Cookbooks for a Deserted Island

I was just reading a blog entry by Mark Bittman requesting responses to update his 50 favorite indispensable cookbooks and it found me gazing around my office. It also got me thinking what would be mine and perhaps yours (if anyone is actually reading my nuggets of knowledge). So step up to the plate and interact with me and your choices.

Now this deserted island does have a phenomenal grocery store (lets dream big!), fabulous wine and if your dream allows a male or female counterpart to share your meals and?? with.

The first installments of books I have chosen are for the pure enjoyment of cooking. Since there isn't much to do on the island, I would have lots of time (and a perfectly equipped kitchen) to play.

My backbone or go to book is The New Making of a Cook by Madeleine Kamman. She is an unsung hero of the cooking world and this book is brilliant.

On an antique mission I picked up Roger Verge's Vegetables in the French Style. His recipes read like French vegetable porn and are tasty too!

There will have to be a grill on this island and The Thrill of the Grill by Chris Schlesinger & John Willoughby is my grillin' bible.

For new and intriguing techniques I discovered Happy in the Kitchen by Michel Richard and I plan to master his "pleasures of plastic wrap".

Not possessing a baking mentality but wanting to give sweet to the sweet, Dorie Greenspan's Baking From my home to yours will help me whip up delectable desserts.

Maybe we would just want a quick cookie or bar. In that case Rose's Christmas Cookies will be cracked open. Ever since I had my catering company in the '80's I have used this book annually.

Now what would you bring to this little piece of paradise?
Please leave me a comment and let's start talking!

Where's Ruth when we need her?

Short of reading recipes, the second most popular food reading venue is restaurant reviews. These voyeuristic snippets are free, have no calories and can salivate you imagination. My favorite restaurant reviewer is Ruth Reichl. Prior to becoming the editor of Gourmet magazine, author of three memoirs and her fingers in the pies of many other projects; Reichl honed her skills as a restaurant reviewer. I became addicted to her prose when she wrote for the New York Times (type in her name in the NYT search engine and read away!).

Every Wednesday “we” went out. She sat across from me and we ate and talked. I always felt sated after one of her reviews and thoroughly enjoyed our meals. I still read restaurant reviews but most of the reviews these days are about as exciting as reading ReMax descriptions of homes for sale.

Recently our newspaper had a review of a new Italian restaurant. Located in a suburb of our fair city; it yearned for unique twists and lasting impressions. What stood out for me were the descriptions wielded by the reviewer’s pen.

Only Captain Kidd would want to eat a pasta dish that was “admirably seagoing”.

“True to trattorias, the menu hits its highest points in the pasta section.” Then there is a description of gnocchi and risotto.

I also don’t think of my desserts as being “friendly” or “firmly flavored” and what about an “endearingly crunchy top”? It just makes me want to pinch it and say “how cute!!”

I know one must try to hook the reader- bring them back for more verbal bantering- but let’s step back and think about what we are talking about. Where’s Ruth Reichl when we need her?

Check out this Menu!

From My Dear Friends at Meals for You a special menu. My jaw dropped down to the keyboard when I read the recipes and thought you would do the same. Nothing makes my heart race faster than cornbread stuffing mix, that old standby Cream of Mushroom Soup, and grated cheese. Oops! did I mention the little sausage boners that get wrapped in puff pastry and for dessert a gut busting Cinnamon Bread Pudding with whipped cream optional? Cant' wait to fire up the oven and feed my happy family a memorable meal... Golden Pea and Onion Bake, Sausage Rolls, Cinnamon Bread Pudding
Prep	Cook	Cals	Fat	Fat%	Chol	Pro	Carb	Fiber	Sugar	Sod.
45 min	40 min	776	34.8g	40%	195mg	25.4g	93.9g	6.0g	44.0g	1525mg
view detailed nutritional information
Dietary Exchanges: Milk: 0.4, Vegetable: 2.3, Fruit: 0.7, Bread: 3.2, Lean meat: 1.5, Fat: 5.4, Sugar: 1.0, Very lean meat protein: 0.0

Golden Pea and Onion Bake Prep: 15 min, Cook: 30 min.

• 1/4 cup unsalted butter
• 1-1/2 cups packaged cornbread stuffing mix
• 2 Tbs. fresh parsley, chopped or 2 tsp. dried parsley flakes
• 3 large onions, cut in half and sliced
• 1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup
• 1/4 cup milk
• 1 cup frozen peas
• 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Preheat oven to 350°F. Melt 2 Tbs. butter and combine with stuffing and parsley. Set aside. Melt remaining butter in a heavy nonstick skillet over medium heat. Sauté onions 4-5 minutes, or until tender. Stir in soup, milk and peas. Spoon into a shallow baking dish. Sprinkle cheese and stuffing mixture over soup mixture. Bake 30 minutes or until hot.

This recipe serves 6 people. Due to the nature of this recipe, it adjusts the number of servings in multiples of 6 only.

Per serving: calories 403, fat 19.4g, 43% calories from fat, cholesterol 43mg, protein 13.1g, carbohydrates 45.9g, fiber 4.8g, sugar 10.6g, sodium 1158mg, diet points 9.2.

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Sausage Rolls Prep: 20 min, Cook: 15 min.

• sheets frozen puff pastry, about 9 ounces total
• 1/2 lb. bulk pork sausage

Thaw pastry sheet at room temperature 30 minutes. Preheat oven to 400°F. Unfold pastry on a lightly floured surface. Roll into a 12x10 inch rectangle. Cut into 3 strips along fold marks. Divide sausage into thirds. Roll each into a cylinder the length of the pastry. Place on edge of pastry strip. Starting at the long side, roll up. Press edges to seal. Cut each roll into 12 1 inch slices. Place 3-1/2 inches apart on a baking sheet. Bake 15 minutes, or until golden.

This recipe serves 12 people. Due to the nature of this recipe, it adjusts the number of servings in multiples of 12 only.

Per serving: calories 79, fat 7.6g, 88% calories from fat, cholesterol 13mg, protein 2.2g, carbohydrates 0.2g, fiber 0.0g, sugar 0.2g, sodium 126mg, diet points 2.7.

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Cinnamon Bread Pudding Prep: 10 min, Cook: 40 min.

• 3/4 cup cinnamon bread, cubed
• 1/2 cup raisins
• 4 eggs, beaten
• 2-1/2 cups milk
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 tsp. vanilla extract
• 1 cup whipped cream (optional)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Place bread in greased 2-quart shallow baking dish. Sprinkle raisins over bread. Combine eggs, milk, sugar and vanilla in a bowl. Pour over bread. Bake 40 minutes, or until a knife inserted near center comes out clean. Serve warm with whipped cream.

This recipe serves 6 people. Due to the nature of this recipe, it adjusts the number of servings in multiples of 6 only.

