tempus est nunc

Coconut Cherry Almond Bars

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Sun, 12 Jul 2009 23:31:00 +0000

Twelve servings of goodness.

I’ve been alternating desserts around here lately, my taste with my husband’s. That means one week I’ll make a fruit dessert, and the next week I’ll make something chocolaty. We’re pretty simple folk.

I rearranged my cupboard and found some ingredients hanging out in nooks and crannies. Shredded coconut, almond flour, chocolate pieces… Hm… That, and the cherries were on sale at Publix again. Something chocolate, and cherry, and almond? I’m in! A recipe from 101 Cookbooks was just what I had in mind, modified and embellished to suit what I had on hand. I subbed almond flour for AP, sweetened coconut in a bag for the unsweetened stuff. I reduced the sugar by 1/2 cup. I added sliced almonds and chocolate pieces.

I pitted the cherries with an actual pitter (thanks, James!) and tore each cherry apart with my bare hands as I went. It was satisfying work, if a little gory. Meditative.

Cherry guts.

Ahem, moving on. I love layered bar desserts like this. In this case, especially, all your major dessert categories are taken care of. Cake. Chocolate. Fruit. Nuts. Coconut.

No special reason for the ice wine, acquired on our trip through Niagara wine country, other than that we’d had it for nearly two years and had been promising that we’d drink it for six months. It turns out it was just the thing, in a tiny stemmed glass, super-cold. Uniquely sweet, like port for kids.

Potatoes Au Brat'n

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 22:01:00 +0000

Before adding the top layer of potatoes

My husband is a wonder. When we were first married, he was mighty dissatisfied with the meals turned out at Casa di Diana, and rightly so. I had no concept of portion size and was used to spare, light suppers consisting mainly of Green Giant microwave vegetables like broccoli and cheese, or cauliflower and cheese. When I would try to come up with something new, he would ask by way of offering his opinion, "Did you use a recipe for this?" I got the message and started over, mastering the basics and working my way up to more creative enterprises. Always, I would make sure the combination of flavors was one that had been tried before, even if in a different form.

Gradually, as my cooking improved, his tastes expanded. He began suggesting dishes of his own, most of which I dismissed as being too heavy or just plain nasty-sounding (ground beef does NOT belong in my mashed potatoes). This time, I decided to give in to his suggestion. The result was marvelous. A little heavy, yes, but simple so as not to overwhelm: A pound and a half of potatoes layered with two leftover grilled, sliced beef bratwurst and smothered in a cheese sauce (any will do - try one here) seasoned with a touch of salt and red pepper flakes, topped with breadcrumbs and baked for about 90 minutes at 375. Let it settle and thicken for 15-30 minutes, then slice and serve with a salad on the side. I imagine those with medium to small appetites might call this six servings, but in our house, we'll get four.

The name? He came up with that, too. Endearing, if not groundbreaking.

Love me some June running

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 13:40:00 +0000

It's been pretty toasty around here lately. I'm debating whether it's useful to know the temperature and humidity level before I go out in the morning. If I'm going to run anyway, do I need to know that it's already nearly 80 degrees (at FIVE A.M.) with a dew point not far behind? Only once have I wimped out. Last Friday, hoping to put in 10, I ran about 6.5 before succumbing. I showered, breakfasted, and drove to the gym. Four boring treadmiles later, I decided this Tennessee gal needs to suck it up.

Oh, it was so wonderful to run in Florence and Rome. Well, maybe not Florence. Running by the Arno is romantic in theory (if there is any romance to be had between yourself and the pavement), but in practice the still air, pigeon poop, and gnats up the nose and in the mouth make it a little tedious. Rome, with the Tiber much further below street level, feels more open and breezier. Plus, I saw other joggers, which is always a great comfort. I even saw a woman once. As it happens, there is a triangular 5.5-mile route up the river from the Circus Maximus past the Vatican to the Piazza del Populo and down the Via del Corso (partially closed to traffic, woot!) back to the hotel by the Colosseum.

Fast forward to this morning: Ten miles is the plan. Five miles out, five back. Cutting it short is not an option. I get to the turnaround point and feel great! There's a breeze, there's cloudcover, and my legs feel good. I run another half-mile out, then head back, stretching out to run the last three miles faster than the first three. Yippee!

I'll be ready to start training for a fall half marathon in a couple of weeks. The chosen venue? After the craziness of the Country Music 1/2, I've opted for a smaller venue. It will be my first race in my home town (I was no runner when I left!). I'm running in the Clarksville Half Marathon.

Roasted beets and greens over pasta

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 15:58:00 +0000

But Mom, it tastes like dirt!

That’s what I would have told my mother if she’d tried to make me eat this. Luckily, I have reframed my brain to think of foods that taste like dirt as “earthy.” Next time, still, I’ll peel the beets. No amount of scrubbing removed that special flavor. Sweet beets are the fruit of the earth. Yum!

