Speaking of Lists . . .

1. Elbows on the table.

2. Belgian wheat beer.

3. Clams.

4. Slurp.

5. Slurp.

6. Chomp.

7. Sigh.

8. Smile.


Littleneck Clams with Fennel, Lemon, and Belgian Ale
Adapted from this recipe posted on Chowhound

The broth in this recipe, made with Belgian wheat beer, has a pleasantly bitter undertone that contrasts nicely with mounds of sweet fennel and onions.

I have made some changes to the original recipe, which called for mussels. Mussels were unavailable to me this afternoon. With commendable frankness, my fish guy informed me, "the mussels are a disaster today," and I wasn't one to insist. Instead, I went with littleneck clams, which were lovely.

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 medium fennel bulb, cored and thinly sliced lengthwise
3/4 cup Belgian-style wheat beer (such as Avery Brewing Co.'s White Rascal)
24 littleneck clams, scrubbed and rinsed
1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest
8-12 grape tomatoes, washed
1 teaspoon fennel fronds, chopped
salt and pepper to taste
crusty bread, for serving

Melt the butter in a large cast iron skillet over medium heat. When the butter begins to foam, add the onion and fennel. Sweat until vegetables are tender, about 3 minutes.

Add the beer and bring mixture to a boil over high heat. Add the clams, tomatoes, and lemon zest and reduce heat to medium. Cover the pan with a large lid and let simmer, shaking the pan occasionally, until the clams begin to open, about 3-5 minutes.

Discard any clams that do not open after 5 minutes. Serve the clams in the broth with crusty bread.

Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!

Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.*

It's Sunday evening. We have a long work week ahead, folks. Let's just have a nice, quiet little recipe then off to bed with us.

Homemade ricotta is lovely and making homemade ricotta could not be easier. Heidi Swanson simplifies it all.

Homemade Ricotta (Part Skim)
Adapted from this recipe on 101Cookbooks

1 gallon 2% milk
1 quart buttermilk

Line a colander with cheesecloth or, if you have none handy, with three or four sheets of paper towel.

Combine the milk and buttermilk in a large, heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Stir occasionally as the milk warms, scraping the bottom with a spoon in long, even strokes to prevent scorching. Keep a candy thermometer handy to check the temperature.

As the milk approaches 175 degrees, stir often, still scraping the bottom. You will notice the curds and whey begin to separate as the milk becomes hot. When the milk reaches 175 degrees, remove the pot from the heat and ladle the white, clumpy curds into the lined colander to drain. Allow the ricotta--this is what the curds are now--to rest for about 10 minutes, then scoop into an airtight container and refrigerate.

Makes about 2 cups.

Eat the ricotta within a few days. One serving suggestion, as indicated in the photo above, is to use the ricotta in homemade ravioli. But that is a recipe for another time.

Goodnight, everyone.

*The title of this post is from the writings of Henry David Thoreau. The first line of this post is attributed to Albert Einstein, who oughtta know.

Needs Must

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who make lists, and those who don't.

I go to the grocery store with a list in hand. To do otherwise would be to court failure. Without a list, one leaves the store with a superfluous, expensive box of tea that caught one's fancy. Without a list, one leaves without the eggplant that was to be tomorrow night's dinner.

I even have a list-making ritual. On Sunday morning, I sit with a cup of coffee and my cookbooks and magazines, scouting for new dishes. My selections get dog-eared and the ingredients go on my list according to each ingredient's location in the grocery store and its perishability. Center-aisle baking goods go first, followed by produce, followed by dairy and meats.


This is compulsive behavior, I'm sure. Some of you are thinking, "There's probably a prescription for that, Sarah." List-making makes me happy, though. It's reassuring. In the hurricane of activity that is my work week, list-making allows me to organize my desires on one little index card.

After all, I am not a retiree leaning on her cart, slowly ambling the aisles. I am a harried Gen-Xer, a full-time worker, a commuter. A week's worth of groceries go into my cart. If I forget an ingredient, I don't make a second trip; I compromise instead.


