Fritter

Not As the Author Intended

2009-09-07T19:28:00.003-04:00

I would like to get something kind of uncomfortable off of my chest: I don't follow recipes well. The problem is not that I have trouble achieving what the author intended (when I stick to the directions), and it is not a reading comprehension issue. The problem is that I often do not follow recipes on purpose.

This is surprising in light of my dogged adherence to instructions of other kinds. I'm the type who is reassured by a clear set of directives. Deep down, I like to be told what to do (in a technical sense). I have never installed new software or assembled a bookcase without reading the directions once through, then following each step to the letter. I know that there is an unknown technical directions writer out there who labored over how to guide me through steps 1 through 5, and my job is to meets that person's efforts in a cooperative and productive manner. No flash of creativity will ever take me off course when I'm trying to figure out how to insert widget A into slot B.

When it comes to recipes, you'd think my behavior would be similar. Especially when you consider some of the total failures that recipe-deviation has caused me.

Witness: flat-as-a-pancake Cowboy Cookies. When I was about 11 years old, I learned that baking powder and baking soda are not interchangeable.

Witness: curdled chicken pot pie filling. Last month, I learned that lemon juice is not an acceptable substitute for white wine when you're dealing with cream sauces, forcing me to start over.

And for Pete's sake, please witness: countless bland dishes. I am still learning, on a regular basis, that you cannot always cut out all of the salt from a recipe, no matter good your intentions.

In spite of all of this, I still kind of prefer to just wing it when I'm cooking. And that's wrong in some ways. We should honor the creator's original intent, right? It seems like the respectful thing to do. Someone went out of his or her way to create a unique dish, so it seems proper for us to give it a try in its proper form before making changes.

This seems especially important for food bloggers. Each of us takes a recipe that someone else created and publishes it. Without a doubt, credit should always be given where credit is due (which is why I always link to my "inspiration recipe" and try to identify my changes). But is it right to attribute inspiration to the source, then adapt as I go along?

I dunno.

Necessity is the mother of invention. Often, I adapt recipes because I can't find dinosaur kale, or whole coriander seeds, or, in the case of this week's recipe, sugar pumpkins. So I adapt. Sometimes, as with this particular recipe, the changes are great and may even enhance the original recipe (in my humble opinion).

Sometimes, my changes are not so great. That's the interesting thing about cooking, though: you keep learning.

Acorn Squash, Lentil and Goat Cheese Salad
Adapted from this recipe at bonappetit.com

I reduced the portion size of this recipe from 8 to 2, and substituted acorn squash for the titular sugar pumpkin in the original recipe. I also used Cypress Grove Purple Haze goat cheese, which has a floral touch of lavender in it, and I substituted fig-infused balsamic vinegar for the original red wine vinegar, all with delicious results.

1/4 cup French green lentils
1 1/2 cups 1-inch pieces peeled seeded acorn squash (from about half of a medium-sized acorn squash)
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, divided
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/8 teaspoon smoked Spanish paprika
1/8 teaspoon sea salt
2 cups baby arugula
1/4 cup soft goat cheese, crumbled
3 large thinly sliced fresh mint leaves
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar or fig-infused white balsamic vinegar

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Place the acorn squash cubes in a large bowl, then toss with 1 tablespoons oil, the cumin, the paprika, and the sea salt. Arrange the cubes in single layer on a baking sheet and roast for 25 minutes, until the edges of the cubes are golden and the squash is tender. Cool for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, as the squash is roasting, prepare the lentils. Place the lentils in a small bowl and cover with cold water. Soak for 10 minutes, then drain. Bring 2 cups of salted water to a boil and add the lentils, cooking until tender but firm (about 30 minutes). Drain the lentils, then give them a quick rinse with cold water, draining them again. Set aside to cool to room temperature (5 minutes).

Combine the lentils and squash with the arugula, half of the goat cheese, mint, vinegar, and the remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. Divide among plates; sprinkle remaining goat cheese over.

Serves: 2 entree portions

Guacamole to Teach You a Lesson

2009-08-16T17:43:00.000-04:00

During my first year of graduate school, my roommates and I invited a few people over to watch the Superbowl. Right after debating whether people could sit comfortably on each of the dollhouse-furniture loveseats in our basement apartment, we turned our attention to food. I decided to try my hand at an appetizer.

You need to understand that this was a bigger deal than it seems. After all, this was the year in which I prepared the same dinner almost every night: a piece of grilled chicken and some kind of vegetable (often broccoli) over a bed of pasta, doused with Newman's Own Balsamic Salad Dressing. For two semesters in a row, followed by a summer internship, this is what I ate. Every. Single. Night.

I know.

Cooking wasn't really my thing back then, but by early February, I was ready to try a few new dishes. Plus, The Food Network was running Rachael Ray's 30-Minute Meals every afternoon and as a graduate student, I had lots of time in the afternoon to watch television. The combination of taste exhaustion and a Food Network education inspired me to wander over to the avocados in the grocery store on the day of the game.

Guacamole seemed like the very thing. Unfortunately, as I mentioned earlier, this all occurred in early February, months before avocado season. Therefore, the avocados that I picked up were little green rocks that had no chance to ripen before that evening's game. Being a total novice and the type of person who could eat the same four-ingredient meal every night for months on end, I didn't pick up on this fact.

It turned out that you cannot make guacamole out of green Hass avocados. And crunchy guacamole is never worth the effort.

The moral of the story for me was, of course, always purchase your guacamole. No, just kidding, I learned that I need to buy my avocados in season and a day (or two) before they are needed. However, it was a long time before I made guacamole again. Once I did, I found that nothing beats good homemade guacamole.

Sarah's Guacamole
A Fritter Original

Hass avocados are better for guacamole than Florida avocados because they have a buttery, nutty taste and texture that the Florida variety lacks. Also, please note that this recipe does not contain sour cream. If your avocados are perfectly ripe, you may find that you do not even miss it. If you simply must have sour cream, though, feel free to add a few dollops.

5 ripe Hass avocados
1/2 cup finely chopped red onion
1 tomato, seeded, cored, and roughly chopped into medium-sized pieces
1 tablespoon fresh jalapeno, chopped
The juice of 1 lime (about 2 tablespoons)
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste if needed
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
*optional: a few springs of cilantro. Some people loath cilantro, though, so I usually leave it out unless I know my audience well.

Pit the avocados and scoop each avocado from its shell into a medium-sized bowl. Mash with the back of a fork or a potato masher with wide slats just until the avocado has been broken down into bite-sized pieces.*

Combine all of the other ingredients with the avocado. Serve immediately with tortilla chips, or, if you want to make this ahead of time, prepare up to two hours ahead, then cover with plastic wrap so that the wrap actually seals directly to the guacamole (this will prevent browning), and refrigerate until ready to serve.

Serves: appetizer portions for 4 people

* No matter what you've seen in cheap Tex-Mex restaurants, do not, under any circumstances, put this beautiful fruit into a mixer and puree it to the consistency of baby food. Just don't; that is so wrong.

A Bowl of Cherries

2009-08-10T18:01:00.001-04:00

Remember me?

I've been gone awhile. I went to Chicago for Memorial Day weekend and that weekend-long break from posting became, um, three months long. I have missed Fritter, and I have missed you. Please understand that it's not the time commitment to blogging that caused me to stay away. Actually, it was the cooking.

Yeah, the cooking: The premise on which this blog was built. For nearly three months, I haven't cooked at all. I haven't been too interested in eating, either, and I have not visited my fellow bloggers' sites in ages - too much cooking and eating going on there.

Here's how this peculiar little turn of events began, sometime in mid-May:

That little "yes" changed everything.

My appetite politely can be described as "robust" under normal circumstances. However, the first weekend in June knocked me clean off my game. The rest of June wasn't great for cooking, eating, or even blogging. July was better, but only in a tentative, pasta-with-jarred-sauce kind of way.

Now, the fog is lifting. I feel well enough to be charmed by the way my pregnancy book compares our baby's growth with the size of different fruits and vegetables each week - it speaks my language! In fact, I like fruits and vegetables again (but not meat). I went to the grocery store yesterday and suddenly had to have some of the ripe, golden peaches piled in the produce section. Biting into one was like coming home again, and I happily let the juice run down to my elbows.

We are going to go slow here: I may post only once per week in the upcoming months, but I'm making strides. I cooked a few meals last week. I even want dessert again.

And I want to share it with you.

Quick Chocolate-Cinnamon Mousse with Cherries
Adapted from this recipe in Bon Appetit, available on Epicurious.com

Cherries
8 ounces fresh cherries, pitted
1/3 cup black cherry preserves or other cherry preserves
1/3 cup ruby Port or cherry juice

Mousse
1 1/4 cups chilled heavy whipping cream, divided
1/8 teaspoon (generous) ground cinnamon
4 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, finely chopped

For the cherries:
Combine the cherries, the cherry preserves, and Port in heavy, small saucepan. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to medium and simmer until the sauce thickens to syrup consistency, stirring frequently, about 12 minutes. I can tell that the sauce is syrupy enough by carefully swishing the back of a spoon through the sauce, then holding it over the sink, away from the heat. A slow drip is just about right. Resist the urge to drip the sauce onto your finger or into your mouth: it's hot!

Once the consistency is right, remove from the heat and allow the pan to sit for about 5 minutes, just long enough to cool down for safe handling. Pour the sauce into a heat-resistant container and cover. Chill until cold, about 3 hours. The cherry sauce can be prepared one day ahead; just keep it in the refrigerator until you are ready to use it.

For the mousse:
Combine 1/4 cup of the heavy cream and the cinnamon in a small saucepan and bring to boil. Remove from heat. Add the chocolate and whisk until melted and smooth. Transfer the chocolate mixture to a large bowl and allow it to cool to lukewarm (5 minutes). In a separate medium bowl or upright mixer, beat the remaining 1 cup of cream until soft peaks form. Fold 1/4 of the whipped cream into the lukewarm chocolate mixture. Gently fold the remaining whipped cream into the chocolate mixture in 3 additions just until incorporated. Divide the mousse among 4 glasses or bowls, then chill until set, about 4 hours. This can be done one day ahead; just keep chilled until ready to serve.

Spoon the cherry sauce over the mousse and serve.

Makes: 4 servings

Windy City Trip

2009-05-28T07:13:00.003-04:00

Back soon!

In Moderation

2009-05-18T07:50:00.000-04:00

I try to eat healthy foods. I try to eat sustainably-grown foods, local foods and seasonal foods. However, sometimes I need to just go with a craving.

I'm usually glad I did. Except when I just go with my cravings for M&M's. Or, once, when I was a sophomore in college, sweet and sour soup made from a packet - the kind to which you add water and one egg. I ate two packets' worth of soup while reading a Patricia Cornwall novel on my parents' couch and rarely have felt so sick from a meal or a book. It was an afternoon laden with regret.

Most of my cravings are more reasonable. On Saturday morning, I mentioned to Steve that I craved burgers from Smitty's, our local butcher, for lunch. Smitty's burgers are unlike any other I have had. They must have a very high fat content to be so juicy and flavorful, but some details I would prefer not to know. I would rather enjoy my burger ignorantly, with pleasure.

Steve returned from the butcher shop with not only two luscious hamburger patties, but two Delmonico's, a handful of shallots, and two knobs of soft mozzarella packed in water.

The hamburgers, we grilled for lunch. I ate mine with my legs in the pool, the juice of the patty running over the bun and down my wrists. The mozzarella, we put in a salad yesterday afternoon following an afternoon of corn toss for charity and a sudden cloudburst that sent us hurrying home. The Delmonico's and shallots went into the recipe below, which we enjoyed on Saturday night.

Balsamic reductions and steak belong together. There's something about the acidic tang with the tender meat that just works for me. This sauce may be one of the best I have tried. It fulfilled a craving that I did not even know I had.

Rib-Eye Steaks with Balsamic-Caper Vinaigrette
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious.com

2 3/4-inch-thick rib-eye steaks (we used a Delmonico cut, known also as a boneless rib-eye)
1/8 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus another 1/8 cup, divided
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup good balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup minced shallots
1/8 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper
1/8 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley
1 tablespoon drained capers
1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves

Lay the steaks on a rimmed cookie sheet. Rub both sides of the steaks with 1/8 cup of the extra virgin olive oil and the garlic. Mix the smoked paprika, 1 teaspoon of coarse salt, and 1/2 teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper in a small ramekin. Pat onto both sides of the steaks. Let the steaks stand at least 15 minutes and up to 45 minutes.

In a small saucepan, simmer the balsamic vinegar over medium-high heat until it has reduced by half (about 5 minutes). Add the shallots, 1/8 extra virgin olive oil, and crushed red pepper and return to a simmer. Remove the saucepan from the heat, then whisk in the parsley, capers, and thyme. Season the vinaigrette with salt and pepper, then cover and set aside.

Heat the barbecue to medium-high heat. Brush the grill rack with oil to coat. Grill the steaks until cooked to desired doneness, about 3 minutes per side for medium-rare. Transfer the steaks to plates and spoon the vinaigrette generously over the top of each.

Makes: 2 portions

Sorry About the Wait

2009-05-14T07:19:00.004-04:00

"Sorry about the wait," she told me. She was wearing thick navy eyeliner that made her look a little older than she probably was - a teenager - but when she said it, with her back half turned to me, she dipped her shoulder nervously and gave a little jerky wave of her hand. She turned her back toward me and peered at someone I could not see and I could swear that she was holding her breath. Her shoulders rose a little and she glanced back at me, waiting for me to show signs of impatience.

I was sitting at the pick-up window of the drive-through of a fast food establishment. It was dinnertime. When she apologized, I had been sitting at her window for the length of time it takes to play the introduction of American Public Media's Marketplace, right up to the part where Kai Ryssdal says, "But first, let's do the numbers." Thirty seconds, and this girl was hopping with anxiety that I had been waiting so long.

If you've read any one of the recent critiques of the fast food industry, you know that many, many fast food employees are teenagers. You may also know that many franchises track the time that it takes for a car to move from the ordering speaker to the pick-up window. The times are averaged for each employee, and long wait times can result in the employee being disciplined or fired.

I once knew a woman who worked in management for a company that owned a number of fast food restaurants. She told me a story one day about having to terminate an employee for "product loss." I assumed that she meant that he was eating without paying for his employee meal. No, she told me, he spilled a 50-gallon container of food product, which cost the company money. "Food product?" I asked, confused, "What exactly was it?"

"It was chocolate-flavored," she said, flipping her hand in a vague way.

I couldn't bear to question her further.

And yet.

Here I am, turning a semi-critical tone on the fast food establishment, even though that's where I got my dinner last night. As a food blogger, you'd think that I would have better taste than to eat fast food, even when pressed for time. My husband has made this point a million times - there are a dozen places that he will go for a quick meal before he would consider the particular restaurant I visited.

I was in a hurry, driving to a late client meeting, and I needed something I could eat with one hand. Fast food was developed to fill exactly this kind of need.

I understand why fast food took off the way it did. It fills a need. Perhaps the teenager in the window would not have a job if it wasn't for that restaurant. Perhaps I would not have eaten at all if I had not been able to spend 3 minutes in a drive-through.

There is a lot of criticism of the fast food industry, and I will join in that chorus (bad for our health, bad for the environment, etc.), but I have to tell you, there are a lot of realities that get overlooked in those critiques.

Just saying.

No Recipe Bread

2009-05-11T07:19:00.007-04:00

I have been trying to make sourdough bread from scratch for over a year now. Let me tell you, this has required a lot of patience.

A slice of sourdough bread is one of my favorite ways to get a hearty dose of carbs. Carbs, you say? Non-vegetable carbs, at that? Aren't those in the penalty box with high-fructose corn syrup? Perhaps, but if something could come along that would one day make sugar look less evil, something will put carbs back on our plates.*

And even if something more evil than carbs does not come along to make carbs look good again, I won't mind. I love pasta and bread as much as ever.**

I want to turn out loaves of sourdough at my whim. The scent of fresh-baked sourdough winds its way into my dreams. I love it that much, but I haven't been able to bake sour sourdough yet.

I have a really lovely sour-smelling sponge in my fridge and I know that it is active and alive. I have tried to make the dough without commercial yeast, a known killer of that tangy sourdough taste. I use ridiculously expensive bread flour, and I do not mix the dough in metal bowls that might warp the flavor.

Yesterday, I gave this sourdough thing another try. My efforts yielded the pretty loaf below, which had the best crumb to date, thanks to my decision not to use commercial yeast (I think). However, the tangy taste I wanted still isn't there. The taste was serviceable, but indistinct. I want "wow" bread, but I been able to bake that kind.

That's why this post is called "No Recipe Bread." I literally have no recipe for the sourdough bread that I want. Can anyone give me some suggestions? Your thoughts would be greatly appreciated!

* I was entertained to learn that the corn syrup industry launched a public relations campaign earlier this year to defend its product.

** In my house, we have one paragon of nutritional virtue and one carb-eating machine. Guess which is which. Steve switched to a low-carb diet two months ago and he looks great. I have tagged along with the low-carb concept at dinnertime, but I get my fix at lunch.

Empty-Handed

2009-05-06T07:41:00.002-04:00

If you have been reading this blog for a few months, you may know that I usually post twice per week. Lately, I haven't kept up the pace. I keep coming up empty-handed on my normal posting days.

It's not that we have not eaten some wonderful meals. In fact, I had three new additions to the dog-eared redweld in which I store printed-out recipes from Epicurious or Food and Wine this week alone.

I keep forgetting to document what I am eating. This should be second nature by now, but a frenzied schedule often results in me cooking everything at a rapid pace, then devouring it without a single shot. Can I offer a recipe on this blog without photos? That doesn't seem like the thing to do.

Check back with me on Monday morning, please. I will work diligently this weekend to get back on track.

Fresh Air

2009-04-24T08:05:00.000-04:00

Lunchtime. How many of you eat lunch at your desk? Me too, sometimes. My phone will ring, I will stop eating to answer it, and twenty minutes later, I will hang up and look at my sad, half-eaten tupperware of salad under the white glare of fluorescent lights and feel overcome with discontent, knowing that the phone will ring again before I finish.

About a month ago, I decided to do something about it.

Nearly every day for the last month, I have eaten lunch in my car. This is more fun than it sounds. My parking lot is an open-air lot with spaces under some shady trees. The temperatures here in South Florida have stayed in the low 80's, even at noon, so every day, I get in my car, put in the key so that the battery comes on, turn on Fresh Air with Terry Gross, and roll down the windows. If my cell phone rings, it is usually someone I'm willing to speak to with my mouth full. If it is not, I won't answer.

Lately, I have noticed other office workers taking refuge in their cars at lunchtime, too. Our parking lot is starting to feel like a drive-in theater around noon, without the carside service or the big screen. We have a line of cars with their windows down, filled with people eating, reading books, chatting on cellphones, and listening to music. One of my colleagues admitted that she took a nap in the backseat of her car last week.

I love these stolen moments of personal time. They may not last much longer, with the summer approaching and my need for air conditioning increasing. Sooner or later, I will have to decide whether I can, in good conscience, actually sit in my car with the engine running while I eat. Sadly, the answer is probably no. I'll have to figure out another way to enjoy my lunch and Fresh Air. I bet that I can squeeze in another two weeks, though, before it really gets hot. Maybe three weeks. Or four.

Curried Chicken-Coconut Soup
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious.com

This recipe can be made ahead of time. Just stop right before adding the spinach and refrigerate until you are ready to finish. Heat the soup over medium heat until simmering, then add the greens and finish the recipe.

3 cups low-salt chicken broth
1 13.5-ounce can unsweetened coconut milk
3/4 cup chopped green onions
2 1/2 tablespoons mild curry powder, such as Garam Masala
1 1/2 tablespoons minced fresh lemongrass (from about 3 stalks)
1 tablespoon minced peeled fresh ginger
4 raw chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch by 1-inch cubes
2 cups baby spinach leaves, loosely packed
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
Lime wedges

In a medium saucepan, combine the chicken broth, coconut milk, green onions, curry powder, lemongrass, and ginger. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally, then reduce the heat to medium and add the chicken. Simmer, partially covered, for 8-10 minutes, until the chicken is firm and opaque.

Turn off the heat, then add the spinach leaves and cilantro and cover for 1-2 minutes, until the spinach leaves have wilted. Add the lime juice and serve immediately, garnishing with lime wedges.

Serves: 4

Green Mango Salad

2009-04-20T07:54:00.001-04:00

The first time I ate mango, I swore that I would never eat it again. As a fifth-grader, my tastes were specific (I only eat salami sub sandwiches from New York Sub on Asbury Street) and somewhat limited (I will not eat fried things, mayonnaise or salsa of any kind). Somehow, my father got his hands on a ripe mango and he and my mother dug into the fruit, exclaiming at its color and sweetness, recalling how people would sell piles of the fruit next to the roadsides during mango season in Hawaii in the early 1970's.

Watching this, I was curious, but cautious. Already the knife had sliced open the rind. Already I could smell an exotic aroma.

Tasting the mango, I was repulsed. It was not sweet like a strawberry. It was cloying and gave me a headache. No more, I thought.

Tastes, or at least preferences, change. My first week in Florida happened to fall right at the end of mango season. My mother-in-law had paper bags of the ripe fruit on her kitchen counter, brought to her by her cleaner Lenieve, whose friends had trees bowing with fruit in their backyards. I ate the mango and enjoyed it. The sweetness no longer registered as cloying. The Florida mango's yellow flesh was pleasantly soft, with an almost floral taste. Since that week, I've eaten tons of the fruit.

This weekend, I found this green mango salad recipe in this month's Food and Wine Magazine. Unlike ripe mangoes, green (or unripe) mangoes have a tangy, vegetable crunch. The mangoes must be unripe to give the salad its intended tartness and crispness. If you have mangoes at your grocery store and can tolerate a little jalapeno, I suggest that you give this a try.

Green Mango Salad
Adapted from this Doris Esther Ayola Orozco recipe at Food and Wine

2 large, unripe mangoes (they should be hard and green), peeled and cut into 2 x 1/2-inch sticks
1/2 large, sweet onion, sliced lengthwise into thin half-moon strips
1/2 jalapeno, seeded and chopped
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

In a bowl, toss all of the ingredients together. Serve immediately, or cover with plastic wrap and chill for up to an hour before serving.

Serves: 4

The Peddler

2009-04-16T07:24:00.000-04:00

Living near the ocean has its attractions, not least of which is the abundance of fresh seafood. As I've mentioned previously, I do not like to fish. Not a fan of the heat, the tipping boat, or the flopping, dying fish. That said, I love to eat fish and shellfish, so my husband and I go to The Fish Peddler East, a fish store near our house.

The Fish Peddler East is a long, narrow room containing a long, narrow row of cases and a swarm of staffers in t-shirts behind them. They have everything local (pompano), semi-local (Key West pink shrimp and Turks and Caicos conch), and far, far away (Scottish salmon). I love the frenetic atmosphere and the fact that they always slip a lemon or a lime into your bag after you pay.