Per serving: calories 224, fat 6.6g, 26% calories from fat, cholesterol 139mg, protein 7.8g, carbohydrates 34.6g, fiber 0.6g, sugar 32.2g, sodium 109mg, diet points 5.4.

Oh, Paula! We're Sorry You're not the only Killer!

A few weeks ago in www.seriouseats.com there was a snippet about Paula Deen trying to kill y'all with fat and love. Her demure "Lady's Lunch Burger" was a delicate combination of sliced glazed donuts (maybe this recipe will help the floundering Krispy Kreme empire), fried egg, hamburger, bacon, and parsley for color.

Today I found out that this donut/burger combo is sold at Mulligan's Tavern in Decatur, GA. Their Krispy Kreme delight is simpler to make just a humble bacon cheeseburger between those grilled donut cheeks. You can see a picture of this as well as the top 10 best foods to eat when drunk at college at www.seriouseats.com

Watch out Bubba Here I come!

Preserve it!

There is one element to the “sustainable” bandwagon that people are forgetting.

Preservation.

Throughout history eating was to survive. When food was plenty people gorged when scarce-you get it. In the mean time societies learned ways to preserve food for those lean winter months. It was part of the rhythm of life. We have gotten sloppy about preservation. We now let the grocery stores do it for us as we demand a wide variety of food all the time.

I think there is a balance between buying fresh and buying stupid. If you buy green beans, asparagus, you name it, at its peak in season and preserve it- even in a freezer; there is no reason to buy imported products out of your own growing season. Now if you have used up your last broccoli and must dip into the traveling food chain do think about where it comes from- closer is better and make a note to up your garden quota or farmer’s market purchase. Unless you are delirious for grapes in February, nix those orbs from Mexico and hold out for summer.

Preserve realistically. I’m not proposing to turn your kitchen into a Del Monte processing plant. If you don’t eat jam then don’t preserve it! Tomatoes? You betcha-Pickles- o.k. get out that Food savor and shrink those bags of peas for risi bisi. How virtuous!

It’s all about our rhythm of food and life. That’s why we have four seasons, to embrace the changing food and appreciate our bounty.

Stop stuffing your freezer with has beens and dribs and drabs. Instead, fill it with product to play with!

Terms of Endearment

No, this isn’t going to be a late for Valentine’s rumination. As you know after 20+ years of (add your own adjective) marriage couples learn how to communicate. Sometimes it is to goad or challenge. Sometimes it is to woo or make the mate laugh.

When I was a new teenager I spent a lot of time with my Aunt and Uncle. We lived overseas and when they were together my aunt would pour over magazines and drawings dreaming of retiring to their house in Maine. She would snip and file while my uncle would read. When he wanted her attention he would call her, Pigeon, or Pidge. It was so intimate and cute. I had never heard of anything like that before. Now my parents laughed and chatted as well but all I remember from my dim recesses is a shortened version of their regular names. And of course when they were referring to the other in front of my sister or myself it was always “YOUR Father,” or “YOUR Mother.”

My NSSP (Not So Silent Partner) and I don’t really have cute names for each other. I will call him by his Jewish name or a new nickname based on a character in a book I read. For me there is a shortened version of my name that was once a song (unfortunately as a male).But he does have a phrase that always melts my heart and spurs me onto cooking one more meal.

After commuting home from his upstairs office, NSSP wanders into the kitchen and sniffs. Looking at the converging of food and heat he boldly asks, “What’s for dinner?” I put on my happy face and recite the menu du jour.

He smiles and says,” That’s exactly what I was thinking of having for dinner.”’

And that dear friend is what marriage is all about. A bit of blarney and love served forth.

Smart Idea or Dumb Idea- You Decide

I found an interesting article in the Wednesday, New York Times (but then again what isn’t interesting in that paper!) titled “Your Waiter Tonight…Will Be the Chef.” The cover picture that accompanies it is of one of those skinny bedraggled chefs who really should stay in the back instead of serving his food.

I know the eating public embraced the fly on the wall concept of dining in restaurant kitchens a few years ago. That craze flew right by me. Yes, it would be great to watch a famous chef (real one, neither Mama Paula nor Sister Rachel) but kitchens and silk dresses don’t go together. I want to be pampered, not smelling of a fish fry or seared tenderloin at the end of the meal.

Now the craze is for the chef to go to the market, (thank you Martha Stewart) serve, mop, and wash his own dishes and be creative on the side to win loyal customers. I know money’s tight but I think creativity wanes when one puts on too many hats. The article mentioned that when service was busy at one restaurant they stopped answering the phone. What is wrong with this picture? A prospective customer calls to find out what is being served, how long the wait, etc. and willing to spend buckaroos at your establishment and can’t get through because the restaurant hasn’t hired a front man? It strikes me as cutting off your nose to spite your face.

Kitchens are run as a dictatorship. Top to bottom and bottom working up to the top. Its tough love. You can’t have everyone running around with a mile high toque in charge. “Everyone who works here is a chef, and everyone is also a dishwasher,” Schwa Chef Michael Carlson bragged. What bunk. The idea of all for one and one for all doesn’t get the mussels cleaned or grease trap unplugged. Remember the Cultural Revolution in China? That was one smart move by Chairman Mao.

I know there can be hostility between the front and the back of the house with no one liking the bartenders who come in late cut lemons and limes and get great tips. But you sign up for your own poison. I loved being a cook. All tables were dupes and all I cared about was taking down the dupe and replacing it with another. I couldn’t do the waitron’s job and cook at the same time. The waitron segued between my little piece of paradise and the world beyond. When it was done we all kissed up to the bartender for our drinks.

I also ponder what are these chefs’ com waiters going to wear? If they are preparing the food it will get slopped on them. White outfits are magnets for red sauce. Again if I’m paying for a nice creative meal I don’t want to see dirty side towels or beurre rouge splattered coats. For all of the money they are saving on staff they will incur a large cleaning bill.

The two best quotes, in the article, justifying truly good waitrons were-“A really sensational waiter is transparent,” and “I tell my chefs to concentrate on their food…the waiters are there to be ambassadors, and they are trained to take command of the customer as soon as they sit down.” Nothing sets the tone of a meal better than having a good waiter working for a big tip.

Pasta,Black Beans, Turnips, Oh, My!

From My Meals for You Website-
A menu that leaves my taste buds astounded.

Sunday:
Herbed Pasta with Toasted Breadcrumbs / Black Beans Tuscanese / Honeyed Baby Turnips / Banana Grape Cup with Yogurt

Squeeze with Precision and Decorative Pride!

