Alternative title: The Art of Culinary Courtship, Part Deux
Dating is a funny thing. If you’ve been on enough dates like I have, you begin to believe you’ve got it all figured out – you know how to choose the right venue, the right outfit, the right things to say. But then, just when you think you’ve got it down to a science, a guy does something that throws it all out the window: he offers to cook you dinner.
Maybe I just haven’t grown accustomed to romantic gestures like this one, but I think more than that, I didn’t know how I felt about a guy swooping in and using one of my classic moves before I even had the chance to do it myself. After all, cooking is my specialty and obviously tops my male wooing techniques. (Let the record show that my shrimp scampi from March’s post was not a contributing factor for that relationship’s failure.) But because this particular guy jumped at the chance to cook for me with such enthusiasm, I certainly couldn’t fault him for his assertiveness. Plus I could hardly wait to see what kind of skills this guy had up his sleeve. Something made me think I wouldn’t be eating Hamburger Helper chez man friend.
Gearing up for the big date all week, I decided the night before that it would be proper for me to ask if he wanted me to contribute anything to the meal. I figured my offer would be declined, but the culinary control freak in me couldn’t help but at least try to slip something in. I was wrong. “You can bring dessert if you like” he responded. Sure, I can bring dessert. Not a problem. Dessert is often what I do best. Of course this offer and acceptance came at 11:00 pm Thursday night, so I had to start thinking fast. What kind of summer dessert could I whip up tomorrow night after work and still allow enough time to primp myself, account for Friday night traffic across the bridge, and be a punctual dinner guest to arrive by 7? Hm I was stumped. I had no eggs, no cream, no berries; finally I came to the realization that in this narrow time frame, I would be forced to fit in a trip to the grocery store. Luckily I chose to forego the usual heels for flats, because after work, I practically ran through the store, picking up the necessary items to make a blueberry crisp with lemon zest whipped cream when I got home.
Multi-tasking in the kitchen is not always my strong suit, but last night, I was nothing short of amazing. Wash and sweeten berries with sugar, apply mascara. Pulse oats, flour, sugar, and butter into a coarse meal in food processor, straighten hair. You get the picture. All of this, and I still only managed to be 20 minutes late (and I'm wholeheartedly blaming the traffic on that).
After I got over the shock of how huge his kitchen is (not to get ahead of myself here, but this was definitely a kitchen I could get used to), I noticed something else startling: it was immaculate. There wasn’t an appliance, dish, or an ingredient in sight. Wait a minute: I thought he was cooking for me – had I been led here under false pretenses? Turns out I wasn’t – he’s just all about simplicity, preparation after his guest arrives, and washing dishes as he goes (something my mother has been trying to teach me for years). This approach may be far from clatter’s, but I decided I’d just sit at the bar, chat, and watch the man at work.
He started by toasting thin slices of a baguette, and then softening cream cheese in the microwave. As he made a spread for the crostini by adding wasabi paste to the cheese, fresh tuna lightly sprinkled with seasoned salt seared on the stove until just golden on the outside and still pink on the inside. Simple yet sophisticated…and delicious! I might have to steal this idea. He then turned on the grill and prepared the rest of the meal.
Just as I got settled in at the dining room table with a gorgeous view of the Columbia River from my seat and linen napkin in my lap (nice touch!), I noticed how quickly my date was eating and how little he was talking. I’m aware that I eat on the slow side (and that I don’t like to dine in silence), but this seemed a little odd. With the salmon and asparagus perfectly grilled, the rice plump, and the bread superbly soft and toasted, I just wanted to savor it. But apparently there was no time for that, because he had bigger plans in mind. As soon as I took that final bite, he quickly examined the sky, cleared my plate, and told me we had to hurry – we were going to miss it.
Sure a post-dinner stroll along the river’s trail to admire a clear view of Mt. Hood and a beautiful sunset with a good-looking chap sounded nice, but I didn’t expect to be knocked off my feet. I’ll give the guy props for his brisk walking pace (have I finally found someone who doesn’t tell me to slow down?), but what he failed to take into account was my footwear. I’m pretty good with heels, but these particular three-inch wedges are far from ideal when it comes to, well, anything other than sitting and looking pretty. So you can imagine that these shoes did not bode well for a quick jaunt to the trail’s point to catch the last moments of the setting sun. I’m all for efficiency, but taking a shortcut off the path came at a steep price. Yep you guessed it - I took a tumble and have the battle wounds (including bruised pride) to prove it. At least I could take some comfort in knowing there was a doctor close by.
Even with my less than graceful moment, we still managed to enjoy the warm summer air and catch the last of the sunset. (Are you gagging yet? This is why I write a food blog and not romance novels.) I’ll admit, I half-expected to spot The Bachelorette TV cameras and to feel Chris Harrison tap me on the shoulder as I gazed out at the water (or was it into my date’s eyes?) in order to ask me if I felt an “amazing connection” with this guy. Gosh - with a home-cooked dinner, a walk along the river at sunset, and an evening swim while blueberry crisp baked in the oven, it was almost too much for my jaded heart to take.