Recently, the rock shrimp caught our eyes. Steve and I decided that we were in the mood for something Cajun, so I made a rock shrimp etouffe.

Etouffe is one of my favorite Cajun dishes and usually it is made with crawfish. A good recipe usually involves frightening amounts of butter and cream, but I discovered a recipe by Marcelle Bienvenu that called for a reasonable--sane, even--amount of butter and no cream. It is so flavorful, you won't miss the cream, or the crawfish.

Rock Shrimp Etouffe
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious.com

1 pound peeled and cleaned rock shrimp (if you have crawfish tails, though, use 'em!)
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup chopped red onion
1/2 cup chopped red bell pepper
1/4 cup chopped celery
1/2 tablespoon cornstarch
1/2 cup water
Salt and cayenne pepper, to taste
1/8 cup chopped fresh parsley

Heat a large saucepan over medium heat, then add the butter, allowing it to melt. When the butter starts to foam, add the onions, bell peppers, and celery and cook, stirring, until the vegetables are soft and golden, 8 to 10 minutes. Add the rock shrimp and cook 2-3 minutes, until the shrimp begin to turn pink, about 2-3 minutes.

As the shrimp are cooking, whisk the cornstarch into the water until well blended. Add to the shrimp mixture. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens, another 2 minutes. Season with salt and cayenne.

Serve immediately over steamed rice. Garnish with a sprinkling of parsley.

Serves: 4

Easter Ever After

2009-04-13T08:25:00.001-04:00

That was a good weekend. I am very sorry to see it go.

Easter weekend has been one of my favorites for quite some time now. Even now, as someone who is not quite a church-goer, I enjoy it.

First, I can't quite explain this, but I have never seen a rainy or snowy Easter Sunday. Therefore, Easter, in my mind, is invariably sunny, dewy, and not too cool. Yesterday lived up to my expectations: it was a flawless South Florida day, the kind that attracts zillions of tourists to the beach. With the sun high overhead and the temperature in the eighties, I sat in my backyard and read the article about Kris Kristofferson in Rolling Stone. Finishing that, I moved on to The Maltese Falcon, which I have been carrying around in my purse all week, sneaking bits at lunch and before meetings. The sun put me into a torpor, from which I revived only by drinking some iced green tea.

Steve and I started our day with brunch at Michy's in Miami. We had the first reservation of the morning, and surprised Michelle Bernstein when we walked in. I say "surprised" because she came to our table during our meal to say hello and apologize for her appearance when we arrived (I hadn't noticed anything amiss, starstruck and geeky as I felt when I recognized her). We had eggs benedict over brioche and churrasco y huevos under one of the many Capiz-shell chandeliers and I thought to myself that I would like my house to look like the interior of Michy's: orange and navy and white, with tropical print upholstery. My house is actually kind of beige, which shows you the influence that key lime tarts with sunflower seed crusts can have on one's outlook.

The Easter Bunny is also pretty good to me.

For example, this wreath, made by my mother-in-law, Merri, and her sister, Yonna. Those little eggs are made of chocolate. In other words, parts of this wreath are edible, which makes it the best wreath I have ever received. The wreath vines themselves came from Merri's backyard, where they grow along a fence.

Jeff and Merri came over last night for Irish lamb stew and some Easter egg-dying. Merri and I have dyed eggs together for several years, and we hit the jackpot this year with a tie-dye kit. I ate some of these eggs for breakfast this morning and quite enjoyed the sight of pink and green shells piling up on my plate, next to the foils of a few chocolate eggs.

Also, I will be going to work today with blue-tinged fingernails, a subversive touch that makes me happy.

Happy day-after-Easter, everyone!

And Then, The Peacock

2009-04-06T08:14:00.000-04:00

On Thursday evening, as I was driving through Victoria Park, a neighborhood in downtown Fort Lauderdale, I encountered a peacock. I was easing to a stop at a four-way intersection when it appeared, eyeing me over its shoulder.

Victoria Park is a neighborhood of oddballs. In my mind, it is a jumble of old and new, groomed lawns and sprawling tropical jungle-yards. There are no curbs along the streets, and few streetlights. The older homes have personality: you'll find yellow and cerulean blue walls, fences with ceramic suns and moons, riotous Bougainvillea in magenta bloom. Next door may be an austere three-story townhouse with massive glass windows and unadorned right-angles. I like driving through Victoria Park. It's like an architectural trip to the zoo. Still, this was the first time I found actual wildlife.

As I came to a stop at the four-way intersection, the peacock paused, his head cocked over his shoulder. It was indeed a showy male bird, not a demure brown peahen. The peacock's funny little crown bobbled for a moment as the bird resumed his strutty walk across the street, ten feet in front of my car. I sat entranced.

Then, off to my right, a flash of red. A boy, no more than nine years old, in a red t-shirt and shorts, came running toward the peacock. No, sprinting. His eyes locked on the bird, he pumped his arms in approved Olympic style, his cheeks bellowing in and out, sprinting toward the peacock.

The peacock lifted its skirt of feathers and trotted away. Bird and boy disappeared around a corner.

I sat at the four-way stop a few moments longer, confounded. Part of me wanted to follow them, to hear the first part of the story, and to hear the last part as well. Clearly, I'd happened upon the middle of the story and I wanted to know more.

They were gone, though, as if they'd never appeared in the intersection.

Something else interesting happened last week: a couple of bloggers sent poems to me in response to this post. This is why I love blogging: the call and response that we share. Thank you to the Greasy Skillet and Foodycat!

Two weeks ago, I promised you a recipe that incorporates preserved lemons. Here it is.

Poulet aux Citrons Confits et Olives
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious.com

1 1/2 cups chopped yellow onion
5 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon peeled and minced fresh ginger
1 3-inch cinnamon stick
3 tablespoons dried coriander
3 tablespoons minced fresh parsley leaves
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice, or to taste
A pinch of saffron threads, crumbled
1/2 cup olive oil
1 3-pound chicken, rinsed and patted dry
1/4 cup Niçoise or other brine-cured black olives, pitted and chopped
1 preserved lemon (small), chopped fine

In a large ovenproof skillet, stir together the onion, the garlic, the ginger, the cinnamon stick, the dried coriander, the parsley, the lemon juice, the saffron, the oil, and 1 cup water, put the chicken on top of the mixture, and season it with salt and pepper.

Bake the chicken, covered, in the middle of a preheated 375°F. oven for 45 minutes (or until it registers 160 degrees on a thermometer), transfer it to a cutting board, and let it stand, covered loosely, for 5 minutes. Cut the chicken into quarters.

Add the olives and the preserved lemon to the sauce in the skillet and bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer. Simmer the sauce for 3 to 5 minutes. Nestle the chicken into the skillet and simmer for another 2 to 3 minutes, or until the chicken is just heated through. Discard the cinnamon stick and serve the chicken with a generous helping of sauce.

Serves: 4

La Luna

2009-03-26T06:24:00.006-04:00

I like poetry. There, I said it.

Why does poetry get knocked around so much? It's not fair that the ability to recite a poem is considered pretentious and precious while knowing the final score of the 1983 World Series is respected as some kind of achievement of knowledge. In all honesty, though, I get the problem with poetry. If someone standing next to me in line at the grocery store quoted Wordsworth out of thin air, I would give him the same tolerant-yet-distant smile that I reserve for people who talk to themselves on the street. Especially if he quoted Wordsworth.

Not fair, is it?

I like poetry, though, and I would listen to Wordsworth Man, even while pretending to leaf through People Magazine.

Here's a poem that struck a chord with me this morning. It was written by Jaime Sabines, a Mexican poet who once commented, "poetry happens like an accident, a mugging, a love affair, a crime; it happens every day, when, alone, a man's heart begins to think about life."

I like that sentiment.

The Moon

You can take the moon by the spoonful
or in capsules every two hours.
It's useful as a hypnotic and sedative
and besides it relieves
those who have had too much philosophy.
A piece of moon in your purse
works better than a rabbit's foot.
Helps you find a lover
or get rich without anyone knowing,
and it staves off doctors and clinics.
You can give it to children like candy
when they've not gone to sleep,
and a few drops of the moon in the eyes of the old
helps them to die in peace.

Put a new leaf of moon
under your pillow
and you'll see what you want to.
Always carry a little bottle of air of the moon
to keep you from drowning.
Give the key to the moon
to prisoners and the disappointed.
For those who are sentenced to death,
and for those who are sentenced to life
there is no better tonic than the moon
in precise and regular doses.

Jaime Sabines Otros Poemas Sueltos, 1981 Trans. W.S. Merwin

*The right thing to do here would be to provide the original Spanish version, followed by the English translation. I am running late already this morning, though, so here is the English.

Preserved Lemons and a Successful Run

2009-03-22T20:02:00.000-04:00

Knock, knock. Anyone out there?

I am back. Thank you for hanging around during my long absence.

After nearly a year of planning, the Riverwalk Run took place yesterday morning. If you've read my previous posts, you know that my friend Lauren and I are co-chairing a committee that organized this event, which raises funds for various Junior League projects. Our day went something like this:

A spatter of rain against the window over our bed woke me up around 2:00 o'clock that morning, forcing me to haul myself to the computer to check the forecast. An isolated rain cell was coming through the county. At least it's not a steady line of thunderstorms, I thought to myself. Not even the most dedicated runners show up when there's lightning. There was no point in going back to sleep, though; my alarm was set for 3:00.

When you get up that early in the morning, you find yourself unable to recall the ensuing events in the fluid way that you would recall a normal day. You just retain photographic stills and isolated sound clips in your mind. Here are my impressions of this year's Riverwalk Run, starting at 4:00 o'clock in the morning, as we set up for the Run:

Damn, people are just now leaving the bars downtown? Am I so old that I'm surprised by this? . . . Who moved our 17-foot U-Haul truck? Wait a minute, I moved it . . . I am driving a 17-foot U-Haul again, this time I'm off-roading it across a city park through crowds of people . . . Sara Q. just gave me an energy bar and I feel almost human now . . . looks like we have about 1,000 runners here today . . . The gun just went off and the 5-mile race just started . . . Is it raining again? Are you kidding me? S**t! . . . Wow, in spite of the rain, this is going well! . . . The sun is up and the Plaza has almost emptied out . . . Lauren is so awesome, she never slows down, even when she's exhausted . . . Our vendors are picking up our rented tables . . . We are done. It is only 11:00 o'clock, but it's time for a long nap.

Organizing this race was one of the most challenging things I have ever done outside of my full-time job. One of the things that I learned is that this kind of thing is most rewarding when you do it with good friends, as I did.

Also, it doesn't hurt when you're dedicating your time to a good cause. That helps put a very early morning in perspective. I can wake up early once in a while to raise tens of thousands of dollars for foster care here in Broward County.

Moroccan-Style Preserved Lemons
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious.com

Preserved lemons have a sticky, sweet taste that adds subtle flavoring. On Thursday, I will feature a recipe that incorporates a preserved lemon into its sauce. Stay tuned!

12 lemons
2/3 cup kosher salt
2 tablespoons olive oil

Bring a medium-sized pot of water to a rolling boil. Blanch 6 of the lemons in the boiling water for 5 minutes, then drain and set them on a cutting board to cool. When the lemons have cooled enough to handle comfortably, slice off one end of each lemon, then, starting from the cut end, slice through the whole lemon lengthwise, stopping 1/4-inch from the uncut end. The lemon slices should be connected together at one end.

Here is an illustration:

Using your fingers, remove the seeds from each lemon. In a medium-sized bowl, toss the lemons with the kosher salt, then pack the lemons and their salt into a two-pint container. Juice the remaining six lemons and pour over the lemon wedges so that they are immersed completely.

Secure a tight-fitting lid on the container and let it stand at room temperature, shaking gently once a day, for 5 days.

Add 2 tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil to the container and refrigerate. The preserved lemons will keep up to one year, so long as you make sure that they are immersed in their juices to prevent dehydration. Use them in salad dressings and sauces.

Makes: 1 two-pint container of preserved lemons

Good for You

2009-03-03T07:58:00.000-05:00

As I predicted a few weeks ago, organizing the Riverwalk Run has taken over my time completely. In a good way, though.

You learn a lot when you help coordinate a large event like the Run. For example, when people ask you how large of your event is going to be, you can describe it in any number of ways, depending on who is asking:

1. We are a 21-toilet event.

2. We are a 40-yard rolloff dumpster event.

3. We are a 60+ decibel event (meaning that we can't play music until after 7:00am, as a courtesy to the residents of downtown Fort Lauderdale)

4. We are a 200 gallon-of-water event.

And of course:

5. We are a 3-race course, 1,300-runner, awarding winning, fundraising event.

You also learn that when one portable toilet vendor backs out on you four weeks before the event, another portable toilet vendor will fill the gap without taking you for every last penny. A few weeks ago, our first vendor informed us that it could not guarantee that we would have toilets on race day due to an impending sale of the parent company's portable toilet unit. We panicked a little, since the Inauguration taught us all that people get really worked up about toilet access. We have a new vendor now, and we didn't even end up paying through the nose for toilets.

More surprising is that with the economy in shambles, there are still companies donating cash and in-kind items to local non-profits. This reinforces my belief that someone out there is doing well - or at least breaking even - economically. Plenty of companies are suffering - my circle of friends and acquaintances have experienced too many layoffs for me to say that things are looking up - but there are silver linings that you won't hear about on CNN. Rome hasn't burned completely. (yet)

Today, I bring you some "good for you" Up and At 'Em mini muffins. They're made of whole wheat, raisins, carrots, and a bit of honey. You won't miss the sugar, and the fact that these muffins are bite-sized makes them even more virtuous. Enjoy them!

Up and At 'Em Mini Muffins
Adapted from this Whole Foods recipe

3/4 cups whole wheat pastry flour
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 egg, plus 1 egg white
1/2 cup canola oil
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 tablespoon of honey
1 Fuji apple, cored, peeled and finely diced
1/4 cup seedless raisins
1/4 cup grated carrots
1/4 cup walnuts, finely chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Spray a mini-muffin tin with non-stick cooking spray. You may line each socket with muffin papers if you want, but this is not necessary.

In a large bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, cinnamon and salt. In a separate bowl, whisk together the eggs, oil, vanilla, and honey, then pour into the flour mixture and stir just until combined. Fold in the apples, raisins, carrots, and walnuts, just until they are incorporated into the batter. Spoon the batter in 2 tablespoon amounts a greased mini-muffin tin, filling each socket to the brim. Bake your mini-muffins for 10 to 12 minutes, then set on a wire rack to cool.

Serves: 18 bite-sized mini-muffins

Delivery Day

2009-02-16T08:20:00.001-05:00

Happy belated Valentine's Day! I hope that you were showered with love, or at least with chocolate, this weekend.

Steve and I drove to Miami's Design District on Saturday night. We rarely go out on Valentine's Day because that usually involves an over-priced prix fixe menu and crowds. This year, though, we got out of the house and made the drive to Sra. Martinez, Michelle Bernstein's new tapas restaurant.

I am no restaurant reviewer, so I won't drag you into a detailed analysis of the meal. I will just tell you that Steve and I loved it, from the crisp pork belly with fennel-orange marmalade to the Greek yogurt ice cream with sweet tomato marmalade and basil syrup. It reminded us that Miami is not such a long drive from Fort Lauderdale, and piqued my curiosity about what other interesting discoveries we could make in the Design District (a sentiment I felt again as we walked past Marni, with its mortgage-payment dresses, on the way back to our car).

*sigh* I will always be Fort Lauderdale, never Miami. That dress will have to stay where I saw it. At least so that we can pay our mortgage.

Michelle Bernstein published her first cookbook, Cuisine a Latina, last year. The dessert chapter of this cookbook is entitled, "The Shortest Dessert Chapter Ever." With only one recipe, it is indeed the shortest ever. The recipe is for Michy's bread pudding sounds excellent. I'll have to make it someday. For now, however, I created my own bread pudding recipe.

Last week, I promised you bread pudding with chocolate and bourbon caramel sauce. Today is delivery day.

Bread Pudding with Chocolate and Bourbon Caramel
A Fritter Original

For the bread pudding
1/2 cup of heavy cream
1/2 cup of sugar
3 eggs
2 egg yolks
1 tablespoon of vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon of ground coriander
1 tablespoon orange zest
1/8 teaspoon of salt
1/2 stick of butter (4 tablespoons), melted and set aside to cool for 10 minutes
3 cups of day-old bread, cut into 1-inch cubes
1 cup of broken semi-sweet chocolate pieces
1 tablespoon brown sugar

For the bourbon caramel
1 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup water
1/8 cup dark brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon, plus 1/4 teaspoon for cinnamon whipped cream
1/4 cup heavy cream, plus 1/2 cup for whipped cream
1/8 cup Kentucky bourbon

In a medium-sized bowl, whisk together the heavy cream, sugar, eggs, egg yolks, vanilla extract, ground coriander, orange zest, and salt until well-combined. Once the butter has cooled, whisk it into the bowl in 1/4 cup amounts. It is very important to do this slowly, so that the eggs do not cook.

Place the bread cubes in a separate bowl and pour the cream mixture over them. Gently toss until the bread is well-coated, then cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 1 hour.

After the bread has chilled for an hour, remove it and toss again, ensuring that every surface of the bread has been covered with the cream mixture. The bread should be soaked at this point, but not falling apart.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter a loaf pan and add half of the bread to the bottom. Scatter half of the chocolate pieces over the bread, then cover with the remaining half of the bread. Scatter the remaining chocolate pieces on top, then crumble the brown sugar over the surface. Bake for 25 minutes, until the bread pudding is golden on top and bubbly.

While the bread pudding is baking, make the bourbon caramel. In a small saucepan, heat the butter until the froth begins to fade and the edges of the liquid start to turn gold. Stir in the water, brown sugar, and 1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon, then continue to cook until the liquids have reduced almost completely to a thick film on the bottom of the pan, about 6 minutes. Add the 1/8 cup of heavy cream and stir, then cook until the juice is syrupy, about 2 minutes. Turn off the heat and stir in the bourbon. Allow the skillet to rest for 1-2 minutes, which will allow the alcohol to evaporate.

Serve the bread pudding as soon as it comes out of the oven with 1/4 cup of bourbon caramel sauce and, if you wish, a scoop of ice cream.

Serves: 4

There's a Database for Everything

2009-02-12T06:35:00.005-05:00

If you plan to visit Florida anytime soon, I have good news for you.

When you think of Florida, aren't you terrified of the wildlife that this great state harbors? Do you fear being attacked by an alligator as you stroll through the Magic Kingdom? Do you worry that your little angels will become gator chow as they paddle in the pool at your resort?

The South Florida Sun-Sentinel thinks so. That can be the only explanation for this database.

Gator attacks are rare and often result from the animal being cornered and stressed by a changing environment and the reduced food supply that comes with it. If you stroll along a low-water canal with your well-fed Maltie named Porky-poo yapping away at the water's edge, well, that's your business. Why our local paper thought that a database would help you is beyond me. Also, I doubt that steering clear of the site of a previous gator attack will help much, since, you know, alligators move around.

In case you need it, though, we have a database for it.

Carb-Loading

2009-02-09T08:11:00.000-05:00

I know that I have been spotty lately when it comes to posting. Before you shrug me off completely, let me explain that I have good reason for my neglect.

My friend Lauren and I are chairing a committee that is in charge of a rather large 5-mile and 5k charity run. By "rather large," I mean that it draws more than 1,300 runners each year (it's not the New York City Marathon, but hey, that's still a lot of people in one small park early on a Saturday morning!). We also offer a 1-mile Kids Run, which we hope will inspire children at local schools to participate and learn a little bit about fitness.

Until I began working on this event last summer, I had no idea that it would be a second full-time job; a habit-forming activity; something of a demanding baby - one that requires constant feedings, changings, soothings, and meetings with the Fort Lauderdale Police Department and other city agencies.

The 9th Annual Riverwalk Run will take place here in Fort Lauderdale on March 21, 2009. Between now and that date, I foresee many more evening meetings in my future. Unfortunately, I do a lot of my Fritter cooking in the evenings. This is all for a great cause, though.

The Junior League of Greater Fort Lauderdale, the organization that hosts the Run (and of which Lauren and I are members), supports a local endeavor called the Transitional Independent Living project. "TIL" as we call it, is collaborating with state and local agencies to provide needed resources to for teens aging out of the foster care system in Broward County. In case you did not know, foster children stop receiving state assistance the day they turn 18. This means that many lose their place in their foster homes abruptly during their senior year of high school, which decreases their chances of continuing their education.

TIL will subsidize housing and teach "life skills" (i.e. how to lease an apartment, make a budget, cook, etc.) to teenagers who turn eighteen before they are really equipped to deal with adult life. Considering that up to 25% of teens who age out of the foster care system experience homelessness and up to 50% of them experience unemployment, TIL is something we need here in Broward. By organizing the Riverwalk Run, Lauren and I hope to raise the funds necessary to aid TIL in its goals.

While all of this 5k craziness is going on, I will continue to cook for Fritter, just on a less predictable basis. For your own convenience, please feel free to "follow" Fritter or sign up for email updates. Stick with me, here, since you never know what the future will bring!

Here's a hint: chocolate bread pudding with bourbon caramel sauce. Stay tuned.

Fast French Boule
Adapted from Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, by Jeff Hertzberg and Zoe Francois

This recipe is different from most orthodox bread recipes in that it is just about the lowest maintenance bread recipe you'll ever find. No kneading is needed (ha!). From start to finish, you can have fresh bread in under 2 hours. Please note before you begin that this recipe yields enough dough for 4 1-pound loaves. The dough will store up to one week in your fridge, so in theory, you can make a loaf of bread whenever you feel like it.

3 cups of warm (but not hot) water, plus 1/2 cup
1 1/2 tablespoons of granulated yeast
1 tablespoon of coarse salt
6 1/2 level cups of all-purpose flour, plus an extra 1/4 cup for dusting
A handful of cornmeal to dust the baking surface

Pour 3 cups of warm water into the bowl of an upright mixer equipped with a bread hook. If you do not have such a mixer, just use a large bowl. Sprinkle the yeast over the surface of the water, then add the salt. No mixing is required.

Add the flour all at once. Turn the mixer on the lowest setting and allow it to blend the flour into the water until a wet dough forms (1 -2 minutes), or stir by hand with a wooden spoon. Turn the dough out into a large, resealable food container (a 5 gallon container would be handy here, but I use a large casserole-type tupperware with good results).

Cover the container with aluminum foil or a lid (do not seal it all the way or the pressure from the yeast gases may blow it off). Set stand at room temperature for 1 hour, until the dough has doubled in size.