Adding the pasta--I got a fun shape from World Market--to the cooked beets and greens stained it with a beautiful reddish pink. The addition of cheese and onions was critical to my enjoyment of this dish, which says a lot.

To do: Trim two medium-sized beets of greens. Roast the beets whole and unpeeled in a foil pouch at 375 for an hour (or almost 2 hours if you forget all about them, as I did—apparently there’s no such thing as over-roasting beets).

Sauté half an onion until soft in a large sauce pan.

When they are cool enough to handle, peel beets and cut into large chunks. Add to skillet along with some cooked greens, as much as you and your dining partner like. I used collards, because my beet greens were not looking too spry by the time I got around to using them. Last week, I had microwaved the collards with a bit of water in a covered Pyrex dish, a method which I recommend as an easy way to cook up a mess of greens to be used in some other way later. I suppose you could even cook the greens down in the skillet, but I wanted to precook them to make sure they lasted.

Add 2 servings of cooked pasta to the skillet; toss. Divide into two pasta bowls. Grate a generous amount of parmesan cheese on top.

Buns

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 22:53:00 +0000

Michael Ruhlman has issued a challenge: Make a BLT from scratch. This includes curing your own bacon, growing your own tomatoes and lettuce, and baking your own bread. The flour may be purchased, but I have a feeling that this concession was made only grudgingly.

Yes, I have a lot of time on my hands, but have neither the skill set nor patience for such a task. I read the major cooking magazines and blogs, and I usually select things to make based on three criteria, listed in order of importance: (1) ease--both of obtaining quality, inexpensive ingredients and of executing the recipe (2) perceived deliciousness, primarily for my palate, secondarily for my husband's, and (3) impressiveness. Call me vain, but there is surely a delicate balance here. If a recipe is too easy, it cannot impress and often falls short in deliciousness. To wit.

This recipe, while not technically difficult, does require two two-hour rising periods. Throw in mixing, cutting, and baking time, and you’re at 5+ hours. Pick a rainy day off and make sure you have a good book to read. The result, though, is delicious. Also, while buns are not impressive in themselves, once people realize you made them from scratch, they are generally impressed.

So, yes: At some point during this whole operation, I remembered that I could get perfectly adequate buns from the Publix bakery at a reasonable cost. Less satisfactory, but still serviceable, buns are currently 10-for-$10 at Kroger. Nevertheless, this is satisfying in a thrill-inducing, primal way. It is still magical to me that you can add yeast to flour and water producing whatever risen carb your heart desires: sandwich bread, pizza, rolls, brioche… Some people garden. Others bake. The truly enlightened can do both, but I try not to be jealous from my clean, air-conditioned kitchen.

The hardest part was getting the dough to come together. The recipe calls for five cups (note to Gourmet: please use weight measurements!), but I added nearly another cup to get the darn thing to make a ball in my mixer. The recipe says the dough will be wet, but I don’t think it means a batter. I was stumped, but not for long.

I closed my eyes and imagined a Gourmet recipe tester in a New England commercial kitchen in the dead of winter, humidity close to zero. Rejoining the present, I saw that this day was pregnant with the threat of an afternoon thundershower, hot as all heck, with a dew point through the roof. I grabbed a spoon and the flour container.

Once I had my dough ball, it was mostly a matter of waiting. Two hours for the first rise, then cut half the dough into hamburger buns (I made 13 because of all the extra flour I’d added) and roll the other half into hot dog buns (8 gigantic). Once your buns are trayed up and loosely covered with oiled plastic wrap, you must let them rise another two hours.

Brats are in my future... yeeesss...

Patience is rewarded!

Yeah, but with pizza on a bagel, you can eat pizza any time.

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 18:37:00 +0000

I’m missing my Italian lifestyle. Scratch that: I’m missing my American-tourist-in-Italy lifestyle. Pastries and coffee for breakfast, sightseeing, a lunch of pizza a taglio (pizza by the slice), afternoon nap, gelato, sightseeing and shopping, and a late multi-course dinner.

Never mind that we could only eat this way because we were walking miles and miles. Nothing creates an appetite like back-to-back museums, or walking from the Colosseum to Castel Sant’Angelo. Since the most walking I can do here is with my little dog around the block, it seems I’ll have to scale things back a little while stateside.

The CSA thing, and the bounty of produce it brings, has forced some changes. I would not expect my dear husband to eat beets for lunch, or pack kale chips for an afternoon snack, so it makes sense to make a home-run lunch so it can be followed by an unorthodox dinner. Why not pizza for lunch? Reheating might be a challenge at the office, since the only means is a microwave. Maybe we can invest in one of those Domino's HeatWave (R) bags.

For this experiment in changing our eating habits, I made a double batch of my favorite pizza dough to work with on Sunday. After my nap, I divided the huge blob into eight balls, covered with a towel, and got my mise en place ready. There were to be three kinds:

Margherita, a throwback to our Naples pizza. Dunno if it’s D.O.C., but it’s as simple as can be, with a homemade marinara, fresh mozzarella, and basil. Four dough balls met this end.