But even so, I’m sure you’re still dying to know: did my swain get a rose at the end of the night? You’ll have to wait until the episode airs to find out.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Don't Knock It Till You Try It
I always like to think that I am not easily swayed by the many ploys of advertising and product placement in grocery stores. For example, I don’t grab a pack of gum at the checkout stand when I know I can buy the three pack for a fraction of the price in the candy aisle. I’m also aware that just because a bag of potato chips boasts “No trans fat!”, I shouldn’t necessarily interpret that to mean that it’s just as healthy as a bag of pretzels. But today, I must confess that I wiped the usual smirk from off my face and fell into that very trap of consumerism. The scene of the crime? The entrance to Trader Joe’s. The victim? A girl in business attire and looking rather vulnerable. I hadn’t even made it inside the store when a certain something caught my eye and tugged at my very heart strings. The huge bin of watermelons is hardly tough to miss, and with that rather large, visible sign with that cute TJ font stating $3.99, I thought, “Huh. Maybe I should get a watermelon.” After all, with that very melon just recently becoming a fruit even more near and dear to the hearts of my entire family, I just couldn’t resist the temptation to knock on at least 10 of them before finally placing one lucky winner in my cart. A watermelon near and dear to the heart? I’ll explain.
When my family entertains or cooks for guests, we like to do things a little differently (I take it you’ve gathered as much from some of my prior posts). While some traditions are great and shouldn’t be messed with, some American customs, well, should be. I’m not here to bash the hot dogs and hamburgers of a summer barbeque (I will, however, take the opportunity to tell you how disgusting heavy mayo’d potato salad is and should be a crime to serve); I merely want to express that sometimes it’s ok to throw a summer party and not do what’s expected. And that’s exactly the philosophy my sister adopted when she decided to throw a watermelon-themed, first birthday barbeque for my niece.
You may laugh (I know I did) at the thought of a watermelon-themed party, but you have to admit, it’s pretty darn cute, especially when you’re as creative and detailed as my sister and didn’t let any part of this celebration go without at least a reminder that watermelon was the fruit du jour. Watermelon wedge-shaped cintronella candles posted in the yard, watermelon sangria, watermelon napkins, and watermelon food trays only begin to paint the picture. Indeed, we had aprons, potholders, and bibs (those were for the nieces, not the guests…although with the messy ribs off the grill, it would have come in handy) made with watermelon-patterned fabric (thank you, Mother). I even wore watermelon-shaped earrings to commemorate the occasion (thank you again, Mother, for having impeccable taste even in the early ‘90s). I don’t know, some may say that the hosts went overboard with the theme, but I thought it was fabulous. Plus, I always love an excuse to exercise my cookie decoration craftsmanship. Here, for the first time ever, clatter has posted a picture of my creation taken from my phone. Now you understand why I stick to my words and not my photography.
My sister also made a fantastic watermelon bombe cake that had the guests ooh-ing and aah-ing. Years from now, when my niece looks back at old photographs of her first birthday, she’ll make fun of her mom for being a total dork (although I’m sure by then, there will be a way cooler slang word for that) and I will try my best to defend my sister. But I can’t make any guarantees, for I might still be bitter that I didn’t win a personal-sized watermelon during the watermelon trivia portion of the party. (Seriously, how could I not have known that the world record for watermelon eating is 13.22 pounds consumed in 15 minutes?? I’m a disgrace!)
Even at the off-chance that I’m still reeling from that defeat (I am), my respect for the watermelon has not wavered. As soon as I grabbed that hollow-sounding melon from the bin today, my mind went straight to thoughts of salads. Watermelon in anything savory initially left me skeptical (maybe aside from a salt-rimmed watermelon margarita), but I’ve seen recipes for watermelon-tomato salads with or without feta cheese way too often (I even spotted one in June’s issue of InStyle magazine!) to keep a closed mind about it. And so, tonight I figured I’d break into that melon (after throwing it in the freezer for a while to chill) and make a salad. I came across a lot of recipes in my research, but couldn’t seem to make a decision about which one I wanted to try. So instead, I just took some of those ideas I came across and ended up cubing some watermelon and adding fresh basil, crumbled feta, arugula, sea salt, freshly ground pepper, and drizzling it with balsamic and olive oil. That skepticism I once felt? Vanished in a single bite. Ok, maybe it would have tasted a tad better had I been wearing those watermelon earrings while I ate it, but the salad was still pretty tasty.
When my family entertains or cooks for guests, we like to do things a little differently (I take it you’ve gathered as much from some of my prior posts). While some traditions are great and shouldn’t be messed with, some American customs, well, should be. I’m not here to bash the hot dogs and hamburgers of a summer barbeque (I will, however, take the opportunity to tell you how disgusting heavy mayo’d potato salad is and should be a crime to serve); I merely want to express that sometimes it’s ok to throw a summer party and not do what’s expected. And that’s exactly the philosophy my sister adopted when she decided to throw a watermelon-themed, first birthday barbeque for my niece.
You may laugh (I know I did) at the thought of a watermelon-themed party, but you have to admit, it’s pretty darn cute, especially when you’re as creative and detailed as my sister and didn’t let any part of this celebration go without at least a reminder that watermelon was the fruit du jour. Watermelon wedge-shaped cintronella candles posted in the yard, watermelon sangria, watermelon napkins, and watermelon food trays only begin to paint the picture. Indeed, we had aprons, potholders, and bibs (those were for the nieces, not the guests…although with the messy ribs off the grill, it would have come in handy) made with watermelon-patterned fabric (thank you, Mother). I even wore watermelon-shaped earrings to commemorate the occasion (thank you again, Mother, for having impeccable taste even in the early ‘90s). I don’t know, some may say that the hosts went overboard with the theme, but I thought it was fabulous. Plus, I always love an excuse to exercise my cookie decoration craftsmanship. Here, for the first time ever, clatter has posted a picture of my creation taken from my phone. Now you understand why I stick to my words and not my photography.
