sis. boom. [blog!] by Trevor Kensey

Double Chocolate Bread With Peanut Butter Spread For the Lady Across the Street

2012-05-16T21:23:00.000-07:00

The first time I saw Belinda she was wearing a robe and dragging a trash bag down the street to a neighbor's dumpster. In heels. Brad's party had come and gone without many "casualties" and no severe property damage like the year before. The street seemed on the verge of regaining its serenity when Belinda arrived on the scene. After a 60 day escrow she moved into her luxury condo across the street and got down to schmoozing the neighbors.

When Belinda finally introduced herself to us she became visibly unhinged at learning that we were a happily married gay couple.

"Oh my GOD! Faaaabulous! How could I get so lucky?!"

She winked at me when she said it as if by saying the word"fabulous" she was offering up some sort of code word for "I'm cool with the gays." (It is.) I winced at her effortless skill in making our marriage all about her in under 5 minutes time.

"I can't wait until we are best friends! We will be right? Oh, I know we will! I will be Grace and you [turning to look at me] ... can be my Will."

Ugh. Her favoring me meant it would have to fall to me to fend off the unwanted Grace in our midst. Its not that I didn't like Belinda. It was just that I didn't like her. Not in that Grace way.

Belinda was pushy in the face of my disinterest and quite unwilling to notice both the verbal and non-verbal cues I was throwing her direction. I was always polite but undeniably unavailable. She tried so hard to negotiate that new friendship with me that I made sport out of finding new ways to make it more difficult for her.

Without any provocation on my part she would just assume that I would know which of her many shoes would go best with her vintage Emilio Pucci knee-length halter dress (the tall white boots and please take of that neck jewelry!) Or, would I mind giving her an honest opinion of the red semi-permanent hair rinse she had just put through her hair. (It looked a bit trashy if you ask me, which of course, she did.) She was awash in blonde highlights the next day. I turned down her weekly invitations to play $25,000 pyramid with her work friends because that just sounded too much like that other Will and Grace for my comfort.

Belinda needed something and I just didn't have any time for her. Don't get me wrong, neediness is not necessarily a bad thing. The kind of relationship Belinda seemed to crave thrives on a mutual neediness -- the good sort though. Both parties have to be in need of something though but I was getting my needs met elsewhere.

I already have a Grace. In fact, I am lucky enough to have more than one. Grace are great. I love my Graces. Or is it "Greece"? I have several Greece and I'm not looking for any more at this particular time. Anyone that has one knows that Greece can take a lot of time.

There is only so much time in a day. And so fend her off I did. My bad.

Then I heard from Brad that Belinda's divorce had finally come through. I had thought she was single. Evidently it was a messy situation with her husband (whom she impulsivly married only a year prior) that had necessitated her purchase the condo across the street.

Nobody had heard from her in a few days and I suddenly felt bad for enjoying the neighborhood quiet so much -- hearing about the divorce, however, transformed my serenity to anxiety. And a bit of shame too.

Was Belinda ok? Did she need a shoulder to cry on? Did she need a...[wince]... Will to coax her out of a depression?

I realized that Belinda would probably need some kindness about now and considering the fable I shared last week I should have known better than to not find some time for someone asking for a friend. I would go across the street and see what I could do to lift her spirits.

Thumbing through my copy of Baked Explorations by Matt Lewis and Renato Poliafito I happened on this recipe for Double Chocolate Loaf with Peanut Butter Cream Cheese Spread. Chocolate and Peanut Butter seemed just the type of kindness a woman distraught over her divorce would appreciate. When you don't know quite what to say to someone I would suggest that baked goods can always find the right words for you. (The authors even suggested in the cook's notes that this loaf is the "ultimate gift" and they suggest doubling the recipe. Which I did.)

The Universe was sending me a message. Make chocolate loaf and go on a neighborly visit to make amends.

I wrapped up a still warm loaf in parchment, put some peanut butter cream cheese in a jar and sheepishly walked across the street somewhat ashamed that I hadn't been more available to Belinda earlier.

I was prepared to see some depressed lady overcome with grief at her failed relationship when the door opened. Instead I saw in front of me a women in the midst of a wild celebration. She had a huge smile on her face and loud dance music was on the stereo. I was interrupting her good time party for one -- but she invited me in anyway. I couldn't help but take note of the fact that Belinda had time for me to come in. Or perhaps it was just the seductive power of chocolate bread?

Guess what? I had a blast. After presenting her with my double-chocolate offering we toasted her newfound freedom with a bottle of very expensive celebratory bubbly. Then another. And even though my party for two with Belinda rendered my memory a bit fuzzy for the night's particulars, I do remember that I had a great time with her that night.

We played poker, we danced, we looked at pictures and funny videos, we laughed, we drank. We gossiped, told stories of our lives, and then we drank some more. She drank a lot more than I but then it was her celebration. I got the sense that she was a bit more used to such indulgences than I. Then, she showed me her shoe collection! (Wow!)

Belinda wasn't needy at all. She was fabulous. She was starting her life over and I had to admire and give her credit for that.

So the moral of the story, if there is one, is don't assume too much about the new people who come into your world. You could be missing out on something. Be careful not to typecast.

Belinda came in and tried out for the role of "Grace" and instead won the part of "Karen". Cheers Belinda.

(Via "Castro Gays" Tumblr)

Double Chocolate Bread With Peanut Butter Spread

Double Chocolate Bread With Peanut Butter Spread
adapted from Baked Explorations by Matt Lewis and Renato Poliafito

For the Double Chocolate Loaf

3/4 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar
1 cup dark unsweetened cocoa powder, (like Valrhona ), sifted
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
1 large egg yolk
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
8 ounces good-quality dark chocolate (60-72%), coarsely chopped

For the Cream Cheese Spread

5 ounces cream cheese, softened
2 tablespoons creamy peanut butter
1/3 cup sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F and position the rack in the center. Butter a 9 by 5 inch loaf pan, dust it with flour, and knock out the excess flour.

Place the brown sugar in the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Press out any lumps with the back of a large spoon. Add the cocoa, flour, granulated sugar, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl.

In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs and egg yolk until blended, then add the buttermilk,oil, and vanilla; whisk until combined.

Turn the mixer to low and slowly stream the wet ingredients into the dry ones, mixing just until combined. Stir in the dark chocolate chunks by hand.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 1 hour to 1 hour and 10 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of the loaf comes out clean.

Let the cake cool in the pan for 15 minutes, then turn it out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

In the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat together the cream cheese and peanut butter until smooth. Add the sugar and beat until incorporated. (If you are not using the spread immediately, place it in a ramekin, tightly cover it in plastic wrap, and refrigerate it for up to 3 days.)

Serve the loaf plain or toasted, topped with the peanut butter spread.

Rosemary Parmesan Crackers

2012-05-07T11:13:00.002-07:00

I ran into Rosemary a couple of weeks ago while shopping at the supermarket. The fact that I also had rosemary in my shopping basket at the time should only be considered a coincidence.What are the odds of that? Still, I made a joke of it when I saw my old elementary school acquaintance.

I have a friend name Ginny but I practically never run into her while buying gin.

Rosemary didn't think the joke was all that funny so we quickly moved the conversation along --even though we don't have a very long list of available topics. We weren't that close. Despite this, she said she had something "very important" to tell me and so invited me to sit for coffee, right there in the market.

Rosemary's name isn't really Rosemary. It's Lauren. Just about everybody who knows her from elementary school still calls her Rosemary even though long ago she started asking us not to. These are the kinds of things its hard to unlearn once you have learned them. Like using two spaces after a period when typing.

Lauren and I first met when we were 10 years old. The first time I noticed her she was out by herself on the grass field all alone, near the back playground fence. Occasionally she would stop her wandering, point her front leg out in front her her, and then sniff and stomp on the grass with her feet. Every five minutes she would lope around in a circle and shake her head as she came to a quick stop.

"That's Lauren," my new friend David explained to me in a rather matter of fact tone. "She's a horse."

I wasn't sure if his tone was meant to communicate what should have been obvious, or instill in me some sort of assurance that Lauren's behavior was normal and not to ask any more questions. For whatever reason, it was just accepted fact on the playground that Lauren was a horse during recess.

A year or so later Lauren would inform us all that her new name was going to be "Rosemary." She told us to call her Rosemary from now on and we obliged. Rosemary seemed like a nice enough name and what did a bunch of 11 year-olds know about the mechanics of name changing anyway?

Certainly Lauren, er, Rosemary, had cleared this with her parents?

* * *

Rosemary and I wouldn't share an actual classroom together until we hit 7th grade math. She would sit in the back row, sporting her outdated horn-rimmed glasses and never speaking to anyone unless answering the teacher's questions. Even then she had a reluctant tone to her voice when called on and forced to speak. Her answers were always correct. Its too bad that 11 year-olds aren't wise enough to regard intelligence as a prerequisite for popularity. If so, Rosemary would have been our school's head cheerleader and class president.

Far from being popular, she was something of an outcast. Her often strange, loner-type behavior ensured it.

She had stopped being a horse somewhere along the way before high school although every once in awhile she would unthinkingly let out a long, labored breath with her lips fluttering. When this happened the entire class would titter and she would be embarrassed -- before she remembered not to care. Some habits are indeed hard to unlearn.

We would never be actual friend- friends. Even though she lived only a few suburban blocks from my house, I would really only see her on our daily walks to and from school. Rosemary seemed too busy being a loner and I was busy perfecting what I would later refer to as my 'protective cloak of invisibility.' You can't be bullied in school if they never notice you, right? Now that I think about it, perhaps it was Rosemary's inability to go unnoticed that allowed me to fade into the background.

Horses and invisible boys can only get so close after all.

* * *

Which brings us back to my encounter with Rosemary (the kind-of-friend) about a month ago while I was shopping for rosemary, the herb. Rosemary, who now always goes by Lauren, told me that she had something important that she had been wanting to tell me for quite some time. Every since Facebook appeared on the scene encounters with former classmates has not been uncommon.Without exception I have found it a pleasant if not a thought provoking exercise. My visit with Lauren (who used to be Rosemary) would pretty much change that.

She asked me if I remembered the day when I had found her eye glasses on the playground and brought them to her home after school. It seemed very important to her that I remembered this moment from years ago -- so I felt badly when I couldn't. It must not have seemed important to me at the time. Why would I remember such a small thing like that from over 35 years ago?

Apparently I had stood outside her front door and rang the doorbell and knocked on the door until she reluctantly answered it. Startled to see me, she took the glasses out of my hand quickly, said thank you and then immediately shut the door in my face.

I don't remember any of it.

You would think that having a friend shut the door in your face after doing them a kindness would be memorable to a young boy but that is not necessarily so. I was probably too busy or just too eager to get home to give it much thought. Perhaps I didn't think it was all that much of a kindness at all. At any rate, stand-offish behavior from Rosemary would not have surprised anyone. It was Rosemary after all.

Lauren said that she remembered that day quite often. In fact, she admitted to thinking about that day every day since. For her, everything changed that day and my brief role made it memorable to her.

It turns out that Rosemary was not exactly thriving at her home those many years ago.Over coffee Lauren confided in me that her home was quite dark and sometimes violent. Her mother had been physically beaten in front of her several times and Lauren was frequently the target of unrelenting verbal abuse and more infrequent physical abuse by her step-father, a man with uncontrollable anger issues. His brand of discipline would frequently leave bruises and welts that Lauren struggled to hide from her classmates for years.

Furthermore, Lauren explained to me that when she fantasized about being a horse those many years ago it was because she dreamed of being able to gallop far away from home. Far away where horses played in meadows and had people in their lives that brushed them and took care of them. So being a horse wasn't random odd-ball behavior from a pre-teen little girl, it was a fantasy of freedom and escape from a horrible home life.

I asked her if changing her name was part of this escapist wish and she nodded her head and revealed to me that "Rosemary" was actually her much older step-sister's name. Lauren had only met her step-sister, the real Rosemary, a few times when her mother had first married her step-father. Rosemary the step-sister never came to visit her father (we know why) and so while Lauren didn't really know her, she wanted to be her.

