on the woodside.

*november challenge, obliterated.

2012-02-01T16:01:00.000-06:00

Where have I been? Well, let's just say that the November Challenge was met with something much more challenging, something so tenaciously difficult that arbitrary goal-setting just didn't have the same meaning it once had. Which is to say, any at all.

What do you eat in hospitals, in ICUs and CCUs and PCUs? Who knows. Who cares? There are foods that we call comfort foods, normally the creamy, starchy, cheesy sorts of foods, and I know that I for one turn to them over and over again for all the soothing warmth and fullness that they do provide. But then there are things for which there is no comfort.

We lost this lady.

And I don't want to get into it too much in this forum because it still bears with it a kind of hyperventilating grief, a sadness and a longing—a missing—that I never knew could be so heavy. And because I'm afraid that writing about it will strip it of its gravity—that if I make it into something concrete, then she will slip free from the Earth and float away. And I need her here. Selfishly, she has to stay.

I have been exhorted many times in the ensuing days, weeks, and months to hold tightest to the happy memories (not that I ever had any intention of relinquishing them). And I do, absolutely. I remember that her biggest laughs were completely without sound and I remember that she wore clear plastic bonnets in the rain and I remember being swaddled in a big white bath towel that felt so clean I thought it had never been used, giggling next to TwinFin by the claw-foot tub and staring at the ceiling in her Gadsden bath.

I remember that there was a cardboard pink elephant filled with cheap trinkets and toys at the top of her bookshelf and into which we were allowed to dig if we were very very good (which was never), because she was forever a teacher. I love the photo above for that reason, because she got that look on her face when she was imparting wisdom (which was always).

My pragmatism, my cynicism, my perfectionism—all from her.

It isn't easy for me to be at the center of a storm for which there are no words. In my world, words constitute order, and so grief—which is just a word that means "a billion different feelings"—is a struggle. I never expected it to be easy, but I couldn't have predicted the chaos. The startling, unrelenting explosion of heartbreak.

So as we walked through her silent house and felt the emptiness and strange coolness of the air and watched as the pieces of her life, one by one, were boxed and bagged and carried away, it was intensely painful. But it was also tangible. It had form and function and oh my god it smelled like her. Mothballs and perfume, not in that order.

The things I have now, I know, are just things: her rings, her china, a 2007 Christmas card with her handwriting, "Love Gran." But I touch them constantly, running my fingertips over a gold band or a green rim or the place where she put pen to paper. All the time, I accidentally refer to her in the present tense. Sometimes, I forget she's gone. Those days are the hardest.

Until there is a harder day. There will be harder days, and easier days, and desperate days, and funny days, and angry days, and lovely carefree days. There will be more days. And every day that I can put on her apron and get in the kitchen and make a meal that I serve on my Grandma's china—those will be the days that are full of her.

Greek Chicken Flatbreads with Cucumber-Yogurt Sauce

Cucumber-Yogurt Sauce (recipe below)

1 boneless, skinless chicken cutlet

1 tablespoon olive oil½ lemon

Salt, to taste

Black pepper, to taste

Cayenne pepper, to taste

1 tablespoon finely minced garlic

1 whole-grain flatbread (I used Toufayan brand.)

2 tomato slices

4 red onion slices

1 lettuce leaf

1. Prepare Cucumber-Yogurt Sauce. Set aside in refrigerator to chill.

2. Drizzle chicken with olive oil and juice of ½ lemon, and season with salt, black pepper, and cayenne pepper. Top with garlic, pressing garlic into chicken. Heat a grill pan over medium-high heat, and grill chicken 4 minutes on each side or until chicken is cooked through. Set aside to rest.

3. Warm flatbread according to package directions. Top warm flatbread with lettuce, onion, and tomato. Slice chicken into thin strips, and place on top of tomato slices. Dollop with Cucumber-Yogurt Sauce. Makes 1 serving.

Cucumber-Yogurt Sauce

1 small salad cucumber, peeled and diced

2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill

½ cup nonfat plain Greek yogurt

Pinch of salt

½ lemon

Combine first 4 ingredients and juice of ½ lemon in a small bowl. Makes ¾ cup.

*november challenge, day 10.

2011-11-10T22:49:00.001-06:00

Once upon a time I wrote a lovely, sincerely self-deprecating post about my frustration with my photography lately and my ambivalence about (but commitment to!) my unfailingly arbitrary November Challenge. And then Blogger went and deleted it. Profanity after the jump.
BASTARDS!

Now I'm left with nothing more than my memory to guide me, and I will do my best to re-create the magic that I once had:

Photos bad.

Challenge sad.

Spontaneous friend visit!

Dinner conundrum ...

Shepherd's pie solves all!

Shepherd's pie delicious.

FIN.

Luckily my Web site address makes reference to my physical address, so that should make things easier for the Pulitzer people.

The mix of spices and vegetables here is absolutely a condition of what you have on hand and what you love. It's all a matter of taste and minimizing effort. I'm really beginning to love using whole wheat flour in these sauces—there's an earthy richness that you just don't get with white flour.

Company Shepherd's Pie

2 Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and chopped

1 tablespoon olive oil

¼ cup chopped red onion

2 boneless, skinless chicken cutlets, diced

3 garlic cloves, minced

Ground mustard

Ground red pepper

Pinch of curry powder

Salt

Black pepper

3 tablespoons butter, divided

2 generous tablespoons 100% whole wheat flour

1½ cups all-natural chicken broth

¼ cup frozen peas

¼ cup frozen corn

¼ cup sour cream

Heavy cream

½ cup freshly grated white Cheddar cheese

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Boil potatoes until fork tender; drain, and set aside.

2. Heat olive oil in a skillet over medium heat; add onion, and sauté until translucent. Stir in chicken, and sauté until cooked through. Add garlic, and cook 30 seconds. Season with mustard, red pepper, curry powder, salt, and pepper; cook, stirring, 1 minute. Move chicken mixture to sides of pan, and add 2 tablespoons butter. When butter melts, whisk in flour; cook 2 minutes. Slowly whisk in chicken broth until smooth. Let sauce come to a gentle simmer; stir in peas, corn, and sour cream. Reduce heat to low, and keep warm.

3. Mash potatoes with salt, pepper, remaining 1 tablespoon butter, and cheese. (Reserve some some cheese for the top of each pie). Stir in enough heavy cream until potatoes reach desired consistency.

4. Divide chicken mixture between 2 ramekins. Top evenly with mashed potatoes; sprinkle with reserved Cheddar. Bake 15 to 20 minutes, or until pies are bubbly and browned. Makes 2 servings.

*november challenge, day 9.

2011-11-09T16:40:00.002-06:00

Last night's dinner was mostly an exercise in focused distraction, so I don't think we'll be winning any food photography awards here. Also, I'm suddenly concerned that my oven rests on a steep decline—what's with all the tomato migration?
When I pulled into my driveway, I heard a fierce, rustling ball of speed hurtling in my direction, and quickly retreated back to the driver's seat and slammed the door before realizing it was my neighbor's dog. Worried that she seemed to be so enjoying this game of Kickin' It in the Middle of the Street, I coaxed her back inside her own fence and returned to unload my groceries ... only to find her standing behind me once again, wagging her tail and panting her spotted tongue with glee.

Dear and dumb: a dog after mine own heart.

Running laps between the couch and the front door to determine whether her owner had returned home ate up most of the night, so I didn't even embark on this strange experiment until close to 10. And it's going to sound ridiculously overwrought, from a prep standpoint, but that's the terrific thing about cooking for one—there's less to work with!
Basically, I made manicotti out of penne. And yes, that's a little bit like threading a needle with a garden hose, but it was ultimately easier than I thought to get those little quills crammed full of creamy goat cheese.
Yes, that's what I said.
Now I have to say that the great discovery of this dinner is that any of the chalky aggressiveness I usually associate with goat cheese was beautifully mitigated by cream (but what isn't?). It's sweet and mollifying, and made every bite into the pasta filled with a luscious, savory surprise
I ran out of the yummy goat cheese mixture before I'd quite filled all the pasta, so I mixed the leftover cooked penne with some chopped red onion, halved grape tomatoes, romaine, kidney beans, and avocado cream made with the remaining half of avocado from yesterday for today's lunch.

This is the last of the spinach, lord save our souls, and all I believe I'll need for a while. I did top this off with some provolone before I stuck it in the oven, because it is universally true that two cheeses are better than one.

Goat Cheese–Stuffed Penne with Chicken, Tomatoes, and Spinach<
2 ounces whole wheat penne, cooked according to package directions
¼ cup goat cheese
2 chives, finely chopped
1 to 2 tablespoons heavy cream
1 tablespoon olive oil
3 garlic cloves, minced
4 ounces ground chicken
Pinch of dried crushed red pepper
Salt
Black pepper
½ pint grape tomatoes, halved
2 handfuls fresh spinach
Freshly grated provolone cheese
1. Spread pasta out on a plate to cool slightly. Combine goat cheese and chives; stir in enough cream to make a soft, smooth consistency. Spoon goat cheese mixture into one corner of a zip-top plastic bag, and snip off the tip of the corner with scissors. Carefully pipe goat cheese mixture inside each piece of cooled penne, and set aside.
2. Heat olive oil over medium heat until hot; add garlic, and sauté until golden and fragrant. Add chicken, and season with red pepper, salt, and black pepper; cook until browned and cooked through. (Increase heat to medium-high, if necessary.) Reduce heat to low, and toss with tomatoes and spinach; cook until tomatoes have softened and spinach is wilted.
3. Spoon half the chicken mixture into the bottom of a small casserole dish; top with stuffed penne and then the remaining chicken mixture. Sprinkle with desired amount of provolone cheese, and bake at 425 degrees about 20 minutes or until pasta is bubbling and cheese is melted and golden. Makes 1 serving.

*november challenge, day 8.

2011-11-08T23:38:00.000-06:00

So, I know they're called "Yukon golds," but is that not the yellowest potato you've ever seen?

That hasn't the slightest to do with any pats of butter in there, nuh uh no sir.

I suppose it was a predictably foregone conclusion that when I said yesterday, "I have aspirations of mixing some [cauliflower soup] in to mashed potatoes," I meant, "as in, three hours from now."

As a programming note, I do want to say that I hope I'm not boring the pants of anyone with all these Dinner, Party of 1 recipes lately. It's definitely a challenge to make single-gal meals, and always more fun to cook for many. My mom asked me to help with Thanksgiving, though, so a) YAY! and b), crap I better get planning.

I'm only on the eighth day of this Food for Thought challenge, and while I certainly feel more mindful about what I'm eating (or, more accurately, what I'm not), even at this early date I have learned a few things:

1. I miss diet sodas. I miss them so hard. My mother swears that I will soon live a soda-free life that will be so glorious that I will no longer even think of wanting one ever, ever again, but. Diet Mt Dew. Fresca. Coke Zero. I love you. I miss you. This thing between water and me never meant anything! I'm sorry for leaving you. Please come back.

2. Thank god for wine.

3. I have not missed my Cheez-Its (no, really!) but I have found that there is a delicate balance of throughout-the-day eating that rests quite carefully on the fulcrum of texture, sugar, and carbs. ("Rests on the fulcrum"? Lord.) If there's not enough crunch, I has a sad. If there's not enough savory, I has a sad. If there's not enough carbs, I has a temper tantrum. See there? Balance, delicate.

4. I miss tortillas. Like thick, trashy, full of preservatives, soft, wonderful flour tortillas. This one surprised me; I don't even have the sense that I eat flour tortillas all THAT often, but there has to be something hard-wired in me that makes me want to tackle small children and steal their turkey wraps.

Which, ultimately and circuitously, brings me to the subject of sandwiches. I was overjoyed this week to find, at my regular grocer, a normal-seeming loaf of bread that had normal-seeming (and few) ingredients, 100% whole wheat flour, and no sugar. Huzzah! (It doesn't take much to overjoy me, it seems, particularly on the subject of sandwiches.)

To make my dinner, I just boiled one chopped Yukon gold potato until tender, mashed it, and mixed it with a tiny pat of butter, salt, pepper, and about one-third of a cup of creamy cauliflower soup. I seasoned a chicken cutlet with salt and pepper, and then dredged it in a mixture of whole wheat flour, a pinch of dry mustard, a pinch of ground red pepper, and a pinch of garlic powder. Then I dipped it into a bowl of beaten egg, and dredged it in the flour mixture again. I sautéed it in olive oil until golden brown on each side and cooked through, and then just wiped the pan clean and wilted some spinach with a pinch of dried crushed red pepper and a splash of red wine vinegar.

And I saved the second half of the chicken breast for my lunch. I'd been wanting to investigate that old notion of avocado-as-mayonnaise-substitute, even though I suspected it was one of those urban legends along the lines of "I chase my toddlers around as an exercise program." But it was really tasty—and, bonus! the heartiness of the wheat bread means it keeps in the refrigerator overnight and into the next day without getting soggy. That has no connection to the fact that I ate it at an hour that was decidedly morning. Too tempting, sandwich! (Note: I debated adding prosciutto to this to make it sort of a genuine California chicken sandwich, inspired by a BLT, but I decided my ankles would prefer that I took it easy on the sodium. HOLY CRAP I'M OLD. You are young and beautiful, of course, so you should add it—or good old American bacon—if you have a hardier heart than I have.)

Monterey Chicken Sandwich with Avocado Cream

½ avocado

1 generous tablespoon sour cream
2 chives, finely chopped

Pinch of ground red pepper

½ small lemon

Salt

Pepper

2 100% whole wheat bread slices

2 red onion slices

1 slice Monterey Jack cheese

Cooked chicken cutlet

1. Mash avocado with a fork, and mix in sour cream, chives, red pepper, lemon juice, and salt and pepper to taste.

2. Divide avocado cream between 2 bread slices, spreading to the edges. Layer 1 slice with red onion, cheese, and chicken; top with remaining bread slice. Makes 1 serving.

*november challenge, day 7.

2011-11-07T16:49:00.002-06:00

This, my friends, is a truly "kitchen sink" sort of breakfast. Clearly I am of the opinion that when one sleeps in past the point of appropriateness even for your average college student, one deserves a portion size equal to breakfast and lunch jammed together.

In sum, that's red onion, tomato, mushrooms, garbanzo beans, and spinach scrambled with Cheddar cheese, two eggs, and a squirt of Dijon mustard. Plus a slice of the rye bread I've discovered is 100 times more appetizing when toasted.

I had ulterior motives, too, though, mainly that it is really pretty difficult to eat your fruits and veggies before they spoil when one lives alone and/or with a dog who has no appetite for healthful human food. So the faster I eat them the less waste I have, but it can also sometimes mean eating things you don't particularly want and/or in massive quantities, just to keep from tossing food in the garbage (which I loathe doing).

This is less true, of course, for things you can buy in smaller amounts—bananas, apples, potatoes—and decidedly more difficult for things like mushrooms, grapes, greens, and canned veg. Let's just say there has been celery in just about everything I've eaten lately. (Easy recipe for one: diced red onion + diced celery + Dijon mustard + ½ can tuna on whole-grain crispbreads = yum.)

It does make me a little frantic about my food consumption; it isn't exactly satisfying to eat something just because you think you have to. (I get this from my mother, by the way. I have a distinct childhood memory of her trying to beat some scallops to the turn, in a valiant effort to not have to throw them away. I think the microwave was involved. And I don't know that it's a race she won.)

It is a strange aspect of my personality that I like virtually all vegetables better raw than cooked—it gives me that singular crunch I'm always looking for. You know, the one I get from fried potatoes. But that might have to change; cooked veggies have the benefit of lasting longer in the refrigerator and freezing beautifully.

Which leads me to last night's dinner, a cauliflower soup I found at Lucullian Delights. My photography is woefully lazy compared to the ones you'll see over there. This was the perfect excuse for me to buy myself an immersion blender, and OH MAN IS THAT FUN. I had to sub Brie in for the Taleggio, unfortunately, but I couldn't resist jazzing the whole thing up with some crispy prosciutto, black pepper, and chives. Leftovers came to work with me today for lunch, and I have aspirations of mixing some in to mashed potatoes, but the rest will go in the freezer, where it will sit and wait for the next cool, rainy day.

Creamy Cauliflower-and-Brie Soup

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 small white onion, finely chopped

1 pound cauliflower florets

3 to 4 tablespoons dry white wine

4 cups water

Salt

2 tablespoons sour cream

4 ounces Brie cheese, roughly chopped

Prosciutto

Chives

Black pepper

1. Heat oil in a stockpot over medium heat; add onions, and sauté until translucent. Stir in cauliflower and wine, and cook 1 minute. Stir in water and season with salt to taste. Bring to a boil; cover halfway with pan lid, reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer 20 minutes.

2. Remove pot from heat, and purée soup in a blender or with an immersion blender until smooth. Add sour cream and cheese, stirring until cheese melts. Taste and season with more salt, if necessary. Return pot to stove over low heat to keep warm.

3. In a small, dry skillet, toast prosciutto over medium heat until browned and crispy. Divide soup among serving bowls and top with prosciutto, chives, and black pepper to taste. Makes 4 to 5 servings.

*november challenge, day 2.

2011-11-02T21:26:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to get on a schedule of posting at night, so I know this comes dangerously close to spammy blogging. Ergo, I shall keep this one short. Or as short as a chronically verbose person can be.

Yesterday I managed not one but TWO disastrous attempts at homemade mayonnaise. In the future, I think avocados, which I love, will do a perfectly good job of standing in for delicious mayo, but the only avocado I could find is coming of age in a paper bag on my windowsill, and I assumed I could whisk together some egg yolks and oil and have some fast homemade mayonnaise available in the interim. And despite my documented quantity of disastrous attempts at things, I have managed to make mayonnaise in the past, so I'm not sure what my malfunction was in this case.At any rate, that failure left me with two perfectly usable egg whites, which I were just right for stirring into my favorite (albeit strange to some) breakfast: ½ cup rolled oats, covered in water and microwaved for one minute, then mixed with ½ cup cottage cheese. Please to be ignoring the horrible, contrasty shadows. That is one moody (but protein-packed!) morning.

For lunch, I took some leftover chicken from last night and mixed it with chopped celery and red onion. I made a dressing with Dijon mustard, a splash of cream, and a pinch of curry powder. A quick mix and some whole grain rye bread, and c'est la sandwich. It was delicious (curry powder and celery, who knew?), but didn't hold together particularly well. Curse you, uncooperative mayonnaise!

Snacks! Red grapes, banana, baby carrots. Plus a stick of Cheddar. I could have used an afternoon carb boost, so I'm going to need to do a little research on that front. Granola of some kind? Or whole grain crackers, maybe. Still, pretty and colorful in my sweet circular bento, no? I have an inexplicable affection for kindergartner lunches.

Dinner was a toss-together meal, and proof that it's possible to make appropriate portion sizes feel so much bigger than they are. This is the result of one rather average-to-small-size potato and only a quarter pound of ground chicken.

Potato "Nest" with Chicken and an Egg

2 teaspoons olive oil, divided

¼ pound organic ground chicken

Pinch of smoked paprika

Ground red pepper

Salt

Black pepper

1 Yukon gold potato, shredded
3 garlic cloves, minced

1 ounce sharp white Cheddar

1 egg

1 teaspoon butter

1 egg

½ cup fresh baby spinach leaves

2 tomato slices

1. Heat 1 teaspoon oil in a small skillet over medium heat. Season chicken with paprika and red pepper, salt, and black pepper to taste. Add chicken to pan, and sauté until cooked through. Turn heat to medium-high, and cook 1 to 2 minutes or until edges are lightly browned and crispy. Remove meat from pan with a slotted spoon, and set aside.

2. Mix together potato, garlic, cheese, egg, and a pinch of salt and pepper in a medium bowl. Heat 1 teaspoon butter and remaining 1 teaspoon oil in skillet over medium heat. Add potato mixture to pan, pressing potatoes into a tight cake. Cook until bottom is browned and crispy. Using a plate inverted over the skillet, flip potato cake, and return to pan. Reduce heat to medium-low, and cook, covered, until potatoes are tender and second side is crisped and golden.

3. Crack egg into skillet (first add more oil or butter to pan, if necessary), and fry until whites are set but yolk is still runny. Meanwhile, top potato cake with spinach leaves, tomato slices, and reserved chicken. Top with fried egg, and sprinkle with more ground red pepper, if desired. Makes 1 serving.

*november challenge, day 1.

2011-11-02T16:41:00.000-05:00

So I got one of those wild hairs I sometimes get, one of those notions that I need to inject my life with some capital-C challenge, something that will make me more mindful, more healthy, more energized, more wise. In a word, less sleepy.
And I do recognize that personal challenges can often be the domain of the bored, an exercise in navel-gazing and a setup for that pendulum swing between smug self-congratulation and pathetic, narcissistic self-loathing.

I don't count myself in that camp, naturally. BECAUSE I AM SPECIAL.

I have been absent from this space for a couple of months now, a casualty of work and socializing and this guy getting himself borned.

(I feel certain that LSis will appreciate that her giving LIFE to a human BEING was so taxing for me.)But there was another casualty of all that busy business, and it might have culminated in the complete hoovering of an entire box of Cheez-Its in less than 48 hours. And I recognize that I use Cheez-Its for all manner of exaggerational purposes, but I must shamefully confess—in this case no detail has been changed to protect the snacky.

So I made myself an intriguing offer: What if I committed to eating only whole foods for one month?

I could tell you that I had lots of righteous thoughts about how I would detoxify my body, how I'd been feeling bloated and tired and I was looking for a way out. But I've pretty much resigned myself to those states. My epitaph will read, "Here lies K. She was both bloated and tired." And to be honest, even "resigned" sounds more negative than my real feelings about it; I was perfectly contented. I could eat all the Cheetos I wanted, and after LSis introduced me to this newfangled notion of clothing that looks like jeans but is actually stretchy pants, I was essentially set for life.

