I do not like broccoli. And I haven't liked it since I was a little kid and my mother made me eat it. And I'm President of the United States and I'm not going to eat any more broccoli. -- George H. W. Bush
I feel for you, George, because frankly, I agree: if you get to be the President, you shouldn't have to eat anything you don't want to. You have a hard enough job as it is.
But broccoli is a tough choice for the hateration, because broccoli is the only health food left that hasn't been denounced as something that will kill you. Seafood was okay until it came out that the mercury content in fish can decrease heart health. Spinach was okay until that nasty E. coli outbreak. Broccoli is the last thing to avoid the nutritional blacklist.
It's a good thing that I like broccoli.
Broccolini-Mushroom Pesto Pasta
Confession: I didn't use broccoli for this recipe, although you certainly could; I used broccolini, a broccoli-kai lan (Chinese broccoli) hybrid that has a milder flavor. You'll find that the sauce is surprisingly creamy -- especially if you are generous with the olive oil.
1 lb campanelle pasta, cooked 1 bunch broccolini 5 cloves garlic, finely chopped or minced 1/4 - 1/2 cup olive oil plus 2 Tbsp 8 oz sliced mushrooms 2 Tbsp pine nuts pepper, salt, red pepper flakes to taste grated myzithra cheese, to taste
*Roughly chop the broccolini into manageable pieces and steam. (My method is to put a steamer basket in a pot, fill it with water until it touches the bottom of the basket, put the veggies in the basket, cover, and set on the stove on high for 7 minutes.)
*In a frying pan, saute the garlic on medium in 2 Tbsp of olive oil until softened, about two minutes. Add the mushrooms and the salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes and saute until the mushrooms are soft and brown -- about 6 minutes.
*Put the broccolini and the mushroom mixture in a food processor or blender and blend. Slowly add in the remaining olive oil until the texture is at your preferred smoothness.
*Toss with pasta and top with myzithra. Serve immediately, if not sooner.
One of the baristas at my favorite coffee shop asked me what my six favorite restaurants are. "I like to ask foodies that. Because sometimes they pick really nice places, and sometimes they pick total dives."
It took me awhile to think of my favorites, and she's right -- some of the places where I like to eat have really fabulous food. And some are total dives. I don't really love eating out; I'm happier at home, because I love to cook and I make food to my precise specifications. Eating out is something I do because other people like it, or because I need to get out of the house.
I realize this is tantamount to blasphemy.
But there are places where I love to go. One such place is La Cocina Santiago on Broadway here in Seattle. I gave up on finding authentic Mexican food back when I left California, and La Cocina hardly brings back taste memories from my childhood. No, this place is largely comfort food for me -- plates with too much cheese, soft flour tortillas. I love the lighting, too, and the waiters who remember me and speak to me in simple Spanish. And there's one thing on their menu that I really do enjoy, one thing that inspired me to come home and make it myself: shrimp tacos.
My shrimp tacos are totally different than the ones you can order at La Cocina. But mine are still pretty delicious.
Shrimp and Black Bean Tacos
makes 6 tacos
2 Tbsps olive oil 10-12 cloves garlic, minced or finely chopped 1/2 cup chopped white onion 1-1/2 or 2 pounds peeled shrimp, tail off 1 15oz can black beans juice from 1/2 lemon juice from 1/2 lime pepper, to taste salt, to taste red pepper flakes, to taste 1 small avocado, cubed 1 small to medium tomato, cubed 1/2 cup finely chopped cilantro cheddar cheese sour cream 6 soft taco sized flour tortillas
Heat the oil in a skillet on medium. Add the garlic and onions and saute until softened, about 2 minutes. Now add the shrimp and saute until cooked -- the shrimp should be thoroughly pink -- about 5-6 minutes. Turn the heat down to medium-low and add the black beans, the lemon juice, and the lime juice. Season to your liking with pepper, salt, and red pepper flakes, and continue to cook until the beans are warm.
Now assemble the tacos. Spoon the shrimp-bean mixture into the warmed tortillas, and garnish with avocado, tomatoes, cheddar cheese, and sour cream. Serve.
