It's Almost Lunch Time

It’s the time of year that I start to get itchy about school lunches, and so far my anxiety and panic have not set in. In some ways I think I have the system down:

• I have some good fast stand-bys for quick lunches I could pack in my sleep (hummus, bagel, fruit, cheese sticks, chocolate milk).

• I’ve finally learned that I can actually put a lot of the lunch together the night before. That took years. Really.

• My girl started to pack her own lunch during camp this year. We shopped together to make sure we had foods were nutritious and that she enjoyed, and she packed what she wanted to eat from that selection.

One trick over the colder months is to make sure you have a small, wide-mouth thermos for hot soups and beans. Big pay off with the thermos.

Lots of people are talking about school lunches these days. I hate to give a shout out to Whole Foods these days because the CEO is just being a dimwit, but I found a nice flyer there with a great list of foods for lunch. It helped me think of using jicama, snap peas, and green beans and making wraps from whole grain tortillas. That made me think of the Levant sandwiches I used to get at La Mediteranee in Berkeley: basically cream cheese and cucumber with some herbs and lettuce rolled up in levan bread like pin wheels. Those would definitely go over big with my girl.

Our president is talking about school lunches too. I saw Obama interviewed by an 11 year old Damon Weaver, and he is ready to make a move about school lunch. He made similar points in a health care strategy meeting today.

So far, so good.


Thanks to Aubrey's Antiques (aubreysantiques.com) for the lunch box photo. That was the one I wanted when I was a kid.

Dinner (mostly) from the Farm

Today is the My Girl’s last day at Farm Camp at Stone Barns Center for Food and Agriculture, and it’s been a good two weeks for both of us. She’s learned about organic foods and composting, gone on hikes, and even prepared a meal in the Blue Hill kitchen. I’ve been able to shop at their amazing Farm Market, drink my weight in iced coffee, and get the sense that all is not bad in a world that create this kind of farm heaven. We’ve been splurging on fresh eggs from the farm, making an amazing egg salad last week and then a frittata (we red and blue flesh potatoes from the farm). Dinner came from the farm last night too.

It was a strange thing to be looking at the little piggies at the Stone Barns farm, knowing we were going to be having ham from there for dinner. I don’t know if I’m good at compartmentalizing or rationalizing: I’m eating dinner that came from the likes of you, little piggy, but it’s not you on my plate. Plus, if I am going to have some pork, how much better to know that the little critters lived a life of trotting around in the woods and rolling in juicy mud.

Once the ham steaks were decided upon (and they’re so easy, you just basically just have to heat them up), I knew that I wanted some kind of apple thing with them. It’s summer and too hot for applesauce, so I decided upon a slaw. My girl and I did this part together: washing the cabbage, fennel, and apple—then slicing them all into thin strips. We made a dressing out of Bittman, which we cut down for our small group: 1/2 C mayonnaise, 2 teaspoons cider vinegar, 1 teaspoon sugar, 1 teaspoon maple syrup. We mixed it all together, making sure we had a nice ratio of veggies and dressing and then let it sit to wilt and mingle in the fridge for an hour.

Evan grilled some more of that delicious light green oval-shaped zucchini they’ve had at Stone Barns, and My Girl whisked up a vinaigrette for the purslane salad, a green I had never heard of until the other day. It’s labeled as both a weed and a “succulent herb” full of good things for the body. It makes a tender and satisfying salad, little bunches of greens like watercress. I got a beautiful bag at the farm market when I picked up my girl from camp, but I’m afraid it’s the same vigorous plant that I’ve trying to weed out of our raised flower bed.

When Summer (or the Upper West Side) Gives You Lemons...

Summer in the city used to mean having an Iced Cappuccino with Chocolate Italian Ice at La Fortuna on West 71st Street. That a hardware store now occupies that site is very sad indeed, the only consulation being that it is a small business and not a big chain. I still mourn the loss of that place, and I’ve come to realize that the New York that you encounter when you first arrive becomes permanently etched as the way New York is supposed to be. So there shouldn’t be a Brooks Brothers on my old corner. That’s supposed to be a Chemical bank. But of course, if I had gotten there a few years earlier I would have longed for the space to be a car show room.



And Hadleigh’s is supposed to be a few blocks down on Broadway. That was the place to go to choose chocolate to sneak into the movies or Lincoln Center. It was the place to sit outside and have a paper cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll on Sunday morning. Hadleigh’s has been gone for a few years too, and it has been replaced by something more appropriate to the new neighborhood: Bar Boulud.

My friend Amy and I decided to stop there after a matinee the other day, and we indulged ourselves with a decadent cheese plate for lunch. Your first look at the platter makes you think that they might have made a mistake, no, we didn’t order the mouse meal (something they would have at Alice’s Tea Cup). But when you start in on the cheese you find you get nicely fed.

This is a long story to tell about their lemonade. They had two specials: basil and rosemary lemonade. They infused their simple syrup with the herb, then added the lemon juice. You poured in your own Pelligrino. It was like an herbal citron pressé, and perfect for a warm summer day.


I made some at home yesterday, just as described. I picked some rosemary, muddled it with a mortar and pestle, wrapped it up in cheesecloth and then let it simmer with the sugar and water.

