Top Five Friday: Books Julia Child Would Have Loved

She died with a knife in her hand in her kitchen, where she had cooked for fifty years,
and the death was solemnly listed in the newspaper as that of an artist.
~ Janet Flanner

J

ulia Child would have been 100 years old this week. 

What an amazing person!  She picked up cooking later in life and turned it into a passion and career.  She never let the number of candles on her éclair dictate what she could or could not do.

In honor of her Centennial Birthday, here are my top five books that combine wit, humour, life, and, of course, food.   



Babette’s Feast - Isak Dinesen

It has always been one of my dreams to re-create Babette’s famous dinner for 12.  I might have to find a substitute for the sea turtle ~ I think they’re on the endangered list now. 

This book embodies all that I believe about food and culture.  Most Americans eat like that narrow, puritanical community: without joy and without fellowship.  The only difference is the gruel they ate might actually have been nutritious, whereas there isn’t much in the Standard American Diet (SAD) that is even food, let alone nutritious.

To leave this story off this list would be tantamount to heresy. 



Photo: Joop Hoek



Love in a Dish. . .And Other Culinary Delights – M.F.K. Fisher

Who says a mentor has to be alive and kicking?  No shelf of cooking essays is complete without something by M.F.K. Fisher.  She was a master essayist on everything gastronomical. . .and then some!  I soak up her witticisms and wisecracks like so much French bread in mushroom gravy.

The Bread of Three Rivers: The Story of a French Loaf – Sara Mansfield Taber

Honestly, I was a little floured with envy when I read Taber’s account of her quest to find the quintessial loaf of French bread.  Talk about the best job ever!  It is an intimate look at how important supporting the local economy is and just what goes into making a loaf of French bread.

Great, just talking about it makes me want to run to the kitchen and get my arms floured up.

Cooking for Mr. Latte: A Food Lover’s Courtship, with Recipes – Amanda Hesser

This was the first book I read that combined an an engaging story with usable recipes.  After devouring it, I was hooked on books that married superbly written true stories and mouth-watering recipes.

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle – Barbara Kingsolver

Anyone concerned about where their food comes from, what has been sprayed on it and whether their strawberry’s DNA has been crossed with a toad [okay, that’s a bit of exaggeration – but not much!] knows about this great book.  Kingsolver took her family on a eat fresh, eat local one year adventure that is still going on today. 

It is a must have on any kitchen shelf: your cooking is only as great as your ingredients.  I like mine to travel as little as possible.

 

Happy Birthday, Julia!   Thank you for showing us that any age is a great age to be as long as you approach with joy, passion, and with your heart and hands wide open to give and receive.   

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

And thanks for the coq au vin!

Top Five Friday: Berry Delicious

Since you're all obviously stuffed with berries, I'll just tell Frau Schimdt to cancel your dinner!
 ~ Captain Von Trapp, The Sound of Music

J

  uly is National Blueberry Month (who knew?) and yesterday was Raspberry Cake Day.  So in honor of both, here are my top five favorite recipes using blueberries or raspberries. . . or both!

Lemon Raspberry Muffins

Lemons and raspberries – the perfect couple!  These are great to make for brunch and serve with a pitcher of fresh made lemonade or a cup of lemon-ginger tea.

Raspberry-Filled Almond Shortbread Cookies

These remind me of linzer cookies ~ only easier to make.  Perfect for a tea party!   

Blueberry Soy Shake

Too much soy is not a good thing, especially for women who haven’t reached menopause yet.  Phyto estrogens are still estrogens!  I substitute coconut milk for the soy milk, and cultured coconut milk for the yogurt, since I don’t eat dairy.

Blueberry-Lemon Iced Tea

You can use fresh-picked blueberries too; just stick them in the freezer overnight before putting them in the tea.

Blueberry Cobbler with Shortcake Stars

Nothing beats my grandma’s crazy crust cobbler recipe, but this one is pretty good.  If you’re super comfortable in the kitchen, you can make the shortcake from scratch.