"The LORD brings the counsel of the nations to nothing; he frustrates the plans of the peoples." – Psalm 33:10, New American Standard
“Life is pain, Highness.” – The Princess Bride
*
Thanksgiving, 2008: I made steak, at Jess’ request.He had been living with my husband and I for about five months at that time.I had not been entirely onboard with the idea, frankly, worried that if Jess moved in I’d lose both my husband and my best friend.But by November, I’d relaxed.I loved Jess; I loved living with Jess.He and Josh were getting along famously, and even the cat was coming around.
The steak, on the other hand, was an unmitigated disaster.
After dinner, I caught my husband in the hallway and said, “I’m sorry about the steak.”
And he said, “Forget the steak.Why are you so distant?”
I don’t remember what I said, if anything.I do remember coming into the living room, where Jess and my best girl friend, Meghin, were sitting, and saying “I don’t think my marriage is going to make it.”
I didn’t mean it, not when the words were coming out of my mouth, but then I did.Once I’d said it, I’d meant it.It was the first time I’d really committed to the thought.Until then, I’d thought the elephant in the room was only a rough patch.Surmountable.Temporary.
*
It was Meghin’s idea to make an Indian feast for Thanksgiving 2009.I trolled the internet for menus, trying out recipes for coconut chicken curries.There would be naan, and handmade paneer, and momo with peanut chutney.It was my kind of challenge – a whole host of things I’d never made, spices with which I was unfamiliar, a cuisine I’d never tried cooking before.I issued verbal invitations to several extra people.A friend of Meghin’s.A coworker of mine.And when I met Lisa, I made a mental note to invite her, too.
*
Summer.August, actually.Lisa and I were lying on Alki Beach in West Seattle.I hadn’t known her for very long – this was, in fact, only the fourth time I’d seen her.She was telling me about the things that had made her leave Massachusetts to live here in Washington.“This time last year,” she said, “I was planning to buy a house.Probably in Portland.My girlfriend and I were going to move out together.And then I lost my job, and my girlfriend and I broke up.This is not how I planned things.”
“My life didn’t turn out the way I planned either,” I said, surprising myself.“I mean, two years ago I wouldn’t have thought things would end up the way they have.But I like it.”
“What changed?” she asked, so I told her.
“Almost a decade ago, I walked into a job interview in Denver and met Jess.We were unsure of each other at first, but then, like a light switch, we were close.Not best friends, not at first, but siblings.And then Jess moved from Denver to Seattle, and we kept in contact, and two years later, I followed and – isn’t this boring?Isn’t this a terribly mundane story?And it is, it is, it’s nothing at all, except that at this time Jess was a girl.”
I told Lisa, on that beach, things that I’d never planned to tell her.Not right away, not until I could be sure that she was not going to be horrified or judgmental.Not until I was sure of her.But once I’d started talking about Jess, about the girl Jess used to be, I could not stop.
*
Thanksgiving, 2009: I didn’t make the Indian feast.
One by one, I watched the pillars of my former life fall away.In early October, I asked my husband for a divorce; he took half the stuff and left while I was at work, jarringly and unexpectedly.Meghin and I had a falling out, and she decided not to come over on Thanksgiving.And Lisa – well, I didn’t plan to fall in love.But I did.
It was not the Thanksgiving I planned to have.It was just me, and Jess, and Lisa, and my baby kitty.I made lasagna instead of paneer.
*Mix all the ingredients for the cheese filling together in a large bowl.Set aside.
*Saute the mushrooms on medium heat in the olive oil.Season to your liking with pepper, salt, and Italian seasoning.Set aside.
*To assemble: lightly grease a 9x13 baking dish.Spread three noodles across the bottom.Spread a thick layer of the cheese filling across the noodles, (approx ¼ of the filling) then top with spinach, then three noodles.Second layer: filling and pesto.Third layer: filling, pesto, and mushrooms. Fourth layer: filling and spinach.Top with the remaining three noodles.Spread the last of the pesto across the top and sprinkle parmesan over that.
*Cover with foil.You can refrigerate the lasagna at this point for up to 24 hours, or bake immediately.
*Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.Bake for 30 minutes, unless you’ve refrigerated the lasagna, in which case, bake for 45 minutes.Remove the foil and bake 15-20 minutes more, until bubbling.Let the lasagna stand for about 10 minutes before serving.
