Moving On

This blog is on hiatus for a while...obviously...

I am working on a self improvement project over here if you are interested in taking a look. Not as captivating, but necessary for me to continue existing.

Phlavor

It is the height of summer now. No better time that now for cold, creamy homemade ice cream. This May was the first time I have ever had fresh ice cream, the kind created by people who love food and friends. Kelly and Juliette made Strawberry Ice Cream while I was staying with them. That was divine. The little strawberries from the local pick-your-own were potent and sweet. I am amazed at how much richer and more flavorful homemade is over the store bought. It even trumps the ice cream parlor.

Mint. That one little work conjures up a mouthful of explosive flavor. One leaf is enough to flavor a glass of tea. One stem makes a mojito something more than just rum and sugar. When you think about it you can taste it. And there are different flavors of it, old reliable peppermint, spicy strong spearmint, alluring chocolate mint, and the tropical pineapple mint with its sassy sweetness mixed into all that zing. It's hardy. It will dominate your yard if giving a little nudge. Thankfully, it is plentiful.

I am a chocolate gal. The darker the better and bittersweet, ohhh. Love in a bar. What more do you need out of life than a pint of New York Super Fudge Chunk at the end of a very bad day? Chocolate can so take the pain away. A bite can open your mind and a bar lets all the bad flow out. Not so much to make a tummy ache, but just enough to start pleasure stirring, to feel the silky texture, the melting sensual flavor on your willing tongue. Combine that with the powerful flavors of mint and you've got yourself quite the illicit love affair.

I mentioned in an earlier blog that I had made Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream. Well, the mint in the back yard is starting to get a little out of hand so I'm doing it again. It is steeping in warm cream, milk and sugar right now. In a short while it will get combined with more cream and some eggs, making a smooth and delicious concoction.

I am using the recipe from Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz with only a slight modification. Where he says warm the milk, I actually go for tea steeping temperature, somewhere around 175 F, to bring out the most flavor of the mint. I also bruise the leaves before steeping to release the oils. At the end, just before finishing it off in the ice cream maker, I will be adding the crushed pieces of a very dark chocolate bar. I will not post the recipe here since it isn't mine. If you are so inclined, I would suggest picking up a copy of his book. The flavors he uses and pairs together are inspired.

And here is the finished product. It has a greener color than the picture describes. It is a lovely color of pale emerald. And, oh, the flavor and texture!

The Relationship and Phood Phreek

Cool crock I found at the Archon Art Show

It may be time for me to consider whether I am ready for long term relationships. So far, my track record isn't up to snuff. Some of my friends may question whether I am making the right decision, but I think I can do it. I began a sourdough starter. It is 5 days in the making so far and I haven't killed it or forgotten it yet but our relationship is still new. It is timid and I am unsure. How will it react to my place? Will it grow and flourish here or will it turn on me? Can I live with it without taking for granted that it will always be there? Am I mature enough to give it the care and nurturing it needs or will I end up like others on the blogosphere who speak so callously about how easy it is to start it and ignore it or chuck it if it doesn't suit? The aroma is faint at the moment. It is beginning its life of fermentation. If I didn't know better I would think it wanted to be beer.

And so the story begins....

Finding My Phood Muse Again

Was it really just April 29th when I last wrote? It feels like a year or more has passed. It's been a busy summer, some good busy, some ok busy and some just downright high on the ick factor busy.

I haven't done a lot of in depth cooking since my last entry except for a wedding cake. That was monumental. I wanted to blog the process but really just needed to get the thing baked and delivered. I did take a picture of the final product. I was happy with it. The bride was happier. It was a tribute to flavor. The largest layer was chocolate cake with hazelnut syrup, hazelnut buttercream between layers and a thin layer of Nutello mixed with a bit of apple sauce spread over the layers to help keep it moist. The next layer up, my favorite, was a lemon cake. From a regular yellow cake recipe, I simply replaced the vanilla with lemon extract. It was so brightly flavored. Between the layers was a lemon buttercream and a layer of raspberry all fruit jam. The top two layers were the same flavors, chocolate cake sprinkled with rum and coffee with rum buttercream between. All of it was covered with rolled fondant flavored with either hazelnut or lemon depending on the layer. It worked. I have made quite a few wedding cakes over the years. Each time I am happy with them. I take a few years break, thinking I'll never do that again, then a friend with an as yet unmarried relative comes crawling out of the wood work and asks if I still bake cakes. I always seem to answer yes. About half way through the process I start wondering what I got myself into and how could I say yes again, etc. But by the end I feel like I've accomplished something wonderful for someone I care about. It's worth it.

Finished cake. No topper, she didn't think it needed it.

I am settling into my new place. It is a beautiful 1920's apartment with hardwood floors, high ceilings and lots of windows. The kitchen is of an actual workable size. I haven't had any parties yet. There are still a lot of unopened boxes blocking space my dining room. I have, however, taken to making ice cream. The back yard has a couple of nice flower gardens and one is just teaming with mint. So, what else, mint ice cream happens. I used the base recipe from David Lebowitz Perfect Scoop. To that I added more mint (I really like the flavor) and chopped up bittersweet chocolate. That was super yummy. Every now and then I think about the flavor of that first batch and I actually miss it. I must make more before summer is over. Thankfully, summer in the midwest can last right on into late October. My next batch was Maple Walnut ice cream. My sister had given me a tin of Grade A Dark Amber and I found some walnuts at the farmers' market. It was a custard base that came out smooth and super creamy with a heady maple flavor and chunks of maple covered walnuts throughout. At the same time, some friends of mine had just returned from a trip to Mexico and had challenged me to make a sorbet like one they had tasted there. It was mango and chili's. Getting the mango sorbet was a breeze, but figuring out what kind of chili and how much is a work in progress. The first batch was with chipotle powder, only a half teaspoon in 2 quarts of sorbet. It was smokey and hot and frozen all at once. It went best, I think, mixed with a scoop of chocolate ice cream (which is exactly what we did at Stavra's Ice Cream Social). Without the chocolate ice cream, I found the chili a little too overwhelming and I'm no whimp when it comes to this stuff. So what flavor shall I make next? Research Geek and I were talking about sticky toffee pudding ice cream. I'm thinking it's a must! And, yes, I will start taking more pictures as I go. It's a bad habit of mine to forget that I own a camera at all.

So here I am, sitting at my desk in late evening thinking about what will be next. I am going to start a sourdough starter tomorrow night and go for the bread this weekend. I can't wait to try sourdough flapjacks and doughnuts. I promise to write all about it in the coming weeks. I'm busy getting ready for a new semester in school, working hard and settling in, but I miss the writing. I am making more time for it and for the baking and cooking that inspires it. How else will I get any relaxation if I don't make time to work in my kitchen?

More later....and beyond.... ;)

Sorrow and Phood Phreek

When life gets tough, the tough eat comfort food. And doesn't it figure that the week after you start a diet is when life gets tough!? I've had a bad year this past week and I'm sorely tempted to turn to some of my favorite comfort foods to help me at least feel a little better while I struggle through the next month...which might be another year long....

