Category Archives: Food

Up until this month, I have never seen the appeal of eating ribs. From what I recalled, they were no more than a thin silver of tough and dry meat against a bone, and even worse they were messier than a Donald Trump speech. All that messy effort left more meat and flavor on my hands than ever got into my belly. As an adult, I have never ordered ribs in a restaurant, and I probably haven’t tasted them in two decades.

That all changed when we joined in a Southern-inspired meal at Missy and Joe’s. When she brought the ribs in from the grill, the meat was falling off the bone, perfectly flavored, and, best of all, substantial enough that three were enough to fill me completely up. They were, to put it mildly, a revelation.

Cut to our Fourth of July festivities, when Andy and I tag-teamed our own rib-feast for a quiet dinner with Mom and Dad. The preparation and execution could not have been simpler. (Andy said it was easier than hamburgers and hot dogs.) One of the tricks we were told was to use country style, or St. Louis, ribs. The baby back things are too small and don’t carry enough meat for my liking.

I took care of the first part, applying a generous rub of spices (at this point in my rib-novice learning curve, any pre-made rub would do), then tightly wrapping them in foil. Placing them on a foil-lined baking sheet (yes, all that foil is necessary, because a lot of juice will come out) I slid it into a 275 degree oven and cooked it for three hours and some change. (I’m told you can do 300 degrees for two-and-a-half hours, but I also read that slower cooking leads to more tender meat. I don’t suppose there’s that much of a difference to my taste buds, but if you’ve got the time, why not slow it down?) Soon the kitchen began to smell really good. When it was done, I pulled it out and let it cool for a bit so it wouldn’t fall completely apart for the grilling part. (Some sources claimed it was fine to refrigerate them at this point if you wanted to grill the next day, and that this also helped keep the meat together. We didn’t have time for such nonsense because it had to go in my belly at the first opportunity.)

Now it was Andy’s turn. On a grill set to high, he placed the rib racks (we cut each in half to make for an easier handling process) and painted each side with Sweet Baby Ray’s barbecue sauce. It only took a couple of minutes and an equal number of turns to get a nice color to them, and then they were done.

Paired with a bourbon peach sweet tea and some macaroni salad, these ribs are my new favorite thing. Your waistline may hate you, but your mouth is going to be supremely happy.

A gin and tonic with lemon is Andy’s twist on the classic summer drink. I like to add a sprig of lemon thyme just because I’m precious that way. Back in the days when drinking was a means to an end, garnishes and preparation was less important to me. Now, it’s everything. A cocktail is something to be savored, not gulped or swallowed whole. This one makes integral use of its lemon thyme leaves, tying in the lemon twist with the herbal aspect of the gin.

Having one or two of these for brunch, however, can be risky business. Best to pair it with a stomach-filling plate of a tomato and cheese omelet and some roasted potatoes with some goat cheese and fresh oregano. This was less a result of careful planning and more of an impromptu meal made from whatever we had on hand. It worked out. That’s what Sundays are about: improvisation, casual cocktails, and leftover ingredients given new life with a few herbal accents.

Summer demands the dish of simplicity, where slaving over a hot stove or baking in a hot oven are just gauche. To that end, we turn a healthy eye to ingredients that are fresh and in season. It’s a little early for tomatoes, but I couldn’t wait, and these heirlooms were so sweet and ripe, it worked out rather well. Trimmed with some white balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and a bit of salt and pepper, the meat of the matter was the tomato itself – its golden flesh both tart and sweet, balanced with the vinegar and the pepper, tempered with the virginity of the olive oil. If you’re feeling adventurous, add some fresh basil and/or mozzarella beads. Summer likes to keep things simple. 

This Japanese hot pot hodge-podge dish was my first encounter with kabocha squash and daikon, and it was glorious. Having previously avoided the Japanese hot pot craze, this also marked my first foray into that vaunted territory, so this initial trial was amateurishly executed, but the results tasted so good I must have done something right.

After trying out this miso soup from Candice Kumai’s ‘Kintsugi Wellness: The Japanese Art of Nourishing Mind, Body, and Spirit’, I aimed for something a little more complicated with her take on a Japanese hot pot. With its miso base and healthy ingredients (kabocha, tofu, and kale) it is a power -food stew particularly well-suited to the winter.

My favorite part was easily the kabocha squash, whose nutrient-rich skin is also edible once cooked a bit. I microwaved it for about four minutes before it went in the stew, which made for a more pliable gourd. After cutting it in half and scooping out the seeds, I chopped it into chunks, keeping the skin intact. (Have faith and go with it.)

This was also my virgin brush with daikon, which I peeled, cut in half, and sliced into little half moons. Tasting one, I relished the distinctive radish bite – the perfect contrast to the mellow, buttery nuttiness of the squash. Based on these two ingredients alone, we were well on the way to something good, but more flavor was coming.