Because the real Rosemary was somewhere out there, far away from home.

It seems that the day I walked up to her front door, the day I don't even remember, Lauren was in fear of being 'punished' for losing her glasses at school. She had lost them once before so she looked for them in a panic all afternoon -- she knew from experience that when her step-father found out he would unleash a tirade of verbal and possibly physical abuse.

Someone would get hurt. Someone usually did.

Rosemary was thinking of how she would kill herself that afternoon. She thought she would simply kill herself before her father discovered the glasses were missing. If she were dead, perhaps her step-father would leave her mother alone this time.

This is the moment when I suddenly showed up at her front door with her glasses in my hand. The moment I don't really remember.

Lauren doesn't really know if she would have killed herself that day. She actually doesn't think she would have as she doesn't remember thinking about any of the necessary details. She just knows that she was thinking about it at that particular moment and wondering if she should do it. She thought of suicide often in those days so this particular afternoon thought wasn't actually all that unusual.

Apparently my brief and awkward visit was taken as some sort of sign by Lauren. In that moment she realized that her situation at home wasn't going to last forever. It dawned on her that someday she would be free of her step-father, that someday she would have friends, and that if she could just hang on, one day she wouldn't have to fear her own home. Or fear being hurt by her step-father.

She stopped thinking about killing herself that day.

It doesn't really matter that I can't specifically remember this day. Perhaps it wasn't even me but some other boy from the neighborhood who brought Lauren her glasses that day. While she swears it was me Lauren's memory may be playing tricks on her. What matters is somebody did an ordinary kindness for Lauren that day and it ended up playing a significant role in her young life by serving as some sort of talisman of hope for her. A kindness that would inspire her with strength to hang on and which she would remember for years.

So, for now on when I cook with rosemary (the herb) I will be reminded of the power of a simple human kindness. I will try remember their potential to have positive, often unforeseen consequences in people's lives. I will think about how it is the small, often effortless gestures, the kind that we will surely forget, that can have the greatest potential to impart real meaning -- in ways we will probably never know.

Or, maybe, if you are as lucky as I was, you will sit down to coffee in a supermarket with a kind-of-friend and she will tell you.

Rosemary Parmesan Crackers

Rosemary Parmesan Crackers
Adapted from Martha Stewart

3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon coarse salt
Pinch of white pepper
2 teaspoons finely chopped fresh rosemary, plus extra sprigs for garnish
3 tablespoons chilled unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1 cup finely grated (2 1/2 ounces) Parmesan cheese
5 tablespoons sour cream
1 large egg white, lightly beaten

Combine flour, salt, pepper, and rosemary in the bowl of a food processor; pulse to combine. Add butter; pulse until mixture resembles coarse meal. Add cheese; pulse until combined. Add 1 tablespoon of the sour cream at a time, pulsing each time to combine. Process until dough comes together and is well combined.

Transfer dough to a work surface. Shape dough into a 2-inch-wide log. Wrap with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 24 hours. I wrap the log in a piece of pita bread before placing in the refrigerator so that the log holds its round shape while chilling. Set the roll so that it is propped up by the inside wall on one side and another item in the refrigerator on the other. See photo above. The log will then chill and keep its round shape. (I do this for icebox cookies as well.)

Heat oven to 325 degrees. Slice chilled log into 1/4-inch-thick slices. Transfer slices to a parchment-lined baking sheet. Dip a sprig of rosemary into egg white, and place in center of a cracker slice; repeat with remaining rosemary and crackers. Bake immediately, rotating sheet once, until crackers are golden brown and firm in the center, 25 to 35 minutes. Transfer to a rack to cool

Navarin Printanier: Spring Lamb Stew

2012-05-01T21:26:00.001-07:00

I have a stew problem. Stew. Eew.

I hear the word "stew" and immediately relive my experience of opening hundreds of #10 cans of it every Wednesday afternoon while working as a summer camp counselor. My wrist still aches when I remember the hours it takes to feed an entire camp from a can.

Each week we were asked to work one day off our regular camp jobs and spend a day in the kitchen working for Big Betty, our camp's (ahem) "Chef".

Its hard to refer to her as a "Chef" these days without choking on my words a bit. To call yourself a chef you should first have people in the kitchen that you direct but - but when you do direct these minions to open 100 cans of Dinty Moore Stew for your dinner entree, well, you should be forced to abdicate your title. Don't you think?

So, Wednesday was my day for kitchen work and Wednesday night was stew night. Like clockwork. Stew, salad, butter and rolls. Hot fudge sundaes for dessert. Chef Betty had obviously hoped that campers who had just sugared up on ice cream sundaes would no longer remember the meal they suffered through just minutes earlier.

You'd think with a menu like that I would have spent my Wednesday mornings dicing beef shoulder, quartering potatoes, or at least peeling and slicing bags of carrots so that they could simmer all afternoon, filing the kitchen and dining hall with their enticing and nourishing aromas. .

Nope. At Big Betty's direction I spent my Wednesday afternoons opening up hundreds of #10 cans filled with stew, scooping their contents into big pots and carrying them to the cooking line where Betty's number 2, an even bigger woman named Claudia, would melt down their contents over the stove and pass them on to a minion who would, in turn, scoop them out onto a sectioned cafeteria tray.

You can only imagine how horrifying this whole experience was to a young, impressionable youth such as myself. A youth, I might remind you, with particular culinary sensibilities.

I lost 10 pounds at camp that summer.

So now you know why I have an aversion to stew. Its not permanent I assure you. I'm working it out because, well, I actually really like stew. Now that I know what it should taste like. Since stews are just a tick of the gastronomical index away from all manner of elegantly braised dishes that I love. -- Coq au vin, boeuf à la bourguignonne, veal oso bucco, etc..

Seems all I really have to do to enjoy stew is stay away from cans and give it another, more fancy name. A name you won't see on the side of a can. A name like Navarin Printanier.

Navarin Printanier
adapted from Dorie Greenspan's "Around My French Table"

3 tablespoons olive oil
3 pounds lamb shoulder trimmed of fat and cubed.
3 tablespoons flour
4 cups beef broth
3 tablespoon tomato paste
4 garlic cloves chopped
1 1/2 cups of frozen pearl onions, thawed
3 carrots sliced into 3/4 inch pieces
2 parsnips cut into 3/4 inch wedges
1 pound red new potatoes, halved
1 tablespoon sugar
1 1/2 cup frozen peas
salt and pepper
3 thyme sprigs
2 parsley sprigs
1 bay leave
salt and pepper

Pour 3 tablespoons of oil in a heavy dutch oven over moderate to high heat. When very hot add enough lamb pieces to brown them on all sides in a single layer. Turn to brown. You will do this in at least two batches at about 5 minutes each. When the lamb is all brown transfer to a plate and start the next batch. When done, empty pan and return lamb to dutch over. Sprinkle with flour and continue cooking for 3 minutes..

Add broth and tomato paste, garlic, thyme, parsley and bay leaf. Stir everything a few times and bring to a boil. When boiling turn down flame to low and cover the pot to let it simmer for 45 minutes.

Set a large skillet over medium heat and melt the butter. When its hot and the carrots and parsnips and cook for 2 minutes. Sprinkle sugar and continue cooking for 8 minutes or until root veggies are cooked and browned (but not soft.) Add *thawed* peal onions and cook for another 2 minutes to brown onions slightly.

Put rack in center of the oven and preheat to 400 degrees. Add sauted veggies, potatoes, and simmer on stove for 15 minutes before putting dutch oven into the oven. Braise for 30 minutes until lamb is fork-tender.

Remove from oven and discard bay leaf and parsley stems, if you can find them! (Stew can be made ahead up until this point and kept in the refrigerator for up to two days, covered. In fact, it will taste better if you do it the day before! If so, gently cook stew in 350 degree oven for 30 minutes before going to the next step.)

Add frozen peas to stew and let cook on stove top over medium heat for 3 minutes. Check seasonings and serve.

Sardine Rillettes

2012-04-26T21:21:00.001-07:00

Meh.

The Sis Boom dictionary defines "rillettes" as lovely bits of pork chopped and slowly cooked in its fat for up to several hours. Mmm. Pork Fat. Duck fat is good too so duck rilletes are too. The bits are then shredded and suspended in that very fat before being cooled and spread (like pate) on a cracker or a piece of bread. Or, like I have been known to do, eaten with a spoon. Did I say pork fat? Or was that duck fat?

I had to expand my definition a bit when Salmon Rillettes were first revealed to me over at David's blog. I had never heard of them before but since he made them sound so good I had to try them immediately. Yes, the salmon is cooked for 10 minutes as opposed to the hours its beloved pork cousin can require. And yes, the salmon is 'preserved' in butter as opposed to fish fat. (Thank god!) But, if David calls the dish rillettes because the bits are surrounded by a fat then that is what they are going to be called -- I will just have to adjust my personal definitions in order to accommodate.
N'est-ce pas?

I'm sure the salmon variation wasn't his idea anyway, right? Perhaps David just goes with the flow too?

I love salmon so not surprisingly, I loved salmon rillettes! I have made the dish many times since featuring them here, and each time I serve them to appreciative guests I never fail to refer to them as "rillettes" when they invariably ask me what they are eating. I do enjoy observing their puzzled faces while they try to figure out what I had just said. So there is that collateral benefit of momentarily sounding superior to everyone else in the room. I have very smart friends so I have to take these moments when the come.

I can't hear them saying it out loud, but in their heads I know they are asking, "why didn't he just call it salmon spread? Isn't this salmon spread? What's a "ree yette" anyway?

I would have called "spred" but I don't make up the rules for this stuff. The people of France have this one and since they went to the trouble of making up these fancy sounding names for spreads the very least we can do is indulge them. N'est-ce pas?

So just as I am finally getting used to the idea of salmon rillettes I'm being asked to ponder "sardine rillettes". All I can think to say about them is, "meh".

Do you think that perhaps we (meaning The French) are taking this 'rillette' business too far? Is putting something in lots of fat so you can smear it on bread worthy of such a fancy sounding French tag? After all, if you mix Lipton Onion Soup mix with sour cream have you just made Onion Soup Rillettes? I think not. Or maybe you have? Lets ask a Frenchman about that since its their game.

Oh, and I should tell you something lest you think I'm letting any bias into this discussion. I don't question the appropriateness of sardine rillettes because I don't like sardines! The truth is, I love them. L.O.V.E. them.

I will make them into sandwiches. I enjoy them with olive oil or when they are packed in tomato sauce or mustard. In fact, I will eat them right out of the can with my fingers. I even buy them in foreign food shops as souveniers when I am lucky enough to travel to countries where sardines are appreciated.

I would eat them in a boat.
And I would eat them with a goat.

I will eat them in the rain.
And in the dark. And on a train.
And in a car. And in a tree.
They are so good, so good, you see!

I will eat them here or there.
I will eat them everywhere.

You get the idea.

So unlike many out there, I am not squeamish about sardines at all. Confession time: I even keep a stash of them in my desk drawer at work for when I need a high protein, high omega 3 fatty acid snack.

Perhaps its my love of "pure" sardines that has left me feeling a bit indifferent about sardine rillettes treatment featured in Dorie Greenspan's "Around My French Table"? I know scores of Doristas approached this particular French Fridays with Dorie project with some trepidation. Sardinophobia. Lets face it, sardines suffer from lack of a good PR campaign. They carry a lot of reputational baggage and most of it unearned if you ask me. Is it becomes sometimes you can see their faces. "Oh, they remind me of bait!" And this from people I know for a fact have never even fished a day in their lives.

I think many doristas had hoped that by drenching the feared sardine in cream cheese, shallots, and herbs you could make it at least palatable, if not fully enjoyable. I, on the other hand, worried that by the time the flavorful creatures were doused with cream cheese, onions, and herbs the net effect would be a dumbing down of these Mediterranean jewels into a glorified tuna salad.

Sadly, this is just what happens. I won't call it a disaster because, well, I like tuna salad and so I don't mind spreading it on a piece of bread or cracker.