Some of my favorites are mac & cheese, cookies (only fresh homemade), rice with lemon juice and Greek seasoning slathered in butter, Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk, Lay's wavy potato chips (the entire bag) and sour cream (the entire pint), beef stroganoff with really yummy kluski noodles, oh, and sweet, buttery popcorn. Yup, right now I could probably finish off a big pot, plate, or mixing bowl of any of these. But so far I have managed to keep it down to one small piece of chocolate and a couple of cookies. The question is, how long can I hold out while life beats the crap out of me? I'm pretty sturdy. I can make it....I think....

There was a brunch this morning. I cooked. I wanted to. It's what I do best and with the most passion. Cooking keeps my mind busy when I don't want to think about anything else. I made a quiche of bacon and spinach with Emanthaller, roasted potatoes, and stewed fruit. It was good. I was surrounded by friends and tasty, warm food. Yesterday I found out one of my dogs has lung cancer and something just short of minutes to live. I brought her with me to the brunch. It was comforting having her near, if only for a few more days.

Why is it that when we are deep in sorrow we turn to food for comfort? How come a big bowl of mac & cheese or a fresh batch of cookies can make everything better....at least for a few minutes? Is it the warmth of the melted cheese? Or the sweet spice of the fresh cookies? Mostly I think it's that someone who cares about you and sees how much you are hurting makes or bakes something to let you know how much they love you in your deepest times of need. Stavra and I were talking about this just a few months ago. A friend of hers had a death in the family so she started baking for them. We were wondering why it is such a natural instinct for some of use to either hunger for or desire to provide comfort food. My guess would be that it's a basic survival need. We need food to live so when someone dies it's time to eat to help ensure our continued existence.

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I started this post in early March but have not been able to sit down to it again until just now. So, here I am. In sorrow for the loss of a pet, under a lot of stress from family member's severe illness and selling my house. How have I managed this? How have I ensured my continued existence? How have I persevered? Stavra's molasses cookies helped a lot. Spending time with close friends went a long way. Things are starting to look sunnier on the morning of my new life. Maybe one day, hopefully soon, I'll cook something again. I have a wedding cake project in my near future. I think I will have to post something on that soon. Carry on. Move along. Don't waste precious time be dragged in the depths of misery. Write something, cook something, eat something, live.

Oh, and the diet....PHAH...maybe next week.....

No-Knead Bread Adventures

**Edited on 4/15**

I, like everyone else in the food blogosphere, have tried Jim Lahey's no-knead bread recipe. It's pretty cool that you can make a fairly tasty bread without the work and without buying any extra gadgets to do it.

For those who don't already know, here is the original recipe:

Jim Lahey's No-Knead Bread

3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, more for dusting
¼ teaspoon instant yeast
1¼ teaspoons salt
1 1/2 c water
cornmeal or wheat bran as needed

1. In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add 1 1/2 cups water, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 12 hours, preferably about 18, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.
2. Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.
3. Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with flour, wheat bran or cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more flour, bran or cornmeal. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.
4. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.

Now I'm experimenting with the recipe. I thought I'd share my combinations, trials and errors here. But before I do, here is a funny email I got from Stavra as we were discussing breads and caramels.

**A couple of weeks ago on a Saturday I was making lunch. I had gone to Straub’s the day before and gotten sliced roast beef for sandwiches, as I always do when I’m there, because they have the absolute best I’ve ever had. It’s perfectly rare, and is, well, actual roast beef, not “lunchmeat roast beef.” Also, I had some day-old No-Knead Bread that I’d made. So, I make myself a roast beef sandwich with the fantastic roast beef, the leftover super-yummy bread, some of this special spicy mayonnaise that I can only find in New Orleans or in Houston and otherwise have to special order (which I had just done; I got three jars—if you’d like to try some, I’d be happy to pass a jar on to you), lettuce, organic Colby, fresh ground pepper, and a sprinkling of real fleur de sel on top. So I have just finished constructing this masterpiece, and I’m sooo looking forward to it, as it’s my favorite sandwich and I don’t often have that roast beef on hand, and Steve walks into the kitchen. I should mention at this point that, as it turns out, I had PMS on this occasion. This will probably become clear in a moment. So, Steve walks in, looks at the sandwich on the plate in my hand as I’m walking out of the kitchen, and says, “Wow, that’s a hearty sandwich.” At which point, I gasp, and say, “It’s just because the bread is homemade, and you can’t slice it thin, so it looks gigantic, and there’s lettuce, and IT’S NOT THAT BIG!! I just—oh, forget it, here, YOU EAT IT! I DON’T EVEN WANT IT ANYMORE! YOU’VE RUINED IT FOR ME AND I WOUDN’T ENJOY IT ANYWAY.” Steve, I can’t imagine why, just stands there, baffled, with his jaw hanging open. I shove the plate in his hand, turn on my heel, and stalk out of the kitchen. He eats the sandwich in the kitchen, and tiptoes around me for the rest of the day. A couple of days later, after my period has started and my sanity’s returned home from its short vacation, I said to him, “Okay, I’m really sorry I lost my mind about the sandwich. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but, you know, I just don’t think most girls want to hear that their sandwich is ‘hearty.’ At least most PMS-y girls. To me, what I heard was, ‘Jesus, that is one gigantic sandwich, you horrible cow.’” To which Steve of course responded, “But I—that’s not—I didn’t—“ And I reassured him that I know that’s not what he meant, but that’s what my hormone-addled brain heard. He nods his head and walks out of the room to take a shower and no doubt ponder the wisdom of letting women run for office, vote, and drive cars, and then he pops his head back in and says, “By the way, I just have to tell you—that was the most incredible sandwich I’ve ever eaten in my life. I wanted to tell you then, but I was afraid to talk to you. The whole time I was eating it, I kept thinking, ‘Man, she even makes better sandwiches!’” At which point I burst out laughing. We realized sandwiches were probably one of the few things that he really makes for himself. Because to me that was a fairly standard sandwich, one that I eat with some regularity, but it had never occurred to me to make him one, because if I’m making it it’s usually on a weekend and we’re just fending for ourselves and not necessarily eating at the same time. But I think it was one of the best food compliments I’ve ever gotten. And I’ll probably have to make his sandwiches from now on. **

That made me laugh so hard I had to share. Now, back to the bread making.

At Stavra's recommendation I increased the salt to 1 tablespoon in the original recipe. I used flour on tea towels for the last rise and had used an 8 inch base cast iron dutch oven for the cooking. This came out perfect.

My second loaf was a double batch. I increased the pan size to my 8 quart cast iron/enamal dutch oven. That was the most glorious, gigantic loaf of golden brown bread I had ever seen. It was just the right height at about 5 inches in the middle and a big round foot across. I was incedibly pleased, not only that the recipe worked twice, but worked doubled without increasing any part of it. The freinds I was feeding with it also thought it was quite nice.

Third was an Italian loaf. I substituted three tablespoons of the water with the same amount of fresh pesto. Oh, boy, was that heavenly. It was a little bit lower rise loaf. Part of the problem here I think may have come from pan size. I was using my sister's dutch oven and it is considerably wider than mine at the base. Next time I'll increase the yeast by heaping the original measurement or use my own cast iron.

