F is for Food

With the exception of Oma's signature pound cake that arrived at our door last weekend and my husband telling me that I had made the best grilled cheese ever on Wednesday night, my kitchen has left me little to write about over the past couple weeks. The stories range from bland to downright bad. (So bad that I actually took one bite and threw my pasta away on Friday.)

The overtired working mom in me can produce countless excuses why our dinner table doesn't have the same look and feel and taste as it used to. I've been sick on and off for a month. There's not enough time. We have a new little diner on a solid food regimen. And now there's even less time.

But the fact remains, I feel like a slacker.

I used to get a big kick out of Peter bragging to his friends about how he ate like a king every night. And I loved adding my culinary tales to the Coke cooler chatter at my office. I kind of wondered why some of the other women seemed less interested, but nonetheless, I loved sharing stories of seared duck breasts, cherry compotes, roasted fingerlings, and spinach gratins whipped up on a Monday night. (Ah, I sense why the other moms were annoyed at my gourmet diatribes.) The commoner cuisine we've been having lately is far less novel and I guarantee Peter's been focusing his food boasts on the bacon wrapped corn he grilled the other day, not my dinners.

Over a high point of the week - crab cakes on Sunday night, I apologized to Peter for a week of more mediocre meals. Peter poo poo'd my comment and told me that we eat very well.

My next bite tasted a little better. 

Yes, my bar is set sky high and my expectations are unreasonable. I'm working harder than ever, training for a Marathon, managing a household, reading and writing (okay, just writing), breastfeeding, pureeing my own baby foods, and (trying) to put a decent homemade meal on the table every night. Something has to give, right?

In my type A world, the answer would be 'wrong.'

I'll continue to try to do it all. I might get sick along the way; people may spit out their peas; and I might have to stop and walk the last mile. But by looking at smiles as my new qualifier - my own and my family's - and by leaving the other rats out of the ranking system, I'll win every time.

My advice is to focus on your little cheering section - their applause is what you are fighting for. And likely, they'll keep smiling no matter how bad the shrimp scampi is.

Lo.

Crab Cakes with Avocado Salsa 

Adapted from Plumpjack's Cookbook 

(Makes four - six) 

Ingredients: 

2 scallops 

1/4 cream 

1/2 pound jumbo lump crab meat (it's expensive, but so worth it) 

1/2 cup panko crumbs 

1 tablespoon cilantro, roughly choped  

1 small plum tomato, finely chopped

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1 tablespoon olive oil 

Avocado Salsa 

1/2 avocado 

1/2 cup water

1 teaspoon champagne or white wine vinegar 

1 tablespoon cilantro 

Juice of half of a lemon

Salt, pepper 

Directions: 

In a blender, puree scallops and cream. (I thought these were incredibly strange instructions, until I saw the result. Basically you get this scallop whipped cream that acts as an emulsifier for the cakes. I didn't even use an egg.) Set aside and clean blender. 

In a large bowl, combine scallop cream with crab meat, panko crumbs, cilantro, tomato, mustard and olive oil. Stir carefully to combine, careful not to do too much damage to the lump crab meat. Make four (entree size) cakes or six (appetizer size) cakes. 

To make the avocado salsa, puree avocado, water, vinegar, cilantro, lemon, salt and pepper until smooth. Set aside. 

In a large skillet, heat 1-2 tablespoons olive oil over medium to medium high heat, depending on how hot your stove get. You want the cakes to sizzle and brown, but not burn. Cook about seven minutes per side. I put the lid over my skillet for about six minutes per side to make sure the middle was heated through as well. 

Serve hot with avocado salsa. 

Red Sauce

My Mom is known for a couple things in the kitchen: cheese and crackers, gin and diet tonics, shrimp creole, and red sauce, which was always qualified with the word 'nice.' And 'nice' it was - the simple combination of olive oil, garlic, onion, ground beef, plum tomatoes and a glug of red wine was a very welcome accompaniment to a plate stacked high with spaghetti.