Ham, swiss, collards, onion, mozzarella, and parmesan. This one for my husband, a fan of greens with any kind of pork. Two pizzas.

Yellow squash, spinach, onion, mozzarella, and parmesan. This one for me, who loves a good gourd. Two pizzas.

Total: Eight pizzas over three hours, including an hour to proof the dough while I got the ingredients ready. Each pizza counts as two servings. I froze half of the pizza in freezer bags, individually portioned, for next week. Is three hours every two weeks a sustainable habit? Let the proof be in the pizza. Looks good, smells good…

BACK: Let the endless slide shows begin!

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 18:30:00 +0000

FAIL.

No, we didn't eat there.

We're back from our Italy vacation. News flash: Rome is in ruins. Florence remains my favorite city of those visited in Italy. Naples is still crazy. Gelato is absolutely necessary. The pictures are trickling in via Picasa (link on right).

It's weird to be back in a place where everything is 2500 years newer. I have to say I learned more on this trip than on any other, on every level (including how much I love my dog). I've spent time in Italy before, but I always held the culture (between A.D. 476 and the present) at arm's length. I don't know exactly how to go into this without getting deeply personal, but let's just say it's been a spiritual awakening.

I feel inspired. We'll see where this leads. Yesterday it led to strawberries macerated in amaretto and made into shortcake. A peanut butter noodle stew thing with cabbage, carrots, and sweet potatoes. Two hours-plus in the kitchen after weeks away? Heaven on Earth.

A Roma!

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 13:16:00 +0000

I have been neglectful of the blog, and I can't blame it all on being busy, since somehow I found time to post last year when some of the same hectic things were going on.

Spring beckons, and much is happening. Foremost on my mind, my sister is getting married in the fall, and I get to be matron of honor! We also signed up for the Delvin Farms CSA. I'm in shape for a second half-marathon, with two more weeks of training to go.

At the end of May, DH and I are going to take a trip to Italy together, something I've been looking forward to for about 5 years. In 2004, as a graduation present from my parents, I spent 6 weeks in Rome studying the classical history of the city, taking side trips to Florence, Naples, and spots in between. It was a program recommended to me by my Classics professor as an undergrad, and after leaving school early to teach, I decided to apply.

When I got the call that I'd been accepted into the program, I was ecstatic. I had never left the country before, and my first trip abroad would be to the city I'd fallen in love with at age 14 in Latin class.

Last night, I got out all the odds and ends I saved from the trip. I found my travel diary, separate from the copious notes I took at each site we visited. Somehow I managed to make almost daily entries, in spite of the exhausting schedule and persistent jet lag. I often found time to write on the bus or train. I didn't want to leave out a single detail, partially out of guilt for leaving my boyfriend stranded in rural Georgia.

Tempus est nunc! I'm ready to go back to Italy.

Too much is not enough

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 23:27:00 +0000

I've been plugging away at the training program lately, fitting in runs every-which-way. Friday afternoon I decided to try a go-round the neighborhood where I work, enticed by flat land and wide sidewalks. I mapped out 11 miles and giddily set out into 60 degrees and sunshine.

I'd run more than half of the route before as a six-mile loop, but I added a couple of less-familiar areas. As it turns out, I ran out of sidewalk pretty quickly after five miles. Normally I'd forge ahead, ever the reckless adventurer, but rush hour on a busy road meant I'd have to fight for space the whole way. Not for pedestrians. I know when I'm beat. I turned around and threw in a few short blocks to try to make it to magic number 11, but by then the concrete sidewalks had taken their toll and my shins were screaming. Asphalt is so much kinder, I'm realizing.

It wasn't ideal, but I finished the last couple of miles on Sunday, tacking them onto another run.

Today I had the sort of day that demanded I run well, because nothing else was going right. After work, on the way to the gym, my thoughts were my enemy. I almost scratched the 7 miles, 3 fast, but I couldn't think of an excuse that would allow me to live with myself. I slogged through the slow miles and burned up tread on the fast ones. The last fast quarter, when I realized I was going to make it, I felt a sense of power and control that I wish I could bottle and sell. For the cool-down mile I cranked up my music and zoned out to U2's "Numb."

It was perfect.

Braised Red Cabbage with Apples

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 22:33:00 +0000

Can these guys be pals?

Nothing like a good braise in the winter, and this one's fast.

Some overcautious ordering of barbecue for a party a couple of weeks ago has left us with piles of pulled pork. We did barbecue nachos for the big game on Sunday, but there are still a couple of pounds left. I froze some, but I racked my brain for a flavor combo that did not involve Mexican or Southern influences. Enter eastern Europe: Braised red cabbage with apples. I had intended to serve some cabbage shredded along with the other nacho fixin’s, but a countertop already burgeoning convinced me it wouldn’t be necessary.

I adapted the recipe from this one based on what I had in the pantry at the time. The result was pretty sweet: the vinegar is needed at the end for balance, but it still was a little sweet for my taste. The apple flavor rocked.