Dust a clean work surface with 1/4 cup all-purpose flour. Tear off a grapefruit-size portion of dough and form it into a soft ball, then set it on the floured surface (refrigerate the remaining dough in its container with a resealable lid). Turn the ball in the flour a time or two to lightly cover it in flour. Holding the ball with both hands, gently pull the sides down underneath the ball and pinch them together. Rotate the ball 90 degrees and pull the sides down again, bunching the two sides underneath the ball. The ball should appear smooth on top and bunched underneath. Cover the ball with a clean kitchen towel and all it to rise for another 30 minutes.

While the boule is completing its second rising, place a pizza stone or an oven-proof iron skillet in the top shelf of your oven and a broiler tray on the bottom shelf. Dust the pizza stone or skillet with the cornmeal. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees for about 20 minutes.

When the boule has completed its 30-minute rising, lightly slash the top of it with a knife. Using a pizza peel, quickly place the boule on the pizza stone or in the hot skillet. Pour 1/2 cup of water into the broiler tray below and shut the door immediately. The steam created by this step will give your bread a nice crisp exterior.

Bake at 450 for 30 minutes, until the boule is browned on top and firm to the touch. Cool on a wire rack for 10 minutes before cutting into the loaf.

Makes: the dough recipe yields 4 1-pound loaves of bread

Sweetie

2009-02-02T07:39:00.000-05:00

January weekends can be so weird. When you wake up on a Saturday morning in January, you're still on the heels of the holidays (no matter how distant they seem now), so a measly two-day weekend seems so short and hurried. You go from a one-year-old's birthday party on Saturday to a Superbowl party on Sunday in a rush, then down the rabbit hole to Monday before you've had a chance to relax.

That's how my January weekends feel, anyway.

Now, yesterday was the first day of February. Already, my schedule has lightened up. I even had some spare time to bake. Ahem. To bake.

To bake THE. BEST. COOKIES. EVER.

See?

Wait 'til you hear what's in them Melted semi-sweet chocolate. Walnuts. Dried cherries.

Folks, you haven't had a great cookie until you've had this cookie. I baked them yesterday afternoon before the Superbowl. They received universal thumbs ups and I knew that I needed to share them with you. So please, find some spare time in your busy weekends and give this recipe a try. You will not be sorry.

Chocolate Cherry-Walnut Cookies
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious.com

1/2 cup all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 pound bittersweet (not unsweetened) or semisweet chocolate, chopped
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
1 3/4 cups (packed) brown sugar
4 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup dried cherries
3/4 cup walnuts, toasted, chopped

Set up a double boiler (if you have not done this before, it's simple: Pour 3 cups of water into a medium-sized saucepan, then nestle a stainless steel bowl on top. Heat the water to a simmer, and you've got a double boiler). Add the chocolate and butter and stir with a spatula until melted and smooth. Remove the bowl from the heat and set it aside to cool to lukewarm.

In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt. Set aside.

In an upright mixer, beat together the sugar and eggs in bowl until thick, about 5 minutes. Blend in the vanilla and the chocolate mixture. Stir in the flour mixture, then the dried cherries and the walnuts. Cover the mixing bowl with plastic wrap and chill the batter until firm, about 45 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper. Using two spoons, drop batter by 1/4 cupfuls onto sheets, spacing 2 1/2 inches apart. You can eyeball the amounts here; just be sure that each ball of batter is roughly the same size as all the others to ensure even baking times. Bake the cookies just until tops are dry and cracked but cookies are still soft to touch, about 15 minutes. Cool on the cookie sheets.

Makes: a dozen large cookies

Really?

2009-01-29T07:21:00.004-05:00

This is how I started my morning today: thirty minutes on an exercise bike, followed by oatmeal and a cup of coffee, followed by this article. And that bring us to the present, because I can't move past it.

For those of you who have not heard, an item described as "the Bacon Explosion" has swept the internet. According to the New York Times, the Bacon Explosion came to the light of day in mid-December. Its creators, a team of Kansas City barbecue competitors, marketed their item (product? monstrosity?) through Twitter, Del.i.cious, Digg, and Stumble Upon, resulting in a near-instantaneous cult following, as well as acknowledgement from more traditional news outlets. The websites of Air America and the National Review have both given nods to the Bacon Explosion. In my favorite paragraph of the article, the NYT quotes Jonah Goldberg as saying, "There must be a reason one reader after another sends me this every couple hours.”

Here's what grabs me about this situation: it is incredible how quickly we share information now. The Bacon Explosion recipe was posted on the creators' blog on December 23. On Christmas Day, the website received 27,000 hits. It spawned "game meat" variations on the original, debates about proper cooking times, and even a claim that the recipe was not original. The sum total of this activity is every blogger's dream.

Doesn't it make you question the notion that technology is driving us all into social isolation? Doesn't the Bacon Explosion prove that we are very, very connected with other people? And whatever happened to the Bacon Explosions of the world before the internet?

It's Braised and You'll Like It

2009-01-26T07:32:00.000-05:00

I had a busy week, how about you? I wish that I could tell you that I was MIA due to the fact that I had tickets to the Inauguration, but that is not the case. Sadly. I listened to the Inauguration on NPR in my car as I tried to prepare for a 3:00 o'clock meeting.

In addition to some work-related time constraints, I had a tough time devising recipes this week. Maybe that's because it is late January and the seasonal pickings are slim right now. How many root vegetable dishes can one girl make?

Anyway, I'm back from a brief hiatus in posting, but I have a nice pasta dish for you to make up for it. It even features a root vegetable, but in a good way.

Braised Fennel Pasta
A Fritter Original

1 large fennel bulb
1 tablespoon butter
1/2 teaspoon of olive oil
1/2 pound of whole wheat rotini, essentially two handfuls of dry pasta
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar (or any other vinegar that has a touch of underlying sweetness)
3/4 cup of chicken stock
1 cup of loosely-packed fresh spinach leaves
1 cup of fresh green beans (not canned or frozen), sliced on the diagonal into bite-sized pieces
Salt and pepper to taste
4 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted
4 tablespoons freshly-grated fontina

Take the fennel bulb and remove any fronds still attached. Core the bulb and chop the fennel into 1/2-inch pieces. Heat a medium-sized saucepan over medium-low heat and add the butter and olive oil. When the butter has melted and is beginning to foam, add the fennel and toss well to coat. Braise the fennel in the butter until it is soft and golden-brown, about 20-25 minutes.

While the fennel is braising, bring a separate medium-sized saucepan of water to a boil. Add the rotini and boil until al dente, 10 - 12 minutes. Drain and set aside.

When the fennel has caramelized to a golden-brown color, add the apple cider vinegar and mix in well. Once the vinegar has evaporated, add the chicken stock and bring to a gentle simmer. Add the spinach leaves and green beans and salt and pepper to taste. Reduce the heat to low and cover for 3 minutes, until the spinach has wilted.

Divide the pasta between two shallow bowls. Spoon the fennel sauce over the pasta, then add 2 tablespoons of toasted pine nuts and 2 tablespoons of fontina cheese to each bowl. Serve immediately.

Serves: 2

Stewey

2009-01-15T07:46:00.000-05:00

I love a good one-pot meal. Especially on weeknights, when I really don't have the time to futz around with high-maintenance food.

I discovered this stew on the Food and Wine Magazine website and adapted it to be less fattening and speedier than the original. You can go from grocery bag to table in about 35 minutes, most of which is unattended. So go ahead, open your mail and water your houseplants.

Chickpea Stew with Spinach and Shrimp
Adapted from this recipe at Food and Wine

The original version of this recipe called for dried chickpeas, but I didn't have that kind of time on my hands this week, so I used the canned variety. The original also called for chorizo instead of shrimp, but the shrimp lighten up the stew and reduce the cooking time.

1/8 cup plus 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 Vidalia onion (or any small yellow onion), finely diced
1 teaspoon finely chopped rosemary
1 bay leaf
One 28-ounce can Italian tomatoes, chopped, 1 cup juice reserved
1 cup of water
2 15-ounce cans of chickpeas, rinsed and drained
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon paprika
8 large shrimp, cleaned and peeled with the tails left on
2 packed cups of spinach, thick stems discarded
Salt and freshly ground pepper

In a medium-sized, enameled cast-iron casserole, heat the olive oil. Add the garlic, onion, rosemary and bay leaf and cook over moderate heat until the onion is softened, about 5 minutes. Add the tomatoes, their juice, and the water and cook over moderately high heat until sizzling, about 4 minutes. Add the chickpeas, cumin, and paprika and simmer for 20 minutes.

Five minutes before serving, stir in the spinach and cook until wilted. Turn off the heat and stir in the shrimp, then cover the pot and let it stand, undisturbed, for 4 minutes. Peek in on the shrimp at this point; they should be pink and tender. Season with salt and pepper, then serve in 4 soup bowls, arranging two shrimp in each.

Serves: 4

Winter Squash Salad

2009-01-12T07:45:00.000-05:00

What do you do with a B.A. in English?
What is my life going to be?
Four years of college and plenty of knowledge,
Have earned me this useless degree . . .
-Avenue Q, What Do You Do with a B.A. in English/It Sucks to Be Me

Have you seen Avenue Q? It came to Fort Lauderdale this week and I caught the show on Wednesday with my friend Tanya. Avenue Q's characters are fresh out of college, experiencing the kinds of conflicts that people in their twenties and early thirties experience ("Maybe I'm not meant to work in a damn office my entire life. Maybe I have a higher purpose!"). It parodies Sesame Street, with swear words.

It's not for everyone, this show. For example, it's not for kids. It also was not for the aged woman sitting to our left, who smoldered silently throughout the first half then stalked out at intermission and never returned. It was not her type of the-ah-tah.

I thought that it was pretty darn funny. Profane, but cleverly written. If it's coming to your city, go see it. Just leave your stuffy, humorless types and children at home.

Winter Squash Salad
A Fritter Original

For the salad
1 acorn squash, or any other hard winter squash
1 large heirloom tomato (look for one the size of a beefsteak tomato)
6-8 small fingerling potatoes
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary leaves, stripped from the branch
1 teaspoon honey
1 teaspoon olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
2 teaspoons soft goat cheese
2 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted

For the salad dressing
1/4 cup fruity extra virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
1 tablespoon Kalamata olives, finely chopped
1 teaspoon minced fresh rosemary
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Cut the acorn squash in half, remove the seeds, and smear both with 1 teaspoon of olive oil. Sprinkle each half with a little salt and pepper, then place cut-side down on a rimmed cookie sheet. Roast for 30 minutes, or until a knife can be inserted easily into the rind.

While the squash is roasting, cut the tomato into eights. Drizzle with the honey and sprinkle 1 tablespoon of rosemary over the slices. Add to the cookie sheet when the squash has been roasting for 30 minutes and continue roasting with the squash for another 15 minutes, or until the tomato skin is puckered and tender. Remove from oven and set aside to cool to room temperature.

Meanwhile, bring a medium saucepan of water to a boil, then add the fingerling potatoes. Boil the potatoes for 12-15 minutes, until tender. Drain well and slice along the diagonal. Set aside to cool to room temperature, then casually assemble the potatoes, squash and tomatoes on four plates. Top with goat cheese and toasted pine nuts.

Next, prepare the dressing. Combine all of the salad dressing ingredients in a small bowl and whisk until emulsified. Drizzle over the platter of potatoes, squash, and tomatoes, then serve immediately.

Serves: 4 side portions

Riches

2009-01-07T07:38:00.000-05:00

Isn't that pretty? It's a little bundle of saffron threads, tied with red silk thread. My parents, who travel a lot for business and pleasure, brought it back from Turkey. I've resisted cooking with it for a while now, just because it is such a dramatic-looking spice.

That changed this weekend, though. I've got a thing for risotto, and I decided to try risotto milanese.

Risotto milanese is saffron-infused risotto. I read somewhere, sometime ago, that the recipe was created by a poor merchant in Milan during the 1400's to commemorate his daughter's marriage. The story goes that the merchant had lost a shipment of goods during a storm, and thus had no money to give the newlywed couple. To prevent them from going empty-handed on their wedding day (that would be bad luck), he created a risotto dish for the wedding feast that looked like so many golden coins.

True or not, I like the story and the dish itself is delicious. Perhaps it's just the thing to eat in the rotten, rotten economy.

Risotto Milanese
Adapted from this Mario Batali recipe

1 tablespoon of extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 medium yellow onion, cut into 1/4-inch dice
1/2 teaspoon saffron threads
3 cups chicken stock
1 cup arborio rice
1/3 cup white wine
2 tablespoons of butter (optional)
1/8 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, plus more for sprinkling

In a medium saucepan, heat the chicken stock to a simmer. Add the saffron, stirring to infuse the threads, and reduce the heat to low and cover.

Meanwhile, in a separate 12-inch saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat until shimmering. Add the onion and cook until softened and translucent but not browned, 8 to 10 minutes. Once the onions are translucent add the rice and stir with a wooden spoon until toasted and opaque, 3 to 4 minutes.

Add the wine to the toasting rice, and then add 3/4 cup of the saffron-infused stock and cook, stirring, until it is absorbed. Continue adding the stock 3/4 cup at a time, waiting until the liquid is absorbed before adding more. Cook until the rice is just al dente, about 15 minutes. Stir in the butter and cheese until well mixed, then serve with a little freshly ground black pepper if desired.

Serves: 2

It Shouldn't Be This Easy

2009-01-04T16:14:00.001-05:00

Homemade marshmallows should be much more difficult to prepare. They really should.

A simple, sugary recipe is dangerous. The ease with which I made these marshmallows suggests that I could make them again and again. That, as you can imagine, would be a real problem for someone who has vowed in a not-quite-a-New-Year's-resolution way to eat less refined sugar.*

If you subscribe to Bon Appetit, you probably read Molly Wizenberg's article in July 2008 about homemade marshmallows. As Ms. Wizenberg is the funny and literary author of the blog Orangette, I read her article with interest, however, I had no real desire to try the marshmallow recipe. It was July and nothing could tempt me to stand in my sweltering Florida kitchen over a boiling pot of sugar.

Last week, though, my mother commented that it might be fun to make homemade marshmallows while I was home. With snow on the ground and the light dim the way it is before a snowstorm, we inhaled sugary steam from a bubbling saucepan then watched as the mixture was whipped from a syrup to a resin to a gum in my mom's upright food mixer. We patted our piece of elastic vanilla candy into a pan to set overnight. In the morning, we dusted the set marshmallow block with powdered sugar and corn starch, then cut a few sample cubes.

Delicious. Meltingly so. Best eaten in quantities with your fingers while standing at the counter with sugar powder on your chin.

Way too easy, this one. If your resolutions require you to restrict your calories or sugar-intake, think twice before making these. If you step off the path of Goodness and Discipline, go for it with abandon.**

Molly Wizenberg's Homemade Marshmallows

From this recipe featured in Bon Appetit, July 2008

Most of the time involved in this recipe is rest time; the active preparation time requires no more than 25 minutes. You will need a reliable candy thermometer, preferably one that will latch to the side of your saucepan. Try to restrain yourself when the finished product sits before you, but don't be too hard on yourself when you find that you cannot.

Nonstick vegetable oil spray

1 cup cold water, divided
3 1/4-ounce envelopes unflavored gelatin
2 cups sugar
2/3 cup light corn syrup
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/2 cup potato starch (you can substitute corn starch, as I did)
1/2 cup powdered sugar

Line a 13x9x2-inch metal baking pan with foil.

Coat the foil lightly with nonstick spray. Pour 1/2 cup cold water into bowl of heavy-duty mixer fitted with whisk attachment. Sprinkle gelatin over water. Let stand until gelatin softens and absorbs water, at least 15 minutes.

Combine 2 cups sugar, corn syrup, salt, and remaining 1/2 cup cold water in heavy medium saucepan. Stir over medium-low heat until sugar dissolves, brushing down sides of pan with wet pastry brush. Attach candy thermometer to side of pan. Increase heat and bring syrup to boil. Boil, without stirring, until syrup reaches 240°F, about 8 minutes.

With mixer running at low speed, slowly pour hot syrup into gelatin mixture in thin stream down side of bowl (avoid pouring syrup onto whisk, as it may splash). Gradually increase speed to high and beat until mixture is very thick and stiff, about 15 minutes. Add vanilla and beat to blend, about 30 seconds longer.

Scrape marshmallow mixture into prepared pan. Smooth top with wet spatula. Let stand uncovered at room temperature until firm, about 4 hours.

Stir potato starch and powdered sugar in small bowl to blend. Sift generous dusting of starch-sugar mixture onto work surface, forming rectangle slightly larger than 13x9 inches. Turn marshmallow slab out onto starch-sugar mixture; peel off foil. Sift more starch-sugar mixture over marshmallow slab. Coat large sharp knife (or cookie cutters) with nonstick spray. Cut marshmallows into squares or other shapes. Toss each in remaining starch-sugar mixture to coat. Transfer marshmallows to rack, shaking off excess mixture.

Makes: 50 1" x 1" marshmallows

*Before you abandon this blog, please note that I did not say I've cut out all sugar. I just said I would eat less. I won't take you down with me.

**Then again, I never promised to be a good influence.

Luck Favors the Prepared, Dahling

2008-12-31T10:50:00.002-05:00

There are a lot of New Year's traditions bouncing around here in America. This morning, I read about one town that lowers a taxidermied opossum instead of a crystal ball to harken in the new year. I love local flair more than most people, but that's pretty weird.

My family has very few New Year's traditions because few of us are late-night types. One evening in the 1980's, my father, who would go to sleep around 7:30 every night if he could, excused himself from a dinner party hosted at our house with a cheerful invitation to the guests to carry on without him; he was going to bed. My mother felt that this crossed the line of acceptable behavior and brought it up as recently as last night.

I am truly my father's daughter: I rarely stay up past midnight. When we rang in 1990, I sneered at my parents' total lack of interest in celebrating the dawn of a new decade and assured them that I would do them a favor (in my mind) by waking them up at midnight. That didn't happen. I was snuggled under my flowered comforter by 10:45 and woke up around 5:30 with my lights still on.

We do have one New Year's tradition that we'd never think of skipping. For as long as I can remember, my mother has made black-eyed pea salad for New Year's Day. She has fed me platefuls of it at her house, and once she even gave me a spoonful of it on my way to the airport to catch a flight home. "For good luck," she always insists.

Black-eyed pea salad is a Southern New Year's Day tradition. How these funny little spotted peas became lucky is beyond me, but lucky they are meant to be. Traditionalists soak dried black-eyed peas overnight, then simmer them for hours with ham hocks, bacon, or fatback. When the tradition began back in the South's pre-Costco days, all of the ingredients were inexpensive and available during the winter.

Perhaps that's the secret to believing in good luck; the lucky item should be something everyone can have, even during lean times. If we can't even get near our talismans, how could we be expected to believe in them?

Tomorrow morning, I will eat my share of black-eyed pea salad and hope that the new year brings good luck. I hope that you will consider doing the same, and that you have a safe, prosperous and above all, happy and lucky New Year.

Black-Eyed Pea Salad
A Fritter Original

My family eats black-eyed pea salad on its own, but for this recipe, I've served it over arugula, which compliments the buttery taste of the peas. If you don't want to hassle with dried peas, you can substitute 2 15-ounce cans in this recipe, skip the first two paragraphs of the recipe and pick up with the third paragraph. Just make sure that you rinse the peas well first.

For the black-eyed peas

1 pound of dried black-eyed peas, soaked for 8 hours and drained

1 smoked ham hock

2 large carrots, peeled and trimmed at the ends

2 cloves of garlic, peeled and smashed

1 small yellow onion, peeled and halved

1 dried bay leaf

1/2 of a small red onion, peeled, trimmed, and cut into narrow half-moon slices

1 red bell pepper, seeded, cored, and finely chopped

2 stalks of celery, chopped, reserving the celery leaves (if available)

10-12 pickled jalapeno slices, chopped (fewer if you don't care for heat)

1 bunch of arugula

For the salad dressing

1/4 cup of extra virgin olive oil
4 tablespoons red wine vinegar

1 teaspoon of coarse-grain mustard

Salt and pepper to taste

Place the drained black-eyed peas in a stockpot with the ham hock, carrots, garlic, yellow onion, and bay leaf, and cover with two quarts of cold water. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to low and simmer, partially covered, for 1 1/2 hours until the peas are tender but not falling apart. Stir every now and then to prevent sticking.

Once the peas are tender, drain them well and remove the ham hock, bay leaf, carrots, and onion. Place the black-eyed peas in a container and refrigerate for 30 minutes, until the peas are slightly cooler than room temperature.

In a salad bowl, toss together the red onion, red bell pepper, celery, and jalapeno. When the black-eyed peas are cool, add them to the bowl and gently toss to combine with the other ingredients.

In a small bowl, whisk together the ingredients for the salad dressing until emulsified. Drizzle over the black-eyed pea salad and gently toss to coat. Arrange the arugula on 8 small plates and scoop the black-eyed peas on top in 1/2 cup amounts. Garnish with the celery leaves if they are available, and if not, don't worry; the good luck is all in the black-eyed peas.

Makes: 8 side servings

The outdoor photographs in this post were taken on the snowshoe trails in Solitude Resort in Big Cottonwood Canyon, Utah, where Steve and I mushed around on Monday afternoon. I'm sorry to report that I did not see any meese.

*With thanks to Edna E. Mode of The Incredibles for the title of this post.

Cranberry Muffins

2008-12-28T06:42:00.003-05:00

As I sit here, writing, a foot of snow has settled outside our kitchen window. It's still dark, but I know that snow has crusted on the lower halves of the screens of our dining room and there are long icicles hanging from the branches of the tree outside. The icicles' tapered ends curve northward from the wind that we had on Christmas Day.

I am in Salt Lake City for the holidays. And it is cold.

Every year, I try to pack the right clothing for Salt Lake. Living in Florida (and not actually having grown up in a cold climate) means that I win some and lose some in this regard. That's part of what I love about coming home for the holidays, though: the complete change of scene. This is a vacation and every vacation, even visits to family, should have a tinge of the unfamiliar.

Winter is a foreign season to me in so many ways, even though I went to college in New England and have spent the last six or seven Christmases in Salt Lake. I still don't quite get winter.

As we were preparing to leave my parents' house for a Christmas Eve party, my mother stared at my python-printed, three-inch heels in disbelief and was silent for a moment as she considered what to say to me about my footwear. The little bushes that line the walkway in front of my parents' house stooped under a hood of snow. The streets had been ploughed and the sidewalks cleared, but inch-deep crevices of ice will stick to the concrete until next April.

For me, shoes are decorative items which I value for appearance, not utility. I've never had to think of them in any other way. When Mom proposed that I wear a pair of boots--the big, lace-up snowboot kind--I declined. I was able to wobble over the ice to the party and back while leaning on my husband's arm, but I questioned my judgment a little while executing a two-stepped scramble over the driveway's snow-ploughed edges.