My sister also made a fantastic watermelon bombe cake that had the guests ooh-ing and aah-ing. Years from now, when my niece looks back at old photographs of her first birthday, she’ll make fun of her mom for being a total dork (although I’m sure by then, there will be a way cooler slang word for that) and I will try my best to defend my sister. But I can’t make any guarantees, for I might still be bitter that I didn’t win a personal-sized watermelon during the watermelon trivia portion of the party. (Seriously, how could I not have known that the world record for watermelon eating is 13.22 pounds consumed in 15 minutes?? I’m a disgrace!)
Even at the off-chance that I’m still reeling from that defeat (I am), my respect for the watermelon has not wavered. As soon as I grabbed that hollow-sounding melon from the bin today, my mind went straight to thoughts of salads. Watermelon in anything savory initially left me skeptical (maybe aside from a salt-rimmed watermelon margarita), but I’ve seen recipes for watermelon-tomato salads with or without feta cheese way too often (I even spotted one in June’s issue of InStyle magazine!) to keep a closed mind about it. And so, tonight I figured I’d break into that melon (after throwing it in the freezer for a while to chill) and make a salad. I came across a lot of recipes in my research, but couldn’t seem to make a decision about which one I wanted to try. So instead, I just took some of those ideas I came across and ended up cubing some watermelon and adding fresh basil, crumbled feta, arugula, sea salt, freshly ground pepper, and drizzling it with balsamic and olive oil. That skepticism I once felt? Vanished in a single bite. Ok, maybe it would have tasted a tad better had I been wearing those watermelon earrings while I ate it, but the salad was still pretty tasty.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Hot Town, Summer in the City...
Sans air conditioning and with the heat rising (quite literally), I wasn’t really in the mood to slave over a hot stove tonight after work. Now that it’s finally summer in Portland, I had a profound thought earlier today: why is it that the best ingredients to cook with come during the months when you'd rather be prancing in a bikini at the beach (it was 85 degrees at the Oregon Coast today) than sweating it out in a sweltering kitchen? While I’m tempted to just play dead in front of a high-powered fan – which apart from my typing fingers really isn’t too far from reality – I would go to the depths of hell for my clatter readers to make sure I posted this week. And apparently tonight I won’t even have to leave home to get there. Seriously, it’s downright TORRID in here. Alright, enough blining (that’s a self-created word that combines blogging and whining) about my rather miserable AC-less living arrangement, it’s time to get to work.
Yes it’s true that when it’s really hot outside, eating real food aside from watermelon, popsicles and ice cold beer doesn’t always sound very appealing. But a girl's gotta eat to stay strong and lively (you know, in order to maintain the ability to write brilliantly), so I was trying to think of something today to make for dinner tonight that would be easy, filling, and COLD. What was the first thing I thought of? A cold, Asian noodle salad. Honestly I don’t know why I thought of this, especially considering that I’m only recently learning how to like sesame oil, fresh ginger, and various forms of the “peanut sauce”. On second thought, that’s maybe precisely why I did think of it.
I'll never quite trust a restaurant that proclaims to serve Thai, Chinese, and Korean cuisine (oh, and sushi!) all under the same roof (anyone who knows Spokane, WA is quite aware that Division provides said establishments by the dozen). However, I’ve found that when I venture into the realm of Asian gastronomy, I do just that. If I throw some fish sauce in a dish, I’ll say I’m making Thai. If I’m making a stir-fry with hoisin sauce, I’ll call it Chinese. Substitute in yakisoba noodles, and I’ve got Japanese. I know this isn’t the right thing to do, but I’m not the only guilty party. Our good friend Trader Joe makes a Gyoza Dipping Sauce that in my estimate pigeonholes almost two-thirds of the world’s eaters into a 10-ounce bottle by adding a caption that reads: “a classic Asian dipping sauce for everything Asian.” Hmm, well, at least I’m in good company.
So for dinner, I ended up adapting this Bon Appetit recipe (http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Spicy-Sesame-Noodles-with-Chopped-Peanuts-and-Thai-Basil-238798) but per the reviews and my own curiosity, I put together the following instead, measurements all ballpark. I figured I’m long overdue in posting a recipe:
AR’s Spicy Peanut Sesame Noodles
(this makes a lot – maybe 4 servings)
1/2 lb capellini pasta (yes, I’m aware this is not in any way Asian)
1 clove of minced garlic
1 tablespoon minced fresh ginger
1 minced shallot
1 tablespoon chunky peanut butter
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
2 teaspoons sesame oil
1 tablespoon Sriracha hot sauce
2 teaspoons roasted red chili paste
2 tablespoons soy sauce
chopped green onion and fresh basil
toasted sesame seeds
Cook pasta as usual, but when done rinse through with cold water. Meanwhile, sauté garlic, ginger and shallot in a bit of vegetable oil for about a minute. Whisk together all the other ingredients (minus the green onion and basil). Thoroughly toss together the pasta, sautéed garlic mixture, and sauce. Chill in fridge for at least an hour. Before eating, top with green onion, fresh basil, sesame seeds, and/or extra soy sauce and Sriracha. Word to the wise: The “chill” of the noodles doesn’t make up for the sweat that will inevitably bead your brow if you add that extra hot sauce at the end. (When will I learn?)
Ok, so in addition to the noodles, I also made some fresh Vietnamese spring rolls. (Oh who am I kidding, these are summer rolls; there's nothing spring about 95 degrees in July.) I’m calling these Vietnamese because not only did I first have them in a Vietnamese restaurant, they apparently actually exist in Vietnam. I’m still familiarizing myself with the art of rice paper rolling (i.e. I suck at it), but that fresh flavor was still there, even if all the vegetables fell out of the roll as I ate it. Tonight I stuffed mine with green cabbage, red bell pepper, cucumber, jalapeño (no seeds!), shredded carrot, cilantro, parsley, and bay shrimp. I dipped them in that famous TJ’s sauce and voila – Vietnamese food served fresh at Allison’s residence. But hold on, there’s more!
