a good american wife

A Classic Remake. Sorta

2012-01-31T08:02:00.000-08:00

In October, my partner at work and I were handed a primo assignment. Do a Downy Super Bowl commercial. ARE YOU SERIOUS??!! We were excited and terrified. But if I do say so, I think we did an amazing job. It would have not been possible without a lot of support from our incredible creative director Alice, our company president Tor, our producer Judi and our stupendously talented director Brendan Gibbons. Not to mention the ridiculously funny comedic talents of Amy Sedaris and Joe Green, aka "Mean Joe Green"

Check it out! Oh, and be sure to visit the You Tube page on Super Bowl Sunday for more funny Amy videos.

We Live Among Royals

2012-01-30T13:48:00.000-08:00

Walt and I were waiting for the elevator. We overhear one of our neighbors on another floor talking in the hallway.

Walt: Is that X*? (*name change)

Me: No. X is a man. That's a lady's voice.

(pause of genuine 4-year-old confusion)

Walt: But daddy says X is a queen.

Neglect

2012-01-10T09:24:00.000-08:00

Oh you poor little blog! What are you doing here all by yourself? Where is your mother? You don't know! That's terrible. Terrible! Does she at least know where you are? Okay. Oh my. Here sweetie, have a sucker. It's orange. I know that's not the best flavor, but you're probably used to getting the short end of the lolly pop stick.

I'll wait here with you until she shows up. She and I are going to have a grown-up talk about responsibility. Oh, isn't that cute! You auto-corrected my spelling mistake. I never know if it's responsa-or responso-. You are just too precious.

I swear, people these days just start blogs with NO regard for how much work they require. They think it's going to be "cute" and "fun" like drawing a picture and putting it on the fridge. Wake up, people! This ain't Barbie's Dream House! It's BLOGGING. A lifelong commitment. A blog needs attention! Nourishment! Love! And a mother and a father who are not gay.

Sigh. Where IS she? I hate to do this, honey, but I've got to get going. Church starts in 15 minutes. Here, have a mint. I got it from the bowl by the cash register in the diner. It's that chalky spearmint kind that tastes like dried Pepto Bismol, but you would probably be happy with a bean as a pet, you're so neglected.

Alright. Bye now. If you're still here after service, I'm calling Social Services. Somebody has got to take care of you and it can't be me.

Flip The Bird

2011-11-25T12:35:00.000-08:00

This, my friends,was a BIRD. My second Thanksgiving turkey and a success. I need to work on my stuffing technique, not to mention my stuffing, but I now know how to roast a beautifully seasoned, crisp-skinned, juicy hunk of poultry. My little secret? Catering. Kidding! It was a technique I tried from The Joy Of Cooking called high heat roasting. Also known as the NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE technique, perfect for shut-ins and agoraphobics.

What you do is set the oven to 425 degrees. You take your turkey and salt it, brush it with butter and if you're hankerin' to roll the salmonella dice, you stuff it too. Arrange it on its side so that one drumstick is sticking up. Roast for 30 minutes. Maybe peel potatoes and poach some raisins for a cauliflower side dish. Take it out of the oven. Using paper towels to prevent burns, you flip it to the other side so that the other leg gets a turn. Roast another 30 minutes.

Decide to add another side dish to your 14-course meal and start shredding brussels sprouts and dicing shallots. You flip the bird a total of 3 times over 2 hours, basting and such along the way. I did have to add some chicken broth to the pan a few times.

Flip that bird one final time, breast side up, until it's done, about 30 minutes for our 9 pounder. You add 2 more dishes to your bulging table without any regard for prudence. You make a gravy with the drippings that is deeply rich and complex. You throw thanks up to the heavens for elastic, spandex and the technology we have that makes being in public optional for as long as I choose.

I highly recommend it.

Thanksgiving Menu!

2011-11-23T13:01:00.000-08:00

Tonight we nibble on lightly dressed salads while drinking tepid water. Because tomorrow, oh tomorrow, we DINE.

Thanksgiving at our home.

Roasted Turkey (old-school style, with butter, salt and pepper.)
Stuffing (also old-school style, with Pepperidge Farm stuffing mix, stuffed in the cavity)
Creamed Collards with Bacon
Mashed Potatoes
Crispy Cauliflower with Capers and Raisin
Some Root Vegetable Dish, made by Melanie
Corn
Homemade Parker House Rolls, made by Melanie
Cranberry Jelly

Dessert (If we're not all poisoned by the stuffing)
Pumpkin Pie
Chocolate Pecan Pie (Melanie!)
Vanilla Ice Cream

What's on your menu

Do Those Crazy Pants Come In A Size 10?

2011-11-15T08:39:00.000-08:00

Do you ever lose it? I do.

The other night, a crazy person yelled at me. And I yelled back.

As a resident of New York City, being yelled at by crazy people happens. Like any urban area we walk shoulder-to-shoulder with the mentally unstable. For the most part, I deal. I ignore. I give away my excess change and write checks to Food Banks.

But the other night I just, I don't know. Maybe it was because I've been stressed at work, maybe it was because I was on the phone with a friend and embarrassed in front of her and wanted to stand up for myself. Maybe I was just tired. Whatever the reason, when this middle aged guy with scotch-taped glasses hurled mean insults at me, I yelled back. It was stupid and we caused a scene. I was humiliated and ashamed that I engaged. On the other hand, I can forgive myself for being a flawed human being.

When was the last time you lost it?

Saag-ing Away

2011-11-13T16:52:00.000-08:00

Okay, here's a little dark and dirty secret of mine. Something I really don't want people to know about me. Ready? Here goes it: I have no real desire to go to India.

Nothing against the country. I am just not a traveler at heart. Maybe it's because I love where I live so much, why bother with a trip that takes over 10 hours? And I hate to admit that. I do.

Why? Because I don't want to be this kind of person! I want to be a world travel lover! A woman whose passport is stamped beyond legibility. Who knows how to jauntily tie scarves around her neck and start fires with twigs. Who has a signature scent. (Chanel No. 5? Citrus and Basil? Confidence?) And when she has babies, they simply get tied to her back and get claimed in customs like a lamp or an animal head.

Also, I love so much about India. The culture is rich and fascinating. And not for nothing, but one of my best buddies when I lived in Japan was an Indian girl named Shashi. I met up with her when she was passing through NYC a few years back and she was every bit as sweet and charming as I remembered. I realize that she doesn't represent the entire nation, but hey-I jived with one of its citizens so that's something, right? Anyoneanyone?

And the food. Oh boy. You gotta love the food. Although I'm not sure if what I call Indian is actually real or Americanized. But I check in with Hungry Desi every now and then and it seems I'm on the right track. I shop at Kalustyans and order off the menu at The Curry Leaf. And the jar of garam masala in our spice cabinet had to be refilled last week to make a batch of this:

It's Saag Tofu. I know, it's not really real Indian because of the tofu. But good paneer is hard to find in my part of Brooklyn and I haven't worked up the gumption to make it myself. Yet.

This is delicious just the same, with a rich yogurt sauce spiced with a touch of heat, plus fresh spinach and tomatoes cooked to the edge of overdone. It's not as good as Saag Paneer because, well, when you put in bean curd instead of cheese it never is. But much like my travel inclinations, it's good enough.

So maybe my passport isn't stamped to death, but my palette-that's been all over the place.

I got the recipe from a CHOW email. You can find it and other recipes here.

SAAG TOFU, taken from CHOW website.

1 pound firm tofu, large dice
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
4 teaspoons garam masala
2 teaspoons kosher salt
3 medium garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
2 medium plum tomatoes, finely chopped
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 pound baby spinach
1/2 cup plain Greek-style whole-milk yogurt

INSTRUCTIONS

Combine tofu with 1 tablespoon of the vegetable oil, 2 teaspoons of the garam masala, and the salt. Mix gently to coat tofu; set aside.
Heat a large (12-inch) frying pan over medium-high heat and add 1 tablespoon of the oil. When it shimmers, add tofu in a single layer and cook until browned, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a plate.
Wipe out the pan, return it to the stovetop over medium heat, and add remaining 1 tablespoon oil. When it shimmers, add garlic and onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until onion is tender and browned, about 3 minutes. Stir in tomatoes and ginger and cook until tomatoes just start to soften, about 2 minutes.
Add spinach in handfuls and stir frequently, scraping the bottom of the pan to incorporate any browned bits. Cook until spinach is very wilted and liquid is cooked off, about 7 minutes. Stir in reserved tofu and cook until heated through, about 1 minute. Remove from heat. In a medium bowl, stir together remaining garam masala and yogurt and add to spinach mixture. Stir until well mixed and serve.

Playing Both Sides

2011-09-24T10:18:00.000-07:00

I'll admit it. I swing both ways. There are times when I'm all about the Slow Food Movement. I'm organic, fresh, holistic. My kale gets freshly plucked and my honey is harvested by Sandinista honey bees who fought against oppressive governments in South America.

Then I hop the fence and whip up a Mexican Potato, Bean and Corn Casserole.

Yes, those are pre-packaged potatoes and canned beans. I even used frozen corn and jarred salsa. Somewhere in Northern California, a lone tear slowly rolls down Alice Waters's face.
Sorry, Ms. W. But this pre-packed casserole is forkful after forkful of processed goodness. I'd do it again, bagged potatoes and all. Got the recipe from Melissa at Suburban Bliss. It's a very flexible, easy and done in minutes. Could you use homemade salsa and fresh potatoes? Well, if you didn't get home at 6:45PM after being at an office job for 10 hours and your husband wasn't at his band gig and your kid isn't about to dissolve into a puddle from hunger and you can eat dinner at 9PM. Then yeah, sure.

Here's the recipe:

Mexican Potatoes Corn & Black Beans

1 Package Simply Potatoes diced potatoes with onion
1 14.5oz can black beans (rinsed)
10 ounces frozen corn, thawed
1/2 tsp chili powder
1-2 cups salsa of your choice
2-3 cups shredded cheddar

Mix the black beans and corn together, place in a large microwavable casserole dish mounding to the middle of the dish.
In another bowl mix together the chili powder and potatoes. Place around the edge of the dish.
Cover entire dish with salsa.
Cover dish with plastic wrap, venting the corner. Cook on high for 10-15 minutes. Turning dish once halfway through the cook time.
Remove dish from microwave and add cheese. Put back in microwave for 2-3 minutes to melt cheese.

Serve with an avocado salad and a box of tissues for Alice.

4 Year Old Humor

2011-08-23T11:54:00.000-07:00

Wendy posted something on Facebook about Louis CK, one of my favorite comics of all time. She reminded me of the clip below. When I first saw it, Walt was a baby. I thought, "Wow. That Louis is funny but pretty awful!" Now that Walt is a week away from turning 4 I think, "That Louis is pretty much nails all the thoughts I have about parenting." Enjoy.

WARNING: Not for those who are offended by profanity or parents expressing hostility towards their children. Which pretty much is no one I know.

Potatoes For One, plus Two.

2011-08-15T18:13:00.000-07:00

About 2 years ago I read this very nice post by Luisa over at Wednesday Chef. She wrote about one of my favorite food subjects-the joys eating alone. She mentioned some of her more unusual solo dining cravings, (mine is chocolate chip cookies dunked in OJ.) But the post centered around Aglaia Kremezi's recipe for Fried Potatoes with Yogurt Sauce, a perfect meal to eat by yourself. I eagerly printed it out. I love solo dining!

As I stood by the office printer pretending something work-related was being expelled, (hint: frown, impatiently tap foot, mutter "Clients!" angrily under breath), a thought stuck me. One that brought tears to my eyes. Real tears, guys.

I was never going to eat alone again. Ever. I had a full time job that demanded a lot of my attention, a 2-year-old who demanded even more of it and a husband that I needed to touch base with in order to stay sane. All of my meals were either rushed with a little guy running towards electrical outlets with metal objects, at a desk with a co-worker or with Fred, recounting our days. The only alone time I ever had was in the shower and even that was iffy since Walt had learned to open our lock-less bathroom door. My solo life was over! I was doomed.

I know. What an asshole, right? Someone call the Count Your Blessing Doctors because girlfriend needs a gratitude transfusion! Boo-hoo. I'm happily married with a healthy child and a good job in a crap economy. Wah-wah-wah I can't eat potatoes by myself. Poor me, poor me, pour me a drink.

Well, maybe not an asshole. Maybe just an overwhelmed mother who values alone time is all. Maybe a human being who dips her head into the Sorry For Herself vat because that's just what we do at times. Yeah, maybe that.

And you know what, I got alone again. Eventually Walt grew older and I learned to let go a little. He and Fred went to LA last summer without me and are going again next week. In preparation for their trip, I got out my old recipe bin and started digging for the potato recipe.

Then I had an inspirational thought. I call it inspirational because it wasn't selfish. Why not make the potatoes for Fred and Walt to try? I was planning on making Orangette's chana masala for dinner and thought a potato side would go well. So I did. And it did.

They were every bit as good as Luisa claimed them to be. The fried nuggets of potato with tangy sauce went down just as deliciously with my family as I'm sure they would have alone. But just to be sure, I'm making them again when Walt and Fred are in LA and I'm alone in the apartment. They'll be a perfect prelude to my chocolate chip cookie and orange juice dessert.

Fried Potatoes With Yogurt Sauce
borrowed from The Wednesday Chef

Fried Potatoes with Yogurt Sauce
Serves 1, or more if you're feeling inspired

3 Yukon Gold potatoes, or as many as you want to eat in a sitting
3 or 4 tablespoons olive oil or sunflower seed oil
1/2 cup plain yogurt (I used 2% Liberté, though the author says full-fat is better, just don't use use the thick, strained kind)
2 tablespoons crumbled Greek feta cheese
2 to 3 teaspoons Dijon mustard
Plenty of Aleppo pepper (I used close to a tablespoon)
1 tablespoon of white wine vinegar

1. Halve the potatoes lengthwise, then slice them slightly thinner than 1/8-inch. Fry them in the hot oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until golden brown in places. Drain them on three layers of paper towels.

2. Combine the yogurt, feta, mustard and pepper. Add the vinegar and stir well, until creamy. Put the potatoes on a plate with some of the sauce on the side and dip the forked potatoes into the sauce as you go. You might have sauce left over - a good excuse to fry up a few more potatoes tomorrow.

Summer

2011-08-05T06:57:00.000-07:00

I love this food season most of all. Time for fried chicken of the oven variety. My taste buds don't know the difference. My LDL count does.

Green beans. Or as Walt calls them, "the only thing I will eat because the chicken looks too scratchy and the mashed potatoes are weird and my heartless Mommy won't let me have pasta and jelly sandwiches every night for dinner."

There were also Mashed Potatoes with Caramelized Onions that are so easy and good. But no picture because I was in a hurry to get my mitts on the chicken.

What's your favorite summer meal?

If A Blog Falls In Posts, Does Anybody Read It?

2011-07-29T10:14:00.000-07:00

I haven't been writing here for a while. I've been suffering from a combination of inertia and busy. The winning-est combination ever! It's being stuck on the bumper car in the corner facing the wall, not going anywhere but gunning up all the energy in hopes you will. It's fun like sunburn.

Truth is, I also got a little bored with myself. Which is strange because I usually consider everything I do incredibly newsworthy. Did you know I put strawberries on my salad today? Or that I had a Dunkin' Donuts coffee on my way to work? You should!

But now I'm realizing that I miss this place. I miss writing here. It's good for my brain and my psyche. I'm going to start with a little re-design to stir the pot. (Can anyone help me with that? I'll pay you in pie and cash.) Also I'm going to try, TRY not to get caught up in the perfect posts and what not. This is the challenge for any half-serious blogger such as myself.

So here I go again. If you find me as fascinating as I find myself, I'll be in good shape.

I Had A Commerical In Africa...

2011-05-23T03:18:00.001-07:00

Using an Out Of Africa reference although the movie takes place in Kenya, not South Africa.
Because I WANT to be a stupid American.

For the past 2 weeks I've been in Johannesburg, South Africa working on a series of commercials for one of our clients. Most of the time has been spent in the hotel's business center working 15-hour days, dashing my fantasies of having my hair washed by a rugged hunter. As our production coordinator Galen reminded me, "It's a LOCATION not a VACATION." He shouted it, actually, just as he was boarding a plane to Cape Town to go swim with Great White Sharks or something.

We've had a little down time to take in the Apartheid Museum and later, a tour of Soweto and Nelson Mandela's house. Amazing, inspiring stuff. I only regret we didn't have a whole day in the museum because you really need it to take everything in.

Steven is a local from Alex who was hired to escort us around. He was really bummed we didn't have more time to see his city. One night he took us to a local restaurant where I got to try stywe pap. Pap is a local staple much like rice, potatoes and corn is in other cultures. It's made from ground maize and comes in a variety of consistencies. For dinner I had the one that's thick and bulky, much like mashed potatoes. It's intended to be picked up a lump with your hands and dip it into stews, which I did right before I used my knife and fork like the foreigner I was. Delicious! I also tried the bluish-black mielie pap, which tastes exactly like grits but is smoother.

This picture is courtesy of my friend Nanci, who had the presence of mind to BRING A CAMERA WITH HER on her visit to Africa, unlike a certain stupidstupidstupid blogger you know.

Our commercial schedule was aggressive. 5 days of constant go-go-go and all with kids under 10. It was also so much fun. I got to see a part of the world I've never seen, try things I never heard of and bond with co-workers I already liked but now ave the pleasure of knowing better. As I sit here in the airline lounge typing this, I throw up some gratitude for this experience.

Now get me home ASAP, South African Airlines. I miss my boys.

And Awaaaaaaay I Go!

2011-04-27T13:27:00.000-07:00

There are good things and bad things about being a work-in-an-office mom. The bad? Commuting. It takes up way too much time and you really can't multi-task. If you ever tried to shave your legs while hanging on to a metal subway pole you'll catch my drift. The good? Getting out of the house and co-mingling with other grown-ups. And not having to share my afternoon chocolate with a 3-year-old.

Then there's the both good and bad-like getting to travel. Having the company foot the bill to a nice hotel is awesome. So is being able to apply makeup without someone demanding I push a blue car around on the ground to "chase the bad guy police car." But it also means being away from that demanding someone, a someone I've grown quite fond of, as well as his larger counterpart. And that sucks.

I will be traveling for work over the next month. I'll be gone 10 days, then back about a week, then gone another 2 weeks. I'm excited. It's going to be a lot of fun! But I will miss my family lots. And you! Yes you, my fellow bloggers. I may not have much chance to write. So if you're wondering where I've gone, that's where.

I'll be back before I know it, right? Right? I promise to come home with a suitcase full of chocolate. And intentions to share.

I Believe George Michael Said It Best...

2011-04-23T13:52:00.000-07:00

I want Walt to believe in magic for a little while. Santa, the Tooth Fairy and tonight, The Easter Bunny. Mainly because it's giddy fun. I also think a belief in fairy dust and chocolate-bearing rabbits can plant the seeds for an attitude of optimism and hope. I know. Someone commit me to The Mary Poppins Institute For Mentally Deranged Childcare Givers.

Here me out. Believing in something you can't see but who brings joy can be a bridge to faith. And Oh! Do I want my son to have faith! In human goodness, in the power of hope and especially in a loving power who is greater than himself. I don't care if he calls it God like I do. Heck, he can call it Buddha or the ocean just as long as he doesn't think it's him. Because nothing has brought me more misery than thinking I can somehow control of the world and it's people. And nothing has brought me more peace than turning it all over to a power I call God. So I want Walt to be able to tap into this power whenever he's troubled, confused and especially when he's grateful.

I want this more for him more than I want him to have high IQ or the ability to shred a guitar like Slash. More than a stadium full of cheering fans or an Emmy for best writing in a comedy/variety series. More than a Noble Pulitzer Guggenheim Grant. Because really? None of that stuff will bring you peace like the ability to quietly reflect.

I will not will push it. I will not force it. I will never, ever shove this down his throat. I will take him to church for a few years and lay it gently at his feet. And if he decides to leave it behind, well, he can borrow my prayers when the shit hits the fan.

Much like believing in the Easter Bunny, faith in God can be a silly fantasy if I really think about it. So I don't. Because today my faith brings me a touch of pause and peaceful reflection every day. And if I die and find out it's all a rouse, what's the big deal? I've been a fool for lesser things. It's making my life so much better now-and now is all I've got.

Now if you'll excuse me, Walt and I are going to try to catch a showing of "Hop". Then we're going to buy him new shoes for church tomorrow. See how it all works together? No? Sigh. Me neither. But a Mama's gotta try.

Happy Easter to all who celebrate. Happy Happy to everyone else!