Yesterday, we went east to Park City for an afternoon of gallery-browsing. The sun was out and as we drove up the canyon on I-80, I could see thousands of meandering foottrails on the slopes; deer, probably, or elk, picking their footing through the fresh snow. If I'm lucky, I'll see a moose before we leave. After all, I have the right gear now; I rented a pair of snow boots and snowshoes yesterday afternoon.

Cranberry Muffins with Pecan Crumb Topping
Adapted from this recipe at Food and Wine

For the pecan crumb topping

1/4 cup pecan pieces
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 tablespoons light brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
Pinch of salt
2 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

For the muffin batter
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup plus 1 1/2 tablespoons granulated sugar, divided
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
Pinch of salt
1 cup plain low-fat yogurt
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 stick (4 ounces) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 1/2 cups fresh or frozen cranberries

For the glaze
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
3 teaspoons of water

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Lightly grease a 12-muffin tin and insert liners into each space.

To make the crumb topping

In a small, dry skillet, toast the pecan pieces over medium heat for about 5 minutes, until they are browned. Set them aside to cool. In a large bowl, mix the flour with the granulated and brown sugars, baking powder and salt. Stir in the butter, then add the pecans and pinch the topping mixture into clumps.

To make the glaze

Combine the confectioners' sugar with the water in a small bowl, stirring until smooth. Set aside while making the muffins.

To make the muffins

In a medium bowl, mix the 2 cups of flour with 1/2 cup of sugar, the baking powder, baking soda and salt until well-combined. In a separate, smaller bowl, mix the yogurt with the egg and butter until smooth, then stir in the dry ingredients in 3/4-cup batches. The batter should be fairly moist; if your dough seems dry, add 1/4 cup of water to loosen the consistency.

Toss the cranberries with the remaining 1 1/2 tablespoons of sugar and fold them into the muffin batter. Spoon the batter into the muffin cups in 1/2 cup amounts and sprinkle the pecan crumb topping over each muffin, gently pressing the crumbs into the muffin batter.

Bake the muffins for 20 minutes, or until the muffins are golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let the muffins cool in the pan for 5 minutes, then transfer to a rack set over a baking sheet.

Drizzle 1 tablespoon of glaze over each muffin and let the glaze set for a few minutes before serving.

Makes: 12 muffins

Something Other Than Ourselves

2008-12-23T08:04:00.001-05:00

I read a wonderful op-ed yesterday morning. In mid-December, 1933--the grimmest of the Depression years--an anonymous individual in Canton, Ohio posted a piece in the local paper encouraging those in need to write in their requests and explain why they needed money. In return, the donor, who called himself "Mr. B. Virdot," would mail them a check for their needs, enough to get them through the holidays. Men, women, and even children sent hundreds of responses, requesting items as basic as a pair of shoes.

In the week that followed, checks began arriving at the homes of needy families all over Canton. The anonymous donor never revealed his identity, and no one bearing the name of B. Virdot was ever found.

Think about that for a minute. How incredible is that? When is the last time that you did something without hoping for a little recognition? Okay, I'll go first. I can't recall when that was. I like to be noticed for doing good things. I think that we all do.

I also cannot keep a secret to save my life. If I had been Mr. B. Virdot and had possessed enough self-control to keep the secret until I died, I would have paper-clipped a little note to my will: Oh, by the way, I selflessly gave away hundreds of dollars to strangers in December 1933 when no one had a dime. You're welcome.

Yet Mr. B. Virdot chose to remain anonymous.

I won't spoil the rest of the story, because you should read it yourself. The donor's grandson, who authored the op-ed (and who discovered his grandfather's secret by chance), writes that his grandfather experienced enough hardship early in life to make him truly understand the value of kindness. Having "been robbed at night and swindled in daylight," by others, he chose to treat other people much more generously than he had been treated.

Try it for yourself. In the next few days, share some of your holiday spirit with someone who will never know who you are, and don't tell a soul about it. You will learn something about yourself.

Happy Holidays, everyone.

Potato Latkes with Homemade Applesauce
Adapted from Gail Simmons' latke recipe and Gale Gand's pear-applesauce recipe, both featured in Food & Wine

For the pear-applesauce

4 large apples, such as McIntosh or Ambrosia, peeled, cored, and quartered
2 Bartlett pears, peeled, cored, and quartered
2 cups of water
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon of honey
1/2 teaspoon of ground cinnamon

For the potato latkes
4 large baking potatoes, scrubbed, peeled, and quartered
1 large yellow onion, peeled and quartered
1/2 cup of all-purpose flour
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2 tablespoons chopped dill
1 1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
Canola oil, for frying

To make the applesauce
In a large, heavy saucepan, bring the apples, pears, water and lemon juice to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, stirring frequently, until the fruit breaks down to a thick, chunky puree, about 30 minutes. You may need to mash the fruit with a spoon. Remove from the heat and stir in the honey and cinnamon. The applesauce may be served warm or chilled.

For the potato latkes
Set a large strainer over a bowl. In a food processor fitted with the shredding disk, shred the potatoes and onion in batches. Add each batch to the strainer and let stand for 5-10 minutes, then squeeze dry. Pour off all of the liquid in the bowl and add the shredded potatoes and onions. Stir in the flour, eggs, dill, salt and baking powder. Scrape the mixture back into the strainer and set it over a bowl; let stand for another 5-10 minutes to drain.

In a very large skillet (not the non-stick variety), heat 1/4 inch of canola oil until shimmering. Spoon 2 tablespoons of the potato mixture into the canola oil for each latke, pressing slightly to flatten. Fry over moderate heat, turning once, until the latkes are golden and crisp on both sides, about 7 minutes. Drain the latkes on a paper towel–lined baking sheet. Serve the latkes hot with a spoonful of applesauce on top.

You should know (if you didn't already) that raw potatoes turn black in a matter of hours and fried latkes only stay delicious while they are crisp and hot. This means that latkes are not really a "make ahead" food. Someone out there may have a good suggestion for making them in advance of your event, but I don't really have any pointers to offer in that respect.

Makes: 40 small latkes and 4 cups of applesauce

With a Bow on Top

2008-12-15T07:18:00.000-05:00

Whew! 'Tis the season for overscheduling.

My apologies for my absence on Thursday. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I'd missed my regular post during the week and was well on my way to cramming today's in late. This forced me to take a look at my calendar, and I've got to confess that I'm pretty booked for the next few weeks. For good reasons, may I add, such as holiday parties and volunteer engagements with causes like this. Couple these obligations with a trip out of town to visit my family for Christmas, and you've got one busy person.

Therefore, I've decided that it's a good idea to reduce my posts to one per week until the New Year. I hope that you will continue to stop by early each week during the remainder of the holiday season to catch up and have a little slice of something tasty. I'll be back to my regular schedule during the first week of January.

Today, I would like to offer you a cranberry-raspberry tart to make up for it all. It's even got a sprig of pastry holly on top, which is sort of like a bow on a present.

Cranberry-Raspberry Tart
Original source has been lost in the mists of time

For the almond pastry dough
2 1/4 cup of flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
3/4 cup cold shortening (put the can in the fridge for 1 hours before using)
1 egg, yolk and white divided
2 tablespoons almond extract
1/4 cup of ice water

For the cranberry-raspberry filling
2 cups fresh or frozen cranberries (thawed if frozen)
1 16-ounce package of frozen raspberries (thawed so that they are still somewhat firm, but pliable)
3/4 cup of sugar
4 tablespoons of instant tapioca (the fine variety, not the large pearls)
1/4 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of almond extract

Make the filling
Pulse the cranberries in a food processor for a few seconds, until the cranberries are coarsely chopped. Scoop the chopped cranberries into a large bowl and gently fold in the raspberries, sugar, tapioca, salt, and almond extract until blended. Set aside to rest while preparing the pastry dough.

Make the pastry dough
Sift together the flour, salt, and sugar in another large bowl. Cut in the cold shortening using a pastry cutter or two knives, until the mixture is finely crumbled. The crumbs should be pea-sized.

In a separate small bowl, beat the egg yolk, almond extract, and ice water together until blended. Sprinkle over the flour mixture and fluff the flour with a fork. Gradually, you will see the dough starting to come together. Add additional drops of water if the dough does not hold when you pinch a bit between two fingers.

When the dough holds, take 2/3 of the dough and roll it out on a floured surface; this will be the tart shell. Roll out the remaining 1/3 on another floured surface; this will be the lattice topping. When the dough is evenly rolled out to 1/8-inches thick, lift it into a buttered fluted tart ring and gently press the edges against the fluting.

Pour the cranberry-raspberry filling into the tart shell until it is almost level with the top of the tart ring.

Turning to the smaller rolled-out pastry dough ball, cut 12-inch long strips measuring about 1-inch wide. Place over the filling in a criss-crossing pattern to create a lattice top. Beat the reserved egg white in a cup, then brush over the lattice top with a pastry brush.

Nestle the tart pan onto a cookie sheet to guard your oven from any spillage during baking. Bake at 425 for 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to 375 for 40-45 minutes. The tart will be done when the lattice pastry top is golden brown and the cranberry-raspberry filling is bubbly.

Serves: 8-10 pieces

Little Green Balls of Death?

2008-12-07T17:17:00.001-05:00

Did you grow up eating Brussels sprouts? I didn't. In fact, I never tried Brussels sprouts until my mother-in-law, Merri, roasted them with a little brown sugar a few Thanksgivings ago. Forking up a mouthful, I was charmed by the nutty flavor of this funny little knobby vegetable.

Why does conventional wisdom tell us that Brussels sprouts are horrible? What forms of this vegetable did your mothers inflict upon you that you hate it so much? I've heard rumors of boiled mounds of slime: is this true? My own mother never prepared Brussels sprouts in any form. Perhaps she had to eat too many servings as a kid, or perhaps her years in the Army turned her off any cruciferous vegetable that she did not prepare with her own loving hands. That'll do it, I hear.

In any event, I approached my first Brussels sprout dish with the dewy innocence of a novice and the arrogance of a freshman. How hard can this be, I thought to myself, hefting a bag in my hand.

Well, the answer is that it's not hard at all, if you shred the Brussels sprouts into a slaw and roast them under high heat. As you can see in my photos, I let the Brussels sprouts sit a tad too long in the oven, resulting in some deep caramelization. However, over-roasted Brussels sprouts still aren't awful enough to merit the kind of dissing this veggie gets. It just ain't fair, people.

So, I'm telling you: roast 'em, top 'em with some good Parmigianno-Reggiano and a squeeze of lemon, and you're in business.

Shredded Parmesan Brussels Sprouts
From this Melissa Rubel recipe in Food and Wine

3 pounds of Brussels sprouts, trimmed
1/2 cup of extra virgin olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmiggiano-Reggiano
Squeeze of lemon

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. In a food processor fitted with a slicing blade, coarsely shred the Brussels sprouts. On two large rimmed baking sheets, toss the Brussels sprouts with the olive oil, season with salt and pepper and spread in an even layer. Roast in the oven for 30 minutes, until the Brussels sprouts are tender and browned in spots; rotate the pans and stir the Brussels sprouts halfway through roasting. Sprinkle with the cheese, toss and bake for 1 more minute, or until the cheese is melted. Transfer the Brussels sprouts to a bowl and serve with a squeeze of lemon.

Serves: 8 side portions

The title of this post comes from the the blog Acorns, in which the author interviewed a Brussels sprouts vendor who described his own product as "little green balls of death" and opined that his customers only buy Brussels sprouts if they really dislike their neighbors.

Buco Osso

2008-12-03T06:53:00.000-05:00

Ta-da!

Cooking. . .
Saute-ing. . .
Searing the veal shanks.

And that is dinner, prepared in reverse.

Osso Buco with Toasted Pine Nut Gremolata
Adapted from this recipe, originally printed in Mario Batali's Babbo Cookbook.

For the osso buco
2 2-inch thick veal shanks
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 medium carrots, peeled and cut in 1/4-inch-thick coins
1 small Spanish onion, diced
2 celery stalks, cut in 1/4-inch slices
Leaves from 1 bunch of fresh thyme, chopped
2 cups crushed tomatoes
2 cups chicken stock
2 cups dry white wine

For the gremolata
Leaves from 1 bunch of flat-leaf parsley
1/2 cup pine nuts, toasted at 400°F. for 2 minutes
Zest of 1 lemon
1/4 cup freshly grated horseradish
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 375°F.

Season the shanks all over with salt and pepper. In a heavy-bottomed, 6- to 8-quart casserole, heat the olive oil until smoking. Place the shanks in the pan and brown all over for 12 to 15 minutes, turning with long-handled tongs to sear every surface. Remove the shanks and set aside.

Reduce the heat to medium, add the carrot, onion, celery, and thyme, and cook, stirring regularly, until golden brown and slightly softened, 8 to 10 minutes. Add the tomato sauce, chicken stock, and wine and bring to a boil. Return the shanks to the pan, making sure they are submerged at least halfway; if not, add more stock. Cover the pan with a tight-fitting lid of aluminum foil. Braise in the oven for 2 hours, then remove the cover and cook another 30 minutes, until the meat is nearly falling off the bone.

Just before the meat is done make the gremolata. In a small bowl, combine the parsley leaves, pine nuts, lemon zest, and horseradish and mix well by hand. Sprinkle with a little salt and pepper and set aside.

Remove the casserole from the oven and let stand for 10 minutes before plating. Top each shanks with the gremolata and serve.

Serves: 2 slightly backwards people

And Then We Came to the End

2008-11-30T08:25:00.000-05:00

Long weekends are the best. I'll take a long weekend over just about any perk that an employer has to offer.*

I love the feeling that I get when I crack an eyelid open just after dawn and realize that even though I've already had two days off, the weekend is not over yet. After a little rush of giddiness, I snuggle down under the covers and snooze for another few hours, dreaming some not-quite-asleep-not-quite-awake dreams as the light gets warmer and brighter on the wall over the foot of our bed.

After all of the cookery that went on last week, I am not in the mood to mess around in the kitchen. I'm going to order sushi take-out tonight and enjoy the last dregs of my long weekend in front of the television with my husband.

Good thing that I have some homemade miso-mustard pickles in the fridge to tide me over until dinner. Hope you guys like pickles.

Miso-Mustard Pickles
Adapted from this Tia Keenan recipe in Food and Wine Magazine

These pickles are salty and savory, not sweet. I despise sweet pickles. You won't find a recipe for sweet pickles on this blog, ever.

1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup rice vinegar
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon miso paste (Tia's recipe calls for white miso paste; I used dark)
1 tablespoon prepared horseradish, drained
1 tablespoon whole peppercorns (I used a pretty mix of black, white, and pink peppercorns)
2 bay leaves
1 cucumber, sliced into 10-12 spears (you may want to consider using an English cucumber, which is unwaxed. English cucumbers are the ones wrapped in plastic sleeves)

In a large saucepan, combine the red wine vinegar, water, rice vinegar, sugar, mustard, miso, horseradish, peppercorns and bay leaves and bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Remove the saucepan from the heat and let it cool to room temperature.

Pack the cucumber spears a quart jar. Pour the pickling liquid over to cover the cucumbers. Close the jar and refrigerate the pickles for 2 days before serving.

Makes 10-12 pickle spears

*cash bonuses not included.

The title of this post was borrowed from Joshua Ferris' 2007 bestselling novel of the same name.

Thanks

2008-11-28T10:40:00.002-05:00

My dad and I got to talking yesterday afternoon about how Thanksgiving leftovers are his favorite kind of leftovers. I agree with him that Thanksgiving gives us some terrific leftovers: mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, pies, some turkey.

Dad says that he likes Thanksgiving leftovers the best because he always knows what foods to expect. Christmas dishes vary every year at our family table, with the exception of the dependable jalapeno creamed spinach. At Thanksgiving, you can count on certain family staples to be lined up on the table runner like a thread connecting every Thanksgiving that came before, and every Thanksgiving to follow.

I love Thanksgiving, too, and I have some interesting memories of Turkey Days past. Take the one with the helicopter ride. It happened on my grandmother's farm, when our friends Frank and Ruth, who owned a helicopter called Black Thunder and did the traffic for the local radio stations, landed the chopper in the side pasture. They took us for rides over the barley fields and stock tanks of Alvarado, Texas, buzzing Grammy's corrugated metal barn a time or two. I remember my stomach jumping as the helicopter nosed downward, autumn-yellow fields skating by under my little Reeboks.

A doctor from Beijing was visiting my dad's hospital that year, so he'd asked her to join us to celebrate Thanksgiving. An enthusiast for American customs, she probably will be disappointed if she has Thanksgiving anywhere else, now that she has had a helicopter ride over Texas with us.

Most of my early Thanksgivings were held out on Grammy's farm and to this day, even here in warm, humid South Florida, my mind associates Thanksgiving with cold fronts, straw bales, and Grammy's green Depression glass pitchers of iced tea. One of my earliest memories is the Thanksgiving my dad harnessed Grammy's quarterhorse, Lacy, to an ancient wooden wagon that Grammy housed in her garage. Lacy towed us around the house a few times, ears cocked back toward our boisterous group in the wagon as if to say, "I'm only putting up with this foolishness for the carrots."

A time came when I was no longer home to have Thanksgiving on Grammy's farm. I spent my junior year of college in London, studying English literature. Who knew how darn difficult it could be to find a whole turkey there in late November? My sister visited me on her Thanksgiving break from school and after combing the Sainsbury's of Westminster, we adjusted our ambitions and ultimately settled for chicken, which we knew that we were capable of baking. The two of us prepared a meal with a bunch of my British, Scottish, and American friends in the dormitory's tiny second-floor kitchen, within earshot of the Abbey's bells.

Yesterday, Steve and I drove to his parents' house, just as we have done since we were first married. I balanced my mother's cranberry-raspberry tart in my lap, and I smiled, knowing that two thousand miles away, my mother and my sister had prepared the same dishes. Merri, Steve's mother, roasted a perfect bird and as we sat down at the loaded table, we clasped hands with the people we love and said a few words of thanks, each of us welcoming to the circle those who could not be with us, each of us thinking of many Thanksgivings past.

Charlie Trotter's Shaved Fennel Apple Salad
From this recipe available at Epicurious.com (originally published in Charlie Trotter Cooks at Home)

Need something light and fresh to go with your leftover mashed tubers and creamed whatnots? This salad can help you with that.

1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/3 cup canola oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, and halved
2 bulbs fennel, thinly sliced (if you own a mandolin, this is a good time to use it)

To prepare the vinaigrette: Whisk together the lemon juice, chopped tarragon, and olive and canola oils in a small bowl and season to taste with salt and pepper.

To prepare the salad: Cut the apple into thin slices and place in a medium bowl with the fennel. Toss with the vinaigrette and season to taste with salt and pepper.

Serves: 8 appetizer portions

It'll Make You Want to Sit Up and Beg

2008-11-23T14:18:00.012-05:00

Last week, Darlene from Blazing Hot Wok asked her readers to share what they plan to put on their tables this holiday season. I mentioned that I intend to prepare a jalapeno creamed spinach dish, because without it, Christmas is not Christmas--and Thanksgiving is not Thanksgiving; and for that matter, New Year's is not New Year's. Darlene asked me for the recipe, and I am more than happy to oblige.

If you've been reading Fritter for a while, you know that I grew up in Texas. This kind of heritage skews a person's palate. I look for the spicy dishes; the smoky flavors; the pickled jalapeno. A zing of cayenne is always welcome on my plate. The top tier of my wedding cake was a chocolate chili mousse that made my lips tingle. In my mind, if it's already good, it can be made even better with a little heat.

Jalapeno creamed spinach is a spicy Texas soul food dish. My mother has been preparing it for nearly twenty years and now that we are grown, my sister and I both stir up our own batches for the holidays.

The original recipe comes from Laurie Colwin's Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen. If you read Gourmet during the 1980's, you may recall Colwin's humorous and endearing articles. Who could resist essays with titles like "Repulsive Dinners: a Memoir," and "Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant"?

Shortly before her death in the early 1990's, Colwin published Home Cooking, a collection of her Gourmet articles. It is in this book that she describes a dinner party in a Dallas home, where she was served a creamed spinach dish with jalapeno peppers. Tasting the flavors of this dish for the first time, Colwin wrote, "It was so good it made me want to sit up and beg like a dog."

I know exactly what she meant when she wrote that. Try it, you'll see.

Jalapeno Creamed Spinach
Adapted from Laurie Colwin's recipe in Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen, published in 1988.

This dish is a holiday winner in our house, not only because it is the best darn spinach you'll ever eat, but also because you can make it days ahead of time and freeze it with good results. If you plan to do things ahead of time, just prepare the dish up as described above, stopping right before you actually bake it. Freeze the spinach, then allow it to return to room temperature on the day you plan to bake it before placing it in the oven.

2 16-ounce bags of chopped and frozen spinach
4 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons flour
3 tablespoons white onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon garlic, minced
1/4 cup heavy cream
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon celery seed
A few twists of fresh black pepper
6 ounces monterrey jack cheese
2 tablespoons pickled jalapenos, chopped (if you're feeding a heat-loving crowd, go ahead and bump it up by an additional tablespoon)
3 tablespoons unseasoned bread crumbs

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees.

Using either your microwave or a large saucepan over low heat, thaw the frozen spinach until it is soft but not cooked. Let the spinach cool until it is no longer hot to the touch. Nest a colander over a large bowl to reserve the spinach liquid. Squeeze the spinach by until (or using a potato masher) until most of the liquid has drained into the bowl below and the spinach forms dry clumps. Set aside the spinach liquid for later use (make a mental note at this point not to dump it down the drain. I've done that, and I will tell you right now that your spinach won't be the same).

Melt the butter in a large saucepan over low heat. Whisk in the flour briskly until smooth and continue to whisk slowly for 3 to 4 minutes until the butter is golden but not brown. Stir in the onion and garlic, then add 1 cup of the reserved spinach liquid and whisk slowly until smooth.

Increase the heat to medium, then add the heavy cream, black pepper, salt, celery seed, and monterrey jack cheese. Stir the mixture until the cheese has melted and the mixture is smooth. Add the spinach and jalapenos and stir to distribute the cheese mixture evenly throughout the spinach.

Grease a small casserole (I use a 5" x 9" loaf pan) with non-stick spray or butter, then tip the spinach into it, smoothing it out with a spatula. Sprinkle bread crumbs over the top, then bake at 400 degrees for 35-40 minutes.

Serves: 4-6

* While I love some heat, I have limits. Remember this little nightmare? That's where I draw my line on the capsaicin scale. Never again, you evil rogue poblano!

In My Next Thirty Years

2008-11-20T07:06:00.000-05:00

I think I'll take a moment, celebrate my age
The ending of an era and the turning of a page
Now it's time to focus in on where I go from here
Lord have mercy on my next thirty years.

In my next thirty years, I'm gonna have some fun
Try to forget about all the crazy things I've done
Maybe now I've conquered all my adolescent fears
And I'll do it better in my next thirty years.

In my next thirty years I'm gonna settle all the scores
Cry a little less, laugh a little more . . .