The rest is just lemon juice and bubbly water to taste. Perhaps it will become a new summer tradition, she said with just a small amount of uncertainty.

Thanks to Jim in Times Square for the UWS photo from his flicker page: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jim-in-times-square/2259528804/

So Far, So Good

The cooking en famille experiment continues, and I’m cautiously optimistic about how things are going. Last night’s meal of roast chicken and an assortment of veggies worked well. My girl and I did the beets together, cutting off the greens, washing them well, and putting them in a pot of shallow water to braise (it was too hot to roast). Then we sorted through the greens and had a pot ready with those as well.

Evan was in charge of the chicken, and then had the idea of grilling the rest of the loaf of bread while the roasted chicken rested. I had an adorable pale green squash that would be easy to grill, so I sliced that up, doused it in oil, salt and pepper, and put that on with the bread. We put some goat cheese in with the cooked beets after they’d been skinned, then simmered down some balsamic vinegar for a sweet and tangy glaze.

Dinner came together like a waltz, except for when the bee flew into the kitchen. Huge distraction, a bee buzzing around your kitchen, so some of the bread was well done.

Dinner was wonderful, and I invented this little taste sensation: grilled bread, spread with fresh goat cheese, topped with a slice of grilled zucchini, and topped with a few sprigs of thyme. Oh my.

Headline News: Woman Revitalized after Family Dinner Slump

I’ve been in a dinner slump. No joy in thinking about, preparing and putting dinner on the table. For the past few months dinner has been a job and an ordeal for me. I would have been happy to open a carton of yogurt for myself or have some cheese and crackers.

I’d been trying to figure out what was going on. I had lost my knack, my confidence and my desire. Was I slipping into a mild depression?

Time dragged on, meals were served (at home or in restaurants), and then a convergence of ideas emerged. It was like the clouds that have been coming together lately for our magnificent thunderstorms.

Here’s what happened:

1) Evan read Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food and became a convert.

2) My girl started Farm Camp for the third year.

3) I read Little Heathens: Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm During the Depression, by Mildred Armstrong Kalish.

4) I went on a quest for a coffee cup, which entailed driving for 5 hours, and we ended up listening to some of the podcasts on my ipod, including a TimesTalk with Alice Waters.

These four events happened within about a week and it suddenly dawned on me that the Family Dinner I was dedicated to putting forth needed to be re-worked. Family dinner had been a big effort on my part to put dinner on the table (set generally by My Girl) and then cleaned up by Evan. It had seemed like a fair distribution of effort, but not any more.

Evan’s interest in eating in a more responsible and healthy way made me realize that he had a bigger stake in the meal than before. He had always been appreciative of the meals I prepared and served. But one night I realized that he makes rice better than I do and that the work is easier when we share it—both preparation and clean up.

My Girl was excited about Farm Camp this year because it involves more cooking. She harvested zucchini yesterday. She prides herself on her ability to clean garlic.

I was drawn to Kalish’s book by the cover and the hope that her voice would be like that of my grandmother, telling stories about how to “make do” with less. She helped me get my shower door clean with baking soda (truly, make a paste and scrub lightly—all of the sick scum comes right off without the fumes or cost of the scrubbing bubbles) and reminded me about the green husk on walnuts and how you have to let them age.

And then My Girl and I listened to Alice Waters (who I both admire and find grating) talk about teaching children to appreciate good food by growing it and preparing it. My girl is already 9, ready and able to learn more about making meal plans and preparing food.

My vision of Family Dinner has shifted. It’s no longer just the three of us sitting down to dinner I prepared. A real family dinner has to involve all of us – in decisions, in preparation, in sharing and cleaning up. So last night we had lamb chops, mashed potatoes and cauliflower (My Girl’s choice of vegetable). We all worked together to get the meal on the table. My Girl picked and washed the rosemary for the rub, prepared the garlic and mashed everything up with the mortar and pestle (then made her lunch for camp when she was done). Evan put water on to boil, cleaned and chopped the cauliflower and made the mashed potatoes. I grilled the chops and prepared the cauliflower. We sat outside in the summer evening enjoying all of it, and I knew that I was on to something and that my delight in dinner was recaptured.

Fast and Easy Pasta Via Bittman

Spaghetti with Broccoli Rabe, Toasted Garlic and Bread Crumbs

I made this pasta for dinner tonight, and oh my was it easy. Want dinner in about 20 minutes? Here it is.

My only change would be to give a little more olive oil at the finish. Oh, and I used fine linguini. It was gobbled up by everyone.

Everybody Loves Chocolate Pudding –or- Family Dessert

My Girl’s pediatrician told me that you can count on homemade chocolate pudding as a good source of calcium, so what more excuse did I need to whip some up. I had seen some lovely looking puddings at the always cute Kitchenette restaurant. They serve them in canning jars, and that’s the kind of pudding I wanted to pull out of my fridge too.

I looked around for recipes and finally found one that didn’t rely on cornstarch and understood the benefits of good chocolate. Weeks went by. I tap tap tapped the ingredients into the little list app for my phone and carried it around with me for days. First I got the Valrhona chocolate chips at Fairway and stored them in my pantry for a couple of weeks. Then the day finally came (thank you, Spring Break!) when I had time to make the pudding. I purchased the remaining ingredients and some more canning jars and was ready to go.