Meal Planning Q&A

2011-04-12T07:17:00.000-07:00

Since my last post about our family meal planning, people have written in and asked me several questions. Like this:

Q: Your meals have a lot of variety. Does Walt eat all of that?

A: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
(deep breath)HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

No.

Here's the deal. Walt gets whatever he wants for breakfast and lunch, within the reason of a parent who wants her kid to eat healthy but doesn't see anything wrong with Vans chocolate chip waffles. For dinner, I've decided that it's Fred's and my turn to eat what we want. So I choose things we enjoy and try to make sure there is at least one thing on the menu Walt can eat. He's never been a big dinner eater so if he only has 2 bites of peas and a spoonful of rice, I don't sweat it. We always let him have fruit for dessert, so usually he'll have a banana or a couple of slices of watermelon if he doesn't like our meal. But NO separate meals. He won't starve.

Q: Do you have any tips?

A: My aunt Kathy has a great one: Fellow menu-ites, take note. If you make a grid of your market, you can list your "usual" purchases, type it up, copy the list and - VOILA! - you have a list to pull out, highlight and run to the market with once a week.

I'm going to try this next week. I already know my staples: Milk, bread and a 20lb bag of Crunchy Cheetoes.

Q: What's for dinner this week?

A: One word: peas! I kinda went overboard on that vegetable this week. It's one of the few Walt likes and hey! They're delicious!

Here's our menu, April 9-15.

Saturday: Fish Tacos, Refried Beans, Avocado Salad.
Note: This was supposed to be our meal on Friday, but we went to a Family Movie Night at PS 9 and had pizza instead.

Sunday: Liana Krissoff's Chicken and Dumplings, Pea and Corn Medley

Monday: Tuna Casserole, Green Beans

Tuesday: Chicken Tikka Masala,(a recipe I got from Too Many Cooks, now defunct food blog), Basmati Rice, Peas

Wednesday: Mrs T's Pierogies, Sweet and Sour Cabbage, Spinach

Thursday: Pesto Orechiette with Italian Turkey Sausage (In this recipe? PEAS)

Friday: Macho Nachos, Homemade Guacamole

Cookies For Cancer

2011-04-09T17:14:00.001-07:00

One of my favorite food bloggers is Amy from Very Culinary. Her recipes excite me, her photography makes me want to eat my screen and her writing is not only bright and funny, but well edited and to the point. (Unlike someone I know, I say, pointing to myself.) So when she asked me to participate in a fund raising promotion, I said yes before I even knew it would entail video taping myself. Which tells you how much I like Amy, as I believe the only thing worse for society than my moving image is me hopped up on 14 shots of tequila with a handful of car keys and a hankering for a sack of White Castles.

Amy and her husband Paul put together this sweet video of a bunch of food bloggers to promote Cookies For Cancer, a fundraiser that matches funds made by bake sales and donates them to pediatric cancer research. Thanks to Amy and Paul for all of their work. It was great to be a part of the effort.

If you want to organize a bake sale for Pediatric Cancer and have your funds matched, go here for more information, and here to register your bake sale.

The Fam With The Plan

2011-04-04T13:14:00.000-07:00

We are puffing out our cheeks and taking the plunge. Throwing caution to the wind. Boldly going where we have never dared to tread.

Fred and I are planning weekly menus.

Are you picking yourself off the floor? Can you stand the excitement? Well, that's how we roll here in B to the Rook to the Lyn, folks.

I know, it's embarrassing. Here I am, thinking I'm this edgy New Yorker, when in reality nothing has made me happier than to sit down on a Saturday with a stack of cooking magazines and blog print-outs and plan our meals.

In the past we'd decide what we'd be having for the evening's dinner in the morning. Fred and Walt would go to the coop together, picking up any odds and ends we may need. It was all very European, including our attitude about Garish Americans and our attempts to pay with Euros.

But Walt's getting older and Fred has things to do. One weekly shopping trip appealed to him and I loved the idea of planning weekly meals.

Last week was the first week, and so far, so good. Fred did 2 shopping trips. A big one on Monday and a weekend one on Saturday. We're loving the way it's working out. I get to ensure we're eating vegetarian a few times a week. Plus I'm scouring our cabinets and using stuff that's been in there a while. Fred feels like some stress has been relieved.

All in all, yay for us. Boo for our cool factor.

Any suggestions or tips, fellow menu planners? Here's our menu for the week:

SATURDAY
Japanese Curry Rice with Chicken

SUNDAY
Little Bo Peep Pot Pie

MONDAY
Spicy Pork Chops, Caramelized Onion Mashed Potatoes, Green Beans

TUESDAY
Sophie's Chopped Salad, Corn, Rolls

WEDNESDAY
Thai Tofu With Zucchini, Red Bell Pepper and Lime, Rice

THURSDAY
Pasta with Turkey Meatballs, Roasted Asparagus

FRIDAY
Fish Tacos, Refried Beans, Avocado Salad

Fancy Dandies

2011-03-24T15:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Fred! Today he is mumble mumble mumble years old! I know, hard to believe. He looks cough! cough!

We are pulling out the stops and going to The Modern for dinner. It's the restaurant inside of the MoMA. I chose it because Fred is an artist, because they have beautiful views of the sculpture garden and because it went cute with his birthday gift-a MoMA membership.

I also chose The Modern because it's a Danny Meyer restaurant, and Danny never lets me down. One of my favorite restaurants is still Gramercy Tavern. I also adore Union Square Cafe and Blue Smoke.

In an act of blind faith, I made the reservation without really checking out the menu or reading any reviews. Until today. The good news is, the food gets raves as does the service. The not-so-good news? It's...fancy. Very fancy. As in silver domed plates delivered by various "stewards" as a "table captain" explains your food to you.

Fred and I are not fancy. We are simple folk who make homemade pizza with Pillsbury dough. We often eat without napkins and talk with our mouths full. Most of the restaurants we go to are nooky little places with dim lighting and a staff that calls your name when your hot dog is cooked.

Hey look pa! They done made fritters!

Not that we don't love a good meal. Or know how to behave. Or like getting dressed up. It's just that I'm a little intimidated by this place already. Why is that? It's a service place, run by a guy whose restaurants are renowned for their hospitality. So why the anxiety?

It's that damn table captain. I just know I'm going to salute him. Then the stewards will take away our silverware because we will be exposed for the hand-eating heathens we are.

No,no. We're going to have fun and enjoy it. Then we'll go home, pay the sitter, and explain to Walt why we won't be able to buy him books for college.

Little Bo Peep Pot Pie

2011-03-07T05:06:00.001-08:00

First, if you haven't already, maybe you can stop by redcross.org and donate relief funds for the victims of the Japanese disaster. I'm asking because it's good to help. Plus Japan is a place where I spent some very happy years of my childhood, so I know firsthand that it is wonderful place.

On the scale of kid eaters, Walt falls somewhere between PERFECT CHILD WHO WILL EVEN EAT DANDELION GREENS and CHILD VERGING ON A RAGING EATING DISORDER. Which is to say that he eats enough fruit (everything except citrus) and vegetables (red bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, peas, corn and green beans) to keep me happy. Well, as happy as a parent whose kid insists on pulling teeny-tiny flecks of eggplant out of the pasta sauce can be.

Getting him to try anything out of his comfort zone is tough. He pretty much freaks over anything leafy green. Even basil, although pesto is one of his favorite sauces! The logic of a 3 year old boy is...have you ever had one tell you a story? It begins "Once upon a time there was a princess" and ends with him having his toy dinosaurs eat one another while he asks for a yogurt.

A favorite bedtime story is "DW The Picky Eater", part of the Arthur series by Marc Brown. In the story, a little mouse girl named DW refuses to try anything new and especially hates spinach. But one day at a restaurant she reluctantly orders the "Little Bo Peep Pot Pie." She tries it, loves it, then finds out it's filled with "Lots and lots of spinach!" At which point Fred, Walt and I yell out, "You Got PUNK'D! because our tribe calls 'em like we see 'em.

He loves this story so much that I excitedly thought I could pass this recipe off as Little Bo Peep Pot Pie. Not only would I get him to eat spinach, but there's also crumbled veggie burger, mushrooms and beans! So I went to town.

I browned chopped mushrooms, onion, jalapeno pepper (seeds removed) until soft, then added the crumbled veggie burger.

I swirled together spinach, a can of black beans, jack cheese, egg and a little cream.

I put pie crust in a deep dish plate and layered the veggie burger mixture over it.

Followed by the green spinach mixture. Then I put another can of black beans over that.

Top it off. Brush with an egg wash. Bake.

Boom!

It looks kinda ugly, but it's DELISH. The original recipe calls for sausage instead of veggie burgers, and for black eyed peas. But as you just saw, you can mix and match the beans and meat part.

So...did he eat it?

Well, I forgot I had to work my Food Coop shift that evening. On those nights Fred gives Walt dinner and puts him to bed. When I get home around 8:45 or so Fred and I eat together. So rather than cook the pie early, risk Walt hating it, then having Fred and I eat cold pie, we gave him ravioli instead. So in true Walt fashion, he never even tried it. Though in all fairness not because his own 3-year-old control issues.

Another time, another chance to PUNK my kid.

Little Bo Peep Pot Pie
Ingredients:
1 uncooked pie crust
12 white mushrooms, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
8 oz. of charbroiled veggie burger, crumbled
1 jalapeno, seeded and diced
3 cups of raw spinach
2 15 oz. cans of black-eyed peas (or 3 cups)
6 oz. of Monterrey jack cheese
2 TBL fresh, chopped cilantro
2 large eggs
1/2 cup of cream
1/2 tsp of cayenne pepper

Cooking Directions:
Preheat oven to 350. Saute mushrooms and onion over medium-high heat. When onion is soft and the water has evaporated from the mushrooms, add the veggie burger and jalapeno. Lower the heat and let the flavors meld for about 10 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool.

Meanwhile, break out the Cuisinart again and combine the spinach, 1 can of beans (or 1/2 of the 3 cups), cheese, cilantro, 1 egg, cream and cayenne pepper. Run the motor until the mixture becomes a strange but delectable green paste, about 30 seconds.

Roll out 1 disc of pie dough on a floured surface and fit in your pie pan. Add all of the mushroom/onion/veggie burger mixture. Then cover that with the spinach mixture. Add the rest of the beans on top. Then roll out the other disc and cover the pie, making sure to cut vents in the top crust. Beat the other egg with about a tablespoon of water, then brush the egg wash over the pie. Bake for an hour, then let cool for 1/2 hour.

Is This Bad? Cooking Confessions.

2011-03-02T10:58:00.001-08:00

I have done things in my life. You know, things. Weird things, bad things, immoral things. Things that make me feel so ashamed I think about them and cringe. And all in one little room in my apartment. The kitchen.

Experience has taught me that admitting my wrongs to another human being can be liberating, educational and even spiritual. So I figured, why not confess them to all of you who read my blog? Maybe it will take some of the pressure off the next time I take the sponge we use to clean our dishes and mop the kitchen floor with it. Okay, there's one.

Here are some more. I have:

-Licked the spoon and stuck it back into the cake batter
-Used wilted, mucky basil in a pesto
-Frosted over the burnt cupcakes and then made sure I got one of the good ones
-Cut the mold off the cheese and served it
-Handled poultry and pork and didn't wash my hands before handling the vegetables
-Pulled cat hair from finished dishes
-Drank from the milk, juice and water containers
-Eaten all of the M&Ms that were potty training bribes
-Dropped it and plopped it back on the plate

And here are some kid ones. I have:
-Served a separate meal to my kid at our family dinner (one of those I SWEAR I'LL NEVER DO's) because I just wanted to eat my Pecan Crusted Trout in whine-free peace and Amy's microwaved mac 'n cheese isn't all that bad for him.
-Polished off the remaining mac n' cheese and told Walt he ate it all. Yeah, you totally did! All of it. Don't you remember, kid?
-Bought Dora the Explorer yogurt, Sponge Bob ice cream and Spider Man "fruit" snacks. (Day-glo colored snacks being another thing I used to be all judgey about before I had my own kid. )
-Only made my own baby food like, once.
-Let Walt eat peas off the dirty floor because hey, it's a vegetable.

From all of this you can conclude that:
1. You may want to carefully consider a dinner invite from me.
2. At times I will throw away any regard for nutrition or healthy eating in order to STOP THE WHINING
3. I am human.

Okay lovlies. Fess up. What have you done?

Have a great weekend, all!

The REAL Good American Wife

2011-02-17T12:35:00.000-08:00

Found via F@#ked in Park Slope. I love her.

City Rant: Joann from Bensonhurst: MyFoxNY.com

Love Is Grapefruit Juice In Your Eye

2011-02-13T14:03:00.000-08:00

When I first began this blog, I wrote mushy musings about my beloved husband Fred. I was a newlywed, after all. I eventually backed off the GREATEST HUSBAND IN THE WORLD stuff, realizing that I couldn't keep expecting my readers to clean barf out of their keyboards.

Plus, I read a lot of this kind of "I-have-the-greatest-husband" thing in other blogs and frankly, it tended to sound a little phony. Like the women were trying to convince themselves that if they said it enough, they'd believe it true. I know, I know. I'm a cynical hag. So I pulled back. None of that overwrought emotionalism for me!

But. Well. This Valentines Eve I'm going to risk sounding hollow, of being the instigator of rolling eyes and queasy stomachs, of contradicting the preceding paragraph. And I'm going to say that I didn't think it was possible to love Fred more than the day I married him. But after 5 years together, I puke-inducingly believe I do.

If you feel the same way about your partner, for chrissakes don't blog about it! Make him or her Creme Brulee Grapefruit instead. It's goes down smoothly and is a very simple recipe to boot. Not to mention it's good for nausea.

Cut and section a grapefruit or two.

Cover them in a mixture of melted butter, brown sugar and cinnamon, then top with a few fresh grates of nutmeg.

Stick under the broiler for 3 minutes, then top with a maraschino cherry.

Dig in and stare at each other like dopes. Happy Valentines Day!

Creme Brulee Grapefruit

2 large ruby red grapefruits
3/4 cup light brown sugar
2 TBL unsalted butter
1 tsp cinnamon
freshly grated nutmeg
4 maraschino cherries

Kick up your broiler. Half and section grapefruits. Put butter in microwave safe dish and nuke for 30 seconds or until melted. Mix it with the brown sugar and cinnamon, then spread thickly over grapefruit halves. Grate a sprinkle of nutmeg over the top. Put under a broiler for 3 minutes, until top is caramelized. Top each with a maraschino cherry.

How 'Bout We Compromise With 3 Little Doras?

2011-02-11T11:15:00.000-08:00

You try to be creative, but clients! They want what they want.

Divinity with Chicken Divan

2011-02-04T09:11:00.000-08:00

Barricade your arteries. Take your cholesterol levels to a safe place. While you're at it, you might want to cover your thighs and send your waistline underground. Because folks, this next recipe is a doozy. A doozy that is miles past decadent and no where, absolutely no where, within the vicinity of good health.

Ladies and gents, may I introduce... Chicken Divan, courtesy of Strawberry Cake.

Well, it does have broccoli. So there's that.

It also has butter. A stick of it. Don't hold the mayo. It gets a cup. And those thingies on top?

Hello! An entire can. The recipe called for half, but at that point, why hold back?

It's pretty easy to make, though it takes about a half-hour of prep plus another half-hour to bake, which pushes the recipe time up to an hour. So for me it's a weekend dish. Which is good, because I need a little recovery time before heading back to work.

Virginal chicken breasts and vegetables before being defiled with curried bechemel.

I tried to think of the perfect way to describe this, but I just start cursing. It's that good. And when I served it over egg noodles? I start talking in tongues.

So if you've spent all week eating dry salads for lunch and broiled fish for dinner, if you got up and ran 8 miles this morning, if you rarely eat sugar or highly saturated fats...then you probably wouldn't like this. But if you enjoy a luscious, melty, divine dish of comfort, please make this immediately.

You can find the Chicken Divan recipe, along with some other great finds at the Strawberry Cake blog here.

Parenting Philosophies, We're Through

2011-01-26T12:48:00.000-08:00

Alright, Parenting Philosophies, we're done. Finished. Through. We are breaking up and no, you can't stop by to pick up your freakin' Weezer CD.

Yes, we've been done for a while. But this recent Tiger crap just made me realize how over you I've been. The fact that the Yale professor didn't bother me made me realize how far I've come. I found her funny.

My attitude about this didn't just happen. It was cultivated during the months of Walt's first year. First, there were countless articles on breastfeeding, which I believe I read in some sort of post-partum self-torture state since I couldn't breastfeed much in the first place.

Then there was the entire Attachment Parenting inundation, fueled by a lot of well-meaning friends, most of who are very happy with family beds and babywearing. For a while I thought I was selfish for finding this method stifling. But then I realized, with help from the same well-meaning friends who loved AP, that it just wasn't for me. It's a beautiful way to parent but Mama needs her space. So does my kid. He always slept better and more peacefully by himself.

Oh, then there was Crying It Out, which I screwed up and felt crappy about, then I stuck to it and felt crappy about. And let's not forget that damn feeding your baby book that claimed if I gave my kid seaweed milkshakes he'd never get sick.

When Walt hit 1 I realized that I was driving myself and Fred crazy with this spazzy dance of what's right and wrong. I put the books down and started relying on instinct.

Here's the thing. There are so many factors that determine how my child is going to turn out. From genetics to his society to stuff I can't even conceive. This is why EVERY PIECE OF PARENTING RESEARCH is inconclusive. EVERY philosophy, theory, bit of research concerning kids has a jillion holes in it. Even breastfeeding research! No one can say with 100% accuracy that one thing works and another doesn't.

So frankly, I think anyone who claims he or she has the lock on how a child should be raised is ultimately trying to sell an industry at most or at the very least increase their blog hits.

Yes, I'm done with you, all of you. I'd say it's been fun but really? It wasn't. Not for a second. It's much more fun to feed my kid Kit Kats, put him to sleep in his own bed and let him hang out on window ledges.

Keys To The Beandom

2011-01-17T14:45:00.001-08:00

I have the day off for MLK day. This morning I asked Fred what he wanted for dinner.

"Something that tastes like freedom and equality."

"Aw, man! I was hoping to make Nazi Casserole."

"Or KKKasserole."

"Or Segregation Stew."

Welcome to our home. Where even one of the most revered men in history is honored with Nazi jokes and more!

For dinner I was leaning towards something with beans. In a way, aren't beans the great meal equalizer? They are eaten by both socialists and capitalists, the undermined and the oppressors. They are a staple in back road country cookin' and in high class French recipes. They make everyone gassy, no matter her race, creed, color, sex or sexual orientation. So in honor of MLK, let's raise our legumey forks, shall we?

We like beans in the Stesney house. Even Walt for the most part. He's at the age where color is a big deal in his food. Black, brown and red beans are fine, but white or any other light color are, in his eloquence, "Phhhlt!!" He knows this because he's tried them. By trying them I mean he barely touches his tongue to his fork before convulsing into full-on body heaves.

Oh 3-years-old! Sometimes you're as much fun as being trapped in a bag of feral kittens.

We settled on Cuban Red Beans and Rice. It's extra delicious because you use bacon and pimenton de la vera, smoked Spanish paprika. We have both diablo (hot) and the dulce (mild) versions, using dulce for dishes we know Walt will eat. If you've never tried pimenton, you aren't missing out on one of the great mysteries of life, but your dishes may be more lifeless than they need to be.

Another frequent guest on our dinner plates is this Chicken with White Beans and Tomatoes recipe from Real Simple. The roasted tomatoes added nice depth and mingle well with the rich chicken thighs. Fresh oregano makes a big difference, though we've made it with dried and it's still good. If I cooked with wine I'd of added a splash before cooking but alas, I can't do that for fear of turning into back the kind of broad who wakes up with a lit cigarette in her mouth. And no idea how it got there.

The recipe is so easy I could make it with a toddler tied to my leg, which I kinda did. We didn't round out the meal with a salad or another vegetable, so we left the table mildly unsatiated. Even though we split Walt's uneaten portion because of the (gag!) white beans. He only ate the cherry tomatoes, and only the ones that weren't lovely and deflated.

For something greener, there's this other favorite-Kale and White Bean stew. It also has bacon. Why let healthy get in the way of healthy, I say! Again, very good and easy. Again, has enough white beans to make a certain member of our family whine for a gallon of milk and some string cheese.

So there you go. Enough bean recipes to prove I'm not all that horrid. Tune it for the next 3-day-weekend, when Fred and I make unfounded gay jokes at Lincoln's expense.