Time to go berry picking!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

When was the last time you went berry picking?  What are you favorite berry-filled desserts?

Word Count Blogathon Day 23: Love of the Land

Land is the only thing in the world that amounts to anything,

for 'tis the only thing in this world that lasts.

Tis the only thing worth working for, worth fighting for -- worth dying for.

~ Gerald O’Hara, Gone with the Wind

“The only thing in this world that lasts.”  I never knew how much in common I had with Scarlett O’Hara until this past Saturday. 

I gathered together about ten of my closest girlfriends and invited them down to my childhood home for an afternoon tea celebrating the 75^th Anniversary of the publication of “Gone with the Wind.”  Any excuse to dress up, eat and spend time with friends!

The menu consisted of fried chicken, ham biscuits, green beans [with pork fat of course!], mashed potatoes and gravy, chocolate-pecan pie, southern tea cakes and a Kentucky Jam Cake, a quartet of wine-based sorbets, and plenty of Southern sweet tea, fresh made lemonade and mint juleps.

After our repast, we retired to the living room where I had set up a projector and a white bed sheet ~ we Southerners make do ~ and watched Scarlett and her entourage live through a heart-wrenching and momentous era in our nation’s history.  Even if you weren’t blessed to be born in the land of soft, Southern drawls and the smell of fried chicken and fresh biscuits, you can still appreciate the writing brilliance of Margaret Mitchell and the amazing vision of David Selznik.

Getting in Touch with My Inner Scarlett

When I first watched the movie, I was very young.  I admired the all the beautiful dresses and the broad expanse of land of Tara and the mannered yet manly gentlemen and wept over the burning of Atlanta.  Other than that, I didn’t understand much of it.  As the older, wiser me watched the movie, I still oohed and ahhed with my girlfriends over Scarlett’s famous green muslin “Twelve Oaks BBQ” dress, her green velvet “curtain” dress and her daring red “Ashley’s Birthday” outfit.  But a theme that I had missed as a child kept coming up to haunt me.

There is a scene, after the war is over and Scarlett is trying to save Tara from her old overseer.  She goes to Ashley to get his advice.  But poor Ashley is stuck like Lot’s wife, looking back at the life that once was and will never be again and has no practical advice to give.  At one point, Scarlett throws herself into his arms and states that they should run away because there’s nothing to keep either of them there.  But he points out that [besides his wife and son], there is something that Scarlett loves more than even him.  He picks up a handful of dirt and places it in her hand.

And that is when it struck me how like Scarlett I am ~ at least when it comes to an attachment to the land.  It gets in your blood.  No matter how far away you may go, or how many times your heart gets broken, or how many jobs you’ve lost, the pull of the land is always there.  And I realized that Gerald O’Hara was right: land is the only thing that lasts, the only thing worth fighting and dying for.

It is always difficult to leave the peace of the country and come back to the noise and indifferent city.  But this time it I felt like my arm had been amputated.  What this means for the future, I have no idea.  But I do know that our land, though nothing on scale of Tara, will always be an anchor and a priority for me and I’d rather die than let it go.

What about you?  What from your childhood still has a hold on you?  Has it had a negative or positive impact on you?

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

P.S. I admit I can be as tenacious as Scarlett, and yes, a little pouty at times. But I can say without reservation, that if a Rhett Butler came into my life, I would hold on to him with both hands! Fiddle-dee-dee!

Off the Shelf: A Thousand Days in Venice

When we no longer have good cooking in the world, we will have no literature, nor high and sharp intelligence, nor friendly gatherings, no social harmony.
~ Marie-Antoine Carême

Rain knocks insistently on my bedroom windows and thunder shakes the house. I curl deeper into the thick, cotton counterpane as lightening illuminates the pages of A Thousand Days in Venice. I had purchased it awhile ago until, distracted by life and other books, I put it aside and forgot all about it. Armed with more time and opportunity to read on my commute, and a kinder work schedule, I picked it up again and promptly fell in love all over again with Marlena de Blasi’s romance with Venice, its food and her life with a blueberry-eyed Venetian.

