was just heaven. Maybe next time I'll go so far as to make the mango into salsa. That would be superfantastic as well.

Mango Salsa

2 ripe mangos, diced
1 small red onion, finely diced
3 T. fresh cilantro
juice of 1 lime
dash of salt
dash of red chili flakes

The quickest way to prepare the mango is to slice in half, lengthwise, on either side of the pit. Cross-hatch the fruit with a sharp knife and scoop out of the peel.

Combine all the ingredients in a small bowl. Can be served immediately or allowed to sit in the fridge for a few hours until you are ready to use it.

Take a Picture: Pork Chops with Apples

2007-06-15T09:01:00.000-07:00

Today is the official launch date of my new food blog, although you wouldn't know it by looking at the posts. I figured it would be nice to start out with a small catalog of recipes so for the last week or so I've been pulling material from my other blog, "Here's the Thing", doing some edits, loading and giving the posts their original time stamps. There is more to come but I'm satisfied with the foundation.

On Wednesday, suffering from what amounts to a minor disappointment, but seemed major at the time, I had a long conversation with my bestie, JP. He helped me decided on a blog title, something I'd been over-thinking for days. Then we started talking about a visual concept, as he'd already agreed to make a banner for me. A picture sprang into my head but unfortunately, I am unable to draw anything but mice. So I decided to email my very creative friend, The Hat, told her the vision and begged her to make it happen.

Yesterday was a big day.

The Hat and I talked and about 15 minutes later she emailed me some art. I was back on the phone with her before the ink dried, so to speak, to tell her how utterly perfect it was. It was even better than what I was thinking and trust me, I was thinking something pretty great. A couple of minor changes and voila! there was my perfect little dishy lady (who I plan to name), all ready for her debut.

The art was immediately emailed to JP, who'd nonchalantly figured he'd putter with the banner over the weekend. But once he saw the dishy little gal he couldn't wait to get started.

Last night, as I began preparing dinner, he and I were on the phone, discussing the merits of various type faces, tweaking colors, fussing with the side bar. It's been long established that he and I share a brain, so this was a very delightful process. I mentioned that it seemed appropriate that we were puttering with my food blog while I was cooking.

"Take a picture," he said. (He's quite insistent that all the recipes include pictures so that he will be able to tell if he cooked a dish correctly. And besides, who doesn't love pictures of food?)

By the time the family sat down to table, I knew that this blog would launch a lot sooner than expected. It was time to get the dishy little woman out into Blogopia. It was all very exciting. But I had to wait until today. First, I had to eat my pork chops.

Pork Chops with Apples

For the chops:
4 boneless, center-cut, pork loin chops, patted dry
1 T. fresh thyme leaves
1/3 c. dry white wine
2 t. balsamic vinegar
1 t. unsalted butter
salt & pepper
olive oil for cooking

For the apples:
3 firm apples, cored and sliced
1 c. brown sugar
2 T. unsalted butter

Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat and add a couple tablespoons of olive oil. Lightly season the chops with salt and pepper and cook a couple minutes, turning to brown both sides.

Deglaze the pan with the wine, stirring to bring up the browned bits. Sprinkle chops with thyme leaves and balsamic vinegar. Cover skillet and reduce heat to medium. Don't let the sauce boil away.

While pork chops are cooking, melt 2 T. butter in another skillet.

Put brown sugar on a plate and press both sides of the apple slices into the sugar. Place apples in melted butter and cook on medium high heat, turning after about 3 minutes. Cook the apples another 2-3 minutes, just so they get a little brown, and remove to a platter.

Arrange pork on platter with the apples. Scrape the butter-sugar sauce from the apple skillet into the pork juices, stirring to combine and finish the sauce with one teaspoon of butter. Pour sauce over the pork and serve.

Texas Comfort Food: Payson's Papa's Chili

2007-06-14T21:46:00.000-07:00

My friend Payson is a good ol' boy. He actually did most of his growing up in Michigan, but his daddy's Texan roots sent off some shoots that pulled Payson back to Dallas when he started getting a hankerin' to settle down.

It makes me laugh that I'm even using words like ol' and hankerin' because Payson hardly fits the stereotype. I don't think I've ever even seen him in a cowboy hat, although I think he owns one. He has low-key but impeccable taste, a closet full of Ralph Lauren and really only starts sounding like he's from the Lone Star state when he gets a few glasses of Merlot in him. But somehow, even in the years when he lived in Seattle (which is how we met), or all the years between him leaving Seattle and settling in Dallas, I always thought of him as a Texan.

It may owe in large part to this recipe, which his daddy always made for the family and which he passed on as if he were handing me a sacred treasure. I have fond memories of this chili. Way back in the day, we lived in the same apartment building and were both being paid far too little for the work we did. He'd make a big pot of this chili and eat it for a week. Sometimes he'd invite me over for a bowl, which we'd eat with coleslaw and buttered bagels, 'cause that's the way his family always enjoyed it.

Myself, I like to stick to the more traditional grated cheddar, chopped onions and maybe a little sour cream, but either way, it's a mighty fine meal.

Payson's Papa’s Chili

vegetable oil
1 large green pepper, diced
2 medium onions, diced
1# top round steak, diced
3-4 T. chili powder
2-4 c. cooked chili beans
1-28 oz. can tomatoes
1 can tomato sauce

Heat a large skillet over medium high heat. Add oil. Saute the pepper and onion until onion is translucent.

Add the steak to the vegetables and stir until meat has browned.

Add in the chili powder, beans, tomatoes and tomato sauce. Add a pinch of salt.

Cook over low heat a minimum of 2 hours on stove top or overnight in a crock pot.

Adjust seasoning with salt & pepper to taste.

No Fuss: Crustless Onion & Zucchini "Quiche"

2007-06-13T10:24:00.000-07:00

I am a big fan of dishes that deliver big impact with minimal effort. I'm also a big fan of dishes that are versatile. This is my adaptation of an original recipe from Pat Wells' At Home in Provence. It makes a good brunch entree or works well as a dinner side.

Crustless Onion & Zucchini "Quiche"

1 pound sweet onions, peeled
1 medium zucchini, grated
3 T. unsalted butter
1 T. fresh thyme leaves
salt & pepper to taste
freshly grated nutmeg to taste
5 large eggs
1/4 c. milk
3 T. heavy cream

Preheat oven to 425 degrees and butter a 10 1/2 inch baking dish.

Cut onions in half lengthwise, put cut side down and slice crosswise into very thin slices.

In a large skillet, combine the onions, butter, thyme, salt, pepper and nutmeg. Begin sweating the onions over moderate heat. You want them to soften but not to brown. After about 4 minutes add the grated zucchini and cook for another 4-5 minutes. Taste for seasoning.