At the same time, I tried a gluten-free loaf. For that I doubled the yeast and added a pinch more salt. It ended up more crumbly, more like corn bread only not falling apart. It held it's shape, held up to cutting and spreading nicely. I did this one for Mom to try. She is seeing a man that has restricted diet so I thought it would be fun to try. I used Bob's Red Mill Gluten Free All Purpose Flour. It is a mixture of garbanzo flour, potato starch, tapioca flour, sorghum flour and fava flour. The flavor was ok. I think it could have used more salt and still a bit more yeast and, oh, I don't know, some wheat flour...so much for gluten free...

Now, the last loaf I tried was a rye. I split the flour half white and half rye. I increased the salt to heaping and the yeast to heaping. This loaf came out sweater than I thought it would but had that nice sharp rye flavor too. Great texture. I think if I do this one again (who am I kidding, there's nothing better than a patty melt on fresh baked bread) I'll do all rye flour, a tablespoon of cocoa for the darker coloring, double the yeast and keep the salt at heaping.

It's weird, the things that make me tick. When I was growing up, we, Mom, sis and me, made bread every Sunday. Usually it was Mom making with us watching, but sometimes we would help and as we got older, we were able to do more. We learned the right textures for when the mixing was done and when it was kneaded just right. I can't remember a Sunday that didn't include baking bread for the week. When I moved into my own place, just a couple of years down the line, I tried making bread on my own. I failed....miserably... It was like I had never seen a homemade loaf. I couldn't get it to work right no matter how hard I tried. I ended up with rocks, blobs, and giant balls of light brown air but nothing that remebled that sweet, white roll of golden bread fresh from the oven. You know the one. It has the light glaze of melted butter glistening on the top. I just couldn't get there. Then one day I baked some bread and it was all fine again. I hadn't changed recipes. I don't know what happened. There was just this 8 year period when I couldn't make bread. I'm think I'll blame it on my first husband. Since I never changed recipes and can't recall changing methods, that's the only thing I can think of that changed during that time. I think he was just bad bread luck...along with bad most other stuff luck, too.

Anyway, now I remember how to bake bread. It came back to me about 9 years ago and hasn't gone anywhere again. I was very hesitant to try the no-knead bread. After 8 years of misery, the last thing I needed was to start crying over failed bread again. Also, I truly enjoy the amount of work it takes to make a fine loaf of bread. To me, it makes what I eat taste that much better to know that I put energy, love and even sweat into it. So this easy to do, no work bread put me off at first. I tried it because I had a weekend with little time and a need for bread (no pun intended). I have to say, it did fill that gap. I spent about 10 minutes total working on it and had a fine loaf afterwards. I don't know that I would ever switch permanently but when I'm running up against a social deadline, it'll do just fine.

More to come as I experiment. Maybe sometime in the future I'll even remember to get my camera out and add some pics to this.

Go bake something.....

When you just need some pampering...

There are days and weeks when, by the time you get to the end of one, you don't realize it but someone waiting on you would be so splendid. I had one of those months last week. I served jury duty, lost a contract on my house, prepared for an important presentation at work and was generally just too overwrought. I ended up with an evening free which is unusual since I work a late shift, but an early meeting to do that big presentation moved my work schedule up. By the time the day ended I was so aching for something lovely to happen....and it did.

A friend called me out for dinner at one of my favorite places, The Scottish Arms. I was introduced to this warm little place by Research-Geek and her husband about a year ago and honestly wish I had time to dine out more often. This would be a twice-a-week place if only. Take a look at the link to their history of before, during and after photos. I remember the building from about 15 years back when it was this really disgusting little corner store that was known for cashing paychecks on Fridays. It was small and greasy, had a counter and grill, but made the best fried egg sandwiches. That was all I could order though. The whole place so reeked of pork grease that it embedded itself into even the milk cartons in the refrigerator case. But I digress.

What is this place now, you ask? It is one of the finest places for a decent meal in a creative, gourmet Scottish style. It opened a couple years back and, in my opinion, served fabulous food right from the beginning but had a rough start with it's service. The staff was very friendly if a little on the inattentive and slow side. I never minded that since each time I dined there I was more and more convinced that this place would survive on the food and beverages alone. Wait, did I forget to mention the beverages. How could I? The Scottish Arms, with a guy from Scotland running the place, and what is Scotland most famous for? Why, the Scotch of course. And, oh, the Scotch, the Scotch. Over 80 lovely single malts from every little nook and cranny of Scotland. Each one so special, so divinely delicious. And the owner, Allistair (pardon me if I spelled it incorreclty), is so excited about the Scotch that his eyes light up like a child at Christmas. He can tell you anything you want to know about single malts and is so happy to recommend something that will please even the pickiest palette. A while back on another visit, he recommended Dallas Dhu which must have come from a special stash as it's not on the Scotch menu. The first sip told me I was in for a sublime treat. It tasted of honey, smooth and sweat, with a long slow heat moving over my tongue and down my throat. It finished with a mild peaty flavor, a little smoke to go with the warm flame. It was a small glass of all the good that is heaven and all the naughty that is hell.

This particular visit was a comfort food night for me. I really needed all the warmth and love that comes from a good ale and warm, creamy, love me meals. I passed on the Scotch just this once and instead ordered a Scottish ale on draft. It was sweet and had a fruity pear flavor and just enough kick to go to the places in my head that needed some clearing out. We started with an order of the Scotch Eggs. Ever had them? No? Get them here! I've tried Scotch Eggs in a couple of other places, but none were as good as these. The eggs were perfectly cooked and the sausage coating them was light and crisp with a nice zingy flavor. The plate came with a spicy mustard and a few leaves of greens to accompany the eggs in perfect harmony. Next was the soup, like I said, comfort food. I ordered a cup of the Cheddar Soup and, with the ale on the side, was very happy I did so, creamy and delicious.

On to the main event. My friend and I both wanted the same things, Cock-a-leekie pie and fish and chips so we decided to order both and split them. The chips were fine and the fish was good, if a little smaller portion than what I expected. The batter on the fish was crisp and quite nice and the tartar sauce on the side was so obviously fresh and flavorful. It is the Cock-a-leekie pie that will keep me going back again and again, though. This bowl of lovely is what chicken pot pie wants to be when it grows up. It is steaming hot, creamy sauce and large chunks of chicken under a golden brown puff pastry crust. When I say hot, I mean it. Order it, poke a hole in the crust to let some steam out and enjoy your ale while it cools down some. It is so worth the wait. The chicken is perfectly tender and juicy and the creamy sauce is just right, not too heavy, not too thin, with the most wonderful flavor of leek permeating throughout. Simple, divine, warm, loving food. But it's not over yet.

This was a good night to fall to temptation. The Scottish Arms makes some wonderful deserts with Cranachan and Bread Pudding leading the list. I had tried both of those on past visits so this time went for the Creme Brulee Trio, a sampling of 3 flavors, vanilla, cappuccino and ginger. That, with a pot of coffee, was the perfect end to the dinner. Each little crock of creme held a little special different flavor and all were creamy and delicious.