Next time I might use vegetable stock instead of apple juice or cider. It was great with the pork and some cornbread—there’s your Southern influence. It’s inescapable.

Mayhap I needed a larger pot? Naaah.

Braised Red Cabbage with Apples

adapted from Epicurious
makes 4-6 side dish servings

1 tbsp butter
½ white onion, large dice
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 Granny Smith apple, cored, large dice with skin on
1 2-pound head red cabbage, chopped into 1.5-inch pieces
½ c apple juice
2 tbsp red wine vinegar (use apple cider vinegar if you have it)
Salt and pepper to taste

Melt butter in a large heavy saucepan with a tight-fitting lid. Add onion and garlic; let brown 2-3 minutes. Add apple, cabbage, and apple juice. Heat to boiling, and lower the heat and let simmer, covered, for 20 minutes. Add vinegar, and cook 2-3 minutes to let most of the liquid evaporate. Add salt and pepper to taste and serve.

Apple: "I'm melting.... Melting!!"

Blitzkrieg Bop

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 15:12:00 +0000

The Steelers are in the Superbowl again, and that means the party is at our place. I haven’t yet been able to convince my black-and-gold husband to host a party when it’s not Pittsburgh vying for the trophy, so I have to make the most of it when the opportunity arises—a surprising second time in 4 years.

I’m more interested in the game now than I was then, so I’m keeping it simple: A nacho bar with
Pork barbecue from Martin’s
Slow-cooked black beans
Sauteed mushrooms
Sour cream
Queso, kept warm in a fondue pot
Shredded hard cheeses
Diced onion
Cilantro
Chopped Romaine lettuce
Roasted peppers
Guacamole
Salsas
Vinegar-based barbecue sauces

The only trick will be keeping everything out of reach of the dog. She loves company and already knows something's up today.

Frumpy at 26

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 23:05:00 +0000

I eased my way back in to a training schedule at the beginning of January, freshly restocked with the most excellent running clothes that I got for Christmas. I can't get enough:

thermal pants
fleece pants
tech-fabric turtlenecks
fleece jackets
hooded jackets
cushioned socks
running shorts
t-shirts

I like that running can be an inexpensive sport, except for the shoes, but I have enough winter wear now to go two weeks without washing. Heaven!

A typical day has me up for a morning run, then to work, then to the gym and changed back into workout clothes, in which I walk the dog. Sometimes I sleep in them. This year I've been dressing in such a way that I have to change as few clothes as possible to convert from work to gym. I wear a lot of tank tops under my dress shirts and sweaters, and I wear my slip-on sneakers whenever possible.

What I'm trying to say here: I've turned into a total slacker when it comes to dressing. Even on Saturdays and Sundays, I'll wear my fleece as long as possible. I knew I had a problem when I went to the eye doctor last week wearing fleece pants and jacket over a t-shirt and shorts for the gym later. The assistant asked, "Are you a personal trainer?" HAAA!

This isn't a problem most of the time. I think it bothers my husband a little (welcome to married life, heh), and I do miss wearing cute weekend clothes. After all, working out is supposed to improve my self-image, which right now is cloaked in bulky sweats.

I'll figure it out. Meantime, I'm training for another half: finally, the Country Music Half-Marathon. Before that, a couple of 5ks.

With what shall I fix it?

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 16:22:00 +0000

With what shall I fix it?

I had a craving for pancakes for dinner the other day, a cherished childhood memory. Pancakes for breakfast are tasty, especially the perfect, fluffy Bisquick ones my mother turned out by the dozen. Pancakes for dinner, though, are an indulgence fit for this season.

I rarely find buttermilk in my fridge, but I had a carton from last week, a few tablespoons of which I had utilized for some bootleg crème fraiche. Helping me realize my dream were a half-gone giant can of pumpkin and an amenable husband.

What to go with pumpkin pancakes? Butter and syrup were enough when I was a kid, but these days I try to include more food groups. After our water heater gave our garage a bath, I decided it would be hilarious to buy a single (though large) leek that afternoon. Stifling a giggle, I called my husband over to the kitchen: “Honey, now there’s a leek in the fridge!” I pulled it out and showed him. But what to do with just one leek?

As for the protein, what goes better with pumpkin pancakes and braised leeks than bacon? It sure was a winning flavor combination, if I may brag.

Pumpkin Pancakes
Adapted from Pinch My Salt
Makes about 12 4-inch pancakes

1 c whole wheat flour
½ c cake flour (or AP flour)
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon
½ tsp nutmeg
½ tsp ginger
1 ¼ c buttermilk, plus more if needed
1 c pumpkin
2 egg yolks
1 tbsp brown sugar
2 egg whites
1 tbsp white sugar
butter for pan

In a large bowl, whisk together flours, baking soda, baking powder, spices, and salt. Set aside. In another bowl, whisk buttermilk, pumpkin, egg yolks, and brown sugar. In a medium metal bowl, whip egg whites and white sugar with hand mixer until stiff peaks form.