White Bean Stew with Greens
from Family Circle Magazine, October 2008

Ingredients
* 4 slices bacon, cut crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces
* 1 small onion, chopped
* 2 cans (15.5 ounces each) cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
* 1 teaspoon chopped fresh rosemary
* 1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
* 1 bunch kale, rinsed, trimmed and cut into 1-inch pieces (about 7 cups)
* 1/8 teaspoon each salt and black pepper

Directions
1. Cook bacon in a Dutch oven over medium heat for 6 minutes or until crisp; remove with a slotted spoon and set aside.

2. Add onion to pot and cook for 5 minutes or until softened. Stir in beans and rosemary and cook 1 minute. Add broth to pot; bring to simmer.

3. Stir kale into beans in pot and cover; cook 5 minutes. Remove cover and stir kale until wilted. Stir in reserved bacon, salt and pepper. Serve immediately.

Nasty Cute is Seriously Funny

2011-01-05T09:45:00.000-08:00

Eliza Skinner can always make me squirt milk out of my nose. Her latest 365project is a Tumblr blog called NastyCute: The nastiest thoughts of the cutest animals. Check it out.

Holiday Greetings

2011-01-01T13:35:00.000-08:00

I think every happily married woman has an occasion when she looks at her husband and thinks something to the tune of, "Really? I married that guy?" Okay, maybe not all of us. Maybe not Ayelet Waldman.

It happens to me when my husband does something that I think is quite strange. Like how he stretches out his long legs on the subway and people have to step over them. Or lets one rip in front of my parents. Or actually understands and enjoys science. He can be so different from who I am, I wonder how the hell we got to the point where we spent close to 20K on a big party to celebrate the fact that we were consolidating our silverware drawers for life.

Then he goes and does something strange and wonderful. Like insisting we have "concepts" for our Christmas cards. Ones that may be offensive to some of my relatives. And it's so different from who I am, I wonder how the hell I got so lucky.

Our first card together was cute. Maybe too cute.

The next year we had Walt. Rather than do a typical cute kid card, (which I happen to love), Fred went out and bought costumes, had his photographer friend come over and even timed the photo shoot to be when he knew Walt would be fussy.

This card evoked one relative to send me a card with an angelic baby Jesus on it. Inside she told me, "this is how a baby should look on a Christmas card". I was embarrassed. Fred was thrilled.

BUT we took her advice the next year and put our baby in a place that was relevant and respectful:

Everyone loved this card. Even my super Southern Baptist relatives.

Last year we had a concept, costumes, the whole shebang. But Walt was 2 and hadn't developed enough to where he could be bribed. So we did a newsletter.

I know you can't really read it so here is an excerp: AUGUST. Another giant squid attack. We can still go to the supermarket, but now we know to stay out of aisle 3.

If you email me, I'll send you the jpeg. The overall reaction to this was a big HUH?

This year we decided to embrace our ecumenical side. After all, we live in Brooklyn. It's my favorite of the bunch.

On January 21, Fred and I will celebrate 5 years of marriage. Life isn't perfect. (refer to farting in front of parents.) But we are happy. We love our life together. Fred is very vocal about this and tells me this almost daily. It's nothing I would ever think to do. Thank God we're different.

The Way The Cookie Crumbles

2010-12-15T10:04:00.000-08:00

You know her. She's that very noxious little Perfectionist who lives in your head. Mine loves to indulge me with a constant steam of criticism about the tiniest things, like those 2 pounds I've after a bout with some heavy meals or the way my fashion sense mirrors a McDonald's employee uniform. She gets especially loud about the things I hold especially dear-my mothering, my intelligence, my cooking. My hair.

What a creep.

This time of year is her Shining Moment. There are so many things to denounce! That gift for Sarah is stupid. Why don't you have a Christmas tree, Lazybones? Those cookies you made suck.

It's time to kick her in the nuts, people. And I'm talking pistachio nuts. Like the ones I used to try to make Martha Stewart's Chocolate Pistachio Cookies. The ones that are supposed to look this this:

But when I got my oven mitts on the recipe, they turned out like this:

I tried, but around the 24th step I gave up. The lesson learned here is to avoid any baking recipe that requires a double boiler, an Ateco #10 piping tool and the absence of a full time job, a time-crunched weekend and a 3-year-old little boy who is going through a bit of an Oedipal period right now. ("Mommy, hold me! Mommy kiss me! Daddy, FALL ON THIS SWORD so I can be with Mommy!") Sorry Martha, but this one was obviously over my head. The cookies tasted pretty good, though a bit soggy.

Speaking of little boys, he had a great time helping me with my next recipe.

At the time of this photo, there is a pound of sugar in his stomach.

I abandoned all that fussy stuff and used Nigella's basic sugar cookie recipe with tips from Melissa Clark on how to decorate. I love Melissa Clark for many reasons, but this video instructing me not to go nuts over sugar cookie decor puts her in top ranks with me. I even used icing from a can! Here are our cookies, inspired by her.

Walt's in in the upper right hand corner, in case you're wondering. My other cookies turned out great. I make these Brown Butter Spoon cookies every year, so I'm a pro.

Finally, I made these Iced Oatmeal Applesauce cookies (below) from a kinder, gentler Martha recipe. And wouldn't you know, the easiest recipe was the one people loved the most. I got more compliments on these than any other cookie. It just goes to show that pleasing others is a lot easier than I think it is. And that Perfectionist, eh-she's never happy. In fact, I'm going to let my hair go gray over the holidays just to get her goat.

The Pie To Try

2010-12-13T08:10:00.000-08:00

The Event: A Brooklyn Preschool Bake Sale. The Challenge: Be A Volunteer Baker. I stuck my arm up in the air and waved it all around while my butt lifted a few inches off of the chair. "ME! ME! Pick ME!" Not that there was a rush of volunteers or anything like that. In fact, they were appreciative of anyone who would bake. But it's a thing I do: turn completely friendly, innocuous events into competitions. Ones where no one else is competing Because that is how you win.

And I did a little ho-hum recipe from Bon Appetit which yielded 2 of these:

Oh, this old thing? It's nothing. It's called Apple Pie with Oat Streusel. Just a little something I whipped up for a bake sale. La-di-da.

I should mention that the picture above makes my life look way more quaint than it has ever been. My messes are rarely that art directed. It seems like it was made by the kind of woman who looks stunning with ruffled hair and flour on her nose, unlike yours truly who only looks like she's been on a coke binge.

And honestly, I didn't exactly whip it up. It took a few hours. And I had to use my Cuisnart twice. And I had to go out and buy ground cloves. But will you look at it? Isn't it pretty? And if you think it looks good, you should taste it. The topping is sort of like the best oatmeal you've ever had. Buttery and rich, with a crunchy top that yields to soft baked apples. Served warm with vanilla ice cream, it's heaven. Served with with caramel sauce spooned lightly over the top, it's insane. (I made another one later.)

I dropped off the pie with a batch of cookie bars. Yes, I made 2 separate things for the bake sale because I'M IN IT TO WIN IT. I'm not sure if anyone bought my pie, but I do know they raised over $450. So I guess (eye roll) everyone's a winner. So is this recipe. Give it a try.

Chrismas Cheer

2010-12-03T11:04:00.000-08:00

Some fear the holidays with the intensity of a thousand Hallmark singing penguins. Others joyfully dive headfirst into vats of eggnog-flavored coffee creamer. That's me. I love it all-even the vapid consumerism and droning Christmas Carols. There are many reasons. Our family tradition of doing crazy Christmas cards, my love of the Starbucks red cups, the new found ability to threaten Walt with Santa's ire. Plus my mom gave me an early Christmas gift of one of these babies, so you know I'm going to hit the baking circuit pretty hardcore.

This weekend I'll be baking with Walt. We'll mainly be worshipping at the alter of Martha Stewart, but any other recipes are welcome in the comments. So bring it, people!

I have visions of the two of us in matching aprons, gleefully sprinkling red sugar over cookie dough shaped like stars while he tells me how this will be a cherished memory. Then I read Kim's blog and come down from my crack high. I know the outcome will likely involve cookie dough on the ceiling and possibly a time out for pressing metal shaped like gingerbread men into the cat. But I'm still excited.

I just hope he's feeling better. We did the TERRIBLE PARENT thing of sending him to school even though he sounded kinda sick this morning. But he's had a cold for a while and even though he was a little warm, he's always a little warm. We have a hot-blooded kid. He was also running all around the house, jumping on the bed and chasing the cat as usual. We debated keeping him home but he truly seemed okay. And um, well, Fred really needed to get our Christmas photos to the printer and would have an easier time of it without having to drag around a 3-year-old. So there's that.

About an hour after dropping him off Fred got THE CALL. Walt has a 101 degree temperature and Fred needs to pick him up. So yes, we are those parents. The good news is that there's no need to participate in the class gift exchange because Walt's probably given the entire class influenza. Happy Holidays!

That's the downside of loving Christmas. Sometimes the enthusiasm outweighs stuff like good parenting. Good thing it only comes once a year.

Why I Love New York City

2010-11-12T11:26:00.000-08:00

I'm walking up the West 4th Street subway steps. There in corner of the third step from the top, is a used Qtip. USED. As in a yellowish brown substance coats the cotton swabs on each side of the stick. The stuff of small bathroom trashcans and maybe on a lazy night, a night stand. But on the steps of a subway station? Who? How? Why?

Good Lord New York City. Even when you disgust me, you amaze me.

Eggplant Bolognase

2010-10-20T09:57:00.000-07:00

I'm not one of those people who thinks my gut feeling is always right. Sometimes it's wrong. For your reference please see my Janet Jackson "Control" college hairdo, my career foray into knock-off designer perfume sales and every guy I dated in the nineties. Oh. And this pasta dish I made.

It sounded so deliciously hearty. Bolognase, but with vegetables. Stewy eggplant and tomatoes tossed with a twisty maze of pasta. Eggplant has a lot of heft, so sauce will be chunky, meaty, glorious. My instincts tingled at the mere thought. And think of all the fat and calories I'm saving! My heart beat faster, knowing it would not get slowed by a glut of saturated fats. Plus I thought it was a clever way to get Walt to eat eggplant. He'd never know! I knew, just knew this one was going into the archives.

Sadly, this recipe is going to end up where it started. Stuck in the Cooking Light magazine from whence it came. This was a very nice vegetable sauce but it was no bolognase. The eggplant was strong enough to dull the flavor of the tomatoes, but not enough to make up for the lack of sirloin. It wasn't bad by any means, but if I'm going with a vegetarian sauce I want to taste all of the vegetables.

Walt was on to my Jessica Seinfeld schemes and saw right through the mushy eggplant's disguise. I tried called the eggplant Mickey Mouse food and he gave me a look that can only be described as withering. He carefully picked around the pasta with the precision of a surgeon. Is there medical school in his future? My gut tells me he's more likely to be a creative person than a doctor. But I've been wrong before.

Going Going Solo at Go Go Curry

2010-10-08T12:30:00.000-07:00

Last month Fred and Walt went to LA without me, so I got to be single for a week. Meaning I did a lot of chasing after unavailable men and crying in the shower. Followed by a fistful of Lean Cuisines and a box of Pink Zinfandel.

Kidding! I only planned on doing those things. They didn't pan out.

I actually went on a Friday night date with myself. Just me, no one else. It has been years since I've done something like this and I couldn't wait. I was craving solitude, yet wanted to be out in NYC doing something. So off I went to dinner and a show.

For dinner, I went to the marvelous Go Go Curry. It came highly recommended from AmeriCurry, a site dedicated to finding the best Japanese curry in the world. I love their take on curry, because I had the ultimate Japanese kairee raisu experience here.

When I entered this tiny joint, I felt like I was in a Tokyo curry house. A Japanese game show was blaring from the TV in the window and there were quite a few Japanese customers digging in. I had the Walk(small) Katsu(fried pork cutlet) curry with Fukuzinzuke.(Japanese pickles). But I had them hold the annoying parenthesis after each item.

The curry was, in a word, perfect. Warm, comforting, mildly spiced gravy soaking up a mound of sticky Japanese rice. The katsu was crunchy on the outside and juicy on the inside. The gingery pickles added a swift kick.

I sat along the seats facing the wall, staring up at clippings from Japanese newspapers and magazines, pretending to read. I had decided not to bring a book, thinking I wanted to savor my meal without distraction. It was a good choice, but I was grateful to glance up and see writing.

Afterwards I caught The Stepfathers show. I've had the privilege of performing with some of the members of this troupe, and it was great to see them thrill the audience. I forgot how much I loved improv. That is, when it's well done. Bad improv is excruciating. Trust me, I've performed it! She says as she laughs uproariously while people stare at her with pity.

What a great night! There is such a joy in being alone. Of not having to check with someone else's order so we don't get the same thing, or having to ask if it's okay to stop at this deli for MnMs. So very freeing and open.

And then.

I came home to an orderly, dark house. You think I'd be thrilled. No tiny metal cars to slip on. No juice cups to pry off the window sill. But it was empty. Too empty. I missed the mess. I missed having the light left on for me, then climbing next to a mound in our bed and whispering, "You awake?" I missed my family. I was lonely. And a little scared.

When did this happen? I used to love being alone all the time! Seriously, this has really snuck up on me. Being by myself for long periods of time was part of who I was. Now I'm this mushy Hallmark card of a human who needs a night light. It's a little weird, but it also feels very good. Because it means my life fits me pretty well right now.

Besides, I never really liked Lean Cuisines.

Pesto-Chango!

2010-09-12T12:29:00.001-07:00

Picture, recipe and mood-altering delicious recipe courtesy of Bon Appetit magazine

There are times when the subway to work is especially shovey, when Walt increases his already constant demands by 35%, when everyone at works needs revisions in the next 5 minutes, when it's 9AM and I've already eaten all my WW points. In times like these, I am sucked into the sludge, using all my energies to grunt ahead and merely survive.

I'm a really Pretty Fairy during these times. I grumble and grouse, and lord do I hate people. Everyone is a selfish a-hole who is getting in my way. I don't think I'm alone in this. It's natural to occasionally feel overwhelmed and stressed and have the urge to poke people with pins.

Miraculously, I can over come it with a simple shift in thought, a new perspective. It's easy! Like running knee-deep in peanut butter is easy.

For me, a change in attitude takes time and grace, neither of which I control. Speeding it along isn't impossible-practicing prayer and meditation helps. But really, these things can't be forced. I have to just wait it out. I'll feel better later. Things will fall into place. And hopefully I'll stop being such a fuming vat of vile.

Fortunately a change in food perspectives is much easier. All it takes is a new recipe, like this one I found for Corn Pesto in Bon Appetite last month. I was skeptical yet intrigued. CORN pesto? What on Earth? Pesto is basil! This is wrong! What could it possibly taste like? I decided to give it a go, thinking it would probably be too sweet but I had to try it.

They had me shuck a few ears of corn and saute it with garlic and bacon drippings.

Then they had me whirl it with Parmesan and pine nuts, then toss it with a tangle of tagliatelle, bacon and basil. With one bite, my mood lifted and I saw life in all its beauty. The sweetness of corn, the confidence of bacon, the serene sharpness of basil all came together. Glorious music filled our dining room, with the scrape, scrape, scrape of forks against plates providing the base line.

Sometimes a new way to make something delicious equals a new outlook on life. My shoulders un-hunch, my face opens up and the kindness of others is as obvious as giving up your subway seat to someone just because she is standing weary with her eyes closed. Okay, I'm totally gilding the lily here, but this stuff is good! It may not completely lift you out of your funk, but I'll bet it will make things seem a little more bearable for at least an hour. And sometimes, that's all we need.

Tagliatelle with Fresh Corn Pesto
Bon Appetit, August 2010
Recipe by Ian Knauer
Photograph by Nigel Cox

NOTE: I realize corn season is over. Sorry. I waited too long to post this. But I think it will be good with frozen kernels. Maybe not as sweet, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing if you prefer savory meals. Also, I think this would be a great starter for a dinner party.

Ingredients

4 bacon slices, cut lengthwise in half, then crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces
4 cups fresh corn kernels (cut from about 6 large ears)
1 large garlic clove, minced
1 1/4 teaspoons coarse kosher salt
3/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese plus additional for serving
1/3 cup pine nuts, toasted
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
8 ounces tagliatelle or fettuccine
3/4 cup coarsely torn fresh basil leaves, divided

Preparation

Cook bacon in large nonstick skillet over medium heat until crisp and brown, stirring often. Using slotted spoon, transfer to paper towels to drain. Pour off all but 1 tablespoon drippings from skillet. Add corn, garlic, 1 1/4 teaspoons coarse salt, and 3/4 teaspoon pepper to drippings in skillet. Sauté over medium-high heat until corn is just tender but not brown, about 4 minutes. Transfer 1 1/2 cups corn kernels to small bowl and reserve. Scrape remaining corn mixture into processor. Add 1/2 cup Parmesan and pine nuts. With machine running, add olive oil through feed tube and blend until pesto is almost smooth. Set pesto aside.
Cook pasta in large pot of boiling salted water until just tender but still firm to bite, stirring occasionally. Drain, reserving 1 1/2 cups pasta cooking liquid. Return pasta to pot. Add corn pesto, reserved corn kernels, and 1/2 cup basil leaves. Toss pasta mixture over medium heat until warmed through, adding reserved pasta cooking liquid by 1/4 cupfuls to thin to desired consistency, 2 to 3 minutes. Season pasta to taste with salt and pepper.
Transfer pasta to large shallow bowl. Sprinkle with remaining 1/4 cup basil leaves and reserved bacon. Serve pasta, passing additional grated Parmesan alongside.

Like A Marathon. A Comedy Nerd Marathon.

2010-09-01T14:34:00.000-07:00

Every year I participate in NaSkeWriMo, an initiative started by the lovely, talented, go-getter named Michelle. It's painful, forcing myself to try to write 30 funny sketches in 30 days, but it's so inspiring and in the end, I'm always feel like I've really accomplished something. Even if that something is offending the very few people who still call me "friend."

Feel free to check out my sketches here.
Or visit the NaSkeWriMo facebook page here.

It's on, suckers!

3 Years & Buckets of Joy

2010-08-30T07:40:00.000-07:00

WARNING: This is a stereotypical mommy blog tribute to her kid post. If this sort of thing makes you puke, Good Lord man, STOP READING NOW.

Hey Walt! You're 3! Today!

One of your best buddies is Nicholas. I like to say you two have a "Love/Hit" relationship. (Eat your heart out, Henny Youngman)

Your favorite foods are macaroni & cheese and pizza, which is unique since most kids your age prefer beef carpaccio and spinach souffle.

You love building the track formations for your trains. You are a wiz with puzzles, especially of the giant floor variety.

If you want me to hold you, you say, "I wanna pick you up." If we say you can't have something, ("No Walt, you can't have ice cream right now,") you yell, "YES. I. AM!"

When we ask you what is daddy's name, you say, "Fred." When we ask you what is mommy's name, you say, "Honey."

Every morning I hear you wake up. Usually you start talking a little, demanding I come into your room. Then I hear the pat-pat-pat of little feet scurrying to my bedside. I open my eyes and see you carrying your Me-Me (security blanket) and a pillow. I move over. You close your eyes for a minute and every morning, EVERY MORNING, I think maybe you'll fall back asleep. And every morning, EVERY MORNING, it's a matter of quick minutes before you whisper, "Waffle, Mommy?"

You are not outgoing but you are not a loner. In fact, your dislike of being alone makes the threat of sending you to your room a real punishment. You will usually begin behaving immediately after we issue said threat. I'm banking on this working for the next 15 years. I think I'm going to be disappointed.

Sometimes I'll look over at you and smile, and then we'll both just start cracking up for no reason.

Despite the fact that you begin about 89% of your sentences with, "I want...", that getting you dressed is a fun game only you are playing, despite the absolute tedium of having to read the epic, "Curious George Flies A Kite" for the fourteenth time and despite your penchant for 5:30AM wake-up calls ...every day your dad and I remark on what a good little boy you are and how lucky we are to have you.

Pass the spinach souffle, kiddo. We're celebrating!

(Video below: notice he blows out pretend candles.)

In And Out

2010-08-13T10:47:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I forget to breathe.

I get so caught up in getting out the door and through the other door, picking up my dry cleaning, going home to clean the litter box, thinking about the next thing to eat or buy or return or get pedicured and worse, fearing things I can’t control. It all has a way of compressing my diaphragm and pressing down my breath, you know?

The other day I was doing a scratch track for a video we were producing for our clients. In case you don’t know, in my business a scratch track is a non-mixed, usually nonprofessional voice over for a commercial used to gage how the words work with the visual.

The editor set my voice over his cut and once I got over the 2^nd grade embarrassment of hearing my own voice, I could hear it. I was talking until there was nothing left, barely pushing out the last few words for lack of oxygen in my lungs.