*alternatively titled, So It May Be Obvious That I Lost The Camera In The Divorce
The best part about dating is the food.
The first few months are all bread and wine, ice cream and candlelight dinners. I loved the Indian meal we shared -- I had to order, because she didn't know what anything was. I loved the picnic on the beach, bread and pesto and cheese and grapes. I loved pizza in a corner table.
But some time, you gotta start eating at home.
I don't actually restaurants. All right, that's a lie. It's just hard for me to eat out and not think, I could have done this myself at home, spent less, and had more garlic. And anyway, I love to cook.
And I especially love cooking for people. For people I love.
It can be a balancing act. Jess is lactose intolerant. I hate tomatoes. Lisa dislikes carrots. And last night, I had no idea what to make to feed all three of us.
I was pretty excited about my final choice, my own take on a classic pasta primavera, similar in nature to my favorite green bean side dish. And it started off well, Lisa and Jess having light, comedic conversation across from me as I chopped the basil and then....
Bam. One minute my finger was 6 inches away, and then it was under my knife.
I've never cut myself cooking before. I'm pathologically careful, and I keep my knives sharp. It's not a bad cut, as far as they go. Mostly I was furious. I cleaned myself up, made Lisa open the tomatoes, and my shiny new recipe came off without another hitch.
I just don't normally put this much of myself into cooking dinner.
Blood, Sweat, and Pasta serves 4
1 Tbsp olive oil 1/4 cup diced white onion 4-5 cloves garlic, chopped 1/4 cup chopped fresh basil 2Tbps chopped fresh oregano 1 16oz can diced peeled tomatoes 3 large zucchini, cut into chunks 1/4 cup sliced olives 1/4 cup pine nuts (optional) 1/2 lb cooked whole wheat rotini 4oz shredded mozzarella salt and pepper, to taste
Saute the onions and garlic in olive oil in a saute pan until softened. Add the basil, oregano, tomatoes, and zucchini. Cover and simmer until the zucchini is soft -- about 20 minutes. Stir in the pine nuts and olives. Toss with rotini and add mozzarella. Season as desired with salt and pepper.
It was a bit of romance that made Lisa drive us to Alki Beach – the scene of a particular sort of crime.She parked and I led her by the hand to the beach, to a spot right across the street from a fish and chips shop where’d we lunched a month or two before.“That’s it,” I said, pointing out into the water.
“What’s it?”
“That’s the spot where I fell for you.We waded out into the water together.I can’t remember the last time someone was in the water with me…so it was special to me, rare.And I looked over at you, in the water, and I saw that the water was touching both of us.And I just felt connected to you.”
“Do you know where I fell for you?”
“No.Where?”
“We were eating lunch on the beach together in Discovery Park.You were laying in the sand.And you said, ‘I couldn’t sleep last night.I was too excited.’”
We crossed the street together.A polite and ceremonious waiter served us Pad Thai.
*
It’s not always a dish that is emblematic of a relationship, of course.Sometimes it’s a piece of music, a whole song or just a line.Sometimes it’s a place.A book.A color.I will never be able to eat an olive without remembering a particular someone, or read a certain John Irving novel without remembering another.And I will never again be able to eat Pad Thai without remembering Lisa.
Pad Thai at the end of a long day perusing book sales.Pad Thai across from the beach at Alki.Pad Thai with a waiter who clearly thought we were a cute couple.And a trip to the Thai restaurant by her apartment where neither of us ordered Pad Thai and I noticed the absence acutely.
Of course this meant I had to make it for her.
I took her to Seattle’s International District, which is a stunning disappointment after San Francisco’s Chinatown, but still well worth it for one reason: Uwajimaya.One of the largest, if not THE largest, Asian grocery store in the Pacific Northwest.I’ve yet to meet the person who hates visiting Uwajimaya, no matter how they feel about grocery shopping in general.Lisa was no exception.She loved the odd selection of foreign pastries.I introduced her to a geoduck, which she felt the need to touch.(“What’s a geoduck?”“You’re staring at one, Lisa.”“Okay, but what is it?”)I had to pull her out of the candy aisle, and even though I had all the ingredients for lunch in my basket, she talked me into splitting one of their Vietnamese sandwiches on the way home.
