FOOD ON THE FOOD

My Best Recipes, Catalogued

A friend of mine recently commented that finding recipes on my blog is a pain in the ass. And it's true! I mean, it's one thing if you know exactly what you're looking for and Google it, but what if you just want to browse through some meat recipes until you find something you like? Or you want to peruse your vegetarian options but none of the posts actually contain the word "vegetarian" since I can't be bothered with search engine optimization? Wouldn't it be nice if you could find what you're looking for without digging through six years of recipes?

Some of you are nodding your heads in agreement and the rest are itching to click back over to Facebook if things don't get funny soon. Spoiler: They don't! (But if Facebook lures you away, please consider "liking" Food on the Food on your way over there by clicking the little icon of my face down there to the right. Don't worry. It doesn't hurt that much!) (Ow! My eye!)

So I went through and catalogued all of my best recipes over there on the left under Recipe Box. If you're in the mood for chicken, click on chicken and you'll be treated to all the poultry goodness I can dig up. Desserts? I might have a few! Check out the Favorites category, too. There was a lot of good stuff hiding in the archives, some of which even I forgot about, so thanks for the reminder, Self! Some of the older photos are pretty scary, but the good news is that I can see my skills have actually improved a little over time. Just a little.

I'm also working on creating print-friendly recipe pages so you don't waste paper printing out a whole post when all you want is the recipe. Forests are important to me, as you know. Future recipes will have that feature already embedded, though it'll take a while to go back through the archives. Please be patient. I'm on deadline. Not only does my editor need the next three chapters stat, but the kids are out of school in two weeks. Craaaaaaaap!

Anyway, let me know what you think of the list. Go on. Try it out! The search bar is still there, but on the left now. As for the blueberry cobbler above, you can find that recipe here.

Where the Wild Things Are

Much of this glorious Memorial Day weekend was spent outside: eating ribs on the porch, sleeping in tents in the backyard, and catching frogs at Great Meadows.

I call my oldest son the frog whisperer. I mean, sure, there's a lot of commotion during the actual catching process, but then look:

The frog's just sitting on his arm. He was there for a while, too. Why isn't he jumping off? It's a wild frog!

Usually you can't get your hands on a frog, never mind ask them to pose for you. And even if you do catch one, they're slippery little guys that wiggle free and execute all of these hoppy evasive maneuvers until they're safely entrenched back in the murky shallows. I thought it was a fluke, but then it happened again later with a different frog. And here he is again with a toad:

(The amphibians couldn't stand the rest of us for even one second.)

Anyway, this post isn't about frogs and toads. It's about our other Memorial Day weekend activity: trying to rein in the wild kingdom that is our backyard. It's a jungle back there! A poison-ivy-canopied, possibly-tick-infested jungle. I'd like to say it's all under control now, but the truth is, it will never be under control, and therefore my willingness to exert myself wanes before it even waxes. As long as the boys can retrieve their wiffle balls without contracting hideous, weeping rashes, I feel my landscaping responsibilities are complete.

But there were a few pleasant surprises in the yard mixed in with the unpleasant ones:

Wild black raspberries! They're not ripe, yet, but they will be in a few weeks. What started as one cane a few years ago has turned into a veritable bramble with hundreds of potential berries. The plants are aggressive and thorny, but they're better than some of the other aggressive, thorny plants I fight with every year. The compact berries are delicious for snacking, as well as in cakes, jams, and salads. We may lose a few wiffle balls in the process, but I like to think it's worth it!

I think these are wild blackberry blossoms. I know I sampled a few blackberries one year on the steepest part of the slope, and they seem to have spread. They must like the poor soil and constant erosion we have. The problem is that they're in an inconvenient spot, so I always forget to check on them at the right time, which is later on in the summer. I'm pretty sure the birds remember, though!

My first blueberries! About eight years ago, I planted three blueberry bushes. Not once have I seen a single blueberry on any of them. I checked! Well, feast your eyes on that cluster of six berries in progress! Yeah, okay, so they're the only berries on the whole bush. So what? It's better than the other two bushes, which don't have any at all.

The long-standing principle in my yard is Survival of the Fittest/Most Delicious. Let the hardiest, tastiest plants win!!

Cream of Broccoli Soup

I love soup in the springtime. I tend to be a little chilly in these transitional months, even as the temperature warms. Maybe it's the moist spring air, or because I'm exiting my layers a little too enthusiastically. Or, perhaps, it's true what Husband says: that I don't possess a functioning metabolism. Regardless of the reason, I'm in a perpetual state of goose bumps from October through May.

Lately, my cravings have been running increasingly green, just like the landscape. A few weeks ago, I had a pot of asparagus and fiddlehead soup to warm me. Now, it's cream of broccoli. The following recipe was inspired by Twelve Months of Monastery Soups by Brother Victor-Antoine d'Avila-Latourrette. Even though it was published 15 years ago, the book keeps coming up in conversations with various unconnected people. By the third mention, I knew I had to get a copy of the book. I'm glad I did. French monks really know their soups!

But there's another reason why I love this book. It's because of the image I've cultivated in my mind about the author, which I should note is entirely fictional. I imagine Brother Victor-Antoine alone in the kitchen of his stone monastery in the picturesque Hudson Valley cooking up cauldrons of bubbling soup. Meanwhile, two monks, one quite young and another significantly grayer, are walking silently down the arched, stone colonnade, their dark robes cinched at the waist with rope belts. Suddenly, as they approach the kitchen, their ears are assaulted by a tirade of the filthiest, most abominable swear words ever conceived in French, English, and Latin, as well as some that haven't been invented, yet. The obscenities, amplified by the cold stone, echo across the courtyard.

The young, sheltered monk stops in his tracks with a look of horror. The older one doesn't even break stride. "The soup must be especially good today," he notes. Observing that the young monk is still having trouble recovering, he adds, "Have you met Brother Victor, yet? He has an unholy way in the kitchen, but the soup? The soup is an act of God."

(This is what happens when my new favorite cookbook is written by a monk named Tourrette!)

Cream of Broccoli Soup  (print-friendly version)

I love this &*$#@^ soup! May I suggest a light grating of the sharpest cheddar cheese you have on hand? I used Cabot Seriously Sharp.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 onions, chopped
1 lb. fresh broccoli, cut into florets
3 medium potatoes, peeled, cubed
8 cups veggie stock, chicken stock, or water
1 cup heavy cream
Pinch of cayenne
Salt and black pepper to taste

In a large pot, heat the oil over medium-low heat. Add the onions and sauté until translucent, 4-5 minutes. Add the broccoli and potatoes, and stir to coat. Add the stock or water, increase heat, and bring to a simmer. Reduce heat, maintaining a simmer, and cook for 1 hour, until vegetables are tender. (Note: The original recipe calls for you to add all of the veggies to the pot with the water/stock right away, forgoing the oil. You can do it that way, if you prefer.)

If you have a stick blender, you can puree the soup right in the pot. If you're using a regular blender, let it cool until no longer hot and steamy, and puree in several batches, never filling the blender more than half full. Add the cream, cayenne, and salt and pepper. Reheat. Serve with grated sharp cheddar cheese.

Source: Adapted from Twelve Months of Monastery Soups by Brother Victor-Antoine d'Avila-Latourrette. He probably doesn't actually swear (too much!).

Learning Your Birds

The Kindergartener is crazy about birds. He has the Peterson Birding by Ear 3-CD set practically memorized, including the little mnemonics people use to remember the birdcalls. Example: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all? (barred owl)

I have a nature-loving friend who is quite artistic. She made the above illustrated poster of birdsongs, which is currently hanging above the Kindergartener's bed. It's completely charming. I thought some of you might like it, too.

(click here for more information)

The Pits

Ever since my health issues a few years back, I've gone off conventional antiperspirants and deodorants. The antiperspirant/deodorant people assure me there's nothing to worry about, that a link between aluminum and breast cancer has never been proven. My doctors concur. To them I say this: Why wait for the evidence to surface? Why not be proactive? Better to be safe than smelly sorry.

