words to eat by

Random Notes (and Slow-Cooker Ratatouille)

2007-04-16T09:42:00.000-04:00

Taptaptap… Is anybody still out there? I know, I know, I’m a sorry excuse for a blogger.

So life is pretty good around here, if extremely busy—Harry’s 7 1/2 months old and he’s become quite a pistol. We lucked out and got one of those happy babies you hear about but rarely see. He’s sitting up and eating solids (favorite food: mango!) and babbling and laughing and learning new tricks every single day, and between him and my work I just don’t have the time to blog. By way of apology, here’s a video of the boy—a food-related clip of him eating his first biscuit, a British invention called a Farley’s Rusk…

(I discovered later the rusk has added sugar in it, so he won’t be having another for a while—but that might explain why he was so fond of it!)

Even though I’m not blogging, I am cooking—the slow cooker my mom gave me when Harry was born is my new best friend. When she first offered it to me I said no thanks—giving birth didn’t ease my food snobbery, apparently—but pretty soon I realized that a slow-cooker meal is better than no meal at all. Harry’s morning nap is by far the most reliable, and it’s so lovely to just toss some stuff in the pot, turn it on, and know that we’ll have a healthy, fresh dinner waiting for us when I’m totally beat at the end of the day. Lots of stuff out of Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Cookbook. The ratatouille is the best we’ve had—I make that a couple times a month. And the brisket (the old-time recipe, with chili sauce & French onion soup mix), and the pot roast… So far chicken has been less successful (it overcooks every time), but it’s saved my life, that electronic object I’d scorned.

Some non-Harry stuff, a couple of press sightings:

I’ve got a piece called The Skinny on Eggs up on WeightWatchers.com.

And in the April Natural Health magazine, I’ve got a feature called Special Delivery, about pain relief techniques for unmedicated childbirth (which I did NOT do, in case you’re curious—I never would’ve made it without my epidural).

As a further apology, here’s the recipe for slow-cooker ratatouille, adapted from Not Your Mother’s:

Slow-Cooker Ratatouille
Adapted from Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Cookbook
Serves 4-6

1 large eggplant, cut into 1-inch cubes
1 medium yellow onion, coarsely chopped
2 medium-to-large red bell peppers, seeded and cut into big squares
1 14.5-ounce can of diced plum tomatoes, drained (I’ve used both the fire-roasted canned kind, and most of a package of Pomi chopped tomatoes, and both work great)
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup olive oil
3-5 zucchini, ends trimmed, cut into thick rounds
A handful of fresh herbs (recipe calls for basil but I almost never have that around in the winter, so I’ve used rosemary, thyme, and even parsley)
Salt & freshly ground black pepper

Combine the eggplant, onion, bell peppers, tomatoes, and garlic in the slow cooker (mine is 5-quart oval). Pour the olive oil over and toss to coat. Cover and cook on high 1 hour.

Add zucchini, cover, and cook another hour on high.

Add herbs, salt & pepper, and cook on high another half-hour to an hour.

Done!

(The recipe says you can do this on low for 2-3 hours before adding the zuke, then another 2-2 1/2—adding the herbs during the last hour—but mine came out too wet that way. My solution was to add orzo & leave it bubbling on high for 20 minutes, which created a wonderful one-pot meal…)

Press Sightings

2007-01-23T07:46:00.000-05:00

Been meaning to post these for a while--I have two new pieces up on WeightWatchers.com:

Navigating the Gym will help newbies who know they need to start working out, but are too intimidated by what they think is behind the gym's doors.

Holiday Feasts, Global Style (yeah, it's from last year) is just what it sounds like--a look at holiday meals from around the globe. Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, all with suggestions for ways to make these traditionally fattening treats more diet-friendly.

“I’m a New Mom and I Have No Time to Cook” Turkey Chili

2007-01-09T13:15:00.000-05:00

So, yeah.

Harry’s over four months old and I’m still cooking only the simplest, most basic, most reliable things. Things I know are good. Things I don’t have to think about, or check very often, or worry if they sit on the stove and get cold while we’re putting Harry to bed, so they have to be reheated and dry out a little… And never mind actually blogging about it. We’re too busy eating, then climbing into bed to watch old episodes of ER on DVD and gorge on Trader Joe’s Candy Cane Joe-Joes (oh.my.god whoever invented those things should be kissed full on the mouth, then shot).

So, yeah.

This weekend I decided to actually try something new, a recipe I’d never made before. It still falls squarely in the ideal-for-new-moms category since it only takes about 20 minutes of prep (only some onions to chop and things to measure) before it simply bubbles away until just before serving. It’s inspired by this recipe on Epicurious, but of course I tinkered with it some, using different beans, a different mix of tomatoes and tomato sauce, and chicken broth instead of beef since that’s what was in the cupboard. Because I don’t have time to mess around these days, I took a chance and made a double recipe, giving us leftovers to freeze. (My new motto is, if I’m going to cook, we’d better get a few meals out of it.) Luckily, it came out great, spicy and rich and soothing—and healthy thanks to ground turkey breast, three different kinds of beans, and very little added fat. The spice mix includes unsweetened cocoa powder and cinnamon, which provided a lovely depth of flavor—if I’d thought of it, I’d have served this topped with some cacao nibs for crunch. Maybe I’ll try that with the batch in the freezer…

Sorry, no picture. I may be cooking, but we’re not stopping long enough for photo shoots! You’ll have to enjoy this shot of Harry making like a Thanksgiving Day Parade float instead.

So, yeah.

Three-Bean Turkey Chili
Adapted from Epicurious
(serves 10-12)

2 T. olive oil
3 medium onions, chopped
1 T. dried oregano
1 T teaspoons ground cumin
2 1/2 pounds lean ground turkey [I used half ground breast and half lean ground]
½ cup chili powder
3-4 bay leaves
2 T. unsweetened cocoa powder
1 T. salt
½ t. ground cinnamon
1 28-ounce can whole tomatoes [I used 1 box Pomi chopped tomatoes]
4 cups chicken stock or canned chicken broth
3 8-ounce cans tomato sauce [I used 1 box Pomi strained tomatoes]
1 19-ounce can small white beans, rinsed, drained
1 19-ounce can black beans, rinsed, drained
1 19-ounce can red kidney beans, rinsed, drained

[We skipped all this, since we didn’t have it on-hand (and cilantro is the devil’s herb, anyway…) but if you’ve got it, by all means add:]
Chopped red onion
Chopped fresh cilantro
Plain low-fat yogurt or light sour cream

Heat oil in heavy large pot over medium heat. Add onions; sauté until light brown and tender, about 10 minutes. Add oregano and cumin; stir 1 minute. Increase heat to medium-high. Add turkey; stir until no longer pink, breaking up with back of spoon. Stir in chili powder, bay leaves, cocoa powder, salt and cinnamon. Add tomatoes with their juices, breaking up with back of spoon [or if you’re using Pomi chopped tomatoes, just dump it in]. Mix in stock and tomato sauce or Pomi strained tomatoes. Bring to boil. Reduce heat; simmer 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Add beans to chili and simmer until flavors blend, about 10 minutes longer. Discard bay leaves. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cover and refrigerate. Rewarm over medium-low heat before continuing.)