. . . Figure out just what I'm doing here,
In my next thirty years.

--Tim McGraw

Have a Cookie

2008-11-17T07:20:00.001-05:00

Mondays are hard, I know. You had so much fun over the weekend. You relaxed. You watched whatever you wanted on television and hung out with your kids.

Now it's Monday and through no fault of its own, this day is totally unloved by you.

Does that seem fair? It's the start of the workweek to be sure, and therefore it is not as pleasant as Sunday. However, I think that Wednesdays are far worse than Mondays. When you wake up on Wednesday, you haven't made much progress through the week. You're dead center, is where you are.

Friday, we can all agree, is terrific, but that's only by virtue of its proximity to Saturday. In fact, some of the most irritating work issues arise on Fridays afternoons. My husband once played golf with an executive who announced that he never returned calls after noon on Friday because nothing good ever comes up on Fridays.

Regardless of what you think about that man's work ethic, you have to agreed that he has a point. Fridays carry their own special burden of being so very close to a day off that when something happens to remind you that Friday is still a work day, you feel particularly put out. At least I do.

Yet Monday is the one that gets no respect. Poor Monday.

Have a cookie to help you get through your case of the Mondays, won't you?

Pine Nut Butter Cookies
Adapted from Geoffrey Zakarian's recipe at Food and Wine

1 stick plus 2 tablespoons (5 ounces) unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon anise seeds
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 large egg yolk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
4 tablespoons pine nuts

Using an electric mixer, beat the butter with the sugar, anise seeds and salt at medium speed until fluffy, 1 to 2 minutes. Add the egg yolk and vanilla and beat until combined. Add the flour and beat just until the dough begins to come together. The dough will be quite crumbly. Scrape the cookie dough onto a sheet of plastic wrap and form it into a log about 1 1/2 inches in diameter. Wrap and refrigerate the cookie dough until chilled, about 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Cut the cookie dough into 1/4-inch-thick slices. Arrange the cookies about 1 1/2 inches apart on an ungreased baking sheet. Press 3 or 4 pine nuts into the center of each cookie. Bake the cookies for 13 to 14 minutes, or until they are golden brown around the edges. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheets for 5 minutes, then transfer them to a wire rack to cool completely.

Makes: 1 dozen

Chef X

2008-11-11T17:07:00.011-05:00

If you could hire anyone to cook for you, whom would you choose?

I ask because my husband and I had an interesting discussion about this last night. He reads The Huffington Post, which receded from politics long enough this week to cover the possible picks for the position of White House Chef by President-Elect Obama.

It's been reported that the Obamas love Frontera Grill. When questioned about the possibility that he might be a pick, however, Rick Bayless demured:

We cook this really wonderful Mexican food, I don't think that's what they want at every state dinner. Maybe every once in awhile we can be guest chefs at the White House.

'Scuse me? I personally would love to have really wonderful Mexican food at every meal.

However, my husband points out that the White House Chef must be versed in good old American-style food. I suppose that he is right; the First Chef is a culinary ambassador to visiting Heads of State. Thomas Keller or Charlie Trotter might be good picks, assuming that (a) the American taxpayers can afford their going rate and (b) they would be interested in abandoning their empires to cook for the White House.

Still, if money was no object, how I would love to have authentic, well-prepared cuitlacoche crepes whenever I so desired . . . how about you? Whom would you choose?

Honey-Roasted Pear Salad with Thyme Verjus Dressing
Available here at Epicurious.com

The original recipe calls for a combination of butter lettuce and arugula, but butter lettuce was not available at my grocery store this week. Because I like the snappy taste of arugula, I used one bunch of that rather than trying to find a substitute for the butter lettuce.

Additionally, verjus is difficult to find, so I went with the combination of white grape juice and apple cider vinegar suggested in the original recipe.

The salad was not harmed by these improvisations and is delicious, particularly on a dark autumn night.

For the dressing
1/3 cup verjus or 3 tablespoons white grape juice and 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1/3 cup grapeseed oil
1 large shallot, finely chopped
2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves

For the salad
3 bunches fresh thyme sprigs
4 ripe but firm Bartlett pears (about 2 1/2 pounds), halved and cored
1/4 cup honey
1 bunch of arugula
6 ounces blue cheese, coarsely crumbled (I used a lovely, not-too-stinky Valdeon Blue wrapped in chestnut leaves)
1/2 cup hazelnuts, toasted, coarsely chopped

Whisk the ingredients for the dressing together in a small bowl. Season dressing to taste with salt and pepper, and set aside.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Scatter the thyme sprigs on a rimmed baking sheet or shallow baking dish. Place the pear halves, cut side down, on a work surface. Starting 1/2 inch from stem and leaving the pear half intact, cut each pear lengthwise into 1/2-inch-wide slices. Press the pear gently to fan the slices, then place atop the thyme sprigs. Drizzle the pears with honey and sprinkle with a pinch of salt and pepper.

Bake until the pears are tender, about 15 minutes. Let the pears stand on the baking sheet at least 30 minutes and up to 3 hours, until they are room temperature.

Place the arugula in a large bowl and drizzle with the dressing, tossing lightly to coat. Because arugula bruises easily, I suggest that you refrain from tossing with any utensils. Divide the salad among four plates and place the roasted pears atop the greens. Garnish the salads with the blue cheese and hazelnuts.

Serves: 4

On Plums, Dried Cherries, and a Feeling of Anticipation

2008-11-10T08:00:00.005-05:00

The holidays are here.

What? you say, No they aren't. Thanksgiving is several weeks away and Hanukkah and Christmas haven't even poked their noses around the corner at us.

I know that, okay, but stay with me on this one. The holidays have crept upon us on little mouse-feet and I will tell you how I realized it.

Take, for example, the surplus of ruby-colored fruits in your grocery store, the apples, the plums, the pageant-pink beets. Walking through the produce section makes you want to call your mom and bake 9x13 dishes of cinnamon-spiced treats.

And then there is the uptick in social engagements. Have you noticed this? I'm finding that I'm getting "it's been ages since we got together" e-mails from friends, followed by lunches, Saturday afternoons of shopping, and cozy evening dinners. There's nary a Christmas tree in sight, but I'm telling you, it's there, just out of sight.

Then, finally, there's just that certain feeling you get when the days shorten and the nights lengthen. When there's that sharp angle to the sunshine at three o'clock in the afternoon and the air is a bit crisp in the morning. Makes you want to hang a wreath on your door.

Some people take a hard line regarding when the holidays should begin. My mother, for example, will not, will not tolerate the encroachment of Christmas upon Thanksgiving's territory. She disdains the way American commerce crams Christmas down our throats in November.* The woman has never woken up at dawn the day after Thanksgiving in order to stand in line outside the mall doors, waiting for the stores to open. For her, the day after Thanksgiving is the season-opener for eggnog and Christmas cheer, not sharp elbows and shopping-cart-games of chicken.

When my sister and I were kids, the family would spend the day after Thanksgiving decorating our house with the scent of pinon wood in the air. Now that I am grown, I look forward to that day all year, almost more than I look forward to Christmas itself. I have continued my family's tradition in my own house, hauling my ornaments out of our back closet and listening to Christmas carols as I unwind long strings of lights.

This year, I'm convinced that the holidays arrived early. I've seen the signs, even though I haven't decorated my tree yet. In spite of my conviction that we've been given a green light to be festive, I'm going to stick with family tradition and wait to buy some eggnog. Be ready, though; after we clear away the turkey and stuffing on Thanksgiving day, I'll be decking the halls with my wreath and my good cheer.

Pork Tenderloin with Spiced Plum Chutney
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious.com

The chutney in this recipe is a harbinger of the holidays. With sweet plums, tart cherries, and a healthy dose of cinnamon, you'll be seeing dancing reindeer before you know it.

For the chutney

1/2 cup sugar
1/3 cup cider vinegar
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 teaspoon cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper
3 cups of plums, pitted and cut into 1-inch cubes
1/2 cup (generous) chopped red onion
1/3 cup dried tart cherries

For the pork

1 trimmed pork tenderloin, weighing no more than 3/4 pound
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 tablespoon olive oil
Fresh cilantro sprigs

To make the chutney
Combine the first 8 ingredients in a heavy, large Dutch oven. Bring to a simmer over low heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Add the plums, onion and dried cherries, then increase the heat to medium-high and cook until the mixture thickens slightly, about 5 minutes. Cool completely. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover and chill. Bring to room temperature before using.)

To make the pork
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Rub the cumin and a pinch of salt and pepper into the tenderloin. Heat the oil in heavy oven-proof skillet over high heat. Add the tenderloin and brown on all sides, about 5 minutes. Remove the skillet from the heat and brush the pork with 1/2 cup of chutney. Place the skillet in the oven and roast until a thermometer inserted into center of pork registers 155°F, brushing occasionally with another 1/2 cup of chutney, about 25 minutes. Slice the pork into medallions. Garnish with cilantro and serve with remaining chutney.

Serves: 2, with leftovers for lunch

*For those of you who haven't been to a mall this month, the holiday decorations are up, the choo-choo train is chugging, and you can all but sit on Santa's lap. My mother would not approve.

Overcome

2008-11-05T06:46:00.003-05:00

This is our moment. This is our time - to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth -

that out of many, we are one;
that while we breathe, we hope,
and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people:

Yes We Can.

If You Get One Thing Done Today

2008-11-04T05:26:00.005-05:00

No one wants to listen to one more person on a soapbox. Accordingly, I'll be brief.

If you do one thing today, let it be to cast your vote.

It's what we get to do here in America. All of us. We aren't frightened that someone might beat us when we leave the polls, imprison us, kidnap our children, or burn down our businesses because of our political views. We don't stay home from the polls out of dread. No. We vote and we get on with our day.

Think about that for a moment, would you?

With 305 million people in this country, we have nearly as many perspectives on how life should be lived. We have a history of struggle and persecution. In so many ways, we have little in common with each other. In spite our differences, though, we share a dogged commitment to bring about change by voting, not violence. This is what makes us American.

And what a blessing that is. To think, the most we have to worry about when it comes to voting is a long line.

I bet that you can wait in line for this chance to vote. So, please go vote today. It matters.

Because It's Not Winter Yet

2008-11-02T10:50:00.018-05:00

Your plate has been pretty full lately. All of these pumpkin tarts, acorn squash risottos, and fried apples must be elbowing each other for more room.

Autumn is terrific, it really is. After the fresh corn and tomatoes of late summer disappear, I love scooping mouthfuls of pie and whipped heavy cream from a bowl. I love the richness of toasted pecans and roasted hard squashes. And nothing beats fresh cranberry sauce.

Love the puckery taste of cranberries. Love it.

However, I find that I tend to overindulge in these offerings during the month of October. After several weeks of filling my shopping cart with cello-shaped squashes and bright apples, I need a breather.

Perhaps you feel the same way. How about something on the lighter side for lunch today? Let's make soup.

I found this version of stracciatella in last year's December issue of Food and Wine Magazine. Have some; you'll find that you have enough room for a few bites of sweet dessert later on.

Spinach and Egg-Drop Pasta Soup
Adapted from this Tom Valenti recipe in Food and Wine Magazine

1/2 pound tubetti, ditali or other small pasta
2 quarts chicken stock
4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
5 ounces baby spinach
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
4 large eggs, beaten
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, plus more for serving
Extra-virgin olive oil and lemon wedges, for drizzling

Cook the pasta in a pot of boiling salted water until al dente. Drain well.

In a saucepan, bring the stock to a simmer with the garlic; simmer for 3 minutes. Add the pasta and spinach and cook over moderate heat until the spinach wilts. Season with salt and pepper. Gently stir in the eggs, breaking them into long strands. Gently simmer the soup until the eggs are just firm, about 1 minute. Stir in the 1/2 cup of cheese. Ladle the soup into bowls, drizzle with olive oil and serve, passing lemon wedges and more cheese on the side.

Boo!

2008-10-31T06:24:00.004-04:00

Happy Halloween, everyone. After all the costume-donning, candy-nibbling, and running around after tiny goblins, you may feel the need to sit down for a breather. Just be sure to check your tuffet first for spiders.

Isn't this an awesome pumpkin? My dad, whose pumpkin carvings are legendary, carved Miss Muffet's little friend this year.

What to Feed a Cold

2008-10-30T07:17:00.010-04:00

How does it go? Feed a cold, starve a fever?

Like many of you out there, I have a cold. I woke up on Tuesday morning feeling out of sorts, a bit anxious for no reason, and very tired. I drove home from work that night with a raging sore throat and a headache. To my embarrassment, I was also a little weepy and feeling very sorry for myself. I wanted my mom, who lives two thousand miles away, to put her hand to my forehead and murmur, "You're a little warmish," then make me some soup.

My befuddled mind decided to attempt a spicy chickpea soup. I found that the soup's main virtue is that it can be made almost entirely from the canned contents of your pantry, so it could be one of those "in a pinch" meals upon which we all rely from time to time. That said, my first, diseased attempt at this recipe wasn't great.

So we'll skip it (and who wants a soup that was made by someone with a nasty head cold anyway?). Instead, I have another Southern recipe for you, something that I made before getting sick. So it's okay to try, don't be concerned.

Shrimp Burgers.

Now, I was a tad put off by the title. Burgers, for me, should be beef (and not tofu or tofurkey, or anything else that masquerades as something it is not). If it's not beef, it should be described as a sandwich. This may be a narrow-minded perspective, but I'm standing by it.

Steve really was fired up about the recipe, though, so I decided to give it a whirl. After all, I like shrimp and I like burgers. Stands to reason that I might like shrimp burgers, especially when they contain lemon zest and ginger.

Oh my, are these good eating. These are early-fall, bonfire on the beach in rolled up khakis good eating. They are bottled beer and a frisbee good eating. They are delicate little morsels of shrimp sweet with fresh corn and tangy with pepper vinegar and high-quality mayonnaise. Try 'em.

Shrimp Burgers
Adapted from the Lee Bros. Cookbook

1 pound of deveined, shelled shrimp
4 bay leaves
1 teaspoon pepper corns
1/4 cup of salt
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon scallions, chopped
1/8 cup fresh corn kernels, sliced directly from the cob (canned and frozen will not work here)
1 tablespoon fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated ginger
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1 tablespoon mayonnaise
3/4 cup unseasoned bread crumbs
Salt and pepper to taste
Pepper vinegar to taste (recipe follows)
1 egg, beaten
1 1/2 tablespoons canola oil

In a large saucepan, bring a quart of water to a boil, along with the bay leaves, pepper corns, 1/4 cup of salt, and cayenne pepper. Once the water comes to a boil, turn off the heat, add the shrimp, and cover. When the shrimp turn pink, within about 2 minutes, drain and run under cold water to stop the cooking. Coarsely chop the shrimp into small pieces.

In a large bowl, gently mix the shrimp with the scallions, corn, parsley, ginger, and lemon zest. Stir in the mayonnaise and bread crumbs, then add salt, pepper, and pepper vinegar to taste. Fold in the egg until it is evenly distributed. If the mixture seems too loose and wet, add bread crumbs in 1 tablespoon amounts until the shrimp mixture just holds its shape.

Form the shrimp mixture into 2 patties. Wrap the patties in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

After 30 minutes, remove the patties from the refrigerator and unwrap. Heat the canola oil in a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium-high heat until the oil shimmers, then add the patties and saute on both sides until golden-brown.

Serve on a toasted roll with tartar sauce or a squeeze of lemon.

Serves: 2

Pepper Vinegar
From the Lee Bros. Cookbook

1 cup of white wine vinegar
1 fresh Serrano chile, cut in half lengthwise

Combine the ingredients in a resealable container and swish around. Refrigerate for 24 hours, then use as your little heat-seeking heart desires. Keep the container refrigerated.

Makes: 1 cup

A Truth Universally Acknowledged

2008-10-27T17:25:00.001-04:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

. . . or a bowl of fried apples with bourbon caramel.

. . . topped with some cinnamon whipped cream. Happy fourth wedding anniversary, baby! Here's to another wonderful year.

Fried Apples with Bourbon Caramel
Adapted from The Lee Bros. Cookbook, winner of the 2007 James Beard Foundation Cookbook of the Year Award

1 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, and sliced into 1/8 inch slices
1/4 cup water
1/8 cup dark brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon, plus 1/4 teaspoon for cinnamon whipped cream
1/4 cup heavy cream, plus 1/2 cup for whipped cream
1/8 cup Kentucky bourbon

Heat the butter over medium-high heat in a heavy-bottomed medium-sized skillet until the froth begins to fade and the butter begins to turn gold around the edges. Add the apples and stir to coat in the butter. Cook over medium-high heat until the apples begin to soften, between 3 and 5 minutes.

Stir in the water, brown sugar, and 1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon, then continue to cook until the liquids have reduced almost completely to a thick film on the bottom of the pan, about 6 minutes. Add the 1/8 cup of heavy cream and stir, then cook until the juice is syrupy, about 2 minutes. Turn off the heat and stir in the bourbon. Allow the skillet to rest for 1-2 minutes, which will allow the alcohol to evaporate.

Meanwhile, beat the remaining 1/2 cup of cream and the 1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon in an upright mixer on high speed until the whipped cream holds stiff peaks.

Serve the apple slices in a shallow bowl with plenty of the bourbon caramel spooned over them, then top with a generous dollop of cinnamon whipped cream.

* With thanks to Jane Austen for the title and opening sentence of this post.

And I Think Very Fondly of Food

2008-10-22T08:34:00.001-04:00

Well. I come to you with a sheepish smile and an apology.

I have no recipe for you today. I tried, I really did. I made meatballs with smoked paprika on Monday night and I nearly convinced myself that they were a success. And looking back, I now see that the flavor of the meatballs hid behind the full skirts of the 2006 Peter Kemmer Pinot Nero that we were drinking that night. The meatballs looked good, but the wine was inherently better in taste. A chorus girl next to an opera singer, that's what we had.

The next day, I ate a few leftover meatballs for lunch and that's when I saw through the stage makeup and frou. They were kind of meh, to be exact.

Plus, you know what? Meatballs do not photograph well at all.

So I'm not going to foist that recipe upon you.

Instead, I want to ask you a question (or two). If you could keep only five of your cookbooks, which ones would you keep and why?

The latest volume of The Art of Eating poses this question. If you are not familiar with AoE, it is a literary, geographical read about food and I have been enjoying its quarterly publications for about a year. Edward Behr, the publisher of AoE and the author of this particular piece, found that his selection of nine skewed toward the cuisines of France and Italy. He writes:

The cooking of Provence is so much home cooking, and the Mediterranean flavors are so much an antidote to the northern place where I live, that this is the everyday food I'd like to eat for most of the rest of my life.

Because Mr. Behr presumably hopes to sell as many subscriptions to AoE as possible, I tactfully will refrain from listing his selections, interesting as they are.

Instead, I'll give you mine, a list of five:

1. The Foster's Market Cookbook: Recipes for Morning, Noon and Night, by Sara Foster
2. Christina's Cookbook: Recipes and Stores from a Northwest Island Kitchen, by Christina Orchid
3. The New Basics Cookbook, by Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins
4. How to Cook Everything, by Mark Bittman
5. The Food You Crave, by Ellie Krieger

The first two cookbooks are firmly rooted in geography. Foster's Market is located in Durham, North Carolina and offers excellent New South cooking. Christina's is a restaurant on San Juan Island in the Pacific Northwest offering micro-local food. I like to open a cookbook and feel like I can understand a place better through its dishes and ingredients. When I read these two cookbooks, I feel rooted in their time and their place.

The New Basics and How to Cook Everything are favorites of mine for their breadth. These two have the recipe you need, no matter what you're cooking. The New Basics was published in the mid-eighties and reflects some of the affectations of the time. However, I find that it has aged well and the recipes are reliable. How to Cook Everything is one of the cookbooks that helped me dip a toe into the waters of cooking. I refer to it frequently and compare recipes that I find online with ones in Bittman's book to help me evaluate whether an online find is likely to be a success.

Finally, The Food You Crave might be dismissed by snobs as mere offspring of the Food Network, but let me tell you, I love this cookbook. Ellie Krieger, a registered dietitian, offers low-fat, low-sugar recipes that are utterly satisfying and she does so without using "diet" products such as Splenda. I do not think of her cookbook as a volume of diet food; I think of it as good, hearty eating.

Those are my five. How about you?

* With thanks to Ogden Nash for the title of this post. It comes from "The Clean Plater."

The photographs in this post were taken at the Wilmington, North Carolina Farmer's Market in September.

Seeking, Finding

2008-10-20T08:12:00.003-04:00

How do you decide what to cook?

This is a question that I hear a lot. I used to shrug; recipes would just jump out at me, I would try them, then I would write about them.

To a certain extent, this process still works for me. I browse online collections of recipes in search of something interesting. In doing so, I make myself available to whatever recipe wants to jump out at me. My criteria for those "jumpers outer" aren't special and vary with my mood. My eye may be caught by an unexpected combination of ingredients, an exotic-sounding dish, or just something that sounds like it will photograph well and taste wonderful.

Sometimes, though, I want something specific. That kind of search is easy: I just need to narrow down a million "lamb ragu" recipes to the one that suits me best.

And then there are the days when I feel like I want something particular, but can't put a name to the desire. Is it a baked good? A vegetable dish? Does it include cinnamon? Those days are tough. My patience gets tested over and over as I click past dozens, sometimes hundreds, of recipes in a random search for that one I know I will want, if only I could find it.

Last Thursday was just such a day. Around lunchtime, I started sifting through recipes. No, not this one; I'm tired of pork. No, that one does not grab me. Maybe I want something green and leafy? No...

This went on for a while. By late afternoon, I was grumpy and still had no ideas for that night's dinner.

Then, I found it: Caramelized leek soup.

The leeks are cooked in a bit of butter until they caramelize, then the pan gets deglazed with vermouth. Chicken stock rounds out the edges. At once rich and nuanced, this soup might be best served from a warm coffee mug, the big ceramic kind whose handle is large enough to be grasped by four of your fingers. If you spill a little on your sweater as you spoon mouthfuls of buttery, nutty leeks, you'll just shrug and continue eating until the last little bit is gone.

Caramelized Leek Soup
From this January 1998 Gourmet recipe, available on Epicurious

2 pounds leeks (white and pale green parts only; about 2 bunches)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 1/4 teaspoons sugar
1/4 cup vermouth
3 1/2 cups chicken broth

Halve leeks lengthwise and thinly slice crosswise. In a large bowl of cold water wash leeks well and lift from water into a large sieve to drain. In a 6-quart heavy kettle cook leeks in butter over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until some begin to turn golden, about 40 minutes. Stir in sugar and cook, stirring occasionally, 10 minutes. Stir in vermouth and cook, stirring occasionally, until liquid is evaporated and most leeks are golden, 10 to 15 minutes. Deglaze kettle with 1/2 cup broth and cook, stirring occasionally, 10 minutes more, until liquid is evaporated and leeks are deep golden. Add remaining 3 cups broth and bring soup just to a boil. Season soup with salt and pepper. Serve soup, garnished with chives.