A couple of years ago when I was working in Seattle for the summer, I went to a Vietnamese place for lunch. The food itself left much to be desired, but there was one thing that made the meal worth it for me. The law partner I lunched with that day told me it was essential that I order the iced coffee. Now, keep in mind that as a former barista, law student, and a child of the Pacific Northwest, I take coffee very seriously. I like the darkest, strongest stuff you can get - and without sugar. But there was something about the iced coffee that day that was different. Was that cream in there? Simple syrup? Well, whatever it was, it was fantastic. Turns out the secret to this traditional Vietnamese beverage (known as café sua da) is sweetened condensed milk. So, in order to cool myself off tonight as I cooked and now write, I poured some leftover coffee from this morning over a tall glass of ice with about a tablespoon of sweetened condensed milk and a splash of 1%. Yum – there’s that flavor I remember! Of course the p.m. caffeine intake will have me perked till the wee hours of the morning, but it was worth it. And hey, I just got a novel idea: You could easily top this drink with whipped cream (no, not the can, the real stuff) and adorn it with a chocolate covered espresso bean and serve it to guests for a special coffee drink dessert on a hot summer day. Or better yet, you could blend it and call it something like, oh I don’t know, a frappuccino…
Yes it’s true that when it’s really hot outside, eating real food aside from watermelon, popsicles and ice cold beer doesn’t always sound very appealing. But a girl's gotta eat to stay strong and lively (you know, in order to maintain the ability to write brilliantly), so I was trying to think of something today to make for dinner tonight that would be easy, filling, and COLD. What was the first thing I thought of? A cold, Asian noodle salad. Honestly I don’t know why I thought of this, especially considering that I’m only recently learning how to like sesame oil, fresh ginger, and various forms of the “peanut sauce”. On second thought, that’s maybe precisely why I did think of it.
I'll never quite trust a restaurant that proclaims to serve Thai, Chinese, and Korean cuisine (oh, and sushi!) all under the same roof (anyone who knows Spokane, WA is quite aware that Division provides said establishments by the dozen). However, I’ve found that when I venture into the realm of Asian gastronomy, I do just that. If I throw some fish sauce in a dish, I’ll say I’m making Thai. If I’m making a stir-fry with hoisin sauce, I’ll call it Chinese. Substitute in yakisoba noodles, and I’ve got Japanese. I know this isn’t the right thing to do, but I’m not the only guilty party. Our good friend Trader Joe makes a Gyoza Dipping Sauce that in my estimate pigeonholes almost two-thirds of the world’s eaters into a 10-ounce bottle by adding a caption that reads: “a classic Asian dipping sauce for everything Asian.” Hmm, well, at least I’m in good company.
So for dinner, I ended up adapting this Bon Appetit recipe (http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Spicy-Sesame-Noodles-with-Chopped-Peanuts-and-Thai-Basil-238798) but per the reviews and my own curiosity, I put together the following instead, measurements all ballpark. I figured I’m long overdue in posting a recipe:
AR’s Spicy Peanut Sesame Noodles
(this makes a lot – maybe 4 servings)
1/2 lb capellini pasta (yes, I’m aware this is not in any way Asian)
1 clove of minced garlic
1 tablespoon minced fresh ginger
1 minced shallot
1 tablespoon chunky peanut butter
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
2 teaspoons sesame oil
1 tablespoon Sriracha hot sauce
2 teaspoons roasted red chili paste
2 tablespoons soy sauce
chopped green onion and fresh basil
toasted sesame seeds
Cook pasta as usual, but when done rinse through with cold water. Meanwhile, sauté garlic, ginger and shallot in a bit of vegetable oil for about a minute. Whisk together all the other ingredients (minus the green onion and basil). Thoroughly toss together the pasta, sautéed garlic mixture, and sauce. Chill in fridge for at least an hour. Before eating, top with green onion, fresh basil, sesame seeds, and/or extra soy sauce and Sriracha. Word to the wise: The “chill” of the noodles doesn’t make up for the sweat that will inevitably bead your brow if you add that extra hot sauce at the end. (When will I learn?)
Ok, so in addition to the noodles, I also made some fresh Vietnamese spring rolls. (Oh who am I kidding, these are summer rolls; there's nothing spring about 95 degrees in July.) I’m calling these Vietnamese because not only did I first have them in a Vietnamese restaurant, they apparently actually exist in Vietnam. I’m still familiarizing myself with the art of rice paper rolling (i.e. I suck at it), but that fresh flavor was still there, even if all the vegetables fell out of the roll as I ate it. Tonight I stuffed mine with green cabbage, red bell pepper, cucumber, jalapeño (no seeds!), shredded carrot, cilantro, parsley, and bay shrimp. I dipped them in that famous TJ’s sauce and voila – Vietnamese food served fresh at Allison’s residence. But hold on, there’s more!