Ladle chili into bowls. Pass red onion, cilantro and yogurt separately.

Harry Holidays, Everyone!

2006-12-16T14:22:00.000-05:00

December snuck up on us, and already it's Harry Mose's first holiday season. Tomorrow we head over to my brother's in north Jersey for the big family Hanukkah party--Harry's first latkes!--and one week from today we hit Stephen's family in south Jersey for their huge Christmas celebration. So many presents! So much good food! And in the middle of it all comes my birthday, on Friday. Is it weird that I couldn't think of a single thing to ask for? It feels like I already have everything I want.

Gifts of All Shapes and Sizes

2006-12-08T11:54:00.000-05:00

Today marks a special anniversary, a milestone I’m guessing most people don’t mark: One year ago today, I had surgery. Why is this noteworthy? Because it changed my life completely. Stephen and I had been trying to make a baby for almost a year and a half, we’d done Clomid, we’d done injectables with insemination, and all we got was heartache. A lot of heartache. And then someone whispered in my ear: Maybe you’ve got endometriosis. I didn’t have a lot of symptoms, but I had enough to convince me to check it out. Unfortunately for many, the only way to be sure you’ve got it is to have surgery, a laparoscopy. On Thursday, December 8, 2005, I had mine. (If you click that link, you’ll see that today is also Stephen’s great-grandmother’s 104th birthday. Happy birthday, Little Gram!) Not only did my surgeon, Melanie Marin, confirm my diagnosis, she excised whatever endo she found (and it wasn’t all that much—I had a relatively mild case). And two weeks later, right around the time of my 40th birthday, Stephen and I made a baby the old-fashioned way. Talk about a gift! Harry Mose is 3 ½ months old now, and he’s just about the sweetest baby on the planet. Yeah, I’m his mom so you can take that with a grain of salt, but he really is. He’s mellow and playful and flirtatious and devilishly handsome…

Harry’s my biggest gift, of this year or any other, and lord knows the man himself has received a ton of gifts in his short time on earth. But the other day the doorbell rang with a present for me that was smaller than Harry, not quite as sweet, and nearly as addictive (hint: it’s FOOD!):

Sweet Riot chocolate-covered cacao nibs! The geniuses at Sweet Riot read my blog and thought I might enjoy them, and they were absolutely right. Nestled inside a clear plastic box was the Happy-Holly-Days pack: three different varieties of goodness, each in its own nifty little pocket-sized tin. The Flavor 50 are coated in 50% cacao dark chocolate (so they’re the sweetest of the bunch), the Flavor 65 sport 65% (making them slightly more assertive), and the Flavor 70 rock 70% and a touch of ground espresso (they’re the most sophisticated, and the ones I keep by my desk for when I’m drooping after a day of Harry-wrangling, but too lazy to brew fresh joe). I’d have a hard time saying which are my favorites—we finished the 50s first, but the 70s are just.so.handy… And did I mention that an entire tin has only 140 calories? That’s right, these are diet-friendly! Perfect for when you need a hit of chocolate but don’t want to overdo it. In fact, I think it would be pretty hard to eat a whole tin at once—no wait, who am I kidding? Of course I could eat a whole tin. I just like to think that I won’t…

And now I hear my boy crying from his crib, so I must go. Here’s hoping that each of you gets the gift you most want this year. I’ve already gotten mine, and it ain’t chocolate.

Now We’re Cooking! (At last)

2006-11-11T09:15:00.000-05:00

Harry Mose will be eleven weeks old on Tuesday, and we seem to be finding our footing. He’s sleeping better (though I hesitate to type that, since I’m probably jinxing us) and smiling all.the.time. He’s begun to find his chubby little hands, so perfect for sucking on, and to appreciate toys. He’s even picked up a food-related nickname—I call him “Sweet Pea,” though for the life of me I don’t know how or when it started. And as he becomes more predictable (well, sorta), I’m finding my way back into the kitchen. So far it’s been all easy stuff, things I can do with one hand tied behind my back—because let’s face it, Harry is like a pair of handcuffs. A very sweet, very lovable pair of handcuffs, but for the time being he still determines what I get to do.

Just a few days ago I broke out his Bumbo Chair—have you seen these? They’re specially designed, made of some sort of wonderfoam, so that any infant with head control can sit up comfortably. It’s a freaking miracle! I thought it would be worth a try—the box says he should be 3 months old so he’s a little young yet, but Harry’s doing great holding up his head (can’t resist bragging, just a bit—I’m so proud). At first he loved it:

But just a few seconds later, he loved it…slightly less:

We’re working on it. Yesterday he spent a good ten minutes in the Bumbo, happy as a clam. Uh, happy as a Sweet Pea?

So, cooking. In the last few weeks I’ve made Quick Tomato-Rice Soup, Lemony Broccoli and Chickpea Pasta, a frittata or two, Pasta with Roasted Cauliflower, Figs, and Rosemary (we didn’t have mint), Herb-Marinated Chicken, bison burgers, oodles of roasted vegetables (by far the easiest thing to cook—you don’t have to watch the pot), and a whole lot of simple sauces for tortellini and ravioli. But my biggest undertaking, and the one that gives me the most pride, was Little Gram’s Meatballs.

I’ve told you before about Stephen’s great-grandmother (Harry Mose’s great-great grandmother!). She’ll be 104 in December. When Harry was born she made a batch of these glorious meatballs for us, and sent them up with Stephen’s mom. Can you imagine, while dealing with our fussy newborn, we feasted on food prepared by a woman who was born in 1902? Before giving birth I’d made and frozen a batch myself, and I got such a kick out of comparing our results—hers were so tender they barely needed to be chewed. Made mine seem like lead balloons, I’m embarrassed to admit. But Little Gram can’t send us a batch of meatballs every week, much as we’d like her to, so I spent most of last Sunday making them my way.

The basic recipe is on my brother-in-law’s blog so I won’t repeat it here—I’ll just tell you that I used a slightly different mix of meats (ground turkey breast, ground bison, and ground veal) and three egg whites to every whole egg. They taste wonderful, and with the tweaks I made they’re pretty darn healthy—if I’d had the time (ha! Harry’s handcuffs, remember?) I’d have fried them gently in olive oil, since that’s how Little Gram does it. For the complete experience, serve them bathed in Little Gram’s Sauce.

Tomorrow we’re taking Harry Mose down to south Jersey, to meet Little Gram and the rest of his extended family. I can’t wait to see her holding him.

When Harry Met Sammy

2006-10-15T18:46:00.000-04:00

It's been a while, hasn't it?

Harry Mose is already almost seven weeks old, and things are just starting to take on something like a sense of normalcy. Stephen and I aren't getting much sleep, and Harry and I have had tons of problems with breastfeeding, but other than that our boy is thriving and happy. He's smiling at us regularly, and learning to appreciate things like his Gymini playmat--he's becoming a little person!

