MORIMOTO

After a bad sushi experience for my 28th birthday, my 29th bithday sushi experience was a vast improvement. In fact, it was a fabulous, memorable, romantic and delicious experience!

Nathan took me to Morimoto (as in Chef Masaharu Morimoto, of Iron Chef fame) and treated me to the "Omakase," the 7-8 course tasting menu, offering the essence of Morimoto's cuisine. Now that is doing your birthday up right. Excuses to celebrate with indulgent dinners are w o n d e r f u l. Surprises are wonderful... especially when I know they're going to be good. There is nothing more thrilling than a talented kitchen team preparing the very best of what they do, as you wait, giddy and anxious for what's going to be placed in front of you next.

The most unique course (among many interesting courses) was an oyster topped with fioe gras, sea urchin, and teryaki sauce. My favorite was probably the fluke sashimi with mushrooms. But everything was just so good! I really wanted to get photos for you, but it was very dark at our table, and I always take photos on my phone (thus, no flash). Plus, I didn't get pictures of everything because I had a hard time remembering to do it before I devoured the dish.

First photo, first course: Tuna tartare with caviar.


Second photo, second course: The fluke sashimi.



Third photo, fifth course: Sushi!

Fourth photo, seventh course: Roast lobster on the half-shell with garam masala and lemon creme fraiche, and Kobe beef with roasted sweet potatoes.

Fifth photo, eighth and final course: pumpkin cake with ginger ice cream and ginger marshmallows.

Got a Chicken

When I resided in the Midwest and relied heavily on my car to get around, I always had this fantasy about shopping for food that didn’t involve a vehicle. Rather than drive to the supermarket on Saturday mornings to stock up for the week ahead, I simply would stroll home from my fabulous job in a bustling city, and drop into the adorable little shops and markets along the way. I would decide on a whim what I would make for dinner that night based on what’s fresh and in season. I’d scoop up a wedge of cheese, some crusty bread, salami and fruit for a picnic-esque lunch the next day.

I think this fantasy was born on my trip to Paris a few years ago. The sky would dim; the streetlights would start coming on, and the artisan cheese shops, fishmongers, wine, meat, and fresh produce markets would have their goods on display spilling out to the sidewalks. Now that I live in a bustling city, with no vehicle, I walk home from my fabulous job and pass such vendors on the street. It’s just like I dreamed it would be. Sort of.

New York is less romantic than Paris. It just is. Thus, my fantasy-come-to-life also lacks a little of the romance. But sometimes it all works according to plan: I'll stop off to pick up a pound of fresh mussels ($2 a pound. 2 bucks!!), crusty bread (and I’ll get the last one), white wine and some fresh parsley to create a delicious pot of moules provencal. The city quiets for a few key moments, no strangers speak to me (yes I’m anti-social), and the air smells good on my excursion.

Sometimes it doesn’t work out that way, and I need comfort. After a long weekend, with an unplanned moment of recalling my Grandma (Miss you, Gramma Pat!), catching a cold from somewhere amongst 70 high school kids, sleep/bed deprivation, getting hit in the face by a stranger (hey, a least he didn’t try to talk to me), crappy weather, a full day of screaming emergency sirens (I swear, I have never heard so many in one day), the decision for comfort food is easy. I'll make the ultimate comfort food for myself – the most comforting of all comfort foods – my Grandma’s (then my mom’s…now mine…) Chicken & Dumplings. Just thinking about it makes me feel like I’m getting a big hug from everyone I love. As I’m wrapped in a down comforter. As my pugs curl against me.

As I said, sometimes it just doesn’t work.

Market #1: Picked up carrots, celery, and onion. Wait a minute, where’s the chicken? They always have chicken. Walk away. Now go back and look again. Chicken? Nope. Still no chicken. Is that right? One more time… still no chicken. Where the hell is the chicken?

Market #2: Again with the no chicken. What does a girl have to do to get some chicken in this town??

Dammit, I'm making it work!

Market #3 and several (Cold. Rainy.) blocks later: Chicken. Just barely.

Almost lost my mind, but I got a chicken.

Recipe for Grandma Pat’s Chicken & Dumplings:

My grandma gave me this recipe hand-written on small note cards. I love reading it, making it, and eating it. I’ve adapted it a little bit, but it serves about 3-4 depending on how hungry you are.

• 2 big chicken breasts and 2 chicken thighs/legs (bone-in, skin-on)
• 1 small onion, coarsely chopped
• 5 carrots, peeled and sliced into sticks
• 2 stalks of celery - whole
• Chicken stock
• Salt & Pepper

Wash the chicken and place it in a large pot with a tight lid. Season with salt and pepper, and sprinkle the onions and carrots over the chicken. Lay the 2 celery stalks on top, and pour chicken stock over the top to cover. Simmer uncovered until the chicken is done/tender. Add more salt and pepper at this point. Remove the cooked chicken, discard the celery, and remove the skin and bones from the chicken. Place the chicken pieces in a shallow pan and ladle about a ¼ cup of the stock over the top. Cover with aluminum foil and keep warm in a 200 degree oven. Bring the stock to a boil, and thicken slightly with a water/flour mixture. Whisk it in slowly until the stock is the consistency of thin gravy. Bring to a simmer.


Make the dumplings:

• 2 cups of flour
• 4 rounded (generous) tsp of baking powder
• ½ tsp salt
• ¾ stick of butter (soft)
• ¾-1 cup of milk

In a bowl, mix flour, baking powder and salt. Then blend in the butter with your fingers. Add the milk quickly – use as little as possible – dough should be sticky.

Dip a clean tablespoon in hot stock and scoop up a large spoonful of dough and immerse it in the pot. Repeat until the pot is full of dumplings (do not crowd) and cover tightly. Don’t peek or else the dumplings will fall! Let it simmer for 20 minutes. When the dumplings are done, check the gravy for salt. Divide the chicken and spoon the dumplings, carrots, and sauce among all the plates. The more sauce, the better! Get cozy and eat up.

Make Steak

When you can’t remember the last time you had steak, it’s time to make yourself some steak. Especially when the October wind nips at your ears, and the cold rain soaks your socks and hem. You need steak. You deserve steak.

Luckily, steak can be a low-stress any-night meal – good news if it happens to be a Thursday, and you’re exhausted, plus aforementioned condition of socks and hem, compounded with dogs that need walking, and laundry that won’t do itself. For example.

Of course, a good NY strip is the stuff of steak fantasy. Sitting at my desk working on budget plans, letting my mind wander as visions of beef dance through my head, I wipe the drool off my keyboard. But lately, my personal budget plan does not allow for NY strip teases. So instead I like to pick up a flank steak or skirt steak at $12 a pound, big enough for dinner and lunch the next day. Add some potatoes, cheese, and greens, and hellllllooo steak dinner.

Make Steak:
Certain cuts of meat really benefit from a marinade while others don't need it at all. Marinate the flank or skirt steak several generous dashes of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and about 3-4 cloves of crushed garlic. Make the potatoes while the meat marinates. Heat the grill and season the steak with salt & pepper. Cook on both sides for several minutes, until done to your liking. I like it pink, so I cook it to an internal temperature of 135 degrees. Slice on the diagonal.

Boursin Mashed Potatoes:
Peel a couple of big yellow potatoes and dice so each piece is about the same size. Boil until they pierce easily with a fork. Drain the potatoes and place back in the pot. Add about one tsp of Boursin cheese per potato used, and mash with some butter and cream. Season with salt and pepper.

Green Salad:
Rinse and dry mixed greens, and toss with a drizzle of grapeseed oil, balsamic vinegar and serve on a slice of tomato. Grate fresh parmigiano over the top.

Gross Expectations

You may have noticed, dear elite group of readers, that I have been away.

Or maybe you really didn't notice. We've all got stuff to do.

This past weekend was the annual New York Wine and Food festival, and I was hoping to be inspired to write something.

No - I was counting on being inspired.

I was, unfortunately, disappointed instead. On Friday I could hardly contain my excitement. I had won tickets (WON TICKETS!!!!) to the sold-out Meatpacking Uncorked event on Friday night. This was a sort of "taste-of-the-meatpacking-district tour," and if you are not familiar with this particular area of the city, it meant very delightful restaurants, not whatever else the words "taste of meatpacking" might bring to mind.

Oh I am SO glad I did not pay for those tickets.

Had I spent $130 to scamper down each block of the district from one absurdly long line to the next, only to be rewarded with a piece of mediocre food the size of my pinky, I would have been really angry rather than mildly put out. The wine-tasting aspect took place in snooty retail storefronts, with equally long lines and often a "one-in, one-out" door policy, complete with asshole bouncer-guy.

And I had so much fun last year at the "SWEET" event.

Oh well. I'll try again next year. At least I was inspired, just not in a good way, like I was hoping. Expecting.

Come Together

Last Friday night, Cat Cora cooked me dinner.

Well. Me and about 100 other guests of Macy's, who had "Come Together" to share a meal and show support for aiding the hunger crisis.

I had so much fun, I wanted you to be a part of it. So I took a picture of every course, and saved the menu.

Marcus Samuelsson (Aquavit) did an amazing job as the MC for the evening. He was promoting his book, New American Table, and said some moving words about America's table being open and welcoming to not only him, but in general to foods and ethnic dishes from everywhere in the world. Cat Cora (Iron Chef extraordinaire) made two delicious courses that went perfectly with the Trapiche wine and pastry chef Nancy Olson's (Gramercy Tavern) show-stopping goat cheesecake with concord grape sorbet. It was all in the spirit of coming together.

The menu is pretty small on screen, but the first course was Bittersweet Chocolate Agnolotti with Roasted Butternut Squash, Sage Brown Butter and White Chocolate Emulsion, and the main course was Roasted Pork Tenderloin with Black Rice, Pistachios and Orange. The dessert was Goat Cheese Cake with Fennel Semolina Crust and Concord Grape Sorbet.

Squid and the City

To those who voted: thank you. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was having my fate decided by forces outside of myself. The grand-banquet buffet of options for “things to do in NYC” can be absolutely paralyzing at times, and it’s not entirely uncommon for me to just lie in bed and whimper on weekend mornings. Or to simply fall into the farmers market/dog park/cook something/eat it/watch movie/go to bed early routine, which I can do just about anywhere on the planet. Sometimes the awesome-ness of New York propels me to go out and embrace its powerful experiences, but sometimes it overwhelms me so much I want to cry. Then I feel guilty for not embracing all it has to offer. Then I feel overwhelmed again. Then I reluctantly acknowledge that I am a neurotic weirdo.

What made last weekend even more exciting was the fact that the voting was still happening throughout (since I had forgotten to change the settings of the poll to have it end on Friday), and on Saturday morning, it was still anyone’s game. Since “Curry Hill” finally emerged as the clear winner, I promise to do that one soon, but last Sunday afternoon, squid pulled into the lead with a whopping 2 votes.

Saturday went like this:
Nathan: “What should we do this weekend?”
Me: “I won’t know until more people vote.”
Nathan: “Huh?”
Me: “Here are the options: Little Italy in the Bronx for fresh rabbit, but that has no votes, or squid shopping, or the Greek neighborhood in Queens, or Curry Hill; those all have one vote.”
Nathan: “It’s nice out. All those sound good. What do you want to do?”
Me: “The Bronx or Queens. Those are the furthest away. And I know the rabbit stew has no votes yet, but I kind of want to check out the Bronx Zoo. Plus, if something else winds up with more votes, there’s always tomorrow.”

So that’s how I ended up with the best pasta ever. After about 90 minutes wandering around the zoo (with Nathan asking every 30 minutes or so, “Any more votes?”), we headed East a few blocks over to the historic Arthur Avenue/E. 187th Street “Little Italy” neighborhood of the Bronx. Unfortunately it was pretty late in the day by the time we arrived, and Vincent’s Meat Market was closing up shop. I still had no votes for rabbit stew, so I shrugged and told myself I can always come back (the train ride wasn’t THAT long). I did arrive just in time to Borgatti’s on E. 187th to pick up some homemade ravioli – creamy ricotta pillows encased in fresh pasta dough, perfected over their 70 years in business.

On Sunday, I kept an eye on the mini-web browser on my phone, and when squid received its second vote, I scooted over to Citarella to consult the friendly gentlemen behind the fish counter. I practically ran the 15 blocks to get there. When I arrived, I couldn’t believe my eyes – no squid in the squid spot. There is ALWAYS squid in the squid spot. I silently cursed the mini-crowd around the fish counter as if each person was there specifically to buy up all the squid and consciously foil my day. Too late to go to Chinatown; should have gone out for squid earlier; I bet that woman over there bought all my squid – she’s probably eats squid every Sunday – leave some squid for the rest of us, lady! My general New York neurosis was not helping one bit.

Deep breath, my rational brain waves kindly reminded me. “Excuse me; are you all out of squid for today?” The guy behind the counter smiles and says four magic words, with a wink: “Oh I’ve got squid.” He waves me down to the other end of the counter, goes back behind a wall for about 3 seconds, and emerges…with squid. “It’s nice and fresh, too, how much would you like?” I sputter “one-half pound please” in barely comprehensible vernacular because my general New York neurosis and rational brain waves are doing cartwheels of joy together.

Wait!
(Cease cartwheels)

Suddenly I remember: I have never cleaned squid (or cooked with it for that matter), but I wouldn’t mind trying to figure it all out. “Is it cleaned and gutted and all that?” “Yeah lady, don’t worry.” “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

I try to look relieved rather than reveal my disappointment. I know exactly what to do with clean squid, but I was kind of intrigued by having to figure out how to do all the dirty work myself. Maybe I will have to get a Chinatown squid sometime after all.

I decided to make “Squid Scampi” as a first course to the delicious fresh pasta dinner. It’s a typical scampi recipe, just featuring squid instead of shrimp.

Recipe for Squid Scampi:

Note: This dish would be even better with shrimp. I should have left that in the recipe. And maybe even added more seafood elements like scallop, mussels, etc. If you decide to up the quantity of fish used, up the other ingredients as well.

• ½ lb fresh squid, sliced (see photo)
• 1 tbsp olive oil
• 5 cloves of garlic, smashed with the flat side of a knife
• ½ of a bay leaf
• 2 tbsp of dry white wine
• 1 tbsp of butter
• Fresh chopped parsley for garnish
• Salt

Heat the oil on medium-low heat in a large skillet. Add the garlic and the bay leaf. Cook for a minute or so until garlic sizzles golden but not burned. Toss in the squid (and shrimp if using). Squid and shrimp need very little time over the heat. They cook fast, and can overcook easily. Sprinkle a little salt over the dish. After 20-30 seconds the squid will turn opaque, then you really need to watch because as it just becomes opaque and firms up, it is done. Turn off the heat and stir in the butter and wine, and discard the bay leaf and garlic chunks (if you prefer). Top with parsley and serve with crusty bread.

Photos:

Squid!!



To prepare a cleaned squid, simply trim the tentacles and slice the body horizontally into rings.


The finished product looked like garlic Squidy-O’s.


We ate the ravioli with tomato sauce. Molto bene!

If I had a Pig Head

What does one do with a van full of watermelons?

Last weekend I saw a parked van with its sliding side door swung wide open, exposing the vehicle as a mobile watermelon treasure chest. Of course I had to stop what I was doing and take a picture.

No one was selling the watermelons. There was a little stand nearby, but from what I could tell they were peddling frozen treats. Not whole watermelons. That's just ridiculous. Some little kid on the playground: "Mommy! I want a watermelon!" (points to the van) Mom: "No no sweetie, it's not like picking a Halloween pumpkin." Kid: "But I want this one!"

So, seriously, what do you do with a van full of watermelons? They must be headed somewhere. Maybe somewhere interesting. A party. A big one. A big party for Brad and Angelina and their 6 or 7 (right? I totally lost count) kids out on Long Island. Yeah.