After that experience, I started trying to remember. Deep breathes when my mind starts spinning. Slow intakes of air on crampy subway car. Relaxing exhales when I open my bag of microwave popcorn and fear a stray kernel will fly out and BURN ME FOR LIFE.

And you know what? Feels pretty good. They are like mini-meditations, these breathes. Reminding me to slow down, accept my current status and stop being so afraid.

Though I think I’ll always fear flying popcorn. That shit’s scary.

Step Away From the Lasagna, Kale!

2010-07-24T12:31:00.000-07:00

Luscious, innocent lacinato kale...minutes away from being defiled.

Failure is never satisfying. Unless you're watching Gwyneth Paltrow fail. Then it's satisfying and hilarious! But when it's your own failure, it bites the big one. Although when failure involves a cooking fiasco, no one's biting anything.

It all began leftover mascarpone cheese. Whenever I have something good like this lingering in my fridge, I get a nagging fear that I'm going to open that $6 tub of imported Italian cheese and come face-to face with green, fuzzy Science At Its Grossest. So I decided to take action and make a super rich lasagna.

I borrowed from Martha Stewart's Spinach and Wild Mushroom lasagna and added my own twist. Since I would be mixing the slightly sweet mascarpone with ricotta, I decided my greens needed a hint of bitterness to balance out the dish. I bought a beautiful bunch of lacinato kale with the intention of mixing it with some spinach. Only, there was so much kale I didn't need spinach.

But oh, did I need the spinach.

I was also making a smaller pan than the Martha Stewart recipe, so I decided to cut the bechemel sauce recipe by 50%;

This was 100% wrong.

I made and assembled the entire dish while Walt was napping on Sunday afternoon. I used the "bake in oven" lasagna noodles that I always use with success. It crossed my mind that I should cook it and let it cool, but nah! I covered it and put it in the fridge for about 4-5 hours. Then baked it for an hour.

Not good.

The result was a dry, disappointing mess. I had sauteed the kale beforehand and then it baked into slimy green, overcooked bitterness. The noodles where unpleasantly chewy and there wasn't enough sauce to bind everything together. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck. I didn't have the heart to take a picture, I was so dejected.

Even Fred couldn't choke down a second helping, and that's bad, folks. This is a guy who normally eats an entire pan of lasagna without having his fork touch the plate.

Cook. Learn. Live. (Take that, Elizabeth Gilbert! Hoo-ya!) It's all part of the kitchen cycles. I will say that the leftovers where a little better, but that could be due to the fact that I brought them to work for my lunch and was very hungry. Or maybe it's because time can failure can go down a little easier.

Sunday Lunch & Fridge Cleaning Combo

2010-07-18T13:18:00.001-07:00

In our fridge is a small hunk of mozzarella left over from the pizza Fred made on Friday night. There are also 2 pieces of bread left in the cellophane bag. They are assembled as such and thrown into the broiler.

There is half a pint of cherry tomatoes remaining from this dish. They are sliced.

From our Thai dinner on Tuesday there is some chopped basil. It is turning the darkest green at the edges, on the verge of entering herb heaven. (Pronounced eh-ven.) As always, there is mayonnaise lurking in the corner on the top shelf. Both mayo and on-the-verge basil are thrown into the mini-Cusi.

Ding! Cheese toast is ready. (In reality there is no ding, only the faint smell of toast on its way to the burn unit.)

Smear on the basil mayo, top with tomatoes.

Pour the morning's coffee over ice and make it extra sweet and milky. Ta-da! Sunday lunch, courtesy of a week of dinners.

It was one of the best thrown together things I've eaten in a while. What have you thrown together lately that turned out great?

Get Rich Quick: Potential In Mascarpone & Others

2010-07-10T17:33:00.000-07:00

There was once this boy I liked in junior high. My best friend thought I was weird because he was still a little baby fat plump. But I thought he had something. Being we were in junior high, our mutual admiration involved sharing pizza slices in the cafeteria and lightly shoving one another with our shoulders, arms filled with books.

The following year was our first year in high school, and over the course of his hiking and camping summer this boy had obviously turned into, if not a man, a manly boy. He was brawny and chiseled and gorgeous. My bff and other gals had the major hots for him that year. I felt very wise and more than a little gloaty.

Today I sympathize with their oversight, for I recently had the same experience with mascarpone.

Forgive me mascarpone. I never knew. I thought you were only meant to be stuffed in cannolli, spread among ladyfingers covered in a sheath of espresso and brandy, sitting quietly in a pudding bowl. Maybe drizzled with honey and or topped upon roasted fruit.

I had no idea that you TOTALLY KICK ASS in risotto.

I was living under a one-recipe risotto rock. Not that butter and Parmesan make risotto taste vile, it’s just…just…this cream is so dreamy. Fred and I followed our bites of this Annie Somerville dish with so many “Oh!”s and “Mmmm”s it was practically inappropriate. The best thing is that the cheese does not overpower the freshness of the tomatoes and basil. And although I’m not shy about using canned tomatoes or nothin’ like that, I strongly, even forcibly, lean on you to follow Ms. Somerville’s advice and use the summeriest plump-fresh tomatoes you can find to make your Arborio sing.

Naturally, this is incredibly rich and thus, would make a lovely starter to a lighter main course of say, grilled fish. I'm saying this like I'm all civilized when in fact Fred and I ate the entire pan between the two of us, scrapping up bits and bites and eating them off the large wooden serving spoon. We are not wimpy about culinary decadence 'round these parts.

Oh, and the boy? He decided he was going to play the field of 15-year-olds that had been placed before his newly toned face and body. And so ends the chapter titled "And Is This The Thanks I Get?!"

Ah, bygones, dears, bygones. I've got a warm bowl of richness and a husband to share it with me. And if I keep cooking like this, I think he's gonna stay put.

Summer Risotto with Tomatoes, Mascarpone and Basil
adapted from Everyday Greens by Annie Somerville, Scribner 2003

You don’t need much mascarpone to make this dish. In fact, I still have most of a container in my fridge. Any suggestions? I realize now the potential!

About 6 cups of vegetable or chicken stock
3/4 pint of ripe, little cherry tomatoes, about 1 1/2 cups, cut in half
1/2 lb flaorful rip tomaties, cored, seeded and cut into large pieces, about 1 cup
3 TBL extra-virgin olive oil
30-40 basil leaves, bundled together and cute into thin ribbons, about 1/2 cup
2 TBL unsalted buter
2 medium leeks, white parts only, cut in half lengthwise, sliced and washed, about 2 cups
1 TBL minced garlic
1/2 lb Arborio oor Canaroli rice, about 1 cup
1/3 cup white wine or 1 TBL white wine vinegar
1/4 cup mascarpone cheese
1/2 ounce Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, grated, about 2 or 3 TBL, plus more to garnish
salt and pepper

Make or heat the stock, keep it warm over low heat.

Toss all the tomatoes together in a mixing bowl with 2 TBL of the oil and 2 TBL of the basil. Season with 1/4 teaspooon of salt, a pinch of pepper, and set aside.

Heat the butter and remaining oil in a large saute pan and stir in the leeks, garlic, 1/2 teaspoon of salt and a pinch of pepper. Cook over medium heat until the leeks are soft, about 3 minutes. Add the rice and cook 1 to 2 minutes, stirring constantly. Add the stock 1 cup at a time, stirring gently, allowing the rice to absorb each cup before ading more. After the rice has absorbed 2 cups of stock, add the vinegar or white wine, lower the heat to medium low, and cook, continuing to add the stock 1 cup at a time, until the rice is tender. The grains of rice should be a little toothy and the rice quite saucy.

Add the cheeses, the tomatoes, and 1/4 cup of the basil and cook until the tomatoes are just heated through. Adjust the seasoning with salt and pepper. Garnish each serving with a little Parmesan and the remaining basil.

Chilaquiles

2010-06-27T11:31:00.000-07:00

One of my recipe pet peeves is when I flip upon a "30 Minute Meal!" and one of the first ingredients is "2 cups of cooked, cubed chicken." Who has this laying around? Who? Oh, I know. The same gal who has cups of diced onion in her crisper and memories of enjoying junior high.

A lot of us don't have it so good. We have stuff to do, like eat all the chicken we make and then go to therapy because of traumatic junior high school experiences. So when a recipe says it's quick, it better mean the ingredients come together without previously having to roast a bird then cut it into tiny pieces for future use. If it doesn't, I'll...I'll...shake my fist at the heavens and shout out its name in agony. Take that!

I especially feel this way on Thursday nights when Fred has class. He has to leave before I get home from work, so he drops off Walt with a sitter for a couple of hours. I pick Walt up and come home, feed us both and get him into bed. Seems simple, but I'm beat and can barely lift the receiver to order Chinese. It makes me realize how hard single parents have to work, or parents who aren't single but don't have a spouse around. It also makes me really appreciate having Fred so involved. Until he leaves cat food bits in the sink and I'm shaking my fist at the heavens and shouting his name in agony.

This is why I also appreciate the "Quick Kitchen" recipe I happened across in Gourmet (sniff!) years ago. They cut through the BS and listed, "1 rotisserie chicken" as an ingredient. Now THAT I can live with. I'm sure Gourmet felt it would be better if you roasted your own chicken, but they overlooked their foodie inclinations and printed what worked. Thanks, Gourmet. You always were a class act. Sorry you're in Magazine Heaven. (Stay clear of Sassy. I'm just sayin'.)

The recipe is for chilaquiles, which is a Mexican comfort food dish of salsa, chips and meat topped with queso fresco. They are not to be confused with tex-mex migas, though I was. Confused, that it. I simply didn't see any difference. So I called on the highest authority of Tex Mex food I know, the girl who knows her way around a hundred varieties of chiles, who can throw down everything from carnitas to chicken fried steak in a small NYC kitchen, who knows how to wear a cowboy hat with jaunty style, Homesick Texan.

Here is what she said:

"...the difference between migas and chilaquiles is simple: while they both involve fried corn tortillas and salsa, migas is always an egg dish whereas chilaquiles can be made with meat, eggs or simply just the fried tortillas, sauce and cheese. Of course that begs the question if migas are chilaquiles but I'd say no as the salsa is an afterthought (and not even always used in migas)--migas is more about the fried tortilla strips, eggs and cheese with other good things such as peppers and onions added as well; you don't always have to cook the eggs and tortilla strips in salsa to qualify it as migas. Chilaqulies, however, is about all cooking the chips in the salsa."

(She also thanked me for congratulating her on her cookbook, which is coming out fall 2011. I can hardly wait to eat it. That wasn't a typo. )

With Homesick Texan's info in mind I assembled the chilaquiles recipe. I say assembled because there is very, very, very little cookery involved with this recope. Everything is pre-made. You boil some jarred salsa verde and chicken broth, add some bite sized rotisserie chicken, then add about a bag of crushed tortilla chips. Top it off with cheese and boom! Chilaquiles.

This became an instant family favorite because of the blatantly obvious reason that it is insanely delicious. I can only describe it as warmth, spice, tender and soothing. Please try. It's very filling so there will definitely be leftovers for a family of two, and plenty for four. And all you need to do is warm some refried beans in a pot and defrost a bag of corn for sides. So easy.

Can you make your own chicken? Sure. You can also blend your own salsa verde and fry your own tortilla chips. Then hand sew a scrapbook with pictures of your beautiful, blemish-free junior high self. Kidding! I'm even tempted to try making it more homemade myself because it will kick up the dish even more. But in the interest of time , I won't do it on a Thursday night. I don't go to therapy so what little sanity I have, I'd like to keep.

Chilaquilas with Salsa Verde
from Gourmet Magazine, November 2005

Note: The recipe calls for feta cheese, which is a surprisingly great substitute for queso fresco. In fact, dare I say I like it better for the extra tang.

Ingredients:

1 cup sour cream
3 to 4 tablespoons milk
1 3/4 cups Mexican salsa verde such as Desert Pepper Trading Company or Frontera (sometimes called tomatillo sauce; from a 16-oz jar)
1 3/4 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth (14 fl oz)
2 1/2 to 3 cups coarsely shredded cooked chicken (from a 2-lb rotisserie chicken, skin removed)
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
6 cups coarsely crushed tortilla chips (not low-fat, baked, or flavored; from a 16-oz bag) plus broken chips remaining in bag (about 1 cup)
1/2 cup crumbled feta (2 oz)
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro

Preparation

Stir together sour cream and just enough milk to get a thick pourable consistency.

Bring salsa and broth to a boil in a 5- to 6-quart heavy pot over moderately high heat. Add chicken, salt, and pepper and cook, stirring, until chicken is heated through, 1 to 2 minutes, then stir in 6 cups tortilla chips and cook until chips are softened (but not mushy), about 1 minute.

Transfer chilaquiles to a large platter. Sprinkle with feta, cilantro, and 1 cup broken chips and serve immediately, with thinned sour cream on the side.

Good News For Sugar Fiends

2010-06-27T11:00:00.000-07:00

Some ladies get excited when they see the glimmer of diamonds. Me, I love the sparkle of bejeweled sodas.

Pretty! The kind people at Jarritos sent me a case of their rainbow bright soda. It's one of the most popular drinks in Mexico, made with real cane sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup. And this is only part of Jarritos's charm. The simple graphics, the heavy glass bottles, the old-school caps that require an opener, all make this a lovely thing to have, say, at a backyard barbecue in a huge steel tub, nestled in between loads of crushed ice.

Since I was raised with HFCS drinks, I was very eager to try a drink made with real cane sugar. I made a Mexican-inspired meal and served them alongside our dinner. I couldn't wait to try it.

I anticipated tasting incredible flavor, tropical breezes, the heart of Mexico. I brought the bottle of Fruit Punch flavor to my lips. It's not as carbonated as American sodas so it felt crisp and light. And it tasted...

Sweet.

We're talking SWEEEEEEETTTT.

Like, the young Osmond boys singing to their mother sweet.

Like, the end of "It's A Wonderful Life" sweet

Like, puckery sweet, grab the insulin I'm in diabetic shock sweet, I just gave myself 40 cavities sweet.

I thought maybe I had just chosen the wrong flavor, so I try the Pineapple. Then the Mandarin Orange and then the Lime. Same story.

I couldn't really have it with my meal. The sugar just washed out the flavors of everything I was eating. Perhaps if I had spicier, real Mexican food it would have gone down better. I switched to water. But later, when I wanted dessert, I reached for the rest of my soda and was very happy.

Later, I tried the Jamaica flavor, which is flavored with hibiscus. It wasn't as cloying as the others and quite enjoyable.

So my verdict is, real sugar in soda is sweet. I'm just not used to it. But if you're serving something super spicy or perhaps having that backyard BBQ I mentioned, a case of sparkly Jarritos might be the perfect accessory.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Interview

2010-06-09T16:06:00.001-07:00

I got a job! With a desk and a computer and a co-worker named Bob and everything! I love this new place. I get to work with a fun, energetic group of people in a buzzy environment. The only downside is my company ID. I've got that kind of smile that looks like I'm trying to convince the Nazis to let me go. It comes in handy when I want to make Fred feel a little weirded out for marrying me but otherwise, it provides the kind of humility that you only get from Corporate America.

The place is awesome. I was planning to freelance for the rest of the year but this job came along and was too good to pass. I got very lucky. And now I'm passing this luck to you. Well, not really. That's impossible, especially if you have bad karma. For all I know, you may have let the elevator door close on one too many a person running to catch it. And don't act like you were trying to hold the door, you faker.

But here are a few things that make me laugh. I think you'll get a kick out of them. If you don't, then you are very unlucky. Next time stick your arm in the door.

This first thing is a character sketch by Joe Wengert. Joe and I were in a couple of improv troupes together and being on stage with him was a real treat. He's one of the funniest guys I know.

I've mentioned Eliza Skinner before on my blog. She's one of my favorite writers. I especially loved the Everything I Needed To Know, I Learned From Dance Movies. If you follow my link and read it, I strongly suggest that you stick around and read some more. Especially if your love life has been less than stellar. You'll either laugh with recognition or cry with regret. Or if you're me, both. And speaking of funny, lovelorn ladies...
.

Julie Klauner's book is a great read. I found myself shouting at her at times to "Stop it! Just stop it!," but the I realized the only reason I found her experiences so frustrating is because I'd had some of them. Yikes. Was I ever that twenty-something?

This picture will always crack me up.Walt dressed as a Siamese twin for his first Halloween. Fred put a lot of time and effort into this costume, including asking for a very expensive doll for his birthday in order to make it. Walt had just turned 2 months old. Is it cliche for me to say that I can't believe Walt was ever that small? No more cliche than a mommy posting pictures of her baby on her blog.

And last and least, here is a very juvenile sketch I wrote way back for NaSkeWriMo. It's super silly and has a dear place in my fart. I mean heart.

Rhubarb Tradition

2010-05-12T08:18:00.001-07:00

When we planned our wedding, our primary goal was to avoid little boys in tuxedos. I know. It's a whole new level of romance, huh?

We also didn't want a father/daughter/mother/son dance, a tossing of the bouquet, "our song" or many of the other traditional wedding accouterments. We aimed to keep things simple and fun, with only close family as guests. The problem? Simple can be stressful. Vendors tried to shove more stuff on us, relatives questioned our choices and Fred and I had our only wedding fight about...a cake. Yes, a cake. Flour and sugar and eggs. Redick.

As a result of the stress, I started to eat more than I usually eat. Because I was running around so much I didn't gain weight, but I wasn't a traditional skinny bride either. Another typically bridal thing avoided. Score! Er, not really.

Right now I'm under the stress of unstructured time. Freelancing is like that. There are days when every minute must be used. Then there are times when I'm checking status updates on Facebook every 4 seconds, my finger anxiously poised over the mouse in anticipation of clicking Like. This is also when I invent things like, "breakfast dessert" and "post-lunch sweet treat" and "after-dinner dessert part 2." Or, on a whim, decide to make strawberry-rhubarb compote.

You basically boil the bejeezus out of macerated rhubarb. Some flecks of orange rind are nice too. If, on the third shelf of your refrigerator, you have a few overripe strawberries sitting all lonely in their plastic carton, throw those in as well. After a while it bubbles into a thick potion of bursting red goodness.

It cools and gets set in the fridge for a few hours. Then you can have your gluttonous little way with this sweet and sour delight. Spread it on toast or dabble it over Greek yogurt. Spread it between layers of vanilla cake. But c'mon. Let's not dance around this. It really belongs here.

Warmed and then generously spooned over black-flecked vanilla ice cream. It melts the ice cream and your stress levels with every loving spoonful. Indeed, m'dear.

I served this to Fred on a Friday night. We had it the next week, then the next. It became pretty customary. For two people who wanted to avoid a lot of tradition when they married, this is is a ritual we can get behind.

Rhubarb Compote
adapted from The Joy Of Cooking, Irma Rombauer, Marion Rombauer Becker and Ethan Becker, Scriber 1997

4-5 cups of rhubarb, cut into 1/2" pieces
1/4 cup sugar
1 tsp. orange rind
1 cup ripe strawberries, sliced

Combine everything except strawberries in a heavy saucepan and let stand at room temperature for 15-20 minutes until rhubarb begins to juice. Bring to a boil over medium heat, add strawberries then simmer, stirring occasionally, until the fruit is tender and the liquid is thickened, 10 to 12 minutes. Remove from the heat and let stand, not stirring and letting it cool. Put in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours and up to 2 days. The compote will thicken when chilled.

Don't resist urge to sneak spoonfuls with the fridge door open.

The Pink Never Fades

2010-05-07T06:32:00.001-07:00

I was in a whirlwind of freelance work for a while but now things have slowed to a more manageable pace. Steady enough to stave off the panic about living on a cot in a church meeting hall, but not so busy that going to the bathroom is considered a time sacrifice I’m not willing to make. It’s nice, being able to guiltlessly relieve my bladder. I can also do little things like spend time with my rapidly growing son, ask Fred how his day went and drop off some dry cleaning.

So there I was, requesting that my pants have no creases down the front, (too 1994 lady power suit for my taste), when one of my favorite songs from the “Pretty In Pink” soundtrack pipes up over the speakers. “If You Leave” by OMD. Nice.

But wait.

Later on that day I hear it at the deli.

Then again, 2 days later, coming out of the windows of a passing car.

For those who don’t know the song and movie I’m talking about, quit being so young! I’m referring to the 1986 movie “Pretty In Pink”, a John Hughes classic starring Molly Ringwald, Andrew McCarthy and Jon “Two and A Half Groans” Cryer. It was during a time when teen movies were…what am I saying? They were really no different from teen movies today. Boy meets girl, their different backgrounds cause problems, their friends disapprove yet love prevails. In this case to a white-hot soundtrack of New Wave bands.