Mostly though, if Dad was late and Mom was cooking dinner, we were going out. And likely, to Pasta Piatta, which for any carb-loving kid like myself was Mecca. Point Mom.

Growing up, Dad was the chef and we were his diners. But if you do a little kitchen archeology, you will see that this might not always have been the case. The recipe box is filled with little cards embroidered by my Mom's distinct penmanship. There are memories about meals she made for her French family when she lived in Angers. And family legend is that there was once a cooking competition between my Dad's coworkers; while the edible products of the other docs were failures, my Dad's fish with a coat of tan took home the blue ribbon. My theory is that this pivotal cook-off was a turning point in my parents' kitchen - the apron was officially designated for Dad.

I used to wonder why my Mom didn't cook - how could she relinquish the role of house chef so willingly? She is the first born of Croatia's version of Julia Childs after all, she loves ear marking recipes in the New York Times Dining Section, and she is Blackberry's most vocal restaurant critic. Why didn't her passion for food translate to her personal preparation of it?

The 'aha' came last week. After a particularly long day - one that included a fire drill that wasn't so much a drill but a real fire, Eisenhower traffic, three pumping sessions, one-on-one conversations with some of the office big wigs, Mary feeding, changing, entertaining, drop-off, pick-up, bathing, feeding, and more of the same, I found myself heating up frozen french fries while Peter grilled brats for the second time in ten days. Exhausted, I claimed my place in a territory that was once totally unfamiliar to me - a place called 'I have no interest in cooking tonight.' 

Looking out at the man and his grill, a dynamic duo who has saved dinner on quite a few occasions recently, I saw what my Mom saw when my Dad was lightly pan frying filets of Tur-BO. When help comes in the form of a husband that can cook, you pass the apron and accept the much needed assistance. 

Along with that, I have a couple tips for working moms who have suddenly found themselves in more high stress kitchens:

• Give yourself a break once a week. Ordering in, eating out, or heating up a can of soup are now welcome options in our household.
• Have a cache of easy, go-to classics. For us, they are a couple pasta dishes, tacos, BLTs, pad thai, roasts, brats, brats, and more brats, and grilled (fill in the blank.) 
• Sauce is the boss - my husband's motto. All that the grilled (filled in the blank) needs is a little salt, pepper and olive oil, so focus your energy on the accompanying sauce, salsa or side that can easily turn something standard into something amazing. 
• Back to the grill - it and its grill master have been this working mom's best friend. If your husband doesn't grill, get him a tutorial pronto.
• Dinner is a team sport. In my house, one person is the Mary getter, the other is the grocery getter; one person makes the sides, the other prepares the entree; one person washes the dishes, the other washes Mary. When everyone pitches in, everyone eats well.
• Celebrate, linger over, blow out the weekend meal - this is now my time to shine in the kitchen.
• Remember that the time, attention, and care that you used to give to your spatulas and spoons is now being dedicated to your little one. And I'll eat french fries and brats every day of the week if it means I have an extra hour to play with my baby girl.

On the menu tonight - my own version of a nice red sauce. But below is a recipe we've been using a lot recently: grilled flank steak with an herb salsa verde. True to my rules, Peter grills, I make the sauce, and we take turns holding Mary on our laps as we alternate who gets to take a bite of food.  Bon appetit from babyland.

Lo.

Steak with Green Sauce 
Serves 6

Ingredients:

Steak

2 pound flank steak

Olive oil

Lime

Salt, pepper

Salsa Verde

1 cup loosely packed Italian parsley

1 cup loosely packed mint

½ cup loosely packed basil

4 scallions, trimmed and roughly chopped

2 cloves of garlic

½ cup olive oil

Juice of 1 lime

1 tablespoon capers

1 anchovy (optional)

Salt, pepper

Directions:

Tenderize the steak using a meat mallet or ask the butcher to do this for you. Season with salt and pepper and rub down with olive oil and juice of a lime. Let it marinate in a non-reactive pan for at least an hour.

Preheat the grill. You will grill the steak about 7 minutes per side, depending on how you like your steak done. Slice horizontally, against the grain. Serve with salsa verde.