In my continuing disgust of the dumbing down of food preparation, I’ve been really steamed about the use of plastic bags. I’m sure the Food Network has stock in Glad Bags otherwise how can they justify the gleeful use for marinating food, or better yet rolling out pie dough in a plastic bag. There also was a scene that I watched where the food entertainer threw all of her guacamole ingredients into a- you guessed it- plastic bag and smashed them all together! Snip a corner and squeeze that baby out. I can’t tell you how disgusting guac looks when squeezed in plastic! What is so hard about dirtying a flipping bowl and mashing the avocado and friends with a fork or one of those new fangled guacamole gadgets?

My personal favorite is the baggie turned pastry bag. The humble pastry bag comes in many guises. It can be waterproofed cotton, nylon, polyester, and yes plastic (the difference being the thickness of the bag). Its purpose is to attractively extrude semi-liquid food onto another food. Simply put, ice cakes, fill devilled eggs, or twice baked potatoes. Now I will admit before the plastic bag impostor craze that I did in a pinch use a plastic bag but that was only after forgetting my pastry bags at a catering job. Never again.

Over Christmas this past season I watched a cake decorating sequence where a female TV announcer was given a plastic bag filled with chocolate icing and told to broadcast the icing across the cake. This poor hapless woman was nervous, squeezed too hard and a huge blob of icing landed unceremoniously in the middle of the cake. Icing interuptus. The “chef” laughed and spread the goop around and I’m sure the TV announcer will never do that trick again.

Pastry bags won’t break the bank and the disposable ones make it even easier for the occasional squeezer. If you can have sharp knives, All Clad pans, granite counters and stainless steel appliances; why the hay short change your decorative possibilities?

Then there is the tip issue. Pastry tips come in many sizes and shapes and truly add that gourmet touch to plated mashed potatoes. They just don’t work with plastic bags. They also are reasonably priced last forever (they do have a way of wandering around the kitchen drawer), and make great squiggles out of the most mundane stuff. Don’t forget to buy a coupling- a little two pieced affair that when put on the outside of the bag holds the tip so you can change the tip without emptying the bag every time.

There is technique to using a pastry bag but it isn’t one of those rocket science things like beurre blanc emulsions or choux paste. The important thing is to have a bag generous enough (don’t go skimpy or just right- it won’t do) to twist the top and with one hand on the twisted top and the other as a guide it’s just squeeze and go. When you stop squeezing at the top the goop stops coming out, even Rachel Ray would say, “How easy is that guys!!!!!." If you use a square plastic bag you won’t get the same twist at the top and without a pastry tip the bag can easily hemorrhage and splat.

In a perfect world television chefs would stop promoting their knives, pots and pans, and other logoed items and TEACH a simple real technique that Jane and Joe cook could have fun with and wow their friends. Oh, well I can dream, but in the mean time-

Buy your pastry bag today and squeeze away!

How do YOU eat a pretzel?

It doesn’t matter if the pretzels are large or small, thick or thin. I’m talking about the kind of pretzel with the Mickey Mouse ears and a peace sign in the middle.

I eat and savor them the same way. Take a large pretzel. There usually are one or two nubs where the ‘peace sign’ over steps its boundaries. Off they go in two nibbles. Then it is time to knock off loose salt and gaze upon the curves of the Mickey Mouse ears. Right/left, left/right it doesn’t matter. What does matter is not breaking any of the peace sign sticks within. Just the curves please with eyes closed. If you happen to break any part before its time, the game is over and you might as well inhale the pretzel as quickly as possible and put yourself out of the misery of loosing the pretzel eating challenge.

Have you surmised that with each nibble the deconstructed pretzel is getting more fragile? The next munch takes finesse. Since the initial nubs were eaten off the emerging fan the fan arch is unstable at this juncture it is important to swallow and gently bite at each end of the arch. If you get this far you are holding an upside down peace sign. Right/left, left/right, two nibbles leave you with the stem and you are done!

Forgetabout the sticks their no fun!

Amazing New Menus!!

Each Saturday as I listen to www.WBGO.org my favorite jazz station from New Jersey playing Motown and ‘70’s music; I receive this news letter www.MealsForYou.com with a weeks’ worth of truly amazing menus. I would love to know who thinks that someone would like to eat the Thursday menu or would have a hankering for Sunday’s special meal. These menus read like school lunch meals from hell.

Sunday:
Asparagus Soufflé / Rice with Kale and Tomatoes / Alaskan Crab Salad / Pecan Pie

Monday:
Chicken Cacciatore Pie / Spinach Salad / Vanilla Ice Cream with Sautéed Pears

Tuesday:
Mediterranean Baked Chicken / Pasta e Fagioli / Green Beans Polonaise / Fruit Streusel en Papillote

Wednesday:
Quick Chicken Parmigiana / Roasted Portobellos on Rosemary Branches / String Beans with Roasted Garlic Butter

Thursday:
Steaks with Port and Pears / Chick-Pea and Leek Soup / Buttered Corn / Brown Sugar Pudding

Friday:
Swiss Chard Frittata / Chilled Melon with Raspberry Sauce / Cinnamon Chocolate Coffee

Saturday:
Haddock with Couscous / Salad Niçoise / Baked Peaches

My Dirty Mind meets Crate and Barrel

I can’t help it. I have a dirty side to my mind. Usually it’s kept in check, lurking but not coming to the fore.. Maybe it was the swinging drug induced ‘70’s (no I did not inhale…) or my divorcé lifestyle of the ‘80’s that developed this part but truth be told I owe my slutty mind to the restaurant business.

Nothing gets a bored chefflete’s creative juices going than trying to peel a carrot with two legs or gazing at a green pepper with an embryo nestled inside. Then there is fondling sausages, creating little boners with pig intestine and wrapping cooked sausage in puff pastry and calling it saucisson. Enough said.

Yesterday I went to one of my favorite stores (this is not a plug!!) Crate and Barrel. Through the years they have been my go to store for reasonably priced serving dishes that if chipped could be sensibly replaced. Always clean styles that meld with any type of entertaining and catering.

I was on a mission to buy. My NSSP (Not So Silent Partner) had been wear testing our china (see www.artoeat.blogspot.com, archives 2006, August 10) last weekend and discovered that the plates break when met with the top of our French press. I believed him and didn’t try the experiment. So here I was with my arm twisted in back, forced to go to Crate and Barrel! I knew with certitude that at the end of my foray, no matter how long I stroked their products I would be relieved of $$ and sent home with a Crate and Barrel bag.

I was jubilant and a quiver. I didn’t go full frontal stimulus and barge through the front door but slipped in the side door unannounced. That Crate and Barrel must have known I was coming because they had changed their displays (they love to tease and entice!). Placed at eye level were the most uniquely shaped porcelain dishes I have seen in a long time (www.crateandbarrel.com , cuisine dinnerware- cuisine onda bowls). There were sublime rectangular serving plates breathlessly waiting for appetizers or petite desserts, square dinner plates, and serving bowls with lids crying to be filled with wild mushroom soup or chiffonade Brussels sprouts. In mid coo my eyes fell on a little bowl. It was as if a rectangle (think credit card but bigger) had a perfect center sucked out of it. The sides were flat and stretched out from the indentation.

