Happy birthday to me and all my guests: Celery juleps are a good reason to buy bourbon at Costco

 I love birthdays. I know that not everyone feels that way – I have plenty of friends who have dreaded theirs, particularly milestone birthdays – but to me it always feels like an accomplishment to make it through another year. It’s like having a personal New Year’s (another favorite holiday). I pretend to be cynical but I’m really a big optimistic softie, and something about new beginnings is enormously appealing to me.

Yes, I wore this

It would be safe to say that I’ve been envisioning my 50^th birthday party for quite a while. I love a good party, and what better reason to celebrate?! 😊 It was going to have a bounce house and food trucks and a keg and music and lots of laughing and telling inappropriate stories. Somewhere around the end of March I realized that a big party wasn’t going to be a realistic thing and starting retooling; and as the virus spreads and people increasing act like they’re “over it” and behave incautiously, the party got smaller and smaller…..

Until I ended up with just the right people for a fantastic dinner party, which is good because it rained most of the day and I can’t fit that many people into my house. My favorite caterers were out of town and I didn’t want to deal with an unknown quantity so I opted to cook, after wringing out promises of help from my kids (I figured I’d at least I’d get the menu I wanted, even if I’m still – ahem – washing dishes 2 days later).

Per usual with my dinner parties, we started with an extended cocktail hour. I’m sure the food was delicious but nobody cared because we started with the CELERY JULEPS and ohmygod. Step aside, mint! This is why I buy bourbon at Costco. Nobody expected to like them but they were going to humor me because it was my birthday, and then everyone loved them and they’re going to become a staple cocktail recipe. The recipe comes, naturally, from the Lee Brothers, as did almost everything else.

And dinner was lovely, and a good time was had by all, and I felt properly feted into the next decade.

 

From The Lee Brothers Simple Fresh Southern: Knockout Dishes with Down-Home Flavor.

 

Celery Julep

10 oz celery (about 4 large ribs. Leaves are fine.)
½ cup plus 1 tbsp sugar
½ tsp celery seeds
¼ tsp kosher salt
12 oz bourbon
¼ cup plus 2 tbsp fresh lemon juice (2-3 lemons)
12 oz seltzer water or club soda

 

Chop the celery and put them in the food processor with 1 tbsp sugar, the celery seed, and the salt. Process until it’s a runny puree, then pour through a fine-mesh strainer. Press to extract as much of the liquid as possible; you should end up with about 1/3 cup liquid.

Put the celery liquid and remaining sugar in a small saucepan over medium heat, warming just until the sugar dissolves.

Combine the syrup, bourbon, and lemon juice in a small pitcher. Pour into 6 glasses full of crushed ice, then top with seltzer. If you’re making these one at a time, it’s 2 oz bourbon, 1 tbsp lemon juice, and 2 – 2 ½ oz syrup per serving.

The Life-Changing Magic of Bacon Grease: Corn, Bacon and Parmesan Pasta

As we struggle through yet another gruesome heat wave, I’m reminded how happy I am that going gluten-free hasn’t kept us from finding fast, easy, non-kitchen-destroying pasta dishes for dinner. And if, for instance, you’ve spent all day scraping wallpaper off a ceiling and it’s 100 degrees and nobody likes your taste in music and you promised that you would cook dinner with your mutinous teenage son, this is a good dish to make because it comes together so quickly and nothing can go wrong. 

I know, I know - that last sentence really seems like I’m daring the universe, right? But there were already so many bumps in this particular road. I’m never at my best during a heat wave; John is in full-blown teenager hormonal rage overdrive; I was cooking in someone else’s kitchen with someone else’s gear; I was tired; I was hungry; my arms hurt. And let’s not forget that we are all heartily sick of the sight of each other, which is why it seemed like a fine time to cram 5 of us into a 4-passenger vehicle and drive 8 hours to Pennsylvania to help my best friend get settled into her new house (hey, at least it was a change of scenery. Also she has air conditioning.) 

If my son was a cartoon character...

John was Not Pleased at the prospect of helping with dinner - or honestly, being around other people. I love cooking with him but in his own words: “We’ve been in quarantine for months. I’m going through puberty. I don’t know how else to tell you I’m so sick of you people.” I hear ya, buddy. But even the worst teenage hormonal rage can be soothed with the life-changing magic of bacon grease. 

So. The corn was scraped and the bacon was sauteed (only a minor burn on my lip - no, I didn’t taste it straight from the pan, the grease popped so remember to be careful with that part) and we figured out how to make 2 pounds of pasta in a little teeny pot and there was plenty of Parmesan to go around. Everyone ate and ate and ate and was happy afterwards. I’ve been making this dish for years and have never figured out how much I need to make in order to have leftovers, so scale up as much as you like. By all means, feel free to use frozen baby corn if it’s the dead of winter, but this really is extra fantastic with fresh summer corn. If you happen to have leftover bacon in your fridge (I’m told that’s possible in some families), you can put this together in the amount of time it takes to boil pasta; and if you’re starting with corn still on the cob and bacon still in the store package, it still won’t take much longer. 

I have, at various times, considered adding shrimp, peas, and other random fridge finds to this dish, but we like it so much as-is that I’ve never bothered. The recipe's originator - the amazing and wonderful Deb Perelman from Smitten Kitchen - suggests that you can add diced tomatoes at the end if bacon isn't your thing, but if bacon's not your thing we're probably not friends so I left that part out. Also - Deb is amazing and wonderful and I adore her site and her recipes and her food photography and you should too. Also please buy me all her cookbooks. If I was a real food blogger I would want to be her but with a larger kitchen.

Corn, Bacon, and Parmesan Pasta

8 oz dried pasta (we use penne or spirals - you want a short shape for this)

¼ lb thick-cut bacon, sliced

2 ears corn, shucked and kernels cut from the cob

Salt and freshly ground black pepper (fresh-ground really does make a difference here)

3 scallions, thinly sliced

⅓ cup (hahahahaha - use more) freshly grated Parmesan

Fresh basil and chives, for garnish, if you're feeling fancy-schmancy

Cook the pasta and reserve a cup of the cooking water. 

Saute the bacon until it’s crispy, then remove to a paper-towel lined plate to drain. Pour off all but one tablespoon of the bacon grease. 

Saute the corn for a minute or two until it’s crisp-tender, then season with the salt and pepper. Add the pasta, some of the Parmesan, and a couple splashes of hte cooking water and stir it all together. 

Keep tossing and stirring and seasoning, adding more of the cooking water if it seems a little dry, until everything is mixed together. Stir in the bacon and scallions. If everyone at the table likes Parmesan, sprinkle the rest and the herb garnish over the top and serve. If someone is picky about the fact that this contains just a teeny little bit of cheese, roll your eyes and serve the rest of the Parmesan on the side. 

A Giant Stack of Deliciousness and Joy, or What We Ate When I Wanted a Big Mac

At some point mid-May or thereabouts, Cooking Dinner Every Night Fatigue set in big-time. While the quarantine restrictions have been lifted somewhat, I don’t feel even remotely comfortable dining in a restaurant right now so our dinner options are a bit limited (yes, I know there’s outdoor seating. There’s also a heat wave and I don’t have air conditioning at home. No thanks.). We’ve done some curbside pickup but it feels like all the expense with none of the service, and I still end up washing dishes.  