Still, it was a ballsy move on my part. I don't want to stink up the joint any more than you do. My mom suggested using one of those deodorant "crystals." A crystal? Really? I'm not trusting my personal aroma to any mystical forces, geological or otherwise. But it turns out the crystal is actually rooted in science. The smooth quartz-like rock is made of mineral salts that, when moistened with tap water, are transferred to your skin and dissuade foul-smelling bacteria from taking up residence there. Bacteria don't like salt, which is why it was such a useful food preservative before refrigeration (e.g., salt cod).

I was still skeptical. Why would it be that easy? But guess what? That shit works! It works!!! I mean, the salts don't prevent you from sweating—your body was designed to do that—but you don't stink. At least not for 24 hours, give or take. In fact, I happily used the crystal for two whole years. That's how long my $5 crystal lasted before it cracked down the middle and threatened to cut a bitch. And then? Then I tried the spray version and developed a horrible rash. Poison ivy times three. Maybe the concentration of salts in the spray is different? Anyway, now I'm allergic to both versions. I had to stop using the stuff. Total bummer. (If you have sensitive skin, I recommend just sticking with the rock version.)

I was at a crossroads. I didn't want to go back to the aluminum-laced stuff, but the general consensus seemed to be that the other natural, aluminum-free deodorants on supermarket shelves work about as well as nothing at all. I can go without deodorant in the winter, maybe, if you don't stress me out too much, but not in the heat of summer and certainly not on Zumba day. Maybe you don't care if people are dropping like flies as you pass by, but I do, damnit. I do!

So I made the rounds of the hippy blogs describing all manner of homemade deodorants I will never make, with success rates that varied wildly. I scanned the comment sections, taking notes and prioritizing the experiences of rash-prone people and those who didn't sound too crazy. This is what I came up with:

Mix four parts cornstarch or arrowroot with one part baking soda. Rub a light film of organic coconut oil on your underarms, then dust a little of the powdered mixture all up in there. Don't cake it on, just dab enough to keep the oil from feeling sticky.

That's it! You smell nice and faintly coconutty all day long! I keep the powdered mix in a clean sock that long ago lost its match, give it a few whacks under each arm like a powder puff, and store it in a little jar. So far, no rash. It's been working for me for months now, even on Zumba day. Granted, I haven't tried it out in a substitute-teaching situation—the ultimate test—but you'll have to wait until my book is done for that report (FYI: there will be no reports).

I will concede that coconut oil can be pricey, but then again, so is conventional deodorant. By weight, I bet coconut oil is cheaper. Best of all, we're talking miniscule amounts of natural, food-grade stuff. I can't imagine that it's bad for you. Nevertheless, I'm sure I'll contract some weird form of coconut poisoning eventually. Is there a such thing as coconut poisoning? If there is, I'll be sure to let you know. But I just wanted to share my discovery in case you were headed down a similar path yourself. If you have other ideas and experiences, do tell.

Asparagus and Fiddlehead Soup

We've finally gotten some rain around here, and you know what that means: fiddleheads, ramps, and perhaps morels! I've seen fiddleheads and ramps at the market already. As for the mushrooms, I'm still waiting...

Fiddleheads are the coiled-up fronds of certain edible ferns. They taste like a cross between asparagus and green beans. You can use just asparagus for the soup, however, if immature fern fronds aren't your thing. For the aromatics, you have your choice of onions, leeks, or ramps. Ramps are foraged wild onions with a certain level of pungency that I enjoy. However, they were $17.98 a pound last week at Russo's, and so I will be using the 98-cents-a-pound spring onions until the price comes way down.

This soup tastes just like spring. Like a damp meadow without the mud and mosquitoes. Served warm, it takes the edge off of cooler days, and provides a sample of the warmth and greenery still to come.

Asparagus and Fiddlehead Soup

Always parboil fiddleheads before adding them to your dish to get rid of any bitter toxins.

1/4 lb. fiddleheads, soaked in two changes of cold water, drained
2 Tbsp. butter
2 medium leeks or 1 small bunch ramps or spring onions (white and light green part only), chopped
1 1/2 lb. asparagus, tough ends snapped off, remaining stalks cut into thirds
1 medium potato, peeled, cubed
5 cups veggie stock or water
1 tsp. kosher salt
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1 Tbsp. chopped fresh dill
Black pepper to taste

In a medium pot of boiling water, parboil the fiddleheads for 3 minutes. Drain and set aside.

In the same pot, melt the butter over medium low heat. Gently cook the leeks/ramps/onions, stirring frequently, until they soften but don't take on any color, about 4 minutes. Add the asparagus, fiddleheads, potatoes, stock/water, and salt. Bring to a boil over high heat, then lower heat and simmer until veggies are soft, 10-15 minutes. Set aside some fiddleheads and asparagus tips for garnish. Puree the rest right in pot with a stick blender, or let it cool and pour soup into a regular blender in two batches (never process steamy liquids in a blender unless you want soup all over your kitchen walls—make sure it cools first).

Reheat soup in pot with lemon juice, dill, and salt and pepper to taste. Serve hot with a dollop of sour cream or creme fraiche, a few fiddleheads or asparagus tips, and chopped dill.

Tuesday Tease: Whoopie Pies

According to my blog hosting service, Food on the Food recently hit one million pageviews! So, thanks again for reading this little blog. I know you guys have one million other things competing for your attention, so I appreciate that you find a way to squeeze a quick, silly read into your busy lives. Here, have a whoopie pie!* ** *** ****

*Offer good starting Fall 2013!

**And you have to make it yourself.

***After you buy the book.

****Hello? Is anybody still there?

Adventures at Cruz Market

Not far from my house is a tiny Latin-American market about the size of my dining room. It is cramped and in no way aesthetically pleasing, but it's cheap and I can usually find whatever exotic ingredient I'm looking for.

However, the place has always struck me as a little bit sketchy. Maybe it's the industrial neighborhood, or the fact that there's no room to move around, but more likely it has something to do with the long, mysterious line leading to a door at the back of the store. There's always a line, and it's unclear what exactly is going on back there. Nobody talks. Everyone seems very serious and determined. What's everyone in line for? That's what I wanted to ask. But asking too many questions seemed like a good way to get myself banned from my most convenient source of goat milk cajeta and passion fruit concentrate. No, best to keep my head down, pay for my corn tortillas, and get the hell out of there. It's always the innocent bystanders that get shot.

But I found myself back there on an errand one morning. The place was deserted. There was no mysterious line coming from the back. I decided to do some recon. I meandered over to the beverage cases and pretended to be really interested in ginger beer. Come to find out, I'm really interested in ginger beer. (Note to self: GINGER BEER!) Then I sidled down a little further to a giant freezer jam-packed with whole chickens. Whole, unbelievably cheap chickens. Interesting, I thought. Very interesting. DON'T GET DISTRACTED, I scolded myself! Then, like the seasoned CIA operative that I am, I pretended to trip and sort of stumbled over to the back door. Okay, fine, I wasn't pretending. The shoes I bought on sale were mislabeled and are a half-size too big. At any rate, I noted that it was more of a half-door, a window, really, onto a tiny room. That's when a woman's face appeared right in front of me.

"Oh, hi!" I said in something that wasn't Spanish. "Whatcha got back there?"

I braced myself for the worst.

After a bit of linguistic maneuvering, she directed my attention to the most gigantic empanadas I have ever seen in my life. Empanadillas, to be exact. Bigger than my whole hand, they were stuffed with chicken and cheese, and blistered from spending ample time in hot oil, just the way I like them. She had beef empanadillas, too, and fried plantains and some sort of corn thing I couldn't sort out. Behind her was a tiny kitchen. WTF? Why had I never noticed the smell of food before? Have I lost my ability to sniff out deliciousness? I bought one chicken empanada for $2, and went back to my car feeling like a complete idiot—but a happy idiot! I ate the whole thing before I even started up the car. It was fucking delicious.