My culinary mind was wildly wrapping around the plating possibilities and justifications to bring them home when…I turned the first little bowl over and noticed a knob-no- my slutty mind kicked in and saw-a-nipple. This bowl was too good to be true. Next I saw its larger version and again I turned it over. Would it also have a protuberance? Yes!! It looked like a pregnant belly. True dish porn.

I really don’t know what food would be most attractive in the concave indentation. Maybe a pudding or blanc mange. I would love to set a buffet and turn these bowls over and scatter them about in a randy tease.

Dinner anyone?

What Does Your Little Voice Say?

What are your first thoughts when you wake up? Do you think about that lays ahead? What you did last night? How quickly you can dash to the bathroom? Or is it food? It will be no surprise to you that my first thoughts are about the food to come. It starts as a whisper while I open the curtains of my mind.

Once done with my morning ablution I hurl myself downstairs between running cats and an excited dog. My stomach is still sleeping as I feed the four footed kids and put the coffee on. Opening the fridge for the first time in twelve hours I gaze at the array of leftovers and condiments. My inner voice pipes up again reminding me of what I ate yesterday and its first thoughts on how to eat today.

Intent on my coffee and letting the dog in and out, in and out, in and out; I push the little whining voice aside, grind my beans and wait sluggishly for the water to boil. As if in a trance I consume the first cup with no more thoughts of the future. Then the little voice pipes up. This time in a duet with my stomach that has decided to add its own bass rumblings.

“All right,” I say, “What is it to be?” I think in basic units, starch, protein, fruit, and vegetable. Remember the four food groups of yore before we started scaling the Pyramids? I find it easier to remember a four item check list especially in the morning. This is where the little voice gets excited. It is its first food decision of the day and one that will set the groundwork for the rest of my eating. My stomach silently waits for the voice’s decision.

Since my last meal was pasta, my little voice suggests a protein. I open the fridge and gaze at the eggs both hard boiled and raw.

“Not today my stomach, you might go out to lunch and need that cholesterol.”

“What about egg beaters or cottage cheese?”

“Those are better choices, and what about a little fresh tangelo and a slice of Rycrisp?”

My little voice fades away knowing that my stomach will be fed fuel and I have two more meals to eat.

At lunch time my little voice is a bit louder and more demanding. This is when the decisions will directly affect “What to have for dinner”. Should I continue on my four pronged food assault with a bit more protein and some V-8? The bigger question is what will trigger the happy meal spot in my brain to make me feel satisfied mentally and physically so there will be no snacking before dinner.

Added to the mix is a trip to the club which squelches the little voice. My body screams out “I AM HEALTHY!! I CAN EAT LUNCH!! SHUT UP LITTLE VOICE!!” So with that in mind I cast my mind as if I was fly fishing toward different eating establishments to figure out what would be the most satisfying food, environment, and price to pay.

“Not so fast,” my little voice pipes up, “you have pork tenderloin, mashed potatoes, green beans, sauerkraut, and applesauce that you were planning for dinner, so just cool your caloric jets my gal and stay focused.”

I try to stay upbeat and optimistic about my options but that damn little voice has pulled the imaginary rug from under my culinary feet. “Okay, can I have a half tuna sandwich or sliced turkey on rye?”

“That’s better my human,” she says as she slips silently in the background again.

Life continues with errands, laundry, and dog walking. At 5pm my dog loudly barks; explaining that it is time for his snackies. The kittens erupt looking for snacks as well and attention.

By now my half a tuna sandwich, carrot wedge, and pickle have long ago rumbled down my digestive track leaving room for dinner. My little voice has awakened and rounded up a chorus from the bass stomach grumbles to the soprano melodies of the creative side of my brain. It is hard for me to think straight with this cacophony swirling around so I pour a glass of wine and the voices subside into a soothing melody.

As I pull out the various ingredients for my planned meal another voice is heard from. This is the little creative side that joyously pipes up every time I look at food. “Do you really just want a hum drum pork meal? Do you need that comfort today or would you like to take a trip to Asia with a stir fry and Hello Kitty made rice? Remember we had mashed potatoes a couple of days ago and you did exercise so perhaps a crisp potato pancake or that risotto recipe that looked tasty. I just can’t see eating sauerkraut right now so let’s nix that one. Anyway it is a bit salty- remember the high blood pressure. We’ll keep the applesauce and how about a dry sauté on those green beans- you’re trying to master that technique.”

I feel the creative voice clap its hands as it spins a web around my ingredients making me happy to cook and eat the meal. “But what are we doing with the pork again? I’m confused as the creative voice happily pirouettes demanding risotto rice, stock, panko soy sauce, shallots, and Parmesan cheese.

I am just a vehicle to prepare sustenance for the rest of my body but now my taste buds have started to weigh in. “A touch of lemon, some thyme, are we up to mustard today? Should we stay Italian? Do I want to taste green beans or how about some asparagus folded into the risotto at the last minute.”

Plastic vegetable bags are riddling my counter and crowding my cutting board. I still haven’t picked out the knife I’m going to use tonight nor given it a few strokes on the steel.

I take another sip of wine and put a damper on my mental crew. I decide on the knife, for old time’s sake I reach for my 10” Sabatier carbon steel and slowly run it over the steel. The sound of knife and steel rubbing against each other helps me focus on the final details and the order to prepare dinner.

Pots and pans come out, a splash of this and that. A grate and a chop, all is coming together when I realize there is calm in my production and the last ingredient of the meal must be decided. What dishes, glassware, and utensils will I use? I open my cupboards and stare at the options. Do I want to use my mindless everyday or would it be fun to go retro with Russell Wright? Do I feel black and white today or circular with my Manhattan glass? Another sip and the decision is made to do Russell.

The table is set, candles are lit and music is on. The dish is plated, the mess is- well let’s say I turn my back on it and eat in the dining room. I pour water and reach for a clean wine glass. Emitting a sigh I can sit down and enjoy the best meal of the day. My voices are sated. My happy meal spot pats me on the shoulder and says, “Well done, you’ve fed me well.”

Until tomorrow when I wake up to my little voice and new decisions.

For Once in Your Life

The first wild mushrooms I encountered were dried porcini’s in a cooking class. We made veal scaloppini with a reduced cream porcini sauce. It was ridiculously easy to make. Pour the cream in a pot. Re-constitute the mushrooms in Madeira strain chop add to the cream and reduce by half. I then graduated to dried morels. Now, living in the Pacific Northwest I have moved up to fresh porcini’s, morels, and recently matsutakes (which are to the Japanese what truffles are to the French).