Crack eggs into a medium-size bowl and whisk just to blend. Whisk in the milk and cream.

Place vegetables in the prepared baking dish and smooth out with the back of a spoon. Pour the egg mixture over all. Season with a little more pepper and nutmeg.

Bake in center of oven until top is golden brown and custard is firm, about 30 minutes. Test for doneness by inserting the tip of a knife in the center of the quiche. If it is done the knife will come out clean. Don't underbake.

Let sit for about 5 minutes before serving.

Ode to a Slow Cooker: Beef Stew with Dumplings

2007-06-12T09:02:00.000-07:00

The Spouse and I received two slow cookers as wedding gifts. We returned one, which was gigantic and kept the reasonable sized one that my friend Sharon had given us. Back then, when we were childless and snobby, we didn't use the slow cooker much. Groovy thirtysomethings in a superfantastic downtown flat don't cook like suburbanites. We knew that. We'd been to the meetings. Except for a couple times a year when The Spouse fired up a batch of Payson's Papa's Chili, the slow cooker sat unused, unappreciated, unloved.

But times change, people grow up, children come and bring extracurricular activities with them and so now, while still caring passionately about food, I have come to love, nay, adore my slow cooker.

One of my deepest held values is that we sit down to meals together. But as children grow this becomes more and more of a challenge. The Child participates in her share of extracurricular activities. These sometimes means not getting home until 7. If I try to whip up something when we get home, even if it's a time-saving recipe we still might not eat until 8. This is not optimal for a school night. So, when the extracurricular season begins I celebrate the annual Return of the Slow Cooker.

As I go about my day it sits on the counter, bubbling joyfully, filling the house with the unctuous scent of beef and onions. With the knowledge that dinner will be waiting when we get home comes an almost ridiculous elation: a little searing, a little chopping and I'm done cooking for the day. A one-dish meal doesn't require all sorts of fussing and side dishes. And clean up is virtually non-existent.

There is a slight down-side to slow cooking. In my experience recipes are pretty hit and miss. Not everything I've tried has been spectacular. And you just don't forget a truly awful meal. (Remind me to tell you the Tuscan beans story sometime). These failures, few though they may be are, I believe, what informs The Face that The Spouse makes when he sees the slow cooker come out. He doesn't say anything but I know he's worried that there will be some mooshy, flavourless glop on his plate come dinner time; not a happy thought for a man who works hard all day and wants to have a pleasant meal with his family at the end of it all. (I bet he doesn't realize that he has a "slow cooker face". He knows now). But this just inspires my ongoing quest for fantastic slow cooker recipes.

Here's a tried and true one that never fails to please.

Beef Stew with Herb Dumplings
1 # stew meat
1/2 c. red wine (remember, never cook with anything you wouldn't drink)
1 -2 c. beef stock
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 onion, sliced
1 c. baby carrots (or you could peel and chop 2 adult carrots)
1 c. diced tomatoes (from a can is just fine)
1 c. frozen peas

Heat a large skillet over medium high heat. Toss in a little olive oil and quickly sear the meat to lock in the juices (and keep the meat from looking grey and squished after 6 hours of cooking).

Remove beef to slow cooker with vegetables. Deglaze the pan with the red wine and pour over ingredients. Add beef stock to cover. Season to taste with salt & pepper, a dash or three of Worcestershire sauce, a spoonful of Dijon mustard and a sprig or two of fresh thyme. Give everything a stir to combine and turn cooker on low for 6 hours to 8 hours.

Herb Dumplings
1/2 c. whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 c. all purpose flour
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
1 egg
1/4 c. plus 2 T. milk
2 T. vegetable oil
dried herbs, any combination you like (dill is especially yummy)
Stir together dry ingredients and add herbs.
Combine wet ingredients then add to dry, stirring just to combine.

About half an hour before you want to eat toss the frozen peas into the stew and bring up the heat to high. Glop on the dumplings by spoonfuls over top of stew. Replace lid and cook for about 25-30 minutes until dumplings are fluffy and cooked through.Note:

There is an immediacy to dumplings. They get weird if the dough sits so don't make them until just before you're going to cook them. If you know you are going to be pressed for time you can combine the dry and liquid ingredients separately and put them together when it's time to eat. Better yet, call your Spouse from the car on the way home and have him or her finish off the dish while you're en route.

"Beurre noir" is Just French for "Oops, I burned the butter!"

2007-04-13T12:15:00.000-07:00

The Child cooked dinner last night.

"I'm not really in the mood," she said.

Given that I am not always in the mood either she received no sympathy. And it was a simple meal...white fish with kalamatas, roasted red peppers, garlic and lemon, wrapped up in parchment and baked. Not much prep or fussing involved. Cooking in parchment is one of my favorite methods, because it is quick and it assures minimal clean-up. Plus, there is the drama of opening a present at the dinner table.

The Child began to cook, grudgingly at first, but ended up, as she frequently does, talking to an imaginary camera as she prepares something on her fantasy cooking show.

We sat down to eat. Grace was said, wine poured. We opened our packets. It smelled wonderful. The fish was perfectly cooked and a half a roasted pepper sat jauntily atop my fish, like an over-sized beret. Bits of olive were scattered about and the fish seemed to be swimming in a puddle of olive juice. Interesting, I thought. Good way to introduce a little flavor.

"Oh!" said The Child, brightly and quite pleased with herself. "I tried a little variation. I cooked the fish on a bed of black sea salt".

Needless to say, the meal was inedible. Beds of sea salt, I explained, are for fish with the skin still on, but not for slender pieces of red snapper that are going to absorb all the salt. And then there was a welling of tears and a trembling of lip.

"Don't cry," I told her. "This is the mark of a true chef. Trust me, every cook worth their, um, salt, has made mistakes. In fact, there are lots of things that people cook today that were probably mistakes to begin with. So don't be sad and don't worry".

"I told you I wasn't in the mood to cook," she pouted.

No one starved. She made herself a bacon and mayo sandwich and The Spouse and I had grapes and cheese and crackers.

We have a saying in our house whenever someone tries a new recipe: "This is either going to be really good or it is really going to suck". It all started with "Tuscan White Beans" that was a horrible slop. But in cooking, as in life you have to try new things. You have to be willing to fail. You have to put that curry powder in the tuna salad so that you even up the score and your wife can bring it up every time you try to tease her about the Tuscan white beans. And sometimes you have to take that beautiful black sea salt and see what happens when you put fish atop it. It's how you learn.

Dinner tonight: BBQ take-out.

One a Penny, Two a Penny

2007-04-02T14:12:00.000-07:00

Hot cross buns.

Love 'em.

Love making 'em. Which I will do, probably on Holy Saturday, so they are nice and fresh for Easter brunch.