“I’m nervous about this,” I told her in my kitchen.“I’ve never used a wok before.”Sure enough, I burnt myself while seasoning it, too timid about the sparking oil to be confident around it.“It’s supposed to heat up very fast, to cook the food very fast.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.Everything you cook is fine.”
“Do you know who you’re dealing with here?I won’t be pleased unless it’s perfect.”
I made the sauce first on some unremembered source’s advice, because you want to keep the pan hot and you don’t want to be missing around with getting the seasonings perfectly balanced while the wok is going.Problem number one: I had no idea what perfectly balanced Pad Thai sauce tastes like.Mine tasted like fish sauce, which should have been a tip off but wasn’t enough of one.I tried to even it out with lime, garlic, and brown sugar.
I was too timid with the sugar.
I was too timid with the wok once I started to cook, too, because even though I’ve cooked chicken in the same way I was attempting to cook the tofu, I kept my heat too low.The result was not awful – but it wasn’t golden brown and glorious, either.
And I was too timid with the rice sticks, afraid to overcook or undercook.They were chewy.
There are two places where it’s a bad idea to be timid: in the kitchen, and in love.
“It’s not awful.I’m not completely embarrassed to serve it.”
“I think it’s good.”
“It’s too salty.And the noodles are gummy, and I didn’t get the tofu right.I know how to fix everything, though.That’s a comfort.It isn’t perfect, but I know how to fix it. “
“Allycen?I think this is pretty good.”
No, I’ll never be able to eat Pad Thai again, not without thinking of her.
This wouldn't be entirely untrue. It's been a busy summer; most of the cooking I've been doing has been limited to hitting the "popcorn" button on the microwave. The rest has been a succession of miserable failures alongside only slightly morose failures. When I was lucky enough to have the time to cook at all, mind -- my mother came to visit twice, and then...okay, I can't remember what else. Anyway, I didn't cook much.
And then I went to Southern California to visit my mom (because twice the month before was apparently not enough) and I didn't cook at all.
But I most certainly didn't starve. I stepped off the plane in Long Beach, 5 hours after a sandwich. I'd had two teensy little cookies courtesy of the airline which did. not. cut. it. I didn't know what I wanted to eat, I didn't know where I wanted to eat, but someone was going to die if I didn't. Modica's Deli in Long Beach didn't thrill me at first sight -- I didn't really know that I wanted another sandwich -- but, well...it was love at first bite.
My sandwich had fresh mozzarella and ultra thin slices of prosciutto, fresh basil, oil and vinaigrette. The bread was perfect -- all air and crust. Enough substance that it never got soggy, but it never overpowered the filling. It was clear that the pesto on my pasta salad had been made from scratch that day; I could taste the ground pine nuts and the basil. It's a rare occurrence that I eat something at a restaurant that makes me say "I could NOT have done any better at home" -- and I certainly never say that about a sandwich. But there's a first time for everything.
Mother didn't fare too badly either: She had a make-your-own salad option wherein you choose a few items to make up your salad. She chose caprese salad with steamed asparagus, some kind of cucumber feta combination, and a side of sauteed mushrooms. The whole shebang cost her about 10 bucks. Beat that.
I could have eaten every meal at Modica's, but there are certain places you have to go when you visit the Golden State, and Canter's is one of them.
Canter's is a Jewish deli where a lot of famous people go and blah, blah, blah, look at their pastries... I had two perfect sweet, soft, chocolate macaroons. Finally -- something that tastes as good as thin feels, yo.
Later in the trip, when what I really wanted was an iced coffee and not dinner, my mother dragged me past Bono's, the restaurant owned by Cher and Sunny Bono's kid.
Hey, I'm all for supporting transgendered-owned business, but I wasn't hungry, damnit. Not until I spotted the calamari on someone's table.
It was not, unfortunately, worth it. But it sure looked pretty. As did our meals.
My pesto was runny; my mother's pasta was reminiscent of Spaghetti-o's. Sure, it was edible, but it was uninspiring. It didn't even come close to Modica's; maybe I should have eaten there for every meal.
*Despite the advice of every cookbook/magazine/wizened chef on the planet, it is totally no problem to try a new recipe or cooking technique for the first time while you are entertaining guests. Hey, these people are your friends, right? They won't judge you (much) if dinner is a total failure. And anyway, there's pizza down the street and it's pretty good.
