Not As the Author Intended

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

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

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

Back soon!

In Moderation

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

"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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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