So yes, I'm going to be perfectly upfront on this point: I am doing this mostly for the challenge. A factor of my Meh, Why Not? philosophy for life. And if the side effect happens to be all of this "more energy" I keep hearing people talk about, well then my apologies to the stockholders at Pepperidge Farm.

When DAY ONE dawned, bright and early, my first realization was that I was, in absolutely predictable fashion, utterly unprepared. The completely uncensored contents of my kitchen included coffee, Splenda French vanilla packets, an elderly box of Triscuits, nine (I am not kidding) kinds of cheese, and a salad spinner that should have been donated to science. But! Coffee. Breakfast of champions. It took me longer than necessary to discover with despair that when one has embarked on a whole foods challenge, one cannot have artificial sweeteners. At which point I nearly quit on the spot. It had not necessarily occurred to me that I'd have to give up all of my beloved aspartame for an entire month. But after I'd cried all of my bittersweet Diet Mt. Dew tears, I just drank my coffee black. And it was fine. I was somewhat petulant (about the rules ... I'd set ... for myself ... ), but the coffee was fine.

Last night I went to the grocery store, determined to make DAY TWO a happier affair. It wasn't easy—plenty of products call themselves "whole grain," but relatively few (almost none, in fact) are truly "100% whole grain." And sometimes those labels aren't at all what you'd expect: A fancy, almost-$5 jar of peanut butter covered in health claims (and labeled "What peanut butter should be") had seven ingredients; the old-fashioned Publix organic had two: organic peanuts and salt. A 100% whole-grain tortilla or loaf of bread is almost impossible to find, but there are a few nice pasta options. And I loaded up with colorful fruit (red grapes, Granny Smith apples), vegetables (organic spinach, baby carrots, tomato, mushrooms, and—of course—golden potatoes), organic meats, and cheese. I even found a no-salt-added cottage cheese that was ... well, bland. But I love cottage cheese, and it can be something of a salt bomb, so I wasn't really in a position to look a 60-mg-of-sodium-per-serving gift horse in the blood pressure. I have some holes to fill (I have no fresh herbs in the house), and I spent something like a fortune on my first outing, but here goes nothing!

I consider myself to be in a better-than-average position to embark on this sort of experiment; my mom fed us whole grains for most of our childhood, so I don't balk at the intensity, and somewhat foreignness, of those flavors. It wasn't until I was left to my own devices that I fell so in love with the processed and prettily packaged. And so, after yesterday's rather inauspicious start, here's how dinner went:

Penne Alfredo with Chicken, Mushrooms, and Spinach

1 boneless, skinless chicken cutlet

Salt

Pepper

1 teaspoon olive oil

3 to 4 garlic cloves, minced

1 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper

5 button mushrooms, sliced

1½ teaspoons organic butter

1½ teaspoons 100% whole wheat flour

¼ cup heavy cream

½ cup packed baby spinach leaves

1 serving 100% whole-grain penne, cooked according to package directions and drained

1. Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper to taste. Heat oil in a small skillet or saucepan over medium heat; add chicken, and cook 2 to 3 minutes on each side or until cooked through. Remove from pan, and set aside.

2. Add garlic, crushed red pepper, and mushrooms to oil in pan; sauté 30 seconds or until garlic is golden brown and fragrant. With a wooden spoon, move mushrooms, garlic, and perimeter of pan, and add butter to center. When butter has melted, whisk in flour; cook 1 to 2 minutes. Reduce heat to low, and whisk in heavy cream. (Add sauce is too thick, stir in water until it comes to your desired consistency.)

3. Stir in pasta and spinach until pasta is heated through and spinach is just wilted. (Do not overcook.) Sprinkle with additional dried crushed red pepper, if desired. Makes 1 serving.

*curry favor.

2011-08-26T12:22:00.001-05:00

Hey, remember when I used to cook? Ah, those were the days ...

Actually, although my regular full-time job has stepped firmly in place of my regular full-time life lately, I'm pretty sure that it's still possible to, if one has a shred of commitment and discipline, cook a hot dinner for oneself each and every night, regardless of time, energy, or desire.

Unfortunately I lack both willpower and non-whininess.

And it's unfortunate, too, that I managed to pick a hobby (one that I am, full disclosure, supremely passionate about) that's, well ... a little cost-ineffective. Particularly if you have a tendency to grocery shop with the attention span of a walnut.

At those moments it's easy to forget that you can cook a dinner for four for $50 (and much, much less I'm sure, but ... walnut), and that that's still less than picking up dinner at the local Thai place for $15 per person.

The flip side, of course, is that the Thai place makes it for you, which is certainly a powerfully tempting notion. I also suffer from the rather guilty feeling (third-world problems) that takeout and delivery just aren't as GOOD. And take a gander at the floating wasteland inside the styrofoam box the next time you order Mexican food to go—it's still all gooey and cheesy and spicy, but there's just something sad and wilted about it.

I wanted to create a version of my local Thai place's chicken panang. And while I'd been vaguely trolling the Internets for a suitable recipe, I found that the spectrum was a short trip from "buy prepared panang curry" to "make panang curry from thousands of unpronounceable ingredients." The former isn't an option available in this city, and the latter made me tired just to think about.

So this became my attempt. I know that I've said some unkind things about poached chicken before, but I have found the answer, my friends: coconut milk. This chicken came out tender and flavorful, without the limp blandness that I usually cry about with your average poached chicken. Curry is a matter of personal taste, and can be adjusted accordingly. I call for two tablespoons in this recipe, but they were heapingly generous in my case. You can adjust the amount of sriracha to your taste, too. This is really a time to err on the side of gluttony, and that includes the garlic and ginger—there's endless flavor to be squeezed out of both. Any vegetable will do here, but red bell pepper is the way my Thai place does it, and the sweetness is a lovely balance. I added the cucumber as an homage to the restaurant version, too, but I could not extend myself so far as to carve any flowers out of carrots.

I have standards.

Red Curry Chicken and Rice
2 (15-ounce) cans light coconut milk
3 tablespoons minced ginger
2 tablespoons minced garlic
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
2 tablespoons (or more to taste) red curry paste
1 tablespoon (or more to taste) sriracha
1 large red bell pepper, cut into strips
4 cups hot cooked basmati rice
Garnish: sliced cucumbers, chopped fresh cilantro leaves

1. Stir together first 3 ingredients in a large, deep skillet. Add chicken; heat over medium heat until coconut milk simmers, and cook 15 minutes. Remove chicken from pan, and set aside to cool slightly.

2. Add curry paste, sriracha, and bell pepper to coconut milk in pan, and continue to cook over medium heat until bell peppers are tender and coconut milk has reduced to desired thickness.

3. Slice chicken into strips; add to coconut milk mixture, stirring just until chicken is heated through. Serve chicken, peppers, and sauce over hot cooked rice. Garnish, if desired. Makes 4 servings.

*zuke accidents.

2011-08-12T16:46:00.001-05:00

You're looking at two of my new favorite loves, there: panko and hiding vegetables in interesting ways. (Namely, under cheese.)

When I cook dinner for people, I do it because I absolutely love it—it's far more an exercise in K Having Fun than it ever is a chore. I'm grateful to them, my faithful audience, for letting me dirty their kitchens and use them as guinea pigs. There are only three rules for having a Woodside meal in your own home:

1. Heap lavish praise on the cook.
2. Wash the dishes.
3. Don't ask what's for dinner.

Come to think of it, that sounds awfully bossy.

At any rate, my brother-in-law breaks rule No. 3 at every available opportunity. And by that I mean, every. single. time. "What are we having? What are you cooking? What are you making? What's that—asparagus?"

That last question was asked about Brussels sprouts.

There are several reasons I suspect he wants to know: He's hungry, he's nosy, he's giving me a hard time. (The answer is always "nunya.") But I also think he's suspicious that I might try to hide some evil vegetable in a place where he least expects it; that he will take a bite of his beloved gravy, say, and find horrible green stuff in there.

But! I have successfully converted him to both the aforementioned sprouts and to collard greens, and I knew I could sneak something new under his unsuspecting nose.

Because that's just the kind of family we are.

In this case I chose zucchini, which is also, as it happens, not my particular favorite. But I was desperate to use something that felt a little more like summer, being as it is also true that I tend to prefer the heartier, winterier veg to the bright, light stuff. The solution? Cream cheese. Yessirreebob.

I'm also completely (and possibly unhealthily) devoted to panko now. I was introduced to it almost a decade ago, when I first started editing recipes; then, it always ran with an explanation: "panko (Japanese breadcrumbs)." Now it's a household name, but I hadn't used it much until recently. When you want a crunchy coating on a piece of meat that no amount of cooking can de-crispify, you want panko. Trust. However, in the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit that chicken tenderloins are a pain in the tenderloins. Trimming them is a tedious and thankless job, and if the market had had them, I'd definitely have chosen cutlets. I will pay more to keep from having to dig out that stringy white bit from endless tenders.

The potatoes are just leftover Yukon golds that I small-chopped, tossed with canola oil/salt/pepper/paprika and roasted at 425 until they browned. I haven't perfected them yet—they were right tasty, but I can't figure out how to keep them from sticking to the aluminum foil. It might be that I need to lower the oven temperature and take the low-and-slow approach (which doesn't really sound like my style). They might need more oil, though I really don't want to drown them. Or I might just need to forgo the foil and put them straight on the pan, but I'd hate to make the brother-in-law have to do more dishes.

He just survived zucchini, after all.

Panko-crusted Dijon Chicken Tenders
All-purpose flour
Salt
Pepper
Panko
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 pound chicken tenderloins, trimmed
Canola oil

1. Pour flour in a shallow dish, and season with salt and pepper. Place panko in another shallow dish. Lightly beat eggs with mustard in a bowl until well combined.

2. Dredge chicken in flour; dip in egg mixture, and coat in panko. Set aside on a wax paper–covered baking sheet until ready to cook.

3. Add enough oil to coat bottom of a large, deep skillet; heat over medium heat, and add half of the prepared chicken tenders. Cook until golden-brown on one side; flip, and cook until golden brown on the other. Repeat with remaining chicken tenders. Makes 4 servings.

Creamy Succotash with Corn, Zucchini, and Tomatoes
16 ounces frozen sweet corn
4 tablespoons butter
½ cup heavy cream
4 ounces low-fat cream cheese or Neufchâtel cheese
2 small zucchini, diced
2 large tomatoes, chopped
Salt
Pepper

1. Place first 4 ingredients in a large saucepan or Dutch oven over medium heat; cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until butter and cream cheese are melted and corn is heated through.

2. Stir in zucchini, reduce heat to medium-low, and cook until zucchini are tender and heated through, about 10 minutes.

3. Just before serving, stir in tomatoes and salt and pepper to taste. Makes 6 servings.

*'natti light.

2011-08-11T16:23:00.002-05:00

I'm not even trying to pretend this one is fancy, gourmet, complex, or anything other than what it is, which is delicious.

I ripped the recipe in a flash off The Enchanted Cook, partly motivated by a Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives episode I saw on the Cincinnati phenomenon of spaghetti topped with chili.

Apparently at the Skyline you can order your spaghetti topped with their signature meat chili, and fancy it up either "3 way" (topped with shredded Cheddar cheese), "4 way" (Cheddar and beans or red onion), or "5 way" (cheese, beans, AND onions.

This struck me as a touch lighter (all things being relative), thanks to the lean beef, whole-wheat pasta, and effervescent beer, plus the omission of beans—I adore them, but that's another starch on top of your day's value of carbohydrates.

There was a moment when I wondered if a half cup of chili powder was a typo, but I soldiered on, and my taste buds were all the happier for it. This stuff was runny-nose spicy in the best possible way. I used a Negra Modelo because I knew I'd end up with five left over and that's the beer of choice 'round my 'hood, but any dark-and-frothy brew will do. I love that big, bold, stewy proper chilis have to bubble away for hours to marinate and thicken and develop their flavors, but I also love that you can throw something together in minutes that can approximate those same tastes on a weeknight and be happy as a pig in pasta.

4 Way Chili Spaghetti
1 (13.25-ounce) package whole wheat spaghetti
Canola or olive oil
2 pounds lean ground beef
1½ teaspoons salt
1¾ teaspoons paprika
1¼ teaspoons cayenne pepper
1½ teaspoons ground cumin
1 tablespoon onion powder
1½ teaspoons garlic powder
½ cup chili powder
1 (8-ounce) can tomato sauce
1 (12-ounce) beer
4 ounces extra-sharp Cheddar cheese, grated
½ small red onion, diced
Garnish: fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves

1. Cook pasta in salted boiling water according to package directions; drain, and toss with a little oil to keep from sticking. Set aside.

2. In a large skillet, heat 1 tablespoon oil over medium heat, and add ground beef. Cook, breaking up with a wooden spoon, until browned and cooked through. Stir in salt and next 8 ingredients; reduce heat to medium-low and simmer 20 minutes.

3. Top spaghetti with chili, cheese, and red onions; garnish, if desired. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

*but enough about me.

2011-08-10T17:24:00.000-05:00

Me: I can't believe it took me until I was *ahem* years old before I started to understand what it means to crave something.
Little Sister: It sure does make eating more satisfying.

It's hard to explain to someone who didn't grow up with this deficiency, I suppose, what it feels like. But for the longest time I just couldn't associate food with normal responses (satiety, energy, satisfaction)—it would be like trying to describe red to the color blind. I think I loosely grouped foods into categories, like "good" or "bad," but for the most part I found I disliked the "good" foods and couldn't coax anything I truly needed (satiety, energy, satisfaction) from the "bad" ones. (To my credit, I tried really really hard. Over and over and over again.)

Whaddya know! It's therapy hour on the Woodside!

We'll try to keep the confessional spirit to a minimum, but to put it frankly, I felt like I was missing some fundamental knowledge that everyone else had. People would say to me, "What do you feel like for dinner?" and I would sort of cast about for verbal cues that would tell me how I was supposed to make a decision like that. I didn't understand how other people did it, said things like, "I am really in the mood for ... pizza." How did they know that? I wondered.

(As it turns out, I think that's because until recently I only ever had one culinary desire: I want A LOT for dinner. I am in the mood for A LOT. But that's a story for another couch.)

Not until I started cooking did I really discover what things taste like and, better yet, that I can conjure them into being. And as it turns out, that has satisfied my instant-gratification sensors better than infinite pounds of Cheez-Its ever could. (Don't get me wrong, now, I still pray to the gods of the Cheez-Its, forever and ever amen.)

At any rate, I am giddily enamored of my new skill, even though I'll admit it sometimes goes on the fritz. I don't know exactly what my stomach—and brain—are craving every second of every day, but when that tiny voice gains strength (Seriously? I want dark-meat chicken? Is that weird?) I'm newly surprised every time.

And it makes a lot of things, not just eating, a lot more satisfying.

This recipe is based sort of loosely on Jean-Georges Vongerichten's ginger fried rice, for which you can find lots of recipes on these here Interwebs. I added bites of boneless, skinless chicken thighs (I mean, REALLY! Who knew?!?) and topped it, J-G V style, with a fried egg. The yolk broke before I could take the photo—and by "yolk broke," I mean "I clumsily flipped it with my big meat hooks and destroyed its lovely loveliness"—and I cried salty tears. I understand that fried rice is best and most conveniently cooked up with yesterday's leftover rice, but I don't have those kinds of planning skillz. I just cooked the rice and popped it into the freezer for a quick cool-down while I prepared the chicken. Make sure you have enough leeks; I think I was a little shy on mine, and they didn't have quite the punch I was hoping for. You can easily leave out the sriracha here if you want to go more straight-savory than spicy, but definitely take the couple of minutes to make the crispy ginger and garlic. It's worth it.

Chicken-and-Leek Fried Rice with Fried Egg
2 tablespoons hoisin sauce
1 tablespoon sriracha
1½ pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs, trimmed and chopped
1 tablespoon plus ½ cup canola oil, divided
2 tablespoons minced ginger
2 tablespoons minced garlic
Salt
2 cups sliced leeks, rinsed and dried well
4 cups cooked rice, cooled
4 large eggs
2 teaspoons sesame oil
2 teaspoons soy sauce

1. Combine first 3 ingredients in a medium bowl. Heat 1 tablespoon canola oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat; add chicken mixture, and sauté until cooked through. Remove chicken from pan, and set aside.

2. Reduce heat to medium, and add remaining ½ cup oil to pan. Add garlic and ginger, and cook, stirring occasionally, until crisp and lightly browned. Transfer to paper towels with a slotted spoon, and salt lightly.

3. Reduce heat to medium-low, and add leeks. Cook about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until very tender. Increase heat to medium-high; add rice and chicken, stirring until heated through and slightly caramelized on bottom. Keep warm

4. In a small skillet, fry eggs. Divide rice among 4 bowls; top each with 1 egg, ¼ of the garlic and ginger, and a drizzle of sesame oil and soy sauce. Garnish with additional sriracha, if desired. Makes 4 servings.

*too hot to handle.

2011-08-08T16:52:00.000-05:00

It's becoming something of a reigning philosophy 'round the Woodside that when in doubt, meat and potatoes.

Never mind, of course, that it's 110 degrees in the shade here, in that ever-pleasant Southern time of year known as Oppressive Humidity and Big Spider Season. Jealous?

Clearly, shepherd's pie is an absurd notion given that it's exhausting to stand up, much less stand over a hot stove/oven, but you try coming between me and my mashed potatoes.

It won't be pretty.

Especially when I'm already hot and cranky.

I did some good long thinking about shepherd's pie and decided that for me, it probably wasn't decadent enough. That means it would require the kind of richness that only cheese and an egg can provide.

One has to counterbalance all those vegetables, you see.

This was another dinner for one, so all kidding aside, the shepherd's pie was born out of my relatively shallow bag of tricks—I know how to make mashed potatoes and thicken a sauce without a recipe, and I can brown ground meat and thaw frozen veg. Oh! And I can grate cheese. *curtsy*

The paprika here is just for show. Any combination of vegetables, fresh or frozen, that is your favorite will work here. I love adding Worcestershire sauce and mustard and sriracha to my gravies, but that's absolutely a matter of personal preference—taste and adjust the seasonings you like best. (Experiment! It's fun! What could go wrong?! You can still order pizza!) The amount of time it takes the egg to cook will vary, but it's probably longer than you think. Luckily the potatoes insulate the stew and keep it from overcooking, and the more they dry out in the oven, the starchier and crispier they get. But don't you dare let that yolk overcook. That's blasphemy.

Turkey Shepherd's Pie with Cheddar Potatoes and a Baked Egg
1 medium baking potato, peeled and chopped
¼ cup low-fat sour cream
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
¼ cup grated Cheddar cheese
1 tablespoon olive oil
¼ pound lean ground turkey
2 tablespoons butter
1 garlic clove, minced
2 tablespoons flour
1 to 2 cups low-sodium, fat-free chicken broth
Frozen lima beans
Frozen corn kernels
Frozen peas
Sriracha, to taste
Worcestershire sauce, to taste
Dijon mustard, to taste
1 large egg
Garnish: paprika

1. Boil potatoes until tender; drain, and mash with sour cream, salt, and pepper. Stir in cheese, and set aside.

2. Heat olive oil in a skillet over medium heat; add garlic, and cook 1 minute. Add turkey, stirring until browned and cooked through. Move turkey and garlic to edges of pan, making a well in the center, and add butter. When butter is melted, sprinkle with flour, whisking 1 to 2 minutes. Slowly add broth, whisking constantly, until mixture is desired consistency. Add lima beans and next 5 ingredients, stirring until heated through. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

3. Pour turkey-and-vegetable mixture into a large ramekin or other ovenproof dish; top with reserved mashed potatoes. Using a large spoon, make an indention in the center of potatoes, and crack egg into it.

4. Bake shepherd's pie at 425 degrees until egg white is just set and yolk is still runny. Garnish, if desired. Makes 1 serving.

*leftover makeover.

2011-07-26T22:37:00.000-05:00

One of these days I'm going to stop beginning every blog post with an apology for my absence. Like just before the next scheduled Rapture, or after this debt ceiling thing gets sorted out.

I could argue that work has meant long hours, or that budgetary constraints have hampered my ability to shop boundlessly at the market. Both of those things are true, being that there is a finite number of hours in the day and that my debt ceiling is slightly lower than that of a first-world country (also I spend all my money on goldfish crackers and cans of Pringles that say "NEW!" on the label). But mostly I am a girl of very rusty brain who struggles to manage even one grown-up task at a time, so in the ultimate battle of blog post versus clean sheets, laundry won out.

(Full disclosure: I just did that particular load of laundry tonight, so that doesn't account for the rest of the six weeks I've been mindlessly trolling Pinterest instead of posting, but go with me here.)

I been bizzee. Blank pages are hard.

Bear with me, too, while I post yet another leftovers makeover recipe; I have no intention of this forum becoming On the Woodside: How to Cook for One Because You Are SO ALONE. After all, I love cooking for other people, particularly if those people are content to eat on the couch. The Woodside dining table, after all, is strictly for the storage of handbags, junk mail, and various items I've either borrowed or accidentally stolen from other people that I have yet to return in the past six months.

When it comes to food, lately I've been trying to listen to what my cravings are, what my body/brain is telling me I really want to eat. I find that what I eat is a lot more satisfying that way. (I like dinner the way some people like Harry Potter—any letdown in my expectations is no small dismay. I also like hyperbole the way some people like Harry Potter.) To that end, I've let myself sprinkle some less than gourmet, order-from-your-car experiences in among my home-cooked meals; sometimes it's all I have time for, but sometimes it's just what I want. And I've cooked some things that I've thought were a little blah, and I've had some Wendy's spicy chicken sandwiches that were better in memory than reality, but what never fails to disappoint is frozen food.