To make the salsa, place all ingredients in a blender and pulse until smooth. Add salt and pepper to taste.

 

The Sous

In French, 'sous' means under. So in a restaurant, it makes sense that the sous chef works under the executive chef or chef de cuisine, aligning and igniting the kitchen based on the strategic leadership of his boss. The etymology of the title implies that the sous might in some way be sheltered by his boss - protected from the natural culinary disasters that are likely to hit on Friday and Saturday nights. However, in the restaurants where I have worked and in the kitchens that I have observed, I've never seen a sous in such a privileged state. Most times he's on the front line, getting dirty, diced, sliced, and burned; he's there earlier and later than the rest of the crew; and when the chef needs somewhere to direct his wrath, it generally hits his sous. 
 
When I was in search of Mr. Right, I was also looking for the ideal sous chef. Someone who was equally invested in food, who would appreciate the extra effort and dollars put into dinner, who could take the reigns when things got backed up on a big night, and who could handle the pressure. Enter Peter. A month or so in, I hired him. And I haven't looked back.  

So today, in just about the smallest galley kitchen within the remodeled kitchen wonderland of the Western Suburbs, I continue to work alongside my sous chef, testing new recipes, tossing together new ideas, and serving new customers, while his enthusiasm for dinner preparation grows. He asks the right questions, brings new techniques to the chopping block, has a mean jump shot approach to his pizza dough throwing, and while he is afraid of getting burnt, he's not afraid to get dirty. He is the perfect sous. Mostly, because he makes me better. 

The problem is, he doubles as the master brewer of our establishment. Which on busy Saturdays and Sundays can be a challenge. And if our little concept is ever going to work, I'll eventually need another person in the kitchen. 

Enter an interested candidate. Someone who shares a passion for marketing and communications within the food service industry, my black and gold blood and an excellent sense of fashion. Someone who was eager to learn my craft. Hired.

Ashlee started on Monday. She wanted to learn a go-to meat and potatoes recipe that would impress her future Mr. Right. I wanted to get a basic lesson in pan searing in. So we went with seared strip steaks, haricots verts, and garlic mashed potatoes. 

We started at square one: the butcher. I took her through the mystifying case at Casey's and taught her about the different cuts of meat. She earmarked a couple for another apres-work lesson. We selected a couple of steaks, got a few other ingredients to fill in the gaps of our menu, and then set up shop back in my kitchen. She learned to dice and season; to steam, sear and reduce; she took notes, asked good questions, and sampled with a critical palette. But as I expected, the whole 'under' thing, didn't shield her from flying pan sauce, but that's what happens when you're the sous.

The meal was a success - the Brewer approved. And she's scheduled to return for some chicken frying, meatball rolling, and small plate assembling soon. Excellent. In the meantime, she has an assignment on Sunday night. Chops. Slow and low. Go. 

Lo.

Homemade Arugula Ravioli

Sunday tends to bring my favorite dinner of the week. Usually, I have a little extra time to prepare something special. I get to reflect on the highlights of the weekend and commence anticipating the week ahead with Peter. And usually it's just the two of us, which makes our dining room the scene of a home spun date night.

Given the bit of extra time, I thought it would be fun to make pasta, because I hadn't done it in awhile.

As we shopped, prepped, and cooked, we talked about Park City, the Cubs game, and the remaining work that needs to be done on the house. As we sat down to dinner we started to look forward to the week and weekend ahead - Peter's shark tournament in Martha's Vineyard and my family reunion in Quincy.

But perhaps because I chose ravioli instead of spaghetti, the pasta didn't romantically bring us together in a lip lock from across the table. In fact, as we were eating we both looked like we were going to fall asleep in our tomato sauce. Whether it was the travel or cleaning the house earlier in the day; whether it was putting the pieces of the screened in porch together or singing 'Go Cubs, Go!' too loudly; we were both feeling completely drained last night. So basically date night turned into a reservation for two for an early bedtime.

