8 Degrees and Falling

It is 8 am. I want to cook but I do not want to go out to the store. So I rummage through the fridge and freezer. Not a whole lot to work with but there is ALWAYS something. This, I believe is my forte. Many years ago there was a show called "Door Knock Dinner" with chef Gordon Elliot. This early Food Network show inspired me more than any other. He'd show up at someone's door, camera crew in tow, and ask if he could prepare a meal just using the ingredients in their home. Some of the dishes really were quite unappealing but when all you have is processed food to work with, you can only do so much.

I admit to using Google to bolster my creativity. You just type in a few ingredients and numerous recipes appear. I never follow any of them but they provide fodder for thought and action. So I open up the freezer and see two 12 oz. unopened bags of cranberries.  I decide to make cranberry sauce.  For this I need no help. I find a orange in the bottom of the fruit bin. Cut it in half- juice one side, section the other. I dump one bag of the berries in a pot, add a little water, the juice and about a 1/4 c of sugar. I cook the mixture on medium heat. I hit the Penzey's drawers and root around. I decide to use cayenne, my expensive Vietnamese cinnamon, ginger and some whole nutmeg, which I will grate directly into the mixture. I wait to add the spices til almost all the berries burst. I cook it about 5 minutes more, add the orange segments and then let it cool. It turned out spicy and freakin' delicious.

Maybe you want me to tell you how much spice to put in. I just can't. I will say that all of these spices are very potent and too much could be a disaster. Too much ginger tastes acrid, too much cayenne and the other flavors fade away. That said, recipes that call for 1/8 teaspoon of something, are just being silly. Unless we are dealing with some atomic pepper you will never taste 1/8 teaspoon of anything. I generally double the suggested spice and herb measurements whenever I am using a recipe. In this case I could season and taste. I just added a little at a time and adjusted until I got it right. I can taste each spice and I can feel a little heat. I am done.

Cranberry sauce does not a meal make. What next? I have some cooked basmati rice in the fridge as well. I decide to make a vegetable fried rice. You might be thinking, "Fried rice and cranberry sauce?". Why not? I think they will work well together. I find aging broccoli, a few brussel sprouts, celery, carrots, onion and some frozen peas. I have hit the Mother Lode. I will not prepare this dish until it is dinnertime. It needs to be eaten hot right as it emerges from a scalding wok. I will prep my veggies now, cutting them into bite size pieces. I might beat an egg and cook it in a small frying pan like an omelet.  Once set, I will cut the round patty of eggs into strips. 

This evening, I will stir-fry the veggies in veggie oil, maybe add some garlic and freshly grated ginger (or you could used ginger and garlic from a jar). I will add the rice a little before the veggies are done. The frozen peas will be added last. I don't want them cold but I do want them to taste fresh, not mealy. At that point I will add some soy sauce and a little toasted sesame oil. These are also very potent ingredients. I always use San-J reduced sodium tamari (soy sauce). Everything else is just too salty for me. Go easy and taste. Too much sesame oil is impossible to rectify. In my ancient wok, I will stir my yummy concoction but not too much. I love when there are little crispy spots of browned rice, like you find in bimbibop (my favorite Koren dish). I like the textural contrast. I think the sweet/spicy cranberry sauce will complement the umami flavors of the soy/sesame infused rice. I just don't think I can go wrong.

In the time it took me to write this blog entry, the temperature dropped to 4 degrees. Now I will buckle down and finish "The Art of Fielding" and watch the last episode of House of Cards. What a lucky girl am I. I never forget that.

Thanksgiving

Some simple thoughts about the things I am thankful for (in no particular order):

• That folks love me in spite of my faults. I have some incredible friends, old and new.
• My retirement. I don't know what have happened to me if I didn't leave when I did. It was good for me and good for the Department.
• My home... I have waxed poetic about my lovely condo and the wonderful people who live here.
• My cat Greta who is almost 20 years old. She keeps me awake, carries litter all over the house, pukes on my carpet and meows incessantly. She loves to perch on my shoulder and sleep nose to nose with me. I simultaneously wish her dead and hope she will live forever.
• My cast iron pan, my wok, my Melita drip pot, my microplane, my All-Clad cookware and Penzey's.
• My health. I worry about my forgetfulness but beyond that I am good.
• My 2004 Toyota Corolla- I have hardly put in a dime in that thing and I can still reach the pedals despite my "shrinkage".
• My health insurance. When Bruce had his aneurysm he spent 6 weeks in neuro ICU following brain surgery. I paid $25 for the ambulance. I can only imagine the full cost of the bill.
• My guy, who I love to pieces and makes me crazy. I have some similar feelings towards him and my cat. Fortunately he does not try to perch on my shoulder. He is an incredible help to me, a treat to look at and smart as a whip.
• My son. I cannot write those words without tearing up. As my only child he holds a place in my heart that no one else can share. He is an extension of his dad and my connection to another time. All my feelings for him are larger than life; love, fear, pride. 

I am a whiner. Soon there will be a day when I look back at this blog entry in order to pull me out of some trite funk I have put myself in.

I am thankful that some of you actually read this. Much appreciation....

Apples and Oranges

Shall I wax poetic about a Fuji apple or a clementine? Maybe another day. I love fruit but that is not where I am headed.