Making the pudding itself was hardly any work. You could do it while talking on the phone and supervising children on a play date. I did! The bad news came when I realized that the pudding had to cook in the hot water bath for an hour, cool outside of the oven for an hour, and then chill in the fridge for another hour. I guess if you want instant you go the Bill Cosby route.

When the pudding was finally done we weren’t disappointed. It is rich and smooth. Thicker than a mousse, more complex and (dare I say?) more satisfying. In a few minutes all you could hear was the clink-clink-clink of our spoons trying to dig out the last bits of it from our jars.

The recipe made six - 1/2 jars, and we were generous enough to give two away. That meant we had some to spare, and it was even better on day 2, when it had set even more.

I was feeling guilty about the calories, but when I divided up the amounts of whole milk and heavy cream by six servings it really didn’t seem all that bad. Really. No really.

You don’t want to have the oven on for an hour in the summer, so you should really make this dessert soon, maybe tomorrow.

Valrhona Chocolate Pudding – adapted from Gourmet 9/04 and epicurious.com

yield: Makes 6 servings
active time: 30 min
total time: 3 1/2 hr

1/2 vanilla bean, halved lengthwise
1 1/2 cups whole milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/3 cup sugar
4 1/2 oz Valrhona bittersweet chocolate (61%), finely chopped, or chocolate chips
5 large egg yolks

Special equipment: 6 (4-oz) ramekins or 1/2 pint canning jars, it helps to have a kitchen scale


Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 275°F.
Scrape seeds from vanilla bean into a 2- to 3-quart heavy saucepan with tip of a paring knife, then add pod, milk, cream, and sugar and bring just to a boil, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Add chocolate and cook over moderately high heat, stirring gently with a whisk, until chocolate is melted and mixture just boils. Remove from heat.
Pour mixture into a metal bowl. Set bowl in a larger bowl of ice and cold water and cool to room temperature, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. Whisk in yolks, then pour through a fine-mesh sieve into a 1-quart measure, discarding pod and any other solids.
Divide mixture among ramekins. Place pudding jars in a roasting pan and fill with water up to half of the jar. Bake until puddings are just set around edge but centers wobble when ramekins are gently shaken, about 1 hour.
Cool puddings in the water bath 1 hour, then remove from water and chill, uncovered, until cold, at least 1 hour.

If you’re using canning jars you can screw the caps on them to keep the pudding fresh or to transport to a really, really good friend.

Tamales - Epilogue

I know I skipped some steps here, going straight to the epilogue, but the tamales were such an ordeal that I didn’t have the energy to tell the tale until days after.

Lesson 1, which needs to be learned and relearned, is read your recipe though – carefully. I think my confidence and exuberance make me skim a recipe, rather than pay close attention. Whatever the reason, I need to get better at this.

Lesson 2 is if your mind’s eye sees a bunch of women gathered together to do the work (think quilting, making preserves, making tamales), it’s usually because it’s a lot of work.

So I left you with the cornhusks soaking and the chicken roasted, on the first day. That was the easy work. I used Rick Bayless’ recipes, which you can find here.

Making the batter was pretty easy, so I started that at 10:00 pm, after My Girl had gone to bed and the kitchen was clean from dinner. It basically involved making dough in the mixer and letting it rest for an hour. I made the rest of the filling during that hour, getting the meat from the chicken, mixing up the salsa and masa (masa makes it thicker). I used Trader Joes jarred tomatillo salsa, but I added the drippings (fat scooped off).

Next thing I knew it was 11:00 pm, and I was determined to finish the job that night! I dried off the biggest and best cornhusks and cut kitchen string in about 9 inch lengths. Bad news: I only had enough for nine strings. My visions of 24 glorious tamales began to dash. Still I soldiered on, spreading a 4x4 inch square of the dough in the center of a big husk. I made a little dollop (1 heaping Tablespoon) of filling in the center and sprinkled a bit of queso fresco on top. Then I rolled one side of the husk onto the other side so the masa would meet as I rolled up the husk. I folded the top and bottom sides in and tied it up length-wise with the string. This took a long time.

I read more of the directions: Steam the tamales in batches, filling one layer of a steamer at a time. Steam for 1 1/2 hours.

Midnight. I have 8 tamales (one string was too small, so I had to tie two together) making one layer in the steamer. They cook for 1 1/2 hours. I call my girlfriend in California and talk to her for as long as it takes to steam the tamales. I do a bit of cleaning while I’m on the phone. I rationalized that I could go around the house looking for more kitchen string, but assembling more tamales would take hours. What if I spent all that time and they were horrible? As they say, eight is enough.

The tamales now have to sit for another hour and then you need to steam them again (for 15 minutes) before you serve them. I put them in fridge, cleaned up the rest of the kitchen, and crashed in bed at 2:00 am.

Jump to next night and absolute tamale bliss. I steamed them and then carefully peeled back the first bits of husk. Soft, smooth masa is revealed. I cut into it and have a taste. I swear, it is one of the best tamales I’ve ever had. It is magnificent, beyond my highest expectations.

Friends said I could have used the leftover masa dough to make a tamale pie, and I could have. The thing is, the steaming is what made them so incredibly soft and moist. You’d lose that with a baked tamale pie.

