Category Archives: Food

A Slice of Humility

This is a piece of humble pie. It’s not much a part of my diet these days, for physical purposes as much as taste. And it was never a preferred dish as a child and young adult. In fact, I think I managed to avoid it through the bulk of my formative years. Unfortunately, a proper balance of humble pie in those important years is rather a good way of ensuring a balanced adult. As such, I wasn’t much balanced or perhaps good for many years. I made up for it in recent years, and my belly will attest to that as much as my countenance and attitude. 

A humble pie comes from humility. You can’t make it any other way, and you shouldn’t eat it without making sure the humility is pure. For a long time, it was more important for me to be right than it was to be good. If people got hurt in the process, if my honesty and sound arguments were too cutting, then the fault was not mine. Truth without conviction is a sketchy thing. Truth without honor or decency stands cold and alone. Being right does not mean being happy. Being right also doesn’t mean being perfect. And somewhere in my youth and childhood that got all mixed up. 

Only rather recently have I been able to own up to my many imperfections, to the myriad faults and shortcomings that comprise this forty-five year old human being that some days barely wants to stand before you. The journey to giving up the ghost of perfection – that tricky tease that has haunted me for as long as I can remember – has been a long one, and I don’t really think there’s an end in, or out of, sight. That’s a good thing. 

The moment I gave up the notion of being perfect was the moment I started to feel alive in a way I had never felt before. It came with a thrilling sense of freedom, an untethered joy that I never quite allowed myself to enjoy. I’d have regretted it if that wasn’t such a waste. Instead, I stumble happily along, pausing for pie when the mistakes pile up, sometimes having to gorge an entire one myself, but it’s always worth the calories and the reckoning.

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Chipotle Comfort

If it’s wrong to find comfort in food, I don’t need to be right. Especially in the case of this Senor Breakfast Sandwich. It’s been quite a while since I’ve made this – I think the last time was for a brunch or a gathering of friends and family here. As I smelled the chipotle bechamel, it brought back that bittersweet memory – bitter for the fact that it’s been so long since we’ve entertained anyone in our home, sweet for the happy notion that it did in fact happen, that it was, once upon a time, our way of life. 

Skip was texting about whether or not this current world is some sort of new normal, and I said it may be. At the time I wrote that, I wasn’t as much bothered by it, but then it started to haunt me. What if this is our new way of living? Distance, no get-togethers, no theater or movies or sporting events in person… it did suddenly weigh the world down. 

At such times, when the winter is dim and dark, when the morning doesn’t quite crack open like a sunny-centered egg, I’ll create this delicious sandwich with its chipotle heat, its rich bechamel, a classic fried egg (or two), some cheese and ham, and avocado and cilantro. It’s a great thing for the Sunday after a party weekend – it extends the festive atmosphere, lending a little extra special something to those moments we don’t quite want to end. 

I believe we’ll have those moments again. Maybe they won’t look the same, maybe they won’t feel the same, but with a sandwich like this, at least they can taste the same. Hold that thought.

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I Like Big Bundts & I Cannot Lie

Am I the only person who thinks we under-appreciate the bundt cake in this day and age? Call me old-fashioned again. I’m not sure why simply changing the shape makes something instantly better, but in the same way that a diagonally-sliced sandwich is better than its counterpart, I’ve always loved a bundt cake just a bit more for its fancy appearance. 

Here is one of Aunt Elaine’s pistachio chocolate chip bundt cakes, a favorite recipe that (shh!) I modified yet again, but not in any very discernible way, as her daughter Suzie will attest. (This one went to her home untouched or untasted by me, as I was on a bundt cake kick and had an extra.) I have it on her authority that the chocolate chip distribution was even throughout, courtesy of a flour bath and the use of mini chips. Both aid in suspension. 

As for the bundt cake mold, it may stick around on the counter for the moment. Best to let these passing fancies flourish while they’re here, and no one ever complained about getting a bundt cake. 

Regarding the decorating style of this one, it’s not fit for the ears of children. 

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Chicken Turmeric Soup for My Father

It was my Dad who unwittingly taught me how to make a good soup base. Growing up, we didn’t get any official formal training from him – he never sat us down and instructed us on the method or the amount of ingredients, but over the years I gleaned the main components – a base of chicken – bones and skin intact – a long slow cooking time, and three or four bay leaves. It was the latter that stuck with me, and is the secret to many a good soup.

Now at the age of 90, my Dad is a little more frail, so I’ve been making the soup for him. I employ his same methods, and the requisite bay leaves, though I modify it to make it ulcer and stomach friendly (turmeric is one key ingredient, while a reduced salt and acid component form another healthy dimension). Sugar snap peas and spinach add greenery and iron, while celery and carrots round out a rather basic, but tasty, soup. Salt and pepper can be used sparingly, and to taste – and even if you add a bunch there’s still less sodium you’d have if you used a store-bought stock. This easy soup constitutes a decent lunch or early dinner for winter.

