Category Archives: Food

This recipe popped up on my Instagram feed, or maybe it was FaceBook – what’s the damn difference these days? Big brother is always listening. He hears everything. In about two seconds I’ll get an ad for ‘Big Brother’ if that’s still a television show. Wait and see. Anyway, I digress. (But just in case, Tom Ford Tom Ford Tom Ford…) This is a cookie post, since it’s cookie season, so let’s do this, Cookies. (Try reading the word ‘cookies’ a couple of times and focusing on it – sounds ridiculously weird, right? Any word will do that if you give it enough time.) So many digressions… I wonder why I don’t want to write this post and give you the recipe…

Perhaps it’s because this one was a mixed bag for me. The beginning and end result worked out well enough. These are mint chocolate cookies – bite-sized for easy popping into the mouth – and they have a unique texture of crunch (thanks to the granulated sugar and crushed peppermint candy coating – as well as the weird batter). They taste decent enough too, and I suppose that’s the main goal. It’s just that I had a major issue with the dough once it was refrigerated.

The recipe, as copied exactly from ‘The Incredible Egg’ below, indicated it’s all right to refrigerate the batter overnight. This turned out to be a godsend, as I’d forgotten I had plans one evening just as I was finishing the batter. I covered it and set it in the fridge then went on my merry way. “Chilled dough is easier to handle” they said…

The next morning when I went to assemble the cookies, I could barely cut through the dough. I’m not a weak person. I’ve been doing push-ups. Maybe even a plank or two. But this batter was solid as a rock. Spoons were being bent in service of coaxing some out. I chipped away at it until I had enough to form a ball, and it became slightly more pliable with the heat of my hand, but my God what an ordeal to struggle for each and every cookie, and I was seriously dismayed about what kind of cookie would result from such a mess.

Surprisingly, their consistency changed upon baking. What once was impenetrable suddenly became moist and slightly chewy. What once was hard now was soft, as if these cookies had shot their wad and were languidly drooping like a drained dick. 

After rolling them in sugar and a couple of crushed candy canes, they gained a gleam and crunch that added to their interest, and the final product was a cookie unlike any I’d ever made before. (And I have made at least three different varieties of cookies in the last ten years alone.) As well as they went over, I don’t think I’ll be doing them again. That dough is just too difficult. Nobody has time for a difficult dough. Life is difficult enough; we don’t need the batter to be. But just in case you want to give it a go, because there’s a good chance I did something to fuck it all up, here’s the recipe. 

ELF’S BITE-SIZED CHOCOLATE PEPPERMINT CRINKLES

DIRECTIONS (please note VERBS and ACTION words in bold and capitalized, because this recipe is demanding!)

MIX flour, cocoa powder, baking powder and salt in large bowl.

BEAT 2 cups sugar, cooled melted chocolate, eggs, oil and peppermint extract in mixer bowl on medium speed until blended. Gradually ADD flour mixture, beating on low speed until blended.

REFRIGERATE, covered, until firm enough to shape, about 1 hour or overnight.

HEAT oven to 350°F. MIX powdered sugar and crushed candy in small bowl. Work with 1/3 of the dough at a time, keeping remaining dough refrigerated. SHAPE dough into 1-inch balls; roll in granulated sugar first and then in crushed candy mixture. PLACE 2 inches apart on parchment paper-lined or ungreased baking sheets.

BAKE in 350°F oven until lightly browned, 8 to 10 minutes. COOL on baking sheets 1 to 2 minutes. REMOVE to wire racks; cool completely.

Patience in cooking is something I’ve gradually learned to appreciate over the years. There was a time when baking something twice or using more than one pot was a deal-breaker as to whether or not I would try a recipe. I loved to cook – to an extent – but anything that went beyond those ridiculously stringent standards was not for me. Leave the twice-baked potatoes to Dolores. Let Diana do the biscotti. If you need the dough to be chilled before you can bake it, give it to Andy. I just didn’t want to be bothered.