Add wet ingredients to dry, stirring with a wooden spoon until just moistened. Gently fold in egg whites. Add a little more buttermilk if it is too thick.

Place a large heavy skillet over medium heat. Add butter to coat pan. Use a paper towel to wipe all excess butter.

Ladle batter into pan. Pancakes are ready to flip when bubbles break through the surface and do not close completely. When done, remove to a plate and keep in a warm place (wrapped in a towel in my oven, which has a leek). Pancakes are best right away, but they can be frozen and reheated in the toaster for a quick fix.

Serve with butter and maple syrup.

Braised Leek
(multiplies easily for a crowd – normally 1 large leek per person)

1 leek, white and light green parts only, slit in half lengthwise and washed well
olive oil for brushing
½ cup vegetable broth

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place leek cut side up in a small, shallow baking dish. Brush with olive oil. Roast for 20 minutes. Add vegetable stock and cover. Braise for 15 minutes, or until soft. Hold in warm oven until pancakes are ready.

Losing Weight

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Sat, 13 Dec 2008 19:54:00 +0000

Off my shoulders, that is.

I'm the only paid professional that I know who doesn't have to go to work when the roads are bad. I made the best use of my time by heading in to work to collect a few things to do this weekend, then heading out on foot from the school for a flat six-mile loop. It's been almost a year since I've done that loop, and it was the jolt of freshness I needed to get excited about running again. Running yesterday afternoon meant I got to take Saturday morning off, which was an unexpected blessing: Our water heater was streaming (hot) water at a scarily fast rate. The lesson: if you have time to run, do it. Later, you might feel sick. It might be rainy/icy. You might need to take care of a major home emergency.

Yesterday would have been the day of the hooding ceremony at UT, if I had made plans to go. After much consideration, I decided the time investment was not worth it. If I had requested a personal day and geared up to make the drive on Friday morning, I would have been met with sloppy roads and a hellish traffic situation. It appears I chose wisely.

I called Friday to make sure I was at least on the list of students who received a degree. The woman in the registrar's office was the most doggedly unhelpful person I've ever had a conversation with. I won't be able to get final confirmation until Monday. The last of the weight will be lifted, and I can move on to other things.

Plumgood no more

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 19:48:00 +0000

Plumgood Food is going out of business. I have been talking it up to everybody lately, having just recently placed my first order. I was just musing yesterday about how lucky Nashville is to have such a service. I'm sad and frustrated, but I understand the reasons.

I wish the owners the best and good luck on their next venture.

Cookie Day

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 12:05:00 +0000

I invited Katie over to bake some cookies while Mom and I sort of hung out.

Okay, so that wasn't the plan, but if you examine the list below, you'll see that Katie is the master baker--organized and methodical, this nurse-by-day kept us on track and the oven occupied. Promotion much deserved!

We each brought our own strengths to the table. Mom, with her years of cookie experience, was able to tell when the gingerbread was done and what substitutions were appropriate. I was great at standing frozen in one spot, trying to remember what I was supposed to do next.

1. checkerboard shortbread
Primary baker: Diana
2. oatmeal cranberry white chocolate chip
Primary baker: Mom
3. gingerbread
Dough: Katie
Primary baker: Diana
4. cutout with sprinkles
Primary baker: Katie
5. chocolate peanut butter cup
Primary baker: Katie
6. candy cane
Primary baker: Katie
7. fruitcake
Primary baker: Katie
8. fudge
Primary maker: Katie
9. cutout with sprinkles
We had a 12th cookie, but I accidentally put the dough in the freezer, after which it remained hard as a rock for the next three hours.
10. blueberry jam thumbprints
Primary baker: Katie
(Rolled in coconut, dense and substantial, perfect with coffee: My favorite this year!)
11. pecan shortbread
Primary baker: Diana
12. molasses
Dough: Katie
Primary baker: Mom

Acorn Squash Soup

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 23:35:00 +0000

Do you like my fine china slummin' it with the paper napkin?

In an effort to get all job-related work done before Thanksgiving week (so I can do school-related work…bleh), I planned a series of “set it and forget it” meals: casseroles, soups, microwave-utilizing foods that will allow me to stay an extra hour at work.

Somehow, though, I get into the kitchen and desire to embellish. It’s stress relief. Luckily, the husband hasn’t been complaining about our increasingly later mealtime.

And so, what was a simple acorn squash soup needed a sprinkling of sugared pecans, feta, and sage. It was transformed! Here’s how it went together.

Ingredients
Olive oil for pan
1 medium onion, chopped
½ tsp nutmeg
1 acorn squash, roasted whole for 1 hour in a 350 oven, seeds and skin removed, chopped into large chunks
1 15-oz. can of pumpkin
4 cups low-sodium vegetable broth
Salt and pepper to taste
Probably makes at least 8 servings, depending on the size of the acorn squash.