One of the casualties of staying in has been my intermittent visits to McDonald’s, from back when the siren call of a Filet O’Fish and the best fountain Coke in the universe was sometimes more than I could resist. I love a good Take Out/Fake Out recipe, but I can’t imagine the shenanigans required to recreate a fish sandwich at home. And why would you? The whole point of dining out – even if it’s a fast-food drive thru – is to eat something that you wouldn’t get at home. Yes, I can make a Sausage McMuffin with Egg that is arguably better than the real thing from a certain point of view, but the egg won’t have that perfect circular shape and the yolk will be the wrong degree of doneness and the sausage patty just won’t be the same. And don’t get me started on our unsuccessful French fry efforts.

A burger, though….. A burger is a perfect arena for experimentation. I’ve had so many burgers from so many places that my loyalties aren’t quite as fixed, and my commitment to burgers is such that I have an entire cookbook dedicated to them. Naturally this means that I had to try my hand at making the imitation Big Mac (though really I’m a Quarter Pounder with Cheese gal, myself). My husband insists that what we came up with is much more like a Big Boy burger from Elias Brothers. Whatever. Whichever burger you think this is a riff upon, let me assure you there is NO quick-service restaurant that is going to produce something as effing magical as this giant stack of deliciousness and joy.

This is after it was squished down.
Thirty-six more times, people.

Fluffy bun? Check. Double-stack of burgers? Check. Melty processed American cheese food slices? Check. Special sauce? Check check check. I had to mash this bad boy down with my hand for a solid thirty seconds to compress it enough to fit into my mouth, and I promptly made a huge mess of shredded lettuce and drippy sauce and chopped onions and it was amazing. I can’t believe I ate the whole thing. Fifteen hours later I’m still kind of full. Because we’re the kind of house that stocks tamarind paste and anchovies rather than, say, salad dressing, there was quite a shopping trip involved; it made me a little cranky at the time but now I’m delighted that I have ingredients on hand to make this at least 36 more times and all I have to buy is more buns.

Adapted slightly from The Great Big Burger Book by Jane Murphy and Liz Yeh Singh, which my friend won at a school auction fundraiser and brought to her cabin. I promptly fell in love and bought it. You should too. 

Sauce

2 tbsp Thousand Island dressing
1 tbsp French dressing
1 tbsp mayonnaise
1 tbsp sweet pickle relish
1 tsp finely grated onion
½ tsp sugar
½ tsp white vinegar
Pinch of salt

Combine all the ingredients in a bowl and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before using.

For each burger

6 oz. ground beef chuck. Note that if you cheat and use the ¼ lb. burgers from Costco your end result is going to be gigantic. I consider this to be a good thing.
1 tbsp grated onion
½ tsp each salt and pepper
1 tbsp sauce (or, you know, a lot more than a tablespoon. If you want. It’s just a suggestion.)
2 hamburger bottom buns, toasted
¼ cup finely chopped lettuce
2 tbsp chopped onion
2 slices American cheese
4 slices bread-and-butter pickles
1 hamburger top bun, toasted. Ideally this will be sesame seed bun but we’re not going to be pedantic about it.

Combine the beef, grated onion, salt and pepper. Divide into 2 patties about ¼ inch thick. (If you’re using pre-formed patties, sprinkle with the salt and pepper and a pinch of onion powder instead.)

Grill or pan-cook the burgers 2-4 minutes per side or until desired doneness; this is about 5 minutes in a George Foreman grill if you can't stand to turn the stove on.

To assemble the burger, spread half the sauce on the bottom bun. Sprinkle a third of the lettuce and onion on the bun and top with a slice of cheese. Add one burger patty and one bottom bun.

Spread the rest of the sauce on the bun, then top with half the remaining lettuce and onion and 2 pickle slices. Top with the second burger patty and the remaining cheese, lettuce, onion, and pickles. Top with the last bun.

Cookbook Challenge #13: Coconut Rice Pudding

As a kid, I loved Disney movies. This is possibly the least-surprising sentence ever written, unless you’ve been on the receiving end of one of my anti-Disney rants over the last 2 decades. Possibly these two things are related – the marketing machine of the 80s/90s and the rise of the ubiquitous Disney princess has made Disney into the worst sort of pop culture juggernaut. I won’t deny being a little nostalgic for those less merchandised days (though possibly one could purchase a “Hot Lead and Cold Feet” lunchbox. I’m really not sure).

Several of the live-action family movies from that era starred Jodi Foster, including “Candleshoe.” I remember almost nothing about this movie except (spoiler alert!) the denouement at the end in which Jodi’s ruse of pretending to be a long-lost heiress is discovered because she eats rice pudding (the actual heiress hated rice pudding). Whether my long-time dislike of rice pudding is due to sympathy with Jodi or the actual taste and texture is still up for debate; but David and Anna both love it, so it was a logical choice for a gluten-free, make-ahead, low-effort dessert for David’s birthday dinner.

At its simplest, rice pudding is little more than rice, milk, and sugar. There are approximately 20,000,000,000 variations on this, based on my rigorous and highly scientific survey of the internet, with every possible iteration of spices, additives, and non-dairy milks. So naturally, it made complete sense that I would also include one of my most loathed ingredients on this particular occasion, because David also loves coconut and it is, after all, his birthday.

The cookbook it came from will always have a spot on my shelf, if only for the nostalgic value. It’s the first cookbook that I really, really loved, and I bought quite a few copies to include with wedding gifts for my foodie friends. It was printed long ago enough that readers are reminded you can purchase coconut milk at specialty grocery shops, and is formatted in what is arguably the least-useful sequence one can possibly imagine, as it’s essentially a travelogue. Nonetheless, it’s great reading and has some excellent recipes.

I picked rice pudding for dessert because it’s easy and dinner was going to be fairly labor-intensive, only to realize the night before that I probably wasn’t going to be able to find candied orange peel at the fruit market. There’s no way I’m up for trips to multiple stores at 9 a.m. on a Sunday, and it seemed a significant enough ingredient that I didn’t want to just skip it. In hindsight, I should have chosen a different recipe. Suffice to say, Alton Brown’s instructions for making candied orange peel follow the rice pudding recipe.

Adapted very slightly from Sheila Lukins All Around the World Cookbook.

Mexican Coconut Rice Pudding

3 cups water
Whole peel of 1 orange, pith removed
2 3-inch cinnamon sticks
Pinch of salt
1 ½ cups long-grain rice
¼ cup golden raisins
¼ cup candied orange peel, cut into ¼-inch dice
¼ cup shredded coconut
¼ cup dark rum
5 cups milk
1 can unsweetened coconut milk
1 ¼ cups sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

In a large, heavy saucepan, combine the water, orange peel, cinnamon sticks, and salt. Bring to a boil add the rice, and stir. Reduce the heat to low, cover the pan, and simmer until all the liquid is absorbed, about 20 minutes.

While the rice is cooking, toss the raisins, candied orange peel, and coconut with the rum. Set aside.

When the rice is cooked, add the milk, coconut milk, sugar, and dried fruits with rum. Increase the heat to medium-low and cook, stirring frequently, until the mixture has thickened. If it boils rapidly, reduce the heat. The recipe claims this takes about 50 minutes but mine took considerably longer as I was using an underpowered burner; trust that you’ll know when it looks done, and remember that it will thicken a bit as it cools.

When the pudding is done, discard the orange peel and cinnamon sticks. Stir in the vanilla.

If you’re feeling fancy, you can toast an additional ½ cup of shredded coconut to decorate the top (but why on earth would you add more coconut?!). The original recipe also calls for stirring in a ½ cup of half-and-half, but I upped the amount of coconut milk a little bit and didn’t think it was necessary.

Serve lightly chilled or at room temperature. Prepare to be amazed at how not-disgusting it is, in spite of the coconut.