Serves: 4

The Things We Cherish

2008-10-15T08:14:00.001-04:00

I come to you today with a public service announcement, prefaced by a question or two: When was the last time you backed up the files on your computer?

A week? A month? Never?

Folks, it might be time to do a little autumn cleaning. Consider the stuff stored on that computer of yours. I did not give it much thought until ours went kaput during a thunderstorm three weeks ago.

That Sunday evening, as Steve and I sat chatting, an almighty bolt of lightening illuminated the room, sucking away the light from our lamps and causing us to jump (and me to screech) at the blast of simultaneous thunder. A nearby transformer popped like a turquoise firework.

When the lights came back on, our computer was dead and unresponsive.

As if trapped in a near-death experience, I caught mental glimpses of what we had lost: our wedding vows; photos from our pre-marriage years, from our wedding, our honeymoon, our family gatherings, the infancies of our niece and nephew. A photo of my husband's grandfather, whom we lost in August, teaching my husband how to carve a turkey at our first Thanksgiving dinner as a married couple.

We had not backed up any of it, the most important things we own.

I could not even cry. Steve went into overdrive the next morning, searching for companies that could rescue hard drives. And, bless him, he found a place that would operate on the machine and tell us whether our information could be recovered.

It could and they did.

This weekend, Steve transferred all of those precious things to our new computer. We have a backup as well.

So, what's on your computer? Perhaps you should think about backing it up, just in case.

I tend to make risotto during times of emotional turmoil. The computer crash called for comfort food, big time. This recipe has all the creaminess of good risotto, plus savory roasted squash and a zing of goat cheese. It is good for the worried soul.

Shiitake Mushroom Risotto with Roasted Acorn Squash and Goat Cheese
A Fritter Original

1 whole acorn squash, halved and seeded
1 tablespoon olive oil, plus 1 teaspoon
1/8 cup of shallots, minced
1/2 cup of risotto rice
1/4 cup of Amontillado sherry (a tawny sherry with caramel notes)
6 cups of chicken stock
1/2 pound of fresh shiitake mushrooms, stems removed and wiped clean, sliced into 1/4-inch pieces
2 teaspoons of soft (sometimes labeled "fresh") goat cheese
1 teaspoon of fresh thyme leaves, divided into 1/2 teaspoon amounts
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Take the acorn squash halves and drizzle with 1 teaspoon of olive oil. Sprinkle with a pinch of salt and pepper, then place the squash cut-side down on a sheet of aluminum foil on a baking sheet. Roast the squash for 25 minutes, until tender (insert a knife through the rind; if it slides in easily, the squash is done). Set aside to cool to room temperature.

In a medium saucepan, heat the chicken stock over medium-high heat until it simmers. Reduce the heat to low and cover.

Heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a separate medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the shallots and stir to coat in the olive oil. Saute the shallots, stirring occasionally, until they are translucent.
Add the risotto rice and stir to coat the rice in the oil and shallots. Allow the rice to toast, stirring, for 2 minutes. Stir the Amontillado sherry into the rice and reduce the liquid by half (about 2 minutes), while continuing to stir.

In half-cup amounts, begin adding the hot chicken stock. Continue to stir between additions of stock, until the liquid is absorbed almost completely. You will start to feel viscosity as the time to add more stock approaches. Continue adding stock until the rice is al dente.

Meanwhile, cut cubes of roasted squash away from the rind. Once the risotto is al dente, add one more 1/2 cup of chicken stock then gently fold the squash and shiitake mushrooms into the risotto. Add salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste, and reduce the heat to low. Let the risotto sit until the mushrooms and squash are heated through.

Ladle servings of risotto into shallow bowls and sprinkle the fresh thyme leaves and goat cheese over the top. Serve while piping hot.

Earthy red wines pair well with this dish. We drank a 2002 Don Pascual Tannat that complemented the subtle shiitakes in the risotto.

Umbrian Fish Stew

2008-10-10T07:30:00.007-04:00

I can't prove this, but I am positive that I was a normande fish wife in a previous life. I have never met a fish I didn't like (except gefilte fish, but that's a story for another time).

Not everyone feels the same way, I understand.

This dish calls for cod, but it would be wonderful without fish. For one thing, it is pretty to look at, in a colorful way. For another thing, it is full of vegetables, with just enough citrus to make you lick your lips in appreciation. Give it a try!

Umbrian Fish Stew
A Fritter Original

1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 cup yellow onion, chopped
3 cloves of garlic, smashed
1/4 cup of carrots, chopped
1 medium fennel bulb, chopped
1 orange bell pepper, seeded, cored, and chopped
1 cup of dry white wine
2 cups of water
1/4 cup of freshly-squeezed orange juice
1 28-ounce can of whole or crushed tomatoes
1 bay leaf
1/4 teaspoon of smoked paprika
1 pound of cod
1/8 cup of flat-leaf parsley, chopped
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan or stock pot over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, carrots, and fennel and stir to coat with the olive oil. Saute the vegetables until softened, about 5-6 minutes. Stir occasionally to ensure even cooking. Add the orange bell pepper and cook another 2-3 minutes, stirring.

Turn the heat up to medium-high and add the wine. Allow it to reduce for 2-3 minutes, then stir in the water, orange juice, and tomatoes. If you are using whole tomatoes, crush them a bit with your spoon. Add the bay leaf and smoked paprika, and simmer for 8-10 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium-low, then stir in the parsley. Nestle the cod into the stew so that it is covered completely, and cover the pot and cook for 4-5 minutes, until the cod is opaque when you lift it. Gently flake the cod into chunks.

Serve while hot with crusty bread, a green salad, and a glass of the wine you used in the stew.

Serves: 4

Studies Abroad

2008-10-08T08:09:00.002-04:00

What's the first dinner dish that you learned to prepare? I mean, the first one that was not the result of a can in one hand and a can opener in the other.

Maybe it was grilled cheese, maybe it was a salad of some kind.

For me, it may have been baked pasta. (I say may have been because I recall making 3-Alarm Chili from a packet around the age of twelve. However, sticking to my own rules, that chili technically came from a packet, so it does not count.)

This is baked pasta, as prepared by a twenty-year-old with a small dorm kitchen: you boil some penne or rigatoni, smother it in a sludgy sauce, spoon some ricotta over it all (okay, okay, the ricotta came from a container), then top it with shredded mozzarella. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes and devour like a starving wolf with your closest friends.

Even though I'm a bit older and own better appliances, I still enjoy baked pasta in all its carby forms. I just prefer some nuance with my meals now, so when I came across this version of Catalan fideua, it clicked in my mind as something worth learning.

Catalan fideua is, essentially, a Spanish baked pasta dish. Unlike my dorm room version, fideua has dazzle. The chorizo gives it a mighty kick of spice, while the paprika mellows the whole plate with sultry, smoky undertones. When you take the pasta out of the oven, you will find a lovely crust of pasta covering a steamy, tomatoey mound of pasta, sausage and vegetables.

This is the baked pasta of your college years, after spending a semester abroad in Barcelona.

Catalan Fideua
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
1 large garlic clove, minced
1/2 pound crimini mushrooms, quartered
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
Pinch of cayenne pepper
1 medium tomato, peeled, seeded, chopped
1/2 of a green bell pepper, cored and diced
1 1/2 cup of chicken stock
1/3 cup dry white wine (I used a pinot grigio with good results)
2 links of Spanish chorizo, cut into 1/2 slices on the diagonal
1/2 pound fideo or angel hair pasta
1 tablespoon fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Heat the olive oil over medium-high heat in a heavy, deep skillet, such as a paella pan.

Add the onion and garlic and cook until tender, stirring frequently, about 8 minutes. Add the mushrooms and sauté for about 4 minutes. Add the smoked paprika and cayenne and stir just until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the tomato and green pepper and sauté another 2 minutes. Finally, add the chicken stock, wine, and chorizo.

Bring the mixture to a simmer. Break the pasta in half and nestle it into the liquid in the pan. Cook until pasta is tender, stirring occasionally, about 8 minutes. Set the skillet in the oven and bake until all liquid is absorbed and pasta is crusty, about 25 minutes.

Sprinkle with the parsley and serve.

Serves: 2

Elegance

2008-10-05T07:00:00.000-04:00

Don't you love those little unexpected moments of elegance in life?

I'm not talking about the fancy-shmancy event that forces you and your significant other into black tie and stiff shoes. I'm talking about the unanticipated moments; the ones you don't see coming, the ones that seem almost out of context.

Take roast chicken, for example.

I do not for the life of me know how chicken could seem sophisticated to me, yet the smell of a whole bird roasting in my oven gives me a little thrill. Usually, I roast a chicken on a Sunday afternoon while I'm wearing a pair of jeans and doing something pedestrian like watering my African violets or sorting the recycling. In spite of this, a whiff of roasting chicken and thyme makes me think of grown-up dinner parties, of dangling earrings, of funny stories being told over adult laughter, and of good wine. I think of white taper candles flickering in tall holders, of jazz and old standards audible through the lively conversation.

Is this a memory from my childhood? From my own adulthood?

I can't recall this exact meal from anytime in my past, that's the odd part of this impression. Yet it strikes me whenever I roast a whole chicken.

Memories or impressions aside, roast chicken is a terrific entree for an intimate dinner party of friends. For one thing, it presents so beautifully. For another, it is delicious.

Maybe I'll wear a pair of dangling earrings tonight, just to do this bird justice.

Roast Chicken
A Fritter Original

1 whole 3-pound chicken, innards removed
2 tablespoons of olive oil, plus 1 additional tablespoon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 lemon, quartered
3 cloves of garlic, unpeeled but sliced open at the ends
1 handful of fresh thyme, plus a few extra sprigs for garnish
1 large yellow onion, peeled and quartered
2 carrots, peeled, and chopped in half
1 fennel bulb, halved and ends trimmed
2 parsnips, peeled and ends trimmed
4 strips of bacon

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees, setting your oven to "broil."

Rinse the bird and pat it dry with paper towels. Place the chicken breast side down into a heavy-bottomed, oven-proof skillet. Roasting any bird breast side down ensures juiciness and prevents the over-roasting of the breast meat, which cooks faster than the thighs.

Drizzle 2 tablespoons of olive oil over the bird and coat it using your hands. Sprinkle the chicken with the salt and pepper inside and out. Insert one of the lemon quarters, the fresh thyme, and the garlic cloves into the cavity of the chicken. Spread the strips of bacon evenly over the top of the chicken.

After carefully washing your hands, assemble the onion quarters, carrots, fennel, and the remaining lemon quarters around the chicken and drizzle these with the remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Sprinkle a pinch of salt and pepper over the vegetables.

Broil the chicken at 500 degrees for 5-8 minutes, until the skin starts to brown. Reduce the heat to 375 degrees and cook for another 30-35 minutes. The chicken is done when a meat thermometer reads 160 degrees, and the juices in the space between the breast and the thigh run clear.

Carve the chicken by carefully turning it over and running a sharp knife down the center breast bone. Then carve a parallel line down toward the wing then toward the thigh, meeting the first cut at the breast bone. You should come away with the whole breast. You can pop the thigh bones out by inserting a knife into the joints and breaking off the bone. Wings can be separated in a similar manner. Additional carving assistance can be found here.

Assemble the meat on a plate , garnish with a few sprigs of thyme, and surround with roasted vegetables. Serve.

Serves: 2 hungry adults

Cranberry Jam Cookies

2008-10-01T07:00:00.002-04:00

We have a lot of desserts here at Fritter, don't we? It's no secret that I would eat dessert first if I could. Even when I have a lovely eggplant salad or savory rainbow trout on my plate, I've got one eye trained on the platter back there in the kitchen, hiding under a tent of aluminum foil. I know what's under there; it's dessert.

And it's waiting to be tasted.

If I really had to choose (don't make me), cookies would be high on my "can't live without" list of desserts. Except for the saturated fat and the calories, cookies are--in many ways--a perfect food item.

Think about it. When someone hosts a potluck party and they ask you to bring a dessert, what should you bring? Not cake, wonderful as it is, because cake is so high-maintenance. It requires additional plates, additional silverware, and some kind of serving piece. The same goes for pie and pudding. Plus, you worry about smudged icing and collapsing interiors as you nervously drive over to your friend's house.

Cookies, on the other hand, require no such concierging. Cookies are a one-bite wonder. You can stack them in a container and go. You can pass a plate of them around without the need for anything other than a napkin.

I made these cookies twice in the last week, once for a get-together at my friend Lauren's and again for last night's Rosh Hashanah dinner at my in-laws. They were a hit both times, so I decided to share them with you.

My friend Sara enjoyed them so much she decided to experiment with the filling. She reports that you can fill the cookies with chocolate if you melt it first, then add it to the indentations.

Cranberry Jam Cookies
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 sticks (1/2 pound) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3 tablespoons of cranberry jam (I used FiordiFrutta, which has a smooth texture free of large fruit)

In a medium mixing bowl, whisk together the flour and salt. In a separate mixer, beat the butter and sugar until very pale and fluffy, about 4 minutes, then beat in egg and vanilla. At low speed, mix in the flour mixture in 3 batches just until a crumbly dough forms. Divide the dough in half and form two well-packed logs, then chill, wrapped in plastic wrap, until firm, about 1 hour.

When the dough is thoroughly chilled, preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle. Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper or aluminum foil.

Slice a 1/2-inch piece of dough from the end of one of the logs and roll the dough into a ball in the palm of your hand. Then, flatten the ball slightly into a disk (to 1 inch wide and less than 1/2 inch thick). Make a deep indentation in center of the round with wooden spoon handle. Make more cookies, arranging them 1 inch apart on baking sheets.

Fill the indentations in each cookie with about 3/4 teaspoon of the cranberry jam, then place both cookie sheets in the oven.

Bake until the cookies are baked through and golden-brown on edges, 15 to 20 minutes. Cool on baking sheets 5 minutes, then transfer to racks to cool completely.

Makes: 18 cookies

To Autumn

2008-09-28T07:00:00.002-04:00

My goodness, have I enjoyed the last few days. A cool front rolled into Fort Lauderdale on Friday morning, inviting us to turn off the A/C and open our windows. I read a lot, then picked and chose among our household chores. That's a privilege of autumn cleaning, I think.

I purchased a new disposal for our kitchen, but I did not clean out the closet in our home office. I washed and ironed the curtains in our bedroom, but I did not end up weeding our front flower beds.

I did not end up painting my guest room after all, but I did do a lot of cooking.

In fact, I was inspired to try something I've never done before.

I made a pumpkin tart--from actual pumpkins.

If you live up north, sugar pumpkins may be everywhere around this time of year. Piled in huge decorative mounds, on top of straw underneath a reddening maple, waiting to be picked up by a pink-nosed shopper in long-sleeves. . . perhaps you detect a note of longing?

Autumn is my favorite season. When I lived in Massachusetts, I loved the golds and reds in the trees, the way I could see my breath in the mornings, and the totally different wardrobe that I could haul out of storage. I'd jog along the Charles River in a fleece, watching collegiate eights row toward the Basin in the quickly-darkening evening. I miss all of this in the autumn.

Ah well, here in South Florida, we can get a tan in January.

Sadly, though, we come up short in pie-worthy pumpkin department. We end up using those ochre-colored cans of pumpkin puree instead.

On Friday, however, I lucked out and found these chubby little beauties.

My recipe called for 1 1/2 cups of solid-pack pumpkin. After some reading, I decided to roast the pumpkins in the simplest manner possible: cut in half, seeded, and sitting cut-side down on a baking sheet at 375 degree for about 50 minutes.

I love the smell of roasting pumpkins. The aroma was the base note of my afternoon, while I prepared the tart pastry shell and listened to Michele Norris on All Things Considered.

If you are a pastry novice, here are a few suggestions: First, always use cold butter cut into 1 tablespoon amounts, and do not use a food processor--you'll end up with dense, chewy dough. Second, make sure that you have a few tablespoons of ice-cold water on hand for adding to the flour. The water must be ice-cold, not room temperature, and not just a little cool. Finally, use a fork to incorporate the water into the flour. You won't be stirring so much as "fluffing" the flour with the tines of the fork. The dough will be very crumbly when it is done. You'll know that your dough has enough water when you can pinch a bit of the dough together and it holds. It's work, but it's worth it.

Later on in the evening, my husband and I watched the presidential debate and scooped golden pieces of pumpkin tart into our mouths. I decided that when Keats wrote about that "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness," he might have been talking about a pumpkin tart with cranberry jam.

Pumpkin Tart with Cranberry Jam
Adapted from this recipe and this recipe at Gourmet

In terms of special equipment, you will want to have the following:
A 9-inch fluted tart pan with a removable bottom
A rolling pin with a pastry sleeve
Pastry scraper
Pie weights or dried beans heavy enough to weigh down the crust during its first baking

For the tart shell
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 stick (1/2 cup) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1 tablespoon pieces
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 to 5 tablespoons ice water

For the tart filling
1 cup heavy cream
1 1/2 cups canned solid-pack pumpkin (not pie filling)
2/3 cup packed light brown sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup cranberry jam (I used FiordiFrutta)

To make the tart shell
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Toss the flour and the salt together in a medium bowl until combined. Cut in the butter in 1 tablespoon amounts until finely crumbled. You can do this either using two knives or a pastry blender, but do not use a food processor (see the note in my narrative above).

Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of ice-cold water over the mixture and fluff it with a fork to incorporate. Continue doing this until the dough holds together when you pinch a piece with your thumb and index finger. The dough will remain very crumby at this point. If the dough does not hold together, add an additional tablespoon of water and try again.

Flour a clean work surface generously and turn the dough out onto it. Shape the dough gently with your hands into a disk and use a rolling pin to begin to flatten the dough out. Continue rolling out in all directions until you have a disk large enough to cover your tart ring. with 1 - 2 inches of extra dough on all sides.

Gently pick the dough up (using the pastry scraper if needed) and lay it over the tart ring. Press the dough against the edges of the tart ring and trim any excess. Chill for 30 minutes, until the dough is firm.

Prick the dough on the bottom of the tart pan lightly with a fork, then line with foil and add the pie weights or beans to keep the foil pressed down against the dough. Bake for 25 minutes, until the crust is golden. Allow the crust to cool in the tart ring for 30 minutes.

To make the filling
Whisk together the cream, the pureed pumpkin, the brown sugar, the eggs, the cinnamon, the ginger, and the salt until smooth.

To put it all together
Place the tart pan on a baking sheet. Spread the cranberry jam evenly over the bottom of the tart pastry shell, then pour pumpkin mixture over preserves until it almost fills the shell to the top.

Bake the pumpkin tart until the filling is set, 50 minutes to 1 hour. Cool the tart in the pan on a rack, about 1 hour. Remove the tart from the tart ring before serving.

Serves: 8

* With thanks to John Keats for the title of this post

Life is a Caper

2008-09-25T13:47:00.006-04:00

I began writing this post over a cup of coffee and a headache from a wee bit too much wine last night, having had a celebratory meal with my husband and refilled my glass with a lovely Ken Wright pinot noir a time too many.

I am starting a new job on Monday. Yesterday afternoon, I concluded my obligations at my previous position. I carried my wall-hangings and office plant down to my car, gave hugs and said my good-byes, and departed for Whole Foods to purchase some items for dinner.

Driving away from my office building, I smiled. We always miss certain things when we leave jobs, don't we? I do, even when I am looking forward to an exciting new opportunity. I have been fortunate to have many colleagues whose company I enjoy. I'll miss seeing them, and the pretty orchids in the lobby of my building, and the way all of the security guards know my name and smile when they see me. I'll even miss that darn candy box in the kitchen outside my office.

But, Monday brings enticing new responsibilities, new colleagues, and probably a new candy box. Until then, I will relax and enjoy a little time off.

The next few days will be filled with cooking and some neglected home improvement projects. Maybe I will paint our guest room. That room really deserves to be a warm caramel color. Maybe I will do some gardening; read a book; enjoy a spa treatment.

The best part about this mini-vacation of mine is that I have no fixed plans. That's the best part about having some time off: being able to succumb to your whims. I'll see what I feel like doing tomorrow, when I wake up with the sun already high in the sky.

Chicken Piccata with Artichokes and Olives
Adapted from this recipe at Food and Wine

1/2 cup fine dry bread crumbs
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
2 6-ounce chicken cutlets, pounded to about 1/8 inch thick
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
8 pitted Kalamata olives, drained and coarsely chopped
1 15-ounce can of artichoke hearts packed in water, well-drained and quartered
1/2 cup chicken stock or low-sodium broth
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon drained capers
1 tablespoon chopped flat-leaf parsley

In a large, shallow bowl, combine the bread crumbs with the salt and pepper. Dredge the chicken cutlets in the seasoned bread crumbs and shake off the excess.

Heat a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat and melt the butter. When the foam subsides, increase the heat to medium-heat and add the chicken. Cooke the chicken, turning once, until golden brown outside and white throughout, about 3 minutes per side. Transfer the cutlets to a platter and cover with foil to keep warm.

In the same skillet, add the olives and artichoke hearts. Cook over moderately high heat, stirring, until heated through, about 2 minutes. Add the chicken stock, lemon juice and capers and boil for 2 minutes, stirring. Spoon the artichoke and olive sauce over the chicken, sprinkle with the parsley and serve.

Serves: 2

I Don't Miss the Frito Pie

2008-09-21T07:00:00.000-04:00

It's back to school time.

I miss the sense of excitement that came with returning to school. Yes, I was one of those kids. I loved the fresh box of sharpened colored pencils, the stiff binding on my new composition notebooks, the bright construction paper letters on the walls of the classroom. The sense of ownership when you were assigned to your desk. I miss the rush of curiosity about our new teacher--she's nice; she's cranky; she has a really big purse and Jack's older brother's best friend says that she keeps mice in it.

Lunch was not so fun. An elementary school cafeteria is a little shop of horrors, food-wise. Remember what you ate in third grade?

I do. Oh yes, I do.

Square hamburgers sitting in steaming, gristly water. Grey meatloaf. A bizarre dish called "Frito pie," composed of a handful of Fritos topped with a scoop of canned chili and melted yellow cheese. Nothing good happened to anyone on Frito pie day.

Other days were better. Pizza day was huge; we waited all month for it. My school offered a surprisingly crisp and varied salad bar and it was around this time that I developed an appreciation for salad as a meal.

I still have a weakness for macaroni and cheese, which also was offered regularly.

Now that I am grown, I prefer a lower fat, more nutritious form of the good old mac 'n cheese. Ellie Krieger has a terrific recipe that I make frequently. Because it includes pureed butternut squash, you can satisfy your inner child's hankering for an old favorite while respecting your adult figure's need for something healthy.

Isn't it fun to learn something new?