Nicole asked for a recipe so here is the one I use every year.

Hot Cross Buns

Preheat the oven to 375° F.

3 1/2 to 4 cups all-purpose flour
2 packages active dry yeast
1 t. ground cinnamon
3/4 c. milk
1/2 c. vegetable oil
1/3 c. sugar
3/4 t. salt
3 eggs
2/3 c. dried currants
1 slightly beaten egg white
Frosting

In a large mixer bowl combine 2 cups of the flour, yeast and cinnamon.

In a saucepan heat the milk, oil, sugar and salt until warm (115-120°).
Add liquid to dry ingredients; add eggs.

Beat at low spead on mixer for 1/2 minute, scraping the sides of the bowl. Beat 3 minutes on high speed. Turn speed down to medium and add currants and enough of the remaining flour to make a soft dough. (If you don't have a large standing mixer, do this part by hand).

Shape dough into a ball. Oil the mixing bowl; place dough in bowl and turn once to coat.
Cover with a damp towel and let rise until double (about 2 hours). Punch down. Cover and let rest for 10 minutes.

Divide dough into 18 pieces and form each piece into a smooth ball. Place on oiled baking sheet 1 1/2 inches apart. Cover and let rise until double (30-45 minutes).

Cut shallow cross in each bun and brush tops with egg white (reserving what remains).

Bake for 12-15 minutes. Let cool then pipe a cross on each bun with the frosting.

Frosting
Combine 1 1/2 c. confectioners sugar with the remaining egg white, 1/4 t. vanilla and a dash of salt. Mix until smooth. Add milk if necessary to make frosting of piping consistency.

It should be said that I don't pipe my frosting. Because I've tried that and trust me, Martha Stewart makes it look way easier than it is. I just use a tiny spoon and dribble the frosting in a cross over the buns. And yeah, I say, "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit" as I do each one. 'Cause I'm goofy like that.

Carnevale '07

2007-02-18T17:31:00.000-08:00

I'm so glad it's Sunday. I am sorely in need of a day of rest and will not be getting out of my jammies. The glorious madness of non-stop parties is over, leaving me a happy little puddle of weariness.But enough about me. Let's talk about the Carnevale feast, shall we?

Ah, Carnevale! One of the most favorite of all our feasts, the time when no regard is given to calories, carbs, grams of fat or any of that other nonesense. Time to eat large, drink plenty and generally indulge; it's one last fling with the table before the fast of Lent begins.

The party began my signature apertif snacky thing of orange olives and champagne (or sparkly juice for those either under age or pregnant). Beads were donned.

The first course was a little wedge of paté with cornichon and crackers. One of these days I'll get around to trying my hand at my own country-style pate, lovingly cooked in the proper little paté terrine that Nicole gave me long ago. (I also used to make cornichon from itty bitty French cucumbers that I grew myself. Note to self: find some seed again this year because that was just plain fun).

We have the same salad each year for Carnevale, a very simple toss of chopped celery and shaved Parmesan in a lemon juice/olive oil dressing. It is a surprising combination of refreshing crunchiness. Ancient Romans would secure celery leaves around their heads as a preventative against hang-overs.

Then came the main course, which is always lamb, but this year involved the discovery of something called ras el-hanout, which is Moroccan for "superfantastic and gorgeously aromatic powder of heaven". There wasn't time this week to go to the souk in the Public Market, which would no doubt have had many variations on the theme so I had to make my own. Never having used the stuff before nor having any idea what it is supposed to taste like, some research was involved.

Ras el-hanout is like curry powder in that there are common ingredients to all the recipes but personal twists are given the concoction from region to region, cook to cook. Some of the recipes read like something you'd find in the notebook of a white witch and there wasn't time to search the city for many things unpronouncable. I finally struck on an accessible combination of cinnamon sticks, cloves, fenugreek and the seeds of mustard, coriander, cumin and fennel. One of the common ingredients to the mix, however, is rose petals. The co-op only had rosebuds for craft use and I didn't know if my Valentine roses were free of pesticides or whatever so I threw a pinch or so of rosehips into the mix.

All these lovely things were slowly warmed in a heavy pan until little seeds started popping and incense-like fragrance began wafting through the house. Then everything was whizzed through the spice grinder until reduced to a sneeze-inducing powder.

Instead of leg o', this year we did racks o' lamb. The Spouse rubbed the racks with the gorgeous ras el-hanout, then seared the lamb and tossed it in the oven to roast. The roasting pan was deglazed with shiraz and honey was added to the wine. I added a few tablespoons of rosewater to the honey, to help make up for the absence of roses in the spice rub. The sauce cooked down to a silky little pot of yum. I have a bit of a thing for a good sauce and this one is now on my list of "Top 10 Most Delicious Sauces Ever Eaten".

The lamb, which I can really only refer to now as My Favorite Lamb Dish of All Time, was accompanied by the following:

Bleu Cheese Potatoes (involving quantities of butter and cream plus some emmantaler that was lying around; because you can't have too much cheesey goodness).

Artichoke Heart Gratin, which was stupid simple. The original recipe called for cooking the artichokes in Italian dressing but that just seemed fussy. I used marinated artichokes to begin with. These were cooked by themselves for about 10 minutes, then mozzerella cheese was sprinkled over it all and baked some more, then the dish was sprinkled with french-fried onions and warmed for 1 more minute. It was, um, really yummy.

Green beans tossed with toasted hazelnuts (that ReeRee whacked into little bits for me) and lemon zest, olive oil, salt and pepper completed the plate.

Between dinner and dessert we have a pre-Lenten conversation wherein everyone shares his or her intentions for the coming fast. We draw names for our secret prayer buddy, who we will keep in our prayers during Lent. (In Holy Week we send out what The Child calls "love letters", revealing ourselves). After the sharing and a sung Our Father and the Sanctus (in Latin), it's time to get back to the table.

This year we had 2 desserts. The Neighbor, who came very very late because she was singing in a concert, procured for us a King Cake, baked fresh yesterday morning by a gentleman who is originally from New Orleans. It was very good, with lots of crunchy sugar on the top but as good as it was last night, it was even more spectacular this morning with coffee. King Cake, which actually has it's roots in Epiphany, has a little surprise baked into it and the person who gets the prize has the honor of procurring next year's cake. That would be Jerry.

But the essential tradition of this Carnevale feast is that dessert must be rich and decadent. This year's choice was tiramisu, from Dariush's recipe. Let's just call it what it really is, shall we? Coronary in a Trifle Bowl. But what a way to go.