She writes with a comfortable passion ~ one that swells and sighs with the rhythm of every day life in Venice. Her description of the farmers’ market in Rialto is especially captivating. She walks “under a tunnel and out into the ruga, stepping directly into the dazzle of the market” and I step out with her, shielding my eyes against the morning sun. As she makes her way past the stalls, I feel the hot Venetian sun on my face and hear the sounds of the market all around me. The hypnotic rhythm of the rain outside my window fades into the background and I halt with Marlena

. . . in front of a table so sumptuously laid as to be waiting for Caravaggio. I move slowly, touching when I dare, trying a smile now and then. . . .I walk to the pescheria, fish market, a clamorous hall full of the stinging, dizzying perfumes of sea salt and fish blood. . . .I look in on the macellerie, butchers, who are cutting nearly transparent steaks behind their macabre curtains of rabbits, wild and tame. . . .

Earlier in the book Marlena talks about her frustration in understanding her Fernando and his Venetian ways: he cannot understand her need, her intense desire, to cook. After a scrumptious meal that includes batter-dipped squash blossoms, stuffed breast of veal braised in white wine, chilled yellow tomato soup with a wedge of Taleggio and a dessert of white figs and Maggion meringues, he says:

You mustn’t think I expect you to set a table like this each evening. . . I’m not telling you not to cook. . .What I’m saying is that your idea of everyday cooking is my idea of festival cooking. . . .Why is it so peculiar that I want to cook, really cook, every day?. . I cook because I love to cook. . . .

It has been months since I cooked a full five or six course dinner. Working a regular nine to five job and having a life just do not leave much time for “festival cooking.” And I certainly had not felt like cooking even a three course dinner for just myself.

Reading A Thousand Days re-awoke long buried desire. The very act of cooking brings me great joy, but in order for that joy to be fully realized, I have to cook for someone. My friend JB [a 3rd year law student] and his wife wanted to meet a UVA 1st year law student to swap stories and clerkship advice. Ah! A perfect excuse to cook! After much inner debate, I came up with the following Dinner for Eight:

Prosciutto & Melon
Feral Boar Prosciutto, local cantaloupe

Corn & Crab Chowder
Local sweet corn, Chesapeake Bay crabs

Heirloom Tomato Salad
Fresh, locally picked heirloom tomatoes, goat’s milk, pine nuts,
drizzled with lemon-basil dressing

Filet Mignon
Organic beef sautéed in a sherry and mushroom butter sauce, served with garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus

Lemon-Ginger & Mojito Sorbets
with ginger thins

All ingredients came from the local farmers’ market, Whole Foods, and America Seafood, a local seafood shop ~ all organic and fresh. The scent of the small cantaloupes was an intoxicating mixture ~ musky, earthy, sunny, ripe. The just picked heirloom tomatoes from Lois Produce practically burst their skin to get at the lemon-basil dressing I made from scratch ~ and no wonder! I have not seen basil plants grow so beautiful and bushy ~ especially amazing given how dry and hot this summer has been so far. I bought enough to make a mountain of pesto ~ my favorite summer dish. At the Mushroom Stand, I picked Honey Mushrooms purely for their looks [so shallow, I know!] and Maitake Mushrooms for their flavor and shock appeal.

Serving a different wine for almost every course would smooth the flow of conversation so that it was not all legalese: Northgate Vineyard’s Apple Wine with the prosciutto, Viognier with the chowder and the salad, Chambourcin with the filets and Fabbioli Cellars’ Raspberry Merlot with the sorbets from Sinplicity.