Today he finally had an official meet-and-greet with Samuel, our cat. (Samuel's brother Mose, one of HM's namesakes, died over the summer.) Until now Samuel's been standoffish with HM, and has jumped off the bed whenever we've tried to introduce them. But today, at last, we laid HM next to Samuel and it seems...

they hit it off! Well, at least Samuel didn't run away--but HM clearly realized there was something nice and soft and fluffy next to him, and was delighted by it. Yes, that's me you hear, babbling like an idiot.

Still not a lot of cooking going on, so I'm sorry that there's no food being discussed here (does the mention of breastfeeding count?). Soon, I hope...

Welcome to the World, Harry Mose!

2006-09-04T15:05:00.000-04:00

On Tuesday, August 29, 2006, at 12:15 PM, our boy Harry Mose was born—just a smidge early, but not so early as to be considered premature. He weighed in at 6 pounds exactly, and measured 19 inches. And of course, he’s perfect and adorable and soft and sweet and oh.my.god he smells good and I’ve never been more in love.

Someday I’m sure I’ll write more, but for the time being it’s all we can do to keep the three of us dressed and fed (without actually cooking—it’s a question of assembling rather than preparing these days). Thank God for Stephen. He’s such a natural at this, taking care of Harry, taking care of me…

Life just got a whole lot more interesting.

Lemony Broccoli and Chickpea Pasta

2006-06-19T21:51:00.000-04:00

There’s nothing like a busted refrigerator to make you appreciate technology, even the relatively low-tech variety. On Friday morning I went to prepare a big ol’ iced de-haf and discovered that instead of actual cubes, the ice trays held tiny slivers floating in individual baths of cold water. The frozen meat still had ice crystals—good sign—but the popsicles were feeling decidedly gooey. Clearly, our freezer had gone kaput hours ago, maybe even days ago. I couldn’t tell if the fridge section was dead too—the light came on so it wasn’t an electricity issue, but I didn’t hear a motor running or anything. A quick call to the landlady put the ball back in our court: She wanted us to call Sears (it’s an ancient Kenmore) and have them send a repairman. Which I did, even though I’m pretty sure the guy’s going to shrug and pronounce the patient DOA. First available appointment: TUESDAY.

Stephen made another quick call, this time to our upstairs neighbors—they’re moving out so their fridge is practically empty, and they kindly let us transfer our perishables. Not wanting to be a hog (and somehow slightly embarrassed by just how much food we keep around), I only sent up the items that cost more than a couple bucks each—the frozen meat, the leftover herb-marinated chicken from the night before, the parmigiano reggiano. I left behind the ground turkey and we had burgers for dinner that night, made with a slightly weird combo of chili sauce, hoisin, mustard, and Worcestershire (pretty much any open condiment that seemed like it might possibly work). They weren’t bad! Even though I knew we were in for days without refrigeration, I also left behind most of the convenience food—veggie burgers, frozen burritos, facon. Yeah, I chose to flush money down the toilet. I realized that yesterday, when I gave up on the fantasy that we’d somehow eat all of it before it went bad.

So now we’re living the way our ancestors lived—buying enough fresh food to last us a day or maybe two, but no more. Three five-pound bags of ice a day, two for the freezer (which we keep in a giant salad bowl, along with a quart of milk) and one for the fridge. A couple nectarines, some cherries, some strawberries. I miss ice cream. I miss smoothies. And did I mention that it’s really hot here now? Even with the bags of ice, the water in the fridge never gets truly cold (and I’m an ice snob—the smell from the storebought cubes totally turns me off). Who knew how important it was to have fresh, clean ice whenever you felt like it? The things we take for granted…

Last night’s dinner was a big salad, using up some of that leftover chicken and the veggies that hadn’t turned putrid. And this afternoon I went to the store and bought a bunch of broccoli for a fantastic pasta recipe I’d ripped out of Food & Wine not long ago—Marc Meyer’s Lemony Broccoli and Chickpea Rigatoni. Meyer is the chef/owner at Five Points, one of my favorite NYC restaurants (as I’ve mentioned before), and this recipe is perfect for a night like tonight: It doesn’t take long, which is good considering the heat; it’s full of humble, fiberiffic stuff like beans and broccoli (and I use Barilla Plus pasta to make it even more nutritious), but his technique takes the flavor up several notches; and the result is so yummy and satisfying that we have almost no leftovers. OK: just to be sure I made less than a full recipe. (And I added a chopped tomato, since it was about to turn to mush.) But we still ate just about every drop. Only a tiny bit to stow in the "freezer"!

Marc Meyer’s Lemony Broccoli and Chickpea Rigatoni
Serves 4 to 6

One 19-ounce can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice
¾ cup extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
1 ½ pounds broccoli, cut into florets
1 pound rigatoni [I used Barilla Plus rotini]
5 large garlic cloves, very thinly sliced
½ t. crushed red pepper
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

In a medium bowl, toss the chickpeas with the lemon juice and ½ cup of the olive oil. Season with salt and pepper.

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook the broccoli until crisp-tender, about 4 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the broccoli to a colander and rinse under cold water until cool. Add the pasta to the boiling water and cook until al dente.

Meanwhile, in a large, deep skillet, heat the remaining ¼ cup of olive oil. Add the garlic and crushed red pepper and cook over moderate heat until the garlic is golden, about 3 minutes. Add the broccoli and cook until tender, about 5 minutes. Add the chickpea mixture and cook until warmed through, about 1 minute.

Drain the pasta, reserving ¼ cup of the cooking water. Add it to the broccoli and chickpeas along with the reserved cooking water and season with salt and pepper. Cook over moderate heat, stirring, until the rigatoni is coated with sauce. Remove from the heat and stir in ½ cup of the Parmesan cheese. Transfer the pasta to a bowl, sprinkle with the remaining Parmesan and serve.

RIP Mose Kitty

2006-06-12T11:45:00.000-04:00

On Friday we put down one of our two cats, Mose. He’s had a mysterious intestinal ailment for nearly two years—I’ve mentioned it before—and recently he’d been throwing up and having diarrhea multiple times a day. When healthy, Mose weighed over 11 pounds, but by the time we took him to the vet for one last Hail Mary round of tests, he was down to 8 ½. It was time.

I’m not going to write about the actual events of Friday—let’s just say that Stephen and I tried hard to handle it in a way that would be less scary for Mose, and I’m not sure we succeeded. Just thinking about it makes me cry, so I’m certainly not ready to address it here. Instead, I’ll offer a few reminiscences.

Mose had six toes, and an endearingly indifferent personality. The only other living being he clearly loved was Stephen—the rest of us, he could take or leave (and often leave bleeding, thanks to his fast claws and sharp teeth). He loved people food—as soon as he’d hear the can opener, the egg carton, the milk container, he’d come running, and stand on his hind legs clawing at the cabinet. We’d let him sniff the food and decide for himself if it was worth begging for. Tuna, egg yolks, milk, any kind of animal protein—no leftovers were safe if Mose was awake.