As I mentioned earlier, I had been a little disappointed with the staff on past visits, but that wasn't going to keep me away. About a month ago I had gone to another place downtown and was served by one of the wait staff that had been at the Arms. We asked why she left and she had said she didn't really like the changes that were going on at the Arms so decided to head for something different. Well, I liked chatting with her, nice gal, but really didn't care much for the service she had offered in the past, so thought maybe those changes were for the best. And they were. The bartender and wait staff working at the Arms now are perfectly lovely. Remember that pampering I needed? Well, that was plenty taken care of, not only by the company I kept, but also by the wonderfully attentive and prompt service. The evening could not have been more perfect.

For those of you who haven't yet ventured into the Central West End to try it, go for the Scotch Eggs and Cock-a-leekie pie. Their menu has expanded, changed from what is currently on the website. They have added some more upscale entrees that look fabulous. It was a tough choice between the pie and the newest lamb dish. I'll be going back again and I predict that once you try it, you'll be hooked.

Keep up the great work, Scottish Arms. I wish you a long and prosperous business.

Sugar Plum Faeries

I am Jewish by faith and heritage but my dad just loved the Christmas tree, the presents and the feast so we celebrated on one day instead of eight each holiday season. I grew up with the best of both worlds. My grandparents celebrated Hanukkah with a menorah and we celebrated Hanukkah with a beautiful tree. Tradition, heritage, history and presents all in one holiday.

Christmas was just a few days ago. I celebrated the seasons with my closest friends, traveling from one house to another during the day. The first party was spent with Research-Geek and her husband at his mother's home. Christmas dinner was large with a roast and a ham and lots of side dishes. The main entree, the roast, was perfect, browned and crispy on the outside and a beautiful rare on the inside. R-G had made Yorkshire Puddings to go with, light and yummy puffs of air. It's always a treat to me to stand beside someone and watch them learn and grow more adventurous in the kitchen. When I first met R-G, she was shy in the kitchen but willing to learn, try and do anything to make a new meal. A few years back she had asked me about steak, how do you take a nice piece of meat and grill or pan sear it to perfection? The timidness I understand. Who wants to take a $12 New York strip steak and end up with shoe leather? It can be intimidating making that first one. We exchange a couple of emails and she began cooking. Since then, she and I have been exchanging recipes back and forth over email, offering each other the newest dish we tried and adored.

When she said she was making the roast and Yorkshire Puddings, I was both proud that she was taking this giant step and a little scared for her. When I arrived at the house, it already smelled of the heavenly beef. A short while later it was ready to come out of the oven and rest. As we were both looking longingly at the roast, I asked her how she had prepared it. First, she tells me, you ask the butcher for a nice roast. Then you asked the butcher the best way to prepare it. She does live near one of the best butchers in town, Valenti's. And he did give her excellent instructions. That roast was good for seconds and thirds, each time with a bit of Yorkshire Pudding. We spent the afternoon eating, drinking and opening presents.

After that tasty feast, I went on to Stavra's for dessert. There was bread pudding with a caramel sauce and fresh whipped cream. Bread pudding is one of those things for which I quest. I'll try bread pudding on any menu whenever I see it. I'm always looking for the perfect batch. For me, excellent bread pudding has crunchy sides and a few peaks of crunch on the top then gives way to a smooth and creamy center, a little more than pudding, almost like the center of really good French toast. I think the best puddings have golden raisins and hints of cinnamon and nutmeg. Stavra's was all those things. She served it warm and the aroma wafted from my plate. It was smooth and sweet with a little crunch around the edges where the sugar had caramelized the bread. Ah...it was lovely.

Stavra has a way with Christmas. Everything she does is beautiful to lay eyes on and delicious to eat. Each year she makes cookies for all her family and friends. I love to bake. She and I go back and forth about who's better. I say she is, she says me. After this year's basket of cookies and truffles, I think she wins hands down. When I walked in for dessert, she handed me a bamboo bowl for me to take home. It was full of bags tied with ribbon, each labeled with the name of the delectable treats inside. I almost dove in then, not wanting to waste a minute before tasting a bit or bite of each little treat. I managed to hold off for a while but later in the evening she dug through the bowl and pushed a bag my way saying to try that one first. It was a milk chocolate caramel with Fleur de Sel. It was smooth and creamy, chocolaty, with just the nicest saltiness.

After the first one I started digging through the bowl myself. There were several truffle, I think my favorite was the Dark Chocolate Orange Chipotle. That had a bang at the end...after all the other flavors faded, the chocolate, the orange....bang...smokey chipotle heating my throat. Yummy! I also found a Pistachio Cranberry Dark Chocolate. That was fun, flavors and textures popping out of the chocolate all over the place.

I love chocolate, almost more than I love breathing in and out, but it was one of the cookies that got me. Cinnamon Snow Bites.....just linger on the words....Cinnamon...Snow...Bites..... They sound like some old fashioned cookie that my grandmother would have made a long time before I was born. One just happened to jump out of the bag into my hand. It smelled lightly of cinnamon. I took a bite, then a bigger bite. It was perfect. It was moist but had a nice crumble. Cinnamon morsels dotted the cookie, not too many, not too few. There were hints of sugar and spice all melting into the buttery goodness. The first words out of my mouth, the only words I could describe this cookie with, were, "It tastes like Christmas, everything Christmas is, everything Christmas should be, in a cookie." It was amazing. There were a lot of other goodies in that basket. Not a bit of it went untasted and all of it was downright delicious, but the Cinnamon Snow Bites stand out to me. That was a flavor I will tell my family about when I get old and grayer.

This Christmas will hold a special place in my heart. It's the first one I spent on my own and exactly as I pleased. I'm seeing my family soon, after the New Year, to celebrate with them, but to spend the holiday with good and dear friends, I cannot think of a better way to end this year and a begin the next. Thank you, my friends, and Happy New Year!

Sushi - 130 Million Japanese People Can't Be Wrong

I just left Stavra at the curb in front of her house. As she got out of the car she told me to write more in this blog, that she wanted to read more. I said I was working on an article now and that it would be about cookies. As I pulled away, I realized that the cookie article would have to wait a few more days. I simply must tell you about the feast we had tonight.

I have heard a lot about sushi. I have even had one or two pieces of what was said to be sushi, but I hadn't had sushi, real sushi, good sushi, until tonight. I happened to have the evenings off this week between Christmas and New Years so planned dinner with friends for each night. Thursday was sushi with Stavra, Dan and Lenny. Stavra and Dan had started tasting sushi here in town a few years ago. During dinner, Stavra began telling Lenny and I how it started for her. Dan chimed in, saying he had had similar experiences. Both started with supermarket sushi. Let's face it. We live in the middle, no oceans anywhere nearby, not even a decent fish monger in town. It's hard to get a nice piece of fresh fish here. Stavra said that her first bite of sushi was strange, it was a weird flavor. She knew somewhere inside her that she should like it, but maybe something wasn't quite right. She tried again later, this time at a sushi place, and realized then and there that the supermarket sushi had been bad sushi, that there is a world of difference between what you get in the deli case and what you get when you sit in front of a sushi chef, preparing fresh for you your hearts desire.