Additionally, with a list, I buy only what I think we will need. This cuts down on cost and waste.

Sometimes things get away from me, though. I end up with an item that does not get eaten. For example, this bag of cherries that sat on my counter all week.


They were dancing on the edge of overripeness this morning and I felt a blip of anxiety just looking at them. At a cool $5.99 per pound, I could not bear to toss them but I knew that we would not have a chance to eat them today.

Which is why I made cherry jam. Needs must, as they say. Waste not, want not, as they also say.

This recipe is an adaptation of a recipe posted by Robin of the beautifully-written Caviar and Codfish. Because I did not have a lime waiting around to be zested, I used a lemon instead. I also increased the amount of almond extract from 1/8 teaspoon to a 1/2 teaspoon since almonds and cherries are a match made in heaven.

Cherry Jam
Adapted from Caviar and Codfish's recipe

1 pound cherries, halved and pitted
The juice and zest of one lemon
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1/2 cup water, if needed
2/3 cup sugar

Put a small plate in the freezer.

Heat the cherries in a large pot over medium heat. Add the lemon and almond extract. Bring to a boil and then simmer until the cherries are tender, about 20 minutes. Add the 1/2 cup of water and stir, then add the sugar and stir for a few minutes.

Robin offers this test for the jam: "Test the jam by placing a bit on the plate from the freezer. Put it back in the freezer for a couple minutes, then take out and nudge the jam with your finger. If it wrinkled up a bit, or if it hardly moves when you tilt the plate sideways, your jam is done. If not, put the pot back on the heat and cook some more before testing again. Cherry jam sets easily, so you’ll probably only have to test it once or twice."

Once the jam is done, you can store it in one of two ways. I used a regular Tupperware because I know that we will eat all of the jam in the next few days.

If you plan to can the jam, Robin has the following instructions for you: "If canning, screw on the lids and heat another pot full of water until boiling. Add the jars to the pot carefully and boil for 10 minutes. Remove jars–carefully–and place on a towel. The jars should make a popping noise soon, telling you they are properly sterilized. When you push down on the lid of a sterilized jar, it will not make a clicking noise. Store in a cool dark place and consume within one year."

Fills about 3 4 oz. jars.

Takes Me Back

Oh, my.

What a nice moment. I had to run out to the parking garage today around lunchtime to retrieve a file that I'd forgotten in my car. This trivial errand turned into an unexpected blast from the past when I stepped on the empty elevator.

Warm, nutty basil pesto. Mozzarella and artichoke hearts. Halved grape tomatoes.

The aroma of some unknown person's lunch had filled the elevator. In seconds, I was lost in a memory. It was the special dish that I asked my mother to serve at my graduation luncheon, right before I received my high school diploma. The first dish in which I experienced real mozzarella and fresh basil pesto. The feeling of sophistication, the idea that I was turning into an adult. The pretty iced tea glasses next to my mom's china and silver on the table. The white linen napkins.

For a few moments, I was no longer a worker bee in my office building; I was a teenager in flip flops. I leaned against the wall of the elevator, remembering the meal, remembering being a lot younger.

I've written once before about scent and its link to memory. Having been transported for those few seconds, I simply had to recreate the recipe for a dish that I had not eaten in ten years.


The results take me back. The taste of fresh basil pesto, paired with soft mozzarella and crisp grape tomatoes may not stand for sophistication in your mind, but for me, tasting this dish as a teenager was special. I learned something about food by eating this. And by recreating it so many years later, I was able to taste a little bit of my own personal history and once again appreciate what I'd loved about the dish from the beginning: the beauty of simple, fresh flavors.

What special meal takes you back? Don't be shy, tell me!


