gruel for dinner

he came from the glorious kingdom

2011-12-15T11:46:00.001-05:00

yay

2011-08-02T23:28:00.009-04:00

After weeks of this, I was ready for some good news. Seeing this made me so, so happy.

Read it and smile.

the best evening of summer so far

2011-07-21T22:38:00.006-04:00

A closeup of the pork belly tacos seems in order. So you can see the pool of fat.

The night also involved being serenaded by a dishwasher playing a pink banjo and singing a little tune he wrote called "Angry White Woman" while I drank beer and ate chocolate and wasn't angry at all.

do you remember when this was a food bl*g?

2011-07-16T23:32:00.013-04:00

The best day of summer so far:

That brown dot along the tree line is a bear!

It ain't over 'til it's over. Summer, that is.

As the kids these days say, I B MISSING U. That would B U, bitches.

boom

2011-07-04T12:16:00.005-04:00

photos by t. toastpoints

guest post: jshu

2011-06-09T15:57:00.006-04:00

A guest post from my friend jshu. He's the apple, she's the tree.

When I'm on the road looking to do a little cooking for breakfast, I like to find a few simple ingredients and hunker down in the kitchen. Today I started with some butter wrapped in some attractive paper. Then I took a loaf of bread (pre-sliced) and used it as the main ingredient for Toast (put bread in toaster oven, set to medium, wait for ding, remove, put on plate with pattern that matches butter paper for a little extra flair). The trick here is to put the butter on the newly made Toast while it's as hot as it can be (I use a rounded knife that isn't sharp so I don't cut through the decorative butter paper).

poof!

2011-06-05T23:21:00.004-04:00

It's the magical disappearing bl*g!

Ta-da! We're back!

Sorry for that. I'd planned in this post to make excuses for GFD's absence, but let's just put it this way: Life is complicated. And sometimes when life is especially complicated, one wants to disappear. One also wants to refer to herself in the third person, and one wants to sit in the dark on a bright, sunny day and watch TV. One wonders why she didn't buy light-blocking shades for her living room and, after nine months of cursing the darkness, one curses the sunlight.

Suffice it to say, I thought about you constantly in between episodes, and I have so many things to tell you. First, the shows Downton Abbey and The Killing are perfect for watching in not-nearly-dark-enough rooms in the middle of the day. One is a British soap opera/period drama, the other will more accurately reflect your mood.

Even more importantly, I discovered during my disappearance that making a soufflé is not some culinary trick that can be mastered only by people who are from or have traveled to France. It turns out that making a soufflé is easy as pie. Much easier than pie, actually, the making of which is a culinary trick that can only be mastered by people who are grandmothers.

And not only is soufflé easy, it's total comfort food (eggy and airy and savory) while also being the epitome of fine dining (c. 1972 maybe, but I'm predicting a comeback; you read it here first). But perhaps the best, and most surprising, thing about soufflé is that YOU CAN REHEAT IT AND EAT IT FOR BREAKFAST. And then you can walk directly to the couch and start watching TV.

This recipe is delicious, although the newspaper in which it was published doesn't appear to use a proofreader, who surely would have noticed that the writer lists egg yolks in the ingredients but never explains what to do with them. So this recipe will be useful for figuring out what to do with yolks, unless you are from or have traveled to France, in which case you already know.

I missed you, bitches.

sprung

2011-05-16T22:56:00.008-04:00

This year, April was in like a lion, out like a duck. April showers didn’t just bring May flowers, they brought a friggin’ flood. And it’s still raining. Our lake is swollen with rain and runoff, its cup runneth over into parking lots and basements, across lawns and roads and ferry docks. But it’s finally, fully spring—that’s rain, not snow, falling from the sky. Trees are shaggy with nascent leaves, the dark purple cones of lilacs are opening their tiny florets, there’s asparagus to be had at the farmers market.

This being Vermont in May, asparagus is just about all there is to be had at the farmers market, but I’m not complaining. Instead I’m browsing months-old “spring” issues of cooking magazines that arrived in my mailbox when the sidewalks were still covered by a carapace of ice, I’m flipping past recipes that call for fava beans and strawberries, English peas and new potatoes—the only potatoes at my farmers market are old potatoes. Asparagus is the star of the show right now, and since I know we have awhile to get reacquainted, I’m keeping it simple to start off.

Asparagus, raw, shaved into silky ribbons. A dressing of lemon juice and olive oil. Parmesan cheese. Salt and pepper.

The recipe I found for shaved asparagus salad is from Bon Appetit. When I described it to my stepmom, she said she’d made something similar after reading about it on Smitten Kitchen. Smitten’s version includes toasted pine nuts, which I think would be a nice, if expensive, touch, but what I love about this recipe is its simplicity—I don’t have to cook anything (or, the way it usually goes when I toast nuts, burn anything). And I love it’s taste, of course. The shaved asparagus is delicate, almost creamy, complemented but in no way overpowered by a simple dressing. Be liberal with the salt and pepper. And don’t be nervous about the fact that the asparagus is raw; there’s nothing woody about it, nothing tough. Winter’s over, and this recipe is pure, tender spring.

Notes: I ate individual portions of the salad for lunch over several days—3 spears of asparagus and ¼ of the dressing. While the dressing can be made ahead of time, I don't think I recommend peeling the asparagus in advance. And I used a combination of Parmesan and Locatelli cheeses.

Shaved Asparagus Salad

Adapted from Bon Appetit

12 large asparagus spears (about 1 pound)
¼ cup finely grated Parmesan plus a piece for shaving
1½ tablespoons fresh lemon juice
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Peel off the outer, dark-green layer of asparagus using a vegetable peeler, and discard it, along with the ends of the spears if they’re tough (mine were not). Use the vegetable peeler to shave the spears into long, thin ribbons, saving the tips as they break off. Transfer shaved asparagus and tips to a bowl.

Combine grated cheese, lemon juice, olive oil, and salt and pepper in a small container with a tightly fitting lid. Shake vigorously until the oil is emulsified and season with additional salt and pepper to taste. Drizzle vinaigrette over shaved asparagus and toss to coat. Divide asparagus salad among plates. Use peeler to shave more cheese over salad.

cookies: they're what's for breakfast

2011-05-14T12:55:00.016-04:00

Behold my favorite cookies!

The salty oat,

and its younger sibling, the chocolate salty oat.

Because it contains oats and raisins, the salty oat is health food and constitutes a nutritious breakfast or lunch. Because it's chocolate, the chocolate salty oat is suitable for dessert.

I discovered these cookies while living in DC—a friend recommended I try a salty oat, I refused (raisins, blech), he insisted, I acquiesced (did I really need to be talked into eating a cookie?), and the rest is buttery, salty, oat-y history. Just before we moved back to Vermont, the chocolate salty oat was invented; I once again resisted (shredded coconut, blech), was forced against my will to try a bite, and the rest is chocolaty, salty, oat-y history. Now I buy a bundle of cookies whenever we visit Washington, as we did last weekend. I think you know what I've been eating for breakfast, lunch, and dessert since we returned home. And it turns out salty oats can be ordered online. Cookies for breakfast for everyone!

the return of fridge porn

2011-05-09T23:07:00.009-04:00

If you haven't been reading GFD from the beginning (if you're not my mom, basically), you probably don't know about fridge porn. It all started when I found this amazing photo essay, after which I showed you mine, and you showed me yours. Now, nearly two years later, bl*g reader J Quizzle is showing us his (click the photo to enlarge).

Writer/Educator/Nomad | Nashville, TN | 1-person + imaginary primordial dwarf household | Suffers from seasonal affective disorder in spring. | May 9, 2011

Don't wait two years: Go to your refrigerator right now, take a photo of what's inside, write a caption, and send it to gruelfordinner [at] gmail [dot] com to satiate all of us peeping fridge pervs. Or this peeping fridge perv, anyway.

(Speaking of pervs, around the same time I started putting up photos and calling them fridge porn, I wrote a post in which I used the word "granny"; the number of people who subsequently ended up at GFD after Googling the term "granny porn" was rather alarming. Who knew? I wish I didn't.)

i'm telling you anyway

2011-05-02T23:15:00.006-04:00

Oh, friends, is this what we've been reduced to? Two weeks without a post followed by a recipe for quesadillas? You don't need me to tell you how to make a quesadilla any more than you need me to tell you how to make a grilled cheese sandwich. But here we go: Spinach and Caramelized Onion Quesadillas.

I'm not making excuses when I tell you that these quesadillas are more than just cheese melted between a couple of tortillas. Or when I tell you this recipe is actually a riff on one I read in a cookbook years ago (apparently someone needed a recipe for quesadillas). Or that the presence of caramelized onions transforms these from your average gooey Tex Mex snack into something a little more, shall we say, gourmet.

The presence of caramelized onions also transforms these from a quick bite into something that requires a little more time to make: The onions should be cooked for a long time over low heat, until they're sweet, soft echoes of their former pungent, eye-watering selves. But it's so worth it. Not just because you end up with a shall-we-say-gourmet quesadilla, but because if you play your tortillas right, you'll end up with leftovers, which reheat beautifully. Serve with a little diced avocado and salsa, maybe a side salad, and you've got the perfect weeknight meal; eat the leftovers for lunch, or as a quick, gooey not-quite-Tex-Mex snack.

A few notes:
* I know I promised a recipe above, but this is more of a guide, as I never measure or time anything when making these (they are, after all, quesadillas), and you should vary the amounts to reflect your tastes. That said, the onions cook down quite a bit in volume, and their flavor is so mild and sweet, I can't imagine you'd want to use less than the recommended two.
* Because I actually love whole-wheat tortillas, that's what I use; if you prefer white or corn, use those.
* I usually serve these with diced avocado and my favorite salsa, but you could mash the avocado with lime juice and salt, or, god forbid, exert a little more effort and make actual guacamole.

Spinach and Caramelized Onion Quesadillas
1 tablespoon + a splash of olive oil
2 large yellow onions, halved and thinly sliced
pinch of salt
5 ounces baby spinach
8 medium-sized tortillas (not the huge-ass ones, not the teeny tiny ones)
5 ounces shredded cheddar or Jack cheese
1 avocado, cubed

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onions, sprinkle with salt, and stir to coat the onions with oil. Reduce the heat to low-ish and cook for a long time (~30-45 minutes), stirring occasionally (if after a few minutes you hear any sizzling, the heat is too high). The onions will soften and yellow and start to break down; when they're very soft and golden colored, they're done. Remove them from the pan and chop them coarsely.

Add another splash of oil to the pan, turn the heat to high, and when the oil is shimmering, quickly saute the spinach. Remove it to a plate and drain off any excess liquid.

Assemble the quesadillas: Lay out four tortillas and sprinkle them with cheese, the chopped onions, and the spinach, then place another tortilla on top. Cook quesadillas individually in a your skillet over medium heat (no oil necessary), turning once, until the tortilla is lightly browned and the cheese is melted. Remove from pan, cut into sixths, and serve with avocado.

a sign of spring

2011-04-18T23:15:00.004-04:00

Or at least a sign that the anniversary of Our Lord Jesus Christ's resurrection from the dead is just around the corner: my Greek stepmother's koulouria, delicious little biscuit-like cookies that have something, I have no idea what, to do with Easter.

(I just realized that Jesus was a zombie; I also realized that, in spite of the fact that I attended Catholic church every Sunday growing up and went weekly to CCD, I cannot for the life of me recall what Jesus did after he rose from the dead—I'm assuming he didn't eat anyone's brains [I'd definitely remember that]; MAYBE HE ATE KOULOURIA?!?)

please send help

2011-04-13T21:30:00.007-04:00

Warning: The recipe I’m about to share with you does not qualify as gruel: It is not healthy. It does not include any vegetables to speak of, and no whole grains. It is not a soup, nor is it a stew. And there’s bacon involved.

The bacon is, in fact, deeply involved. I had imagined creating a vegetarian version of this recipe, but the pork products weren’t having it: The bacon is holding a gun to my head while the bacon fat writes up a list of demands, which include a fueled jet, $1,000,000 in unmarked bills, and not to be left off this ingredient list.

I wish I could blame the bacon for my behavior the first time I ate this dish, which was served by my mother-in-law as an appetizer, a little puff-pastry pizza topped with, well, bacon, tiny chunks of apple, and blue cheese, drizzled with honey, and sprinkled with shallots that had been cooked in, well, bacon fat. But it wasn’t just for the bacon that I ate my share of the pizza, and then more than my share, and then, feeling sheepish but unable to stop myself, all that was left without offering anyone the last piece. It was the combination of flavors that was so addictive: salty and smoky and sweet, slightly sharp from the blue cheese. A combination from which the bacon should not be omitted, or the bacon will kill its hostage.

Smoky-Sweet Puff-Pastry Pizza

Adapted from A Farmer in the Dell

1 sheet Pepperidge Farm puff-pastry dough

4 slices bacon

1 shallot, minced

1 tablespoon honey, plus more for drizzling

a handful of mozzarella cheese

a handful of Gorgonzola cheese

½ of 1 apple, diced

1. Thaw puff pastry according to package instructions and preheat the oven to 400 degrees. When the puff pastry is soft, roll it out on a lightly floured surface into a rectangle and transfer to a large baking sheet. Fold the edges over about ½ inch, press the border with the back of a fork, and brush the border with water. Poke holes in the rest of the dough with the tines of a fork.

2. Fry the bacon in a skillet, remove from the pan, and drain on paper towels, then chop or tear into bite-sized pieces. Add the shallot to the bacon fat in the pan and sauté until almost translucent, add honey and stir until the honey is thin, then pour the mixture over the puff pastry. Sprinkle the pastry with mozzarella cheese, apple, and Gorgonzola crumbles, then drizzle with a little more honey. Cook at 400 degrees for 15–20 minutes, until the edges are just golden.

This could be served as a very unhealthy and ungruel-like dinner with a side salad, or do as my mother-in-law did and cut it into squares and serve as an appetizer, preferably to people who will not bogart the whole thing. Whatever you do, please, please don't leave out the bacon.

extra! extra!

2011-04-11T08:58:00.007-04:00

Thanks to the lovely Cheryl Herrick of Cranky Cakes fame for including me in her Burlington Free Press article about making fabulous food on a budget.

If you're interested, you can read the article here, but I must warn you, she spells the word bl*g with an o instead of an asterisk. The recipe I contributed (soup, naturally) is here.

once upon a time

2011-04-07T11:20:00.005-04:00

Would you believe me if I told you that I’d traded the family bovine for these magical beans, which when planted grew into a beanstalk so tall it disappeared into the clouds?

No? What about this: I spent a few shekels on a handful of garbanzos, simmered them in water with some rosemary, half an onion, and a Parmesan rind, added a couple of vegetables to the cooking broth, garnished the whole mess with a gremolata of sorts, and ended up with a soup so deeply flavorful, soon after I sat down to eat there was a giant banging on my door, yelling, “Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell soup, and I want some!”

If you want to live happily ever after, or at least have a nice dinner on a frosty “spring” evening, make this soup. It’s so simple, and frigging delicious. I’d share the entire recipe here, but I fear that if I post one more thing from the New York Times, the paper is gonna sue me, leaving me without any shekels to buy magical beans. Everything you need to know can be found here.

stop staring at my grapefruit

2011-04-04T11:15:00.008-04:00

I swore to myself that I wasn't going to complain on this bl*g anymore about the weather, but so far this morning it has snowed, sleeted, and freezing rained. I guess I should be grateful there are no locusts falling from the sky, but it's early yet.

What I am grateful for are the 21 grapefruit that I ordered online because my mother-in-law convinced me they are better than the ones at the grocery store (she's right). And I convinced myself that this winter citrus grown in West Texas is a sign of spring in Vermont.

What they are is a delusion of spring. A juicy, delicious, shockingly sweet delusion, but a delusion nonetheless. In other news, it's 11:15 a.m., and there's not a locust in sight.

my muse has a first name, it's c-h-e-s-t-e-r

2011-03-28T00:06:00.005-04:00

How mad are you going to be if this turns into a bl*g entirely about Chester?

Vermont in March: The snow has melted to reveal dead grass and frozen mud; a bounty of dog poop and cigarette butts; cardboard, beer cans, and Sunday circulars that have blown out of recycling bins. My muse and I walk by the lake most days, where the ice has broken up and smashed into one corner of the bay. It's gorgeous and bitterly cold, which is what I aspire to be, as well. My muse aspires to pee on every single bush and tree lining the waterfront.

At the local neighborhood co-op, where my muse is not allowed to shop, the staff daily rearrange the same old local vegetables in an attempt to convince consumers that butternut squash is a novelty item. I buy cauliflower, watercress, and walnuts from distant lands and wonder what my muse is doing.