Now that I’m getting older (as we all are – yes, even you) I’ve come around to appreciating these steps in cooking, particularly in baking, and I find that they are calming. It appeals to my Virgo nature to follow instructions in precise ways, to take one step at a time and appreciate and enjoy every methodical pause along the process. There is a certain peace and tranquility in faithfully executing a recipe, a sense of satisfaction at every marker on the way. The simple sifting of dry ingredients, for example, a step I’d omitted as frivolous for years mostly because I didn’t want to wash the strainer, now feels like an integral and worthwhile action, not only for providing consistency and removing hard, unwanted clumps or detritus, but also for the mental conditioning of completing a smaller task in service of the grander scheme. Such little accomplishments build upon each other, and when you break life down into these smaller chunks, almost anything can feel surmountable.

Biscotti is one of those recipes I’d never wanted to try because you had to bake it twice. It was also something I’d never gotten into until recent years, when my palette could appreciate the strong texture and subtle, not-too-sweet flavor. The recipe I used called for dried cranberries, another addition, like raisins, that I’ve gradually come around to in my old(er) age. There were sliced almonds too, accentuating the almond extract that gave it a traditional biscotti flavor (at least, the biscotti I tend to favor). The only slight snag came with the stickiness of the batter. Though I’d floured my hands as instructed, it did little to mitigate the difficulty of working and shaping the batter into two long logs. I opted for one larger loaf, which spread out slightly more than expected when baked. That made for larger slices, but also for more impediments in slicing them after the first bake.

(There was more room for cracking and breaking, and I need to figure out the best time to cut – I tried just as soon as they were cool enough to touch, as guided by the recipe, but it felt a bit too soon.) These are the little nuances that come with practice, and such imperfections are the best way to improve. It’s a good lesson for me.

Every now and then a blog post needs an exclamation point. This is one of this now and then moments. Well, I guess it’s more now than then. So take it and eat it. Here’s a Japanese hot-pot hodgepodge I put together on a slow Sunday that kept us snowbound. It’s the perfect sort of recipe for such a day. Simple and relatively quick, but with a hearty and ample yield. It’s hardy too, taking all sorts of battering and variations (for instance, I didn’t have the mirin for this, nor did I have any clue as to what might be a comparable substitute, so I tried some rice wine vinegar and it turned out just fine). 

‘Tis the season for soups and stews and Japanese hot-pots.

Within one of the interior rooms of Savannah’s E. Shaver, Bookseller store is a local section of all the city’s enchantments, including several cookbooks. One contained this super-simple recipe for pecan pralines. Previously, all the other versions I’d read included some candy-making fanciness which scared the bejesus out of me (I will never be someone who measures candy temperatures because burning sugar in any capacity is a well-documented bad idea for me.) However, this one gets all the cooking done in the microwave (so be sure if you try this you have a super-safe-for-the-microwave bowl because it gets hot, hot, hot).

The ingredients can be counted on one finger: one cup of sugar, one cup of packed brown sugar, ½ cup of water, 1 cup of roughly chopped pecans, and 2 Tbsp. margarine or butter. You put the sugars and water into a bowl and stir until sugar is dissolved, then microwave for 6 minutes, stirring once and then microwaving it for two more minutes. While it’s spinning and bubbling, chop up the butter into small pieces and freeze. Not sure why that’s important, but it is. When the sugar mixture is finished, it should be brown and dangerously hot. Carefully add the pecans and frozen butter pieces to this and stir until it thickens a bit. Drop by heaping tablespoon onto parchment or waxed paper in the shape of a praline. Let cool and you should have a close approximation of the classic southern candy, all without having to burn down the kitchen with boiling stovetop sugar.

The first few will be runny, but turn out shiny. The last few are thicker, but murkier. I will refine and see if I can find a happy medium, as this is a simple recipe worth a few shots, especially during the holiday season when typical Christmas cookies need a few sweet accents. Try one on a bowl of vanilla ice cream for an extra dose of decadence, or with your morning cup of tea when you need an extra sugar kick.