Summer Basil Pesto Pasta

1/2 pound rotini pasta
1/2 pound ball of mozzarella packed in water
16-20 asparagus spears, the tips only plus one inch of the stalk
1/2 pint of grape tomatoes
1 14-oz can of artichoke hearts packed in water, rinsed)
2 packs cups of basil leaves, plus 1/2 cup of basil leaves, cut chiffonade
1/2 cup pine nuts
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/8 cup Parmigiano Reggiano

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil, then add the pasta. Cook until al dente, then drain and rinse the pasta with cold water. In another pot, steam the asparagus tips over an inch of boiling water for 2 minutes, then drain and rinse the asparagus with cool water to stop the cooking process.

When the pasta and asparagus are well-drained, add them to a large serving bowl. Cube the mozzarella roughly into bite-sized pieces, and add to the bowl. Rinse the grape tomatoes and cut them in half, adding the halves to the serving bowl as you go. Add the artichoke hearts.

In a food processor, blend the 2 cups of basil leaves, the pine nuts, and the Parmigiano Reggiano until they form a coarse paste. With the machine still on, slowly drizzle in the olive oil. The pesto should still be a thick paste, unless you prefer yours to have more oil and be looser.

Toss the contents of the serving bowl with the pesto until well-coated. Sprinkle the basil chiffonade over the top. Serve the dish at room temperature, with iced tea.

Serves: 2.

My Ego Hurts. So Does My Left Elbow.

Do you have days when nothing seems to go right?

Please understand that I am not talking about the kind of day when your best friend is diagnosed with cancer. Those are awful, soul-crushingly bad days. Those are healing-is-going-take-awhile, we'll-get-through-this, let's-all-pray kinds of days that no food will fix.

No, in this post, I'm talking about the absurdly trivial bad days. The kind of day that is an index of minor irritations. The one-hour-wait-at-the-doctor's-office day, the I-banged-my-funny-bone-blue day, the where-in-creation-are-my-car-keys day, the ma'am-I-have-no-cash-to-pay-this-toll day.


You know what I mean. We all have them, and the fact that the aggravations are piddly-small doesn't help. I'm not zen about the small things. I get cranky when the lunch that I schlepped two sweltering blocks back to my office has mayo instead of mustard, and I stub my toe, and no one holds the elevator for me. I sulk.

Petty annoyance is a character flaw, I'm sure. You have a character flaw too, right?

Sometimes, I have enough poise to take a deep, calming breath and achieve some perspective. There is meaning in each of these hapless little moments, I just know it. If the cashier at the grocery store had not been so bloody slow I might have missed the rainbow arching over that funny little church on my way home. If I'd had just a tiny amount of change--50 cents!--in my wallet, I would not have a funny story about how a sour-faced toll worker made me write a 50-cent check to the Florida Department of Transportation Turnpike Authority before letting me through (she was so mean about it, too).


And, when I discovered that I did not have the right ingredients for a recipe that I wanted to try out (ricotta, how did you elude me?), I created this new recipe.

It's a brothy, aromatic bowl of shittake mushrooms sauteed in caramel-y Amontillado sherry and butter then heaped with Swiss chard over fresh fettuccine. Thyme and grated Pecorino bring it all home. Hello, gorgeous.


That's the thing about perspective: "what we see depends mainly on what we look for." (attributed to John Lubbock, English banker, politician, naturalist and archaeologist, 1834-1913)

Shittake Fettuccine with Amontillado Sauce

10-12 large shittake mushrooms, sliced
1 1/2 cups vegetable stock
1 teaspoon fresh thyme
2 tablespoons Amontillado sherry (alternatively, you can use tawny port. The point is to use something with caramel notes)
1 shallot, chopped
1 large garlic clove, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons grated Pecorino
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large leaf of Swiss chard, chopped into long ribbons
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
1/2 pound of fresh fettuccine, recipe following (alternatively, you can use pre-packaged pasta)

To Make the Fettuccine
Adapted from James McNair's Favorites

2 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour
3 eggs, room temperature
1 teaspoon of extra virgin olive oil
1/2 teaspoon of salt

Combine the eggs, oil, and salt in a mixer and blend well. Add 2 cups of the flour in 1/2 cup amounts and knead the dough in the mixer using a dough hook for about 3 minutes. Check the dough for stickiness. If the dough is very sticky, add more flour until it is no longer sticky. Form into a ball. Allow the dough to rest for 30 minutes, covered with a dish towel.