What my muse is doing:

At home I spend a couple of hours gazing at my muse as he sleeps. Then I cut the cauliflower into florets for roasting and wonder if there will ever be flowers here.

While my cauliflower roasts, I compose a poem called "Ode to a Sleeping Dog...Seriously, Chester, That's My Pillow. The One I Put My Head On at Night."

My muse cares not for roasted cauliflower.

I set it aside to cool for a few minutes and toast some walnuts and make the dressing, while my muse does yoga (Extended Dog Pose).

Seriously, how mad are you? My muse and I want to know.

He eats kibble, I partake of Roasted Cauliflower and Watercress Salad and pine for blossoming trees, an iceless lake and squashless grocery store, my muse running through fields of wildflowers, his ears flapping in the gentle breeze. I'm going to be waiting until June, because it turns out Vermont skips spring entirely and after an extended winter moves right into summer. Until then, Roasted Cauliflower and Watercress salad: The cauliflower, still warm, ever so slightly wilts the watercress. A slick gloss of sherry vinaigrette. Toasted walnuts. A little cheese.

My muse recommends the kibble.

Roasted Cauliflower and Watercress Salad

Adapted from my girl Melissa Clark at the New York Times

I've eaten this salad, and variations on it, many times over the past couple of months. As often as not I've used spinach instead of watercress—delicious. It's also good without the cheese if you're some vegan hippie type. You can refrigerate all the different parts in separate containers and then bring them to work and assemble a salad for lunch; your coworkers will be very impressed/think you're crazy into Tupperware (the salad won't be quite as good because the cauliflower isn't warm, but it's better than a Cup-O-Noodles from the vending machine).

1 head cauliflower, cut into bite-size florets

6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, separated

1½ teaspoons kosher salt, separated

¾ teaspoon pepper, separated

1 tablespoon sherry vinegar

2 bunches watercress, large stems removed

¼ pound Gruyère, diced or grated (about 1 cup)

2/3 cup toasted walnuts

1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. In a bowl, toss together the cauliflower, 2 tablespoons olive oil, 1 teaspoon salt and ¼ teaspoon pepper. Spread the cauliflower on a baking sheet in a single layer. Roast, tossing occasionally, until tender and dark golden, ~30. Let cool for 10 minutes.

2. In a small bowl, whisk together the vinegar with the remaining ½ teaspoon salt and ½ teaspoon pepper, and then whisk in the remaining 4 tablespoons oil.

3. In a salad bowl, toss the watercress, cheese, nuts, and warm cauliflower. Pour the vinaigrette over the salad and toss until well combined.

to every thing there is a season

2011-03-08T20:30:00.004-05:00

It snowed five gazillion more inches yesterday. Welcome to spring in Vermont.

How my dog spent the winter; I think he's tanorexic.

namaste

2011-03-03T20:30:00.008-05:00

As you can probably tell from the highly enlightened teachings on this bl*g, I meditate every day. Here's what's supposed to happen: Eyes closed, I pay attention only to my breath as it flows in and out, my mind empties of all thoughts, and I eventually achieve inner peace or something.

Here's what actually happens: The dog collects his toys from their various hiding places around the house, deposits them at my feet, and wonders why the hell I'm ignoring him, while I sit crosslegged on my office floor, eyes closed, mind wandering.

I can't pay attention to my breath when meditating because I am far too busy thinking very profound thoughts and asking deep philosophical questions of the universe: "What should I eat for lunch? Chester, stop it! I need to buy more peanut butter. I wonder who invented Mr. Potato Head? My foot is falling asleep. I guess I could have an egg on toast. Is it still snowing out? Chester, go lie down! A lump of brown plastic with holes where children can stick eyes and ears, a nose and mouth? Maybe I'll go out to lunch. Goddamnit, Chester! I'm not going out to lunch if it's snowing. I guess most potatoes do resemble portly old men who would sport a mustache and look quite nice in a top hat..." And then the timer goes off and I emerge from my non-Zenlike state enlightened as to what I should eat for lunch: potato leek soup.

Mr. Potato Head, just before he was arrested for vagrancy and public drunkenness.

One of my best friends is the kind of person who always insists she cannot cook and then when you're at her house she whips up a delicious soup using exactly four rather homely ingredients: leeks, potatoes, water, and salt. She doesn't use a recipe, or stock, or cream, or herbs of any sort, but as if by magic her soup is so delicious it tastes as if it has been made by a professional chef or a French housewife. My friend is neither of these, nor is she the kind of person who when meditating would plan her lunch and contemplate the merits of tubers as toys. But I am exactly this kind of person, so when I make potato leek soup I use a recipe, and stock, and I call it Mr. Potato Head and Leek Soup.

Mr. Potato Head, asleep on the beach in Nice while his French housewife plots to turn him into soup

Mr. Potato Head and Leek Soup
From Bon Appétit

This soup really doesn't require a recipe, though I found it helpful to work out the proportions. It would surely be just as delicious without stock—my friend's was, anyway. You could also add a little milk or cream (or even crème fraiche!) at the end, though I didn't find it lacking as is, and I'm sure some fresh or dried dill would be nice, but here at the monastery we keep it simple.

3 tablespoons butter
3 large leeks (white and pale green parts only), halved lengthwise, thinly sliced
2 large russet potatoes (about 18 ounces total), peeled and diced
4½ cups (or more) vegetable or chicken stock
Salt & pepper to taste
2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives

1. Melt butter in a heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add leeks and stir to coat with butter. Cover saucepan, then cook until leeks are tender, stirring often, about 10 minutes.

2. Add potatoes. Cover and cook until potatoes begin to soften but do not brown, stirring often, about 10 minutes. Add 4½ cups of stock. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer until the vegetables are very tender, about 30 minutes.

3. Puree the soup in batches until smooth. Return to the saucepan and thin with additional stock if soup is too thick. Season with salt and pepper. Ladle into bowls and garnish with chives (the garnish is optional).

click here

2011-02-24T23:46:00.008-05:00

I wish I could tell you that I haven't posted in weeks because I've been too busy with tango lessons and late-night dinners and warm summer air, but such is not the case. Vacation is over, and Gruel for Dinner will now return to its regular schedule of infrequent posts featuring complaints about the weather and recipes for soup.

Complaints about the weather

It's cold, it's gray and gloomy, we're supposed to get a foot of snow tomorrow. I'm so tired of winter, I can't even find the energy or humor to make a joke: This weather just sucks it. Sucks what? You know what.

Recipes for soup

Do you really think that if I can't even manage a crack about the weather that I can pull together a soup recipe? Bitches, please. I'm living off the frozen portions of lentil stew clogging my freezer. Since we returned from Argentina I've been working, looking at our vacation photos when I should be working, and wishing I lived in Buenos Aires. Not a morsel of food has been cooked in my kitchen.

I may not have a lot to offer you in the way of laughs or nourishment, but if you came to this website to kill some time on the internet, maybe this or this or this will keep you occupied.

If you really want a recipe for soup, this and this and this are among my GFD favorites.

And I'm hoping to one day soon make this and this and this (if you get to them before I do, which at the rate I'm moving seems quite likely, let me know how they turn out).

I may not have missed winter or working or waking up early, but I've sure missed you.

Hi, there.

there's a nespresso machine in the apt. where we're staying

2011-02-09T19:10:00.004-05:00

And I have every intention of squirreling it away in my bag to take home. Other things I plan to steal from Buenos Aires: our tango teacher, Anabella

(we've taken lessons nearly every day but still dance like a pair of monkeys, which is a huge improvement over when we first arrived and danced like a pair of donkeys); a recipe for licuados, a juicy, fruity drink that's like a smoothie without the dairy;

the open terrace doors of this apartment and the warm air that blows through them;

a milonga or two for late-night dancing;

a life of sleeping late and eating late and drinking malbec and dancing every day.

Fuck it, bitches, I'm staying.

donde esta evita?

2011-02-07T17:36:00.003-05:00

Recoleta Cemetery is by far the most touristy place we've visited so far, popular perhaps because it's basically a beautiful little neighborhood with stunning architecture, mausoleums instead of mansions flanking the walks. Or maybe it's because Evita "Like a Virgin" Peron resides there.

melocoton

2011-02-06T17:41:00.004-05:00

It's like riding a bike: no matter how long it's been, you'll remember exactly.

lo siento, no habla espanol

2011-02-03T22:38:00.002-05:00

At this restaurant a security guard attached my bag to my chair with a zip tie to prevent its theft and instructed me to free it using a steak knife. Or at least that's what I imagined he said. At another the Spanish-speaking waitress fetched the English-speaking manager in alarm when we ordered chorizo. "You don't have this in your country," the manager explained. "It's like...how do you say...a hot dog without bun? Pork in tiny parts? Are you sure?"

hola, como esta?

2011-02-02T23:59:00.002-05:00

The yachtsman and I have traded salted caramel ice cream for dulce de leche, a snowstorm for midsummer. GFD will be posting live from Buenos Aires for the next week or so, perras -- photos mostly, and only one at a time due to technical constraints. Just what you were hoping for, I'm sure: someone else's vacation photos. This one is of the keys to the beautiful apartment we're staying in.

Wish you were here...

my friend lisa

2011-01-30T23:55:00.004-05:00

The other day I was complaining to my friend Lisa that Vermont winters are making me fat. I've gained weight since we moved back here, and I've gained it all between November and March each year. Lisa told me that this is because our metabolisms slow way down in the winter, which is a relief: I was worried it might be the ice cream.

Salted caramel ice cream.

Let me repeat: Salted caramel ice cream.

I was inspired to make ice cream because (a) I got an ice cream maker for my birthday, and (b) my friend Lisa makes the best ice cream, in crazy flavors she's invented (like sweet potato, maple-banana, and horchata), using unusual ingredients (like tea, balsamic vinegar, and jalapenos). I'm hoping she'll share with me one of her recipes so I can make it and post it here; in the meantime I started with salted caramel, which I found at Epicurious, where it's described as "sultry." I would add that it's "luxurious," "delicious," "worth slapping someone over," and "not at all fattening, that's just my metabolism slowing down."

champagne wishes/caviar dreams/books

2011-01-18T23:08:00.009-05:00

Flavorwire recently posted these photos of "libraries of the rich and famous" that (I never thought I'd say this) made me fall in love, just a little bit, with Rod Stewart.

With Rod Stewart, his frumpy couches, stuffed bunny, and built-ins.

rude awakening

2011-01-11T00:45:00.006-05:00

We went to the Adirondacks last weekend.

Or was that a dream? Hours spent reading by the fire, snowy walks on the lake, long baths in a cast iron tub.

No internet, no cell service, no phone.

The yachtsman made his famous seitan vindaloo, his famous biscuits. He, famously, took naps on the couch with the dog curled up in the crook of his bent legs. In my dream it was so beautiful I vowed never again to complain about winter.

And then we drove home and I stepped out of the car into a puddle of icy slush and the wind slapped me across the face like I was its bitch and I was all like, "Fuck this." I was like, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." I was like, "Two roads diverged in the woods and I— I— what the hell am I doing living in Vermont?"

a few of my favorite (& least favorite) things

2011-01-05T23:35:00.006-05:00

I haven't cooked anything new or bl*g-worthy lately (e.g., tonight's dinner was marinated, baked tofu and brown rice—jealous?), so I thought I'd share with you ten of my favorite GFD recipes from 2010. These aren't necessarily the most epicurean or elaborate items from the archive, but they're the foods (and a drink) I find myself returning to again and again—some because of demand (the chocolate-chip cookies may be the primary reason I'm ever invited anywhere for dinner), others for ease (avocado toast, anyone?), and all because they're delicious.

That's correct, I find raw kale delicious. Not just nourishing and healthful, but also comforting and scrumptious. Raw Tuscan Kale Salad was my refuge from the fat-fueled, boozy sugar high that is the last couple weeks of December. When running from event to event shoving white food in my face finally overwhelmed me, I donned my fleece and retired to the couch, where I caught up on Gossip Girl (why can't Blair and Chuck just be together?) and ate this salad. The holidays are over (praise Jah), so you can skip the office parties and family gatherings, the chips and dips and roasts and cookies and punch, and move straight to the trashy TV and garlicky, peppery salad.

Other foods that I like to eat on the couch in front of the television include...well, all foods, actually. But especially soups. There's nothing like a warm bowl of soup and the blue glow of the television to help a girl forget that it gets dark at 4 p.m. Bright, lemony Red Lentil Soup With Lemon was featured on this bl*g in 2010, but I've been cooking it for years and never tire of it. Unlike winter, which I'm already so sick of I could (and do) cry.

Asparagus, Rice, and Pancetta Soup, on the other hand, I made for the first time in 2010, and then went on to make it a second, third, fourth, and fifth. Right now it has me pining for spring, when the asparagus tips will begin peeking through the soil. Because that's pretty much the only springlike event in Vermont, unless you count mud, barren trees, gray skies, and daffodils dusted with snow. But once that asparagus shoots up, I'll combine it with salty pancetta, loads of Parmesan cheese, fresh thyme, and white rice, and eat a warm bowlful while I watch the m*therf%ck!n' snow continue to fall.

If and when summer finally arrives, I'll make Chilled Thai Squash Soup, a cold, spicy slurp of a soup that's perfect for cooling off on a hot day (something I cannot even imagine right now as I sit at my computer wearing long underwear, fleece pants, a long-sleeved shirt, wool sweater dress, sweater, and scarf, an outfit that in some states is grounds for divorce). Also perfect for cooling off on a hot day are Creamy Raspberry Popsicles. I didn't discover these until late last summer, at which point I made a batch every week until raspberries went out of season. Some days I ate a popsicle for breakfast, another for elevenses, one for dessert after lunch, one for mid-afternoon snack, and one after dinner but before walking to the lake to buy a creemee and watch the sun set (at 9 p.m.). My god, I love summer.

I'm not sure when avocados are in season, but I eat No-You-Don't-Need-a-Recipe Avocado Toast year round. Before you judge remember that I live in Vermont, where being a localvore would require surviving on beets and turnips from October through April and forgoing most fruit save berries and apples. So I supplement my diet with avocados that are flown in from some tropical location I'm thinking I should move to. Mashed with the juice from a lime that I hope for the sake of my carbon footprint arrived on the same plane as the avocado and sprinkled with salt from France, this snack is about as unlocal as I can get without trotting over to McDonald's, and far more delicious than a Chicken McNugget.

While I haven't actually stepped foot in a McDonald's for years, I have been known to walk catatonically around Costco, which is where I buy one of the ingredients for Sun-Dried Tomato and Pistachio Pesto. Not the pistachios

the sun-dried tomatoes. Although I usually come home with, in addition to the tomatoes, a migraine and a mega-supply of something I don't need, the trip is totally worth it. Even if you don't like sun-dried tomatoes. Or pistachios. Or Costco. Make a double batch of pesto and freeze portions to eat on those winter nights when you can't bring yourself to do much more than boil a pot of water for pasta but need to eat something delicious to remind yourself that life is worth living.

If that doesn't work, drown your sorrows in a few It Was a Dark and Stormy Nights.

For the drowning of the sorrows I also recommend Possibly the Best Chocolate-Chip Cookies Ever. Unfortunately, they require 36 hours of lead time, and I don't know about you, but when I'm ready to drown my sorrows, I need to drown them RIGHT NOW, not in a day in a half. Fortunately, Possibly the Best Chocolate-Chip Cookies Ever freeze well, so you can make the batter when you're not in the throes of depression and bake a cookie whenever you need a little pick-me-up. They're also good for winning friends and influencing people.

I should probably end this post here, with dessert, but instead I'm going to close out this look back at 2010 GFD recipes/diatribe against winter with salad dressing. I'm generally a fan of shortcuts in the kitchen, but I just can't abide store-bought dressing—olive oil and a little lemon juice or good balsamic vinegar are preferable to anything sold in a bottle. Sometimes I'll get fancy and add fresh herbs or make dressings that require a blender, a recipe, or more than four ingredients, but since I had it for the first time last spring, this simple Red-Wine Vinaigrette has been the most common accompaniment to my greens. The ingredients are few and all staples, the effort required just barely more than unscrewing the greasy cap to that bottle of Wish-Bone that's been sitting in your fridge door for god know's how long. And when viewed from above in the right light, a jar of this dressing resembles the sun, something I haven't seen in so long I can't remember what it looks like.

happy new year

2011-01-02T12:11:00.003-05:00

Here's a toast to 2011, GFD'ers,

specifically toast made from this bread,

baked by the yachtsman on the first day of the year. (If you're still working on your resolutions for the new year, I recommend resolving to marry a man who bakes.)