A couple of years ago when I was working in Seattle for the summer, I went to a Vietnamese place for lunch. The food itself left much to be desired, but there was one thing that made the meal worth it for me. The law partner I lunched with that day told me it was essential that I order the iced coffee. Now, keep in mind that as a former barista, law student, and a child of the Pacific Northwest, I take coffee very seriously. I like the darkest, strongest stuff you can get - and without sugar. But there was something about the iced coffee that day that was different. Was that cream in there? Simple syrup? Well, whatever it was, it was fantastic. Turns out the secret to this traditional Vietnamese beverage (known as café sua da) is sweetened condensed milk. So, in order to cool myself off tonight as I cooked and now write, I poured some leftover coffee from this morning over a tall glass of ice with about a tablespoon of sweetened condensed milk and a splash of 1%. Yum – there’s that flavor I remember! Of course the p.m. caffeine intake will have me perked till the wee hours of the morning, but it was worth it. And hey, I just got a novel idea: You could easily top this drink with whipped cream (no, not the can, the real stuff) and adorn it with a chocolate covered espresso bean and serve it to guests for a special coffee drink dessert on a hot summer day. Or better yet, you could blend it and call it something like, oh I don’t know, a frappuccino…
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Know Your Refrigerator
If my life ever became a movie, there would surely be a scene (or maybe just a segment of a montage with a killer song) of Allison and her older sister sitting at the kitchen table, blindfolded, sniffing an opened pickle jar or groping for a red pepper while their father juggles grapefruits or pokes his head in the fridge. For all those geeks who love to point out the subtleties in movies, this scene would be where one film geek elbows his film geek friend and whispers, “They’re foreshadowing. Brilliant!” Yes indeed, that’s exactly what’s happening in the scene, because it’s here that the audience becomes aware of Allison’s passion for food years before even she herself is conscious of it.
After the movie is over, when those same film geeks rehash the scenes of the movie over lattes at Starbucks, the one film geek appears baffled and asks the other, “So what the heck was going on in that scene with the blindfolded kids anyway?” Well, film geek, here’s your answer (warning: spoiler ahead): Oddly enough, one of my fondest memories of my dad as a kid comes from those nights after dinner when my sister and I would remain seated at the kitchen table and play what was commonly referred to in my family as Know Your Refrigerator. What? You've never heard of that game? Well, that's probably because it was created by my father, the staggering genius himself. (Of course after the movie comes out or this blog gets a million hits, which ever comes first, it will likely become a worldwide phenomenon.) The rules of the game are quite simple: the contestants (sister and I) must tie dishtowels around their heads so they can’t see what’s going on, because the game show host (my father) opens the refrigerator and picks out any item he wants to challenge the contestants with – nothing is off-limits, unless Vanna White (my mom) tells him to leave it in the fridge. The contestants may use all senses other than sight to guess what the items are. This game may sound to any outsider, dare I say it, lame, but as far as I’m concerned, this game was the best, and I intend to have it passed down for generations. (Dad, do you think we should play a round of KYR at this summer’s family reunion?)
Now that I’ve shared this sacred childhood memory, I want to turn the attention on you for a second. How well do you know your refrigerator? Have a mushy cucumber hiding in your crispy drawer? An unidentified item in a Rubbermaid container that’s been in there so long you have no idea what it is? Moldy gorgonzola that may or may not actually be moldy? While it’s easy to toss out the nasty items that clearly need to be thrown away because your neighbors have already complained about the stench, all those other random items that are still good and you haven’t the foggiest what to do with really become the challenge. I believe that to truly be a good cook, one must have a penchant for being resourceful with what he/she’s got...which makes me think of “reality” cooking shows. My favorite part of Top Chef are the quick-fire challenges – especially when the chefs are given only a few, specific ingredients that they must use to create something unique and delicious. (Surprisingly enough, I also really enjoy the palate challenge, which I like to think of as a foodie’s version of Know Your Refrigerator). In order to push my limits as a cook, I often challenge myself to do the same thing they do on tv (unfortunately without my celebrity chef crush, Tom Colicchio – yeah, I said it – judging me), because it forces me to use up perishables and think creatively. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail, but as long as I’m not trying to impress anyone, why not try?
So with that dear readers, tonight I only ask this of you: get to know your refrigerator. You’ll be glad you did.
After the movie is over, when those same film geeks rehash the scenes of the movie over lattes at Starbucks, the one film geek appears baffled and asks the other, “So what the heck was going on in that scene with the blindfolded kids anyway?” Well, film geek, here’s your answer (warning: spoiler ahead): Oddly enough, one of my fondest memories of my dad as a kid comes from those nights after dinner when my sister and I would remain seated at the kitchen table and play what was commonly referred to in my family as Know Your Refrigerator. What? You've never heard of that game? Well, that's probably because it was created by my father, the staggering genius himself. (Of course after the movie comes out or this blog gets a million hits, which ever comes first, it will likely become a worldwide phenomenon.) The rules of the game are quite simple: the contestants (sister and I) must tie dishtowels around their heads so they can’t see what’s going on, because the game show host (my father) opens the refrigerator and picks out any item he wants to challenge the contestants with – nothing is off-limits, unless Vanna White (my mom) tells him to leave it in the fridge. The contestants may use all senses other than sight to guess what the items are. This game may sound to any outsider, dare I say it, lame, but as far as I’m concerned, this game was the best, and I intend to have it passed down for generations. (Dad, do you think we should play a round of KYR at this summer’s family reunion?)