So, in case you're wondering what goes on in the back of Cruz Market, that's what. Empanadas. They're not illegal, but they should be!!

Cruz Market, 139 Felton St., Waltham, MA (kitchen closed Sundays and Mondays)

Sesame Soba Salad with Shiitakes

Husband was out of town last week, so I took that opportunity to make all the food he hates. (Or all the food he thinks he hates.) Enter this sesame soba salad with mushrooms and tofu. He's never had this particular dish before, but it just seems like exactly the kind of thing he wouldn't want to see on the dinner table after a long day at work. You get a sense for these things after spending 20 years with someone. But like I said, he was gone, and it was the perfect repository for my recent flush of homegrown shiitakes.

The recipe is from Melissa Clark's latest book, Cook This Now, which you should seriously consider buying, not because of the bullying title but because your favorite blogger bullied you into it. (That's me, by the way. Your favorite blogger. In case somebody else jumped to mind.) The chapters are arranged by month so it's perfect for cooking with the seasons, especially if you belong to a particularly fertile CSA. It's one of those cookbooks where every single recipe sounds good.

Soba are thin Japanese buckwheat noodles, and here they're tossed with roasted mushrooms, fresh cucumbers and scallions, and a sesame and soy sauce dressing brightened with ginger and a bit of orange juice. There's also a recipe for tofu "croutons," which I was skeptical about, not being much for tofu myself, but then I ate half of the fried cubes before dinner was even served. Frying makes everything better, even tofu. 

I think you can pretty well imagine the kids' reaction to this meal. My eldest looked stricken when confronted with his plate. He's a great eater these days, but even he has his limits. Brown pasta? Tofu? Mushrooms that look like sea monster tentacles? Not a recipe for success. (Well, maybe the sea monster tentacles.) Both kids ate their mandatory quota of bites and then slunk off. But, boy, I thought it was delicious. I will definitely be making this again, though maybe just for my solo weekday lunches.

Sesame Soba Salad with Roasted Shiitakes and Tofu Croutons

When outdoor potluck season begins, consider this instead of your usual pasta salad.

8 oz. shiitake mushrooms, stems removed, caps sliced into thin strips
2 1/2 Tbsp. toasted sesame oil, divided
5 1/2 Tbsp. soy sauce, divided
1/2 lb. extra-firm tofu, drained, cut into 3/4-inch cubes
1 Tbsp. peanut oil or olive oil
1 1/2 Tbsp. freshly squeezed orange juice
1 Tbsp. rice wine vinegar
1 Tbsp. grated gingerroot
1 medium cucumber, peeled
6 oz. soba noodles
2 scallions, thinly sliced
2 Tbsp. chopped fresh cilantro
1 Tbsp. sesame seeds
Salt to taste

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Set a pot of water to boil.

Toss the mushroom slices with 1 Tbsp. sesame oil, 1/2 Tbsp. soy sauce, and a pinch of salt. Spread them out on a baking sheet in a single layer. Roast, tossing occasionally, until mushrooms are tender and slightly golden, 8-10 minutes.

Pat tofu cubes dry with paper towels and heat oil in a large nonstick pan over medium heat. When it shimmers, add the tofu in a single layer and let it cook undisturbed for 3-4 minutes until golden brown on the bottom. Flip the pieces over and cook 2-3 minutes more until the other side is golden. In a small bowl, whisk together 2 Tbsp. soy sauce and 1/2 Tbsp. sesame oil. Pour it into the pan with the tofu and toss for 1 minute longer. Drain tofu on a paper towel-lined plate.

In a small bowl, whisk together the remaining 3 Tbsp. soy sauce, 1 Tbsp. sesame oil, orange juice, rice wine vinegar, and ginger. Let sit so flavors meld.

Cook the soba noodles according to the package instructions. My instructions were in Japanese, so I kept tasting them until they seemed done, about 6 minutes. Drain and run under cold water, draining again.

Cut the peeled cucumbers lengthwise into quarters and scoop out the seeds. Cut each quarter into slices. In a large bowl, toss the noodles with the cucumber, mushrooms, scallions, and cilantro. Lightly toast sesame seeds in a dry pan, tossing frequently, 1-2 minutes. Add sesame seeds to salad. Toss with dressing, top with tofu, and serve.

Shiitake Surprise

Walking by my kitchen window the other day, something caught my eye. Past the birdfeeders and under the azalea bushes and mountain laurel that grow along the rock walls of our steep yard, was a mushroom. A shiitake, it looked like. I was confused because it's pretty early for mushrooms, plus it appeared to be growing out from under some ivy (shiitakes grow out of wood, not the ground).

Then I realized what happened. When the roofers came to replace our roof back in the fall, they heaved my mushroom logs into the bushes because they were in the way and what the hell were all these logs doing lined up vertically in a row anyway? The logs were fine where they ended up, all nestled in ivy—mushroom logs aren't terribly picky as long as they're not in the beating sun. I wasn't going to bother to retrieve them until after the April showers.

But then all of the unseasonably warm weather we had last week must have triggered the mushrooms to fruit. Two of the logs produced a whole bunch of big, beautiful mushrooms. Because the logs were horizontal instead of vertical, the mushrooms grew in a different orientation than previous flushes. (Mushrooms grow toward the light even though they don't rely on the sun for energy like plants do.) The best part was that, because of the early showing, the mushrooms were way ahead of the slugs and bugs. That meant I got to have these perfect specimens all to myself, critter-free! Recipe to come.

Huevos Rancheros

The first thing I did when I made my deadline was to drag my neighbor out for Mexican, and then proceed to devour an entire Fiesta Plate all by myself along with most of my friend's refried beans, half a pitcher of sangria, and a giant piece of tres leches cake. Don't look at me like that—you can't celebrate a partially-completed dessert cookbook without cake!

That was followed soon thereafter by the peanut marzipan you saw in my previous post, because I can't go a whole week without sugar, you know that. Then came the huevos rancheros: warm corn tortillas strewn with cumin-scented black beans, fried eggs nestled on top, scattered with crumbled cheese and cilantro leaves, and ribboned with salsa or hot sauce. What can I say, I've really been digging Mexican food lately. I know I need to get back to work eventually, but right now, the fiesta continues!!

Huevos Rancheros

This is one of my favorite lazy meals because we always have eggs, cheese, a can of black beans, and a partially eaten jar of salsa on hand. If I have corn tortillas in the back of the fridge, I'll use them. If not, I leave them out. We eat this as often for dinner as for brunch.

1-2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. ground cumin (or more)
Pinch of cayenne
Salt and pepper
1 big can black beans, rinsed, drained
1 Tbsp. chopped cilantro
Fresh farm eggs
Cheese, crumbled or grated (e.g., queso fresco, cheddar, monterey jack, mozzarella)
Small corn tortillas
Salsa or hot sauce

Heat olive oil in a medium pot over medium heat until shimmery. Sauté onions until soft and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add garlic, cumin, and cayenne, and stir about 30 seconds. Stir in rinsed beans and a few tablespoons of water. Season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until liquid evaporates and flavors meld, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and cover with lid to keep warm.

In a non-stick pan, cook the eggs how you like them. I like mine over-easy (i.e., runny). Husband likes his with the yolks broken and completely cooked. My kids only like them scrambled. You can make a whole bunch of sunny-side-up eggs at once by cracking them into different quadrants of the same pan so the whites run together but the yolks are spaced out. Let them fry for a minute or two, then add a bit of water on top, cover, and steam until the tops are set. Then just use a spatula to cut between the yolks into portions.

Heat up the tortillas. I do this in the microwave in a stack covered with a damp paper towel. You can also do it in a hot, dry skillet for about 30 seconds per side.

To serve, arrange tortillas on plates. Scatter some beans on top. Set an egg in the middle and sprinkle with cheese. Spoon on some salsa or a squirt of hot sauce, and sprinkle with cilantro, salt, and pepper. Customize as you see fit, with sour cream, avocado or guacamole, or your own homemade pico de gallo when tomatoes are at their best.