About candied orange peel

Honestly, this elevated the rice pudding to the level of “kind of a lot of bother,” but (1) most of the work is hands-off; (2) it was STILL easier than driving around to multiple stores; (3) it was really delicious in the final product; and (4) it’s really, really good on its own. Also you can use the leftover syrup in other beverages. I haven’t tried any sort of cocktails yet but it certainly made my iced tea just a little bit extra.

The fastest, most well-explained recipe I found was Alton Brown’s: https://altonbrown.com/candied-orange-peel-recipe/.

When Life Hands You Lemons, Make Shrimp

My daughter turned 17 yesterday. I think it’s safe to say it wasn’t like birthdays past, what with the global pandemic and quarantine, but it actually ended up being something better: calmer, quieter, less rushed, with time to make a glorious 4-layer black forest cake and get the cooking dishes cleaned up before sitting down to dinner. She had a good (distanced) visit from her best friend and got the gift she’d been asking for. It was a day very well suited to these slower times and she liked it very well indeed.

Of course, all birthday cakes require birthday candles. Anna was justifiably aware that serving people a cake you just breathed all over is probably not a great idea when there’s a life-threatening respiratory disease sweeping the nation so she improved with what was on hand. I present to you: The Birthday Lemon:

Possibly a new family tradition has been born, akin to The Christmas Chicken that adorned the top of our tree for years. The other half of that lemon was put to good use earlier that night as the finishing touch to the easiest, tastiest shrimp recipe imaginable (sorry, Lee Brothers – the pickled shrimp is amazing but it’s not easier). Anna had requested all her favorite Indian dishes for dinner but I wanted to throw in a couple of new things, since we’re in the age of experimental and/or aspirational cooking (the cake we made definitely ticked the box for the latter).

Madhur Jaffrey’s Indian Cooking was a Christmas gift from my sister-in-law a decade ago, and I’ve lost track of the number of times we’ve cooked from it. The pages are splattered with oil and smeared with spices and have notes written all over them; there are at least 8 bookmarks in it at any given time, either from the previous meal or the next one; and it’s one of the cookbooks that I consider indispensable in my kitchen. This particular recipe is meant to be an appetizer and holds its crispiness long enough to make several rounds at a cocktail party; we served it alongside some cocktail-sized meatballs and let the vegetable dishes take center stage.

From Madjur Jaffrey’s Indian Cooking.

Quick-Fried Shrimp

3 oz. rice flour (don’t use regular wheat flour for this!)
2 tsp turmeric
1 tbsp cayenne (you can scale this down if you don’t want spicy shrimp)
2 tbsp ground cumin
2 ½ tsp salt
1 tsp freshly-ground black pepper
Vegetable oil for frying
12 oz (or more – much more) medium shrimp, patted dry
1 lemon (or 1/2, if you're celebrating a birthday)

Mix together the rice flour and spices.

Heat the oil. If you’re using a deep fryer, set it to 300; if you’re pan-frying, make sure you have at least 1 ½ inches of oil in the pan.

Dip the shrimp in the flour mixture to coat. Shake off the excess and fry as many shrimp as will fit in a single layer until slightly crisp on the outside; this will only take a minute or so, so keep an eye on it. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain briefly on paper towels. Do as many batches as you need, sneaking the occasional shrimp for quality control purposes.

Serve hot with lemon wedges on the side.

P.S. The cake, in case you're interested

Romance Novels and Red Beans and Rice: Addressing Those Unrealistic Expectations

I’m not ashamed to admit that I adore a good romance novel – yes, I’ve gotten some of my favorite reading material at CVS. For all that it’s such a maligned genre, there is some very good writing to be found there, as well as some genuinely moving love stories. I have books that I’ve gone back to again and again for the familiarity of the characters and the guarantee of an unambiguously happy ending, something that I appreciate more as time goes by.

While I’ve done plenty of dabbling in supernatural and contemporary romances, my first love has always been historical “bodice-rippers,” problematic as my modern eyes sometimes find the conventions of the genre. Early on I read something called “New Orleans Legacy” by Alexandra Ripley, the author that was tapped to write the heretical so-called sequel to “Gone with the Wind.” Red beans and rice figured prominently in the background of the book so Ms. Ripley thoughtfully included a recipe for red beans and rice that, of course, I had to try.

As sometimes happens with the contents of romance novels, I was disappointed by the real-life version. Undaunted by unrealistic standards, I’ve tried many red beans and rice recipes since then, and mostly just found them to be very underwhelming. Not bad, just not anything that I’d take the time to cook again. (One may draw whatever parallels one wishes to other facets of romance novels with no further commentary from me.)

Quarantine to the rescue! I have a cookbook called Screen Doors and Sweet Tea that I love reading but haven’t cooked from very much, and these past few months have presented an opportunity to do a deeper dive while I seriously consider what cookbooks still deserve space on my shelves (yes, yes, I’ve run out of room again). I’ve now made these red beans and rice twice in as many weeks, with the bonus of having Anna make skillet cornbread as an accompaniment. I haven’t followed the recipe to the letter as I haven’t had smoked sausage on hand, but I can only imagine that the recipe as written would be even more delicious. And it’s super economical; this recipe feeds the four of us until we’re ready to burst, with leftovers, and cost under $5 in ingredients to make (my grocery bill has more than doubled since we’ve started eating every single meal at home, so this is actually a consideration. Also all the stores were basically out of meat last week but – shock! – there were still ham hocks to be found.).

A word of warning: if you’re not willing to deal with ham hocks, skip this. Yes, you can cut up ham, you can cut up sausage, you can do whatever – I’m convinced that the rich, smoky flavor of this recipe is entirely due to the hocks, which look like exactly what they are.

Adapted very slightly from Screen Doors and Sweet Tea by Martha Hall Foose. The Lee Brothers are big fans, which was really all that I needed to know before running out and buying this.

Red Beans and Rice  

1 lb dried red kidney beans
1 bay leaf
1 large onion, chopped
1 green bell pepper, chopped
2-3 celery stalks, chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 smoked ham hocks or 1 ham bone with most of the meat removed

Soak the beans in at least 6 cups of water overnight. Drain well.

Add a large glug of oil or a big dollop of bacon fat to a large Dutch oven (this is where the original recipe has you sauteeing some smoked sausage and using the rendered fat for this step). Add the bay leaf, inion, bell pepper, and celery to the pot. Cook for 3-5 minutes or until tender. Add the garlic and cook for 1 more minute.

Add the ham hocks, drained beans, and enough water to cover by at least an inch. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a low simmer and cook for 2 hours or until the beans are very tender. Keep an eye on the water level; the original recipe called for 2 inches of water but that made the end product a little watery, so I’m erring on the side of caution – it’s easier to add more than take some out. Mash some of the beans against the side of the pot for a creamier consistency.

Remove the ham hocks, remove and shred any meat remaining on the bones, and return to the pot. Season with salt and pepper and maybe just a little teeny bit of hot sauce, and serve over hot white rice.

Dueling to the Death: Shredded Crispy Everything Salad

With grocery trips being few and far between lately, it’s pretty much guaranteed that I go overboard on the fresh vegetables whenever I make a trip. Predictably, about a week or so afterwards we find that we need to eat a lot of veg pretty quickly, and main dish salads start to make an appearance on our table. Don’t get me wrong – we love our salads and they’re not a meal of last resort. It’s just that I go from trying to stretch out the fresh stuff for as long as possible, in which case a salad feels positively profligate, to – well….this.