Recently I had the pleasure of eating two expensive dinners. Each dinner cost $150 for two people. Not outrageous, but nothing to sneeze at. How did these meals fare when pitted against each other? Let's find out....

A good friend of mine has this thing about coupons. She cannot let one go to waste. She jokes that her grave marker will read, "I got this headstone with a coupon". I think that is true. Anyway, she received a coupon for Fleming's Steak House from American Express. The coupon was for $40 off the total bill. The coupon could not be used for the early dining special offer. We arrived at 5:30pm and the place was reasonably full. The crowd looked fairly young and we surmised these folks were here for the low priced special. The others diners may have been corporate, dining on the boss's dime. The dining room is large and  brightly lit. Many of the tables are round booths inviting you to have a romantic dinner with your honey. Despite the small crowd and lighting, the room was fairly quiet making you feel as if you were enjoying an intimate experience.

When we were first seated a young man came by and asked if we wanted to start with the "complimentary bread course". Since when has bread become a course? They wanted you to know how lucky you were to get free bread these days. We jumped on the offer knowing that this was the last complimentary thing to come our way. The bread was a crusty French bread and was really quite good. We each ordered a glass of wine.

Our waitress was new. She was friendly and helpful. It was clear she was practicing a specific patter she was to use when describing options and menu items. I ordered a wedge salad with blue cheese dressing and a petite fillet. My friend had mashed potatoes with Parmesan and peppercorn and the bone-in rib eye. Both of our steaks were prepared perfectly, medium- rare just as we had ordered. The meat was flavorful and tasted even better cold the next day. The serving size was reasonable. The mashed potatoes could have been shared with three people and the wedge salad was also a generous serving. The potatoes were "ok".  To put the costs in perspective, I will tell you that a baked potato is $9.50. Despite that fact, we shared a slice of cheesecake which I thought was "fine". I had coffee, she had tea. I kicked myself for not asking for a second cup but truthfully I was too full to swallow another thing.

In the middle of the meal the manager came by to see how things were going. His affect was so over-the-top we were speechless, a cross between Guy Smiley and The Joker. Made us want to cringe. The whole experience seemed staged... bright lights, pretty props and actors with a script. We had a good time (we generally have a good time no matter where we are) but it sure was clear who benefited from the coupon... Fleming's. $150, really?

Now on to dinner number two. Tariq promised me a special dinner a long time ago and finally came across... and boy did he! He surprised me by taking me to Sanford in Milwaukee. Sanford D'Amato is a CIA graduate and renown Midwestern chef. He has cooked, by request, for Julia Child and the Dalai Lama. His family owned a grocery store in Milwaukee for 80 years. When the store closed in 1989 he remodeled and opened his beautiful restaurant. In 2012 he sold his business to Chef De Cuisine Justin Aprahamian. Many of D'Amato's signature dishes remain on the menu.

The restaurant is small, elegant and intimate. Although you sit close to the table next to you, you do not hear the conversations of others. Everything appears to be muted by the excellent acoustics. The lighting is adequate but not harsh. The place has a modern, clean feel, with every detail adding to the ambiance. When we arrived for our 8:15 reservation we were cold and hungry. We were greeted warmly and provided with a little information about the restaurant and how our meal would proceed. On the table was the most lovely bread stick. It was so flavorful- not flavored but rather made with excellent flour and baked to perfection..

We were provided with an amuse-bouche, a tasting on a little china spoon. I cannot recall exactly what is was, but it included a trout foam and some other type of fish. That little morsel set the bar high for the rest of the meal. It was downright yummy.

I was shocked when I took my first look at the menu. There were some signature cocktails available for $7.50 and some wines for $8 per glass. They chose not to pad your bill by overcharging for your alcohol consumption. I was very impressed. Of course, there was an extensive wine list but I headed for the rye and ordered a Sazerac.  Tariq does not drink and often has to choose from a list that is mundane and without imagination. Here he ordered the most delicious ginger ale I have ever tasted. The bottle had bits of ginger at the bottom. Another check in the plus column.

The waiter then explained the menu. He asked us to first choose our dessert because each plate is prepared individually and will bake while you are eating. Oh my. We asked if we should share something, thinking this will be a small plate experience. He told us that most folks shared and were more than satisfied. After much discussion we ordered the Banana Butterscotch Toffee Tart with homemade Banana Rum ice cream.

Tariq started his meal with Slow Roasted Tomato Soup with Seared Shrimp and I had the Grilled Pear and Roquefort Tart with Caramelized Onions and Walnuts. Both dishes were bursting with flavor and screamed, "I am fresh, hot and made with love".

It took us a while to decide on the entrees because everything sounded wonderful. Salmon, sturgeon, duck breast, steak and elk were passed up for bass and scallops. The bass was caramelized served on a papaya salad with a green curry sauce. The scallops were seared with kale, wild mushrooms and poached apples in a chamomile broth. I moaned with every bite which for me is a sign that the food has exceeded my expectations. Tariq was thrilled with his meal as well. We both left some food on our plates and had a lovely treat to take home for another time.

The timing of the meal was impeccable. The service was fantastic and not over-bearing. Right on cue, came the long awaited dessert. Oh, yes, it was magnificent. The banana was the star but it magnanimously shared the spotlight with the butterscotch toffee and the rum flavored ice cream. Although we shared this incredible course we found the serving to be more than generous and the decision to share was certainly the right one.