Local Ingredients
Eggs: Allandale Farm, Brookline, MA
Tortillas: Cinco de Mayo, Lynn, MA

Peanut Marzipan

I first tasted peanut marzipan in the Bronx one steamy summer circa 1987. Whitney Houston's I Wanna Dance with Somebody was playing on my Walkman. We were visiting a family friend, one of those transient people who passes in and out of your life almost unremembered. He produced a package that contained what in essence was a dense cake of powdered peanuts. He said it was Mexican marzipan. When you peeled off the cellophane, there was a thin film of grease clinging to it from the oil that had separated from the nuts in the summer heat. The marzipan was delicious! It reminded me of the inside of a peanut butter cup, but less sweet. Thirteen-year-old me wasn't a whole lot different than I am now. The package didn't last long in my hands.

Since then, I've never seen or even heard of peanut marzipan. It created a bit of confusion for me many years later when confronted with traditional marzipan, which has an entirely different flavor and texture, and isn't made from peanuts at all, but rather almonds. It's soft, sweet, and moist, almost perfumey with almond flavor. Peanut marzipan is sandier, crumblier, and, well, peanuttier. Whenever I mentioned marzipan made of peanuts, no one knew what the hell I was talking about.

Vindication came last week. Better 25 years late than never. I was at the library flipping through the cookbook My Sweet Mexico by Fany Gerson, which contains recipes for traditional and modern Mexican desserts. Right there on the page was a recipe for none other than peanut marzipan. Could it be, I thought? I swung by the store for some peanuts on the way home and whipped up a batch that afternoon. This never happens, but it was EVEN BETTER than what I remembered. Like peanut butter fudge but much easier to make. It had all of the peanut flavor and almost none of the guilt (there's always a smidgeon of guilt when you're enjoying yourself a little too much).

My youngest is a peanut butter fiend and he was enraptured at first bite. I promised he could have a bigger piece for dessert later on. In fact, all I saw of his dinner that night was an empty plate. He only had eyes for peanut marzipan. He's his mother's son, after all.

Peanut Marzipan

Two ingredients and five minutes in the food processor and you're done. You can make it with other nuts, too.

2 cups plain roasted unsalted peanuts, skins removed (not raw)
1 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar

Grind the peanuts in a food processor until finely ground. Add the sugar and continue to process, scraping down the sides of the bowl occasionally, until peanuts release their oil and mixture clumps together. For me it took somewhere in the 3-5 minute range. You can roll the mixture into balls or form small disks by pressing it into a circular cookie cutter until compacted. Carefully remove cookie cutter and wrap in wax paper. Can be stored at room temperature for a little while at least, though long-term storage should probably be in the fridge.

How to Write a Craig's List Ad

Maybe I was too harsh in my last post. One man's trash is another man's treasure and all that, but I can only censor myself so much in this mad, mad world. Everyone has limits.

So in the spirit of good will, I'm offering a quick primer on how to write a Craig's List ad. I'm not saying I'm an expert or anything. I'm just saying I've successfully bought and sold a few things on Craig's List, and so my opinion is as good as anyone else's.

First, always include a photo. Always, always. Who the hell wants to drive 40 minutes out of their way to bid on something sight unseen? Only idiots and murderers, that's who. Is that the demographic you want to target? I think we've learned from my last post that you can't trust people's written descriptions. People are too emotional about their stuff. You also need a photo to prove that the thing you're selling actually exists. No photo: don't expect people to come a-knocking. If you don't have a camera, borrow one from a friend. If you don't have any friends, pick up a disposable camera at Walgreen's, for crying out loud. It doesn't have to be a good photo. In most cases, you can barely make out the important details through the poor exposure, or the flash reflected in one of many mirrors makes it look like a supernova just crashed in the person's dining room, as Husband observed in one recent posting. A basic silhouette with a hint of color is often all you'll get, but it's better than nothing.

Oh, and manufacturer photos are bullshit. If someone copies a picture from, say, the Pottery Barn web site, you can be assured that what they're selling not only didn't come from Pottery Barn, but also looks nothing like what's pictured. When you arrive on site, it will in fact appear to have been the stage for somebody's low-budget porn shoot and also the scene of some sort of wildcat attack, hopefully not both at the same time, but if so, it would be well deserved after luring me out to see that piece of crap.

Stick to the facts. The thing you're selling may be beautiful to you, but chances are, it's only beautiful to 1% of the population at large. Your job is not to convince the skeptical 99% of the merits of its beauty, but to get the item you're selling into the hands of that 1%. Lay out the facts in plain view without any distractions. The right buyer won't need convincing. Right now, as we speak, there is somebody out there who is dying, DYING, to own a set of four pink kidney-bean-shaped tables with raised glass tops, and we need to find that person RIGHT AWAY so that the current owner can take down that ad and the nightmare can finally end.

Finally, price it low. Take your lowest price and subtract at least $100. Why? See previous paragraph. Do you want to sell it or not?

Here's an example. If I were to place an ad for my current dining room table, the one we are trying to replace because it's about to collapse, this is what I would write:

Dining Room Table - $1

Dark wood, very lightweight. More than a few scratches, some drops of red paint or possibly blood, and scattered crumbs. Measures 70x36 inches with leaf (58x36 inches without leaf). Might be missing some screws. Sags in the middle. A lot. Put it this way: It might hold up your food. No returns. (Random chair and partially assembled jigsaw puzzle not included.)

That's how you write a Craig's List ad!

Coffee Break

One of the ways I've been coping with my deadline is by spending precious moments scanning Craig's List for the perfect cheap used coffee table. Also, the perfect cheap used dining room table. And the perfect cheap used kneeling chair. These are suddenly all very urgent, VERY URGENT, and therefore must take precedence over my deadline.

However, I was not prepared for what greeted my unsuspecting eyeballs. Behold: Beautiful Set of Coffee Tables - $150. I don't know how long that link will work before it gets taken down by the authorities, but imagine, if you can, a set of miniature pink grand pianos. Are you still with me? Now balance a glass shelf of the same shape about five inches above the top on what look to be three oversized nails. Honestly, I can't tell if it's a table or a Musical Barbie display case. Listen, I'm sure the owner is a very nice person with many wonderful qualities, but good taste in coffee tables is not one of them. As far as I can see, it's barely even functional, never mind worth $150. Does the coffee go above or below the floating glass partition? What about my feet? What if my feet get wedged under the glass, and, when I try to shake them loose, Husband's coffee cup comes rattling over to the edge and spills all over my trapped legs? That sounds an awful lot like what you don't want in a coffee table: third-degree burns.

My quibble is with the word "beautiful." In no alternate universe can the word beautiful be used to describe this...table or whatever it is. Unusual, yes. Unique, for sure. But beautiful? Absolutely not! Anyone with eyes can see that. The same flagrant misuse of perfectly good adjectives is happening all over Craig's List.  Elegant. Gorgeous!! STUNNING!!! As a rule, the more caps and exclamation points, the more hideous it is. At least "stunning" has a whiff of truth to it. Yes, you will be stunned (but not in a good way).

I know beggars can't be choosers when scavenging through other people's cast-offs, but how am I supposed to find the perfect cheap used coffee table/dining room table/kneeling chair when everyone has such bad taste??

Tuesday Peas

Turns out that the shooting pain in my left wrist that I've been ignoring for the past month is some kind of tendonitis/carpal-tunnel-type situation. Which is fanTAStic news for me leading up to my first manuscript deadline.

I nodded obediently as the doctor told me the first stage of treatment: Advil, ice, wrist brace, and not using my left hand for three weeks. My left hand is my dominant hand, by the way. It's my writing, chopping, typing, whisking, stubborn-peanut-butter-jar-opening hand. Then I went home and had this conversation with my left hand:

Me: Hey. Listen up. There's one week left until my deadline so you better man up. This book isn't going to write itself.

Lefty: The doctor prescribed rest. You told her you would...