If I were handing out food awards, this would be a serious contender for Most Unrecognizable Use of Leftovers From Multiple Meals. It could also be a runner-up in the Type of Dressing That You Usually Hate is Actually Delicious and Unhealthiest Transformation of a Lean Protein categories. I imagine it would be even more enjoyable if I had all the ingredients on hand, but I find that I’m becoming a lot more comfortable with substitutions and swaps these days; I’ve even started to – gasp! – improvise recipes, which is Not At All My Thing. The evolution of the cook continues.

My son attacked my daughter with tongs after she took a larger-than-he-deemed-appropriate second serving, and she dumped dressing into her bowl so he wouldn’t want to eat it (he hates all dressings). Evidently she thought it was good enough to go up against a newly-minted brown belt in karate which, as recommendations go, pretty much says it all.

This is adapted very slightly with my own editorial comments from Seriously Good Salads by Nicky Corbishly, one of my favorite cookbooks from last summer. The author recommends using a mandoline for the slicing/shredding, but my chef’s knife did just fine and meant less dishwashing.

Crispy Chicken Shredded Salad with Honey Mustard Dressing

CHICKEN
¼ cup vegetable oil
2 cups shredded cooked chicken (I used turkey)
3 Tbsp cornstarch
¼ tsp salt
¼ tsp garlic salt
¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper
½ tsp paprika

DRESSING¼ cup olive oil
2 tsp white wine vinegar
3 Tbsp honey
2 tsp Dijon mustard
Pinch of salt and pepper, or to taste

SALAD 2 heads romaine lettuce, shredded
¼ cup red cabbage, sliced into thin strips (one of the things I didn’t have, but feel free to throw in whatever bits of greens you have around)
2 carrots, peeled and sliced into thin strips
1 cucumber, sliced into thin strips (I used celery)
1 red bell pepper, sliced into thin strips
1 sweet apple, slice into thin strips
3 radishes, quartered and thinly sliced
4 scallions, sliced

Toss the chicken with the cornstarch, salt, garlic salt, pepper, and paprika and toss to coat evenly.

Heat the vegetable oil in a large skillet over high heat. Add half the chicken and cook until golden brown and crispy, about 4-5 minutes. Remove to a bowl lined with paper towels and repeat with the other half of the chicken.

While the chicken cooks, stir together the dressing ingredients.

Toss together the romaine, vegetables, and apple.

Top each serving of the vegetable mix with the crispy chicken and some sliced green onions, then toss with the dressing.

Socially Distanced Lovechild Pie: Certainly Nothing to do with the Kentucky Derby

One of the unexpected upsides of the quarantine is that I’ve been baking lately, something I gave up a decade ago when David stopped eating gluten. For the most part, I think that gluten-free baking is a sad and joyless endeavor that results in a messy kitchen and a final product that reminds you of what you’re missing. There are exceptions, of course: David’s chocolate chip cookies are hands-down the best ones anywhere ever. Other than that….um…. GF pie crust, maybe? I mostly stick with things that aren’t supposed to have wheat flour in the first place so we don’t have to fiddle with substitutions and sadness (GF flour is the decaf coffee of the dessert world). I ordered some Namaste GF Flour Blend from Amazon in order to make a very specific recipe - I haven't yet, BTW - and having this large bag of 1-for-1 mix on hand has evidently been very inspiring. 

In an alternate universe, the weekend just past is one that we would have spent in northern Michigan with friends at the Sip & Savor wine tasting event. We went last year and had a fantastic time; it was literally the first weekend we’d ever gone away without the kids and it gave us a great preview of what we can expect from life as empty nesters. It also happens to be the weekend of the Kentucky Derby, which we watched last year, mint juleps in hand.

One of my very favorite bloggers in the whole wide world posted a recipe for something that is most emphatically NOT called Derby Pie, because Kern’s Kitchen will try to sue you for trademark infringement if you call it that in spite of the fact that Derby Pie is kind of a thing all over the South. It would be like trying to trademark the name “sweet tea.” Bless their hearts. (See also: Mean-Spirited Censorship Pie.)

As advertised, this version is like the kind of pecan pie that isn’t dripping with corn syrup and making your teeth stick together. But the crust is so tender and delicious and just barely crumbly. It’s sweet and rich with being overwhelming; a 3-bite serving is perfect and a 6-bite serving is almost but not quite too much, and would be wonderful with ice cream. Anna lobbied vigorously against the inclusion of pecans but eventually agreed that they were the perfect amount of texture that kept this from being Too Much, and commented that the end result tasted like a s'more and shortbread had a baby.

This recipe is adapted very slightly from Deb at SmittenKitchen, which is the best food blog ever and you should follow her and also buy her cookbooks. I only included the proportions I used – doubled from what she posted – first because I had 2 extra egg yolks in the fridge looking to get used but now because this is delicious and you should have more of it on hand. There’s not a lot left at this point but I’m going to cut it into bars and freeze it, and at some point soon I’m going to make some really fantastic ice cream featuring bourbon and thaw these out and feel happy all over again.

Socially Distanced Lovechild Pie, Which is Nothing AT ALL Like Derby Pie

CRUST
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon fine sea or table salt
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 cup unsalted butter (cold is fine)

FILLING
1 ½ sticks unsalted butter
2/3 cup dark brown sugar
2/3 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 large egg yolks
1/2 teaspoon coarse or kosher salt
2 tablespoon bourbon (Deb says it’s optional but nope)(also I used rye because we evidently drank all the bourbon)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
12 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups chocolate chips
1 ½ cup toasted and coarsely chopped pecans

Heat the oven to 350°F and cut 2 lengths of parchment paper. Trim to fit a 9x12 pan. Press it into the bottom and sides of your pan in one direction, then use the second sheet to line the rest of the pan, perpendicular to the first sheet. A little nonstick spray underneath helps keep the strips in place.

Combine the flour, salt and sugar in the bowl of a food processor. Cut the butter into chunks, and add it to the bowl, then run the machine until the mixture forms large clumps. Transfer the dough to prepared baking pan and press it evenly across the bottom and 1/4-inch up the sides. Bake for 15-20 minutes, until very pale golden.

Melt the butter. Transfer it to a large bowl and let it cool. Whisk in the sugars until smooth, then eggs, yolks, salt, bourbon, and vanilla. Stir in the flour until just combined, then mix in the chocolate and nuts. Pour over par-baked crust, spreading evenly.

Bake the bars for 20-25 minutes or until the top is firm and golden. Store at room temperature for up to 3 days, or in the fridge for longer.

Cookbook Challenge #12: Bacon and Egg Risotto

Is there anything better than the smell of bacon frying on a Saturday morning? Why, yes - yes, there is – it’s bacon frying in butter on a Saturday morning as the start to this high-maintenance, unhealthy, utterly magnificent breakfast.

In my pre-quarantine life I often wished that I was cooking differently. Not cooking more, because I pretty much cook every day; and not cooking better, because even our weeknight easy stuff is pretty good. The variety of what we eat isn’t really an issue, because we all like to try new things. But cooking was often a very meh activity for me, something that I did and did well but didn’t get a huge amount of joy from. It was the thing that filled the time between cleaning up the kitchen and fighting with the rest of the family over who had to wash the pots and pans. It was shoved in before or after work, swim practice, karate, and all the other things that occupied our time, and it made me sad because food and cooking for people is a huge part of who I am. It hurt that I didn't like it all that much anymore. 

Now that the days are blending into each other and I’m longing for a little structure (yay, online school starts on Monday!) I find that I’m a little more immersed in the meals we eat. I have to think about the constraints of our fridge and pantry, instead of just thinking about what I can get on the table the fastest with the least amount of complaining from all parties involved. I get more help in the kitchen. I'm actually looking forward to being in the kitchen and making good use of what we have on hand. It's become fun again. 