Truffles have always lingered in the deep recesses of my mind. They were the imaginary ghosts of the fungi world. Expensive, short season and not found in your basic A&P. Any impassioned food person had to try them and love them. It was required. But truffles eluded me. It wasn’t until I started to circle expensive food items that I finally “got” truffles. As with champagne and caviar, truffles are acquired. You have to slow down and turn yourself over to the experience itself. This isn’t pork barbecue the hits you between the eyes and you are bowled over into a lusty culinary orgasm. Some of the classic preparations are only sensory vehicles to turn on your mouth. Risotto, soft scrambled eggs glide the truffle taste around your tongue. A shaving here a shaving there, it’s all about awakening your taste buds to the heady aroma of this delicacy. Close your eyes and give way to the taste.

Champagne for me is all about the size of the bubbles, how fast they race to the top of the glass and their effervescent feel as they explode in my mouth. Using the perfect glass for the bubbles to race up and most importantly the right way of opening the bottle adds to the champagne experience. None of this flamboyant twisting of the cork so the champagne explodes all over you or is soaked up in a towel. Just a very slight twist of the cork to loosen it and then it is all bottle action. Holding the cork perfectly still with one hand and a thumb in the bottom well and fingers gripping the bottle at the other end it is twist, twist, twist until there is a slight “puff” sound as if a woman has taken an intake of breath when she has seen something particularly beautiful. And with that, the champagne is poured into chilled glasses and drunk. If a toast is to be made clink the glass at the bottom where there is liquid not at the top where there is a greater chance of chipping the glass.

Caviar? Those plump tapioca shaped orbs, when pushed by the tongue to the roof of the mouth are all about squish and a delicate hint of fish and saltwater taste. It is a perfect two dimensional taste that isn’t about gorging into bliss but about a very sexy eating experience. The whole ritual can be charged with accoutrement's. Caviar on ice, mother of pearl spoons, little blini’s and cream cheese to transport those vessels of taste. These vehicles melt away once a dollop of caviar hits the roof your mouth.

What do these three delicacies have in common? You can’t make a whole meal of the single item, you will go seriously into debt to satisfy your habit, and halfway to Debtors prison with mouth gorged in sensory delight you will realize there is nothing better in the world and you have experienced perfection.

A Vickie Viking Fantasy

When I decided to upgrade my Kitchen Aid mixer to something more powerful I fell in love with Vickie. How could I pass up her glowing red color, 7 quart bowl,and little rolling wheels in the back. She can delicately whip one egg white into submission or roll up her sleeves and knead 3 loaves of bread. She is my go to girl for power in the kitchen.

Shortly after Vickie came into my life I was holding court in our kitchen with my NSSP (Not So Silent Partner) and two of our neighbors. We do this regularly discussing various male and female views on subjects. I introduced Vickie to our neighbors and we all looked at her with wonder.

The four of us started to fantasize what Vickie would look like in "real" life. The women saw a Nurse Ratchet/blond pigtailed woman. Competent, strong, and no-nonsense. The Mars boys saw Vickie as a shapely bikinied blond ( at least we agreed on her hair color) with flashing blue eyes in need of rescuing.

Now folks, take a gander at this gal- what do you think?

Slather Me with Butta!!

Butta- those hard yellow cubes of saturated fat that make everything it touches glisten and yes taste better. I always thought there was a magical process to making butter, a reason why no one made it today, another convenience food. But thanks to Saveur Magazine my eyes were opened to the possibilities of making butter at home and I dashed out to buy one quart of organic heavy cream.

At first, I was going to follow the recipe using a balloon whisk (had to knock the dust off of it first), and a big bowl. But I quickly saw the error in the recipe and dumped the cream in Vickie Viking my burly red mixer. Fitting her with her own balloon whip I started her slowly and gently increased the speed as she moved the cream through its chantilly, heavy whip, and butter clot stages. To put it simply, it was way cool!!

After the clumps of butter had materialized there was more beating to do to separate the buttermilk from the curds (as in curds and whey) Well, I had to tell someone about this successful science experiment so I dashed out and found my NSSP (Not So Silent Partner) cutting the grass for the first time this year. He rolled his eyes and gave me thumbs up.

The next step was to pour all of the contents (buttermilk and butter) into a moist towel and after draining the buttermilk away (and fantasizing about buttermilk biscuits, buttermilk pancakes, and googling buttermilk recipes) there was a gentle washing process to remove any last milk. This is when I started to have my first butter-gasm. I cooed to my yellow disc as my mind raced to whom I should tell next about this glorious discovery. I discounted The Princess feeling her eyes roll. I pondered my neighbor but I couldn’t face the answering machine that they leave on. Finally I settled on a quick e-mail to my partner in culinary crime knowing she would be duly impressed and reply with the appropriate strokes.

The texture was so soft and delicate. As I kneaded it moisture came to the top and I patted it away. So now what do I do with the stuff? First I weighed it- just curious about the yield- and found it was slightly less than a pound. I did add the ½ teaspoon of kosher salt as the recipe suggested. I buy salt free butter but was curious about the flavor.

In closing the recipe suggested wrapping the butter in wax paper, (honestly, I think I am the last person on earth who still has a moldering roll in the back of my drawer) I updated with two rectangular molds and saran wrap.

So in less time than it takes to mow ¾ acre we have homemade butta. Now all I need is a cow and I can go into full production! Watch out Land O’ Lakes!

Surprise it's the Beard Man!!

I know you all are waiting with baited breath- maybe reading my blog daily to see when I'm going to answer the puzzler. And here it is Portland, OR. own Jimmy Beard. The man who gave Calaphon the kiss of death with, "I like pans that look pretty when you cook in them. That's why I couldn't stand to cook in those dart gray anodized aluminum pots. They look as if you're in mourning."

Vegetarian Cassoulet?

I love my Gourmet Magazine! From random issues dating back to 1968 to the one I cracked open last night (March 2008); I always find a comment, recipe, or article that I enjoy. With Ruth Reichl as editor in chief the magazine has broken out of its stuffy beginnings and entered the new century.

Enough waxing poetic. This month is dedicated to rustic French cuisine with a cover photograph of three profiteroles filled with ice cream and an active shot of melted chocolate syrup oozing down. There is a fabulous menu that I want to make in its entirety.
"Spiced Orange Wine
Onion Tart with mustard and fennel
Provencal Fish Soup with Saffron Rouille
Rack of Lamb with swiss chard
Roasted Red Peppers
Roasted Garlic Souffle
Meyer Lemon Cake with Lavender Cream"
I can't think of a better way to say Vie Va La France! than with this menu.

Now I was on a roll and my eyes fell on an article about a bread making technique from Richard Bertinet a master baker from Brittany (historical home of our dog Buzz The Brittany Lightyear). This is a sweet brioche like dough that is very wet and thanks to www.gourmet.com there is a video of his kneading technique.