Or specifically, frozen meals. They are the most heinous miscarriages of packaging, like telling a small child she's getting a puppy and then presenting her with a Chia pet. This is not what I was promised. And they're small; this post alone should give you a fairly good idea of what I consider proper portion size to be.

BUT what I have discovered (and god did it ever take me a long time to get to the point) is that having some STAPLES in the freezer, in apportioned amounts, is brilliant. I don't know why it took me so long to understand the science of freezing. Possibly because I see it most often utilized by beautifully organized moms who manage to put thoughtful meals on the table for parties of six every night, and I figure their methods won't translate to a dust-plagued single dog mother whose dinnertime planning only requires the skills it takes to transfer dry food from bag to bowl. (Note: Said dog still turns down the food-in-bowl at least 50% of the time, even though it's exactly the same as it was the day before, which I guess means J doesn't like leftovers all that much, either.)

The other consideration is that I inherited from my mother this sense that plastic bags are bad for the Earth, and I have a real crisis of confidence about the implications of moving chicken, say, from one styrofoam (!) container into four (!) evil Ziplocs. It offends my basic insane-and-only-sporadically-applied thriftiness sensibilities, too: I hate throwing them out. So if anyone has any fail-safe approaches to freezer food storage that are reusable and environmentally friendly (and not a helluva pain to clean), I'd love to hear them!

Two nights ago I didn't have to investigate my cravings too closely; I'd been jonesing for Giada's Orechiette with Sausage, Beans, and Mascarpone (say it with me: MASS-car-pone, not MARS-ca-pone, pretty please) for a week. And it was good, albeit a little crazy even by my standards—a quarter-pound of pasta seems like a LOT for one person, though of course I managed because I'm a trouper!—but I did neglect my own instinct that this is, at its heart, probably a winter dish.

There are no bright vegetables, no clean freshness that a person needs in the summer. Nothing to balance out the metric tonnage of carbohydrates. And though I had already learned that reinvention is the necessity of leftovers, tonight's epiphany was more about FLAVOR.

Flavor's biggest enemy, I realized, is the cold. The reason I'm so deflated in the face of Last Night's Dinner the next day is that it just tastes like a lesser version of something I've already eaten. All of the brightness and subtlety goes flat.

To summerize things, I knew I wanted something green and something fresh. I picked up a beautiful Alabama-grown tomato at the grocery store, and I had spinach in the freezer—I was able to break off a chunk and add it to the pan, with the remainder going back on ice for another day (thrifty!). The spinach doesn't have to be thawed; that extra moisture helps re-create the mascarpone sauce. And I was going to need some help in the texture department—refrigerated and reheated pasta can take a turn for the overly soft—so garlic and onion were a must. But I also wanted to reenergize the flavors that were already there: The buttery cheese would be muted, the fragrant oregano would be less fresh, and the spicy sausage (I'd used a hot version the night before) would have lost some of its punch. So I added some dried crushed red pepper for heat, a little more oregano (freshly chopped; just a little more will do because it's a fairly aggressive flavor), and a big spoonful of Dijon mustard. I know it's a bit strange, mascarpone and Dijon being from wholly different lands, but they play beautifully together. The mustard gives the cheese back its smoothness and wakes up that zing.

(Note: Nutmeg would be a nice addition here, too, with the cream sauce and the dark greens, if you're into that sort of thing. And with all apologies to delicate cardiovascular systems like mine, leftovers will always need more salt and pepper. It's just scientific fact. I'm very scientific.)

It was fun and tasty, and I ate WAY too much of it, but mostly it was nice to feel like I learned something—about flavors, and the way my palate likes to balance them. The thing about cooking for other people is that I'm a little more conservative and, in the pursuit of applause, a little more afraid to take risks. When I cook for myself, it doesn't matter if it winds up tasting like bananas and scallops. I will still have learned something. And Wendy's is open late.

Pasta with Sausage, Beans, and Mascarpone, Redux
1 teaspoon olive oil
¼ cup diced onion
1 garlic clove
2 ounces frozen chopped spinach
½ large tomato, chopped
Dried crushed red pepper to taste
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
¼ recipe Orechiette with Sausage, Beans, and Mascarpone
Salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Heat olive oil over medium-low heat; stir in onion, and sauté 2 minutes. Add garlic; cook 1 minute. Stir in spinach, and heat until thawed. Add tomato, red pepper, and mustard; stir until combined.

2. Add pasta to pan, and stir gently just until heated through. Season with salt and pepper. Makes 1 to 2 servings.

*unpesto. (this is getting a little ridiculous.)

2011-06-09T14:42:00.000-05:00

You might have to suspend disbelief on this one, though you're probably already in that habit given that I am the woman who extolled the virtues of cole slaw pizza.

Most of the ingredients I've been working with in the Woodside kitchen this week are trusty little blank canvases, or at the very least happy little pushover foods—chicken, cheese, even lettuce and tomatoes—content to be seasoned up into countless culinary disguises.

The black bean, corn, and onion mixture I whipped up for Monday's Cobb salad, however, is something of a wild card. I knew I had whole wheat penne in the larder for last night, and there was something about the chicken and the tomatoes that was just crying out for pesto, but black beans are ... well, not cannellini beans.

So really, this one came together with the help of stubbornness (I don't care; I still want pesto), cockeyed optimism (meh, what's the worst that can happen?), and something less akin to recklessness (the black beans can provide starchy thickness to the sauce while the onions give it a little zip; I can balance out the sweetness of the corn with red pepper flakes).

It's a strangely arbitrary opinion of mine that pesto is simply better with whole wheat pasta. Unlike most freshly delicate flavors, I think it's less in danger of being overwhelmed and more in need of backup. I would never DREAM of maligning beautiful white pastas; I use them all the time and credit them for most of my (ahem) softness, but they need backup, too. Some zingy tomato sauce or bright balsamic. Pair it with pesto and it's just ... wimpy.

Frankly, though, this isn't really a pesto at all. It's just "inspired" by pesto—there isn't any cheese or nuts in it, and I chiffonaded the basil and stirred it in at the end, as opposed to whirring it up in my mini-processor. But the results were really delicious and crazy satisfying, plus a little addicting; after a mishap with the "browning" function of my microwave, I was left waiting for the cheese to melt on my ciabatta garlic cheesy bread. Whereupon maybe I ate half the pasta straight from the skillet.

Maybe.

The bread was a no-brainer, using half a ciabatta roll from the night before and the Monterey Jack from the day before that. A sprinkle of granulated garlic and ground red pepper, and you're off to melty happiness land. (You CAN also stir a little mayo into that mixture, but you CAN'T tell my mother I told you that.)

Penne with Black Bean "Pesto"
2 ounces whole wheat penne
¼ (15-ounce) can low-sodium black beans, drained and rinsed
¼ cup frozen corn kernels, thawed
¼ cup red onion, diced
Pinch of ground cumin
1 teaspoon garlic powder
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
Salt, to taste
½ boneless, skinless chicken breast, cut diagonally into thin slices
¼ pint grape tomatoes, halved
3 or 4 large fresh basil leaves, chopped
Dried crushed red pepper, to taste

1. Cook penne according to package directions; drain, and set aside.

2. Combine beans and next 4 ingredients in a small food processor or blender. Add 1 tablespoon olive oil, and process until combined. (Add a small amount of water if your mixture seems too thick.) Stir in salt. Set aside.

3. Heat remaining 1 tablespoon oil in a skillet over medium heat; sauté chicken until golden brown. Reduce heat to medium-low; stir in tomatoes, pasta, and black bean mixture, and cook until heated through and well combined. Stir in basil and red pepper; serve with cheesy garlic bread, if desired. Makes 1 serving.

*unburger. (i'm sensing a theme here.)

2011-06-08T15:49:00.002-05:00

People, this is not health food. Though at this rate, that probably should be the new name of this blog: thisisnothealthfood.com.

It isn't easy to cook for a single person, especially a single person with an extraordinarily low tolerance for monotony, an extreme commitment to thrift, and an eye-roll-worthy distaste for leftovers.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. I sometimes enjoy monotony very much, and have been known to eat many of the same things over and over and over again. (See: Cheez-Its, goldfish crackers, chicken sandwiches, etc.) And my commitment to thrift has a tendency to come and go whenever it is convenient for me. (See: shoes and Cheez-Its.)

I do, however, dislike leftovers—that slump of defeat it's all too easy for single people to slide into when eating out, driving through, or microwaving seems infinitely more appealing than eating for days reheated meals from the same recipe, most of which seem to be composed with only the four-or-more in mind.

And while I find absolutely nothing wrong with going to my local Mexican restaurant for nights on end, I get creatively stymied if I try that approach when I'm on the Woodside, in my own sagging kitchen. (Truly, I've been spending a lot more time there lately, and those baby blue laminate countertops are starting to get on my nerves.)

If you read yesterday's post (and I know you did, you loyal reader, you), you have a good sense of the ingredients I was working with. You might not be aware that I also had a bag of freezer fries on hand, but only if you don't know me particularly well. I consider this to be part of my emergency readiness plan: Find dog. Find fire exits. Find potatoes.

Always be prepared, I say.

I also recently discovered that my not-all-that-great local grocery store sells pretty great ciabatta, which is quite a surprise in my neighborhood. That was all I had to buy to make this meal happen.

This one was pretty straightforward—no big revelations or caveats—because it is, after all, a sandwich. A sandwich I topped with no less than cheese, egg, and mayonnaise, and served with French fries. It was simple and satisfying and delicious, and not in the least like what I ate the night before.

But this is not health food, people.

Black Bean-Chicken "Burger" with Sunny Side Up Egg
¼ (15-ounce) can low-sodium black beans, drained and rinsed
¼ cup frozen corn kernels, thawed
¼ cup red onion, diced
Pinch of ground cumin
1 teaspoon garlic powder
Fresh lime juice, to taste
Mayonnaise, to taste
Sriracha, to taste
½ cooked chicken breast, shredded
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 slice Cheddar cheese
1 ciabatta roll, halved
1 large egg
Iceberg lettuce

1. Combine first 6 ingredients in a small bowl, and mash with a potato masher. Set aside.

2. Combine mayonnaise and sriracha in a small bowl, set aside.

3. Combine chicken and black bean mixture; shape into a patty. Heat oil in a nonstick skillet over medium-low heat; add patty, and cook 1 to 2 minutes on each side or until lightly golden and heated through. Top with cheese, cover, and cook until cheese melts.

4. Place lettuce on bottom half of ciabatta roll; top with cooked burger.

5. Crack egg into skillet; cook, over medium-low heat, until whites are set but yolk is still runny. Top burger with sunny side up egg.

6. Spread mayonnaise mixture over top half of ciabatta roll, and place over egg. Serve with French fries, if desired. Makes 1 serving.

*unsalad.

2011-06-07T11:50:00.004-05:00

I have a particular talent for unsalading a salad, the sweet gift of turning something that is supposed to be healthfully holier-than-thou into a lovely mess of delicious calories. The Cobb salad is an ideal starting point for this sort of bastardization, in part because it doesn't do a very good job of masquerading as a salad in the first place. It's basically a deconstructed fatty sandwich. (I don't think I need to reiterate my love for the fatty sandwich.)

I have a soft spot for Cobb salad, too, standing out there yelling, "I'm a salad, I swear!" when it's really something you might make when you're in tears. Anyone who has ever thought that chicken and hard-boiled eggs are not enough without avocado and cheese and bacon on top is a) someone who has had some emotional wreckage and b) my kind of people.

Alas, my local market (once again) failed me, neglecting to stock half of the ingredients for a decent Cobb salad, and I was left trying to steer things in my favorite direction: south ... west ... ish?

I decided that if this salad was not—tragedy!—going to have the benefit of avocado, I'd replace it with a black bean/corn salsa. Having determined that beans + chicken + eggs + cheese was probably enough protein for my lithe form, I forwent the bacon.

(Or possibly, because I can't tolerate anything other than the apparently FANCY center-cut style, I'm just way too cheap to spend six bucks on bacon. True story. BaconIloveyou.)

After that, it was just a matter of gathering all my favorite South of the border flavors, or what I imagine them to be—red onion, cilantro, jalapeño—and after that ... well, things got a little crazy.

Because I was intoxicated by hunger while I was at the grocery store, I was too under the influence of my weaker brain cells to pass by the Snyder's buttermilk ranch pretzel pieces. But no matter; I'm confidently reassured that calories don't stick when you're suffering the effects of rabid starvation.

But as I was staring at the little nuggets of yum in the bowl I'd poured half the bag into (portion control, people), I got a wild hair to crush some of them up with a mortar and pestle and crust the chicken in the crumbs.

I am nothing if not resourceful, and also determined to cover everything in my life with ranch. (Those of you who look REALLY REALLY closely will note that I had less than zero patience and/or attention span for the crushing, and mostly just slapped some gigantic pieces of pretzel all over the chicken.)

To be honest, I wasn't as thrilled with the results as I'd hoped. Yes, the pretzels gave the chicken a pleasantly crispety crunchy crust, but most of the salty buttermilky ranchy potential got lost in the cooking. I see absolutely no reason why you shouldn't have pretzel-crusted chicken on your path of salad destruction, but it's probably not ultimately worth the effort.

My advice? Just pour some ranch on top before eating. NO ONE HAS TO KNOW.

Composed Southwestern Cobb Salad with Pretzel-crusted Chicken
½ cup low-fat sour cream
1 jalapeño, seeded and diced
Salt, to taste
Pinch of granulated sugar
Hot sauce, to taste
½ cup coarsely chopped fresh cilantro leaves, divided
1 lime, divided
¼ (15-ounce) can low-sodium black beans, drained and rinsed
¼ cup frozen corn kernels, thawed
¼ cup diced red onion
Pinch of ground cumin
1 teaspoon garlic powder
½ chicken breast, pounded to an even thickness
½ cup Snyder's buttermilk ranch pretzel pieces, crushed
2 tablespoons olive oil
¼ head iceberg lettuce, chopped
¼ pint grape tomatoes, halved
1 ounce Monterey Jack cheese, grated
1 hard-boiled egg, sliced
Garnish: lime wedges

1. Combine first 5 ingredients, ¼ cup cilantro, and juice of ½ lime in a small bowl. Set aside.

2. Combine black beans, corn, onion, cumin, garlic powder, and juice of remaining ½ lime in a medium bowl. Set aside.

3. Dredge chicken breast in pretzel pieces. Heat oil in skillet over medium heat; cook chicken about 4 minutes on each side or until browned and cooked through.

4. Combine lettuce and remaining ¼ cup cilantro on a plate; top with reserved sour cream mixture. Arrange black bean mixture, tomatoes, cheese, egg, and chicken alongside lettuce. Garnish, if desired. Makes 1 serving.

*hang on, soupy.

2011-05-04T12:54:00.003-05:00

There are only a handful of Vietnamese restaurants in my municipality, but I credit one of them with introducing me to the concept of pho, which I believe is Vietnamese for "noodle soup."

This isn't pho (I admit I don't know much about the various incarnations of this across the Asian continent—I'm sure there are many, and I beg forgiveness for the many ways I've destroyed their authenticity in my own kitchen), but the overriding factor in my adoration is depth. There just seems to be this bottomless layering of flavors that seems beautifully endless: starchy noodles, spicy broth, hearty chicken, crisp onion, bright lime, soft egg, and, in this case, chicken broth, curry paste, fish sauce, soy, coconut milk, sriracha ... Every bite is the definition of satisfaction.

It's without doubt the best cure for a cold—all that warm comfort and gentle heat are soothing, while the protein and carbohydrates (hello, lover) restore your energy. I'm not ill, thankfully, but last night proved surprisingly cold in the Deep South, and it felt like the perfect excuse to make one last bowl of soup for the season.

I've made this a few times now, adapted each time more and more from a recipe I found at When East Meets West. I'm a bit flummoxed by it—the components seem to be there, but there's still some missing chromosome that's keeping it from being all it can be. The first time I made it, I attempted to correct its flatness by stirring in a king's ransom of sriracha, and while it was delicious, it was still missing something. This time I added curry paste, a step in the right direction, but it's still not all the way there.

As a personal preference, I don't adore poached chicken. I think next time the chicken might get sautéed. Maybe less broth? More lime? It's a testament to how good this is that I keep making it, but I'm going to continue to tinker with it.

If you want to be a little bit bad, I suggest eating the good stuff and then throwing a bit of hot cooked rice in to soak up the broth. Or maybe you could just put the rice and noodles on a pizza crust between two slices of bread. Carbs are your friend.

I'd love for someone to make this and tell me what it needs to reach its full potential. No chicken noodle soup left behind!

Chicken Coconut Noodle Soup
1 large sweet onion, halved and cut into thin crescents
3 tablespoons fish sauce
3 tablespoons soy sauce
3 tablespoons red curry paste
3 garlic cloves, chopped
1 (2-inch) piece fresh ginger, peeled and minced
2 teaspoons ground turmeric
2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch cubes
¼ cup vegetable oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
2 teaspoons ground paprika
3 (13.5-ounce) cans lite coconut milk
7 cups chicken stock
½ cup cornstarch
16 ounces dried Chinese egg noodles
6 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and sliced
Sriracha, to taste
2 green onions, white and green parts, chopped
1 cup chopped fresh cilantro
3 limes, quartered

1. Place sweet onions slices in a small bowl, and cover with cold water. Set aside.

2. Combine fish sauce and next 5 ingredient; add chicken, and stir well. Set aside.

3. Heat oil in a Dutch oven over medium heat until it becomes runny and starts to shimmer. Stir in yellow onion, and cook 3 to 4 minutes or until soft and translucent. Add paprika, and mix until onions are well coated.

4. Add chicken and marinade; raise the heat to medium-high, and cook, stirring, 5 minutes. Add coconut milk and stock, and bring to a gentle boil, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer 20 minutes.

5. Whisk together cornstarch and ½ cup warm water; stir into soup, and return to a boil. Simmer over medium-low heat 10 minutes or until the soup thickens slightly. Reduce heat to low, and keep warm until ready to serve.

6. Cook noodles according to package directions. Divide among individual soup bowls, and ladle over each about 1½ cups soup. Top with reserved sweet onion slices, eggs, sriracha, green onions, and cilantro. Serve with limes. Makes 6 servings.

*i like big bundts.

2011-05-03T11:45:00.007-05:00

This one is an oldie but a goodie—it dates from Christmas 2010, back when the kitchen was my oyster, work wasn't requiring every second of my days, and my checking account still had no idea how hard it was about to be hit by overzealous trips to the grocery store.

As a rule I'm not much of a sweets person, and particularly not a dessert-for-breakfast sort of girl. (I will spare you my diatribe on the evils of "doughnuts," which is apparently Latin for "stale bread covered in snot." That counts as sort of sparing you, right?)

But as on most occasions, that sensibility was set to rights by Ina Garten, once upon a time many years ago when I first made her Sour Cream Coffee Cake. (Please click on that link and tell me that Sandra Lee's cracked-out Cocktail Time ad is popping up in the right-hand sidebar. It's completely worth the visit to foodnetwork.com, one of the worst Web sites on the Internets. I heart you, Food Network, but your carrier pigeon-style search engine and resulting desperate error messages do you no favors.)

Where was I? Ah, yes. Sour cream coffee cake, with a sweet, nutty streusel (yes, it's still nutty if you omit the nuts) and a decadent glaze. It was my first foray into the world of the bundt pan, too, which was nonstick and worked beautifully, contrary to my every expectation. JBSH and TFin subsequently gifted it to me (their bundt cake-making days being few and far between), and it is now one of my most treasured kitchen implements. Despite all its nooks and crannies it's infinitely forgiving—no matter my lazy buttering/flouring attempts, each cake I've made in it slides out placatingly every time.

But Ina, as we all know, is a girl who loves her ingredients, and even without the walnuts I'm counting 16 different pieces to her puzzle. There were already a lot of dishes planned for that Christmas morning, with LSis's breakfast casseroles and my Easy Cheese Danish (also courtesy la Contessa), so I was craving something simpler.

As you may have guessed from my ongoing obsession with sriracha, I am a lady who loves her spice, so I was instantly sold on Sing for Your Supper's Cinnamon Pound Cake. Only seven ingredients and a procedure that is 80% "stir it together and pour into pan"—even a notorious baking disaster such as myself can manage to pull that off.

I've made this now a few times, and that sweet-hot cinnamon-sugar crust is perfection, like a snickerdoodle pound cake. (HA! Remember these? Good times.) I have tweaked the recipe a bit—my current favorite approach is to stir in semisweet chocolate chips (they MUST be semisweet or darker; milk chocolate would be too cloying here) and to add, sinfully I admit, the glaze from Ina's coffee cake. It does skew things even sweeter, but I just can't resist the combination of maple syrup and cinnamon.

Remember, because we're making this cake in place of coffee cake, that makes it breakfast, and therefore above dietary reproach. So have three slices.

Cinnamon-Chocolate Pound Cake with Maple Glaze
4 tablespoons granulated sugar, divided
2 tablespoons cinnamon, divided
1 box butter cake mix (I used Duncan Hines's Butter Golden mix.)
1 (4-serving size) package instant vanilla pudding
½ cup canola oil
8 ounces sour cream
4 eggs
8 ounces semisweet chocolate chips, optional
½ cup confectioners' sugar
2 tablespoons pure maple syrup

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a bundt pan.

2. Stir together 2 tablespoons sugar and 1 tablespoon cinnamon; sprinkle mixture into buttered bundt pan, tilting pan to coat bottom and sides evenly. Combine remaining 2 tablespoons sugar, remaining 1 tablespoon cinnamon, cake mix, pudding, canola oil, sour cream, eggs, and chocolate chips, if desired. Pour into prepared bundt pan, and bake 45 to 50 minutes or until cake is springy. Let cool in pan 20 minutes.