I can’t remember the last time a song followed me around like that, but it has happened to me before. Does it ever happen to you? And I don’t mean one that is currently popular. I’m talking one from a while back. I can’t help but wonder if the universe is trying to tell me something. Are the lyrics guiding me to a decision? Do I need to reflect on how far I’ve come since 1986? Or remember that the girl who connected to the movie “Pretty In Pink” is still the same me? Or think about Harry Dean Stanton? Answer: You should always be thinking about Harry Dean Stanton.

In my case, I think I was just supposed to go back to gritty bar and hang out with Andie, Iona and Duckie. I was supposed to imagine watching Echo and The Bunnyman and wondering if the richies and the poor kids can get along.

It made me remember things I haven’t thought about for a while. Not actually events, like this is what was playing when I was kissed for the first time or when Bobby S asked me to dance. But feelings, stirrings, longings. I remember being 18 and feeling like something exciting was going to happen at any minute. I remember the beginning of a tiny, fleeting thought that not perhaps not being popular was more of an asset than a liability. I remember seeing the complete appeal of nonconformity. I realize that coming to this conclusion while watching a John Hughes movie takes the authenticity out of my awakenings, but give me a break. Where I came from Diet Coke was considered revolutionary.

Like most middle class American teens I lived in a brightly colored suburban world. Everyone was pretty much on the same socio-economic status. Yeah, there were kids whose parents where richer than others. Yeah, they tended to be the more popular kids. Nonetheless, there weren’t any class wars going on in Marietta, GA in the mid-eighties. I think that was part of my problem with the area. It was so bland and the same.

There were a few fringy kids who mohawked and pinked out their hair and reveled in being different. A big part of me wanted to join them but I didn’t have the guts. It was easier, safer and at the time, much more appealing to try to be a cheerleader than a rebel. Besides, those kids could smell fear and it was coming off of me in waves of Loves Baby Soft.

That’s why I love this movie and this song. It took punky underworld teens and polished them up John Hughes style. It took a bright pink prom dress and cut out a triangle in the front. It took a dark, moody, ethereal song and put in in the Top 40. It took a typically angst-ridden teenage girl and acknowledged her deepest thoughts.

It was a very sentimental trip to the dry cleaners.

Nutritional Values

2010-04-29T06:49:00.000-07:00

I had big food dreams for Walt. Since I couldn't 100% breastfeed, I planned on making it up once he reached the solids. Homemade, organic baby foods. Balanced meals, carefully coordinated to be a perfect blend of nutrition, textures and colors. Snacks would be whole grains, fruits, cut-up veggies.

Yesterday for his snack I gave him half of a Twix bar and some McDonalds french fries.

These are rough times. Walt is toying around with not napping, even though he still needs one. On this particular afternoon he hadn't napped for the second day in a row. The previous night I'd been plagued with insomnia. There were incessant demands, raging mood swings, lots of tears. And I'm talking about me. Wonka-wonka-nudge-nudge! But Walt wasn't exactly a bucket of joy.

Around 3PM I had loaded him in the stroller thinking maybe, if I walked slowly enough, he'd fall asleep. He doesn't nap well or for long in the stroller but my deep wish was for him to doze off so I could transfer him to his bed. By 4PM this wasn't happening, so I did what any parent would do when trying to set boundaries with their kids. I took him to watch trucks and eat chocolate.

We picked up a Twix and headed to the Atlantic Yards, a horrifying construction project that is kicking people out of their homes but has the up side of entertaining toddlers with large moving trucks. Once we were done watching Eminent Domain in progress, we headed to the Atlantic Center where we ended up in the toy aisle of Target. How did that happen? I'm not sure. I was buzzing off an influx of chocolate-cookie-caramel.

After a while I needed an iced tea, so we went to the McDonalds where french fries somehow finagled their way into our order. We sat on a bench in the mall, eating fries and people watching.

All this time I'm thinking, "Man. This kid is getting nothing but junk." Then I tore open a ketchup packet with my teeth and let him suck on it.

And that, my folks, is my experience with motherhood in a nutshell. Great intensions until reality comes along craving copious amounts of sugar and salt.

Spring is my Betty, Pasta my favorite

2010-04-25T09:06:00.000-07:00

Why hello there, Spring. You are looking quite lovely this year, I must say.

It's true. I'm always all nice and complimentary when we all know I'm really holding a torch for my true love, Summer. What can I say, Spring? You're the Betty to June 21st's Veronica in my Archie heart. But let's not knock Betty. She was a real peach.

And look at you. Aren't you all freshness and delight? With your green onions and stalks of crunchy sweet asparagus. You are gentle and kind, yet your flavors demand, DE-MAND on no uncertain terms, very specific accompaniments. A sunny squirt of lemon, feathery piles of Parmesan, yellow-green olive oils.

Oh, and bacon. Cause spring vegetables ain't no fool.

I pulled this fettuccine recipe out of this month's Bon Appetit because it's what I call a bridge meal, with hearty flecks of meat and a slip of heavy cream to remind us that winter is still visible in the rear view mirror, but with more than a few handfuls of spring vegetables to welcome in the fact that we don't have to wear socks to bed anymore. Which is too bad because that's what we call sexy in these parts.

I had to adjust it for the toddler, adding only the bacon and peas and a bit of butter and salt. He saw me taking a picture of my dish and insisted I take one of his, so here it is.

As you can see, it was a hit. Though give this kid anything with a noodle and he won't complain. That orange semi-circle in the middle is his sippy cup. I think that blue thing on the right is my napkin? I'm not sure.

It didn't take too long to put together. Prepping the vegetables took the longest and I didn't even have to shell peas. Maybe someday I'll have a house with a porch and a rocking chair, then I'll feel inclined to sit meditatively and slip peas from their pods. Ah, who am I kidding? As long as there are reruns of Glee on hulu, I'm using the frozen kind.

So I suggest you fire up the pasta water and try this amazing dish. It's full of flavor and promise. It's almost enough to make me choose Betty as my prom date.

Fettuccine with Peas, Asparagus, and Pancetta.
Bon Appetit, May 2010

Note: I used bacon and it was fine. More than fine. It was bacon, people!

Ingredients

12 ounces fettuccine or penne
3 ounces pancetta or bacon, chopped
1 1/4 pounds asparagus, trimmed, cut on diagonal into 1-inch pieces
2 cups shelled fresh green peas, blanched 1 minute in boiling water, drained, or frozen peas (do not thaw)
1 bunch green onions, thinly sliced, white and pale green parts separated from dark green parts
2 garlic cloves, pressed
1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese plus additional for serving
1/3 cup heavy whipping cream
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon peel
1/4 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley, divided
1/4 cup thinly sliced fresh basil, divided

Preparation

Cook pasta in pot of boiling salted water until just tender but still firm to bite. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup pasta cooking liquid. Return pasta to pot.
Meanwhile, cook pancetta in large nonstick skillet over medium heat until crisp. Using slotted spoon, transfer pancetta to paper towels to drain. Pour off all but 1 teaspoon drippings from skillet. Add asparagus to drippings in skillet; sauté 3 minutes. Add peas, white and pale green parts of green onions, and garlic; sauté until vegetables are just tender, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat.
Add vegetable mixture, 1/4 cup pasta cooking liquid, dark green parts of green onions, 1/2 cup Parmesan, cream, olive oil, lemon juice, lemon peel, half of parsley, and half of basil to pasta. Toss, adding more cooking liquid by tablespoonfuls if needed. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Transfer to large bowl. Sprinkle pancetta, remaining parsley, and basil over. Serve, passing additional Parmesan cheese.

Wiser and Wiser Guyer

2010-04-20T18:27:00.000-07:00

I have been working a lot this month, which is good. And I've learned a lot as well. One lesson: if you are in a hip, sleek ad agency and don't want to look like a working mom who shops at Kohls, it's best not to wear pin striped slacks. Notice the word, "slacks" which connotes synthetic blends that hug the thighs. Not a good idea. Take it from me.

More to come. I'm looking so forward to getting back to my magic space in the library and writing again. Snickers bars and Snapples, here I come!

Because I'm Not Annoying. Nope.

2010-03-26T08:03:00.000-07:00

Oh, you poor, poor fella. Sitting here at The Tea Lounge being reviled by everyone around you. Well, I don't know that for a fact. I only know that when you sit at a table that's usually a quiet place for people working on their laptops, there are unofficial rules about behavior. And when you proceed to talk loudly into your earpiece with your feet propped up on the table, you will not win the contest for Most Awesome Guy Ever.

I see the Ironic Urban Lumberjack guy shooting you incredulous sidelong glances, wishing he had a peashooter and some sleep darts. I feel the Tegan and Sara chic to my right tense up with revulsion every time you draw the word "and" into 4 syllables. And the prematurely gray College Professor Lady is mentally grading your actions. You get an F minus.

Oh fella. Do you really think we're impressed by those loud exclamations about your book sales? Or about how you used to manage Queen? Well, I actually am impressed by that. Really? Queen? They're awesome! But any positive feeling quickly vaporizes with the way you manage to be both loud and droning at the same time. This is an impressive talent if you're torturing war criminals, but not so much when surrounded by people writing screenplays and filling out foundation grant applications.

I try to be charitable and empathetic. I even feel for you, pal. You're obviously peacocking around hoping to fill that lonely void by getting everyone to realize you're Very Important. It's not like I've never dropped names and spoke loudly with the goal of impressing eavesdroppers. I'm not perfect. But I don't have your voice. That voice! Nasally and whiny and barking and with some sort of New York twang that really grates my gums. Please. Stop.

Finally you catch a full throttle, SHUTTHEFUCKUP look from Tegan and Sara chic. You cringe ever-so-slightly and the pace of your conversation slows down a bit. I can see you're at an fork in the road. Do you let this frothy little slip of a woman stare you down, or do you go the asshole route and talk more loudly? This all happens within seconds but I see it, every nuance and consideration blowing through your mind.

You go the asshole route.

Oh fella.

You Live, You Learn, You Eat.

2010-03-18T17:00:00.000-07:00

In dinner parties past, I was a lunatic. A certifiable nut job of the overextended variety. My hostess motto was, "Too much is just getting started." I'd decide to make things like crepes for a party of 14. Crepes. For over 2 people. Who weren't relatives. Ree to the Diculous. Or I'd think, HEY! Individual Gouda souffles! For my 9 best friends! Which are very quaint. Dare I say, even twee. When they turn out fluffy and puffy. But when only 4 of them rose, I had to decide which of 4 friends were really the best. Wait, make that 3. I'm the cook. I ain't eating no Gouda pancake.

Then there's the classic entertainment mistake of choosing to make things like risotto, individual pan seared salmon, or a stir fry. Things that kept me in the kitchen all evening, sometimes straight through the serving. By the time I got to the dinner table some of my friends assumed I was the help and twinkled their fingers over their water glasses for refills. Yeah, I took mental notes on those bastards. They'll be the ones getting deflated souffles.

Fortunately, through trial and error and a few tears, I learned the key to entertaining at home. Ask for help. Keep the side dishes to a minimum. And prep, prep, prep.

Above are vegetables I roasted for a Roasted Vegetable Lasagna. A good friend was bringing her boyfriend to our place for dinner. They'd been together a while, several months or so, but we were meeting him for the first time. It was very meet the parents. I wanted to make something impressive, but not wrapped roast ultra-fancy or pot o' chili casual. Wait...did I just say pot o'? Lord help me. Anyway, when I'm looking for something that's in-between but still impressive, lasagna is the perfect answer.

Lasagna is one of the best company meals. Pretty much everyone likes noodles, cheese and sauce. You can make meaty versions or vegetarian ones. It's work-intensive enough to say, "I care about my friends who dine at my table." But not so work intensive that you're sweating and cursing in the kitchen while people are in the next room laughing. Possibly at your expense.

You slip lasagna in the oven before the guests arrive. It bubbles away while you enjoy your guests' company and those nibbles you threw together. Or asked what to bring. Perhaps some briny olives and slices of manchego with fig jam. Or Triscuits® with sardines. Brussels sprouts wrapped in bacon. Lemony roasted fennel and a selection of prosciutto.

When dinner beings, salad is a perfect starter with this dish. It's just as easy to prep ahead of time and can be thrown together quickly while the lasagna cools. Salads can be fancied up with thin slices of pear and roasted walnuts. I don't think lasagna needs any sides other than some crusty bread, but if you wish you could also roast some vegetables in the same oven.

By the time you pull your pan from the heat, you will likely have enjoyed some bites, made your friends laugh at least twice and not shed a single salty drop of stress. You will have truly enjoyed your company, the food, the evening. And that, my friends, is what it's all about. Unless you're into high status stakes. Then you just make reservations at a 5 star joint.

Below are some lasagna meal suggestions with links to recipes.

Vegetarian Lasagna Dinner
Pre-Dinner
Manchego cheese with fig or quince jam
Olives

Dinner
Greens with roasted walnuts, thinly sliced apple and Parmesan with a basic balsamic vinaigrette.
Roasted Vegetable Lasagna
Small rolls

Desert
Fruit Crumble with vanilla ice cream (Note: frozen fruit works great here)

Vegtarian Lasagna Dinner 2
Pre-Dinner
Radishes with salt and butter

Dinner
Fennel, Parmesan and Pear Salad (substitute pear for mushrooms)
Martha Stewarts Wild Mushroom and Spinach Lasagna
Baguette

Dessert
Amazon chocolate cake with whipped cream

Meat It Up Lasagna Dinner
Pre Dinner
Tricuits® with Sardines and mustard

Dinner
Sausage, Cheese and Basil Lasagna
Roasted Asparagus (Toss a bunch of asparagus with 1 TBL olive oil and 1 tsp salt. Roast in rack about lasagna for about 10 minutes.)
Store-bought foccassia

Dessert
Coconut Sorbet with dark chocolate sauce.

Waxing About Sandwiches

2010-03-09T13:23:00.000-08:00

Today I read that every resident in Brooklyn lives no farther than half of a mile from a library. Is this just about the nicest thing? Think about it...everyone of every status has access to free books! And computers! And magazines that smell nice! And creepy guys walking around with weathered copies of Kierkegaard! A great thing, it is.

Library of Congress. Not as accessible as the Brooklyn Public Library.

I took advantage of this and headed to our nearest branch. It's the Central One, the Big Kahuna of Kings County reference materials. I absolutely love this place. Love it. Loooooooooooove. I want to hug it and pet it and squeeze it and name it George. I want to roll around in the lobby and shout, "Ours! Ours! It's all ours!" But I don't. Usually.

My branch has free Wifi, plenty of quiet nooks where I can write and even a place to buy snacks. That's right. There is a little cafe in the lobby. You can sit there and eat your own food from home but if you wish, you can buy things like salads, coffee, nachos, aaaand...delicious Milky Way bars. The kind that are begging to be washed down with a Snapple Lemonade. I know. It's like I live in Eden!

Today, after finishing this delightful repast, sometimes known as The Reason Americans Are Fat, I headed to a reading room to write. On my way I passed a cafe table where a man pulled a sandwich out of his bag. It was neatly wrapped in wax paper. At that moment I felt a pull, a connection. Not to the guy, silly. To the sandwich. There is something so wholesome and loving about a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. I resisted the urge to walk up to him and exclaim, "Wow! Wax paper! That's awesome! What're you eatin'?"

All references to wax paper here mean this brand. The best damn wax paper in America. USA! USA!

If he replied, "Goat Cheese and Sundried Tomato Pesto" or "Breasola with Olive Tapanade" I would have been deeply disappointed. Mind you, these are perfectly delicious sounding, but they are not for the likes of wax paper. Wax paper-wrapped sandwiches should be simple and nostalgic. Save your ailolis and Dijon's and artichoke hummus for its fancier cousin, parchment paper. Wax paper yearns for condiments before condiments where nuanced. Bright yellow Frenches. A creamy swipe of Hellmans. And if you're feeling randy, maybe some Guldens.

That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, Willis.

The sandwich should be made on square or oval shaped bread. White, wheat, pumpernickel or rye. That's it. The fillings should be equally simple. Bologna and American cheese, turkey with Swiss, basic tuna salad. And they are best enjoyed in public, yet alone. I'm not sure why, but they fit with the kind of solitude that's surrounded by buzz. Alone at a table in a school cafeteria. Solo in an office cubicle. At the library. It's not sad because the general rule is that wax paper-wrapped sandwiches are made for you, and made with a lot of love.

My mother wrapped our sandwiches in wax paper. She's an amazing wrapper. The sandwiches she made for us were always perfectly tucked within the paper, with crisp corners and barely a wrinkle. They are the star of a funny family story about my brother. He was a picky eater who one day, accidentally took my lunch to school. I can't remember what kind of sandwich he ended up with, but he didn't like it. Unfortunately for him, his 2nd grade teacher had survived a famine. (Come to think of it, unfortunately for her.) She refused to let any of her students throw away food. If they didn't finish their lunch, she made them sit in the cafeteria until they did.

Knowing this, my brother tucked his sandwich into the waistband of his pants. He got away without eating it, but had to spend the entire day with a sandwich pressed against his stomach. Perhaps the smooth folds and soft wax paper made it easy to forget what was going on between his slacks and his belly button. Because he came home, played, ate dinner, played some more and no one knew the better until my mom was helping him undress for his bath and found my sandwich under his shirt.

I'll keep this in mind the first time I pack a takeaway lunch for Walt. I'll do my best to make the corners smooth, the sandwich simple and send it away with a bucket of love. And if he doesn't realize it, he will when he reads the embarrassing "love note" I'll sticky to his juice box.

Hey Brooklynites! Your local library is having its annual fund raiser. Go here to contribute. Because if you don't, they may have to close down the snack bar, and that would be a tragedy of Milky Way proportions.

NaBloPoMo A No Go

2010-03-01T05:40:00.000-08:00

Afraid of dogs and the sound of airplanes in his room, but not of his creative capacity.

Well, I didn't achieve my goal of blogging every day in February. I'd love to blame it on the lack of time, which is not as bullshitty as my "bad sushi" excuse when I used to call into work hungover. Between freelancing, networking and sharing toddler duties with Fred, I have less free time then while working a full-time job. Seriously. Jobs give you that kind of time freedom. They can also suck the very marrow from your soul, but hey! At least you have time to buy cardigans!

But really. Even with all my bouncing around town, the truth is that there is always time to write. Maybe not hours and hours, but at least a few minutes here and there.

The real reason I didn't blog every day is fear.

If you do anything creative, you know about fear...our oldest companion and largest foe. It zaps us with a taser gun and leaves us undignified, flopping around on the ground with tiny beads of drool forming at the corners of our mouths. It keeps brilliant ideas hostage by not letting the not-so-brilliant ones come out first. Fear promises, no, GUARANTEES utter degradation and humiliation if you so much as dare to float your work out into the universe. Fear convinces you that you've gotten away with some success so far only because you are lucky. But your fraudulent self will soon be exposed. Like, maybe even now. Or close to now. Run, asshole!

Fear is a fucking liar. But a really good one.

There are two things that can kill it for me. One is being as stupid and ignorant as I possibly can, ignoring the voices in a fingers-in-my-ears, la-la-la- sort of way. The other is getting support and help from others.

I'm learning again and again that when I'm not accountable to anyone but me, not much gets done. I don't always like me all that much. But give me a support system and I'll push, I'll create, I'll goddamn try. Whether it's writing more or quitting drinking, I accomplish the most with the help of people. The minute I start trying to go at it alone, fear sees an opening in my armor and goes for my throat.

When I participated in NaSkeWriMo in September, I wrote and posted 30 comedy sketches in 30 days. It was excruciating. I worried every minute that I was offending people or worse, humiliating myself. But I was fueled by the daily updates and the others who exposed their work. We all had hits and boy, we all had misses. But now when I look back at what I wrote, I realize some of it is actually quite good. What do you know.

Fear: 0 Me: 30 sketches.

Not that it's always this easy. Dealing with others can be raw, explosive and just plan annoying. People have deep capacities to love and nourish. They have the same potential when it comes to bugging the shit out of me. It is so easy to clamp down in my little cave with a rock firmly wedged in the opening. But if I make the effort to reach out, amazing things happen. I get stuff done.

Right now my fear is telling me that I've turned into some New Agey, guru loser who has forty copies of "The Secret" under her bed. And that I also sound like some "Go! Go Go! You Can Do It!" jock-type leftover from the George W. administration. But you know what? I trust most of my blogging friends won't think this. I'll get the support I need.

And if I don't, I'll just put my fingers in my ears and sing.