Wow! after purging myself of my magazines (see previous entries and pictures) I have a reason to horde another batch- Until my respect for Gourmet plummeted when I saw three disturbing recipes.
A Crustless Quiche- "Getting rid of the crust for this clever play on quiche Lorraine is a win-win." How cute is that! And lazy to boot! You might as well just make a Frittata and be done with it in 1/2 the time!!

Mussels and Fries with Mustard Mayonnaise- " While there's no substitute for eating a bowl of mussels on France's Atlantic coast, you'll be surprised at how easy it is to re-create this briny, aromatic dish at home." With one 15-16 oz. package of frozen french fries (cooked according to package instructions- keep warm in oven if necessary.) as the first ingredient. Nothing like a soggy institutional fry go eat with those briny bi-valves.

And the piece de resistance?
Vegetarian Cassoulet!! What were they thinking? I feel the French Revolution all over again! A rustic dish that takes 1 1/4 hour to make and serves 4-6? Julia, Louisette, Simone where are you? I leaped up and grabbed my Mastering the Art of of French Cooking volume one, page 399 and found not necessarily the definitive recipe but a recipe and its variations that embraced the true essence of the dish WITH MEAT. Another part of the cassoulet mystique that was missing from the vegetarian version (ugh) was the bread crumb cracking and basting to form a seasoned crust. The Veggies have you wielding a potato masher to smash the beans and the "Just before serving, sprinkle with garlic crumbs."

Now I will have to put on my critical cap and instead of being lulled into a food orgasm with Gourmet I'll have to have an inner dialogue with every recipe and notation. There is no reason to keep the magazines in their virginal entirety I will now slash and cut only the recipes I want.
Ahh- such is life!

It's not Micheal Jordan-

Guess Who?
I know that one is supposed to have a professional gas stove in order to qualify as a gourmet cook, but maybe I am just never going to be one.(How humble...)
"Corning makes nice oval gratin dishes. I like some of their white pieces, but not with those goddamn cornflowers on them"

Only Three for Me!!

Ready to Go!!

The Snazzy Celica!!

Purge and Ponder

It was a day of purging and gloom. It was time for me to come to terms with 30 years of cooking magazines that have formed culinary insulation in our garage. Let it be said that there was a time when the collection was smaller and in use. The magazines were divided by month and used for inspiration when I created catering menus.

But alas that was 25 years ago and now they had been breeding at a brisk clip of 4-6 magazines a month for way too long. You do the math and figure it out. My NSSP (Not So Silent Partner) has been quiet on the growth. He only whimpers when the magazines are in the house. Once they make the move outside his only interaction is to avoid them when parking the car. After an hour of speculating my day’s activity he surfaced to view my paltry results.

I turned with tears in my eyes and with clenched fists beat him on his chest saying, “Why didn’t you stop me! Why did you let me continue with this collection?” He gloated at my despair and walked away!

What was the catalyst? You might ask. It all had to do with a chance meeting of a budding chefflet who came into In Good Taste lusting after Art Culinaire magazines. I dropped my voice and like a dealer looking to sell drugs I told him of my horde of not only Art Culinaire but other untold culinary magazines waiting for a good home. And that dear friends is why I spent a beautiful, actually sunny, warm day in my cold garage humping boxes and shifting the stash from monthly organization to title.

Many had old addresses and had been with me from my divorced swinging single time when I dashed around Boston in my Toyota Celica ST. Then there were the years represented in our address in Michigan, New Jersey, Florida, and now Oregon.

I held firm not to read anything, I did flip through, but resisted ripping random recipes out. I found out that Gourmet changed from paragraph recipes to our ingredient/explanation style of today in 1983 and with that a narrower collection evolved. I kept those magazines prior to that bench mark. My ever trendy Bon Appetits received the same harsh treatment with only a few of the oldest staying.

I was merciless! Away Cuisine! Be gone defunct Pleasures of Cooking! Adieu Australian Taste! Never breed in my garage again Cook’s!

And when I was done I had moved the magazines from one side of the garage to the other, broken up the old moldering boxes and liposucted the collection from 28 crates to a svelte three.

Having gotten rid of one crate to my new culinary friend I dream of a steady stream of foodies clamoring for the rest of my booty ($25-crate included). If not it’s off to recycling!

Whoopee it's Bagel Bliss

Let’s talk about those bagels that I alluded to in the Whoopee blog. My first thoughts Saturday morning were of how quickly I could make coffee, feed the animals, and dive into bagel bliss. There is always trepidation when food memory and real product meet. Have you waxed poetic on the perfection of the item? Was it really that good? Maybe it was good because you were starving and you used your last dollar to buy sustenance. Maybe it was who you were with? Was this a food shared in a post romantic interlude? My perfect bagel moment was when I was in high school and had Saturday morning Chinese language lessons. There was a car pool of kids that traveled from Dover, NJ to Piscataway. Along the route was a bagel shop in a strip mall.

Time stopped when I walked into the bagel shop. Giant caldrons of water were bubbling with their doughy orbs. Large horizontal pizza ovens flanked the back wall cranked to the perfect temperature to brown the bagels outside. I only ate the hot freshly baked bagels. I snubbed the cool ones in the metal bins. Salt, poppy, sesame, everything, I ate them all with or without cream cheese depending on the pennies in my pocket.

Why did these become my gold standard? It was a food I discovered. Growing up in Iowa gave me little experience to this ethnic wonder. It was an adult pacifier that sent me into a carbohydrate orgasm that lasted through the interminable Chinese class. That gummy doughy center encased by a skin that you had to fight open and chew into a pulp before swallowing. It didn’t get much better.

My husband’s gold standard was based on bagels at the source, New York City. It never occurred to him that there could be a bad bagel until we found ourselves in the Midwest. Then all of his ethnic standards were challenged and we only ate bagels that were brought to us from friends and relatives. We ate them like junkies gorging and hording until the last poppy seed was swallowed.

Now we have become a bit more egalitarian in our bagel consumption. We resign ourselves to an inferior product and with each bite remind each other that it isn’t like…

It is only when we have a chance to eat the perfect bagel that our trust in our bagel memory is renewed. We forget all of the inferior substitutes and wallow in bagel bliss.

Woo-er to Whoopee

I’m so glad I’m not a male “in a relationship” or wanting to get lucky on Valentine’s Day. In the restaurant business we call it V-D Day, innuendos implied and it is deuce night a go-go. To the hapless public it is Valentine’s Day and for the male constituency it’s woo or sleep alone.

There are those high flying types who pull out all of the stops and the credit card for a dozen long stemmed roses (a flower that wracks up frequent flyer miles in February) and a gourmet meal. A hump in the hay is a shoe-in as long as the conversation focuses on the female’s interests.