Me: Pipe down. You already had a week of rest during the big Norovirus Extravaganza. I get one shot at a book. ONE SHOT and you're not going to ruin it for me.

Lefty: Ice! I need ice!

Me: You'll get your bag of frozen peas in a minute. First type this stupid post.

Lefty: Why don't you ever make the other hand do any work? It's not like she has anything better to do.

(Right Hand is sunning herself under my desk lamp in a skimpy bikini and earbuds.)

Me: What? That useless thing? The only thing she's good for is helping to keep me from sinking to the bottom of the pool, and she can barely do that, frankly.

Right Hand: Whatevs. (Rolls over onto her other side)

Me: Do you know what would happen if I put Righty over there in charge of operations?

Lefty: What?

Me: Sure, you'd enjoy a relaxing convalescence, but you'd return only to find that all five of your fingers had been chopped off. Is that what you want? God, I can't even read her writing. Would you look at the draft for this post? Does this say "bloody stump" or "broody crumpet"?

Lefty: (gulp)

Right Hand: Another margarita, please!

Suddenly, another week isn't looking so bad!

Chicken Piccata

Don't worry, I'm not blogging about anything disgusting today. Let's try to get back on track with a recipe for a change.

Recently, I've been craving standard Italian chicken dishes. You know the ones: chicken piccata, chicken marsala, chicken cacciatore. You can find them on the menus of throwback Italian restaurants from the ubiquitous Olive Garden to more localized institutions like the Chateau in Waltham.

My cousin dropped me off an amazing book last month called Italy: The Country and Its Cuisine. That's mainly what I was reading in bed when I was sick. It's a giant, heavy 500-page hardcover cookbook filled with photographs of the food and landscape of Italy. It's pretty spectacular. No wonder I was starving half to death.

As soon as I was up and about, I was determined to make chicken piccata, a personal favorite of mine. I sliced the chicken breasts in half the flat way, dredged them in flour, browned them, and then smothered them in a pan sauce of lemon juice, capers, parsley, and butter. YUM! Next up was chicken marsala. (Sorry, kids, we're having chicken all week!) Same deal with the chicken cutlets: slice, flour, brown, remove. Then I sautéed up some shallots and mushrooms, deglazed with marsala wine, and maybe sprinkled a little marjoram on top. Yes, I did lick the pan the sauce was in clean. What of it?

The chicken cacciatore was something new for me. I don't think I've ever made it before. That may change since I learned that cacciatore means "hunter-style," so basically this stew is what the Italian hunters made on their campgrounds with whatever they had on hand. Think browned pieces of rabbit or fowl plus vegetables, tomatoes, wild mushrooms, herbs, and wine. I imagine the Italians carry bottles of wine with them everywhere they go, especially on hunting trips. If they don't, please don't spoil this image for me. The image of a dark-skinned Italian with a bottle of wine under one arm, truffles in his pocket, and a partridge slung over his shoulder. Yeah. The next time I go mushroom-hunting, you can bet I'll be making this, though my recent version relied on regular white buttons. I didn't want to tempt the Vomit Gods so soon.

I'm moving these three chicken dishes into the dinnertime rotation. They're classic for a reason.

Chicken Piccata

There are lots of variations on this theme that use garlic, shallots, and white wine. Experiment and find your favorite. This is ours.

2-3 boneless chicken breasts, skin removed
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
4-5 Tbsps. olive oil
3/4 cup chicken stock
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice (from 1-2 lemons)
1/4 cup capers
2 Tbsp. Italian flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter

Wash and dry the chicken breasts in cold water. Take each breast and butterfly it, meaning hold the knife parallel to the cutting board and slice along its width. I cut all the way through to make two thinner pieces of meat, but feel free to keep the breast intact if you like bigger portions, opening up the two sides which are now held together by a meaty hinge.

Season breasts with salt and pepper, and dredge with flour. Shake off excess.

Heat 3 Tbsp. olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. In two batches, cook the chicken breasts until brown, about 3 minutes. Flip and cook until the other side is brown, 2-3 minutes. Remove to a plate. Add more oil to the pan as needed for the second batch.

To the empty pan, add the stock, lemon juice, and capers. Bring to a boil, scraping up the browned bits stuck to the bottom of the pan. Add the chicken breasts and their juices to the pan and simmer uncovered on low until sauce has reduced and chicken is heated through, 4-5 minutes. Remove chicken and whisk butter and parsley into sauce. Serve chicken over pasta and spoon sauce over the top.

What Is Wrong With the World Today?

Here's a little music for you guys this morning because someone, I won't say who, was very excited to see Bret McKenzie win an Oscar last night!

For those of you who don't recognize the name, he is best known as one half of the New Zealand comedy duo Flight of the Conchords, also the name of their highly entertaining HBO series that ran several years back. (Bret won the Oscar for a song in the Muppets movie, which we haven't seen, yet, so please no spoilers!) Now we need an Oscar for Jemaine Clement, the other half of the duo, just to keep things fair. If you like quirky, independent, non-Oscar-winning movies about dysfunctional love, may I recommend Eagle vs. Shark starring Jemaine, in the plaid below.

Now, start channeling your inner Marvin Gaye and pay attention to any food-related references in the clip below so this post doesn't seem completely gratuitous.

Way Too Much Information (You've Been Warned)

Boy, have I been tired over the past week. I mean really, really, can't-keep-my-eyes-open tired. I thought about having myself hospitalized for exhaustion like my good friend Demi Moore, but, honestly, that whole process seems entirely more exhausting than it's worth. Can't I just be exhausted right here in my own bed and not have to go anywhere or explain anything to anyone? Yes? Oh, okay. Phew. Zzzzzzzzz.....

Looking back, I think it was the diarrhea that did me in. I mean, the feverishness sucked and the vomiting blew, but hour after hour, day after day of urgent diarrhea really takes a lot out of a person. Wait, what I mean to say is, it really saps your strength. I don't have a large body of experience around diarrhea, to be honest. Constipation, yes. Vomiting, well, let's just say that if Harvard gave out honorary degrees for that, I'd have a very impressive resume. I kind of thought diarrhea was just an urban legend. Some kind of cruel voodoo joke. It's no joke, people. It's all too real. I don't think anything was metabolized for four full days. Then, on the fifth day, my appetite suddenly came raging back. I tried to be dainty in my portions, but I was literally starving and things didn't go as planned. I imagine my digestive track resembling the narrow Spanish streets of Pamplona, with the bulls playing the role of my lunch, charging down the cobbled avenues goring anything in their path. But further on down the line, all systems were not go. Not by a long shot. Aerial views would show the Spaniards frantically racing away just ahead of the bulls in a confused, chaotic throng, some clinging to lampposts for dear life, others trapped in alleyways, with the vast majority spilling out toward the nearest exit. There may have been blood, I don't know. This analogy got away from me three sentences ago.

I really struggled (if you count struggling as not caring at all and then falling asleep) with how to account for my mounting, explosive calorie losses on my Lose It profile. It seems they don't have a category for persistent, uncontrollable diarrhea in their databases. Someone should contact their webmaster right away! In theory, I was very excited by this potential loophole since I haven't lost any weight since I started my regimen last month. In practice, however, it was too much work to even boot up my computer. Instead, I amused myself by trying to mentally calculate how many hours of sex it would take to burn off a full day's worth of calories so I could make an ironic ballpark substitution. Somehow I arrived at 16,000 hours per day before collapsing into a slumbering heap.

I'm feeling much better now. Things are progressing a little more as nature intended. I did weigh myself a few days ago to find out the impact on my bottom line, and do you want to know how many pounds I lost? Zero pounds. You heard me. Not a single one. My scale is now smashed against a tree in the backyard! I know I probably should have harnessed that day's energy for something more constructive, like a blog post better than this one or maybe a little work on my manuscript. But looking back with the wisdom one gains from perspective and a cooler head, it's clear that motherfucker totally had it coming.