Ellie Krieger's Macaroni and Four Cheeses
available in Ellie Krieger's The Foods You Crave and here

Cooking spray
1 pound elbow macaroni
2 (10-ounce) packages frozen pureed winter squash (I use frozen butternut squash)
2 cups 1 percent lowfat milk
4 ounces extra-sharp Cheddar, grated (about 1 1/3 cups)
2 ounces Monterrey jack cheese, grated (about 2/3 cup)
1/2 cup part-skim ricotta cheese
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon powdered mustard
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons unseasoned bread crumbs
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan
1 teaspoon olive oil

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Coat a 9 by 13-inch baking pan with cooking spray.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the macaroni and cook until tender but firm, about 5 to 8 minutes. Drain and transfer to a large bowl.

Meanwhile, place the frozen squash and milk into a large saucepan and cook over a low heat, stirring occasionally and breaking up the squash with a spoon until it is defrosted. Turn the heat up to medium and cook until the mixture is almost simmering, stirring occasionally, until almost smooth. Remove the pan from heat and stir in the Cheddar, jack cheese, ricotta cheese, salt, mustard and cayenne pepper. Pour cheese mixture over the macaroni and stir to combine. Transfer the macaroni and cheese to the baking dish.

Here is where I depart from Ellie's recipe a bit. Sprinkle the bread crumbs over the macaroni and cheese, then grate a bit of Parmesan cheese over the top. Bake for 20 minutes, then broil for 3 minutes so the top is crisp and nicely browned.

Serves: 6-10 adults

It Looks Like a Watermelon

2008-09-18T17:47:00.008-04:00

Summer is almost over.

For those of you up north, I'm sure that change is afoot. Chilly air is creeping into your mornings and evenings. Tree leaves are mellowing to gold overhead. Some of you are longing for a wooly pair of socks around four o'clock in the afternoon as you slog through the rain--the drizzly, foggy rain.

Do you miss the summer yet? Has the novelty of the first hard squash worn off yet? Have you found that last year's turtleneck sweater itches a little under your chin? Deep down, do you kind of wish you could have one last dip in the pool?

Fort Lauderdale is one of those peculiar places where time stands still. We have no seasons. As I wrote in my very first post, there is no autumn here, only "a more dangerous summer." It remains hot. It remains sunny. The iguanas loll on the bricks, fearless and fat. On the weekend, I loll with them.

I'd like to bring a little bit of summer to you from down here in steamy South Florida. Put on your flip-flops and have a slice of my mother's ice cream watermelon. Bring your sunscreen; you'll need it.

Ice Cream Watermelon
A Lizzie Original

1 pint of vanilla ice cream
1/2 gallon of lime sherbert
1/2 gallon of raspberry sherbert
2 cups milk chocolate chips
1 set of metal nesting bowls (3 bowls, small, medium, and large)

Place the largest of the nesting bowls in the freezer for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, remove the container of lime sherbert from the freezer and allow it to sit for 5 minutes, long enough to become a bit soft, but not drippy.

Remove the large nesting bowl from the freezer. Scoop the entire contents of the lime sherbert container into the large bowl and smooth it into an even layer along the bottom and sides of the bowl. This will be the "rind" of your ice cream watermelon. Tuck a layer of clear plastic wrap against the lime sherbert and place the medium nesting bowl on top of the plastic wrap so that it nestles over the lime sherbert layer and moulds it in place. Return to the freezer for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, remove the vanilla ice cream from the freezer and allow it to sit for 5 minutes to soften.

Remove the large bowl from the freezer and lift the medium bowl and plastic wrap. The lime sherbert layer should be fairly smooth and even in depth, and it should be firm. Spread the entire pint of vanilla ice cream over the lime sherbert in an even layer. This will be the inner white part of the watermelon rind. Tuck a layer of clear plastic wrap against the vanilla ice cream and place the small nesting bowl on top of the plastic wrap so that it nestles over the vanilla layer and moulds it in place. Return to the freezer for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, remove the raspberry sherbert from the freezer and allow it to sit for 5 minutes to soften. Once it is moderately soft (but not drippy), scoop the entire contents of the container into a bowl and fold in 2 cups of chocolate chips. This mixture will be the flesh and seeds of the ice cream watermelon.

Remove the large bowl from the freezer and lift the small bowl and plastic wrap. Add the raspberry sherbert so that the "rind" is filled and it appears as though you are looking at a half of a watermelon. Draw a spatula across the top if you need to even it out.

Freeze the ice cream watermelon for at least 4 hours. When you are ready to serve it, fill your sink with lukewarm water and submerse the bottom few inches of the large bowl for 1 minute. Invert the bowl onto a chilled platter and serve by cutting slices of the "watermelon."

Serves: 6-8

The Fiesta

2008-09-14T08:08:00.000-04:00

Steve and I own a black Fiesta grill. I have an emotional attachment to the Fiesta because I watched it survive total destruction one morning. It's a fighter, this grill.

We purchased the grill in early June 2005, a few months after we bought our house. In the sunny hours after work, we sat in the pool, listening to the happy sizzle of steak and tilapia en papillote.

As the summer eased into autumn, the heat remained but the daylight receded. Soon, I was leaving work at twilight. We began to cook dinner indoors again. We thought that the grill would be a weekend item until the following May. We were wrong.

Hurricane Wilma hit the west coast of Florida on the morning of October 24, 2005, one day after our first wedding anniversary. Steve and I put up our hurricane shutters over the windows that are not made of impact-resistant glass, and tucked our grill into our heavy metal garden shed. I'm glad that we did, because instead of weakening, the storm actually drew power as it roared east across the Everglades.

The power flickered once, then died as the storm approached. We were slammed by the eye wall winds and from our bedroom window (made of hurricane impact glass, thanks to the previous owners--no really, thank you), we watched the walls of our garden shed crumple and take flight. A large plant stand scraped along the side of our house like something out of a horror movie, then collapsed on top of the contents of our destroyed shed.

After a piece of someone's gutter smacked the glass an inch away from my nose, I spent the rest of the storm cowering with my face in my hands.

Once the sun emerged and the winds relaxed, we ventured outside, blinking in the brightness. Mercifully, our neighborhood sustained only minor damage, our neighbors themselves were unharmed and our house was fine.

Our beloved grill was pinned under the heavy wood frame of the plant stand. After an hour of tense negotiations, we were able to extricate the grill and set it upright. My father, who came to Fort Lauderdale for a visit right before the storm hit, held the propane tank under the scummy water of our pool for thirty seconds to check for leaks. Finding that no bubbles were escaping from the canister, he attached it to the grill and turned it on. It was dinner time, after all.

Now I'm not going to bore you with a description of my many, many anxieties. Those will manifest themselves in my writing on their own, I'm sure. Let's just say that I was convinced--convinced--that the propane tank had cracked and that the merest flicker of flame from a match would kill us all in a gruesome explosion.

Steve, who is untroubled by the same neuroses as I, suggested that I go in the house while he and my dad lit the grill. He did not believe there was any danger. I refused to leave, telling him that if we were going to die in a fireball, we'd die together. I actually said this while clinging to his arm.

Exasperated or amused--or touched by my wifely devotion to him?--he tentatively lit a match, then tossed it on the grill. With a gentle fwoosh, the grill came to life.

We cooked salt-seasoned ribs given to us by a generous neighbor, licking warm, tangy bar-b-que sauce from our fingers as the sun set. The following morning, we boiled water in a saucepan and made coffee in a French press.

The propane lasted through the next two weeks of meals--pasta, soup, and other canned fare--until our power was restored. If I could have grilled bathwater, I would have done so. A cold shower, even in warm South Florida, is still a cold shower.

Several years later, the grill still produces some wonderful meals.

Mahi Mahi with Cold Udon Noodles
A Fritter Original

For the Fish
2 1/2 pounds mahi mahi, skinned and divided into six equal portions
1/2 cup of Tamari soy sauce
2 teaspoon hot sesame oil
1 tablespoon of fresh ginger, thinly sliced
2 large cloves of garlic, minced
2 green onions, sliced
1/8 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
juice of 1/2 of a lime

For the noodles
2 pounds of udon noodles
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 1/2 pounds of snow peas, blanched
4 scallions, thinly sliced
4 green onions, sliced
olive oil
2 cloves of garlic, sliced
1 cup chicken stock
1 pound fresh shitake mushrooms, sliced
1/2 cup of Tamari soy sauce
1/2 teaspoon of hot sesame oil
1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar
juice of 1 lime
1/8 cup of black sesame seeds, toasted

To prepare the fish

Place fish in a 9x13 baking dish. Combine all ingredients for the marinade and pour over fish. Cover with plastic wrap and allow the fish to marinate, refrigerated, for 45 minutes.

Heat the grill to medium-high. Place the fish on the grill and hood the grill for 8-10 minutes, until the fish is nearly opaque. Flip the fish and cook for another 3-5 minutes. Remove the fish to a platter and cover.

To prepare the noodles

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the udon noodles and boil for 10 minutes, until al dente. Drain and rinse with cold water, then transfer to a large serving bowl.

Toss the noodles with the snow peas and red bell pepper slices.

Heat the olive oil in a large saute pan over medium heat. Add one sliced clove of garlic and saute for 3 minutes, until the garlic is fragrant and beginning to turn gold. Add the chicken stock, bring to a boil, and reduce for 5 minutes. Lower the heat to medium, add the shitake mushrooms and simmer for 5 minutes, until the mushrooms are tender.

In a small mixing bowl, combine the soy sauce, hot sesame oil, rice wine vinegar, the remaining clove of garlic, and the lime juice. Stir to combine. Pour over the noodles and toss to coat. Top the noodles with the black sesame seeds.

And Then:

2008-09-11T07:11:00.007-04:00

It has been a few weeks since my last post. You have been so patient. Thank you for your e-mails; I am fine and I am back to business as usual.

When life gets distressing, shouldn't we stop and eat some cake? I think that we should.

Somehow, through all of the events of the last few weeks, I found myself eating quite a lot of cake. I say this with a tone of wonder because I have not been baking for several weeks, nor did I purchase any of these cakes. The cakes found me.

Cake found me as I sat on the patio of a restaurant downtown, surrounded by pink bougainvillea blossoms, sharing a friend's anxiety. The manager of the restaurant sent over a tray of mini-cakes. Carrot cake with lemony cream cheese icing. German chocolate cake with fat raisins. Key lime pie cake, a zinger disguised by bland color.

And then, cake found me last weekend at a college football game. A springy chocolate confection, made by a friend's mother.

And again, cake found me one dark afternoon in the kitchen of my office. A dulce de leche slice kept me company as I answered my emails, one by one by one.

So I'd like to share a little cake with you. These cakes should be called cakelets, or baby cakes, or something adorable. Pleasingly tart and sweet, they are sure to become an addiction and make you smile.

Lemon Cakes with Basil Lemon Syrup
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious.com

For the lemon cakes
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup all-purpose flour plus additional for dusting
2/3 cup plus 1/4 cup sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt, plus an additional 1/8 teaspoon salt, divided
3 large eggs, separated, at room temperature for 30 minutes
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon zest

For the basil lemon syrup
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups water
1 (4- by 1-inch) strip fresh lemon zest
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
8 large fresh basil sprigs

For the whipped cream
1 cup chilled heavy cream

For the garnish
6 fresh springs of basil leaves.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 12-cup muffin tin with some butter, or non-stick cooking spray, and set aside.

In a medium bowl, beat the softened butter with the sugar and 1/8 teaspoon of salt until well-creamed. Add the egg yolks, one at a time, until well-mixed. Beat in the lemon juice and 2 teaspoons of lemon zest until mixed. Add the flour in 1/4-cup amounts until it is just blended in. Do not overmix the batter.

In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites and 1/8 teaspoon of salt until soft peaks form. Beat in 2 tablespoons of sugar until the whites hold stiff peaks. Gently fold the whites into the batter.

Spoon the batter into the prepared muffin tins in 1/2-cup amounts. Sprinkle some sugar and grate some lemon zest over the batter. Bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees until the edges of the muffins begin to pull away from the sides of the tins and the tops are golden. Set the muffin tin on a rack to cool while making the syrup and whipped cream.

Make the syrup by combining all of the syrup ingredients in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil and allow the syrup to boil for 8-10 minutes. Strain into a container and allow it to cool to room temperature.

Whip the heavy cream until soft peaks form. Lift the muffins out of the tins and place in a shallow bowl. Spoon 1/8 cup of the syrup over the muffin and top with a dollop of whipped cream. Garnish with fresh basil leaves.

Serves: 6

Happy Labor Day!

2008-09-01T09:32:00.002-04:00

Enjoy the long weekend! I will be back to my normal posting schedule on Wednesday.

Sardinian Stuffed Eggplant

2008-08-25T07:57:00.006-04:00

Plippety plop
Fay won't stop
something something something rain
something something a giant pain.

I am not a poet.

Sardinian Stuffed Eggplant
Adapted from this recipe in Food and Wine

1 large eggplant
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1/2 of a medium white onion, finely chopped
1/4 cup dry white wine
1/4 pound ground turkey
1/4 cup freshly grated fresh pecorino cheese
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/4 cup plain, dried bread crumbs
Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
1 tablespoon chopped basil
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 garlic cloves, thickly sliced
One 35-ounce can Italian peeled tomatoes, drained and coarsely chopped

Halve the eggplant lengthwise. Carefully scoop the flesh out of each half, leaving a 1/4-inch-thick shell. Chop the scooped out eggplant flesh and place it in a colander. Toss the chopped eggplant with 1 teaspoon salt and let it drain for 30 minutes, then rinse well. Working in handfuls, squeeze out as much of the water as possible.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Set a wire rack on a baking sheet. Add the eggplant shells to the pot and cook, gently poking them under to keep them submerged, until just tender, about 3 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the eggplant shells to the wire rack to drain and cool. Lightly oil a 9-by-13-inch baking dish and arrange the eggplant shells in it, cut sides up.

In a large, deep skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil until shimmering. Add the onion and cook over moderate heat until the onion is softened, about 5 minutes. Add the chopped eggplant and wine and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until tender and just beginning to brown, 15 minutes. Add the turkey and cook over moderately high heat, stirring and breaking up the meat, until cooked through and lightly browned, about 5 minutes longer. Transfer the eggplant filling to a bowl and stir in 1/8 cup of the pecorino, the eggs, bread crumbs, nutmeg, and basil. Season the filling with salt and pepper. Spoon the filling into the eggplant shells.

Preheat the oven to 350°. In a medium saucepan, heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Add the garlic and cook over moderate heat until golden, about 1 minute. Add the chopped tomatoes and cook over moderate heat, stirring, until thickened, about 10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Spoon half of the sauce over the eggplants and sprinkle with the remaining 1/8 cup of grated pecorino. Bake the eggplant until browned and bubbling, about 25 minutes. Let cool slightly, then serve, passing the remaining tomato sauce on the side.

A Change of Scene

2008-08-20T07:54:00.001-04:00

There's nothing more refreshing than a change of scene. We spent this past weekend in Philadelphia as part of a family reunion.

In addition to the historic sites, we visited several markets, including the Italian Market in South Philadelphia:

I didn't want to leave. I loved walking down the narrow sidewalks, peeking into bins of bright fruits and vegetables. In one shop, we stood among the baked ricotta and hard-rind cheeses, sampling bits that the counterperson cut for us. I found a bag of Black Beluga lentils in another shop. In a third, we purchased a beautiful salami washed with Pinot Grigio.

For dinner, we ate at Osteria, a Marc Vetri restaurant that was nominated for a James Beard award this year. Osteria offers house-cured meats, thin-crust pizzas (we ordered a fig and proscuitto combination that was out of this world), and savory fresh pastas. The specials included an antipasto platter that may have been my favorite item.

As a tribute to our trip, I made an antipasto platter of fresh veggies, cheeses, and salami when we got home.

Antipasto Platter
A Fritter Original

This antipasto platter contains green beans with parsley pesto, olives with red pepper flake and garlic, blanched asparagus tips with lemon, fresh mozzarella, sliced salami, arugula salad with lemon and Parmigiano-Reggiano, blanched carrots, fingerling potatoes with thyme, fresh figs and blueberries, and slow-roasted tomatoes with honey.

2 Roma tomatoes
2 teaspoons of honey
6-8 olives (I used Kalamata and Manzanilla)
2 fingerling potatoes, or other small potato
Handful of green beans
4 small carrots, peeled
Handful of asparagus tips
5 slices of high-quality salami, sliced (I used De Bruno Bros. salami washed in Pinot Grigio)
4 figs (I used Brown Turkey figs)
Handful of blueberries
1 small ball of fresh mozzarella, sliced
Handful of arugula
2 cloves of garlic
1 lemon
1/4 cup of extra virgin olive oil, plus 3 teaspoons
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon fresh thyme, divided
1 cup of fresh flat-leaf parsley, lightly packed
1/8 cup of pine nuts, toasted
1 teaspoon freshly-grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Slice the Roma tomatoes lengthwise and place them on a baking sheet. Rub them all over with olive oil, then sprinkle with a pinch of salt and pepper. Place in oven and bake for 45-60 minutes. Add the 2 teaspoons of honey to the tops of the tomatoes after 45-60 minutes, then continue roasting for another 15 minutes. Remove from the oven and allow them to cool slightly, sprinkling 1/2 teaspoon of fresh thyme over them.

Place the olives in a small bowl (or coffee cup), and drizzle with 1 teaspoon of extra virgin olive oil. Chop 1 small clove of garlic and add to the olives. Add the red pepper flakes and toss the olives to coat. Set aside to marinate.

Bring a saucepan of water to a boil. Add the fingerling potatoes and boil for 10-12 minutes, until tender. Remove the potatoes with a slotted spoon and set aside to cool to room temperature. Using the same pot of boiling water, blanch the green beans for 1 minute, then remove them to a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking. Repeat with the carrots, then the asparagus. Drain the vegetables well and set aside.

Chop 1/2 teaspoon of the fresh thyme and mix with 1 teaspoon of olive oil. Allow the mixture to sit at room temperature for 5 minutes to infuse. Slice the potatoes lengthwise and drizzle with the thyme-olive oil mixture.

Make a pesto for the green beans: place one clove of garlic, 1 cup of flat-leaf parsley, and the pine nuts in a food processor. Turn the processor on and add 1/4 cup of olive oil in a steady stream. Scrape down the sides of the processor and turn it on again until the ingredients are smoothly blended.

Toss the blanched green beans with the pesto in a bowl until they are coated evenly.

Assemble your platter. Place a handful of arugula in the center and drizzle with olive oil, a squeeze of lemon, and the Parmigiano-Reggiano. Surround the arugula with your fruits, vegetables, cheese, and salami in an eye-catching manner.

Serves: 2-4

Medals and Other Musings

2008-08-17T07:50:00.002-04:00

I would like to take a moment to give Michael Phelps his due.

Yes, the man has won more gold medals than any previous athlete. Yes, he breaks a world record every time he dips a toe into a pool. Yes, he has an "aw, shucks" adorableness that NBC newscasters giggle and blush over (I'm talking to you, Bob Costas).

But have you heard what this guy eats for breakfast?

"Three sandwiches of fried eggs, cheese, lettuce, tomato, fried onions and mayonnaise, add one omelet, a bowl of grits, and three slices of french toast with powdered sugar, then wash down with three chocolate chip pancakes."

The man eats between 8,000 and 10,000 calories per day. And then he gets in the pool and swims for five hours.

He should get a medal every time he finishes a plate.

If I could consume 8,000 calories in a single day and not burst like the Hindenburg, I would eat the following:

1. 25 chocolate chip cookies
2. 2 slices coconut cake
3. 1 Margherita pizza
4. 1 glass red wine
5. 3 avocados
6. 3 Twix bars
7. Vegetables (for balance, you understand) over pasta (because I can)
8. 1 pint of Ben and Jerry's Half-Baked.
9. Cheese: so, so much of it
10. A loaf of warm sourdough bread
11. A big ol' steak
12. Have I passed 8,000 yet?
13. Several plates of true fettucine alfredo, made the way Cafe Romantico here in Fort Lauderdale prepares it: Buttered pasta swirled in a large carved-out wheel of Parmigiano-Reggiano, spoons scraping curls of cheese off the sides, a little black pepper on top... mmm...

Unfortunately, unlike Michael Phelps, I do not exercise for five hours every day. I do a lot of sitting. I do a little standing. I pace myself with a brisk walk to my printer, then loop back to my desk. I do a few reps of this over 9 hours or so.

Yeah, I work it out. Body by Dell PC.

That's why I need recipes like this one. Vegetable-based, low-fat, whole grain recipes that are utterly tangy and satisfying in sedentary-human-size portions. Recipes that'll leave room for some dessert.

Zucchini, Garbanzo Beans and Quinoa
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious

1 15-ounce can garbanzo beans (chick peas), drained
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided
2 garlic cloves, peeled and halved
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
1/2 teaspoon turmeric, divided
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika, divided
2 cups water
2/3 cup quinoa (about 6 ounces), rinsed well, drained
1/2 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
1 medium zucchini, peeled and sliced into 1/4-inch rounds on the diagonal
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
2 green onions, thinly sliced
1/8 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley

Combine garbanzo beans and lemon juice in large bowl. Add 1 tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil; press in garlic and stir to combine. Let marinate at least 15 minutes and up to 2 hours.

Heat 1 tablespoon oil in medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Add cumin seeds, 1/2 teaspoon turmeric, and 1/2 teaspoon paprika; stir until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add 2 cups water, quinoa, and coarse salt; bring to simmer, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat to medium-low. Cover and simmer until all water is absorbed, about 16 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat a large saute pan. Place zucchini on a baking sheet and drizzle with 1 tablespoon oil. Sprinkle with ground cumin, a pinch of turmeric, and a pinch of paprika. Toss to coat evenly.

Place zucchini in saute pan and cook until tender and browned on all sides, 10 to 12 minutes. Transfer to work surface. Cut crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces. Add zucchini, green onions, and parsley, then garbanzo bean mixture to quinoa. Toss gently to blend. Season with salt and pepper.

Serves: 2

Did I Do That?

2008-08-12T21:48:00.011-04:00

I make mistakes in life. This happens.

I tend to beat myself up about a mistake. I dwell on it. If, perchance, I get distracted and forget about the mistake, it will lurk in the outer edges of my mind. Mistakes have all the time in the world to make their presence felt. A mistake is patient in that way. The mistake gathers itself on its haunches as I fall asleep, then pounces, fangs bared. I wake up, heart pounding, and consider my mistake.

Why do screw-ups always seem worse at two o'clock in the morning? If I had the answer to that, perhaps I could corner the market on sleep aids.

Here's something that never fails to surprise me: the person from whom you least expect compassion is often the most gracious about your mistake. And for that, I am thankful.

*Sigh*

Viewing my errors of the week in the best light possible, they are not so bad. They just make me look stupid for a short period, which I can live with.