Layers of ladyfingers soaked in coffee and marsala (because I was too lazy to get amaretto-and frankly, I think I liked it even better that way) between which lurked cups and cups of luscious filling (marscapone cheese combined with a whipped egg yolk/sugar thing combined with thick cream). For a little extra Carnevale glam, I also sprinkled grated chocolate between the filling and ladyfingers. Just before serving it got a nice sprinking of unsweeted cocoa. (I doubled the recipe, Dariush. It turned out really well. Thanks again). It was the best tiramisu I've ever tasted...rich and flavorful but with a good balance between all the elements, which is usually where tiramisu fails, imho.

And then there was the post-prandial indulgence of Scotch or a last glass of wine. The Neighbor arrived just as everyone else was preparing to take their sated selves away so she got to give out hugs and then The Spouse and I sat with her while she ate the plate of food we'd kept warm for her. And then we took our tired selves to bed and I didn't even care that there were still dishes to do. Someone will get around to them eventually.

Mommy Has Favorites

2007-02-07T07:27:00.000-08:00

I am very fond of my red kitchen, which is very functional and full of groovy tools. But there are some for which I have particular fondness. Plus, I'm pretty sure it's in the rules somewhere that all food blogs must, from time to time, wax rhapsodic about essential cooking tools.

The coffee maker.

Duh. Because you have to have coffee. You have to have coffee to start the day, you have to have coffee to cap the perfect meal. (This also assumes having decaf in the house, for the light weights. Sometimes I forget that).

The corkscrew.

We have to replace this tool about every 2 years. I live by the motto that you should never cook with any wine you wouldn't drink. That's why I've never purchased "cooking sherry" in my entire life and never will. Wine does not merely accompany a meal. Wine is the soul of a good sauce, vital to a delicious daube. The Spouse insists on a glug of red wine in the house pizza sauce.

The beauty of a corkscrew, as we were reminded during the Big Blow of '06, is that it isn't powered by electricity.

I call this wooden spatula "Dame Judi", because it is an all-purpose, useful thing, like my mom. I found it at a yard sale for 25 ¢. "Dame Judi" can stir, scrape up deglazed bits from a pan, flip pancakes, flatten fried plantains...whatever is asked of her. She bears her age with remarkable grace.

The microplane. I saw people using these bad boys on cooking shows for years but never had one. A grater is just a grater, after all, right?

Wrong.

Microplane graters come in all sizes. We have a box grater microplane that The Boys gave us for a hostess gift and which I love but this little number gets used all the time. Food glides right over it. I can reduce a hunk of very hard Parmesan fairydust bits without breaking a sweat.

When we were first married, The Spouse worked for a specialty food company. He drove truck in the morning and did computer stuff in the afternoon. One of the benefits of this job was that he got to bring home goods that couldn't be sold. If, for example, a bottle of olive oil broke in the case, all the bottles that got oily couldn't be sold so they just sat in the warehouse, free for the taking. For years we never spent a dime on oil, balsamic vinegar, capers and the like.

Once there was some food show at which his company had a presence and one of the other vendors was using KitchenAid mixers at their booth. When the show was over, The Spouse negotiated an obscenely good price for one of the mixers. One of the first things I ever used it for was marshmallows. (Hmmm...haven't made those in a while....). These things are built to last. I expect my great-grandchildren will still be using this mixer.

My Nigella Lawson measuring cups. I ♥ them because they look like proper teacups. I'm a sucker for good design and like having tools that are both functional and beautiful. I like that they look like teacups because long, long ago, that's what women used when a recipe called for a cup of something. I feel very retro when I use these.

For years I used cheap whisks from the grocery store. Then we discovered Dick's Restaurant Supply. I have 2 of these big balloon whisks. They have heft. That's important when you're whisking egg whites and don't want your arm to fall off from exhaustion.

This is, after our house, the single most important investment we've ever made.

I big, fat puffy ♥ my Viking. It has 2 ovens (one with a convection option), 6 burners and a griddle. It is beautiful. I love that it has little legs so it looks like a piece of furniture. I love that it is so big. I love that it is gas. (I'd never cooked with gas heat before we got this...I burned a lot of sauces before I got the hang of it).

We've turned out some pretty amazing meals on much smaller, much crappier stoves, all the while dreaming of what it would be like to have the capabilities of a big Viking range. And I'll be honest, we balked at the expense. But then we told ourselves that it would more than pay for itself.

When we remodeled our kitchen (designing around this purchase) this view was confirmed by the unanimous reaction from our friends, who all said, "I can't think of two people who will get more use out of it".

So we spent The Child's first year of college tuition. She can get a scholarship, right?

My hands. And I don't mean that in the obvious sense because of course I have to use my hands to cook. Rather, I consider my hands to be tools. From separating eggs to kneading bread dough to mixing meatloaf, sometimes using your hands makes the most sense. It's efficient, they are easy to clean and you can't drop them on your toes.

Chez Fabulovna

2007-02-06T15:21:00.000-08:00

After a recent post about a bistro-style dinner party, there were a number of comments which asked when I planned to open a restaurant, along with the suggestion that it be called "Fabulovna", after my alter ego. I found this all very amusing.

Then last night, during a production meeting about Here's the 80s JP asked, "Did you ever go to culinary school?"

I laughed.

"So where did you learn all that stuff about cooking?" he asked.

"Watching TV," I said. Which isn't the whole truth of course but it's part of it. I learned from Dame Judi, I took home ec classes in high school, I watched Graham Kerr and Julia Child. But mostly I just learned by doing. I like good food, so I learned how to make it. Pretty simple really. Add to that the fact that I live in a city full of good restaurants, that I had some spectacular meals in France and I was fortunate enough to marry someone who likes good food, cooks well himself and enjoys entertaining as much as I do and there you go.

But JP wasn't done. He'd been thinking about this. "Did you ever think about going to culinary school? Like in a few years when The Child is out of the house and you've got the time? Because you're half way there...it would be the easiest educational experience ever".

And I thought that was adorable. The man hasn't even eaten anything I've cooked. (Though he been promised fried okra with tomato marmalade someday). And here he was, based on a few pictures, telling me I should go to school, become a chef and open my own restaurant.

So I told him what I'm now going to tell you. Not. I've been in the restaurant business. It's grueling. A restaurant kitchen is the most stressful place on the planet. And I don't cook to get stressed out. I expect all the fun would be sucked out of it inside of a week.This is not to say that The Spouse and I haven't occasionally talked about it. He was in the restaurant biz for 10 years. We understand what we'd be getting into. Which is why the conversations never go very far. Forget about the astronomically high rate at which new restaurants fail. It's hard work. Hard work on evenings and weekends. We'd never entertain again. And we like entertaining. And so we quickly shelve ideas of prix fixe menus and return to planning parties.