Just Say No to Norovirus

In case you've been wondering where I've been, let's just say that food and I have been spending a little time apart. It was me, not food. I was being too needy, apparently. Always wanting the food, always trying to find a way to eat the food. Food said back off! I need some space, woman! Just a cracker, I said? No!!! No crackers! Soup? Soup is food! See that piece of rice floating around in there? That's food! Drink some water. (Whoa. Says who? I don't have any openings in my watery schedule for the next three days. She can have air.)

By now, everyone knows my Achilles heel. Go for the gut, they whisper to each other. Yes, even the little fragments of RNA that don't have mouthparts. But I am recovering and will be back on schedule soon enough.

New England Lobster Roll

And while we're talking about summer food, how about a lobster roll?

February has arrived and, even though it's been a relatively tame winter, I'm still sick of squash. I don't care what any groundhogs have to say about six more weeks of winter: I want it to be summer in my mouth, and if I have to spend my entire book advance on lobsters to make that happen, then so be it. Incidentally, I think we need to find a more translucent animal than a groundhog to make these kinds of shadow-based weather predictions. Like a jellyfish. Or something nocturnal like a bat. It's hard to see your own shadow in complete darkness. Are there any cute but completely blind animals?

Awkward segue back to lobsters: This is a very basic but totally delicious lobster roll technique. The idea is to let the lobster shine. The scallions and celery are barely there for a little color and crunch, not to compete with the lobster. There's just one thing I insist upon. Toast the buns. Toast them, people. It makes all the difference in the world.

Classic New England Lobster Roll

Serve with a green salad or not.

2 1-1/2-lb. lobsters, steamed (instructions here), cooled
2-4 Tbsp. mayo
1-2 scallions, chopped
2-inch piece of celery, finely chopped
1/4 tsp. salt (or to taste)
Squeeze of lemon juice
Pinch ground cayenne pepper
New England-style hot dog rolls (the ones that top-load and have flat sides for toasting)
Butter

Remove tail and claw meat (including the delicious arms!). Chop lobster meat into bite-sized chunks. Mix with mayo, scallions, celery, salt, lemon juice, and cayenne. Refrigerate until cold.

When ready to serve, heat skillet over medium heat. Butter the pan and the sides of the rolls (I do this by rubbing the stick of butter over the hot skillet, then rubbing the melty stick all over the sides of the roll, repeating until roll is sufficiently buttery). Toast buns several minutes on each side until golden. Let cool a few minutes, then stuff with dressed lobster. Serves 3-4.

Local Sources:
Lobsters: Rockport lobsterman via Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA

Tuesday Tease: Ice Cream

I'm working on quite a few ice cream recipes for my book. Why ice cream for a winter dessert cookbook? Because, as reader Sara says, ice cream knows no season. In fact, it's the dessert of choice in our house year-round. We own an ice cream machine and actually use it. I love to churn up a fresh batch of ice cream made with local milk and cream knowing it's free from the dubious effects of rBGH and antibiotic residues. The results are excellent.

If your ice cream machine is currently hibernating, I daresay you will soon be putting it to good use!

Strawberry Juxtaposition

Last week, while desperately searching for out-of-season quince, I brushed against a display of out-of-season strawberries. One of the plastic shells teetered, and then started to fall. Now, if I had just let the thing fall unimpeded, it probably would have landed intact, maybe even right side up. But, noooooo. I had to leap into action, bobbling the container to greater and greater heights, until, in a decisive lunge, I made one final, dramatic grab. And ended up accidentally spiking it onto the floor with such force that it detonated an explosion of strawberries and plastic shrapnel never before seen by the good patrons of Russo's. Apparently. Judging by the looks on their faces.

Where were these volleyball skills in high school gym class when I really needed them?

Meanwhile, halfway across the world in the tropics, my sister of Trish Barker Photography took this photo of a beautiful strawberry tart by Dolce, a boutique bakery on Maui. Doesn't that look good? Now that's the kind of strawberry explosion I can really get behind!

Losing It

I was fretting about my expanding waistline a few weeks ago when I happened to pass a bulletin board at the gym promoting the YMCA Lose It Challenge. Drop 10 pounds in two months by tracking your meals and exercise using the online application, Lose It. Normally, I don't like to micromanage my food consumption, but since this year has special circumstances attached to it, I need to start paying a little more attention if I don't want to gain those 30 pounds we talked about. Might as well make it fun, right? I signed up right away.

Based on my age, height, and current weight, Lose It calculated my recommended daily calorie intake, then revised it downward based on a 2-month, 10-pound weight loss goal. My job, it explained, is simply to document and input my meals and exercise each day, and try to keep my calories under that magic number. Easy peasy. I can do this!

A database within the application stores the calorie amounts for almost every food you can think of, from raw ingredients to several brands of frozen meals and fast food. So far I haven't been able to stump it, even with random entries like persimmons. I usually break out the individual ingredients for homemade meals, but, if I'm feeling lazy, I might sub in an equivalent meal from one of the restaurants they have on file.

Then there's exercise. Calorie-burning values have been assigned for all kinds of physical activities, including swimming, running, aerobics, yoga, walking, sit-ups, push-ups, canoeing, darts, Wii bowling, house-cleaning, snow-shoveling, luge (!) and, yes, even sex. I checked. Three different levels of sexual activity, in fact, from passive, light kissing to active, vigorous humping. Unfortunately, the values are much lower than one would hope. For example, if I wanted to burn 150 calories (the equivalent of 45 minutes of slow-moving tai chi), the Lose It number-crunchers estimate that would require active, vigorous sex for no less than 4 hours and 30 minutes. Poor Husband!

Anyway, I take a kind of perverse pleasure in accurately documenting my food and exercise down to the amount of cookie dough I ate out of the bowl and anything that might possibly count as physical activity. Calories burned are automatically subtracted from calories consumed, and then the number is compared to my target calorie intake. I particularly enjoy the custom graphs they provide so I can see the results in painful relief. Here's how I did last week:

The red is where I exceeded my calorie count. It's pretty obvious which days I was making desserts. My favorite is last Monday where I took my calorie count and tried to double it. Take that, Lose It, you're not the boss of me! I hope I really enjoyed whatever baked goods I was tunneling my way through that day.

So, yeah, not as easy as I thought with my crazy new dessert-packed lifestyle. I haven't lost any weight over these past three weeks, and the date by which I'm projected to meet my goal keeps getting automatically recalculated further and further into the future, but it should be noted that I haven't gained any weight, either. And, honestly, if that's all I accomplish, it will have been worth it.

Persimmon, Persimmfpthfpthth

Have you ever tasted a persimmon? If not, you must. They are fantastic! BUT, you need to be armed with a little information or you could be in for an unpleasant surprise.

The two types of persimmons I see at my local market are the Asian varieties, Fuyu and Hachiya. Both are bright orange, but Fuyus are smaller and look like squat tomatoes while Hachiyas tend to be quite a bit larger and more acorn-shaped (broad at the shoulders, tapering off to a cute little point at the bottom). The kids and I are big fans of the little Fuyu persimmons, which are candy-sweet raw and bake up deliciously. Imagine my surprise, then, when I bit into a seemingly ripe Hachiya only to find myself on the brink of possible anaphylactic shock. My whole mouth dried up instantly and felt like it was crammed with acrid cotton candy, dissolving into bitter, chalky dust that made its way into every crevice of my mouth. I tried to scrape it out, clawing at my tongue, but it was no use. My whole mouth seemed to be going numb. Was I breathing? My airways appeared to be clear, and yet I was in distress. Were my taste buds falling off? Water! I NEED WATER!!!

Within a few minutes, I was fine, but what the hell was THAT? A food-induced panic attack?! A quick Google search turned up the pertinent information. There are two varieties of persimmons: astringent types, of which Hachiyas are one, which require a long ripening and softening period before they're remotely palatable, and non-astringent types like Fuyu, which are sweet and delicious even when hard. I always thought astringent meant a little sour. Kinda yucky. NO!!!!!!! I thought my mouth was having a stroke.