Also, I don't think I could tell any guests of mine that that what they were eating was called 'rillettes' with a straight face while serving it to them. Dorie suggests with a straight face that serving this with a "cornichon sorbet" as a way of upping the ante. Bwah ha ha ha. Sorry, I couldn't keep a straight face with that one either.

You can afford to experiment here as sardines are cheap but for my money I will next make David's sardine pate the next time I wish to get fancy with sardines. Still, I will call it "sardine spread" or "sardine mashed stuff."

I know will still prefer them right out of the can, however. Eaten this way I have never felt that they are "meh".

Sardine Rillettes
adapted from Dorie Greenspan "Around My French Table"

2 cans sardines packed in olive oil.
2/5 ounces light cream cheese or Neufchatel cheese
2 shallots, minced
2 scallions, white and light green parts, minced
juice of one lemon or two limes (I preferred the batch with lemon)
3 tablespoons mixed chopped herbs (I used chives and parsley)
Dash of cayenne, salt, and pepper

If your sardines are not already boned you will need to bone then with a paring knife and remove the tail. If your sardines came sans tail and bones then you can get straight to business. In a bowl put the cream cheese and whip with a fork until smooth. Add lemon juice and all the other ingredients and mix well. When mixed, add sardines and blend with a fork breaking up meat until desired consistency. Adjust seasoning and put into a bowl or jar and refrigerate at least 2 hours or overnight.

My desk drawer! Yes, that is Coffee Mate. (Shut up!)

Lemon Buttermilk Ice Cream

2012-04-25T05:00:00.000-07:00

I don't often have buttermilk in the refrigerator.

When I do have it on hand, however, the quart sized carton will always be at least three quarters full. (Why don't they sell smaller sizes?) It will also have worked itself to a position of near invisibility by being out of sight and out of reach near the back of the shelf. There it will go unnoticed for days or weeks until it is well past its already frighteningly generous expiration date. Only then will my husband finally "discover" it and pour its clumpy contents down the drain. He will act completely disgusted at the thought of something so old being allowed to remain in the one place reserved for keeping things fresh and ready for our eventual (and safe) consumption.

He will then give me a mild scolding for being so wasteful, to which I will attempt to explain myself by reminding him that I wasn't being wasteful at all! I was merely trying to invent a miracle medicine that will cure infections.

This scenario, one that has punctuated our lives together like clockwork every two weeks after I bake anything that calls for buttermilk, will never happen again now that I have discovered the joys of buttermilk based ice cream.

Going forward I am quite sure we will no longer have any buttermilk to spare for culturing into penicillin -- all of it will now be dedicated to feeding my newfound insatiable appetite for this ice cream variety. Truthfully, I can now see myself skipping over the muffin making distraction altogether and going directly to the business of making (and enjoying) this ice cream.

Summer berries and fruit - I'm ready for you.

While I have always liked the taste of buttermilk in baked goods (oh, and mashed potatoes) it is as an ice cream base that this rich, acidic elixir finds it true reason for being. (Do they sell half gallon sizes?)

Why didn't I know of this ice cream earlier? How did I function without ever having tasted buttermilk ice cream?

My mind is racing with thoughts of the many variants I will soon be concocting: strawberry buttermilk ice cream, peach buttermilk ice cream, banana buttermilk ice cream... Wait a minute! Dark chocolate buttermilk ice cream!

Who has time for making muffins anyway?

Lemon Buttermilk Ice Cream

Lemon Buttermilk Ice Cream
adapted from the New York Times Food Magazine

6 egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
1/4 teaspoon lemon zest
Heavy pinch of salt.

In a large bowl whisk the egg yolks with 1/2 cup sugar and vanilla until the mixture is pale and holds the ribbon. Set aside.

In a saucepan, bring the cream and 1/4 cup sugar to a simmer. Remove from heat and allow to cool for 2 minutes. While whisking rapidly, very slowly pour the hot cream into the yolk mixture. Return the mixture back to the pot. and cook over medium heat until it coats the back of a wooden spoon ( 2-3 minutes.)

Remove from heat and allow to cool briefly before whisking in the buttermilk, vanilla, lemon zest and salt. Chill according the the instructions on your ice-cream maker. Makes 1 quart.

Blood Orange Sidecar

2012-04-21T15:26:00.003-07:00

We a lucky enough to be gifted annually with a box of blood oranges from our good friend, Mahin. Mahin knows of my long standing blood orange passion so when her tree overfloweth with them each year she graciously parts with its offerings in our direction causing much celebration.

This has made exploring ways to infect various recipes with their electric beauty and vibrant, tangy flavor an annual challenge.

And while I cannot argue that the blood orange brings a certain panache to sweet treats (such as last year's Blood Orange Cardamom Cake and Candied Blood Orange Peel, (both of which were born of Mahin's generosity), lets just be honest with one another and admit that the true joy of having blood oranges on hand is experienced when you take your place behind the bar to mix a cocktail.

Any drink that relies on citrus can get a colorful refresh with very little effort when a blood orange is on hand. Screwdrivers, mimosas, margaritas.... you get the idea?

I certainly can't lay claim to being the first to dream up using blood oranges in a classic Sidecar cocktail but I offer up my makeshift recipe here as after a week of trials and fine tuning it turned out with a nice balance of flavors and balance is what a good cocktail is about.

Well, that and the chance to toast to a good friend, like Mahin Joon. Salamati!

Blood Orange Sidecar

1 oz. Blood Orange Juice
1 1/2 oz Hennessy Cognac
1 oz Cointreau
1 dash orange bitters
slice of blood orange for garnish

Add all ingredients except the garnish to a cocktail shaker filled with ice and shake until thoroughly chilled. Strain into an up cocktail glass whose rim has been sugared...or not. (Leaving off the sugar rim is a great way to cut back on carbs, don't you think? I do love a sensible cocktail.)

(Note: Yes, that is an Instragram photo. Is that allowed? I wouldn't usually do that but it is all I could muster during this bleak time of severe writer's block. I'm having photo block too. But I did like the way it unnecessarily enhanced the color of this fine drink. )

File This Under: My Food Writer Destiny...

2012-04-15T04:00:00.000-07:00

My first letter home from summer camp in 1970.

The meals were "horrible" so I felt compelled to write about it. Some things never change -- like my spelling.

I have to run now.

Whole Roasted Curried Cauliflower

2012-04-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

If it weren't for the fact that I detest food blog posts that kick off with an apology for a lack of recent posting I would be apologizing right now as, well, I haven't written for awhile. So, I'm sorry for not apologizing because, you know, I detest that sort of thing.

Its not that I haven't been creating wonderful food, consuming gastro-edibles crafted by others' talented hands or even my own less talented ones. Also, its not that I haven't been thinking of you either, my gentle readers. But, um, I haven't.

What I'm trying to tell you right now might not make a lot of sense to you but that is OK too. These things are what they are. I will just have to allow that this might make as much sense as I will be able to make of it for you.

I trust you will let it go and pretend to to understand me even if you don't. Or not. Why should today special? And if you don't understand, why not? I did say that I was sorry didn't I? I'll say it again, my bad. (Aren't those the words people use to magically wipe away guilt and responsibility for personal infractions?) I should warn you though that I probably didn't mean it even if I did apologize for not writing recently because, well, I detest that sort of thing -- so that would be the sort of thing I wouldn't mean.

Seriously though. Its been a nice break for me and an equally nice break for the food in my life.

By taking some time off I have discovered (or perhaps rediscovered) how nice it is when food can just be. I know the food agrees. You have to be willing to take some time to shut up and listen to the food if you are going to understand this simple need it sometime has. .

Good food should be allowed to kick back, relax and enjoy itself while it is perched for our enjoyment at a dining table. At least now and then it should be allowed, wouldn't you agree? I know it sounds surprising but given a choice food might actually prefer not to suffer the distractions of blogging or journalistic scrutiny. I have found that there are actually times when my food doesn't even want to be described much left photographed! Even though they must know they enjoy much of their appeal and reputation due to the attention of the paparazzi this shouldn't mean they just live with the constant whirrrr and flash of the camera 24/7, does it? Even Angelina Jolie gets a week or two off now and then.

Why should our food have to be forced to constantly pay attention to such ultimately unimportant qualities as "staging" and "color balance" when these things have no real bearing as to its ultimate value for us as nourishment for our stomachs or our souls? (And God forbid food is seen out in public with a blemish or a bad outfit!)

All of this puts a lot of undue pressure on food! No wonder it needs a break now and then. I did.

The past couple of weeks the food in my life didn't even want to be fondly remembered. It didn't want to be responsible for dredging up long forgotten food memories from my past. It didn't want to inspire poetry. It just wanted to be. And it was nice to oblige it, not write myself but read what everybody else was saying about it for a change.

I would apologize but I detest that sort of thing. I'm sorry but its true!

This particular cauliflower told me that it just wanted to sit there and look good so I obliged by not even cutting it up. And yes, I asked it nicely if I could take its picture to share with you and it kindly obliged.

Whole Roasted Curried Cauliflower

Roasted Whole Curried Cauliflower
adapted from Emiril Lagasse Farm to Fork: Cooking Local.

1 head of cauliflower
5 tablespoons clarified butter or ghee
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons curry powder
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon garam masala

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Trim cauliflower of green leaves and hollow out core for a more evenly cooked cauliflower. In a small saucepan combine the ghee with the oil and gently melt over medium heat. When melted stir in the other ingredients and mix.

Set the head of cauliflower on a foil lined baking sheet and bush spiced ghee mixture over the cauliflower with a basting brush to fully cover. Keep remaining mixture in saucepan.

Roast the cauliflower in the oven for 30-50 minutes, depending on size, basting with the reserved ghee mixture periodically cauliflower is cooked through and edges are nicely browned and caramelized. When done a sharp knife will cut through the cauliflower when inserted through it. Remove from the oven and let cook for 5 minutes before serving.

The "Big Apple" Manhattan

2012-03-26T03:30:00.000-07:00

It seems somehow correct that rye whiskey would serve as the traditional foundation for a "Manhattan". A good rye whiskey is solid yet brash, fortifying yet with the complexity of a good wine. The intensity of a good rye whiskey screams to be noticed. Just like a lot of New Yorkers.

I am nearly certain that whomever first coined the phrase "give me a good, stiff drink" was referring to a shot of rye whiskey. But if you mix that shot of rye with sweet vermouth and a dash of bitters that bracing slap across the face becomes a relaxing, meditative massage. It becomes a Manhattan.

Nobody will argue that this is one fine cocktail but there is room for variety in its execution -- much like the art of massage itself. The so-called purists will never approve of Manhattans made with bourbon, its sweeter and more rounded cousin, but these types would also never think twice about perverting the drink with a goopy maraschino cherry. (A garnish I never quite believed belonged in there anyway.)

This version rounds the bourbon out even further with a knock of apple brandy's caramel, apples and spice notes and it skips the maraschino cherry altogether earning it a few bonus points with me. I can't tell you why but I seem to enjoy this drink when it is shaken and not stirred. HIghly irregular. But so are some New Yorkers. And I like 'em that way.

Big Apple Manhattan

2 ounces good Bourbon
1 ounce Laird's Applejack
1 ounce sweet vermouth
2 splashes bitters
1 apple slice for garnish

Add the bourbon, Applejack, vermouth and bitters to a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake vigorously and strain into a chilled martini glass. Garnish with the apple slice.

Cocoa SablésHaiku French Fridays with Dorie

2012-03-23T03:30:00.000-07:00

Pretty much the same...

World Peace, Korova, Sable

Dorie must love 'em

Three cook books!

Chocolate short breads in each.

Redundant cookie!

Eh, what can you do?

You cannot stop with just one

So grab some cold milk

Shout from the rooftop!

Evangelical cookies

Dorie preaches them.

And preach she should! So if it seems as if I'm giving Dor' a bit of a hard time its because I am. This cookie variant has been featured in quite a few of The Dor's books but the tasty truth of the matter is this particular cookie deserves it. Its that good.

This week it is the assignment for French Friday's with Dorie and even thought I've made it before several times you didn't need to ask me twice to join right in. In previous posts I've shared a bit about my adaptations and secrets for keeping things round as well...