We are sitting at a table at Wasabi sipping hot tea, chatting and waiting for our sushi. Dan and Lenny had come for the all-you-can-eat, attempting to put the sushi chef to the test. Stavra had in mind a few favorites of hers that she wanted to have again. I had looked at the menu online earlier in the day. I thought I was having pork with a fruit sauce and maybe, just maybe, a piece of sushi. I am very finicky about fish and have reserved my fish meals to only when I'm on a coast. Earlier in the day I believed it was going to be hard to convince me to try a full meal of sushi. What do I know? Stavra and I are looking at the picture menu laying on the table, trying to decide. There was a picture of the pork dish. Once I saw it I struck that from my order. I started looking at the noodle dishes. Stavra had recommended the udon and the yaki soba looked good too, but still, those just didn't sound right to me that night. I had been looking at the sushi. Was I ready to try something so different from what I am used to? Was I prepared to take the plunge, go all out? Screw it, I'm going to order sushi and nothing but.

Stavra started us off with appetizers of Shumai, shrimp dumplings that looked like small opening flower buds, and Tempura. Both were delicious. The dumplings were delicate and sweet with a lovely texture, soft and chewy. The tempura was light and crisp, just as it should be. Since Dan and Lenny were ordering for the all-you-can-eat, they had a rainbow of sushi literally landing in front of them throughout the evening. Dan ordered the Rainbow roll. And it was a beautiful thing to see. All the colors laid out in rice, fish and veggies. I was beginning to appreciate the subtle beauty and charm of sushi. Our boat was next on the table. I had ordered the Clayton roll and the Shogun. Stavra chose the Yellowtail and the Spider. The Spider had tempura shrimp in one tail end that actually looked like a menacing spider. The Yellowtail was small and delicate. It had a sweet fish flavor that I had not experienced anywhere but near the ocean. It was perfect. I began on the Clayton roll. On my first bite I was shocked and surprised and completely hooked. The Clayton roll is tempura batter with spicy mayo and masago rolled in rice, then a very nice thin piece of tuna, peppered and quickly seared, laid over the top. The pepper and the spicy mayo gave the whole roll a smoky quality, warm but not overly spiced. The tuna was perfect, seared on the outermost edge, then rare to raw getting closer to the rice. That first bite was one of the most interesting mouthfuls of delicious that I had ever tasted. It was a masterpiece of flavor and texture that I will not soon forget.

I went on to try the Shogun roll. Deep fried lobster salad, tobiko, asparagus, cucumber and avocado served with sweet wasabi soy broth, wrapped in rice then nori and all done in tempura, quick and light. I hadn't had nori before this. It reminded me of a mouthful of sea water that I accidentally took in while swimming in the Atlantic as a kid. It was salty, although not overly so, slick and textured. I closed my eyes for a second and could see my grandmother waving from up the beach and could hear the gulls crying. Then the flavors of the lobster, tobiko and asparagus began to move to the front. It was mild and crunchy, sweet and salty, the perfect blend of flavors and textures. While it didn't take me by surprise as the other had, it did win its place in my mouth, its subtlety moving across my tongue and into my sense, slowly stirring my mind with pleasure. After the first few tastes, I dug in with the heartiest of appetites so pleased with my newest discovery.

We ate and talked, laughed and watched as Dan and Lenny continued through the list of nigiri and maki sushi still attempting to eat their fill. This was a fabulous feast. Surrounded by good friends, glorious food and steeped in culture, I had an experience that I will treasure for the rest of my days.

Ah....The Holidays

I'm still stuffed. We had The Dinner finished and eaten four nights ago and I still can't look a real meal in the plate.

Each year my friends, Research-Geek and her husband, throw a Christmas Party for our dear friends. We eat, exchange gifts and watch a Christmas movie or two. This year we were eight for dinner. Sometimes we are more, never less. Usually the food prepared is finger food and appetizers. R-G's husband makes this great sandwich with crusty bread, meat, cheese and onion heated in he oven. Sometimes he makes a ham and we all cut and pick off of it as the night goes on. None of us stand much on ceremony and we all love to eat good food.

This year, however, we decided to do things a bit different. We thought it might be fun to do a formal dinner, black tie optional (an option no one chose this time around claiming the tuxedos were all at the cleaners). R-G and I met a few weeks ago to plan the menu. We wanted the flavors of the season to come through, warm rich meats, root vegetables and warm breads. We brought ideas, a cook book and a magazine to lunch one day and poured over all the yummy treats we saw. We decided on two appetizers, rumaki with water chestnuts and salmon pizzas, two entrees, turkey with gravy and an herb stuffed pork loin, four side dishes, stuffing, green beans with lemon and hazelnut, sweet potatoes, and squash cassoulet and one desert, a honey cake topped with toasted almonds. Oh, and let's not forget, one can of cranberry jelly plopped on a plate, with can marks and all, in a solid lump. Some traditions never die.

We had our menu. Now we needed a plan. Google has a documents and spreadsheets feature that was perfect for sharing all the information between the two of us while planning. Yay, Google! I started a spreadsheet for the ingredients, kind of a shopping list for us, then another for the equipment we would need, and then the final sheet, a cooking schedule. I also added all of the recipes to a document so we would have easy access to them without having to pull out cookbooks or try to remember an original recipes while in the heat of battle. R-G arranged things with the butcher for the pork, panchetta and bacon. I already had the turkey so we were set for the entrees.

We planned our shopping for the day before the feast. Little did we know that a winter ice storm would hit the night before. But did it stop us??? NO! We forged on, meeting for lunch at a great Irish pub downtown. From there we headed over to the farmer's market, hoping that at least one farmer would be there. We were in luck. There was one farmer. Only one. And his stall was loaded with all the goodies at excellent prices. He had gorgeous pears and apples at 2lbs for a buck. Really, everything was a buck, the only difference was how many pounds you got for your dollar. I made a mental note of where his stall was and planned on going back many times in the future.

We also made a stop by the spice shop while we were there. It always smells soooo wonderful in that little shop. There are two ladies working behind the counter who have been working behind that counter since I first visited the market 36 years ago with my parents. They know their trade. The first thing R-G found was Celtic Sea Salt and the first question she asked was, "what makes it Celtic?" And the reply, "It comes from the Celtic slat marshes on the shores of Brittany." Good answer. An ounce of this and a bottle of that later, we had everything we needed for the feast as well as some special items for ourselves. I picked up some candied ginger and cinnamon sticks for a treat closer to Christmas...and some of the salt, of course. We finished our shopping and went our separate ways for the night, R-G to pick up some chairs and me to bake the Honey Cake, both extremely happy knowing we were having a white Christmas.

The next morning, 9am, I joined her at their home to begin the preparation of the feast. We spent the day chopping, dicing, grating, sauteing, simmering and roasting. We started at a fairly steady but leisurely pace. The turkey went in, the stuffing was cooking, and the broth was simmering for the gravy. About half way into the day we also began the drinking, wine, a very nice red. As the day wore on, our speed increased a bit. I started to feel the rush of adrenaline that I get as I approach serving time. But everything was going as pretty much as planned or even early. I was very pleased with the way things were turning out. Meats were golden brown, the sweet potatoes were speckled with spices and glistened with butter and the gravy came out a luxurious, creamy deep brown ready to smother the turkey in rich goodness.