So, this $150 felt like a bargain.

Like I said, apples and oranges.

Mishpocheh -Yiddish for Family

"Family"... 7 letters that pack a punch. Some folks are blessed and others are cursed. Some have none and others too many. It is what it is. Whatever, the word means, it is magnified during the holidays.

For me, the holidays can be a lonely time. However this year I hit the mother-lode. My brother and his wife, who live in Turkey, came to Philadelphia for a few days. I went to join them and had a wonderful time. It is a complicated story but my relationship with my brother started at age 16. He is a gift I never take for granted. For me, our visit was a holiday.

And here comes Thanksgiving. This year I have the rare pleasure of celebrating with my sister and her husband. We have only celebrated a few times together in our adult lives. They are coming here to visit and I am super excited. My sister and I get together about twice a year. I try to go to NYC and she always comes to see me. I adore her company. She fills a void that no one else can fill.  Although we are very different people, we have grown closer over time. It will be a treat to cook with her by my side. She inspired me to cook and love food when I was a young adult.

My Thanksgiving table will be filled with the rest of my "family". Tariq, my son Zack, my best friend since high school, her ex-husband and his mother and two dear friends. We will squeeze into my small dining room, pass plates, overeat and talk while chewing. Everyone will contribute to the meal, displaying their cooking prowess or ability to choose an incredible bottle of wine. These are people I hug and kiss. They make me laugh and cry. For Thanksgiving 2013, this is my family.

A funny thought just entered my mind.  We will be a gathering of the little people. Only three people will be over 5'6". In Wisconsin this is unheard of. Where I grew up it wasn't a big deal. Maybe I will rename the gathering, "Hobbit Hanukkah". It will be refreshing not to have to look up all the time.

Please leave a comment telling me about your Thanksgiving family and traditions. Maybe you can share a recipe too. I just might give it a try.

I plan to make these delicious molasses cookies right before my sister arrives. She is coming on the Monday before Thanksgiving so we can ease into sweets with these yummy concoctions. I love molasses cookies because of the ginger, cinnamon and clove infusion. The recipe is found online in "All Recipes".  http://allrecipes.com/recipe/crackle-top-molasses-cookies/

I found the comments helpful and learned that if you want a chewy cookie don't cool them on a rack. I placed them on wax paper to cool and they were great! I increased the spices, cooked them for a little less time and I think I integrated some whole wheat flour.

OK- Before anyone tells me.... "family" has 6 letters. I never claimed to be a mathematician.
Crackle Top Molasses Cookies:

Ingredients:

2/3 cup vegetable oil 1 cup white sugar 1 egg 1/4 cup molasses 2 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking soda 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1 teaspoon ground ginger 1/2 teaspoon ground cloves 1/3 cup white sugar

Directions:

1.	Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (180 degrees C).
2.	In a large bowl mix oil and 1 cup of sugar. Add egg, beat well. Stir in molasses, 2 cups flour, baking soda and spices. If necessary, add more flour to make a firm dough.
3.	Shape dough into 1 1/4 inch balls. Roll in 1/3 cup sugar. Place 3 inches apart on an ungreased baking sheet. Bake 12 to 14 minutes or until tops crack. Remove from baking sheet and cool on rack.

You Talkin' to Me?

I have heard from some folks that they have commented on my blog by replying to the email. 

FYI- I never see it.

You can comment by going to the actual blog or by emailing me at amio2@hotmail.com.

I really would love to get feedback. It is VERY scary putting my thoughts on the "world-wide web" and hearing nothing back.

My blog has begun to evolve and it would be so helpful to know how it is received. Do you like restaurant reviews, recipes, personal reflections? Let me know.

I would like to see my readership grow but have no idea how to make that happen. I think I need your help for that to become a reality.

 Thanks for reading my blog!

Bon Voyage

No, I am not going anywhere but it seems that many others are. Right now my sister is in Prague and my oldest (not in age) friend is in Paris. And.... one of my favorite people, Ellyn, is headed off to France, to teach for a school year. My son Zack, the pilot, recently went to Japan for a couple of days (yes, literally) and Argentina to ski.

I often think of myself as deprived in this area but really I am not. In the last 10 years I have been to Turkey twice, Italy, London, Jamaica, Mexico and on a cruise to the Panama Canal. I have traveled in the US to Maine, the Hamptons, Boston, New York, Santa Fe, Colorado, Iowa, Chicago, and various lovely spots in beautiful Wisconsin. Each experience is so enriching and fills my heart and spirit with joy. I have memories of friends, romance, historical sights and funny experiences that happened along the way. I have been so fortunate to have these opportunities.


My travels are marked by the foods I have eaten during my journeys. In fact, I often cannot remember where I have been until I attach a food to the memory.... "Oh yeah, the place we ate the fried clam bellies." Seafood in Savannah, lobster in Maine, pizza in New York, clam chowder in Boston, fish enchiladas in Mexico, Imam Bayildi (the Imam Fainted) in Turkey, elk in Colorado and steak in Omaha. Yum is all I can say. I am a better cook as a result of my wanderings and yearn to learn more. I am dying to head to Southeast Asia but am not sure my budget is up to the the task. We shall see.