He liked to snooze in unusual places. On top of the fridge, on Stephen’s desk right above his keyboard (only while Stephen was working, of course, and he’d often drape one foot or his tail over the keys), inside paper grocery bags, on top of the wall unit in the living room… In our bed at night, he’d sleep either at our feet or beside Stephen, sprawled out to take up maximum space. Really it was his bed, and he kindly allowed us to share it.

And Mose rarely slept through the night—we might have a week or two of undisturbed slumber, but then he’d start up again: At 4, 5, 6 in the morning he’d climb up next to Stephen’s head and methodically knock items off the nightstand, until one or both of us woke up and showed him that, yes, there was food in his bowl. Sometimes that wouldn’t be good enough, so after we’d climbed back into bed and started dozing he’d sit by the bedroom door and scratch it—but only until we looked up or said his name; then he’d sit innocently, pretending it wasn’t him who’d woken us, and repeat the action over and over again. This would happen multiple times each night (good practice for September, when the baby comes…). I took it as a sign of his fondness for Stephen that Mose only did this when his father was in bed—if Stephen was up late or out of town, I was allowed to sleep peacefully. There’s one reason to be glad he was such a daddy’s boy.

In this real-life Of Cats and Men, Mose was the crafty one, playing George to his brother Samuel’s Lenny. In the hallway, he’d crouch behind an object on the floor, lying in wait for Samuel. When Samuel would amble down towards the living room, Mose would leap out at him, giving a (we think) playful bite or a swat before running off, often leaving Samuel wondering what had just happened.

His long, slender body made Mose an excellent dancer. I’d laugh and laugh when Stephen pulled him up on his hind legs to do a soft-shoe, or a Guns-n-Roses shimmy. We called him Axl Mose for the sinuous way he moved his hips.

On Thursday evening we packed the boys into their carrier and toted them to a bar down the street from us, where there’s a photo booth. The bar had just opened and there weren’t many customers yet, but the bartenders were all cat lovers (and we’ve done this before), so they were happy to see us. True to form, when we freed them from the box, Mose was intrepid, walking the length of the bar, investigating everything, while after a few frightened moments Samuel decided he’d be happiest crouched under a bar stool. We four crowded into the booth for three rounds of photos (no small feat given my current pregnant girth), and by the final round Mose had had enough—he swatted his brother, he meowed vigorously, he made it clear he was FINISHED:

It was the perfect Mose Moment. I only wish there were more of them ahead.

Mom’s Super-Quick Cucumber Salad

2006-05-28T13:09:00.000-04:00

Stephen and I went to Costco the other day—my parents gave us a membership as an anniversary present last year, and it’s expiring this week. We didn’t exactly make the most of our membership (this was only our second trip, including the one when we activated it), but I thought it would be a good idea to do one final binge. Who knows, after junior arrives in September maybe we’ll rejoin—the diaper prices are killer.

As you probably know, Costco’s got a rep for lowlowlow prices, but only if you buy in large quantities. This is why we haven’t gone very often—we’re just two people! My parents are in the same boat, but they’re not the type to let a little thing like circumstance get in the way of bargain shopping. Their solution: they’ve turned my brothers’ old bedroom (not to mention mine) into a kind of storage facility. There’s enough coffee, cereal, and snack foods stacked in there to last through the next ice age. Seriously, if Homeland Security ever tells us to seal ourselves in with duct tape until further notice, my folks will be good to go. Since every child’s fear is to turn into her parents, Stephen and I thought long and hard about each purchase while trawling Costco’s aisles, limiting ourselves to things we know for sure we’ll use, and in quantity. Brita filters, Chock Full o’Nuts coffee, toilet paper. Y’know, basics. But we also picked up some English cucumbers—they were shrinkwrapped together, three for three dollars. Can’t beat that price! Along with that we got a six-pack of colored peppers, a ginormous package of grape tomatoes, and a full pound of organic mesclun, thinking we’d just eat a lot of salad. Well, we finished off the peppers and the tomatoes last night with some chicken sausage and the greens are about half gone, but as of this morning we still had two-and-a-third cukes left, and they were starting to feel soft. Perfect for cucumber salad!

This is a recipe my mom’s been making since I was a kid. For our wedding, which was a Sunday afternoon buffet, we had the caterer prepare one recipe from each of our families, and this was mine. It’s really bright tasting, refreshing in warm weather, fat-free, and about the simplest thing going. When my mom makes it for family gatherings, she'll do a double or triple recipe. All this means it's perfect for a Memorial Day barbecue, come to think of it… if only we were having one! Instead, we’ll just feast on cucumber salad for the next day or two, and reflect upon our bargains.

Cucumber Salad
Serves 6-8

6 cucumbers (or 2-3 English “burpless” ones)
1 t. salt
1 large onion
2 T. sugar
1 t. black pepper
2 T. chopped dill
1 T. water
½ cup rice vinegar

Slice cucumbers (with skin) as thinly as possible. Sprinkle with salt, mix, and place in a colander. Cover cukes with a plate and a weight to extract the liquid, and leave it to do its thing.

Halve and very thinly slice the onion. Put the onions in a small bowl with ice water, to soak out the sharpness. After at least an hour, drain the cucumbers and the onions. Mix the remaining ingredients, pour over the cucumbers, and marinate 15 minutes to overnight (overnight is much tastier).

Fish for Non-Fish Eaters

2006-05-20T10:26:00.000-04:00

Stephen hates fish. He’ll eat seafood—shrimp and lobster rolls, mainly—but since I grew up kosher that’s not in my vernacular and I have no interest in learning about it. (Admit it: doesn’t most shellfish just look like some variety of underwater insect? Have you ever looked at a crawfish? At least with bacon you can tell it’s good because it smells so damn intoxicating.) So this has been a bit of a problem for us—between his cholesterol issues and my disinterest in most red meat, our flesh-based protein choices are limited to chicken cutlets, chicken parts, and chicken sausages. Oh, and let’s not forget turkey. Ages ago Stephen’s mom suggested that I try cooking tilapia—she thought its extreme mildness might fly—but I’d already attempted roast cod (so mild, so yummy, and so easy) and it didn’t go over well.

And then, on Tuesday night, we went out to celebrate our 2nd wedding anniversary (awwww)… Since I don’t get to eat fish at home I try to order it whenever we go out; this time it was Tilapia in Acqua Pazza—“crazy water,” which basically translates into a fresh tomato sauce. The flavor was so clean and so unobtrusive, I suggested that Stephen should try a bite. To his credit he did, and actually said this was something he’d eat! My heart soared. Fish would be welcome in our home again! But I didn’t hurry out to buy any. It’s best not to rush these things, don’t you think?

And then, on Thursday (see, I waited two days), I went to the new Brooklyn Fairway in Red Hook, which had opened just the day before. What a store, people! It’s ginormous, first of all, with spacious aisles and stupendously helpful staff. Seriously, whoever’s in charge of training there deserves a medal—every time I asked someone for help I not only got a smile, I got an escort to the item I was seeking. Friendly hordes of workers awaited behind every counter; at midday there was no waiting for the deli, or the butcher, or the bakery. The only place I saw a line was the cheese counter, and since we all know how much I hate that stuff it didn’t bother me one bit. And the olive bar! Sigh. I picked up some Gaetas brined with lemon rind and a small vat of gorgeous, freshly marinated artichoke hearts. My only complaint about the experience: the traffic on the BQE coming home.