And a toast to 2010, too, a year in which I ate a lot.

A lot of toast, a lot of soup, a lot of strawberries and apples, a lot of kale, a lot of whoopie pies and shortbread, a lot of gruel for dinner.

I'm in no way resolving to consume less in 2011, by the way. My resolutions for the new year are all about more: more reading and writing and cooking, more long walks with my long dog, more lazy mornings of toast and tea with the yachtsman, more posts to this bl*g. Because I miss you, bitches. A toast to you, then:

Thanks for reading in 2010. Thanks for commenting, thanks for trying the recipes you read here, thanks for letting me know what you liked and what you didn't. Thanks for the beautiful flowers. Thanks for guest bl*gging. Thanks for joining the club. Thanks for posting links to GFD on your own bl*gs and Facebook pages. Thanks for your patience when I went weeks without posting, and thanks for complaining when I went weeks without posting.

I started Gruel for Dinner as a way to catalog what I was cooking: I continue to post because of you. So thanks—no, seriously: thanks—for being here.

the yachtsman was mortified

2010-12-14T18:49:00.008-05:00

highs & lows

2010-12-10T23:46:00.007-05:00

When I woke up this morning it was 2 degrees. For lunch I ate mac 'n' cheese and a pancake. I've been trudging around the house all day in a head-to-toe fleece ensemble, with a down blanket wrapped around my torso like a towel. This afternoon I boiled a pot of water to alleviate the crucifying dryness in our apartment. On our walk tonight I had to carry the dog the last half mile home because his booties fell off and the salt on the sidewalk hobbles him.

Winter in Vermont really, really sucks. And Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-VT) makes me really, really proud to live here.

baby, it's cold outside

2010-12-08T21:03:00.011-05:00

I bought a new pair of pants. Fleece. According to the label they're "regular fit / low rise / straight leg," which somehow makes me feel like less of a sartorial loser. I mean, they may be fleece pants, but they're tailored.

And I was going to share with you a recipe for beans on toast, but that seems a little pathetic, even for a bl*g called Gruel for Dinner, even in the middle of December. I read about it in this cookbook, though, which makes me feel like less of a culinary loser. I mean, they may be beans on toast, but they were David Tanis' idea.

which do you want first?

2010-12-04T14:20:00.009-05:00

The bad news: The honey crisp apples are all gone, and I haven't hoarded a single one.

The good news: Satsuma mandarins are here!

The bad news: Satsuma mandarins are only here for, like, a month.

The good news: Bacon. In a scone. Who knew?

The bad news: I was supposed to be saving that bacon scone for the yachtsman.

The good news: The yachtsman's love for me is unconditional.

The bad news: I'm pretty sure he would have felt the same way about the bacon scone.

sausage nightmare/dreamy kale

2010-11-30T22:35:00.004-05:00

For nearly 20 years I was an ovo-lacto vegetarian, which means I ate ovos and lactos and vegetables. After that I was for several years a vegetarian of the ovo-lacto-baco variety, a slippery slope that quickly led to full-on porko-vegetarianism. And then we moved back to Vermont, where the meat is so ethical and healthy, it's basically a vegetable—nowadays, if you set a plate of meat in front of me, I'll at least try it, and most likely enjoy/devour it.

But put me in the kitchen with some raw flesh and a recipe, and it turns out I'm still a vegetarian.

As in, ick. As in, please don't make me touch it. As in, pretend this isn't really happening. As in, I now have PTSD.

So, while I would like tell you how to make White Bean and Sausage Stew...no, I wouldn't, actually. I'd much rather talk about kale.

RAW KALE, bitches: the perfect antidote to sausage-related traumas.

Are you nervous? Don't be! While I won't go so far as to say this dish is delicate, it's not the chewy, fibrous mouthful you're imagining. It's a salad, made with hearty greens, which are marinated in a slurry of bright, savory dressing, and sprinkled liberally with homemade breadcrumbs. It's really, really good. As in, delicious.

The recipe comes from the new cookbook of Melissa Clark, who writes for the New York Times along with my ex-boyfriend Mark Bittman (that's right, we're over). I've had such good luck with her recipes from the Times (this soup of hers is one of my all-time favorites), I bought her cookbook and have now fallen big time for her Raw Tuscan Kale Salad With Chiles and Pecorino.

A few notes:

* When I say "kale," in any context, I am always talking about lacinato (also called Tuscan, black, and dinosaur) kale, which is far more tender and tasty than the super-curly variety often used as a garnish at chain restaurants. Confusing the two here would be a disaster.

* I'd like to take this opportunity to recommend the Farmer's Bread from Bread and Butter Farm (Vermonters: It's available at the Burlington Farmers Market [winter and summer], as well as at Bread and Butter's farm store in Shelburne). I used it here for the breadcrumbs, but it's wonderful sliced and spread with butter, and it makes the perfect piece of toast. Or even better, toast topped with a soft-boiled egg.

You actually don't need fancy bread for your breadcrumbs, though it certainly won't hurt. Also, for crumbs slice your bread more thinly than the pieces pictured here.

* The original version of the recipe recommends letting the salad sit for five minutes before serving; I think it should hang out for 15 to 20, at least. It just gets better with time.

Raw Tuscan Kale Salad Without Sausage
adapted from In the Kitchen With a Good Appetite by Melissa Clark

1 bunch Tuscan kale
2 thin slices country bread (preferably part whole wheat, rye, or sour dough)
½ garlic clove, minced
¼ teaspoon kosher salt, plus a pinch
¼ cup finely grated pecorino cheese, plus additional for garnish
3 tablespoons evoo, pluse additional for garnish
Juice of 1 lemon
½ teaspoon red pepper flakes
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Remove the stems and center ribs from the kale, leaving just the leaves. Slice the leaves into thin ribbons and place in a large bowl.

2. Toast the bread until golden on both sides. Tear it into small pieces and grind in a food processor until a mixture forms of coarse crumbs. Retoast the crumbs on a baking sheet in your toaster or oven if they're not crunchy enough.

3. Using a mortar and pestle or heavy knife, pound the garlic and ¼ teaspoon salt into a paste (if using a knife, use the side to smear and smush the garlic). Transfer the garlic to a small bowl and add ¼ cup cheese, 3 tablespoons oil, lemon juice, pinch of salt, pepper flakes, and black pepper, and whisk to combine.

4. Pour the dressing over the kale and toss very well to combine thoroughly (the dressing will be thick and need lots of tossing to coat the leaves; don't be afraid to use your hands). Let the salad sit for 15-30 minutes, then serve topped with a liberal amount of bread crumbs, additional cheese, and a drizzle of oil.

these thy gifts which we are about to receive

2010-11-24T11:57:00.007-05:00

O frumpy turkey, squeezed awkwardly onto that platter, waiting to be carved open for your pale and watery breast meat, how unappetizing you are, and how insipid, too.

O squash and sweet potatoes, you whose potential is never realized on Thanksgiving Day when for some reason you are whipped and oversweetened and topped with mini marshmallows (WHY?).

O stuffing, I do so love bread, yet not, somehow, when it's been cooked inside a dead bird's carcass.

O gravy...no.

O green beans, inevitably overcooked and sprinkled with slivered almonds or stale breadcrumbs for pizzazz, how did you come to be the one representative of all other green vegetables at this meal?

O canned, jellied cranberry, sliced and placed on the table where you remain unmolested by all but the elderly and insane, not even a taste of your jiggling mass has ever crossed my lips.

O mashed potatoes and rolls, you are my best and only friends; my plate runneth over with your bounty of carbohydrates. Carbohydrates slathered with butter, no less! And for you both I am so thankful.

more crows, & why i love working from home

2010-11-09T22:35:00.004-05:00

On our first evening walk after the end of daylight saving time:

I really wish you could see them. And hear them, too.

I also wish you something like this:

for a good time call

2010-11-04T23:24:00.005-04:00

Those of you who hang out in the comments section of this bl*g are probably familiar with my friend J. Quizzle, who has spent some time loitering there himself. And those of you who know J. Quizzle will be very, very jealous to find out that I just spent a long weekend with him in Nashville, Tennessee, where we ate fried chicken, barbecue ribs, country ham, pot roast, potato salad, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, peas, green beans, cole slaw, baked apples, corn pudding, something called "breakfast casserole," biscuits, corn bread, cinnamon rolls, and pecan pie. AT ONE MEAL. That list is just what we ate on Sunday afternoon at Monell's, where we went after church. A charismatic church. WHERE PEOPLE SPEAK IN TONGUES.

Are you starting to understand why J. Quizzle is one of my very favorite people to hang out with?

Other highlights of the weekend included a burlesque show; multiple visits to a full-sized replica of the Parthenon;

drinks at a bar in a greenhouse, a gay bar, and a bar where the band asked between every single song if the audience supports our troops; walks around the Vanderbilt campus, where J. Quizzle teaches, and Lake Radnor;

breakfast at the Pancake Pantry, where the waitress, when asked if the maple syrup was real replied, "Of course! We make it here!"; pulled-pork sandwiches;

being accosted by a toothless woman at Walgreens who shouted to me across the store, "Are you wearing a Snuggie?" and then dragged me to the Snuggie aisle, where she proceeded to demonstrate how her lack of teeth enabled her to touch her tongue to her nose; homemade molasses cookies;

and much, much more.

I suggested awhile ago that you all befriend J. Quizzle, and now I'm going to recommend that you begin by visiting him in Tennessee. Seriously. Head on over to Priceline right now, where Captain Kirk can show you how to buy a cheap plane ticket to Nashville; when you arrive, sign up for the J. Quizzle Whirlwind Tour of the Athens of the South. And when you're trying to decide later how to thank me for this brilliant social and travel advice, consider a zebra-striped Snuggie.

what i've been wanting to tell you

2010-10-26T01:00:00.006-04:00

It's been too long. Way too long; I've missed you. And I'm not lying when I say I think about you all the time. Usually while lying on the couch watching television. I've watched a lot of television recently. It's actually been a little bit Valley of the Dolls around here lately, but instead of popping pills I've been consuming episodes of Modern Family as if they were valium. Which, in a way, they are.

But even while lying on my couch strung out on sitcoms, I've been thinking about you. Numerous bl*g posts have been composed. All in my head, and usually comprising episode recaps of Modern Family. But I've also been planning to tell you that after taking nearly two months to finish this book, I read this one in a single day. ON MY iPHONE. (Which I believe means I've graduated from total Luddite to totally desperate yet lazy reader who will not go to the bookstore in the rain.)

I've wanted to describe for you how Chester and I stalked a gang of crows one late afternoon, walking around town at dusk following the birds' baleful chorus until they were suddenly overhead—hundreds of them, flapping and bawling above us, their bodies barely visible against the darkening sky.

But mostly I've wanted to tell you about my uncle: How much he adored his wife and family, how funny and generous and kind he was, and how beloved. I've wanted to tell you about how sick he became, and how he died: at home, surrounded by people who loved him so much that if love alone could have kept him, he would be here now.

Because my uncle loved to cook, and because this bl*g is allegedly about food, I've wanted to write to you about how well my uncle fed his family and friends; how he was like a chef at America's Test Kitchen, working and reworking a recipe until he'd perfected it; how a simple roasted potato or grilled pizza became a delicacy at his table.

I've wanted to tell you about how even during the last week of his life, my uncle's home brimmed with food and love. How his hospital bed replaced the table in the dining room, and we gathered around him there as we'd so often joined him in that room to eat the meals he'd made to celebrate birthdays and holidays and nothing-in-particular days. How during that week his family continued to be nourished, now by the many people who loved my uncle—there were crumble-topped muffins dotted with chunks of apple; quiches made from a family recipe, baked in half-century-old pie pans;

Photo by the yachtman and his iPhone

trays of spanakopita and platters of grilled meat and pots of soup; a turkey and a ham and creamy scalloped potatoes.

There were also Edible Arrangements. Do you know about this phenomenon? At least once a day when we answered the door, we found a delivery person whose face was obscured by an abundance of skewered fruit, arranged to resemble a bouquet of flowers. Which leads me to this piece of advice I've been meaning to pass along: When someone you know is sick and you're wondering how to help, do not pick up the phone and dial 1-877-DoFruit. It will be tempting, almost irresistible—It's fruit! That looks like a bouquet!—but you mustn't give in. If not because Edible Arrangements are ludicrously expensive and, in fact, barely edible, than because EVERYONE ELSE IS SENDING ONE. You can count on the fact that at a minimum at least four other people are buying an $80 arrangement of unripe strawberries and melon that tastes like newspaper. Edible Arrangements are a racket. So I recommend that you spend $10-15 to make a pot of soup.

Soup is the ultimate comfort food, whether it's the can of Campbell's chicken noodle your mother heated up when you had a cold as a kid, or the hearty pot of lentil that sustains you on a cold day in February. A bowl of soup is a meal, a cup can serve as a snack, it's easy to reheat, and leftover soup doesn't feel like "leftovers."

The recipe I'm including here is my attempt to re-create a squash soup my Greek stepmother sent over to my uncle's house when he first began hospice. It's warm and nourishing but not too heavy, and it tastes to me like fall: the cider lends a nice tang, which is complemented by the sweetness of the maple syrup, and the pimenton's smokiness reminds me of the scent of burning leaves. It's no Edible Arrangement, but it will do.

Roasted Butternut Squash Soup
[If my uncle were giving you this soup recipe, he would have made it five times and could tell you exactly how much of everything to add to produce the perfect result. But instead you're dealing with, um, me. The measurements here are all based on the 3½-pound butternut squash I bought; your squash may be bigger or smaller and you might like your soup sweeter or smokier or creamier or ciderier than I do, so plan to play around with the flavors at the end. Also, this recipe doubles easily, and could be made with a combination of butternut and acorn squashes.]

~3½ pound butternut squash

4 tablespoons butter
1 large onion, chopped
1 clove of garlic, chopped
3 cups broth
½ cup whole milk
¾ teaspoon salt
¼–½ teaspoon pimenton (I used picante, or hot, but I think the agridulce would be just as good)
6–8 tablespoons of cider, or more to taste
1 tablespoon of maple syrup, or more to taste

1. To roast the squash: Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Cut the squash in half lengthwise

and scoop out the seeds and stringy stuff. Place the two halves cut side down on a lightly oiled baking sheet. Cook in the oven until the squash if tender, ~45 minutes. When it's done and cool enough to handle, scoop the cooked squash from its skin and set aside.

2. Meanwhile, while the squash is roasting, melt the butter in a Dutch over or other soup pot over medium heat. Add the onions and garlic and cook, stirring from time to time, until the onions are golden yellow, ~25 minutes. Add the broth, milk, ¼ teaspoon pimenton, ½ teaspoon salt, and bring barely to a boil, stirring frequently.

3. This next part can be messy, so if you're not already wearing them already, it's time to don your frilly apron and do-rag.

4. Blend the squash and soup base together: either in batches in a blender (add the squash first, then the liquid, to avoid splashing, and don't fill it too full), or using your immersion blender on the stove (this method doesn't require hauling out the big blender, but depending on how things go you might find yourself cleaning soup from the walls).

5. Return the pureed soup to the pot and add cider in tablespoons to taste, and 1 tablespoon (or more) of maple syrup, also to taste.

6. Adjust the seasonings (I added more pimenton and more salt). Add more broth if it's too thick or milk if you'd like it creamier; you could finish it with a dash of cream if you'd like, though it tasted plenty rich to me.

soon

2010-10-11T09:44:00.003-04:00

Hello, friends,

I'm writing to apologize for my extended absence: Someone I love was very sick, and my head and heart have been elsewhere. But I miss you, bitches, and look forward to meeting you back here soon.

chester was all like, "seriously, fuck fall," and i was like, "yeah, totally. rain much?"

2010-10-01T11:21:00.009-04:00

pardon my french

2010-09-27T00:14:00.007-04:00

It's officially fall, a time of year most Vermonters seem to love. I'd decided that I, too, was going to enjoy the season this year, but now that it has arrived, I ask you: What is there to enjoy about this oppressively low, colorless sky and high-of-50-degrees weather?

Fuck fall. Fuck foliage, fuck crisp, sunny days and cold nights, fuck pumpkins (not literally, please), fuck harvest festivals, fuck the smell of woodsmoke in the air, fuck hot, mulled cider, fuck wool sweaters and leather boots, fuck bike rides, fuck apple picking, fuck swishing through piles of fallen leaves.

Enjoying fall is like enjoying the view out the window of a crashing airplane. "Look, I think I can see the..." BAM! We're going down, bitches, and while the scenery might be pretty, this flight is going to end in a ball of flames in some farmer's field. And when I say "ball of flames in some farmer's field," I mean "dark, subarctic igloo of depression on my couch." So stop fooling yourselves: Winter's coming.