Now that I’ve shared this sacred childhood memory, I want to turn the attention on you for a second. How well do you know your refrigerator? Have a mushy cucumber hiding in your crispy drawer? An unidentified item in a Rubbermaid container that’s been in there so long you have no idea what it is? Moldy gorgonzola that may or may not actually be moldy? While it’s easy to toss out the nasty items that clearly need to be thrown away because your neighbors have already complained about the stench, all those other random items that are still good and you haven’t the foggiest what to do with really become the challenge. I believe that to truly be a good cook, one must have a penchant for being resourceful with what he/she’s got...which makes me think of “reality” cooking shows. My favorite part of Top Chef are the quick-fire challenges – especially when the chefs are given only a few, specific ingredients that they must use to create something unique and delicious. (Surprisingly enough, I also really enjoy the palate challenge, which I like to think of as a foodie’s version of Know Your Refrigerator). In order to push my limits as a cook, I often challenge myself to do the same thing they do on tv (unfortunately without my celebrity chef crush, Tom Colicchio – yeah, I said it – judging me), because it forces me to use up perishables and think creatively. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail, but as long as I’m not trying to impress anyone, why not try?
So with that dear readers, tonight I only ask this of you: get to know your refrigerator. You’ll be glad you did.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Deep Fried Father's Day
If you’ve learned anything about my family since I started clatter, it could be this: when there’s a holiday, there’s food – plus a lot of dirty dishes. Anyone who knows me notices (and those who don’t quickly learn) that the number one way I show people that I care about and appreciate them is through food, and Father’s Day was no exception. Of course I could have taken my dad out golfing (read: we play golf and he picks up the green fees), but nothing really says “I love you, Dad” like taking a few years off of his life by making some of the most fattening foods a deep pot of hot oil can yield. We’re not big “comfort food” people in my family; we typically stick to fresh produce and the like, but we definitely believe in the importance of occasional indulgence and the moderation theory. After my sister mentioned that her husband had been wanting fried chicken, she and I decided that not only would we make fried chicken on Sunday night, but we would dedicate the entire Father’s Day celebration menu with Southern fare. This plan would lend itself to only one thing: FAT.
I think I can speak for both my sister and me when I say that we were a little apprehensive about deep fat frying. Neither of us had any experience with this kind of volume of oil (to avoid shock, I won’t tell you how much), and with three hungry dads expecting only the top quality food on their special day, the pressure was on. I commenced the fry fest by whipping up some good ol’ Southern hush puppies (all menu items henceforth are to be read with a Southern accent). Even though I had never even eaten a hush puppy before, I put some faith in Food & Wine and used a recipe I had been holding onto for a while. Atypical to my usual style, I followed the recipe exactly (http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/hush-puppies-with-remoulade), but for the remoulade, I had to improvise a little, since I was out of whole grain mustard and tabasco. My substitutions of dijon and Frank’s hot sauce worked out just fine, and I think all the guests would agree (especially the 14 year old Italian cousin who dipped his fried chicken in it), the remoulade was the best part. As for the “scary” part of preparing this app, I’ve read before that the temperature of the oil is a make-it-or-break-it factor in top-notch fried food, but I didn’t believe it until I did it myself. Little did I know that maintaining the necessary temperature after you throw the food in the oil is the most challenging part - and the key to a successful result. For me, I struggled with the oil being too hot, then after adjustments, was not hot enough, and that stressed me out! I just couldn't tell if the dollops of cornmeal mixture quickly turning to sizzling golden brown were done on the inside. Well, I got my answer when people bit in - turns out some puppies were and some weren’t (no thanks to my not following the “tablespoon” size in the recipe). That said, I think I still had enough good ones overall that our appetizer was a success.
I also attempted to make mint juleps, but there’s a reason I’ve never touted to be a mixologist…
As for the main event, the fried chicken was all my sister. She brined those chicken drumsticks and thighs overnight in buttermilk and hot sauce, and when it was game time, she took on that pot of hot oil like a champion. We decided to use this recipe from food52: http://www.food52.com/recipes/446_classic_southern_buttermilk_bathed_fried_chicken, and if you ever need a fried chicken recipe, this is the one to use. Truly a winner! With sautéed okra with heirloom tomatoes and bacon (http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/sauteed-okra-with-heirloom-tomatoes-and-bacon) and Mama’s famous macaroni salad (I’ve made up that name, but the family recipe is still top secret, even if we aren’t from the South!) on the side, it was quite the Southern feast. But even after “forcing” our patrons to consume thousands of calories in full fatted bliss, there was still one more thing up our sleeves…
Sister and I had different ideas on what we wanted to do for dessert, but ultimately I was put in charge, and I certainly didn’t want to finish this dinner on a light note (does the South even know how to do that?). So, I chose something quite the opposite: Mississippi Mud Pie. After looking over a number of recipes and learning that mud pie doesn’t necessarily contain coffee ice cream like I thought, I decided to go with Martha (when in doubt!): http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/mississippi-mud-pie-everyday-baking. If you click on the link, you’ll find that the picture and the recipe don’t match up, because the recipe calls for a regular pie crust, not a chocolate one. I, however, stuck with the picture (and what I had already envisioned) and used a chocolate wafer crust instead. I really can’t imagine the pie being any better than it tasted – even when eaten with a full belly. Sure I didn’t use a deep pie pan which resulted in an overflow of filling all over the counter when I was making it, but ultimately it didn’t matter, because now when I think about this dessert, only one word comes to mind: delectable.
