A triumph! A triumph! An absolute triumph! Okay, I'll stop babbling like a complete idiot and expound upon this great triumph of mine. My triumph...chocolate peanut butter pie. Oh yes. Oh baby. After the Tale of a Most Sad Curry, I was tired of trying new things on the cooking front and decided it was time to blow my own mind with my baking skills. I must pause here for a brief moment. I love to bake. I love it so very much. Baking is a science; a sure thing in a most unsure world! In fact, I'm going to make yogurt-cinnamon muffins as soon as I finish blabbing about my peanut-butter engulfed triumph. But I digress! Yes, I would rather bake than cook almost any day, but because I do not wish to gain 50 pounds a month, I refrain (just barely) and try to bake only once a week. Sigh. Sigh again. ANYWAY...
Once upon a time, my friend Rachel was hosting a ladies' get-together at her home, and I volunteered to bring a dessert. It is not often that I get a chance to make a super-crazy-fancy-awesome dessert, because Steve doesn't care for rich baked goods. His yearly birthday request? Rice Krispie Treats. DON'T even get me started...my baking talent just withers away, year after year...so when I get an opportunity to make a dessert or an appetizer; well, you KNOW I'm going for that dessert option! SO I wrestled with my decision on what exactly to make. Pistachio layer cake? Meh. Peach tart? Maybe. AND THEN...it hit me. A cold pie. A 1950's diner style icebox pie!! YES! It's been a scorcher of a summer after all, so something nice and cool would fit the bill nicely. And so I purchased and assembled the ingredients, and experienced a most miraculous time warp in that I was able to prepare the crust BEFORE we went to church, along with making something edible in the ol' crockpot and even getting out of the door on time. Like I said, a most miraculous time warp. All I had to do was make the filling when I got home, and you know what? It was as easy as pie. (Sorry. I simply could not resist). The only part that made me want to temporarily expire was whipping the heavy cream by hand before folding it into the peanut butter filling. I always approach whipping things by hand with the greatest of gusto, and I start whipping with the utmost enthusiasm. 2 minutes into it, I began to get a little cranky. 5 minutes into it, I am wishing to temporarily expire. Then chemistry takes over, and VIOLA!! I have a gorgeous bowl of hand-whipped cream, and once again, I love my life. I proceeded to gently, oh so gently, coax the smooth, rich, toffee-colored decadence into the cooled pie crust and smooth it until it was worthy of a cover shot for Martha Stewart Living. Or so I'd like to imagine! I carefully put the pie in the freezer, and that was that! SO easy. And the flavor!! SO incredibly rich and creamy, and not at all overly sweet. It was a perfect balance of sweet and savory, and had a delicious, peanutty, slightly salty taste. But I must warn you. This pie should come with a "Parental Advisory- DO NOT OVERINDULGE" label. Because, my dear friends, that is exactly what I did, and I was not a very happy camper that night. So rich, so very rich...be careful. Be very careful. Here's the link:
http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/chocolate-peanut-butter-pie
Despite my slightly unhappy ending with this pie, I am already dreaming of making it and indulging in it again...just not overindulging. Moral: A change of pace is good, and yes; you CAN have too much of a good thing. :) Happy baking!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
On Sundays and a most sad Vegetable Curry
Today is one of those days when I feel as though everything is going in fast motion, and I am just a sad little jumble of atoms and molecules, hanging on for dear life, and screaming, "WHOA, THERE!!! HANG ON A SECOND, PEOPLE!!!" Why I feel this way; I really can't say. I'm going to chalk it up to the fact that it's Sunday, and Sunday has this magical way of flying away from me at an incredibly high rate of speed. Sundays used to be a most wonderful day for me. Wake up, get ready for church, have a leisurely breakfast with my Steve-O, which almost always consisted of scrambled eggs with the teensiest amount of cheddar cheese snuck in (Steve hates cheese in his eggs, but I can't eat scrambled eggs without it- THANKS, DAD.), brew myself a cup of tea, most likely Plantation Mint or Constant Comment (Hey- I get adventurous with my tea in the afternoon, so no rude comments about my uninspired choices for my morning fix. I need stability in the morning, not some fly-by-night troubadour who's going to leave me barefoot and pregnant- hypothetically speaking, of course), toast (dry for Steve, cream cheese and raspberry jam for me), and just enjoy some major quality time in our sweet little haven of an apartment, and later on, our lovely home. Ahhh. Yes. Those were the days. We'd stroll out to the car, never in a hurry or rushed in the slightest. We'd drive to church and arrive with at least ten minutes to spare. We'd sit in the pew and look the through the bulletin together, and comment to each other on various things we thought were worth commenting on. Hymns, sermon, then BOOM, off to our weekly Sunday lunch of Chipotle. Let me just stop here for a moment. I miss those weekly Sunday lunches at Chipotle more than I could even begin to express. We were so very spoiled back then. Then we'd drive home, all full of chatter. AND THEN...The Weekly Sunday Afternoon Nap. Hmm. Wait a minute. I'm not so sure now whether I miss the weekly Chipotle more or the Nap. Oh, well. So, yes; my Sundays used to be the highlight of my week. AND THEN...*fully diminished seventh chord ensues* something happened. Something miraculous. Something wonderful. Something terrifying. Something glorious. Something stressful. Something life-changing. Yep. You guessed it. We became PARENTS!! Yes. We have the great privilege of being parents to three marvelous and delightful boys, and it has been a learning experience, to say the VERY least. Although I loved being a new mommy, and I was (and still am) madly in love with my first-born son, the shift in the Sunday Dynamic was almost more than I could bear for a while. First, there was no sleeping in. EVER. I now have completely embraced this fact of my life as a mother; this cold, hard, fact that I will not sleep in for the next 25 years, and the world will somehow magically not end because Mary Johnson didn't catch a few extra zzzz's. 'I'll sleep when I'm dead' has become my motto, but it hasn't always been this way for me. Besides the sleep factor, there was the whole "packing for baby" issue. How on earth could one tiny being encompass such a extraordinary need for such a ridiculous amount of...of...STUFF????? Even if I packed the diaper bag the night before, I still seemed to have to throw in about 34 extra things before we could leave for church. Or anywhere, for that matter. And another thing...why is a diaper bag called a "diaper bag" when diapers take up the smallest percentage of space in said diaper bag?? This is something I will most likely never understand. SO...by the time I nursed David at 6:00 am, played with him for a little while, laid him down for his early morning nap at 7:00, made a sad attempt at beautifying myself for the day, made ANOTHER sad attempt at making something in the crockpot that wouldn't taste like a giant orb of nothingness, nursed David at 9:00, left for church at 10:00 (if we were lucky), got ourselves situated in our usual pew, left the service halfway through to nurse again, stumble back into the service in time to sing the final hymn, gather all of our artillery and head back to the van, drove home with scant conversation, stumbled into the house for a stodgy glob of what were hoping was sustenance of some sort *pant pant pant* , I was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. SO exhausted. I would sometimes lay on the couch and marvel at how exhausted I was- I didn't know it was possible to be so exhausted and not die from it!! So naturally, my Sunday experience began to sour, and pretty quickly, I might add. I began...to loathe Sundays. Yes. I know. How horrible is that? Nevertheless, Sundays were no longer the idyllic island of relaxation that they used to be, and I had some massive adjusting to do. So adjust I did. The days of weekly visits to Chipotle were over, for financial and practical reasons. Okay. Fine. So what?? That's what a crockpot is for, right? And while we're talking about crockpots, let me just say this: I am quite sure Crockpots were invented for Sundays. For lunch after church, to be precise. Okay, now that I've got that off my chest, back to Sundays. Thus began a long couple of years of experimenting with my crockpot to make a lunch that didn't taste like a giant orb of nothingness. It was NOT easy, my friends. But eventually, after much trial and error (mostly error), I garnered a small handful of what we now refer to as "Regulars"; crockpot dishes that my crew and myself have deemed worthy to be consumed on a once-a-month basis. And our top favorite "Regular" is a little something called "Lean Cowboy Beans", or, as I tell the boys, "Sweet Beans". "Sweet Beans" are a triumph each and every time. Super-comfort food, whether you need to be comforted or not!! And even if you don't think you need comforting, once you taste these yummy little beanies, you will realize how desperately you are in need of comfort, and you'll tuck those bad boys in like there's no tomorrow. Perhaps I exaggerate slightly. Perhaps not! At any rate, here's the recipe and my usual useless comments to go along with it:
Lean Cowboy Beans adapted from "Fix it And Forget It Lightly"
1 lb. ground turkey
16 oz. can baked beans, undrained
16 oz. can kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1/2 c. brown sugar
1 c. ketchup
2 tblsp. dry mustard
1/4 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cider vinegar
1) Brown meat.
