cooking

Full House

amaretti

Man Child has returned from Italy, bearing gifts, stories, love, and cookies. Lots of cooking going on since he arrived, but the first night it only seemed appropriate to celebrate in traditional New York style.

Wine from Italy, pizza from NY, a perfect pairing in Fringeland

The funny part is that this is our favorite local pizza, and while he was in Italy, the local paper of the small, northern town he was in actually had an article about this particular pizza place. Husband and I got a big kick out of that when we saw MC post the article.

I think Italy was the perfect choice for a first big traveling experience for him. Beauty, history, food, and the passion that comes from an ancient culture; yup, all him. It’s kind of funny, despite the fact that English and Spanish are the two languages spoken here at home, Man Child never looks quite as natural as he does when speaking in Italian.

Just a few days after he arrived, Nerd Child came home for his spring break. Do you hear that? It’s the little chorus of mama-angels singing, all 3 of my chickadees home at the same time for more than a day and a half.

Don’t trip!

It’s been way too long since we’ve all been together, especially without the stress of just a quick stay or holiday preparations. Art Child is thrilled. Both boys! Bonus, they’ve both been pitching in and doing some of the pick-up/drops-offs getting her to and from school. Every morning I’ve woken up thinking back to when she was a baby, still not yet able to walk, but as soon as she was able to get herself out of her bed, the boys’ room was her first stop of the day; tiny fists beating on their door while she bellowed, “BOYYYYYYZ!”

I’m mom. I see the similarities, the commonalities, the passion all three have for politics, humor, love of music, and certain gestures and facial expressions. Certain things from Husband, certain from me, others I guess just from being raised in the same home. That said, they’re each different in looks, perspective, and presentation. Not that life has been all serious all the time, but Man Child and Nerd Child are both quite funny, and they play off each other perfectly. Both use topical humor, self-deprecating humor (hmm, can’t imagine where they get that from), but Nerd Child is more deadpan, gallows type of funny, one quirked eyebrow to communicate the joke (if each one was born with a parenting manual, his would be titled “Brit-Humor Alert), while Man Child is more about parody, with just the right amount of timeless slapstick. Art Child is quite droll. So, the greatest common thread, in my opinion? Laughter. I have done more laughing in the past ten days than I have in a long time.

Because of school schedules, neither of my boys have been home on their birthdays in a long time. The first missed birthday (on their part, there were others missed because I was in the hospital with Art Child) was Man Child’s eighteenth, his school was on break, but he was away on a service trip. Nerd Child will be turning eighteen soon, but he’ll be back at school by then. Nerd Child’s friend will be coming to stay with us for a few days this week, and he’ll turn eighteen while he’s here. Poor guy doesn’t realize he’ll be subject to my frustrated mama sniffling. So the other day when Man Child suggested he make a cake the following day, I told him to wait, we’ll make a cake for the friend’s birthday in a few days. *insert awkward pause here* Why awkward? Because the following day was Man Child’s birthday. Sure I realized it just after I said it, but still. Bad, bad, mama.

Obviously, now I had to make a cake, and not just a cake, but a special cake. I’ve been making lots of bundt cakes in the past couple of years, but Man Child isn’t enamored of those. He’s young and energetic, passionate about all things food and baking, and therefore considers bundt cakes cheating. What would be special? What would everyone enjoy, that I haven’t done in a while, that wouldn’t break my back? I used to make a lot of cheesecakes. I actually own an entire cookbook dedicated solely to different types of cheesecakes. Ok, I’ll make a cheesecake, and not just any cheesecake, a ricotta cheesecake. Nice tie-in to him and his time in Italy, no?

That morning he took the girl to school for me. I made the crust for the cake, and then went with Nerd Child for his eye exam and new glasses. Afterwards I went and bought a new strainer (my old one is mysteriously missing) so I could get the cheese as dry as possible. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve always found ricotta cakes to be a bit tricky, the texture and moisture levels really have to be perfect.

Don’t be deceived.