The other thing I often wished was that I was blogging more. While I am occasionally accused of bragging – “You’re only cooking that so you can blog about it!” – um, okay. Maybe. But this is the One Thing I’m getting right during this pause in our lives. Certainly it’s not housecleaning or exercise or self-improvement or any of the other things that the Facebook world suggests I should be doing with my time.  So I’m going to unapologetically enjoy it, and occasionally make a meal that absolutely knocks it out of the damn park. Such as this breakfast risotto, which has Imaginary Mom just standing there in silent awe (she's been mercifully quiet during the quarantine).

I adore risotto, but it’s a bit of a princess and I don’t often have the time or patience. I adore breakfast, but I’m not a morning person. So this is really the least likely dish for me to make on a Saturday morning before I even finish my first cup of coffee. Nonetheless, here we are. Make this sometime for someone you love and want to treat, especially if that person is yourself.

Adapted very slightly from Simple: Effortless Food, Big Flavors by Diana Henry.

Bacon and Egg Risotto

3 cups chicken stock, warmed
1 tbsp butter
5 ½ oz bacon, chopped (this is the one and only time I’ll tell you not to go overboard on the bacon)
1 small onion, minced
¾ cup arborio rice
Pepper
2 tbsp chopped parsley
¼ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
2 eggs

Melt the butter in a heavy saucepan and saute the bacon until golden all over. Stir in the onion and cook over medium heat until the onion is soft and pale gold. Add the rice, stir, and cook for a couple of minutes.

Add the stock a ladle at a time, stirring (almost) continuously. Wait until the stock is completely absorbed before adding more; the whole process will take about 20 minutes. The rice should be creamy with just a little bit of bite in the center of each grain. Season with pepper, then stir in the parsley and half the Parmesan cheese.

Poach the eggs. Serve an egg on top of each serving of risotto, with more Parmesan on the side if you really think you need it. 

There's No Such Thing as Too Much Comfort: Carrot, Spinach, and Rice Stew

It snowed here in Michigan yesterday, which is not actually unusual for mid-April. We’re living in complicated times and I have some related thoughts regarding the quarantine and people’s reactions to it, but the takeaway I choose is this: Mother Nature has declared y’all aren’t planting shit right now, and it’s okay to let go of those ambitious garden plans and sit right down.

In fact, sit down with a stack of cookbooks and consider some aspirational cooking for the weeks ahead, then wander into the kitchen and make this deceptively simple, delicious, downright cozy soup with the odds and ends in your fridge. It was simple enough that I managed to make it while in the middle of canning some stock, with some help from my kids, and hearty enough with the addition of some leftover chicken that I didn’t have to make anything else to go with it or worry that John was going to disappear into his room with a 5-pound box of crackers afterwards. It’s light enough that I can see it being an almost-year-round lunchtime staple. In other words, everything I want a soup to be.

From The Best Recipes in the World by Mark Bittman, who has my everlasting gratitude for snapping me out of the fancy-schmancy cooking of the late 90s and helping me become a really solid home cook.

Carrot, Spinach, and Rice Stew

½ lb carrots, peeled and cut into 1/4 -inch dice
¾ cup long-grain rice
Salt and pepper to taste
1 lb fresh spinach, thick stems removed, roughly chopped
1 tsp minced garlic, optional
2 tbsp butter, optional

Combine the carrots with 6 cups of water in a saucepan and turn the heat to high. Bring to a boil, then stir in the rice and a large pinch of salt.

When the mixture returns to the boil add the spinach, then adjust the heart so that it simmers gently.

Cook, stirring occasionally, until the rice and carrots are very tender and the mixture takes on the consistency of a thick stew, about 30 minutes.

Stir in the garlic or butter and cook for another 5 minutes. Or forget about that part altogether and add some chopped chicken left over from last week’s curry and a little bit of cumin instead.

Adjust the seasonings as needed, adding a little water if it needs to be thinned.

“Slaves to the Fat” – A Love Letter to the Deep Fryer

I’d like to start by saying that we do, in fact, eat a very healthy diet. We love main dish salads. There are always fruits and vegetables on hand. My kids have never eaten a Twinkie in all their lives. We cook from ingredients on the regular, fast food has never been a thing, etc etc etc.

Something about the kids hitting puberty made us revert to buying chips and snack foods, and thus we stepped upon the slippery slope. At some point we dusted off the deep fryer we got (unrequested, btw) for our wedding. And – not gonna lie – homemade fried stuff is really damn excellent. We started with the occasional, relatively innocuous fried chicken; how bad can it be if you have it twice a year?! And then I found those excellent shrimp and sweet potato fritters. Well, and David’s fish tacos. And there’s always falafel, of course.

As we were washing dishes tonight, my daughter said, “I love it when we’re slaves to the fat. You know, when we stand around the deep fryer as a family and eat all the stuff as it comes out.” And I know that she was talking about a really epic night last year when we discovered onion bahji (we ended up being too full for actual dinner) and the funnel cake night recently and tonight’s apple fritters…. And I know that my cholesterol is high and my family doctor is going to be really unhappy when she runs my bloodwork again…. And I can’t actually disagree with Anna. While I wish it was something healthier, there really *does* seem to be something particularly comforting about the shared experience of watching the food cook and laughing as we burn our fingers and tongues, standing shoulder-to-shoulder and singing bits of whatever music Alexa has inflicted on us. Hot pot comes close; fondue might be a close second; but lordy do we love our deep fryer.

**

We don’t normally celebrate Easter, not being Christians. When we were first married we tried to make both families happy, but once the kids came along it was an orgy of chocolate and sugar and ham and trying to keep fancy clothes clean, and we were exhausted at trying to celebrate all the things in all the ways when it wasn’t a holiday that held personal meaning. For years we skipped town and went to hotels with waterparks or visited people with no expectations of us; it was delightful. The year I was studying for a wine test, we invited my study group over for grilled lamb and a truly stupendous amount of wine and called it Fake Easter – still one of my favorite non-holidays ever. With this being a quarantine year, nobody expected anything and I really hadn’t even planned a meal.

In the way of such things, we had a lovely day. We slept in much later than usual. We had a long, laughter-filled video call with friends from Canada that we haven’t seen IRL in years. We lounged on the couch and read good books. Pam did a drive-by with a few bottles of wine I wasn’t expecting (and am enjoying very much, thank you). Anna and I cooked dinner together. David and I went for a walk and met some great new neighbors. And then we came home and made these, which were so, so delicious and bad for us and a completely perfect way to end our lovely non-holiday full of unexpected goodness.

If I’m learning anything from this time of enforced quiet, it is to appreciate the little bits of grace that populate our days. I think we overlook or rush through them much of the time, and I’m hoping that a silver lining to all of this is the ability to stop and recognize the homey beauty that comes to us in the ordinary course of our days.

Adapted from A Real American Breakfast by Cheryl AltersJamison and Bill Jamison. I was so happy to find this at our local used bookstore; I really like trying new breakfasts at restaurants and this has enough new ideas for a lifetime worth of Christmas breakfast experiments. I halved the original recipe based on how queasy we all felt after shoveling in twice as much of this as we should have.

Slaves to the Fat Apple Fritters  

2 medium apples, peeled, cored, and cut into 1/2-inch wedges (alternately, chop them coarsely – we tried both ways)
3 tbsp applejack, brandy, rum, white wine, or rose
1 ½ tablespoons sugar
1 egg, separated
1 tablespoon nut or vegetable oil (we used pistachio)
½ cup flour (we used a cup-for-cup GF blend from Namaste Foods)
Generous pinch salt
Vegetable oil for deep-frying
Confectioners’ sugar and/or a mixture of cinnamon sugar (I suggest both)

Put the apples in a shallow dish. Sprinkle with the applejack and sugar, toss to combine, cover, and let sit 30 minutes.