2) Combine all ingredients in a crockpot sprayed with nonstick cooking spray.
3) Cover; cook on high for 1-2 hours.
AND THAT'S IT!!!!!!
Now isn't that easy?? I'm usually not much of a "can of this, can of that" gal, but this is indispensible to our Sunday survival, and it certainly couldn't hurt to give this a try. I have made a few changes from the original recipe, which I found to be a bit too sweet. SO I simply added a bit less sugar and cider vinegar (shhhhh...don't tell Steve!!!). So there you have it. A tried-and-true crockpot recipe that's actually healthy and doesn't taste like a giant orb of nothingness. If this won't save your Sundays, well, then nothing will. And now...
SPEAKING OF GIANT ORBS OF NOTHINGNESS...
I shall now commence with a tale of a Most Sad Curry. As I mentioned on my previous post, I was going to attempt a Vegetable and Chickpea curry in my crockpot. So I did. I will cut to the chase. IT WAS AWFUL. I won't bother devoting a great deal of space to this sad tale, since it really was terrible, but yes. It was the epitome of a giant orb of nothingness, and after a few bites, we told the boys to stop eating, and then Steve went out and got a pizza. It was quite strange taking a bite of food, and yet not really tasting anything except a starchy aftertaste. YUCK. The only positive thing I can say about it is that is was a delightful little jumble of colorful veggies BEFORE it started cooking down. And then it crashed. And burned. And that's all I have to say about that.
What is the point of this massive rambling of Sundays, crockpots, exhaustion, and Sad Currys?? I'm actually not quite sure, other than this: Life is full of massive adjustments. Embrace them as you would an adventure, and don't be afraid to acquire new skills. Like making some WICKED good beans in your most-likely-majorly-underused-and-darkhorse-of-a crockpot!! Go forth... and give the darkhorse a try. :)
1 lb. ground turkey
16 oz. can baked beans, undrained
16 oz. can kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1/2 c. brown sugar
1 c. ketchup
2 tblsp. dry mustard
1/4 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cider vinegar
1) Brown meat.
2) Combine all ingredients in a crockpot sprayed with nonstick cooking spray.
3) Cover; cook on high for 1-2 hours.
AND THAT'S IT!!!!!!
Now isn't that easy?? I'm usually not much of a "can of this, can of that" gal, but this is indispensible to our Sunday survival, and it certainly couldn't hurt to give this a try. I have made a few changes from the original recipe, which I found to be a bit too sweet. SO I simply added a bit less sugar and cider vinegar (shhhhh...don't tell Steve!!!). So there you have it. A tried-and-true crockpot recipe that's actually healthy and doesn't taste like a giant orb of nothingness. If this won't save your Sundays, well, then nothing will. And now...
SPEAKING OF GIANT ORBS OF NOTHINGNESS...
I shall now commence with a tale of a Most Sad Curry. As I mentioned on my previous post, I was going to attempt a Vegetable and Chickpea curry in my crockpot. So I did. I will cut to the chase. IT WAS AWFUL. I won't bother devoting a great deal of space to this sad tale, since it really was terrible, but yes. It was the epitome of a giant orb of nothingness, and after a few bites, we told the boys to stop eating, and then Steve went out and got a pizza. It was quite strange taking a bite of food, and yet not really tasting anything except a starchy aftertaste. YUCK. The only positive thing I can say about it is that is was a delightful little jumble of colorful veggies BEFORE it started cooking down. And then it crashed. And burned. And that's all I have to say about that.
What is the point of this massive rambling of Sundays, crockpots, exhaustion, and Sad Currys?? I'm actually not quite sure, other than this: Life is full of massive adjustments. Embrace them as you would an adventure, and don't be afraid to acquire new skills. Like making some WICKED good beans in your most-likely-majorly-underused-and-darkhorse-of-a crockpot!! Go forth... and give the darkhorse a try. :)
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Back in The Saddle Again...
I'm back!! I had a beautiful baby boy, and we named him Lucas Nathan. Lucas because, well, I just like the name Lucas, and Nathan for my older (and only) brother. He is a wonderful, marvelous baby (but aren't they all??), and I am once again hopelessly and irrevocably in love. Ahhhh. :) The purpose of this particular blog entry is simply to get back into the mode of blogging, so forgive me as I stray from my usual verbose format and simply make a list of what shall be known as "Randoms". And now, ladies and gentlemen (you know who you are), here are 17 random thoughts that have been occupying my cranial space for the last couple of days!! *trumpet fanfare ensues*
17 "Randoms"
1. Tomorrow I shall attempt a new recipe in my crockpot! It is a Vegetable Curry that I found in a "Fitness" magazine form the library. I am a bit leery of the combination of curry and coconut milk in the crockpot, but we'll give her a whirl, and I'll post about how epic of a failure/success it turns out to be.
2. Is it wrong that I really, really like the smell of my scrapbooking glue?
3. I want to go to Cleveland right now. Namely, Shaker Heights.
4. I've discovered I need to make a dessert on an average of about every week and a half, based upon personal cravings.
5. I have laundry that has needed to be folded for 3 days now. Tonight, it's on!
6. TV has never been so awful.
7. If I could choose one superpower, I would fly.
8. I bought mint-chocolate roasted almonds at the grocery store today, and the thought of eating them is frankly kind of distracting me right now.
9. I can't wait to start running again on Thursday.
10. Elephant scrapbooking paper or polka dots?
11. Ratatouille must be made before summer's bounty of fresh produce becomes a fleeting memory.
12. I loath my hair, but not my haircut.
13. Steve needs to share his Reese's Pieces with me.
14. I do not care for sideburns.
15. I find marionette puppets so incredibly disturbing; I can't even begin to express it. This most likely stems from watching too many "Twilight Zone" episodes with my dad.
16. Why do I find 3 children easier than 2? It's inexplicable.
17. And last of all...
Onward with more culinary adventures!! Stay tuned for the continuation of "The Epic Adventures of Skarymop & Co."!!! :)
17 "Randoms"
1. Tomorrow I shall attempt a new recipe in my crockpot! It is a Vegetable Curry that I found in a "Fitness" magazine form the library. I am a bit leery of the combination of curry and coconut milk in the crockpot, but we'll give her a whirl, and I'll post about how epic of a failure/success it turns out to be.
