Food Studio

I have so many things to write, but haven't had time to. I guess I will start with a birthday dinner for the boy and his parents as the preamble to our Thanksgiving gluttony. We chose the Food Studio located in King Plow Arts Center. We had early reservations and they were decidedly empty, but the service was ready and the ambiance was lovely. It was a little bit dark on entry...leaving us grasping for the nearby hand rail, but once seated, I felt kind of enveloped and warm. A fireplace flickered in a nearby hearth, casting shadows on the rough walls and aged industrial design...somehow it made the two story ceiling seem not so tall. The service included, to my delight, not only crumbers and gentlemen who pulled out chairs, but also upon seeing we all wore black, the waiter brought us black napkins instead of white ones!

While the boy's father, not accustomed to high falutin' dining, was a bit uneasy upon entry, he quickly assimilated and began an animated discussion about football with our waiter while we waited for the first course. He relaxed for the rest of the evening and I dare say enjoyed himself.

We had:

Amuse Bouche
Mini brie toasted cheese sandwiches

First Courses
Duck Confit Agnolotti with porcini mushrooms and truffle oil
This was rich and luscious, the broth was eagerly and unashamedly soaked up with bread
An Artisan Cheese Tasting
While this was nice, I was not wowed by any cheese.
Almond Dusted Foie Gras with roasted plums and sticky bread
This was also just nice. The lobes were large, but a bit too firm. The consensus was that we had had better. I don't think it came with plums, more like a fig cake, but I could be wrong. The little cake was good, but didn't seem to want to play with the foie gras. on the plate the items just seemed too big, there was no visual balance inviting you to pair the flavors.

Main Dishes were:
Roasted Monkfish with fennel, leeks, shitakes and a coconut-curry broth
I felt this was too bland and and the monkfish a bit overcooked. I am used to it melting in my mouth.
Atlantic Salmon with celery root puree, bok choy and soy ginger butter
The mother enjoyed this very much. She commented that the fish was perfectly cooked.
Braised Pork Belly with smoked gold potatoes,Tuscan kale and tomato vinaigrette
The boy moaned and groaned over it. I thought it was pretty good as well.
Maple Glazed chicken with chestnut-chorizo bread pudding and caramelized onion jus
The chicken was nice, but the bread pudding was the sort of dish I like...something that surprises and excites you. It was rich, spicy, firm and creamy all at the same time. Very good.

Dessert was:
Pressed Coffee
An assortment of mini creme brulees

Wine was:
A Cote de Rhone I can't remember the name, but we got it at the Farmer's market for $7 the next day!
We had a glass of sauternes with the foie gras as well. Still lovely.

Overall I think everyone really enjoyed themselves. The service was great, the atmosphere great, the food good, just not stellar. I just am okay with this place.Probably about three ***.

Zen and the Art of Cooking

I am a member of the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Atlanta and I had the pleasure to write and deliver this reflection as part of our worship service this morning. Eventually there will be a podcast and audio here.

Julia Child noted in her delicious memoir My Life in France that she often encountered many a sophisticated American who was too busy to spend his or her precious time preparing food only to have the fruits of this labor devoured within moments. "How quaint," I imagine them saying to all 6'2" of her as they witnessed her sweating over the groundbreaking Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Of them Julia said, "Noncooks think it's silly to invest two hours' work in two minutes' enjoyment; but if cooking is evanescent, well, so is the ballet."

Julia Child knew the power of preparing a good meal by hand. When I cook, this power flows through me in waves like the spiritual energy I feel in my body during meditation. Well, not just LIKE the energy of meditation. For me, cooking is meditation. When I'm cooking, I breathe in peace and I breathe out love. It is, in a lot of ways, easier to let go of the noise in my bustling brain when I'm guiding an 8-inch-long, razor-sharp, forged piece of steel millimeters from my knuckles; when I'm carefully trying to flip a delicate fillet of fish; or when I'm watching for the exact moment when the broccoli turns that perfect shade of brilliant green. When I'm cooking, my mind, body and heart are one, like the Holy Trinity. The idea, the flesh and the spirit. I breathe, chop and season my love into even the simplest of dishes. I remember and fully experience the fact that I -- my true self -- am not just a brain-in-a-jar. (I think that this is an important reminder for UUs everywhere.)

Cooking is also teaching me two important lessons. First, releasing my ego; that is, letting go of the importance of the judgments I place on myself based on my perceptions of how others view me. Parker Palmer writes in his book Let Your Life Speak that he once heard Dorothy Day say this: "Do not give to the poor expecting to get their gratitude so that you can feel good about yourself...Give only if you have something you must give; give only if you are someone for whom giving is its own reward." Or to paraphrase for my purposes, "Cook only if you are someone for whom cooking is its own reward." Palmer goes on to write "When I give something that I do not possess, I give a false and dangerous gift, a gift that looks like love but is, in reality, loveless -- a gift given more from my need to prove myself than from the other's need to be cared for."

The action and all I receive from it are the rewards, not the outcome. When I cook my love into a dish, it is a gift that I need to give, not a hollow, needy cry for attention, compliments or thanks. I love to hear them, of course, and I even enjoy constructive criticism, but, you see, this is why my grandmother (and grandmothers everywhere) insisted, when I entered her home, that she make me a plate. No matter how recently I'd eaten lunch, how soon it was till dinner or the fact that her next sentence often was "Honey, you sure look like you've put on a few pounds."

"Yeah, thanks for the pie, Grandma."

The thanks aren't the point. If it were about the pay-off, cooking wouldn't be worth it because sometimes the potatoes are too salty, the yeast doesn't rise, the sauce is too spicy, or the meal takes waaaay longer to cook than I was expecting. Sometimes I intuitively know the exact instant that I put too much pepper in the soup, but that way has closed. I can't take it back. I have to accept that too much pepper is now a part of my soup and move on. Sometimes I can make it better, but whether the end result is delicious or we end up ordering take out, the response of others to my products does not dictate the quality of the way I cooked my life that day. It does not diminish what I got out of the act of mindfully preparing the food: the peace I breathed in and the love I breathed out.

This leads me to the second -- and the hardest -- lesson cooking is teaching me: I have to set aside some of that love I'm breathing out for myself. Through cooking my life, I suddenly realized not long ago why, for all these years, food prepared for me by someone else always tasted so much better than when I made it myself. In restaurants, of course, it's the butter. But in the case of my grandma's enchiladas, my dad's grilled cheese, my mom's lasagna, it's because I couldn't, wouldn't taste my own love when I replicated these dishes. This awareness shattered a kind of glass ceiling in my spirit that is slowly, slowly letting me become generous, gentle and loving with myself. Bite by bite, I'm learning to taste not just a pale shadow, a remembrance of my Great Grandmother's love when I recreate the warm blackberry cobbler she made for me as a child. I'm learning to open up my awareness to taste the vast ocean of love that generations of mothers and fathers have passed on -- the love that is now MY love. I'm working on keeping just a little, sweet, savory bit of it for myself.

The beautiful thing about cooking, too, is that you don't have to be a child-prodigy-raised-in-ballerina-boot-camp to do it. Julia Child didn't learn to cook until she was nearly 40. You also don't have to stage a full-blown production of Swan Lake to give this gift: while I advocate fresh, sustainably grown, seasonal food, you can breathe as much love into a box of macaroni and cheese as you can into your annual Thanksgiving blowout if only you feel the love flowing through your mind, body and heart, the holy trinity of your true self.

Thanksgiving: No Knead Bread rising to new heights and "Oh, the squash is IN the mac and cheese?!?"

Thanksgiving is my second favorite holiday after my birthday, which is not yet recognized by the federal government, so I guess Thanksgiving is my favorite bank holiday. The getting together with family, the celebration of all that we have to be grateful for, the food... We should have Thanksgiving every month, I think.

This year, we went to my sister-in-law's house in the wilds of the exurbs, Cumming, Georgia, a place where people only choose to live if they either work somewhat north of Atlanta or value shoddily constructed megasubdivisions more than hours that could be spent with their families instead of in the car. I imagine there are also some folks who have lived there since the pre-sprawl era when it was actually a separate town, but every time we make it up there there's another strip mall, so I imagine the rows of corn and the livestock will be replaced by Starbucks and 5,000 square foot homes "From the high 300s" soon enough.

My in-laws are in the former category, happily, and their home, though it looks pretty much the same as all the others on the street, is really quite lovely. Not lovely enough to convince me that in-town living isn't the way to go, but it's certainly a better venue for Thanksgiving for 15 than our "cozy" 1,200 square foot, 1 bathroom place.

I "helpfully" volunteered Alton Brown's turkey how-to from the 2003 Thanksgiving issue of Bon Appetit which last year yielded the most delicious, juicy turkey I've ever eaten. Happily, my sister-in-law, who at age 32 had to consult Dr. Google to find out what the "self-clean" function on her oven did, accepted the gospel and ran with it. Down to even accepting the difficult verse: "Stuffing is evil!" Much to the chagrin of a few in the kitchen, but to the delight of my, and soon the other guests', taste buds. It was truly a beautiful bird. The other side dishes were also deliciously and competently prepared from terrific recipes. We'll turn sister-in-law into Martha Stewart yet. :)

Sadly, this was my first Thanksgiving of all time without mashed potatoes, but the carbohydrates that I provided more than made up for that oversight. I think I can forgive her.

So, my contributions. La belle mangeuse and I have been obsessed with No Knead Bread, a genre of recipes tweaked in the last year after Mark Bittman introduced the world to the secret of making great bread at home over a year ago in his New York Times column. Its creator insisted that it is so easy to make a 4-year-old could do it, and Jaden over at SteamyKitchen.com proved it recently. So, I knew that this bread needed to grace the Thanksgiving table this year, and, intriguingly, the folks over at America's Test Kitchen had been toying with the recipe and put their "best" version of it in the January/February issue of Cook's Illustrated that arrived in my mailbox on Tuesday. Given my obsession with both the bread and the Test Kitchen, I knew I had to try it even though they did add a brief kneading step and some additional ingredients. For Thanksgiving and delicious bread, I can knead it 10 times. And any excuse to buy beer is a good one in my book. I adjusted their recipe slightly, but the basics are the same.

Nearly No-Knead Bread

Makes 1 large round loaf (two were plenty for 14 folks)

3 c bread flour

1/4 t instant dry yeast (the "Rapid Rise" kind)

1 1/2 t kosher salt or sea salt

3/4 c plus 2 T water (that's 7 ounces)

1/4 c plus 2 T mild-flavored lager (I used Amstel Light)

1 T white vinegar

For whole wheat variation: Replace 1 cup of the flour with whole wheat flour and add 2 T of honey.

1. Mix all the ingredients in a bowl with a wooden spoon or rubber spatula until a shaggy, messy dough forms. Cover with plastic wrap. At this point, I advocate drinking the 9 ounces of beer that you have left. Let the bread sit on your counter for 8 to 18 hours. The blue bowl is white and the green one is wheat just after being mixed.

2. Put a piece of parchment paper inside a 10 inch skillet and spray the paper lightly with oil. Flour your work surface (I like to use a big tray instead of the counter because it's easier to clean up), wet your hands and dump the dough out on the work area. Knead 10 times, rewetting your hands if necessary. By "knead" I mean to smush the bread with the heels of your hands, then fold it over on itself to get it back to its original size. Kneading helps to develop the gluten, long stringy chains of goo that will make the bread chewy. While part of the appeal of this bread is the no kneading aspect, 10 times didn't even make me break a sweat. I can handle this. Pull the edges of the dough into the middle to form a ball and lay it seam-side-down on the parchment paper. Lightly spray the top of the bread with oil and cover it loosely with plastic wrap for a two-hour nap on the counter.

3. With about 30 minutes left in the dough's beauty nap, adjust the oven rack to its lowest position, put in a large oven-safe pot with a lid and preheat the oven to 500. I use my 8 quart stainless pot. In a pinch (when baking 2 loaves at once), I've used my 3 quart casserole and it worked fine, though all the recipes say to use a bigger pot. If you're lucky enough to have a beautiful enameled dutch oven (which I don't), that would be just perfect too.

4. When it's time to wake the dough, remove the plastic wrap, lightly flour the top of the dough, spray a sharp knife with oil and make a 6 inch long, 1/2 inch deep slit in the surface of the dough. Carefully remove the screaming hot pot from the oven and, using the parchment paper as a sling, put the dough in the pot and cover it. You should hear sizzling when the dough hits the pan. Mmmm...crusty. Return the pot to the oven and reduce the heat to 425. Bake covered for 30 minutes.

5. Remove the lid and bake uncovered for another 20-30 minutes until the crust is deep brown and the internal temperature of the bread reaches 210. I usually go by look and sound (the dough will sound like a hollow drum when you tap on it), but it's a good idea to use a thermometer if you're baking more than one loaf at a time. When I made the T-day bread, it was only to about 204 after 30 minutes uncovered, so I baked it an additional few minutes until it reached the proper temp. Carefully remove from the oven, and place the bread on a wire rack to cool for at least 10 minutes before you slice it.

The verdict? I think the small amount of kneading and the beer is worth it. It's just as easy as the truly no-knead recipes, and it tastes even better. That there is a beautiful loaf of bread.

My second contribution was butternut squash macaroni and cheese, a recipe that is widely renowned among a group of imaginary internet friends of mine that I adapted and, I think, took to new heights yesterday.

When I told my sister-in-law I was making butternut squash mac 'n' cheese, she assumed that it was 2 separate dishes, despite the fact that she knows I have a superior command of punctuation. It's not. And despite the Boy's protestations over my adulteration of macaroni and cheese with a vegetable, it is one dish full of cheesy, savory deliciousness that ultimately won him over. Mac 'n' cheese for grown-ups, though the kids really liked it too. Everyone wanted the recipe, and I, unfortunately, forgot to take a photo before it was almost entirely devoured (and then we ate the small amount that was left for breakfast this morning). I'm thinking of trying this with canned pumpkin in place of the squash to see if it could be a reasonable weeknight creation.

Ms. Saveur's Yes, the Squash Is in the Mac 'n' Cheese

Makes a very full 13" x 9" dish: can be halved successfully, but it makes really wonderful leftovers so why bother?

1 large butternut squash, cut in half lengthwise and seeded

1 lb gruyere, shredded (about 4 cups)

1 lb macaroni of your choice (I used cavatappi, which are like little 1-inch spirals. The traditional elbow would be just fine, but Your Dekalb Farmer's Market didn't have any. I liked the grown-upness of the cavatappi.)

Nonstick spray (I use grapeseed oil in a pump-action mister)

1/4 c butter (1/2 stick) plus 2 T for the topping

1/2 c flour

2 c milk

1 T dijon mustard

1 3/4 c chicken or vegetable stock

1 c breadcrumbs (I threw 1 big wheat sandwich roll we had in the bread box into the food processor, and it yielded slightly more than a cup of crumbs. I used all of it, and I think that the fresh crumbs were superior to packaged ones. No need to toast first because the topping gets browned under the broiler at the end.)

salt

pepper

cayenne

nutmeg

1. Preheat the oven to 350. Spray the squash and a rimmed baking sheet with oil, sprinkle with salt, pepper and a pinch of nutmeg, and place the squash cut-side-down on the sheet. Roast for 50-60 minutes until it looks pretty squishy and the skin wrinkles up. Set aside.

2. Cook the macaroni according to the package directions in heavily salted water. The water should taste flavored, but not salty. This is probably a lot more salt than you usually put in your pasta water, but your macaroni are going to suck up this water: you want it to taste good. Disclosure: I usually put in a good shake of bouillon to flavor the pasta water. It makes a big difference in the flavor of the pasta. In a good way. Drain the macaroni, and set it aside.

3. Peel the skin off the squash and mash it with salt, pepper and another pinch of nutmeg.

4. Melt 1/4 c butter in a large saucepan and slowly stir in 1/2 c flour to form a paste. Off heat, SLOWLY whisk in 2 cups of milk. Return to medium low heat until the sauce fully blends and thickens. SLOWLY whisk in the mashed squash, wait for sauce to thicken again. Add mustard and a large pinch each of salt, pepper, nutmeg and cayenne. Stir in 3 cups of cheese (set aside 1 cup for the topping) and 1 3/4 cups of stock, alternating cheese and stock by cupfuls. Stir slowly and taste sauce frequently until it warms up and the cheese melts smoothly. Adjust seasonings -- it should taste slightly spicier than you want the finished dish to taste because the spice will get diffused when you combine with the macaroni.

5. Combine pasta and cheese sauce in a large bowl, toss to coat evenly. Transfer mixture to an oven-safe dish. Mix remaining cup of cheese with 2 T melted butter and breadcrumbs to form topping. Sprinkle mixture evenly over the macaroni. Place macaroni under a low broiler until topping is nicely browned - about 2-4 minutes. Let stand 10 minutes before serving.

Notes on traveling with this dish: Don't broil before you leave the house if your destination will have an oven. Cover the dish with foil and a lid (if your baking dish has one). Warm the dish covered with foil for 15-20 minutes in a 350 degree oven (we just stuck it in there with the dressing), then remove the foil and broil for a few minutes to brown the topping.

Rustic Potato Leek Soup

After my folks were here for the weekend, I ended up with a leftover leek and some potatoes, so I decided to make soup. Incidentally, I always put leeks sauteed in butter in my mashed potatoes for special occasions. SO good.

Anyway, my soup adventure started with cleaning and chopping the leek. This resulted in streams of tears running down my face. I have never before experienced leeks that made me cry like onions! See those pesky suckers above on the right. I made it through, but it was rough.

Once I had the offensive leek chopped, the rest of the soup came together brilliantly and relatively quickly. The leftovers also froze really well (don't add cream before you freeze). Leeks and potatoes are such a perfect couple...like Fred and Ginger or Bert and Ernie. I served with leftover No Knead Bread for a delightful light supper which we were able to eat out on our porch. Quite a nice cap to an otherwise blah Monday, though it just seems wrong that we can eat on our (unheated) porch in November.


Rustic Potato Leek Soup

This recipe is the love-child of The New Best Recipe and Alice Water's The Art of Simple Food.

6 good sized servings

1 big leek or 2 small leeks, white and light green parts only, washed well and chopped
2T butter or extra virgin olive oil
2 sprigs of fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
1.5 lbs of potatoes, coarsely diced (I oppose peeling potatoes generally, but you can if you want)
5-6 c of broth or water
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
optional: 1/3 c heavy cream or evaporated milk

Melt the butter over medium heat in a heavy-bottomed saucepan. Add the leeks, thyme and bay. Add a fair dusting of salt. Saute until the leeks soften, about 10 minutes. Add the potatoes, salt them and cook for about 4 minutes. Add the broth/water and bring it to a boil, then turn the heat down to a simmer. Cook until the potatoes are tender, but not quite mushy, about 30 minutes. Remove the bay leaf and the thyme sprigs. Using either an immersion blender in the pot or ladling the soup into a blender in batches, puree about half of the soup and return the puree to the pot. Stir in the cream if desired, taste the soup and add salt and pepper until it is just right. You can see in the photo that my soup had a little bit of pepper and red sea salt as a "garnish" (really, it was because I didn't put enough in the soup before I served it!)

Enjoy! This is especially good sopped up with delicious warm bread.

A Hot Fuss

Last night the boy and I embarked on #2 of our opera series to see Hansel and Gretel. The production was just wonderful. It was a whimsical, new, refreshing, harmonious, surprising, and well priced evening of entertainment. Much like our second meal at Muss and Turners.

Well, I know for sure now, the place is not a one hit wonder. It was just as spectacular as the last time we were there. The staff was as friendly, just as helpful. Beer explorations were fun prior to sitting down to dinner. The cheese counter was enchanting. Our meal choices exciting.

As usual we over indulged, but this time our senses were only aided by wine in moderation rather than obliterated by gluttony. We had:


Wagyu Beef Tartare - Fresh, raw ground beef, capers, shallots, chives and mustard oil.
This was absolutely the best beef tartare I have ever had in my life. It sang in my mouth. So piquant. So lively. We swore it was laced with wasabi, but perhaps it was the mustard oil kicking the flavor into high gear. It was the boy's first beef tartare ever, and he declared it a permanent addition to things he like to eat. I was pleased that his "first" was so good. Gawd know that is rare... (heh heh)

Antipasto - Meditterranean Pasta Salad, Greenless Greek Salad, Shrimp Remoulade and Mushroom and Hobb's Smoked Bacon Salad

Pave Sauvage -French goat's milk cheese with peppercorns, tarragon and Black pepper truffle honey
I swear, this should be the year of the milk if there was a food zodiac. I have never had so many innovative, fresh, inspiring cheeses in one year! This one was so grassy and fresh while still creamy. And the truffle honey is going on my christmas wish list. It is SOOOO good with cheese.)

Hudson Valley Camembert - New York cow and sheeps milk cheese with fruit preserves
While this was very mellow, creamy and had the most delicate rind, the Pave still shone brighter. The HV soothed, the Pave swooned.

Grilled Lamb Tenderloin - Medium rare with local radish, celery root, frisee, house made bacon and red wine sauce
Perfectly prepared. The naturally herb flavor of the lamb danced gently with the earthy root vegetables. The frisee was a warm and interesting surprise. ( I love cooked and braised greens when done well.) The sauce was supremely dark and rich with almost a hint of coffee in its complexity, or bitter chocolate...a pleasant contrast to the grassy lamb and perfect for sopping up with Pommes Frites.

Muss and Turners is officially in our top three with Rathbuns and Shauns. It is different as it so much more casual, and has the added bonus of the deli. I wish only that I could (a) eat lunch there, and (b) buy cheeses and meat there. Alas we live too far away to partake on a regular basis. Though as we drove from M&T's to the opera, the boy and I found ourselves wondering how much it costs to live in that neighborhood...It think it is Vinings? Surely this could only have been inspired by the fantasy of living in close proximity to such a wonderful place. The neighborhood is a little too "new" for our tastes and erm...pocketbooks we surmise.

Again...Cold Sassy Tree as an opera in February...Muss and Turner's we will be back! And a good thing as the menu is seasonal!

Love in Manchester's Arms...

I don't often venture this close to the Perimeter, or to the southside of town, but I met some girlfriends at the Manchester Arms pub for a weeknight dinner last night. I am now intensely envious that this place is in College Park.

The pub is housed in a really lovely converted Tudor house with a large patio nestled between a wooded area, a church and a residential neighborhood on Virginia Avenue. The atmosphere is as charming as the architechture (which includes a stunning arch-shaped entry door). I walked in to find a small bar, cozy tables and friendly, laid-back, attentive staff.

We were seated in the upstairs space which has exposed beams, but, somehow, feels cozy and not at all echoey. We ordered beers which came quickly (impressive considering how many times the poor server had to climb the stairs!), and then ordered fish and chips and the steak-and-Guinness pie. Our dishes arrived quickly, and they were hot and delicious. The fish was crisp on the outside with just the right proportion of breading to cod and not too greasy. The chips (i.e. fries) were also crisp on the outside, but soft and steamy on the inside. The fish needed a little salt for our taste, but it was perfect with a drizzle of malt vinegar. I haven't had fish and chips like this since I was in London.

I didn't try the steak-and-Guinness pie, but it looked and smelled amazing, and my companion's plate was nearly licked clean, so I think it was also excellent. We then ordered the bread pudding and the Guinness brownie, the two desserts our server reported are prepared on-premises. The bread pudding was decent. The Guinness brownie was transcendent. Soft, chocolatey, not-too-sweet. I'm not a sweets person, but this brownie is everything that a brownie should be and more. The kind of brownie that two bites is enough to satisfy because it's so rich and gooey and perfect. *drool*

Our server happily split our checks, and the meal was more than reasonably priced for the excellent service, the homey atmosphere and the high-quality food. I was skeptical about the experience I would have venturing down south, but I left with a happy belly full of delicious food and happy memories of a place that is ideal for a get-together with good friends. Even if it is nearly OTP. ;)

Free and Easy

So I was doing my shopping this weekend and my checkout gal turned out to be my neighbor. In neighborly fashion she pointed out to me that pumpkins were free if I wanted one. At first I hesitated, and the bag-girl said "I'll get it!" and so I decided why-not. I suppose I could do something with it. Keep in mind (a) I have already made no less than 8 pumpkin related dishes from canned pumpkin over the past two months. I was not sure how the boy would react to more pumpkin. (b) I had never tackled a raw pumpkin, and this one was of rotund waist.

After a little bit of online research and a little bit of questioning from the boy, I began my free food journey with his critical eye hovering near. I decided to make pumpkin seeds and roast pumpkin flesh. Turns out both were pretty easy, but required a bit of perseverance and upper body strength.

Pumpkin Seeds
Preheat oven to 400. Then I cut open my pumpkin jack-o-lantern style and pulled the guts out, separating the guts from the seeds. I rinsed the seeds a few times in a colander, brought a 4 qt pot of salted water to boil and threw the seeds in for about 10 minutes. Then I drained them. I drizzled some oil over a shallow baking pan, threw the seeds in there and messed them around with my hand till they were coated and spread evenly across the bottom in one layer. As for seasoning, I chose a few sprinkles of smoked paprika, sea salt and fresh ground pepper. Bake for about 10 minutes, but really keep an eye on them. Let cool before you eat, and save the rest in air tight container.

Roasted Pumpkin
The boy and I really really enjoyed this. The flavor is very different from canned and puree...Closer to sweet potato plus squash. Plus I have enough for the whole winter.

I started out by struggling to cut the big vegetable up and was quickly brushed aside as my "man" made short work of the pumpkin. He then proceeded to show me how he would clean the remaining guts from the pieces if HE was going to do it. Prep work not being my favorite, I cooed and encouraged while I made myself a drink. When he finished, I handed him a drink as well.

We placed the pumpkin pieces flesh up on baking pans and rubbed them with olive oil. I seasoned with crushed dried rosemary, sea salt and ground pepper, but I bet thyme would be good too. We put this in the same 400 oven as the seeds and let it cook for about an hour. Stick a fork in the flesh to see if it is tender. After it cooled off, I pulled the skins off the large pieces of pumpkin (easy) and roughly chopped them into large chunks.

I portioned away a bunch in ziplocs and put them in the freezer. When I served them with dinner last night I sauteed the chunks to warm them up in a tablespoon of butter with a dash of olive oil so it doesn't burn. Then I sprinkled with more salt, rosemary, pepper and the juice of one 1/4 lemon. MMMMMMMM good. I think there is caramelizing going on somewhere, and then the comforting rosemary, the rich texture of the pumpkin, the freshness of the lemon juice...good. I think I will serve with some roast chicken and potatoes later this week.

We were grateful for: The boy was grateful he had a friend who would come help him figure out a problem for school. I was grateful I didn't have to run an event for work tomorrow.

Delicious Mushy Goo (with Kale)

The Boy had a come-to-Jesus moment about a month ago when he had a guest speaker in his philosophy class. The speaker discussed the ethics of the corporate food industry and the political and nutritional implications of eating meats produced on industrial farms. The major take away (that I learned about as he sneered at the delicious meal of pork tenderloin I put on the table that evening) was that there are a lot of really terrible things happening in the world -- poverty, famine, genocide, torture, war -- that we really can't do much about in our day-to-day routines, but we do have control over what we eat, we can choose to eat differently, and eating ethically makes a difference. The environmental impact of meat-eating is dramatic and appalling no matter what your take on the animal cruelty angle. In fact, some researchers recently calculated that meat-eaters going vegan would reduce America's greenhouse gas emissions more than car-owners going hybrid. Yikes!

"So, what are you trying to tell me?" I ask. "No more meat?"

This possibility isn't much of an issue for me as I was vegetarian and pescatarian (fish only) for about eight years, but the Boy...the Boy is a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy; I was pretty shocked (and delighted) at what this could mean for my mostly ineffective attempts to open his eyes to the delicious world of plants. Getting five-a-day in him has always been a struggle.

I see bacon cheeseburgers flash before his eyes, and he hedges, "Weeell, more like significantly reduce, but yeah."

Since, I've been expanding my repertoire of meat-free dishes for the meat lover. The Boy, on the other hand, keeps mentioning that he wants to find a local farm where he can kill his own chicken. Kind of a gruesome twist on picking your own apples, I guess. As long as he dresses and plucks the thing too, more power to him.

Anyway, on to the point of this post: the Mushy Goo. I got turned on to an Orangette recipe by a friend last week that sounded interesting so I thought I would try something like it. What I made is a modified, slimmer version of this recipe, if you're interested in the original. It calls for chard, not kale, and more oil and cheese.

My version was delicious, and the bread comes out tasting exactly like saltines crushed into soup, one of my all-time top comfort foods.

Kale, Onion, and Gruyère Panade

Makes about 5 main-dish servings and takes about 2.5 hours start-to-finish.

1 1/2 lbs. onions, thinly sliced
About 1/4 c. olive oil
6 cloves garlic, slivered
Salt and pepper
1 lb. dinosaur kale, thick ribs removed, ripped into manageable bits
Water (2 c. plus enough to drizzle on the kale)
10 ounces day-old yummy bread (i.e. not WonderBread), cut into rough 1-inch cubes
2 c. vegetable broth
1 c. of grated gruyère cheese

To prepare the onions:
Place the onions in a large, deep saucepan, and toss with about 1/8 cup olive oil. Cook on medium-high heat, shaking the pan occasionally, until the onions on the bottom start to turn golden on the edges, about 3 minutes. Stir and cook until all the onions start to color. Reduce the heat to low, and add the garlic, about 1 t. of salt and pepper to taste. Let cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are golden and tender, another 20 minutes or so.

Preheat the oven to 325.

To prepare the greens:
Place handfuls of kale in a large nonstick skillet sprayed with olive oil, mist greens with olive oil, and sprinkle with water and a few pinches of salt and pepper. Set the pan over medium heat until the leaves begin to cook; then reduce the heat and stir and fold the leaves until they are all just wilted, 2-4 minutes. Set aside.

To prepare the bread:
Toss the cubed bread with 2 or 3 T. olive oil, ¼ cup of the broth, and several pinches of salt.

To build the panade:
Using an oven-proof and stovetop-safe casserole dish or dutch oven (I used the 3 quart stainless casserole that I use for almost everything), assemble the panade in layers. It's all going to get mixed up, so it doesn't have to be pretty or exact. You should end up with 2 or 3 layers of each ingredient, so each layer should be 1/3 to 1/2 of the total amount you've got. You'll want the top to have a little of each ingredient showing. Start with onions, followed by bread cubes, greens and cheese. Lather, rinse, repeat until you have no more ingredients or no more space in your dish (mine was full to the top). It's okay to pack it down at the end.

Bring the remaining 1 ¾ cups broth and 2 cups water to a simmer in a pan of your choice. Orangette used a medium saucepan, I used the skillet I wilted the greens in to cut down on dishes. Whatever works for you. Pour the warm liquid slowly, in doses, over the assembled panade, drizzling it down the sides of the dish so you don't lose all the cheese on the top into the casserole.

Set the dish over medium heat on the stovetop, and bring the liquid to a simmer. Cover the top of the dish with parchment paper, then loosely cover the top again with aluminum foil or the lid to the dish if it's not too full. Place the panade on a baking sheet to catch drips, slide it into the oven, and bake it until hot and bubbly, about 1 hour.

Uncover, raise the temperature to 375, and bake for 10-20 minutes to brown the top. Once out of the oven, give it a couple of minutes to calm down before serving. Enjoy!

Several reports indicate that it is also delightful when reheated.

We served it with an earthy, fruity Carmenere/Merlot blend, courtesy of Trader Joe's Chilean Collection ($4.49), and it was a wonderful meal.

Ruhlman in Atlanta tomorrow

Michael Ruhlman, author of lots of books including the new The Elements of Cooking, is coming to Atlanta tomorrow to do a demo at Viking. It's pricey (therefore I'm not going), but rumor has it that he may be making an impromptu appearance at the Borders near there to sign books around 4:30-5:30ish. I'll try to confirm tomorrow whether this is actually happening (as I've been harrassing him about it).

I got my copy of Elements yesterday, and it's an opinionated run-down of everything the home cook should know about the stuff that they teach people in culinary school: the Strunk and White's Elements of Style for cooks. I've read the first 15 pages or so, and I've already learned about things that I will definitely try in my kitchen, and I haven't even gotten to the encyclopedia bit. He's also funny and doesn't take himself too seriously, two qualities that I appreciate greatly in both writing and life. I'll post a review once I'm done reading it.

Ruhlman is also one of the judges for the Next Iron Chef America on the Food Network. I would know what that is if I watched television and had cable, but I figured that some of you might be less popular-culturally challenged than me.

The Zen of Cooking

For me, even when I come home from work very late (resulting in 8-10pm dinners) I usually take off my coat and head straight into the kitchen. I usually have general meal ideas built out per shopping, but often when my work schedule is overwhelming, like in the fall/winter season, I am often facing frequent creative approaches in the kitchen with bleary eyes, a sad tired back, and quite frankly an exhausted brain. I have several burns and cuts on my hands from minor cooking incidents over the past few months to show for it. Though I think I am either developing "chef's hands" or I am just drinking too much while cooking since these minor emergencies rarely cause me physical pain anymore, though they do cause bleeding and blistering!

Tonight was a wonderful marriage of fresh and convenience. Quick, flavorful and just enough chopping to soothe me. Just enough experimentation to satisfy. Quiet rhythms in movement and music. My stress melts away.

I played Imaad Wasif, a great artist we discovered as an opening act for a Yeah Yeah Yeahs concert. He is brilliant, a sort of nouveau Bob Dylan sort without the bizarre voice. I sat drinking wine post dinner at the dining table by myself just unwinding, thinking, melting. Good stuff.

But I put him on to begin my tai chi movements through the kitchen...

I made:
Trader Joes Masala Burgers - A wonderful veggie burger that had a lovely light masala flavor as well as the flavor of all the individual vegetables in it. More like a potato pancake than a soy based burger...in fact almost no soy in it at all...and only 120 calories a piece...even the boy loved them. They came well reccommended by belle bleue as well. We grilled them on the indoor grill.

One small zucchini and one small yellow squash - Sliced and tossed with fresh ground pepper, sea salt, and olive oil and then cooked in foil packet on grill (easy cleanup). Cook burgers and veggies together for 10 minutes. (Flip burgers once).

Basmati rice cooked as usual, but garnished in a new way. Right before serving tossed with pepper, salt and a drizzle of dark sesame oil...soooo lovely.

That's it. Good. Tasty. Quick. Simple. Healthy.

Our wine wasn't so hot though...Sicilia Nero d'Avola...drinkable, but nothing to write home about. Not sure where I got it, but I think Trader Joe's.

We are grateful for: The boy did well on an exam. I was grateful for the boy. I couldn't stop thinking on the commute home how happy I was to have him to go home to.

As an aside: Trader Joe's brand edamame is the best I have had. Much better than Kroger's, DeKalb Farmer's Market and Whole Foods' brand. The soy beans are plump, crisp, and pratically bursting with healthy green joy. Not to mention they cost half as much. Now I am listening to Traveling Wilburys, and I am happy even though I have to do some work now...

Pleasant High Calorie Dreams Y'all...

A Visit to the Georgia Aquarium

They say Japanese Spider Crab...Auntie Saveur says delicious! Can you say crab bisque, Bug?

Turkey Day, Three Weeks Early.

My family was in town for the weekend, so I decided, since the Boy and I aren't making it up to see them at Thanksgiving this year, that I would prepare a mini-turkey day meal on Friday night. Yes, because when you are looking forward to housing six adults and an 18-month-old in a 1200 square foot house with only one bathroom, cooking a big, labor-intensive meal is obviously the most logical choice. [insert self-directed eye roll here.]

It was a huge success, as you can see from the happy Bug photo at right. The cranberry sauce was her favorite, and it was super easy. I made it in the morning while I was eating breakfast. I sort of made it up as I went along, using the basic proportions for the cranberries, water and sugar from The New Best Recipe Basic Cranberry Sauce as the base. Proportions weren't exact, though, because the original recipe calls for 12 ounces of cranberries, and I had 16, so I multiplied a bit. In the recipe below, I'm sticking with the original recipe proportions to avoid confusion. Once you read past the cranberries line in the ingredient list, you can blame me for anything that goes wrong with your sauce.

Cranberry Sauce

makes enough to cover a 22-lb. baby from head-to-toe

3/4 c. water

1 c. sugar

1/4 t. salt

12 ounce bag of fresh or frozen cranberries, picked over to remove any that are bruised, bloated, soft or otherwise yucky. White ones can stay. Do not thaw if you use frozen; you'll just have to cook for a bit longer.

1/4 to 1/2 t. freshly grated nutmeg

1 cinnamon stick

7 or 8 allspice berries

1/2 t. whole cloves

2 T. brandy or cognac (I used extremely cheap stuff)

Put the allspice and cloves in a tea ball or tie them up in a pouch of cheesecloth. Bring the water, sugar and salt to a boil in a nonreactive saucepan over high heat, stirring occasionally to dissolve the sugar. Stir in the cranberries, nutmeg and cinnamon stick, and dunk the sachet of allspice and cloves in too. Return to a boil, reduce heat to medium and simmer until saucy, slightly thickened and about two thirds of the berries have popped open. TNBR says this should take about 5 minutes, but in my experience, it's more like 10-15. Your mileage may vary. Transfer the sauce to a nonreactive bowl, remove the sachet and the cinnamon stick, stir in the brandy and cool to room temperature. You can make this up to a week ahead of time -- an excellent idea for actual turkey day! You could also replace the brandy with Grand Marnier or Triple Sec. The orange flavor works with cranberries too.

We started the meal with a curried sweet potato soup, recipe courtesy of la belle mangeuse. I changed it a bit because I was experiencing an onion shortage, and I forgot to put in 2 c. of milk that her recipe called for... I first tasted this recipe at our cabin extravanganza in early October. It's easy and a lovely blend of fall flavors. Everyone, including Bug, loved it and asked for the recipe. Okay, the kid didn't ask for the recipe, but her mama did.

Curried Sweet Potato Soup

serves 6 1/2 small servings, 4 normal servings

4 T. unsalted butter

1 medium yellow onion, chopped

3 or 4 cloves of garlic, minced or pressed through a garlic press

1/8 to 1/4 t. crushed red pepper

2 t. curry powder

1/2 t. ground coriander

2 1/2 lb. sweet potatoes, peeled, sliced, boiled and mashed

5 cups of vegetable broth

1/2 cup heavy cream

Sea salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Melt butter in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onions and garlic and cook, stirring often, until softened, about 4 minutes. Add spices and stir for a minute more. Add potatoes and broth; blend well. Bring to a boil and reduce heat, simmer for 10 to 15 minutes. Transfer soup, in batches, to a blender or food processor OR blend with an immersion blender in the pot (much easier. I love my immersion blender!). Blend until smooth. Return soup to saucepan. With the soup on low heat, add cream. Adjust seasonings to taste. If a little too spicy, add more cream to cool it down. Add salt and pepper to taste.

The centerpiece of the meal was delectable, moist turkey. I brined and roasted an almost 5-lb. turkey breast using Alton Brown's fabulous recipe/how to from the 2003 Thanksgiving issue of Bon Appetit. I used his techniques last year and ended up with the best turkey I've ever eaten, bar none. It's good stuff, folks. I divided the recipe, of course, and the main deviations I made to accommodate the needs of the breast-only roast were to put 1 c. of water in the bottom of the roasting pan before I stuck dear Tommy in the oven and to cook for 30 minutes at 425 and then turned the oven down to 325 until my probe thermometer registered 161 degrees.

A probe thermometer with a wire that goes in the oven or a wireless set up is a godsend for preparing wonderful, perfectly done meats. I use mine all the time, and it was under $20 at Target. Now, you'll read that white-meat turkey needs to cook to 165, so isn't it dangerous to remove it at 161? NO. It's very important to the flavor and moistness of your turkey. As the bird rests out of the oven (for at least 30 minutes), it continues to cook with residual heat, and the juices redistribute throughout the meat. You can expect that your meat will rise in temperature at least 5 degrees -- sometimes as much as 10 -- so, if you wait to remove Tommy from the oven until his internal temperature hits the "safe" mark, you're going to be eating a dry, overcooked bird by the time it hits the table.

The roast took about 1.5 hours once it was in the oven. Definitely a great alternative to doing a whole bird if you're short on time and aren't expecting an army, and you don't have to deal with the challenge of the temperature-requirement differential between dark meat and white meat.

Our meal was rounded out with my mom's cornbread dressing (made with day-old fresh cornbread), green beans sauteed in olive oil, no knead bread and mashed potatoes with leeks. We served it with a lovely not-too-sweet German white wine and a needed-a-few-minutes-to-wake-up Zinfandel.

This early-bird Thanksgiving, I'm very grateful for my family, preparing and eating delicious food, and the abundance of joy in my life.

Baby Loves Bacon Salt

This is my sort-of niece, Bug. She loves Bacon Salt too! She got very angry when I tried to take it away from her. Goes to show you: EVERYONE, even toddlers, knows that everything should taste like bacon!

MMM Headcheese. Thanks to Diana Kennedy.

1/2 pig's head weighing 5-6 pounds, cut into 4 pieces
1 1/2 tbls sea salt to taste
Water to cover
1/2 med onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped
1 cup dry white wine
2 tbls good dijon mustard
2 heaped tbls roughly chopped misxed fresh herbs; baisl, marjoram. thyme, tarragon, parsley
A lot of fresh ground pepper
1 rounded tbls green peppercorns, drained.
Cornichons

Rinse the pig's head well, changing the water 3 times. Singe off any remaining coarse hairs on the pig's head. Put the pieces of head in a large saucepan, add the salt, cover with water and cook until tender but not too soft about 2 1/2 hours. The meat should come away from the bone faily easily. Drain the pieces reserving the broth, and set aside to cool. Strain the broth, return to saucepan and reduce to 3 cups.

As soons as the meat is cool enough to handle, remove the eye and discard. Take all of the meat (rind, tongue, brains, and ear, etc.) off the bones and chop roughly. Put the meat into the reduce stock, ad the onion, garic, wine, and mustard, and cool over a fairly high flame for 15 minutes. Add the herbs and pepper and cook for 5 minutes mor. Adjust the seasoning. Stir in the peppercorns. Pour the mixture into a 7 cup mold, cover, and refrigerate until set into a thick jellied texture. You can eat it right away, but it is even better if allowed to ripen for another day before cutting. Serve with cornichons and hot mustard.