Cocoa Sablés

Adapted from Dorie Greenspan's Around My French Table

2 ¾ cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
½ teaspoon salt
10 ounces unsalted butter (2 ½ sticks), at room temperature
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ pound semisweet or bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped (Dorie says these are optional but they quite simply are not.)

Fit a stand mixer the paddle attachment and then mix the butter with the sugar until it comes together. Add the vanilla extract and mix until just combined.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder and salt. Add the dry ingredients to the butter and sugar mixture until just combined, scraping 1-2 times but do not over mix.

Divide the dough into two portions and make them into logs about 1 ¾ inches in diameter. The dough will be a bit dry, so work with it a little to get it into a solid log. If you don't you will get some creases and it might break when cutting at times. I speak from experience. Form them into logs, wrap them in parchment and then chill the logs. I wrapped the logs in pita bread so that they would stay round while chilling. Cookies are generally best if they have some time to rest, so chill the logs at least 3 hours or overnight.

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Remove the logs from the refrigerator and slice them into ½ inch rounds.

Dorie suggests painting the logs with an egg wash and then rolling in sanding sugar to finish before baking. I would just skip the egg wash. Its not needed and will clump the sugar. Also, granulated would be just fine. Place them on a parchment-lined baking sheet about 1 inch apart and bake for 10-14 minutes.

I’ve found that the cookies are done when they feel dry on top and are somewhat firm to the touch.

File This Under: It's Funny Because Its True.

2012-03-18T08:48:00.000-07:00

Via The New Yorker.

Cheese Soufflé French Fridays with Dorie

2012-03-16T08:09:00.001-07:00

I owe a lot to the Cheese Soufflé.

I'm pretty sure it was the dramatic allure of a Cheese Soufflé that coaxed my mother from the relative comfort of her mother's recipe box towards a more exciting world full of culinary challenges and French flavors.

These were the days before All Clad. Home cooks were happy with Revere Ware and because Julia said so, my mom went out to find a big copper bowl to whip her egg whites in. This was when she set her sights on mastering the art of the soufflé.

My eight-year-old self would have a front row seat to watch her while she deftly conquered this tasty "whole is greater than the sum of its parts" French classic. Eggs, milk, cheese, butter. Who could have first imagined what sublime wonder could be spun from such ordinary ingredients?

After testing it out on my father before debuting it 'live' for her lucky company, the souffle quickly became her "signature dish." It was always timed perfectly and presented as her guests took their seats at the table. Her guests would "ooh" and "aah" and marvel at their good fortune at having scored an invitation to her table. for invitations were beginning to be coveted. The soufflé says you are in the hands of an accomplished home cook, that is, if dishes can actually say such things.

My mom figured out what I think all of us who have actually cooked one knows: the soufflé is much easier than it looks. Its joys are open for the taking if you decide you are worth receiving them.

How is that for a metaphor for life?

The cheese soufflé is a definite confidence builder making it the perfect 'first dish' for serious learning in the kitchen. Mom knew this from experience swhen it was my time in my life to need a little confidence in the kitchen. When I needed some 'oohs' and 'aahs' of my own it was one of the first dishes she would set out to teach me. Her experience told her that this dish could always get the job done.

Oooh and ahh your child and they are happy for a moment. Teach them to get their own and they are happy for a lifetime.

It worked, of course, and my culinary journey was launched.

I owe a lot to the Cheese Soufflé.

The soufflé is this week's French Fridays with Dorie assignment. I didn't want to miss this one as it has been years since I actually made one. A plain one that is although no soufflé deserves to be called "plain". Just recently, I've made spinach soufflés, leek soufflés, spinach and leek soufflés, chocolate soufflés, and even a Grand Marnier soufflé (another mom favorite); but I haven't made a Cheese Souffle -- not since that year I set out to emulate mom's cooking skills and score some little personal confidence.

In a rush to complete the dish while there was still daylight I had overlooked a few things. My eggs were straight from the refrigerator and once I poured the mixture into the prepared dish I realized a bit late that the recipe was scaled for a 6 cup dish -- the one size I don't have.

It seems the soufflé still has some lessons for me: read the recipe all the way through, always prep your ingredients before you start, and most of all, when nobody is looking, sneak in the new 6 cup soufflé dish you bought at Williams Sonoma.

Cheese Soufflé

Thin Mint Cookie Scones Happy 100th Birthday Girl Scouts!

2012-03-14T04:00:00.000-07:00

So how did I end up with 50 boxes of Girl Scout Cookies?

Before I answer that did you know that the Girl Scouts had to recently face down a boycott of their annual cookie sale? Seriously.

Now I ask you, is that any way to treat this iconic organization dedicated to building "girls of courage, confidence, and character, who make the world a better place"? And it all started just a few months ahead of their 100th birthday celebration.

You might be asking, what on earth did The Girl Scouts do that would spark a national boycott of their beloved cookies?

Well, it seems some troop in Colorado had the unmitigated gall as to let a 7 year old child, born a boy, but who identifies as a girl, into their troop. Did the other girls in the troop have a problem with this? Nope. Did the parents of the girls in the troop have a problem with it? Nope. Did the local or national organizations have a problem with it? Nope.

And that, evidently, was the problem.

It seems some 14 year old fear monger all the way out in California named Taylor had a big problem with it. Or her parents did. So she (or they) made a YouTube video (you can find it yourself, I can't bear to link to it) calling for a national cookie boycott in protest.

This is all it took to open the flood gates for a national piling on of various unfounded right-wing accusations against the Girl Scouts. They were even accused of being a radical group that promotes abortions and homosexuality, as well as being a "tactical arm" of Planned Parenthood.

Uh huh. The Girl Scouts. (What are they doing on those camping trips?)

Now to be honest with you, I don't really know many Girl Scouts. The ones I do know are the daughters of my friends and co-workers who annually stand outside supermarkets or call me up and sweetly ask if I would like to buy a few boxes which I do because it support their camping, council or their many charitable activities. I also like to see the girls learn to be salespersons and work towards a goal.

They didn't strike me as the promoters of immorality and hedonism types that certain Indiana lawmakers might have you believe.

The whole sordid business just didn't sit very well with me nor did it sit well with a few of friends of mine. In response we all made a pledge amongst ourselves to each buy $100 dollars worth of cookies from the first Girl Scout that approached us to make a sale. (Sorry you moms who do the work for your kids by circulating sign-up sheets at work. You were disqualified!)

I only had to wait 2 days.

Two days after making the pledge, a work-mate brought her 7 year old Girl Scout daughter into the office. In one of the vacant offices she set up an actual Girl Scout Cookie "store"!

She set out boxes of cookies on the empty shelves and made an attractive display of the ever-popular Thin Mints on the desk before inviting her customers into her shop. Then, when she was completely ready she announced over the intercom that she was "open for business."

She was a definite "9" on the "adorable scale" so I took my moment to wander in. We exchanged hellos and then shyly offered to help me make my "cookie selections". A perfect "10"!

I played my part and asked her a few questions about the cookies. Which ones were her favorites? Which she'd think I'd like? Stuff like that.

And then finally the moment of truth:

"They all look so good. I'll take 25 boxes please."

The smile I got in return was certainly worth the $100!

In fact, it was so nice I decided to do it all again and so I bought another $100 worth of cookies from a Girl Scout dressed up as a Thin Mint standing just outside a local Trader Joes.

"Mom! Mom! OMG this man wants $100 worth of cookies!"

Her friends, the Trefoil and Do-Si-Dos, started screaming and jumping up and down to share in the excitement. I think I put them way over their goal for the day. Under normal circumstances I can't stand the sound of screaming girls but this was one time it sounding quite nice. But at $100 a pop it is an expensive high so I capped it off right there.

So that is how I managed to find myself with 50 boxes of Girl Scout Cookies.

I must confess, I'm not that much of a fan. Thin Mints have a bit of sentimental attraction for me because grandmother always had them stashed in her freezer. Other than that, meh.

Others seem to go nuts for them, however, so I've been getting more smiles by giving them away right and left. The best way was by taking them to the hospital nurses and med technicians who have been taking care of a good friend of mine. They appreciated my appreciation. I could easily unload 5 or 6 boxes a visit until all that was left were two boxes of Thin Mints and one box of the short breads. (I am saving these to use as an easy tart crust one of these days.)

The Food Librarian's post came up just in time for the Girl Scout's 100th birthday and it reminded of the many treats she has made featuring the cookies. Even though I was already sorely missing an hour of sleep due to Daylight Savings time I got up an extra hour earlier to bake... scones. Thin Mint scones. Not bad!

Happy Birthday Girl Scouts!

Thin Mint Cookie Scones

Thin Mint Cookie Scones
adapted from The Food Librarian as adapted from the Art and Soul of Baking by Cindy Mushet.
But hey, they're any cream scone recipe you have with chopped up cookies in them. Adapt your own!

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup granulated sugar
2 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoons salt
1 stick butter (cold, cut into pieces)
1 cup heavy whipping cream (very cold)
I sleeve chopped Thin Mint cookies(Should be about 1 cup. I tried to separate my cookie 'chips' from the 'dust' so the scones didn't get 'cloudy'.)
1 egg for egg wash
2 Tablespoons sanding sugar (granulated will work too!)

If you are going to cook the scones immediately you will want to preheat the over to 425 degrees. My secret for perfect scones, however, is to not cook them immediately but either chill them in the refrigerator for 2 hours or freeze them overnight and cook them from frozen. Don't tell anyone.

Mix together dry ingredients in a big mixing bowl. Using a pastry cutter or your fingers cut in the butter until the mixture resembles a coarse meal. My other scone secret is to always just use your fingers and mash the cold butter between your thumb and fingers flattening them so that the 'pebbles are no bigger than a dime and flat. This butter cooks from cold and steams the scones making them moist and flaky. There, now you have my two secrets. Keep them to yourselves please.

Add cream and cookie bits and blend quickly being careful not to over blend. I use my hands for this as well 'cause he, they're already covered in flour. Did I say not to overmix? Thats another secret. Just don't. But do be sure to mix in all the flour from the bowl. Shape the dough into an 8 or 9 inch round or a square and cut with a sharp knife into shapes. I cut squares and then cut them into triangles making nice smallish scones for my office audience.

Place on parchment or Silpat covered baking sheet. Brush with egg wash. Sprinkle with sugar.

Bake for 14-16 minutes (depending on your oven) or until golden brown.

Packed and ready to take to the office! Happy Birthday Girl Scouts!

Impressive Herby Cheese Straw Thingies

2012-03-12T10:14:00.000-07:00

I think your dinner or cocktail guests will be mighty impressed with these super Impressive Herby Cheese Straw thingies. They'll try to stop at one but they won't be able to. So easy to make too! No big deal. But, yeah, they ARE a big deal. 'Cause everyone loves cheesy herby baked thingies.

I'm not trying to imply your guests won't be impressed with everything about your dinner party. Just throwing one is impressive enough these days. Who has time? It's just that you've got to admit that these are mighty impressive straws of cheesy, herby baked stuff .

If you can impress this much with so little effort, why wouldn't you? In fact, these are so impressive that they actually have "impressive" in their title. It doesn't get any more real than that. Even though I had to put that word in the title myself.

Want to know something else?

I never used to serve appetizers. True that! I thought why serve appetizers and ruin everyone's appetite for the main course? How silly. This just might be the best time to show off and let people know what you can do.

Its fun to be so, well, nonchalant about the whole thing. That is, if you can hold back your excitement at having made these.

"Oh, these? Yes, just something I whipped up a few minutes ago. Do you like them?"

They like them. They're impressive. They've got cheese in them.

And like so many impressive treats and confections that come from the oven, these little lovelies came to me via the Joy the Baker blog. Its not that I didn't know how to make these before Joy posted them. Its just that they never seemed so fun before she posted them. Whats up with that? Joy, that's what. She can turn the world on with her smile.

You want to know something else?

I think I have a serious crush on her. No big deal. But yeah, it's a big deal. She couldn't know this but I first blog-met Joy in 2009. She made me blueberry muffins. Well, she didn't really make me blueberry muffins. That would be weird on a first blog-date. When she posted banana bourbon bread pudding we were seriously blog-going-steady. For real. And we all know how much I like bourbon and banana.