{Serious candy-makers will likely find all sorts of faults with this method, and they can probably spin perfectly-tempered sugar around me in pretty rings, but all I care about is ease and simplicity, and something that tastes and looks and feels remotely like the real deal – to that end, this recipe is genius.}

From a major kitchen failure to this grand kitchen triumph, my cooking journey this past week has been filled with ups and downs. The healthy route and almond flour trail led to somewhere abysmal, wasting a perfectly good pineapple and a pretty plate in the process. This endeavor – Enchiladas Verdes in a tomatillo sauce- is a recipe from Pati Jinich, and she has always proven a fail-proof inspiration.

I’ve never been one to order enchiladas when out, but when I saw the ease of preparing this dish on Pati’s Mexican Table, I decided to give it a whirl. It worked out wonderfully. Check it out on her website here, and I’ll give a few pointers on what worked for me.

I got up a little earlier than usual to do the chicken part of it. If that can be done before work, the rest is much easier. By the time I hopped in the shower, the chicken had been boiled and shredded and stored in the fridge. In the past I failed to get the chicken out of the boiling water on time, choosing to play it super-safe and letting it get all sorts of tough. A good ten to fifteen minutes for a couple of chicken breasts works well – and I find that a lower boil works better than a furious one. I used breasts with the bones and the skin on for extra flavor – the stock is so much better that way.

When I got home from work, I assembled the tomatillo sauce. A food processr is the recommended method of blending it all together, but I’ve been using an immersion blender because it’s so much easier to clean. (Or so I’m told – you think I can cook AND clean? Please.) The recipe calls for 2 serrano chili peppers, but one is more than enough heat for me. The full cup of cilantro might seem excessive, especially for those not fans of the herb, but it’s vital here, and I realized that so many previous dishes I’ve tried may have suffered due to a reticence to go full-in on my cilantro portions. The more the merrier.

For the corn tortillas, do not omit the flash oil-frying step. It will toughen up the tortillas making them strong enough to handle their filling and surrounding sauce. Plus it adds another layer of decadent flavor.

Don’t be afraid that there is too much sauce – there won’t be. The enchiladas should basically be swimming in it, as they will absorb some and are designed to be soaked in all that gloriousness. The topping of queso fresco and cream is, of course, my favorite part.

Another winning dinner experience courtesy of Pati Jinich, who has yet to let me down. I think I’m ready to try her Sanborns’ Swiss Chicken Enchiladas recipe next… stay tuned.

It was the first truly dreary day of the fall, a Sunday on which it rained from morning to late afternoon. A heavy, mostly windless rain fell dismally down, an undesirable situation which found Andy rushing out to prepare the pool for closing. Inside, there was only one thing to do: make soup. 

The previous day I’d tried my hand at a meatloaf, and there was some pork left over from the endeavor. I put that into a large pot, rendered some fat, added a chopped onion, a bit of garlic, some carrots, then a few cups of water after things wilted down a bit. After bringing it to a rolling boil, I found some leftover chicken stock and added that. Trying to be healthier (by pretending there wasn’t a bit of pork involved), I went easy on the salt, but added a dried and seeded guajillo pepper for some heat. 

When Andy returned from the grocery store with spinach in tow, I added that at the last few minutes of cooking, then boiled up a six-minute egg. Some chopped fresh parsley and the soup was done. Soup is good for the soul not only in the eating, but in the making. 

When I was in kindergarten there were a few activities that kids got to do during free time. One of these was in a small kitchen area, where a table held a large vat of soapy water and dishes. Kids could go there and pretend they were cleaning and washing their dirty dishes, and I always wondered who in fuck would want to play at that? There was one girl, I don’t remember her name, who was consistently using it, splashing about in the water with big rubber gloves, happily going through the motions of post-dining duties. I never joined her, because, again, who in fuck would want to do that? The other night though, I made this virgin attempt at meatloaf and when it came time to mix it all with my hands, I thought back to that girl, and felt a little childish thrill at making somewhat of a mess in the kitchen. It turns out I can still rediscover a lost childhood, one dish of raw meat at a time.