*Always make too much food. Not only does this decrease the chance that you will have to think of something interesting to pack in the next day's lunch, but it also decreases the chance of freak out when your spouse comes home with a guest you didn't plan for and says "Hey, is there enough food for one more? I ran into Andre."
*It's not a proper barbecue until you have set dinner on fire at least three times.
*It's not a proper barbecue until you set your grill towel on fire, requiring a guest to stamp out the flames because you didn't bother to wear shoes.
*If dinner is really, really good, nobody except you will notice that you forgot: napkins, non-alcoholic drinks, or dessert.
*If dinner is really, really good, and you're really relieved that you didn't burn the house down, you won't be annoyed that your spouse's extra guest means there aren't enough plates and now you have to eat out of a bowl. Bowls are cool anyway.
Basil-Garlic Grilled Chicken
1/2 cup olive oil 1/4 cup fresh chopped basil 4 cloves garlic, finely chopped or minced 5-6 chicken pieces, skin on (I like thighs) salt and pepper, to taste
Mix the first three ingredients together. Rub mixture into the skin of the chicken pieces. Now rain salt and pepper down on the chicken. Put the chicken and the rest of the marinade into a plastic bag and refrigerate for 3-4 hours.
Take the chicken out of the refrigerator about 20 minutes before you cook it, allowing it to reach room temperature before grilling. Grill on medium, moving the pieces around regularly. Chicken is done when the internal temp is about 165 degrees Fahrenheit, or when the juices are clear and the inside is notably not pink. Serve.
When I graduated from high school, your uncle Stefan wrote me a letter. He told me that he had wanted to be a teacher, but he’d gotten the job at BMW instead, and that was okay.And then he gave me a bunch of life advice, stuff he thought I should know – mostly that sometimes, metaphorically speaking, taking the job at BMW instead of becoming a teacher works out better all around.It was a good letter, and I wish I still had it. Maybe Stefan had something to say about life that I don’t.
It was not so terribly long ago that you were just a little slip of a thing, your arms around my neck, saying: “I don’t want to stop hugging you, Auntie Allycen.”And then, six weeks ago, we were two adults in a dressing room discussing the intricacies of hemlines.Both of us changed a lot in that stretch of time; we were children together for a short while, and now we’ll be adults together for a long time.You are sensible and compassionate and a total, utter joy to be around – I think you’ll be good at this whole adult thing.
I was thinking about you yesterday, while I was at work and you were walking across a stage to get your diploma, and I wondered what I could pass on to you, what little wisdom I could tuck into your palm to carry with you.The problem is that a lot of the really useful stuff is what you have to learn on your lonesome: how to stand up for yourself, how to avoid settling for less, when to turn someone down gently and when to tell them off.The rest of it is just handy, like “wear sunscreen.”(For the record, the last time I had a screwdriver in my hand and I thought ‘righty tighty, lefty loosey’ I silently thanked the guy who taught me that, even if he was a jerk in all other respects.)
But there is one thing I can talk about with some confidence, something you might like to hear about: pesto sauce.
I could wax poetic about pesto, because it’s the perfect food.It tastes good, it’s healthy for you, and it never fails to impress – even if you just open up a jar of the stuff, premade.You can make it from scratch, using the best ingredients (freshly picked basil, Ligurian olive oil, an expensive deli Parmesan), pounded by hand in a mortar and pestle, and it will be totally, 100%, worth every minute you put into it.And you know?I recommend that at some point, you make sure that happens in your life.Good food is one of the most primary pleasures that life has to offer, and the primary pleasures are the hardest to top.
But the important life lesson that I can pass on here is: sometimes you take the BMW job.Sometimes you use premade pesto.You do this because sometimes your time is worth more to you that your palate, or because your blender is broken or basil is out of season or you worked all day and you’re tired.Maybe you don’t like cooking – or maybe you do, but the people who are going to be eating your cooking are not going to appreciate it fully.And you should never waste Ligurian olive oil (metaphorical or otherwise) on people who don’t appreciate it, because that stuff is expensive and so is your dignity.In short, know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em.