2. Is it wrong that I really, really like the smell of my scrapbooking glue?
3. I want to go to Cleveland right now. Namely, Shaker Heights.
4. I've discovered I need to make a dessert on an average of about every week and a half, based upon personal cravings.
5. I have laundry that has needed to be folded for 3 days now. Tonight, it's on!
6. TV has never been so awful.
7. If I could choose one superpower, I would fly.
8. I bought mint-chocolate roasted almonds at the grocery store today, and the thought of eating them is frankly kind of distracting me right now.
9. I can't wait to start running again on Thursday.
10. Elephant scrapbooking paper or polka dots?
11. Ratatouille must be made before summer's bounty of fresh produce becomes a fleeting memory.
12. I loath my hair, but not my haircut.
13. Steve needs to share his Reese's Pieces with me.
14. I do not care for sideburns.
15. I find marionette puppets so incredibly disturbing; I can't even begin to express it. This most likely stems from watching too many "Twilight Zone" episodes with my dad.
16. Why do I find 3 children easier than 2? It's inexplicable.
17. And last of all...
Onward with more culinary adventures!! Stay tuned for the continuation of "The Epic Adventures of Skarymop & Co."!!! :)
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
On lemons, summertime, and a brief hiatus
My mind is filled to the brim tonight; I can barely even focus enough to write, which for me, is most bizarre, seeing as I've made it one of my missions in life to multitask until my arms fall off or my hair falls out, whichever may come first. HOWEVER; I do believe I am allowed a measure of grace in this instance, because as of sometime tomorrow, I shall become a mommy for the third time. YAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYY!!! As I write this, I am officially one week overdue, and, well, let's just say this hasn't been the peachiest of pregnancies, so when I say,"Stick a fork in me; I'm done," you know that I am in earnest. I've pretty much gotten over my disappointment in my body and its severe lack of instinct in the due date department, so now I am just super-stoked about Baby and the fact that I am nearly done being pregnant. YESSSSS. Now that I have shared those tidbits of information, I must now make haste and finish this entry for several reasons:
1) I'm on my husband's laptop, so I've got about a 20-minute window of time until our wireless decides it doesn't like me anymore and stops working.
2) Hmmm. I guess that's my most pressing reason. ONWARD!!!
So let's talk about summertime. And lemons. And why they are synonymous to me. For some inexplicable reason (as most of my food associations are, well, inexplicable), I have always become overwhelmed with the urge to indulge in the most lemony of desserts once the weather warms to a most comfortable mid-70's. Enough of heavy pies and dense cakes. I want brightness of flavor to come marching onto my palate with all the boldness of a LION. RAWR!! *ahem* For some time, a certain lemon bar recipe has tempted me, and finally, on Sunday, I decided that since I was two days overdue with no immediate respite in sight, I might as well have one last culinary hurrah while it was reasonable. And so I made this:
http://http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/favorite-lemon-squares
They are wonderful. And if you understand my love for lemony indulgences in warm weather, well, you will just have to try making these some time. It was quite thrilling grating 1.5 sticks of frozen butter with my box grater- a new adventure for me! Trust me, you want to try these.
And now...another item of business. Due to the fact that I am having a child tomorrow, I shall be taking a small hiatus from this here blog. My problem is this: it's not that I don't like to cook after I have a child. In fact, it is one of my greatest stress-busters, as I have said before. But alas, people insist upon showering us with great food during the first few weeks after Baby comes, and I simply have no reason whatsoever to exert myself in any culinary way, shape, or form. Hmmm. Perhaps I'll try more frivolous things, like this double-layer chocolate cake I've had my eye on for a while...HA!! I'll try to restrain myself and do a little something called, "REST". :) Keep cooking and baking...and until I'm really, truly ready, I shall content myself with simply dreaming of that double-layer chocolate cake.
1) I'm on my husband's laptop, so I've got about a 20-minute window of time until our wireless decides it doesn't like me anymore and stops working.
2) Hmmm. I guess that's my most pressing reason. ONWARD!!!
So let's talk about summertime. And lemons. And why they are synonymous to me. For some inexplicable reason (as most of my food associations are, well, inexplicable), I have always become overwhelmed with the urge to indulge in the most lemony of desserts once the weather warms to a most comfortable mid-70's. Enough of heavy pies and dense cakes. I want brightness of flavor to come marching onto my palate with all the boldness of a LION. RAWR!! *ahem* For some time, a certain lemon bar recipe has tempted me, and finally, on Sunday, I decided that since I was two days overdue with no immediate respite in sight, I might as well have one last culinary hurrah while it was reasonable. And so I made this:
http://http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/favorite-lemon-squares
They are wonderful. And if you understand my love for lemony indulgences in warm weather, well, you will just have to try making these some time. It was quite thrilling grating 1.5 sticks of frozen butter with my box grater- a new adventure for me! Trust me, you want to try these.
And now...another item of business. Due to the fact that I am having a child tomorrow, I shall be taking a small hiatus from this here blog. My problem is this: it's not that I don't like to cook after I have a child. In fact, it is one of my greatest stress-busters, as I have said before. But alas, people insist upon showering us with great food during the first few weeks after Baby comes, and I simply have no reason whatsoever to exert myself in any culinary way, shape, or form. Hmmm. Perhaps I'll try more frivolous things, like this double-layer chocolate cake I've had my eye on for a while...HA!! I'll try to restrain myself and do a little something called, "REST". :) Keep cooking and baking...and until I'm really, truly ready, I shall content myself with simply dreaming of that double-layer chocolate cake.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
On confessions, redemption, and great ribs
I promised to report back on my attempt at homemade barbeque sauce, and even though this is ridiculously tardy, a promise is a promise, and I am a woman of my word.