Strada-BOOM

2010-02-25T10:25:00.000-08:00

Brunch is an ugly word. In New York City, it's an even uglier concept. There are only a few very good brunch spots, so wrangling down some 11AM eggs is challenging. It often means shuffling outside a small restaurant, sipping paper-cupped coffee and feeling your jaw tense every time the hostess comes out with her clipboard or worse, another crowd of 4 or 5 NYT readers join your fray. Because even though you put your name on the list before they did, there's always that fear that you will be shafted, thrown over, forgotten or simply not important enough. Soon these yahoos with their stupid jokes and winter tans will swoop in and take your rightful place in life. It's silly. It's obscene. It's New York City.

Now having people over for brunch, that's another story. In my single and early married days, I hosted a brunch or two, but it was draining getting up before 10AM back then. I know. Poor me and my sleep-filled, constantly pedicured self! Then heaven sent me a joyous little boy who liked to get up at the crack of ridiculous. Soon brunch became the most popular way for me to feed my friends and visit for a good chunk of time.

My favorite brunch dish is Strada. I picked up this recipe from The Joy Of Cooking a while back and am at the point where I know it by rote. The best thing is that you make it the night before, set the dish in the fridge overnight, then it plunk it in the oven in the AM.

You may have to get up a little earlier, if you consider 10AM early. Do you? You do? Forgive me, but I have to go and hate on you a little. Don't worry, it's a jealous, I-wish-I-were-you hate. The good kind.

There are many, many variations of this dish. There are savory versions with sausage and cheddar, vegetarian takes with spinach and Gouda, and sweet ones with cinnamon bread and cream cheese. Whatever the combination, it turns out a impressive meal. Throw in a fruit salad, some coffee cake and freshly brewed coffee and you got yourself a spread. All in less time than it takes to get to the top of the waiting list at Prune. (Worth it, but still.)

Basic Breakfast Strada
adapted from The Joy Of Cooking
by Irma S. Rombauer, Marian Rombauer Becker and Ethan Becker
copyright 1997 Simon & Schuster

1 lb. turkey sausage, removed from casing and broken into pieces
2 cups sliced mushrooms
1 small onion
1/4 cup finely chopped parsley
5 large eggs, slightly beaten
2 cups milk
1 large loaf of Italian bread, cut into about 18 chunks and buttered
2 cups grated Cheddar Cheese

Butter a 2-3 quart souffle dish.

Heat a skillet over medium-high heat. Cook the sausage, breaking it into little pieces. Once browned, add the mushrooms, onions and parsley. Cook until onions are translucent. Set aside. In a large bowl, combine the eggs and milk. Set aside. Place a layer of bread slices in the souffle dish. top with half of the sausage mixture and sprinkle with one-third of the cheese. Repeat with another layer of bread, sausage and another third of the cheese. Add the final top layer of bread. Pour egg/milk mixture over the casserole. Top with the remainder of the cheese. Cover and let stand for at least 1 hour in fridge or up to 24 hours.

Preheat oven to 350F. Place a cookie sheet on the lowest rack of the oven to catch drips, then place the strada above it. Bake for an hour or until top is browned.

A Material. A Material. A Material Girl.

2010-02-21T14:32:00.000-08:00

If I wore these, everyone would want to date my feet. I just know it.

Me Want.

They cost about as much as our monthly contribution to Walt's 529. So that's...what? One semester without books or food. One measly semester of deprivation for his mother's shallow, displaced, short-lived happiness. And a pair of lush, buttery soft Prada gorgeousness.

I think it's worth it. Fred, Walt and the nice-looking lady on the subway who turned out to be a loser meanface disagree. Bah.

Saved By The Butter

2010-02-18T12:51:00.000-08:00

The other night Fred was making Red Beans and Rice for our dinner. I reached into the refrigerator and handed him the container of tomato paste we had left over from another recipe. He opened it and little tiny spores of failure stared him in the face. Mold.

I'm a freak when it comes to science experiments in my fridge. There should never be anything in there that can prevent polio. It's why I'm not the kind of cook who saves every last snipped chive, apple peel or ounce of scraped batter. Sorry Al Gore, but this is one case where I turn my back on Earth and chuck things into a plastic bag. I'd even load it onto an idling Hummer if that would get it out of my home more quickly.

Which is why it surprised me when I put aside some dough scraps from a pie I was making a while back. I don't ever do this, but it seemed right. It was. Because when I needed to whip up a dessert on Valentines Day, I reached for it, some frozen peaches, and a lot of butter.

Butter is the key to improvisational cooking. Butter and salt. If you're making a dessert, then it changes to butter and sugar. It's tough to go wrong, though I have. I made an unfortunate oatmeal "cake"; cake being a very generous term for solidified sawdust. Not one single co-worker touched when I put it in the break room. These are people who once polished off a loaf of day-old bread in twenty minutes. It was a new low.

Lucky, these tarts were perfect. A simple top of flour, brown sugar and butter sprinkled over 3 to 4 frozen sliced peaches. About 35 minutes in a 350 degree oven gave way to flaky, buttery goodness wrapped around a bunch of peach. We topped it off with a heavenly dollop of whipped cream, which was, admittedly, a remain from the night before.

So success with scraps can happen. Even for a left-over-aphobe like me.

Too Much

2010-02-17T15:01:00.000-08:00

This is my mind reading the above book:

"Ewwww...cool."

"What!? No Julie! No, no, no!"

"What the-are you serious?"

"Grow the fuck up."

"Okay. Stop it. Really."

"So fucking annoying."

" I can't read anymore."

"Okay. I can't stop reading."

"Ugh."

"Gah!"

"Blech!"

Cleaved: A Story Of Marriage, Meat and Obsession is no Julie and Julia but it's not supposed to be. Writers are human, we evolve and change like everyone else. I admire the fact that Julie Powell is trying to be honest and not rely on the same old formula.

But man, is it uncomfortable. And I'm not talking about the chopping up cows parts.

In Cleaved she takes the act of disclosure to a raw, open level that left me both squirming and unable to stop reading. If you have ever been unhealthily obsessed with the wrong person, reading this will likely flood you with memories of your own stupidity at that time. You'll be reminded of how futile it is to try and force yourself out of this kind of misplaced passion; only time works. And any recovering alcoholic will find her self-sabotage, selfishness, low self-esteem and drinking painfully familiar.

I found the butchering explanations a little droning, but I loved the camaraderie of the butcher shop. And I admire the hell out of any girl who can find a fillet mignon within half a cow.

Yet she annoyed me to no end. This Julie is no where near as likable as the blogging one, and even her awareness of this fact doesn't take the edge off. I will say this: Julie Powell is a very engaging writer. She may not inspire admiration, but she definitely ignites emotion, which is more than a lot of writers can do. I think it's worth a library check-out.

All Aboard the DB Express

2010-02-16T13:50:00.000-08:00

Walt loves the Thomas the Tank Engine series and we've done nothing to stop it. We welcomed gifts of train tracks, DVDS and at least 5 different engine characters. I feel guilty about not feeling guilty about it. Somewhere among my warped ideas of parenting I think a good mother would never let her child buy into such franchised nonsense. Then I become normal again and realize that the more he loves something, the easier it is for me to bribe him.

I even bought him a pair of Thomas flannel pajamas over Christmas. He loved them so much he insisted on wearing them for an entire playdate, like a mini Hugh Hefner. It's quite cute, especially since he calls the button-up top a "jacket". He had a growth spurt in January and now it barely covers his belly, but there's no way I'm tossing them. I think it's cute when a two-year old dresses up like a 34-year-old living in his mother's basement.

There are at least 20 different engine characters, and Walt seems to have a different favorite every week. He initially loved Thomas, the main character who is friendly and helpful. Last week he was obsessed with Emily, the no-nonsense "big sister" engine. And this week, much to my chagrin, it's Gordon.

Gordon is the largest and fastest engine of the bunch, and this makes him arrogant and uppity. He discourages the other engines, telling them they're too small or not useful enough. He thinks he's above many jobs and makes snide, snobby remarks to those willing to do them.

In short, he's a douche.

But now he's Walt's favorite, so I have to deal. He was excited to go over to his friend Hope's apartment this morning because he knew she had a Gordon and he didn't. When I went to pick him up he was clutching it in his chubby little hand, but I asked him to put it back and he did. I was in the middle of a conversation with Hope's mom as we were leaving and I didn't think it was weird that Walt seemed to be hiding his left arm behind his back. When we got on the elevator and the doors closed, he pulled his arm forward to reveal the Gordon train. "Mine!", he said smugly. I have to admit, I was kinda proud of his sneakiness. It's a new level of development.

Maybe this Thomas franchise isn't so bad after all.

But Gordon? Still a db.

Roll With Braciole

2010-02-15T12:04:00.001-08:00

Italian Americans call it braciole. Italians refer to it as involtini and others say rollatini. I call it a hell of a lot of work for a deconstructed meatball.

As you may be trying to forget, yesterday was Valentines Day. That last sentence implies that I don't like the holiday. This isn't true. I don't mind it, never did. During the times when I didn't have a fella on that day, I still got chocolates from my mom. This made it allllllright in my book. Some may say this is pathetic. I say, "Are you gonna eat that raspberry cream with the finger poke in it?"

After I gave Fred his requisite heart-shaped box, which naturally was big enough to share, I decided to make a nice meal for our evening and serve it after we put Walt to bed. We're talking an eight, maybe even eight-thirty dinner time. Because we play hard and fast here at our house, as long as we're tucked in by 10.

I chose Liana Krissoff's braciole recipe from her slow cooking book I mentioned a week ago. I know, why don't I just marry her already? Because we're already MARRIED to other people and it's sadly ILLEGAL for 2 ladies to marry. Besides, I'm not her type.

As I mentioned earlier, her recipes take more effort but have always been worth it. So I rolled up my sleeves and broke out my whisk.

Braciole can be stuffed with a variety of things...ham, cheese, greens. This recipe called for an omelet. I thought it sounded very enticing, slowly cooked meat with fluffy egg inside it. Mmmm.

Next I pounded the top round. Fred couldn't find a thin one at the grocery store, so he got a thick London Broil that I halved horizontally, then cut into 8 pieces which I beat into thin little things The result was a smaller braciole than in the pictures of Liana's book.

Then came the assembly. Meat, cheese, parsley, egg, cheese. Roll up from the most narrow end and stab it with a toothpick. Huh. This dish is rather violent. You beat eggs, beat meat (OHNOYOUDIDN'T) and stab. Happy Valentines Day, honey!

After you have the rolls, you fry them up and then stew them in tomato sauce. Some add meatballs and sausage to the stew. If I had read that on Wikipedia before I started cooking, I would have done the same. I always research too late, dang it.

After several hours in the slow cooker, I removed the braciole and tossed a pound of spaghetti with the sauce. Doesn't it look good? It was. But not great. The sauce was hefty and perfectly herbed, but the braciole lacked a little oomph. Maybe adding other meats would have helped. The egg and the cheese were totally lost, I couldn't taste either one. If only I had bigger meat (YESITOTALLYWENTTHERE!) Then I could have stuffed more in there. (AGAIN!)

Ah well, it was still a nice dinner. And it got me what I wanted. Effusive compliments from Fred and a chance to write dirty innuendos in my blog.

Home Cooked Porn

2010-02-13T10:47:00.001-08:00

No Impact Man is a documentary about a Manhattan family who, over the course of a year, eliminated a lot of modern comforts in order have as little impact on the environment as possible. This included using cloth diapers on their toddler, not taking any motorized transportation-including elevators, subways and buses, eating only local foods, making a pledge not to buy anything they didn't need to live and turning off their breakers to live electricity- free.

Fred and I found this inspiring. We started thinking of little things we could change to reduce our waste. Fred switched from tea bags (snicker) to using loose tea and a tea ball (snicker). I started being more vigilant about turning out lights and began walking more. We're thinking maybe having an electricity-free evening would be fun.

The not shopping thing is easier for us because we are not big buyers of stuff. Well, Fred's not. I actually have a frequent urge that says, "New! Shiny! Get!" I don't give in to it, mainly because stuff has never made me happy. Sure I get an initial thrill, but afterwards I'm left with something I don't really need that just takes up space.

But some things are harder to resist than others, especially kitchen appliances. Give me a Target gift card and an hour and I'll soon have 6 different jelly roll pans and an electric teapot. Let me loose at Williams Sonoma and well, I get ridiculous. They are selling a shallow lifestyle, sure. But once I open the catalog I'm soon reaching for a glass of their 250K a year Kool Aid. I start thinking I can truly change my life if I only had this:

It's an Ebelskiver Filled Pancake Pan. Isn't it darling? Doesn't it just waft up images of cute Danish villages where everyone is blond and rustic and wears olive green fishermen's sweaters? If I had one, my life would suddenly turn quaint European, I just know it.

And once I got tired of charming accents, my nosy neighbor Signe and unwanted advances from Mathias, I could move to wealthy suburban Marin County with this:

"Ok, Maude, Consuela will make you and your sister Mavis wheat germ pancakes with organic boysenberry syrup, but first put your Coach backpacks in the Volvo so we can get to Oceanview Poly Prep on time for once." (Admittedly, ALL of Williams Sonoma is geared toward wealthy suburban life, but for me, this electric grill just reeks of it)

And when I want to come down to Earth once more, I'll just get me one of these:

It says, "HEY Y'ALL!" It says, "I make the best fried chicken this side of the Upper West Side." It says, "Fat, Schmatt!" It says, "Someday I WILL help a cardiologist buy that cottage in Bermuda."

I wanted to add a few more appliances, but when my frequent trips to the Williams Sonoma website had me on the verge of ordering a Ravioli Maker, I knew I needed to end this post. I am only so strong. Maybe if I had started the day with Ebelskiver, I'd have more resistance. But alas, I make my pancakes the old fashioned way...with a skillet, plain batter and no extra stuff.

If I Only Knew Then...I'd Still Make The Same Mistakes

2010-02-11T18:10:00.000-08:00

What I wish I had gotten through my head when Walt was a baby:

-Feeding him formula will not put him at a disadvantage or damage him
-Letting him cry in the crib will not damage him
-Not wanting him attached to me at all hours will not damage him
-In fact, as a loving parent, there's very little I can do that will damage him
-Don't panic if you don't feel like sleeping when he sleeps
-Limit visits from friends to 45 minutes, an hour tops
-That stuff about feeding him vegetable baby food first so he'll like vegetables is crap
-If I'm happy, my kid will be happy
-I'm crazy, but it's only temporary
-Don't read more than 1 book, and don't read, "What To Expect."
-Stay off the internet and mommy message boards

Any other moms want to add anything?

Playdate Armegeddon

2010-02-10T17:18:00.000-08:00

Good News: I got a 2-week freelance assignment!
Bad News: I can't blog during the day anymore.
Good News: The place is in Brooklyn so my commute is short with a nice walk built in.
Bad News: We had a blizzard on my first day.
Good News: Fred arranged a playdate with Walt's friend Hope since they couldn't go outside.
More Good News: Walt's friend, Nicholas came over too.
Even More Good News: So did our other neighbor/Walt's friend Ari!

Bad News: Our apartment afterward:

The More Things Change, The More Stress Levels Rise

2010-02-09T11:46:00.000-08:00

It started out so innocently. In 1995 I decided to get a hotmail account. It was the hip, young thing to do and I was a hip, young thing myself. (Note to anyone who knew me back then: SHUT UP!)

Hotmail and I went through a lot together. We alienated friends and family by misusing ALL CAPS. We humiliated myself with drunken missives to guys I ruined any chances of attracting. We cowardly broke up with guys I actually attracted. Good times.

Eventually I learned, somewhat, how to use email. I avoided arguing electronically and emailing while drunk. I eventually learned how to not get drunk in the first place. Nice things happened. A guy named Fred emailed me and asked me out. A few years later we sent out birth announcements for our little boy Walt. All this time, I had my one little hotmail account.

Then about 4 years ago I started tomcatting around, shortly after Fred and I married. I began blogging A Good American Wife and wanted a contact email that reflected the site. Hotmail just wasn't good enough. So I opened up a yahoo one. And when I put up a website of my professional work and wanted it to contain my married name, I went to yahoo again.

When I needed an email for Girls On Film, a film festival for female filmmakers (say 10X fast), I turned to the newest babe on the block, gmail. A few weeks ago, I updated my professional website to yet another gmail account. The idea was to consolidate all the hotmail, the yahoos and the other gmail into this latest account, but it hasn't been easy.

Now I'm one of those assholes with 5 email addresses. I hate, hate, hate it. I can't seem to figure out how to get rid of the old email addresses. There was some forwarding thing on gmail but it only worked one day. It's truly driving me crazy. And blogger won't let me switch out of my original sign-in email which is, naturally my hotmail account.

Oh, and did I mention I got a new Blackberry? So now I can be bombarded with messages on the go. It's actually quite useful now that I'm freelancing, but overwhelming nonetheless.

So if any of you out there have been through this, I'd love to get any tips or instructions you have for shutting down your email accounts. It's driving me bonkers.

See? This is what happens when you stray. Much, much more trouble than it's worth.

Carne Adobada with Red Chile

2010-02-08T10:27:00.001-08:00

Nothing says, "I want a home cooked meal, but I don't want it to seem like I care" like a slow cooker. You can Fix It And Forget It, as goes the slow cooker philosophy. It's convenient. It's easy. We've ripped open packets of Lipton Onion Soup Mix and done it ourselves many times.

But that was back when I was a harried working mother, bringing home the bacon and "having it all" like those womens on the tee vee. Now I'm an unemployed flop-around with more time and a ton of self esteem to salvage. Today I want Slow Cooker challenges, even when the entire purpose of an appliance is to remove them. That's when I open up Liana Krissoff's "Secrets Of Slow Cooking, Creating Extraordinary Food With Your Slow cooker." (Photos by Kristen Strekker)

Her recipes can have ingredient lists that aren't always easy to find, but are always interesting and wholesome. Her steps require a little more elbow grease. But so far I found it all very worth it. Every recipe I've tried from her cookbook has been a hands-down winner. Including the one for Carne Adobada with Red Chile that required me to roast my own red guajillos and arbols.

This only took about 5 minutes but boy, was it an uncomfortable 5 minutes. The chiles are so strong that they gave off fumes that had me tearing up and hacking. I felt a bit like the victim of a superhero film who gets gassed on the bus or subway. (Victims are frequently on public transportation.) If Lisa from Homesick Texan is reading this she's probably thinking, "Wimp."

After they cooled, and PLEASE wait for them to cool or else you will have splattered chile guts all over your kitchen, I blended them with some onion, garlic, honey, oregano and water into a sauce the color of a Mexican sunset.

Then I poured it over a browned pork shoulder.

After 5-6 hours, I cut up the falling-off-the bone meat got this:

Buttery, smokey meat with a sauce that has a spiciness that grows on you, but doesn't burn your sinuses. I took this delicious, melty stew, threw it over a warm flour tortilla, added some fixins and got this:

I can't tell you how much this was worth the fuss. And really, it's just more work than usual for a slow cooker meal, but not more fuss than usual for a meal. Not to mention that we are getting 2 dinners out of this. We plan on eating the other half of the meat over rice later this week. So that makes it even more worth it.

This is usually where I post the recipe, but it's pretty long. Anyway, I think you should buy Liana's book already. You may end up having to work a little harder, but your palette will not regret it.

You can buy Secrets of Slow Cooking: Creating Extraordinary Food With Your Slow Cooker here.

Nothin' To Eat But Fancy Eggs

2010-02-07T11:36:00.001-08:00

We shop at the Food Coop every day. Partly because we don't have the storage space for a large shopping trip, but mostly because it's an adventure we can take with Walt. He enjoys sitting in the shopping cart seat, flirting with other coop members and munching on raw green beans. Before you think I'm an adequate mother raising a vegetable-eating toddler, I should mention that the only place Walt eats green beans is in the Food Coop shopping cart. If I place green beans, raw or otherwise, on his plate at home he looks at me like he's a teenager and I just served him a helping of "Dad and I are chaperoning your prom."

But yesterday we had a very busy day. There was a flurry of activity. I mean it, actual white blurs whooshed throughout our Brooklyn apartment, spinning us from one activity to the next, including a morning of sledding in Prospect Park, both of us taking the exam to work for the Census and Fred having a gig in the East Village. In the midst of this hubbub Fred and I decided to go all rock 'n roll and not shop at the coop. And, are you ready for this craziness? We were going to order Chinese for dinner! I know! Nuts, right? Welcome to Chez Stesney, where madness reigns supreme.

The next morning we were feeling quite pleased with ourselves, as well as slightly hungover from the MSG rush. After a leisurely morning of coffee for me, tea for Fred, and alternating sippy cups of milk and juice for Walt, we scoped out the kitchen for breakfast fixings. But wait.