Amendments to bulk it up include cooked rice or noodles, which should be added right before serving (unless you’re cooking them in the soup, which I’ve never done), or simply serve with a side of hearty bread. A good soup warms the heart, and kindles warm memories.

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First Pho of the Year

A delicious and warming bowl of pho has been the best way to spend a winter’s afternoon or evening over the past several years, but with COVID we haven’t been eating out, so I had to fashion my own bowl of broth and rice noodles, something that’s not that difficult to do. There was also a pre-made packet of spices (star anise, cinnamon sticks, cardamom pods, etc.) that I found at the local Asian Market which made things much easier. 

Pho always brings back happy memories of travels – usually in Boston – where a walk in the winter was rewarded with a steaming bowl of this Vietnamese classic, a lovely form of sustenance to see us through the dim season. It’s also not that complicated to make – just takes a bit of time to broil and boil out all of that delicious marrow. 

Noodles are made for winter meals. 

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Pepper Nuts From A Box

If the past year has taught me anything, it’s that it’s ok to bake from a box, and in the case of pancakes and Bisquick, it’s actually the smarter method (particularly for a pancake-destroyer like myself). Enter these practically-perfect Pfeffernasse cookies conjured from a Trader’s Joe mix that was part of a lovely gift package from Marline. They came out wonderfully, and the ease with which they were done could not be matched by any supposed-satisfaction in compiling all the spices needed for this by my own hands. What would have typically taken fifteen extra bowls, fussy flour fluffing, and clouds of powdered sugar floating through the house, instead took the crack of an egg, some softening of butter, and it was done.

Stung richly through with the taste and scent of Christmas, these were the cookies I wanted so badly for our last Children’s Holiday Hour, so they come with some happy memories, and even happier hopes for next season. That’s the kind of sentiment only the best cookies can bring.

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The Jewels of a Pomegranate

One of the happy gems that appear around this time of the year is the precious pomegranate. The ritual of removing its seeds is a fabled process, and every time I try something different, promised to be the easiest and best method, and I have yet to find any that works consistently. I’ve culled them underwater, I’ve scored the outer rind in all sorts of geometric madness, and I’ve hexed them with all kinds of incantations – all to no avail. 

In the end, I resort to messily and painstakingly removing the seeds with my fingers, plucking the fruit in groups, pulling out bits of the papery membrane that separate the compartments of jewels. Sometimes I find joy and peace in the process, slipping into a Zen-like trance as I methodically work toward a bowl filled with the purest extraction of the gems from their torn and ravaged carriage.

Sometimes it’s just a pain. 

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A Bite of Whimsy

The perfectly imperfect simplicity of a pink macaron. 

Skip says it must be pronounced a certain fancy way, so as not to mistake it for a macaroon. 

At times, Skip is fancier than me.

I’m less fancy than I pretend to be. 

But I digress from the simple macaron at hand. 

This little jewel was a rose tea variety I found on my last day-trip to Boston. More on that in a bit – for now let’s just enjoy the sight of this tiny treasure, so temptingly perched on a plate procured from Chinatown many moons ago. A brief moment of happy whimsy before the holiday madness ensues. 

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Thanksgiving Scandal: Ilagan Alters the Ko Jello Salad

Whatcha gonna do? Come at me, Ko-Bros. 

I added powdered sugar to the sour cream in the famous Ko Jello Salad

Oh, and I didn’t have any bananas on hand so it’s banana-less. 

Yeah, I already ruined Thanksgiving 2020. 

Run and tell that, Schmoo-bear

[That’s powdered sugar, about to be mixed into the sour cream. Blasphemy. Pure Turkey Day blasphemy.]

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A Hot Soup for a Dreary Day

Pati Jinich introduced the guajillo pepper to me, and since then it’s been favorite addition to fall and winter soups, adding just the sort of humble heat necessary to warm the stomach on the coldest days. I didn’t fall any particular recipe for this casual mix – just added some tomatoes (the last from the garden), a few tomatillos, an onion, some garlic, and a dried guajillo pepper. Boiled and blended with a couple of garlic cloves, salt and pepper, then added some fresh cilantro and tortilla chips for dipping. It was a perfect – and quick – dinner for a dreary fall day. Keeping things simple, flavorful, and just a bit spicy is the best recipe for a gray world on the verge of winter. 

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Soup Solace

It isn’t so much the soup itself that provides solace – though its warming properties and savory sustenance do provide physical comfort – it is the act of making the soup that renders it a practice of peace. When done correctly, a good soup isn’t created instantly – it takes time and care and time and practice and time. Soup is all about time. So are dreary fall mornings when the rain won’t let up, and overcast days are all that’s in the forecast for the next few days. 