So, anyway. I’m at Fairway, and there’s a gleaming new fish counter, overflowing with gleaming piles of iced fish. I’ve never been particularly confident in my ability to spot the best-quality fish, but I figured that given a) Fairway’s good reputation in general and b) the fact that the store was only open two days, the odds were in my favor that the tilapia was fresh. Mind you, I hadn’t planned this—it was just so pretty, all shiny and new and not-fishy-smelling. Smiling to myself, I bought two fillets.

It’s been a while since I last cooked fish, and I really wanted to find a preparation that Stephen would appreciate. I figured this was my last shot; if he didn’t like it, I probably wouldn’t be buying fish again for a very long time. It occurred to me that my mistake with the roast cod was in the lack of sauce—in order for a simple roast anything to work, you have to like the basic flavor of the main ingredient…duh. While Stephen might be willing to try tilapia, he probably wouldn’t be too happy with it unless there was plenty of other stuff happening on the plate. On Epicurious I found a recipe for Spicy Sautéed Fish with Olives and Cherry Tomatoes, which sounded easy, very flavorful, and reminiscent of the Acqua Pazza dish we’d had a few nights before. I made a few modifications given what I had on hand—I subbed basil for parsley, grape tomatoes for cherry, and added some of those artichoke hearts along with a little lemon—and we were off.

Did I mention that it’s been a while since I last cooked fish? It’s been even longer since I tried to sauté any. I have absolutely no idea what I did wrong, but even though I pre-heated what I considered plenty of oil in my non-stick pan, the dang fish still stuck like crazy. Thank heavens there was a sauce to put over it, cuz by the time I removed it from the pan it wasn’t exactly pretty. Anyone know what the proper technique is? Suggestions welcome in the comments…

As for the flavor, it was a huge hit. The fish was cooked perfectly (ignoring the aesthetics), with some nice crunchy bits and a pure, sweet flavor. And the sauce was dee-lish, zesty and rich and packed with salty nuggets of olives. Stephen finished the whole thing! If that’s not a good endorsement of a fish dish for non-fish eaters, I don’t know what is.

Spicy Sautéed Tilapia with Olives and Grape Tomatoes
Adapted from Epicurious
Serves 2

2 T. olive oil
2 fillets of tilapia, red snapper, or orange roughy
¼ cup chopped fresh basil
¼ t. dried crushed red pepper
1 pint grape tomatoes, halved
3 large marinated artichoke hearts, cut into eighths (optional)
½ cup Gaeta olives or other brine-cured black olives, chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
Grated rind and juice of ½ lemon

Heat olive oil in heavy large skillet over medium-high heat. Sprinkle fish with salt and pepper. Add fish to skillet and sauté until just opaque in center, about 3 minutes per side. Transfer fish to platter. Add basil and crushed red pepper to same skillet; sauté 1 minute. Add remaining ingredients; sauté until tomatoes are soft and juicy, about 2 minutes. Season sauce with salt and pepper; spoon over fish.

Don Altobell, 1938–2006

2006-05-13T14:52:00.000-04:00

Stephen’s father passed away on Sunday. He’d been in a long, slow decline from Multiple Sclerosis for more than 40 years.

The Friday before, we got a call saying that Don had pneumonia—longtime readers may recall that he’s been in hospice care at home for over a year; back in September he had a stroke and lost the ability to speak. At the time we thought he had days to live, but he pulled through—as he did several other times, including two previous bouts with pneumonia—but true “recovery” was never a possibility. Each time Don fought off an infection, he was left weakened further, and with just a little bit less life in him. By the end he was shrunken and unresponsive; most of the time he didn’t seem to know who Stephen was, or even that he was in the room. After Friday’s phone call, Stephen rushed down as he has so many times in the last sixteen months. We didn’t say it out loud, but both of us wished that this would be the last time, that Don would finally let go. I stayed home in Brooklyn; the last thing Stephen needed was to have to worry about his pregnant wife’s comfort, since he’d be sleeping on a sofa or the floor indefinitely. The next day, though, the hospice workers sent Stephen home to me, saying it likely wouldn’t happen within the next 48 hours. He said goodbye to his father once again, giving him “permission” to die, as the hospice workers had advised us to do. On Sunday morning, Stephen’s older brother Paul woke us with a phone call: it was over.

By the time I came into the picture, the disease had already taken Don’s mobility and the use of his hands, but it hadn't stolen Don's ability to charm. When Stephen first took me home to meet him, I sat in the living room while he scooped his father out of bed and into his wheelchair. After just a few minutes, I forgot about Don’s condition, so taken was I with the obvious affection between father and son. They talked about old movies—a passion they shared—and the music of Don’s heyday in the early 1960s, when his talent as an artist earned him entrée backstage at Philadelphia’s original Latin Club and the 500 Club in Atlantic City. Don would show the manager a sketch or a painting he’d done of his hero Frank Sinatra, or Dean Martin or Judy Garland or Ella Fitzgerald or any number of other performers, and the guy would be so impressed he’d arrange an introduction. Even though Stephen knew all the stories by heart—and had even made a documentary about his father’s Sinatra devotion, called In Person, which has been shown in New York and used in college sociology courses—sitting there that day he prompted his father to tell them again, for my benefit. Seeing all the framed artwork on the walls, of Don’s home as well as Stephen’s (and now ours), made MS seem just that much more cruel.

About nine months ago—during the summer, I think, though the chronology has become blurry for me—the disease robbed Don of the ability to swallow, and he was forbidden to eat solid food, or even drink liquids. All nourishment went through a feeding tube that had been surgically installed in his stomach months earlier. As you might imagine, for me this was a particularly upsetting development. Don loved food (he introduced Stephen to Philadelphia German Butter Cake), loved Chock Full o’Nuts coffee, and when we’d go down to visit he'd wax nostalgic about great meals of his past, until the stroke robbed him of the ability to communicate with anything more than a blink. When those two things happened—when Don lost the last two joys of his life, food and reminiscing—that was when I really began to hope it would end soon, and without pain. It took much longer than any of us expected, but when it finally happened, it happened peacefully. Don died in his sleep.

The funeral was Thursday, and it was as personal and joyful as a funeral can be. A letter Don wrote some years ago, with messages for his loved ones, was read aloud by an old friend—after all, Don had decades to prepare for his own death. Paul’s 12-year-old daughter read a poem she wrote for her grandfather, and the church was decorated with Don’s artwork. Paul and Stephen tucked a few of Don’s favorite things into the casket with him: an Entenmann’s Danish, a Hershey bar with almonds, a can of Chock Full o’Nuts, pictures of Paul’s kids, and an ultrasound of our forthcoming baby, who’ll never know his or her grandfather in person. We’re lucky, though—when the baby’s older, we’ll watch In Person together, and Stephen will tell all the stories again.