We didn't have enough milk for cereal.
We didn't have enough oats for oatmeal.
We didn't have enough yogurt for smoothies.
We only had a heel of bread, so no French Toast.
We didn't even have enough butter for pancakes.

We did, however have a lot of eggs. And a hunk of ham leftover from a dinner earlier in the week. A few shriveled scallions. And a container of those breadcrumbs I mentioned earlier.

Not bad for a dish that cleaned out the fridge, huh?

I was never good at making scrambled eggs. Mine always turned out slightly overdone, with a spongy, dry texture and with some kind of burned pan flavor throughout each bite. But then my friend Sydney told me the trick: cook them slooooowly and stir constantly. Ah...that's how you get soft, silky curds of delicious goodness.

There are lots of instructions on how to make the perfect scrambled eggs. Apartment Therapy/The Kitchen adds cottage cheese. Gordon Ramsey (courtesy of lifehacker) does his risotto style. Paula Deen uses cheese, sour cream and butter. (Of course she does.)

I take a little from all of these methods. Adding generous amounts of butter and stirring constantly. The result is some good eating. Perfect for a lazy Sunday morning.

Anne's Fancy Eggs

2 TBL butter
6 eggs
splash of milk
3/4 cup of diced ham
2 scallions, chopped finely
1/2 cup of toasted breadcrumbs

Melt butter over medium heat. While this is happening, gently whisk eggs wit a splash of milk. When butter is melted, lower heat and add eggs, stirring constantly. When eggs begin to curdle, add ham and scallions. Keep stirring until eggs are cooked to your liking. Toss with breadcrumbs.

Rejection Is God's Protection. And It Sucks.

2010-02-06T12:19:00.000-08:00

Today I discovered that a blogger I admire took me off their* blog roll. I'm not exactly sure why. It's likely, very likely, that it's not personal. In fact, once I redesigned my site and lost a lot of my blog roll in the process. I didn't even realize this had happened until months later. I re-entered the ones I lost, but I also left off those blogs I couldn't recall or that hadn't been updated in a while. I enjoyed those writers a lot but they seemed to have moved on to other things.

It's difficult not to take things personally. I'm a writer. Next to being able to string together words, overreacting in an overly sensitive manner is an inherent part of my talent. As I've (slowly) matured, I've been able to keep my drama under control. Sometimes I slip, but hey...progress not perfection, right?

I'm very proud of the fact that I didn't immediately take this person off my blog roll. Nor did I pen a letter asking why. And I didn't even want to do these things. It's really not a big deal. Boy, have I grown.

But I'm not making anymore of that person's stupid recipes.

Oops.

*Improper pronoun used to hide gender

Hansel and Gretel Where On To Something

2010-02-05T12:46:00.000-08:00

Yikes! I'm only a few days into my posting thing and look at me, dropping Thursday like that. Well I won't let that happen again. Humph.

Let's talk breadcrumbs. I know, with an opening sentence like that I'm sure you're riveted. Did I mention I'm an advertising writer? Who's been fired? Are you surprised?

But homemade breadcrumbs are delicious. I think everyone should have some around. If I ever come across a recipe that requires breadcrumbs, I always make extra and throw them in the freezer. They are a great way to add a little extra oomph and crunch to any dish. Chicken, baked eggplant, even scrambled eggs.

The key to a good breadcrumb? Butter. HA! I'll bet you thought I was going to say the bread, didn't you? Well, the bread should be decent but really, the main star is the butter. The supporting players are the herbs. And the bread? Well, that's the key grip. Totally vital, but very much in the background. Unless it's a bread on a Christian Bale movie.

Here is a basic breadcrumb recipe you can play with. Use different herbs, use whole wheat bread instead of white but never, evah, skimp on the buttah.

Basic Breadcrumbs

Half a baguette
3 TBL of butter
1 TBL of roughly cut parsley
1 teaspoon of dried thyme, or 1 TBL of fresh thyme.

Cut the baguette into chunks and pulse in a food processor until crumbly. Melt the butter in a large frying pan. Add the breadcrumbs and stir until they brown. Add the herbs.

Use immediately or freeze in an airtight container. They usually don't need to be defrosted before you use them.

"My Weakness Is That I'm Too Perfect!"

2010-02-03T11:00:00.001-08:00

10 Things Not To Say On Job Interviews

1. "I put the qualude in quality."

2. "Do you mind if I answer this call? It's the Nazi I'm hiding in my attic."

3. "Dude! We've totally slept together!"

4. "I'm going to need Fridays off for suicide attempts."

5. "Don't you DARE call my last boss!"

6. "Just give me a box of wine and a stapler and I'm your Yes Man"

7. "I'll tell you about the gap in my resume if you tell me why you're such an ass fuck."

8. "I loved you in Mask".

9. "Is this going to be long? 'Cause this Nazi in my attic ain't gonna feed himself."

10. "I'd really love to work here."

French Fried Onion Powerlessness

2010-02-02T10:31:00.000-08:00

My name is Anne and I am powerless over a lot of things, but especially these.

We had a can around for a dinner recipe. I decided to eat a few for a snack. Not too many, just a small handful. But then I had another, and another. Suddenly, there was no "off" switch. Honestly, I couldn't make myself stop. Could. Not. I ended up pouring them directly from the can into my mouth because that's what we high society ladies do.

I have never been like this with food. Sure, I eat more then I need to eat, but if I need to exert control, say, not eat the entire ingredient we need for a chicken dinner, than I can. Well, I could. Not anymore. Now I'm a freakin' "Cathy" cartoon. Ack!

I ended up having to stop at the grocery store on the way to Walt's play date to pick up another can. So my son's fun was cut short due to my addiction. It's always the kids who suffer most.

On the upside, our dinner turned out great. Fred's mom made it for us the last time we visited and we loved it so much we tried it ourselves. It turned out delicious, despite the fact that it was tainted with my compulsiveness.

What's your powerless food?

French Fried Onion Chicken
Courtesy of Julie Stesney

You can find a million versions of this recipe, but here's ours.

2-3 chicken breasts
1 cup whole milk Greek yogurt, strained
1 cup of French's French Fried Onions, crushed and placed in a shallow dish.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Wash and pat dry chicken breasts. Coat in yogurt, then roll around in the French fried onions. Bake for 25-35 minutes.

My Own Private NaBlPoMo

2010-02-01T06:02:00.000-08:00

Last night my lovely friend Katie and I went to a Brooklyn networking event sponsored by Momasphere. We were both somewhat ambivalent about it but figured we should put ourselves out there, support a local organization and at the very least hang out together. She has a full time job but likes to keep her contacts fresh since she works in the same volatile field that just canned yours truly. As you may or may not know, I am currently a part of the unwashed jobless population. I take the unwashed part very seriously, only daring to shower when I hear flies buzzing or Fred threatens divorce.

We ended up meeting some interesting women and having a nice time. I only made one trip to the cupcake table and am incredibly impressed by my Herculean restraint.

I came home feeling a bit out of sorts. Though I've had several interviews and a couple of projects going already, it feels tougher out there than it ever has before. I'm generally an optimist who believes everything works out in the end, who is grateful for the abundance of health and love I've been freely given. But lately it's been a little harder for me to dust off and look towards the blue sky.

Yes, even we Pollyannas get down. We usually do it up real cute, with petticoats and Old Fashioned Piano Parties, but it's situational depression nonetheless.

Fred launched into Manly Supportive Husband mode. "Everything's gonna be fine, you're doing great, and hey! Why don't you focus a little more on your blog! You love your blog!" And you know what? That's a fine idea. Writing this blog has brought me so much joy and relief. Why not post some more? In fact, I've decide that I'm going to write a post every day this month. Just like NaBloPoMo, but with an even shorter month! (I know. I'm a pussy.)

I won't write about food as often because I find that a little more labor intensive. But I promise to do my best to keep things interesting if you decide to stop by. In fact, feel free to join me! Come on! It'll be fun!

Afterwards we can have a Sundae Social or something.

Beans, Beans, Good For Your Dwindling Savings

2010-01-20T13:02:00.000-08:00

A lot has happened lately. The unfortunate disaster in Haiti. The election in Massachusetts. And the least important thing, I got sh-t canned.

So. Yeah. I'm officially one of the unemployed. You know the drill. The economy and the clients and the office structure and all that. I get it, but I wish they'd told me before I'd bought my pure gold tiara with "Saucy Bitch" etched across the front in diamonds. Eh, who knew?

I work in advertising and pretty much everyone I know in this business lost her or his job at one time or another. Most of us more than once. The few that haven't either left their jobs before the axe caught them by the neck or have been at a place for so long that letting them go would cost more than my tiara. Oh, that's not fair. Some people are really, really good at hanging on to their jobs. And by some people I mean not me.

After the initial shock and fear wore off, I'm ending up where I normally do when this happens. Hopeful. Ready for something new. A little excited. And eating lots and lots of beans.

"Egads, Good American Wife!," you say. "Is that shrimp we see? Isn't shrimp rather...pricey for a family with no income?" Relax, dearies. It's the other half of a two pound bag we got when we were blowing our noses with C-notes, 'kay?

Fred rustled up this recipe from epicurious. I'll admit, I wasn't very excited about it. That is, until I tasted it. Then I grabbed the camera. Somehow, a bunch of ingredients that seem ho-hum-celery, carrots, beans...all come together. Naturally, there's bacon involved, as there tends to be when creamy beans meld into a rich broth spiked with salty seafood. Mmmm.

It's quite quick and easy too. That is, if you used canned beans, which I do. Often. I have no hang ups about that. I'm sure dried have it's virtues, but these days I need my comfort good quick.

I meant to put on some rice to go with this, but plum forgot. Grits would've also been great but my my 2-year-old, oops! I mean my husband won't eat grits. Polenta would be another nice accompaniment.

No matter. This was fantastic on it's own. We swiped the pan clean, knowing that even in the face of unemployment, we have more than enough.

Garlicky Black Pepper Shrimp and Black Eyed Peas
Paul Grimes/Gourmet Magazine, March 2009

For black-eyed peas:

4 bacon slices
4 scallions, chopped
1 medium carrot, finely chopped
1 celery rib, finely chopped
1/2 medium green bell pepper, chopped
2 large garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 Turkish bay leaves or 1 California
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1/8 teaspoon hot red-pepper flakes
2 (15-ounces) cans black-eyed peas, rinsed and drained
1 3/4 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth

For shrimp:

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined
3 large garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/2 cup dry white wine

Make black-eyed peas:

Cook bacon in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium heat until browned but not crisp. Transfer bacon to a plate, then tear into small pieces.

Cook scallions, carrot, celery, bell pepper, garlic, bay leaves, thyme, red-pepper flakes, 1/8 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper in fat in skillet over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are pale golden, about 10 minutes. Add black-eyed peas and broth and simmer 5 minutes. Transfer to a bowl.

Make shrimp:
Heat oil in skillet over medium-high heat until it shimmers. Season shrimp with 1/4 teaspoon salt and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper. Cook shrimp with garlic, stirring occasionally, until just opaque (shrimp will not be fully cooked), about 3 minutes. Add wine and bring to a boil, then briskly simmer 2 minutes. Add bacon and black-eyed-pea mixture and simmer until just heated through (mixture will be juicy). Discard bay leaves.

If A Picture's Worth 1,000 Words, Here Are 1,000 words.

2010-01-01T14:37:00.000-08:00

Ryan Seacrest gets a visit from the Ghost of New Years Eve Past.

Even during my stinkiest drinking days, I hated New Years Eve. For those of us who really, really, (a bit too really) know how to drink, it's Amateur Night. I know it's hypocritical, but there's nothing worse to a real drunk than another drunk who only "let's loose" once a year or so. Sorry guys, but until you've holed yourself up in a small, dirty apartment and chugged back a coupla boxes of wine while listening to "All By Myself" on an endless loop, you really don't deserve to be screaming "TWO THOUSAND AND TEN ROCKS!" in Times Square.

I jest, of course. I have nothing against people enjoying their drinks. I would never begrudge anyone his or her fun. And most people are pretty fun drunks. I simply prefer quiet New Years Eve evenings at home with my loved ones and a pound or six of chocolate. That's just me.

One year I did throw a New Years Eve dinner party. It was great having a group of good friends over to eat, albeit it was a lot of work. Not that it had to be a lot of work, but because I am an Insane Home Cook I had to up and go make 3 entrees, 4 types of cookies and a gazillion other things that took up room in our fridge well past Valentines Day.

This year I wanted to make a nice dinner for me and Fred. We have family dinner most nights, but last night we fed Walt early and had our dinner at NINE! O'CLOCK! In parents-of-a-toddler time this translates to eating dinner at 4AM. Since we were going all wild and crazy, I chose a special, all-day recipe from Sunday Suppers At Lucques by Suzanne Goin.

Poorly cut and pasted from amazon.com

What a wonderful cookbook! It has inspired many a food blogger for a while. I finally asked Santa and got it handed to me wrapped in reindeer-stamped paper. It is not a cook book for the faint-of-time because let me tell you, there are steps that have steps and then you turn the page and realize you should've started making this dinner in 1987.

I spent the better part of yesterday grinding baguettes into thyme-infused butter breadcrumbs, marinating chicken thighs in herbs and onions, braising leeks, and whipping hazelnuts into a heavenly paste to gently fold them into whipped cream.

The dinner turned out lovely. Deviled Chicken Thighs With Braised Leeks and Dijon came out of the oven with a perfect toast colored coating of breadcrumbs. The light salad of bufata mozzerella and fresh greens was a nice compliment to the rich chicken. And my dense olive oil chocolate cake with hazelnut whipped cream was divine if I do say so...

Wish I had thought to take pictures. Daaaaaaaaaamn.

What can I say? It's Amateur Night.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!

Olive Oil Chocolate Cake w Hazelnut Cream
NOTE: This is also called "Crazy Cake" because you don't use any dairy or eggs. You can use a less flavorful oil, like canola or sunflower, if you're using better chocolate. It's a one-bowl, easy-piecy wonder and yields an incredibly moist cake that borders on gooey. The hazelnut cream is a little more complicated, but only because the nut mixture needs to chill for at least an hour.

For cream:
1/2 cup hazelnuts
2 TBL confectioners sugar
1 cup of heavy cream

Heat oven to 400. Roast hazelnuts for about 5 minutes or until you can smell them. Let cool, then slip off skins. Don't worry if you can't get all of the skins off. A sliver or two won't matter. Put the hazelnuts in a food processor and pulse until it becomes a fine paste. Put in a tupperware or covered bowl and chill for at least an hour or overnight.

Beat the whipping cream and sugar together in a bowl. When it forms peaks, fold in the chilled nut mixture.

For the cake:

1 1/4 cups flour
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 cup sugar
½ tsp salt
5 TBL olive oil
1 tsp vanilla
1 TBL cider vinegar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix dry ingredients in bowl, then add oil, vanilla and vinegar. Pour into a greased cake pan and bake for 25-30 minutes, until top of cake springs back when touched.

.

Pudding Of The Bread Variety: Chocolate & Coconut

2009-12-05T10:33:00.000-08:00

This is my entry for Bon Appetit's Blog Envy Bake-Off contest. So let me take this opportunity to urge you to vote (for me.) your favorite entry (mine) and be sure to get all your friends and family to vote (for me) as well. It's great holiday fun (for me!)

Let's say the final gingersnap has been iced. The entire batch of sandies are sandwiched with jam. The last snowfall of powdered sugar has landed upon your lemon squares. Your holiday baking, while zen like and tingly with the spirit of the season, is gratefully finished. Except. Oh, except!

There's that one dinner party someone's having at the last minute. Or that forgotten potluck. Or worse, that office "cutting back" holiday bash that has everyone standing awkwardly around the boardroom conference table making jokes about Xeroxing their asses. (It. Never. Dies.) You aren't ready to give up your cookie bounty, not just yet. And while there was something warrior-like about staying up -til the wee AM hours last week, you haven't got it in you for another night of multiple pans and bowls. What to do?

A normal, well adjusted human will probably go the fancy bakery and buy something. But you are not normal. You are dedicated home cook, honest and more than a little insane. You must, must, must bring something homemade! Your self esteem demands it!

Why not consider bread pudding? It can be mixed the night before, then thrown in the oven later. Done. Everyone loves it and there's even a Christmas tune that nods to it. Well, that's figgy pudding but close enough.

And if you really want to pull out the stops, add some coconut and chocolate to the mix. It brings it up to a more festive level and isn't too difficult.

This idea for this recipe came to me when we had Violet and her boyfriend Patrick to dinner a few weeks ago. Patrick brought several loaves of his homemade bread. We gave our best efforts yet couldn't finish the bunch. We had to save room for desert-coconut sorbet with dark chocolate sauce. Divine, by the way.

The next day I was slicing the bread into cubes for croutons and it hit me like a coconut from a tree.

Why not turn it into a desert? One nicely reminiscent of the one I had before?

So I mixed it all up in one bowl because you can do that with bread pudding. I poured it into a baking dish and let it puff and meld, and when it was baked, I topped it with a rich chocolate sauce made in less than 10 minutes on my stove. The result....

A Jackson Pollack! And a very delicious desert. Something that is best served warm but is easily delicious at room temperature. It is nontraditionally traditional and very satisfying, both for frazzled hosts and guests. Best yet, no one has to touch your precious cookies.

Chocolate & Coconut Bread Pudding
by Anne Stesney, A Good American Wife

For Bread Pudding:
3 TBL melted butter, plus more to grease pan
1 cup sugar
5 eggs
1 15 oz can of coconut milk
1 small can (about 8.75 oz) of cream of coconut
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon of ground cardamom
1/4 teaspoon of grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of vanilla
3 cups flaked coconut, with 1 cup set aside
1 lb of stale bread, preferably French or Artisan loaf, cut into 1 inch cubes.

For chocolate sauce:
1/4 cup of milk
1 TBL butter
1 TBL sugar
1 3.5 oz bar of dark chocolate, less than 64% cacao

TO MAKE:

Grease a 9 X 13 inch pan with butter, then dust with 1/2 cup of coconut flakes.

In a large bowl, combine butter, sugar, eggs, coconut milk, coconut cream, spices, salt and vanilla. Stir in 2 cups of coconut flakes. Add bread cubes and stir to coat them eventing. Pour into a dish.

Set aside for 30 minutes, or leave in the fridge for up to 24 hours.

Bake at 325 for 30 minutes, then remove from the oven and top with the remaining 1/2 cup of coconut. Continue baking for another 30 minutes or until center is firm and coconut is browned.

Drizzle chocolate sauce on the top like you're an alcoholic artistic genius. Or just a hungry dessert maker.

Chocolate Sauce
In a small saucepan, combine milk, butter and sugar. Bring to a slight boil, then remove from the heat. Add chocolate and stir until melted.

Meat Off! And Meat, Oof!

2009-11-17T08:41:00.001-08:00

I've said it before and I'll say it again. If you want to trick people into thinking you're a well adjusted member of society, have them over for dinner. They will think you're gracious and people loving, when in reality you are a borderline agoraphobic scrounge of the Earth who thinks humanity is doomed.

Okay. I'm not really that dismal. But I do like the fact that when people come to our home, I can socialize without having to put on shoes or breath fresh air.

A dinner party is even better if you have a theme. Yes, a theme. It doesn't have to be an all-out, everyone dress up kind of deal ala, "Murder At the Copa Cabana!", although that would make me want to be your best friend. No, I'm thinking something simpler, such as a taste test between organic and non-organic supermarket meat.

See, Greenbury Market sent me a gorgeous and generous package of organic rib eye steaks and boneless chicken breasts. It made me wonder, would I be able to taste the difference? Would my husband? Would my friends? And so the invites went out. Soon Jim, Leslie and little Nicholas showed up at our door.

The key to choosing good friends is making sure they're as dorky as you.

The purpose of this taste test dinner party has to do with just that: taste. I realize that there are many, many socially beneficial reasons for buying organic meat, and they make sense. But this only has to do with TASTE right now. Any more of a full discussion will take too much research and ignite way too much debate for my simple homecooking blog. Read: I'm lazy.

Contestant #1: A beautiful Greensbury Market rib eye. Look at that marbling!

We don't have a grill and that's a shame. When it comes to cooking rib eye steak I believe grilling is best. The second best way is to pan sear, so I fumigated our apartment with carcinogenic steak fumes in the interest of yummy.

Contestant #2: Supermarket rib eye. About 1 lb @ $11.43. Them's New York City prices, cowboy.

Since cooking the steaks kept me in the kitchen and away from my guests, I kept the rest of the meal simple. I threw the chicken breasts in a glass Pyrex, coated them with BBQ sauce and baked them at 425 for 15 minutes.