Summer Chickpea Salad With Local Tomatoes and Herbs

Adapted from JamieOliver.com

[This recipe is not as much a recipe as it is an idea for a simple, delicious salad. A salad that will not work come winter, as the tomatoes are a central component. So eat up.]

1 small red onion, peeled and finely diced
1–2 fresh chiles, seeded and minced [the kind of chile you use will depend on how spicy you'd like your salad—I used a serrano one time and a jalapeno another, neither of which made the dish particularly hot in the end]
2–3 handfuls of ripe cherry tomatoes, halved or quartered depending on the size

2 lemons
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1–2 cans chickeas, drained and rinsed
a handful of fresh mint, chopped
a handful of fresh green or purple basil, coarsely chopped

1. Add the onion, chile, and tomatoes to a bowl, and dress with the juice from 1½ lemons and a couple of glugs of olive oil. Season with salt and pepper.

2. Heat the chickpeas in a pan over medium heat, then add 80% of them to the bowl. Mush up the remaining chickpeas and add these, as well. Allow to marinate for a little while and just as you're ready to serve, give the salad a final dress with the fresh mint and basil. Taste one last time for seasoning—you may want to add the juice from your remaining lemon half at this point or more salt and pepper. Top with crumbled feta cheese.

silly, silly yachtsman

2010-09-20T00:08:00.004-04:00

Did you really think I wouldn't find that shortbread? The shortbread I demanded you hide so I wouldn't eat it?

Don't try to come between me and my shortbread. Not even when it's technically your shortbread. Not even when I ask you to. Not ever.

conquering the csa while sitting in front of the tv

2010-09-14T21:01:00.010-04:00

Did you know that my one-day-a-week job is now two days a week? It goes without saying that I am not cut out for such a rigorous schedule.

The yachtsman appears to be growing a huge mustache (pronounced moose-TASH).

All I want to do right now is watch TV.

But first I'm going to tell you how to roast some little plum tomatoes. As if you didn't already know.

Cut off the ends, then cut them in half the short way, place them on a baking sheet (lined with parchment paper for easy cleanup, if you like), douse them with olive oil, sprinkle with salt,

and roast them in the oven at a very low temperature (200-225 degrees) for a very long time—several episodes of Mad Men, a couple of Friday Night Lights, a Party Down or two. Until they're shriveled, basically, but before they're overly chewy.

Toss them with pasta, serve with a salad, eat as a salty-sweet snack.

They can be refrigerated in an airtight container in their cooking oil, plus some extra, for a week or two, or stored frozen for much longer.

That mustache has got to go.

Please pass the remote.

conquering the csa, biblical stylee

2010-09-09T23:54:00.006-04:00

Like it says in the bible, when life hands you raspberries, make popsicles. Never mind that it's 57 degrees and rainy; who are you to question the word of God? Throw two cups of raspberries into the blender, heretic,

along with two cups of whole-milk yogurt, one-third cup of sugar, and one teaspoon of lemon juice. Thou shalt blend until smooth, and then press the mixture through a strainer into a bowl with a spout.

From the bowl with a spout pour the now-seedless liquid into popsicle molds, or, if you don't own popsicle molds (and who does?), into whatever small containers you can scrounge up, including the pretty Moroccan-mint-tea glasses your husband gave you, and the tall, skinny shot glasses a Mexican guy you barely know sent to you from his homeland after coming to a party at your house and being served a, god forbid, margarita (apparently tequila is meant for sipping out of tall, skinny shot glasses, not mixing with lime juice and orange liqueur). Freeze until the raspberry mixture begins to set, around half an hour, then plunge a popsicle stick into each one.

Don't have popsicle sticks? WWJD? Pray on it.

That's right, he would break in half the disposable chopsticks that accompanied takeout Vietnamese and are now clogging the silverware drawer and use those.

Maybe don't put the splintery end into the popsicle, my child.

And it was so.

Freeze the popsicles until very hard. To eat, run the mold (or shot glass, as the case may be) under hot water and wiggle the stick around to remove the pop, and rejoice unto the popsicle.

Supermodel P.Loz

Next week I'll tell you about how the Lord summoned me to the mount and told me to roast tomatoes, and how I did not forsake him.

[Popsicle recipe adapted from Orangette.]

conquering the csa, one english muffin at a time

2010-09-07T22:22:00.007-04:00

Did I mention the English muffins? The homemade English muffins that were included in the Palmenters' CSA? I toasted one and ate it for breakfast. Half buttered, half peanut-buttered, because variety is the spice of life.

Consider this a recipe for toasted English muffins.

Next up: tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, corn, tomatoes, leeks, zucchini, raspberries, yellow squash, tomatoes...

the road to hell

2010-09-06T23:12:00.006-04:00

I am not particularly goal oriented, but this week I'm determined to cook every last gorgeous vegetable in my refrigerator. Our friends the Palmenters have gone out of town (Connecticut, Mongolia) and in their absence generously made us the beneficiaries of their farm share. As far as I can tell, having a CSA is like subscribing to the New Yorker: Instead of a mailbox-ful of reading material, CSA shareholders are inundated with beautiful produce. But while the New Yorker has totally kicked my ass, I will persevere with this particular bounty, so help me god. Prepare yourselves, bitches. There will be vegetables.

These I smeared with goat cheese and dispatched, raw, to my stomach. Consider this a recipe for purple broccoli.

there is no gruel here

2010-09-02T23:45:00.005-04:00

There are, however, pork boners. You heard me: pork boners.

Among other delicacies of the fair.

Including "the big pig"—an obscenely massive corn dog.

After all that food I had to force my delicate bitches on a ride, but ride we did.

Never winter.

guest post: SueShu

2010-08-31T23:00:00.002-04:00

[This last guest post of the summer comes from the lovely SueShu, who can whip up dinner for twenty at the drop of a hat. Seriously. I've seen her do it. Here she suggests a delicious way to devour late-summer vegetables, and while her ever-optimistic son jshu suggested that eggplants are a turnoff to some and I should substitute "aubergine" for "eggplant" in this post, I've left SueShu's wording as is. Because if you don't like eggplants you haven't had them cooked properly, and this recipe would be the perfect place to start: On the grill!]

Grilled Eggplant With Tomatoes, Garlic & Cheese

When we returned from our family vacay in Western Maryland (during which not a single one of us had to cook a single meal), we found our garden had become a jungle. This is what happens when you don't pay attention to it for a week:

But, fortunately, there were some lovely fruits hiding in the overgrown mess:

Debaro, Cherokee Purple, and Striped German—varieties chosen mostly because I liked their names when I ordered the seeds back in March.

Also, fortunately, there were some nice little eggplants from our CSA, Colchester Farm, lurking in the fridge:

When I'd decided what to make with these, it was back to the garden to harvest some basil:

So, with these three things on hand (plus some feta or goat cheese—see below) here's what to do: Chop up the tomatoes to make a couple cups worth, add a couple tablespoons of chopped basil and/or parsley, and a couple cloves of garlic—in this case, a variety called Music, also from the CSA:

Mix it all together and let the flavors mingle while you slice the eggplants lengthwise into ½ inch slabs. (If using conventional, bigger eggplant instead of the Japanese variety, slice crosswise.)

Put the eggplant slices on a foil-covered cookie sheet (if you're lazy like me and don't want to have to wash that cookie sheet later), brush with olive oil, and sprinkle with sea salt.

Grill the eggplant for about 3 minutes per side. Put them on a warmed serving platter and cover with that foil, and let sit for about 15 minutes to soften. Remove foil and top with the tomato mixture, using a slotted spoon to leave most of the juices behind. Break up some feta or goat cheese over it all and serve—four as a main dish and six as a starter or side.

My plan was to take a picture of the dish before serving, but since we had a neighbor over for supper, I didn't remember until after we ate, so here's the "finished" version, which we had with local sweet corn:

This makes a great breakfast (cold) the next morning, although your garlic aura will remain with you through the day. But on the other hand, you won't be bothered by vampires.

From Martha Rose Shulman's column in the NYT, July 16, 2010. (She called it Eggplant on the Grill.)

how i spent my summer vacation

2010-08-30T00:08:00.003-04:00

We return now to our regularly scheduled programming.

boo

2010-08-19T00:01:00.008-04:00

Do you know what I'm scared of? Global warming. Contracting a toe fungus at the nail salon. Getting old. Grover from Sesame Street. Flying. Making pie crust.

In my experience, fears usually fall into one of several categories. Global warming and getting old are among those almost-too-big-and-terrible-to-think-about fears that are best addressed by professionals—in this case NGOs staffed with youthful idealists and metaphorically by poets, respectively. Toe fungi and Grover from Sesame Street are both things that could inflict harm. Flying in a plane and pie crust are frightening because they're illogical: A metal canister carrying hundreds of people traveling 36,000 feet in the air without anything holding it up? Madness. Flour and shortening and water coming together to form a flaky, buttery pie crust? Not in my experience.

But most of my fears are unavoidable, or not as bad as their alternative: I'm getting old right now as I type this; my unpedicured feet are far more frightening than any toe fungus could ever be; Grover is out there, lying in wait; my fear of spending the entire winter in Vermont trumps my fear of flying.

And I've tried to conquer my fear of making pie crust, but the results have just reinforced my anxiety: quiches baked in shells that tasted like cardboard; crusts that were spongy or tough, never tender or flaky. So I avoid recipes that call for a crust, which means I don't often make pies, or quiches, or tarts. And while I don't care too much for most dessert pies, I do love a good quiche, or a savory tart filled with vegetables and cheese.

So I was quite pleased several years ago to discover a recipe that bills itself as the Easiest-Ever Roasted Summer Vegetable Tart, a recipe that involves savory vegetables and cheese BUT NO PIE CRUST. Neither Grover nor air travel are involved, either.

(This name is an overstatement, of course—the Easiest-Ever Roasted Summer Vegetable Tart is the one someone else makes and serves to me while I lounge on the couch drinking wine, which would make this one the Second-Easiest Roasted Summer Vegetable Tart.)

The secret is puff pastry. While store-bought pie crusts tend to suck it, store-bought puff pastry is delicious, and while every female in my family except me can make a beautiful pie crust, according to the cookbook from which I've adapted this recipe "almost no one (not even most pastry chefs) makes puff pastry." Hallelujah.

Hallelujah! Puff pastry has risen! When baked it transforms from a thick, sticky dough to a flaky butteriness that is not only better than cardboard, it rivals any pie crust I've put in my piehole. And there's nothing to be scared of. Top it with roasted vegetables, sprinkle with goat or feta cheese, and you'll never have nightmares of pie crust again.

A few notes:

* I use Dufour puff pastry because it was recommended to me, and it's delicious. Dufour is made with butter (vs. shortening), but if you're vegan, there are other options.

* Puff pastry comes frozen and takes awhile to defrost, so move it from the freezer to the fridge a few hours before you plan to start cooking.

* The original version of this recipe was vegan (I added the cheese, because if there's one thing I'm not afraid of, it's fat) and easily could be again.

* The original recipe calls for making two tarts, which uses only half a package of puff pastry. I usually roast extra vegetables to make three or four tarts (the tarts reheat well), but it can make for a crowded oven, so I've used the original proportions here. Two tarts and a salad will serve two or three adults for dinner, or they can be cut into squares and served as an appetizer.

* The original version of this recipe calls for cutting the vegetables into thick planks for roasting and then carefully layering those planks on top of the puff pastry; the second time I made this I cut the vegetables too thin, they fell apart a little while roasting, and I ended up chopping the roasted vegetables before putting them on the pastry—they don't look as pretty, but the cheese disguises any major flaws, and I've done it this way ever since. But if you're going to forego the cheese (scaredy cat!), I would make sure the vegetables are all at least ½ an inch thick so they'll hold their shape when roasting and can be placed daintily on the puff pastry.

Second-Easiest Roasted Summer Vegetable Tart
From A Year in a Vegetarian Kitchen

1 14-ounce package frozen puff pastry
6 plum tomatoes, halved or cut in thirds lenghwise, depending on size
4 medium shallots, halved
1 medium zucchini, cut in half crosswise, each piece cut lengthwise into ½-inch-thick planks
1 medium eggplant, cut crosswise into ½-thick rounds
s&p
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon minced thyme
Goat or feta cheese

1. Defrost the puff pastry according to package instructions.

2. Move an oven rack to the middle position and heat the oven to 400 degrees. Spread the tomatoes and shallots on one rimmed baking sheet and the zucchini and eggplant on another. Sprinkle the vegetables with salt and pepper. Roast, turning the vegetables once, until golden brown in spots, about 40 minutes. Remove the vegetables from the oven but don't turn the oven off.

3. As soon as the vegetables go into the oven, unfold the puff pastry on a lightly floured work surface and remove the paper liners. Cut the pastry along the seams into four rectangles. Put two rectangles aside for another use. Roll the remaining two rectangles into 7-inch squares. Transfer the rolled puff pastry squares to a large baking sheet and refrigerate until well chilled, about 30 minutes.

4. When the vegetables come out of the oven, scrape them into a bowl and toss with the oil and thyme. Adjust the seasonings, adding more salt and pepper to taste. Either roughly chop the vegetables and spread them on the puff pastry, leaving a ¾-inch border around the edges, or layer the eggplant and zucchini slices over the puff pastry and then top with the tomatoes and shallots (using the same ¾-border). Sprinkle the tarts with goat or feta cheese (or a combination of both).

5. Bake the tarts until the pastry is browned, about 25 minutes. The tarts can be served immediatly or transfered to a cooling rack and served at room temperature.

where i've been

2010-08-16T23:47:00.002-04:00

Cozying up to the space heater at a frigid, over-air-conditioned office.

Among other exotic locations. Speaking of which...look, it's Chester!

Cozying up to the yachtsman's boot at a different over-air-conditioned office.

We're living the high life, obviously.

please

2010-08-09T17:20:00.005-04:00

Dear Summer,

I know you're thinking about leaving me—maybe not now, or next week, but soon—and I'm writing to beg you to stay. It's true that I've been busy with work, and we haven't had much time for our favorite things, like swimming and biking and walking to the creemee stand. But I swear I don't take you for granted, and I would never be unfaithful. I have not looked twice at the cooler, almost autumnal days that have passed through lately, no matter how beautiful they were. I don't want Fall, Summer, I want you. Don't you get it? We belong together. I love everything about you: your long, light-filled days and dreamily warm nights; your lush green fields and trees; the abundance you bring of flowers and fruits and fireflies; the way you throw your arm around my shoulders to keep me warm; how well you feed me. I even love your afternoon thunderstorms and heat waves; your mosquito bites and bee stings. While I can barely stand the tourists with whom I share you, if a state full of French Canadians and flatlanders is the price of keeping you around, I'll pay it with a smile (or maybe a long lean on the horn—seriously, people, where did you learn how to drive?). Please, Summer, don't go.

Always yours,

Kate

i never thought i'd be on a boat

2010-08-05T22:14:00.007-04:00

The yachtsman. On an actual yacht.

Well, on a boat, anyway. A boat, wonderful company, a refreshing swim, delicious food, and a picture-perfect sunset—the only thing missing was T-Pain. [Thanks, J&D, for including us!]

the yachtsman recommends

2010-08-04T01:08:00.004-04:00

[A recurring guest post in which the yachtsman recommends something.]

Allow me to Recommend

As the readers of Gruel for Dinner now know after my mother’s recent post, I was raised on a diet of food cooked in bacon fat. I have incredibly fond memories of eating my vegetables, yummy veggies like green beans, sauteed in delicious bacon grease, and there are nights I still dream about my grandmother Mo’s fried chicken, which was fried up in a skillet full of bacon grease. Some Muslims believe that if a person dies a martyr, he will be greeted in heaven by 72 virgins; I only hope that when I die I will be greeted by Mo and a skillet of her chicken.

In my adopted home of Vermont, where we thrive on the local, the organic, the free range, the hormone free, the cage free, and the antibiotic free, the food is delicious and, particularly this time of year, as fresh as fresh gets. But on occasion I like to feed my Southern heritage, which is one of many reasons why I love to visit my brother and his family in Boone, North Carolina.

On my most recent trip below the Mason-Dixon line, to celebrate my niece Lucy’s sixth birthday, my Southern sister-in-law arranged a trip to Shatley Springs in Crumpler, North Carolina. Crumpler is about 30 miles north of Boone, just a little beyond Meat Camp. For many years, Shatley Springs was famous for the supposed healing properties of its fresh mountain spring, and people from all over flocked to drink the magical waters. More recently, Shatley Springs’ family-style dining room is the place where the magic happens, and believe me, there is nothin' that food can’t heal.