The base of this is a decent sprinkling of toasted sesame oil, a thinly-sliced yellow onion, some freshly-grated ginger, a hefty helping of miso paste (see if you can find a low-sodium version) and an ample dash of mirin for deglazing. There is a big bunch of kale in the version I made (the original recipe says collard or mizuna greens can also be used) and a cup or two of super-firm tofu chopped into little cubes. It doesn’t get much healthier than that.  For additional earthy flavor, there’s a heaping pile of shiitake mushrooms. Taken together, the ingredients turn about six cups of water into a golden stew. The kabocha skin softens into something firm but yielding – a most interesting texture that never veers into anything tough or crunchy. Try it out – if you really don’t like it, leave it off (along with all those extra vitamins ensconced within the green skin).

I sprinkled a bowl with some bonito flakes and some wakame seaweed (I’ll see if I can upload a YouTube video to give you the magical full-motion effect of those fish flakes). It was so good I didn’t even miss the optional Togarashi that was recommended as a light topping/garnish.

My next meet-up with miso may be the miso chocolate chip cookies that Ms. Kumai raved about in her book. It’s a winter of miso madness, but I’m not mad about it in an angry way. Miso makes me happy.

My days of teabagging it may finally be at an end. Sencha (or matcha) – the pulverized powdered form of green tea – makes the tea bag, the tea pot, and the whole steeping process obsolete. It also retains any and all nutritional value that may be thrown into the garbage via the tea bag – all those antioxidants and minerals remain intact, albeit in fine powdered form. Is this the greatest thing of which I’ve been woefully unaware all these years? Or is it just another way to chip away at the already-dwindling tea ceremony?

As quick and streamline and beneficial as this whole toss-the-teabag revolution is, I wonder if we’re missing the main thing that a cup of tea provides, which is more than flavor or nutrition or simple sustenance: it’s a ritual. Ritual is lost in the modern ways of getting things done in as quick and efficient a manner as possible. While I’m all for efficiency and time-saving, I also appreciate the slower process of tea-making and tea-drinking. Patience is an art – an art largely missing from many generations now.

To make up for the lack of a tea pot and tea bag, another elegant accessory comes into play for the matcha or sencha extravaganza: the chasen. We may be streamlining the tea experience, but we shall never give up an opportunity to accessorize. The fine bamboo stirring utensil looks like a flower itself, lending additional beauty to the intake of tea. 

If you enjoy the undiluted or untampered-with flavor of green tea like I do, this makes for a nice blend on the tongue. So many green teas today are coupled with ginger or lemon or jasmine or other hoo-ha items, and that’s fine. I prefer mine simple and unbothered by such frills. The powdered form here gives a delicate green tea flavor – subtle and soft but distinctive enough to stand on its own. It also seems ideal for making something like green tea ice cream (at least I’m assuming it is, if I were skilled enough to make something like ice cream). I’ll leave that, and the cumbersome frozen canisters involved, to Andy. Not all accessories are pretty. 

When in doubt, simplify. 

That’s the adage of the stark season, when lack of everything has us all a little antsy. Paring down things in early anticipation of spring cleaning has led me to the brilliance of ‘Kintsugi Wellness: The Japanese Art of Nourishing Mind, Body, and Spirit’ by Candice Kumai. Part cook-book, part self-help book, and part inspirational-guide, it’s a beautiful work of art that feels designed to help us get through the winter. Kintsugi refers to the Japanese art of melding broken objects with threads of gold – taking the ruined and turning it into a work of art. Practical and purposeful, it reminds the reader that no matter how broken-down we might feel, no matter what we have gone through in our lives, there is always the possibility to turn every trying event into a learning experience and, ultimately, a thing of beauty. 

There is also a group of recipes in the middle of it all, starting with a couple of miso soup variations, the simplest of which I tried on a recent winter night. The best recipes are those that keep things simple, relying on the best ingredients and the proper preparation. I made this miso with some wakame seaweed, miso paste, and tofu.Ms. Kumai added a cup of root vegetables to her version (I chose carrots), and it was done in a few minutes. Topped with some freshly-sliced scallions, it was the perfect antidote to the dimming of a winter’s day. This will definitely be part of my seasonal soup arsenal.

I like that miso soup can be so subtle. It has a gentle warmth to it. Truly a comfort food. Nothing too sharp or spicy, nothing too hot or bitter. Just a simple calming bowl of sustenance. A bowl made for winter. A bowl to warm the stomach. A bowl to warm the heart. 

This morning marks a culinary and social experiment, wherein we are hosting a virtual brunch with Elaine in Florida, while Suzie and her family, along with my parents, join in person. It’s a hodgepodge of activity, and comes with an equally-quirky list of dishes that make no sense, assembled without rhyme or reason. The whole thing is the sort of flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants action that usually makes me queasy. I’ll try to keep it all down. Here’s the dish list:

• Pennsylvania Dutch Pickled Beets & Eggs
• Señor Breakfast Sandwich
• Harvey Wallbanger Cake
• Fried SPAM (A Filipino classic!)
• Garlic fried rice
• Abelskivers
• Bacon and Egg Quiche
• French Toast with Fruit and Spices

I’ll explain some of these later, or I won’t. We are playing it by ear. 