So I’ll be making these again, but next time it won’t be a solo affair. I’ll be doing it the way it’s supposed to be done, with some friendly helping hands.

The Tamale Experiment

After having one too many dried out tamales, where the masa was like cardboard and the filling bland, I am embarking on an experiment: Making My Own Tamales.

Day 1 - Procure ingredients

Most everything is available at Fairway, though it was a search for the dried corn husks. I had bought some for Esme to make dolls with years ago, but I had to ask four employees where they were. Turns out they were in their usual place in the produce section, hiding behind some dried chilies.

I had to ask about the lard too. It was above the pork products in the cold room.


Day 2 - It's a start

I roasted a small chicken with salt, pepper, and coriander. I decided to stuff it with a lime, which seems to have worked well. When it was done, I cut it up and saved the juices, making stock from the bones.

I started soaking the corn husks in hot water, with a plate over them to keep them from floating up.

It suddenly occurred to me that some cheese would be good, so I googled "mexican market westchester" and found Mariachi Loco on Central Ave. (the ugly, busy street that every city seems to have). I got the cheese, some more limes, some warm tortillas, and some pre-made mole. On the way out I sampled a chicken taco at their restaurant next door. Muy bien.

Good For What Ails You

We’ve had a pretty sickly household lately; both Evan and My Girl are chomping on antibiotics. I have been able to claim a number of honors: healthiest person in the house, person who uses the least Kleenex, and best cook. That means I’ve been doing double duty with the chicken soup front. I started off with a basic chicken soup (chicken breast, carrots, celery, onion), which was good for the onset of the afflictions, but by day three it was time to pick things up a bit. I dug out an old recipe for “Sopa de Tortilla.”

Back when I was young(er), I used to go plays at American Conservatory Theater (ACT) or The Curren in San Francisco. There was an affordable little soup place right across the street, and it became a regular part of the whole theater going experience (a mad dash for coconut macaroons at intermission was also a part of this, but—sadly—macaroons don’t make it into this meal).

Tortilla Soup, based on the one from Salmagundi’s Restaurant

3 pounds chicken pieces
4 quarts water
1 teaspoon whole black peppercorns
2 garlic cloves, peeled
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon whole coriander seeds

1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander seeds
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 (1-pound) can whole peeled tomatoes(chopped up in the can a bit), undrained
1 onion, choped
1 green pepper, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced

1 (10-ounce) package frozen corn
4 green onions, coarsely chopped
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 cup cooked rice
1 Tablespoon chopped coriander

To Serve:
Corn tortillas
Corn oil

Grated cheese (Jack, Cheddar)

Combine chicken and water in stockpot. Make a bouquet garni of the peppercorns, coriander seeds, garlic, and any inner leaves from the celery. Cover and bring to boil, then reduce heat and simmer until chicken is tender, about 45 minutes. Skim as necessary. Remove chicken from broth and let cool.

Toast cumin, coriander, and cayenne in small skillet. Be careful not to let it burn, but just to turn to a little shade darker. Add to stock.
Add tomatoes, onion, green pepper and minced garlic; cover and simmer 30 minutes.

Add corn and green onion and simmer 10 minutes more. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Meanwhile, skin and bone chicken. Dice meat into 1-inch pieces. Add to broth with rice heat through.

Heat about 1 1/2 inches of corn oil in a skillet. Let oil get fairly hot. Cut corn tortillas into strips and fry a few at a time into tortilla chip strips. Let drain on paper towels.

TO SERVE:
Put cheese at the bottom of the bowl. Ladle into warm bowls and garnish with tortilla chips and fresh cilantro.



Everyone was happy eating the soup. Quiet cheers were heard as the two sniffled and coughed their way back to bed.

Do you know this place?

You should! It's a fabulous cookbook store on Lexington Ave. in New York City. If you're not fortunate enough to be able to stop by, get on their e-mailing list. Every once in a while they send a list of interesting cookbooks, and most of the authors don't even have TV shows. That's something!

For example:

John Thorne. MOUTH WIDE OPEN.
The paperback edition of the latest collection of Thorne's thoughtful ruminations on cooking, ranging from marmalade and anchovies to improvised breakfasts. p. $15.00

Joan Santanach, editor; Robin Vogelzang, translator. THE BOOK OF SENT SOVÍ.
The first English rendition of an important, anonymous culinary text from 14th-century Catalonia. This is a glimpse at Spanish court food before the arrival of New World ingredients such as tomatoes, potatoes or peppers. The original Catalan text is included, rendered in contemporary spellings. p. $34.95

Amanda Hesser, editor. EAT, MEMORY.
This collection of food-related essays from The New York Times Magazine does not recycle old standards. Instead, it features a wide range of contributors, from the expected (Dan Barber, R.W. Apple) to the surprising (Tucker Carlson, Pico Iyer). Among the others: Dorothy Allison, John Burnham Schwartz, Gabrielle Hamilton, Jon Robin Baitz. cl. $24.95

Kelly Alexander and Cynthia Harris. HOMETOWN APPETITES.
In the 1950s and 60s Clementine Paddleford was a household name in America, writing on food-particularly American regional food-for the New York Herald Tribune. Alexander, a former editor at Saveur, and Harris, an archivist who oversees Paddleford's manuscripts, argue convincingly that this forgotten pioneer's adventurous, engaging prose and life story deserve renewed recognition. Serious fun. b-&-w photos. cl. $27.50

Dinner in the Morning

-or- a recipe for Lyane's Crock Pot

I woke up bleary eyed at 5:00 am, but committed to the task at hand: get the dinner in the slow cooker. I had the forethought to do most of the heavy chopping last night, otherwise I might be short a few fingers typing this. That didn’t mean it was a piece of cake to even think through what I had to do to get everything in the slow cooker. There were all kinds of mistakes, just waiting to be made.