You still wanna know something else?

I stood in line last weekend at her book signing! This is not the kind of thing I would usually do but, you know, this was JOY THE freakin' BAKER. Joy is on a book tour for her new cookbook and I get a bit giddy when someone from Food Blog Land gets a book deal. I try to turn it out for that. That's real. You go. I tried to act nonchalant but I couldn't.

And OMG(!) there were a few hundred people there to see her! I guess a lot of people have a crush on her as well. We'll just all have to share. While we wait, have a cheese straw.

Yes. I made them. They were something I whipped up just a few minutes ago.

These are made with every baker's secret ingredient: frozen puff pastry. If you don't have any in your freezer you should go out and get some right away. Joy would want you to. With FPP you can turn just about anything into an appetizer or dessert at a moments notice Even a pizza! Now THAT is impressive, no?

Impressive Herby Cheese Straw Thingies

This post and the recipe are inspired by Joy Wilson of the delightful Joy the Baker blog. Joy's first cookbook is out from Hyperion Press and can be purchased at Amazon. This recipe isn't in it but 100 other great recipes are. I'll blog one of them later, ok? I promised her I would.

large egg, beaten
few dashes of hot sauce
1 sheet frozen puff pastry, thawed but still cold.
1/3 cup parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons chopped shallots
1 tablespoon minced fresh thyme
coarse ground black pepper
coarse sea salt

Preheat an oven to 375 F and center a rack. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or silpat mat and set aside.

Be sure you work with thawed but cold puff pastry. I like to thaw it overnight in the fridge but you can thaw on the counter for at least 30 minutes. Unfold puff pastry carefully on a lightly floured work surface and roll out only a little bit. The puff pastry should measure about 10×12-inches, no more!

Whisk together egg, hot sauce, and a splash of water in a small bowl and brush the egg wash over the surface of the pastry. On top of this you will scatter cheese and herbs, coarse pepper, and a bit of salt. Get creative. If you don't have thyme use something else? I like chives too but my cat eats them all. She really does.

Use the rolling pin or your fingers to gently press the toppings into the puff pastry.

Using a floured knife or pizza cutter, cut lengthwise into strips about 1/2-inch thick. . Hold each end of the pastry and carefully twist several times. place the twisted pastry on the prepared sheet, about 1-inch apart.

Bake for 12 to 14 minutes, until puffed and golden brown. You can take the baking cheese straws out halfway through baking and gently flip them. Probably a good idea if you are using parchment instead of a Silpat.

Allow to cool on the pan for 10 minutes before placing in a large glass to serve. These will last up to 3 days in an airtight container at room temperature but they are so impressive you probably won't have any left over. Save one for yourself to have with soup though.

Saint-German-des-Prés Onion Biscuit BLT's Haiku for French Fridays with Dorie

2012-03-08T23:01:00.002-08:00

So, biscuits are French?

They are if you rename them:

"Saint-German-des-Prés"!

What I learned from this week's French Fridays with Dorie recipe is that if you add a little something to the ingredient list of an otherwise well established staple you can then give it an extraordinary sounding name of your own choosing.

Dorie added onions to the ordinary biscuit and rechristened it with the very French sounding "Saint-Germain-des-Prés Onion Biscuits". I added a bit of fresh thyme to the mix and was going to rename them once again but who can come up with a name better than this?

Unlike Dorie, I'm not likely to serve these to friends with a bottle of champagne for madcap effect.

"Oh look at us! We are eating biscuits with our champagne! Aren't we crazy!"

At least not while I still know how to make the more elegant gougères.

An American serving biscuits to the French must be akin to a Frenchman serving gougères to Americans, don't you think? (At least this makes sense to me if not to you.)

Half of Dorie's biscuits (with thyme, mind you) found their way to the freezer. The other half found their way to lunch where they anchored some rather tasty bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches.

What small tweaks to you make to rather common recipes that transform them into your house specialty?

Saint-German-des-Prés Onion-Thyme Biscuit BLT's

Saint-German-des-Prés Onion-Thyme Biscuit BLT's
adapted from Dorie Greenspan's Around My French Table. Inspired by bacon.

6-1/2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter
1 small onion, peeled, trimmed, and finely diced (about 1/2 cup)
2 Tablespoons minced thyme leaves
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
2 teaspoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup cold whole milk
bacon, lettuce, tomato, mayo

Make the biscuits: Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Have a biscuit or deep cookie cutter, one that’s between 1 and 2 inches in diameter, at hand.

Put 1/2 tablespoon of the butter in a small skillet or saucepan and cut the remaining 6 tablespoons butter into 12 pieces.

Set the pan over low heat, melt the butter, and add the onion. Cook, stirring, just until it softens, about 3 minutes. Pull the pan from the heat.

Put the flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt into a mixing bowl and whisk the ingredients to combine. Drop the butter pieces into the bowl and, using your fingers, rub the butter into the flour mixture until you’ve got a bowl full of flour-covered pieces, some small and flakey and some the size of peas.

Scatter the cooked onions over the mixture, then pour over the cold milk and, using a fork, toss and turn everything together until you’ve got a soft dough. If there are some dry bits at the bottom of the bowl, reach in and knead the dough gently a couple of times.

Lightly dust a work surface with flour, turn the dough out, and dust the top of the dough very lightly with flour. Pat the dough down gently with your hands (or roll it out with a pin) until it is about 1/2 inch thick. It doesn’t have to been an even square or round; it doesn't even have to be an even 1/2 inch thick. Just do the best you can and do it quickly.

Dip the biscuit cutter into the flour bin and cut out as many biscuits as you can--cutting the biscuits as close to one another as possible – and transfer the biscuits to the baking sheet, leaving a little space between each one. Gather the scraps of dough together, pat them down, and cut as many more biscuits as you can; put these on the lined baking sheet, too. (You can make the biscuits to this point, freeze them on the baking sheet and then, when they're solid, pack them airtight and freeze them for up to 2 months. Bake them without defrosting--just add a couple of minutes to the baking time.)

Alternatively (and perhaps more economically), you can pat or roll out the dough, then, using a long knife, cut square biscuits, making each biscuit about 1- to 1-1/2 inches on a side.

Bake the biscuits for 15 to 18 minutes, or until they are puffed and lightly browned.

Roasted Banana Bourbon Ice Cream

2012-03-05T15:07:00.004-08:00

Surprisingly, this blog's inbox will sometime get an email that isn't trying to sell me Viagra:

"Dear Sis Boom blog,

I think you "get me". I am addicted to banana. Unfortunately, when I go shopping my eyes are bigger than my mouth. I tend to over-buy and so by the end of the week I must race to consume them all. There must be more to do with ripe bananas than make banana bread, isn't there? Sometimes I think that if bake any more banana bread for my girls, I will get violent.

Another thing, I believe in eating locally and reducing my carbon footprint whenever possible. You seem to have a lot of opinions, what do you think of this? All this social responsibility makes me want to drink...sigh.

Sincerely,

Possibly Postal in PA

(P.S. I love my bourbon, but I have been drinking a ton more of it since your Horse's Neck Cocktail went viral. It is oddly gratifying to blame it on you!)

Well Postal, you are in luck because I've got something for you that is right up your alley. But first let me say that violence never solved anything except my early struggle to be left alone in high school. But I digress...

To be blunt, as far as dining trends go I find the whole "eating local" or "farm to table" movement a bit annoying . At least with the "put bacon on and in everything you can" movement you ended up with genuinely enjoyable food that didn't cost a fortune. I know it's a splendid idea to support local farmers and growers and all that stuff when you can, but are you honestly willing to strictly limit your diet to what comes to you in a CSA basket? You will be sacrificing enough cash and variety to accomplish this movement's lofty goals when you go out to dinner -- are you just as willing to martyr your wallet and menu selections at home too?

For my part, the day I realized that I lived 2000 miles from where they make good bourbon was also the day I realized how much I disliked "eating local". Now that I think of it, do farm-to-table restaurants even have a bar? Who would drink tequila made in Montgomery County or house gin made 'out back' in Allentown?

There is a lot here to work out if you ask me. Not enough of us live close to where bacon is made.

And you, dear Postal, help me prove my point.

Your addiction is to the most environmentally incorrect food there is, the banana. When was the last time you saw a banana plantation in Philly? It takes an awful lot of fuel and regime support to schlep your beloved banana from Ecuador (or wherever), to your kitchen counter.

So, if you aren't going to give up bananas the very least you can do is not let them rot and go to waste after all that they had to do to get to your kitchen counter.

If that means more banana bread for your girls PP then do it! If we all did more to not waste the food we do transport and buy we could affect greater change than if we dined out at whatever establishment is offering to baptize our guilt with a high priced, often boring meal.

Luckily you don't have to. You do have options. If you are so tired of banana bread, chocolate banana bread, coconut banana bread, chocolate peanut butter banana bread, or chocolate bacon banana bread you can always make ice cream with your tropical fruits.

Which brings us to this Roasted Banana Bourbon Ice Cream.

You're welcome.

Signed, Sis. Boom.

The recipe is adapted from David Lebovitz who is my go-to guy for frozen inspirations. The added booze was my idea, but something tells me David would approve. If he doesn't, I would be happy to buy him a bourbon and discuss it with him further.

Roasted Banana Bourbon Ice Cream

Roasted Banana Bourbon Ice Cream
(Adapted from David Lebovitz, The Perfect Scoop; inspired by my favorite booze.)

4 ripe bananas
1/3 cup light brown sugar
1 tablespoon butter cut into pieces
1 1/2 cups half and half
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 teaspoon lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
3 tablespoons bourbon

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Peel and slice the bananas into a bowl and toss with the sugar and butter until well coated. Spread out on a lined sheet pan or baking dish and bake until well brown. Try to avoid stirring or mixing during the cooking. Bananas will get very dark and mushy. This is good! Roasting should take about XX minutes.

When completed, spoon the mixture into a blender. Add the next six ingredients and blend until well mixed and emulsified. Add bourbon and gently stir. Chill mixture in the refrigerator for no less than 2 hours and then freeze according to your ice cream maker's directions.

Enjoy locally.

Mussels and Chorizo (with Bread!)

2012-02-16T21:11:00.000-08:00

It wasn't too long ago that a bucket of uncooked mussels would carry me back to summers of my childhood in Newport Beach, California. There we would play on the beach all day and pry mussels that grew on harbor piers to use as bait for fishing. The bay at that time was not exactly known for its pristine waters so unless you enjoyed the great taste of marine fuel and pollution runoff, these mussels were most certainly not for fancy dining. (Neither were the fish we caught with them for that matter!)

We wouldn't have wanted to eat them anyway, although my grandmother would always make the large point of reminding us that some people, somewhere, actually enjoyed eating these gooey snot-like creatures. We were content to smash them with a hammer, dig out their 'bodies' with a dull kitchen knife, and put them onto fishing hooks --their ooze staining the sidewalk.

Her tales of mussel-enjoyment seemed so outrageous at the time that I'm not sure we even believed her. To my ears these takes sounded too much like the my classmate Jessica Ditweiler's when she came back from a trip to Japan with her family and shared with us how she ate grasshoppers. I didn't believe her either.

It would seem unimaginable to that young boy that the sight of that same bucket of mussels today would take his future imagination to picturesque Paris or New York bistros halfway around the globe with a big bowl full cooked up in white wine, garlic, and a handful of parsley. (Served up with an ample supply of bread to sop it all down, or course.)

Seeing as how there is no better way to catch up with a dear friend than to share a bowl of moules mariniers and way too many bottles of Vueve Cliquot, my imagination will be slightly drunk too.

At no time in the evolution of my imaginings from childhood bait to adulthood delicacy did I ever dream that I would make the delicious mussels myself - at home. And until this week, I hadn't.

Its not that I haven't wanted to.

Mussels have been at the top of my "Foods that I've Always Wanted to Make For Years But Haven't" list for years. (Cassoulette has been a very close second.) Despite the fact that everything I had known moules was that they are easier to make than scrambled eggs, I had not gotten around to making them for some unknown reason.