There is one circumstance under which I'd open a restaurant. This involves falling into a bucket of money, so that we wouldn't actually have to make anything off the restaurant. And it also involves having a restaurant somewhere other than America. Because my idea of a perfect restaurant is like some of those I've read about in Peter Mayle's Provence books: an out of the way old house, run by a husband and wife...she cooks, he waits tables and pours wine. Or the other way around. And people go there for the food, they eat whatever the chef feels like making that day and they wait to be served. And they go away happy. The notion of cranking out 100 dinners a night for a bunch of people who are on their way to the theater, not so much.

But JP was stuck on the idea. "Well, what if you moved to Stars Hallow and the Dragonfly Inn was being sold and Sookie St. James didn't want to cook anymore because she had, like, a bazillion kids? Because then it could be exactly the sort of restaurant you want and you could cook all this beautiful food and buy excellent produce from um, from your husband who would start growing produce..."

"Because Jackson had to quit farming because he had, like, a bazillion kids".

"Exactly," he continued. "And so then I could move to Stars Hallow, too, and I could, um, play 80s videos and Sling could be the bartender (do you think he really was a bartender? Because some of those drink specials he comes up with are really exact. I mean, I've spent a lot of time in bars and all I know is 'Bud Light') but anyway, we could all live in Stars Hallow and war with Taylor all the time and it would be totally great".

And I promised him him that yes, if the Dragonfly Inn was suddenly available and Stars Hallow was a real place and we suddenly found ourselves living in the midst of "Gilmore girls" then sure, I'd have a restaurant.

And, by the way, should that ever happen tiaras will be mandatory at Chez Fabulovna.

The Great Bistro Feast of '07

2007-02-05T16:45:00.000-08:00

For the past 4 years we have donated a "French bistro feast for 4" to the auction at The Child's old school. Except that by special arrangment, it is purchased every year by the same group of people and there are more than 4 of them. They bring the wine, we do the rest.

We have always had a great time at this event (and it looks like we'll do it again because this year Sandy procured it before the end of the first course) but this year seemed like the most fun yet. I don't even know what it was in particular but we just laughed all night long and it was beyond enjoyable.

Plus, and I'm not trying to toot my own horn here, but dang! This year I surprised even myself with the general tastiness of the meal. Seriously, if I'd had this meal in a restaurant I would be telling everyone to get themselves post-haste to Chez Whatever. It was that good.

Apertif was, as always, green olives that have been sprinkled with orange zest and gently warmed. Goes great with champagne.

Orange Olives16 oz. good quality green olives (I like this with pimento stuffed olives but whatever you like)1 orange Drain the olives and place on serving platter. Zest the entire orange over the olives, holding it low to the plate so the orange oil sprays onto the olives (I don't know that this really makes a difference but I like thinking it does) Place platter in microwave for 30 seconds and serve.

For the first course, I baked a little loaf of honey-wheat-walnut bread. This was toasted and served with a rough country pate, which I absolutely did not make myself because Trader Joe's has an excellent one, a little smidge of Dijon mustard and cornichon.

The entree was a beef daube that was so superfantastic I want to make it every week. First came a mix of tomatoes, onions, garlic, capers, anchovy paste & chopped cornichon.

This was then layered in a big pot with thin slices of chuck roast and topped with a bouquet garni. It cooked on low all afternoon and voila! a pot of sheer ambrosia.

We served it with a gratin of potatoes, parsley and cream plus a little dollop of a carrot-yellow pepper puree (mostly just for color but it was really tasty).

Here's the progress of the gratin: first a buttered dish and a bay leaf.

Then potatoes, each layer sprinkled with chopped parsley and salt. Pour cream over it all, top with dollops of butter and another bay leaf. Bake.

Couldn't be easier. It comes out so rich and silky and surprisingly full of flavor. And not a smidge of cheese anywhere. (Not that cheese is ever a bad thing).

The hostessing became so engrossing that I sometimes forgot to photograph the food, if you can believe that. So you'll have to take it on faith that the entree was followed by a delicious salad of arugula, pancetta, Kalamata olives and large shavings of Parmesan, tossed in a lemon/olive oil dressing. Very refreshing and tasty. Then there was a cheese course with more of the walnut bread and table water crackers. 3 cheeses: manchengo, chevre with warm honey and a blissfully good Stilton with cranberries.

For dessert, I made crepes which were rolled around vanilla ice cream and frozen. They were served with raspberries and a hot fudge-rum sauce.

This leaning tower of ramekins gives you an idea of the state of the kitchen afterwards.

But we didn't care because this is what it looked like in the other room:

Smug Tips for Superfantastic Entertaining: Part 1

2006-10-21T07:51:00.000-07:00

I've got both ovens going and half the burners. The sweatshirt is off and preparations are moving right along. But as I've been chopping and sautéing and taste testing ('cause you have to do that) I've been thinking about how preparing parties like this really aren't that big a deal. They used to be, but not anymore. Because I've learned a thing or two in 28 years of entertaining. I feel compelled to share my wisdom with you.

First of all, don't make fussy food for a dinner party. If you want to try a recipe that require a whole lot of fiddling, save it for a leisurely weekend. Once guests arrive you should be able to spend the majority of your time with them, not in the kitchen seiving and mixing.

I learned that lesson in the early years with The Spouse. I think it was our first Christmas. At that point, young housewife that I was, I was planning menues largely with an eye toward impressing the crap out of my guests. NOT a pure motive, by the way. Anyway, the dinner had been grand and people were still talking about it weeks later.

A friend, days hence, was talking about something really funny that had been said or done at the party and I had no recollection of the event. Because I had been in the kitchen, working on my impressive whatever, and had missed the heart of the party.

I have never, ever done that again.

Menues are planned with lots of yummy sounding food that I know people will want to eat and then do as much as possible ahead so that the evening is spent enjoying my guests. A minute or two here and there to finish a dish or pop something in the oven is all that is required. This also has the advantage of leaving me far less harried which means I'm not shrieking at the family in frustration moments before the guests are to arrive. Trust me, that is much more enjoyable for all of us.

Second of all, I don't care what your kitchen looks like; I don't care if it 2400sf with all the latest appliances, a hot plate in a room the size of a phone booth or something in between. The key to stress-free entertaining is to clean up as you go. I'm serious. There is nothing that makes you never want to entertain again than a kitchen that looks like a dirty bomb went off.

Empty the dishwasher, start a soapy sink and empty the garbage pail. Load, wash and wipe as you go. Run the dishwasher when it's full and empty it as soon as it's done so you are ready to go again.

I haven't mastered this completely and there is always something going on in the kitchen when guests arrive. It rarely looks like it's about to model for "House and Garden", with all the counters clear and all the pots washed. But minimizing the chaos as you go is the only way you're going to feel like doing this again sometime. Plus, it makes it really easy to restore order after the evening is over. (This is important to me because while I don't mind waking up to dessert plates still on the table, being greeted first thing by a roasting pan full of greasy water... Eeww).