If I have any advice about how to get dinner on the table, it would be this little adage from Iron Chef Maurice: It gets easier with practice. It’s true. The more you get dinner ready the easier it is to get dinner ready. It was all that practice (and a cup of good coffee) that got me to the point where I could walk out the door at 7:00 am knowing that when I walked back in the house would smell as if Hazel had been working in Mr. B’s kitchen all afternoon.

And that’s exactly what happened. I nearly swooned from the fragrance of the pork roast, potatoes, carrots and onions simmering away.

You can do this.

Ingredients:
3 lb pork shoulder roast
Garlic slivers to stud the roast
1 C chopped onion
2 cloves garlic, minced
3-4 carrots cut into 2-3” pieces
3/4 C chopped celery
4 red potatoes, quartered
2 C chicken stock
1 C red wine
Water
Salt and Pepper
Herbs


The night before…
It does help to do some prep work the night before, and you can combine it with preparing that night’s dinner. So make something where you have to chop an onion and just chop some more. Decide to serve some carrots and then chop more. I put the carrots in a Ziploc along with some chopped celery, so I was good to go in the morning.

Morning of the scrumptious dinner…
Heat a little olive oil in a pan large enough to hold the roast. Stud the roast with garlic by (very carefully) stabbing it with a knife then inserting garlic sliver inside. Brown the roast on all sides (about 2-3 minutes a side) and put in slow cooker.

Sauté the onion in the remaining oil, add some salt, and cook until transparent. Add the minced garlic and cook for a minute or so, don’t let it burn. Add the celery and carrot mixture, letting everything get nice and sautéed.

Scrub the potatoes and chop them into quarters.

Everything goes in the slow cooker. Start this soon enough so you can let it cook on high for an hour while you drink another cup of coffee, figure out what you’re going to wear and do with your hair that day, and slather on some make-up.

Set the pot to “low” and to cook for about 6 hours.

Leave the house, knowing that dinner is ready and you have nothing else to think about.

I’ve been reading the recent Alice Waters biography, so (even though she has a management style that makes me quiver) I was inspired to make a little salad to go with the stew: hearts of romaine, sliced pear, bucheron cheese, sunflower seeds and a couple of dried cherries. It was wonderful.

Food Trip

With respect for the holiday and its celebrants, gratitude for school administrators who deemed to give us the day off, and absolute pity for those in our family who were forced to remain slave to their computer, My Girl and I ventured North yesterday in search of edible delights.

Our first stop was apple picking in Red Hook, in Dutchess County. We found a new place by browsing the Chowhound website, one that was not too big, not too commercial, and not too faraway: The Grieg Farm. We loaded up our bag with Empires, Macouns, and Macintoshes for eating; Jonagold’s for a pie. By the time we got our bag weighed and chose two small pumpkins from their patch (a real patch too, where the pumpkins were still connected to their actual vines—not just a patch of dirt where the cut pumpkins had been dumped), we were hungry.

We stumbled on Gigi Market by making a wrong turn. It’s the kind of place that wouldn’t have existed that far north five years ago. It specializes in local food from the Hudson River Valley (they list 34 farms that their restaurant supports on their menu), and does rather sumptuous things with what they get. We had a bowl of Minestrone that was delicious and filling. I had to work hard to persuade My Girl that we would be passing on the cookies and brownies there because another opportunity for dessert was yet to come.

We took a pit stop in Rhinebeck, which also seemed to be a bit more interesting than on previous visits. They have an old Five and Dime where I got a nice crochet hook, clasps to keep My Girl's mittens on her jacket sleeves, and old fashioned autumn leaf stickers. We spent far too much at the local independent bookstore (Oblong Books), but it’s hard to feel too bad about that. Plus, I found two new YA books for school: Hate That Cat (follow up to Creech’s lovely Love That Dog), and Gibson’s new Moxie Maxwell Does Not Love Writing Thank You Notes (a follow-up to the earlier Moxie Maxwell Does Not Love Stuart Little).

It was getting late, and since I always seem to end up getting lost on the way home from these parts, we hit the road. Our next stop, Hyde Park, wasn’t far at all. Dessert was to be had at the Apple Pie Bakery Café at the Culinary Institute of America.

I have wanted to go to this place for years, and it was, in fact, on my Summer To Do List, but since it was combined with going to a drive in movie (and the movie never showed anything the whole family could enjoy) it got passed up for The Amazing Tour of Miniature Golf Courses. What a mistake! This place warrants its own trip.

We had an impossible time deciding what to order. The mousse served in a little eggshell? An amazing tiramisu? Marzipan gelato?