Last night, Ellyn and I cooked dinner together before she headed off to France. We cooked for her parents (my close friends Fay and David) and my guy Tariq. I had recently acquired the cookbook "Plenty" by Yotam Ottolenghi. Ellyn and I chose two fabulous dishes, Caramelized Garlic Tart and Crusted Pumpkin Wedges with Sour Cream. We used butternut squash instead of pumpkin and passed on the sour cream sauce. As for the tart, I accidentally bought phyllo leaves instead of puff pastry. Time to punt! The phyllo crust was light and crisp so all worked out well. I have read reviews of the book where frustrated users complain of poor editing. Ottolenghi is Israeli and has two extremely popular restaurants in London. His book contains some errors in measurements which I assume occurred when he had the book readied for publishing in the US.. You just have to use common sense. Really it is no big deal. I have now eaten 6  dishes from this book and I loved them all. The garlic tart took the prize however. The garlic was sweet, creamy and mellow. This was a standout dish.

Before we stepped into the kitchen, Ellyn and I shopped at the Sunday Northside Farmers market. It is just the right size, with many of the great products you would find around the square on a Saturday. No jostling with the crowds, just a leisurely stroll among the many tents. I found the most tender, sweet pea shoots and tendrils which formed the foundation of a light side salad made with thinly sliced fennel and red onion. It was the perfect accompaniment to the hearty meal. Fay and David brought a bread from Batch which is always the perfect gift. We finished that off along with everything else on the table.

Lest I forget, before Ellyn arrived I made an apple tart for dessert. There is one piece left over which will not make it til sunset. In fact, I am headed to my kitchen right now.
 
I am thrilled when I get a chance to cook with Ellyn. I met her when she came into this world at
2.2 lbs. At that time there were so many worries. Now I see a beautiful, bright vibrant young woman before me wielding a knife and sharing her culinary expertise. I helped to develop her interest in cooking and love seeing how she has used her interest to make friends, bridge differences and make money. She holds a special place in my heart.
 
Because the dinner looked so inviting and my home smelled divine we all dove into the food before I could snap a photo. Too bad. It was beautiful, as well as tasty.

Tariq went to the wonderful farmer's market in Waukesha and brought me some yellow beans, a stalk of brussel sprouts and some radishes. I attach a picture of my bounty. I will never cease to be amazed at how brussel sprouts come into this world.

Unfinished Business

I seem to be on a roll of preparing to do something and the something never happens. I put in a zillion hours prepping for two different trainings and neither ever occurred. I had a vacation scheduled and the hot weather caused us to postpone our travels.

I was feeling really down about all this and decided to treat myself to a dinner at Fresco. Fresco is probably my favorite Food Fight restaurant. Tariq donned a nice pair of dress pants and a tailored shirt. he looked so handsome. I even put on a dress. It was a lovely evening and I was slowly lifting from my funk as we approached the restaurant. We were greeted by the staff at the MMOCA desk and asked where we going. I told them we had a reservation at Fresco. They told me that was impossible as it was closed for a private party. My head exploded with a cornucopia of expletives which fortunately never left my lips. We left the premises, sat on a street bench and thought about where to go. After nixing about every restaurant you can think of I finally settled on Ichiban on Park St. We were overdressed and over-hungry.

Ichiban is an excellent restaurant. The diners are almost all Chinese. I am hellbent on spending an evening there just interviewing folks about what they are eating. I want to try everything but get timid when it comes time to order. The menu is huge and I cannot really tell what the dish is like before it arrives. The waitstaff speaks limited English and are unable to really help you out. I have been to Ichiban 3 times and each time I have enjoyed my meal. The food can be very oily but that is the case at Fugu as well, another authentic Chinese restaurant. Vegetables are fresh and crispy, tofu light and puffy and the sauces are diverse rather than everything tasting the same. Tariq ordered the Cumin Flavored beef with Chili Sauce which was our least favorite dish. I have enjoyed the Sichuan sauce twice, once with chicken and once with tofu. I loved the Japanese Tofu in Hot Pot, Braised Vegetable with Shitake Mushroom and the Vegetable Dumplings. You must give Ichiban a try. I love moo-shu pork but this is a whole different ballgame.

Now, back to the situation with Fresco. I learned an important lesson. I had gone on the website for Fresco and used Open Table to make my reservation. I received an email saying "your reservation is confirmed". Clearly I did not read the confirmation email as they had moved my reservation to the following day! Who knew? I had no idea they would do that. I had written both Fresco and Open Table about my experience. The lovely manager from Fresco called and explained to me what had occurred. She had me down for a reservation for which I had "no-showed". Mea Culpa- I need to be more careful.

Yo Yo

Sometimes my feelings rise and fall like a yo-yo. The yo-yo is spinning at the top. I am filled with great appreciation for that what I have. I am lucky compared to many and I know it. I feel financially comfortable, loved and satisfied. Then, slowly the yo-yo slides to the bottom leaving me whiny, wanting and tearful (you remember, I cry a lot). The yo-yo moves smoothly up and down allowing me to wallow or rejoice for a reasonable amount of time. Then there is a flick of the wrist which causes the yo-yo to fly up and down, out of control. Fortunately, the yo-yo cannot sustain the energy required and eventually it sinks to the bottom, spinning slowly and eventually comes to a rest.