It seems that where mussels were concerned, I was suffering from "chef's block".

Perhaps it was latent memories of fishing ooze or just my unfamiliarity with cooking with food that could possibly die before I get to it that was causing the chef's block? Mussels do need to be kept alive, over ice, wet, and able to breath real oxygen so they don't die prior to cooking. What if they were to die undetected; their rigor mortised bodies served up in a deceptively lovely sauce accidentally killing you or a loved one?

Stop laughing! Haven't we all heard stories of people who have known someone (who knows someone) who got fatal (or at least really really bad) food poisoning "from some bad mussels"?

Of course now I can't recall which friend of a friend (of my Dad's?) I had heard this about now but somehow I began likening the unfounded dangers of dining at home on mussels to the real life thrill seeking of munching on deadly Fugu sashimi.

Somehow it just seemed much less stressful to leave this one to the professionals!

Mussels and Chorizo (with Bread!)

I needn't have worried. It turns out making mussels at home is really a lot easier and a heck of a lot cheaper than flying to Paris or getting a reservation for Sunday lunch at New York's Balthazar.

This particular mussel recipe is unlike any of my previous experiences (real or imaginary). It relies on chorizo and tomatoes instead of delicate herbs for the flavor profile so while not jetting me off to Paris, this dish takes me a bit closer to Barcelona.

When it came up in the French Friday's with Dorie rotation for this month I felt somewhat strong-armed into returning to the Dorista fold. I just knew I would be kicking myself if I didn't make every effort to confront my chefs block and participate this. It would have been just too much for me to bear! Standing back and reading the hundreds of posts and tweets from other Doristas crowing about conquering their fear of cooking with live creatures, their husband's comfort zones, etc. all while I sat on the sidelines nursing my stupid chef's block.

And you know what? Like most fears the anxiety was unfounded. After the onions and red pepper softened, I tossed in the tomatoes and cooked choriso, let them warm through before dumping in the mussels and wine. I covered it all up and left the pot alone for no more than 10 minutes. When I took the lid came off the big, tasty pot of opened black and blue shelled mussels sat nestled with tomatoes and chorizo. Ready to eat! This meal, dare I say, is foolproof.

And I needn't have worried about accidental poisoning either since that danger turns out to be a bit overstated. (Yes, I Googled it.) Eat only the ones that open when you cook them. A closed shell indicates that it died before cooking. Discard the unopened ones and move on but even if you should eat a 'borderline' mussel Spencer Garret of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s fisheries service says that the danger risk is minimal since cooking heat will still kill bacteria. “Even if its dead when you bought it, probably won’t make you sick”, he says, because the heat will kill the bacteria.

And before I knew it I wasn't a paris Bistro I was sitting in but rather a seaside sitting around a table with a big bowl of Mussels with Chorizo and bread, catching up with good friends, and drinking too much wine. I couldn't have imagined it better.

Mussels and Chorizo (with Bread!)
(from Dorie Greenspan's "Around My French Table")

Some notes on the recipe which I am not reprinting here until I find it elsewhere on the web.

Dorie says this is equally good over pasta but as you can see I chose bread. As far as I'm concerned bread is the only appropriate choice. What you want here is efficiency with mopping up the tasty broth. You will want all of it. I wasn't able to use the Spanish chorizo Dorie suggests. Her glossary suggests that it is not interchangeable with the Mexican variety I had on hand but, it is. I just cooked it up myself before starting the recipe and it was just excellent as the main flavoring for the dish. I suspect that the Doristas who make up French Fridays with Dorie will be subbing in whatever sausagey delights they have locally as well.

I want to try this one using Pernod or Sambuca instead of white wine...

Peppery Chocolate Pot de Crème

2012-02-11T09:35:00.000-08:00

In the living room a baby cries out; while slightly less angry, but surely just as passionate, pots of velvety chocolate smush demand to be noticed at the table. A first lingering bite befuddle the barometers of taste; they are left to grasp mixed messages fluttering across their allegedly cultivated tongues.

"Did I just...?"

Another question is asked.

"Is that...?"

It seems each pot has realized the best response to indulgent sin is not always confession, but more sin. The sin of omission. So I will say nothing as well and let them all wonder.

"Isn't that always the way?", I think, but this time to myself.

Light itself looks sarcastic when caught falling onto the frothy mix of milky sweet puffery and chocolate bits which obfuscate the copious chocolate cauldron below it. A lip smacks provoking an awkward moment where we are left to ponder just what, if anything, is animating us.

Perhaps it is not a libidinous palate but simply a tumescent hunger over-thinking the situation? Was that a wink?

Heat? Sweet? Or was it something else entirely?

If only tongues, men in love, and food bloggers had better vocabularies we could have it all described for us in pulchritudinous prose. Nouns and adjectives can fight amongst themselves to be the subjects. They can explain for us what it all means when a secret is revealed and a mystery is replaced with fact.

"Of course!" But will it change anything? Yes and no, certainly. It always does, sometimes.

Initial desire is sated and gentility can restored again. Now even the baby giggles and spoons once again can sink gently into their rich creamy vessels; lifting payloads northward to signal the tongues that they are ready to play once again. Over and over.

Coffee begs to be served.

Ahem. I'd better stop there.

While the rest of you have been busy salting your food with varying grain coarseness and flakiness for some added topical relevance, I have been having a field day with the other shaker on the table, black pepper. Last fall I unexpectedly tossed some crushed black pepper into a cherry crisp and it rocked my culinary world. I didn't add a ton mind you, but just enough to create a mild and somewhat mysterious heat to kick in. My goal was to create interest without being obnoxious. A trait I would wish for both salt and potential suitors to strive for these days.

Nevertheless, this decadent and rich chocolate dessert has been begging for equal treatment ever since that fateful day. And as it turns out, what better time to add a little heat to chocolate than at Valentine's Day? Think about it: if chocolate is to equal love, then what is love without a little heat to keep you warm?

And, as if these pots aren't perfect enough for entertaining on love's special day you should also know that you can make them the night before. Or two.

Peppery Chocolate Pot de Créme

Peppery Chocolate Pot de Créme

4 oz. bittersweet chocolate, 70%, finely chopped
1½ cups heavy cream, divided
1½ cups whole milk
2 tablespoons crushed black peppercorns
1 large egg
4 large egg yolks
¼ cup sugar
Pinch of salt
one scant dash of cayenne pepper

Preheat the oven to 300° F and line a large roasting pan with two layers of paper towels. P pots de crème pots in the pan and remove lids. Bring a medium saucepan of water for a ban marie to a boil. Once the water comes to a boil, remove from the heat and cover.

Place the chopped chocolate in a large heatproof bowl. Bring ½ cup of the heavy cream to a boil in a small saucepan. Once the cream reaches a boil, pour it over the chocolate and let stand for 1 minute. Stir with a rubber spatula, starting in the center of the bowl and working outward in a circular motion, until the ganache is smooth; set aside.

Combine the remaining heavy cream and the whole milk in the saucepan and bring to a boil. Add peppercorns, remove from heat, and let steep for 15 minutes. Strain through a fine sieve into another saucepan and bring back to a boil. Meanwhile, in a medium mixing bowl, whisk together the egg, egg yolks, sugar, and salt until slightly thickened and pale yellow in color. Drizzle in a small amount of the hot cream-milk mixture, whisking constantly, to temper the eggs. Pour in the remainder of the hot liquid, still whisking constantly, until completely incorporated. Finally, gently whisk the egg mixture back into the ganache until incorporated.

Spoon any skin that has formed off the top of the custard and divide evenly between the prepared cups. Pour some of the previously set aside hot water into the baking dish around the custard cups so that it reaches about halfway up the sides of the cups. Put Pot de Creme lids on the little pots. If you are using ramekins or other pots you can cover the top of the pan tightly with foil or plastic wrap, poking two holes in opposite corners. Very carefully slide the pan into the oven.

Bake 35-40 minutes, or until the custard jiggles only a bit in the center when tapped or lightly shaken. Carefully remove the pan from the oven and transfer it to a cooling rack. Allow the custards to rest in their warm water bath for 10 minutes, then remove the lids, foil, or wrap and very carefully transfer the cups from the water to the cooling rack. Once they come to room temperature, return the lids or cover individually with plastic wrap and refrigerate until ready to serve.

Serve with a dollop of sweetened whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

Meatballs: Vintage Style

2012-02-07T08:04:00.000-08:00

"Hey buddy, these fancy meatballs are great! Thanks!"

"No problem. It was the least that I could do."

And I meant it. It really was the least that I could do.

* * *

My grandmother used to say "be friendly with the neighbors but don't be friends". That pearl of wisdom sums up our relationship with Brad, our neighbor to the right. This may sound like callous advice but to others of you might it rings practical. My grandmother's own inseparable best friend (of over 30 years!) was her next door neighbor -- so I have no choice but to file this admonition of hers in the "do as I say, not as I do" section where I store the many of her colorful bon mots.

Had lived next door to Brad, she would have surely had an easier time taking her own advice.

Brad is an enigma. A big boring enigma. Had Gertrude Stein met Brad before she famously visited Oakland, I'm sure it would have been Brad forever described as "there isn't much there there." It should count for something that the best word I can come up with to describe Brad is 'nondescript'. 'Enigma' might imply that real time is spent figuring him out -- its not. Quite the opposite...

Brad.

As I tell you all this right now I can't recall what he does for a living, how long he's lived next door to us, where his family is from, or what his hobbies might be. I'm sure he has told us all this at one time in the last 10 years but just never really sinks. On those rare occasions where we do speak I'm usually distracted by his overall plainness to remember anything about him. His voice is a strange monotone and his clothes are absent of any personal style. His new gray Honda (or is it a Subaru?) looks just like his old gray Honda (or is it a Subaru?)

A favorite past time of ours has been to project onto Brad all manner of personal stories and traits. In the absense of any real personal Brad knowledge we discuss his imaginary family, his exciting and unusual hobbies and amusements, and even peccadilloes. Over the years we have constructed an elaborate (yet entirely imaginary) back-story (and 'present-story') that not only explains the reasons for his plainness but adds much needed splashes of color to the otherwise nondescript details of his life.

Suffice it to say that knowing too much about Brad would wreck all our fun!

So what does this have to do with meatballs? Trust me. Don't I always get there?

Each winter Brad reaches out to us and sends us into a panic when he invites us to his annual 'big party'. With any luck at all we won't be caught off guard by the invitation so we can tell him of our plans to be away for the weekend; and then rush inside as fast as we can and make plans to be away for that weekend.

"Oh no! Why do we keep missing your party Brad?"

We have our reasons.

We feel very protective of the "Brad" constructed over years of our creative and inventive storytelling. Each bit of Brad knowledge would be a serious loss of creative capital requiring us to modify our stories to accommodate.

Several years ago we weren't quick enough on our feet to make excuses (either that or we weren't flush enough to afford a hotel) and we got stuck accepting Brad's invitation.

We are under no illusion as to Brad's motives for inviting us to his party. Its an old trick to invite your neighbors to your party to inoculate you from charges of inconsideration -- especially if you plan to unleash hoards of drunken twenty-somethings onto the neighborhood for a night. Brad's parties are about insanely loud music going until all hours, hundreds of people going in and out of the house, excessive drinking, dancing, and just loud screaming in the yard until four in the morning.

"Don't your neighbors complain dude?"

"Why man? I invited them!"

How had Brad managed to have over a 100 friends with nothing better to do that go to his house on a Saturday night? Who were these people and where did they come from? God knows none of them had ever come over during the other 364 days of the year!

As we made our way through the crowd looking for the bar I could feel the pressure to re-script our tale 'o Brad.

One thing was immediately clear: Brad's friends weren't there for good food and drink. The bar consisted solely of bottles of supermarket brand vodka; the kind found in large plastic bottles tagged with vaguely Russian sounding names -- fooling nobody. The only food was a few opened bags of chips and a round supermarket crudite platter with carrots, celery and ranch dressing. (This sat untouched in the kitchen.) That was it. Surely this explained the faint smell of vomit in the back yard everyone tried hard not to notice. Perhaps these young people hadn't yet learned this important party requirement?