3. Remove from pan to wire rack, and let cool completely. Meanwhile, whisk together confectioners' sugar and maple syrup, adding a few drops of water, if necessary, to reach the desired consistency. Drizzle over cooled cake. Makes 8 to 10 servings.

*PSST.

2011-03-29T16:20:00.007-05:00

SHH! I was never here.

But I really, really, really hope to be back soon.

Cheddar Grits with Black Beans, Lentils, Sausage, and a Poached Egg
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
1 large jalapeño chile, diced
Kosher salt, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
¼ teaspoon dried crushed red pepper
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 packet taco seasoning mix
3 cups low-sodium beef broth
1 (14.5-ounce) can crushed tomatoes
2 (15-ounce) cans black beans, drained and rinsed
1 cup dried brown lentils, rinsed
10 ounces hot smoked sausage, cut into bite-size pieces
Instant grits
6 to 8 ounces freshly grated Cheddar cheese
White wine vinegar
4 large eggs
Garnish: Chopped green onion

1. Heat olive oil over medium-high heat in a stockpot; add onion, jalapeño, and red pepper. Season with salt and pepper, and sauté 5 minutes or until onions become translucent. Stir in garlic and taco seasoning mix, and cook 2 more minutes.

2. Add beef broth, tomatoes, beans, and lentils; bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer 1 hour or until lentils are tender.

3. Sauté sausage in a dry pan until browned. Stir into cooked lentils. Cover pot, and keep warm over low heat.

4. Prepare 4 servings instant grits according to package directions. Stir in cheese. Cover pot, and keep warm over low heat.

5. In a small saucepan, bring water to a gentle boil. Add a splash of vinegar. Crack 1 egg into a small bowl. Stir boiling water vigorously with a spoon to create a small well in the center, and carefully add egg to center of pan. Cook 1 to 2 minutes or until whites are set but yolks are still very runny. Remove from pot with a slotted spoon. Repeat with remaining 3 eggs.

6. Divide grits among 4 serving bowls; top with lentil-sausage mixture and poached eggs. (There will be lots of lentils left over.) Garnish, if desired. Makes 4 servings.

*oh my goodness.

2011-03-15T13:38:00.003-05:00

This recipe is not for the faint of heart—really, it might kill you. There is an inordinate amount of butter in there. I'm not usually one to go for gravy with mashed potatoes; as a personal preference I fall firmly in the "cheesy" camp when it comes to my spuds.

This, though, seemed awfully rather dreamy and ingenious—by broiling the potatoes in the gravy, you get a crispy, brown top and a rich, bubbling sauce that keeps the mash super moist and tasty. I thought the potatoes could have been a touch creamier, but that might be my fat-loving American palate getting in the way. I suspect it all depends on the starchiness of your particular taters.

The secret to this-here gravy, what elevates it above the usual gloppy beigeness, is in the full two teaspoons of black pepper. I prefer the already ground stuff in this incarnation; it keeps things smooth and eliminates the chance of chomping into a big piece of peppercorn (which I think tastes like taking a bite out of a charred cast-iron pan). The original concept calls for something listed as "beef gravy or drippings, or beef cubed," which I wasn't sure about, so I omitted it. Instead, I subbed beef broth for the chicken broth because that's what I had on hand, and hoped it would do the work of both ingredients. I don't think the end product suffered, though it's hard to remember because it disappeared so fast.

All credit for this recipe goes to the amazing Seasaltwithfood, a blog I'm guilty of stalking mercilessly.

Alongside I served simply sautéed salt-and-pepper chicken cutlets. On a whim, I just added olive oil to the gravy pan after I'd poured out the gravy, but without cleaning the pan first. That way the chicken browned while picking up leftover gravy bitlets.

Yes, it's a word.

The other revelation? Ina Garten's Brussels sprouts. I first discovered them about a year ago, and they are transformative.

(I also love Savour Fare's bacon-braised Brussels sprouts with cream, but with the gravy bubbling away on the stove, I made a game-time decision not to send myself into full cardiac arrest.)

How good are these Brussels sprouts? A 40-year-old man and a 16-month-old child almost came to blows over them, that's how good. How easy are these Brussels sprouts? Almost shamefully easy. The only tricks are to remember to salt them liberally, and to not take them out of the oven when you think they're burning. They're not; they're just taking on insane amounts of roasted, blistering flavor. When you cut the bottoms off the sprouts, you'll probably end up with a board full of leftover leaves—sprinkle those around the pan, as well. (They become unbelievable crispy sprout chips.)

There's not a lot to this plate—everything sort of takes care of cooking itself, and aside from the potato peeling there isn't a lot of agonizing prep work—but it is about as homey and satisfying as they come.

Mashed Potatoes Baked in Gravy with Salt-and-Pepper Chicken
2 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and chopped
6 tablespoons cream or milk
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
11 tablespoons butter, divided
2 garlic cloves, minced (optional)
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon onion powder
3 cups reduced-fat, low-sodium beef broth
2 teaspoons ground black pepper
4 chicken cutlets
2 tablespoons olive oil

1. Boil potatoes until fork-tender; drain. Mash potatoes with cream, salt, and 4 tablespoons butter. Set aside.

2. In a large, deep skillet, melt 6 tablespoons butter over medium heat. Add garlic, if desired, and sprinkle with flour; cook, whisking constantly, 1 to 2 minutes or until flour is golden. Whisk in beef broth and pepper, and cook until gravy thickens. Pour gravy into baking dish, and return pan to stovetop. (Do not clean pan.)

3. Sprinkle chicken cutlets with salt and pepper. Heat olive oil in pan, and sauté chicken 5 to 6 minutes on each side or until golden brown and cooked through. Remove pan from heat, and cover with foil to keep warm.

4. Top gravy in baking dish with reserved mashed potatoes; top with dots of remaining 1 tablespoon butter. Broil 6 to 8 minutes or until potatoes are golden brown and gravy is bubbling. Serve with chicken cutlets. Makes 4 servings.

Ina Garten's Roasted Brussels Sprouts
1 pound Brussels sprouts, washed and trimmed
2 tablespoons olive oil
Kosher salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Toss Brussels sprouts on a baking sheet with olive oil, salt, and pepper; roast 35 to 40 minutes or until sprouts are crisp on the outside and tender inside. (They will be very deeply brown.) Sprinkle with more kosher salt, and serve immediately. Makes 4 servings.

*penne pincher.

2011-03-14T15:07:00.004-05:00

This week I learned a very valuable lesson, namely that one should not let too much moss grow under a recipe whipped up on the fly, particularly if one has the attention span of a fly. (It's easy to forget how in the heck you made a dish come together if you don't write it down, it turns out.)

Last week, I got the rather distressing news that the county would like to take my house—or, if they can't have it, they'd like to tax me out of it. I am not in the habit of going down without a fight (and by "fight," I mean "temper tantrum"), so I railed against the man until he said thank you very much, I appreciate your position, hand over your paycheck, por favor. To which I was all, "Oh. Umkay."

Power to the people!

All of which is to say that in the intervening period between March's paychecks No. 1 and No. 2 (whom I love dearly and do not want to see go, amen), I was on something of a budget. And when I say "budget," I mean "less than $19.80 a day." Not a terrible per diem, to be sure, unless you're someone who likes to cook something new every night. Then it's just limiting and cranky-making.

Or is it?! I decided that this arbitrary $19.80 could make for a fun and motivating (albeit still unwelcome) project. I wanted fresh spinach in this dish, but for some unfathomable reason, my grocer was fresh out. So I had to opt for frozen—while I would have preferred the fresh, I'll admit the frozen chopped version was all but free, and I think the flavor difference was inconsequential. Taste the sauce along the way and adjust the amount of mustard to your liking—I wanted this to be really deeply tangy and mustardy, but it's all a matter of taste. (A good-quality mustard is key, though. I used Grey Poupon, which I already had in the larder.) The same is true of the chicken broth; you can add more or less depending upon how thick you prefer your cream sauces. Some of these ingredients I had on hand on the Woodside, but when all was said and done I managed to cobble this together for less than $12.80.*

*Sometimes, when a girl has been roundly slapped by the local tax commissioner, a girl needs a $7 bottle of wine.

Creamy Chicken, Spinach, and Tomato Penne
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 to 1½ pounds chicken cutlets, cut into strips
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
4 garlic cloves, minced
4 tablespoons butter
4 tablespoons flour
2 cups half & half or heavy cream
¼ cup spicy brown mustard
8 ounces Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, freshly grated
Hot sauce (optional)
16 ounces penne pasta
1 cup fat-free, low-sodium chicken broth
1 pint grape tomatoes, halved
1 (10-ounce) box frozen chopped spinach, thawed and wrung out well in a clean dish towel

1. Heat oil in a saucepan over medium heat; add chicken, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Sauté until golden brown and cooked through. Remove chicken to a plate, and set aside.
2. Add garlic to pan, and sauté about 1 minute or until fragrant. Add butter; when melted, sprinkle over flour, and cook, stirring, about 2 minutes.

2. Add cream to pan, whisking constantly until sauce bubbles and thickens. Reduce heat to low, and stir in mustard, Parmigiano cheese, and hot sauce, if desired.

3. Meanwhile, prepare pasta according to package directions. While pasta cooks, stir sauce occasionally, adding chicken broth, ½ cup at a time, until sauce reaches desired consistency.

4. Stir tomatoes, spinach, and reserved chicken into sauce until heated through; toss with cooked pasta. Top with additional grated Parmigiano, if desired. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

Cheesy Garlic Bread
1 medium baguette, sliced in half lengthwise
Reduced-fat mayonnaise
Garlic powder
Sliced provolone cheese
Freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese

Top baguette halves with mayonnaise, garlic powder, and cheeses. Broil until cheese is melted and browned. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

*bowled over.

2011-03-11T12:38:00.004-06:00

I've only recently discovered the joy of Soup As A Meal, largely because I have very high expectations for it—there needs to be, above all, plenty of texture; I have a deep-seated and possibly irrationally enthusiastic distaste for anything that smacks of "drinking my dinner."

(Exceptions may be made for large bottles of Cabernet, if they are accompanied by snacks made of cheese.)

The classic grilled-cheese-sandwich-and-tomato-soup combination has always failed to excite me, mostly because I find tomato soup so dimensionless. It can be spicy, yes, or herby or rich or velvety, but there's no ... well, chew.

Don't even get me started on smoothies. If I don't need my teeth, it's not food.

This soup, on the other hand, hit all the right notes—chunky and hearty and satisfying, and certainly NOT possible to be consumed with a straw. The recipe, adapted from Food & Whine (genius), has all of the spicy warmth that I love from the coconut soup at my favorite local Thai restaurant, with a few surprising additions—lemongrass, tomato paste, Worcestershire sauce—that keep you with your head buried in the bowl.

I picked up a packet of cilantro in the fresh herbs section of the grocery store before coming home to find out that I would have to surrender my gold star for reading comprehension for the day. It was actually something called "culantro," marketed as having a similar flavor to cilantro but the shelf life of a much more robust herb. I ... sorta hated it. The flavor was lovely, to be sure, but the cactus-like spininess was off-putting.

Remind me to start that herb garden I keep not following through on.

Thai Chicken-and-Rice Soup
3 tablespoons butter
2 cups basmati rice
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons sunflower oil, divided
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 small red bell pepper, diced
1 cup sliced mushrooms
4 cups fat-free, low-sodium chicken broth
2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, diced
2 tablespoons lemongrass paste
1 teaspoon fish sauce
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 cup half & half
½ cup lite coconut milk
2 teaspoons red curry paste
1½ teaspoons chili paste or sriracha
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Garnishes: chopped cilantro leaves, sriracha

1. Bring butter and 4 cups water to a boil. Stir in rice and salt; cover, reduce heat to low, and cook 20 minutes. Remove rice to a large bowl.
2. Return pan to burner over medium heat, and add 1 tablespoon oil. Sauté mushrooms until just softened. Remove mushrooms from pan, and set aside.
3. Add remaining 1 tablespoon oil to pan, and sauté onion and bell pepper just until softened. Stir in reserved mushrooms, chicken broth, and chicken, stirring until heated through.
4. Stir in lemongrass, fish sauce, and Worcestershire sauce, and simmer 5 minutes. Stir in half & half and coconut milk; cover, reduce heat to low, and simmer 2 more minutes.
5. Combine curry paste, chili paste, tomato paste, cornstarch, and 2 tablespoons water in a small bowl; add to soup, stirring until it thickens slightly. Stir in 2 cups cooked rice, cover, and simmer 5 minutes.
6. Serve soup with remaining cooked rice; garnish, if desired. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

*lake effect.

2011-03-10T12:44:00.005-06:00

As a personality, I tend to get attached very quickly, fervently, and loyally to things—people, places, pets, situational comedies about three post-menopausal women living together in Miami with a wise-cracking octogenarian—and when I first tasted this pizza, I knew I was a goner.

The recipe is the brainchild of one Foodimentary Guy, née JBSH, who has a habit of throwing ingredients against a wall and seeing what sticks that I often admire. (Less so when he does whackadoodle things like putting mayonnaise in the mashed potatoes. Gack! Sorry, Foodimentary Guy ... )

Picture it: a late-summer afternoon. A day spent treading water in a fruitless effort to mitigate the 12,000 calories of Lake-A-Ritas (TM) consumed since lunch. Happily tired muscles and lightly pink skin. Time screams by, as it does on Sundays, racing toward return to the mainland, and the work week, and the grind. The dogs can barely muster the energy to wag their tails or lift their heads as you pass by, and the shadow cast by the boat's awning says it's almost time to hit the road. Half-hearted packing, some hurried but ultimately disappointing calculations (is there any way to stay another day?), and it's time to face the truth: The weekend at the lake is over.

That's when this came out of the kitchen. We huddled around it like delighted starving people—eating fast at first, because we didn't realize how hungry we were, and then faster still long after we'd become full, because we didn't want to lose a single bite to any of the other grabby hands in the room.

Since then I've wanted to attempt to re-create it, knowing that it really lives only in the Foodimentary Guy's brain and even then maybe only vaguely—it's the sort of meal that just happened organically, putting a little of this delicious with a little of that amazing until you end up with a pizza that haunts your dreams.

OK, enough hyperbole.

The "recipe," such as it is, relies pretty heavily on a local chain—Zoë's Kitchen—and its signature feta cole slaw. Unfortunately, my neighborhood Zoë's was fresh out of slaw, so I relied pretty heavily on some Internet research and some hope for the best, and tried to whip up my own. It was a passable substitute, but improved overnight, as the cabbage had time to soften a bit more under the weight of the vinaigrette.

Did the original Lake Martin version have bacon on it? I don't remember, but I assumed that with JBSH as its creator, that was a pretty safe bet. I ate the finished product by my lonesome, but shared the leftovers. I don't know how faithful anyone thought it was to that warm, peaceful, lakeside day, but I hope it was a reasonable enough facsimile.

I know it made me want a Lake-A-Rita (TM).

Chicken-Bacon-Cole Slaw Pizza
¼ cup red wine vinegar
¼ to ½ cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
1 small head green cabbage, thinly sliced
8 ounces crumbled feta
8 green onions, chopped
1 (11-ounce) can Pillsbury thin-crust pizza dough
2 chicken breasts from a prepared rotisserie chicken, chopped
Ranch dressing, to taste
Provolone cheese slices
8 bacon strips, cooked and crumbled

1. Whisk together first 5 ingredients. Combine cabbage, feta, and green onions, and toss with vinaigrette. Chill cole slaw at least 1 hour.
2. Preheat oven to 400. Unroll pizza dough onto a lightly greased or foil-covered baking sheet; bake 5 minutes.
3. Toss chicken with 1 tablespoon ranch dressing. Remove dough from oven, and top with chicken mixture and provolone cheese slices; bake 5 to 7 more minutes or until edges of crust are golden brown and cheese is melted and bubbling.
4. Toss cole slaw with a little more ranch dressing, to taste, and top pizza with slaw and crumbled bacon. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

*love letter.

2011-03-09T16:25:00.003-06:00

Read the rest here. It's like someone read my innermost thoughts and made them funny and matched them with entertaining doodles.

(Thanks to SuFin for the heads-up!)

*frank discussion.

2011-03-08T12:50:00.003-06:00

This is a weird one, folks. Because I made hot dogs. Problem? I hate hot dogs.

I have no idea why—it's not a snobbery issue; I have well-documented proof that I adore all manner of trashy foodstuffs. It's not even a squeamishness issue. I know wherefrom hot dogs come, and it's not any scarier to me than a lot of the other pork products that I happen to adore.

There's something about the way a hot dog pops when you bite into it ... and that intense saltiness ... I shrug. Put them next to donuts and watermelon on the list of things I inexplicably can't stand. (This is a particularly frustrating reality for someone who is obsessed with the almighty sandwich. How can anything between two slices of bread be unwelcome on the Woodside?!)

I adapted these from In the Wabe, because it seemed like the least troublesome (I have never made hot dogs before)/most delicious (all things being relative)—baked, not steamed, and smothered in chili and cheese. I omitted the pickle relish because it's not everyone's taste, and substituted dill pickle potato chips because they are indescribably good.

To each her own!

Baked Chili-Cheese Dogs
8 hot dog buns
Light mayonnaise
Spicy brown mustard
8 all-beef franks in natural casings (I used Nathan's.)
1 (15-ounce) can chili with beans
½ small onion, diced
Colby Jack cheese

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spread hot dog buns with mayonnaise and mustard to taste. Top with hot dogs, and fit snugly into a 9- by 13-inch pan.

2. Divide chili among hot dogs; sprinkle with onion, and top with cheese. Cover pan with aluminum foil, and bake 45 minutes or until cheese is melted and buns are lightly crispy. Makes 8 servings.

*because it's been that kind of day.

2011-03-07T15:37:00.006-06:00

It's Monday, everyone, which means a whole host of things—not the least of which is that I left my camera's USB cord at home, making photo transfer impossible. So to keep you company, I bring you a bit of much-needed fabulousness courtesy of Swanson Vineyards, which has a super kicky, fun Web site design.

And some perfectly lovely, cheeky varietals.

Now if only they could ship to the Woodside ... Silly Bible.

*mouth, watering.

2011-03-04T13:45:00.005-06:00

Scanwiches is a collection of "scans of sandwiches for education and delight."

What an incredibly good idea.

*blog love.

2011-03-03T15:35:00.007-06:00

I can't get enough of the sweet, how-to baking illustrations over at Diamonds for Dessert. (And oh my word, the PENGUINS!)

Now all I have to do is learn to bake. And draw. And find time to blog while getting a major in biology and a minor in French. Thanks for not setting the bar too high, Susan.

*um, scuse?

2011-03-02T12:01:00.003-06:00

How do I not own this?

*fry day.

2011-02-28T12:54:00.005-06:00

There are several things in the kitchen that frighten me—grilling, roasting whole birds, serving fruit with meat—but few are as daunting as frying. There's just something about roiling oil that doesn't seem particularly friendly to my unique brand of clumsiness.

As a rule, though, not having deep-frying skillz as part of my repertoire hasn't been too limiting; because I love my bread with butter and my grits with cheese, my body isn't protesting that I lack fat-giving prowess in that one area. I happen to be fussy about my fried foods, anyway—though French fries are among my most favorite guilty pleasures, I don't have that Southern affection for fried okra, country-fried steak, or big, bone-filled pieces of fried chicken.

I do, however, in the not-so-secret recesses of my brain, carry an unrelenting torch for boneless fried chicken—thin, cutlet-size pieces of breast with super crunchy, super spicy outsides. I don't have much use for it if it isn't assaulted with cayenne pepper; I'm never going to be someone who orders the chicken fingers off restaurant menus, but I will walk over hot coals listening to Ann Coulter's voice for a Wendy's spicy chicken sandwich.

(SHAME. I feel shame.)

I love this recipe, which I adapted from Food.People.Want, because it's sort of infinitely forgiving. I managed to have the wrong size pot, not enough oil, and a propensity for knocking the candy thermometer into the floor with every ungainly movement. (Truly. I stopped counting after it skittered across the kitchen for the 11th time as I scrambled out of the way in my best attempts to avoid a 325-degree projectile.) But with the right guidance, and a little patience, I came away with four delicate, subversively spicy, sinfully crispy pieces of chicken.

I won't give the recipe for the haricots verts you see here, because it amounted to shallots + garlic + beans = undercooked blahness. I will, however, reveal my secret to luscious, creamy, stick-your-whole-face-in-the-pot mashed potatoes:

PEEL POTATOES.
CHOP POTATOES.
BOIL POTATOES.
MASH POTATOES.
SALT POTATOES.
BUTTERMILK.
BUTTER.
DIE.

I didn't marinate the chicken overnight, and while I think it would be even more spicy and tenderized if I had, it was still delicious without the extra soaking time. I topped the chicken with a little chopped tomato and a spritz of lemon juice to balance the richness, plus a drizzle of ranch dressing to temper the heat and ... add more richness.

Oops.

I will be making this again, and often. Please don't tell my mother. Or my mirror.

Spicy Fried Chicken Cutlets
1 cup buttermilk
2 teaspoons cayenne pepper
4 boneless skinless chicken cutlets
1 tablespoon paprika
1½ teaspoon kosher salt
1½ teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
½ teaspoon dried oregano
½ teaspoon dried thyme
2 eggs
2 teaspoons hot sauce
1 cup self-rising flour
1 teaspoon black pepper
Vegetable oil
Lemon wedges
Garnishes: chopped tomatoes, ranch dressing

1. Whisk together buttermilk and 2 teaspoons cayenne pepper; add chicken, and marinate at least 1 hour or overnight.

2. Combine paprika and next 7 ingredients. In a shallow dish, lightly beat eggs with hot sauce. In a separate shallow dish, combine flour with 1 teaspoon black pepper. Remove chicken from marinade, and sprinkle both sides of each cutlet liberally with paprika mixture. Dip chicken in egg mixture, and dredge in flour mixture, shaking off excess flour.