I think I can speak for both my sister and me when I say that we were a little apprehensive about deep fat frying. Neither of us had any experience with this kind of volume of oil (to avoid shock, I won’t tell you how much), and with three hungry dads expecting only the top quality food on their special day, the pressure was on. I commenced the fry fest by whipping up some good ol’ Southern hush puppies (all menu items henceforth are to be read with a Southern accent). Even though I had never even eaten a hush puppy before, I put some faith in Food & Wine and used a recipe I had been holding onto for a while. Atypical to my usual style, I followed the recipe exactly (http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/hush-puppies-with-remoulade), but for the remoulade, I had to improvise a little, since I was out of whole grain mustard and tabasco. My substitutions of dijon and Frank’s hot sauce worked out just fine, and I think all the guests would agree (especially the 14 year old Italian cousin who dipped his fried chicken in it), the remoulade was the best part. As for the “scary” part of preparing this app, I’ve read before that the temperature of the oil is a make-it-or-break-it factor in top-notch fried food, but I didn’t believe it until I did it myself. Little did I know that maintaining the necessary temperature after you throw the food in the oil is the most challenging part - and the key to a successful result. For me, I struggled with the oil being too hot, then after adjustments, was not hot enough, and that stressed me out! I just couldn't tell if the dollops of cornmeal mixture quickly turning to sizzling golden brown were done on the inside. Well, I got my answer when people bit in - turns out some puppies were and some weren’t (no thanks to my not following the “tablespoon” size in the recipe). That said, I think I still had enough good ones overall that our appetizer was a success.
I also attempted to make mint juleps, but there’s a reason I’ve never touted to be a mixologist…
As for the main event, the fried chicken was all my sister. She brined those chicken drumsticks and thighs overnight in buttermilk and hot sauce, and when it was game time, she took on that pot of hot oil like a champion. We decided to use this recipe from food52: http://www.food52.com/recipes/446_classic_southern_buttermilk_bathed_fried_chicken, and if you ever need a fried chicken recipe, this is the one to use. Truly a winner! With sautéed okra with heirloom tomatoes and bacon (http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/sauteed-okra-with-heirloom-tomatoes-and-bacon) and Mama’s famous macaroni salad (I’ve made up that name, but the family recipe is still top secret, even if we aren’t from the South!) on the side, it was quite the Southern feast. But even after “forcing” our patrons to consume thousands of calories in full fatted bliss, there was still one more thing up our sleeves…
Sister and I had different ideas on what we wanted to do for dessert, but ultimately I was put in charge, and I certainly didn’t want to finish this dinner on a light note (does the South even know how to do that?). So, I chose something quite the opposite: Mississippi Mud Pie. After looking over a number of recipes and learning that mud pie doesn’t necessarily contain coffee ice cream like I thought, I decided to go with Martha (when in doubt!): http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/mississippi-mud-pie-everyday-baking. If you click on the link, you’ll find that the picture and the recipe don’t match up, because the recipe calls for a regular pie crust, not a chocolate one. I, however, stuck with the picture (and what I had already envisioned) and used a chocolate wafer crust instead. I really can’t imagine the pie being any better than it tasted – even when eaten with a full belly. Sure I didn’t use a deep pie pan which resulted in an overflow of filling all over the counter when I was making it, but ultimately it didn’t matter, because now when I think about this dessert, only one word comes to mind: delectable.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Omnivores have more fun
Does absence really make the heart grow fonder? My two-week hiatus from all animal and dairy products proved to be a challenging one, but surprisingly it was not as terrible as I anticipated (that last post came at a moment of weakness). Even so, after taking every possible precaution not to break the rules (complete with reading the labels of anything questionable), I’m mostly left wondering one thing: WHY. Barring major allergies, aversions, or moral issues, I just don’t understand why someone would willingly deprive his/herself from the very pleasure that comes from eating so many things in life. After walking in their shoes for a while, do I have a newly found respect for vegans? Sure. But I also think they might be just a little bit off their rocker. I could reflect further, but I think I’d rather move on to something more…mouthwatering. I’m sure you won’t mind.
With Portland’s weather finally shaping up this weekend, I decided to ride my bike today to a new cheese shop that opened recently in the Mt. Tabor neighborhood. Appropriately named Cheese Bar, it is the perfect place to get a wedge of unusual cheese to go, or stick around to pair a plate of cheese with local microbrews (apparently they’re very helpful in helping you put them together). After stepping foot in the shop, I as their sole customer (in their defense, the store had only opened a few minutes before I arrived) knew I would be well taken care of. I read their chalkboard of sandwiches, all of which sounded delicious, and started to get some inspiration.
I then gazed adoringly at the cheese case and thought “If I were vegan, I couldn’t even step foot in this place.” Yep, it’s sure nice to be back. The man behind the counter (he must be the owner – I recognized him from his picture in May’s issue of Mix magazine) answered my questions and fed me samples (mmmmm!). More importantly though, he didn’t seem to mind my helmet head and rather sweaty disposition after biking uphill to get there. And so, after spending some quality time enjoying myself in the presence of so many wonderful cheeses and meats, I walked out of the shop with a fresh baguette, a chunk of Fairview Farm Cascadia (raw goat’s cheese from a small dairy in Dallas, OR) and a few slices of jamón serrano (it’s the Spanish version of Italian prosciutto). No big surprise, I’ll certainly be back sometime soon.
With the crusty baguette riding on my back (am I in Portland or Paris?), I hopped back on my bike and headed home to create something delicious. I’ve had a couple of people mention that I haven’t posted a recipe in a while, so I’ll share what I put together.
AR’s “Omnivores have more fun” sandwich
baguette (only use the freshest, crusty-on-the-outside, soft-on-the-inside you can get your hands on!)
whole grain dijon mustard (I’m slightly obsessed with this condiment, despite its tendency to make my eyes water)
basil aioli
roasted red peppers
jamón serrano
Fairview Farm Cascadia cheese (not sure if it’s the best for this type of sandwich, but it’s still very good)
mixed greens
To make the basil aioli, simply mix mayonnaise with minced garlic, finely chopped basil, and fresh lemon juice. Assemble the sandwich as you would any other, but make sure to take care in stacking the ingredients. After all, there is an art to sandwich-making (I’m known in my family as a “sandwich artist” and I wear the title with pride), so it’s not something that should be taken lightly.