The unpleasant sensation I experienced was due to a high concentration of tannins in the unripe fruit. Think of the driest wine you've ever tasted, then multiply that by 1,000. Captain John Smith of colonial Jamestown wrote of the native Virginia persimmon in 1612: "If it be not ripe it will drawe a mans mouth awrie with much torment; but when it is ripe, it is as delicious as an Apricock." An apricock, huh? Brits are funny!

Turns out Hachiyas can be excellent, too. You just have to make sure they're practically rotting. They should be soft and marshmallowy all the way up from their tapered bottom to the desiccated calyx on top, the skin a bit translucent like a water balloon about to burst. You can scoop out the jelly-like pulp and eat it straight, or make it into persimmon pudding, bread, or cookies. I have no less than four persimmon recipes in my cookbook manuscript at the moment, they are that good. And I hear the native American persimmons that grow wild and in abundance in Indiana and points south are even better. They are smaller, like plums, and astringent when unripe, but let them soften on the tree beyond the first frost, and you'll be rewarded with something really special. Or so I've read. Does anyone have experience with native persimmons?

Bottom line: you need to know your varieties. When in doubt, start with Fuyu. Yet just the other day, I bought what looked like Fuyus but were labeled Sharon fruit from Israel. I assumed they were the same thing. Raw, they were just as sweet as expected, but then I baked a few. Astringent! WTF? Are the tannins heat- activated? Maybe they're not the same after all?

My research continues.

Cracking the Recipe: Lobster Bisque

Our New Year's Eve dinner, hosted by friends E and J, was possibly one of the best meals of the year. Kir royales. Radishes with cultured butter and sea salt. Lobster bisque. Pan-roasted duck with thyme-infused honey sauce. Roasted root veggies and a green salad. Lemon cream tart for dessert. Truly delicious!

I brought the lobster bisque. Since a few of you requested the recipe during my guilt-ridden lobster confessional, I thought I'd share. It's good timing, too, because my CSF (community supported fishery) is once again offering lobsters for sale. Every once in a while, Cape Ann Fresh Catch offers a special item not usually found in our fish shares. They call it "Neptune's Share" as it is priced separately and based on availability and nature's whims. That meant mussels last summer and lobsters this winter. You know I can't pass up these opportunities. (To get your own self some lobsters, go here.)

The recipe below is based on the lobster bisque from the Brewster Fish House, one of our favorite restaurants on Cape Cod. Instead of pureeing the lobster into oblivion (which is also good!), they suspend chunks of lobster in the silky soup. It's sweet and spicy, and I've wanted to learn how to make it for years. However, I'm not going to ask them for their recipe. They're not going to give it to me, and why should they? Just because I like it? Everybody likes it! I figure, if I want it that badly, I should try to figure it out myself. And guess what? I'm really happy with the way it came out! I mean, we're not giving up our yearly summertime visits to the Brewster Fish House anytime soon. Don't be ridiculous.  But this is deliciously, tantalizingly close!

Lobster Bisque

This is not a quick recipe by any means, but if you're going to slap down the money for lobsters, you might as well put some effort into it! You will need lobster crackers, some patience, and several hours to spare. I sometimes boil the lobsters the night before, letting them cool in the refrigerator until morning.

2 live 1-1/2-lb. lobsters
1 Tbsp. kosher salt, plus 1 tsp.
1 Tbsp. white vinegar
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 onions, chopped
1 celery rib, chopped
1 Tbsp. flour
4 cups lobster stock
1 cup heavy cream
2 Tbsp. brandy
1/4 tsp. cayenne
White or black pepper to taste

Bring a large stockpot with a half-inch of water, 1 Tbsp. kosher salt, and the vinegar to a boil. Drop in the lobsters, close the lid, and steam 20 minutes until done. How do you know if they're done? Set a lobster on its back and stretch out the tail. It should snap back against its belly convincingly. Remove from pot and let cool until shells can be handled easily.

Over a large bowl, separate tails, claws, and arms from bodies of the lobsters. They should pull apart easily. To remove the meat from the tails, use kitchen shears or a sharp knife to cut straight down the middle of the underside of the tail. Pull back on sides of tail to separate the shell and remove meat. Dice tail meat finely as it can be chewy in larger pieces. Remove meat from arms and claws using a lobster cracker to crush the shells so you can extract the meat. Careful: shells can be jagged, pointy, and sharp. Cut claw meat into larger, bite-sized pieces. Place all the lobster meat in a small bowl, cover, and refrigerate.

Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 450°F, and set the bodies and empty shells on a rimmed sheet pan. Bake shells 20 minutes until toasty and fragrant. Transfer shells to a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, skim the foam from the top, and simmer 30 minutes. You can get fancy with the stock (bouquet garni and such), but I did not. Strain out and discard the shells, reserving the liquid. You will need about 4 cups of stock. Freeze the rest for future bisques or lobster risotto!

Make sure the stock is still steamy when you start the soup. If not, reheat in a small pot. Melt the butter in a medium heavy-bottomed pot over low heat. Add the onions and celery, and slowly sweat the vegetables until soft, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. Do not let brown. Add flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute.  Add heated lobster stock slowly while stirring. Bring to a boil and simmer 5 minutes. Let cool completely. In four batches, puree the soup in a blender or food processor. Yes, I know we haven't added the lobster, yet. Patience! Also, make sure the soup is cool and that you don't fill the blender more than halfway or you will spray hot soup all over your kitchen. You want cool soup, small amounts of liquid in the blender, and a dishtowel placed over the top of the blender lid just in case. Pour batches of pureed soup into a bowl as you go.

When ready to serve, add the pureed soup back into the pot. Add in the lobster meat, cream, brandy, 1 tsp. salt (or to taste), pepper, and cayenne. Gently heat the soup until hot and steamy. Do not boil. After all this, you don't want to risk curdling the cream. Keep an eye on it. Serve hot in small shallow bowls.

Local Sources:
Lobsters: Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Onions: Waltham Fields Community Farms, Waltham, MA
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Some Observations About Writing a Dessert Cookbook, Part 2

It has come to my attention that when you're writing a dessert cookbook, you will put on a lot of weight. Seems pretty obvious. I, however, was under the impression that I possessed some sort of magical metabolism that could absorb the extra calories and channel this new wellspring of energy into learning a great new skill, like carpentry or Mandarin. Turns out, that's not how it works. Turns out the only skill that interests you is how to break your previous pie-eating record.

Before I started writing this book, I ate dessert only a few times a week. Okay, yeah, sometimes I'd have double portions if Red happened to make her lemon cream tart or BFF made her dulce de leche ice cream pie because they're such great cooks and they don't judge me like you do, Internet! And the holidays don't count, either, because sometimes you just have to eat a whole tray of fudge. YOU HAVE TO!!! (Storms off crying)

The occasional indulgence doesn't matter all that much, really, but now? Now I eat multiple servings of dessert every single day. In the past three months, I've gained 10 pounds. That's nearly a pound a week! You can't argue with the scale. In that same period of time, Husband lost 25 pounds. Twenty-five! He dropped it like most men drop trou—without any hesitation whatsoever. How did he do that? By not eating any of my desserts, that's how. And by adhering strictly to the tenets of the South Beach Diet. Can you believe that jerk? That sexy jerk? Fuck him! (Storms off crying)

Point is, I haven't weighed this much since I had another human being growing inside me. What's more, this book requires another nine months of gestation. At that rate, I'm set to gain 30 more pounds. While I'm not fat at the moment, if I do gain those 30 pounds (and I think it's reasonable to expect that I won't get any taller), I will meet the definition of "clinically obese." All while working out five days a week! (Shoves cookies into pocket then storms off crying)

What to do? What to do? I really can't exercise more than I already am. I can barely keep up this pace as it is. And I can't not eat dessert. I could eat less, maybe, but then I would argue that the quality of the book will suffer. Because sometimes, readers, if I can be frank for a minute, I just want to get the recipe done. Just get it done and say it's fine as it is, but it's not fine, it's too sweet or too dry or too mealy, so I make it again but then it's way too smooth, so unbelievably smooth it's creepy, and it's not until the 15th or 16th bite that I finally admit it to myself.