How do I "feed these feelings"? With the yo-yo diet of course! I looked yo-yo diet up on Wikipedia and here is what it says,

Yo-yo dieting or yo-yo effect, also known as weight cycling, is a term "yo-yo dieting" coined by Kelly D. Brownell at Yale University, in reference to the cyclical loss and gain of weight, resembling the up-down motion of a yo-yo. In this process, the dieter is initially successful in the pursuit of weight loss but is unsuccessful in maintaining the loss long-term and begins to gain the weight back. The dieter then seeks to lose the regained weight, and the cycle begins again.

That would be me, folks, and I guess many of you. I am getting better though, in that I eat healthier now than ever before. Portion control is not what it should be but what I eat is pretty darn good. I am now thinking about what to make for dinner.

I have a zillion leftovers in the fridge but cannot face any of them again. I have a serving of yummy mushroom soup made from the pound of crimini mushrooms hiding in the fridge that needed to be put to use NOW, before they turned to a slimy mess. I had sauteed them with onions and some garlic, simmered them in some Swanson chicken broth with parsley, rosemary and cayenne, added a little milk and finally whirred them into soup heaven with the use of my fabulous immersion blender.

There is some leftover Asian pasta salad made with rotini and loads of sauteed farmer's market veggies, coated with a dressing comprised of sesame oil, fish sauce, balsamic vinegar and honey. I made some shrimp and threw them in there as well. A perfect quick dinner before we headed for American Players Theater. I ate it again yesterday for lunch and heated it in a pan. It was equally as good hot.

So now I am faced with making dinner. My guy Tariq will be here around 8pm. I decide to use a recipe for cooking my boneless/skinless chicken thighs.. Often I read 10 recipes and then make it up myself. But tonight, I will try the following recipe from Cooking Light. I am always happy to use a well-reviewed recipe. I read a bunch of the comments, integrate them into my approach and then make it my own. I will let you know how it goes. I will be back in an hour....

Well Tariq was late but that is another blog entry. Despite that, the chicken was excellent and very easy. I roasted some quartered herbed Yukon Gold potatoes to have on the side. Thank you Cooking Light!

Photo by: Photo: Randy Mayor; Styling: Jan Gautro

Spicy Honey-Brushed Chicken Thighs

One of the most popular Cooking Light chicken recipes, these sweet and spicy grilled chicken thighs are flavored with chili powder, cumin, garlic and cider vinegar.

Cooking Light MARCH 2007

• Yield: 4 servings (serving size: 2 chicken thighs)

Ingredients

• 2 teaspoons garlic powder
• 2 teaspoons chili powder
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1 teaspoon paprika

• 1/2 teaspoon ground red pepper
• 8 skinless, boneless chicken thighs
• Cooking spray
• 6 tablespoons honey
• 2 teaspoons cider vinegar

Preparation

Preheat broiler.
Combine first 6 ingredients in a large bowl. Add chicken to bowl; toss to coat. Place chicken on a broiler pan coated with cooking spray. Broil chicken 5 minutes on each side.
Combine honey and vinegar in a small bowl, stirring well. Remove chicken from oven; brush 1/4 cup honey mixture on chicken. Broil 1 minute. Remove chicken from oven and turn over. Brush chicken with remaining honey mixture. Broil 1 additional minute or until chicken is done.

Very hard to eat just two thighs!

Nutritional Information

Amount per serving

• Calories: 321
• Calories from fat: 31%
• Fat: 11g
• Saturated fat: 3g
• Monounsaturated fat: 4.1g
• Polyunsaturated fat: 2.5g
• Protein: 28g
• Carbohydrate: 27.9g
• Fiber: 0.6g
• Cholesterol: 99mg
• Iron: 2.1mg
• Sodium: 676mg
• Calcium: 21mg

Frenzy

 I was hired to do some training. Today I observe someone else teaching the same curriculum. I become increasingly anxious as masterful presenter makes it look easy. Why did I agree to do this? What do I know? I have no memory cells.  I am going to make a fool of myself. I have no idea how to prepare. Everyone hates me. I am too old for this. I should lose ten pounds in the next two weeks. The masterful trainer is really fit and always wears great clothes.

Finally it is over. Time to go home. It is 4:15 and I have a 40 minute drive. I listen to the end of a Walter Moseley, Easy Rawlins mystery. I am having trouble concentrating as I am still freaking out.

Stop at Jenifer St Market to buy a boneless skinless chicken breast and a jar of salsa verde..

Drop everything on hall floor. Barrel into the kitchen.

Hyperventilate.

Wash hands.

Frantically place on kitchen counter: The chicken breast, Penzey's Cajun Spice,ground Chipotle Pepper, kosher salt, olive oil, large sweet onion, a few min-peppers, bag of Creamers (little red new potatoes), package of Gitto's whole wheat tortilla's (purchased at the Farmer's Market).

Take off my shoes.

Take from cabinet, All-Clad 12" skillet (NOT non-stick), trusty small cast iron pan, small sauce pan.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. 

Take slower deeper breaths. Start to feel the muscles in my neck begin to relax ever so slightly.

Wash hands.