The last piece of china washed, the last wine glass gleaming, is put back on the shelf. The dining room table is returned to it’s usual table-for-four state. I crawl into bed, tired but happy. Another successful dinner! I fall asleep thinking that Marlena de Blasi would approve.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

The Taste of Autumn

The autumn leaves
Drift by my window;
The autumn leaves
Of red and gold.
~ Autumn Leaves

I woke up Saturday with rain a pounding a steady bluesy rhythm on the shingles. I sighed as I made a pot of Gingerbread Spice tea. Normally I enjoy a good rain. it enhances the coziness of being at home. But this Saturday I had plans to drive out to Delaplane with friends to pick pumpkins and revel in the fiery and golden mountainsides. Now we would have to come up with another way to get our autumn fix. I do not mind walking the fields in a light mist, but a relentless downpour is quite another!

My friends and I decided to spend the morning and early afternoon catching up on errands and what not and then convene at my place around five-thirty for dinner and pumpkin carving. The only requirement was that everyone had to buy their own pumpkins from the store [sigh] and bring a knife. [Mwhahahaha!]

The pumpkin is king of the fall vegetable garden. Its myriad shades of orange and gold and plump, meaty flesh fit right in with the textures and scents of the season: knobbly sweaters and fuzzy blankets; velvety cups of spiked apple cider and steaming bowls of soup. Being versatile vegetable , however, it is not afraid of starring in a custard as well as pie; a soup as well as a fresh-baked loaf of bread. It is a comfortable vegetable.

And one of my favorite comfort foods when evening temperatures suddenly drop is chili. It is economical to make, it is filling and it invites a crowd. And although I usually connect chili with snowy winter days , I recently discovered a recipe that included pumpkins and turkey. Now that combination screams autumn!

To prepare for our pumpkin massacre that evening, I shopped at the Falls Church Farmers' Market and picked up a Fairytale Sugar Pumpkin [they have such an interesting shape and colour!], a few green chilis, and some large, juicy tomatoes. Then I headed to the nearby grocery store to pick up ground turkey and fresh cilantro. Once I arrived back home, I picked the last of our green peppers and set about chopping vegetables and put them in a bowl while the turkey browned.

You will notice that the recipe does not call for juice of any kind: no tomato juice or apple juice or liquid of any kind. I was wondering how this was going to turn out to be chili without it but my fears were unfounded. The ripe, diced tomatoes plus the pureed pumpkin create their own "soup" base. With several dashes of curry and ginger added, and a bowl of sour cream and a plate of freshly grated cheddar on the table, a simple but hearty dinner was ready by the time my friends arrived, pumpkin victims in tow.

Now all that's left to do is dry out the pumpkin seeds and roast them!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

. . .and Pretty Maids All in a Row

One of the most delightful things about a garden is the anticipation it provides.
~ W.E. Johns, The Passing Show

A gardener is an optimist by nature. One has to be, or one would never plant another garden! This would certainly be true in my case. Last year I had a beautiful crop of tomatoes ~ each plant dripping with emerald fruit. I looked forward to frying some of the green ones and leaving the rest to ripen. In two days ~ 2 DAYS! ~ all gone. Stripped by those nasty little rats with bushy tails. I still have not figured out whether they were tree squirrels or ground squirrels.

But I did not let last year’s tragic loss deter me this year. As I mentioned on Tuesday, eight tomato plants went in on Memorial Day, along with five green peppers and several seeds: sugar snaps, radishes, arugula, swiss chard and three rows of beans ~ this after we said no more beans ~ three rows really is not enough for me to use for a dinner party. I knew the sugar snaps went in very late and will probably not grow, but I figured we had nothing to lose.

In addition to the vegetables, we put in at least six or eight basil plants. Basil is the crown jewel of the kitchen garden ~ rosemary comes a close second in terms of flavor and versatility. But basil is king. We had a little trouble with our basil plants last year as well ~ a tad wilted, very few leaves and stunted height. I am still not sure why. Other gardeners I talked to either had a huge crop of healthy basil or had the same experience I did, but neither group had answers.