As for the meatloaf, it was my first try and it came out pretty well. I shaped it myself instead of putting it into a loaf pan, so it went a little wider than hoped, but meatloaf isn’t supposed to be perfect. This recipe called for part beef and part pork sausage, a minced leek and red bell pepper, some parsley, and the other typical meatloaf ingredients. (The odd addition was some freshly-grated nutmeg.) Then it gets covered in tomatoes before going into the oven, which helps keep it moist and flavorful. Meatloaf is one of those delicious fall dishes that I’ve only recently started to enjoy as an adult. I don’t have any specific memories tied to it, other than the happiness of having a husband who makes this on occasion, and that’s enough.

The tallest door I’ve ever opened lets Suzie and I into the handsome interior of the Blue Duck Tavern, where a divine dining experience awaits all who enter here. With some nuanced twists and decadent turns in a few traditional dishes, this is more than worthy of repeat visits to sample all the glorious offerings on hand, but for our first night there was only so much two people could order for one sitting. This was recommended by Pati Jinich when I tweeted her requesting dinner options for a quick night in DC – and Ms. Jinich did not disappoint. 

We started with the squash – which is actually a tour of double duty, coming with a topping of pickled delicata squash atop the hubbard, which gets a spicy coating of fall-like warmth and sunflower-studded pesto sparkle. In keeping with the autumnal glow of the October evening, I ordered the duck – the leg and breast perfectly cooked to a succulent but not the least bit chewy or fatty brilliance. Even better was the braised short rib, fall-apart tender and so delightfully flavored that it gave credence to a favorite motto that more is definitely more.

The fries are a work of art inside and outside, presented as a cluster of miniature skyscrapers, perfectly crisp on the outside and firm yet tender within.

A bulky book of wine and cocktail selections provides any and all libations one might want. Service was exuberant and instructional, a brilliant balance of providing the basics with panache and knowing when to step back. The atmosphere manages the tricky feat of turning such high ceilings into a space that feels warm and intimate.

One minor (perhaps major) gaffe had nothing to do with the food or our particular server. While washing my hands in the bathroom (with some gorgeously-scented soap) I watched as one of the waitstaff emerged from a stall and rushed out into the restaurant without washing his hands. I’m hoping it was a quick cel-phone break or something, but even if it was I’d have felt better if he had washed his hands before returning to dole out dishes. I pushed the idea from my mind and focused on walking off my happily-full belly, which had no room for dessert. Perhaps next time.

Pati Jinich has provided a number of recipes that warm the stomach, heart and soul, and this Tortilla Soup is one of the best, and easiest, to bring a little heat into the cold fall nights. The magic is in the guajillo chili peppers, which are a secret ingredient that should be in the arsenal of every casual cook’s kitchen. They keep forever, and with a little rehydrating they bring flavor, heat, and an earthy layer of goodness that reminds me of how important our connection to food is. The full recipe may be found on Pati’s site here. 

When I made it most recently, we were in the midst of a chilly and rainy Sunday night – I was exhausted and tired, so I left out the fun details and garnishes, but the basic gist was there, and it was more than enough to warm the heart. 

PS – Check out this insanely good chipotle pasta chicken dish that Ms. Jinich shared – it’s game-changing. Her website has lots of delicious treats like this. Very much worth a visit. 

This watermelon-jalapeño appetizer was part of our summer-ending brunch more fully depicted here. It gets its own post because it deserves it. When we were last in Boston for my birthday, we had lunch at the revamped restaurant of the Museum of Fine Arts. Amid such elegance and splendor, we ordered an appetizer of Sous Vide Watermelon. I didn’t know what it was, but the ingredients sounded good, if a little unorthodox, together. However, having fallen in love with a watermelon jalapeño margarita at Masa many years ago, I was game for the combo. It was a good call, as it was a delicious roller-coaster of taste and thrills. As we ended the summer, I looked for a refreshing appetizer to make for brunch and recalled this one. Here’s what I did to approximate it.