Verdict: The Sauce is STILL the Boss. I MUST CONFESS, I hate having to eat a massive slice of humble pie on my blog. As the saying goes, confession is good for the soul and bad for the reputation. Or something. It's much more embarassing than I thought it would be, but I must be honest and man up. Or woman up. So here's my little tale of woe about mediocre pulled pork sandwiches and just plain nasty homemade barbeque sauce:
It was a beautiful day. The kind where you just knew that everything you set your hand to would be a glowing, vibrant, smashing success with no glitches whatsoever. At least, that was my general vibe as I swaggered into the kitchen that morning with a massive 7 lb. pork shoulder roast. I prepared the rub. Check. Rub adminstered to the dead pig. Check. Wrapped in plastic wrap to self-marinate all day. Check. Dashed off to handbell practice (with the obligatory once-a-week Starbucks stop on the way, of course). Check. Dashed home, removed plastic wrap, and stuck the roast into the oven. Check. Everything was going swimmingly. A little TOO swimmingly. The roast was supposed to take at least 6 hours to cook. Because I have an evil oven on steroids, it appeared we were going to eat dinner approximately 2.5 hours earlier than usual that evening. No biggie, I told myself. I'll just start the barbeque sauce now!! This was it, folks. The moment I had been waiting for all week!! I assembled all of the ingredients. It was time for some inspiration- yes! The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars was now blasting in my kitchen (David Bowie, I will always love you). Putting the sauce together was not difficult, even though the recipe totally LIED when it said I only needed a medium saucepan. After I finally pulled out the largest pot I own, I started to become a little bit...well, nervous. The roast was starting to smell a little more burnt as I worked the get the stupid sauce to simmer. As "Lady Stardust" blared in my ears, I cranked up the heat to high, pulled the roast out of the oven, and breathed a sigh of relief. The roast looked AWESOME, smelled great, and needed to sit a good 20 minutes before I could begin the process of "pulling". SO I fussed over the sauce for a few more minutes, and had a most disheartening epiphany: This was NOT the sauce I had been dreaming about. Not even close. It was not tangy-sweet; heck, it wasn't even close to sweet. It was too thin. And most importantly...IT DID NOT PASS THE NOSTRIL-TINGLING TEST!! I was not a happy camper at that point. Things were not looking good. All I had was an entire dutch oven filled with some fancy ketchup, and an upstart roast that just HAD to cook fast. Well, being the stubborn woman that I am, I was NOT to be daunted! Fine. So the sauce was just flat-out gross. Maybe it would magically transform upon my palate after it was combined with the pork! Yes! OF course. So, with great vigor, strength, and enthusiasm (and a little more David Bowie), I began the arduous process of what is known as "pulling" meat. I must pause here for a moment. What can truly be said about pulling meat? Allow me to enlighten you. PAY SOMEONE ELSE TO DO IT. That is all you need to know. Now, I thrive on making life as complicated as possible for myself; in fact, I love the aspects about my life that make other people run away screaming, "I would NEVER do that!!" (examples: cloth diapers, homemade baby food, and no cable TV. It's the TV part that usually gets 'em). So for me to make up my mind to never, ever, EVER attempt something of a culinary nature ever again, well; you just know it had to be AWFUL. Now, I must give credit where credit is due. The pork itself was delicious! And tender. And oh-so-flavorful. It truly was a great roast. Naturally, I went right ahead and destroyed it by adding the barbeque sauce, which was smugly simmering in the most mocking way as I poured it onto the shredded meat (1.5 hours of pulling, just in case you were wondering). Well, dinner totally stunk. The kids would have no part of the pork sandwiches after just one bite. Steve made a heroic effort. I couldn't even finish mine. I think we nuked some hotdogs for dinner. I actually can't remember. Or perhaps I just blocked it from my mind. At any rate, there is no need to prolong this confession any longer than necessary, especially since it's already too long. The one nice thing about confessions is that afterwards, there's usually a good story of redemption just around the corner. And that, my friends, is precisely where I intend to lead you.
So after my domestic disaster, I laid low for a few days and stuck with some basics. Bean and Cheese Burritos. Pasta and Texas Toast. Stir-fry. You get the idea. AND THEN...the day before Mother's Day, Steve turned to me during breakfast clean-up and said,"I'm going to make you ribs for Mother's Day." Just like that. I was slightly hesitant at first. Although we have long since mastered the art of ribbing, it is, and always will be, a most messy affair, and I wasn't quite sure I was up for the extreme mess only a week after I had my crash-and-burn session with the pulled pork. But after Steve literally BEGGED me, I finally gave in (after he assured me that he would clean up every single thing he touched during the prep process). So after a HORRIBLE Mother's Day lunch at Panera Bread, which culminated in both boys squirting nearly their entire yogurt tubes on themselves AND the floor and one child telling me he hated me, Steve set off for the butcher shop for some fresh baby-back ribs. I've got this thing about baby-back ribs: If you're going to spend that kind of money on meat, make it count. Go to a butcher. Get it fresh. Not this "Fresh-from-frozen" garbage. Anyway, after toodling around online for a few minutes to find just the right recipe for a rib rub (hee hee- that sounds hilarious), Steve went to work in the kitchen. The kids were napping, and so was I. I awoke to the most delightful aroma-isn't that one of the greatest sensory delights known to man?? Waking up to the delectable scent of two slabs of baby-back ribs (with a Kansas City rib rub) slowly cooking in the oven...mmm. Perfection. It was time. Steve fired up the grill, I steamed some broccoli and poured potato chips into a bowl for some sad excuses for side dishes, and the boys played happily in the yard while Daddy grilled and somehow managed not to mutilate each other. During the last 10 minutes of grilling, "The Sauce" came out. Let me just say this: I am more devoted to "The Sauce" than I ever have been. In the future, it's going to take alot more than a few longings for North Carolina to tempt me to try another homemade barbeque sauce. And that's for sure. Back to the grill! Steve proceeded to generously slather The Sauce (how else does one slather, other than generously??) all over the ribbies, and then it was show time. Well then. I have just one word to describe our dinner that night:
BLISS.
All was restored at that point. I no longer felt like an inept mother. We all ate until we could eat no more, and then I had just one more rib. I felt I could move past my culinary failures of the week before, and all because of the redemptive nature of our Mother's Day dinner. It's the small things, my friends. It's ALWAYS the small things. And although there's something sticky under my chair right now, and I am so pregnant that I can barely move, I think there's something to be said for attempts to redeem a lousy situation. Here's to never giving up trying to make things better, and here's a few recipes that you probably can't live without:
Ribs- recipe from my Mom, Deborah Skop
1 slab of fresh baby-back ribs
I can of sauerkraut
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Sweet Baby Ray's Original Barbeque Sauce
-Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spread sauerkraut in a 9x13 pan; place ribs on top. Season generously with salt and pepper, place in oven, and bake for 1 hour. Take ribs out of oven, then grill for 15 minutes (medium heat). During the last 10 minutes, reduce heat slightly, and generously slather barbeque sauce onto ribs, and grill until hot and bubbly. Serve, and prepare to bask in many compliments. You may serve the sauerkraut as a side dish, or (as I do) be nice and wasteful and toss it. It's really more of a conduit for moist ribs more than anything else.
AND...
Ay, there's the rub...