So instead of bushels of basil being ground into oodles of pesto, I had to make do with spinach ~ which by the way, makes an excellent pesto too. This year, however, I am holding out hope (and organic fertilizer) that my basil will be better. And I have even more incentive this year. I have discovered a grilled chicken sandwich with fresh basil that will drive your taste buds batty.

The original is at Vie de France bakery ~ which unfortunately for me is located a short walk from my office ~ and consists of thin grilled deli chicken, mozzarella, fresh basil, and a smattering of pesto, all crushed between two slices of ciabatta bread. After having it for lunch three days in a row and turning my coworker into a fan as well, she suggested I come up with a version to bring in. So without further ado, here it is:

French Bread
Blue Dairy Mozzarella (or your own local dairy), sliced into thin rounds
1 beefsteak tomato, sliced
2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, pounded thin and sautéed in 1 T butter
Fresh basil leaves
1 Clove of Garlic
1 Cup of fresh Parmesan or Pecorino-Romano
½ Cup of walnuts (you can also substitute pecans or pine nuts)
Olive oil
Various herbs

If you are pressed for time, you can buy chicken already cooked, but I like to season my own. The same goes for the bread ~ there are several great bakeries in the area and Colin Cowie says that if someone else can make it better then you can, let them. ;-) I find bread making quite relaxing, however, so I make my own when I have an “at home” day. It is better if you let the chicken marinate in the herbs and olive oil overnight. Same could probably said of pesto, but I like mine fresh out of the processor.

What is that, you say? You have never made fresh pesto?! And it is too difficult?! Fie! That is no way for a foodie to talk! Now, go pick some basil (or trot along to your local farmer’s market tomorrow morning and buy some) ~ don’t worry about chopping it, the processor will do it for you. Put a bunch of it in, drizzle a goodly amount of olive oil (no I am NOT going to tell you how much, eyeball it) add some walnuts to taste, a pinch of salt, about ½ c of shredded parmesan or pecorino-Romano and 1 clove of garlic. Do not make the mistake of adding more than 1 clove. I love garlic and thought adding more would be a good thing. Alas, not so. And basil is a terrible thing to waste. If it seems a little dry, keeping adding olive oil until the pesto is a thick paste. Just the thought of it makes me want to break out into song.

Spread some of the fresh, homemade pesto onto the bread, layer the chicken, mozzarella and tomato and finish with a few whole basil leaves on top. I made this for dinner last night (minus the pesto) and almost died in basil ecstasy! Serve with a nice tall glass of sweet tea and your guests will think you are a culinary genius!

Here’s to a successful summer of gardening and cooking!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Lenten Leavings

When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.
~ Lao Tzu

I love Lent. It is a great time to take stock (again) of one's life and re-adjust what needs re-adjusting, relinquishing some goods in order to make room for others. That is what "giving up" something for forty days is about, a spiritual, mental and emotional spring cleaning.

Letting go can be a frightening exercise, but it is a necessary aspect of life. Either we willingly and lovingly surrender or we waste precious time and tears when things are taken from us. Sometimes letting go can be as simple as clearing our schedule to make time for loved ones. Plan a quiet dinner or simply be in the same room together. Sometimes it is making time for ourselves. When is the last time you took a retreat? Just you and the wind and God (however you define the Supreme Being). A year? Two years? Never? Maybe it is time to take a couple of days and head out of the city and re-prioritize.

Sometimes it is letting go of vices masquerading as virtues. For me this means spending less time agonizing over the plans for a sit down dinner for sixteen and to plan simpler meals with friends ~ where they actually get to see and talk to me, instead of watching the mad chef in the kitchen wear herself to a shadow getting every dish perfect.

There is, of course, a place for perfection and doing the job right. But this is a time to reconnect and enjoy the simple things in life. It is not a time for showy recipes and decadent desserts. Those things will be more appreciated on Easter Sunday ~ welcomed like friends after a long absence. It is a time for hearty soups and stews. Fried chicken and fresh baked biscuits. Chili and homemade cornbread. For the next few weeks, I want to let go and just breathe and refocus my time and attention where it matters most: my loved ones.