Another sure fire way to a big bang is a little bauble. Now the woman that you are setting your sights on might “state” that she isn’t interested in gems but remember Mr. Woo that the jewelry food chain is long and you need to seek the sweet spot and buy the embellishment. This can be challenging when you realize Valentine’s Day is a mere 24 hours away. Believe me men, go for the goods be they diamonds, sterling silver or a plug for the ear. Every girl loves her jewelry of choice. Don’t forget to have it wrapped! Surprise is also important to the recipient of woo.

Let’s say your plastic is too hot to handle. In the plastic vs. Christmas fight Christmas won. So nix those roses and buy a bunch of tulips or better yet a little plant for her to nurture and think of you when she waters it! Gee how cute!

We’re on to dinner and the Outback Steakhouse is out. She turned vegetarian last week. The produce section has “caution enter at your own risk” taped around it as far as you are concerned. Wow this is getting rough! Words of advice? Start safe and dive for the wine and beer department. Grab the wine guy and ask him for suggestions. Don’t quibble! Go for the bubbly rosé with a pink and gold label in French. Good job! Remember your goal as you ease back to produce land.

So meat is out and you don’t eat anything green. Have you pondered our aquatic friends? A burly fish like tuna (don’t grab a can Mr. Woo!) or swordfish? How about shellfish short of being allergic shrimp can elevate your status as a cook and get you closer to the night of your dreams.

Buy a half pound of shelled shrimp (1/2# will do), a head of garlic (use 2-3 peeled cloves chopped), white wine (1/2 C) with the rest ready to drink after the rosé has run out, chopped parsley (1T) DON’T buy the curly kind buy flat leaf! That separates the men from the boys on the parsley front. It’s not really a vegetable just a bit of color.

Heat 1T olive oil or butter; throw in the chopped garlic, and then shrimp. Once one side is pink turn the shrimp over and add the white wine, parsley, salt and pepper. Turn heat off and cover.

Done deal. Serve over linguine ( just testing- it’s spaghetti to you) with garlic bread (make sure you are both eating the bread and pasta!!), and a salad from the grocery salad bar. After the coos and kudos you both will be in a garlic induced amorous heaven.

Remember- the meal should be filling but not button popping! Your goal is eat enough calories for friskies not to pass out with the bloats.

Dessert? Well let’s just say Mom’s Apple Pie isn’t appropriate. Go for sex and nothing screams “I want you” more than chocolate and ice cream to be served in bed. Clean sheets help and candles for effect.

Good luck men and the force be with you!!

P.S. My husband knows the way to my heart. Although arriving a day late he is bringing me fresh H&H bagels- onion, garlic, and everything bagged separately…

What a guy!!

Restaurant Madness- A Culinary Poem

I don’t want to know that Sam is my Server

(Or attentive slave salivating for a tip)

Nor that Babs is my Busser

Nor that Carlotta shakes my cocktails

I don’t want to be told that my entrée is a good decision

(Would they tell me other wise?)

Do they know my palate?

I don’t want them to kneel at my feet

And look adoringly up at me as I place my order

I do hate being asked, "How everything is tasting?"

Or "Do you like the food?" with wringing hands

It would be nice to have my chair pulled out

And to always be told the specials

(And not hear them recited at the next table)

It would be nice to have my beverages topped off

Without raising my white napkin

And at the end of the meal I would like my

Check delivered face down

Until I am ready

To pay

Ratatouille the Movie or Roll over Walt Disney

I finally saw Ratatouille and I must say I was completely unimpressed. There is something unsettling about a “cute” rat that #1 has a palate, #2 is coached by a fat chef ghost, #3 pulls the hair of a cook want a be to make him lurch through the kitchen to create perfect dishes and #4 a legion of rats divided throughout the kitchen to prepare a perfect meal for an obnoxious critic. Does this make sense?

Now in older Disney animal movies there was always a depressing sense of reality with an animal dying, evil parent, or nasty protagonist. There was something to make a child bawl and give them nightmares. In this movie the rat was separated from his clan and found himself in Paris. It was hardly heart wrenching since just a few seconds later he found himself in front of a three star restaurant. In this candy coated version of a professional French kitchen there is a runt of a chef who intimidates by rolling his eyes and screwing up his face. He devises a way to expose the chef wanabe by recreating the soup his rat friend had created. Now if Chef Jr. was worth his chops he would have been quizzing his rat friend and learning how to cook instead of letting his hair get pulled under his toque. Where are the knife throwing, food rage and culinary perversion that can be found in a dysfunctional kitchen? And what about the rest of the kitchen staff? Yes they all look like convicts and I’m sure they are tattooed as well but the only one with a personality is the female cook who would never make the cut in any traditional French restaurant. The rest are there for close-ups.

There is no feel for the grueling daily grind of cleaning cases of lettuce, butchering meat, or the magic of emulsifying a sauce. Even the ghost is 2 dimensional (excuse the pun) sagely pushing rat and son to perfection.

I know that the food is excellently choreographed thanks to Thomas Keller graciously letting the production team into his kitchen and allowing them to pixilate his movements. But so what?

Finally the reason that the reviewer is sent into a taste bud orgasm is because the rat has recreated ratatouille that reminds him of his childhood? And that makes a great restaurant?

The real kicker is that the bumbling Chef Jr., who shouldn’t even be cooking at a fast food restaurant gives a toque to the rat and names him “little chef”. Just to wrap up this already basic and uncluttered tale (tail…) Cheffie has found the love of his life in the militant little vixen female chef.

Disney must be rolling over in his grave.

Just saying the word ‘November’ makes the entertaining challenged run for cover. From now until January 2^nd (The official start of the January Diet Campaign) these poor souls are awash with anxiety and culinary hurdles.

The easiest way around this conundrum is to entertain in restaurants or have your party catered. This method is rather expensive. If you are entertaining challenged have one large party and bang out as many pay backs as possible. In this vein you could do “co-mingling” entertaining. In its purest form this is a pot-luck. You supply a clean house and beverages and let your guests bring the rest. Be forewarned that without guidance your guests might all bring a chunk of cheese or desserts. Don’t forget lots of saran to wrap all those goodies up and give back to your guests (keep the ones that you like- they owe you). A variation is the "orchestrated foraged" party. This uses more gas and ingenuity but by tearing around your fair city you can create an “I can’t cook but I can party! menu. With a little bit of planning (you’re the hostess you know when the party is) you can order some excellent items from Zabar’s to intimidate your guests. Nothing like a little smoked sturgeon to show you care. Just gather as many exotic pre-made ingredients that your budget will allow and don’t forget that ever popular crudités (that says healthy) and your party will scream “Look I’m entertaining and having fun!”