Soup has a certain magic to it as well – the way a big pot of plain water can transform into something wondrous with some carrots, celery and onion. A holy trinity indeed. Add a few pieces of chicken (bones and skin for glory), some salt and pepper, and a trio of bay leaves, and you’ve got yourself a perfect fall meal. A slow boil for an hour or so, or maybe more if you like it falling off the bones like I do, and that’s all it takes. As it gently works to extract the flavor and fat from the chicken, and the magic of the bay leaves permeates the liquid as it grows more golden in color, a simple chicken soup takes shape. 

The pocket of time in which it comes together can be used to read or write a blog post or simply ruminate  on the passing of fall. I topped it with some fresh cilantro because that’s my business. Like so and like that.

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Doughnut Hole in My Heart

After a few rough days of non-stop news-watching, I awoke just before my work day at home was about to begin, checked my phone, and saw that my friend Lorie had sent a message that her husband Cal had dropped off doughnuts. Rushing to the front door, I saw the bags from Bella Napoli and my heart jumped with joy and gratitude. My stomach rumbled as I hurriedly brought them in, setting them out on a plate for these pictures before devouring one in giddy glee. 

The initial flush of excitement and happiness was tempered, however, and not in a totally bad way, as I thought of all the dinners and gatherings with Cal and Lorie that we normally would have had over the past few months were it not for the Covid state of the world. A brief pang of melancholy came over my quick sugar high. The sweetness still on my tongue, I was touched that Cal had stopped by to leave breakfast – a reminder that friendship can still hold true and steadfast even in the tenuous times of connection in which we are currently immersed. 

It was a sweet start to the morning, a flavorful souvenir from dear friends, and a happy pause for memories of our time together. I sent up a silent wish and prayer for the chance to do it again someday soon. Thank you Cal and Lorie!

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Eat My Corn Dog

Every 12 or 14 years or so, I get a hankering for a corn dog, and so I have one. I don’t give much thought to what constitutes a corn dog, which is probably why I can stomach them. When you think about it, they’re rather bizarre. Best not to dwell. I’m good for another dozen years.

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The Allegory of Pancakes for Dinner

I don’t recall ever actually having pancakes for dinner so when my friend Lorie gave us some Stonewall Farmhouse Pancake Mix and Wild Maine Blueberry Syrup it felt like the time had come. I’ve had some unpleasant pancake trials and tribulations in the past, so they’re always a crap shoot, but this time they turned out – more deliciously appealing to the stomach than the eyes perhaps (I’m a pancake novice/destroyer, so I’m really just thankful they didn’t burn up).

These fluffed up beautifully, and I added some fresh blueberries to the mix to match the syrup. I also think I figured out what was going wrong on those previous attempts, and it’s a neat little reflection of life in general: previously the griddle/skillet/pan was too hot. The moment anything hit the pan, it smoked and burned and died on the spot. The batter on top remained uncooked, so by the time those beautiful bubbles started forming, the bottom was burnt and the top was woefully raw. This works wonders when I’m searing tuna or steak, but it’s not the ideal setting for a pancake.

Today, I keep the heat on a medium to low setting. Not needing to rush anything, I’ve honed the art of patience – even the simple amount of patience it takes to let the bubbles form as the bottom turns slowly into a golden brown – and a sense of moderation when it comes to the heat. There is a serious life lesson in that, and I’m just learning it and putting it into play.

As for serving these as dinner, there’s a lesson in that as well, and it’s one that 2020 has beaten into us no matter how much we have fought against it. Go with the flow. Be amenable to change, even when it means switching up traditions and practices that have gone on for decades. Be open to new things, new paths, new ways to discovery. That may be an even bigger lesson, especially this year.

One more lesson: pancakes are filling. Even for dinner. And they’re always worth it.

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Saturday Cider Doughnuts

Those three words go beautifully together, especially since we’ve turned the season to fall. I only half-facetiously posted on social media that I consider a cider doughnut to be the dietetic and nutritional equivalent of an apple, so this works in a diet. Mind over waist size.

As for these beauties, it was the scent of them frying that first alerted me to their presence as I perused the plants at George’s on a recent weekend morning. I knew immediately what they were, and was powerless to resist. Of course the minimum in a box was ten, but even then it was a battle with Andy over who would get the most. (I think I may have edged him out by one – well, two if we’re doing the real math.)

Such delights are the recompense for fall. Cozy comforts. Heat balms. Solace for sinister weather. When COVID first hit at the end of winter, I began baking a bit more, which took a backseat when summer arrived and the grill beckoned. Now that fall is here, and focus returns to the interior, I’ll warm up the oven again, with breads and cookies and crumbles. I finally managed to find some yeast so risable breads are again on the agenda. The season of comfort food is at hand. (Now let’s get it in my belly.)

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