As our friends arrived bearing gifts, they were greeted with glad tidings, a glass of wine and heavenly aromas, as well as some yummy rumaki and a crispy salmon treats. We sat down to dinner first, leaving the gifts for after and desert beyond. The feast was divine, with everyone digging in trying a bit of everything we offered. We lingered over the table, some having second helpings, some just enjoying the conversation. We laughed as a couple of the guys tried to corral the cranberry jelly to keep it from slipping off the plate as they passed it around the table again, this time an on edge disk sliding perilously close to disaster.

After dinner, gifts were exchanged with an abundance of glee. It is such a joy to watch every one's faces light up as they open their packages. We moved around the room one at a time, each pulling from the pile in front of us, some ripping with abandon, others slowly unsticking each piece of tape. Eventually, we finished the unveiling, each now with a pile of unwrapped goodies in front of us, books, CDs, DVDs, more books, and other gifts, all special and unique.

We finished the evening with cake, coffee, and, this year, White Christmas in the DVD player. It was the perfect end to a perfect day. R-G and I have prepared meals together before, but nothing this extravagant. I can't think of a better way to spend a day than working in tandem with one of my closest friends creating something fine for the people we love.

Now.....what shall we do next year?.....

This One is for My Dad

My dad (step-dad, really) died over 18 years ago. He was in his late 30's when his heart failed him. He was a pillar of strength and knowledge. It shocked us that he should be undone by his own body.

My dad was a phood phreek. Computers and food. That's what he did. I'm pretty sure I got those bugs from him. I was 11 when he married my mom. Until then it was mostly the three of us girls, Mom, me and my sis, but his influence was there from the time I was 3 years old. Mom put herself through night school in the years when I was young so my sis and I were latchkey kids before the term became popular. Since Mom was home late after work and school most nights, she relied on me and Sis a lot. At first it was washing dishes, setting the table and making the salad for dinner. As we became more able, we helped with preparing dinner. I made an excellent PB&J and, later, a killer baked pork chop. But it wasn't until Mom & Dad got married that I started to pick up on his phreekiness.

He loved flavor. He never ate anything that didn't taste good. He never settled for fast food or flavorless package meals. Everything had to be the best flavor, quality, the freshest ingredients possible. When Breyer's was the "gourmet" ice cream, that was the only kind we had. He was so adamant about flavor that he insisted on organic growing methods. We had a tiny but extremely productive garden in our city yard. When I was 16 he packed us up, moved from the city, out to a small farm. We farmed about 2 acres of the 40 acres we lived on. In the spring we planted peas and beans and had wild asparagus. In the summer it was corn, tomatoes, strawberries, and more. We put up food all summer and into fall, canning and freezing our bounty.

The first winter we lived on the farm, we had a snow storm that dropped 2 feet on us in the course of 3 days. We were stuck on our farm for 2 weeks. Thanks to my dad, we didn't worry a moment about whether or not we had enough to eat. We had a basement full of stewed tomatoes, plum preserves, frozen green beans and half a cow, free range of course, again, before the term became popular.

In the summers we would feast on Sundays. Dad would grill a giant chuck steak, 2 inches thick. Mom, Sis and I would make the sides, salad from our garden, home-made biscuits, steamed green beans or sauteed brussel sprouts. And Dad would make a giant pan of his barbecue sauce. He spent years perfecting that sauce. Trying different measurements and variations of herbs and spices to get it just the way he wanted it. Once he achieved it he finally wrote it down...on his usual recipe card, the inside of a panel from a carton of Winstons...teehee... I still have the last jar of sauce he made. Mom left it with me for safe keeping for a while.

He spent the same kind of time and energy on every recipe he created and more so on everything he did in life. He put his whole heart and soul into his work, his food and his family. I miss him as much today as I did the day we buried him. And I celebrate his zest for life with each new recipe I create.

I have been digging through our family recipes for the past few months, entering them into a recipe manager program, when I found two of his favorite dessert recipes. The first is Old Fashioned Marzipan. He made the best marzipan. It had a warm, sweet almond flavor with hints of cherry and rose. He made them into all kinds of shapes, some in candy moulds, some just with his hands. The other is Gingerbread. He liked his with peaches baked in, sweet and spicy.

Old Fashioned Marzipan

2 cups or 1/2 lb of powdered sugar
16 ounces of almond paste
1 tbsp strong rosewater and/or
1 1/2 tsp maraschino cherry juice
3 1/3 tbsp almond extract

Put all ingredients into a bowl and cut together with a pastry cutter until small pea size crumbs form. Knead with hands. Wash hands with soap and water often while kneading until mix is no longer oily. Shape and allow to dry. Once dry, paint with watered-down food colorings to decorate as desired. Store in an air tight container.

Gingerbread

1 stick unsalted butter
2/3 cup sugar
1 egg
2 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
3 tsp ginger
3 tsp cinnamon
1 1/2 tsp cloves
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup molasses
1/2 cup honey
2 cans sliced peaches
1 cup peach juice (from cans)

Melt the butter and add sugar and egg. Beat well. Sift the dry ingredients into a bowl. Combine the juice, molasses and honey into another bowl. Add dry and liquid ingredients alternately to the butter mixture while beating on low. Pour into a 10X13 buttered pan and cover with sliced peaches. Bake at 350F for about 55 minutes.

Please feel free to make both of these for your family and friends. Give credit where credit is due and please do not publish or produce either of these recipes for profit. Enjoy!

A New York Feast

I so love to travel. I like to move and do and taste. The flavors of other cities are what I love most about travelling. Yes, I go to the museums, see the sites, shop, etc. But I also want to taste things that I can't get at home every day, experience feasts that leave imprints in my memories of those places.

I've spent time in most of the continental states, all but a few in the New England area that I plan on getting to soon. When I was a kid my family, Dad, Mom, Sis and me, would pile into our 1976 VW Microbus and travel cross country to camp in Idaho, Montana or the Dakotas to go rock hounding. Some of my favorite childhood memories are of waking up to the chilly morning air high in the Rockies in Motana and stepping out of our tent to the smell of bacon and eggs on the camp fire to greet us. Sure, I can get bacon and eggs every day if I want, but not so often cooked over an open fire on a cold morning in oh, so very Big Sky Country.

I've been to Toronto, but that's about it for crossing the borders so far. I went with my friends to a Sci-Fi convention. It was a great trip with much discovery and many memories I will hold for a lifetime. I was introduced to Single Malt Scotch in Toronto. Oh, my! And Marche: The Movable Feast. Now there's a place for an amazing breakfast. We went to 360, the restaurant at the top of the CN Tower. The food was marvelous from what I remember. That was the morning after learning about scotch. I do recall that the view from up there was amazing.