http://bbq.about.com/od/rubrecipes/r/bl91211a.htm
A word of caution: DO NOT apply the entire rub to the ribs!! It will be chalky in texture. You will use about half the rub for two slabs of ribs. You may refrigerate the remaining rub for one month. Can great ribs really be so simple? Yes. The best and most beautiful things are always simple. :)
Verdict: The Sauce is STILL the Boss. I MUST CONFESS, I hate having to eat a massive slice of humble pie on my blog. As the saying goes, confession is good for the soul and bad for the reputation. Or something. It's much more embarassing than I thought it would be, but I must be honest and man up. Or woman up. So here's my little tale of woe about mediocre pulled pork sandwiches and just plain nasty homemade barbeque sauce:
It was a beautiful day. The kind where you just knew that everything you set your hand to would be a glowing, vibrant, smashing success with no glitches whatsoever. At least, that was my general vibe as I swaggered into the kitchen that morning with a massive 7 lb. pork shoulder roast. I prepared the rub. Check. Rub adminstered to the dead pig. Check. Wrapped in plastic wrap to self-marinate all day. Check. Dashed off to handbell practice (with the obligatory once-a-week Starbucks stop on the way, of course). Check. Dashed home, removed plastic wrap, and stuck the roast into the oven. Check. Everything was going swimmingly. A little TOO swimmingly. The roast was supposed to take at least 6 hours to cook. Because I have an evil oven on steroids, it appeared we were going to eat dinner approximately 2.5 hours earlier than usual that evening. No biggie, I told myself. I'll just start the barbeque sauce now!! This was it, folks. The moment I had been waiting for all week!! I assembled all of the ingredients. It was time for some inspiration- yes! The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars was now blasting in my kitchen (David Bowie, I will always love you). Putting the sauce together was not difficult, even though the recipe totally LIED when it said I only needed a medium saucepan. After I finally pulled out the largest pot I own, I started to become a little bit...well, nervous. The roast was starting to smell a little more burnt as I worked the get the stupid sauce to simmer. As "Lady Stardust" blared in my ears, I cranked up the heat to high, pulled the roast out of the oven, and breathed a sigh of relief. The roast looked AWESOME, smelled great, and needed to sit a good 20 minutes before I could begin the process of "pulling". SO I fussed over the sauce for a few more minutes, and had a most disheartening epiphany: This was NOT the sauce I had been dreaming about. Not even close. It was not tangy-sweet; heck, it wasn't even close to sweet. It was too thin. And most importantly...IT DID NOT PASS THE NOSTRIL-TINGLING TEST!! I was not a happy camper at that point. Things were not looking good. All I had was an entire dutch oven filled with some fancy ketchup, and an upstart roast that just HAD to cook fast. Well, being the stubborn woman that I am, I was NOT to be daunted! Fine. So the sauce was just flat-out gross. Maybe it would magically transform upon my palate after it was combined with the pork! Yes! OF course. So, with great vigor, strength, and enthusiasm (and a little more David Bowie), I began the arduous process of what is known as "pulling" meat. I must pause here for a moment. What can truly be said about pulling meat? Allow me to enlighten you. PAY SOMEONE ELSE TO DO IT. That is all you need to know. Now, I thrive on making life as complicated as possible for myself; in fact, I love the aspects about my life that make other people run away screaming, "I would NEVER do that!!" (examples: cloth diapers, homemade baby food, and no cable TV. It's the TV part that usually gets 'em). So for me to make up my mind to never, ever, EVER attempt something of a culinary nature ever again, well; you just know it had to be AWFUL. Now, I must give credit where credit is due. The pork itself was delicious! And tender. And oh-so-flavorful. It truly was a great roast. Naturally, I went right ahead and destroyed it by adding the barbeque sauce, which was smugly simmering in the most mocking way as I poured it onto the shredded meat (1.5 hours of pulling, just in case you were wondering). Well, dinner totally stunk. The kids would have no part of the pork sandwiches after just one bite. Steve made a heroic effort. I couldn't even finish mine. I think we nuked some hotdogs for dinner. I actually can't remember. Or perhaps I just blocked it from my mind. At any rate, there is no need to prolong this confession any longer than necessary, especially since it's already too long. The one nice thing about confessions is that afterwards, there's usually a good story of redemption just around the corner. And that, my friends, is precisely where I intend to lead you.
So after my domestic disaster, I laid low for a few days and stuck with some basics. Bean and Cheese Burritos. Pasta and Texas Toast. Stir-fry. You get the idea. AND THEN...the day before Mother's Day, Steve turned to me during breakfast clean-up and said,"I'm going to make you ribs for Mother's Day." Just like that. I was slightly hesitant at first. Although we have long since mastered the art of ribbing, it is, and always will be, a most messy affair, and I wasn't quite sure I was up for the extreme mess only a week after I had my crash-and-burn session with the pulled pork. But after Steve literally BEGGED me, I finally gave in (after he assured me that he would clean up every single thing he touched during the prep process). So after a HORRIBLE Mother's Day lunch at Panera Bread, which culminated in both boys squirting nearly their entire yogurt tubes on themselves AND the floor and one child telling me he hated me, Steve set off for the butcher shop for some fresh baby-back ribs. I've got this thing about baby-back ribs: If you're going to spend that kind of money on meat, make it count. Go to a butcher. Get it fresh. Not this "Fresh-from-frozen" garbage. Anyway, after toodling around online for a few minutes to find just the right recipe for a rib rub (hee hee- that sounds hilarious), Steve went to work in the kitchen. The kids were napping, and so was I. I awoke to the most delightful aroma-isn't that one of the greatest sensory delights known to man?? Waking up to the delectable scent of two slabs of baby-back ribs (with a Kansas City rib rub) slowly cooking in the oven...mmm. Perfection. It was time. Steve fired up the grill, I steamed some broccoli and poured potato chips into a bowl for some sad excuses for side dishes, and the boys played happily in the yard while Daddy grilled and somehow managed not to mutilate each other. During the last 10 minutes of grilling, "The Sauce" came out. Let me just say this: I am more devoted to "The Sauce" than I ever have been. In the future, it's going to take alot more than a few longings for North Carolina to tempt me to try another homemade barbeque sauce. And that's for sure. Back to the grill! Steve proceeded to generously slather The Sauce (how else does one slather, other than generously??) all over the ribbies, and then it was show time. Well then. I have just one word to describe our dinner that night:
BLISS.
All was restored at that point. I no longer felt like an inept mother. We all ate until we could eat no more, and then I had just one more rib. I felt I could move past my culinary failures of the week before, and all because of the redemptive nature of our Mother's Day dinner. It's the small things, my friends. It's ALWAYS the small things. And although there's something sticky under my chair right now, and I am so pregnant that I can barely move, I think there's something to be said for attempts to redeem a lousy situation. Here's to never giving up trying to make things better, and here's a few recipes that you probably can't live without:
Ribs- recipe from my Mom, Deborah Skop
1 slab of fresh baby-back ribs
I can of sauerkraut
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Sweet Baby Ray's Original Barbeque Sauce
-Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spread sauerkraut in a 9x13 pan; place ribs on top. Season generously with salt and pepper, place in oven, and bake for 1 hour. Take ribs out of oven, then grill for 15 minutes (medium heat). During the last 10 minutes, reduce heat slightly, and generously slather barbeque sauce onto ribs, and grill until hot and bubbly. Serve, and prepare to bask in many compliments. You may serve the sauerkraut as a side dish, or (as I do) be nice and wasteful and toss it. It's really more of a conduit for moist ribs more than anything else.
AND...
Ay, there's the rub...
http://bbq.about.com/od/rubrecipes/r/bl91211a.htm
A word of caution: DO NOT apply the entire rub to the ribs!! It will be chalky in texture. You will use about half the rub for two slabs of ribs. You may refrigerate the remaining rub for one month. Can great ribs really be so simple? Yes. The best and most beautiful things are always simple. :)
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
On contentment and barbeque sauce
I must warn all readers up front- I'm not exactly what you'd call "inspired" tonight. Nevertheless, I shall try and make a go of it.
Today has been hard because I don't feel very well physically.
Today has been hard because I always feel a wee bit depressed when the weather is gloomy.
BUT MOSTLY...today has been hard because I am struggling with a little thing called "CONTENTMENT".
I have tried time and time again to "bloom where I am planted", and thanks to God's grace, patience, and everlasting love for me, I feel as though I have come a looooooooong way in that regard. I am now at the point in my life where I can accept the fact that I just might live in Kenosha for the rest of my life, and it wouldn't be an utter disaster. But every once in a while, I get bit awfully hard by the travel bug, which leads to getting bit by the curiosity bug, which leads to hours of poking around on the internet ( I prefer to call it "research"), trying yet again to find that "perfect" place for us to magically relocate to. Well, after the fruitless hours have been spent, I inevitably crash into a severe funk when once again, I am enveloped with an overwhelming feeling of A) having wasted my precious time, and B) being completely, hopelessly, and utterly TRAPPED. Now, Mom; calm down, I love to make it sound so much worse than it really is. But yes; I do feel quite blue today. I am also WAY overdue for a date with my husband, but that's beside the point. Kind of. ANYWAY. Tonight I want to write about one place that continually calls me back...the land of pristine sweet tea...gorgeously green mountains...the best fried chicken I've ever had (besides my dad's)...wonderfully warm weather...and barbeque sauce. Sumptuously cider-y vinegar-y barbeque sauce, flowing in a dazzling mess down my chin, enveloping me in its sweet, tangy, and simply intoxicating aroma, sending that lovely tingly feeling throughout my entire nasal passages (too much?)... Yes, my friend; I am speaking of the one and only Carolina-style barbeque sauce. North Carolina, to be precise. I love North Carolina. I would move there tomorrow. It's as simple as that. However, due to a little thing called "Life", the Carolina dream is going to have to wait for a little while, but that's okay. More time to "research"!!! HA! *ahem*
Anyway...after procrastinating for many years, I have decided to try my hand at homemade North Carolina-style barbeque sauce. I have one (and only one!!) reason for my seemingly nonsensical procrastination:
1) I have been, since childhood, severely and irrevocably in love with Sweet Baby Ray's Original Barbeque Sauce. "The Sauce is The Boss" slogan emblazoned across the back of the bottle is no falsehood. I have never really had much of a desire to try anything else, so I figured, heck; why fix it if it ain't broke???