There are die hard foodies like me who would rather be spit roasted than use someone else’s candied nuts. We stubborn stupid cooks feel that each entertaining event puts our sauté pans on the line. Having been a caterer means that I can’t do pot-lucks or cookie exchanges. And each year the entertaining bar is raised. I want to give a party like I used to be hired to provide. I rent dishes, wine glasses buy snappy invitations with R.S.V.P.’s and pick special stamps. The guest list is a pot pourri of people. There are always those tiresome neighbors, the boss who thinks he knows it all, and special friends to talk to while the rest of them face off.

The thing I hate about entertaining is that I have to clean the house and do the cooking. Catering was so simple. I showed up with the food and the house was clean. I didn’t have to mingle just make sure there was enough food and the kitchen was spotless when I left.

When we entertain, invariably my Not So Silent Partner with wine glass in hand, will decide to give the newbie’s a tour of the chateau. Is our bedroom with its 14’ butterfly on the wall or my office with 4 6’bookshelves filled with cookbooks necessary for all to see? So I dutifully clean all the nooks and crannies wishing we could do a series of parties since I went to all this trouble. But the hardest thing for me to clean for guests is the kitchen table. You see our kitchen table is a living being dedicated to reading. Layers of food magazines, NYT book review sections, and catalogs grace the marble surface. It takes months to get the right mix of medium so that no matter when you sit down you can exhume a never read piece of literature to fit your mood. Did I mention the random scraps of paper that garnish like a sprinkle of parsley on a dinner plate? I digress into my own entertaining quandary.

What I wanted to discuss was not only the impending doom of Thanksgiving, Christmas, (Hanukah, Kwanza) and New Years; but a little known French holiday that will ease your entertaining woes and put you at the top of the 2007 social circuit. Don’t tell anyone but Nouveau Beaujolais is the answer! On the 3^rd Thursday of November (a week before Thanksgiving) at 12pm the Beaujolais region of France releases its first wine of the season. Yes, the wine has been shipped to your favorite wine shop but they can’t sell it before 12pm your time. In some circles nouveau beaujolais is considered a precursor to how good the wine year will be.

All you have to do is round up 3 different vineyard’s wines put paper bags around them; label them 1, 2, 3 rent some wine glasses (red cups won’t do!) and away you go! The menu? What’s easier? Cheese, fruit, store bought paté (for that gourmet touch). If your French side is clamoring for attention you can make gougere or fondue. You will notice that no EVOO was spilled nor “chunked” potatoes were “smashed” for this event but it was oh, so easy!! Dessert? You’re off the hook- a wine party doesn’t need it! Voila! A party! Your guests vote on which Beaujolais they like the best and then after the fabricated award is given to the wine and the suspense is done you can continue to drink in earnest. Now the secret to this party is the date. No one is thinking of a party before thanksgiving and your party won’t get lost in the holiday shuffle. When your friends think back on their holiday season and the endless holiday buffets they “enjoyed” they will remember your party first with glowing nostalgia and a well done!

Have You Made Your Grocery List Today?

Every counter in the kitchen, every pocket of my pants, and scattered around my pocket book and wallet are random sized pieces of paper written in various colors of ink creating grocery lists. I on occasion, absent mindedly pick up these lists of yore and feel calm as my eyes caress the items that make our house run. There were days of coupons, when I judiciously snipped, filed and threw away more than I used. Now I have moved on to obsess about which store to forage in for our supplies. My buzz words are local, organic, and sustainable.

They are not profound grocery lists full of forgettable ingredients for an haute cuisine meal but lists of mundane needs for the house to keep it running.

The list often starts out with the trilogy milk, o.j., and bread. Then the generic notation of meat, fish, potatoes and veggies. These items are road maps to creativity in the grocery store. Now the list gets into the occasionally needed but no less necessary item. So we add dog food both dry, and wet. Not to be outdone is the dry and wet cat food and an occasional addition of cat litter. There can be asides of less than exotic items that must be in the home at all times- flour, yeast, Perrier. Sometimes recipes have been researched in advance for a meal and those items receive special treatment with underlining, CAPITALIZATION, circles and exclamation marks! Vitamins need an added reminder because of their variety and we never need all of them at the same time. Holiday grocery lists are still pretty much the same but with a theme- the Thanksgiving list always mentions turkey, cranberry sauce, and cubed bread as if it could be forgotten!

Once at the grocery store of choice the list becomes alive and the word meat is translated into veal chops, hamburger, or pork. The fish becomes fresh scallops pregnant with sweetness, halibut cheeks with their unique texture, or the first wild salmon of the year. Vegetables burst into the cart after I have pondered their origin nestling amongst the organic milk and no pulp orange juice. The word bread always gives me a pause at the store. Here a decision has to be made. Who will be home during the week to consume it? Should the bread be an uncut artisan loaf or a pre-sliced whole wheat sandwich loaf and in that case are sandwich meats needed?

To keep my life simple I have settled on certain products that I can buy without pondering. I always buy the same basics. It keeps me simple- Aim toothpaste, Neutrogena soap, and for many years Cascade dishwashing soap that has been recently replaced with Seventh Generation dishwashing soap (see there is room for change). I save my questing for interesting canned goods, olive oils, mastering new ingredients, spices or which coffee to buy. Give me a free sample and if it passes the taste test it goes in the cart.

To come across an old grocery list that has made it through the washing machine is like an archeologist trying to put some import on a simple water vessel. The list is my own special map for taming the grocery store and wresting the supplies needed to maintain my household’s happiness. When I do find my maps dotting the house I glance at them, sigh as I remember cruising the isles for the items and then throw them away. I could save time by continuing the list, instead of using a new piece of paper, but it would like retracing my steps. A new sheet is needed for a new quest.

Sometimes the lists go AWOL before they hit the store and in that case I play the remembering game. It’s a win-lose game with the down side being a new list started as soon as the groceries are put away.

My grocery lists bridge the home and store. With them I am able to navigate the isles unscathed by temptations and bring home the bacon.

Restaurant Madness, A Culinary Poem

I don’t want to know that Sam is my Server
(Or attentive slave salivating for a tip)
Or Babs is my Busser
Or Desmond shakes my cocktails

I don’t want to be told that my entrée is a good decision
(Would they tell me other wise?)

I don’t want them to kneel at my feet

It would be nice to have my chair pulled out
And to always be told the specials
(And not hear them recited at the next table)

It would be nice to have my beverages topped off
Without raising my white napkin
And at the end of the meal I would like my
Check delivered face down

Until I am ready
To pay

Move Away Gourmet!

Tired of being called a foodie or gourmet? Try on the word gastrocenti. Based on the Italian cognoscenti meaning the people who know this morph means people who know about food. How utterly continental!

And by the way the answer to the picture is in the What is this? comments section!

Another Angle

Here's the "ladies" from another angle- Now you can see those sexy toes!

What is this?

I know it looks like kinky can-can but it really is a "useful" item. What is it? Comments please and the answer will be next week!
From Queen Art-o-Eat