Some of my friends and I are planning a trip to Great Britain next year. We have a spreadsheet. Our trip is so that well planned. Yes, we are geeks. But it's what we're good at. Anyway, the couple I'm traveling with has been there so they have already scouted out the great places to eat. Woof! I can't wait to get going on that one....

I recently went to New Jersey for a two day training seminar on a new project I am heading up at work. New Jersey. Yawn. What's to do? My first night was Halloween. I had the best cab driver to the hotel. I had mentioned that I didn't think I would get to see any trick-or-treaters. It was a nice night, about 70F around 6pm and it was full dark. Since the price for that particular trip was already set, he decided to go off the usual route into some of the neighborhoods. I saw fairy princesses, loads of super heroes, a few witches and some mighty but tiny line backers. It was a nice way to spend the drive, slowly moving through the neighborhoods of Clark, NJ. Once I arrived at the hotel and got settled in it was well past time for a meal. Without transportation I was stuck with whatever the hotel had to offer so went to the restaurant. I almost never get decent seafood where I live so like to take advantage of it when I'm on a coast. I had the crab cakes with a Cajun sauce. They were light, fluffy and fully packed with delicious crab. Along with that was a portebello risotto with garlic and lemon. Now that was fine, heady with garlic and earthy mushroom flavor, brightened up with a hint of lemon. I had wandered down to The Valley Mill Grill in the Crowne Plaza without much hope and was very pleasantly surprised.

The next evening, the company hosting the training had arranged dinner for all of us at an Italian place in New York City, right in the heart of the Theatre District. I've been to New York once before for a long weekend of site seeing, shopping and eating. I managed to see a show on Broadway, my first and, hopefully, not my last. So a trip to Manhattan for dinner was about the best thing I could think of to do with an evening.

We went to a place called Carmine's. I was told it is a New York institution. And I now believe that. It is a warm, friendly place with beautiful dark wood walls, theatre curtains separating parties and pictures of New Yorkers hanging all over the place. We were shown to our table where bread and wine were already waiting. A short while later we were served salads, Caesar and Carmine's House. They brought 2 giant platters of both and started them at one end of each table. I took a bit of each and passed the plate down. I felt like I was in my Grandmother's dinning room during Passover with my whole family passing the plates of goodness around. Next was a deep dish pizza pan full of hot antipasto. There were stuffed mushrooms, asparagus wrapped with eggplant and sauteed, baked clams and a smallish serving of pasta with chicken and cheese. There was more wine, a light, lofty red that paired well with everything I had tasted so far.

Now it was time for the pasta course. I thought we were nearing done, but I was so wrong. We were served a rigatoni with sausage and broccoli on one platter and penne alla vodka on the other. Again, I chose small serving of both. Don't want to overdo it too early in the meal. The rigatoni had a bold flavor, using the ripest tomatoes available and an excellent Italian sausage. The penne was smooth and creamy with a mellow vodka flavor in the foreground. That sauce was inspired. It had body and soul, warmth and love poured into it.....And there was more to come.....Entrees of chicken scallopine with lemon butter sauce, salmon and an Eggplant Parmesan that was reaching toward the sky. MMmmm...then desert. How could the meal be complete without freshly made tiramisu and tartufo? And, again, we passed the plates filled with so many flavors down the table.

We talked and laughed and ate for hours. As I looked down the table at the end of the meal, I realized that Carmine's, with it's warm glow and intimate serving style, had just taken 25 strangers and turned them into friends for an evening. We weren't just customers anymore and the trainers were no longer only people I needed information from. The wine, the food and conversation brought all of us to a comfortable level of friendship that pushed our business aside for the evening. Thank you, Carmine's, for letting me taste a new experience with an old way of feasting.

Phood & Phriends

I have three gentleman friends, all three more dear to me that I can express, all three at different levels of cooking skills. The first, Skip, doesn't cook, not because he doesn't want to but because he hasn't learned how...yet. He and I have been talking about cooking together so he can pick up some skills. The second, Tom, is starting to experiment with various things, cooking for himself for the first time in many years. The third, Jason, is a more accomplished cook. He is famous (in our group and at his job) for his chili, a challenge to even the hardiest taste buds and stomachs.

My friend, Tom, is a recently single again after many years of marriage and has taken on the task of cooking for himself with a goal of eating out less so at least a few meals prepared at home a week. The first Christmas he was living alone I gave him a gift of two cookbooks. One was a joke, A Man, A Can And A Microwave, the second book in a series by David Joachim. The other was a crock pot cookbook and, after hanging around the kitchen with him for the past couple of years, I can say that that was a good investment. He is an engineer during the day. His initial approach to the crock pot and it's recipes was fairly precise and analytical. Now, this isn't a bad thing. Actually, I was very impressed with his beginning. He jumped in, putting the skills he had to work to help build the skills he had yet to acquire. He followed the recipes the first few times to the letter, or as close as his pantry allowed. As time went on and he started to see how things went together and started branching out on his own adding ingredients that weren't listed in the recipes. He started making them his. He's done stroganoff, a cheddar and salmon souffle and an excellent tortilla soup all in his crock. A little while later, he worked on breakfast and not in a crock pot. I found a good cast iron skillet for him. He added bacon and eggs Alfredo to his repertoire. It is pure joy to watch him at it in the kitchen and even more of a joy to eat someone else's cooking from time to time.

A few weeks ago Skip and I started on his road to the kitchen with a simple chili, nothing fancy, a first shot out. We used canned tomatoes and beans, ground beef and the usual spices that make chili tasty. I didn't want to scare him off with soaking beans overnight, chopping tomatoes or grilling and cubing steak. Thought that might be a bit much for his first foray away from the microwave. It turned out just right for the occasion and he seemed to enjoy working on it. I am looking forward to our future cooking dates. I think one of the most valuable lessons learned in the kitchen is what you learn about yourself when you share your knowledge and skills with someone else. I have the teacher bug in me, but it still takes some thought to be able to communicate why you do what you do to another person. You want to appeal to their way of thinking and approaching the kitchen, not force your ways on them. It's challenging but, obviously, also very rewarding for both of us.

At about the same time, Jason fixed up a pot of Toxtica II, Return of the Double Burn, as an exhibition entry for the chili competition they hold annually at his office. He doesn't actually enter that chili for fear of doing physical harm to the judges. He brought me a container of it. WOW! Was that something to behold. I reheated the whole container (about a cup full) because I'm ambitious, adventurous and, sometimes, fairly foolish. Of course, knowing Jason's background, hearing from others the dramatic effects of his exhibition chilies, I added sour cream and cheddar before diving in. I took the first bite. Ah, pleasure of it! It started off with a sublime chili flavor, beefy and smooth. MMmmm...tasty...wait...what's that? A light sweat broke out on my upper lip and my eyes started to tear. I started to warm the way you do when your lover gently kisses that tender place on the side of your neck, from my core radiating outward. The slow build of heat overtook my senses and rendered me speechless. It was the kind of heat that reaches into you and burns your very soul. A full ten minutes later I took my second bite and went through the whole process again. After about 8 more tiny bites over the course of an hour I was spent, finished, sated for the evening. I put the rest in the freezer for another day. Maybe this weekend when we have a snow storm, with all it's ice and cold, I'll want that kind of fire again.