An obituary we wrote for the local paper appears here, on Paul’s blog.

The Chocolatiest, Quickest, Most Rewarding Treat for No Effort at All: Amazon Cake

2006-04-30T16:10:00.000-04:00

Thank god for the internet, that’s all I can say.

This afternoon I got a little stir-crazy—I’m just finishing one of my long-term on-site freelance gigs, which means I suddenly have my days free. I’ve got plenty to do: There’s the freelance stuff I can do in my pajamas; the apartment hasn’t had a real, thorough clean in, um, well…; and my To-Do list before junior arrives currently has 22 separate items on it. So how do I decide to spend my newly abundant free time? Baking an Amazon Cake.

I cut this recipe out of the Times several years ago and used to make it fairly often, whenever I wanted a hit of deep chocolate flavor with minimal effort, minimal fat, and minimal cleanup. There are no eggs in it, nor butter, nor animal products of any kind, so it’s both pareve and vegan—but for once, it’s also incredibly satisfying. The whole thing comes together in ten minutes, mixed by hand, but it’s tasty enough to serve to company—especially if you went the extra step and frosted it. (You could also double the recipe and make a traditional layer cake out of it.)

So where does the internet come in? Well, sometime between my moving in with Stephen a few years ago and now, I lost the clipping. After twenty minutes of painstakingly turning every.single.page in my recipe binder—even the non-dessert sections—I finally realized that the original article must still be on the Times’ site. Sure enough, here it is, in an article about cocoa powder. And it’s by Regina Schrambling, no less, whose tart, sometimes head-scratchingly oblique commentary I read faithfully on her blog Gastropoda. Her description of the cake is as good as I can hope to achieve, so I’ll quote her directly:

Cocoa works best in recipes that are designed for it. . . . Even something as simple as the classic Amazon, or black-bottom, cake found in so many cookbooks uses no dairy products or eggs, only vegetable oil and vinegar with cold water. The cocoa reacts to the combination to produce the darkest, moistest cake seen outside the photo on a box of mix.

I can’t explain exactly why this happens, but Regina’s absolutely right: This cake is as picture-perfect, moist, and easy to make as a mix, but it’s 100% homemade.

Amazon Cake
From The New York Times
Adapted from Cafe Beaujolais by Margaret Fox and John S. Bear
serves 6 to 8

1 ½ cups flour
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa [I used Double-Dutch Dark]
1 t. baking soda
1 cup sugar
½ t. salt
5 T. corn oil [I used canola]
1 ½ t. vanilla
1 T. cider vinegar
Confectioners’ sugar.

Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Whisk together the flour, cocoa, baking soda, sugar and salt. In a separate bowl, whisk together the oil, vanilla and vinegar with 1 cup cold water. Whisk in the dry ingredients, blending until completely lump-free. Pour into a greased 9-inch round cake pan. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until the top springs back when pressed gently. Cool before removing from the pan and dusting with confectioners’ sugar, or frosting if desired.

Mushroom Risotto, for Stephen

2006-04-26T21:39:00.000-04:00

You know, risotto’s never been my bag. Don’t get me wrong, I like the taste of it just fine, quite a bit in fact, and the texture can be mighty comforting. But generally I find myself getting a little, how you say, bored with it when it’s all alone on my plate. In all my years of cooking, it’s never once occurred to me to try to make it.

Until one night mid-Passover, when Stephen and I went out for dinner. I ordered my sorta-kosher-for-Passover roast chicken (kosher only because it didn’t have any overt chametz—we definitely weren’t in a kosher restaurant, not by a long shot); Stephen surprised me by ordering risotto. I’ve never seen him order it before, so I asked him about it—turns out his mom used to make risotto as a treat every so often, and he grew up loving it. Plain, simple, basic risotto, with just a bit of onion but no other vegetables. In my chametz-deprived stupor, this suddenly sounded incredibly appealing; I resolved to make a batch for Stephen PDQ.

Of course, now that my bread-blood levels are restored to their normal balance, the idea of plain risotto has lost some of its luster. Instead, I floated the possibility of making a mushroom version by Stephen tonight, and luckily he bit. Pulled out Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything, which I tend to trust for basic recipes like this, and sure enough there was a version using dried mushrooms and one that called for fresh. We had both in the kitchen, and since I liked the idea of using the mushroom soaking liquid in the risotto for a flavor boost, I decided to combine the approaches.

Stephen and I took turns stirring—you don’t have to work the spoon endlessly, as risotto mythology would lead you to believe—but you can’t really walk away from the stove for more than a minute at a time. While one of us stirred, the other chopped vegetables for a big salad. The end result was quite yummy indeed, filling and healthy (there’s not a lot of fat in the recipe as I adapted it, just two tablespoons at the beginning and a handful of parmesan at the end). And as long as I had a forkful or two of sprightly salad to break up the monotony, I didn’t get bored once.

We’ve got some leftovers, so tomorrow night I think I’ll try my hand at risotto cakes—with their crispy golden outsides, I’ve never been bored by them!

Mushroom Risotto
Serves 3-4 as a main course, 4-6 as a side or app
Adapted from How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman

1 ounce dried mushrooms [my package was a variety of different ones]
1 ½ cups hot water
3-5 cups chicken or vegetable stock, or water
2 T butter and/or olive oil
2 shallots or 1 medium onion, minced
1 ½ cups fresh cremini or porcini mushrooms, chopped
1 ½ cups Arborio rice
Salt & pepper
½ cup dry white wine [I used vermouth]
A big handful of freshly grated parmesan cheese

Soak the dried mushrooms in the hot water. Warm the stock over medium heat and leave the heat on.

When the mushrooms soften, place the butter/oil in a large saucepan [Bittman recommends nonstick, but I used a regular pan and had no problem] and turn the heat to medium. When it’s hot, add the shallots or onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 1 minute. Add the fresh mushrooms and cook, stirring frequently, for another 5-7 minutes. Drain the dried mushrooms, reserving the soaking liquid. Squeeze them dry, chop, and add to the pan. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about 3 minutes; do not let the mushrooms brown.

Add the rice and stir until it is coated with butter/oil. Add a little salt & pepper, then the wine or vermouth. Stir and let the liquid bubble away.

Strain the mushroom-soaking liquid and add it to the rice; stir and let the liquid bubble away. Begin to add the stock, ½ cup at a time [I added a large ladleful, no measuring], stirring after each addition and every minute or so. When the stock is just about evaporated, add more. The mixture should be neither soupy nor dry. Keep the heat medium to medium-high, and stir frequently (constant stirring is not necessary).

Begin tasting the rice 20 minutes after you add it to the pan; you want it to be tender but with still a tiny bit of crunch. It could take as long as 30 minutes to reach this stage [ours took about 25]. When it does, add the parmesan and remove from the heat. Check the seasoning, adjust if necessary, and serve immediately.

Bring on the Chametz!

2006-04-20T18:13:00.000-04:00

What does it say about me that I've been dreaming of a chewy, cheesy, greasy, salty slice of pizza for the last week?

A short list of things I plan to eat in the near future:

Pizza • pumpernickel bagel (scooped out, since the outside’s the best part) • pasta with a simple tomato-basil sauce • black lentil stew • some good crusty bread from Napoli bakery on Metropolitan (ok, I just had some of this and it was gooooood) • oatmeal pancakes • homemade risotto, a special request from Stephen • oven-fried chicken cutlets • mmm, popovers • a chocolate chip cookie from City Bakery (just one, I promise) • blue corn tortilla chips straight out of the bag • curry roasted chick peas • chewy cocoa fudge cookies • grilled polenta with sautéed mushrooms or maybe marinara & parmesan • spaetzle • American chop suey • one really good brownie, of the fudgy variety • sesame noodles with shredded chicken • nibblings from the bread basket in a nice restaurant • chocolate pizzelles • French toast • couscous • a homemade biscuit with fig jam from Egg

A few things I won’t be eating again for another year:

Matzo • egg matzo • matzo farfel • Tam Tam crackers • chocolate-covered coconut macaroons • any other kind of coconut macaroon, if it comes from a can • matzo brei • potatoes (ok, maybe I’ll eat them before next year, but it’ll be at least a week before I can stomach them again)

If you kept kosher for Passover, what are you dreaming of eating?

Acquisitions Department: My Life in France by Julia Child

2006-04-19T09:03:00.000-04:00

From the Introduction:

“This is a book about some of the things I have loved most in life: my husband, Paul Child; la belle France; and the many pleasures of cooking and eating. It is also something new for me. Rather than a collection of recipes, I’ve put together a series of linked autobiographical stories, mostly focused on the years 1948 through 1954, when we lived in Paris and Marseille, and also a few of our later adventures in Provence. Those early years in France were among the best of my life. They marked a crucial period of transformation in which I found my true calling, experienced an awakening of the senses, and had such fun that I hardly stopped moving long enough to catch my breath.”

Kind of makes you want to keep reading, doesn’t it?

Years ago when I worked at Doubleday, we published a biography of Julia called Appetite for Life, by Noel Riley Fitch. At the time I was much more focused on losing 100 pounds than I was on eating well (think plain steamed vegetables for dinner several nights a week), but reading about Julia’s life was a cherished distraction. I’ve got that book around here somewhere—perhaps I’ll dig it out and re-read it when I’m done with this one. It’ll be interesting to compare Julia’s own take on things to a third party’s.

My Life in France just arrived, and unfortunately I have to run to work. I know what I’ll be doing all day Saturday, though…

Passover Salt Fix: Baked Potato Chips

2006-04-14T16:53:00.000-04:00

I hate Passover (funny, I said the exact same thing last year). Not only do I get sick of matzo almost immediately, I have a tendency to not plan very well: In the weeks leading up to the first seder, I’ll consider whether or not I should hit a supermarket that has a well-stocked Passover aisle, which means making a special trip outside the neighborhood, which means I don’t do it. Instead, every year I decide to look at the eight days as a sort of Atkins-esque diet, a chance to focus on eating more lean protein and vegetables and less carb-heavy, bready yumminess. I allow myself to purchase one box of matzo (necessary for matzo brei, otherwise, not so much), one box of Tam-Tam matzo crackers, and one small package of chocolate-covered macaroons. By last night I was already regretting this decision, as I do every year. It’s one thing to choose not to eat a high-fat, salty snack, but it’s quite another to literally not be able to eat one.

When I left work this afternoon, I considered stopping at a supermarket to buy something, anything, that I could munch on. Instead I decided to take charge of the situation in a different way: I went straight home and made potato chips. They’re easy, they’re crunchy, they’re salty, they’re yummy, there’s almost no added fat, and they’re much, much cheaper than buying a bag of greasy kosher-for-Passover chips. Of course by tomorrow I’m sure I’ll be sick of eating them, and then I’ll be back to hating on the holiday.

At least tomorrow morning there'll be matzo brei.

Baked Potato Chips
Serves 2

2 large baking potatoes
Cooking spray
Salt

Preheat oven to 425. Position the two racks in upper and lower thirds of oven. Line two baking sheets with silpats, or use aluminum foil and spray with cooking spray. Set aside.

Using a mandoline, if you have one, or cutting carefully by hand, slice potatoes crosswise into 1/8-inch rounds. Arrange in a single layer on the prepared baking sheets, then spray the surface lightly with cooking spray. Bake for 30-35 minutes, switching the placement of the trays halfway through, until they’re as done as you like them (I prefer them more on the brown/crispy side, but if you take them out at the 30 minute mark they’ll have a nice chewiness to them.) Sprinkle liberally with salt and serve.

Raspberry Tunnel of Runny Lava Cake

2006-04-11T09:04:00.000-04:00

It all started out well enough. Following the recipe for Raspberry Tunnel of Fudge Cake in Chocolate American Style by Lora Brody, I made a quick ganache with 8 oz of dark chocolate, ½ cup of heavy cream, and 1/3 cup of raspberry jam, then scooped it onto a ring stencil I’d traced on a piece of wax paper. Into the freezer it went while I prepared the cake batter. This would be my Tunnel of Raspberry Fudge.

The batter smelled (and tasted—a girl’s gotta lick, right?) intoxicating, deeply chocolatey and still light and fluffy. Three different kinds of chocolate—unsweetened, semisweet, and cocoa powder—plus buttermilk seemed to be a recipe for birthday bliss. And then, the moment of truth: It was time to assemble. I spooned half the batter into the bottom of the bundt pan, and pulled the ganache ring from the freezer—it was to be sandwiched between layers, forming the Tunnel of Fudge as it baked. What the recipe didn’t mention was that fresh ganache spreads, so unless you’ve created a mold of some sort, what started out as a neatly measured ring will become a flat, wide disk by the time you go to use it—picture a donut, run over by a semi. Somewhat frantically, I started cutting away excess ganache, hoping to reduce the ring back to a size that would fit in the bundt pan. While I did that, Stephen cut hunks from the excess and piled them in on top of the now-neat ring. All of this was done as quickly as possible, as the heat of the preheated oven (not to mention our fingers) was making the ganache melty and hard to work with. Five minutes later, we had something that approximated a Tunnel of Fudge, and licked our raspberry ganached fingers in satisfaction. I covered it with the remaining batter and popped it into the oven.

Over the next forty-five minutes, the apartment filled with an aroma that threatened to drive us insane—if the recipe instructions didn’t state explicitly that the cake had to sit for a minimum of twenty minutes before serving, to allow the filling to settle, we’d have dug into it right in the pan, burned tongues be damned. But we managed to restrain ourselves—the cake came from the oven just before we sat down to dinner, and by the time we were ready for dessert nearly 45 minutes had passed.

And then was our second moment of truth: When I cut it open, the filling rushed out like a dam had broken. The inner wall of the cake collapsed under the knife. It threatened to become an unholy mess. Here’s a flash picture that’s truly terrifying:

It tasted pretty darn good—too rich for me in my pregnant state, but Stephen was happy. I built walls of aluminum foil around the two cut sides, to prevent further leakage, and popped the leftover cake in the fridge. All in all, not exactly a disaster, but not a recipe I’d share with you—unless, of course, you have ideas about how to prevent that fountain of ganache from happening again…

Press Sighting: Easy Passover Lunches

2006-04-10T07:51:00.000-04:00

A piece I wrote for WeightWatchers.com, about work-friendly, diet-friendly, kosher-for-Passover lunches, went live today. You can read it here.

From Beef Wellington to Hot Pastrami in Five Short Blocks

2006-04-09T13:59:00.000-04:00

For his birthday dinner, Stephen really wanted to try Beef Wellington—he’d read about it somewhere and the curiosity had been burning for months. (Between his cholesterol issues and my dietary ones, it’s not exactly the kind of thing we dine on regularly.) So I did some research on Menupages (gotta love that find-a-food search, but why don’t they let you search all of Manhattan at once?) and found a place on Clinton Street called Salt Bar. It’s the same chef/owner as Salt in Greenwich Village, where I’ve eaten some really terrific meals, so I thought we were golden. Called up to make a res and was told they don’t take them for fewer than six people, but when I said it was my husband’s birthday eve the girl was sweet as can be: She took my name and told me she’d seat us right away. Great, I said, we’d be there between 7:30 and 8.

We arrived at 7:45, only to find the joint packed and a sign on the sidewalk: Closed for private party, reopening at 8. I was kinda pissed, since it’s Stephen’s birthday and the girl hadn’t mentioned anything when I called, but we managed to kill fifteen minutes without too much difficulty. Came back at 8 and were seated right away, a cozy table in the corner. The only problem—and it turned out to be a huge problem— was that the party showed no sign of breaking up. We were the only diners in the restaurant, and everywhere we looked there were large groups of people standing, flirting, and sitting over drinks. AND THEY WERE ALL TALKING really loud. Either that or the architects of the space had zero acoustical insight. Seriously, the noise level was so high that the waitress couldn’t hear Stephen when he placed his drink order.

Before we even read the menu, we were already talking about where else to go. The Lower East Side is packed with restaurants these days, so it’s not like we were without options, but neither of us wanted to take a chance on stumbling into another scene like this—it made us feel old and out of it and I’m pretty sure we’re neither of those things. In the end we returned to an old reliable: Katz’s Deli, on Houston Street at First Avenue. It’s bustling—loud, but in a good way—and fluorescent-lit and it smells like grease and well-done food, but oh.my.god the pastrami… We went to Katz’s a few years ago on a date—it’s one of Stephen’s favorite places—but for obvious reasons (see first paragraph re: cholesterol & diet) we haven’t been in ages.

Two pastrami sandwiches, one sour pickle, one square potato knish (they were out of kasha), and two diet Dr. Brown’s cherry sodas later, and we were a happy pair, chatting with the sanitation worker at the table next to us (his turkey sandwich looked so good, and his pickled tomato reminded me I’d forgotten to get one). It was about as far from Salt Bar as you could get, but we’d only walked five blocks. After half a sandwich each we were both full, so today I picked up some fresh rye bread, re-steamed the leftover pastrami, and we re-lived Stephen’s birthday dinner for lunch.

As for Stephen’s yen for Beef Wellington, we’ve agreed to return to Salt Bar, early on a weeknight, and hope for a better result.

Happy birthday, baby! And now I’m off to bake that Raspberry Tunnel of Fudge Cake…

Raspberry Bannock Scones (Thanks, Luisa!)

2006-04-08T10:29:00.000-04:00

Stephen’s birthday is tomorrow, and when I asked him what kind of cake he wants, he said it should be something with chocolate and raspberry. The recipe I’m making, a Raspberry Tunnel of Fudge Cake, calls for two ingredients I don’t generally have around: buttermilk and raspberry jam. In anticipation of my baking, Stephen picked up a quart and a 20-oz jar, respectively—but the recipe only calls for 1 ½ cups of buttermilk and 1/3 cup of jam. I was facing a major surplus; for the jam it’s no big deal since it won’t go bad, but the milk… Imagine my delight when I saw Luisa’s post over on The Wednesday Chef, for Blueberry Bannock Scones: Not only does the recipe call for buttermilk, it’s also got wheat germ and chopped pecans, two ingredients I’m always happy to use. Luisa described the end result, with a layer of whole blueberries baked between scone batter, as “jammy”—dingdingding! I could substitute about 1/3 cup of my raspberry jam for the blueberries, leave out the extra sugar, and be on my way towards using up my excess.

Other than that small substitution I made the recipe exactly as Luisa posted it, so I won’t repeat it here (if you haven’t already checked out The Wednesday Chef, by the way, I urge you to head on over—it’s one of my favorites, filled with warmth and humor and fabulous pictures). The end result was wonderful: tender and crumbly, and slightly tart from the oozing jam. It’s a virtuous-tasting scone, though, not a decadent one (which makes me pretty happy)—the recipe doesn’t have a ton of butter or eggs, and the wheat germ and pecans make it taste almost like it’s made with whole wheat flour. Very satisfying on a rainy April weekend, and definitely something I’ll make again.

Press Sighting

2006-03-26T10:27:00.000-05:00

I've got another article in Fitness magazine, page 74 of the April issue. For this one I interviewed a slew of experts about tools to overcome those little setbacks that can derail a diet: everything from a new beau who loves to eat to a pulled muscle that sidelines your workout routine.

You can read an abbreviated version here, if you like.

(Many thanks to the proud Papa-to-be, who provided proof that our future child is already reading far above his age level...)

Why Things Have Been a Little Slow Around Here

2006-03-24T21:33:00.000-05:00

I'm due September 19!

I've got so much to say about this (especially about the particular power of a certain husband's birthday gift), but I'm too pooped to collect my thoughts properly. One day soon, I'll be back with details. This blog is not totally dormant; it's just hoping for some second-trimester energy, which should be coming any day now...

And Finally, the Kitchen Is Done

2006-03-01T09:38:00.000-05:00

Not a lot of cooking going on here lately—Stephen’s been laying a new kitchen floor, the last remaining project in our DIY kitchen renovation, which I first blogged about OVER A YEAR AGO. Last night when I strolled in after work, he was attaching the new molding, the last piece of the puzzle. It’s done! Finally. Here are some before-and-after shots for the curious…

Our old floor was a cheap sheet of vinyl that had tears and cracks and never—no matter how much I scrubbed—looked clean.

The new floor is faux-Pergo that we got at Costco. Hey, it’s a rental!

Some major water damage near our back door created a couple of days extra work—Stephen had to dig down an extra layer through the old stuff and replace the material that had warped.

Now…smooth as a baby’s bottom.

I can’t tell you how exciting it is to walk into our kitchen now. At last, I feel like a grown-up—living in a real home with (relatively) nice things. And sweeping is fun, when it actually looks clean afterwards…

Hopefully I’ll start cooking (and blogging) again in the next few weeks—I’ve got much to tell, but no time to tell it.