3. Heat oil over medium-high heat until temperature reaches 325 degrees on a candy thermometer. Fry chicken, in batches, 4 minutes or until golden brown. Keep warm in a 200-degree oven until ready to serve. Sprinkle with lemon juice, and garnish, if desired. Makes 4 servings.

*sandwich story.

2011-02-23T14:52:00.003-06:00

To my mind, there aren't many things that fill, comfort, and satisfy quite like a sandwich. There's the ohskrewit-ness of eating with your hands, the infinite possibilities for ingredients, and the textural coup that's almost impossible to achieve with anything else.

The genius is in the simplicity of the formula: 2 pieces [carbohydrate of choice] plus whatever you want. When I'm planning to feed any group of unknowns—a crowd, strangers, anyone with dietary constraints, picky picky picky people—I almost always default to the sandwich.

There should be some attention paid to balance, but it's not a difficult trick to master; you want something crisp, something crunchy, something hearty, and something creamy, but those can be in any combination you desire:

romaine lettuce + tomato + Monterey Jack + avocado
iceberg + bacon + smoked turkey + fried egg
arugula + whole-grain mustard + roast beef + horseradish mayonnaise
cucumber + red onion + smoked salmon + cream cheese

See? Easy! (Note: This is the only kind of math I'm comfortable with.)

I like a certain rawness to my sandwiches—I'm less attached to toasted bread and melty cheese, although of course there is absolutely nothing wrong with either. There is just something devil-may-care about eating with your hands, biting into something that's a perfect package of all your favorite things.

This one, actually, isn't my favorite. It comes courtesy of Giada de Laurentiis, and I love it because of its unexpected inclusion of egg crepes. (Stay with me.) She serves these on focaccia, and I think they would have been vastly improved by it if my grocer only carried it. I settled for a seeded Italian bread; the flavor was nice, but it was too densely chewy and tough. Also, she calls them "Mini Italian Club Sandwiches"—she's marketing them as appetizers—but they lack a few of the things I love best about club sandwiches, namely lettuce and tomato. I used reduced-fat pesto here, but it was doomed from the start: Pesto has a delicate flavor that is probably nice with the Giada's choice of bread, and the reduced-fatness would likely have passed by unnoticed, but in this case it never had a chance. The taste was sucker-punched by the bread, and in the end it wound up playing an almost invisible role.

The egg crepes are easy, and worth it. It helps to have a little extra egg at the ready so that you can try one or two to determine how your stovetop idiosyncrasies are going to affect the outcome. Don't let them brown; soft and creamy is the way to go. They add a lovely, unexpected layer of texture that makes even an addict like me forget there's no mayonnaise.

They're also beautifully elegant and will make people eyeball you as though you are a kitchen genius, so ... there's that.

Too many substitutions and alterations sort of conspired to make this version a little less-than, but I highly recommend trying the recipe as written. (I've done that before, and they turned out deliciously.)

Or just slap everything in your pantry and refrigerator between two pieces of bread for instant happiness.

Giada's Italian Club Sandwiches
10 bacon strips
3 large eggs
2 tablespoons heavy cream
¼ teaspoon salt
Pinch of freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 (8-ounce) round loaves focaccia bread (7-inch diameter)
1 cup prepared pesto
½ pound thinly sliced turkey
4 ounces thinly sliced provolone cheese

1. Preheat oven to 425. Place bacon on a foil-lined sheet pan, and bake until browned and crispy. Set aside.

2. Whisk together eggs, cream, salt, and pepper until well blended. Heat a 6-inch nonstick skillet over medium-low heat. Brush the skillet with some butter. Pour enough egg mixture into the pan to just coat the bottom of the pan, swirling to distribute evenly. Cover and cook 2 minutes or until egg crepe is just set. Invert a plate over the skillet and turn the skillet over, allowing the egg crepe to drop onto the plate. Repeat to make 4 crepes total, brushing the skillet with melted butter as needed between crepes.

3. Cut the focaccia in half horizontally, and place directly on oven rack in center of oven until lightly toasted. Spread pesto over the toasted sides of each halved focaccia. Divide the egg crepes, turkey, provolone, and bacon equally among two pieces of focaccia; top with remaining two pieces of bread. Cut each sandwich into bite-size pieces. Makes 6 servings.

*tikka my solace.

2011-02-11T12:50:00.004-06:00

Tikka masala, from what I understand, is a mostly British invention, one that—aside from the flavor profiles—doesn't have a whole lot to do with authentic Indian cooking. I happen to love authentic Indian cooking, or what passes for it in the Deep South. (Although I'm pretty sure the dishes are closer to the homeland in more diverse metropolises; I once ordered the spiciest dish on the menu at an Indian restaurant in DC—not out of false bravado, but because I thought it sounded good—and the waiter good-naturedly refused to bring me more than one glass of water because he didn't think I could handle the heat. It was insane, and amazing, and blistering, and I was high for hours afterward.)

Still, I'm not sure why some people turn their nose up at anything that deviates from tradition. If I love something, chances are I'm going to love its bastardization just as much! If not more! See Mexican Salad Pizza, for heaven's sake. Most of the Mexicans I know would be all, "Take our name off that, por favor."

This, like most popularized perversions of culinary conventions, is quintessential comfort food. I prefer an adaptation of Pastor Ryan's version, courtesy of The Pioneer Woman. There's heat here, to be sure, but it's not the eyes-watering sort. (My 15-month-old niece loved this, after grocery store limitations forced me to omit the jalapeños.) The cream—and there is plenty of it; comfort food comes at the expense of waistlines—mitigates any aggressive spiciness and leaves behind a soothing warmth that's perfection on cold nights after stressful days.

I usually do add a jalapeño, and I find that my chicken has to be much closer to the broiler than Ryan suggests to get the blackening effect (which is delicious). I use Greek yogurt, because I like the gentle sourness and the easy way it sticks to the chicken. The turmeric in the rice isn't necessary—I don't find that it adds any flavor, particularly—but that electric color is spectacular. You'll want the peas, too, which Ryan says are optional; they cut some of the richness. I can live without the sugar, because I generally think canned tomatoes aren't that acidic, but I'll leave it in the recipe for those who want an extra touch of sweetness. Don't be put off by strange words like "garam masala"—it's a spice mixture that, if you can find it in my neighborhood market, you can find anywhere. Aside from broiling the chicken this is essentially a two-pan meal, so it's perfect for a weeknight dinner. And it's easy to adjust the quantities depending on how many people you need to feed.

LSis tends to call this "chicken marsala," which confuses me because that's a dish of a different color, but I will say to you what she says to me when I correct her: "Whatever," tikka masala. I love you, ya crazy bastard.

Tikka Masala
3 to 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
Kosher salt, to taste
Ground coriander, to taste
Ground cumin, to taste
½ cup plain fat-free Greek yogurt
6 tablespoons butter, divided
1 tablespoon turmeric
2 cups basmati rice
1 large onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 (2-inch) piece fresh ginger, peeled and minced
1 jalapeño, minced
3 tablespoons garam masala
1 (28-ounce) can diced tomatoes
1 tablespoon sugar (optional)
1½ cups heavy cream
6 ounces frozen peas
Fresh cilantro leaves

1. Preheat broiler to high heat. Season chicken breasts with kosher salt, coriander, and cumin. Dip chicken breasts in yogurt, coating all sides. Place on a baking sheet under broiler, and cook 5 to 7 minutes per side. (It should have slightly blackened edges.) Remove from oven, and let cool slightly.

2. Bring 4 cups of water, 4 tablespoons butter, turmeric, and 1 tablespoon kosher salt to boil in medium saucepan. Stir in rice; reduce heat to low, cover, and cook 20 minutes.

3. In a large, deep skillet, melt remaining 2 tablespoons butter over medium-high heat; add onions, and sauté until lightly browned. Stir in garlic, ginger, and 1 tablespoon kosher salt; cook 30 seconds. Stir in jalapeño and garam masala until well mixed; add tomatoes. Stir in sugar, if desired. Reduce heat to medium, and simmer 5 minutes.

3. Reduce heat to low, and stir cream into sauce. Chop cooked chicken, add to sauce, and cook until heated through. Stir in cilantro.

4. Add peas to cooked rice, stirring until heated through. Top rice with chicken and sauce, and garnish with more fresh cilantro leaves. Makes 6 servings.

*i'll just have a salad.

2011-02-10T13:43:00.005-06:00

Every time I watch Giada de Laurentiis make something on her show that requires pizza dough, she says (Food Network chefs are notoriously repetitive), "Use your favorite pizza dough recipe, or do what I do—go down to your favorite local pizzeria and just ask for some dough."

Is that strange? It seems more than a little odd to me. I'm not going to go to my local hamburger joint and ask if they can just give me a few patties for tonight's dinner.

The problem with pizza dough, though, is that it requires all the chemistry and grace of baking, PLUS yeast, which, of course is my nemesis. I don't know how it's supposed to work, because it never has for me. And then there's all that proofing, the put-it-in-a-warm-place-to-rise business that's far too demanding yet inexact for me. The Woodside heat is set firmly at 60, there is no warm place to be found.

What I have discovered, much to my intense delight, is that my Publix bakery makes kick-ass pizza dough. They sell it in bags, in the bakery section, with only the directive to let it sit out for an hour before you do anything with it.

Now THAT I can do. I have been an expert sitter for my whole life.

I created this recipe as an homage to the tostada pizza at California Pizza Kitchen (TwinFin, amirite?), where I first discovered that pizza didn't know what it was until it met salad. The CPK version is vegetarian, but because I'm often feeding devout carnivores, I add rotisserie chicken. All of the ingredients here are incredibly flexible; this is pizza, after all. I know a certain someone who'd go nuts for a version with Italian meats, provolone cheese, banana peppers, and a salad with red wine vinaigrette. A Cobb salad pizza has promise, too, or a Caesar version. Go nuts!

If there's Mexican food in the house, or anything with a Spanish accent, there's probably going to be K's Trashy Queso, too. I am fully, passionately devoted to Queso-Melt brand, after many years of research. (Most other brands, when combined with anything else, tend to separate. Shudder.) The fact that it's made from prepared melted cheese is what makes this trashy, but what makes it mine is the ratio—40% cheese to 60% everything else. That means lots and lots and lots of tomato and red onion and fresh jalapeño. You can stir in anything else you love, too, chorizo or beans or ground beef, but this is the trio I love. I use the jalapeño-flavored queso, because I always think hotter is better, but the regular variety works just as well for a milder flavor. Hot buckets of deliciousness, people.

K's Trashy Queso
1 (10-ounce) container Queso-Melt jalapeño-flavored cheese dip
2 tomatoes, chopped
1 fresh jalapeño, minced
1 red onion, diced
Tortilla chips

Stir together first 4 ingredients over medium heat until melted and bubbling. Serve with tortilla chips. Makes 1 serving. (BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Nope, not sharing.) OK, Makes 5 servings.

Mexican Salad Pizza
1 portion prepared pizza dough, at room temperature
1 (15-ounce) can reduced-sodium black beans
½ cup jarred salsa
1 avocado
¼ cup reduced-fat sour cream
1 romaine heart, chopped
2 tomatoes, chopped
Lite ranch dressing, to taste
8 ounces Monterey Jack cheese, grated
2 chicken breasts from prepared rotisserie chicken, chopped
½ cup frozen whole-kernel corn
Lime-flavored tortilla chips (optional)
Lime wedges

1. Preheat oven to 400. Stretch or roll out pizza dough onto a lightly greased baking sheet or pizza pan; bake 10 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, mash beans and salsa in a medium bowl. Mash avocado in a small bowl, and stir in sour cream. Stir together romaine, tomatoes, and ranch dressing in a large bowl. Set aside.

3. Top baked pizza dough with cheese, and bake 5 more minutes. Spread with black bean mixture, top with chicken and corn, and bake 5 more minutes.

4. Spread avocado mixture over pizza, and top with reserved salad. Sprinkle with crushed tortilla chips and additional ranch dressing, if desired. Serve with lime wedges. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

*great balls of fire.

2011-02-09T13:38:00.004-06:00

It strikes me that my usual approach to knowledge, i.e. learn just enough about any given subject to be dangerous, doesn't always serve me well. See, what we have here at onthewoodside.com is a food Web site with photographs. And though I'm learning more and more about food, what I know about Web sites and photographs could fill a thimble. (I say a thimble because it has the requisite holes in it so that the knowledge can drain out if I need brain space for eating goldfish crackers or studying any of the nation's real housewives.)

Google Analytics, which tracks my site traffic, such as it is, has faithfully reported to me over the past going-on-three years every time 0 to 22 of you lovely people stopped by to make sure I hadn't become a victim of kitchen fires or gravity. But then! I had a photo accepted at foodgawker, and my traffic jumped 1,600%.

OH, THE FAME.

So what I decided to do, you see, drunk with the presence of eyeballs, was bombard foodgawker with submissions over the next few days. Submission No. 1 was already in the bag. No. 2? BAM, accepted. No. 3? A+ GOLD STARS.

Nos. 4 and 5 ... rejected. And rejected again.

Recently, TwinFin, who is some big-name architect-type person, had his amazing house featured over at Apartment Therapy. And many of the commenters said very nice, complimentary things, and some of the commenters said very nice, critical things, and a few of the commenters said nasty things that derided what TwinFin and the SiL read and listen to and choose to have as a pet.

Those people are assholes; Peri is the second-best dog ever.

When I asked TwinFin about how he handled all the loud opinions, he said (and it helps if you know TwinFin a bit here, and how insanely and sometimes infuriatingly laid-back he is), "It just felt like design reviews at school to me!"

And the weird thing was? I wanted some of that. I'm a notoriously AWFUL recipient of criticism of any kind; I have a tendency to become puffed-up and bent out of shape to hide my psyche's mortal wound. (I'm a sensitive perfectionist; what a tremendously attractive combination!) Don't get me wrong—I knew I screwed stuff up all the time. I just didn't want anyone to notice or otherwise confirm what I knew about myself, which was that I was driving blindfolded down the highway of life.

BUT, before (I hope) this takes too pathetic a turn, I will say that once you get older, and you've fallen down in front of enough strangers and rolled your car into a few bumpers and had lots and lots of therapy, you sort of get accustomed to your failures and they make you laugh. Or at the very least learn something.

That first photo, the cookies one, was rejected for "underexposed/lighting issues," which? Touché, foodgawker. That foreground is way too dark. Honestly I'm not sure why I didn't notice it before. The second one had "food composition issues," which if I had to guess has something to do with the fact that it would have been improved by the presence of whole shrimp, and maybe something to do with the fact that I lopped off the left-hand side of the plate.

My bad.

But lookit me! I'm learning. And it didn't make me collapse into a heap and cry salty tears into my Nikon. The flip side? I have no idea why they chose the picture of the first shrimp-and-noodles dish; personally I don't love it. I think I've discovered a kind of criticism I can handle: helpful, instructive, and just a little arbitrary.

I won't be submitting these shots—I just don't like them, and I was underwhelmed by the recipe, to boot. To be fair, I'd just eaten 400 other pounds of Super Bowl snacks before these made their way out of the oven, and they were a smidge too labor-intensive, in my opinion, for the payoff. The original recipe suggested that, if time is of the essence, one can substitute canned chicken, but please—do not ever, ever do that. Canning is for vegetables. And fruits. And fish. Full stop.

They taste a little, LSis says, like balls of buffalo chicken dip. That sounds like an efficient package for something delicious, but a) a little buffalo chicken dip goes a long way, and b) it made the breading process seem inordinately time-consuming. Why not just make buffalo chicken dip? It was all a bit sad in the end, sort of like Fergie's halftime performance. So, you know, I only ate four.

But I'm super-dee-duper proud of that hot sauce swirl.

PROFESSIONAL!

Buffalo Chicken Cheese Bites
2 chicken breasts from prepared rotisserie chicken, shredded
½ cup Frank's Red Hot sauce
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
1½ cups sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
¼ cup crumbled blue cheese
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
Garlic powder, to taste
All-purpose flour
3 eggs, lightly beaten
Breadcrumbs
Ranch dressing

1. Preheat oven to 350F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper; set aside.

2. Stir together first 8 ingredients in a medium bowl until well combined.

3. Roll mixture into balls. Dredge each ball in flour, dip in eggs, and roll in breadcrumbs. Place on prepared baking sheet.

4. Bake 25 minutes. Serve with ranch dressing. Makes about 24.

LSis served these with orzo the next day and reported that they were quite good! Now I have notions of buffalo chicken pasta salad rolling around in my brain ...

*crowd pleaser.

2011-02-08T13:32:00.003-06:00

I know it's been awfully flush with Asian flavors around the Woodside lately, but I found myself this weekend confronted with feeding a crowd—seven adults, two almost adults, and one toddler—including two pescetarians.

Immediately I thought of two things: shrimp, and big bowl o' noodles.

There are some spaghetti-haters in the group, so Italian was out. And because so many Asian flavors (fish sauce, sesame oil, chili sauce) are best in small doses, I tend to have a bottomless supply of them at the ready.

I adapted this recipe from one at My Adventures in Food, because it's simple and easy and requires ingredients I can find at my wacky neighborhood grocer. It does not, however, carry pad Thai noodles (I substituted lo mein) nor, on this day, peeled and deveined shrimp (I did the dirty work myself, GOLD STARS). When I'm serving carnivores I use ground meat—chicken, turkey, or pork—which cuts the prep time down considerably. In this case I also cut each shrimp into about three pieces, the better to help things stretch a bit and feed a lot. I love the intensity of these flavors and the unexpectedly delicious, surprising weirdness of shrimp + eggs + peanuts. I doubled the recipe, but that's a lot for one pot to handle; I had to make two separate batches. Truth be told, I usually do—this one disappears fast, and the leftovers are divine. There are lots of ways to mix up the ingredients here—add more sriracha for heat, change up the meat, even leave out it out altogether—because it's basically a stir fry, but don't neglect the lime! It makes all the difference.

Shrimp Pad Thai
8 ounces dried lo mein noodles
¼ cup fish sauce
¼ cup sugar
¼ cup rice vinegar
2 tablespoons hoisin sauce
¾ pound shrimp, peeled and deveined
¼ cup vegetable oil, divided
2 garlic cloves, minced
½ teaspoon sriracha, plus more to taste
2 eggs
4 green onions, thinly sliced
10 oz fresh bean sprouts
¾ cup unsalted peanuts, finely chopped and divided
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
Lime wedges

1. Cook noodles according to package directions. Set aside.

2. Mix fish sauce and next 3 ingredients in a bowl, stirring until sugar dissolves. Set aside.

3. Heat a wok or large, deep skillet over medium-high heat; add 2 tablespoons oil. Sauté garlic and sriracha until golden, about 1 minute. (Stand back; sriracha may splatter.) Add reserved noodles, tossing to coat with oil.

4. Push noodles to one side of pan, and add remaining 2 tablespoons oil. Crack eggs into pan, and cook until slightly set. Stir into noodles, breaking up eggs with a spoon. Toss in shrimp, green onions, most of the bean sprouts, and ½ cup peanuts. Cook 1 to 2 minutes or until shrimp just turn pink.

5. Stir in reserved fish sauce mixture, tossing to coat. Sprinkle with cilantro, remaining ¼ cup peanuts, and remaining bean sprouts. Serve with lime wedges. Makes 4 servings.

*on baking. and expletives.

2011-02-07T13:02:00.005-06:00

I don't necessarily buy the notion that some people are cooks and some are bakers, full stop. Though the vast majority of chefs I see on TV go big-eyed and sputtering whenever someone says the word "dessert" at them, I've just never been able to accept that it's as black and white as all that.

Granted, cooking feels more like ... I dunno, behavioral psychology to me ("OOH! Let's throw this in there and see what happens!"), whereas baking is all physics ("GEEZ, there's math in these here hieroglyphics; what is wrong with you?").

OK, so I might be a little biased. But the anxiety gap between cooking and baking for me is somewhere between "oops!" and "G*DD*MM*T ALL TO H*LL," and I can't figure out why. All of that is belied by these pretty cookies, perfectly round and softly chocolatey and gooey with raspberry-cream cheese filling, but that has everything to do with Susan's recipe from Our Family Eats and absolutely nothing to do with me. I did everything in my power to screw these up.

Luckily, a plague of cabin fever had descended on LSis' house that required an immediate dose of park-going, so I was left unexpectedly alone during my tribulations. Which was serendipitous indeed, because there was so. much. swearing. I really don't want anyone to ever measure my blood pressure while I'm trying to bake.

My first problem tends to be anything in powder form—flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, various and sundry dried spices—which will inevitably end up all over the kitchen and my person. Outside of my propensity to chop onions into the floor, this messiness is rarely as much of a problem when I cook. And yet it is a guarantee that if I am using cocoa powder, 60% of it will end up in the bowl, 35% of it will find its way into the sink/counter/floor/pants/shoes, and I will manage to inhale the remaining 5%. (Does anyone else have this problem? No? Just me?)

It sounds nicer—chocolate-covered lungs—than it actually is.

I can't tell exactly where I went screechingly off track here, but somewhere around "mixture should be thick and slightly crumbly," mine just ... wasn't. The dough was shiny and sticky and (have I mentioned?) there was so. much. swearing.

Rolling the dough out and cutting circles just wasn't happening. The texture was all wrong and soaked with my salty tears. I finally decided to give the whole mess the finger and just plop tablespoonfuls onto the baking sheet, irregular and lumpy.

It was rather disastrous.

And then? Look how they baked up. Like the baking fairies smiled, patted me on my sad, inept little head, and formed perfectly round cookies in the oven. They baked for the full eight minutes, even though the recipe said they'd be done in five, because ... well, because in my world, baking, like physics, is a lot more Murphy's Law than anything else.

If you take a look at Susan's cookies, you'll see that they're much darker than mine (maybe a difference in cocoa powders?) and cut into sweet, perfect heart shapes. The Woodside version is slightly more homespun.

And in the end? They were delicious. I fully appreciated every speck of the filling's two cups of powdered sugar, which diminished its cream cheese factor beautifully. (I inexplicably hate cheesecake, cream cheese frosting, and pretty much anything else that is a sugar-cream cheese hybrid of any kind.) The cookies were only very slightly chocolatey, which gave them an elegant subtlety that someone like me can only stumble upon accidentally. And they were a HUGE mess to eat, which is always the hallmark of a fantastic dessert. Every one of these disappeared. There might have been bowl-licking.

So many thanks to the tears, or the fairies, or the idiot-proof recipe. Or the swearing.

Chocolate Raspberry Sandwich Cookies
¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 cups all-purpose flour
1½ cups granulated sugar
1½ teaspoons baking soda
¾ teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
½ cup vegetable oil
6 ounces cream cheese, softened
3 tablespoons butter, softened
1 teaspoon milk
½ teaspoon vanilla
2 cups powdered sugar
3 tablespoons seedless raspberry jelly

1. Preheat oven to 350. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper, and set aside.

2. Stir together first 6 ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Beat eggs and vegetable oil in a small bowl with a fork; add to flour mixture. Beat with an electric mixer until all ingredients are well combined. (The dough MIGHT BE be thick and slightly crumbly, but ... maybe not.)

3. Drop level spoonfuls of dough onto prepared baking sheets (about 12 cookies per baking sheet). Bake 7 to 8 minutes, remove from oven, and let cool.

4. Place cream cheese, butter, milk, and vanilla in a mixing bowl, and combine with an electric mixer mix. Add powdered sugar, ½ cup at a time, mixing between additions. Stir in jelly.

5. Divide raspberry filling evenly among 12 cookies, top with remaining 12 cookies, pressing down slightly. Makes 12 sandwiches.

*blazing noodles.

2011-02-04T11:22:00.004-06:00

It's never all that cold in Alabama (despite my inability to procure any sort of appropriate winter wear); Facebook status updates from my North-Midwestern family serve as a constant reminder. They're all, "BURIED IN SNOW. SEND HELP."

Drama queens.

But last night it was sleeting, for a good 10 minutes at LEAST, and that sort of precipitation means three things in this fair state:

1. The vast majority of the citizenry will temporarily take leave of their ability to drive.
2. Schools will immediately shut down and fling their doors wide, sending all manner of small people scattering, unsupervised, into the streets where the terrible drivers are.
3. Local news anchors will report grocery store shortages of bread and milk, while the Winn-Dixie near my home will mostly run low on buy-one-get-one-free boxes of Cheez-Its and cases of beer.

People need provisions.

There used to be three grocery stores in my neighborhood, the better for choosing according to need: One is new, carrying the nice, clean, orderly items and the highest-quality meats/produce/organic foods; one has terrible produce and questionable meats, and stocks terrifically obscure "ethnic" foods but past-their-expiration-date dairy products; and one had shelves full of almost nothing you needed but was always, at any hour, completely empty, fantastic for when one required nothing more than a bottle of wine and a bag of goldfish crackers for dinner but not so great for business. (RIP, Bruno's.)

It's really more of a toss-up than it sounds; grocery option A is shiny and new but has minuscule aisles (the better to cram all that fancy stuff into) and is full of oblivious people and people who still write checks. Grocery option B, on the other hand, is the fastest route to possible stomach ailments but also has self-checkout and a stunning Asian foods selection.

I usually choose B. I'm tough.

I braved the frozen precipitation last night to procure the necessary items to make my very favorite spicy noodles with spicy shrimp dish, adapted from Evil Shenanigans. I don't know when I first tried this one, but I've made it several times since, and it always delivers. Shenanigans calls it "fancy enough for company, yet easy enough for a weeknight," and I've made it for all kinds of reasons—internationally visiting family, nights curled up in my holey socks when nothing but peanut noodles will do.

It looks like a long list of ingredients, but you're doubling up on most of them to use in the shrimp sauce and the noodle sauce. That's great, because it means you can make the noodles on their own any time you like—for vegetarians, with a different protein, or just because they're that good.

These are some aggressive flavors, which is why I love them so much, but you may need to back off on the sriracha or the curry paste; I like to make it just hot enough so that your face falls off. There's something wicked about NEEDING to have another bite just to take the edge off the bite you had before.

My sense is that the best recommendation you can give a recipe is that just looking at the photos conjures the sense memory of tasting it. This is some seriously mouthwatering, fire-breathing business. And the noodles are even better the next day.

Last night I chose grocery option B, which meant the fish counter was completely, inexplicably empty, like it'd been the victim of some bacterial outbreak, but there was a lone pack of peel-and-eat shrimp that didn't look toxic. They were very small, though (51/60), so this version leaned a little toward the noodley side (all the better). I go very heavy on the ginger and curry paste, because I love it. Do not be fooled into buying spaghetti for this recipe—it will still be tasty, but there's a lightness to the lo mein that's absolutely worth it, especially when you're talking about dunking them in peanut butter. The Chinese noodles are cheaper, too, so get them if you can.

Just as deliciously radioactive as it looks!

Curry Shrimp with Spicy Peanut Lo Mein

1½ (10-ounce) packages dried lo mein noodles
2 cups fat-free vegetable broth
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon sesame oil
¼ cup creamy peanut butter
5 teaspoons Sriracha, divided
2 tablespoons red curry paste, divided
4 garlic cloves, minced and divided
2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger, divided
1 small white onion, finely chopped
1 lime
2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
24 small (51/60) shrimp, peeled and deveined
½ cup light coconut milk
1 tablespoon fish sauce
2 teaspoons sugar (optional)
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Garnish: fresh cilantro leaves

1. Cook noodles according to package directions; drain and set aside.

2. Combine vegetable broth, soy sauce, sesame oil, peanut butter, 1 tablespoon sriracha, 1 tablespoon red curry paste, 2 garlic cloves, 1 tablespoon ginger, and ½ the chopped onion in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Squeeze in the juice from ½ a lime, and whisk until the mixture comes to a boil. Reduce heat to low, and let simmer 10 minutes, stirring often.

3. Heat 1 tablespoon oil to a large skillet over medium heat; add shrimp, and cook just until shrimp start to turn pink. (Shrimp will not be fully cooked.) Remove from pan, and set aside.

4. Heat remaining 1 tablespoon oil in skillet over medium heat, and sauté remaining 2 garlic cloves, remaining 1 tablespoon ginger, and remaining ½ chopped onion until softened and fragrant. Stir in coconut milk, fish sauce, remaining 2 teaspoons sriracha, and remaining 1 tablespoon red curry paste. Squeeze in the juice from the remaining ½ lime; stir in sugar, if desired. Mix well, reduce heat to low, and cook about 5 minutes or until sauce thickens.

5. Raise heat under saucepan to medium, and bring peanut sauce to a boil. Whisk cornstarch with 2 tablespoons water in a small bowl; whisk into peanut sauce until combined, and let thicken about 1 minute.

6. Meanwhile, toss shrimp into sauce in skillet; cook 30 seconds or until shrimp are just cooked and heated through, and remove from heat.

7. Toss noodles with peanut sauce, and divide among serving bowls. Top each with shrimp and sauce. Garnish, if desired. Makes 4 servings.

*super bowl.

2011-02-03T13:06:00.006-06:00

I'm finding, as I attempt to make meals that clean out the refrigerator and/or use ingredients I have on hand that are heading toward their death, that I'm extraordinarily inefficient at it. Two days ago, for example, when I was all, "I'm using up the collard greens!" I a) had to discard two separate browning half heads of iceberg and four (!) almost-finished bags of what used to be shredded lettuce but had become an unrecognizable science experiment, and b) I bought more ingredients to supplement the greens in the first place.

Math is hard.

Last night I had similarly noble intentions, and managed to find a perfectly good use for ... three eggs. Oops.

In my defense, I wanted to make something sort of one-pot and easy, something that would fill my belly but not sap my brain. My brain needed a break yesterday, time to reflect and go for a freezing run and laugh and curl up with the dog and hug other people's babies.

(Seriously, people, it's February in the Deep South and it's been gray for days. It's currently sleeting, and every third e-mail in my inbox is a screeching reminder from TurboTax. I'm going to need to be borrowing your babies.)

I just pulled this recipe out of the air, in an attempt to accomplish the aforementioned not-thinking. I'd use Napa cabbage if you can get it. (I couldn't.) My dear friend sriracha features prominently here; I'm forever indebted to JFro for making our introduction. If runny yolks are not your friend, you could easily stir fry eggs into the rice as it finishes cooking, but all that luscious richness helps emulsify these flavors into something they aren't on their own. I did not have just one serving.

And thanks to my inimitable coworker, M, who gifted me with the sake that made this meal, and my evening, just that much warmer. (She will wince at the presence of butter in the rice-making equation, but I've found it indispensible—it makes it impossible for those who tend to forget the rice is even cooking to end up with it glued to the bottom of the pan. Forgive me, father, for I have lazied.)

Pork-and-Cabbage Rice Bowl with Fried Egg
¼ cup soy sauce
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1 tablespoon fish sauce
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 (2-inch) piece ginger, peeled and minced
Sriracha, to taste
2 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups basmati rice
1 pound ground pork
½ head green or Napa cabbage, shredded
3 to 4 green onions, chopped
2 tablespoons cornstarch
4 eggs
Garnishes: sriracha, green onions

1. Whisk together first 7 ingredients in a small bowl; set aside.

2. Bring butter, salt, and 4 cups water to a boil over high heat. Stir in rice; cover, reduce heat to low, and cook 20 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, add pork to a large, dry skillet over medium-high heat; sauté until browned. Stir in cabbage, and cook 2 to 3 minutes or until lightly wilted. Stir in reserved soy sauce mixture and green onions.

4. Whisk together cornstarch and 2 tablespoons water in a small bowl. Add to skillet with pork, cabbage, and sauce, and stir to combine. Reduce heat to low, and let simmer until sauce thickens slightly.

5. In a small skillet, fry eggs until whites are cooked but yolks are still runny. Spoon rice and pork mixture into individual serving bowls; top each with a fried egg. Garnish, if desired. Makes 4 servings.

And guess what? This happened to me yesterday.

I'm OBSESSED with foodgawker, so to me this is the equivalent of being asked to sit at the cool kids' table. I promise to well and truly embarrass myself.

*something fishy.

2011-02-02T12:13:00.005-06:00

Last night, as I curled up on the couch with a full belly and a sleepy, satiated grin, I ruminated on this cooking business I've been getting into over the past three or four years—I never had any interest in cooking as a child, and my college culinary expertise consisted mainly of cooking a bag of frozen lima beans, pouring them into a bowl, and melting a pasteurized cheese slice on top in the microwave. (Don't knock it till you try it.) But then I got my very own kitchen, doll-sized though it was, and my very own paycheck, doll-sized though it was, and my very own license to stroll the grocery store and pick up whatever my little heart desired.

I'd never really listened to my little heart before that.

And today the whole exploit just makes me happy. I love to create something, either by walking in someone else's footsteps or charging wildly down my own path, and I don't know much that's better than having it turn out just as you'd secretly hoped—with every finger crossed and more fervently than you'd ever admit. (I'm a tremendously poor sport when it doesn't. That's the nature of high hopes; their counterpart is nauseating disappointment. Or maybe that's the nature of perfectionism. Ahem.)

I knew last night's dinner needed to be something more wholesome than a gooey mess of cheese and creamy, chickeny goodness. (Praise be to creamy goodness, amen.) There were collard greens in the refrigerator, so that's where this meal began, but the rest just fell together unusually organically. It was one of those rare moments when I knew just what flavors I wanted to taste together. In a way I blame the collards—that greens taste isn't for everyone, and there are a lot of people who swear by cooking them for days to get rid of the bitterness, but me? I know a thing or two about being bitter, and sometimes it just needs a little balance (garlic, spicy red pepper, vinegar, and sweet shallots) and the right partners.

In this case, that meant crispy roasted potatoes and meaty salmon burgers, a throwback to a childhood spent watching the toaster oven, counting down the seconds until my mother's salmon patties were ready. She made them with canned salmon and, because I was a spectacularly odd child, I loved the bones. She always told us that they were full of calcium and other healthy goodness. That way I could convince myself I wasn't just a kid who liked to eat fish bones.

No really, I was very, very weird.

But last night, as I whirred and mixed and assembled, I did marvel at how easy the whole endeavor is becoming with practice. Yes, there are also stunning failures, and I'm not reinventing haute cuisine, and I can't bake my way out of a cardboard box, but it's become something of a healthy addiction. I wondered, after I'd plated my dinner and set up my shots and devoured my plate, how people with lives do it.

Sure, I have my job and my pooper and my family and friends, but workdays end and dogs are kept occupied with backyards and food bowls. Particularly when they are easily distracted. It can't be easy when there are babies and lovers and in-laws in the mix.

So this is my hat tip to you, busy, life-having people. Guess what? You can make this one on a weeknight without breaking a sweat. I promise.

The salmon burger recipe is adapted from a Mark Bittman one, the potatoes are an old Cook's Illustrated masterpiece, and the collard greens are from the back of my brain in a place so dusty I don't remember their origin. But they are delicious. The only improvement I might have made? A dollop of sour cream on the salmon sounds about perfect to me. I just didn't think of it until J wanted to go to the bathroom at 1:43 this morning.

Salmon Burgers
1½ pounds salmon fillets, skinned and cut into large pieces, divided
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
2 shallots, peeled and chopped
1 tablespoon drained capers
½ cup breadcrumbs
Hot sauce, to taste
Kosher salt, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
2 tablespoons butter
Lemon wedges

1. Process about ⅓ pound salmon with mustard in a food processor until it becomes a paste. Add shallots, capers, and remaining salmon, and pulse until mixture is combined with paste and chopped into small pieces (roughly ¼ inch).

2. In a medium bowl, stir together salmon mixture, breadcrumbs, hot sauce, salt, and pepper. Form mixture into 4 large patties.

3. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Cook patties 3 minutes on each side, or until cooked through. Squeeze lemon wedges over patties just before serving. Makes 4 servings.

Crispy Roasted Potatoes
2½ pounds Yukon Gold potatoes, sliced (about ½ inch thick)
4 teaspoons kosher salt, divided
5 tablespoons olive oil

1. Place a rimmed baking sheet on oven rack in the lowest position, and preheat oven to 450.

2. Place potatoes and 1 tablespoon kosher salt in stockpot with cold water to cover by 1 inch; bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer 5 minutes or until edges are soft but centers are still undercooked. Drain.

3. Transfer potatoes to a large bowl, and add 2 tablespoons oil and ½ teaspoon kosher salt. Mix well with a rubber spatula. Add 2 more tablespoons oil and remaining ½ teaspoon kosher salt, and toss until potatoes are coated with a starchy paste.

4. Remove the heated baking sheet from the oven, and drizzle with remaining 1 tablespoon oil. Place potato slices on baking sheet in a single layer, and bake 10 minutes. Rotate pan, and bake 15 more minutes.

5. Remove baking sheet from oven, and, using tongs or a metal spatula, flip each potato slice. Bake 20 minutes, rotating pan halfway through cooking time. Makes 4 servings.

Easy, Don't-Take-All-Day Collard Greens
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 shallot, finely chopped
2 to 3 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper, or more to taste
1 bunch fresh collard greens, stems removed
Kosher salt, to taste
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar

1. Heat oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat; add shallot, and sauté until soft. Add garlic and crushed red pepper, and cook 1 minute or until fragrant. Add collard greens, sprinkle with kosher salt, and pour over ¼ cup water. Cover and cook 15 minutes, or until leaves are wilted but still green. Stir in red wine vinegar, and serve. Makes 2 to 4 servings.

On a personal note? I'm grateful for many things this Groundhog Day. I hope you all know who you are. Today, I didn't see the shadow.

*comforts of home.

2011-02-01T12:35:00.006-06:00

Yesterday started with a dead cockroach in my shower and ended with the world's most fitful sleep, with plenty of frustration, anxiety, and hard-blinking, slow-aching tiredness to fill the intervening hours.

In other words, I am old, and it was Monday.

Trying to decide what to have for dinner was a Goldilocks venture—too rich, too blah, too bland, too weird, too much like last night, too many ingredients, too few ingredients, too small, too big, too boring.

I was cranky.

But, boys and girls, do you remember what the word of the day (week, month, year) is on the Woodside?

That's right, TRASHY. I have a strong fondness for trashiness, of the creamy goodness and hearty homeyness sort (but not of the Ke$ha variety). I've been accused of being a "food snob" before, but I'm really not. I mostly suffer from a crippling lack of attention span that can sometimes cause food fatigue and requires me to try new things all the time, but I absolutely believe in the power of American tradition, the foods that are old faithfuls for a reason: Meat. Potatoes. Peanut-butter-and-chocolate ice cream.

I'd been lurking around a blog called Mogwai Soup for a while now, in part because Daniela, its Croatian author, seems so informed by her geography, and that bittersweet, far-from-home philosophy is all over her food—meals meant to conjure old memories and treasured tastes, please foreign and new (but beloved) palates, and generally create that sometimes-elusive feeling of "Home is where my kitchen is."

Feeding is believing.

I decided to adapt her Enchilada Lasagna, which I figured would mean plenty of yummy leftovers and just enough warmth and comfort to ease my Monday mind. (In a perfect world I would have made my friend JHB's insanely delicious chicken casserole, which is mind-mollifying to the max, but she stubbornly refuses to part with the recipe.)

I went the Ro*Tel route in place of the green chiles—in my world, spicy = comforting, and all ills can be cured with the addition of tomatoes. I lightened things up just a touch, too—a little more chicken (getting a nice brown crust on this is a must), a little less cheese—because while I'm sure the original recipe is wonderful as-is, I have a tendency to eat 12 servings at a time of almost anything, and I wanted to feel satisfied and overstuffed, not Violet Beauregarde. Those who know me well know that I am a charter member (and president) of the Anti-Wet Bread Alliance, so it was a bit of a stretch for me to make and eat something that requires dipping tortillas in water. But they melted into the finished product to create luscious pockets of earthy corn flavor with none of the afeared wheaty sponginess.

Still, keep your stratas over there, please.

Enchilada Lasagna

1½ pounds boneless, skinless chicken cutlets, trimmed and chopped
Salt and pepper to taste
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 (10.5-ounce) can 99% fat-free cream of chicken soup
1 (10.75-ounce) can cream of celery soup
6 ounces (about 1½ cups) low-fat sour cream
1 (10-ounce) can hot green-chile-and-habanero Ro*Tel, lightly drained
12 small corn tortillas
8 ounces sharp Cheddar cheese, grated*
8 ounces Monterey Jack cheese, grated*

1. Preheat oven to 425. Sprinkle chicken with salt, pepper, and cumin. Heat oil in a medium skillet over medium-high heat until hot, add chicken, and sauté until browned and cooked through.

2. Meanwhile, mix soups, sour cream, and Ro*Tel in a medium bowl until combined.

3. Spoon ½ cup soup mixture into bottom of a prepared 9- by 13-inch baking dish. Dip 4 tortillas in water, and layer over soup mixture. Top with one-third of the soup mixture, then half of the cooked chicken, and then one-third of the cheeses. Repeat with 4 more tortillas, one-third of the soup mixture, the remaining chicken, and one-third of the cheeses. Layer with the remaining 4 tortillas and then the remaining soup mixture; top with the remaining cheese.

4. Bake 15 minutes; broil 5 more minutes or until lasagna is bubbling and cheese is melted and golden brown. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

*Seriously? Do not buy pre-grated cheese. Yes, it is a pain to wash your cheese grater, but doing it yourself makes all the difference in terms of meltability. All the difference, I swear on J. Come back here and thank me later!

*whirlwind weekend.

2011-01-31T15:26:00.006-06:00

This weekend was a flurry of activity, a nonstop exercise in ... well, exercise, both accidental and not. (Some people run marathons; I spend four hours cleaning the Woodside. This is the natural consequence of only attending to your household mess quarterly.)

Friday night I sat on a top-notch baby.

We sang the ABCs and read thousands of books and played ring around the rosie until her tía decided it can be injurious to all fall down that many times. Her tía's joints are not what they once were.

Saturday, we went for a big breakfast and a trip to the park.

She was way happier about it than that!

There we go.

We climbed stairs.

We played peek-a-boo.

We walked, big steps in our favorite shoes.

And, of course, we sat. (All that walking can be very tiresome.)

We showed off our very best manners. (This move, thumb of one hand to palm of the other, is how Dat Booger says "please.")

After that, it was time for a nap, so I returned to the Woodside to vacuum the dust off the vacuum and otherwise have a serious self-intervention on the subject of slovenliness. Let's just say I put away some Christmas presents. Ahem.

I scrubbed as many inches of the homestead as possible before my body saw fit to remind me of just how old I am, which is somewhere between not-getting-carded-anymore and menial-household-tasks-will-result-in-partial-paralysis.

And then I bought myself flowers.

A big bunch of 'em.

Just because.

*miso hungry.

2011-01-28T13:03:00.007-06:00

I. am. so. funny. SO funny, in fact, that I stole that joke from someone else. Rather unabashedly, in fact. Miso shameless. Miso ridiculous. Miso hilarious. If mido say so miself.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

It's Friday. You didn't expect sanity here, did you?

Today's bout of absurdity is sponsored, though, brought to you by my lovely coworker M, who trekked to the furthest reaches of our fair suburbs to bring me white miso. I needed 4 tablespoons; I now have 2 pounds. You're probably going to see it show up here a lot as I attempt to work my way through the remainder.

Aw, shucks.

I adapted this from a recipe I found at Momofuku for 2, which refers to chicken ramen as "my kind of trashy comfort food."

A note to my legions: Trashy is swiftly becoming a theme around the Woodside.

It's ultimately a breeze to put together, but there are elements that need individual attention, so it requires more focus than I'm generally known to assign a task (read: any). Here they are in finer detail:

What you can't see, at the bottom of the bowl, are the ramen noodles. I used pre-packaged dry ramen, the kind that comes molded into a brick with the foil packet of poison (also known as the "seasoning mix," responsible for ramen's bad reputation, which contains—wait for it—1,200 mg of sodium). That went into the garbage. Spooned on top are shreds of rotisserie chicken, quite tasty but looking awfully pallid here, blanched spinach, buttered corn, a (too-)soft-boiled egg, thin slices of raw onion, and pretty rolls of green onion—because they make everything look lovelier, and because there were some in the refrigerator.

The miso had an earthy smell I didn't expect; one of the listed ingredients is, sort of ominously, "alcohol," and the best way to describe it is that it made my chicken broth smell a bit like beer. The original recipe suggested tasting the broth for seasoning and adjusting accordingly because not all miso is created equally, apparently. Not having a firm idea of what my miso broth was supposed to taste like, I mostly blundered along blindly. I was instructed to soft-boil the eggs for 6 minutes, but as you can see that wasn't really long enough. I love a silken, runny yolk, which in this case partnered up with the buttered corn for some terrific richness, but these were definitely collapsed centers as opposed to wobbly ones.

(Note: I did as directed and ran the eggs under cold water for a few minutes directly after boiling, and they did peel more dreamily than any other boiled egg I've ever attempted. It must be said, though, that not-quite-firmly-boiled eggs are a delicate business.)

This recipe didn't really have a failure potential, because it combines so many of my favorite things—soft eggs, chicken, noodles, and deep, can't-quite-put-your-finger-on-it flavor—but the real surprise for me was the effect of the raw onions. There are people in my life who will run girl-screaming from the room if they catch sight of a raw onion, but these added necessary crunch, that beloved bite, and a really unexpected sweetness.

Still, as I've wandered this culinary labyrinth lately, like the unmotivated mouse I am, I do find that I'm accidentally learning a thing or two. And as I prepared to make this meal, there was something nagging me in the back of my brain: The flavors seemed a little too mild for me. Delicious, yes, and variously sweet, salty, rich, and bright, but something fell flat in my first virtual taste. And my first real taste confirmed it. This recipe really doesn't need any improvement, and it would be just right for many people, but for me, it needed a squeeze of sriracha to tie it all together. A spritz of lime juice might do it, too, if you don't like spicy foods, but there was just a tiny voice in the expanses of my tangled brain that whispered, "acid."

At least I think that's what it meant.

This really is comfort food at its best, which is trashy, and I know I'll think of it the next time I'm sick, or cold, or tired, or just craving a big bowl of my favorite things.

Chicken Miso Ramen

8 cups fat-free, low-sodium chicken broth
4 tablespoons shiro miso (white miso)
2 (3-ounce) packages ramen noodles (any flavor), seasoning packets discarded
4 eggs
2 cups frozen whole-kernel corn
Kosher salt
4 cups spinach leaves
2 tablespoons butter
3 cups shredded rotisserie chicken
1 small white onion, thinly sliced
2 green onions, chopped
Sriracha (optional)

1. Place broth in a stockpot or Dutch oven over medium heat; stir in miso until thoroughly mixed and heated through. Reduce heat to low, stirring occasionally.

2. In a medium saucepan, cook noodles according to package directions. Drain, and divide among 4 serving bowls. Add water to pot, and bring to a boil. Place eggs into boiling water; cook 6 to 8 minutes, according to preference. Drain, and run under cold water until cool; peel and slice in half.

3. Sauté corn in butter in a small skillet, stirring until kernels are heated through.

4. Meanwhile, add water and kosher salt to medium saucepan, and bring to a boil. Cook spinach just until wilted and bright green; drain.

5. Arrange chicken, sliced onion, spinach, and corn over noodles in serving bowls. Top each serving with miso broth, and then eggs and green onions. Stir in sriracha, if desired. Serves 4.

*ode to ego.

2011-01-27T13:06:00.003-06:00

As a rule, 23.99 out of the 24 hours in a given day my mind is moving 100 miles an hour—as evidenced by last night's non-sleep, which left me with my shoulders possibly permanently attached to my ears—tackling the urgent problems of the second: will I ever pay off my credit card debt, did I remember to leave water out for the dog, does this odd eyebrow twitch signify some dread disease, am I really wearing yoga pants (with a hole in them) to work?

Things like that.

The exception to this rule is when I'm asked what I would like to receive as a gift. "What do you want for your birthday?" "What do you want for Christmas?" These are the questions that bring my tiny brain to a screeching halt. And yes, I do think it's because I have much and want for little, and because I have a clinical aversion to clutter (which does not extend to my ability to tolerate mess). So I do understand that not being able to think of something one wants/needs is not high on the list of World's Worst Problems.

It's not a big bowl of fun for the momster, though.

But this year, I had a notion—that if I am not going to ever learn how my camera actually works, it might help to have some help. I asked for the Lowel Ego lights, a setup that can roughly approximate pretty ambientness even in the dead of night. Remember this disaster from two days ago?

That was my dinner under kitchen lights. This is my dinner on Ego:

RIGHT?! Like midday in July.

Last night's dinner was an invention of sorts, though I obviously don't take credit for the concept of the twice-baked potato. (That was Einstein's idea, clearly.) I used Alton Brown's rules for the perfect baked potato, though I usually find it takes about 15 minutes longer than he suggests to get crispy skins and fluffy, yielding insides. He recommends canola oil, which I didn't have, so I used sunflower oil, which I inexplicably did. I liked it because it does the job—making that peel cracklingly delicious—without imparting any real flavor at all. That's the job of the kosher salt, which you'll notice I sprinkled liberally.

The beef portion is a hodgepodge—the seasonings change based on what I have in the larder, the broccoli stays the same. (Because broccoli and cheese and potatoes are so very, very fond of each other.) The recipe is based on what's pictured here, but the first time I whipped these up they were altogether different. Both delicious, though, which is a testament to flexibility! and versatility! and fearless abandon! Just don't put anything weird in there, and you'll be fine. I think black pepper would have been a nice addition, but alas, my grinder is broken and I didn't have any of the ground stuff on hand. This recipe serves two, but there will be plenty of beef-and-broccoli mixture left over. Just cook up some rice the next day, et voilà! Tomorrow night's dinner.

The salad was K's Trashy Salad, minus the trashiest aspect (the bacon) because I forgot it. My guest for the evening, J, doesn't eat tomatoes, so hers was really just K's Trashy Bowl O' Lettuce. To each her own! The important thing is to keep the ingredients coldcoldcold until serving, for maximum crunchyyumminess.

I hesitate to even give a recipe for it, because it's abjectly absurd, but as this is undeniably the home of abject absurdity, I will. And because I'm just giddy with d'lights. (HAR!)

Beef-and-Broccoli Twice-Baked Potatoes

2 baking potatoes, washed and dried
Sunflower oil
Kosher salt
1 pound lean ground beef
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon ground mustard
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 tablespoons flour
1 (14.5-ounce) can fat-free, low-sodium beef broth
Hot sauce to taste
¼ cup ketchup
1 (14-ounce) bag frozen broccoli florets
½ tablespoon butter
Milk
½ cup shredded Colby Jack cheese

1. Preheat oven to 350. With a fork, poke 8 to 12 deep holes in potatoes. Place in a bowl, and lightly coat with oil. Sprinkle with kosher salt. Place directly on oven rack, in center of oven, and bake 1 hour, 15 minutes or until skins are crispy and insides are cooked through.

2. When potatoes have about 20 minutes left to cook, season beef with kosher salt, garlic powder, mustard, and cumin. Brown in a deep skillet over medium to medium-high heat until no longer pink. Sprinkle beef with flour, and cook 1 minute. Stir in beef broth, hot sauce, and ketchup; bring to a boil, and stir in broccoli. Reduce heat, and simmer until broccoli is heated through.

3. When cool enough to handle, cut potatoes in half lengthwise, and scoop out flesh, leaving enough of a border around sides and bottoms so that skins don't become flimsy. Transfer skins to a baking dish or baking sheet.

4. In a small bowl, mash potato flesh with butter and enough milk to get a fluffy, creamy consistency. Stir in kosher salt.

5. Spoon beef-and-broccoli mixture into potato skins, and top with mashed potatoes and shredded cheese. Bake or broil 5 minutes or until cheese is melted and golden. Makes 2 servings.

K's Trashy Salad

1 small head iceberg lettuce, coarsely chopped
1 medium tomato, chopped
4 bacon strips, cooked and crumbled
Light ranch dressing to taste

Combine first 3 ingredients, and chill. Stir in dressing just before serving. Makes 2 to 4 servings.

If you whip these up in your own kitchen, let me know how it goes!

*mea culpa.

2011-01-26T13:01:00.004-06:00

Sometimes a photo is bad, and it makes you cranky. I haven't stopped thinking about that awful picture from yesterday's post since, well ... yesterday. I'm irritated by the focus (or lack thereof), the light (or lack thereof), and the color (or lack thereof).

It didn't capture anything I wanted to capture, or communicate what I wanted to communicate, and so it is a photo PHAIL.

But then sometimes a photo is bad, and you love it.

It's blurry and dark and gray, and it took this moment—when that mom rolled her love for that baby into a big bundle of giddily giggling fun—and snagged it right out of the sky. I could look at it all day.

Oh, and this one, too.

For similar reasons.

*mmm, soup.

2011-01-25T15:00:00.005-06:00

Yes, you heard correctly! I'm back, though tentatively so—I don't like to put "pressure" on "myself" to be "not lazy"—and I mark my triumphant return with:

Well, a really terrible photo. That's just incredibly disappointing, isn't it? Note to self: Find way to make new photo lights received for Christmas portable.

All the more so because, frankly, this was one delicious dinner. LSis was suffering bitterly from the latest bout of childborne illness. (I did not get it, because I have the immune system of a vegan triathlete, and/or am pickled by tequila.) She requested something comforting (Mexican), flavorful (Mexican), and spicy enough to clear her aching head (Mexican).

When cooking for the J family, there are certain considerations that must be weighed. (Note: This is namely LSis and the BiL; the equation shifts if I also want to feed the sometimes-adventurous but also sometimes-unpredictable 15-month-old, the sometimes-suspicious but almost-always-game 11- and 13-year-olds, or the vegetarian 19-year-old.)

1. There must, without exception, be meat. No one will be fooled by other proteins, such as beans, eggs, or cheese. If there is no dead animal, there is no dinner.
2. There must never, ever be mushrooms.
3. It helps if there is an element that is eye-wateringly, mouth-searingly spicy.
4. If there is soup, it is imperative that there is a carbohydrate—bread, crackers, tortillas—for dipping.
5. If possible, dinner should be hot. Salads are side dishes, not entrées.
6. The cook must make allowances for salt, ketchup, and ... other surprises. (I discovered this the hard way when I made Frank Stitt's Bottega Café macaroni and cheese, and BiL ate it between Triscuits.)

But having a framework is helpful, I find, particularly when one's approach to menu planning is to stare at foodgawker while her brain turns into a pinball machine. I've been experimenting a lot more with Asian flavors lately (fish sauce, sesame oil, my beloved sriracha), but—though a coworker has been kind enough to offer to bring me some miso tomorrow (squee!)—I find that when it comes to what-one-can-find-in-one's-regular-Winn-Dixie, Mexican foods never let me down.

BiL, he of the Triscuits, loves absolutely nothing more than a bowl of soup. It is without fail, and in any flavor, his favorite food. When it comes to the classic tortilla soup, he has a proclivity for the inclusion of arroz (rice, mixed in) and plenty of lechuga (lettuce, tossed in on top in intervals until the bowl is empty and the belly is full).

BiL, it turns out, has stumbled onto something genius. The cool lettuce plays well with the jalapeños and spices, and because the elements of the soup are smooth and silky, it adds a welcome crunch. The rice makes things hearty and satisfying, without any of the did-I-just-drink-my-dinner? conundrums that follow a liquid meal.

The fun part about the soup recipe (adapted from My Gourmet Connection) is the inclusion of toasted crushed tortilla chips, which give a thicker, richer consistency and also have the distinction of being among my favorite indulgences. (I recently discovered that these Hint of Lime Tostitos have no more salt than the regular variety, and while I have a hard time believing that, it fits quite neatly into my things-I'm-happy-to-blindly-trust paradigm.) I didn't have dried oregano so I opted for dried "Italian seasoning," and while things took a scary olfactory turn for "pizza" rather than "enchilada" in the beginning, it all mellowed out just fine in the end. I also omitted the lime zest because my Microplane was safely at home in the Woodside kitchen; it was delicious without, but I imagine it would add even brighter flavor. I sprinkled some black pepper in at the end, but I found this needed no additional salt. All a matter of preference, but even BiL didn't pull out the table shaker. The Winn-Dixie was completely out of cilantro, but it would be a nice topping if you're into that sort of thing and, you know, don't think it tastes like soap.

The rice (adapted from the genius that is Homesick Texan)is a revelation of sorts—so few ingredients, such rich flavor. I was sorry LSis and BiL didn't get to taste this on its own, because there's a simple intensity that made me do a small, nerdy kitchen dance. The original recipe calls for cilantro, which of course I didn't have but would be a nice addition if you're spooning it out with simple grilled chicken for a weeknight dinner. Also, Homesick Texan says you can adjust the amount of cumin to taste, but I really recommend going with the full tablespoon. It's just such a good friend to the tomato paste. I used basmati rice, because that's what was in the cupboard.

Oh and try this with chilled iceberg on top—I promise you it's worth it. (Thanks, BiL!)

Chicken Tortilla Soup with Mexican Rice

1 tablespoon olive oil
1½ cups chopped onion
2 tablespoons minced garlic
2 jalapeño chiles, seeded and minced
1 cup finely crushed Tostitos Hint of Lime tortilla chips
4 cups fat-free, low-sodium chicken broth
1½ cups tomato sauce
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
½ teaspoon Frank's Red Hot or other hot sauce
¾ pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts/cutlets, cut into bite-size pieces
1 cup frozen whole-kernel corn
⅓ cup half & half
1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
Mexican Rice (recipe below)
Salt and black pepper, to taste
1 small tomato, seeded and chopped
Sour cream
Lime wedges

1. Heat olive oil in a stockpot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, and jalapeños, and sauté until softened. Add the crushed tortilla chips; toss and lightly toast until fragrant.

2. Add chicken broth, tomato sauce, spices, and hot sauce, and simmer about 5 minutes. Stir in chicken, and simmer 5 to 7 more minutes or until chicken is cooked through.

3. Add corn and half and half; reduce heat, and stir in cheese. Add lime juice and salt and pepper.

4. Spoon ½ cup Mexican Rice into serving bowls. Ladle into serving bowls. Ladle soup over rice, and top with a dollop of sour cream and a few pieces of fresh tomato. Serve with lime wedges. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

Mexican Rice
1 cup rice
2 cups fat-free, low-sodium chicken broth
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 small onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
¼ cup tomato paste
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon lime juice
Salt, to taste

1. Place first 3 ingredients into a medium pot; bring to a boil on high, stir once, and cover. Reduce heat and simmer 20 minutes.

2. Remove from heat and keep covered 5 to 10 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, heat oil in a skillet over medium heat; add onions and cook, stirring occasionally, 10 minutes or until just about to brown.

4. Add garlic, and cook 1 minute. Stir in tomato paste and cumin, and cook 1 more minute. Mix into cooked rice.

6. Stir in lime juice and salt. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

It strikes me as suddenly very clear that I need to find out how to format fractions for this forum. I'm on it; I swear! ETA: Done!

peek-a-boo.

2011-01-24T16:38:00.000-06:00

Hey, guess what?

I'm back.

Stella's First Year

2010-11-08T15:29:00.001-06:00

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

just desserts.

2010-08-18T15:26:00.002-05:00

no reason whatsoever.

2010-08-17T16:32:00.001-05:00

Just a little Tuesday pretty.

this kid

2010-08-12T15:46:00.002-05:00

was an impossibly bald, infinitely talkative, breathtakingly earnest baby when I met him.

He's a bit quieter now, but just as whip-smart. He looks at you a little less with his eyeballs and a little more through his eyelashes, and the toes of his big-kid shoes knock together sometimes when he walks. He can pump so hard the swing set tips, these days, but just because he is the Big Brother and the Firstborn doesn't mean there can't still be some heartbreak when the insides of the sandwich hit the floor.

Alex has an affinity for too-small pajamas, thermal even in the dead of summer, and hair that won't sit down ever. He's just a little afraid of hair washing, but it's nothing that can't be cured by having a toilet-perched shower audience. He can't pay attention to his dinner plate for anything.

His "do you wanna see me"s have become "I wanna show you something"s, a sure sign that times, they are a changing. I'm not "Taydee" anymore, but that's OK by me.

Tomorrow, he goes to kindergarten, and I don't think kindergarten is going to know what hit it. Have fun, Alex. You're going to learn to read and tie, I promise.

do you trust this face?

2010-08-10T16:59:00.001-05:00

Because this face will give you a stomach virus the likes of which you've never seen. For which she will not be forgiven until at least 10 minutes from now.

it's 109 degrees today.

2010-08-02T15:21:00.001-05:00

This is precisely how excited I am not.

the eyes have it.

2010-07-20T16:06:00.001-05:00

trust me.

2010-07-15T15:56:00.002-05:00

Would these eyes lie to you?

listen, wednesday.

2010-07-14T16:48:00.002-05:00

I'm running very low on patience with you.

bear hugs.

2010-07-13T13:04:00.001-05:00

They're a biological need.

it's 50 billion degrees outside.

2010-07-08T16:42:00.000-05:00

Wear a hat.

pit bull smile.

2010-07-07T16:27:00.004-05:00

I don't feel like he always looks true to his genetics, but this one's all bully breed to me.

Proof that not all pit bulls are dangerous and angry. Some are grinny and stupid, carry around a stuffed koala that they have been expressly forbidden from playing with like a baby, and are scared of thunder, doorway thresholds, and the convertible top going up and down but will lie prostrate and bored in front of an approaching lawnmower. (Stupid, did I mention?)

I heart that wonky-eared mutt.

P.S. Check out those Italian greyhound gams! (One year later, it's as good a time as any to revisit this batshit amazing craziness.)

*wistfulness.

2010-07-06T16:33:00.003-05:00

Remember when you were 11 going on 20, and your body was all arms and legs and metabolism, running furiously on 14 hours of sleep and three chili dogs and the energizing, screaming THRILL of dunking your dad in the water?

monday free day.

2010-07-02T10:31:00.002-05:00

Time to let it all hang out.

happy 4th of july!

2010-07-02T10:29:00.002-05:00

Get yer float on.

lazy days.

2010-07-02T10:27:00.001-05:00

The fact that I can't be a kid anymore kinda makes me want to have some.

Especially when they're this cool.

it's friday.

2010-07-02T10:16:00.002-05:00

Before a long weekend.

do you have what it takes?

2010-07-01T14:02:00.003-05:00

I'm introducing a new concept on the Woodside, and it's called "brevity."

I miss it around here, but I don't have the time I need to really share the particulars of another fabulous night spent curled into a chair in my holey pants, watching Who's the Boss and eating cottage cheese straight from the carton.

So it'll be one a day, short and sweet.

Or in the case of this one, very short and very sweet.

*summer of love.

2010-06-07T14:55:00.003-05:00

It is difficult being such a busy star.

There are public appearances to make,

eyelashes to bat,

and opinions to express.

There were Mother's Day baubles to procure.

And of course there has been much time spent performing on countertops.

There was comedy!

And tragedy!

And melodrama!

The paparazzi can be tiresome.

But no worries!

Not when your bodyguard has your back.

*rundown.

2010-05-27T13:40:00.004-05:00

As I write this, I am coming off the heels of three consecutive 12-hour workdays.

That means all of my meals have come out of my freezer, all of my free time has been spent staring dazedly and without comprehension at Who's the Boss? reruns (which we can agree aren't at the far end of the comprehension scale), and all of my energy has been focused on ignoring the fact that the dog has developed what is either a twitch born of neglect or an incurable itch born of stink.

BUT! Production on the July/August issue is rolling to a close.

I can see the holiday weekend there, on the horizon, just out of reach.

Three spectacular days of breathing unrecycled air, basking in non-fluorescent lights, and reading, not editing.

HAPPY DANCE!

Oh, and just because I liked it:

*conversational distance.

2010-04-27T14:50:00.003-05:00

Oh, hai there.

Wait. 'Scuse me one second.

SHINY THINGS!

Sorry, what's that you were saying?

*to have and to hold.

2010-04-26T15:11:00.003-05:00

The 60th Anniversary Weekendstravaganza culminated in a beautiful church service, including a sweet blessing of the happy couple during which a keen observer noted that all seven children inadvertently stood in birth order, Von Trapp style, and a rockin' party that required the donning of necessary finery.

Some chose the dapper approach.

Others, the studiously effortless look.

Some put on their prettiest frocks and their most uncertain faces.

And one wore sequins, the better to prove that she is both fabulous and gorgeous.

We gathered at the Elks Lodge, where there were fascinating things to behold.

History? From the past?

Thassright.

A Christmas tree? Decorated for Easter?

Werd.

Family and friends mingled and greeted.

They smiled and laughed put on their most gracious airs.

They marveled at the moment, the 60 years of happy memories.

Well, for the most part.

Oh dear. Some people just cannot be contained.

Some people just have to be the center of attention.

Some people just have to be the MOST charming and the MOST delightful and the MOST adorable.

It gets downright tiresome.

It's a good thing I'm obviously the favorite grandchild.

And then, suddenly, it was "places, people!"

We dined in the waning light, on lovely salads

and steak dinners

and sweet surprises to mark the occasion.

We were all very impressed.

No, really, we were.

Ahem. I said IMPRESSED.

There we go.

So we danced, and we sang, and we acted like fools. We made plans for the 70th anniversary, and thought perhaps we should do this more often than once a decade. But for now we'll take it easy. All that fun was absolutely exhausting.

*from this day forward.

2010-04-22T11:34:00.005-05:00

Last weekend the FinFam (part T3) traveled to The Great Midwest to celebrate a most momentous occasion. See these folks here?

On April 15, whilst you were banging your fists on your keyboard and screeching obscenities at Turbo Tax, these two were celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary.

What's that? You're still applauding? Oh no, carry on.

Honestly, I find that stupefying. Most people I know can't tolerate me for more than a few hours at a time. These two have managed to love, honor, and cherish each other for the better part of a century, plus have a baker's half-dozen children.

There's a couple of 'em now! There are five more wandering about, because everyone made it to the celebration.

See? There's one.

Oh! There's another one.

One's hiding in the background, there. Hi, K!

AND B. We'd never forget her. Even though she is the baby.

Only now she has babies. Funny ones!

Sisters came up,

as did the very first great-grandchild.

And of course there's the one they sometimes refer to as "the favorite."

Maybe it's genetic?

Though even he is finding it difficult to compete with LSis, mother of The Star, who has decided to stick it to the man by having a baby and then becoming more gorgeous and happy every day.

I think it has something to do with this guy.

When the FinFam gets together it's nonstop chatter.

Sometimes there are serious matters to discuss,

like world peace and

politics and

football and

funny men carved out of trees.

And sometimes there are lighthearted matters to attend to,

like the dream house you're building or

your fancee new camera or

how awesome your wife is for letting her sister-in-law borrow her amazing lens for the weekend.

Ahem.

It was a stupendous evening, filled with laughter and hugs and something called "Doll's Potatoes" that are a wondrous mixture of carbohydrates and cream. Also ketchup. And possibly methamphetamine.

At the end of the night we sighed and pondered.

How do two people find such tremendous love?

Some say it's the small gestures. The little things that, stacked together, create a force field around your hopes, desires, and fondness for one another. The careful attention to protecting your marriage, fostering the thing that's most precious to you so that you can weather infinite moves, job changes, life changes, and the task of raising seven children until you ultimately can communicate with only a smile, or a nod, or a hand on the back, or the sound of ice in a glass.

And then some say it's this.

Big gestures can't hurt.

*fashion friday.

2010-04-09T15:53:00.003-05:00

Things that inspire me today:

1. BGN Crane Dress 2. Karen Walker Charm Bracelet 3. Melamine East West Clutch 4. Miu Miu Sparrow-Print Pumps 5. Ralph Sunglasses Red Frame with Violet Lens

Oh, and also this, naturally.

Taken by the talented MW.

Click to enlarge, and watch all your dreams come true.

Happy weekend!

*child's play.

2010-04-07T16:22:00.002-05:00

I quite like other people's children. Not strangers' children, mind you—I rather dislike children I don't know, with their screeching and their boundary-less existence and their insistence that I find them cute.

Maybe we have too much in common.

Children I know have quiet souls and lots to say and hooboy eyes like this.

Or good Lord, like this.

Children are rank tattletales, and they will expose their parents' frailties without provocation.

For the grown-up tattletale, this is a terrific source of amusement.

Other people's kids will grin widely at you when you come through the door and climb enthusiastically into your lap and let you wrestle tiny burps out of them that feel like gold-medal moments.

For the childless, this is a terrific source of puffed-up pride.

Sure, kids are funny, with their unabashed innocence and utter disregard for modesty and plucky un-self-awareness.

But the best part about other people's kids is that they think you are HILARIOUS.

And the validation of a tiny brain is pretty much all I need.

sly dog.

2010-04-01T15:34:00.001-05:00

*supermad.

2010-03-26T13:18:00.004-05:00

I have developed a disturbing level of hostility lately, a spittin' sparks approach to disappointment that has begun to surprise even me. Granted, I haven't smacked anybody or run my car into anything (purposefully), but I'm not an angry person as a rule, so it's a change of pace that I find myself muttering obscenities under my breath at gape-mouthed, dopey bank tellers or assuming a cringe-worthy decibel level at the splendid folks at Southeast Toyota Finance. (I repeat, splendid.)

Those moments of hapless fury start to wear on a person who wants nothing more than a plate of French fries and stretchy pants and possibly to be someone's pampered spouse. I understand that those first two might preclude the latter.

In other words, I'm in the market for a hero. He has to be strong but sensitive.

Kind to puppies.

Discombobulated by the out-of-doors.

Dreadfully earnest.

With a flair for creative revenge.

Happy Friday, everyone! Don't worry, you're safe from my ire—I still love you. Just don't ask me for money. I don't have any, and that seems to be where the trouble starts.

*crazy talk.

2010-03-25T15:53:00.003-05:00

Attention!

Things I have not told you because I haven't updated in a week:

1. I got promoted.

Yes, if you are my Facebook friend you already know this, but I haven't elaborated since it happened a month ago because, as you are no doubt aware, I am both shy and retiring. I have a new title and new responsibilities, including being the boss of a real live person. That person hasn't started yet, which is why I've been working 400 hours a week instead of keeping up with the Woodside haps. If you have an extra moment, please send good vibes in the direction of the aforementioned real live person, as I have no idea what it's like to work with me but I suspect it is a "rewarding challenge."

So, you know, congratulations to me. Oh I'm sorry, am I boring you?

All righty then, on to the next.

2. I have recently discovered that children grow at a simply alarming rate. One day they're learning things like "this is my hand" and "dog barks are loud" and "holy crap when you put your hands over your face you DISAPPEAR" and thinking daddy is hilarious absolutely every time you see him.

The next day?

Well the next day you're counting down the minutes until you turn 11. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Stoppit.

All of you.

Right this second. You're making me misty. If you grow up too fast you'll turn around one day and you'll have babies of your own, and those babies will be making babies of their own, and all you'll have is quiet sighs and big laughs and soft hands that remind you just enough of your daddy's.

Come to think of it, that's pretty nice. Just ... take it slow, OK?

3. I've developed an addiction to thighs.

It's becoming debilitating.

I can't sleep, I can't concentrate, I can't blog.

Tiny, chubby thighs are all I can think about.

I'm sorry, what was I saying?

4. Oh yes, the list. The rambling, focus-less, concerned-for-my-mental-health list.

Let's see. I bought a car.

I met Thomas Keller.

I got my books signed by Thomas Keller and talked to him about mayonnaise and ate his short ribs with shameless speed.

I celebrated J's adoption day and watched 18 episodes of The Office with JULIE and catered my first event and had one crazy 24-hour period where I worked four separate jobs.

I'm tired.

Anyone want to do my taxes?

*i plotz.

2010-03-18T15:14:00.002-05:00

Halloooooooooooo, friends! Oh my, it's good to see you.

I mean, truly. How long has it been since we've really sat down and had a chat? It has to have been at least Monday.

You don't come by, you don't leave comments. The Woodside grows cold with neglect.

Don't you love me anymore?

What if I give you a little smile?

Eye twinkles? Does that do it for you?

Laughs? Oh ho, my darlings, I find you disarming and hilarious.

Oh, wait! SECRET WEAPON: elbow chub. The Woodside has that in spades.

Ah, that's better. Now you are back, under my spell once again. You had me worried there for a moment.

This world ain't gonna take over itself, you know.

*open house.

2010-03-15T16:09:00.002-05:00

So I need to tell you something, and I need you to suspend your disbelief. What I am about to say is absolutely true, but it won't be easy for you to understand or accept. You may feel yourself growing agitated, incredulous, and perhaps even sputtery when I say what I'm about to say, but I swear on Jake, French fries, and the wrath of trees that I am not lying:

This person is my twin.

OK, that's hard even for me to believe, but my mother assures me that this is the case. I've been tempted to question her further, but she's all, "LABOR PAINS!" and according to recorded history we were ridiculously massive, hungry, greedy little fetuses taking up all her inside space, so I've decided to let her have this one.

Still it's a little unbelievable.

To make matters even more ridiculous, this person (let's see him again for comparison, shall we?)

is building a house. A whole residential structure, with a solid roof and reliable plumbing and electrical wiring he installed himself that meets something they apparently call "code."

I bought the Woodside ready-made and it doesn't have any of those things.

He traipses about this house—a building that wasn't even meant to be a house, something he just put together out of an old Water Works tank-storage midcentury lean-to mishmash with some tools I can't identify and more sweat than can be measured and something he has in his head called "imagination."

I know, it baffles me. I'm like a dog faced with unfamiliar stairs.

I visited this little weekend project, TwinFin having put "erecting a house" where his "drinking margaritas" should be, and noted that this particular talent—being able to craft a functioning homestead out of an empty brick shell—is rather popular with the ladies. They were stunned by his prowess.

I, on the other hand, did my usual utterly concrete and incomprehending wanderings throughout the newly sheetrocked space, pretending I understand in any way how the floor plan will ultimately pan out. Luckily he's added some helpful labels for the spatially impaired such as myself.

That's where the cows will roam, I think.

Everything is very bright and light-flooded and filled with the soothing sense that just because it's raining outside does not mean it will feel damp inside.

A girl could get used to that.

I think we'd all like to tell TwinFin how amazed we are at his dedication and energy, how awed we are by his enormous talent, but mostly we're sort of stunned into silence, listening to him mutter about inspections while he walks around ON THE ROOF LIKE A CRAZY PERSON IT IS VERY HIGH COME DOWN FROM THERE.

So in case I forgot to mention it, we're all very proud of him.

But I get to be proudest. He's my twin.

*etc.

2010-03-12T14:30:00.002-06:00

It's the weekend, finalmente. Take a BIG bite out of it!

Something to ponder: Did everyone think that guy who coined the phrase "TGIF" was an embarrassing nerd? I find needlessly acronyming things to be an infuriating habit.

POH.

*beauty full.

2010-03-11T17:37:00.004-06:00

Today's post is brought to you by Things I Think Are Pretty That Are Not Stella. As you will perhaps notice, it is a short list. That's not because I don't think a lot of things are pretty, it's just because I have a very short attention span. I'm like Dug from Up, except that where he might say, "Well hello there ... SQUIRREL!" I'm all, "I like Cheetos ... NIECE!"

It's a very attractive trait.

yellow m&ms on a brown countertop.

modesty.

the little brown dog who lost his wag. (we're hoping it will return to full strength in the next few days. strange ailments—it's how i know he's mine.)

foodimentary guy, hard at work.

lavender in winter.

the most brilliant interior designer i know has this hanging in his courtyard as art. it's a plain white canvas that got left in the garage and started to mildew. that is why he's brilliant. even if tfin thinks it's "gross."

NIECE!

Oops.

*on a roll.

2010-03-10T16:54:00.004-06:00

I hate that I've been away from the Woodside for so long—there have been epic numbers of dramatic falls, awkward encounters, conversation failures, job changes, car fiascos, and dangerous run-ins with trees since last we spoke—but I'm afraid there just isn't any time in my life anymore.

And by that I mean "time not spent drinking Cabernet on the sofa while staring dumbly at the television and trying to figure out what Oprah's preaching at me this week. Also, brushing unidentifiable food crumbs off my person and out of my hair."

There are always those times the world has you under its thumb, and in times like those sometimes there's only one thing left to do: Sometimes you just gotta roll over.

*un monday.

2010-03-01T15:56:00.002-06:00

ACK! It's Monday. How the crap did that happen? Yes, it's Monday. You know how I know? Because I came off sounding like a jerk and/or an idiot in 78% of my communication today, including e-mails, phone calls ("Oh hai, Toyota. Yes, that was me that left my license tag on the car when I turned it in"), and face-to-face discourse. Also I'm missing J something fierce. Oh! And I have $90 to my name. Until Thursday.

Batting 1,000 I am not. But I shall spare you the remaining litany of Reminders Why I Am Something of a Professional Jackass and share some shots I took yesterday. Because yesterday was crisp and sunny and cloudless and ... not Monday.

Note: I don't dress this well now, and I'm allegedly a grownup.

Stella is scandalized by my sartorial mishaps.

Truly, I would wear these in my size. Considering that I was once asked "why [I] don't tip over," these may be my size.

What? It's hyperbolic license. Sheesh.

Sigh. There is nothing more adorable on this planet. You should see me with my thighs wrapped in horizontal stripes and ruffles across my bum. This is genetic cuteness, people.

She never believes a word I say.

I'll be your dancer. Dancer for tummy. Do what you want me to do.

I apologize. Was that inappropriate?

I swoonz.

Samantha hates the camera, but the light was too pretty not to risk her accusatory glare.

Handsomeness.

Sabbath confession: I covet my father's neighbor's dog.

I know! Don't tell J.

Hm. I do not trust that face. I'm totally going to be sold out. Remember, Stella, aunts are the ones who keep your secrets.

*short & sassy.

2010-02-26T15:56:00.002-06:00

This is what happens when you tell the dog to smile.

What happens after you tell the dog to smile is that you do an indelicate face plant into the nearby snow.

*strange company.

2010-02-24T15:37:00.004-06:00

The momster is, as a rule, an enormous fan of holidays, but always with a twist. When I was a kid there was no Santa Claus, but there were Christkindls. There was no tooth fairy, but the birthday fairy left you a pretty new outfit at the end of your bed every year. There was no Easter Bunny, but there were still baskets, filled with trinkets and plastic eggs and that bizarre but ubiquitous fake grass.

On Valentine's Day, there were heart-shaped gelatin snacks and notes in your lunchbox, hugs and small presents and shiny red apples with a thick river of peanut butter running through the middle.

So for me, Valentine's Day has always been a family holiday, with none of the cloying romance and all of the laughing and teasing and needling and cocktails. It's a riot.

Or it will be, maybe next year when the celebration doesn't fall during nap time.

I've been clinging to that day lately, because there was so much that this week has not been—cheerful, positive, supportive, relaxed.

I'm very lucky to have such an utterly insane family—a circle of uniquely amazing and loony kindred spirits.

My family doesn't all have to be biologically related to me; they just have to be people who wear their crazy like a brand, so I can recognize it and match it with my own and know that I have people. There's something warm and sparkly about loving someone really really hard who drives you completely nuts.

It's also a good defense for the next time you drive them completely nuts.

So as this baffling and unpredictable week marches on, I remember: "They say that good things take time, but really great things happen in a blink of an eye."

Yes, I just quoted Miley Cyrus as Hannah Montana. That's MY crazy. Look familiar?

*stella's sense of snow.

2010-02-18T16:05:00.006-06:00

Where the hell have I been?

Well, I've been snowed in, of course. Yes, in Alabama.

I know, right? I could hardly believe it myself. But it was gorgeous and perfect and giddy-making.

The flakes fell like Champagne bubbles on rewind, fast enough to make you laugh

but slow enough you thought you just might be able to catch one.

Living as we do, deep in sweltering summer territory, we weren't quite sure what to make of this particular type of humidity.

But once we'd warmed up to the idea,

and determined that it meant that most hallowed of all days, a snow day, we were pretty jazzed about it.

Especially because all that pretty precipitation could only mean one thing: SNOW PARTY.

The sheer awesomeness was almost more than we could fully understand.

But we did our level best to whoop it up.

We donned our sweats and drank our wine and wagged our tails and ate Fritos dipped in chili.

Yeah, that might have been a mistake. But then we had the most incredible epiphany of all: Snow day Friday means an extra-long weekend.

And that might have been the greatest gift of all.

Also, there was Valentine's Day. I was curled up by a warm fire, sipping wine and watching the snow drift with the one I love.

Whatchoo lookin' so suspicious about, woman?

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so testy. I could never stay cross with you. What's that you say? "Owl be your Valentine?"

Oh, Stella. You're a hoot.

*ay, there's the grub.

2010-02-11T14:31:00.005-06:00

In the absence of any actual news—well, that's not exactly right. In the absence of time to report said actual news (I'm going to try to get to that soon, I promise!), I bring you Things That Have Lately Been Responsible for Threatening My Seams, by K.

Taco bar at la casa del padre. Yes, that would be queso over that there flame.

Mexican Vegetarian Casserole. I made this for LSis and BiL, which meant I wanted to put my own special stamp of love on it. So I added beef.

Possibly the strangest craving I've ever had, in that it was for something I'd never tried. Pan bagnat, French for "soaked bread," which at the very least should have immediately signified it as something I'd abhor. But it was delicious, and lunch for about four days. Although if you think anchovies are "optional," you're insane. Not judgin', just sayin'.

Shrimp taco, also at La Bonita. Never grill, sauté, or otherwise mess with shrimp again. Sheet pan, drizzle of oil, sprinkle of salt and pepper, roast at 400 for 5 minutes. Do not question Ina.

Home fries, that is, fries I made at home. Because I thought I'd flirt with kitchen fire #3 for the year. I prefer unadulterated French fried potatoes; the cheese and bacon you see there were just for photographic purposes. (I picked them off later because I was home alone and strange behavior was therefore permitted. And par for the course.)

Pomegranate margarita. Less a danger to my seams, more a danger to my brain cells. Meh, who needs 'em?

Spanish Chicken and Chorizo Paella, which morphed into Spanish Drumsticks and Hot Smoked Sausage Paella because my trendy Alabama 'hood doesn't carry furrin ingredients.

Guacamole. Creamy, spicy, and crammed as full of fresh tomatoes and red onion as possible.

I didn't eat the kitty cake. But JBSH did carefully dissect it, to the delight of the kiddos.

Every available flavor: peanut butter, peanut, dark chocolate, and almond

LSis managed to bogart $200 worth of Alaskan crab legs from work. They were the length of forearms and contained meat that prompted a rather indecent amount of groaning from around the table. I didn't eat those, either. I can't do crustaceans, no matter how fancy.

I had this, instead.

TFin makes a mean gratin. That's right, he's not just a pretty face.

RIDICULOUS. Best chili I have ever eaten in my life, and that's not hubris, that's just the truth. Courtesy of The Lee Bros., and Whole Foods, for not being afraid to stock exotic and heavenly chilies of all varieties. I salute you.

*mud puppy.

2010-02-08T16:40:00.002-06:00

We had a crazy weekend.

Like this, only infinitely more insane.

He's not out of the woods yet, so I'm not going to jinx his feeling better by telling the cracked-out story in its entirety, but I will soon.

For now I'm just going to go home and hug his big brown hairy neck and hope he's perked up and not staring at me with those enormous, mournful, make-it-better-Mommy-why-did-I-eat-the-bedspread-again? eyes.

It's hard being a parent.

*rhyme time.

2010-02-03T15:34:00.002-06:00

Mommy see:

Mommy do:

Chicken me:

Chicken you:

Stella coo:

*sweet cheeks.

2010-01-29T13:41:00.001-06:00

HEY, THIS WEEK!

KISS IT.

The weekend is ON, bitches!

Sorry Stella.

*letter of resignation.

2010-01-28T13:03:00.007-06:00

I know I've been a bit scarce of late, for reasons that are both within my control and without. The work has been piling up—this week marks one of those remarkable times when my triumvirate of jobs all come due at the same time, a cheery tapas cookbook and a March issue of one magazine and a March/April issue of another magazine, and trust me I am not complaining about my overabundance of occupation, but it was all very hamster-on-a-wheel.

The side effect, oddly, of that meticulousness, the scanning of black-and-white pages for errant apostrophes and misplaced modifiers and "witlof" where "Belgian endive" should be, is a curiously mad creative twirl. It's like a mini mania, filled with crazed pronouncements like, "You know what? I think I'll change all my money into Sacagawea dollars and then use it to buy a big box of hair. WAHheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehooooooooooooTHUD."

They should probably have me tested.

But then Tuesday arrived, a day so terrifically awful it could only be surpassed by Wednesday, and I got sad and sadder and found myself without even half a Sacagawea to rub together and maybe cried a little bit in the liquor store.

I joke a lot here about the sagging Woodside, but there are days I'm genuinely terrified that the old homestead is going to get so depressed as to end it all and go all last-two-minutes-of-Poltergeist on me. I dreamed this week that I went outside to use the hose and discovered that the whole structure had shifted off its foundation.

You think that was a metaphor?

I've never been any good at the waiting game, preferring a kicky combination of denial and fear that leaves me in a crouched position, waiting to pounce on bad news with a screechy but largely unsatisfying "IIIIIIIIIII KNEW IT!"

So even though my furnace took a flying leap and cost me all my remaining pennies, and circumstances are conspiring to make me lose all my remaining marbles, I'm going to do what I have to do when the sky starts falling: put on my helmet.

Because there are days when my head is in the universe's pinball machine, when I'm walking uptown on a crowded sidewalk when everyone else is headed in the other direction. There are days when I get right pummeled, and on those days I'm generally a ratty-haired, mascara-smeared, wild-eyed crazy person.

But today I feel determined. To return to my comfy creative swirl, even if I can't afford it right now. To make my bedroom wall

a photo wall.

To give the doddery Woodside's Black Bean exterior a yellow door.

In Decisive Yellow, because ... well because.

I understand it's terribly out of character for me to be decisive about anything, but today I have a message for the world:

No. No, I do not accept your terms. I am not going anywhere. I know I upset the balance, somewhere along the way, and you're going to throw a lot of fury and tree branches at me. But the Woodside and me, we're here for the long haul.