For Soup
Heat olive oil in bottom of a large, heavy pot over medium heat. Add onion and sauté until soft and slightly caramelized. Add nutmeg, squash, pumpkin, and vegetable broth. Bring to boil, then reduce to simmer. Let the soup simmer until it reaches the desired level of thickness; I let it go for 30 minutes. Remove from heat. Blend soup using an immersion blender or a regular blender in batches, as I did. Add salt and pepper to taste.

For Embellishment (makes enough for 2 bowls)
Olive oil for pan
1 large garlic clove, chopped
2 tbsp pecans, toasted and roughly chopped
1 tbsp brown sugar
2 tbsp feta or goat cheese
chopped fresh sage

Heat olive oil in a 10-inch skillet over medium heat. Add garlic clove; sauté 1 minute. Add pecans and sugar, stirring until sugar is melted. Remove from heat. Sprinkle pecan-garlic mixture over soup. Add feta and sage.

Easing back in

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 01:37:00 +0000

I'm entering my third week since the half marathon, and I'm enjoying the groove of a daily run with no strings attached. I do 5 on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday; 11 on Saturday; and 5 on Sunday. All 31 miles are easy, with short bursts if I'm feeling frisky.

In Portland, I ran the half on Sunday, and I went out Monday to jog to a couple of parks in the pre-dawn mist. I had planned 4-5 miles, but I took an unintended (but perhaps, subconsciously, intended) shortcut and wound up doing about 3.5. My legs were toast. I finished out the week with 25 miles, but several times pain from shin splints actually made me think twice about going out. I was all healed up by the next week.

After a turkey trot on Thanksgiving Day, I'll start my "Yes, we can" program of faster daily five-milers with one speed session per week.

Don't worry. I practice sustainable running. I still take two days off. And the dog's still getting her walk. And food's still being put on the table.

On the table tonight...

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 00:15:00 +0000

We've voted. The polls are closed. Our hands are tied. It's the best we can do.

We ran.

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 00:38:00 +0000

With about 2.1 million people in the Portland metropolitan area, there are much bigger races than Run Like Hell. For instance, the Portland Marathon, a Boston Qualifier, has nearly 8,000 finishers. The Run Like Hell Half had just over 1,000.

I’m really just making excuses for my lack of conditioning, but I think I had more fun than I would have as a marathoner. I liked the looks of the crowd: Everything from serious runners to runners in costume to serious runners in costume (a personal favorite—nothing got me going this time like seeing Julius Caesar and a goddess sprinting the last half-mile). This race also had the advantage of being held during my fall break. Kismet.

The worst part of the race, by far, was the wait for the start. After dropping husband and T-shirt off at the hotel, I walked the quarter mile back to the start line and waited in my long sleeves and shorts for thirty F-ing frigid minutes. DH’s 5k (along with the Run Like Heck fun run for kids) didn’t start for another hour and fifteen minutes after my race, so I urged him to wait in bed with a Sunday paper until closer to his start time. I was gleeful when the gun went off. Let's get it over with!

Once I got going and warmed up enough to have actual thoughts, I had a little bit of trouble telling what mile I was on. (note to self: bring watch!) The miles were not marked, that I could see, until mile 6, by which point I did not care to think about such things. I focused on one foot in front of the other, and the mantra of “run like hell” proved effective. After I ran through a short tunnel around mile 9, I saw the lead runners coming in the other direction, booking it. It was a quite inspirational sight. After we passed the river, we continued on a slight incline for about 3 miles, probably the toughest part mentally. I thought I would never reach the turnaround. After I did, I just let my body relax and remembered the pace from all those treadmill sessions. I picked someone to follow (Hail, Caesar!), and zoned out until I started hearing the crowd again.

When our pack joined up with the 5k runners, and we rounded the bend toward the finish, I felt exhilarated. I didn’t have much left, but I kicked it and dodged slower 5k-ers to the finish.

I had the best feeling as I dreamily ambled through the slow crowd to give up my chip. I got a little choked up. Months of hard work, boring speed sessions, long Saturday runs, leaving school before the work was done to hit the gym, all for this. The only thing I wanted to do was to see my husband and give him a hug. I was handed a medal, and I walked back and waited for him to cross. Arm in arm, we went to get a beer with our drink tickets (a hoppy Red Hook offering) and shivered together as we talked excitedly about our performances. DH had a PR day, and, of course, so did I.

Tacoma and a Happy Ending: PIZZA

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 00:58:00 +0000

Saturday morning we summoned our rental car and headed up north to Tacoma to visit some of DH’s family there. On our way out of town, we hit up St. Honore Bakery for a pastry and a cup of coffee. I found my almond croissant to be fully adequate, yet not nearly as moist and delicious as the still-warm specimen I had at Pearl Bakery during the walking tour the day before.

Ne’ertheless, we enjoyed our trip up I-5, within squinting distance of Mt. Rainier. DH’s uncle took us on a tour of Tacoma, a charming city south of Seattle at the southern end of Puget Sound. I know it sounds corny, but I found it exciting to see a ship loaded up with containers on its way north and into the Pacific. I don’t go coastal much.

After good times, good stories, and lots of visiting, we headed back south in search of dinner. Nah, not searching. We knew exactly where we were going.

Apizza Scholls
4741 SE Hawthorne
Portland, OR 97215

Though it was Saturday night and we had heard tales of insane waits on weekends, we found parking a few blocks away and decided to go for it. We did not really know what to expect—Is it a nice place to sit down and eat? Can you grab a beer while you wait? The restaurant itself is really two spaces with two entrances on the street—it is not possible to cross from one to the other without going outside. Only one side has a public restroom. In spite of these quirks, A Pizza Scholls does not compare to any pizza restaurant we have eaten at in our travels.

Upon entering the right-hand side, we wrote our name at the end of a depressingly long list and asked for a beer for me and DH. We waited, content to people watch and think about our order. About an hour and fifteen minutes later, it was our turn. We accepted seats at the bar in the other dining room, which turned out to be the PERFECT spot for me. I could see clearly the pizzaiolo turning out the pies with hypnotic rhythm. I felt myself falling in love. We ordered a pie with sausage and goathorn peppers. When it finally arrived, we were awe-struck with its magnificence. Neither of us said much as we ate, not even to note the perfect chewy-crisp crust, the tangy sauce, and the overall balance of ingredients (sausage in every bite!). We consumed all of it, and we understood why we saw every table of four ordering two pies. It’s that damn good.

And I wasn't about to take time for a photo-op. That's what web sites are for. Brian (the bearded guy with glasses) was the man throwing the dough when I was watching, and if you scroll down, you can see what the sausage pizza looks like.

Somehow, unlike when we get pizza in Nashville, we were satisfied but not overly stuffed after the meal. We walked back to our car in a dreamlike state, stopped off at a Whole Foods on the way home (really, about the only kind of grocery store I saw there—there are three in Portland!) to get some pre-race fuel for the next day. Besides the pizza, I mean.

Next up: I freeze my butt off, then run my legs off, and DH does the same.

Higgins

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 01:47:00 +0000

Higgins Restaurant
1239 SW Broadway
Portland, OR 97205

Feeling rather blah after a day spent nibbling our way around Portland (you don’t want to miss a Portland Walking Tour—it's the real deal), we emerged from our hotel after a much-needed nap and wandered over to Higgins.

This is truly a restaurant for the locals. Beloved by all, it has an inventive menu with fresh, local ingredients. The bar was packed for happy hour, and we decided to see if we could luck into a table given the early hour (before 7). The hostess kindly seated us immediately, with the caveat that they’d need the table back in an hour and a half. No problem!

Not to be tempted given our state of satiety, we each had a glass of wine and an entrée. In spite of what my gut was telling me, I had the whole pig plate, with house-made sausage, kielbasa, burnt ends, etc., over polenta and greens. It was bit more than I needed, though all tasted fantastic. DH had a mélange of seafood: prawns, mussels, calamari, and halibut over fingerling potatoes and baby leeks. So fortified, we headed into the evening to check out some brewpubs.

Like many of the places we visited on the trip, this is the kind of place we wish we could go back to, so that we could try everything. Alas!

On to more brewpubs:

For some reason, the TV was playing some PBS doc about baby animals that I saw when I was a kid.

Tugboat – Great atmosphere, live jazz, a roaming pooch.

Rockin'!

Deschutes – Such great beer and ambience, we went back a second time (of which more, later).

Voodoo Doughnut

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 00:47:00 +0000

Voodoo Doughnut
22 SW 3rd Ave
Portland, OR 97204

Voodoo. The only doughnut shop with a “Cruller Chandelier of Life.”

Our bodies still on central time, we went early on a Friday morning, soon after my last easy 4-mile run around town. No problem – the place is open 24 hours. As early as the hour was, we still had to wait in line for about 15 minutes for our fix.

As we waited , we watched a glassed-in rotating case, as for jewelry, display the doughnuts on offer. There, the famous maple bacon bar. The voodoo doughnut, complete with pretzel “needle.” A large assortment of vegan doughnuts. A willowy woman behind the counter took our order. Many before us had asked for the Voodoo Dozen, where the doughnut mistress picks out a dozen for you and packs them into a hot pink box. We opted for three, paid with cash (no credit cards accepted), and stepped outside into the balmy, misty morning.

DH got the Triple Chocolate Penetration, a chocolate cake doughnut with chocolate glaze dipped in cocoa puffs. For dessert, he opted for the Old Dirty Bastard, a plain yeast-risen doughnut with crushed Oreo and peanut butter.

I was seduced by the looks of the peach fritter, the largest item in the rotating case. Studded with chunks of fresh peaches and covered with a thick layer of cream cheese, it was calling my name. The longer I waited in line, the more I knew I had to have it. I was rewarded with a 10-12 ounce mound of fried goodness. Perhaps a little too good – of course, the frosting was way out of proportion to the rest of the pastry. The fritter itself was fried to perfection and had plenty of peachy goodness. Good thing trash cans are everywhere on the streets of Portland.

After many sugary bites, I scraped much of the frosting into the trash and ate about ¾ of the fritter itself. Mmmm… All Voodoo needs is some excellent coffee. For our post-doughnut fix, we headed up the road to Stumptown. We felt so spoiled.

23Hoyt

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 22:00:00 +0000

We got a dose of culture at the Portland Art Museum, definitely worth a visit.

23Hoyt

529 NW Twenty-third at Hoyt

Portland, Oregon 97210

Thursday evening, we opted to sample the cuisine of the Pacific Northwest. We arrived at 23Hoyt, in the Pearl District, a ritzy area with lots of boutique shopping and fine dining restaurants. The east-west roads in this part of Portland are in alphabetical order as you travel north. Many fans of the Simpsons will recognize Burnside (Mr. Burns), Flanders, and Lovejoy, names appropriated by Matt Groening, who grew up here.

Just inside the door at 23Hoyt, all you see is a heavy curtain before you that must be shoved aside before entering the dimly-lit dining area. The décor is striking: the artwork is from the owner’s personal collection, and this person must have a taste for the macabre. Paintings with interesting subject matter line the walls, and a chandelier made from antlers is the centerpiece of the main room.

Glancing around, the clientele was fairly diverse, ranging from middle-aged locals to young couples who were tourists like us. Service was unobtrusive and informative. The food, however, was not at all what I was expecting.

To start with, I had a cauliflower soup with ginger and apples, which was so delicious it tempted me to lick the bowl. It comes with the garnishes for the soup in the bottom of the bowl, and the server pours the soup into the bowl from a hot carafe. I have experienced this before, but for some reason I was caught off guard this time when the white bowl came with these tiny diced apples in the bottom, and nothing else. I’m so silly!

Both of us were committed to getting fish. DH chose roasted trout with baby octopus. The trout came with its head on, and the texture was unlike anything we were used to, having never had roast fish. DH liked the octopus’ flavor and chew. Here's looking at you, Mr. Trout.

I hope you don't mind that I suffer from restaurant flash photography shyness (RFPS).

I selected the halibut with Thai spices in a coconut broth. It was mighty tasty. We broke protocol and split dessert, a pumpkin cheesecake that was to die for.

All in all, the only problem we had with 23Hoyt was that it was not what we were expecting. It felt just a tad too… advanced for our taste. I’m sure it’s a fine restaurant, but we shied away from trendy spots (and had a definite slant toward brewpubs) for the rest of the trip.

The wine? Oh, an Oregon pinot (he noir, I blanc), natch.

Laurelwood Pub House and Brewery

noreply@blogger.com (Diana) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 22:07:00 +0000

Laurelwood Public House & Brewery
5115 NE Sandy Blvd
Portland, OR 97213

Laurelwood prints on its menu:

All Laurelwood restaurants support local, sustainable & organic products whenever possible.

Turns out, it's hard to find a restaurant without this addendum.

We stopped here for lunch around noon on a weekday on our way from the airport to our hotel downtown. It was a wonderful introduction to Portland-style hopped beer and socially-conscious eateries.

Laurelwood Brewing Co. owns several restaurants in Portland, each with its own menu of sandwiches and/or pizza. Our outpost was pleasantly decorated, though we missed the vibe of a busier time of day. The service was friendly and accommodating. The food was satisfying and of a high quality. The beer was mighty tasty, too.

One of many pictures of my beloved husband taken by me on this trip

Naturally, we went for the sampler, although I’m tired of beer samplers. I know enough to know which beer I will prefer with my meal, and I hardly ever am in the mood for a red, a stout, or a porter with lunch. DH is of the opinion that since we’ll probably not come back again anytime soon, we ought to try all the beer on offer. Point taken.

After the frustration of the sampler, DH ordered a Space Stout, and I the Hooligan, one of the least hoppy of them all. Oh, how much we have learned.

On to the food. DH got the Kobe beef burger and subbed garlic fries for his chips. The garlic fries were well done, but a little intense. According to him, the garlic taste lasted through another meal and a toothbrushing. I didn’t get close enough to verify. The burger... was a good burger.

My sandwich was a house-made vegan patty with spinach, roasted red peppers, cheese, and tomato on excellent focaccia, with some sort of herbed butter spread on it. I’m still a dedicated carnivore, but you just can’t get house-made vegan patties at a brewpub in Nashville that I am aware of. I was fascinated and rewarded with the most satisfying sandwich of the trip.

I subbed a salad on the side, in what would be my last display of virtue of the weekend.

The best part: There's one in the airport. Portland Airport is the nicest I have ever visited, and indeed it is award-winning. Downing a pint before our flight home was the perfect way to say goodbye to the Pacific Northwest.

The bathroom of an award-winning airport.