My Girl finally chose the lemon meringue “pie,” a little tumbler with zingy lemon curd with some crust somewhere inside (it was eaten so quickly that I barely got a look at it) and a little browned meringue hat on top. I had a little tumbler with butternut squash (cooked way down with butter and some sugar into it’s most delectable essence), a round of gingerbread sponge cake, caramel/mascarpone custard, and then a little French macaroon as top. I had never tasted anything so surprising or scrumptious. I was sad when I had finished it but took delight in the strong coffee.

Our evening was bound to be a disappointment, as nothing could cap our day better than the meringue and macaroon. Still, we have today off too, and who can complain about that?

I took all those photos, so nobody can get mad at me.

Beer Can Chicken

Have we talked about Beer Can Chicken? It’s my favorite way to cook a whole chicken on the grill. I’ve been known to ask the butcher to butterfly the bird and then grill the whole thing flat, but it’s easier to plop the thing on a can of Bud and let the heat do it’s thing.

Here’s how to do it:

Beer Can Chicken

Ingredients

1 can of beer
1 whole chicken
Salt and Pepper
Some kind of rub, if you want

1. Heat the grill up.

2. Open the can of beer, and pour out (or drink) about 1/3 of it.

3. Prop chicken snugly on beer can: legs pointing down like it's going to sit down.

4. Season the chicken w/ salt and pepper. [I sometimes add some ground coriander, and sometimes I use a rub.]

5. Carefully put the beer can on the grill. Make sure it is steady and that it won’t topple (mess).

6. Cook the chicken until a meat thermometer, stuck into the bird’s thigh, reads 170 degrees.

7. Carefully take the chicken and beer can off the grill with good pot holders and tongs.

8. Even more carefully, take chicken off of the beer can and let the chicken rest for a few minutes.

9. Carve and serve.

Note: A can of bud is fine for the chicken, but pour yourself one these for a good beer: Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, Blue Point's Hoptical Illusion, or Captain Lawrence Pale Ale

Did You Know This?

“States now in the voluntary recall for ground beef purchased [from Whole Foods] between June 2 through August 6, 2008 include: Alabama, Colorado, Connecticut, Florida, Georgia, Illinois, Kansas, Kentucky, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Nebraska, New Mexico, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Tennessee, Utah, Virginia, Washington D. C. and Wisconsin.”

You can get more information from the Whole Foods website or from Beyond Blueberries blog.

According to Whole Foods, “the beef in question came from Coleman Natural Beef (now owned and operated by Meyer Beef), which used Nebraska Beef for processing.” I’m shocked, shocked that Whole Foods trades with factory farms. Makes that pricey chicken from the Hastings Farmer’s Market seem even more worth it.

The Time of the Season

We usually visit family in California in the late summer, which means the amazing Sacramento Farmer’s Market is in full swing. One of my favorite parts of the trip is when Iron Chef Maurice and I make the short trek to the market under the underpass and weave our way through the maze of stalls looking for the best tomatoes, melons, and peaches. This being California and more specifically the Central Valley the place is truly a cornucopia of the freshest and most beautiful food imaginable.The heirloom tomatoes, of every possible color, are the big prizes, and they get prominently displayed on the kitchen counter as we unpack and plan the meal.

We all weren’t able to make the trip West this summer, so only Evan sat down to the traditional meal, pasta with fresh tomatoes. Maurice sent along the recipe, so I was able to do my best to replicate the summer ritual. It’s called Caprese with Penne, and it’s from Viana La Place & Evan Kleiman’s wonderful Pasta Fresca, which according to Maurice everyone should have a copy of on their cook book shelf.


The recipe itself is pretty easy; the secret is that you have to have incredible tomatoes. Maurice says “Never, ever try to make Caprese with store-bought tomatoes. They must be red all the way through.” That means that this is a summer recipe, more specifically a dish for August.


One basic rule of cooking is to completely read your recipe before you even think about starting. Dinner would have been earlier if I had read the part about having the tomatoes, garlic, and basil marinate in the olive oil for about 2 hours. Dinner was after eight, but believe me—it was worth the wait.

Here’s how to make it:

4 large and incredibly beautiful tomatoes, skinned and chopped into 1” pieces
2-3 T fresh basil, chopped (or torn or in a chiffonade)
2 cloves of garlic, minced
Salt and pepper
Olive oil (recipe calls for fruity) to cover
1 lb. penne rigate pasta
1 lb fresh mozzarella (recipe says to rate the mozzarella, but Maurice has a lot to say about this)*

So yes, mix the first 5 ingredients and let them all sit an incredibly long time while everyone gets hungry and you sip gin and tonics and eat salted nuts.

Then when it seems that everyone is getting cranky and starts giving you the eye, tell them to start boiling some water for the pasta. Cook the pasta in salted and oiled water until it is al dente (about 11 minutes) because if you let it go any longer, people like My Girl (who has inherited this from her grandfather) will start telling you that you don’t know how to cook pasta. Over-cooked pasta, according to Maurice will ruin the dish and everyone will scowl.

Invite anyone who looks really hungry to slice up the mozzarella with you. They can swipe bites of it, and that should keep them happy.

Put the tomato mixture in a serving bowl. When the pasta is done, drain it (reserving some of the cooking water in case things get a little dry) and add to the tomatoes in the serving dish. Stir it up and when everything is cooled down a bit, add what’s left of the fresh mozzarella.