And that's really the only reason. Oh, believe me; I have read through many, many homemade barbeque sauce recipes, only to wonder to myself,"Could it really possibly be even one iota better than "The Sauce"? I highly doubt it." But lately I have been finding myself longing...longing...for something to remind me and bring me back to my beloved old North Carolina. And since I cannot afford to take three vacations in one year, I shall make do with an honest attempt at something culinary (naturally!!) to bring me back to the land of nostril-tingling barbeque sauce. However, I will not be able to attempt this until the weekend, so ya'll are just gonna have to WAIT for a report back on whether I experience triumph, or agonizing defeat. Until then, here's a delightful recipe for some superb burgers starring "The Sauce" as the star ingredient:
Mary's Splendid Burgers
-Makes 3 big 'uns.
1 lb. ground chuck
2/3 c. Sweet Baby Ray's Original Barbeque Sauce
1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon dried minced onion
1/8 tsp. garlic powder
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
-Place chuck in a large bowl. Add the remaining ingredients, and using your hands, mix well. Do not overwork the meat. Form into three large patties, making a slight indentation in the center of each burger so as to avoid the DREADED BURGER BULGE!!! After performing bulge control, place burgers onto a platter and whisk them out to a gas grill preheated to medium high. Grill burgers for 5 minutes on one side, and DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT poke, prod, squish, touch, or tamper with the burgers in any way, shape, or form. After resisting the urge to meddle, flip burgers, then proceed to grill for 5 more minutes for a perfect medium-well burger. If you like your burgers a little more on the gross side, you may reduce grilling time to 4 minutes on each side. If you like your burgers burnt, then I'll let my sister Angela know that she has a few kindred spirits out there after all.
This recipe doubles and triples beautifully. I have sucessfully prepared these for a group of 12, and there were many compliments to the chef (just being honest!). Now go out and grill, and don't give me any of that "But it's only April!!" garbage.
And because a perfect burger needs a perfect beverage, I present to you the greatest culinary epiphany my husband Steve has ever experienced in his life:
Steve's Sublime Sweet Tea
Bring 6 cups of water to a simmer in a large saucepan. Turn off heat, then add:
4 Lipton tea bags
1 Bigelow "I Love Lemon" tea bag
-Steep for 2 minutes.
Then add:
1 Bigelow "Constant Comment" tea bag.
-Steep all 6 bags for 2 more minutes, then remove from pan. Then add:
1 tsp. no-pulp orange juice
1 1/2 c. sugar
Stir well; then pour over a standard-size pitcher filled with ice. Stir, and enjoy!
Steve has a tendency to have these kinds of epiphanies when I'm gone. This particular concoction was hatched while I was away at handbell choir practice one Saturday morning. I came home, and Steve handed me a glass of said concoction. I proceeded to drink liquid sunshine, and it filled me with all of the reminiscent delight of a lazy summer afternoon. You simply must try it. Oh, a word to the wise- remove the tea bag tags BEFORE you put them into the saucepan, and be sure to turn off the heat BEFORE placing the tea bags into the pan. There were a few charred remnants of tea bag tags on the stovetop after Steve's culinary experimentations. You can put two and two together about what happened there...
I could go on, but I simply haven't the strength! I leave you with two things:
1) Remember- I'll be reporting back about the results of my attempt at homemade barbeque sauce over the weekend!
2) Remember one of the greatest things about cooking: You may not be able to travel the world, or live in your "dream" location, but you can always bring a little bit of world into your kitchen one great recipe at a time. Be content, but always stay curious about the world around you. :)
Today has been hard because I don't feel very well physically.
Today has been hard because I always feel a wee bit depressed when the weather is gloomy.
BUT MOSTLY...today has been hard because I am struggling with a little thing called "CONTENTMENT".
I have tried time and time again to "bloom where I am planted", and thanks to God's grace, patience, and everlasting love for me, I feel as though I have come a looooooooong way in that regard. I am now at the point in my life where I can accept the fact that I just might live in Kenosha for the rest of my life, and it wouldn't be an utter disaster. But every once in a while, I get bit awfully hard by the travel bug, which leads to getting bit by the curiosity bug, which leads to hours of poking around on the internet ( I prefer to call it "research"), trying yet again to find that "perfect" place for us to magically relocate to. Well, after the fruitless hours have been spent, I inevitably crash into a severe funk when once again, I am enveloped with an overwhelming feeling of A) having wasted my precious time, and B) being completely, hopelessly, and utterly TRAPPED. Now, Mom; calm down, I love to make it sound so much worse than it really is. But yes; I do feel quite blue today. I am also WAY overdue for a date with my husband, but that's beside the point. Kind of. ANYWAY. Tonight I want to write about one place that continually calls me back...the land of pristine sweet tea...gorgeously green mountains...the best fried chicken I've ever had (besides my dad's)...wonderfully warm weather...and barbeque sauce. Sumptuously cider-y vinegar-y barbeque sauce, flowing in a dazzling mess down my chin, enveloping me in its sweet, tangy, and simply intoxicating aroma, sending that lovely tingly feeling throughout my entire nasal passages (too much?)... Yes, my friend; I am speaking of the one and only Carolina-style barbeque sauce. North Carolina, to be precise. I love North Carolina. I would move there tomorrow. It's as simple as that. However, due to a little thing called "Life", the Carolina dream is going to have to wait for a little while, but that's okay. More time to "research"!!! HA! *ahem*
Anyway...after procrastinating for many years, I have decided to try my hand at homemade North Carolina-style barbeque sauce. I have one (and only one!!) reason for my seemingly nonsensical procrastination:
1) I have been, since childhood, severely and irrevocably in love with Sweet Baby Ray's Original Barbeque Sauce. "The Sauce is The Boss" slogan emblazoned across the back of the bottle is no falsehood. I have never really had much of a desire to try anything else, so I figured, heck; why fix it if it ain't broke???
And that's really the only reason. Oh, believe me; I have read through many, many homemade barbeque sauce recipes, only to wonder to myself,"Could it really possibly be even one iota better than "The Sauce"? I highly doubt it." But lately I have been finding myself longing...longing...for something to remind me and bring me back to my beloved old North Carolina. And since I cannot afford to take three vacations in one year, I shall make do with an honest attempt at something culinary (naturally!!) to bring me back to the land of nostril-tingling barbeque sauce. However, I will not be able to attempt this until the weekend, so ya'll are just gonna have to WAIT for a report back on whether I experience triumph, or agonizing defeat. Until then, here's a delightful recipe for some superb burgers starring "The Sauce" as the star ingredient:
Mary's Splendid Burgers
-Makes 3 big 'uns.