For sides I made potato salad the night before. I lifted a recipe from Julie at Kitchenography and did most of the prep for Laurie Colwin's creamed spinach earlier in the day. I also made a big green salad that we ended up not really needing but it was amazingly good. (The secret is toasted fresh pecans and this vinaigrette.)

I should note here that I made way, way too much food. I didn't make enough food for a dinner party once. ONCE. The Italian American police demanded I give back my DNA. We convinced them to give me another chance but it has scarred me for life. Never again!

We loaded up our plates, sat down, and dug into some very serious eating.

It probably will come as no surprise that the Greensbury Market steak had more flavor and a much nicer texture than the supermarket meat. It was a unanimous winner. I could even tell the difference in flavor with the fat. (Yes, I'm a fat eater when it comes to beef. It's mine and my future heart donor's favorite part.) The organic meat just sang with beef flavor on many levels, getting better and better in my mouth with each chew. The supermarket meat just kinda sat there and actually got blander with every bite.

The chicken was a different story. The texture and juiciness of the supermarket chicken was better, but I have to take the blame for this. I cooked the organic and the supermarket chicken together. Because organic chicken isn't pumped with stuff to keep it large and juicy, it is smaller and therefore turned out dry. My bad. I should've cooked them separately. Organic chicken doesn't need to be in the oven for as long.

Notice the tiny chicken breasts to the left. Those are organic. And later, overcooked by yours truly.

Even so, we all agreed the organic chicken tasted more like, well, chicken. But the texture awards went to the supermarket brand.

Our conclusion. Better beef is worth the price. And considering Greensbury Market rib eye is $13.99 (plus shipping) to my supermarket's $11.99 steak, there's not even that much of a cost difference.

Organic chicken, however is a toss up. Check your values, your taste buds, your recipe and your pocketbook to decide if it's worth it. I'll leave it up to you.

A thanks to Greensbury Market for the opportunity to sample their delectable goodies.

A thanks to Jim, Leslie and Nicholas for lending us their palettes.

A thanks to the Italian American police for letting me keep my DNA.

And a special thanks to anyone who has read this incredibly long winded post. You are a trouper and I love you. (Mom!)

A Mockery Of Apple Pie by Guest Blogger Fred

2009-11-12T11:04:00.000-08:00

While I'm working on my Organic Vs. Supermarket meat post, enjoy this one by A Good American Husband, Fred. - Anne

A mock apple pie using Ritz crackers instead of apples, it's not right. But I wanted to create something worse, something wrong, not a mock apple pie but a mockery of apple pie.

My burlesque begins with a box or Ritz crackers bought at Target at the height of apple season. Sorry local farmers, my money went to Nabisco, a big-agra company dedicated to making the world obese, diabetic and in love with US Weekly.

I printed a recipe from the Kraft Korporate website and headed for the Park Slope Food Co-op, snickering as I selected the organic butter and free-trade cinnamon that I would later defile with crackers that lists soy lecithin as an ingredient. Of course I made the crust myself. Oh, the farce!

It didn't take long before I had my travesty ready for the oven. While it baked, I drew moustaches on pictures of Julia Child. When it emerged, it looked exactly like an apple pie, but I knew the rude lampoon that lurked beneath a light and flaky crust.

The best thing to do with a culinary grotesquery such as this is to smash it in the face of a starving Ethiopian. Lacking anyone fitting that description, I decided to feed it to dinner guests. By coincidence, Jim, Leslie and little Nicholas arrived at our place with a Sara Lee apple pie. The Good American Wife planned the evening as a side-by-side taste test for organic versus supermarket meat and poultry so I took the opportunity to add a dessert course.

Maybe I got the recipe wrong, but it didn't taste like apple pie. It was super sweet and kind of lemony. Not bad in it own way, but a complete failure as an apple pie. Let me put it this way - the leftover Sara Lee pie was all gone by the next day. Mine is still in the refrigerator.

You can find out more about the orgins of Mock Apple Pie here.

Mock Apple Pie from the Kraft Foods website

pastry for 2-crust 9-inch pie

36 RITZ Crackers, coarsely broken (about 1-3/4 cups crumbs)

2 cups sugar

2 tsp. cream of tartar

Grated peel of 1 lemon

2 Tbsp. lemon juice

2 Tbsp. butter or margarine

1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon

PREHEAT oven to 425. Roll out pie pastry and place in a 9-inch pie plate. Place cracker crumbs in crust, set aside.

MIX sugar and cream of tartar in medium saucepan. Gradually stir in 1-3/4 cups water until well blended. Bring to boil on high heat. Reduce heat to low; simmer 15 minutes. Add lemon peel and juice; cool. Pour syrup over cracker crumbs. Dot with butter; sprinkle with cinnamon. Roll out remaining pastry; place over pie. Trim; seal and flute edges. Slit top crust to allow steam to escape.

BAKE 30 to 35 minutes or until crust is crisp and golden. Cool completely.

A Flash In The Pan

2009-11-04T08:18:00.000-08:00

Hello. Have you met my son? His name is Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Weekend.

From Monday through Friday, you will never meet a nicer kid. He transitions from one activity to the next in a blink of his big baby blues. He laughs, he plays, he says the cutest things. We get a little grief when it comes to getting him dressed. (No s-irt! No pant! Mine! Mine! OW! OOOOWWWW!) (I assure you we are gentle and his clothes don't hurt. This is pure toddler drama.) But other than that, no problems at all from our smiley, active little boy.

Then comes the weekend.

He asks for things he knows he can't have then throws Code Red tantrums. If we try to distract him, sometimes it works, sometimes he gets angrier. Same goes for ignoring him and walking away. Toys are thrown. Tiny fists are furled. It takes two of us to get on one sock, then he pulls it off. He's demanding, agitated, prickly.

We figured there are a few reasons behind this behavior.

1. During the week, he has a pretty structured routine. While the weekend isn't excessively different, it's different enough to throw him off the beam.

2. During the week he's usually just with one of us, usually Fred. So he gets the undivided attention of one parent. But when both of us are around, he has to share attention with the other parent. And a 2-year-old and sharing? Not a winning combo.

3. He's TWO. It's what they do.

When I was pregnant my friend Shelly told me to get used to saying, "it's just a phase." So here we are. I'm sure with time and maturity he'll outgrow it and we'll find the right combination of giving him attention/ignoring bad behavior. And if that doesn't work, there's always my favorite parenting tool, Skittles.

There's also this Pan Baked Lemon Almond Tart recipe from Mark Bittman. Lemony sweet, billowy with a light crunch, its loveliness helps dull the piercing whines of 2-year-old who isn't allowed to pour his milk over our laptop.

Yes, it's that easy. Unlike parenting.

If you're looking for an Atkins friendly treat, here you go. Though I don't think I'd like it for anything other than a breakfast pastry. It's quite eggy, for one. And it doesn't hold it shape very well, which is fine first thing in the morning, but I want my deserts to work a little harder.

Pull yourself together, man! (OK, I should've let it cool longer. Still!)

Speaking of work, there is very little to do here. The most strenuous part for me was pulling my mini Cuisinart down from the cupboard to grind the almonds. Other than that, this is eyes-closed, one-arm-behind-the-back easy.

Ta-da!

It goes great with a black, roasty coffee cut with a splash of milk. It was the only thing on our dish, but a nice sage sausage or perhaps some glazed bacon would've rounded out the meal nicely.

Best of all, it's quick. So you can enjoy a warm, filling breakfast before rushing your little one outside, where distractions keep eruptions at bay. At least until nap time.

Mark Bittman's Pan-Baked Lemon-Almond Tart
The New York Times, October 7, 2009

4 eggs

1/2 cup sugar

Pinch of salt

1/2 cup ground almonds

1/2 cup cream

1/2 cup sliced almonds, more for garnish

1 lemon, zest and juice

2 tablespoons butter

Powdered sugar, for garnish.

1. Heat oven to 400 degrees. In a bowl, combine eggs, sugar, salt, ground almonds, cream, sliced almonds, lemon zest and juice.

2. Melt butter in an 8-inch ovenproof skillet over low heat; when foam has subsided, add almond mixture to pan, tilting pan to distribute batter evenly. Continue to cook tart on stovetop until edges just begin to set, then put pan in oven and finish cooking, about 10 to 15 minutes more.

3. When tart is done, put it in broiler for about a minute or until just golden on top. Sprinkle with powdered sugar and sliced almonds. Serve.

Yield: 4 servings.

Served Up With A Side Of Ignorance

2009-10-26T12:14:00.000-07:00

I wanted to do something cute with the title of this post and entwine it with the name of my featured recipe, an Asian noodle dish. I took the name of the recipe into Yeweng, my coworker who's from Malaysia by way of China. Here's our conversation:

ME: Do you speak Chinese?

YEWENG: Yes!

ME: (showing him the recipe) Can you tell me which of these words means spicy?

YEWENG: Um, that's Thai.

Hurrah! I'm an Asian bigot! It's called living the dream, folks.

Luckily Yeweng was a good sport about my blunder. Now I just need to cross my fingers in hope that the Park Slope Food Coop doesn't get wind of this and revoke my membership.

So. The dish. It came to me via CHOW and it's called Pad Kee Mao, also known as Drunken Noodles or Spicy Ground Chicken with Noodles. It's touted as a great weeknight dinner because it's quick. OK, I'm gonna pull the breaks on this one.

While most Asian stir fry dishes are quick when it comes to actually cooking them, the amount of chopping takes a lot of time for those of us with homecooking knife skills. In fact, a lot of "30 minute meals" work under the assumption that I have loads of diced onions, minced garlic, and julienned carrots just sitting around, waiting to be doused with homemade chicken broth. It's annoying because the chopping adds at least 15 extra minutes, depending on the dish. It's worth it and all but QUIT TRYING TO FOOL ME. I may be Asian insensitive but I know how long it takes me to thinly slice a shallot.

Ok. Calm down. Let's talk about this dish. DELICIOUS! There are so many layers of flavor, from sour lime juice and salty fish sauce to juicy meat and vivid red peppers. I had to sub ground turkey for the chicken which didn't make a difference. Leaving out the spicy jalapenos, however, did make a difference. This dish had a pull of sweetness that would've gone beautifully against some heat.

I left off the hot 'n spicy because I wanted Walt to try it, thinking he'd love the noodles. But see, the noodles had MEAT touching them and my son only eats meat in the most over-processed form of hot dog. My mistake for trying to serve him Food Coop organic grain-fed chicken that practiced Tantric sex while fighting the oppressive government of a small South American country. Next time I'll spray it with nitrates and cigarettes to make it more to his liking.

Ah, kids. You can't make them eat what they don't like, but you can continue to put new foods in front of them and end up eating two dinners. In that case I hope your dinner is this yummy Not Chinese dish of Pad Kee Mao.

Pad Kee Mao
from CHOW

INGREDIENTS

1 (14-ounce) package wide rice noodles
1/4 cup oyster sauce
1/4 cup fish sauce
1/4 cup freshly squeezed lime juice (from about 2 limes)
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 medium shallots, peeled and thinly sliced
3 medium garlic cloves, peeled and coarsely chopped
1 pound ground chicken
2 medium red peppers, thinly sliced
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 medium jalapeno peppers thinly sliced
1 cup loosely packed Thai basil leaves
NOTE: I used regular basil

INSTRUCTIONS

Place noodles in a large bowl and cover with boiling water. Soak for about 15 minutes, until loose and pliable but not soft; drain. Combine oyster and fish sauce and lime juice in a medium bowl, mix well, and set aside.
Heat oil in a large (12-inch) frying pan over medium-high heat. Once heated, add shallots and garlic and cook for 2 minutes or until softened but not brown. Add ground chicken and break into small pieces. Cook until chicken is white and almost cooked through, about 3 minutes. Add bell peppers and stir-fry just until they begin to soften, about 5 minutes.
Push chicken mixture to one side of the pan and add eggs to the center. Scramble with a spatula until eggs are set and don’t run, about 1 minute. Push eggs to the side and add reserved sauce ingredients. Once the sauce is boiling, add the drained noodles and toss to coat. Remove from heat, add jalapeños and basil and toss to combine; serve immediately.

The Pot Roast With The Most

2009-10-23T17:18:00.000-07:00

Co-dependent herbs

The Barefoot Contessa has yet to let me down.

If the woman told me to add a stick of butter to a salad, I wouldn't hesitate. If she told me to do the Chicken Dance before putting a bird in the oven, I'd start jiving. I'd even use Miracle Whip if she asked, despite the fact that this condiment is a spit in the face to my beloved mayonnaise.

Fortunately, she doesn't ask any of those things. But she did does suggest that I add a ridiculous amount of chopped vegetables to pot roast for her Company Pot Roast recipe.

It doesn't look like much now, but I had a sore wrist and a mound of chopping to do.

Then she had me throw in a 28 oz. can of tomatoes on top of that. An entire can, juices and all! Followed by chicken stock, yes, CHICKEN stock. In a beef dish. Weird. But I did it.

Just when you think nothing will fit, you add more vegetables. But they do cook down.

Then you throw in a 4 lb chuck roast after all that. Somehow it all fits. Later, after hours and hours in a low oven, she had me puree these vegetables with some butter (YAY!) and flour.

The pot roast pre-puree. After puree it looks like a chunky tomato soup and well, it kinda is one. It's heaven over pot roast and mashed potatoes.

The result is that this is the best pot roast gravy I ever had. To die for and easy enough to do with an immersion blender. My only mistake was that the roast ended up in the oven about an hour longer than it needed. It was a tad on the dry side. Just a bit, though.

Now all I need is a butter drenched salad as a side dish.

Here's the recipe, courtesy of The Food Network

Happiest Of Happiest

2009-10-15T08:39:00.000-07:00

Today is my birthday! I love my birthday. Getting older isn't always fun but hell, it's inevitable so I might as well get a cupcake out of it, no? Plus I get presents and special meals and lots of posts on my Facebook profile. Then I get to write posts like this on my blog and fish for even more birthday wishes. I am shameless.

My food today is as follows: Yeweng is taking me to lunch at one of my favorite places on the planet:

The Oyster Bar lunch counter, Grand Central Station, NYC

And tonight, Fred and I will try out our fork-skills at Brooklyn favorite A Di La. Can't wait!

Dinner Guest File 10-11-09

2009-10-09T07:15:00.000-07:00

NAMES:
Amanda and Pete

OCCUPATIONS:
We'd tell you, but we'd have to kill you

LAST SEEN:
3 1/2 years ago at the Stesney dinner table

NEXT APPEARANCE
This Sunday at the Stesney dinner table.

SERVING
Probably The Barefoot Contessa's Company Pot Roast, but I'm not 100%. Any other good dinner party suggestions?

How To Stop Feeling Crappy

2009-10-06T09:52:00.001-07:00

Oh honey, I know. I've been there. There is something wrong. You're a little sad and discontent. People are being assholes without even trying. This is normally par for the course, but really? Can't they stop assholing around for just one sweet minute? And there's not enough money. Or attention. And where the hell are the accolades? When you were having (pre-Bobby) Whitney Houston dreams in your puffy bedroom, this was not what you imagined. "What happened?", you think, "How did I end up this way?"

This is not the time for The Secret. Please, please, step away from the Oprah. She is your friend, just not now. The Artists Way is a nice idea but it's not what's needed. It's time to stop thinking about your life and get the hell out of your head. During my own personal journey with this brand of self-centered angst, I've found the things to do are pen out a gratitude list. If that makes you want to puke, then forget it because there's even a better thing to do. A quick, easy and effective way to get out of your personal crapfest is to help someone else.

It's corny, yes. They make pocket books out of this sort of belief. There is certainly some version of this sentiment on a Precious Moments statuette laying around a Hallmark store. But like any cliche or stereotype, it's around because it's true. Take it from me, an emotional Italian. So why not throw a little money at someone who needs it? Or buy a Venti for the guy standing behind you in line? Or volunteer to read or tutor or hold a lonely cat? It helps. Trust me.

Everyone has her charity soft spot. For my BFF Sarah it's animals, especially cats. Tell her a cat needs money and she'll whip out her wallet with the speed of a Real Housewife throwing yet another party for herself. I get someone loving cats, but with Sarah it was a little harder for me to understand because of her cat Maxine. Girl was one cold cat-bitch. You know the type. The "Don't Touch Me You Insipid Human" type. In all fairness Max did snuggle up with me one time, but I was missing some jewelry afterward.

An ex of mine sympathized a lot with the elderly. Probably because he's going to die alone and lonely with cold piles of money giving him no comfort. What, me bitter? Yes.

My charity soft spot is kids. It always has been, even before I had Walt. Even so, I'll admit that being a mom has intensified the heartwrench factor of kids in need for me. For the past 2 years I've watched a little human grow and develop. His complete trust and dependence on me drives home how much kids need adults to help them along. They also need money. And school supplies.

This is why I'm asking...can you please give some money to help poor NYC kids buy some school stuff? We're talking about kids who get free lunch. You know if their parents can't afford lunch, then the chances of them showing up with notebooks and pens are unlikely. Even $20 will help them buy some stuff. That's less than the co-pay for Paxil!

Eliza describes it better than I, so please check out her post, Dream Maker, Wish Granter and make a contribution.

If you don't feel better afterward, try a little Tom Kha Gai soup with a chunk of sticky rice thrown in. If that doesn't help, I've got nothin'.

Forgive My Immodesty

2009-09-27T11:13:00.027-07:00

I'm quick to self-deprecate. Mainly because it's funny, but it's also a good way for me to not take my flaws so seriously. It's rare when I'll say I'm proud of myself, or brag on my blog about anything I do. Even when I make a good meal, I feel more comfortable giving credit to the ingredients and the authors of the recipes rather than my mad skillz because honestly, my skillz are modest.

But today I'm making an exception. Because I've been doing this sketch writing thing all month, and it's been really tough. I haven't been as inspired or impressed by my work. I haven't been really proud of my dialogue. But gosh darnnit, I kept writing. I ignored the DARK FORCE OF CREATIVIY that tells me I suck, I should give up, and what's the use. And I wrote and wrote and wrote anyway.

So far I have written 27 brilliant, awful, inspired, tired, dreadful, wonderful, hilarious and hilariously horrible sketches.

A big THANKS to Michelle for dreaming and organizing this whole shebang.

Only 3 more to go. Wheeeee!

Hunting For Trouble

2009-09-24T13:29:00.000-07:00

Hey...remember September last year? How it totally sucked because of Wall Street and banks and junk? Eh, those jerks. But we survived in tact, right? Not to say that everything's rosy, but for most the pressure has eased a little. And if it hasn't, please make yourself some Hunter Stew, culled from a recipe we found in a slow cooker booklette. Yes, at times I buy those little books at the grocery store checkout lines. Next stop: ordering clothes from QVC.

So, this Hunter Stew. It's part Chicken Cacciatorre, part Chicken Stew and 100% Will Do You Good.

But.

It's my understanding that "Hunter's Stew" is supposed to reflect the bounty of a hunter's outing, meaning it has a lot of gamey meats and hearty vegetables. The recipe I have calls for boneless chicken and yellow squash. This, to me, disqualifies the entire "Hunter" portion of this recipe. Because I don't think anyone actually hunts chickens. Well, maybe someone does but he can't have any of my stew because anyone who'd hunt an animal who can barely run is clearly an asshole.

Fred cooked this up in our slow cooker and scooped it out over a tangle of chewy fettuccine. Then he got all fancy and sprinkled fresh basil on top. Fresh herbs are key to making anything seem Alice Waters-like. Even nacho cheese dispensed from a spigot will take on an air of straight-from-the-farmers-market when it has tiny chopped green leaves on top.

It's another one of our good transitional meals, helping nudge us from summer to autumn, and including good things from both seasons. You can braise it in a stew pot if you don't have a slow cooker and I'm sure it will be just as good, if not better because sometimes that's the case. In any case, it's delightful on the palette, easy on the stomach and if you're still rolling from last year's financial crisis, gentle on the wallet.

HUNTER STEW

2 lbs boneless chicken thighs
1 medium onion, diced
2 cloves of garlic, chopped
3 carrots, peeled and sliced into rounds
1 large can of plum tomatoes
1 cup chicken broth or white wine
1/2 teaspoon of salt and pepper
1 teaspoon dried oregano or 1 TBL fresh
1 lb yellow summer squash, sliced into rounds
Parmesan
fresh basil leaves
fettucine

Throw the chicken, onion, garlic and carrots into a slow cooker. Pour the tomatoes and their juices in and crush the tomatoes in your hands like you're destroying other worlds. Add the salt, pepper and oregano and chicken broth or white wine. Stir all ingredients to mix. Cook on low for 6 hours. During the last hour, lay the squash slices on top. Stir before serving.

Serve over fettuccine. Sprinkle grated Parmesan and basil leaves on top.