The raviolis were worth the fatigue though and they created full stomachs, which made for good night sleeps, which will ensure that date night on Monday is a little more energetic.  

Lo. 

Homemade Arugula Ravioli 
Serves 4 main course dinners or 8 appetizers

Dough (adapted from Bell'alimento)
2 3/4 cup flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 eggs

In a large bowl, combine flour and salt. Make a well in the middle. Whisk eggs together and then drop into the well. Using a wooden spoon or your hands incorporate flour into the middle with the eggs, until everything starts sticking together. Knead the dough gently about 2 minutes until its smooth. Cover the dough with another bowl and let it rest for 30 minutes. 

Filling
3 cups loose arugula
1 cup loose basil
1/4 cup loose parsley
1/2 cup ricotta
1/2 cup goat cheese
1/4 cup Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
Salt, pepper

In a blender combine the ingredients above until it makes a smooth paste. Set aside. You may have leftover filling, which you can save and use as a sandwich spread or for another pasta later in the week.

Simple Tomato Sauce 
4 cloves of garlic
1 shallot diced
2 tablespoons olive oil
24 ounce can whole tomatoes
Salt
Pinch of crushed red pepper

Meanwhile saute garlic and shallot in olive oil for about 2 minutes, until translucent. Add tomatoes, salt and pepper. Bring to a boil and then reduce heat to low. Let simmer for 35-45 minutes or until most of the liquid is gone. Remove from heat, using an immersion blender or a standup blender, puree until smooth. Return to the pot and keep warm. If you time it right, this will be done just as everything else is.

Assembly
Start boiling a large pot of salted water.

Split dough into four equal parts. Roll out part of the dough using a pasta rolling machine or a rolling pin. Call me crazy, but I have better luck with a rolling pin for some reason. I'm able to get the dough thinner. Cut into long lasagna type sheets using a ravioli cutter. (They sell them at Williams Sonoma and other cooking stores.)

Drop teaspoon fulls of filling in the middle of the long sheets about 1 inch apart. Fold the sheet in half length wise, over the filling. Using the ravioli cutter again, cut in between fillings. Seal each ravioli with a fork or the other end of the ravioli tool. (This tool is amazing!) Set aside on a floured tray.

Repeat this (very time consuming process) with the rest of the dough. Immerse in boiling water and let cook for 4 - 5 minutes, or until the pasta floats to the top.

Serve with tomato sauce and top with Parmesan cheese.

Fat Fourth of July

I should be 300 pounds. 5 foot 5 by 5 foot 5. Huge. But my inner fat girl has been silenced, tamed, trimmed by a conflicting deserve to look like the starlets on the covers of my favorite fashion magazines.

When I was single, even when I was dating Peter, I used to only think about food. Watch the shows, read the articles, drool over the plates I was presenting to customers at Eleven. But I hardly ate anything. Lettuce with a side of diet coke. Pam scented chicken breasts. A couple Cheerios. I was single, neurotic, freaked out about the inches I would gain from digesting. It was a bland, boring existence when it came to nourishing myself. 

Then I met Peter. My odd ball eating habits were no longer appropriate or attractive for that matter. So I started eating. And with it, running more. Today, I not only constantly think about food, I make it, taste every last step of the processes, and eat it with a cocktail or two on the side. But having invested way too much money in sizes 2 through 4, I run, and run, and run to counteract the calories.  Yesterday, I found a quote that was too perfect -  'I run, because I like desert way too much.' Yep, that's me.

As Fourth of July approached, I started counting down, plotting, planning, dreaming about the spread that we would unload and ingest on the boat. While everyone else was balking about the holiday falling on a Wednesday this year,  I was celebrating the chance to feast mid-week.

Yesterday, I got to cooking. Pulled pork, a summer pasta salad, and chocolate chips. We're packed and ready to go the party. And after running 7 miles this morning, my stomach is just hollow enough to dig in. I will be having a fat Fourth of July.

Happy Fourth the almost done with the paint job, new and improved White House!

(Enjoy the recipes ...)