I guess what I'm getting at is that how experienced you are in the kitchen doesn't so much matter. Whatever your skills you can bring something to the party. What you prepare in the kitchen with your heart and your desire, either to learn or to nourish or to downright seduce, will have an effect on those you feed. Whether it be intellectual, emotional, physical or playful, someone will feel something new and different at your table because of your creation.

Gaming brought us together, my friends and I, but it's things like this that build our friendships. It's moments in our kitchens, good times spent at gatherings or evenings sitting around watching movies or talking about books or battles, the times we open ourselves to each other honestly, that keeps up coming back for more. These men are three of the people that I want to spend the rest of my life with, laughing, loving and sharing the feast.

Just for the fun of it, here's one of my chili recipes. This one is my favorite. It takes a while to prepare, so plan for a day in the kitchen, but it's so worth it:

2lb sirloin steak about 1 inch thick
1 cup dry black beans
4-5 large ruby red ripe tomatoes
3 plum tomatoes
1 yellow onion, chopped
3 jalapeno peppers
2 pablano peppers
2 ancho chili peppers
1 habanero pepper (yes, Jason, only 1)
2 tsp cumin seeds
6-8 cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped
1 tsp Hungarian paprika
1 tbsp salt
1 cup beef broth

In the morning, rinse the beans then toss them in a small sauce pan with enough water to cover twice. Simmer covered, stirring occasionally and gently so as not to break the beans, until they are tender. I usually just taste one now and then after about the first hour to see how they are doing. When the beans are tender, drain most of the remaining water off and set them aside.

Grill the sirloin. Yes, grill it. A little salt and pepper, maybe a dash of worcestershire sauce if you wish. Grill it about 4 minutes a side, just enough to char a bit on the outside, give it the smokey flavor and about medium rare on the inside. Let it cool for about 10 minutes then cube it. Set it aside in a plate or bowl so you don't loose the juices.

On the same grill, even at the same time, cook the chili peppers. You may need a grilling basket for the smaller ones. Whatever works for you. Grill them for about the same amount of time as the steak, until they are mostly charred on the outside. Transfer them immediately to a Ziploc bag to catch the steam as they cool. Once they are cool enough to handle, peel them then seed and chop very fine.

Peel and core the tomatoes. I find the fastest way to peel is to drop them in boiling water for a minute then drop them in cold water for a minute. The skin almost slides off. Chop the large tomatoes roughly. Chop the plum tomatoes very fine.

In the stock pot that you are going to make the chili in (non-reactive pot), saute the onion until translucent then add the garlic. Saute until you can get a good whiff from the garlic then add the peppers. Let them saute just a minute and add the rest of the ingredients. Lower the heat to simmer and let it go uncovered until it thickens to the consistency that you like. Taste for heat, salt and pepper as it goes along. You can adjust the heat with chili powder if you like, or your favorite hot sauce. You can also adventure deeper into the chili pepper arena, add more or different peppers to your liking. Also, if you prefer red beans, go for it. Or go beanless. Different strokes....you know.

Enjoy!

Gadgets

I have a thing about gadgets in the kitchen, which is kind of weird considering I love gadgets in all other parts of life. It's hard to get me out of a computer shop. And thinkgeek.com? Forget about it. I could spend days on that site. I'm a pushover for home audio/video gear and the newest sewing machines and notions can send me into quite the tizzy.

However, I have never been able to get myself to use gadgets in the kitchen. The latest slicer/dicer/chopper/jullienne thingy, gizmo, dohickey has just never tripped my gadget trigger and I think I've figured out why. A gadget, with it's cold steel or colored plastic, whirring blades and multi-turbo power levels, inserts itself between me and my food. It moves my hands further from the act of preparation. It moves my imagination further from my feast. A knife and a pan and a wooden spoon are necessary for preparing the perfect dice or sublime sauce. A chopper makes short work of what the knife does but what does it do for my experience? It helps me forget how to make the perfect dice. It also shortens the amount of time my senses enjoy the cooking.

I use a mocahete, a peice of stone shaped something like a bowl and another peice of stone shaped something like a tiny ball bat, ok, mortar and pestle if you like, to grind my spices. For any amount of spice or seed, it's hard work. While your building up a sweat grinding away, you get into a rhythm, almost a dance with the spice. You hear the stone and spice moving together, working against each other. Finally, the spice gives in. It loses to the stone. It crumbles and it releases its aroma. Oh, the smells, the promise of flavors that will tickle your tastebuds or slap them into submission. You miss all of that with the quick whir of a spice grinder. It's over before you even started and into the rest of the mix they go without so much as a hint at the potential.

I have a friend who tells me I'm doing it the hard way. Maybe I am. But I can tell you this, I'm doing it the way that makes me happiest, the way that provides me with the satisfaction of a feast well prepared. And I like to think that the more blood, sweat, tears, laughter and love that go into my feast, the more moving an experience it is for those who partake.

All the Flavor in the World

I love food, the flavors, the aromas and the textures. I love to cook, for myself and for dear friends. How do I share that online? Why, with a blog of course! This blog will be dedicated to all that I love, all that I enjoy about cooking, eating and drinking. I may throw in a book review or two, maybe now and then mention a movie. But mostly, this will be about food.

In my 30+ years over a stove, I have purchased, prepared, eaten, researched, and revered a multitude of gorgeous foods. My cookbook collection is too large (yes, there is such a thing, but I'll continue acquiring more anyway). My cabinets are too full of cooking utensils, pot and pans and herbs, spices, etc. My kitchen and pantry burst with flavors and gear. I can contain it no longer. It yearns to be free. So here is the beginning.

I went grocery shopping last night at the ridiculous hour of 11pm. I spent too much, but I have recently begun cooking for one and had a little extra cash this week. I indulged. I found a glamorous little pork tenderloin at a reasonable price and some fresh snow peas. Since I work nights I prepare my dinners in the morning before I leave. This morning as I was scrambling some eggs, I also prepared the pork tenderloin. It was 1lb, so enough for 2 dinners. I wanted something simple and delicious. I tend to make things up as I go along, so none of the measurements are set in stone, just suggestions. I like pork best with the sweeter Provence style herbs so leaned in that direction. Here is the recipe:

1 1/2 tbsp kosher salt
1 tsp crushed rosemary
1/2 tsp savory
1/2 tsp marjoram
1 tsp pepper
1 tsp grated lemon zest
1 lb pork tenderloin

Mix the herbs and salt thoroughly. Coat the tenderloin with it. The loin is a small enough portion to fit into an 8 inch skillet. Put the skillet into a 400F oven for about 30 minutes or until internal temp reaches 145F to 150F. Remove from the oven and let rest.

Because of the amount of salt coating the loin, the pan juices were not suitable for a sauce but the loin was juicy enough not to need any kind of gravy. I paired it with the crisp, steamed snow peas that I seasoned with a little unsalted butter and a sprinkle of the herb/salt mix from the loin. Delicious!

This is the first of many. Adapt it to your taste, make it your own. I hope you enjoy.

Happy phooding!