So go out!Live well!Wear sunscreen!Buy a very sharp knife for your kitchen, because if you love to cook a sharp knife will serve you well, and if you hate to cook a sharp knife will make you hate cooking less.Don’t microwave aluminum foil.Make pesto from scratch when nothing but the best pesto will do, and don’t feel any shame in opening a jar when something else is more important.Congratulations on your graduation.
With much love from your favorite aunt,
Allycen
Turtle’s Pesto
*2 cups fresh basil leaves, washed
*2/3 cup shredded parmesan
*1/3 cup pine nuts
*2/3 cup olive oil
*3 cloves garlic
*juice from ½ lime and ½ lemon
*salt and pepper, to taste
Throw everything in a blender and process until smooth and saucy.Serve over stuff.
Behold -- the sun, setting on cracker puns. Or is it the cracker of dawn?
No, wait -- it's proof that some things continue to be worth cooking long past the time that I can think of funny things to say about them.
Olive You Long Time Crackers
1/2 cup butter 2 cups parmesan cheese, shredded 2 1/4 cups flour, plus extra for dusting 1 tsp salt 4 cloves finely chopped garlic 1/4 cup finely chopped fresh basil 1/4 cup half and half 2/3 cup chopped olives
*Mix all ingredients until blended. Knead the dough until smooth, and then let it rest in a covered bowl for about 10 minutes.
* Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit.
*Roll the dough out thinly, adding flour as needed. (If dough is too dry, add in more half and half.) Use a pizza cutter or cookie cutter to create desired shapes.
*Bake on foil lined cookie sheet for 10-12 minutes. Let cool for another 10 minutes before serving.
Ally: You know, I read all these recipes that call for one or two cloves of garlic. I just don't get it. I mean, why would you do that?
Josh: Some people just want a hint. An essence.
Ally: Oh. *pause* I don't think I could be friends with those people.
A few weeks ago, I started making Chicken with 40 cloves of garlic, which calls for white wine. I didn't have white wine. Which was all right, because I had red wine. And I was changing things up anyway, why not mix things up more? So I made Chicken Drumsticks in a red wine sauce. The smell, the sight -- stunning. Beautiful. I wished that I could record the scent of it cooking, it was so evocative.
The taste, on the other hand, was unimpressive.
Drumsticks continue to evade me. I can't really get them right unless they're still attached to the rest of the chicken, which is totally ridiculous. I ate the leftovers for two days with great hostility, cranky about a perfectly good idea gone bad. And on the second day, I had a breakthrough on how to fix it.
Red wine and salmon is a natural pairing -- tastier, in my humble opinion, than the chicken and red wine pairing. Plus, red wine + chicken = gray chicken, which is way gross.
High up on my list of things I wish I hadn't had to find out for myself is: don't cook with a wine you wouldn't drink. My current favorite is Old Vine Zinfandel, but any red wine will work in this dish.
Pasta with Salmon and Red Wine Cream Sauce
Feeds 4.
1 tbsp olive oil 20 cloves garlic, finely chopped 1/2 cup white onion, chopped 1 cup fresh basil, finely chopped 3/4 cup red wine 1 lb fresh salmon, cubed 1/2 cup half & half or whipping cream 1/2 lb fettuccine, cooked salt and pepper to taste parmesan (optional)
*Coat the bottom of a skillet with the olive oil. Drain any excess. Add the onions and garlic and cook on medium until softened, about two minutes.
*Add the salmon, basil, and red wine. Cook until the salmon is almost opaquely pink, about four minutes. Slowly add the cream or half and half, and simmer until salmon is completely done -- another 2 minutes or so.
*Season to taste with salt and pepper. Toss with pasta and parmesan, if desired. Serve now!
*strawberries *a clean kitchen *mugs that function as bowls *things I can eat with a spoon *the blender/food processor I inherited from Meghin *things that are easy, easy like Sunday morning *bringing all these things together in one delicious moment
Easy Like Sunday Morning Sorbet
This can be more or less guilt free if you use the low fat coconut milk and sugar free syrup. It makes enough for two small servings or one larger serving.
1 1/2 cups frozen strawberries (it works out best if they are slightly defrosted) 1/2 cup coconut milk 2 Tbsp chocolate flavored syrup (like you put in your latte)
Put everything in your blender or food processor. Turn it on. Blend until the strawberries are pureed. (It helps if every so often you stop the blender and mash the berries into bits with a spoon.) Put into a chilled bowl and serve immediately.