I would have felt sorry for Brad's guests who gave up their Saturday night for a party without food but to our surprise everyone was having a great time! Admittedly, it was infectious.

Our sense of adventure took over and we stuck around to see what the draw was. We never found the actual reason for the success of the party but then again most things about Brad were unexplained and had to be invented.

Brad obviously had more of a life than we gave him credit for even though many in attendance didn't even actually know him! Maybe they were inventing stories too? After an hour or so when enough people could give testimony that we had shown up we decided to leave the melee and return to our not so peaceful but much less crowded living room next door and wait it out.

We had an unexpectedly great time even though we didn't learn too much about Brad or how he had managed to attract so many people to a party. Brad came over the next morning to apologize for the loud music and the vomit on our front walk.

"Well, thats ok. You invited us."

So now we are a bit conflicted each year when we see Brad come up the front walk to invite us to his annual "big party". Its not something we would want to do regularly but an hour or two can be a fun adventure exposing us to things we don't usually get to see up close. Much like a trip to the zoo.

This year when Brad came up the walk and invited us I gave my usual knee jerk response in the affirmative:

"Sure, what can I bring?"

What could I possibly bring to an event like Brad's? Lysol perhaps?

"Food? Do you think you guys could bring some food?"

I really have to stop asking what I can bring. In hindsight I think Brad was probably suggesting I bring an extra bag of Doritos as that is all he usually serves at his parties -- but I knew I would have to do just a bit more than that. But how much more?

When I realized that if I could get a bit of food into this party there might be less vomit for Brad to clean up the next morning I saw this request as a public health issue. I had an obligation.

Then I remembered these meatballs. Easy, cheap. I don't even consider them real cooking but to Brad's guests they were gourmet. Its all relative I suppose. If you've never had steak, pre made Costco meatballs swimming in condensed soup tastes just fine! And truthfully, these are doctored up enough so that if you didn't know better, you wouldn't know any better.

Brad was appreciative, but to my way of thinking it was the least that I could do. The very least. But fun.

Meatballs: Vintage Style

1 (38 ounce) package frozen swedish meatballs (precooked)
1 Tablespoon olive oil
1 onion, finely chopped
1 (10 ounce) can cream of mushroom soup
1 (10 ounce) can beef or veal broth
1 (12 ounce) jar beef gravy
1 tablespoon Kitchen Bouquet
Salt and pepper to taste
1/4 cup red wine
1/4 grated parmesan cheese.

Saute one chopped onion in the olive oil until translucent and soft. Add the can of cream of mushroom soup and broth and mix until combined. Add the can of gravy and Kitchen Bouquet and mix until well combined. Adjust consistency with more broth, salt, pepper and Kitchen Bouquet. Add red wine and simmer gently for 20 minutes. Add meatballs and simmer until meatballs are warmed through. If mixture gets too goopy add more broth. The longer you simmer the better as the onions will dissolve into the gravy. You can transfer to a crock pot or warming dish to serve topped with a dusting of parmesan cheese.

(Note: I think I tripled this recipe and used one of those big bags of Costco meatballs. Some where left over. I'll use them next year.)

"Big Red" Chili with Brisket and Pinto Beans

2012-01-21T16:05:00.000-08:00

There are days when you wake up feeling like a true, creative original. When they strike, nothing you do will seem derivative or reek of cliché. You are inspired! You wake up to start your day by putting together an outfit for yourself that has that certain je nes c'est quoi communicating the one-of-a-kind energy you radiate. That fantastic tune you hum while shaving won't even be anything you have heard before. Your making it up as you go! Could a Grammy be in my future? And, as you post away on Facebook and Twitter you won't even have to rely on Rumi or Oscar Wilde for the oh-so-clever yet drippingly poignant bon mots. There will be no retweeting for you today!

Best of all, if you are lucky enough to be at the farmer's market on one of these electric mornings you can't help it but but be inspired to create all manner of unique flavor combinations when you discover some new and obtuse vegetable nobody else has even heard of yet. Watermelon radishes? Fingerlimes? Can I put bacon on or in it? You won't even see the man selling Kale and you certainly won't be tempted to dump everything you find onto an artisan pizza or toss it with some variety of infant lettuce picked before it has a chance at a full life. That would be just too cliché for you and jumping on food fads isn't for you. Not today anyway.

Today, as you can see, I wasn't having one of these days.

No sirree. Instead I awoke this cold rainy morning and the first thing I thought was "today is a good day to make some chili." (Did I hear you hipsters groan?)

I blog about it even though understand that the internet needs another chili recipe like Youtube needs another cute cat video or my kitchen needs another piece of All Clad. (That casserole/brasier does looks pretty cool however!) If you Google "chili recipe" you will get over 30 million hits. Take your pick as I will bet you most of them are quite good and more than few of them could even be considered great. Some may even be unique although this is an adjective I am not really looking for when I set out to make chili and this one isn't, even if I have to say it is pretty damn good and it certainly does the trick this rainy day. Even if making it on one is cliché.

No matter. All of the adjectives I had set out to use to describe this chili sound cliché once I put them into sentances anyway. Yeah, it is spicy, but not too spicy. Its multiple ingredients all simmer for hours to become one mighty fine entree serving up both a discernible complexity and a singular depth. (Ha!) This is, after all, what a good chili is supposed to do, right? All while being tomatoey. And yes, the house does smell amazing while it cooks on the stove for hours. Just seeing it here on the blog I could lick my screen.

I was thinking of titling this post "Texas Red Chili with Beans" because I do think it fun to see Texans foam at the mouth when you deign to suggest that chili should have beans in it. I giggled with glee reading the fallout from The Barefoot Contessa featuring Devon Frederick's "award winning" Tex Mex Chili containing not only 2 cans of kidney beans but, gasp, basil instead of cilantro. Where does Ina go from here? Manhattan Clam Chowder with cream?

Nonetheless, Texans inflicted Rick Perry on us for a few months recently so I think it only deserved that we get to question their judgement on other matters as well. We can put some beans in our chili if we want to Rick! So, reluctantly I decided not to go there with this post as even now,this discussion seems, yes, cliché. (Thanks Ina. )

Whatever it is, this chili is fantastic and all this dish's many clichés will apply to it. The recipe comes from my most recent cookbook acquisition "Two Dudes One Pan" which was recommended to me by my good blogger-friend Nathan Hazard. (He of The Table Set podcast fame which is a good listen by the way if you are not already a fan.) The book itself is not new but its recipes are timeless (this means cliché but in a good way) and their preparation, being limited to one pan, is certainly appealing. It's very rare that I thumb through a cookbook where just about every recipe calls out to my personal cooking aesthetic so you will be seeing more from it here soon.

Or maybe I'll just be inspired by it...when I'm having one of those days.

Big Red Chili w/Brisket and Pinto Beans
Adapted from Jon Shook and Vinny Dotolo's "Two Dudes One Pan"

8 oz. bacon cut into lardons 1/2" wide
1 pound beef brisket, cubed into 1" pieces
2 yellow onions, chopped
3 garlic cloves, mashed with the flat of a knife
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1.5 pounds ground chuck
1 28 oz. can whole tomatoes with liquid
3 14 oz cans pinto beans, drained and rinsed
1 12 oz bottle of beer
1 cup ketchup
1/4 cup (less 4 tablespoons) light brown sugar
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
3 Tablespoons chili powder
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 1/2 teaspoons garlic powder
1 1/2 teaspoons onion powder
1 teaspoons Tabasco sauce (optional)

Heat a large, heavy Dutch oven or enameled pot over medium-high heat for a few minutes and then add the bacon and stir frequently until bacon is crisp, between 8 and 10 minutes. When done, use a slotted spoon to remove bacon to a plate lined with paper towels. Discard all but 1 tablespoon of the oil.

Add the brisket cubes to the pot and cook for about 5 minutes until all sides are browned. Add the copped onions, garlic, and salt and cook until the onions are soft (5 minutes). Add the ground beef and stir until the meat is browned (5 minutes).

Pour the tomatoes into a large bowl and break up into small pieces with your fingers making sure to break them into small pieces. Add tomatoes, 1 cup of water, the remaining salt, and the remaining chili ingredients into the pot. Stir and bring to a very low simmer and cook until the brisket falls apart and the chili has come together thick, about 3.5 hours. Then simmer at even a lower temperature for another 30 minutes!

Top with the usual non cliche toppings like sour cream, onions, and sharp cheddar. Don't apologize for serving them with some cliche saltines. There is a reason every greasy spoon diner in the United States with a chili specialty does this. Even in Texas.

Haiku: M. Jacques' Armagnac Chicken

2012-01-15T16:28:00.000-08:00

Chicken in a pot

A meal everyone should know.

Dorie does many.

As far as they go,

"Les paresseux" is better.

Still, this was tasty.

Skin needed broiling.

"Admire the brown chicken!"

(Who was she kidding?)

M. Jacques' Armagnac Chicken
Recipe found here at New York Times

I never feel more like a cook than when I'm preparing a simple roasted chicken. Its a good thing as have never made a roasted chicken that I didn't like. Some are better than others but all of them are good. So, I was not surprised to find that this one was quite tasty even though I wished it looked a bit better. A quick trip under the broiler saved the day as far as its 'curb appeal' goes otherwise I would not have brought it to the table. (Did Dorie test this recipe? )

The armagnac is certainly a beguiling ingredient. It gives this informal dish a somewhat curious elegant flavor.

Leave your comments in haiku for extra love!

Bourbon Time! The Horse's Neck Cocktail.

2012-01-13T08:11:00.000-08:00

Am I too late to post a New Year's Resolution?

I am going to do it but please don't hold my tardiness against me -- Its not like I resolved to be more timely in 2012, did I? No, I certainly wouldn't do something as futile as that. No, when it comes to resolutions I am much more sensible.

I never used to be a NewYear's Resolution type. I find it much too depressing when I can't hang onto them very long. Why do we find the need to make them so challenging?

My attitude changed a couple of years ago when I finaly learned the secret to resolution success: just make easier resolutions. From now on there will be none of these impossible "lose 20 pounds" resolutions or "don't spend any more than $100 a month on clothes" resolutions for me.

Why should we resolve to "run a mile on the treadmill every night after work for an entire year "when we can just as easily resolve to "eat one cupcake a week during 2012"?

Clearly, a high success rate is all about setting realistic, easy to achieve goals. If Tony Robbins is right and we have all the personal power to be a successful goal-smashing machines then I'm quite certain the one key factor affecting our success rate is simply to choose realistic goals.

You're welcome. Do you think I should be a motivational speaker? It is so damn obvious I feel sort of foolish that it took me decades to figure it out.

You must be thinking, "Hey, Sis Boom, so what did you resolve for yourself this New Year?"

Fair enough:

I resolve to drink more cocktails in 2012.

There. See how easy it that is? I bet you are filling silly for resolving in 2112 to save more money. I'm quite sure I can handle this one. You should feel free to use it if you have not yet thought of anything for yourself.

Yes, I am resolving to practice more mixology in 2012. What? Were you assuming I was pledging to consume a higher quantity of alcohol? Nope. I'm talking quality, people. 2011 was a lazy year for me when it came to getting creative at the bar and mixing up the drinks. Unfortunately, more often than not when I felt the desire (um, need) to imbibe I would simply pop the cork off a bottle of chardonnay and call it a night. What a waste.

It is pretty damn easy to bust out the mixing glass and conjure up a decent cocktail so there is no good excuse for defaulting to a glass of wine every night. This cocktail, The Horse's Neck, is as easy it as it gets. In fact, you have probably been drinking it for years. Or something close to it. Sort of.

There is no better marriage between liquor and mixer than there is when bourbon weds a good ginger ale. Yeah, gin and tonic is god but if you have ever had a bourbon and ginger you know what I am saying. And if you have experienced this mixture you nearly had a Horse's Neck for all you have to do to take the ordinary mixed drink and elevate it to cocktail status is add bitters and a distinctive garnish.