Surprise! About forty minutes in, I went to take a peek at how it was going, and I noticed a small puddle forming on the floor, under the right bottom corner of the oven. I figured someone dropped ice cubes and missed one when cleaning up. Hmm, this water is mighty slippery. You could even say greasy. Turns out there’s a small leak in my springform pan. Not enough to be noticed when I pre-baked the crust for ten minutes, or when I poured the batter in, but just enough for a slow leak of butter from the crust. In the space of the 38 seconds it took for me to notice the puddle and determine that it wasn’t melted ice, the oven, kitchen, and hell, most of the whole apartment filled with smoke. Once the smoke cleared and the danger of fire passed, we stuck the cake in the fridge to chill, hopefully firm in the middle, and generally hope for the best.

Needless to say,

didn’t quite work. Not to mention the smoky overtones to the flavor. As I said, there’s been a lot of laughter.

And this.

lots of this.

Maybe Nerd Child’s friend would like some chocolate pudding to celebrate his eighteenth?

The Kitchen is now Closed

Jawfish poking his head out of his cave to see if it’s all clear

I hope everyone is having a happy holiday season. Remember my last post, my big stand about refusing to make any rolled cookies in hopes of preserving my back? Yeah. I stuck to not making any rolled cookies, but as it turns out, if you make enough drop cookies while still up and down the train steps for 12 trains a day and add in cooking regular food, that doesn’t actually mean anything.

First came the molasses cookies.

Then came the oatmeal cranberry chocolate chips.

Photo by Art Child

Pause to absorb some tank serenity.

This cracks me up, the snail has some type of algae (that I don’t see anywhere else in the tank) growing from his shell.

clown trying to convince the urchin to move

On to the chocolate crinkle cookies.

Now for my favorites. Honey nut ball thingies. They have the flavor profile of a Greek/Middle Eastern pastry but in a cookie. They’re kind of a pain to make, lots of steps but well worth it.

The first step is the killer. Chopping and chopping

End of chopping, walnuts on left, pistachios on right

Glaze of honey, oj, cinnamon sticks and cloves

Glaze of honey, oj, simmered down with cinnamon sticks and cloves

The filling=nuts mixed with orange peel and a little of the glaze

not so secret ingredient for the dough

By this time I was grateful for a dough that didn’t have to be mixed by hand.

End result, drizzled with the glaze.

Last batch, pumpkin cookies with a cream cheese frosting. Simple and pretty fast to throw together, these are almost like little cakes.

Added up, somewhere between 15-20 dozen cookies, less the couple dozen that were casualties to the residual nerve damage from my fall last spring. Lots of dropping/kitchen accidents now–I have to start remembering it’s just to be expected when calculating how much I need to prepare.

Christmas dinner I tried to keep things easy. Ham, curried lentil/cauliflower/almond pie, and a baked spinach and pea risotto. I’ve never made risotto in the oven before, but I saw a few recipes online, and it seemed like a great back-saver. Blech. Let’s just say I won’t repeat that mistake.

The curry pie was also new for me, but this I would definitely make again. If I can remember what I put in it.

Mini pies with the excess curry and crust

Man Child wasn’t with us last Christmas, either, but this year we’re really feeling it. Maybe because last year he was here right before and after, maybe because we know he’s much further away this time. In any case, he’s been missed. On the bright side, he definitely knows the routine/timing for us, so he and Miss Music (visiting him in Europe for the holiday) called to video chat on Christmas morning.

For you, Man Child–in case you were missing our Christmas breakfast. 😉

So yeah, I’m done. I don’t want to mix, measure, chop, sauté, or bake anything else. More than anything, I’m sick of smelling like the inside of my oven. Why oh why does anyone think it’s a good idea to create grown-scents and lotions that smell like food? As far as I’m concerned, it’s a successful adult day if at the end of it I don’t reek of garlic, onions, cinnamon, or vanilla.

One of the best parts of this season has been having Nerd Child home. Not just here, but relaxed because the college app hell is over. This means I’m getting to hear lots of fabulous music.

Yesssssss

Because of El Niño, instead of gray skies and ice we’ve seen quite a bit of fog in the city this winter. Unfortunately, late December is still far from the end of the season, and I’m afraid we’re going to be slammed with early spring snowstorms. This of course is based on nothing other than my pessimism.

For most of us, winter weather is, at worst, a nuisance. Our recent high temps have meant it didn’t “feel” like it should be time for Christmas shopping, but it was more pleasant when we had to. Feeling beat and smelling like holiday cookies is solved with a shower at the end of the day. But for all too many, this warmer than usual season means everything.