Like I said, it's family style. For $15.50 you get all you can eat of the following:

• Fried Chicken—fried in bacon grease
• Country Ham—nothing goes better with chicken than pig

• Mashed Potatoes—so smooth, it's like eating clouds
• Creamed Corn—not a huge fan of creamed corn, and I am man enough to say it
• Green Beans—cooked in bacon grease

• Baked Apples
• Coleslaw
• Biscuits—I'm talking about Southern fucking biscuits that are so good, they make you want to kill someone
• Cream Gravy—made with bacon grease
• Sweet Tea—by the pitcher

And then, finish it off with cobbler and ice cream
• Strawberry Cobbler or
• Blueberry Cobbler or
• Peach Cobbler or
• Apple Cobbler or
• Do what my awesome sister-in-law did and ask to try all of them, and the waitress will bring you a massive plate of cobblers.

Let me be perfectly clear: The Yachtsman recommends Shatley Springs. As you know, I don’t recommend lightly, but this is without question worthy of my highest recommendation.

Travel details:

Here's the deal: There are cabins available for rent at Shatley Springs. What I'm trying to say is that Shately Springs is a destination resort. It’s the Disneyland of cooking with bacon grease. Fuck Mickey Mouse, I want Billy Biscuit.

Getting there: You can do what I did, and ride a motorcycle from Vermont to Crumpler,

or through Nancy and Udean’s Christian Tours you can book a Christian motor coach tour that makes a stop at Shately Springs. If you're unable to go by motorcycle with my sister-in-law, I can’t imagine a better way to arrive at the Mecca of Fried Chicken.

you may say it's hoarding, but i call it being prepared, like a girl scout. a girl scout who is trying to earn her merit badge in hoarding.

2010-08-02T16:30:00.005-04:00

What I brought to my one-day-a-week job for lunch today. And by lunch I mean

lunch,

Roasted Beet Salad With Almond Butter and Gorgonzola

afternoon snack,

Fruit and yogurt

dinner,

Greens with red-wine vinaigrette

A roasted-vegetable tart I plan to tell you about later this week, assuming I make it out of here alive.

dessert,

and midnight snack.

You may laugh, but if the apocalypse occurs while I'm at my one-day-a-week job and we are all trapped indefinitely in this office, my coworkers will be forced to live off the rotten leftovers polluting the staff fridge while I eat...well, nothing, because my food will be gone well before Armageddon and, come hell or high water, I am not touching anything in that nasty-ass refrigerator. Next week I think I'll supplement my lunch spread with MREs and powdered milk. Just in case.

phew

2010-07-31T20:11:00.003-04:00

Bike ride.

Sunset.

Wine club.

woman on the verge

2010-07-28T23:16:00.002-04:00

All I do lately is proofread. That's not true: Sometimes I edit.

Look, it's Chester!

The yachtsman has been away for ten days, but now he's home and claims to be working on a Yachtsman Recommends. I am working on not having a nervous breakdown. Wish me luck!

stop whatever you are doing & make this soup

2010-07-22T00:51:00.002-04:00

Because you know what? I am on a cold-soup roll, which isn't some kind of bun that's served with vichyssoise, it is the unstoppable momentum achieved by making two delectable cold soups in a row. First there was the Thai Squash Soup, and now I offer you this: Creamy, Garlicky Gazpacho. Don't usually like gazpacho? You'll like this version. Don't usually like garlic? Use less. Don't usually like cream? Seriously? You don't usually like cream? That's fine; there's no actual cream in this creamy gazpacho; the soup gets its velvety richness from my new favorite food, sheep's milk yogurt (all other yogurts are dead to me now). This soup will be your new best friend, which is good, because no one else will want to come near you for a solid 24 hours after you've eaten it. But like I said: If you don't usually like garlic, use one clove instead of two.

A few other notes:

* This soup is so easy to make, you have no excuse not to try it.

* The recipe calls for a garnish of fried Parmesan crisps, which are easy to make when they don't totally fail (see below), but if you don't feel like exerting the extra effort, just grate a little cheese over your bowl before you eat. Or don't—the Parmesan is not essential.

* Go on now, start cooking.

Creamy, Garlicky Gazpacho
Adapted from the New York Times, which in addition to recipes also publishes all the news that's fit to print. Who knew?

6 tablespoons grated pecorino Romano
2 large tomatoes (about 1 pound), cored and roughly chopped

1½ cups (12 ounces) plain sheep’s-milk or regular yogurt [Use the sheep's milk. That's an order.]
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
12 basil leaves, roughly chopped, more for serving
2 large garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped
2 scallions (white and light green parts), roughly chopped
2 ice cubes
1¾ teaspoons kosher salt, more to taste
1½ teaspoons red wine vinegar, more to taste
Pinch cayenne pepper
Ground black pepper to taste.

1. Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Spread 2 tablespoons cheese into a thin layer in skillet; let melt and brown on bottom, about 30 seconds to one minute. Use a spatula to flip cheese; let cook until evenly browned on both sides, about a minute more. Transfer fried cheese to a paper-towel-lined plate. Repeat with remaining cheese, working 2 tablespoons at a time. Break fried cheese into large pieces. [About half the time, my browned-on-one-side layer of cheese squinched up into a tasty but unattractive blob when I tried to scoop it up with the spatula for flipping. The rest of the time things worked out OK.]

2. To make soup, place tomatoes, yogurt, olive oil, basil, garlic, scallions, ice cubes, salt, vinegar, cayenne, and black pepper in a blender. Purée until smooth. Taste and add more salt and vinegar, if necessary. Pour into small bowls and garnish with pieces of fried cheese and chopped basil.

3. Resume whatever you stopped doing earlier.

guest post: lucky lady & m. labee

2010-07-20T00:07:00.007-04:00

[This week's guest post is by my sister, Lucky Lady, who makes the prettiest aprons you'll ever cook in, and the lovely M. LaBee, who I plan to one day kidnap and imprison in my kitchen, where he will spend the rest of his life baking for my pleasure. Lucky Lady and M. LaBee have teamed up here to...oh, you'll see. I will hopefully be back later this week with another delicious cold soup to share with you, but if I don't have time to post, Team Zucchini on Top, as they're called, tell me there's plenty more where this came from. And thank god for that, because it apparently takes a village to write a bl*g.]

Homage to Peanut

As you may or may not know, we (M. LaBee and Lucky Lady) are the godparents (well, we may have decided we were the godparents, not told anyone, and had him baptized on our own time, but who’s counting?) of a little dog called Peanut (you may know him as Chester Arthur Miller). It also turns out we are a guest-bl*gging superteam heretofore known as “Zucchini on Top.” Being that we are superbl*ggers and Peanut’s godparents, we decided to do a guest post in the little man’s honor. We looked high and low and found this charming book,

which had the perfect recipe for our homage to Peanut. So the two of us trotted on down to the farmers market to shop. Most of the ingredients we needed for the PupCakes have a very short growing season, but we managed to find everything we needed:

We started by making the bodies of the PupCakes with a special cake recipe called Betty Crocker Super M@%#t (for those of you who don’t know, for M. Labee and Lucky Lady the word moist is a lot like the word bl*g for our bl*g mistress—disgusting) to which we added eggs, oil, and water. Then, being the hard workers that we are, we mixed the batter by hand instead of using the beaters.

Next we filled the PupCake pan with batter:

Once the PupCakes were safely nestled in the oven, M.LaBee decided he needed to eat the batter that was left in the bowl. “What are you crazy? Have you ever heard of a little thing called Salmonella?" Lucky Lady asked. Apparently the answer was no, because here is what happened next:

Halfway through the baking of the cupcakes, the professional baker on the team (M. LaBee) decided the PupCakes needed to be rotated (who does this?):

The PupCakes came out of the oven in a blaze of glory not unlike the blaze that the Down East Dilletante’s car went up in, except that they weren’t on fire at all, we just wanted to give DED a shout-out and let him know we were thinking of him and his burned-up car.

While the PupCakes were cooling we went about the business of coloring the dough for Peanut’s appendages. This was a long and arduous process that involved lots of Lucky Lady yelling at M. LaBee things like “Hold her down!” and “More! Faster, goddamn it!” and “You are going to have to shake it harder if you want anything to come out.” All of a sudden it seemed like we were making a weird porn instead of dough, but we are a team that really likes to give it all we’ve got:

Then there was the rolling and cutting of said dough:

The end result of the cut-out dough pieces was weird and even a little gross looking, but we promise, it all comes together:

Halfway through the baking of the appendage dough we realized we were out of peanut butter, which we needed for the frosting (Peanut’s coat). So, much to M. LaBee’s delight and Lucky Lady’s horror we had to make a trip to Mac’s Market. It should be said that the village where Lucky Lady lives was without a grocery store for a number of years. Shortly after LL and her mister moved to the village, Mac’s Market opened with the promise of providing groceries. It didn’t, they lied. Lucky Lady thinks it is basically an overgrown convenience store but M. LaBee disagrees and describes this horrible store as “Nirvana” and the “Lady Gaga of grocery stores.”

This is a picture of M.Labee driving Lucky Lady’s car and laughing maniacally about his Mac’s trip windfall:

A hardhat Lucky Lady forced M. Labee to wear in this photo as punishment for being so gleeful about said trip:

Once home again, we focused on the frosting: We had to mix peanut butter with vanilla frosting in order to get the proper shade for Peanut’s coat:

Then we frosted those bitches:

Now, I bet you’re wondering how that is going to become a PupCake. Well, frankly, so were we. A bit of panic ensued, there was some yelling and running around, followed by a dog escaping the house. Once we had the dog safely stowed we put the PupCakes on some white paper to get a clean slate to look at:

Then magically, this happened:

PupCakes! We love you, Peanut!

beautiful, edible blossoms

2010-07-15T14:42:00.009-04:00

I don't know what you're doing this Saturday, but if I didn't have to work all weekend I would sign up for crankycheryl's Beautiful, Edible Blossoms workshop at Red Wagon. I'll be jealous if you go, but you could mitigate any hard feelings by inviting me over and serving these,

Photo by crankycheryl, stolen by me from her bl*g

which you'll learn to make at the workshop. Beautiful, edible blossoms, indeed! You can sign up by calling Red Wagon at 802-482-4060.

guest post: His Momma

2010-07-14T01:24:00.006-04:00

[This guest post is courtesy of my mother-in-law, who just happens to be one of my favorite people in the world, and also one of my favorite cooks. If you know her or have been lucky enough to eat at her table, I imagine she's among your favorites, too. And after reading this you'll see that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Or the bacon grease doesn't fall far from the bacon, is more like it, though my mother-in-law has been known to eat a piece of fruit, whereas my husband has not. And don't let her fool you: This woman can cook both Southern delicacies such as Oklahoma Ham Loaf and haute cuisine. Oklahomans: Please don't get mad that I just excluded ham loaf from the haute cuisine category.]

In Praise of…..

It is with fear in my heart that I sit down to add my writing to the esteemed group who have been tapped to write guest posts for the “summer bl*g.” I love my daughter-in-law, and as much as I love her, I love her blog…the humor, the pictures, and the tasty recipes. In fact, it is the highlight of my day when she posts, and the cloud that covers the sun when she doesn’t. Her culinary friends and family are erudite and sophisticated in their cooking, eating, and conversations about food, and the idea that I need to match them…intimidating. So, methinks, what do I have that is unique? Immediately I knew. BACON FAT!

I grew up in Oklahoma. It is the land of fresh vegetables, cooked until the grayness appears, and fresh slaughtered meats, fried. There is no real way to cook without bacon fat if this is your point of origin. My grandparents, in the small Oklahoma town where they lived, often rushed to the aid of a family whose home had been “burned out.” As I think of it, I have no idea why so many houses burned. It was a very small town; how many houses could there have been, really? But, it seems they often did burn (perhaps owing to liquor, which was illegal and therefore plentiful), and the neighbors rallied to provide the necessities. Ubiquitous among the clothes, blankets, and furniture, was a Crisco can of bacon grease. This was when the can was metal and did not bear the marks of either butter flavor or “do not fill with hot liquid.” Truth was, if one was to cook in those parts, one could not without an adequate supply of bacon grease. So, this flavor pervades my youth….and truthfully, my early years of marriage. I am here today to bring to you the wonders of bacon grease. Let me list its uses:

• Rubbed on the outside of potato skins before baking, it imparts a wonderful flavor and crisp skin
• Green beans sautéed in bacon fat before parboiling, with a bit of sugar added—sublime
• Biscuits, dipped in liquid bacon fact before baking—heaven
• And the ultimate Southern delicacy...CHICKEN FRIED STEAK WITH CREAM GRAVY

(To those of you who have just turned away in disgust I say, “Ye of little faith.” That is also what they say in Oklahoma at “dinner on the grounds” of the local Methodist church, but that is another story for another day.)

Here is the recipe. You must follow it faithfully for the proper results, a mélange of crispy coating and creamy white sauce. In fancy restaurants they laud the meat used, but the truth is that it makes no difference what the meat is once you encase it with coating, fry it up, and cover it with a blanket of white. In my family, cube steaks were the meat of the day.

Season the meat well (no chicken or veggie substitutes allowed) with season-salt and pepper. Mix flour in a separate bowl with more salt and pepper. (When you consider the cholesterol, think nothing of the sodium.) In another bowl, mix several eggs with whole milk, quantities being commensurate with the amount of meat.

In a cast iron skillet of good size heat a generous amount of bacon fat, say halfway up the side of the pan. (Oh, please, do not whine to me about where you get that much bacon fat. If you are eating this, you are having bacon for breakfast every morning and pouring the fat into your own Crisco can.) The grease (not oil, grease) should be hot enough to start to sizzle when the meat enters it, but not so hot that it burns rather than cooks.

Author's note: If you think I am cooking this so I can take a picture to show you, you are out of your mind. If I make it, I eat it. Therefore, these must suffice.

Well-seasoned cast iron skillet

One of perhaps six packages of bacon you will need to produce the quantity of bacon fat necessary. Note, I have eaten some of it...and don’t touch my Crisco can!

Dip each piece of meat in the flour mixture, then egg mixture, then back into the flour. There is no shaking here, as you want a thick coating to absorb every delicious molecule of bacony goodness possible. Into the hot fat each piece goes, but do not crowd. The temperature must remain level, and the coating must remain surrounded by grease in order to achieve the perfect golden crust.

After all the meat has been fried, the gravy must be made. DO NOT SKIP THIS PART. Any fool can fry meat. Pour off all the bacon fat but 2 to 3 tablespoons. (You can save this delicious grease, made even tastier by the beef juices, for another round of steak or Southern fried chicken.) Add some of the seasoned flour, enough to make a roux. (If you do not know how much this is, you should not be making this.) Stir it around until thoroughly mixed and beginning to bubble. Slowly add whole milk, stirring constantly until it is a creamy consistency. Too much milk and you have “race-horse” gravy; too little milk and you have a thick paste. Let it bubble for a few minutes until the floury flavor is gone. Pepper well and pour over the meat upon serving. It is good accompanied by mashed potatoes, fresh spring onions, sliced tomatoes still warm from the garden, and the green beans I mentioned previously. If you must, some biscuits to soak up the extra gravy will be acceptable, though in my part of Oklahoma, Wonder bread would do.

That’s it. I need to go and take a statin now.

renaissance literature 101: pop quiz

2010-07-12T02:30:00.004-04:00

Q: Would a berry by any other name taste as sweet?

Fig. 1

A. No. These may look good, but strawberries are the most delicious.

Fig. 2

For tomorrow: Compare strawberries to a summer's day. Hint: Summer's lease hath all too short a date, which is why we're now eating raspberries and blueberries.

Class dismissed.

dog days

2010-07-09T02:15:00.007-04:00

It’s still hot. And I’m still not complaining. But I am moving very, very slowly. On Tuesday afternoon I walked a mile and a half to the auto mechanic’s to pick up our car. It was 100 degrees and the heat was viscous. Walking was like wading. After fifteen minutes I’d traveled only a few yards.

Hours later and a third of the way there I stopped at a corner store to cool off and buy a drink, but the store wasn’t air conditioned and there was a $5 minimum for debit card purchases, so I left my 99 cent bottle of water sweating on the counter. Back outside I contemplated hitchhiking, but the mere thought of extending my arm, let alone sticking up my thumb, was exhausting, so I carried on. Left foot. Right foot. L e f t . R i . . .

My brain, swollen with heat, throbbed against my skull. Sweat pooled at the front of my bra and tickled as it rolled down my back. There was a sharp little pain at my hip.