So hi, everyone, and welcome to the Emotional Rollercoaster of 2012. Because I can't just be happy. I can only be happy with an equal and opposite amount of angst.

Holiday Cookie Hangover

Hi guys! So I guess I took a little vacation last week. I would have told you but every time I approached my computer, it was like two magnets repelling each other. I snuck up from all directions, but it was as if some weird force field was in place around my desk. And then suddenly I remembered that I had to clean out the freezer in the basement. Oh, and wipe out the silverware drawer. How do crumbs end up in the silverware drawer anyway? Everything in there is supposed to be clean. It should be spotless always! Anyway, when someone like me starts looking for things to clean, it's clear I need a break. Preferably someplace warm and tropical, but I'll settle for another room in the house in a pinch.

December was a dizzying combination of home improvement and holiday madness. Over the course of three weeks, we had the roof on our house replaced (planned) and a new hot water heater installed (unplanned). The Third Grader had a birthday, Husband got a shiny, new job, and I ran the school bake sale in which I continued the PTO tradition of requiring a police/fire department visit. It's not nearly as exciting as it sounds, trust me. I accidentally dialed 911 from the school while trying to track down the missing cash box that had all the change we needed for the sale. After apologizing profusely to the police dispatcher, they said they would still have to come and check things out. Because that's what parents like to see as they arrive at their children's elementary school holiday concert: the authorities swarming around the premises. Fine, I said, just please, please bring rolls of quarters and lots of ones. And don't even think about leaving without buying a cookie!!

Speaking of cookies, I had intended to write about the holiday cookie exchange that Next-Door Neighbor started a few years back, which is based on a tradition she grew up with. Here's how it works: Acquire a holiday-themed cookie jar (the uglier, the better). Fill it with homemade cookies of your choice, preferably an assortment. Give to your neighbor, friend, or crazy relative who can cook. Now they have cookies and, more importantly, the cookie jar. Next year, as they're unpacking their festive holiday knick-knacks and whatnot, they'll come across the cookie jar they received the year before and blurt out, "Oh, #$%#$&" (insert favorite swear here). Because now it's their turn to reciprocate instead of being the one to receive surprise cookies without lifting a finger. And back and forth it goes. It's delicious holiday revenge!

This year, we were the lucky recipients of the cookie jar packed with three kinds of cookies. As if I needed more cookies in my life. Turns out I needed more cookies in my life because we got the jar on Wednesday and it was empty by Christmas. There were soft frosted gingersnaps, pecan tassies, and these beautiful peppermint pavlova cookies filled with crushed candy canes, white chocolate chips, and crack. At least I think it was crack. That's the only explanation for how many I ate. I've never been a white chocolate kind of girl, but it appears I can be swayed.

Hope you enjoyed your holiday cookies (and the holidays themselves) as much!

2011 Holiday Raffle: The Flavor Bible

Okay, you guys, I think this is going to be the last raffle. This generosity thing is exhausting.

The Flavor Bible by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg is one of the most interesting and unique food books out there. It's a compilation of flavor matches for pretty much any ingredient under the sun, from achiote seeds to zucchini blossoms. Each ingredient is followed by a list of complementary flavors. The strongest matches are indicated in boldface and/or caps.

So, if you were to look up, say, figs, you would find a long list of ingredients that have an affinity for figs, like arugula, bacon, hazelnuts, and pears. In bold would be prosciutto, red wine vinegar, and mascarpone, indicating an even stronger partnership, and, in bold caps, the ultimate matches: BLUE CHEESE, HONEY, and WALNUTS. Ergo, an arugula salad with pears and figs sprinkled with crumbled bacon, hazelnuts, and blue cheese lightly dressed with a red wine vinaigrette might not be a shitty idea!

It's basically a food thesaurus. And now that I'm writing a cookbook, it's become a really useful reference tool. When I get stuck on a recipe (either because it's ill-conceived or my vision exceeds my talents), I simply read through the appropriate ingredient list before bed, and, when I wake up, I have some new recipe ideas fully formed and ready for testing. It's like magic!

But even if you're not under the gun in terms of recipe development, it's fascinating to flip through the lists. They were compiled not just from the minds of the authors, but from dozens of internationally renowned chefs, like Daniel Boulud, Rick Bayless, Lidia Bastianich, Mario Batali, Judy Rodgers, Vikram Vij, and Grant Achatz. There are suggested flavor pairings ranging from obvious to oddball, quotes from chefs about how they cook with specific ingredients, and actual menu items from famous restaurants. There are some pretty photos, too, but it's mostly a word book. Did I mention it won a James Beard Award?

Little, Brown has graciously agreed to donate one copy. To be considered, tell me how you would finish the following food equation, which was pulled directly from the book. In other words, what sort of dish would you make with:

sweet potatoes + apples + sage

I know, I know, you're busy with all of your holiday crap, and now I'm expecting you to be the next Iron Chef. If you're stuck, do what I do and sleep on it. Then comment with whatever your subconscious serves up. Involve as many other ingredients as you'd like—this is just a starting point. You don't even have to cook it for me. If it sucks, I'll never know! Comments will close Saturday 12/24 at 10 p.m. EST and Random.org will do the rest.

Happy Holidays!

2011 Holiday Raffle: Rao's Coffee

Do you like coffee? Do you like mushrooms? Well, have I got a giveaway for you!

Rao's Coffee Roasting Company, located in Hadley, MA, supplies direct-trade coffee beans to more than 100 Boston area restaurants, including Craigie on Main and Hamersley's Bistro. Rao's recently partnered with Ming Tsai, chef of Blue Ginger and host of public television's Simply Ming, to create a one-of-a-kind coffee blend that includes health-promoting maitake mushrooms. And you do remember the other name for maitake mushrooms, don't you? DON'T YOU??? It's my beloved hen-of-the-woods! Pay attention, people!

Mushrooms in coffee? Are you intrigued? I know I am. But since I'm not a coffee-drinker, you guys get to be my guinea pigs. Rao's is donating one 16 oz. bag of Ming Tsai's Maitake Coffee for Health (caf or decaf) to one lucky winner. Don't think I'm being 100% altruistic here. I want you guys to stop falling asleep during my mushroom posts. To be considered, leave a comment below about coffee or mushrooms. Comments will close at 10 p.m. EST on Saturday 12/17.

If you prefer your coffee untainted with mushrooms, know that Rao's also sells French Roast, Ethiopian Yirgacheffe, Guatemalan (organically grown), and a whole bunch of other coffees perfect for gift-giving. You can order them through their site or, if you're lucky, you might find some at Russo's (oddly, under the mushroom bins).

A Tale of Two Frescas

Hi All!  Husband here.  I related a story to Tammy the other day that she found amusing, so here it is in the form of a Special Guest Post.

If you are not acquainted with the sweet, crisp flavor of Fresca, then you need to go get some right now.  Go ahead, I’ll wait here.

…

OK, now that you’ve agreed that it is the best grapefruit-based diet tonic in the land, we can start the story.

The other day me and my co-worker were working on Important Business at my desk.  It was that time in the afternoon when refreshment is needed, and luckily the machine has a Fresca button on it.  We got two Frescas, opened them with great relish, and got back to work.

About five minutes into Important Business we looked up from the computer screen and suddenly realized that our Frescas were sitting on the desk right next to each other.  Although the quantities still left in each were different, there was no way to 100% without-a-doubt correctly associate each Fresca with its proper owner.  We’re both engineers, so believe me, if there were a scientifically-achievable way to identify them, we would have been okay.  But in this instance we just didn’t have time for DNA swabs and a testing lab.

A hush came over the office.

We stared at the Frescas, minds churning.

We looked at each other.

We looked at the Frescas.

We looked at each other.

We put the Frescas in the trash.

I found 8 shiny quarters in my pocket, new untainted Frescas were triumphantly acquired, and Important Business continued.