Third, if you feel like blogging in the middle of preparing for a party, preheat the oven for your crostini to 350° when it's really supposed to be 425°. You'll have at least 15 minutes of blog time.

Little Celebrations: Gourmet Baffoo

2006-10-04T13:07:00.000-07:00

1. The rains haven't completely returned. It is an Indian summer, cool mornings and nights, warm days. It's beautiful.

2. Yesterday I started to harvest apples. We have a columnar apple tree in the herb bed, what The Spouse charmingly refers to as "the apple stick". The apple stick is full of fruit this year, for a little tree. I have already baked one pie.

The above bowlful represents only about half of what is left on the tree, which doesn't include the ones which have already fallen or the ones which The Dog learned to steal from the bottom most branches. I have a hankering for applesauce cake (no raisins, eeww) and turnovers and tarte tatin.

3. Last night The Neighbor and I had our usual "cocktail hour", for about twice as long as usual. Sometimes it's just a quick check-in, "how was your day" sort of visit. Sometimes we really get going, like last night, talking about politics, personal responsibility, hope, reality tv, blogs and how much we both hate it when someone says, "Well, that's just the way it is".

Have I mentioned lately how much I love The Neighbor? Somewhere along the way she went from being a really cool neighbor who shared the proverbial cup of sugar over a fence and was fun (and convenient) to hang with to becoming one of my best friends. I heart her.

4. Ikea's frozen Swedish meatballs are the most delicious thing ever. We had them for dinner last night with lingonberry sauce. And it's a good thing I planned it that way, too, because it meant that I could spend extra time hanging with The Neighbor and still give the family a decent dinner, even though I was an hour late getting it to the table.

5. Our Jewish neighbors are preparing for Sukkot, which means that little huts are springing up in various back gardens. There will be a lot of late night feasting and laughter will come over the back fence from the Rabbi's house. The Rabbi's Wife has invited The Neighbor and I to stop in one evening and I think we will. I will have to get a bottle of kosher wine to take with us. The Rabbi's Wife is an excellent cook.

6. All my clean napkins are ironed.

7. Tonight we're having Gourmet Baffoo for dinner. A few years back, when The Child began to take a serious interest in cooking, she asked to invent a recipe. I was planning on doing something with chicken and she started to suggest how it should be prepared. It was basically a modification of my chicken and biscuits recipe, without the biscuits, and served over pasta. It was good. When I asked her what we should call the concoction she said, "Gourmet Baffoo". I don't know what the heck that's supposed to mean but that's what we call it.

Gourmet Baffoo

2 skinless, boneless chicken breasts, cut into 1-2 inch pieces
1/2 c. diced carrots
16 oz. farfalle or rotini pasta
2 T. butter
1/4 pound crimini mushrooms, sliced
1 medium onion, diced
2 T. all-purpose flour
2 c. half and half
1/2 c. frozen green peas
1/2 c. grated Parmesan cheese
salt & pepper to taste
1 c. unseasoned bread crumbs

Bring a small pot of water to the boil and cook the carrots until just beginning to be tender. Drain and set aside.

Saute pieces in 1-2 T. olive oil until browned. Set aside.

Bring large pot of salted water to boil and cook pasta according to package directions.

Melt the butter in a large skillet and saute the mushrooms and onions. When onion is translucent, sprinkle in the flour and cook, stirring constantly for 1 minute.

Add half & half and cook until sauce thickens.

When sauce is thicken add the peas and carrots, then stir in the Parmesan. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Drain the cooked pasta and place in an oiled baking dish. Lay chicken pieces over pasta and cover with the sauce. Sprinkle breadcrumbs over the top.

Bake at 425 degrees for 20 minutes.

Putting Up Provisions

2006-09-06T13:00:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, canning or "putting up" the harvest was a common topic of conversation in late summer. It seemed a woman's worth was partly calculated by how many jars of provisions stood on her pantry shelves. After spending a day with the grape harvest, I understand.

This is the net result of my day:

Total hours: 10, inclusive of the harvest itself plus 2 trips to Safeway (once for quart jars, once for more pectin) and 1 trip to Baskin Robbins with The Child.

Total injuries incurred: 1 sliced finger (left hand), 6 scratches on right arm, 1 burned thumb (right hand)

The haul: 3 gallons grape juice via the Mennonite method (scant 2 c. grapes & 1/2 c. sugar in quart jar, filled with boiling water, processed and set aside in the dark for 2 weeks, then strained); 1 gallon grape juice via the Lucy Ricardo method (which is in a freezer bag because I was out of quart jars and didn't want to go back to Safeway. Again). 8 beautiful amythest colored pints of country fair perfect grape jelly. 1 bowl of washed and stemmed grapes ready for a Winemaker's Cake, which I'm going to have to do tomorrow because my back is killing me and I'm just plain done standing for the day.

General state of The Busy Little Canner Woman: Tired and content. The jars are happily giving off the little 'pings' that signal that the seal has set. The house smells like jelly. Even though I am a full-fledged City Mouse, there is just nothing like the satisfaction of putting up and preserving my own crops against the coming hard winter, just like the days of my Country Mouse childhood.

I thought a lot about Dame Judi today, and hot summer afternoons when she was busy putting up preserves and pickles of mind-boggling varieties. Because 1 day is enough to do me in and she would spend days and days putting up applesauce, dill pickles, bread & butter pickles, pickle relish, tomatoes, beans, peaches, pears and so many kinds of jam that I can't even start listing them. Then all those gleaming jars bursting with home-or-nearby-farm grown goodness would line the many, many shelves of the pantry that stood behind the house. (I would sneak in there sometimes, escaping the heat of the day in the dim coolness and I would organize the shelves, lining up the jars just so. A little anal, I guess, but it's a fond memory).

Dame Judi would also, after a day of canning, make dinner for her family. I'm ordering take-away Thai.

Grape Juice, the Mennonite Method

For each quart of juice:

2 c. grapes, washed and stemmed
1/2 c. sugar
boiling water

Place clean grapes into a sterile quart jar.
Add the sugar and fill with boiling water.
Seal the jar with canning lid and ring.
Process in a hot-water bath for 20 minutes.

Allow to cool and then set in a cool, dark place for 2 weeks before using.

Shake jar before straining off the grapes.

Summer Lovin': Chicken Paillards with Proscuitto and Figs

2006-07-18T16:43:00.000-07:00

Last night I made one of my all time favorite summertime dinners. It is beautiful to look at, a revelation to eat and oh so elegant on a plate, with its gem-like colors. But it couldn't be easier to prepare. This has been served for Impressive Dinner Parties and as a regular weekday meal. Because the family deserves to eat just as well when it's just us as when we're entertaining.