Since we don’t have a way to vacuum seal cubes of watermelon, they didn’t get such fancy treatment. I cut it up instead and topped it with a cucumber. Watermelon and cucumber are a delightful match – we’ve served both of them floating in water and on the hottest summer days that’s quite a delight. 

To this I added a dollop of whipped feta (equal parts of feta and cream cheese mixed in the food processor – the feta first, and the cream cheese at room temperature). The tanginess and creamy aspect is necessary to offset the final ingredient. 

A sweet pickled jalapeño slice is the topper, and provides the heat that gloriously contradicts the cool sweetness of the melon and cucumber. That whipped feta brings it all together, and the end result is a culinary version of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. Try it and see. 

If it’s good enough for Food & Wine it should be good enough for me.

Such was the challenge put forth by this article on the hot dog and peanut butter craze that ran wild a couple of years ago. I just happened upon a post that showed a sad hot dog smothered in peanut butter and someone proclaiming it was time for their yearly treat. Aside from the poor manner in which it was photographed, I was intrigued.

When it comes to food, I’ve always had an open mind. Maybe it traces back to a visit to the Philippines wherein I ate goat bile soup, snake blood, and balut. (And didn’t hate any of them – well, ok, the goat bile soup was a bit tough to stomach, but I held it all down.) Since then, the occasional oddball recipe is usually met with curiosity and, at most, a dramatically arched eyebrow, before I dig in.

The peanut butter and hot dog idea was actually not that surprising to me. Peanut butter has been making appearances on hamburgers in all sorts of restaurants. (At least those that feature a bar scene.)  I also grew up on peanut butter and bacon on an English muffin for breakfast – which is still something so simple and miraculous that I urge everyone to try it, even if you can’t stomach the whole PB and hot dog scene. And if you can’t, you are not alone. No one I work with thought it sounded good. But let’s take a moment to think about this rationally and with some reason. I know a bunch of people who love hot dogs. I know a bunch of those people also love peanut butter. And I’m almost positive that 99% of those people love bacon. But that does not necessarily mean that those items will go together, because I also know people who love chocolate ice cream and blue cheese dressing and I don’t think they would work together. However, at the core of this is a question of compatibility.

When you have a hot dog, what do you like on it? Mustard? If so, is it the savory aspect of those two items that works well together? Some people like sweet relish on their dog. In that case, it’s about the combination of sweet and savory then? Which is not far from where peanut butter is coming from. And bacon, well, almost everything goes with bacon, even ice cream. (Think of the miracle that happens when some of your pancake syrup finds its way to the bacon on your breakfast plate.) So what is it that’s so polarizing? Open the mind. Open the heart. Open the mouth.

Food & Wine added bacon and shallots to their version, and this sounded good. For the first endeavor I grilled the hot dog and buttered roll, slathered it with creamy peanut butter, and sprinkled it with bacon and chopped shallots. On one hot dog I added some shredded cheese (a cheddar combo). I went in expecting to experience an unstimulated oral orgasm and was profoundly disappointed. It was all right, but nothing I would call amazing. It tasted decent, but nothing I would attempt more than once. Once again, the build-up did not live up to the result.

I didn’t understand why everyone loved this – and why I didn’t. The individual ingredients were favorites (with the possible exception of the hot dog) and I thought for sure I would enjoy them together. It was the sharpness of the shallots that pushed it into a territory that I didn’t love. In the same way I’m not find of raw onion, these were overpowering the rest of it for me. Purely personal preference, but that’s what food mostly is.  I waited a few days and worked up the appetite to try it again, this time with scallions in place of the shallots, and the difference was dynamic. Suddenly, I could see a glimpse of the glory, I could taste a hint of the awesomeness, and I could experience what all the fuss was about. Is it a game-changing dish for me? Not really. Would I try it again when a hankering for a hot dog comes up once every six months or so? Perhaps. Did I convince my husband to try a bite? Not a chance.