Zipper? Rough seam?

Bug! Caught in my waistband. Biting me. I pinched it dead through the fabric of my skirt, its carapace crunching between my fingertips. I considered crying. Too hot.

The last quarter mile before the garage was on a busy, shadeless road. Sun everywhere. The roar and exhaust of a passing bus sent me seeking refuge at the nearest business, a Christian bookstore. The interior was deliciously cool. I darted past the clerk and feigned browsing while the sweat turned to salt on my skin. 199 Promises of God; Crazy Love: Overwhelmed by a Relentless God; Eat the Cookie, Buy the Shoes: Giving Yourself Permission to Lighten Up; What Does God Expect of Us?

What does God expect of us? The clerk sidled up next to me and started asking questions of his own. Could he help me find something? Was I looking for anything in particular? Did I know the store took special orders? I was weak, vulnerable. No matter that his intentions were clearly to sell, not convert: One glass of ice water and I’d belong to Jesus.

Outside again, it was like I never left. The heat enveloped me, settling across my skin, filling every pore. I didn't have the will to go on, but I didn't have the will not to go on, either. WWJD?

On the corner of my mechanic’s lot is a tree, and I stopped in its shade to dig my keys from my purse. Opening the car door was like opening a preheated oven, a blast of burning air spilling forth. I drove with the windows down, nearly to my destination before the air blowing from the vents was no longer a searing desert wind. By the time I arrived at my friend Amy’s, my skin was slick and prickly, hair damp, skirt plastered to the backs of my legs. Inside her house I bogarted the chair in front of the fan and tilted my head forward to let the air oscillate across my neck. “I made cold foods,” Amy called from the kitchen. Chilled Thai Squash Soup. It was so good I gave myself to Jesus.

Naw. But I did have seconds, and made a batch of my own the next day. This is the perfect food for a hot summer evening: cool but a little spicy, deeply flavorful without being the least bit heavy. Slurpable. Refreshing. Delicious.

A few notes:

1. When I first tasted it I assumed the squash in the soup’s name was something autumnal, acorn or butternut maybe, but it’s made with “yellow crookneck squash.” Which is just your basic summer squash, the one that starts appearing this time of year, piled precariously next to its green doppelganger, zucchini.

2. The recipe here is more or less as it was published in Bon Appétit. Amy added sugar, so I added some, too, a scant teaspoon after the squash, and a little more to taste after I’d pureed the soup—the sugar isn't meant to sweeten, it should deepen. You'll need salt, too, though the amount will depend on your stock, your curry power, your taste buds, and whether you're trying to replace all the salt sweated from your body on that long-ass walk.

3. I’ve now eaten this with both nonfat yogurt and non-nonfat crème fraîche, both of which were scrumptious, and the cilantro shouldn’t be skipped, either.

Chilled Thai Squash Soup
From Bon Appétit
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 cups chopped onions
2 large garlic cloves, chopped
1 teaspoon Thai red curry paste
1 teaspoon curry powder

1 pound yellow crookneck squash, trimmed, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 cups (or more) broth
1 cup canned unsweetened coconut milk
Sugar, salt, & pepper to taste
Plain nonfat yogurt
Chopped fresh cilantro

1. Heat oil in heavy large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onions and sauté until soft and golden, about 5 minutes. Add garlic; stir 1 minute. Add curry paste and curry powder; stir 20 seconds. Add squash and sauté 1 minute. Stir in 2 cups broth and coconut milk and bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium and add teaspoon of sugar. Boil gently until squash is soft, 10 to 12 minutes. Cool slightly.

2. Working in batches, puree soup in blender until smooth. Season with salt and pepper and more sugar to taste. Transfer soup to a bowl and chill until cold, at least 2 hours. Thin with more broth, if desired.

3. Ladle soup into bowls. Spoon dollop of yogurt into center of soup in each bowl. Sprinkle with chopped cilantro and serve.

hot

2010-07-07T22:44:00.002-04:00

This is not a complaint: It is hot. Hotter than hell. Hotter than a $2 pistol on the Fourth of July. Hotter than a June bride in a featherbed. Hotter than Georgia asphalt. Hotter than high noon in Death Valley. Hotter than...oh, you get the point.

Tonight after work:

Followed by a creemee.

whoopie!

2010-07-06T01:11:00.003-04:00

It was a banner weekend, my friends, complete with swimming, sailing, and reading for hours in a porch swing. Dark & Stormies were consumed. Chester learned to swim (I catch myself saying that we taught Chester to swim, as if we had anything more to do with it than throwing the ball into the lake). Did I mention there were homemade whoopie pies? Happy Fourth of July to me.

I had even less to do with the making of those whoopie pies [thanks, T&I] than I did with teaching that puppy to swim, but I did find out where the recipe came from. Happy Fourth of July to you.

guest post: my greek stepmother

2010-07-02T00:30:00.005-04:00

[This is the first of a few guests posts you'll be seeing over the coming months, this one from my Greek stepmother, one of the best cooks I know.]

I’ve been fixated on sour cherries since last year when some friends told me they make the most delicious cobbler ever. I scored two quarts at a farmers market, baked that cobbler, and was in love. But when I returned for more, their short (two weeks? two days?) season was over.

This summer, when I spied trees laden with tart cherries at a local farm, I bought all the farm stand would sell me (believe it or not, there was a waiting list for those cherries)

and spent the next 24 hours pitting, cooking, and freezing the little darlings (frozen, pitted cherries are nearly as delicious as fresh), in hopes that maybe, possibly, this year I will eat my fill.

The chore was not easy. I mean, it’s not like lifting heavy rocks, but it still left me with a stiff back and neck. Each one of those soft, tiny orbs needed to be stemmed and the pit removed, preferably without damaging the fruit’s fragile shape. This job requires patience, at least three back-to-back podcasts of This American Life, and a superior ability to multitask so that when your granddog escapes out the front door midway through the process you can launch a search party (I’m looking at you, Chester Arthur Miller).

I acknowledge that I am one of those people who enjoys the obscure, the hard-to-get, the fleeting. That tiny character flaw has brought me more trouble more often than I would like to (or will) admit.

Sour cherries, however, are completely worth it.

As a reward for pitting all those cherries, I treated myself to a Sour Cherry Gin Muddler, courtesy of last week’s NYTimes.

Then I made Sour Cherry Clafoutis, a light, airy dessert that was perfectly complemented by the presence of tart cherries—delicious.

By the time you read this, the ridiculously short, fragile sour cherry season will probably be over, and I will be harvesting my freezer to try Claudia Roden’s Little Meatballs With Cherries.

Just to be completely clear, my freezer is chained and locked.

Note: I used Montmorency cherries, a variety of tart cherry that is bright red with clear juice; the other type is Morello, which are purple with dark, staining juice and more sour. Both are delicious and will work in these recipes; just wear a rubber apron when you pit the Morellos.

Sour Cherry Gin Muddler
From Melissa Clark at the New York Times, who calls this a cross between Kat Kinsman’s sour cherry cocktail and a classic aviation cocktail. I call it a delicious way to drink gin, which, to be completely honest, is perfect straight from the bottle.

1. Place three pitted sour cherries and a thin lemon slice in the bottom of a rocks glass. Add half a teaspoon or so of sugar and muddle until the cherries are smashed up but not pureed.

2. Pack the glass with ice and top with gin. Float a teaspoon or two of maraschino liqueur on top (or the juice from a jar of maraschino cherries, assuming you have high-quality ones without a bunch of dye and additives; which of course you do, if, like me, Manhattans are your winter drink of choice.)

Sour Cherry Clafoutis
From Gourmet Magazine, May 2008, created by Dana Cree of Veil, in Seattle

5 egg yolks
¾ cup sugar
¼ cup Amaretto
½ cup flour, sifted
½ teaspoon salt
3 egg whites
¼ cup sugar
1 cup heavy cream
About 2 pounds (1½–2 quarts) fresh sour cherries, stemmed, and pitted

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Lightly butter a large baking pan (round is nice if you have one) and cover the bottom with cherries.

2. With a stand or hand mixer (I used a stand mixer, which was quick and easy), whip the egg yolks and sugar to a thick pale ribbon. Whisk in Amaretto until combined. Fold in the flour and salt. Set aside.

3. Whip the egg whites until they form stiff peaks. Add the sugar and continue whipping until stiff and glossy. (I did this first because I was too lazy to wash the egg yolks off the beater, but if you, too, are lazy, proceed quickly with the rest of the whipping so it doesn’t sit around very long.)

4. Whip the cream until it forms soft peaks.

5. Fold the cream into the yolk mixture in two batches. Fold the meringue into the batter in two batches.

6. Cover the cherries with clafoutis batter, pressing slightly as you spread and encouraging the batter to fill any crevices between the fruit. Bake 20–25 minutes (more or less, depending on the size of the pan), until golden brown and set. Serve immediately (best) with vanilla ice cream, or even cold, which is surprisingly good as well.

[Hello, bitches, it's me again, here to let you know that I was lucky enough to both taste the clafoutis hot out of the oven and eat a leftover piece cold the next day. For breakfast, if you must know. I highly recommend it either way. Or even better, both.]

where

2010-06-30T23:11:00.002-04:00

Where have you been for the past week? I've missed you.

Where I've been: Proofreading. Editing. There's even been some crying! And now I'm going to get in bed and go to sleep without setting my alarm. I plan to sleep for nine hours. Maybe ten. Possibly longer. Because if there's one thing I'm good at, it's sleeping. Among the many things I'm terrible at: working a lot.

The bad news is that I'm going to be working a lot, on and off, over the next couple months. The good news is that I've lined up some of my favorite people to fill in here at Ye Olde Blogge during these ~~major freakout meltdowns~~ busy periods. Some of my favorite people who also happen to be excellent cooks (or excellent at opening cans of beer). My Greek stepmother is going to kick things off tomorrow with a post about sour cherries, which are much tastier than sour grapes (believe me, I've tried both). For now, the sky tonight:

8:15 p.m.

8:45 p.m.

9:15 p.m.

9:30 p.m.

9:45 p.m.
[All photos are from CAMNET.]

G'night.

hypothetical question

2010-06-25T10:01:00.008-04:00

Would a wedding be "ruined" if there was no wedding cake? Or would the lack of wedding cake (or in this hypothetical situation, wedding cupcakes) be a hilarious story to tell at the 50th anniversary party? "We didn't have dessert at our wedding, grandbabies, because your aunt Kate, who was supposed to bring the cupcakes, stayed home and ate them all."

Let me put it another way: I have 300 hypothetical cupcakes on my kitchen table right now and I am hypothetically considering opening a hypothetical box to have JUST ONE. Possibly two. Is that wrong? Hypothetically, of course.

this time with pasta

2010-06-23T00:01:00.004-04:00

I don't have a lot of original ideas right now, because I'm too busy proofreading other people's original ideas. So this weekend when I finally had a spare hour to cook, I opted for an ingredient combination I've relied on heavily this spring, asparagus and pancetta.

Asparagus and pancetta! Two great tastes that taste great together! You've got your crisp, fresh vegetable and your salty, cured pork; your green stem and your pink flesh; your vitamin provider and your artery clogger. We know they pair well in hash, they're delicious together in soup, and I can now vouch for their union in pasta.

But the dish I made on Saturday wasn't just any pasta (keep reading, my vegetarian friends, my asparagus-hating frenemies, there's something here for you, too!), it was absorption pasta. Perhaps you've heard of it? Sometimes referred to as cooking pasta "risotto style," the absorption method uses a small amount of stock instead of gallons of water, which produces creamy, al dente pasta in a flavorful pan sauce. I chose this particular recipe because of my lack of originality, but the pancetta and asparagus could be substituted with just about anything edible—I found recipes online for absorption pasta made with everything from mushrooms and chicken to chocolate and zucchini. The recipe I worked from suggested using pancetta and asparagus in the spring; roasted squash, sage, and walnuts in the fall; sausage and kale in the winter; heirloom tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella in late summer. What I'm getting at here is that the technique is versatile.

And the technique is easy, too. Calling it "risotto-style pasta" is misleading, because making risotto is a pain in the ass, while making risotto-style pasta is not. There are variations, but here's the gist: heat some oil in a pan; add and sauté shallots or garlic or onions; add the dry pasta and a cup or two of liquid (broth or water);

bring the liquid to a simmer and cook, adding more liquid as necessary, until the pasta is done to your liking.

This isn't just a slightly more complicated way to cook your spaghetti. Pasta made this way tastes different than the kind that's boiled in a vat of water—better, in my opinion. Closer to the texture of fresh pasta, and much more flavorful. The pancetta and asparagus didn't hurt, either, of course.

Absorption Pasta With Asparagus and Pancetta
Adapted from a recipe by Kate Flaim on design*sponge

2 tablespoons olive oil
3 slices of pancetta, chopped
2 shallots, finely sliced
¾ lb. penne
3–4 cups stock [I used Imagine's No Chicken Broth]
1 pound of asparagus, woody ends removed, cut on the bias into penne-sized pieces, with the tips kept separate

zest & juice of 1 lemon
feta cheese
s&p

1. Heat the olive oil in a Dutch oven or large saucepan over medium heat. Add the pancetta and cook until crisp. Remove the meat with a slotted spoon and drain on a paper towel.

2. Add the shallots or onion to the warm oil (and um, rendered pork fat) in the Dutch oven and cook until soft, just a minute or so. Throw in the pasta and stir to coat with oil.

3. Add 1–2 cups of stock to the pot, enough to not-quite-cover the pasta. Bring to a simmer but keep from boiling.

4. Cook, stirring frequently and adding more stock in half cups as necessary: The pasta should be neither soupy nor dry.

5. Begin tasting the pasta after 5–7 minutes. When it is tender but with a tiny bit of crunch, add the asparagus stalks. At this point, you'll want to stir quite frequently and monitor closely so the pan doesn't dry out, continuing to add liquid as necessary. When the pasta is nearly finished, add the asparagus tips and cook another minute or two until the pasta is done to your liking (keep in mind that it will continue to cook after you take it off the heat, and err on the side of al dente).

6. There should be some reduced stock at the bottom of the pan: When tossed with the pasta it becomes a silky sauce. Add the pancetta, lemon zest, and 1 tablespoon of lemon juice (or more to taste). Add freshly ground pepper, but taste again before salting—the pancetta added plenty of saltiness to mine, and keep in mind that you'll be adding feta, which can be salty, as well.

7. Serve topped with feta cheese.

workin' hard or hardly workin'?

2010-06-22T01:25:00.005-04:00

I'm going to live through this and when it's all over, I'll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, as God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again.

apropos of nothing

What I'm trying to say is that I really will post a recipe one day soon. As God is my witness.

the yachtsman recommends

2010-06-16T22:45:00.003-04:00

It's true, it's time once again for a yachtsman recommends, and I am pleased to tell you that today's recommendation is facilitating the recommendation itself. I come to you today to recommend a truly magical and revolutionary device, the thing the geeks call the Jesus tablet. That's right, I'm here to recommend the iPad.

Having purchased my iPad several nights ago, I am now able to unashamedly recommend it to the readers of GFD. Now I know what you are thinking: What would I ever do with an iPad? The truth is, after 48 hours with the thing, I have no fucking idea. All I can tell you is that the thing is magical. Why and how it's magical are not clear to me, and I truly have no idea what you are supposed to do with it. But damn it's cool. What I can say is that Gruel for Dinner never looked better than when I pulled up it up on the iPad browser. For that matter, every website I've surfed to with the device looks magical.

Now, will it replace my smartphone? No. Will it replace my laptop? No, in fact you have to have a computer to sync it with. [Ed.: Will it replace his wife? I'm nervous.] So does it do anything my other devices don't? No. In fact, any website that relies on Flash won't display, you can't multitask, and if I want to use it on the 3G network I need to cough up another $25 to AT&T on top of the other $100 a month I give them for my iPhone. But, 48 hours into this, I can't imagine life without it.

So, I recommend you buy an iPad. And please don't ask to see mine, because I don't want your dirty fingerprints all over my nice, shiny screen.

Until next time,
The Yachtsman

Sent from my iPad

rich in so many ways

2010-06-15T00:03:00.005-04:00

A few thank yous are in order:

1. Thank you, Anonymous, for the peonies.

I felt like a bride walking home through the rain with that bouquet Saturday morning,

and the honeymoon is not over: I get such pleasure every time I pass the feather-petaled pink and white pom-poms spilling abundantly from a vase on my kitchen table.

2. Thank you to everyone who donated for the bowl-a-thon: With your generous support I was able to raise over $500 for VARF. Which brings me to...