This was my first two days in a row off since my return from visiting family, and how did I choose to relax? By clearing chard scraps from the sink drain, of course.
I am the only person I know who likes to clean the kitchen. I feel a little guilty about this, like I regularly do the vacuuming in high heels and pearls. I'm that princess next door that is terribly nice but who no one can stand because she says things like "Gosh, I just ADORE cleaning my bathroom every morning!" and "I wouldn't DREAM of serving my family anything that came in a box!" But it's the honest truth -- I love the slip of the sponge across a counter, the splash of warm, soapy water on a plate.
The rest of the house is a total, unmitigated wreck. I don't even pretend to try anymore.
Obviously, I also love to cook. This is regarded slightly less suspiciously, although my roommate -- who has known me for almost eight years -- still tells me how sorry he is that I "have" to do the cooking.
I love to cook. It's right up there with sex and chocolate. There are few places I'd rather be than the kitchen. Even in other people's houses, I want to hang out in the kitchen. They can put me to work. I don't mind.
And it's a damn good thing I feel that way, or I'd have to chalk up this morning's endeavors as a total loss.
Swiss chard gratin sounded so promising. I made my own bechamel sauce, with cow's milk instead of the vegan oat milk suggested. I used the optional egg. I sprung for the fancy Comte in place of a lowly Swiss cheese or parmesan. But the results are...not unappealing, precisely. I mean, I'll eat it. Not even Josh hated it, and Josh is very particular. I'm just not bowled over, and with the amount of work that went into this, I wanted to be a little moved.
I think, frankly, that I used the wrong chard -- red chard was not the way to go -- and it would have been altogether more impressive with spinach instead.
I started this blog because I wanted to see how well I could write about food. Sometimes I think I've gotten that just right, that I've captured my delight or horror or confusion in just the right way.
And sometimes, I sit down to write and can't think of anything more poetic than "Dude, chicken was totally on sale" and "this recipe is kinda cool and shit."
This is one of those times.
The Totally Cool Chicken and Artichoke Heart Saute
This would be particularly good over pasta.
1-2 Tbsps canola oil 1 1/2 lbs chicken thighs, cut into bite sized pieces 1/4 cup fresh basil, chopped finely 4-5 cloves garlic, minced 1/2 lemon 1/2 lime 12 oz artichoke hearts 1 can large olives 4-6 oz feta cheese crumbles pepper, to taste
*Coat the bottom of a skilled with the canola oil, and heat on medium high heat.
*Add in the chicken, basil, and garlic. Squeeze the juice from the lemon and lime over the chicken. Saute until the chicken is just about cooked -- 5 to 6 minutes.
*Stir in the artichoke hearts and sprinkle with as much pepper as you want. Cook until the chicken is completely cooked, with no pink in it.
"Sometimes you people really make me pissed off." -- my grandmother
Allycen: You know what I hate? Tomatoes. Nanny: How can you hate tomatoes? Allycen: I've always hated tomatoes. Nanny: You know, your taste buds change every few years. Maybe you should just try a little bit, maybe you'll see that you like it. Allycen: Nope. I tried some recently and I still hate tomatoes. Nanny: I don't understand how we can be related.
I have this conversation with my grandmother at least once a year, usually just to rile her up, but also mostly out of habit. Occasionally she'll ask me how I feel about ketchup (meh) or I'll tell her that it's her own fault that I hate tomatoes, since she's been insisting to me since I could walk that one day I'll come into the tomato-loving family tradition.
Luckily, there is one vegetable that we have no trouble agreeing on: Swiss chard.
I have memories of being very young, in my grandmother's garden with her as she cut the stalks of chard to serve for dinner. We would take it upstairs in a colander and wash it out -- or anyway, she would, because there were frequently spiders in the leaves and I feel even more strongly anti-spider than I do anti-tomato.
And there, in my grandmother's kitchen, I learned to love not just Swiss chard, but the perfect taste of vegetables fresh from the ground.
I haven't had Swiss chard in a very long time. I'm glad my taste buds haven't changed so much that I don't like it anymore.