Whisk the egg yolk with the oil until it’s light yellow in color, then stir in 1/3 cup of water. Stir the flour and salt together, then add the yolk mixture and stir to combine. Drain off the liquid from the apples and add that as well.

Beat the egg white until stiff but not dry and fold into the flour mixture.

Heat at least 1 inch of oil (if you’re using a pan instead of a deep fryer) to 350.

If you’re using wedges, blot them lightly with a paper towel so they’re not too wet and the batter adheres. Dip the apples into the batter and fry in batches until golden brown and crisp, about 3 minutes. If you’re using apple pieces, stir them into the batter then drop the batter by tablespoons into the hot oil. Don’t make them too big or the inside will be undercooked when the outside is on the border of being too crispy.

Sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar and/or cinnamon sugar. It might be tempting to think that this is gilding the lily, but I assure you that it’s an important step and you shouldn’t skip it. You’re already eating something deep-fried so there’s no use skimping now, is there? Eat while hot, ideally standing shoulder-to-shoulder over the deep fryer. This would also be excellent with vanilla ice cream.  

Cookbook Challenge #11: Red Lentil Soup with Caramelized Onions

For about 2 weeks of every year, I care enough about my yard to get out there and do something about it. The rest of the year, it’s a chunk of dirt and weeds and expectations that wears me down and makes me sad. Don’t get me wrong – I’d love it if my yard was lush and beautifully maintained, so I could sit on my deck with a cool drink in the evening and see beauty all around me. Not, however, if that means I have to do the work.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m really an indoor kitty. While I’ll happily camp and kayak and Do Actual Outdoor Things, given a choice between a good book on my couch or a good book on my desk, I choose the couch distressingly often (and my weird attachment to our house doesn’t mean that I’m all that excited about doing indoor projects either. I’m very on-brand.). Our yard has fallen into a sad cycle of half-hearted effort and neglect and disappointment, and the only way to break that cycle is to win the lottery so I can afford to pay someone to do it for me.

Meantime, I get excited enough about the yard every April that I recruit the kids to help clean up the leaves and dead weeds and assorted detritus, and I page wistfully through gardening catalogs and websites and fantasize that this is a hobby I would enjoy. I appreciate the whole cycle-of-life chill Zen vibe that really devout gardeners talk about. And when my back and legs are sore and my clothes are filthy and I’ve realized that sunshine does not necessarily equal warmth in a Michigan April, I come back inside and make this soup for my family as a reward for their labors.

Two of our favorite comfort foods are dal and mjadara, which in addition to being delicious and filling and easy to make have the added benefit of containing ingredients that we have in the pantry 99% of the time. (This is clearly a big damn deal in the middle of a quarantine.) Hence, this marvelous soup that is a perfect cross between the two. It lent itself to substitutions from the pantry, and cooked all by itself with almost no attention from me.

From The Cooking of the Eastern Mediterranean by Paula Wolfert, one of the more aspirational cookbooks I own. I cook from it so rarely that doing so qualified this for the official NoP Cookbook Challenge count; the stories in it are so interesting that I can't bear to part with it, and I keep promising myself that I'll tackle it in more depth at some point (see the chapter titled "Fifty Varieties of Kibbeh" and you'll see exactly what I'm talking about). 

Red Lentil Soup with Caramelized Onions from Aleppo

1 cup red lentils
¼ cup fine-grain bulgur (or quinoa, if that’s what you have in your cupboard)
¼ cup short-grain rice (or medium-grain brown rice, if that’s what you have in your cupboard)
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 tbsp ground cumin
2-3 large onions (about 1 ½ lbs), halved and thinly sliced
½ cup olive oil
1 tbsp ground coriander
Pinch of cayenne

Rinse the lentils, rice (brown rice), and bulgur (quinoa). Place in a deep saucepan with 6 cups of water, the salt, and the cumin. Bring to a boil and skim any foam that floats to the surface, then reduce the heat, cover, and simmer about 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat the olive oil in a large heavy skillet. Cook the onions over medium-high heat until they soften, then reduce the heat and cook until deep brown but not burned. Conveniently, this will take almost exactly the same amount of time as the soup.

Stir the coriander and cayenne into the soup. Pour the entire contents of the skillet into the soup, stir, and serve.

Death By Pulled Pork

I suspect we’re all learning a great deal about ourselves during this quarantine. I, for one, have unequivocally realized that time is not actually the limiting factor in my life; given sufficient time, no outside obligations, etc. etc. my house will *still* not be clean. I will never be caught up on the laundry. I’m not going to learn Italian or open an Etsy shop or get into the best shape of my life.

For a while there, I tried to rationalize this and spent a bunch of time making lists and staring moodily out the window. Then I put it in the same mental space as the fact that everyone on the Internet is funnier and more creative than I am and got the hell over it. I’m counting my days in small victories (I showered! I went outdoors! I didn’t kill my kids!) and treating myself a little more gently these days. We are living in a strange and terrible time and all that extra kindness and gratitude we’re finding for others needs to be dispensed to our own selves as well.

That being said, we’re eating like rock stars lately. I’m very displeased at the number of dishes I’m washing but dinners have, for the most part, been pretty great. Or maybe they’ve just felt great (aside from the dishwashing) because we’re planning everything out in advance – a side effect of bi-weekly grocery store trips and limited fridge space – and anticipation is just a big part of enjoyment. Maybe it’s because Anna is jumping in and helping so often; cooking with other people is something I’ve grown to love. Maybe it’s because we’re not in a hurry to get dinner going in between work and homework and practice, and can take the time to enjoy the process for its own sake just as much as we’re enjoying the food on the table. Maybe it’s the uncertainty that surrounds us making us slow down just a bit and pay attention to the flavors, also knowing that we’ve seen shortages lately that we never have before, and that plenty is no longer a given (certainly we feel this way about toilet paper).

Of course there are days that I tell everyone to eat a frozen pizza or fend for themselves. We’ve broken our ironclad rule about not eating in front of the television more times than I care to admit, and eating dinner together every night feels like a less significant unifying element when we are together literally 24/7.  On nights when I can’t face the kitchen (or the laundry or Duolingo or wearing pants, for that matter) it’s nice to know there’s something a little better than Cheerios to fall back on, and this particular recipe has kept us in lunches and late-night snacks for the better part of a week.

Last year we did a wine tour on the Leelanau Peninsula with friends. It was the first time that we’ve ever gone away without the kids, and we certainly made a celebration of it (turns out that when you’re an adult you can have Negronis and beef jerky for dinner and nobody will yell at you). On Saturday we went for a leisurely dinner at Martha’s Leelanau Table in Sutton’s Bay. There were a number of cookbooks and knick-knacks on shelves in the main dining room including the fantastically-named Death by Burrito, a Mexican street food cookbook written by a chef based out of London. I was delighted that David remembered my fascination with this particular cookbook and bought it for me for Christmas, and equally delighted that I could have pulled pork without having to excavate the smoker from the shed.

The recipe here is as written, though I doubled it based on the amount of pork we had. I was honestly a little skeptical going in, as David already makes some of the best pulled pork I’ve ever had, complete with a mustard-and-vinegar sauce to die for. This is an entirely different take, the sauce rich and tangy and just a little bit sweet, and believe me it gets even better after the first day. We had this the first night on masa sliders with a cabbage slaw and pickled onions and Cojita cheese. It’s gone into flour tortillas on its own for a late-night snack, over a bowl of rice with radishes, and on top of chips for some killer nachos. I had fully intended to freeze half of this for later but we keep picking away at it. I guess that means I’ll have to make it again. Darn.