Maybe Oscar Wilde had it right: "Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes." Or maybe Elbert Hubbard was even more right: "The greatest mistake you can make in life is to be continually fearing you will make one."

Time to move on--and learn from my experiences.

Here is a goof-proof dessert for the error-prone.

Swirled Summer Berry Souffle
Adapted from Anabel Langbein's recipe featured in Food and Wine

2 cups raspberries
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/8 cup water
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1/2 tablespoon cornstarch mixed with 1/2 tablespoon water
2 large egg whites
1/4 cup superfine sugar
2 tablespoons salted pistachios, chopped

Preheat the oven to 400°. In a medium saucepan, combine the raspberries with the granulated sugar, water, vanilla and lemon juice. Bring to a simmer over moderate heat, stirring often. Stir in the cornstarch mixture and cook, stirring, until thickened, about 1 minute.

In a large bowl, beat the egg whites until they hold very soft peaks. Gradually beat in the superfine sugar, 2 tablespoons at a time, and continue beating until glossy peaks form, about 3 minutes longer. Gently swirl in 3/4 cup of the berry mixture, leaving streaks in the beaten whites.

Spoon the remaining berry mixture into two 1-cup ramekins. Top with the soufflé mixture, mounding it slightly. Sprinkle with the pistachios. Bake the soufflés for 6 minutes, or until golden on top (or, if you're like me, deep brown on the tips with a caramely crunch).

Serves: 2

Beat the Heat!

2008-08-08T06:03:00.003-04:00

Here I am on a Friday, blogging away. What got me out of bed at this hour, you ask? The inimitable--and totally hilarious--Grace of A Southern Grace is hosting a blog event called "Beat the Heat."

The challenge is to prepare a dish that does not require the use of any heat. With South Florida's temperatures in the 90's and the humidity at, like, 1,000 percent, and my clothes sticking to my skin every time I walk from my front door to my car, how could I not take up this challenge?

Interestingly, with this recipe, things got hot, but not because I turned on the stove.

Preparing this recipe, I learned a thing or two about poblano peppers. It turns out that the heat of poblano peppers varies a lot. One poblano might exude a pitiful amount of heat. Its presence may be barely discernible in a dish. You could use the whole pepper, seeds and all, no problem. And that's what I did when I made chiles rellenos on Sunday night: I used one entire poblano and got a satisfying, but not excessive, degree of heat from it.

And then--it turns out--there are poblanos that will scorch your skin as you chop them, make you cry with their fumes, and generally turn your dish into a steaming pit of hell-fire. That's what this little demon fruit nearly did to my gazpacho:

Cute, huh? I wasn't quite prepared for what it had in store. Let's just say that I sampled the recipe at just the right time. Always taste your recipes as you go along. All those screeching reality show chefs can't be wrong.

Because I took a bite of the gazpacho before dumping all of the poblano in there, I saved myself and my husband from a capsaicin conniption.

Conclusion: the amount of poblano that you include in this recipe will depend on the individual pepper and your tolerance for heat. I suggest that you sample a small piece of the pepper and proceed accordingly.

Citrus Gazpacho
A Fritter Original
Serves: 2

1 small fennel bulb, chopped
1 small shallot, minced
1 English cucumber, peeled and sliced into 1/4-inch thick slices
1 yellow bell pepper, chopped
1 tablespoon poblano pepper, chopped (see narrative above)
1 clove of garlic, minced
1 15-ounce can of fire-roasted tomatoes, chilled (place the unopened can in the fridge for 30 minutes)
1/8 cup flat-leaf parsley, chopped roughly
1 tablespoon fennel fronds, chopped
Juice of 1 lime
Juice of 1 Valencia orange
Salt and Pepper to taste
1 avocado
4 tablespoons of chilled, pre-steamed crab meat (available at the fish counter)

In a medium bowl, combine the fennel, shallot, cucumber, yellow bell pepper, poblano pepper, garlic, tomatoes, flat-leaf parsley, and fennel fronds. Gently stir until well-incorporated. Add the lime juice and squeeze half of the orange over the gazpacho, and stir. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Reserve the remaining half of the orange for later use.

Cover the bowl and chill in the refrigerator for a minimum of 30 minutes, or up to 4 hours, until ready to serve.

When ready to serve the gazpacho, scoop equal portions into 2 bowls. In a separate mixing bowl, gently toss the chilled crab with the juice from the remaining orange half. Top each bowl of gazpacho with two tablespoons of the crab. Garnish with several slices of avocado, and serve.

And here's the true genius of gazpacho: it moves effortlessly from dinner to brunch, like a tank top that looks killer with your Sevens and your sweat pants. Pulse your leftover gazpacho in your processor for 5 seconds, add a shot of vodka, and you've got the most vitamin-rich Bloody Mary around.

Boom! Two recipes in one!

Chimichurri, Deconstructed in Photos

2008-08-06T06:35:00.009-04:00

...and the reason that this blog post celebrates deconstructed chimichurri is that I forgot to take a final photo of the meal.

Tres artistique, non?

That is what happens when you don't eat lunch.

Chimichurri Skirt Steak
A Fritter Original

1 3/4 pound skirt steak
1 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus 1 tablespoon, divided
1 small shallot, finely chopped
2 cups of chopped parsley
1 tablespoon minced garlic
4 tablespoons of lemon juice
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
Salt and pepper to taste

First, make the chimichurri by combining the 1 cup of olive oil, chopped parsley, shallot, garlic, lemon juice, red wine vinegar, red pepper flakes, and salt and pepper in a bowl. Allow the ingredients to rest together for about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Place the skirt steak into the skillet and cook for 5 minutes on one side, then turn and cook for another 4 minutes on the other. Remove and cover the meat for 3 minutes.

Serve the skirt steak with chimichurri slathered on top.

Picture of meal [ here ].

Hmph.

And now for something completely different:

He wants to come in.

Chiles Rellenos

2008-08-04T07:13:00.006-04:00

Last week, I mentioned a friend of mine who craves Tex-Mex when she is stressed out. That got me thinking: I haven't made chiles rellenos in a while.

Tex-Mex cooking has the unfortunate (but well-deserved) reputation for being heavy, fattening, salty, and served in platters that could feed three people. I love the stuff. Growing up in Texas, my family would go to church on Sunday mornings, then head over to our favorite Tex-Mex restaurant for enchiladas, carne asada, tortilla soup, and chips and salsa.

When I went away to college in the far, dark North, my mother froze a pint of salsa from our favorite restaurant and sent it to me so that I would not suffer from withdrawal. I crave Tex-Mex to this day, but I just shouldn't eat it in the quantities that I did when I was fourteen.

This quandary provoked me to create a few healthier versions of some of my favorite Tex-Mex recipes so that I can get my fix without losing a year of my life to every plate that I eat.

My chiles rellenos--or "stuffed peppers"--are vegetarian but completely filling. Trust me, even a true Tex-Mex fanatic will acknowledge that these little guys are great, even if they aren't cooked in lard and topped with processed cheese.

Vegetarian Chiles Rellenos
A Fritter Original

For the Chiles Rellenos
2 large red bell peppers
1/2 cup brown rice
1 teaspoon olive oil
1/2 cup red onion, chopped
1/4 cup carrots, chopped
1/2 cup raw pine nuts
1/2 cup raw sunflower seeds, shelled and unsalted
1/4 cup poblano pepper, chopped (reduce to 1/8 cup if you are sensitive to spiciness)
1 large clove of garlic, peeled and chopped
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon chile powder
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
Pinch of salt and pepper

For the Salsa
1 15-ounce can of fire roasted tomatoes (I like Muir Glen)
1/4 cup red onion, chopped
1/8 cup of poblano pepper, chopped (omit if you are sensitive to spiciness)
2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, chopped
Juice of half of a lime

Put the brown rice in a small pot of water and bring to a boil. Boil for 30-35 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the rice is al dente. Remove the rice from the heat, drain, return it to the pot, cover, and set aside for later use.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Heat the olive oil in a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat. Add the red onion, carrots, pine nuts, and sunflower seeds, tossing to coat with the oil. Stir every minute or so for 8-10 minutes, until the nuts are golden and the onion is nearly translucent. Add the poblano pepper, garlic, cumin, chile powder, flat-leaf parsley, and a pinch of salt and pepper, then stir to combine. Saute for another 3-5 minutes.

Add the nut mixture to the rice and stir well to incorporate.

Cut the tops off of the red bell peppers and remove the seeds. Scoop the rice and nut mixture into the bell peppers, then place the cap of the pepper back on. Place the bell peppers upright in an oven-proof skillet and add 1 cup of water to the skillet so that the peppers are standing upright in the bath. This will tenderize the peppers.

Place the skillet in the oven, uncovered, and bake at 400 degrees for 12-15 minutes. The peppers should still be fairly firm and able to stand upright when done.

While the peppers are baking, make the salsa. In a saucepan over low heat, combine the canned tomatoes, red onion, poblano pepper, and cilantro. Simmer gently for 5-8 minutes. Add the lime juice right before serving.

Serve the chiles rellenos in a shallow bowl with the salsa, and devour.

Serves: 2

Poise Regained

2008-07-30T19:21:00.007-04:00

Whew.

What a hairy week. After the circus on Tuesday, I needed to recover my composure. As I mentioned, I took to my pool on Tuesday afternoon, then took to my bed. In between, I made dinner.

Comfort food was called for. Something that required repetitive, soothing motions. Tai chi in the kitchen, if you will.

So I made risotto.

A lot of people avoid risotto because it demands a lot of time at the stove, stirring. That's one of the reasons that I enjoy making it, provided I have the 30-40 minutes that it takes. I can stand at the stove and stir methodically, adding chicken stock at regular intervals, and zone out. When I'm done, I have a creamy, filling meal and a centered chi.

Last night, I told my mother that I made risotto to help cope with the day's trials. She laughed and commented that it's interesting what different people eat for comfort. My grandmother, she reminded me, could eat a gallon of ice cream in one sitting when she is under stress. My other grandmother derived strength from a pack of cigarettes, a pot of coffee, and a pan of homemade fudge (she no longer goes for the cigarettes or coffee, but the woman can still put away an unsettling amount of chocolate). A friend of mine craves Tex-Mex when she wants comfort food, and a different friend eats those scary "Ranch-flavored" chips.

Which makes me wonder: What's your comfort food?

Risotto with Green Vegetables
A Fritter Original

You're going to be stirring a lot when you make risotto. Some people will tell you that you need to stir constantly. I don't buy it. You can step away from your saucepan for a few minutes to prep vegetables or set the table. Just don't get hooked on an episode of Hardball or spend 10 minutes photographing asparagus.

1 tablespoon olive oil
6 cups chicken stock
1/4 cup yellow onion, chopped
1 teaspoon (roughly 1 clove) garlic, minced
1/2 cup white wine (I used an unoaked chardonnay, but sauvignon blanc would work too)
1/2 cup risotto rice
1 zucchini
1 bunch of asparagus, cut 1 1/2 inches below the tips
1/2 cup shelled edamame (frozen is fine)
Salt and pepper to taste
1/4 teaspoon lemon zest
A few sprigs of flat-leaf parsley

The Risotto

Heat the chicken stock in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat until simmering. Reduce the heat to low and cover.

In another medium saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until almost translucent, about 5 minutes. Stir occasionally. Add the garlic and stir constantly for 1-2 minutes to prevent browning. Add the wine and reduce for about 6 minutes, until the liquid is almost completely evaporated and the onions are thick.

Add the risotto rice to the onions and stir to coat. Cook the rice for 1-2 minutes, stirring to prevent burning.

Add 1/2 cup of hot chicken stock to the rice and stir until the stock is almost completely absorbed. The mixture will become very thick and dense and when you scrape the bottom of your saucepan with your spoon, the rice will not slide back into place very quickly. At this point, add another 1/2 cup of chicken stock and stir. Repeat this process until the rice is nearly al dente, about 25-30 minutes.

See my note above about stirring. The next part of this recipe can be performed either before you begin the risotto, if you are a "constant stirrer" type, or while you're making the risotto, if you do not believe that you need to be stirring for 30 minutes straight (like me).

The Veggies

Peel and chop the zucchini into 1/4 inch rounds on the diagonal. Heat a small saute pan over medium-high heat and saute the zucchini with a pinch of salt and pepper for 4-5 minutes, until golden brown. Remove from pan and set aside.

Heat a small saucepan containing 1 inch of water over high heat until boiling. Add the asparagus tips and boil for 2 minutes. Do not overcook. Drain well and set aside.

All Together Now

Once the rice is nearly al dente, add the shelled edamame and stir to mix it in. Gently fold in the asparagus and zucchini. Season with salt and pepper, and allow the risotto to cook another 2-3 minutes so that the vegetables are evenly heated.

Serve the risotto in bowls and garnish with a few sprigs of flat-leaf parsley and a sprinkling of lemon zest.

Serves: 2. This recipe can be increased easily by adding 1/4 cup of uncooked rice per person.

My Apologies

2008-07-30T07:18:00.003-04:00

Usually, I post on Wednesday mornings. This involves some amount of preparation for said post on Tuesday nights.

Unfortunately, my household had one of those "hair on fire" days yesterday, involving--but not limited to--the following absurdities:

One ranting preacher lady;
One wily plaintiff's attorney;
One colossal thunderstorm (occurring at a moment when I needed to walk 5 blocks without any rain shield but a legal-sized yellow pad of paper and a deposition transcript);
A couple of very bad boys;
The twelve deputies who arrested them (the bad boys, not the preacher lady or the plaintiff's attorney);
and
No lunch.

When I got home, I took to my pool, then had dinner, then took to my bed. So did my husband, to whom half of the listed absurdities happened. We were both wrung out.

So I'll post tonight. Thanks for your patience!

History Doesn't Repeat--It Rhymes

2008-07-27T14:10:00.012-04:00

History: it's one of my favorite subjects. I've always been one of those people who is interested in dates. For some reason, when I read about a historical event, I calculate the years that have elapsed since that event. I won't pretend that knowing how much time has passed since then adds anything to my understanding of the event; it's just one of those things I do.

I particularly love "on this spot" markers; the ones that commemorate a long-demolished estate where a Very Important Treaty was signed, or a statesman was born. I'm intrigued with the way those round-shouldered metal plaques pop up out of nowhere and teach you something.

In Atlanta, my home for several years, you can find yourself stopped at a downtown intersection next to a plaque identifying This Spot as the site of a major Civil War battle or troop encampment. Staring out into the dark, kudzu-entangled ravine next to the roadway, you can tune out the traffic and telephone lines and see another era. You can picture smoke from weary soldiers' campfires, and the steam from horses' breath rising in the chill of the morning.

Reading these markers, you can try to see what they saw, so many years ago, those people in history.

I like to think that the historical plaque marker people would appreciate that their efforts paid off for at least one person. Their precise attention to detail should be rewarded. I used to drive past one plaque that wanted me to know that "west of this point 75 feet" was the residence used by General Sherman during his occupation of Atlanta.

No, the house was not right here; it was 75 feet from here. To the west, okay?

I got to thinking about all of this because one year ago last weekend (exactly one year ago last weekend), Steve and I spent a long, lovely weekend in Santa Fe, New Mexico with my parents. The four of us roamed through the town's stucco-walled streets, happily reading about four centuries of recorded history (at least that's what I did). This dessert reminds me of the excellent meals that we had while there.

Bananas in Coffee Bean Syrup
Adapted from this recipe in Food and Wine Magazine

2 cups water
1/2 cup whole coffee beans
1/2 cup sugar
Two 3-inch strips of lemon zest
One 3-inch cinnamon stick, broken into pieces
2 firm, medium bananas
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Vanilla bean ice cream, for serving (alternatively, plain yogurt is also delicious)

In a medium saucepan, bring the water to a boil, then add the whole coffee beans. Simmer the beans over medium-low heat for 20 minutes. Add the sugar, strips of lemon zest and pieces of cinnamon stick and simmer over moderate heat for 10 minutes or until syrupy.

Meanwhile, peel the bananas and slice them 1/2 inch thick on the diagonal. In a shallow dish, gently toss the bananas with the lemon juice.

Strain the hot coffee syrup through a fine strainer, reserving a few beans in the syrup, then pour the strained syrup over the bananas and let stand until cooled to room temperature. Cover and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled, about 2 hours. Spoon the bananas and coffee bean syrup over a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, add a few reserved coffee beans for garnish, and serve.

Serves: 2

* With thanks to Mark Twain for the title of this post.

Eggplant and Barley Salad

2008-07-23T07:13:00.007-04:00

Not too long ago, I wrote about Fort Lauderdale's regular summer thunderstorms. Well, we're a bit off schedule today. As I write this, early in the morning, lightning is webbing the sky to my east and bursts of thunder are shaking the windows. If I abruptly end this post and you do not hear from me for weeks, it is because my computer got fried.

Changing subjects, in the last few weeks, a number of my friends and acquaintances have declared an intention to eat less meat.

Perhaps these vows have something to do with the recent coverage of the toll that large-scale meat operations take on the environment, perhaps they simply are reactions to the cost of meat in the check out aisle (an exhaustive discussion can be found here). Whatever the cause, I have been asked to post some vegetable-based recipes.

I am happy to oblige, partly because I like my friends, and partly because these requests suit my own ends. You see, I like vegetables. When I was in elementary school, I would eat salads as after-school snacks. This preference started because I liked the salad dressing that my mom bought, but eventually I came to like veggies on their own merits.

Eggplant is one of my favorites. I like tomatoes a lot, too. I started eating zucchini after deciding that it does not need to be squishy and slimy, if you prepare it correctly.

This eggplant and barley salad makes a lovely, cool summer meal. For those of you who take a dim view of rabbit food, it has the advantage of being a salad that is not based on fussy green leafies. This salad is a meal.

Turning back to the weather, it is now sunny and raining at the same time. That's kind of pretty.

Mediterranean Eggplant and Barley Salad
Adapted from this recipe in Gourmet

1 1/2 lb eggplant, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1 zucchini, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1/4 cup chopped scallion (from 1 bunch)
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/8 teaspoon cayenne
1 cup pearl barley (8 oz)
1 3/4 cups chicken broth
3/4 cup water
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 garlic clove, minced
8 cherry or grape tomatoes, quartered
4-6 Kalamata or other brine-cured black olives, pitted and halved
1/4 cup thinly sliced red onion, rinsed and drained if desired
1/4 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Toss the eggplant and zucchini with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and a pinch of salt and pepper in a bowl, then spread in an even layer in a baking pan. Roast the vegetables in the oven, stirring occasionally, until they are golden brown and tender, 20 to 25 minutes total. Set aside and cool to room temperature.

Meanwhile, cook the barley. Heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil in a heavy pot over medium heat, then saute the scallion, cumin, coriander, and cayenne, for about 1 minute, until fragrant. Stir constantly to prevent burning.

Add the barley and stir so that it is coated with the spices. Saute the barley for 2 minutes, then add the chicken broth and water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, covered, until all of liquid is absorbed and barley is tender, about 45 minutes. Stir occasionally. Once the barley is cooked, spread it in a shallow baking pan so that it cools quickly to room temperature.

While the barley is cooling, make the salad dressing. Whisk together the lemon juice, garlic, salt and pepper to taste, and the remaining 3 tablespoons of olive oil in a large bowl. Add the barley, the roasted vegetables, and the remaining ingredients to the bowl and toss gently to coat with the dressing.

Serves: 4 entree portions, or 6 smaller side portions

Sheepish

2008-07-20T16:39:00.007-04:00

I am surprised by how many of my acquaintances dislike lamb.

For me, lamb is a treat. It has more character than most of the meats you will find in your average grocery store. It is not a taste everyone enjoys, though.

"Lamb is gamey." That's a complaint I've heard a lot.

But that's what makes it better than other meats! It's more interesting; its scent has an intriguing undercurrent of olives. It's tender, and when cooked, it has a lovely rosy hue.

What is it about lamb that some people don't like?

A friend of mine, a woman who is fairly adventurous in most respects, recently admitted that she dislikes lamb. She said that she is game (get it?) for trying a recipe of my recommendation, though, acknowledging that perhaps she has not yet found a recipe she can enjoy.

This Mark Bittman recipe seems like a good starting place. Lamb chops are lean and they are not too expensive. The savory beans and tomatoes could be a meal by themselves, if you find that you are not enchanted with the taste of lamb.

Do not approach this recipe with trepidation, however. C'mon, become a convert!

Lamb Chops with White Beans
Adapted from Mark Bittman's recipe in How to Cook Everything

1 teaspoon of olive oil
1 15-ounce can of white beans
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
1 cup cored and chopped tomatoes
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon of chopped fresh sage
4 one-inch lamb chops
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1/2 cup of red wine
1/2 cup of chicken stock or water
Minced fresh sage for garnish

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Heat the olive oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Drain and rinse the beans, then add them to the saucepan. Add the garlic, tomatoes, thyme and bay leaf, and stir gently to mix. Allow the beans to come to a simmer, and reduce the heat to low. Stir every few minutes.

Meanwhile, grease a heavy oven-safe skillet. Rub the chopped sage onto both sides of each lamb chop and season with salt and pepper. Place the lamb chops in the skillet. Pour the wine and chicken stock into the skillet around the chops. Cover the skillet with a lid or aluminum foil and place it in the oven. Cook the chops for 20-25 minutes (depending on whether you prefer them medium rare or medium).

Remove the cover from the skillet. Pour the beans into the skillet around the chops. Simmer for another 5-8 minutes over medium heat.

Garnish with some minced fresh sage and serve. See the light.

Serves: 2

Avocado. It's What's for Breakfast.

2008-07-16T07:28:00.010-04:00

I am a believer in the school of thought that any food can be a breakfast food.

There is no reason to limit yourself to traditional "breakfast foods" first thing in the morning. Some of those foods, like pancakes and syrup, are out of place anyway, when you really think about it. Batter and syrup? Doesn't that sound like dessert to you? (I'm not saying that is wrong, by the way; no one has eaten more cookies for breakfast than yours truly).

Some foods are more pleasant to eat right after you wake up than others, I will concede that point. I have never woken up and thought to myself, "If only I had some sushi right now." But maybe that is because I have never tried it.

Other foods snuggle right up to my breakfast eggs. Take the avocado, for example. Avocado subs in as a breakfast food quite naturally. It's creamy, it's not sugary, and it doesn't make my coffee taste weird.

Last weekend, I had an avocado on hand, so I prepared this wholesome breakfast. Since it does not require much of a recipe, I'll just tell you what to do: poach an egg in 1 1/2 inches of gently simmering water with 1 tablespoon of white vinegar for about 4 minutes. Pit an avocado and scoop it out onto a plate. Add a few grape tomatoes and a sprig of basil to the plate. Lift the egg from its poaching liquid with a slotted spoon and allow it to drain for a few seconds. Place the egg on the plate and sprinkle a bit of sea salt over it.

Pour yourself a cup of coffee and dig in.