May this Lent be one of joy and peace for all my dear readers as well.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

From the Frying Pan to the Fire

Square meals, not adventurous ones, are what you should seek.
~ Bryan Miller

Perhaps there is some truth to the above quote. I confess I do not know the context, and context is exceedingly important. But taking it at face value, it seems to me that all meals are adventurous, or can be. I suppose it depends on the temperament and sense of humour ~ or lack thereof ~ of the cook.

Many people approach the kitchen with fear and trembling or avoid it altogether and I blame the microwave. May I say that it is the most interesting contraption ever invented? It has the remarkable ability to take a piece of perfectly wonderful bread and turn it first into rubber and then into stone. Our Lord's question of whether a father would give his child a stone when he asks for bread makes more sense since the appearance of the microwave. I loathe the thing and use it as little as possible. And I believe that more people would become better cooks if they threw their microwave out. It is like the television ~ it rots "zee little grey cells" and impairs one's imagination.

And one needs imagination in the kitchen. How many of us have stood staring blankly into the refrigerator, cooling off the entire house, without the slightest clue what to make for dinner? The anxiety this question produces only increases when you are cooking for more than just yourself.

Such was the case last night. My housemates and I celebrated "Little Christmas" with each other on the Feast of Epiphany, as most of us had been away for the start of the Christmas season. I, being home earlier than anyone else, was the chef du jour.

I love a culinary challenge. How and with what would I feed four people? I had spinach and mushrooms left over from my volunteer dinner on Sunday and would have dearly loved to make stuffed chicken again, but it needed to stretch to four and I only had three chicken breasts left over. I did not want to waste gas or money by driving to the grocery store and the organic butcher was closed by then. What then could I make with just what I had?

When in doubt, keep it simple. I cut the chicken breasts into small chunks and sauteed them in about three to four tablespoons of butter (Gregorio is rolling his eyes), a dash of olive oil and three green onions, chopped. While they browned, I put more butter in another pan and added three cloves of garlic and two packages of sliced mushrooms. After they had cooked a few minutes, I added a splash (or three) of sherry, with a couple of pours of evaporated milk and a few sprinkles of all-purpose flour and voila! I had a lovely mushroom sauce/gravy.

A word about cooking with alcohol. I do not know who said it first, but one should never cook with alcohol that one would not drink. Please, dear reader, do yourself and your guests a favor and follow this rule, if none other. I myself learned the hard way and once made a scallop dish with the nastiest white wine I had ever tasted. Not even the most hard up college student would have drunk this wine. Consequently, the scallops were terrible. So, no more of that!

The chicken was now nicely browned. I took it out and put it aside and added more butter. (Gregorio, if you are reading this, I just know you are clutching your heart and laughing in spite of yourself, but look at it this way ~ butter is organic and all natural and much better for you then margarine!) Into the pan went the spinach and my all time Southern favorite: okra. I left it on the fire long enough to soften the okra and wilt the spinach. Then I added the chicken back in and tossed it. I spooned orzo into a big white pasta dish and topped it with the chicken and spinach mixture and ladled the mushroom sauce on top and dinner was served, complete with a nice red wine, candles and the "good" china.

James Beard himself once said that he did not like gourmet cooking ~ he liked good cooking. And a meal does not have to be super fancy in order to feed the body and warm the soul. But whether it is a Sunday five course dinner for fourteen or a one-dish dinner for four, a wonderful meal is within one's reach and worth the effort of cooking without radiating one's food. And in that context, I wholeheartedly agree with Mr. Miller. Cheers!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Thanksgiving Leftovers

One should never be afraid of the unknown. Especially in the kitchen.
~ M. D’Eigh