Take off my pants and shirt. Put on comfy shorts and top.

Season chicken with loads of Cajun spice and chipotle pepper. Sprinkle generously with salt.

Wash hands.

Using my favorite Mac brand chef's knife, I peel onion and make fat slices.
Slice mini-peppers.


Place 5 little potatoes in small saucepan with cold salted water to cover. Place on high flame.

Pour a small amount of Tito's vodka over ice in my favorite glass (something I never let anyone else use), and take a big sip. Notice I am humming Ray Charles tune.

Heat All-Clad skillet on medium flame, add about 1T of olive oil, swirl, when hot, add chicken breast. Do not touch it. I trust that the breast which is now glued to the pan, will release when it is ready, all by itself, leaving behind a beautiful fond on the pan and crust on the chicken. When the breast releases, I flip it and do the same on the other side.

Eat two raw mini-peppers.

While the chicken is cooking, I get the small cast iron pan pretty hot and add 2 t of olive oil. I add onions and peppers, salt, pepper and the Cajun spice. Let the onion and peppers get soft and brown.

When the breast releases again, it is by no means cooked through. Now is the time to place it in the oven to finish cooking. Whenever the onions and peppers are done, I add them to the skillet in the oven.

When I can pierce those little potatoes with a sharp little knife, I drain them and cut them in quarters. I reheat the little cast-iron pan and pan roast the potatoes in there for about 10 minutes, getting them good and brown. I add a pinch of salt.

Using a meat thermometer,  I see the little dial reads 162 degrees. Out comes the chicken from the oven.  I let it rest 3 minutes and then slice it on the bias. I am too impatient to wait any longer.

I take my favorite dinner plate and cover it with one tortilla. I arrange a few slices of chicken in the middle of the tortilla and top it with some onions and peppers and a dollop of salsa verde. I fold it the best I can but it is a messy package. I place the little brown potatoes neatly beside my little bundle of joy.

I place the plate and my vodka on the kitchen counter. I hop up on my stool, push away some odds and ends and totally settle in. It is 5:45 pm.

My breaths come slowly. I let my cat climb on my lap. I open the newspaper and work on the puzzle. I take a bite. The chicken is moist and tender. The veggies are sweet and slightly charred. The salsa verde is just acidic enough. The potatoes are crisp and the vodka.... perfect.

Home Run

Yes, it is baseball season and I recently was at Miller Park. However, it is highly unlikely that you will ever see me blog about sports. Trust me, it would be ugly. Not my area of expertise.

I am speaking of "my home", the place where I live. Before we arrive at my current abode, I need to trace my steps. Getting here is just as important as being here.

My first home was in a beautiful neighborhood on Long Island. My parents had moved from Manhattan to the suburbs, into a home designed by Bill Levitt, an extremely popular and productive 1950's architect.  My aunt cried when my parents left Manhattan. She was worried about them living in the "country".  My dad rode the Long Island Railroad to work. The suburbs blossomed, as  did the gorgeous trees and landscaping that surrounded these magnificent homes. Children played in the streets after dark, walked alone to school and rode their bikes all around the neighborhood untethered by a cell phone.

The birds stopped chirping and the flowers lost their petals when I turned 12. We moved to an apartment building in Queens. (The whys and wherefores are for another blog entry) We first lived in a small two bedroom apartment on a busy thoroughfare right by the expressway. I shared a room with my sister. Eventually she left for college, my dad headed out and we downsized to a one bedroom. At 16, my  roomie was my mom.

Not long after, I showed up at the doorstep of friend's family home with some clothes and my pillow in tow. The family took me in, no questions asked.  They were generous with their hearts and even gave me some money when times got hard. I stayed until I completed my sophomore year in college. Despite their efforts, it was a haven not a home.

Then I lived like a fugitive in an all-boys college dorm at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. I showered at 2 am for a whole semester. I came and went at odd hours and tried to be invisible. My boyfriend took a big risk just so I would have a place to sleep. I am forever grateful.

I spent two years in Buffalo, NY attending college. I had two apartments. The first one brought my future husband, Bruce, into my life. The second, I shared with a lesbian couple. They were fabulous roommates and it was there my love of cooking took root. I cooked for company all the time in the same cast iron pan and wok I use today. The pan and wok are seasoned to perfection and should they develop a voice, would have many stories to tell.

I lived in two abodes in Sarasota, Florida with Bruce, before moving to Wisconsin. Our first  little apartment in Madison was right off South Park Street. We lived there for about 8 months until Bruce found a young man hanging from a rafter in the basement on Easter morning. As a fallen-away Catholic, that was just too much for Bruce to take. We had to move on. We broke our lease and rented a lovely place on Monroe Street before buying our Victorian house in Stoughton. The house was a museum, a reflection of Bruce and his eclectic tastes. The decor was garage sale/auction. I loved it because I loved him and my son, Zack. But it was not my home even after 22 years. I never had a real kitchen and it was a bitch to cook there.

When the pain of  Bruce's sudden death let loose its grip, just enough to let me breathe, I knew I needed to relocate. I was living in a shrine, away from the city I loved and most of my friends. It was time to move to Madison. A winter walk brought me to a construction site on the near east side. On a corner stood a large sign depicting a simple brick condo building surrounded by a lovely little garden. The foundation had just been laid. I actually felt a magnetic pull to the site. I consulted with friends and my architect brother. Everyone agreed, it was perfect.