Chugga Chugga Chugging Along

Blur of colors, faces, and heat inside the train.

No more denying, this year has begun. I know, for most the year begins in January, but for me, as a parent and summer worshiper, the year begins in September along with the public school year in New York. Nerd Child went back to school first, Art Child began last week, and Man Child left for Italy two days ago.

Art Child has begun high school. I think the fact alone confirms I’m in my dotage, but in case it’s questionable, I’ll assure you I feel it. By the end of last week–three days of school–I had taken approximately 43,000 trains and climbed 9 billion subway steps bringing her to and from. By Friday, she and I both fell asleep on the couch before dinner, and she was already trying to fight off some kind of virus/cold.

Surely I’m trapped inside this cement mixer.

Ahh, the stresses of mamahood. Man Child will be away for six months. Very exciting for him, and quite strange for me. Before he left, I guess he was feeling a bit nostalgic, because he was talking about and requesting the dishes that were staples when he was younger. I made a huge batch of basic tomato sauce, we had spaghetti one night, baked ziti another, he made a simple (and delicious) rice and beans with roasted chicken, and he and Mother-In-Law baked an early birthday present of Dominican Cake for me–guayaba filling, of course. The apartment felt very quiet once he left; he’s a young man with great energy, both of my boys laugh easy and often, and by yesterday morning I was already missing the seemingly constant simmer of something on the stove. I still had a container of sauce left, was feeling a little nostalgic myself–not to mention envious of the foods and flavors Man Child will certainly be experiencing, so Art Child and I went to the store to purchase an eggplant.

Between time constraints, dietary restrictions, generally fewer people at the table, and a shrinking capacity for standing, most of what I cook these days is a healthier and quicker variation of the dishes I used to prepare. But what the hell, one old-school dinner to kick off the start of the new school year. I purged the eggplant. Purging is slicing, salting, and weighing down the slices to draw the bitterness out–then rinse, pat, and begin your dish.

Eggplant Parmigiana

I season the flour with a little garlic powder (granulated, not the stuff that gives clouds of garlic dust) and fresh ground black pepper. Some people add their seasonings to the egg, but I find it adheres better to whatever you’re coating when in the flour, instead of sinking to the bottom of the bowl.

After a light flouring, a quick dip in the egg/water mix.

Then into a panko/parmigiana mix.

Use your hands and get your fingers dirty. Panko crumbs make for a lighter, crisper coating than regular breadcrumbs, but need a little help to make sure you get a nice mix on each slice, not just the grated cheese.

Fry (yes, I said it, fry) in olive oil. Not a super light extra virgin, something heavier that will hold up.

I like to get them a nice gold color, about 2 minutes on each side. Yes, my stove is dirty, I have no shame. Probably what tipped the scales to have me make this–it needed to be cleaned anyway.

I had one zucchini in the fridge, so I dredged it and added it to the eggplant.

As they finish, layer the slices on a paper towel lined and layered plate to absorb excess grease. Now try not to eat all the eggplant before you make the casserole.

A little sauce on the bottom of your casserole/baking dish.

Good quality cheese is everything, and fresh mozzarella is so much better than the dry, yellow, pre-packaged stuff.

Good quality cheese is everything, and fresh mozzarella is so much better than the dry pre-packaged stuff.

Start layering. Eggplant, mozzarella, sauce, and then a little fresh grated parmigiana or romano. I prefer romano for this step.

Repeat the layers two or three times, depending on the depth of your dish. There should be enough sauce so every bite has some, but too much will leave the whole thing kind of gloppy and you won’t taste the eggplant at the end.

Bake. Not for too long, everything is pretty much cooked already. 350 or 375° for twenty minutes covered with foil, then uncover and bake another 10 minutes. Done.

Hungry?

Excess

Moonflowers, finally!

I get one every three days or so, but they open in the afternoon, not at night.

What’s worse than 5am yoga? 5am yoga after eating yourself into a carb coma the night before, of course.

The other morning I woke with an urge for corn chowder. First day of a heat wave, why wouldn’t I want soup? I went to the grocery store, and bought the ingredients. Not as easy as it sounds, because I wasn’t thinking about the fact that it was Saturday. In the grocery store. By the time I got home, I needed to rest my back for a while before getting started. Just as well, because lifehappened and I never got to start the soup.