Mmmmm. Thanksgiving weekend. A very homemade time of year in the food department. At least it should be. I am always amazed at the amount of fear that people exhibit when it comes to cooking. Dearest readers, the turkey will not suddenly sprout fangs and jump out of the oven at you! And if you keep him covered with aluminum foil and give him a nice bath now and then, he will not wither and dry out either. ;-)

Most of my friends have anointed me a kitchen goddess because of the culinary creations I conjure up. Contrary to popular belief, however, I did not arrive in the world with a Calphalon pot in one hand and a KitchenAid mixer in the other. Shall I let you in on a secret? Great chefs are born not made. And they are born from hard work and multiple burnt dishes and colossal casserole failures. I have come to believe that in order to be a good cook one must have a healthy dash of humility and an enormous capacity to laugh at oneself. I have a lot of the latter and am still working on the former. ;-)

There is a story told in our family of the time my mother asked me to help her fix dinner. Her instructions were simple enough: fill the pot three-quarters full, let it come to a boil and then drop the spaghetti in. Simple enough indeed. I proceeded to put three-quarters of a cup of water in the pot. Ah yes, dear readers, well may you laugh! My family still tells this story. So all my readers who ever ran screaming from raw chicken, take heart! You too can learn to boil the correct amount of water and serve a brilliant pasta dish!

This is all to introduce a new take on a Thanksgiving classic: stuffing. I arrived back in Arlington late last night and was so intent on making it back before collapsing from blocked sinuses, that I forgot to take leftovers along. And of course, there is nothing like comfort food to help cure an Advent cold. So I whipped up more stuffing. But alas! No celery or onions or chicken stock could I find! Well, a stuffing isn’t stuffing without something green in it ~ at least in my humble opinion. As I think I have mentioned here before, I am a very big proponent of using what you have in your pantry before wasting gas or money to get “must haves” for a recipe. You can always find an acceptable substitute. Being a Southerner, there is one vegetable I manage to have copious amounts of in the freezer: okra!

Into the pan, along with about three tablespoons (eh, give or take) of butter and two cloves of garlic, chopped, went the okra. Once that had sautéed for a couple of minutes, I added a little beef stock and heavy cream. In a bowl, I cracked two eggs. Well, one actually, but it had two yolks ~ jackpot! I had some leftover cooked, shredded chicken and I added that to the eggs. I took a sheet of bread crusts out of the oven, which I had broken up and seasoned and baked for roughly fifteen minutes at 350 degrees. I added them to the bowl with the whisked eggs and poured the butter broth on top and mixed it up with a fork. Once the mixture was coated and had soaked up a good portion of the liquid, I placed it in a buttered pie plate and baked it at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes. Ahhh ~ comfort heaven! And salt-free by the way. Even better!

So you see, you should fear the kitchen no longer. Cooking is an art, yes, but one that is at the same time an act of love and adventure. Enter it with abandon!

I hope y’all had a blessed Thanksgiving surrounded by loved ones.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Cook on the Run

The qualities of an exceptional cook are akin to those of a successful tightrope walker: an abiding passion for the task, courage to go out on a limb and an impeccable sense of balance.
~ Bryan Miller

A sense of balance. Does that include remembering to take the orange juice out of the fridge while racing madly out the door?

The past few months I have done a lot more work with both the marketing and commercial sales departments at my company. It has been a very interesting lateral move for me. But it is, of course, not my passion. So when our local sales rep found out about my deep love of cooking, she asked if I would cater her monthly breakfast meeting this month. I jumped at the chance to show off and cook for people outside my normal social circle.

Ro said I could make whatever I wanted, so I chose two dishes which are fairly easy and relatively inexpensive: biscuits and sausage gravy and scrambled eggs. I knew what she normally spent on catering and I wanted to beat it and come out ahead.