Now 8 years later, I do not take my home for granted. I am thankful for the location, the design and my neighbors. I feel a sense of belonging and serenity I have never known before. I like hearing the sounds of the city in concert with the footsteps and voices of my neighbors. Toilets flush, showers drain and the neighbor's parrot heralds the morning sun. The hydraulic lift of a bus, the landing of a jet, the screaming of a fire engine is music to my ears.

Zack spent one year in this home and he liked it too. We rediscovered each other and reinvented our relationship. We found a way to be two instead of three. We had escaped a ghost without leaving the good memories behind.

The word home is used in numerous ways. Each of them seems to apply to me. I am "at home" here. "It struck home" means it touched my heart (which it clearly did). I am "home free", feeling unencumbered (as I do, except for the tax bill and mortgage). It is "something to write home about" which would mean I recommend it. No doubt about that.

I celebrate my home by cooking for others. My kitchen is open, allowing me to chop, stir and wash dishes while engaging with my guests. I invite people here and they say, “Oh, we can just meet at a restaurant. I don't want to put you out". "No problem", I reply, truly meaning what I say. In fact, as I write this blog entry, the smell of sautéed, onions, peppers and squash fill the air. I had an 8:30 am breakfast meeting in my dining room and served coffee with scrambled eggs and veggies. I also treated my guest to a scone from Lazy Jane's... manna from heaven. It was a productive meeting but most importantly, it served to cement our relationship. The meeting was business but it was a pleasure for us both.

 

Here is a fabulous easy recipe for company. It is a beautiful and scrumptious dish. Give it a try and celebrate your home!

Thanks to: Pitchfork Diaries

http://www.pitchforkdiaries.com/2011/03/25/pan-seared-sea-scallops-with-pickled-watermelon-radish-and-microgreen-salad/


PAN-SEARED SEA SCALLOPS,
WITH PICKLED WATERMELON RADISH AND MICROGREEN SALAD

Serves 4, as an appetizer. Triple recipe for a main course.

4 large sea scallops
12 thin slices of watermelon radish. (Other radish varieties will work well too, but will have a bit more bite.)
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup loosely packed microgreens
2 teaspoon rice vinegar
2 tablespoon sesame oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon canola, vegetable, or peanut oil

Remove the adductor muscle from the scallops.  Pat dry with paper towels and keep refrigerated.

In a small bowl combine the radish slices with the sugar and salt.  Allow to sit for about five minutes.  They are ready to use at this point, or can be refrigerated for up to four hours.  Before using, rinse gently and blot with paper towels.

Put the rice vinegar in a small bowl, with a small pinch of salt.  Gradually whisk in the sesame oil.  Set aside.

Arrange radish slices on plates.

Remove scallops from the refrigerator, season lightly with salt. In a saute pan, over high heat, melt a tablespoon of butter with a tablespoon of oil. When hot and shimmering carefully add the scallops to the very hot pan. Do not move them at first. After about a minute gently check to see if they are stuck to the pan, and if browning too quickly. Turn down heat slightly, if so. After about another minute, they should be nicely browned an caramelized, flip to the other side and sear for another minute.

Place scallops on radish slices on serving plates. In a medium bowl toss microgreens with sesame dressing (you may not need to use all of it), and top scallops with dressed greens. Serve immediately.
 

Cry Me a River

I have free time and  ponder "what should I do?". What a luxurious question, I know. I am lucky to have the chance to even wonder.

I decide to write in my blog. For a few seconds I search for a subject, thumbing through the Rolodex of my mind. I file topic cards away in my brain every day, as incidents, emotions and ideas abound. But as the cards riffle and the ideas begin to form a shape I find myself tearing up. What the hell? Can't I even string some feelings together without starting to cry? Apparently not.

I have been crying since day one. I imagine I entered this world red-faced with tears streaming down my chubby cheeks. Of course, I have no idea because my father was not in the room and my mother was probably out like a light from gin and/or anesthesia. She never bothered to tell me.

When I was a child, my mother would tauntingly call me Sarah Heartburn after the famous stage and screen actress Sarah Bernhardt. She was known for her emotive style and often was a bit "over the top". I was always in tears carrying on about the injustices of life, the minor injuries of play and the dying character in the book I was currently reading.

The men in my life should have bought stock in Kleenex. Whether feeling angry, rejected, insecure, thankful or incredibly in love, tears are part of my emotional package. I see that, "Oh, no, not again" look in their eyes. Some men walk away, others have known that a hug and a little contrition will cut the episode at its quick and I will bounce back in mere seconds. Yes, I recover as quickly as a baby that fakes a cry just to see what you will do make them happy.  But I swear I am not faking. I am sad, glad or outraged. I just get tired of the histrionics and move on.  I do not reserve this lovely behavior for men, I do this to my oldest friend as well. I burst into tears when she answers the phone and less than 30 seconds later I am done. I bore myself. The cause of my outburst is usually something out of my control or some trite issue that is downright ridiculous.

