Kids in the Kitchen

Before I moved up to high school, and then before I was packing my bags to go off to college; before I landed my first job, leased my first apartment, or got my first car; even before I got married and bought my first house, I never remember hearing ominous warnings about the big steps I was about to take in my life. There were many 'congratulations!' There were people that wanted to pack their bags and move on out or in with me. There were well wishes and lots of champagne toasts. I drank to all of them.

On the other hand, everyday as I anticipate the arrival of our little one, I hear more and more caveats to the congratulations. I can't tell you how many times I have heard people say, 'Wow, that's great. BUT just so you know, life as you know it is about to change.' If that comment was said with the same kind of game show enthusiasm that Bob Barker used to share before he revealed a new car,  I wouldn't mind. But the admonition embedded within everyone's tone of voice, tends to get on my nerves.

The first part of life as I know it that tends to hit the chopping black are my evening hours dedicated to grocery shopping, cooking, serving and lingering over dinner every night. The women wise in the ways of child rearing scoff and say, 'just wait, you won't be doing that five months from now.' While I understand their point of view and appreciate that babies are difficult, time-consuming and life-changing, I'm not ready to believe their somewhat unfriendly heeding in entirety.

In fact, I'm taking steps to counteract what the soothsayers tell me. I'll get around to baby proofing, buying scary baby gadgets like breast pumps, and attending the breath-in, breath-out part of a birthing class, but the biggest priority I have right now is prepping my culinary existence for baby. That is, figuring out how to continue to cook, bake, and shake up cocktails with a kid in my kitchen. 

So. This past week, I rented my one and a half year-old niece, Ellie, for a night. Well, I babysat her while Peter, Claire and Trent went to a meeting after work. Ellie made her grand entrance to my kitchen around 5:30 PM on Thursday, right after I rushed out of work, into Whole Foods, up and down two aisles, and back home. Claire gave me a couple instructions and then scurried out the door. It was just me, Ellie, four chicken breasts ... and ... tears. No sobs. Mom was gone. Ellie was devastated. 

So before I was able to create cutlets out of the breasts and pound them into submission, I had to dry a pair of eyes. Which as the wife of a marine aquarium enthusiast is easy to do. The magic words - 'you wanna see the fishes?'
Feeshe? 
Yep - let's go see the fishes. 
FEESHE!
No more tears. So we moved back upstairs, because I was already ten minutes off my timeline. Without toys to play with, we improvised with a set of silver coasters, which Ellie happily stacked, unstacked and stacked again while I chopped, meat malleted chicken, did some dredging and browning, and brought the makings of a sauce to a simmer. 

By this time, Ellie and her coasters had left the kitchen and were now crashing around the reading room. So I figured it was time for another aquarium visit. We waved to Omega and Aquaman, fed them dinner, and then I had the idea that there might be something on our cable-less television. Ah, polar bears. Perfect. She loved the big white fuzzy bears. That is, until one snatched a humpback whale from the ocean and proceeded to kill and eat it. I moved her away from the bear and back to the kitchen to check on dinner. I pureed the sauce, added the chicken, asked Ellie to stay. Stay. STAY. Grabbed Ellie before she descended the staircase again, and asked her to count chicken cutlets with me. But she didn't seem to understand the cutlet counting game.

Two more trips downstairs to see the fish, one outdoor adventure to pick basil and parsley, a trip upstairs to get the only children's book I own, followed by my improvised story about why Ellie couldn't play with my Teddy, a messy snack of crackers and hummus, two hand washes, and a couple more segments of Mr. polar bear surviving in the arctic later, I was able to make a salad, set the table and put the rest of the chicken Parmesan dinner together for the hungry and appreciative meeting makers who arrived home around 8:00. Although the noodles were one minute overdone and my presentation wasn't as appealing as usual, it tasted good and I had made it happen, Ellie and all.

Concessions on attempt one: I got it - life in and around the kitchen will change.
Comments on attempt one:

• Children have a very low attention span. 
• Counting 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 only seems to apply to the cookie counting game, not to counting fried chicken cutlets, returning to the big pot. 
• Food processors are alarming / scary to children. 
• Making tomato sauce to the rhythms of the Jersey Boys soundtrack just seemed to confuse Ellie.
• Investing in a couple toys for the kitchen is a must. 
• Thinking we should move the aquarium upstairs? 

Conclusion: Bring on attempt number two.

This weekend, I went back to a kiddo-less kitchen. I was able to pay attention to every last detail leading up to a hunter's brunch on Saturday and a French supper on Sunday. From the layering of strata, to the toast service, to the even coloring of hash browns. From the potato scaling of the halibut, to the timely searing of each piece of fish, to the perfect thickness of the spinach in its broth.