Carolina Pulled Pork

Brown the Pork
6 pound pork shoulder
Salt, pepper
Bacon drippings
In a seasoned cast iron skillet, brown the pork shoulder on all side in bacon drippings. (I had made BLTs the night before so I had some reserved. If this is not the case, make about six slices of bacon for an afternoon snack, and use the drippings from that.) This process should take about 20 minutes in total. You want a nice crisp edge to all the sides. Remove from pan, and set in a large dutch oven. 

Rub the Pork
One onion, sliced thinly
7 cloves of garlic smashed
1/4 cup ground mustard
1 teaspoon cayenne Pepper
2 (or 3) teaspoons course salt
1 tablespoon dry smoke
1 tablespoon brown sugar
Three chipotle peppers with adobe sauce
Put all of these ingredients in the dutch oven with the pork and with your hands, rub the pork all over, making sure the dry rub covers everything. Try to make the onions into a bed for the pork at the bottom. Pour 3 cups chicken stock and 1 cup apple cider vinegar into the dutch oven. This is enough liquid for the entire roasting time, and actually allows the dry rub to flavor the meat more. 

Roast the Pork
Roast the pork for 3 1/2 or 4 hours at 375 degrees, or until the meat easily falls away from the bone.

Pull the Pork
Remove the pork shoulder and place it on a cutting board. Using two forks, loosely pull the pork into hunks of meat, putting the pieces into a clean bowl. Reserve the chipotle peppers, onions and garlic in the pan.

Make the Carolina Mustard Sauce
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup prepared mustard
1/4 cup dry mustard
1 can tomato paste
2 tablespoons molasses or brown sugar
1dried chili pepper, crushed
Onions, garlic and peppers that you reserved from the pork pan
Salt
Mix ingredients together, pour over pulled pork. Serve on kaiser rolls.

***

Salted Ghiradelli Chocolate Chips

2 1/4 cup flour
2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 cup unsalted butter softened (2 sticks)
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
12 ounces ghiradelli baking chocolate (I prefer 60% cacao) chopped into pieces

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In a small bowl, mix together flour, salt and baking soda. Set aside. In a large bowl, cream butter and sugars. Add eggs and vanilla mix until well blended. Add the flour mixture in three or four phases, mix till incorporated. Add the chocolate, stir well. Drop teaspoon fulls of dough onto cookie sheets. Bake for 7-8 minutes.

***

Spinach Feta Orzo Salad

3 cups chicken stock
1 1/2 cups orzo pasta
1 bag of spinach chopped
1 shallot minced
15 kalamata olives chopped
1 package feta cheese crumbled
Juice of 1 lemon
1 avocado
Salt, pepper

In a saucepan, bring chicken stock to a boil. Add orzo pasta. Stir for 1 minute. Reduce heat to low and let sit for 20 minutes. Remove from heat. Let cool slightly.

Meanwhile, in a large bowl, mix together spinach, shallot, olives, feta, avocado, lemon, salt and pepper, making sure to break up the avocado as you stir. Add the pasta when it is still slightly warm, enabling it to soften the cheese and spinach slightly. Serve cold or at room temperature.

No.

After work on Friday, Cristine and Mason came over for some ice cream, a tour of the B and B and a swing in the hammock. Mason, just about 20 months-old, had learned a new word, which has since become his favorite.
Say your favorite word, Mason. 
No.
Mason, high five.
No. 
Mason, time to go, get out of the hammock.
No. 
Mason, eat your ice cream.
No. 
Mason, sit still.
No.
Mason, tell Roscoe not to dig over there.
No. 
Good job! 

Cristine told me that he just liked the word - that he didn't really know what it meant or how his terse response might affect the person on the other end. After a while though, I started to see why the word had such appeal. Just saying it was so straightforward and easy; making the n sound gave his tongue the opportunity to touch his baby teeth, crinkling his cute little nose then lifting his eyebrows as his mouth made a circle was just fun, and the look of surprise on everyone's faces when he said it was hysterical.