Yesterday, day 2 of the heat wave. I love summer, nothing makes me happier than not needing more than flip flops and shades to walk outside, but nothing holds the heat like the city. The thought of soup was now as appealing as diving into the Hudson River. But…I already dropped $50 in the grocery store the day before, and had told Art Child she could help me. Just in case making soup when it’s 93° with 69% humidity outside wasn’t enough, in between chopping and sautéing, I was back and forth at the laptop, had a thought provoking email conversation with a writing friend about writing and not. This, naturally, is a conversation I feel compelled to keep having, but it’s upsetting too, leaving me to feel generally useless. What to do when I’m stressing myself out? I added biscuits, chicken (for the flesh eaters), and tofu (for the non flesh-eaters) to the menu.

cheddar scallion biscuits

Gin & Lemonade

Maybe an extra jalapeño next time.

Marinated chicken

Tofu in the same marinade.

I’m a pretty good cook, and sometimes everything works out just the way I want it to, and last night’s dinner was one of those meals. Husband went into work early yesterday, so he was actually home at dinnertime, and the four of us sat together. At my table, everyone sitting together means political discussions. Last night’s topic segued from the need for campaign contribution reforms, to general American consumerism and excess. Did it occur to me that in that moment, sucking down my organic, non-GMO corn, jalapeño, and yukon gold potato soup that I was the very picture of American excess? Yes, yes it did. But I enjoyed it anyway. Did the conversation stop me from thinking I had absolutely nailed those biscuits? (If, like me, you’re too heavy handed with a rolling pin, drop biscuits are the way to go.) Nope. When I was already full from the soup and biscuit, did it prevent me from taking a big slice of tofu? Well, you see, I made the whole brick, and it’s only Art Child and I who eat the tofu, so it would be wasteful to not even eat one slice….

What a surprise that I woke up before the sun, feeling like an overstuffed sausage. These political conversations are deadly, I tellya.

Ramblings of a Day Off

Blueberry Ricotta Pancakes

Oh, Sunday. It isn’t always true, but today is a blissful day of nothing needs to be done. So obviously, my best plan was to get up and stand at the stove to make 8000 pancakes. That’s ok, because I’m still in my pajamas. 9 in the morning, in my pj’s with saltwater mixing for tomorrow’s water change, I must be dreaming. My back tells me I’m not.

It’s also Man Child’s last day at home before he heads back up to school for *whee* his last semester of college.

On my way home from taking the girl to her art class yesterday morning, I took some photos. For the first time, it occurred to me why I set so many of my stories at this time of year. Let’s face it, late winter in New York–not sexy or invigorating, not pretty or enticing. The dominating colors are gray and gloom. The season of train delays and wind tunnels, when I walk with my head down, hood eliminating all peripheral vision and calculate the odds of getting clipped in the head by a chunk of ice falling from a building.

A good time of year for hibernating, spending the day without getting dressed, thinking about what we do and why we do it. Because I have this ridiculous compulsion to make up characters and write them down, it dovetails nicely with the introspection.

Yes indeed, I do have a new character who’s been knocking at the back of my brain. At the moment he’s barely more than raw, a yummy mix of foolish and ludicrous. I may have to bring him forward soon, see how he can take shape.

For now, I have filthy-New York-in-February photos for you. Enjoy. And have a pancake while you’re at it–since I took this photo 20 minutes ago, my kitchen was apparently invaded by pigeons, and there aren’t many left. I’m going back to my beach house in Hawaii fantasy.

Valentine’s Day, New York style

Never Again! oh, and happy Thanksgiving

Yesterday was miserable weather here. Rain to sleet to snow and back again, all day. Little Incredibly Dumb Dog ran to the couch after her 7am walk and did this.

Apparently taking her outside for 5 minutes in cold rain was cruel and unusual punishment.

I took the girl to school, came home, woke Nerd Child–because he’s home, yay!!!–went to two grocery stores, began prep work for Thanksgiving dinner, and prepped, and cooked, and prepped. Nope, not going to do this anymore. Next year, we are going out to eat. My spine has handed in her official resignation letter, she refuses to support me in the chopping, lifting, mixing, and standing required for Thanksgiving dinner anymore.