From patiently attending to each step in apple tart prep, to making sure that 1/8 inch meant 1/8 inch for each apple slice, to evenly covering the almond filling with interlocking concentric circles, slice by slice, I didn't miss a trick. 

However, I've got to say, I had a lot more fun cooking in the kitchen and everywhere else with Ellie on Thursday night. And seeing a handful of noodles streaming out of her smiley mouth was the best compliment I could have received. 

Lo.

Apple Tart

Crust 

2 egg yolks
2 tablespoons brandy
3 tablespoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt 
1 1/4 cup flour
9 tablespoons butter, chilled and cut into1/2 inch pieces

Filling
1 1/4 cup almonds
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1/4 teaspoon vanilla

2 tablespoons brandy
4 tablespoons butter, softened
3 apples, peeled, cored, and sliced into 1/8 inch wedges

Directions
Make the crust. In a small bowl, whisk together egg yolks and Brandy. Set aside. In a large bowl, combine flour, sugar, and salt. Using a pastry blender incorporate the butter into dry ingredients, until small pea like crumbs form. Add the egg mixture and knead dough until it just comes together. Wrap in cellophane and chill in the refrigerator for at least one hour or up to one day. When the dough is ready, roll it out, and press it into an 11-inch tart pan, trimming off the excess from the edges. Chill while making the filling.

Make the filling. In a food processor, pulse almonds, sugar, extracts and brandy until a paste starts to form. Add butter and blend for a couple seconds until the paste become thicker. Spread the paste into the tart shell and chill for 45 minutes, until the filling starts to harden.

Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, toss apple slices with two tablespoons sugar, one tablespoon water and one tablespoon brandy. (Yes, there is a lot of brandy in this recipe!) Let them sit for 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Remove the tart shell and filling from the refrigerator and splay apples around the tart in concentric circles. Melt two tablespoons of butter and brush the top with it.

Bake at 400 for 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 degrees and bake for an additional 45. Let cool and serve with a little vanilla ice cream.

Halibut, Paved with Herbs

Growing up, I never really understood why eating fish on Fridays during Lent was a sacrifice. After all, some of my favorite meals were meatless. I would take my Dad's linguine with clam sauce or salmon croquettes over a petite filet any day of the week.

However, about four years ago, while Peter and I were going through our first Lent together, I came to understand that for some, a day without meat can be a challenge. See, I am married to the ultimate carnivore and the ultimate fish snob. He prefers when dinner is bestial. And if the animal on his plate was once a swimmer, he likes it best when his skiff and line were its predator. So Lenten fish Fridays in the land locked city of Naperville have never come with much anticipation.

In the great Midwest, land of beef and butchers, dinner tends to come au jus. This week alone, I entertained requests for steak, stuffed pork chops and short ribs, which were each consumed with an eager eye and a salivating mouth.

But yesterday, when my response to Peter's 4:00 PM text, asking 'what's for dinner,' was 'halibut,' I didn't receive an enthusiastically hungry response. I wasn't about to let it defeat me though. I was determined to create an entree that might actually be requested outside of the Friday in Lent window.

I drew on inspiration from the fish that was served by the Fairmont on our wedding day, Halibut with an Herb Pave. I roasted it with a molded, herb and bread crumb crust until it was just done. 

It was well received, and as always, Peter and I donned our stripes as VIPs of the clean plate club.

But naturally, as soon as I mentioned that I wanted to try making pulled pork tamales on Sunday night, the carnivore's thoughts went straight back to swine.

In other Lenten news, I've gone six days without an alcoholic beverage and without looking at a recipe. I'm actually rethinking the whole wine helps me cook better theory. Now I'm about to test if a wineless Friday helps my long Saturday runs. Ready, set, GO!

Lo.

Halibut with an Herb Pave

2 5-ounce pieces of halibut
Juice of one lemon
1 tablespoon olive oil, plus a drizzle of it for the fish
1/2 cup homemade bread crumbs
2 tablespoons parsley chopped
2 tablespoons tarragon chopped
1 tablespoon shallot chopped
Salt, pepper

Preheat oven to 370 degrees and prepare baking pan with a sheet of parchment paper.

Season fish with a drizzle of olive oil, salt and pepper and place on parchment paper.

In a blender, combine bread crumbs, herbs, shallot, salt and pepper. Pulse until crumbs are very fine. Remove from blender and stir in lemon juice and olive oil. Using your hands, mold the herb mixture onto the top of each piece of fish, forming a 1/2 inch layer. (This layer keeps the fish moist and helps it cook evenly.) Roast the fish at 370 degrees for 10-12 minutes or until fish is just done.

Serve immediately. (And I served it with steamed red potatoes and a broccoli salad.)