I appreciate my tears. They serve me. When my husband Bruce died the tears were endless and came from a place I didn't even know existed. Buried deep in my gut was a roiling pool of water that overflowed. I would try to erect a dam to hold them back but they would not be contained. They washed me in memories and helped to relieve the tension that pulled at every muscle including my breaking heart.

When work spun out of control I did a poor job of keeping my tears to myself. Though embarrassing, they represented my deep commitment to my profession and those that I supervised. They were the "red flag" telling me that I needed to move on. My love for the job and my staff was not enough. I was the poster child of secondary traumatic stress.

Crying is a part of who I am. Whether it is the love for my son, the loss of my husband or the deep affection shown by my loving partner that drives the tears, it really doesn't matter. Fortunately you won't see my lip start to quiver or the tears well up in my eyes as I prepare to write this blog. You are spared the drama and I can wallow (for a few seconds) without restraint.

The saying, "Cry in your beer" just popped into my head. It basically means to feel sorry for yourself. I do not drink alcohol when I am sad..bad combination. But were I to do so, I would cry in my cocktail ...

 Tonight I will be sharing some cocktails with my neighbors. They have a large clay pot of mint growing wildly on their porch. I am helping them cull the crop by offering to make some mojitos. I made this recipe before for a large crowd and they were a huge hit. Here, my friends, is the recipe. It is over 90 degrees outside. Enjoy!

Mojitos

Recipe found on Food.com

10 servings (alleged)

10 limes
30 leaves Fresh Mint
3/4 c Sugar
1 c White Rum
Club Soda, chilled

1. Juice half the limes. After juicing cut rinds into quarters.
2. Cut  the other half of limes into quarters. Hold back a lime for garnish.
3. Place limes, sugar and mint leaves in a pitcher and muddle (mash with a stick). I use a wooden rolling pin that is one solid piece of wood. You want to extract the flavors from the rinds and the leaves. Hold back a lime and some mint for garnish.
4. Add the rum and lots of ice and top with club soda. Add club soda to individual glasses if mixture is too strong.
5. Garnish with mint and lime slices.

They taste so good they may make you cry.

Once a Widow...

I rose at 7:00 am and started cooking. I was expecting a friend for lunch. I had not seen her socially for many years. We kept running into one another, at Overture, restaurants and on the street. I was always so excited to see her. Robotically we would state, "We really should get together". Last time she handed me her card and said, "Call me".

At noon the buzzer rang. I was like a puppy. Had I a tail, it would have been wagging. It was wonderful to have her in my home, catch up on old times and hear about her current life. I showed her around and then we had lunch.

After lunch, she settled into my comfy leather chair and I laid on my new couch. We were chatting away, "peeling the layers of the onion" when we hit the core and began to discuss our shared label..."widow".  I was overwhelmed with appreciation for the opportunity to speak of something I rarely touch on with others. I make passing comments but feel very alone in the experience. It was truly freeing to talk of the agony, the fears and the willpower it took just to breathe. We admitted that the pain lingers despite the passage of time. Don't get me wrong. We were not morose, just raw, honest and somewhat relieved to be in a space where we were understood.With other friends, I do mention my loss but generally I talk of my grief in passing and move quickly to the wonderful life I have now. I do not speak of how I feel guilty for being happy or even being alive. It is silly, I know.

I am convinced I will see my friend again, without waiting years, and that our friendship will not be a function of our widowhood. However, the fact that we lost our husbands, at a young age, in the blink of an eye, enhances our connection just as any commonality would do.



This occasion required an appropriate lunch. My guest is a foodie and a good darn cook. I wanted to have something healthy but flavorful. I found a wonderful recipe called Curried Quinoa with Pistachios and Dried Cranberries, in my newest Weight Watcher cookbook. My curry powder was old so I decided to make my own. By the time I was done mixing the spices, my house smelled fabulous. Hints of cardamom, turmeric, cloves and cayenne hung in the air. Weight Watcher recipes are very reliable. They do not skimp on flavor and are not shy about adding a little heat.

I also served a yummy marinated chicken breast I grilled at a friend’s house. I am not allowed to grill where I live. Hence, I have to mooch off others.

Both the chicken and quinoa were served at room temperature. The mint and chives came from my neighbors porch. Much appreciated!

Here’s the recipe…. Enjoy.

Curried Quinoa with Pistachios and Dried Cranberries

1 cup quinoa
2 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth
1 Tbsp. curry powder
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 lb. slender green beans, trimmed and halved
2 tsp. olive oil
2 celery stalks, sliced
1 small red onion, chopped
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/4 cup unsalted pistachios, chopped
1/4 cup lightly packed fresh mint leaves, chopped
1 small bunch of fresh chives, snipped
Finely grated zest & juice of one large lemon

Combine quinoa, broth, curry powder, cinnamon and salt in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer, covered, until liquid is absorbed and quinoa is tender, about 10 minutes. Remove pan from heat and set aside.

Heat 1″ of water in a nonstick skillet, add green beans and cook about 5 minutes, until just tender but still slightly crisp. Drain and hold under running cold water to stop cooking, Drain again and transfer to serving bowl.

Wipe skillet dry. Heat oil in skillet and add celery and onion. Sauté until onion is softened, about 5 minutes. Add to green beans along with quinoa and remaining ingredients, mix together and serve.

Serves 6

WW PP per serving (about one cup): 6