The experience of picking up the ingredients, putting together, as well as eating this not only reaffirmed my love of the sandwich, but also confirmed once again how much I really do love cheese and meat. The only things missing? A picnic blanket, red wine in a plastic cup, and a view of the Notre Dame from a spot along the Seine. A strikingly handsome French man wouldn’t hurt either.
With Portland’s weather finally shaping up this weekend, I decided to ride my bike today to a new cheese shop that opened recently in the Mt. Tabor neighborhood. Appropriately named Cheese Bar, it is the perfect place to get a wedge of unusual cheese to go, or stick around to pair a plate of cheese with local microbrews (apparently they’re very helpful in helping you put them together). After stepping foot in the shop, I as their sole customer (in their defense, the store had only opened a few minutes before I arrived) knew I would be well taken care of. I read their chalkboard of sandwiches, all of which sounded delicious, and started to get some inspiration.
I then gazed adoringly at the cheese case and thought “If I were vegan, I couldn’t even step foot in this place.” Yep, it’s sure nice to be back. The man behind the counter (he must be the owner – I recognized him from his picture in May’s issue of Mix magazine) answered my questions and fed me samples (mmmmm!). More importantly though, he didn’t seem to mind my helmet head and rather sweaty disposition after biking uphill to get there. And so, after spending some quality time enjoying myself in the presence of so many wonderful cheeses and meats, I walked out of the shop with a fresh baguette, a chunk of Fairview Farm Cascadia (raw goat’s cheese from a small dairy in Dallas, OR) and a few slices of jamón serrano (it’s the Spanish version of Italian prosciutto). No big surprise, I’ll certainly be back sometime soon.
With the crusty baguette riding on my back (am I in Portland or Paris?), I hopped back on my bike and headed home to create something delicious. I’ve had a couple of people mention that I haven’t posted a recipe in a while, so I’ll share what I put together.
AR’s “Omnivores have more fun” sandwich
baguette (only use the freshest, crusty-on-the-outside, soft-on-the-inside you can get your hands on!)
whole grain dijon mustard (I’m slightly obsessed with this condiment, despite its tendency to make my eyes water)
basil aioli
roasted red peppers
jamón serrano
Fairview Farm Cascadia cheese (not sure if it’s the best for this type of sandwich, but it’s still very good)
mixed greens
To make the basil aioli, simply mix mayonnaise with minced garlic, finely chopped basil, and fresh lemon juice. Assemble the sandwich as you would any other, but make sure to take care in stacking the ingredients. After all, there is an art to sandwich-making (I’m known in my family as a “sandwich artist” and I wear the title with pride), so it’s not something that should be taken lightly.
The experience of picking up the ingredients, putting together, as well as eating this not only reaffirmed my love of the sandwich, but also confirmed once again how much I really do love cheese and meat. The only things missing? A picnic blanket, red wine in a plastic cup, and a view of the Notre Dame from a spot along the Seine. A strikingly handsome French man wouldn’t hurt either.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
A love note
My dearest cheese,
I really believed that I was stronger than this. I thought that I could quit you. But the truth is, I’m so lost without you. Even though a part of me feels good for the changes I’ve made and for my decision to walk away from you, I’m still pining for you in a way I never thought possible. It’s only been a week, but my heart/stomach aches for you that leaves me only empty. If ever a cliché rings true, it’s that I didn’t know what I had until it was gone. This week apart has made me realize that I often took you and all of our precious time together for granted. As simple as accompanying a glass of wine or topping off a bowl of pasta, you just made everything more interesting. I mean it when I say you bring flavor – you bring depth – to my life. With you, I can be myself. Without you, I don’t even know who I am.
For the last seven days, it’s like I’ve been walking in a haze. Everything reminds me of you, whether it's catching a glimpse of you on the cover of Bon Appetit or spotting you in a Pizza Hut commercial (and I hate Pizza Hut!). I can’t get you out of my mind. As hard as I try, I just can’t seem to escape the memory of you.
People tell me I have options, that I need to keep an open mind and see what’s out there. But I know better than to believe that there is a substitution - a replacement - for the one true thing.
I miss you. Please come back to me.
Love always,
Allison
I really believed that I was stronger than this. I thought that I could quit you. But the truth is, I’m so lost without you. Even though a part of me feels good for the changes I’ve made and for my decision to walk away from you, I’m still pining for you in a way I never thought possible. It’s only been a week, but my heart/stomach aches for you that leaves me only empty. If ever a cliché rings true, it’s that I didn’t know what I had until it was gone. This week apart has made me realize that I often took you and all of our precious time together for granted. As simple as accompanying a glass of wine or topping off a bowl of pasta, you just made everything more interesting. I mean it when I say you bring flavor – you bring depth – to my life. With you, I can be myself. Without you, I don’t even know who I am.
For the last seven days, it’s like I’ve been walking in a haze. Everything reminds me of you, whether it's catching a glimpse of you on the cover of Bon Appetit or spotting you in a Pizza Hut commercial (and I hate Pizza Hut!). I can’t get you out of my mind. As hard as I try, I just can’t seem to escape the memory of you.
People tell me I have options, that I need to keep an open mind and see what’s out there. But I know better than to believe that there is a substitution - a replacement - for the one true thing.
I miss you. Please come back to me.
Love always,
Allison
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