The arrival of the first figs in the market is the cue that this dish will be on the menu. The original recipe called for fresh figs for the sauce but a) that can sometimes amount to a king's ransom (unless you know someone with a fig tree, you lucky thing) and 2) I think the dried figs actually impart a deeper, richer flavor to the sauce anyway.

Chicken Paillards with Prosciutto and Figs
Serves 4 but can easily be increased to serve more

6 T. white wine
3 T. finely chopped fresh rosemary plus 4 sprigs
1 t. red pepper flakes
2 T. fresh lemon juice plus 1 lemon sliced into 1/8 inch rounds
1 t. salt¼ t. freshly ground pepper
¼ c. olive oil
4 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves, pounded ¼ in. thick
1-2 pints fresh Black Mission figs (you're shooting for 3 figs per diner, although that seems stingy, doesn't it?)
1 one-pound loaf country bread, cut into 1 ½ inch thick slices
8 slices prosciutto

Combine wine, chopped rosemary, pepper flakes, lemon juice, salt, pepper and oil. Pour into a large, shallow non-reactive dish. Add check breasts, lemon slices and 4 rosemary sprigs to the marinade. Cover; refrigerate 3 hours or up to overnight, turning chicken occasionally.

Brush grill with oil. Heat grill to medium hot. Just before cooking chicken, oil grill again. Grill chicken until juices run clear, 3 to 5 minutes, per side; set aside.

Grill whole figs on coolest part of grill until soft and warm, 3 to 6 minutes.

(If you want to be really groovy, take some long stems of fresh rosemary, pull off the lower leaves leaving just a tuft at the top and use these to skewer the figs, like kabobs. I forgot to do that last night but it makes a very nice presentation).

Slather bread with extra virgin olive oil and grill until bread is browned on both sides.Wrap prosciutto loosely around each chicken breast. Arrange on a platter.

Garnish with rosemary sprigs and serve with Balsamic Fig Sauce, figs and bread.

Balsamic Fig Sauce
1 pound dried Black Mission figs, chopped
2/3 c. red wine
2 T. balsamic vinegar
pinch of salt
1/8 t. freshly ground pepper
1 t. sugar
1 sprig fresh rosemary

Combine all ingredients with ½ c. water in a small saucepan.

Cover; bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce to a simmer; cook, partially covered, until fruit has broken down, 20 to 30 minutes.Let cool slightly; remove rosemary sprig. Press mixture through a large-holed sieve with a rubber spatula.

If the sauce seems too thin, bring it to a gentle boil and allow to reduce until it coats the back of a spoon.

Bastille Day Boullaibaise

2006-07-14T11:09:00.000-07:00

On this day in 1790 a mess of French people stormed the Bastille, a big prison that was the symbol of all the evils wrought by French kings and queens during their centuries of rule and cake-eating.

There were only a few prisoners in the Bastille at the time, most misdemeanors, like ordering vin blanc with steak and dressing badly. But it was a powerful gesture and touched off what we now know as the French Revolution, without which we would not have the Statue of Liberty or Freedom Fries. So there.

I love the French, as you well know, and am part French myself so we will celebrate. Because I will use just about any excuse for a party.

First we're going over to The Neighbor's for cocktails with the couple that lives next door to her. They have been renting the house for over a year now and we talk over the fence and say things like "We really should get together". So we finally are. I'm going to make some lavender honey to pour over crotins of chevre, which will be served with crackers.

After aperitif we'll come back home to listen to Edith Piaf and eat our traditional Bastille Day supper of bouillabaisse with lots of crusty baguette. I'm going to say "yum" now. Yum.

Here's my recipe for bouillabaisse, which I simplified from a very simple recipe in Pat Wells' At Home in Provence. Traditionally, you make a fish stock from the bones and heads of fish before you start the soup. She does this as well but I don't bother. I find that my version is fishy enough without that trouble and besides, it's gross. It makes me sing that song, "Fish heads, fish heads, roly poly fish heads. Fish heads, fish heads, eat them up, yum". Which is fun but that's as far as I really want to go.

This is also a very straightforward soup, using only one type of fish. If you are the sort who likes lots of sea creatures swimming in your bouillabaisse nothing is to prevent you from adding those in but I like the simplicity of a good fennel infused tomato broth with nice chunks of white fish. Adapt as your tastes demand.

I also have a ritual of drinking pastis while making the soup, which does nothing in particular to the end result but adds a sense of occasion to the experience.

Bouillabaisse
2 pounds of firm white fish such as monkfish, grouper, or cod
3 T. extra-virgin olive oil
1 head garlic, cloves separated and peeled
1 t. fennel seeds
Bouquet garni of parsley, celery leaves, fresh bay leaves and sprigs of thyme, bound up between the 2 halves of a stalk of celery
2 t. sea salt, or to taste
2 T. tomato paste
2 T. pastis
1 28 oz. can of diced tomatoes with juice
1 and 1/2 quarts water
1/4 t. cayenne pepper
1 small fennel bulb, trimmed, quartered lengthwise and cut into bite-size pieces
small pinch of saffron threads
grated zest of 1 orange
3 T. minced fennel fronds

Aiolï (home-made or a good store-bought version)

Cut the fish into 3 inch pieces.

In a large, heavy stockpot, heat the oil over moderate heat until hot. Add the garlic, fennel seeds, bouquet garni, and salt. Cook gently without browning for 8 to 10 minutes.

Add the tomato paste, pastis, canned tomatoes, water and cayenne. Cover and bring to a boil over high heat. Lower the heat and simmer for 45 minutes.

Remove and discard the bouquet garni. Using an immersion mixer, roughly puree the liquid. (Or run everything through the coarse blade of a food mill and return to the stockpot). Taste & adjust seasoning.

Add the fennel, cover and simmer gently until the fennel is soft 15 minutes. (If you want, you can do this way ahead of serving time).

When ready to serve, bring the liquid to a very gentle simmer until heated through. Add the saffron and the fish. Lower the heat and cook gently just until tender, 3 to 4 minutes. Adjust seasoning.

To serve, using a slotted spoon transfer portions of the fish and fennel to warmed bowls then spoon the broth over the fish. Sprinkle with orange zest and fennel fronds.

Pass the aiolï at table, so guests can swirl a teaspoon or two into their soup (or slather it on their bread or, like The Child, just eat it by the spoonful).

Serve with lots and lots and lots of crusty bread with butter.

Vive la France!