Divide the dough into 4 pieces. Run each piece through a pasta machine to flatten the dough into sheets, then, using a fettuccine slicing attachment, cut the dough into fettuccine strips.

Heat a pot of salted water to a boil. Add the fettuccine and boil for 3-5 minutes, until al dente. Drain and set aside.

For the Shittake-Amontillado Sauce
Heat the olive oil in a broad skillet over medium heat. Add the chopped shallot and stir to coat in the olive oil. Saute until translucent, stirring to prevent browning. Add the garlic and stir for 1-2 minutes. Do not allow it to brown.

Add the Amontillado and reduce for 1 minute. Add the vegetable stock and heat to a boil, then reduce to low heat. Add the thyme, mushrooms, and Swiss chard, as well as the salt and pepper to taste. Simmer for 3-5 minutes.

Serve the mushrooms over the fettuccine. Grate 1 tablespoon of Pecorino over each dish and serve.

Serves 2

One Fish, Two Fish

Many people here in Fort Lauderdale love to fish. I work in an office full of suited-up men with sunglass-tans who keep photos of their boats on their desks, next to the pictures of their wives and kids. They tell animated stories about snook on Monday mornings.

Me, I hate fishing. No way can I spend six hours on a Saturday in the scorching sun, gripping a rod in a pitching boat. I like my fish two ways; either:

(1) flittering around a coral head at 35 feet while I hover nearby in neutral buoyancy, or

(2) on ice in a display case.

There is no line between these two points that I want to trace. Nature girl, I am not. At least not when it comes to fish.

That said, I love seafood. Fish is a welcome alternative to the unending beef, poultry, and pork train. Most nutritional experts agree that some amount of fish should be included in your diet, although women who are pregnant or nursing need to be choosy. Sustainability matters too. Chilean seabass has been off my menu for years because overfishing is leading to a population collapse.

Farm-raised trout is plentiful and versatile. In this recipe, the sweet trout is best served with red potatoes tossed with butter and a little extra fresh thyme. Go ahead and polish off a glass of the same semi-dry Riesling used in the sauce; it's all good.


Riesling-Poached Trout with Thyme
Adapted from Bon Appetit, January 2001

3 tablespoons chilled butter
1 very large leek (white and pale green parts only), thinly sliced
1 carrot, peeled, cut into matchstick-size strips
2 trout, boned, butterflied
1 teaspoon fresh thyme
2 bay leaves
1/2 cup Riesling (I used Loosen Bros. 2006 Dr. L Riesling, available for approximately $13.00 at Whole Foods)

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in a large, ovenproof skillet over medium heat. Add the sliced leek and carrot strips; sauté until tender, about 5 minutes.

Sprinkle a pinch of salt and a pinch of pepper over the trout, then fold the trout closed and nestle each piece of fish in the skillet, skin-side down. Add the fresh thyme over the fish. Top with the leek and carrot mixture and bay leaves. Dot with 2 tablespoons of butter. Pour the Riesling over the trout and place the skillet in the oven.

Bake the trout until it is just opaque in center, about 15 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper, then serve.

Serves: 2

. . . Does a Body Good

Yesterday marked the end of National Osteoporosis Awareness and Prevention Month.

Chances are, you are related to someone with this condition, which causes bones to become fragile and prone to fractures, particularly as a person ages. Calcium and vitamin D help keep bones strong in the face of osteoporosis. In the spirit of prevention, Susan of Food Blogga has hosted the superb "Beautiful Bones Round-Up," a collection of calcium-rich recipes from bloggers across the globe.

Milk's not the only thing that does a body good. Check it all out here.