3. Thank you to my lovely husband, who served as my pinch bowler on Saturday night when I realized I have more work this week than I can possibly do.

This photo is of someone else's lovely husband, taken by my own.

He bowled, I stayed home and proofread. Which brings me to...

I have more work this week than I can possibly do, so I probably won't be posting much. But the yachtsman has promised a Recommends—let's all thank him in advance, shall we?

last week's booty

2010-06-10T23:28:00.004-04:00

The reason I'm not posting recipes is that I'm just not cooking, except to soft boil an egg to serve over asparagus, or perhaps sauté some greens. Most of what I'm eating is from the farmers market, and so delicious in its simplest form, no recipe is required.

Raw, with sea salt, or sea-salty butter, or sliced on top of sea-salty buttered toast.

Pea shoots! Lightly sautéed, or mixed with baby greens for salad.

Doe's Leap Trappist. Sliced, bitches. Just slice off a piece and pop it in your mouth. No cracker or bread required.

Strawberries. At least twice a day I eat a bowlful of strawberries, usually with some Greek yogurt. Can't. Get. Enough. [Note to yachtsman: It's shortcake time, honey, which is like Hammer time, except instead of dressing up in your Hammer pants and lip synching in the kitchen you make me a little biscuit-like cake to eat with my strawberries. Can't touch this.]

Freshly picked whoopie pies.

This weekend I'm hoping for peas. Also, some deeply discounted peonies. Also, I hope whoopie pies are still in season.

bowling for abortions

2010-06-09T23:33:00.008-04:00

I just sent the following email to nearly everyone I know; since I know nearly everyone who visits this bl*g (if not personally then, you know, spiritually), you've probably read this. If so, donate twice. If not, here goes:

Dear friends and family,

If there's anything I hate more than fundraising, it's asking for money, but I'm writing to do just that: This weekend I'm participating in a bowl-a-thon to raise money for Vermont Access to Reproductive Freedom, a small, local nonprofit with a ridiculous acronym that helps women who can't afford it pay for abortions. They may not be as easy to love as homeless puppies or polar bears on melting icebergs, but I'd argue that abortions are just as important: not simply a woman's right to choose, but her ability to actually access an abortion if she needs one. And though Vermont is about as progressive as you're gonna get in this tea-baggin' country, it's also a poor, rural state. Elective abortions in Vermont cost between $250 and $1500; the average household income of VARF’s recipients is less than $10,000. So, as my friend Selene Colburn, who is VARF's board chair and really good at math, points out: “If the abortion costs $1,000, that’s ten percent of their average income—and in some cases that is more than these women earned in an entire year." Please consider making a donation, not to puppies or polar bears, but to a woman who will need help doing a very hard thing this year.

Thanks for your time, and if you're interested in making a donation, you can click here.

Your friend [and bl*g mistress, bitches!],
Kate

the mark bittman minimalist club meeting minutes

2010-06-08T22:37:00.007-04:00

Date: June 8, 2010

Meeting location: Conference Room A

Attending: Everyone who's anyone

Purpose: To conduct SERIOUS CLUB BUSINESS

8:00 p.m. Meeting called to order
I said order, goddammit! Chester! Go lie down!

8:01 p.m. Review of last meeting's minutes

8:02 p.m. Introduction of new business and nomination of new members

8:03 p.m. Bathroom break

8:08 p.m. Motion made to nominate Cranky Cheryl of the tasty (and famous!) food bl*g CrankyCakes to the Mark Bittman Minimalist Club (hereafter referred to as "M-Bitt's Mini Club"). Her qualifications include the following: Remember that asparagus pesto? She actually made it! And appears to have improved on it significantly! You can read about her version here: Either to avoid the club initiation rite that involved meeting me in a firelit cave and smearing pesto on her face or because she was wise to the fact that pureeing asparagus would only dilute its deliciousness, her version is "deconstructed." Or, as she points out, perhaps it's "preconstructed." Whichever: I think it looks perfect, made in the spirit of M-Bitt's pesto without being so borrrrrrrring.

8:10 p.m. Vote was unanimous: Cranky Cheryl, you're in.

8:11 p.m. Agenda for next meeting: World domination.

8:12 p.m. Meeting adjourned.

M-Bitt's Mini Club is rolling two deep, bitches: WE WILL NOT BE STOPPED.

they which do such things

2010-06-06T23:20:00.006-04:00

If I were rich in dollars (in addition to love), I would have bought a massive bouquet of peonies at the farmers market on Saturday. I mean, HUGE. But for once in my life I showed some restraint.

Which I now regret like other people regret benders and binges and bad cases of crabs.

gruel patties

2010-06-02T23:55:00.004-04:00

I was going to call this next recipe Herbed Chickpea Patties With Baby Lettuces, or perhaps Italian Garbanzo Burgers With Arugula Salad. But let's be honest: This blog is called Gruel for Dinner, and this dish is called Gruel Patties.

I like to make a batch of Gruel Patties on Sunday night before a busy week, and then eat them for lunch and dinner over the coming days. I would never, ever serve them to guests. The yachtsman won't touch them. But to me they're an old standby, a weeknight classic, a spring comfort food (I like to serve them over the tender arugula or baby lettuces or clovery mesclun that's in season now). They're easy, they reheat quite well, and I'm not exaggerating when I say I think they're quite good.

What they are not is glamorous. But according to the recipe I worked from, they're Italian, and nothing Italian is entirely unglamorous, is it?

Let's put it this way; they're about as glamorous as a can of chickpeas.

(I know there is a case to be made for cooking your own chickpeas, but Goya chickpeas are nearly as good as the ones you'll spend hours soaking and boiling and blah blah blahing, and they take about twelve hours less time to prepare.)

So, you start with a couple cans of chickpeas; you add some of that most versatile of herbs, (Italian!) parsley (if you have other fresh herbs around, feel free to add some of those, too); there's garlic, naturally; a little cumin; some hot red pepper flakes. Give it all a whirl in the food processor, and then turn it out into a bowl. Add a little Parm, an egg and some flour for binding, form the patties, and sauté them in a film of olive oil. Nod when your husband asks, "Is that really what you're eating for dinner?" And then eat them for dinner all week.

A few notes:

* Like I said, I serve them warm over greens dressed with something acidic, usually either lemon and olive oil and salt, or that red wine vinaigrette I told you about a while ago. I eat them two at a time, and when I reheat them, I do so in a toaster oven. I’m sure they’d be fine reheated in a microwave, too, though perhaps not as crispy. They’re not that great cold; plus, I love the way the warm patty softens the greens.

* The original version of this recipe was vegan—no egg, no cheese. The cheese is not essential, but I found that the patties crumbled when I tried cooking them without the egg.

Gruel Patties
Adapted from A Year in a Vegetarian Kitchen by Jack Bishop

2 15-ounce cans of chickpeas, drained and rinsed
½ cup packed fresh parsley leaves
2 medium garlic cloves
½ teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
1 egg
¼ cup flour
¼ cup Parmesan cheese
Salt
3 tablespoons evoo
A cup or two of greens (per serving)
Dressing

1. Place the chickpeas, parsely, garlic, cumin, and pepper flakes in the bowl of the food processor. Process, stopping to scrape down the sides, until relatively uniform and smooth.

Move the mixture to a bowl and stir in the egg, then the flour, and finally the Parmesan and salt to taste. Shape the mixture into patties (I usually get eight or nine).

2. Heat 1½ tablespoons of oil in a large, nonstick skillet over medium heat until shimmering. Add the patties and cook until golden brown. Carefully turn the patties and drizzle the remaining oil around the edges of the pan. Continue cooking until the patties are golden brown on the second side.

3. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, place some greens in a bowl and toss with either dressing or equal parts lemon and olive oil and a sprinkling of salt.

4. Once the patties are cooked, let them sit briefly on paper towels to absorb some of the cooking oil,

then serve immediately on a bed of dressed greens.

Bon appétit, bitches! Or, as they say in Italian, bueno appetito, biatchos!

the girl who never posts recipes anymore

2010-06-01T23:36:00.007-04:00

I recently splurged on this:

The book, not the dog.

I've spent hours with it, reading and drooling over the photos and wishing Thomas Keller were my bitch. I mean, personal chef. What I have not done is cooked from it. I have not made the Spring Vegetable Garbure or the Roasted Beet and Potato Salad or even the Blowtorch Prime Rib Roast. Soon, I swear.

Other things I swear:

1. I swear I didn't notice when I read The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo last fall whether the prose was good or bad (this was during that period after my dog died when I thought Twilight was brilliant, so clearly I was vulnerable and not judging books by the quality of the words inside them). But I just finished The Girl Who May or May Not Have Killed Three People, or whatever the second book is called, and the writing is so poor I was at times embarrassed for Stieg Larsson. Which doesn't matter at all: I could not put it down and am seriously considering breaking my no-hardcovers rule to buy The Girl Who Lives Happily Ever After With Both Fucking Kalle Blomkvist and Miriam Wu, which I hope is the title of the third book.

2. I swear, the yachtsman MADE me post this video.

happy memorial day

2010-05-30T23:11:00.005-04:00

The yachtsman, the pup, and I spent the weekend in the Adirondacks.

I appear to have developed acne while we were away, which is pretty exciting. But I didn't do much cooking, so I can't post any recipes, however I can direct you Burlington-area Vermonters to buy the premade crab cakes at Shelburne Meat Market and serve them with this sauce over a little arugula.

*Photos by the yachtsman and his Hipstamatic; credit for the premade-crab-cake idea goes to the Huzzahs, via my Greek stepmom.

over and outage

2010-05-26T21:00:00.003-04:00

It's been in the 90s the past few days. That is NOT a complaint.

Nor does it explain the fact that I've eaten the same exact thing for dinner every single night this week. Very gruelalicious. Both the food itself (let's just say it involves a legume and the word "patties") and the fact that I've been subsisting on it for days. More on that later. Because right now I'm typing to you in the dark, using the last of my computer’s battery as a thunder and lightning storm crashes and crackles outside our building. The power has gone out, which means the A/C is off, which means soon the yachtsman will go crazy from the heat, strip off his clothes, and walk naked around the house begging the gods to save us from this hell. So, like I said, more later.

the sweet taste of not being bitter that it's winter, because I'm pretty sure WINTER IS OVER, BITCHES!

2010-05-25T11:20:00.008-04:00

The first strawberry of the year. And I still have eleven apples left in my refrigerated hoarding chamber! Although I've decided that my collection of apples is not hoarding at all. When people of yore (and homesteading hipsters of today) preserved and canned and filled their root cellars with turnips and rutabagas, it was not called hoarding, it was called trying to survive winter. I ~~hoarded~~ stored apples to survive winter. And now I will enjoy the hell out of summer. Unless it rains a lot, in which case I will take to my bed and weep.

there is no now here

2010-05-23T23:35:00.005-04:00

I can't say I'm sorry that's over. Not that I've missed a single episode.

good things

2010-05-20T23:36:00.006-04:00

1. Asparagus with walnut crema. Remember asparagus with walnut crema? I posted about it a year ago today, and after that went on to make it approximately twice a week until asparagus went out of season. If you came to my house for a meal last spring or early summer, you ate asparagus with walnut crema. And you liked it. Not just because I told you to, but because it's really, really good. It's my favorite aspragus dish, in fact, or perhaps asparagus is my favorite vehicle for walnut crema (which I've also eaten on toast, vegetables, and the end of my finger). Whatevs, just make some. This weekend, please.

2. Personal assistants.

I don't make him sit back there, he does it by choice, probably to avoid doing any work.

3. Husbands.

Mine cleaned the apartment last night while I went out for (a delicious) dinner with the lovely Li-Ry. If you had any idea how filthy our house was, you would be very, very impressed.

Happy weekend, bitches.

the mark bittman minimalist club: asparagus pesto; hmmm...

2010-05-19T01:00:00.009-04:00

If not for the fact that I am its founding and only member, I might just quit the Mark Bittman Minimalist Club right about now. But not only am I the sole member, I am also the club's president, vice-president, secretary, and treasurer. So I will carry on—for the sake of the club, for Mark Bittman, for the children, for the "Clubs, Associations, and Secret Societies" section of my résumé, and, dear GFDers, for you.

Asparagus. So delicious. Why not turn it into pesto? I'll tell you why: Because the pesto will taste mostly like Parmesan cheese. Or mine did anyway. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's not so good that it's worth buying a very expensive pound of local asparagus, hauling out the Cuisinart, and repeatedly pressing pulse.

Mark Bittman says the pesto should taste like "asparagus with additional punch." He also says that "pesto means paste." Mine tasted more like paste than extra punch. Perhaps I did something wrong?

In my role as the Mark Bittman Minimalist Club's senior recruitment officer, I would like to invite you to join this elite society. Here is your initiation rite: Make Mark Bittman's asparagus pesto, but don't follow the recipe exactly, and taste as you go along. Puree the asparagus, half the amount of called-for cheese, the oil, the pine nuts, the garlic, the s&p. Taste. Add more cheese, asparagus-cooking liquid, and s&p, as needed. Finish off with a generous squeeze of lemon juice. When you've completed this ritual, we'll meet in a firelit cave (I'll be the one with the paper bag over her head), you'll spread pesto in stripes across your cheeks and take a vow of lifetime loyalty to the club and its president, and then I will teach you the secret handshake. Good luck! And by the way, how'd that pesto turn out?

Asparagus Pesto
From the New York Times

Salt
1 pound asparagus, trimmed and cut into 2-inch segments
1 clove garlic, or more to taste
¼ cup pine nuts
¼ cup olive oil, or more as desired
¾ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Freshly ground black pepper
Juice of ½ lemon, or to taste

1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it. Add the asparagus and cook until fully tender but not mushy, 8 to 10 minutes. Drain well, reserving some of the cooking liquid, and let the asparagus cool slightly.

2. Transfer the asparagus to a food processor and add the garlic, pine nuts, 2 tablespoons of the oil, Parmesan, a pinch of salt and a couple of tablespoons of the cooking liquid. Process the mixture, stopping to scrape down the sides of the container if necessary, and gradually add the remaining oil and a bit more of the reserved cooking liquid to moisten if necessary. Add the lemon juice and season with salt and pepper to taste, pulse one last time, and serve over pasta, fish or chicken (or cover and refrigerate for up to a day).

apropos of nothing

2010-05-18T13:42:00.013-04:00

I want to move to nearly every city I visit, but if picking just one meant I could actually live there, I'd choose Amsterdam, hands down. Here's one of the reasons why:

This video is actually from Utrecht, which is smaller than Amsterdam, but you get the idea. Bicycle rush hour. Pretty great, right?

Via.

no gruel for brunch

2010-05-16T23:03:00.004-04:00

I have some strong opinions about brunch. For example, I don't like the term brunch, which reminds me of hotel buffets and eggs Benedict. I also don't like hotel buffets or eggs Benedict. Which is not to say I have anything against fancy food at brunch. In fact, in my strong, and usually pro-gruel, opinion, there's no place at the brunch table (or counter) for gruel.

This appears to be one of the few areas of culinary common ground the yachtsman and I share: No gruel for brunch. We are not a yogurt and granola people. We'll pass on that fruit salad, thank you very much. Pancakes? Perfect, if they're of the buttermilk or, even better, gingerbread variety; the only whole wheat at brunch should be in the toast. Other than that, we're up for most anything: greasy egg sandwiches; fried chicken and waffles; cheesy scrambled eggs; huevos rancheros. We love coffeecake and pancakes, cornbread and biscuits, waffles and French toast. Potatoes are key, of course: home fries, hash browns, latkes. And the yachtsman will eat just about any breakfast meat, though I've never seen him take out a slab of scrapple, and that's probably for the best.

One morning of each weekend we eat out: The yachtsman prefers diners, I will never tire of the Penny Cluse. The morning we don't eat out usually involves bagels, but occasionally we actually crack a few eggs and cook something brunchy in our own kitchen. For example, the yachtsman makes a mean griddled egg sandwich, and I make a mean face while I wait for him to finish cooking my food.

This morning, to kick off Aspragus Week here at GFD, I made Asparagus and Pancetta Hash. This is not gruel, friends, it's brunch food: You've got your potatoes, your bacon (the Italian kind), and the one green vegetable glistens with fat. Yes, fat. Pancetta renderings. Also, this dish is salty. Also, it is fucking delicious. Whether you're a gruel lover or player hater, I'm pretty sure you'll like this hash. If you're a vegetarian, I feel sad for you, because not eating this hash is a real loss. And I fear that a vegetarian version of this would...well, I fear it would suck, frankly. See "pancetta renderings," above.