No cooking adventure is an adventure worth the telling if things don’t go horribly, comically wrong at some point in the story! ;-) I decided that I would make as much as possible the evening before the meeting, saving myself time and frustration in the wee hours of the morning. Ahh ~ “the best laid plans of mice and men….” Everything went well at first. I browned four packages of pork sausage, took the meat out with a slotted spoon and set it aside. I added flour, milk, cream and pepper and whisked the gravy until it was perfection. Even my mother could not have made a better, tastier gravy. I added the sausage back in and put the pan in the fridge to heat up the next morning.

While the meat was browning, I took 2 dozen eggs and mixed them with half a pound of grated sharp cheddar. Then I sautéed some garlic, green onions, chopped mushrooms, some spices and added that to the mix as well and put it in the fridge to scramble up in the morning. The only two things left were the biscuits for the sausage gravy and a fruit platter.

Blame it on the amount of stress I have been under the past few weeks. Or the fact that I am not detail-oriented. At all. Blame it on the fact that I was not feeling well and had not slept much the night before. Whatever the reason or excuse fits, I looked at two different recipes for biscuits (sorry Mom, couldn’t find yours!), combined them and managed to leave out the key ingredient: leavening. One recipe called for yeast, but mom had never used yeast in her biscuit mix. I proceeded and my dough looked beautiful and felt soft and wonderful doughy and while my little biscuits looked small, I had high hopes for them once they were cooked.

Alas! They did not have high anything! I kept looking at them in the oven, wondering why they stayed flat. These were not my mother’s biscuits, nor my grandmother’s. I bewailed the fact that I had not used the tried and true family recipe. And then I remembered. Mom never used yeast in her biscuits, true. But she did use self-rising flour. Argh! Needless to say, I will not let my Southern half of the family know about this latest cooking faux pas. One of my uncle’s used to make fun of my mom’s biscuits, claiming he could use them in place of baseballs. Mine were not baseball worthy. They were hockey pucks!

The next morning came way too early. Somehow I managed to fall behind even though I got up an hour and half earlier than normal. (Wait ~ why did I agree to cater a morning meeting? I dislike getting up in the morning!) My little tower of gastronomical delight fell faster than a soufflé. When I took out the sausage gravy to heat it up, I made the discovery that if you are going to cook sausage gravy for an event on a subsequent day, it would be better to keep the sausage and the gravy separated until the day of the meal. Adding the meat back in and re-heating introduces more grease and fat then I thought existed on one little pig.

It is a rare thing, but I was very tempted to cry or throw something. But this is not the way of this cook. I got out another pan and whisked up some more gravy and added it to the now heated up sausage gravy. I thought it looked a tad….how do I say this?....already digested. But I had to remind myself that it was sausage gravy and really, it is solid comfort food of salt of the earth people. You cannot make sausage gravy look like crème brulee. (Hmmm, now there’s a thought….) And I was feeding 10 grown men. They were not going to care what it looked like. Really.

Ten grown men. Whew. While I was solving the gravy problem, another one was forming. I was also scrambling the eggs. And let me tell you, 24 eggs sounds like an awful lot. But once you put it in the serving tray, it looks like nothing. So I cooked up the remaining 6. Even 36 eggs seemed small and insignificant in that pan. And truth be told, there was not much left over after the meeting. Which makes me wonder: how many eggs does one normally cook for 10 adults?

Perhaps part of my problem stems from the fact that for me, if the tray is not overflowing; if the table isn’t ready to fall over from the weight of the amount of food on it, then I am a failure as a cook and a hostess. Someone might not get enough to eat! When there are leftovers, I think that no one liked the food. When there are no leftovers, I think that I must not have cooked enough. Someone please tell me ~ is this “chef guilt” a Southern tradition? Or do other cooks experience it as well?

Well, whatever. Everything turned out beautifully: I finally got everything plated and “trayed” and into the car at 7:09am and quickly drove to the local German bakery to pick up some freshly made rolls to accompany my sausage gravy and raced to the office, getting there just in time to remember that I had left the orange juice in the other fridge. Sigh.

Ro wants me to cater the meeting next month. French toast? No worries. ;-)

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela