The Joy of Leftovers

So, I was somewhat tempted to make a post of helpful hints.  However, I feel that the "hints" in question will make you think what I thought when I read the recipes for some of the classic French sauces in one of my cookbooks: "You've got to be kidding me; I mean, really, who has the time for that?"  On a side note, I feel that the British speak pattern of endless run-on sentences is superlative for complaints or criticisms.  Take the above example-- while adequately punctuated, it contains no less than three separate items of complaint.  Masterful.  Why all this fuss about French sauces?  Because a lot of those sauces are made from another sauce, which is made from yet a third sauce, or at the very least requires fresh homemade meat stock, which may as well be a sauce since it takes another three hours to prepare it.  I mean, honestly, really, what is the point?  So I won't pretend that my "hints" are expedient, but I will mention them since they were both pleasant surprises to me.

Hint # 1
"I am trying to eat more healthily but have a secret craving for that "Cream of Mushroom Soup" flavor for my casseroles."  Solution: make creamy mushroom risotto.  Put it in your casserole instead of boil-in-bag rice and Cream of Mushroom.  Tastes the same.  100% less badness.

Hint # 2
"I am trying to eat more healthily, or more low-meatily, but I miss the flavor of beefy delicious casseroles."  Solution: make my recipe for Rich Weekday Pasta e Fagioli and let it sit until the pasta soaks up the rest of the broth.  Put it on the bottom layer of your traditionally beefy casserole instead of ground beef.  This would obviously be best suited to a meat-and-tomato type dish.  Seriously.  It's yummy.

I discovered both of these through the joy of leftover eating.  Which just goes to show that doing so is not only cheap, but also educational.  I actually read a recent newspaper article that said that Italians in Italy are suddenly going back to eating leftovers instead of, I guess, just throwing them away.  I would judge, but I know Americans are no better.  I feel like I need to start an outreach program for people who were not brought up to actually make good use of their money.  Maybe that's what this blog is.

Rich Weekday Pasta e Fagioli / All Kinds of Rants

This is an easy, quicker version of the Italian staple, Pasta e Fagiole soup which, for some inexplicable reason, is pronounced "Pasta Fazhool".  Linguists of the world, please do not unite and try to explain to me exactly why this is.  I can actually work some, less-abstruse parts of it out for myself.  I just prefer to hyperbolize.  I would say this is an "x-ingredient recipe" except that the actual number of ingredients is not impressively-sounding low enough although, for the record, neither is the typical "x-ingredient recipe" if you count the actual number of ingredients required.  Let me rant a little here: if the recipe boldly highlights, possibly with full-color pictures, a can of some kind of soup, a jar of ketchup, and a package of ground beef, that does not mean those are the only ingredients if the rest of the (text) part of the recipe goes on to explain that you also need an onion, 4 different kinds of spices, a tub of sour cream, specialty cheesecloth, and a yak.  If an illiterate person combined the "three ingredients" he or she would not get a result like unto the picture.  Also, literate persons are then required to make a trip to a) the regular grocery store for two of the four spices that they don't have and the sour cream (who keeps sour cream besides people with serious nacho fixations?) and b) the specialty grocery for the cheesecloth and yak. 

Anyway, while the number of ingredients in this recipe is not of an Olympic-quality lowness, it is a pretty short list.  And, more importantly, the actual time to make this is about 12-15 minutes.  The end result is a pretty decent pot of Pasta e Fagioli soup that is hearty enough for a big bowlful for dinner or as an accompaniment to other things.  The tomato flavor is considerably rich, so if you want a lighter (or just brothier) soup, put in half the tomato sauce and substitute the missing volume with water.  (Or prepared broth of your choice.)

Rich Weekday Pasta e Fagioli

2 14-oz. cans red kidney beans, drained
1 15-oz. can prepared tomato sauce (your favorite jarred spaghetti sauce might be good here too)
8 oz. pasta
1 clove garlic
2-3 C. boiling water on hand
1 tsp. salt (or less-- I'm happy with the flavor I got but it could be less salty and still be flavorful)
1-2 TB. cooking oil
mint flakes, ground red pepper, and Italian seasoning to taste (I used about 1/2 tsp. each)
plenty of grated Parmesan cheese to serve it with*

Get your hot water ready in a separate pan (or microwave it, or use an electric tea kettle...whatever works for you).  Mince the garlic.  In a medium-small soup pot, heat the oil, then saute the garlic over medium heat just until it starts to release its flavors.  Then, add in the spices and salt (or you can wait to add the salt until the end) and stir them around in the bottom of the pot for a few seconds to allow them all to frizzle and release their flavors.  Then, dump in the cans of beans and tomato sauce.  Bring all that to a rapid simmer, stirring to mix the spices and garlic in thoroughly.  Then, dump in the uncooked macaroni.  Yes, you read me correctly.  No extra water (at this time).  Continue to stir, making sure to frequently scrape the bottom of the pot.  As the pasta starts to cook, it will begin to absorb the excess water from the beans and tomato sauce.  Once the mixture starts getting thick, add in a little water, about 1/2 C.  Continue to stir until all this is absorbed, then repeat the process until the macaroni is fully cooked and the soup is the consistency you like it, about 10-12 minutes.  It's a given that the pasta will absorb the remaining liquid overnight, so be prepared to add a little water in the next time you eat it...or just enjoy it the way it is.)  Serve piping hot with plenty of Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top. 

I know I have been remiss in posting the amount a recipe will make, so here, for the first time (I think) is the quantity:

Makes 6-8 side dish portions or 3-4 dinner-sized portions.
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*It is officially the Italian way to put a heap of Parmesan on top of whatever you may be eating, whether it be soup, meat, or dessert.  (Okay, I'm kidding about the dessert.)  But you can leave it off if you have lactose issues, or are having difficulty finding cruelty-free dairy options.  I will confess that this is a frustration of mine as well.  All the Fancy Dancy Grocers I've ever been to have all kinds of specialty liquid dairy and, to some extent, yogurt options.  In the realm of liquid dairy, I am pretty sure if I wanted to find milk from a genetically-modified emu raised in a host family from Honduras where it was given a primary education and attended church with the family once a week, I could.  But when it comes to actual cheese, mysteriously there are no longer any choices.  "But what if I want to know if the cows who were integral in the making of this cheese lived lives similar to a cow's natural inclinations and also not fed gummy worms because grain or hay was too expensive (not making this up)?" I mentally ask the Fancy Dancy Grocers.  "Too bad for you," imply the Fancy Dancy Grocers with their lack of options.
 

Polenta Gangnam Style

Yes, I just went there.  Ever since I saw the music video which [spoiler alert] features Psy on the toilet [end spoiler], "Gangnam Style" has been my version of "Like a boss".  Which, I guess, was the point.  It's true.  I go around the house at times sounding like a bad impersonation of Kim Jong Il.  Returning to the subject, polenta is my new favorite meat substitute.  In order of likelihood, I will address your violent protests.  "But it doesn't hardly have any protein!"  Please.  When was the last time you chowed down on some plain tofu with salt and pepper for the sheer protein quality?  Thank you.  I would posit that the majority of the protein in a typical low-meat diet comes from: eggs, cheese, and beans.  And, according to some, kale.  But not me.  You will not find me "on the kale trail", as I once heard someone put it.  Ok, that's really the only protest I could think up.  But hear me out: it takes on the flavor of whatever you put it in, much like tofu, while itself having a pleasing texture and taste (especially if you make it with a savory broth), unlike tofu.  It also holds its shape remarkably well, also like tofu.  And, completely unlike tofu, it is both cheap and easy to make in your own kitchen in a short amount of time.  With all that being said, I present to you my tutorial of how to make polenta.  I offer it as a recipe AND tutorial because the recipe I used was somewhat vague and, at the time, I was totally unsure if I was over- or undercooking my polenta.  (I wasn't.  It turned out delicate and firm at the same time, unlike polenta I have had in the past that was dense and grainy.)  So here we go:

Polenta Gangnam Style

1-1/2 C. yellow corn meal (extra style points if it's non-GMO)
5 C. water or broth
1 tsp. salt
1-2 TB. cooking oil
more water

First: put your broth or water on the stove (aka the five cups-worth) and turn the unit on high so it will come to a rapid boil.  Then, whisk together your salt and cornmeal, then two cups of water (aka the "more water").  When the water or broth on the stove comes to a boil, dump all your water/cornmeal mixture into it in one go and whisk it rapidly while it's boiling to eliminate and also prevent any lumps.  Next, turn the heat on the stove down to medium, or even medium low.  You don't want to evaporate the water too fast.  Because that, my friends, is purpose A of the cooking of polenta: evaporating off the excess water.  Purpose B is to denature the corn proteins so that your finished product "sets".  Kind of like jello, which is made from animal proteins.  Geddit?  So, your role, once you've turned the stove Bwn, is to stand in front of your pot wearing your thickest skin or long sleeves and prepare to try not to get splattered by boiling hot proto-polenta while you stir it continuously (stir always in the same direction because that will help you not get splattered as much, especially as the polenta gets closer to being finished) for thirty minutes OR UNTIL DONE. 

Yes, I threw down the "until done" card.  I already broke one rule and mentioned organic chemistry in this post with the protein denaturing, so I might as well go all out.  Organic chemistry and "until done" do kind of go together, maybe because food is made mainly of organic compounds.  Unlike non-organic chemistry, which tend to happen on a predictable and invariable schedule, organic reactions happen as a law unto themselves.  So it is with cooking.  Sometimes "done" might be shorter than thirty minutes, sometimes it might be longer.  You just kind of have to eyeball it. 

So, what does "until done" look like, since eyeballing it is your best bet?  Well, first of all, you will have reduced the volume in your pot to about half what you started with.  But that's not all, because that will happen considerably before your polenta is really done.  But when that happens, it's time to really watch while you're stirring.  So basically, as you stir and stir you will notice that the surface of the polenta will start to become glossy.  Also, you will notice that, as you stir, instead of the bubbles that form popping and splattering, they will rupture and deflate without splashing and with the majority of the bubble remaining intact.  At this point, I leave it up to you.  When you feel that your polenta is nice and thick and creamy, pour it into a greased pan and let it set, which will take around 15-20 minutes.  At this point you'll be able to slice it.  Enjoy!

No-Pants Cake Icing

Sorry, no recipes to be found here.

Housekeeping instead.

THANK YOU!  I forgot to mention it a few weeks ago when this blog officially hit 1000 views.  It's now about 1300.  Despite being a creative person (or perhaps because of it), I really like concrete results.  1300+ page views says I must be doing something right.  I appreciate every single one of them.  (Page views, readers, every time I check out a set of search terms for myself and realize this blog is fourth from the top on the first page of a search result.)

Based on the last few posts, it may appear that I have suddenly become bitter about a certain distressing interval in my life.  Not really.  It's just that I suddenly feel okay talking about it.  I know that might seem a little extreme, since it's been over a year, but there are probably still people who met me after my break-up who do not yet know that I was ever engaged at all.  Some things are just too painful.  Also, I admit that I sometimes feel a little guilty about posting all these stories about Grandmom, since she hasn't signed an official release or anything, so I try and cast around for stories that exclusively involve me (I officially give myself permission to write about me).  I didn't start this blog with the idea of making it a digital scrapbook, but that is what it turned into. 

And that brings me to my third point: writing is a process.  I know, that sounds like a big steaming pile, as one of my uncles would say.  It's so indirect and non-specific that it suggests that I, or any writer who utters it (all of them) is a jealous miser crouching over his or her hoard of writing knowledge and beating back potential knowledge thiefs with the phrase "it's a process."  I mean, it terms of a concrete answer to how writing is done, you might as well have this conversation:

Curious Person: So, how do you write?
Writer: Magic.  (Just for the record, I'm making ghost hands, aka Jazz Hands up by my face, and followed that up with saying "oooooh!")

But it is.  Witness this blog.  Did not mean for it to be a scrapbook.  It is now a scrapbook.  I like it that way.  While Grandmom does not have any dire health concerns right at the moment, she is my Grandmother, which pretty much states that she is old.  This way, I'll have compiled all my happy memories of her in one place, so that hopefully there will never come a day when all I'll remember is that I've forgotten an awful lot.

To conclude: ADD is not a disease.  Institutionalized childhood immobilization is.  Aka "School".  And we wonder why a third of all American children are obese.  Obese.  That's not counting the ones that are merely overweight.  I don't even know the numbers for the ones that are depressed and anxious.  Yet here I sit.  Well-educated despite it all, unmedicated, happy, totally scatty, and not obese. 

Oh yeah!  I forgot about the No-Pants Cake Icing.  It's a better title than it is a story, but it pretty much sums up Grandmom and me.  There's a picture of me about five years old (and I remember the day) wearing a complete 80's style leotard-and-tights combo icing a cake from my EZ Bake oven.  Taken by Grandmom, of course.  I loved Grandmom and Grandmom loved to cook, so I wanted to learn to cook like Grandmom.  I happened to have my leotard on that day and why change?  And Grandmom took a picture.

Mozzarella Cheese "Burgers"

Yes.  I am writing a blog post about the Holy Grail of vegetarian eating: the ground beef substitute that is satisfactory enough to be called a "burger" and not "flavorless stick patty" or "interesting and tasty concept but wildly divergent from any experience I have ever had of beef".  Of the two, I clearly prefer the latter, and have had some good vegetarian patties, both from small independent restaurants and from chains.  Black beans appear to make a pretty dang good pattie for a burger, especially if they are seasoned well.  However, in this case the alternative I am about to present to you will probably disappoint.  I have not concocted any new spin on the bean pattie.  I have not discovered some exotic plant compound that is exactly like ground beef yet contains no meat.  What I actually discovered: mozzarella cheese makes a darn good burger.  Call it a "burger" if it offends you to refer to what is basically a cheese sandwich as a true burger. 

How did this happen?

I had the fixings for a burger, having had a serious meat craving after a particularly strenuous exercise class and subsequently went on a spontaneous grocery store run still in sweaty work-out clothes to purchase the necessaries for satisfying this craving.  (FYI if you haven't eaten more than one or two helpings of meat a week for over six months, it's not a good idea to buy a pound package of ground turkey with the intention of destroying it in hamburger form.  It will not go well for you!  But I was way less sore than I have been after similar classes, so I may continue the tradition of protein-loading after the fact.)  Returning to the subject, all the aforementioned meat was gone, while I still had a ton of hamburger buns and toppings.  Enter the mozzarella cheese.  It was tasty!  And, more to the point, it tasted a lot like a real, actual burger.  Maybe because of the secret fact that we all take for granted if we grow up eating meat: meat, in itself, does not have a lot of flavor.  Don't get me wrong: it does have a flavor.  It's just not usually a strong flavor (unless we're talking about goat or lamb).  Mozzarella is a mild but toothsome cheese, especially when it is partially melted.  It does not overwhelm the burger fixings, while still contributing something to the whole.  And texture-wise, it does not lay down and become flaccid like most cheeses will when melted.  It fights back.  It has a bite!  Yes.  Like carrots in Bolognese sauce, it's actually a true and, if I may say so myself, a pretty good meat substitute.  With that, I give you:

Mozzarella Cheese "Burgers"
Per burger:
1 bun
a couple of slices of tomato
1-2 lettuce leaves
some onion (if that's your thing)
and...about 4 ounces of mozzarella cheese, cut into long strips.
(All of the things you love on your favorite burger would also be fine: portabella mushrooms, onion rings, BBQ sauce, avocado, whatever it is you like.  I just had the first four things.)

I don't know about the mechanics of grilling one of these.  Here are the stove-top directions: get all your fixings ready (ie tomato, lettuce, etc.).  Heat a small skillet over medium heat with just a dab of oil-- enough to brown the bun halves in.  Once the oil is hot enough, put the bun halves in face down.  While they're doing that, put your cheese slices on a plate and put them in the microwave.  (This is crucial.)  Microwave them for 10-15 seconds, or until they are just turning soft.  That way, when you put them on the bun in the pan, they will finish getting melty but will not turn into actual gooiness.  (Or, like mine did, get gooey in the microwave and require me to actually scrape my cheese off the plate and sculpt it onto the bun, with serious hang-over all around.)  Flip your bun halves over to face up.  Put the mozzarella slices on one half.  Put the fixings on top.  Put the top half of the bun on.  Grill the whole thing in the pan for another minute or so, until the cheese gets melty.  Enjoy.

How to Keep Salad Fresh / Once Upon a Time

Ok, this isn't really a recipe, but it is one of my favorite discoveries of recent times.  And it has to do with me not liking salad all that much.  Salad is, as we all probably know, a "healthy" food.  Unless you live somewhere with less-than-sanitary growing conditions.  Then it is a green, leafy deathtrap.  However, I like my food cooked.  Well cooked.  Not to say overcooked.  Just not raw.  Or even close to raw.  This also applies to the meat products that I ever more-infrequently eat.  Beef Tartar: three words: musky slimy sickly-sweet.  FYI I also don't care for sushi.  Maybe I would like it in Japan.  I've been told western sushi is like the pale, facebooking half-cousin of the footballer real sushi.  With that in mind, I also freely admit to a passion for deep-fried sushi.  Yum.  Throw in some cream cheese and spicy mayo sauce and I am in xenophobic sushi heaven.  Anyway, despite the fact that I do not, on the balance, prefer salad, I occasionally have some in the house because I know it's a filling and nutritious way to get some vitamins and fiber in my diet and, honestly, the grocery store sells salad greens in pesky whole heads.  However, remember that I was brought up in part by Grandmom.  So I can't abide eating one or two bowls of it over the course of almost a month and watching the rest of it turn into mush in my refrigerator.  What, oh what, is a girl to do?  Nothing, at least, nothing intentionally.  (Intentionally, I have been known to neglect things I don't want to eat in the refrigerator until they spoil because then I have to throw them away.)  I will now pass on to you my accidentally-discovered miracle way of keeping salad fresh in the refrigerator for almost a month.

Forever Fresh Salad Greens
You will need:
1 glass bowl (I don't know if this is a factor, but it's what I always use so I'm just throwing it out there in case it's actually a critical element)
1 large square of cheesecloth.

That's it.  Wash your greens really well in the sink.  By "really well," I mean tear all the leaves off the core of your lettuce, then putting them in the sink and filling it up partway with water, then dabbling them around like you're washing lacy fragile underwear.  For the men out there, wash it like you're washing your balls.  There.  I said it.  Basically what this means is swooshing the water around in the sink but not really handling the lettuce much, per se, although you do want to turn each leaf fully over at least once.  If necessary (if there's a some stubborn earth, for example), you may need to pick up an individual leaf partly out of the water, sort of rub the dirt off, and then splash the leaf around until the remainder of the dirt comes off.

Once your greens are all washed, chop or tear the leaves into bite-sized pieces.  Why all the fuss about swooshing the lettuce when you're only going to tear it?  Because each tear is inevitable, but also relatively clean and neat.  If you create bruising in the body of the leaves, it will allow slime-making bacteria points of entrance, thus making your lettuce go bad faster.  Line your glass bowl with the cheesecloth, making sure there is ample cheesecloth hanging over the sides (there's a purpose for this).  Put your pieces of lettuce in the bowl.  (I usually tear them right out of the sink and put them directly in the bowl.)  The cheesecloth will absorb any excess water.  And here is where I think the magic happens.  Once you put all of your lettuce in the bowl, fold the excess cheesecloth over the top, covering all of the lettuce.  And put your bowl in the fridge.  It's my impression that the cheesecloth continuously wicks away moisture from your greens, thus preventing a large amount of bacterial growth and spoilage.  Whatever it is, your lettuce will remain crisp, unbrowned, unslimed, and tasty for far longer than you would have thought possible.  I haven't timed it, but I know regularly prepared lettuce lasts tastily about a week, maybe a week and a half for me, but if I do it this way it's about twice as long.
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I am about to share one of my favorite family stories.  However, it does not involve Grandmom.  (Sorry Grandmom!)  It's from the other side of the family, and does not even concern family members, but close friends of the family.

Once upon a time, there was World War Two.  There was also a young couple in love.  The man enlisted as an officer, and went off to training before being deployed.  On one of his leaves, the young couple married.  Then, the officer was deployed.  The wife was destraught.  She missed her beloved husband, and she knew that wherever he was, he was getting shot at and maybe even killed.  She couldn't stand it.  She couldn't stand the tension between getting to see him on leaves and not knowing if it was the last time she ever did.

So she enlisted in the Women's Air Service Program.  Yes, she became a WASP.  Her reasoning was that she couldn't keep her husband getting killed, but she could fight Hitler too, and if her husband did get killed, she could take it out of Hitler one pound of flesh at a time.  So she learned to fly a plane, and became one of the many women pilots who shipped supplies and equipment from factories to the places where they would be picked up and transported to the point of battle.

So now it was the two of them who had to coordinate leave schedules to meet.  The Missus, being a pilot, had the luxury of being able to occasionally borrow planes and fly home.  And here comes my favorite part:

On one such meeting, her husband arrived earlier than she did in their hometown.  (By automobile.)  He waited for her in the field that that she was supposed to land in.  He saw her plane approaching, and then, the unthinkable happened: something went wrong with the plane.  It began a long and desperate descent, ending in a spectacular crash in the middle of the field.  He was horrified.  It was any devoted husband's worst nightmare.  He ran over to the plane.  The Missus emerged, mostly unscathed.  Of course, he asked the question most people would ask first: "Are you alright?"  And she answered: "Yes, but that sonofabitch isn't ever going to fly again."

Why is that my favorite part?  It exemplifies, I think, one of the most useful skills anyone can learn in life: how to go down in flames.  (I don't know if there were literal flames in this case.)  Did she panic?  Did she freeze?  Did she go into some form of suicidal denial?  No.  She crashed that sonofabitch in the middle of the field, climbed out of the wreckage, and went on a date with her husband.  Going down in flames is something that few of us, if anyone, can prevent occuring in our lives.  But being able to handle it not gracefully (explain to me how grace is going to assist in landing a damaged aircraft) but effectively is what makes the difference between being a statistic and being a survivor, and the difference between being a survivor and being someone who had something bad happen to them one time, but went on to experience things that defined them far more.
 

Savory Gravy for Cornbread / Family Photos

I created this recipe as a way to use up a can of diced stewed tomatoes, and because I've been wanting to try both of the things this sauce evokes: Red-Eye Gravy and Tomato Gravy.  For those who don't know, Tomato Gravy is a rich sauce that traditionally has fresh tomatoes and cream in it, as well as various seasonings, onions, and occasionally bell peppers, that's meant to be served on top of grits, rice, biscuits, or cornbread.  (Sometimes it comes with shrimp in it too.  Delicious.)  Red-Eye Gravy is a thinner, meat fat-based sauce that is served atop biscuits or cornbread, more as a condiment, shall we say.  It's called "Red-Eye" Gravy because the roux is thinned with coffee instead of milk or broth.  So which is my recipe?  Both, neither, and definitely its own thing.  I don't thing either Red-Eye or Tomato Gravy has ham in it.  But I had ham, and ham imparts a tasty flavor, so ham went in it!

Savory Gravy for Cornbread

1 can diced tomatoes
1-2 TB flour
less than 1/4 C. chopped ham-- say 1-2 TB?
cooking oil
1/2 to 1 whole onion, chopped (this depends on your appreciation of onions)
1/4 tsp or so instant coffee granules (or 1-2 TB. of strong brewed coffee would probably work, too)
1 TB. Korean BBQ sauce.  (In my opinion store-bought Korean BBQ sauce cannot be beat for imbibing a certain meaty je ne sais quoi.)

Heat the oil in the bottom of a small saucepan.  When it's hot enough, add in the onions and saute them until they're reasonably soft.  (They'll have more time in the pan, so it's not essential that they're limp.)  Add in the ham and let it sizzle around for a hot minute, then add in the canned tomatoes, juice and all.  Let that simmer at medium to medium-high (depending on your stove-- in other words, super-bubbly but not erupting tomato juice all over your stove top-- which mine totally did) for about 5-8 minutes.  Add in the Korean BBQ sauce and the coffee granules/brewed coffee, stirring so that they're well mixed.  Add in the flour, stirring rapidly to avoid lumps, 2 tsp. at a time until the sauce is the thickness you like it.  Turn the stove down to the low setting and let it simmer and bubble for another 5-10 minutes or so.  Serve in generous helpings over some fresh cornbread.
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I thought I'd pull out the photo album Grandmom put together for me to see if I could find some inspiration there.  I did!  Sort of. 

The first few pages are pictures from my parents' (failed) wedding.  By that I mean that the wedding was successful but the marriage was not.  Interestingly enough, Grandpop looks like he doesn't know what the hell is going on.  Also I note that Grandmom has, with the delicacy of a true archivist, hole-punched straight through the 8x11 deluxe photos to put them in the album.  Go Grandmom.  She has always liked my mom, and I'm sure she likes my dad, (her son), but it gives me a sort of glee to see hole punches through pictures of them looking...well, not to put too fine a point on it...smug.  Or, in my dad's case, like he doesn't know what the hell is going on.  Maybe it's genetic? 

Heading forward a couple of years or so, there's pictures of "(me) 5 days old".  Grandpop definitely looks like he knows what the hell is going on.  He is holding a tiny baby.  He appears to like it.  I appear to like it too, even when the picture shows only a large masculine finger pointing directly at the side of my face (I'm smiling). 

2 months later, my new talent appears to be looking accusingly into the camera. 

A couple of months later and Grandpop has beaten "Meet the Parents" by decades, trying to give a very confused-looking me a bottle while nestling me close to his hairy chest.

Through it all, Grandmom and Grandpop keep appearing, having taken expensive trips several hundred miles away from where they live, all to come see me.  (I was the only grandchild for a long time.  I had some serious cousin envy when my Uncle Ron finally settled down!) 

My cousins and I all learned to like each other eventually, and somewhere there are pictures of us all playing dress-up together.  And, in one memorable instance, me manhandling one of them because of a theatre-related mishap.  What can I say?  I SPENT ALL AFTERNOON WRITING THAT PLAY ABOUT PRINCESSES.  THEY COULD AT LEAST BOTHER TO LEARN THE LINES.  Personally, I would be happy if that picture were never seen by human eyes again.  I wouldn't even mention the incident except that it was so memorable that my cousins also remember the actual event, and continue to tease me about it.  They definitely come from the more laid-back side of the family.  Other, fonder, memories also came from that family trip, just to set the record straight.

Crunchy Mixed Grill / Grandmom Throws Her Hands Up

I created this recipe because I had some crisp rice cereal left over from making a bar cookie recipe that involved it, marshmallows, and a filling of room-temperature-stable raw cookie dough.  (In a nutshell, it's egg-free so it won't give you diseases if you eat it.  Not that I've ever gotten diseases from eating regular egged cookie dough.  But I also haven't left it out on my counter, adorning crisp rice marshmallow bars, for 2 days straight.)  Anyway, those things are delicious.  I even tried to find a link to them out of a sense of public service; unfortunately, I came across several different recipes, none of which was the one I originally used.  So, in the spirit of not getting in the middle of things, I'm going to leave it up to you which one of the easily-findable recipes you want to try, rather than wasting my time wracking my brain over who plagiarized who on this concept.  Or maybe it was like when two different people from across the planet win the same Nobel Prize for the same thing.  The idea was just so brilliant that it couldn't not be thought of, by multiple people.

But returning to the subject of my recipe, I like crunchy things.  I also like to maintain a healthy weight without having to become a marathon runner to balance out my eating choices.  So I'm always up for alternatives to my (everybody's) favorite way to make things crunchy, also known as deep-fat frying.

1 large potatoes or 2 small potatoes, coarsely chopped
1 red bell pepper, coarsely chopped
1/2 a large eggplant, or 1 small eggplant, coarsely chopped
2-3 roma tomatoes...you get the idea...coarsely chopped
cooking oil
salt
Italian Seasoning (I have developed a serious crush on IS.  It's nummy.)
about 1/3 C. of crisp rice cereal

Heat about 3 TB. cooking oil in a large skillet until sizzling.  In the following order, add in: the potatoes, the eggplant, the bell pepper, and the tomatoes, allowing about 2-3 minutes in between additions for the each addition to cook.  (IE, potatoes take the longest, so they get put in first because they'll be in the pan the longest that way.)  Put a lid on it all, turn the heat on the stove down a little, and let it cook for another 5-6 minutes.  Remove the lid, turn the heat back up, add in the salt and Italian Seasoning, stirring everything together really well.  Add in a bit more oil, and let everything get sizzly.  Just before you're ready to serve this, throw in the crisp rice cereal and toss it into everything, then scrape it all out of the pan and onto a serving dish.

FYI, this is only crunchy straight from the pan.  The next day it will not be crunchy.  But you could always do the Italian Reheat and put however much leftovers of it you planned on eating in a pan and reheating it that way, tossing in a little more fresh crisp rice cereal along the way.
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"OH MY GOD!"  These are words that, when coming from Grandmom, usually herald that I have done something ridiculous.  You would think, being a sweet little old Italian lady, that she would not have it in her to literally throw her hands up in the air and yell "OH MY GOD!"  But you would be wrong. 

Interestingly enough, I can't actually remember specific details of what I was doing each of the times that I've elicited this response from Grandmom, possibly because the combined shock of being interrupted in the middle of doing something that required concentration and of being yelled at by Grandmom wiped it from my memory. 

I have vague impressions, though, that I was typically in the process of either breaking something, grossly misusing it, or wasting it.  I think one time for sure she caught me filling half a Styrofoam refrigerator shipping container with gallons and gallons of water on their carpeted back porch.  What can I say?  It was hot.  I was in elementary school.  I was careful not to sit on the sides of the box because that would wreck my sweet new pool, swimming with ice cubes from the freezer.  In that incident, Grandmom also threw up her hands metaphorically and let me use my Styrofoam-iced-swimming-pool-on-the-porch. 

I actually like summer, for the record.  It's just that summer seems to bring out more of the ingenious side of me than other temperature extremes.  (In winter, there is only one obvious solution: stay inside.)  In the same season, summer, a year or so after the improvised swimming pool incident, Grandom took a picture of me hanging by a homemade (from an aluminum beach chair and excessive amounts of twine) tree swing.  Grandmom took another picture of me from a few years later sitting in the refrigerator with the refrigerator door wide open.  LOLCats, I had you beat by at least a decade.  I think the only one of these incidents that didn't lead to an "OH MY GOD!" was me sitting in the refrigerator.  At least I wasn't potentially breaking anything, even if I was grossly misusing the refrigerator and being the cause of globally warming Grandpop's pitcher of Boost! 

I think the same level of surprise that causes me not to remember very clearly why I got "OH MY GOD!" yelled in my general direction is the same level of surprise that caused Grandmom to yell "OH MY GOD!" in the first place.  It's a wonder we didn't give each other heart attacks.  But it's a sign of the mutual appreciation we have for each other that I rarely (if ever) did the same thing twice, and that Grandmom took (and treasured) a cute picture of whatever it was nearly every time.

Cinnamon Raisin Coffee Cake

Update

This cake is nasty!  I guess I've gotten so used to being able to produce good stuff from my kitchen that I didn't bother to try it for once before posting it.  I mean, it's not cough-syrup-flavored or made with lice, but it's not exactly tasty.  Its issues are: too dense, not enough filling, not enough flavor overall.  There, I said it.  Based on the continued popularity of my blog post about the homemade toothpaste, I'm guessing that my honesty about kitchen failures is entertaining.  Which was in part the point.  Success!  So, if you feel inclined to mess around with this recipe, feel free.  I would add about 2-3 more cups of raisins and real sugar instead of corn syrup, skip the whole "1 TB of this, 1 TB of that" business and just dump a whole boatload of butter in its place, and let this one rise twice like it was supposed to, rolling it out between risings and filling it with the aforementioned raisins.  But that's just an estimate, since I probably will just make actual real cinnamon buns next time instead of lazy, cabinet-purging muffinettes.  (I felt at the time that muffins would be a good call.  Turns out: I was wrong.)

Fruit Filling (I use the word "filling" loosely)
1 C. golden raisins
1/4 C. granulated sugar or light corn syrup (I used corn syrup...still cleaning out the cabinets)
1-2 tsp. ground cinnamon

Heat the corn syrup on the stove in a small saucepan over medium heat.  Stir in the cinnamon and the raisins.  Turn the heat down to low and let it sit and bubble for a few minutes-- 5 or so.  (It should still be runny.)

Batter
1 pkg. quick-rise yeast (if you have regular, just plan on doubling the rising time, but otherwise do everything else the same)
1/2 C. milk

Heat the milk until it's warm but not hot (otherwise you'll kill your yeast!!).  Stir in your yeast and let it proof, ie let it sit and make bubbles for a minute or so.  (If it doesn't bubble, start over with new yeast and fresh milk.)

Then, whisk together:

1 C. all-purpose flour
1 C. whole wheat flour
1/4 tsp. salt

In a separate bowl, combine the following, adding the egg second last and the sugar last.

1 egg
1 TB. shortening, melted
2 TB. sunflower oil
1 TB. cream cheese
1/4 C. sugar (I had powdered, but granulated would probably be fine)

Stir the yeast mixture into the wet ingredients.  Then add the wet into the dry, including the Fruit filling that you have prepared.  Or, you could make it a true filling and layer it into the batter when you get closer to baking it.  Either way, set your batter aside in a warm place and let it rise until double.  (I'm impatient, so what I do is let it rise to about 75% and then put the batter in a cold oven instead of preheating it.  It works out pretty well!)  When your batter is how you like it, pour your batter into the receptacle of your choice.  I used a muffin pan plus a mini loaf pan, but it would make two regular-sized loaves, or a 9x9 square pan as well.  Then, bake it according to your tastes (the impatient way or the regular way) at 350 for 20-30 minutes or until it passes the toothpick test.  If you feel extra festive, make a frosting from 1 C. powdered sugar and 1-2 TB. of milk and pour it over the top!
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When I was younger, I used to wish that I had a more picture-perfect home life.  "Wish" is probably not strong enough a word.  I felt instinctively that my life would be a lot easier if it were.  I'm thankful, though, for the strength that God has taught me through my non-picture-perfect family, and I'm thankful that he gave me Grandmom and Grandpop, that were such a source of rest when life was so hard.  In amongst all of that, they were like an island of food and love in the midst of a raging sea. It was bittersweet to go visit them because I knew I had to leave, and I knew what I had to go back to. But it still meant the world to me. And I appreciated the home-cooked meals while I was there, and the unfashionable winter coats that they sent me when I wasn't there, much more than if their love and kindness were all I had ever known.  And at the end of the day, I think I can honestly say that I could survive pretty much anything. My world isn't going to come crashing down if I'm hungry, or cold, or despised. I know that hunger cannot break your spirit, and the cold cannot kill it. I know the difference between being liked for what I have and being liked for who I am, and I know the difference between being disliked for what I've done and being mistreated because I'm vulnerable.

But most of all, I'm thankful for knowing what it means to be loved just for existing on this earth, and not because of anything else.  And the wisdom to know that this is the difference between love and appreciation.  Appreciation fades.  Appreciation can replace its object.  Appreciation definitely dies a swift and bitter death once its source dries up.  Love...doesn't.  Love is worth it.  Appreciation isn't.  Thank you, Grandmom and Grandpop.

Ginger Oat Cake / Grandmom Earns Her Life of Leisure

Ginger Oat Cake

Preheat the oven to 350F.

(whisk together)
1 C. all-purpose flour
1/2 C. whole wheat flour
1/2 C. rolled oats (like you would eat for breakfast, also the regular kind, not the "quick" kind)
1/2 tsp. salt
1-1/2 tsp. baking soda

(beat together, in the following order)
1/2 cup oil (I used almond, also to use it up, but canola or some other mild-flavored oil would be fine)
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 C. molasses
1/2 C. powdered sugar (or regular granulated sugar, I just used powdered to use it up)
2-3 TB. fresh ginger paste or about 1-1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper

Combine the two mixtures, stirring until just thoroughly mixed (ie no clumps of flour or ginger floating about) and then stopping.  (Too much stirring could make the cake tough.)

Grease and flour a medium-sized glass baking dish-- I think mine is 6 inches by 10 inches by 2-3 inches deep-- and pour the batter in, and bake for 30-45 minutes (depending on whether your oven runs hot or not-- mine does) or until the cake passes the toothpick test.  (I will repeat it for thoroughness: stick a toothpick or even a fork or the tip of a knife into the thickest part of your baked good, and if it doesn't have gooey blobs of batter on it, or thick moist crumbs stuck on it-- both signs of varying degrees of not-doneness, but does maybe have a couple of small crumbs on it and is otherwise still clean and dry, then your baked good is done.)  If you like, slice the cake while it's still in the pan and top it with:

Microwave Hot Lemon Sauce, for Those of Us Who Don't Like to Dirty Two Additional Pans for 1 Cup of Sauce or Spend More Time Making the Sauce Than The Cake

(microwave on high, for about 2 minutes)
1/2 C. water

(meanwhile, mix in a small bowl...)
1/2 C. powdered sugar
1 beaten egg
1/4 C. butter

Once the water in the microwave is bubbling hot, remove it and pour it slowly over the sugar mixture, stirring all the while.  Then, put that in the microwave, also on high, for about 3 minutes, removing it every 45 seconds to 1 minute to stir it vigorously with a fork.  Stop microwaving it when it gets thick.  Then, stir in about:

1-2 TB. lemon juice, or, equivalently, the juice of about half a lemon.
_________

I am enjoying the slow process of cleaning out my cabinets.  I think those around me are also enjoying it!  It works out well for my creative process and for my need to not get diabetes.
_________

The last time I went to visit Grandmom, she told me the story of how she retired.

Grandmom worked at, I think, the same factory her whole working life.  It was boring, but it was good pay, and Grandmom has always been good at sewing, so it played to her strengths.  Plus, she got to hang out with her friends on lunch and scheduled breaks.  It's New Jersey, which is a union state.  If a union could have negotiated scheduled foot massages, it would have by now.  Unions in the US, to enter onto a tangent, seem to have progressed on the "shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations" plan and, like all who go down that unfavorable road, it is their own fault and nobody else's.  If the unions had just quit at fair working hours and safe working conditions, everybody would still love the unions.  Instead, they got pompous and cocky around the 1970s, much like the overly-coddled son of a bootstrap millionaire, with the predictable results that always follow too much throwing your weight around. 

Anyway, to return to my story.  Grandmom and her unionized friends engaged in much friendly rivalry, like all women in the workplace.  This included the Secret Bird, otherwise known as flipping someone off across the room while pretending to adjust your glasses.  This was mostly before contacts, so almost everyone wore glasses.  Even Grandmom and Aunt Kitty flipped each other off on occasion.  Gotta love it. Amongst all this Secret Bird Flipping and break-taking, my Grandmom became one of the best sewers in the factory, and was entrusted with the trickiest work.  During all of this, the factory changed hands and Grandmom got a new boss.  This new boss did not like fixing his equipment.  You would think this would be an intuitive act in a factory-- to make sure the factory equipment still worked, much like the hiring and retaining of the workers to run said equipment.  However, history is about to prove us wrong. 

Grandmom's specialized sewing machine would break.  She would go tell the boss.  He would, instead of having someone trained in sewing machine repair come fix it, come over himself, pound on it like a Neanderthal trying to invent fire, and leave.  It would work for another few minutes, hours, or days.  Then this process would repeat itself. Did I mention the as-frequent complaints of this same boss about how Grandmom's productivity was subpar? Eventually Grandmom decided to leave.  She did.  The boss came personally to her house to beg her to come back.  She made him swear a solemn oath to fix the machine once and for all.  He made that oath.  Grandmom went back.  The machine wasn't fixed.  So, one day a couple of weeks later, she decided to sneak out in stealth.  Around lunchtime, she collected her personal things and went home claiming to be eating out.  And she never returned!  And she has enjoyed a life of leisure ever since! 

Grandpop retired a few years later and maintained their marital bliss by being faithful to his true loves: gameshows and sports on the television.  At least once a visit Grandmom comments in disgust that all Grandpop does is sit on the couch and watch tv and yet he never gains a pound!  In Grandpop's defense, earlier in his retirement he also: barbequed the best rotisserie chickens ever; maintained the front and back lawns in golf-course-like perfection; vacuumed (including chasing the dog around with it, not out of malice but sheer fur anxiety); drove Grandmom around like a professional chauffeur; and messed around in the basement and the garage with assorted tools.  However, despite Grandpop's diminishing activity over the years, it is true that he still has never really put on weight, despite also having a notorious sweet tooth that can only be satisfied by glasses of Boost! with every meal and cake and coffee every night a couple of hours after dinner.  You know, so there's room.  It's enough to make any woman disgusted.

Fudge Sauce / Determination-Flavored Yogurt

I made this recipe up because of an unfortunate event that has occured in the last few weeks.  Here's the story: several months ago, I went to the store to get some things and discovered yogurt with chocolate on the bottom.  Not fruit.  Not a fruit-based derivative.  Straight up chocolate.  I bought other, more conventional flavors, as well as the chocolate-on-the-bottom with my mind open and my reservations alert and ready.  No need.  It was delicious!  I have, in a back part of my brain, been meaning to go get some more ever since.  However, at some point in the time between when I bought it and when I (recently) returned to that store, the store decided to no longer carry it.  Not that brand.  Not that "style" (oh, yogurt styles...there are now a thousand of them), just that flavor.  I was so upset that I pouted (which, with my strict upbringing, I have only recently learned to do) up at the disappointing and conventional fruit flavors displayed along the top shelf.   And then I put the toe of one foot on the lip of the refrigerator case and hoisted myself to eye level with the yogurts, hoping to find one last chocolate-on-the-bottom hidden in the back.  If my thoughts had been verbalized, they would have gone something like, "I do not care if you have been back there up to and past your expiration date!  Others may not be willing to risk it, but I love you, chocolate-on-the-bottom yogurt!"  After several hopeful seconds of scanning the back of the shelf, I descended from my perch disappointed.  Whether it was the pouting or the climbing, or both, a nearby store patron then chivalrously offered to help me get whatever it was I was trying to get.  Sometimes sharing your feelings with others is healthy!  Especially when people unexpectedly offer to get things off of high shelves for you.

Anyway, I was not one to give up so easy.  I had already, in full public view, climbed on an appliance in the grocery store!  Undeterred, I went home with the idea of recreating the blissfulness of chocolate-on-the-bottom yogurt in my kitchen by basically putting chocolate sauce on the bottom of a reusable cup of yogurt.  And I did.  And this is the chocolate sauce recipe!  I will offer it with some variation options and caveats, since my approach was somewhat unconventional.

Chocolate Sauce for Yogurt

1/2 a Dove bar
2 TB. cocoa powder
2-3 TB. half & half
1-2 tsp. light corn syrup
1-2 tsp. butter

Melt the chocolate over low-medium heat.  Stir in the cocoa powder (it will make a coarse meal).  Add in the butter, which will then melt and help better blend together the cocoa powder and chocolate bar.  Reduce the heat to the lowest setting and stir in the corn syrup and half & half, adding a little more cocoa powder if you want your sauce a little thicker.  Your sauce is done when there are not lumps of cocoa left and the sauce looks smooth and glossy.  Spoon it into a prepared glass jar (a small one-- maybe 4 oz. at the most) and let it cool a couple of minutes before refrigeration.  When you're ready, put 2 spoonfuls of chocolate sauce on the bottom of a reusable container, then fill it to the top with yogurt!  This appears to make about eight 6 oz. yogurt cups-worth of chocolate sauce.

This is how I actually made it, because it's what I had on hand and also because I was too stubborn to break into the half-a-package of legitimate chocolate chips that I also had and hope to use to make a chocolate babka with next week.  It tastes good to me, but if you used probably about 2-3 oz. of semisweet chocolate chips in place of the cocoa powder and Dove bar combo it would probably be creamier, and also more like a milk chocolate sauce than a dark chocolate sauce.

Apple Spice Coffee Cake / The Smoking Foodgun

Apple Spice Coffee Cake

Filling
3 large apples, cored, peeled, and coarsely chopped
juice of 1 orange
1 C. dark brown sugar
2-3 TB. butter
1/4 C. sultana raisins (optional).

Melt the butter in a skillet.  Melt the sugar in the butter.  Dump in the apples and juice.  Let simmer until the apples are fully cooked.  If you want the raisins, add them at the same time that you add the apples.

Batter
1-2/3 C. unbleached all-purpose flour
2/3 C. whole wheat flour
1 pkg. yeast
1/2 C. milk
2 eggs
1/3 C. granulated sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cardamom
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 TB. ginger paste -or- 1 tsp. powdered ginger
1/4 C. oil

Mix together the dry ingredients.  Warm the milk.  Add in the yeast and let it proof (1-5 minutes, depending on whether it's regular or quick-rise).  In a separate bowl from the flour, mix together the yeast mixture, the eggs, and the oil.  Beat this into the flour mixture, stirring for about 1 minute or until the dough starts to pull away from the sides slightly.  Let rise in a warm place about 30 minutes to 1 hour (again, depending on your yeast).  Grease and flour a bundt pan and preheat the oven to 350F.  Pour half the batter into the pan.  Pour in the filling.  Top with the remainder of the batter and bake for about 40 minutes.  (You might have to tent the top of the cake for the last 10 minutes or so, depending on how hot your oven runs.  It should be a nice medium brown on top, though.)  Take the cake out after it passes the toothpick test and let it cool for about 15 minutes before attempting to cut it. 

I had apples, so I used apples, but another alternative is to use two or three jars of orange marmalade and skip the whole "making a filling" step.  That would bring out the spices more and be a lot easier.  It is tasty as an apple cake, for sure.
________

In my search for a pan while cooking dinner, I discovered the manual to a vintage kitchen appliance I own called "the Foodgun".  I know.  It sounds like it should be illegal in schools and on planes and public property.  In reality, it is a spritz cookie maker and, according to the ambitions of the manufacturer, the most useful tool in our kitchens since the fork.  Have a bunch of cooked unfilled manicotti laying around?  Problem solved!  Use the Foodgun.  Need to turn plain mashed potatoes into a gourmet dish via shooting them out of a motorized canister?  Shabam, the Foodgun gives you "Duchess Potatoes".  Its uses potentially are limited only by the human imagination of things that need to be filled and substances that can be shot into those things.  In addition, the manufacturer provided a helpful "FAQ" section at the back that makes Dr. Dre look like an amateur at spinning.  Example: "Q. Is it dishwasher safe?  A. The motor housing is not immersible, but easily cleans with a damp cloth.  It's possible to put the separate parts in the dishwasher--but not advisable....Besides, they're so easily cleaned with a soak and a wipe that it's hardly worth the time to put them in the dishwasher."  (Emphasis mine.)  Excuse me, but until I have a personal attendant who enjoys applying "a soak and a wipe" to dishwasher-safe items, it is still worth the time for me to put them in the dishwasher.  Furthermore, I cannot imagine the "soak and a wipe" that would be both quick and sufficient to remove a thick, sticky layer of extruded cookie dough from the inside of a plastic barrel.  It would involve much more than that.  Possibly two soaks.  And definitely about a thousand wipes.  Or the dishwasher.  Just come out and say it if it's not dishwasher safe.  There is no such thing as "marginally dishwasher safe", except, apparently, in the minds of the makers of the Foodgun. 

This Foodgun in particular came to me by a circuitous route.  It was originally given to Grandmom as a Christmas or birthday present, and it was something she wanted.  However, it turned out not to be exactly what she thought it was, or something to that effect, so she hung onto it for a while and then regifted it to my mom at her bridal shower.  Remember, this was about thirty years before "regifting" was even a word.  But Grandmom did it!  My mom knew about it and was fine with it.  Eventually she tried it out, and it too wasn't quite what she had in mind.  So, she gave it back to Grandmom, where it sat in the basement for the next 25 years until Grandmom asked me if I wanted to poke around there and see if there was anything I wanted for my first apartment (on approval, of course).  I haven't tried it out yet.  Honestly, I'm kind of afraid to. 

Also, my not using it allows it to last longer and therefore possibly become the most epic regifting since the Ugly Sweater Episode.  In a nutshell, either my Great-aunt Kitty or my Grandmom or possibly their respective Mother-in-law/Mother gave it to one of them.  It was, by both their reports, really ugly.  Yet it was mandatory for whoever got it first to wear it occasionally out of respect for one's elders.  Until somebody got the brilliant idea to "accidentally" lose it at the other one's house.  In a very hidden location.  At first, the finder, whoever it was (Grandmom or Aunt Kitty), thought it was an accident and tried to give it back.  The ugly sweater returned, and the game was on.  Over the course of about 15 years the ugly sweater traded houses multiple times and also went to Myrtle Beach and Upstate Pennsylvania, (in various hands) and also once to Paris, France.  (Grandmom was responsible for that one, sneaking it into a packed suitcase on pretense of using the bathroom at Aunt Kitty's house the day before she left on vacation.)  As you can imagine, over time the methods of sweater delivery had to become more sophisticated.  It got mailed.  It got "Return to Sender"-ed.  It came in the back of a framed picture.  Of course it got given for Christmas along with a more legitimate gift at least once apiece.  It goes without saying that every coat closet in both their respective houses got paid a visit by the ugly sweater, while the deliverer tried to sneak out without having to retrieve it, sometimes with success.  (I remember Grandmom telling me she was so frustrated on one occasion because she had checked every closet multiple times during a visit from Aunt Kitty and Aunt Kitty still managed to sneak the ugly sweater in somehow right before she left.)  So, with my vintage Foodgun approaching its fourth holder and decade, I think I can definitely continue the tradition, if I find just the right victim...er...recipient.

New Recipe in Development

Based on traffic to this post, I have a feeling that some people are trying to find, but are not succeeding at finding, this post, "unintentional innuendos".  There you go.  You're welcome.

I am happy to report that I have a new recipe in development, but it's a baked good so I probably won't have anything concrete to offer until Saturday.  Last week I tried a new recipe more or less exactly as written, and it was disappointing, inaccurate, and not good, which coincidentally are my top three beefs with recipes out of commercially published recipe books.  Sometimes I think the writers' creative process goes something like this: "Hey, I need some more recipes!  I know, x, y, and z sound good together-- I'll just make up a recipe for this and put it in the book without ever trying it out!"  If I had followed the directions to the seed recipe more exactly, I would almost certainly have gotten more fodder for fire-themed blog posts.  However, the recipe had potential, and I intend to weedle that potential out into a finished baked good and post the results here like I did for the Banana Bread experiment which, for the record, resulted in the recipe for a moist, crumby, flavorful Banana Bread.  Anyway, keep your eyes peeled on Saturday for a spicy cake with a fruit filling, if that's what floats your boat.

Breaking Rules and Getting Burned

Today I broke one of my own rules.  I put something other than meat in the oven on the "broil" setting.  Okay, more than one rule.  I also started to smell it burn and thought, "Nah, it hasn't been in there long enough," and let it go for about another minute.  When I took my breakfast bagel out of the oven, one half was black and the other half was black and afire.  However, I did not slam the oven door shut and say "Oh dear!"  Although I was tempted to.  No, I took my bagel halves out of the oven and calmly set another pan on top and then listened to them merrily crackling away underneath until it sounded like it was safe enough to remove them to the sink for a thorough drenching. 

Which just goes to show that the same person who can make cream puffs and roast a turkey can also burn a bagel in the oven.  It's not a lack of knowledge.  It's a lack of will.  Or an excess of will.  Or possibly an excess of the erroneous sensation of knowing better than the laws of nature.   Who can say?  All I know is, you have to be a little bit crazy to get into a kitchen in the first place.  All those knives, the multiple sources of extreme heat and associated burning, not to mention the germs.  I don't know about your moms' kitchens, but my mom liked to defrost meat on the countertop all day and cook it that night after she got home.  Yet nobody died.  Or even got sick!  In the meantime I eat raw salad that leaves dirt in the sink after I wash it and regularly consume things that came out of a chicken's butt.  Which, for the record, is strictly accurate.  FYI, birds do not have a separate reproductive tract and excretory tract.  It all comes out of the same place.  Just chew on that while you're eating your next scrambled egg!  This the kind of information that makes some people be vegans.  But for me, I say "bring it on."  And I cook!  And accidentally burn myself and food items!  It's all good.

Two Kinds of Dinner Tacos / Stubbornness

I bought a package of tortillas intending to make quick, week-day quesadillas for a lunch or dinner.  (Or both!  I've been pretty busy.)  Instead, I realized that I had a serious amount of vegetables in my fridge or from the garden that needed to be cooked before they went bad.  So, I included them in my quesadillas...and then decided I didn't really feel like cheese...and ended up with what I will call "Dinner Tacos", because they are sort of like Mexican Breakfast Tacos except with more dinner-y ingredients.  For those who are unaware, Breakfast Tacos are the original inspiration for McDonald's' "Breakfast Burrito".  Basically, the Breakfast Burrito is the same thing as a breakfast taco.  IE, a tortilla filled with varying combinations of eggs, cheese, potatoes, and breakfast meats like sausage (chorizo) or bacon.  I ended up with two pretty good variations that I'm going to share with you: Summer Squash Dinner Tacos, and Eggs & Hash Dinner Tacos.

Summer Squash Dinner Tacos

3-4 small straight neck or crookneck yellow squash, cut into rounds

1 orange, red, or yellow bell pepper, chopped

1 red onion, chopped Italian style (strips, not cubes)

2 tomatoes, chopped

1/4 tsp. Old Bay seasoning

1/2 tsp. salt

a sprinkling of cayenne pepper (I'm not going to get into the esoterica of the exact meaning of "a dash", so basically, "a small amount that is suitable to your tastes", whatever that means to you.)

a sprinkling of Italian seasoning (I used about 1/2 tsp., but it could do without it)

3-4 tortillas

cooking oil

Summer Squash Dinner Taco filling

Heat the oil in a medium to large skillet over medium heat until sizzling hot.  Toss in the squash first and let them cook until reasonably tender.  (If they are young and fresh, they'll cook fairly quickly, but they still take a little longer than the rest of the ingredients.)  Add in the chopped bell pepper while the squash is still about half done.  When the squash and peppers are cooked, add in the onion and saute until tender (just another minute or so).  Add in the tomatoes last, letting them sizzle and release all those good juices you see in the picture.  (These were tomatoes from my Grandad's garden, and they were primo.)  When all your veggies are all cooked, remove them to a serving dish, juices and all.  Then, either get out a clean skillet or do like I did and use the same one without bothering to clean it-- it really didn't make any difference-- and toss your tortillas in it one at a time and toast them.  Serve your filling wrapped up, taco-style, in your toasted tortillas.  This should amply serve 3-4.

Toasting your tortillas is actually an important step.  A store-bought tortilla that you take the time to toast becomes a slightly crispy delight that the same tortilla straight out of the refrigerator cannot match.  It's a little tricky, so let me break it down. 

How to Toast a Tortilla

Step 1: Heat a dry skillet or electric griddle to medium heat

Step 2: Toss your tortillas on there, giving yourself enough room to flip them over.

Step 3: Let them toast on one side until small air pockets start to swell into medium air pockets on the side of the tortilla you can see (the top).

Step 4: Flip the tortilla.  You'll know you let it toast long enough on the backside if the top now has golden-browned round circles (the bottoms of the air pockets you saw). 

Step 5: Let the tortilla toast on the other side until the air pockets start to form again-- or-- the tortilla sort of swells up a little in one large air pocket.  Toasting the other side happens pretty quickly-- in a few seconds or so-- and you really can't go wrong.  A properly toasted-on-one-side tortilla is better than a burnt tortilla.  Unless you're in the "burnt marshmallows in my smores" camp (which I am) in which case a slightly burnt tortilla is okay.

Eggs and Hash Dinner Tacos

2 eggs

1 potato

1 large carrot or 2 small carrots

cooking oil

1/4 tsp. paprika

salt to taste

1-2 tortillas

Chop your potatoes into small cubes.  Do the same for your carrots.  Heat your oil over medium heat until a drop of water tossed into the pan sizzles.  Put the carrots and potatoes in the pan and cook them until they are both tender, letting them rest for the first few minutes of cooking them (meaning not stirring them around), and then stirring them to cook all sides evenly about 2-3 more times at intervals.  Add in a little more oil, then the salt and paprika, allowing the spice to sizzle and toast in the oil.  Stir everything around to coat the potatoes and carrots with the spices, then spreading them in an even layer on the bottom of the skillet.  Now, crack both your eggs on top of the hash, muddling them around a little bit to break the yolks and allow the whites to run down into the crevices between the individual pieces of potato and carrot.  Cook a little while longer, until the egg whites are set and the egg yolks are beginning to set.  (Or however long until the eggs are cooked the way you like them.)  Push the entire contents of the pan onto a plate, then use the skillet to toast a tortilla or two by the method described above.  Eat up!

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Just for the record, I wasn't always a good cook.  However, my desire for household thrift has remained unchanged, if not increased.  Put those two together: bad cook + cheap cook.  Fortunately, no one but myself has ever been subjected to my experiments in Home Economics.  Much like the aforementioned lab experiments, things did not always go according to plan.

Example the First: Weeds from the Yard

At some point in my older childhood, someone or some book somewhere told me people could eat things that commonly grew in the yard.  Much like the 1=0 situation (I am my mother's daughter), my eventual action on this piece of knowledge was delayed, possibly for God's increased entertainment.  The end result, however, was that my mom told me to go cook dinner and came in to find a large bowl of weeds from yard sitting on the dinner table.  Uncooked.  Unchopped.  Unwashed.  Roots still on.  I took my information literally!  This did not go down well with my mother.  I think we ate spaghetti instead accompanied by a side of lecture.

Example the Second: Dorm Hotdogs

This example could also be subtitled "that summer where I got diarrhea at least once a week."  I was living on loans, and it was the beginning of a summer term.  Being as I mentioned before, thrifty, I felt that it was perfectly reasonable to make use of an unopened package of hotdogs that undoubtedly had been left by a previous inmate at the end of the spring semester.  I believe I recall observing them over the course of a couple of weeks (at least) in order to make perfectly sure I was not stealing someone else's hotdogs.  Anyway, I eventually put them in something-- I can't remember what-- and ate them.  The success was short-lived.  See the alternate subtitle.  Undeterred by my experiences, I went on to do the same thing with a half-package of ground beef that I had personally bought and wanted to finish up.  Repeat of the same experience.  After a while, my gastric adventures became the source of much conversation among my suitemates.  I'm not sure why I was so stubborn about eating half-spoiled food.  All I know is that I was stubborn!  I still am.  But I no longer intentionally eat rotten food.

 

Oven-Roasted Potatoes, Ketchup Variations / Fire, Fire, Fire

Something I learned in the American-Style Chop Suey Incident is that Italian Seasoning makes things better.  Typically I am not a big promoter of spice blends, because personally I like to be able to add what I want to add in the quantities that I want to add them in, rather than have my dish's flavor dictated by Knorr or McKormick.  However, I have added Italian Seasoning to my short list of exceptions.  It's good for making a dish somehow zippier.  Just to be clear, it doesn't make it taste more Italian, at least not in my opinion, but it's still good.  I especially recommend it on roasted potatoes, like in the recipe below, and in sautees and sauces that you want to be indefinably meatier without actually adding any meat.

Oven-Roasted Potatoes

3-4 medium potatoes, washed but not peeled
enough Italian Seasoning to generously sprinkle over the potatoes
salt to taste
oil of your choice

Preheat the oven to 425F.  Chop your potatoes thusly: cut them in fourths longways (ie hold them up on one long side and slice off each end, then slice the remaining middle in half).  You should now have four slabs of potato about the size of a deck of cards each.  (The ends will probably be smaller.)  Take each slab and slice it into 3-4 strips, then turn the cut slab as a whole shortways and cut the strips into 1 to 1-1/2 inch chunks.  Put your chunks in a glass baking dish and drizzle them with the oil.  Then sprinkle on your salt and Italian Seasoning.  Bake them in the oven with a tinfoil lid for about 45 minutes, or until they are tender in the middle.  If you like them crispy on the outside, take the tinfoil off for the last 15 minutes or so.  If you like your potatoes softer but not crispy, leave the tinfoil on the whole time.

Additionally: Interesting Things to Do With Ketchup

Mix 1/4 C. ketchup with: 1/2 tsp. curry powder
                                       : 2-3 TB. honey
                                       : 2-3 TB. soy sauce
                                       : 1 tsp. Korean BBQ sauce 
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An interesting note: oil in the oven can catch on fire.  Surprisingly, so can many other things, especially if the oven is on too hot.  Do not turn on the oven too hot.  "Too hot" is defined as anything besides broiling meat put in on the "broil" setting, or 100 degrees or more higher than the stated cooking temperature.  Do not leave things in the oven too long.  "Too long" is defined as at least 15 minutes after you first smelled something starting to burn and though "Oh, I should go do something about that," and then promptly forgot about it. 

Follow proper procedure for kitchen fires if something in your oven catches fire.  "Proper procedure" is NOT defined as opening the oven door, having flames shoot out, saying "OH DEAR!" and slamming the oven door shut.  I promise none of these happened to me while preparing the Oven-Roasted Potatoes.  But that is as far as I am willing to commit in the promise-making department.

It might also possibly be true that I once told my lab partner that I almost set my last lab partner on fire and then immediately got a beaker vacuum-sealed to my hand.  Both of my lab partners developed a fine sense of hyperalertness.  But they didn't trade lab partners!  Even lab partner number one, who not only almost got set on fire as a general concept, but who almost got his genitals set on fire in specific.  Moral of the story: do not try to light your Bunsen burner unless you are absolutely certain which tap is the gas tap.

Roasted Asparagus / Vladimir Lenin in a Can

I'm almost embarrassed to post this recipe, because it's barely a recipe to start with.  But, I guess I should take heart because I've seen recipes for and been subjected to many a dish made with loving hands that essentially involved dumping various premade items (the infamous Cream of Mushroom soup, for example) into a casserole and then baking it until it was all hot and bubbly.  Because, you know, I like my poison hot and bubbly.  Okay, that was a little extreme!  Those dishes are not poisonous unless you have some kind of allergy, but they definitely are not my favorite.  Anyway, returning to the Roasted Asparagus.  It's delicious, but also super-easy.  So easy that when you're savoring every mouthful you think "That was it?"  That, my friends, is the joy of much of Italian cooking-- it relies on the quality and character of the ingredients to shine on their own with little intervention on the cook's part.  Translate: a lot of it is easy to prepare!  Without further ado:

Roasted Asparagus

1-2 bunches of fresh asparagus (I always buy one and wish I had bought two!)
salt to taste
oil of your choice.  I know, this is where I should be touting Extra Virgin Olive Oil at $49.99 per 3 liter can.  But let's be honest: canola oil tastes just fine, and is also cheaper than the aforementioned liquid gold.

Preheat the oven to about 400-425F.  Wash your asparagus and trim off the ends-- I'm not sure what the official rule is for asparagus, but I cut off the white part.  I'm not super-picky, so I don't mind if my asparagus is a little tough, especially if it's later in the season and I'm feeling grateful for having asparagus at all!  Put your asparagus in a single layer (this is important) in as large a dish as you need to accomplish that.  Drizzle it with your oil, and sprinkle it with salt.  Put the dish in the oven and roast it for about 10-12 minutes, or until your asparagus is a little wrinkly-looking and is nice and floppy.  That's the best way I can describe it.  You can make your jokes to yourself about floppy asparagus, but that's how it's supposed to be.  Floppy.  Anyway, at this point take your dish out of the oven and resist the temptation to try and eat the floppy asparagus right away, because it needs to cool or it will burn your mouth.  After about 5 minutes it should be okay.  This is the best way I've ever had asparagus!  If you've done it just right the stems will be tender-al dente and the tops will be ever so slightly crispy.
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My aunt told me about her discovery of asparagus, which was just a few years ago.  The way she cooks it now is very similar, only on the stovetop.  Before then she had avoided it because all she'd ever known was the canned asparagus they had when she was growing up.  If you think properly cooked fresh asparagus is floppy, you should see canned asparagus!  It's like the exhumed embalmed cadaver of asparagus-- the Lenin of asparagus, if you will.  It somehow has retained all of the qualities that could be considered offensive about fresh asparagus and also amplified them, and yet also become in other ways totally unlike fresh asparagus.  In a nutshell, it smells like rotten eggs, tastes like pease porridge in the pot nine days old, and has the texture of newborn poop.  Additionally it is a lurid neon green in some form of travesty against the natural asparagus, much like botox on a ninety-year-old heavy drinker.  In conclusion, please do not ever eat canned asparagus.  Thank goodness for fresh asparagus!  It is so delicious and so easy to prepare!

Independence Pancakes / On Being American

These pancakes are free of animal products! So I guess that makes them cruelty-free, too. They are also cholesterol-free, and, if you leave out the oil and add more almond milk, fat-free. Leave out the white sugar and they're sugar-free. Besides all that, the batter is an excellent consistency for adding patriotic-themed fruit. Here's a tip, BTW: Pour your pancake batter into the hot pan, spread it around a little with the spoon you used to put it in there, and then put your fruit pieces in one at a time until you've got a nice pizza-pie effect going on. Let the pancake cook like normal, then flip it. Shazaam, each pancake has the perfect amount of fruit and is also cooked to perfection on both sides. Grandmom taught me that trick.

Independence Pancakes

1 C. applesauce
1/4 C. oil + extra for frying the pancakes
1 C. whole wheat flour
1 C. white all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
2 TB. white sugar (optional)
1/3-1/2 C. almond milk as needed for consistency (it should be a thick but pourable batter)

Whisk together your dry ingredients.  Add in your wet ingredients one at a time, putting in the almond milk last.  Let rest a couple of minutes.  (The batter actually will stay good in the refrigerator with a piece of plastic wrap covering the surface for over a week, so you can do that too if you don't want to make all 12 or so pancakes at once.)  In the meantime, heat about 2 tsp. of oil in a fry pan over medium heat until a drop of water tossed in sizzles and pops.  Drop in about 1/4 C. batter per pancake, spacing them out adequately so you have room to turn them.  Put in the fruit (or other additions) now if you want to have them in your pancakes.  Let the pancakes cook until they have dry bubbles around the edges and wet bubbles popping up in the center.  Then flip them, and let them cook until the pancakes rise and are firm and not squishy when you stroke them with the spatula.  (That's the best way I can describe it.)  If you're uncertain and you don't care how your pancakes look, use the sharp edge of the spatula to make a small cut in the center of your pancakes-- when they're done the middle will look cakey and shouldn't be gooey or wet-looking at all.  You know your stove temperature is right when your pancakes are a nice golden brown on both sides and they're done in the middle.  If your stove is too hot, they'll be burned on the outside and gooey inside.  Too cold and they'll be lightly tanned on the outside and tough on the inside.  Anyway, once your pancakes are definitively done, remove them to a serving plate and eat them as soon as possible, with whatever toppings you prefer.  I like the traditional maple syrup and butter combo, but pancakes are almost always tasty with applesauce on top, and sometimes sour cream.  And who knows what else.
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The other day, I went to visit my cousin who's about to enter seminary.  We had a great visit, we talked about all kinds of things, and I learned something about my family: we are all rebels.

Only in my family would becoming a minister be a rebellious act, but it was.  If my cousin had, for example, decided to go to a state college in pursuit of a bachelor's degree, he would be unexceptional for us.  If he discovered while there that he was incredibly talented at, say, engineering, everyone would be applauding him right now.  But instead, he decided to become a priest.  A priest!  A Catholic priest!  If he had announced that he wanted to grow antlers and run away to the forest he would have been met with less resistance. 

But he didn't want to grow antlers, he wanted to be a Catholic priest.  And so he faced the flack, the flat-out, no-holds-barred, intrafamily gossiping, the subtle hints that his sexual libido would eventually grow into a One-Eyed, One-Horned, Giant Purple People Eater with dire consequences if he continued on his chosen path. 

And that's what I mean when I say, "We are all rebels."  My mom loves business.  What did I do?  I got a fine arts degree.  Her mom was a housewife, member of the garden club, and proud supporter of the DAR.  What did my mom do?  Become the manager two steps down from the CEO of any company she works at.  It's like some sort of Call of the Wild.  Tell one of us what we should do and...hey, what are you doing?  What?  WHAT?!  Yes, that person is now doing the exact opposite. 

So, in the spirit of the upcoming Independence Day holiday, I have to mention that this uncontrollable personality trait may have been shared by the gentlemen who felt it would be appropriate to throw a whole boatload of very expensive tea in the ocean and set the boat on fire.  Let freedom ring!  And I love you, James!  I'm so glad that you're my cousin.

Gingersnaps / Never Tell a 13-year-old that 1=0

Gingersnaps

3/4 C. butter
2 C. flour
1 C. sugar plus about 1/3 C. in a small bowl for coating
1 egg
2 tsp. soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 C. molasses
1 tsp. ginger

Preheat the oven to 350F.  Combine the dry ingredients.  Cream together the butter and sugar.  Beat in the eggs and molasses.  Combine the wet with the dry, kneading the dough a little by hand if needed to blend everything together into a uniform ball of dough.  Break off walnut-sized lumps of dough and roll them into small balls.  Roll each dough ball in the extra sugar and place about 1 inch apart on cookie sheets.  Bake at 350F for 12 minutes, or until the dough has set and puffed slightly.  Remove from the oven and let cool.  They are really done, I promise.  They will fall a little bit after you take them out, but that's normal-- if you leave them in the oven too long they will scorch and also be too hard.
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Never tell a 13-year-old that 1=0.  Okay, let's begin at the beginning.  Why would you never tell a 13-year-old that 1=0?  Because that person could be my mother.

It was the late '60s.  My mom was in high school.  Because she was bright, she was a little bit younger than the other kids.  She was in all the advanced classes.  One of the advanced classes was a science class (if she told me which one, I've forgotten).  In that science class, the teacher informed his class, as a piece of triviality, that anyone could shut down the most complicated computer by programming it with the information that 1=0.  Interesting, my mother thought.  I wonder if that's really true.  And she filed that one away. 

Flash forward to the very special field trip that some of the better students were taken on.  It was to one of the universities that had one of the newest computers in their research department.  My mother was on that field trip.  The computer took up a whole room.  (Remember, it was the late sixties.)  The grad students there were very excited to have these high school students to show around and tell all about their new exciting big fancy computer.  And then they made their fatal mistake.  They told those high school students that, for a short while, they could play around with it.  I mean, what could go wrong?  They weren't factoring in my mother.  All the time since that fateful science class my mother had been hoping to test her teacher's statement.  And so she did, neatly and correctly  entering it into the computer.

The grad students couldn't figure out what went wrong-- one moment there were a bunch of kids barely out of puberty playing with ENIAC Jr or whatever it was called, and then it suddenly shut off and wouldn't turn back on.  Because my mother acted like she had no idea what had happened.  Sadly, the field trip ended early. 

Molto Bene Stracciatella Soup

When I first saw a recipe for (regular-style) Stracciatella soup, I was already sold.   Chicken broth?  Tiny pasta?  Parmesan cheese?  Yum, yum.  Then, when I made it the first time, I discovered that I could not be satisfied with adding the directed amounts of any of the chief ingredients.  I actually have not cooked Stracciatella the way it was intended to be prepared, ever.  But why should I?  I could do it as a creative exercise, I guess, but I like my way so much that I inevitably make it "molto bene" (mo' betta!).  I made it the first time for guests, and they liked it so much they asked for the recipe.

3-4 C. chicken stock or broth*
1/3- 1/2 C. stellini pasta**
1/3-1/2 C. fresh grated parmesan cheese
1/4-1/2 C. white wine
3 whole eggs

Heat the chicken stock and wine together until boiling on the stove.  In the meantime, whisk together the parmesan cheese and the eggs.  When the broth is at a rolling boil, slowly add in the egg mixture, stirring constantly with a fork.  Let cook about 3-5 minutes.  Then, add in the stellini and let everything cook another 3-5 minutes (until the pasta is done).  Serve with a generous amount of additional grated parmesan cheese on top.  Do not feel guilty for putting an ice-cube or two into your soup bowl.  This soup smells so good that you want to tear into it right off the stove and, of course, it is ridiculously too hot to do so.
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*If you're using plain stock, you may need to add some salt for flavor.  But almost certainly not if you're using broth, which is already salted.

**"Stellini" means "little stars".  The original recipe says you can use orzo or pastini or acini de pepe, and I guess that would be fine too.  But why use boring-shaped pasta when you can use STARS?  For "molto bene"-style the stars may work out better in the end anyway-- this soup is very thick.  In fact, after it's been in the fridge for a day it's more like pasta risotto.  Which is fine with me.