But all you no-gruel-for-brunchers should try this at home: Dice and sauté some pancetta, potatoes, onion, and asparagus. Serve with a sunny-side-up egg on top, as I did for brunch this morning, or eat it unadorned, as I will for lunch tomorrow.

Asparagus Pancetta Hash
From Smitten Kitchen

Makes enough to top with four eggs

¼ pound pancetta, cut into ¼-inch dice
Olive or canola oil
1 pound Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and cut into a ½-inch dice
1 small yellow onion, chopped small
½ pound asparagus, tough ends trimmed and cut into 1-inch segments
s&p

1. Heat a 12-inch or larger frying pan over medium heat. Fry the pancetta, turning it frequently so that it browns and crisps on all sides; this takes about 10 minutes. Remove the pancetta from the pan with a slotted spoon and drain it on paper towels. Leave the heat on and the renderings in the pan.

2. If necessary, add some oil to the pan, enough so that between the pancetta renderings and the oil the bottom of the pan is coated (depending on how fatty your pancetta is or how well seasoned your pan is, you may not need any oil at all). Add the potatoes, season with salt and pepper, and let cook on one side without moving until they’ve started to brown underneath, then begin flipping and turning them, letting them cook again for a few minutes between turns, until they’re close to being browned on all sides, about 15 minutes.

3. When the potatoes are almost as crisped and brown as you’d like them, add the onion (if added too early, the onion will burn). Cook for an additional 5 minutes or so, until the potatoes are cooked through and nicely browned.

4. Add the asparagus, cover the pan, and cook for 5 to 8 minutes, or until the asparagus is tender but still crisp. Remove the lid and return the pancetta to the pan for another minute to reheat. Taste for seasoning and adjust if needed, then serve.

home alone

2010-05-13T23:10:00.002-04:00

For dinner most nights this week: soft-boiled, super-fresh egg; Bordeaux spinach; toast. Ain't no thang, bitches.

But next week is asparagus week here at GFD. ALL ASPARAGUS ALL THE TIME. I think. I'm pretty addicted to the little triumvirate of goodness pictured above.

wherever i go, my couch will follow

2010-05-12T10:01:00.015-04:00

I'm pretty sure I should call in sick today. You know, to myself. I do have a sore throat. And for days, no matter how much I sleep I'm still tired. Or I think I'm tired. It's possible I'm confusing tiredness and laziness.

Should we buy a house? I walked by this one yesterday while out with C. Arthur Miller. The yard was full of what I think a realtor would call "mature plantings."

I read that yesterday's hard frost may have seriously damaged not only this summer's strawberry and blueberry crops, but next fall's apples, as well. This changes everything, obviously.

The yachtsman won't live in a red state, which rules out the South. He also won't live on the West Coast because he doesn't want to be "three hours behind." This rules out Portland, Oregon, where I've never been, but an online personality-test-type thing I took awhile ago determined I should live there.

The lure of the couch is very strong right now. The couch, a pot of tea, last night's episode of Lost.

On Saturday we went to the first farmers market of the summer. It was freezing cold and raining, and the next day it snowed. There were basically three things for sale: greens, asparagus, and radishes. Also, baked goods and pottery.

Looking at these charts of vegetables and fruits that are in season and being sold at the beautiful farmers market at the Ferry building in San Francisco is not a good idea. And it's not fair, either. It's like comparing apples to oranges. Or, in this case, radishes to cherries.

If we lived in California I'd be eating cherries right now. Actually, if we lived in California I'd still be in bed. Fer shur. However, if we lived in California, Arnold Schwarzenegger would be my governor, which is unacceptable. And if we lived in San Francisco, specifically, I would be forced by law to compost.

So for now, radishes.

As you may recall, last spring I was obsessed with a little shizzle I like to call radish toast, so when I saw this recipe for Seared Radish Crostini, I had to give it a try. Crostini is just a fancy word for toast, after all. And this is basically a fancier, fattier, deliciouser version of last year's radish toast.

The key is the bagna cauda. Did I impress you with that term? In my mind I call it crack sauce: melted butter, olive oil, lots of garlic, anchovies, parsley. So. Good. Spread the bagna cauda on crostini and top with seared radishes, and you have a little shizzle I like to call fancy radish toast with crack sauce.

Fancy Radish Toast With Crack Sauce
from the New York Times

1 bunch radishes
9 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
4 tablespoons butter
8 anchovy fillets, finely chopped [If you don't like anchovies you could leave them out, but how about trying it first with just one or two?]
4 large garlic cloves, finely chopped
Pinch red pepper flakes
8 thin slices crusty bread, toasted
4 teaspoons chopped parsley

1. Remove leaves and stems from radishes; trim the tails. Cut larger radishes lengthwise into sixths and smaller radishes lengthwise into quarters.

2. Place a large skillet over medium-high heat until very hot. Add 1 tablespoon oil, radishes in a single layer (do not crowd), and salt and pepper. Cook radishes, without moving them, until they are lightly colored on undersides, about 3 minutes. Shake pan and continue cooking until tender, about 3 more minutes.

3. In a small skillet over medium heat, melt butter. Stir in anchovies, garlic, red pepper, and remaining oil. [I wasn’t paying attention and also stirred in the parsley, which I think I’ll do next time, too.] Reduce heat and simmer about 4 minutes.

4. Brush each slice of toast with sauce and top with several radish wedges. Spoon additional sauce on top, sprinkle with parsley and serve. [I made one up for the photo, but my stepmom had the idea to serve these “deconstructed”—the three separate parts (toasted bread, bagna cauda, radishes) on a platter so everyone could make their own.]

memorandum

2010-05-09T22:41:00.008-04:00

To: All Staff

From: Senior Mgmt.

Re: Hoarding

Apples
Effective immediately, the Department of Crisper Control will cease hoarding apples. According to our calculations, winter ended after today's snowfall, and a growth forecast indicates that the current supply of 26 honey crisps should last until strawberry season. God help us if these calculations are incorrect.

Muriel Spark
A committee has been formed to decide whether or not to hoard books by Muriel Spark. A preliminary report from the committee lists the following pro and con. Pro: The two novels studied by the committee thus far (The Girls of Slender Means and The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie) were amazing. Con: She's written 20+ novels, and they can't possibly all be this good. Or can they? Further study is needed.

Lucky Lady Design
It has come to our attention that Lucky Lady, senior assistant vice executive manager for commenting, has set up an Etsy shop. Although moonlighting is forbidden in her contract, after days of round-the-clock union negotiations it has been decided that instead of terminating her position here at GFD, an official policy of hoarding Lucky Lady's wares will be adopted, specifically headbands in pretty fabrics and belts with cool vintage buckles. She also makes super-cute aprons that will soon be part of the strict dress code in GFD kitchens, but demand currently outpaces supply.

KMO/cam

the mark bittman minimalist club: soup no. 2

2010-05-05T00:02:00.007-04:00

Before we get started here, I'd like to ask that you consider the soup I'm about to share—soup no. 2, Escarole Soup With Rice—with an open mind. Because I fear that you're biased against it. I fear that by confessing in my last post that this soup, soup no. 2, would probably lose in a soup deathmatch to soup no. 1, Asparagus, Pancetta, and Rice Soup, you've already decided you'll never make it. Which, to be frank, is terribly judgmental of you. And while it's fine to be judgmental of teabaggers and hipsters in skinny jeans and books based on their covers, let us not judge food before we've tasted it, shall we, bitches?

Or shall we?

A confession: I judged this soup as soon as I read the recipe. For starters, I'd just spent nearly a week eating soup no. 1, which is so tasty I was sure this one couldn't compare. And the spring vegetable featured in this soup is escarole, which is basically bitter lettuce,

whereas the spring vegetable in soup no. 1 is asparagus, which is basically delicious. Also, the asparagus soup contains pancetta, and it's pretty hard to top pancetta, unless you are topping it with bacon, and there is no bacon in soup no. 2.

But it turns out soup no. 2 has its own secret weapon: toasted garlic.

And it turns out the escarole sweetens as it cooks, so the finished dish isn't full of bitter lettuce, it's swimming with tender ribbons of greens. This soup's only flaw may actually be aesthetic—the escarole is delicious after it's been sautéed with the onions and braised in the broth, but its color turns to army green.

Overall, soups no. 1 and 2 are very similar: broth is host to some rice, a spring vegetable, and a secret weapon, and both soups are enhanced by a good dose of Parmesan. And they're both easily modified, either to look more like each other, or something else entirely: use pancetta here; enhance the asparagus soup with toasted garlic; substitute the white for brown rice; add bacon. No, seriously: Why not add some bacon?

Escarole Soup With Rice
From the New York Times

¼ cup (4 tablespoons) extra virgin olive oil
3 or 4 cloves garlic, finely minced, plus 4 or 5 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
½ cup chopped onions [I used one medium yellow onion.]
4 cups coarsely chopped escarole (about one head) [my head of escarole yielded more than 4 cups, closer to 6 or 8, so I upped the quantities of everything else.]

6 cups chicken or vegetable stock, or water [I used a combination of Imagine No-Chicken Broth and my favorite bouillon, for a total of about 8 or 9 cups]
¼ cup short-grain white rice, like arborio [I closer to ½ cup of arborio, but I think any white rice would do.]
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese

1. Put 2 tablespoons oil in a large, deep saucepan over medium heat. When oil is hot, add minced garlic and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add onions and continue to cook, stirring frequently, until softened, about 5 more minutes [I went closer to 10]. Add escarole and cook, tossing gently, until it begins to wilt, about another 3 minutes.

2. Add stock and rice to the pan, bring to a boil. Lower the heat, cover and cook about 20 minutes or until rice is tender.

3. Meanwhile, put remaining 2 tablespoons oil in a small skillet. When oil is hot, add sliced garlic and cook over medium-low heat until it turns golden brown and begins to crisp. Remove garlic with a slotted spoon and set aside.

4. When rice is cooked through, season soup with salt and pepper, top with a grating of Parmesan and garnish with garlic slivers. [I added plenty of Parm and ended up crumbling the garlic slivers into the soup.]

soup no. 1

2010-05-03T00:01:00.010-04:00

I recently made a couple of similar soups, both of which feature an early-spring vegetable, rice, and a secret-weapon ingredient. I'd originally planned to pit the two soups and their secret weapons against each other in a match to the death on this bl*g, but I actually really like them both, and why does everything have to be a contest all the time, anyway?

Then I thought I'd take the best of both soups and combine them into a super soup—a souper!—but I'd like full credit for having made them both and am not up for the math and Sophie's-Choice-type decisions involved in combining them. So I present to you no. 1 of 2, Asparagus, Rice, and Pancetta Soup.

[If there was in fact going to be a soup deathmatch, I think this one would win—I'm quite smitten with it, even after eating it for a week straight. It's certainly delicious and good looking enough to serve to guests, plus the flavors are more complex than soup no. 2. I love the little bits of pancetta and grains of rice in every bite, and the cheese adds an unexpected richness. But this is not a contest.]

A few notes:

1. The original recipe calls for a "small bunch of thyme, leaves only." The first time I made this soup I had the yachtsman remove the leaves from the stems of the thyme; there was a lot of complaining, because it turns out this is a very irritating job. The second time I made this the yachtsman was out of town so I had to do my own menial labor, and I was able to get about 2 tablespoons of thyme leaves before I went insane, hence the measurement in the recipe. Do what you can, as the thyme does add a nice flavor.

2. The original recipes calls for chicken stock; I used Imagine's No Chicken Broth, because though I apparently have no problem with the pig (which is, in fact, this soup's secret weapon), I'm still disturbed by poultry. Any good stock will do, but it really should be good, as it's the backbone of this dish.

3. I translated this recipe from the British, however both times I made it I forgot to measure my weighed cheese before I dumped it in the pot. Let's just say it's a lot of cheese. Maybe ¾ cup? Does that seem excessive? Could everyone just buy a scale already? The next time I make this I'll update the recipe; in the meantime, use the power of the Force or the ghost of Julia Child or whoever as your guide. But do add the cheese—the first time I made this I tasted the soup pre-cheese, and it was so good I couldn't imagine the cheese would improve on it. But it does. Just ask Yoda or Julia Child or whoever.

Asparagus, Rice, and Pancetta Soup
Adapted from My Favourite Ingredients by Skye Gyngell

2–3 tablespoons of olive oil
2 red onions, finely chopped
2 tablespoons fresh thyme (leaves only)
s&p
5 slices of pancetta, chopped into small pieces
3 garlic cloves, minced
½ cup white rice
4 cups good stock
2 cups water
~15 asparagus spears
75 g freshly grated Parmesan

1. Warm enough olive oil to cover the bottom of your Dutch oven over medium/medium-low heat. Add the onions, thyme, and a pinch of salt

and sweat for 10 minutes or until the onions are soft, sweet, and translucent.

2. Add the pancetta pieces and the garlic and cook for another 10 minutes or so, then add the rice and give everything a quick stir. Add the stock and water, and bring to a simmer. Turn the heat down to low, cover the pan, and cook until the rice is done but still chewy, ~20 minutes.

3. While the rice is cooking, prepare the asparagus. Snap off and discard the ends, then slice the stalks into short pieces. Add the asparagus to the soup and cook for 2–3 minutes until just tender. Add the parmesan and stir. Season with s&p.

buying high, selling low

2010-04-28T23:11:00.004-04:00

Things have been hectic this week here at GFD. There was the snow, obviously, which kept me busy weeping and cursing god. And I've been diligently working to re-create the Dark & Stormy I had at the Bluebird on Saturday, which has also been time consuming. I went to a cooking class on Tuesday night, where I like to think I learned to make Chinese dumplings. Plus I've been swamped with proofreading. I do have a couple of spring-vegetable soup recipes I'm excited to share with you, perhaps the last soups of the season. But tonight I recommend a Dark & Stormy.

It Was a Dark & Stormy Night
Ice
Kraken rum

Ginger beer
Lime
Candied ginger

Place ice cubes in a tall glass. Pour some Kraken rum over ice, then add plenty of fresh lime juice* (I use the juice of one lime) and ginger beer. Garnish with a slice of lime and candied ginger. Or, garnish with a slice of lime and eat handfuls of candied ginger while you weep, sip your drink, and curse god.

*Thanks to Mojie & EBids for the research & tip!

as if millions of tulips suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced

2010-04-27T14:02:00.009-04:00

It's still snowing, people.

Mojie just sent me this photo from her front yard. I will be hibernating with my éclairs until Saturday, when it's supposed to be, I kid you not, 78 degrees.

so far this morning

2010-04-27T10:28:00.007-04:00

This would be snow.

These would be a gift I just received from a neighbor.

I will not be having gruel for breakfast.

gruel for dinner

he came from the glorious kingdom

yay

the best evening of summer so far

do you remember when this was a food bl*g?

boom

guest post: jshu

poof!

sprung

cookies: they're what's for breakfast

the return of fridge porn

i'm telling you anyway

a sign of spring

please send help

extra! extra!

once upon a time

stop staring at my grapefruit

my muse has a first name, it's c-h-e-s-t-e-r

to every thing there is a season

namaste

click here

there's a nespresso machine in the apt. where we're staying

donde esta evita?

melocoton

lo siento, no habla espanol

hola, como esta?

my friend lisa

champagne wishes/caviar dreams/books

rude awakening

a few of my favorite (& least favorite) things

happy new year

the yachtsman was *mortified*

highs & lows

baby, it's cold outside

which do you want first?

sausage nightmare/dreamy kale

these thy gifts which we are about to receive

more crows, & why i love working from home

for a good time call

what i've been wanting to tell you

soon

chester was all like, "seriously, fuck fall," and i was like, "yeah, totally. rain much?"

pardon my french

silly, silly yachtsman

conquering the csa while sitting in front of the tv

conquering the csa, biblical stylee

conquering the csa, one english muffin at a time

the road to hell

there is no gruel here

guest post: SueShu

how i spent my summer vacation

boo

where i've been

please

i never thought i'd be on a boat

the yachtsman recommends

you may say it's hoarding, but i call it being prepared, like a girl scout. a girl scout who is trying to earn her merit badge in hoarding.

phew

woman on the verge

stop whatever you are doing & make this soup

guest post: lucky lady & m. labee

beautiful, edible blossoms

guest post: His Momma

renaissance literature 101: pop quiz

dog days

hot

whoopie!

guest post: my greek stepmother

where

hypothetical question

this time with pasta

workin' hard or hardly workin'?

the yachtsman recommends

rich in so many ways

last week's booty

bowling for abortions

the mark bittman minimalist club meeting minutes

they which do such things

gruel patties

the girl who never posts recipes anymore

the yachtsman was mortified