1 lb. ground chuck
2/3 c. Sweet Baby Ray's Original Barbeque Sauce
1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon dried minced onion
1/8 tsp. garlic powder
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
-Place chuck in a large bowl. Add the remaining ingredients, and using your hands, mix well. Do not overwork the meat. Form into three large patties, making a slight indentation in the center of each burger so as to avoid the DREADED BURGER BULGE!!! After performing bulge control, place burgers onto a platter and whisk them out to a gas grill preheated to medium high. Grill burgers for 5 minutes on one side, and DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT poke, prod, squish, touch, or tamper with the burgers in any way, shape, or form. After resisting the urge to meddle, flip burgers, then proceed to grill for 5 more minutes for a perfect medium-well burger. If you like your burgers a little more on the gross side, you may reduce grilling time to 4 minutes on each side. If you like your burgers burnt, then I'll let my sister Angela know that she has a few kindred spirits out there after all.
This recipe doubles and triples beautifully. I have sucessfully prepared these for a group of 12, and there were many compliments to the chef (just being honest!). Now go out and grill, and don't give me any of that "But it's only April!!" garbage.
And because a perfect burger needs a perfect beverage, I present to you the greatest culinary epiphany my husband Steve has ever experienced in his life:
Steve's Sublime Sweet Tea
Bring 6 cups of water to a simmer in a large saucepan. Turn off heat, then add:
4 Lipton tea bags
1 Bigelow "I Love Lemon" tea bag
-Steep for 2 minutes.
Then add:
1 Bigelow "Constant Comment" tea bag.
-Steep all 6 bags for 2 more minutes, then remove from pan. Then add:
1 tsp. no-pulp orange juice
1 1/2 c. sugar
Stir well; then pour over a standard-size pitcher filled with ice. Stir, and enjoy!
Steve has a tendency to have these kinds of epiphanies when I'm gone. This particular concoction was hatched while I was away at handbell choir practice one Saturday morning. I came home, and Steve handed me a glass of said concoction. I proceeded to drink liquid sunshine, and it filled me with all of the reminiscent delight of a lazy summer afternoon. You simply must try it. Oh, a word to the wise- remove the tea bag tags BEFORE you put them into the saucepan, and be sure to turn off the heat BEFORE placing the tea bags into the pan. There were a few charred remnants of tea bag tags on the stovetop after Steve's culinary experimentations. You can put two and two together about what happened there...
I could go on, but I simply haven't the strength! I leave you with two things:
1) Remember- I'll be reporting back about the results of my attempt at homemade barbeque sauce over the weekend!
2) Remember one of the greatest things about cooking: You may not be able to travel the world, or live in your "dream" location, but you can always bring a little bit of world into your kitchen one great recipe at a time. Be content, but always stay curious about the world around you. :)
Saturday, March 20, 2010
On responsibility and fine cheese
GASP. I'm blogging again! It's been too long, and I am realizing how much I love this. Ever since I have started this blog, I have been noticing a gnawing feeling of responsibility toward said blog, like the feeling of caring for a small child. Well, it's definitely not as intense as that, but there's definitely a feeling of "I AM NEGLECTING THIS POOR DEFENSELESS BLOG, AND I NEED TO STEP UP AND BE THE MOMMY *ahem* WRITER OF THIS HERE BLOG!" And that's kind of how I've been feeling lately. A sense of responsibility. And wouldn't you know it, this sense of responsibility has spilled over into my slight obsession with food. Cheese, namely. Fine cheese. Gruyere, to be very specific. One may ask, "What on earth does Gruyere have to do with responsibility?" Well, I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED, because I shall now commence with my introduction to this fine fromage.
Once upon a time, Steve and I were in a book group. Well, I am still in a book group. A different one. Well...it's a long story, and even though I am a little too gifted at telling long stories, I shall resist this time around and get to the point in my usual round-about fashion. So, yes. The book group. Off we went to our friend's home, and of course, I was fascinated with what was being made for dinner. An open-faced chicken cordon bleu!! How progressive is that?!? I watched as Carissa (the wife of the lovely couple who was hosting that night's discussion) spread honey dijon mustard over the chicken breasts, then place two leaves of fresh spinach on top, followed by a thin slice of honey ham, and then crowned with a generous sprinkle of Swiss cheese. Oh yeah. You know I brought that recipe home that night! After Carissa so generously printed out an extra copy for me from Epicurious (my introduction, by the way, to that glorious website!!), I noticed the recipe said to use Gruyere. What. The. Heck. Is. Gruyere. "Well,"said Carissa,"Gruyere would definitely be the best. But I just couldn't bring myself to buy it this time." Which, of course, me being the cheap half-Russian Jew that I am, I completely understood. And then I knew that Gruyere and I would have a long way to go before we could reconcile our economic differences. It was just too bad! After the episode with the open-faced chicken cordon bleu, I began to see Gruyere pop up EVERYWHERE in the foodie world. I would peruse my stack of library-obtained issues of Bon Appetit, and there it was! In nearly every issue, Gruyere would pop its pricey little face into mine at least once or twice. I was starting to get seriously annoyed. So, I did what every responsible self-proclaimed foodie must do. I made open-faced chicken cordon bleu, and I took my cheap self to the grocery store and BOUGHT A SMALL WEDGE OF GRUYERE. It nearly killed me. I took it home. I opened it. And then...I smelled it. Hmm. I was highly suspicious. So suspicious, in fact, that I took the coward's way out and bought a pre-shredded bag of Swiss cheese. I consoled myself by reasoning that, hey; at least it was Sargento Swiss cheese. Who was I kidding? I was a coward!! And so I let that beautiful wedge rot in my fridge, and I did not think or speak of Gruyere for 3 years. Every time I saw a recipe that used that loathsome rot, I would automatically substitute Swiss cheese without giving it a second thought. It was a code. Gruyere=don't even bother, or Gruyere=Swiss. UNTIL...
One fateful day, I was perusing Bon Appetit, looking for some inspiration, when I stumbled across the most charming article on homemade mayonnaise that I had ever read in my entire life. The author? None other than Ms. Molly Wizenberg, the new darling of the foodie scene and recently published author of "A Homemade Life", a wonderfully touching memoir of her family, life, and her decision to leave academia to pursue her passion of great food and great cooking. Yes. I had found a most kindred spirit in Ms. Molly, and I knew I had to read more of her delightful writing. And so I did. I devoured issue after issue of Bon Appetit, scouring the pages for her column, and I read. And read. And cooked. And read some more. Then I visited her blog, "Orangette", and found it just as delightful and inspiring. And so it went for well over a year, and THEN...her book was published, and I packed my boys into the van, and off we went to Barnes and Noble in pursuit of said book. I went. I found it. I bought it. Me, the half-Russian Jew who will wait AGES for a book to come to the library so I can read it for FREE, bought a brand-new, RIDICULOUSLY expensive book at the most superbookstores of superbookstores. I must have lost my mind. I voraciously read as much I could while the boys played with the train table in the children's section (someone needs a gold star for that idea), and when I realized it was dinner time, I panicked, then called Steve to plead with him to pick up a pizza on his way home. So much for good cooking. Anyway, I read the book in 2 days (a small miracle for a mommy of two boys under 4), and proceeded to feel empty inside when I was done. So I read it again, this time putting sticky tabs on all of the recipes I wanted to try, and started out with lemon ginger scones. A smashing success. Banana Bread. Ditto. AND THEN...it was time to try Bouchons au Thon, literally, "Tuna Corks", an outstanding little meal to which my boys fondly refer to as,"Fish Cakes", because they are baked in a muffin tin. I studied the recipe; it looked extremely simple. But lo and behold, there staring up at me from the list of ingredients, was none other ONE ENTIRE CUP OF GRUYERE, SHREDDED!! So it had come to this!! At that moment, I knew. I knew it was time to do the responsible thing, shed my fears from the past, and emerge forth into a shining new era of foodie-ism. It was time to grow up. It was time to really, truly give Gruyere an honest try, stink and all. And so...I did. I bought a small wedge of Gruyere from Trader Joe's, and sallied forth into my beloved kitchen with a gallantry I had not yet known. It was time. I opened the wedge. I sliced off the most petite sliver imaginable, and proceeded to eat it. Such cheese. After about 10 more petite slivers, I finally got started on the actual recipe. As the Bouchons baked, they gave off the most heavenly of rich and nutty aromas, and browned beautifully on top- you just knew it HAD to be the Gruyere. We devoured each and every darling little "Fish Cake", and I knew, after all these years, that Gruyere and I had finally reconciled our differences, and I had taken full responsibility for my self-proclaimed foodie-ism and faced one of my worst culinary nightmares head-on.