Serve and sing praises to summer, give a clink of your glass to Iron Chef Maurice, and decide to get the Pasta Fresca cook book from your favorite independent bookseller.





*“ Fresh, made-in-California, mozzarella in a plastic container with some of the cheese water is far better than the shrink-wrapped, rubber ball kind that is usually found in supermarkets. Taylor’s Mkt on Freeport and 4th Ave has it and so does. Corti Bros. [both in Sacramento]. Both also have Italian Buffalo mozzarella. The rubber ball stuff will work in an emergency, but the best by far is the Mozzarella da Bufala from Italia I actually don’t grate the mozzarella, but cut it into little matchstick-sized pieces and add it after I have added the tomatoes to the pasta and it has had a chance to cool down a little. If you add it before then it tends to melt and clump together. Take your pick, a highly respected chef and author, or me.”


Image from Bountiful Garden: http://www.bountiful-garden.org/strains.html

Working on the Local Thing

Farro Salad



I recently finished reading Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and I have to say that I found it inspiring. Her mantra “Eat Locally” is like an earworm, making me read those obnoxious stickers on produce to see where its from and get up early on Saturday mornings to shop at the Hastings Farmer’s Market. And that’s not all bad. I’m not really complaining here. I’m just glad I’m reading it now instead of back in the ‘80’s. I’d be digging up the back yard to plant squash and looking into raising goats. I was highly impressionable and full of zeal.

Now I embrace Julia Child’s attitude about moderation, and that’s why I could prepare my favorite farro salad for dinner last night.

The salad is problematic for “localvores” unless you live in both Italy and Spain; you see I have only been able to find farro made in Italy and Manchego cheese made in Spain. But I compensated by getting the red peppers at the local farmer’s market and the basil even closer – my own backyard. I can live with that trade off for now.

Farro, by the way, is a nutty grain. The internet tells me that it was the staple of the Roman Legions. Wikipedia says that it’s also known as Emmer Wheat and that it was one of the first domesticated crops.

I adapted this recipe from one in the beautiful Zuni Café Cookbook by Judy Rogers.

Here’s how to make it:

1C farro
1 Red pepper, diced – a bit bigger than the farro*
2/3 C Manchego cheese, diced — a bit bigger than the farro
1/4 C fresh basil en chiffonade (shredded)**
3-4 T Olive Oil
Salt and Pepper

Boil about 3 cups of water in a med. saucepan. Add a few pinches of salt.

Add I C farro to the boiling water. Cook for 10 – 15 minutes until somewhat tender, but not too firm.

Drain cooked farro, as you would pasta, and then spread it out on a baking sheet to cool.

When the grain is cool, combine red pepper, cheese, and basil in a large bowl. Add olive oil, a tablespoon at a time (while gently tossing the salad) until everything is thinly and evenly coated. Add salt and pepper to taste.

I will eat this salad anytime, even for breakfast! But now that I’ve read the Kingsolver I would feel badly to purchase basil in February. I’m not saying that I won’t ever, but I’d feel really badly.



*Rogers’ recipe calls for tomatoes. I’ve also used roasted red peppers when I’m not in a hurry.
** A chiffonade is done by stacking all of the basil leaves on top of each other, rolling them up like some kind of strange cigar, and then slicing thin thin horizontal cuttings (say, from the tip to the base).

In Case You Missed This - or - Food is Political

Here's NY Times Reporter Nicolas Kristof's update on Beatrice Biira. For those of you who haven't teared up over the picture book Beatrice's Goat, I'll give you the back story. Beatrice and her Ugandan family received a goat from Heifer International. The goat was the leg up that her family needed to become more self-sufficient and enabled Beatrice to attend school. Kristof, who persists in telling the stories that aren't always on the 24/7 news radar,shows how individuals (like you, like me) can change the world. I'm not kidding.

Printed from the July 3, 2008 New York Times:

OP-ED COLUMNIST
The Luckiest Girl

By NICHOLAS D. KRISTOF

This year’s college graduates owe their success to many factors, from hectoring parents to cherished remedies for hangovers. But one of the most remarkable of the new graduates, Beatrice Biira, credits something utterly improbable: a goat.

“I am one of the luckiest girls in the world,” Beatrice declared at her graduation party after earning her bachelor’s degree from Connecticut College. Indeed, and it’s appropriate that the goat that changed her life was named Luck.

Beatrice’s story helps address two of the most commonly asked questions about foreign assistance: “Does aid work?” and “What can I do?”

The tale begins in the rolling hills of western Uganda, where Beatrice was born and raised. As a girl, she desperately yearned for an education, but it seemed hopeless: Her parents were peasants who couldn’t afford to send her to school.

The years passed and Beatrice stayed home to help with the chores. She was on track to become one more illiterate African woman, another of the continent’s squandered human resources.

In the meantime, in Niantic, Conn., the children of the Niantic Community Church wanted to donate money for a good cause. They decided to buy goats for African villagers through Heifer International, a venerable aid group based in Arkansas that helps impoverished farming families.

A dairy goat in Heifer’s online gift catalog costs $120; a flock of chicks or ducklings costs just $20.

One of the goats bought by the Niantic church went to Beatrice’s parents and soon produced twins. When the kid goats were weaned, the children drank the goat’s milk for a nutritional boost and sold the surplus milk for extra money.