Adapted very slightly From Death by Burrito: The Cookbook.Mexican Street Food to Die For by Shay Ola, because I didn’t want to make pork cracklings.

Death by Pulled Pork 

1 lb 5 oz pork shoulder
1 cup Dr Pepper
2 chipotles in adobo or 2 tsp paste
1 small onion, sliced
3 garlic cloves, minced
3 tbsp red wine vinegar
¾ cup brown sugar

Put all the ingredients except the pork into a roasting pan and mix well. Add the pork, fat side up, and season with salt and pepper. Cover the pan tightly with foil and bake at 275 for 5-6 hours.

When the meat falls apart at the touch of a fork, pull it out of the oven. Shred the meat with 2 forks and set aside.

Pour the liquid into a saucepan and let it cool a bit. Skim the fat from the top, blend with an immersion blender, and reduce the liquid by half over medium heat.

Stir the meat into the sauce and let stand for the longest 10 minutes of your life before serving.

A Coconut Curry That Justifies That Bottle of Wine: Chicken, Coconut, and Sweet Potato Awesomnness

Here we are, entering Week 3 of quarantine, and I’m – let’s be real – looking for reasons to justify drinking this entire bottle of Gewurztraminer. This curry is it.

If you’re not familiar, Food52 is a pretty fantastic source of recipes. One of my favorite food bloggers did a stint there, and following her posts led me down the virtual rabbit hole to the people I wished I worked with. The articles are a wonderful slice of life, full of people’s family histories and travelogues and general food-related awesomeness. In my actual life, this translates to hanging out in the kitchen with Anna while she texts to my aunt on my behalf and we bicker amiably over all sorts of thing (and no, you cannot go up north to hang out with your wannabe-boyfriend, and yes you can have a sip of this wine)(yes, I see what she did there).

This particular recipe has been hanging out in my file for months. As I claw my way out of whatever vile thing has laid me low these last few weeks I find that I want to cook more (family – don’t get used to this – you still have to pull your weight) and especially wish to tackle some of the more complicated-looking things I’ve flagged. This isn’t actually all that complicated; it will leave you plenty of time and attention to chit-chat with one of your favorite humans, and the end result will be so, so good. Treat yourself.

From Food52: Burmese-Inspired Chicken Braised in CoconutMile and Turmeric with Sweet Potato, with minimal edits

Chicken Coconut Curry with Sweet Potato

1 1/2 pounds boneless chicken thighs
1 tablespoon dried ginger
1 tablespoon dried turmeric
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1 tablespoon neutral oil
2 cloves garlic
1 1-inch piece peeled ginger
1 peeled shallot
1 dried chile, on the hot side (I like de árbol)
1 bunch cilantro
1/4 cup unrefined coconut oil or a neutral cooking oil (seriously, use the coconut oil)
1 cup cubed sweet potato
2 cups chicken stock
2 cups unsweetened coconut milk
2 tablespoons fish sauce
2 limes, 1 juiced and 1 quartered
1 pinch salt, to taste
For the crispy shallot topping
1 peeled shallot, sliced thinly
1 cup neutral cooking oil, such as grapeseed

Cut the chicken thighs into about 1-inch pieces and marinate overnight with the dried ginger, turmeric, coriander, and 1 tablespoon of neutral oil. If you forget to do this in advance, just toss the chicken pieces with the spices before you start cooking.

In a food processor, mince the garlic, ginger, shallot, dried chile, and the roots and/or stems of the bunch of cilantro. If you're horrified to discover you have no dried chiles in the house because your spouse has abnegated hot things for the last decade, soldier ahead with a teaspoon of chipotle powder and don't tell him 

In the bottom of a heavy-bottomed pan over medium-high heat, heat the coconut oil. Then add the cubed sweet potato. Fry until golden brown on at least 2 sides of each cube. Scoop out of the pan, leaving the oil, and set aside.

Add the chicken pieces, a few at a time so you can brown them without having them cool the pan down, and let them begin to brown. Season with a pinch of salt. Remove to a bowl (ideally with the sweet potatoes so you have fewer dishes to wash).

Add the minced shallot-ginger-garlic-cilantro stem mixture and let cook out a little. Add a couple tablespoons of the chicken stock and let reduce until the mixture is soft and cooked. Add the rest of the chicken stock, the chicken, and the reserved sweet potatoes and bring to a simmer.

Meanwhile use the method below to fry the crispy shallots (this can also be done as much as a week ahead of time, as the shallots will keep in a closed container at room temperature).

Simmer the soup for about half an hour, until the chicken and sweet potatoes are close to tender. Stir in the fish sauce, lime juice, and coconut milk and bring up to a simmer. Stir in a quarter cup of cilantro leaves and taste for salt. Serve garnished with the crispy shallots, a couple of sprigs of raw cilantro, and the lime wedges

For the crispy shallot topping

In a sauté pan over medium heat, heat the oil. Add the shallots and stir frequently. As the oil continues to heat, the shallots will start to color. When they get to golden brown, scoop them out of the oil and drain on a paper towel. You want to pull them out of the oil a little before dark brown, as they'll continue to cook and crisp up on the paper towel.

** 

On our cruise we were fortunate enough to have dinner at one of the onboard specialty restaurants. The red coconut curry was one of the most delicious things I have ever tasted – part of a beautifully prepared and served meal – and I’ve been thinking about curry ever since we got back. This was nothing like that in substance but it was in spirit; while we’re all hunkered down and looking for something lovely in our lives, I hope you’ll treat yourself and your loved ones to this.

BTW: Paired with Blustone Gewurztraminer, which was so, so perfect. I love Michigan wine and saved this bottle for this meal for a reason. 

Now That You Have the Time, Make This French Onion Soup

Everyone I know has some version of a “Someday” file:

“Someday, when I have an infinite amount of time, I will make this recipe.”

“Someday, when I have a week with nothing else to do, my house will be spotless.”

“Someday, I’m going to make this really time-consuming craft project, organize and tag my photos, read all my emails, etc. etc. etc.”

Well, you've got time now.

Here on Day Zillion of the COVID-19 quarantine, I finally want to start tackling the recipe file (because let’s be real – lack of time is not the reason my house isn’t clean). Anytime I’m looking for something overly ambitious, back issues of Cook’s Illustrated are an excellent place to start, and there’s a French onion soup recipe there that I’ve been thinking about for ages.

I love French onion soup but it always disappoints me (love is like that sometimes). My friend Pam ordered Holland America’s amazing French onion soup almost every day on our recent cruise and it did not disappoint At All: rich broth, caramelized onions, the perfect proportion of cheese and bread to soup. One day there was even some beef short rib in there, which was almost – almost - gilding the lily. I always come home craving some little sliver of cruise life at home; and since tackling the liquor cabinet didn’t seem like a wise move under the current apocalyptic circumstances, soup it was.

This version is better than the cruise soup. (Granted, I only mean better from a taste perspective, because it’s not being served me to by Sudarma and Gede on an impeccably-set table and preceding an amazing multi-course meal in which my every wish is anticipated and for which I do no cooking or dishwashing whatsoever, followed by cocktails and the hot tub on the Lido deck. But I digress.)  