So where does that leave us? Whether it's Gruyere, boning a duck, balancing your checkbook, being honest with yourself, poaching figs, or setting a pan of Bananas Foster on fire, my message is this: face your fears. They may not be as scary as you think.
Oh, and because I'm not a tease:
http://projects.washingtonpost.com/recipes/2009/03/04/bouchons-au-thon/
One thing about the recipe:
Feel free to substitute high-quality sour cream (such as Breakstone's or Daisy) for the creme fraiche. Unlike Gruyere, creme fraiche is NOT everything its cracked up to be (my apologies to creme fraiche enthusiasts out there). So there you go. BE FEARLESS!! And always, always be responsible for the things you consider to be important.
Once upon a time, Steve and I were in a book group. Well, I am still in a book group. A different one. Well...it's a long story, and even though I am a little too gifted at telling long stories, I shall resist this time around and get to the point in my usual round-about fashion. So, yes. The book group. Off we went to our friend's home, and of course, I was fascinated with what was being made for dinner. An open-faced chicken cordon bleu!! How progressive is that?!? I watched as Carissa (the wife of the lovely couple who was hosting that night's discussion) spread honey dijon mustard over the chicken breasts, then place two leaves of fresh spinach on top, followed by a thin slice of honey ham, and then crowned with a generous sprinkle of Swiss cheese. Oh yeah. You know I brought that recipe home that night! After Carissa so generously printed out an extra copy for me from Epicurious (my introduction, by the way, to that glorious website!!), I noticed the recipe said to use Gruyere. What. The. Heck. Is. Gruyere. "Well,"said Carissa,"Gruyere would definitely be the best. But I just couldn't bring myself to buy it this time." Which, of course, me being the cheap half-Russian Jew that I am, I completely understood. And then I knew that Gruyere and I would have a long way to go before we could reconcile our economic differences. It was just too bad! After the episode with the open-faced chicken cordon bleu, I began to see Gruyere pop up EVERYWHERE in the foodie world. I would peruse my stack of library-obtained issues of Bon Appetit, and there it was! In nearly every issue, Gruyere would pop its pricey little face into mine at least once or twice. I was starting to get seriously annoyed. So, I did what every responsible self-proclaimed foodie must do. I made open-faced chicken cordon bleu, and I took my cheap self to the grocery store and BOUGHT A SMALL WEDGE OF GRUYERE. It nearly killed me. I took it home. I opened it. And then...I smelled it. Hmm. I was highly suspicious. So suspicious, in fact, that I took the coward's way out and bought a pre-shredded bag of Swiss cheese. I consoled myself by reasoning that, hey; at least it was Sargento Swiss cheese. Who was I kidding? I was a coward!! And so I let that beautiful wedge rot in my fridge, and I did not think or speak of Gruyere for 3 years. Every time I saw a recipe that used that loathsome rot, I would automatically substitute Swiss cheese without giving it a second thought. It was a code. Gruyere=don't even bother, or Gruyere=Swiss. UNTIL...
One fateful day, I was perusing Bon Appetit, looking for some inspiration, when I stumbled across the most charming article on homemade mayonnaise that I had ever read in my entire life. The author? None other than Ms. Molly Wizenberg, the new darling of the foodie scene and recently published author of "A Homemade Life", a wonderfully touching memoir of her family, life, and her decision to leave academia to pursue her passion of great food and great cooking. Yes. I had found a most kindred spirit in Ms. Molly, and I knew I had to read more of her delightful writing. And so I did. I devoured issue after issue of Bon Appetit, scouring the pages for her column, and I read. And read. And cooked. And read some more. Then I visited her blog, "Orangette", and found it just as delightful and inspiring. And so it went for well over a year, and THEN...her book was published, and I packed my boys into the van, and off we went to Barnes and Noble in pursuit of said book. I went. I found it. I bought it. Me, the half-Russian Jew who will wait AGES for a book to come to the library so I can read it for FREE, bought a brand-new, RIDICULOUSLY expensive book at the most superbookstores of superbookstores. I must have lost my mind. I voraciously read as much I could while the boys played with the train table in the children's section (someone needs a gold star for that idea), and when I realized it was dinner time, I panicked, then called Steve to plead with him to pick up a pizza on his way home. So much for good cooking. Anyway, I read the book in 2 days (a small miracle for a mommy of two boys under 4), and proceeded to feel empty inside when I was done. So I read it again, this time putting sticky tabs on all of the recipes I wanted to try, and started out with lemon ginger scones. A smashing success. Banana Bread. Ditto. AND THEN...it was time to try Bouchons au Thon, literally, "Tuna Corks", an outstanding little meal to which my boys fondly refer to as,"Fish Cakes", because they are baked in a muffin tin. I studied the recipe; it looked extremely simple. But lo and behold, there staring up at me from the list of ingredients, was none other ONE ENTIRE CUP OF GRUYERE, SHREDDED!! So it had come to this!! At that moment, I knew. I knew it was time to do the responsible thing, shed my fears from the past, and emerge forth into a shining new era of foodie-ism. It was time to grow up. It was time to really, truly give Gruyere an honest try, stink and all. And so...I did. I bought a small wedge of Gruyere from Trader Joe's, and sallied forth into my beloved kitchen with a gallantry I had not yet known. It was time. I opened the wedge. I sliced off the most petite sliver imaginable, and proceeded to eat it. Such cheese. After about 10 more petite slivers, I finally got started on the actual recipe. As the Bouchons baked, they gave off the most heavenly of rich and nutty aromas, and browned beautifully on top- you just knew it HAD to be the Gruyere. We devoured each and every darling little "Fish Cake", and I knew, after all these years, that Gruyere and I had finally reconciled our differences, and I had taken full responsibility for my self-proclaimed foodie-ism and faced one of my worst culinary nightmares head-on.
So where does that leave us? Whether it's Gruyere, boning a duck, balancing your checkbook, being honest with yourself, poaching figs, or setting a pan of Bananas Foster on fire, my message is this: face your fears. They may not be as scary as you think.
Oh, and because I'm not a tease:
http://projects.washingtonpost.com/recipes/2009/03/04/bouchons-au-thon/
One thing about the recipe:
Feel free to substitute high-quality sour cream (such as Breakstone's or Daisy) for the creme fraiche. Unlike Gruyere, creme fraiche is NOT everything its cracked up to be (my apologies to creme fraiche enthusiasts out there). So there you go. BE FEARLESS!! And always, always be responsible for the things you consider to be important.
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