Of course, I mentioned this to Fatigue on the phone last night, and his response was he’s heard me say this before. Oh. Well, this time I mean it. Really. And I did get Husband, Nerd Child, and Art Child to help me with some of the snipping and chopping, loading and unloading of the dishwasher, washing pots. Of course being an idiot, I didn’t ask for help until my back was already screaming. Man Child stayed up at school this year, he’s busy and working. I missed him yesterday, and I’ll miss him more when we sit down to dinner, but he’s living his life, enjoying all the man child stuff I’m happy he can experience.

With fewer people at the table, I thought I’d share dinner with you, Fringelings.

Trying a different stuffing this year

Cornbread based. One day I’ll figure out how to cook stuffing for fewer than 20 people.

I skipped the yams entirely. Went with an old favorite of mashed gold potatoes and parsnips.

I like to pretend the parsnips make this a healthier choice.

Of course, the very first dish completed yesterday was dessert. Another old favorite, pumpkin marble cheesecake. I didn’t have it in me to drag the mixer out of the closet–it’s heavy! As it turns out, my cooling racks are nowhere to be found. You know those boxes you stick away when you move to a new place, with the intention of getting to them when you have time? I hope they’re in there. They have to be in there. I’ll find them eventually.

Gingersnap pecan crust

Turns out I can’t beat things by hand as smooth as I used to. Oops.

Want a slice?

Today I’ll do the rest. Nerd Child was kind enough to prep the Swiss chard for me. Ready, clean and waiting in bags.

Pretty, isn’t it.

When I gave up yesterday and sat down at the laptop with a glass of Bailey’s, I looked over at the couch:

Seriously. All day.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

And of course, because it’s obligatory:

A is For

Artichoke. Hey, everyone, let’s eat this giant thorn-like thistle! I can’t imagine who first figured how to cook and eat these things, but I’m glad they did. Stuffed artichokes are one of those things, comfort food and a luxury at once. Luxury because of the cost and the work involved. I haven’t made them in a long time, but yesterday I was inspired.

I know people have different ways of cooking them, and some stuff while others just dip the leaves. My favorite is pretty much the way I first encountered them, a little tweak of the stuffing. Trim the bottom stems, take off the toughest outer leaves at the base, trim the sharp points of of the leaves, and then cut off the top of the artichoke (about two inches straight across the top, through the layers). Apparently my knife really needs to be sharpened, because I couldn’t actually trim the tops until after part 1 of cooking them, which is steaming/boiling in a tall pot for about 20 minutes. Throw a bit of white wine, or lemon juice, or white or red wine vinegar in the boiling water before you add the chokes. Last night I used a champagne vinegar.

Post steam. I really botched trying to trim them with that dull knife beforehand.

You have to let them cool a bit before moving on to the next step, I generally turn them upside down to make sure any water caught in the leaves drains out, helping them cool.

I make the stuffing mix while they’re steaming. Equal parts fresh bread crumbs and ground parmesan (a good one! yesterday I used some romano I had left and then parm), a handful of finely chopped walnuts, a few cloves minced garlic (at least one for each artichoke), snipped flat leaf (Italian) parsley and mint leaves, fresh ground pepper.

Mix it all up.

Now that your artichokes have cooled a bit, finish trimming any sharp points–last night this is when I chopped off more of the tops, use your hands to spread the leaves some, and remove the centermost leaves and the fuzzy part in the bottom center of each choke.

A grapefruit spoon would work best for removing the furry middle, I don’t have one, and use a teaspoon.

Beginning in the middle, start stuffing, pushing out as you go, so the mix spreads out, and gets through all the layers, a nice coating on each leaf. I overstuffed last night. Place each artichoke on each stem, standing straight up in a baking dish. Put an inch or two of water at the bottom of the dish/pan, I also squeeze half a lemon in the water. Drizzle a little olive oil over all.

I like a tight fit so they don’t fall over.

Tent aluminum foil over the whole thing, so steam will be created and cook everything further as it bakes. In the oven at 375° for about 40 minutes.

Enjoy, one leaf at a time, scraping the stuffing and soft bottom of each leaf off with your teeth, leaving a “shell.”

It’s possible I ate so much I put myself into a carb coma last night. Possible.

Let Me Call You Sweetheart

That’s what I think of, when I think of Valentine’s Day. Remember that scene from The Rose? Bette Midler playing a Joplin-esque character, breaking down on stage as she tries to croak out Let Me Call You Sweetheart. That and the fact that St. Valentine is the patron saint of epilepsy. Ya caught me, a true romantic. I’m also allergic to roses.

flowers for Flower Child. We need the pop of color during this endless stretch of gray and snow.

Husband is away, so we won’t be doing our normal Valentine’s Day celebrations. Oh wait, we don’t normally do anything. I don’t think we ever have done anything special for VD. We just aren’t that couple, never were. We’re both bad at stuff like that, cards, remembering specific dates, anniversaries. How many years are we married, Husband? I think it’s 43,000 years, but I could be off by a year or two. We’ve known each other for-ev-er, were friends for a long long time before anything else.

I think without getting into the realm of the spiritual, after my insane devotion to my children, I believe in the healing and strengthening powers of friendship more than anything else on earth. Friendship can come from our significant others, siblings, children, parents, classmates, workmates, online, any of the many places we humans interact. I’m very lucky to have some wonderful friends in my life, and wish that everyone could say they have at least two great, long-term friends.

Too many people are out there feeling they are alone, and “holidays” like this one seem to magnify those feelings of loneliness.

So it feels fine for Husband to be off doing his thing on Valentine’s Day, and for me to not-celebrate by having Fatigue over for Friday Night Madness. Because…friendship. In honor of low days, snowstorms, downwardly mobile lives and overly commercialized holidays, I decided comfort food is in order for tonight.

That’s right, mac n cheese. My version of macaroni and cheese involves whatever cheeses I happen to have in the fridge.

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Feel free to come join us at the cyber table, Fringelings, I’ve even got a few beers on the terrace. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Merry Holidays!

I thought I would write a heartfelt post for the holidays. Maybe not heartfelt, maybe humorous. Clever. Witty.

Alas, I’ve been busy doing the real life thing, but I did want to pop on and wish everyone Happy Holidays from Fringeland.

Here, I’ll share dinner, and some of the 8 gazillion cookies Man Child and I made.

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Comedy of Errors, Thanksgiving Style

Turkey (Photo credit: wattpublishing)

Ah, the day before Thanksgiving. A happy, happy day. Nerd Child came home for Thanksgiving break, he’s been making us laugh for the past four days. Man Child and his girlfriend Miss Music got home last night, long after I fell asleep–how beautiful to wake up to all my chickadees at home.

A day for finishing prep work for cooking and debating whether or not it will be worth going to see the balloons being blown up tonight. I’m quite behind on the cooking this year, left too much for today. The only things ready are my cranberry sauce and stuffing. After taking Flower Child to school, I went straight to the store to pick up a pork roast. That’s right I said pork, I’m not making a turkey this year. Came home from the store, began mincing garlic and toasting fennel seeds.

I needed the salt. From the top shelf. Too lazy to take out the stool, I stretched. I don’t think of myself as petite. In my mind, I’m a glorious six feet tall. Except not in reality. So trying to reach the container of sea salt, I knocked against the glass bottle of vanilla. I don’t know about you, but I’m not into serving bourbon vanilla glass shard infused pork. I didn’t even think, my left hand shot up to catch the bottle before it could hit the counter and smash all over the spices and garlic. My kitchen is teeny. This type of incident is more than a nuisance when the space is so tight. It can take out an entire meal. SCORE! I did it, caught it in mid air with my non dominant hand. This is the part where you say, “Gee, that Mrs Fringe is swell and multi talented.”

Did I mention the crack? Yes, that was the sound of my hand when it hit the bottom edge of the cabinet door before catching the vanilla. Right between the two knuckles of my pinkie and ring finger.

Then Man Child and Miss Music came back. They had gone to move her car. Those friendly folks from the impound already moved it for her. It was late, it was raining, they didn’t see the full sign.

No parking: We kind of really mean it (Photo credit: caruba)

Husband went with Man Child and Miss Music to the impound. Nerd Child went with me to the urgent care center. I think dinner may be a little late tomorrow.