Solstice Feast 2006

2006-06-25T09:16:00.000-07:00

Tomatoes, about to be roasted. As was I. Yesterday was very warm and was only enhanced by the Viking blasting BTUs for a couple hours. But it was so worth it.

Here's what we ate and drank:

Apertif was the standard Green Olives with Orange Zest, accompanied by peach Bellinis.

There as an amuse bouche of shrimp, asparagus and lemon zest in Italian dressing with a

2005 Hogue Chardonnay.

(Don't you just love the idea of something to "amuse the mouth"...a mere taste of something, just for the fun of it? These were arranged on scallop shells and looked very pretty. See?)

We followed with a Mesclun salad with caramelized pears wrapped with prosciutto and a sprinkling of toasted hazelnuts in a maple syrup vinaigrette

The entree was Chicken paillards, dressed with lavender honey and sprinkled with chevre. This was served on a bed of baby spinach. On the side was a roasted tomato and ricotta tart and a melange of haricot vert, wax beans and baby carrots tossed with butter and dill. With the entree we drank Bonny Doon Vin Gris de Cigare, 2003 and 2005. (We liked the '05 best).

As you can see, there was a great deal of documentation going on. ("Did you get a picture of that for your blog?" The Spouse kept saying). And yet, the entree came and went without anyone thinking of pulling out the camera. This is what ChouChou's plate looked like afterwards, though.

I guess it was good.

There is a story behind dessert. The Boys always bring the pudding and a fine job they do of it, too. I don't tell this story to cast aspersions and you must understand that because I love The Boys, they are lovely people and nothing negative is to be read into this: they made a cake and left it at home. They also made vanilla ice cream and that came with them.

Fortunately, The Child had baked a hot milk sponge cake the day before. (She got the baking gene). So The Boys plated up slices of her cake with the ice cream and peach puree left over from our bellinis. It was delicious. They also served us a 2003 Canoe Ridge Late Harvest Gewurztraminer which was nigh unto ambrosia.

This was a happy enough ending but The Boys, as they were leaving, made noises about coming 'round with the double ginger cherry upside down cake that they had made so we devised a plan and they are coming back to dinner tonight. Ha!

We're going to marinate a little rack of lamb chops and grill those. We'll have shrimp cocktail to start and then the lamb with couscous & asparagus (and I'm thinking everything is going to be done on the grill because it's supposed to get into the 90s today) and a big salad and then the cake. All's well that ends well.

'Picy Fish: Pan-fried Snapper with Chipotle Butter

2006-05-25T11:00:00.000-07:00

We try to eat fish at least once a week and I often find myself cycling through the same few recipes, which is rather silly of me, given that fish is a perfect canvas for so many flavors. Subtle or bold, fish is accomodating that way. I was delighted to find this recipe because it really mixes things up and it is easy to adjust for those who don't like things too 'picy. Make a compound butter with herbs as well and offer your diners a choice.

Pan-fried Snapper with Chipotle Butter

½ stick unsalted butter, softened
½ to 1 T. finely chopped canned chipotle chilies in adobo plus 2 t. adobo sauce
1/2 t. honey
½ teaspoon salt
4 red snapper fillets (or any firm white fish)
1/3 c. flour
2 T. veggie oil

Mash together butter, chipotles, adobo sauce, honey and salt to taste until blended.

Pat fish dry and season with salt and pepper. Spread flour on a plate and dredge fish, knocking off excess.

Heat 1 ½ T. oil in a 12 inch nonstick skillet over moderately high heat until hot but not smoking, then pan fry the fish, turning over once, until browned and just cooked through, 4-6 minutes. Transfer as cooked with a slotted spatula to plates and add more oil to skillet as need. Top fish with dollops of chipotle butter.

Extra chipotle butter (and you will have it) can be plopped onto some plastic wrap and then rolled up as you would for sugar cookies. Wrap that up with foil (don't forget to mark it) and you can keep it in the freezer, pretty near indefinately, for subsequent fish dinners.

"Too 'Picy, Mama"

2006-05-25T10:40:00.000-07:00

From the second she was born, we followed one simple maxim for feeding our child: she eats what we eat. I wasn't going to be a short-order cook who makes one thing for the grown-ups and something else for the kid. Plus, I have a theory that the way to develop a well-rounded palate and avoid the terror of a "picky eater" is to expose the child to a lot of different foods early on.

Once The Child was on solid food (and once we'd slowly introduced each food, the way you do, to make sure there are no allergies), I bought a little grinder and whatever was on the menu was ground up for her to eat. It worked. With only one child there was no control group so this isn't a scientific proof but she is decidedly not picky. She doesn't enjoy super fatty cuts of meat (nor do I) and is not a fan of the sweet potato (it's a mouth feel issue) but otherwise, she is a good eater.

Adjustments do have to be made for tender palates, however. The Spouse and I enjoy spicy food, Mexican, Thai, Indian. Now,she wasn't a fan of curry. The only time she had colic was the night I ate a curry supper and the distaste for curry is something she is only now just beginning to get over. When it came to other spicy cuisine I would always make a very mild version for her and that seemed to work just fine.

By the time she was 3 she would eat mild salsa with great relish and I grew to be a tad smug, if only in my own mind, about my very advanced child with the impossibly eclectic taste. Until the evening when we sat down to a gorgeous vat of posole, lovingly prepared by our friend, Brooke. She told me the family recipe was a spicy one and that she would tone it down, considerably, so that it would be palatable to all. Well, she tried. The Child was having none of it.

"Oh, no," she said, pushing away the bowl. "It too 'picy for me, Mama". From then on she would often inquire, "Is that gonna be 'picy, Mama? I don't like it too 'picy".

Of course, now, at 13, The Child is gradually working her way up to about 1000 on the scale of Scoville units. I can sometimes even sneak a bit of jalapeno in on her. But I respect that these things take time and don't force her. This recipe, for example, can be adapted for her by just setting aside some of the meat mixture without the curry paste. Or else we wait until she's out somewhere and mix it up as hot as we can stand.

Mini Red Curry Burgers

¾ lb. extra-lean ground beef or lamb
1 medium zucchini, grated
salt & pepper
1 bunch green onion, chopped (white and light green)
1/3 cup low fat yogurt
2 tsp. Thai red curry paste
(2 t. is the original recipe amount but frankly, a rounded teaspoon is plenty. Unless you actually enjoy having the back of your head blown off).

For the sauce:

Combine 2 T. grated zucchini with yogurt and 1 T. onion plus salt & pepper to taste

For the burgers:

Combine ground meat with remaining zucchini and onion, salt & pepper (to taste) and Thai red curry paste.

Form into eight 2” patties. Grill on non-stick pan over med-high heat, about 4 min per side for medium.

Pop the tiny little burgers into mini pita pockets with 2 T. sauce.