The long, winding coil of a garnish is what supposedly gives this cocktail its name. Originally intended to be a non alcoholic drink akin to a Shirley Temple, someone finally came to their senses around 1910 and poured some bourbon in it. Perhaps they resolved in 1910 to drink more bourbon?

I hope all your resolutions for 2012 are as easy to achieve.

The Horse's Neck Cocktail
Makes 1 drink

1 lemon
2 ounces bourbon
3 dashes Angostura bitters
Ginger ale

Carefully peel the zest from the lemon in one continuous spiral with a channel knife. Coil the zest around a barspoon or chopstick to encourage a bouncy spiral.

Place the lemon zest in the bottom of a chilled highball glass, hanging the end of the coiled garnish over the side of the glass. Fill the glass with ice.

Add the bourbon and bitters and top off with ginger ale.

Haiku: Cauliflower Gratin with Bacon and Eggs

2012-01-04T08:07:00.000-08:00

"Cauliflower Gratin" for French Friday's with Dorie: Haiku Version.

Oh cauliflower!

Formerly I showed no love.

Now you really rock.

What is in a name?

I think Dorie got this wrong.

"Gratin"? I think not.

Not really a 'side'!

Make a chic lunch out of it.

Good for any meal.

My late French Fridays.

Some things may never change...sigh.

Any Haiku comments?

Cauliflower Gratin

adapted from Dorie Greenspan

Just a few notes on the recipe modifications. I added in a scant 1/2 teaspoon of dried, ground mustard - a secret ingredient for me in these types of dishes. It manages to jazz up the flavors without really adding any of its own. I also added just a bit of Parmesan as knew it would keep things from being too bland. I planned for this as our New Year's morning brunch so I blanched the cauliflower and fried up the bacon the night before keeping them covered until assembly in the morning.

This added just a bit cooking time but it was well worth it as it made my hung-over morning that much easier.

1 cauliflower
1/4 pound bacon, cut crosswise into 1/2 inch strips
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon ground mustard
1 cup cream
5 eggs, lightly beaten
2/3 cup whole milk
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
Freshly grated nutmeg
3 ounces Gruyere, grated
1 ounce parmesan, grated

Center a rack and preheat an oven to 425 degrees F.

Line a baking sheet with a silicone baking mat or parchment paper. Generously butter an oven-going pan that holds about 2 1/2 quarts. Put the dish on the baking sheet.

Put a large pot of salted water on to boil. Cut the florets from the cauliflower, leaving about an inch of stem. Drop the florets into the boiling water and cook for 8 minutes. Drain, rinse the cauliflower under cold running water to cool it down, and pat it dry with a clean dishtowel or paper towels. This can be done the night before! When they're fork-tender, drain and pat dry and keep in the refrigerator for assembly in the morning if serving for brunch

While the cauliflower is cooking, toss the bacon strips into a heavy skillet, put the skillet over medium heat, and cook just until the bacon is browned but not crisp. Drain and pat dry. This can be done the night before as well!

Spread the cauliflower out in the buttered pan, and scatter over the bacon bits.

Put the flour and mustard in a bowl and gradually whisk in the eggs. When the flour and eggs are blended, whisk in the cream and milk. Season the mixture with the salt, pepper and small amount of nutmeg, and stir in about two thirds of the cheese. Pour the mixture over the cauliflower, shake the pan a little so that the liquid settles between the florets, and scatter over the remaining cheese.

Bake the gratin for about 25 minutes (longer if you have chilled the cauliflower from making it earlier), or until it is puffed and golden and a knife inserted into the center comes out clean. Mine cooked for 40 minutes. If the top isn't as brown as you'd like it to be, run it under the broiler for a couple of minutes.

The Thing You Missed in 2011!

2011-12-31T12:05:00.000-08:00

Like most of you today, I'm feeling somewhat reflective on the previous year. We can hardly be blamed for feeling this way since the media inundates us this week each year with year-end roundups, death lists and several other segments each designed to have us looking back to wonder how it all passed so quickly.

I tried not to treat today any differently from any other but I'm weak and I gave in to the ritual and took a brief look at the past year here at Sis. Boom. blog!

Food bloggers usually save their yearly roundups for their 'blogoversaries', their blog's birthday, and I am no exception. This post, however, is not about the highlights. Those annual reflection posts are the times we sit back (with a glass of chardonnay if we do it right) and wax poetic on our interesting accomplishments, our challenges, the new friends and cooking groups we made, and stuff like that there.

To be different I thought I would take a look at the posts of 2011 that for some reason or another failed to get an audience. I really can't tell you why some posts just went off into the ether but they do. None of the posts below are posts I would have guessed would garner no love. While some may have gotten a comment or three they actually hardly made a ripple in my blog stats.

Perhaps it had to do with the timing of the post itself? Or maybe they weren't written with enough SEO dohickeys in the text -- because I don't know how to do that. (Truthfully, I don't want to worry about SEO anyway. Bloggers don't have a chance against Epicurious and the others anymore.)

I love these losers as much as I love all my children, however, so I'm going to give them just on more chance at your adulation before I pack them in to dive into the new year with its new cooking adventures. (Please do check out my authentic Chinese Chicken Salad post before you move into 2012 with me. It is craving love too but I disqualified it since its only been up two days.)

So without further explanation, these are the least viewed Sis. Boom. blog! posts of 2011:

Lamb Tagine with Chickpeas and Apricots

I guess I was a bit confused over the rules for "Wordless Wednesdays" posts. Can I help it if some dishes just give me a lot to say? This dish had me running at the mouse to tell you about my Aunt Christine and her bitter, angry fifth ex-husband and a lamb I once knew named Talulah. (No relation to the tagine.)

Bison Burger

My husband brought home bison thinking it was French hamburger. (Pronounced "beece- AWE"). The cabernet onions were the real takeaway from this one.

Thai Pork Lettuce Wraps

Frequent travel and hotel food had me craving these low cal wraps when I returned home. I can usually count on low cal foods being traffic losers.

Rustic Swiss Chard Tart

This post had an embedded Christmas Present for all who read it. Did you read it and get your gift? Food Gawker rejected this photo!

Rhubarb Parfait

An annual confection I make every year when rhubarb is in season. These were packed up in mason jars for a picnic. The topping is not just whipped cream and its absolutely worth the extra time when everyone gushes about it.

Mojito Melon Skewers

This dish teaches the lesson that sometimes it is the simplest of recipes that can have a disproportionate positive reaction by your guests. I was kind of embarrassed at the attention these got when I brought them to an afternoon outdoor lunch.

These came from from Matt Armandariz’ new book“On a Stick” which I reviewed here.

Pastitsio

I don't know a lot about Greek food but if its as good as this I have some more culinary studying to do. This post was an entry into a contest that was to net an actual trip to Greece. Stay tuned! (I just hope the contest isn't measuring traffic stats!)

Peanut Butter and Jelly Bars

I brought these to a very non-American type picnic where they sat uneaten but not unappreciated. The culinary culture clash was explained in the post...

Zinger Blended Iced Tea

Urbanite actually picked up this post about my favorite "cocktail" -- something I make and drink all year 'round since it is calorie free. All two of their readers came over to read it. I had writer's block that day but my readers had "Sis Boom Block" and never came by to read this one.

Lime Marscapone Sorbet

I deviated from David Lebovitz' masterpiece on the art of the frozen dessert just ONCE in favor of this beaut from Nigel Slater and nobody came to read it. Even still, it is one of my favorites even it confused me further on what the difference between sorbet and sherbet is supposed to be.

Honey Glazed Duck

The one French Fridays with Dorie post that got no love this past year. I'm sure the fact that I was nearly a month late with it had nothing to do with it!

Happy New Years from Sis. Boom. blog! The adventure continues....

Chinese Chicken Salad

2011-12-29T09:32:00.000-08:00

My friend Mei-Ling came over for dinner not long ago and even though we hadn't seen each other in years we were able to "pick it right up" as if it had only been days. I always love it when that happens with the people in my life as i think it is a litmus test for choosing"family" from among friends. I get such joy when someone passes the test as not even all in my real family can pass it.

When Mei-Ling and I get together we laugh and make lots of politically-incorrect fun of each other. The kind that we alone are allowed with each other as sort of a secret handshake for admittance into our club of two. Don't let anyone tell you it doesn't feel good every now and then have some fun at your own expense with someone you trust and the other night was certainly no exception.

Mei-Ling and I met when we were 10 years old. Her family had emigrated here from the People's Republic of China and our teacher, Miss Loomis, "assigned" me to be her "class buddy" and to show her the ropes, if you will. I would show her around the school, make sure she knew which milk line to get in, and when it was time to come back in from recess. I would have to pantomime my instructions to her as Mei-Ling did not know English yet and my Mandarin was still quite rusty. (This should also explain to friends my preternatural talent for charades.)

Miss Loomis could not have known it (or could she?) but our mutual 'outsider status' would end up bonding us for life. I would teach Mei-Ling the basic elementary school survival strategies she would need in our culturally homogenous burg and in exchange she would be my lifetime friend and foil. Seeing how well she coped with being 'different' would eventually give me the courage to embrace it as well.

Mei-Ling was first introduced to me as "Mindy" because her mother decided to give her an "American name" so that she might fit in easier. Evidently by becoming a "Mindy" this little brown skinned girl with narrow eyes, jet black-straight hair, and no ability to speak English would suddenly blend in with the other kids in our predominately white, upscale beach community -- as if by magic. I always found the whole idea oddly hysterical and so did she for as soon as Mei-Ling could speak English she instructed everyone around her to stop using it.

When it came to blending in I had it a lot easier than Mei-Ling even though I felt just as much an outsider to those around me. Unlike Mei-Ling, however, my "individuality" wasn't so immediatly obvious, even to me. She would eventually figure it all out before I did and wait for me to share it with her; it would take a few more years before that would happen and she was patient.

And then the real fun began!

Today she still teases me about about how slow I was to realize what should have been obvious to everyone around me the night in 5th grade I had to beg my parents to let me stay up and watch the "Liza With a Z" TV special on television. Didn't all 10 year old boys want to see Liza Minnelli? (It was choreographed by Fosse dammit.)

She also enjoys teasing me about my cooking by pretending not to remember having ever eaten it. It drives me crazy because her delivery is so good I can never tell if she means it or not.

"Mimi's Cafe makes the best onion soup I have ever had!"

Words that cut like a knife until I figure out she is teasing me.

In return I tease her about her lack of curves and her heritage; purposely never quite understanding the differences between Asian cultures and cuisine.

"Mei-Ling, can your mother make sushi as good as this?"

When she called to tell me she and her husband were coming to town to visit her mother over the holidays I insisted they drop by for lunch. I told her I had taken a day class in authentic Mandarin Chinese cooking at the community college and I would love the chance to show off for her and her husband.

I made this.

"Mindy" got the joke immediately as she saw her plate. Which is why I love her.

You can make this recipe yourself or you can go out to just about any Chinese restaurant and buy it. Its really not that bad.

Chi Dynasty's Chinese Chicken Salad
Adapted from LA Times; Culinary SOS.

Total time: 40 minutes

Servings: 4 to 6
To make crispy rice noodles, fry the noodles in oil heated to 350 degrees until they're crisp, 1 to 2 minutes; drain on paper towels. (I skipped the noodles altogether.)

Dressing:

5 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon soy sauce
2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon rice vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon plus 1½ teaspoons sesame oil
2 teaspoons grated fresh ginger

In a medium bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, rice vinegar, sugar, sesame oil and ginger. Taste and adjust seasoning and flavoring as desired. This makes a generous one-half cup of dressing.

Salad assembly

8 cups chopped iceberg lettuce
3 cups crispy rice noodles
1 pound boiled chicken breast, cut into strips
1/3 cup finely chopped peanuts, more to taste
2 tablespoons minced preserved ginger, more to taste
1 tablespoon roasted black sesame seeds, more to taste
1/4 cup chopped green onions, more to taste
1/4 cup cilantro leaves, more to taste
Dressing

In a large bowl, toss together the lettuce, noodles, chicken, peanuts, ginger, sesame seeds, green onions and cilantro leaves. Add half the dressing, tossing to lightly coat. Taste, and toss in additional dressing as desired. Serve immediately.