2 Tbsps olive oil 4-5 cloves garlic, finely chopped 1 tsp, approx. crushed red pepper flakes 1 bunch Swiss chard, rinsed and chopped 1 small tomato, chopped juice from 1/2 lemon juice from 1/2 lime 1/4 cup queso fresco salt and pepper, to taste
*Preheat oven to 350. Lightly grease a baking dish.
*In a skillet, heat the oil, garlic, and red pepper flakes on medium for about 1 minute. Add the chard, cover, and cook for 4 minutes.
*Uncover, and stir in everything else except the queso. Cover again and cook for another 4 minutes.
*Transfer this mixture to the baking dish and stir in the queso.
I can't go to San Francisco in the same way that I could go to Montreal, or Paris, or Dubai; I can't even go to San Francisco in the same way that I could go to Denver, or to Seattle, should I ever leave here to live elsewhere. That's because San Francisco is home for me; San Francisco is where my blood is. I have the same sort of complicated relationship with the city that most women have with their mothers. (I'm assuming of course, since my mother is totally perfect and beyond reproach, and whenever we spend time together another angel gets his wings.)
San Francisco is one of the great foodie hotspots in the world, and indeed I don't feel right there without going to Boudin and wandering around the wharf with a bit of sourdough in my hand.
San Francisco takes bread very seriously.
There are so many restaurants there, so many opportunities for culinary pleasure, that it can be hard to choose one. Unless, of course, you are me, in which case there is really only one option:
Of all the kitchens that I have called home, this one is the most home to me -- my grandmother's kitchen. It hasn't changed in thirty years, although it has a toaster oven in it now and a different step stool from the one I used to sit on as a child, watching as my Nanny made pancakes or lasagna. This is the kitchen that made me a cook; it is inevitable that now I would want to cook in it.
I have something of an undeserved reputation in my family for being a gourmet cook. This is because I can talk a good game and there are few opportunities for them to make me put my, well, recipes where my mouth is. If they only knew how often I make macaroni and cheese, my cover would be so blown. So when I went to California last week, with the full knowledge that I would go and be able to cook almost every day, I was a little intimidated by the prospect. What if my skills fell flat? What if I couldn't think of a single thing to make for dinner?
I should not have worried. The first day, I made pesto from scratch to please my oldest niece.
There is no easier way for me to please people than to make pesto. It requires no ancient family secrets, no special equipment, nothing more exotic than a bunch of very fresh basil and garlic, and a good olive oil.
And there's no easier way to please my niece than to make pesto for her, as evidenced by how often she asked if she could have some of the leftovers. It's the gift that keeps on being delicious.
After that? It was cheesecake. Turns out my family, like most people, are happy to call you a gourmet cook just for the simple reason that your presence means they don't have to be in the kitchen.
And then I almost died, depending on how strict your definition of words like "almost" and "died" is. I was in the car with my mother and Nanny, going down a hill when the brakes failed. Fortunately, my mother was able to stop the car and pull over, and no one was any worse for the wear -- except that, of course, my mother and grandmother were totally freaked out. Me? Not so much as fazed. I went home and made macaroni and cheese for everyone, the ultimate comfort food.
It was exactly the right thing.
There are a thousand ways to wow in the kitchen. You can set things on fire (on purpose or not), you can spend hours slaving. But mostly all you have to do is turn the stove on, gather a few ingredients, and mix them together. And then bask in delicious.
The Youngest-Sibling-Totally-Has-Issues Shrimp Saute
1 pound shrimp (fresh or frozen is fine so long as they're thawed) 2 Tbsp olive oil 4 or 5 cloves garlic, finely chopped 1/2 of a lemon 1/2 of a lime 1/4 cup fresh basil, chopped finely pepper and salt, to taste
*Coat the bottom of a skillet with the olive oil and heat the pan on medium.
*Add the garlic to the pan. Cook for about a minute.
*Add the shrimp and basil. Squeeze the juice of the lemon and the lime over the shrimp.
*Season with pepper and salt as you like. Cook until the shrimp is pink. Cooking time will vary depending on the size of the shrimp, but it should be about 5-7 minutes. Serve.
I do not like broccoli. And I haven't liked it since I was a little kid and my mother made me eat it. And I'm President of the United States and I'm not going to eat any more broccoli. -- George H. W. Bush