My husband is used to me. He knows what it means when I say, "hang on..." and I slow down my step and start digging in my purse for my iPhone-with-handy-built-in-camera. It means I've come across some sort of New York oddity that must be documented so that when I inevitably return to the Midwest I can maintain a worldly sense of perspective (Not all vans are full of soccer equipment, I'll remind myself 10 years from now. Some are full of watermelons. Watermelons that go to fabulous star-studded Long Island parties.).

Exhibit B: Giant, sparkling hot dogs, being prepped for what I imagine to be some decadent outdoor soiree in Madison Square Park, featuring, oh, let's see, the guy-who-always-wins-those-hot-dog-eating-contests and the cast of Saturday Night Live.

Then there are the pig heads. The pig heads disturb me.

Not even for obvious reasons (what, like that they're flat-out creepy looking? That the eyes are fair game, but God forbid they leave the skin on??). I am cool with other cultures and their cuisines and whatnot. I'm even a pretty adventurous eater. What disturbs me is that these guys are in a cafeteria-style bin right next to the register, as if they might be considered an impulse purchase. "Let's see... I got everything I need... hmmm...... well, what the heck, I think I'll just get a pack of gum, too. And a People magazine. And I better get one of these pig heads."

If I had a van full of watermelons, I'd make sangria. If I had a sparkling hot dog, I'd display it on my porch. If I had a pig head, I have absolutely no idea what I'd do with it.

(On quick personl rnt, my "A" key is not working nd it's relly frustrting. If I wnt n "A" I relly hve to push down on it quite forcefully, more thn once, nd then mybe, just mybe, my keybord decides to give it to me. Don't worry - I'll try not to let it interefere with my postings. Fortuntely, my "E" key works, s it's the most commonly used letter in the English lnguge. Food for thought.)

Has It Really Been That Long?

Nostalgia takes over me as these days grow shorter and also (seemingly) warmer. It was a nasty summer in New York, but late August and September have been perfectly lovely. It reminds me of Minnesota summers - they always seem to save the best for last. I can't help but daydream about the warm-with-a-slight-fall-crisp-in-the-air late summer/early fall weekends that I used to spend “up North” at my family lake home.

Weekends at The Lake were quiet, wonderful weekends. Busy, yet lazy. Chores were rewarded with long naps in a large hammock suspended between two oaks. The soothing sound of the crystal-clear water lapping on the shore that plays on eternal repeat in the background. A tall glass of coke in one hand, which, for some reason, always tasted better than any other cokes in any other moment, and a favorite book in the other.

Of course, in the midst of all my great memories is food. My dad, being the pizza-loving guy that he is, built a wood-burning oven in the lake house to make homemade wood-fired pizza. We would go through the whole process: make the dough, pound the dough, let it rise, pick out our ingredients, etc.

When you’re at The Lake, time and schedules don’t exist. We do have a clock. We do know that time still passes. We just choose to ignore it. Dinners at 11 p.m. are not uncommon at The Lake. We don’t even notice.

Fortunately, the intense fire in the wood-burning oven can cook a pizza in about 2 minutes flat.

It’s not that I can’t recreate some delicious pizza in New York. It’s that I can never have The Lake. In a city where I have grown accustomed to being able to obtain anything, anything at all that I could possibly want, do anything, see or be anything, I can’t be the person I am when I am in the presence of The Lake.

I’ll frequently walk over to the Hudson River and try to pretend that it’s My Lake. Minus the gridlock traffic nearby. And the honking and yelling. And the Jersey skyline. And the distant sirens. And the hundreds of people I am inevitably in contact with every time I step foot outside…. Sigh.

To be in the correct “Lake” frame of mind when I eat pizza, I must make the dough myself, the way my dad would. And I must top it with extra cheese and artichoke hearts, the way I always do when I am at The Lake. My apartment barely provides room for a miniature oven so a wood-burning fireplace remains in my daydreams. I crank the little guy up to 500 and make do. It's not exactly The Lake pizza, but the Hudson isn't exactly The Lake either.

Oh, and yesterday was the one-year anniversary of my blog. Has it really been that long? Yikes. Thanks for reading!

Recipe for The Lake Pizza:

1.) Make a batch of good dough. 2.) Make a compound butter with lots of basil. 3.) Dice your artichoke hearts, and if you want, shred some prosciutto or jamon or something. Slice some fresh mozzarella into thin rounds. 4.) Pound out the dough and pinch the crust, and brush the room temperature basil butter all over 5.) Top with cheese, then the artichoke hearts, etc. Sprinkle a little dried oregano, salt and pepper on top, and grate some parmigiano-reggiano as well. 6.) Bake at 500+ on a baking stone sprinkled lightly with cornmeal until golden brown and bubbly. At 500 it will be about 10-12 minutes. If you have a wood burning oven, spin it around in there for about 2 minutes.

Freakin’ Green Tomato Mac

Today I am in a “mood,” and for no good reason whatsoever. No one pushed my buttons at work. No one hassled me on the subway. My pugs are behaving like angels. Still, for some reason, everything is “f-ing this,” and “f-ing that,” and I just can’t seem to turn on the sunshine. No humans are actually getting any rain from my mental storm clouds. No dogs, even. Just my chores (the dishes and whatnot. Sorry All-Clad pots, but I know you can take it!), and occasionally the cheery disposition trying desperately to creep back inside my head that an irrationally pissed-off disposition keeps flicking at like a big bully.

So, that’s how an abundance of green tomatoes that led to a delicious baked green tomato mac became Freakin’ Green Tomato Mac.

Recipe:

• 2 cups of bowtie pasta, cooked al dente
• 2-3 strips of bacon, cooked and crumbled
• 1 green tomato, diced
• ¾ cup of grated cheese (I used Swiss, because I had it in my fridge. Use whatever cheese you freakin’ want.)
• 1 tbsp flour
• 1 tbsp butter
• ½ cup milk
• 1 tbsp olive oil
• ½ cup Panko breadcrumbs
• Salt and Pepper to taste

Heat your oven. 400 should do the trick. Cook the pasta and drain, and return the empty pot back to the stove. After frying the bacon, wipe out most of the grease and heat the pan on medium low. Toss the diced green tomatoes in the pan and let them soften a little. In the pasta pot, melt the butter over low heat and stir in the flour. Whisk in the milk, then the grated cheese. Stir in the pasta, green tomatoes, and bacon. Taste for salt and pepper. Spread out the pasta in an oven-safe baking dish. Meanwhile, toss the Panko with olive oil, and sprinkle it over the top of the pasta. Bake for 10 minutes or so until the top is nice and golden.

And I just noticed that my freakin' fortune cookie stopped working. How long has that been going on? Sigh.

Hooray for Fall!

Tonight marks the start of NFL regular season games. Can you feel the excitement? I have the television on right now as I write this, anxiously awaiting the kickoff.

I consider myself someone who lives in the moment. I hate making plans; when forced into structure, I am a terrible planner. I have never been able to stick to a routine of any kind. I try new things. I take detours. I explore everything. I shake things up. There are, of course, exceptions to every tendency. My particular exceptions are less like chronic habits, and more like sacred traditions. Fall is the season that houses most of these sacred traditions. Football is one.

Football season means several things. I spend much more time on the couch. Sundays, Monday nights, and occasionally Thursdays, are strictly off-limits to other events and activities. My beer and carb intake inevitably increases, contributing to the annual arrival of the very thin fatty layer that keeps me warm as the temperature drops. This works out nicely since I like to eat artery-clog-worthy food while watching football, plus it helps me prepare for winter.

Being averse to routine, I have never really been good at sticking to a workout plan, which also helps to preserve the extra winter insulation. I feel like I’m in decent shape; I walk a lot, and take the stairs. Occasionally, if I’m running late to catch the subway or if I’m walking my pugs and they decide to chase a squirrel, I might even break into a “mini-jog” (a term coined by college friends when we would sort of half-run, usually while wearing heels and trying to catch that last bus to the off-site frat party). Besides, the last time I tried to conquer a treadmill, I got so sore that I vomited. Therefore, I think I will just stick to walks, stairs, the intermittent mini-jog, and couch yoga while watching football. Especially since I’m okay with what I see in the mirror when I step out of the shower, and I don’t hear any complaints from the one other person who sees me naked, so couch yoga and artery-clogging it is. Hooray for fall!

Another sacred fall tradition is fried green tomatoes. I find ‘em, I fry ‘em. They can be elusive, but check out farmers markets over the next couple of weeks and you should be able to turn some up. Or you can just do what I do: try to grow tomatoes over the summer, fail miserably, and pluck the underdeveloped green tomatoes as they mock you.

I wrote a green tomato blurb last year with a family recipe that you can read by clicking here. I finally added some photos, too.

Spice is Nice

Fall is upon us, and typically the temperature of the air is directly proportionate to the amount of rich, aromatic spices I use in cooking. As the outside temps cool off, the general spiciness of my meals heat up. Spice cupboards always need a "fall cleaning." If you find spices hanging around that have been there for over a year, it's time to give them the boot, unless they start paying you rent. In fact, the length of their lease should really be about 6 months, if you're being strict about it.

Always a mystery is, what on earth made me decide to buy such a large quantity of a spice I rarely use? Is that curry powder back there? What made me think I needed that much curry powder? Did I decide I was going to master a new cuisine because I'm such a worldly New Yorker now? Didn't I realize that Indian restaurants deliver $4 curry dishes at all hours?

Didn't I understand that curry powder is at its best flavor for only about 2 months??

You get the gist. I needed to do something with this particular spice blend (yes, curry powder is a blend of, like, 20 other spices). I was so excited that Chelsea Market was selling bulk spices for cheap, that I had ditched my rule of buying ground spices in small quantities. So I was in possession of a whole lot of it. Chicken + curry powder is usually a safe and tasty combo. This recipe is fast and easy.

Recipe for Spicy Chicken Curry:

• 3 tbsp butter
• 1 medium yellow onion, diced
• 1 garlic clove, minced
• 2 tsp fresh ginger, minced
• 2 tbsp curry powder
• 1 tsp cumin
• 1/4 tsp cardamom
• 1/4 tsp cayenne powder
• 2 tbsp chopped cilantro
• 2 boneless/skinless chicken breasts, diced
• 1 tomato, diced
• 1/2 cup plain yogurt (I like Fage)
• Kosher salt
• Serve over cooked rice

In a heavy pot with a lid, melt the butter over medium heat, and stir in the onion, garlic, and ginger. Stir occasionally until soft, and then stir in the curry powder, cumin, cardamom, cayenne, and some salt. Stir in the pieces of chicken and brown the outside for a few minutes. Mix in the tomatoes and yogurt. Bring to a gentle simmer, then cover and cook on medium-low heat for about 8-10 minutes. Taste for salt - it will probably need it - and stir in the fresh cilantro. Serve the spicy chicken curry over rice.

What's Stirring? Another Awesome Blog.

Wow! I am honored to be a guest on "What's Stirring," the official blog of the Kitchen Conservatory in St. Louis.

I have every right to be bias, since I was once employed there, but shoving aside my natural proclivity in its favor for the sake of journalistic integrity, I can honestly say they have the world's best (and most creatively-named) cooking classes, nicest and most knowledgable staff, and all the cookware tools you could ever need and even those that you couldn't possibly know that you need (but you do).

How to: Deal With Leeks

Making bouillabaisse the other day reminded me of my first leek lesson. Leeks look like an oversized scallion, and are generally available year-round. Milder in flavor than onions or garlic, leeks make a great addition to all kinds of dishes. Pick a batch of leeks with healthy-looking green leaves, and a clean white stem.




First, trim off the dark green leafy end and the root end. Then, slice the stem vertically down the middle. If you run your thumb across each half, the layers will flip like pages of a book. This is where dirt will hide, so you'll want to rinse the leek while you flip the layers.

After the dirt has been rinsed away, place the leek halves flat side-down and make thin slices. The result will be little half-rings that look like fingernail clippings, ready to go into your dish.

Fancy French-Speak for “Fish Stew”

Ever since my stepfather, Ernie, showed me how to make Bouillabaisse a few years ago, I have been dying for an excuse to make it again. My mom and Ernie would often make a big batch of Bouillabaisse for guests, and for me it holds blissful memories of sitting around my mom’s table with friends, being cared for and filled with something warm, fragrant, and intensely flavorful. One of the things I love most about food is that it does for me what music does for some – it envelopes me with deep emotions and memories of how it feels to finally come home after a long time away, tuck yourself under the covers after a bad day; the excitement of falling in love for the first time, or a comforting hug from a dear friend. The process of cooking is exciting, but eating is the reward. And if you have someone to share it with, that makes it all the more rewarding.

I had some fish-loving friends over for dinner last night. There are about a million ways to make Bouillabaisse, a traditional Provençal fish stew originating from the port city of Marseille that contains different kinds of cooked fish/shellfish and vegetables, and is flavored with a variety of spices. This version received rave reviews.

Recipe for Ernie’s Bouillabaisse:

For Bouillabaisse for 4 people, you’ll need:

• 8 Scallops
• About 1lb Mussels
• 8 Shrimp, peeled, cleaned
• About ½-1 lb of non-oily white fish, such as Halibut, Turbot, Snapper… whatever is fresh… chopped into bite-sized chunks
• 2 cups of Fish Stock
• 2 celery stalks, sliced
• 2 leeks, cleaned and sliced
• 1 fennel bulb, sliced
• 3-4 cloves of garlic, pressed through a garlic press (or minced very fine)
• 1 can of whole tomatoes
• 1 tbsp of tomato paste
• ½ cup dry white wine
• 1 bay leaf
• A pinch (about ¼ tsp) of saffron
• About ¼- ½ tsp of cayenne pepper (adjust according to your heat preference)
• 1 star anise
• 1 tbsp butter
• 1 tbsp olive oil
• Salt & white pepper
• About 2 tbsp of Pernod (licorice-flavored liqueur)

In a large heavy pot with a lid, heat the olive oil and butter on medium until the butter has melted. Add the chopped celery, leeks, and fennel, and stir in the saffron; add the star anise and bay leaf, and season with salt and pepper. Cook about 5-10 minutes until the veggies are tender. Turn the heat down to medium-low and stir in the garlic and some sprinkles of cayenne. Next, add the tomato paste and stir. Cook for about one more minute, then add the white wine and bring to a simmer. Add the tomatoes and their juices, mashing them into pieces with your stirring device. Add the fish stock and the Pernod. Bring to a simmer, cover the pot and let simmer for about 15-20 minutes. Discard the star anise and bay leaf, and check your seasoning. You might add a little more cayenne, salt or pepper at this point. With the pot is still simmering and steaming, add the mussels and cover. Let the mussels steam for a couple of minutes, until they open up. Discard any that do not open.

Add the scallops and white fish, and let them cook in the simmering liquid for another minute or two, then add the shrimp, and cook until it has just turned pink. Give one last stir, and check seasoning one last time.

Serve it to friends with lots of warm crusty bread, and a simple green salad on the side.

Julia Lived to Be 91, Which Makes Me Feel Better

Dear friends, it's been lovely, truly it has, but I fear this is the end. I could quite possibly be approaching my death.

I only have months now, weeks or days even, before the morning comes that Nathan will think I am simply being stubborn and won't get up from bed. He'll say, "V, seriously, are you still in bed?" I won't even stir. "Well, give me a kiss goodbye then." Nothing. He'll shake me. Call my name out loud. Check my pulse. Panic. Regroup. Call an ambulance and have me rushed to the emergency room. The doctors will puzzle and agonize; how could a seemingly healthy 28-year-old have suddenly passed away like this? How did her arteries come to be like stone?

This is the scenario I play out in my mind as I drink my morning tea, watching Diane Sawyer interview someone about the hazards of too much salt in one's diet. The hazard of it hidden in processed foods especially, since we have no control over what has already been added. The levels of sodium in, say, a hot dog? Much more than our daily recommended value, which should be no more than a half teaspoon.

Wait, a half a teaspoon? That's it? Commence hyperventilation.

An animated graphic pops onto the TV screen of an artery being slowly thickened and hardened over time as the little white dots that represent "sodium" pile onto the screen. This is about where I turn off the TV and begin to accept my fate.

Until that moment, I had been preoccupied with trying to curb my butter intake, which would undoubtedly warrant the same kind of animated artery graphic warning if Diane Sawyer knew what I was up to. Me, and Paula Deen, The Butterton Family (have you seen those commercials?), the entire staff of Kitchen Conservatory in St. Louis (motto: "It's better with butter") and the late Julia Child. We'd all be condemned to watch the artery clip over and over.

But I'd have made up my mind long ago; sacrificing it all for flavor. Nathan would tell people, "She loved life. She lived life. She never took life with a grain of salt... always with butter and usually with more than a half a teaspoon of salt."

Premeditations and Portobellos

I usually have pasta, butter, a block of parmigiano-reggiano, and salt & pepper at all times, so if I ever need a meal in a pinch, I'm prepared.

Sometimes, I even have some cream and beautiful market finds that I picked up with no particular premeditated plans for their future. Most recently: portobello mushrooms.

Recipe for Easy Linguine Alfredo with Portobellos:

You need:

• Linguine
• Butter
• Cream
• Parmigiano-reggiano
• Salt & pepper (affectionately referred to as S & P)
• Portobellos, sliced (stems removed)

Boil pasta. Drain. Cook mushrooms in a couple of tablespoons of butter over medium-low heat in a shallow pan. Add a little S & P. Add pasta. Pour a little cream over the pasta/mushrooms, and toss with tongs. See if you need more cream to cover pasta. Shred as much cheese as your heart desires over the top. Toss pasta again. Serve with a little more shredded cheese.

Best. Cookies. Ever.

I have spent the last two years of my life deliberately researching, tweaking, and tinkering with chocolate chip cookie recipes to try to find one that sticks with me. Because it's my husband's favorite cookie, I feel that, as his domestic partner for life, I simply must possess the ability to create and wield a powerful-good batch of these cookies.

My quest had been on hiatus until last Saturday night. We were lounging on the couch watching Mallrats...

Okay, time-out. No, we do not live in fabulous New York City and spend our weekends watching obscure mid-nineties comedies on HBO. Occasionally we spend a mere fraction of our weekends doing this, but only after a fabulous evening stroll to Bar Boulud, where we had a fabulous meal with some fabulous wine, then walked our fabulous-selves across the street to the Lincoln Center Out of Doors Concert Series for some fabulous musical ambiance.

Where was I? Ah yes. Mallrats.

There is a scene in Mallrats where the two protagonist mall-goers visit the "new" cookie stand (or store, or whatever) in the mall. During that scene, my husband and I think, out loud, simultaneously, how great a warm, chewy, chocolate chip cookie sounds. The next day, in some place I don't remember, there was another reference to warm chocolate chip cookies. I don't remember where we saw it because all I remember is throwing my hands up and saying, "That's it. I'm making cookies. Now."

Prior to Sunday's batch, my cookies have always turned out too light, too dark; too fat, too thin. Too sweet, not sweet enough. Too cakey, too crispy. Etc. I finally went to the right source for guidance. Using Emily Luchetti's recipe for chocolate cookies, making very few of my own substitutions, I fell in love at last with the results.

Recipe for Best. Cookies. Ever. (Based on Emily Luchetti's recipe for chocolate chip cookies):

• 2 and 1/2 cups of flour
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp kosher salt
• 10 tbsp cold butter
• 6 tbsp cold Crisco
• 1 cup dark brown sugar
• 1 cup light brown sugar
• 2 eggs
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 2 cups (or one bag) of chocolate chips

In a medium bowl, mix the flour, salt and baking soda, and set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer, beat the butter and Crisco with the paddle attachment until smooth. Add the sugars and beat again until smooth. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing after each egg. Mix in the vanilla. Remove the bowl from the stand mixer, and fold in the dry ingredients until combined. Fold in the chocolate chips. Put the dough in the fridge to chill while you heat the oven to 350 degrees. When the oven is hot, roll the dough into tbsp-sized balls and bake on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper for about 13-15 minutes (depending on size and your preference for gooeyness). Serve warm!

Decisions, Decisions

I am married to a great decision maker.

Okay, I confess - not all of the decisions Nathan has ever made have been great. But he consistently picks and chooses wisely, gives great advice, works out problems in a smart and logical fashion, and he always, ALWAYS, orders the best dish on the menu. At least, he always seems to be better at ordering than me. Lucky for me, he lets me try his selections, leaving me free to chase my whim by ordering something that was likely better in my imagination - an imagination that formed these great expectations as I sat studying the menu for several minutes, weighing each descriptive tidbit carefully. I weigh the descriptive tidbits, while factoring what the special happens to be, what day of the week it is, what season it is, what wine I want, what the person next to me is having, what I think Nathan might be thinking about ordering, what I ate already that week, what I might eat later that week, what the weather forecast is, what the waiter recommends, what my mother would recommend, what I might not cook at home, and that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Nathan simply find what he likes, and orders it. Or at least, that's how I perceive it.

A Few Thoughts About Lasagna

Out of necessity, and perhaps a little gluttony, I decided to make a lasagna. I say “a” lasagna, despite the improper grammar, because whenever you make a lasagna, it is a behemoth. It’s a commitment. It’s renting the use of your entire 9 x 13 baking dish for the next three-to-five days.

“Necessity” because it lasts about three-to-five days, and anything I can take to work and reheat for lunch is better for my finance-induced-insomnia than pricey NYC take-out lunches.

“Gluttony” for obvious reasons. It’s about eight pounds of cheese and noodles.

Here’s something about me: I love reading the funny pages. I’m a nerd for cartoons. One of my favorite characters of all time, for as long as I can remember, is Garfield. That cat who loves to sleep and eat. Garfield the Cat is a character I can relate to. His favorite food is lasagna, which he always eats while it’s still hot, in one big bite. Jon, Garfield’s owner, turns his back for one second, and the whole lasagna is gone and Garfield’s cheeks have suddenly quadrupled in size.

I think, given the opportunity, my pugs would do the exact same thing. Although, this is the real world, and they would probably need me to turn my back for at least 10 seconds. Then we’d inevitably have one of our little impromptu visits with our friends at the vet’s office.

At some point in my thought process, I realized that I have no idea how to make a lasagna. In my mind I’m thinking, how hard can it really be? You just layer stuff and bake it, right? Actually, that is right. That’s pretty much all there is to a basic lasagna. It’s one of those dishes that once you do it a couple of times, you can put it in your back pocket and make it over and over in different ways.

Here’s the recipe for the lasagna I made. It was really good. Sorry I didn’t take a picture, but it just looked like a heaping pile of noodles and cheese when it came out of the oven (shocking), and I really don’t have a fancy enough camera to make a heaping pile of noodles and cheese look appetizing via digital files posted on this page. You’ll have to take my word on this one.

Recipe for Lasagna with Pork, Basil and Fresh Ricotta:

• An 8 oz. package of lasagna noodles, boiled (or no-boil version, whatever you prefer)
• 1 cup fresh basil leaves, rinsed clean
• 1 lb of fresh ricotta cheese
• 1 lb ground pork
• 4 cups grated mozzarella cheese
• 1 egg
• 1 tsp chopped fresh oregano
• 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 1/2 cup chopped yellow onion
• 3 cups of your favorite tomato sauce (or you can make it homemade, just use your judgement on what you add to it)
• 1/2 cup dry white wine
• Olive oil

Heat your oven to 350 degrees. Heat a small amount of oil in a large pot over medium heat, and saute the onions until translucent. Add the pork, making sure to break up the meat. Cook until browned, and then add the wine. Stir in the sauce. Bring to a simmer and cover. Let your sauce simmer for about 5-10 minutes. Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, mix one cup of the mozzarella cheese, all of the ricotta cheese, the egg, and the oregano.

Spread about 1/3 of your sauce around the bottom of a glass baking dish. I use a 9x13x2. Place a single layer of noodles over the sauce. Using a spoon and your fingers, drop generous blobs of the ricotta cheese mixture over the noodle layer, about an inch or so away from each other. Place a basil leaf on each ricotta blob, then sprinkle mozzarella and parm' cheese on top. Layer again with noodles, then more sauce, then ricotta, then basil, then other cheeses. Finish by layering noodles, then sauce, then mozzarella sprinkled on top. Bake for 1 hour. Let stand to cool, but don't let your pets get too close.

A Platter of Crostini

My mom introduced me to this great book - A Platter of Figs and Other Recipes by David Tanis (Chez Panisse). It is a cook book, split into four sections, one for each season, structured into various themed menus. Genius! I love it. Not that I don't love my books divided by "poultry" and "desserts." I can construct my own menu, and I can cook with the seasons, but if someone can do it for me, and do it well, with some interesting anecdotes along the way, it is much appreciated.

For my stepfather's birthday, we made:

Menu Ten

Feeling Italian (Part 1)

Cherry Tomato Crostini with Ricotta

Roast Pork Loin Porchetta-Style

Beans with Sage and Garlic

Nectarine and Raspberry Macedonia

Actually, we skipped the dessert in favor of his favorite raspberry pie from Turtle Bread Company. It was easier than baking a birthday cake, and was much appreciated.

While everything was delicious, the crostini stole the show. Easy to make, big flavor. Genius! I loved it.

Recipe for Cherry Tomato Crostini with Ricotta (adapted from A Platter of Figs and Other Recipes by David Tanis):

• 1 large shallot, diced
• 2 tbsp red wine vinegar
• Salt and pepper
• 1/2 cup olive oil
• 2 garlic cloves, smashed to a paste with a little salt-plus another peeled garlic clove or two
• 2 lbs cherry tomatoes, halved
• 1 loaf ciabatta, sliced into 1/2" slices
• 1/2 lb fresh ricotta
• 1 tsp red pepper flakes
• A handful of clean shredded basil leaves

In a bowl, mash the shallot in the red wine vinegar with a little salt and pepper. Then whisk in the olive oil. Add the smashed garlic, and toss in the cherry tomatoes to marinate in the mixture for a few minutes.

Spread out the bread slices on a baking sheet and toast under the broiler on both sides until golden. Swipe a peeled garlic clove over each piece for flavor.

Top with ricotta, salt & red pepper, cherry tomatoes and torn basil.