Where is Van Gogh when you need him?

Or Ebelskivers depending on your preference.

Whichever you spell it, these rounded Danish pancakes are a new obsession of mine, even if my diet doesn’t quite embrace all the flour and sugar and jam and jelly and cream cheese and syrup that properly goes with them. For an upcoming brunch, all dietary restrictions are being suspended. If the government can shut down, so can my diet.

These Danish treats have their own special pan for making them, which I found on my one true addiction, Amazon.com. As with most brunch dishes served to friends and family, this one got a test run a few days ago, and happily it was a resounding success. The main trick to cooking them is getting the turn-over just right. Basically, you heat the pan on medium and put a tiny amount of butter in each form, then pour a tablespoon of simple pancake batter in, along with a dollop of whatever filling you so desire (a favorite jam or jelly or cream cheese or any combo thereof) and let it cook. When the sides pull away a bit, slowly turn it over so the rest of the runny batter falls to the bottom, and cover with the cooked part of the pancake. A few minutes more and the whole thing should be cooked and combined in a lovely little rounded pouch of deliciousness. (To make the flip, I used chopsticks – I’ve read that some have employed knitting needles, but we didn’t have any. You think I can do all this AND knit too?)

Thanks to the non-stick pan I had, they slid out with ease, and clean-up was a breeze (not as breezy as if the pan withstood a dishwasher, but as breezy as it gets without that option). I found them much easier to do than waffles or regular pancakes, and the surprise filling is the perfect whimsical touch for brunch. Add a pot of warm syrup and some sifted confectioner’s sugar and the decadence factor shall be fulfilled.

For far too many years I shunned charcuterie. It makes no sense – so much of it seemed to be about presentation and appearance – one would think it would be my cup of pekoe. Alas, I’m much more practical than most give me credit for being, and when it comes to food I’m not all that fancy. However, a few years ago Andy and I stopped at the Lucas Confectionery in Troy, and I ordered a charcuterie platter as a meal, and since then I’ve been a convert.

Lately, I’ve been working on eating a little healthier, and that means portion control. I found myself actually finishing one of the big dinner plates from Lanie’s (which normally last for two meals) and busting through waist sizes like every day was Thanksgiving. A simple collection of charcuterie, when chosen carefully and feasted upon in good time, is a good way to slow things down and remind oneself of the joys in eating. I’ve also come to embrace the precious nature of its display.

For New Year’s Eve, our extravagant plan was to stay home and do absolutely nothing. To add just the slightest bit of flair to such humble proceedings, I put together this charcuterie plate, which I served with our annual NYE Fondue Savoyarde. Along with the meats and cheese, I added some olives and cornichons. They may seem like frivolous afterthoughts, but I found them integral to the spread, right down to their cute little bowls. (Suzie would be proud of all the mini dishes.)

All in all, it was one of my favorite meals of 2018; here’s to more of that this year.

An apt symbol of a new year, the egg represents many ideas.

Mostly though, I just like to eat them. 

The soft-boiled egg is a beautiful thing. I also find them easier to make than poached, fried, or even hard-boiled eggs. That may seem strange, but I’m a strange bird. (Scrambled eggs, whisked or otherwise, remain a specialty, so that’s still the simplest method I use, but these soft-boiled tips may make for an easy alternative.) 

Here’s what I do: boil a small pot of water, using just enough water so it will barely cover the eggs. It should rise to a medium boil, bubbling but not too violently. Carefully lower three eggs into the pot, turn down the heat a bit so a low boil remains, and cover loosely. Start a timer for exactly seven minutes. When it’s done, carefully put the eggs into an ice bath to stop the cooking immediately. After the eggs have cooled for a bit, gently tap each with a spoon around the center to break the shell, and peel away. The seven minutes and medium to low boil seem to be the keys here. It took some practice, but now they come out pretty consistently. This is also the most delicious form of cooked eggs – the yolk is wonderfully runny, like some rich buttery sauce, and the white is tender and moist. It’s enough to sprinkle with a bit of salt and pepper for an easy protein-rich snack, or use them as accents on many sorts of dishes. I find them especially good for lifting up a plate of leftovers. 

They were ubiquitous at Christmas and for many months thereafter in my childhood home, so perhaps that’s why I have such a nostalgic longing for a proper Collin Street Bakery fruitcake, Deluxe style. It took me a few years to get into them, and then I was obsessed for a while. I forgot about them until a co-worker from my John Hancock days in Boston said he LOVED fruitcake and if my parents had one he would love it. Their friends had moved on to better things by then, but it got me hankering for one. That craving is back in effect now. Let me know if you need my address.