It made me wonder, at what point in a child's development does 'no' become an unacceptable answer. When does 'yes, ma'am' and 'yes, sir' become the order of the day? When even if you don't want to do it, you have to say, 'yes, of course'; if she doesn't look good or skinny or classy, you have to say, 'yes, you look amazing'; if it doesn't taste good, you have to say, 'yes, it's delicious'; if it's not working, you feel the need to say, 'yes, it works.'

After awhile, 'no', actually becomes difficult to say - it becomes a latent part of our vocabulary. My co-worker, Vicky, even has a big 'NO' button outside of her cube that does the work for her - that sounds off with four or five iterations of refusals, because she has such a hard time saying N-O to the hundreds of requests and questions that come her way every week. 

Raised by parents who never took no for an answer, I stopped using the word early on in life. I've always been an eager yah sayer - a can do kind of girl - bound and determined to do, see, explore, live, love it all.

However, yesterday, about half way through my Saturday morning run, I really wished that I had taken Mason's hint, and just said, 'no.'  Around 8:00 AM, my body was feeling tired from the week - from my commute, from the extra mileage I've tread walking Roscoe, from cleaning the house, from not taking a day off (ever.) The first four miles were a rather dazed effort, but I found a rhythm and kept making it closer to the turn around point. At mile five though, fatigue met a double whammy - the choice of Thai cuisine on Friday night, which started taking a terrible toll on my stomach. Two bathroom breaks later - one plush and one much more rustic - I was completely depleted of energy, and not even Tracy's reminder to 'FINISH HARD!' could get my legs to move at a normal pace. It was the worst, most lethargic, most uncomfortable 12 miles I've ever run.

My sister sent me an article this week, which has since been shared by a number of my female friends on Facebook. It's a good read, with a lot of valid points. My key take away was that you can't say yes to everything. You can't do it all. There are sacrifices you are going to have to make. And it's only when society accepts an occasional 'no' for an answer, that there will be happier, healthier communities, work places, and families. So for my own health and sanity, I'm going to start incorporating a 'no' now and then. Thank you, Mason.

There is one thing, that will never, ever receive a, 'no' from me though. And that's helping to cater birthday parties for my wonderful Mother-in-law, especially when they take place on her boat.

  

As a side note, the chicken chorizo empanadas were all that Smitten Kitchen brags about and more. And we will be using the leftover filling (there is a lot) for tacos on Monday night.

Lo.

9 Months Old

I just finished a book about Olive Oil - the Extra Virginity of it and all the scandal that has accompanied its storied past and present. Lessons learned: Don't trust the labeling, buy the expensive stuff, and buy it from a specialty store. Oh, and eating higher percentages of fat in your diet can actually be healthier for you. Noted.

I'm getting ready to pick Peter up from the airport after his mini Cape Cod vacation which had the exacting purpose of catching as many Stripers as possible in 48 hours.

And I'm thinking about our wonderful wedding - the big event that just turned nine months old.

Thanks to Purvis, we've got our wedding album now. We've also got a slide show that occasionally plays on our big screen, a scrapbook, guest book, and framed picture gallery all telling the story of September 3. But as much fun as it has been to browse through these stills, it's been more fun over the past nine months to live each day, whether it's a weekday in the Western Suburbs or a vacation day, like it's our best day ever. And in doing that, I believe I have come to love Peter even more today than I did when I walked down the longest aisle in Pittsburgh to meet him at the altar.

When Peter comes home tonight I know he'll say he's so happy to see me, but I also know that he's going to be sad that his fishing excursion is over - that his vacation has ended. But my job tonight, is to make it feel like a new one is just beginning. That he's just arrived at Chez Honeybee for the first meal of month 10.

So we're sitting down to freshly baked baguettes tonight. A bowl of Extra Virgin Olive Oil to its side. Cotes de boeuf with a mini mustard bar. Morbier and strawberries, just like our picnic in Antibes. And pancetta wrapped asparagus.

I've learned that the honeymoon period lasts as long as you believe you're still on your honeymoon.

Lo.