I prepared my pan and sliced my onions and started the recipe….and fell asleep. For 3 ½ hours. Because one of the little slivers of cruise life I brought home with me includes some kind of disgusting virus that makes me cough and sleep all the time. Thank goodness for Anna, who jumped in and babied the onions along and only woke me up when her dad tried to convince her that Blaufrankisch was a good substitute for dry sherry (it’s not). And then I woke up and all the hard work was done and my house smelled amazing. 

(Honestly, how can he have been married to me for this long and still think that “wine is wine” and everything is interchangeable? Fer cryin’ out loud.)

A mini-crock full of this soup could easily have been an entire meal, it was so rich and filling. We topped it with a couple slices of toasted brioche and a generous sprinkling – NOT smothering – of shredded Gruyere and Swiss and the end result was just fantastic. Because it was Try New Things Day, we also made some crepes and rolled them around a mix of chicken, bacon, onions, mushrooms, and spinach. On any other day the crepes would have been the star, but they really had no chance against this soup.

Go ahead and try it yourself. You know you have the time…..

From Cook’s Illustrated magazine, February 2008.

The Best French Onion Soup of All Time

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 3 pieces
4 pounds yellow onions, sliced ¼” thick (yellow onions – not Vidalia or any other sweet onion)
2 cups water, plus extra for deglazing
½ cup dry sherry
4 cups chicken stock (this is one of those times it’s worth it to use homemade, if you can)
2 cups beef broth
6 sprigs fresh thyme, or ½ teaspoon dried
1 bay leaf
Salt and pepper
1 small baguette, cut into ½” slices
About 2 cups shredded Gruyere (I used Aldi’s Swiss and Gruyere blend)

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Spray the inside of a large Dutch oven with non-stick cooking spray (don’t skimp on this, it will make a huge difference when it comes to cleanup). Place the butter, onions, and 1 teaspoon salt in the pan. Cook, covered, for 1 hour.

Remove the pot from the oven and stir, scraping the onions up from the sides and bottom. Return the pot to the oven with the lid slightly ajar and cook for another 1 ½ - 1 ¾ hours, stirring the onions again after 1 hour.

Put the pan on a stove burner over medium-high heat. Cook the onions, scraping the sides and bottom frequently, until the liquid evaporates and the onions are browned, about another 15-20 minutes.

Continue to cook, stirring frequently, until the bottom of the pan is coated with a dark crust, about 6-8 minutes. Anything you scrape off that sticks to the spoon should go back into the pot. Stir in ¼ cup of water and cook until the water evaporates and a crust forms again.

Repeat this process of deglazing and cooking 2-3 more times, until the onions are very dark brown. Stir in the sherry and cook, stirring, until the sherry evaporates, about 5 minutes.

Add the broths, water, thyme, bay and ½ teaspoon salt, deglazing one last time if needed. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat, cover, and simmer about 30 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.

If you can somehow manage to restrain yourself, cool the soup, put it in the fridge, and eat it tomorrow. If you can’t wait, toast the baguette slices in a 400-degree oven for about 10 minutes. Ladle the soup into oven-proof crocks that you impulse-bought at Aldi, top with a couple of slices of baguette, and a handful of cheese. Broil 3-5 minutes or until the cheese is melted and bubbling around the edges.

Ode to the Dinner Party, and a Beautiful Citrus Dessert

My formative cooking years were overly influenced by Gourmet magazine, and I’m not gonna lie, it made me a little psycho. My idea of a good time consisted of slaving over a hot stove and hours of chopping and at least one panicked last-minute run to the grocery store and dirtying every single pan in the house. I had to have dinner parties, and the menu had to include multiple (complicated) courses and I had to use the good china – which naturally would have to be hand-washed – and so on. It was A Big Deal. It was exhausting. It was a huge mess. I adored it.

I spent some time thinking about why exactly this is such a big deal to me, Gourmet’s influence notwithstanding. I didn’t grow up in a house with a lot of complicated cooking or entertaining, and while I could perfectly well feed myself once I moved out on my own, it tended to be a very straightforward: spaghetti, chili, meatloaf, chicken and rice, etc. I ate a lot of macaroni and cheese those first couple of years, because I hadn’t figured out how to scale things down for one person or cook new things.

Dinner parties represented a sort of airbrushed, idealized grown-up world that I was just tiptoeing into. Being able to pull one off meant that I had learned how to cook new things without anyone to teach me, just a handful of recipes and an inexplicably unshakable belief that it would turn out well. It broke the stereotype of a hapless 20-something that couldn’t boil water, and meant that when I threw a party it didn’t have to involve Doritos and a keg. It was a way to show how much I loved and valued the friends I had made, by doing something nice and special for them. It fostered my love of food and eating with a spirit of adventure. After a while – let’s be honest – it was a way to feed the monstrous ego I had developed around my ability to do this when nobody else around me was. My husband and I cooked together before we ever dated, which was kind of a big deal since I rarely even let other people clear the dishes, much less help with the actual cooking.

In writing this and doing the mental math, I realized that it was literally half a lifetime ago that I started my dinner party obsession. Some things have stayed the same, and some have changed. I don’t always pull out the good china, though I’m extra happy when I get a chance to set the table with all my best stuff. There are a few friends that I’ll let into the kitchen, and my daughter – who is pretty sure she’s headed to culinary school after graduation – is my favorite person to cook with. I’ll happily let others clear the table, pack up the leftovers, and even wash dishes or load the dishwasher if they’re so inclined.

It’s still fun. I am perfectly willing to throw myself undaunted into a pile of new recipes, which just goes to show that I am hella good at following instructions (I’m not a creative cook, but I can follow a recipe like nobody’s business). I still have some of those same friends, and we’ve added lots of people to the list of those we love so much, we can’t wait to feed them something. Food is love, y’all! My ego is considerably less engaged these days; dinner is about feeding the soul as much as the body, and I care much more about that kind of sustenance than the kind on the table. I finally believe that I am a real adult. I still cook with my husband.

Thanks to a cookbook my college roommate sent me from Dubai, David now makes what is arguably the best falafel outside of your sitto’s kitchen (that’s not the recipe you’re getting here, though). We love any excuse for a falafel party, which is how we ended up with two tables full of people tearing their way through a ridiculous abundance of food and drinking some excellent rose and laughing and talking and telling stories and generally making for the kind of night I still love, half a lifetime later.

This photo doesn't really do it justice. 

After a huge meal, an elaborate dessert goes utterly unappreciated, so I went with something simple, a citrus salad that looks gorgeous but is really no more complicated than slicing some fruit. It’s adapted very slightly from Seriously Good Salads, which is chock-full of beautiful things that will make you rethink your lettuce-cucumber-tomato paradigm and proves that “salad” really can be another word for “meal.”

Orange Salad with Pistachios and Pomegranate

1 Ruby Red grapefruit
2 blood oranges
2 other oranges – clementines, Minneolas, or whatever is at the grocery store at the moment
2 Tbsp honey
½ tsp almond extract
¼ cup chopped pistachios
Pomegranate arils
Fresh mint, for garnish
Fresh thyme, for garnish

Peel the citrus fruits and slice thinly. Arrange on a platter – this is such a pretty dessert! Without any real effort! (If you’re feeling ambitious, do some kind of ombre effect and send me a picture. That would be so cool.)

Mix the honey and almond extract together and drizzle over the fruit. Sprinkle with the pistachios and pomegranate arils. Garnish with chopped fresh mint and/or thyme.

We have, at various times, skipped the pomegranate, skipped the thyme, skipped the mint, and substituted the pistachios for blanched almond slivers. No matter what you do, this is going to be (1) beautiful and (2) tasty, so don’t overthink it if you can’t find something or forgot the thyme or whatever. I also think this would be good with some fresh pineapple in there. Let me know how that works out for you.