The cash from the milk accumulated, and Beatrice’s parents decided that they could now afford to send their daughter to school. She was much older than the other first graders, but she was so overjoyed that she studied diligently and rose to be the best student in the school.

An American visiting the school was impressed and wrote a children’s book, “Beatrice’s Goat,” about how the gift of a goat had enabled a bright girl to go to school. The book was published in 2000 and became a children’s best seller — but there is now room for a more remarkable sequel.

Beatrice was such an outstanding student that she won a scholarship, not only to Uganda’s best girls’ high school, but also to a prep school in Massachusetts and then to Connecticut College. A group of 20 donors to Heifer International — coordinated by a retired staff member named Rosalee Sinn, who fell in love with Beatrice when she saw her at age 10 — financed the girl’s living expenses.

A few years ago, Beatrice spoke at a Heifer event attended by Jeffrey Sachs, the economist. Mr. Sachs was impressed and devised what he jokingly called the “Beatrice Theorem” of development economics: small inputs can lead to large outcomes.

Granted, foreign assistance doesn’t always work and is much harder than it looks. “I won’t lie to you. Corruption is high in Uganda,” Beatrice acknowledges.

A crooked local official might have distributed the goats by demanding that girls sleep with him in exchange. Or Beatrice’s goat might have died or been stolen. Or unpasteurized milk might have sickened or killed Beatrice.

In short, millions of things could go wrong. But when there’s a good model in place, they often go right. That’s why villagers in western Uganda recently held a special Mass and a feast to celebrate the first local person to earn a college degree in America.

Moreover, Africa will soon have a new asset: a well-trained professional to improve governance. Beatrice plans to earn a master’s degree at the Clinton School of Public Service in Arkansas and then return to Africa to work for an aid group.

Beatrice dreams of working on projects to help women earn and manage money more effectively, partly because she has seen in her own village how cash is always controlled by men. Sometimes they spent it partying with buddies at a bar, rather than educating their children. Changing that culture won’t be easy, Beatrice says, but it can be done.

When people ask how they can help in the fight against poverty, there are a thousand good answers, from sponsoring a child to supporting a grass-roots organization through globalgiving.com. (I’ve listed specific suggestions on my blog, nytimes.com/ontheground, and on facebook.com/kristof).

The challenges of global poverty are vast and complex, far beyond anyone’s power to resolve, and buying a farm animal for a poor family won’t solve them. But Beatrice’s giddy happiness these days is still a reminder that each of us does have the power to make a difference — to transform a girl’s life with something as simple and cheap as a little goat.

[Kristof invites you to comment on this column on his blog, www.nytimes.com/ontheground, and join him on Facebook at www.facebook.com/kristof]

Iron Chef Maurice Delivers - or - Takin' It For Gratin

A present-for-no-reason arrived at my door the other day. Iron Chef Maurice gave me a copy of one of his favorite cookbooks: Bistro Cooking by Patricia Wells. It’s a beautiful book, and Maurice pointed out the gratin section, especially a gratin dauphinois with blue cheese.

I was in the mood for a gratin myself, but something a bit more summery. She had the perfect recipe: tomato and zucchini gratin. It reeks of summer, though it does take a bit to get the oven turned on to 400 degrees.

We ate it outside with some grilled chicken and some bread to mop up all of the juicy goodness. I thought it had a kind of pizza flavor, what with the tomatoes and cheese.

Here’s how I made it:

Ingredients
Zucchini, sliced very thinly into disks
Tomatoes, cored and also sliced thinly
Garlic
Fresh thyme
Olive Oil
Parmesan Cheese

Preheat oven to 400 degrees (ouch!)

I lightly salted the zucchini disks and let them sit on some paper towels to keep them from being too watery. After about 20 minutes I turned them once and then about 15 minutes wiped the salt off.

Wells has you rub a cut clove of garlic in the au gratin pain, something I learned from the French to do in my salad bowl as well.

Then you place one layer of zucchini on the bottom. Follow that with a single layer of tomatoes. Repeat with zucchini and tomatoes until you run out or you reach the top of your dish.

I put a few breadcrumbs on the very top. I don’t know why. I just did.

Sprinkle the fresh thyme on the top along with about 2 Tablespoons of Olive Oil.

Bake for about 20 minutes. I knew mine was done with the veggies seemed a little soft and it was making lots of noise (think a soft hissing sound).

Grate a fair amount of Parmesan on top, and put the dish under the broiler (keeping a good eye on it) until it lightly browns.

Date Night

National Date
Festival, Indio, California

Fairway had fresh dates yesterday, the kind still on the stick. They are so beautiful and have the appeal of the wild. Brussels sprouts on the stalk are like that, but only the cook gets to appreciate pulling the sprouts off the stem. These aren’t the shiny, sticky dates that look like insect exoskeletons (the fruitcake kind). These are smooth and the color of caramel—divine.

Evan is away visiting his parents, so I thought tonight’s dinner might be something plain and simple: prosciutto, figs, Machengo cheese, some quinoa salad, and fresh dates. But I think of Evan and a trip we took to Joshua Tree back in the early '90's. We were in date country and saw signs for date shakes . We were too chicken to try one then, but now that we are older and wiser I know we would have sprung for one.

Photo used with permission from
RoadsideAmerica.com