LemonGrassGirls.com

LG Sugar Pumpies

When I have the chance to travel to Santa Fe, I make a point to eat at two restaurants. The Shed, just off the Plaza, has the best red chili enchiladas in town. They are consistently fantastic, and the margaritas are pretty tasty too.

The other restaurant I love is Café Pasquals. Pasqual's serves breakfast, lunch, and dinner 7 days a week. You have to have reservations for dinner, as the dining room is small. They do offer a “family table” where you can often get a seat without a reservation, but as “family” suggests, you are sitting with a bunch of other people. I’ve eaten family style a couple of times and it is fun, but it is not the same as a quiet table for two.

Last summer, we bought Cooking with Café Pasqual’s, one of the two Pasqual’s cookbooks. I’ve made their delicious Green Chili and Pork Stew before, and last night I tried out Sugar Pumpkins Filled with Vegetable Stew in Chipotle Cream Sauce. It was delicious.

The sugar pumpkins are baked in a hot water bath and then filled with a mixture of onions, carrots, celery, button mushrooms, Portobello mushrooms, squash and corn. Once the little pumpkins are filled, you add a delicious sauce made with heavy cream, chipotle chilis (that is pronounced “chip-oat-lay” unless, of course, you are Bobby Flay and it becomes a 4 syllable word…”chip-oat-a-lay” That cracks me up every time)

There is something wonderful about eating vegetables in a spicy cream sauce – the sauce is not too rich, and not too spicy. The pumpkin flesh is tender and you can scoop it out and eat it with every bite.

I also think it was just about the cutest meal I have ever eaten. I am not a bit “cute” fan, but darn it, those little pumpkins filled with goodness were just adorable - and delicious.

Contributed by Cynthia McKenna

Eww, Yaki.

It's pretty clear to me what the Japanese are trying to tell us here. This here package of "Roast Chicken" flavored noodles tastes pretty "yaki" when you're sober.

(What is this doing in my kitchen?)

Dina at Wordfeeder.com Copywriting and Marketing

The Best Dinner I've Ever Created

I made food last night that makes people say, "Holy God!" Well, at least one person said that. All right, it was me. But I'm serious... this was THE BEST chicken I've EVER concocted. I don't typically follow recipes or write down the ingredients after I invent something seriously delicious... but this was too good not to record. So here is the recipe:

chicken parts (legs, thighs, breasts, whatever you have - skin on).
olive oil
2 small onions, quartered
2 cloves garlic, sliced
1 plump, juicy garden tomato (2 if the tomato is small)
3 bay leaves
1 sprig fresh thyme
half a small bottle of capers
4 or 5 calamata olives
fresh lemon
water
white rice

Drizzle the pan with olive oil (don't be chintzy now - we're going for flavor) and add the chicken parts, onion and garlic pieces. Get this to sizzle up a bit, then add the tomato and let that sautee a bit longer. Pour in enough water to mostly cover the chicken and add your 3 bay leaves and thyme sprigs. Keep the heat on medium-high until it boils, then lower to maybe medium or low if you have more time. Halfway through, remove the chicken skin and any stray bones if you can.

Add capers and olives and then pour in a few handfuls of the white rice (don't you love the precision?). Cook until chicken is no longer pink in the center and rice is of edible consistency. Remove from heat, cool down for a while and try to skim some of the fat that's collected in pools on the surface. (Mmmmm... FAT.)

Slice the lemon into quarters and squeeze into the mixture, then stir thoroughly.

Is this chicken cacciatore, or some Spanish recipe, or perhaps both? I don't know what it is but BOY IT'S GOOD! I'm eating it cold and my mouth is having multiple orgasms. Not that I know what those are, but, you know.

Dina at Wordfeeder.com Copywriting and Marketing

Easter Dinner

So, about six months ago I said to myself, "You are going to post something about Easter dinner." After all, I took all these fabulous photos of my mother's Italian meal. However, guess what? I rarely feel like writing about food. Honestly and truly... I love food, but I think the planets have to be aligned in a certain way in order for me to want to write about it. I would much rather write sales copy about food and get paid for it than sit here blathering on about, say, a steak dinner when I could be cooking and eating a steak dinner.

Ah, but why do I have a food blog, you wonder? Well, I launched this blog in an effort to help Ann Zuccardy of the Vermont Shortbread Company promote her gourmet food business, plus I thought it'd be a nice meeting ground for those of us who like to cook and eat. Well, the food blog hasn't exactly taken priority in our lives, but it is a nice, err, side dish.

Meandering back to my first thought... I have these photos of Easter dinner that my mom cooked last April. You should probably take a look at them.

Stolen Moment

Slow Cooked Pork

A couple of weeks ago was my last "memorable" trip to the supermarket. The weather was rainy and slightly chillier than usual, which of course got me and my feller talking about slow cooked pork. So I pulled on a pair of faded jeans with shredded bottoms and splashed my way to the store.

There I was, standing in the Pork Aisle, pondering the many glorious cuts of meat. Everything looked plump and succulent, marbled with fat that promised savory mouthful after mouthful of deliciousness. What to buy, what to buy? To my right, there was a youngish man wearing corporate attire and pawing his way around. He wore a permantly perplexed look that I later figured out was merely the positioning of his eyebrows.

I said, "Excuse me," and proceeded to ask him what cut of meat he thought would be appropriate for slow cooked pork in the crock pot. Then he opened his mouth and a slightly gravely sound emerged that suddenly made him much more attractive to me than he was three seconds earlier. He said, "Well, I used to be a chef, so you'd think I would know this, right?" We then had a brief discussion about parts of the pig and he finally said, "I was planning on putting mine on the grill but I think I like your idea better... slow cooked, why not!"

With the ex-chef's blessing, I settled on a thick shoulder round cut, he informed me of his plans to head over to the produce aisle, and we parted ways. Shortly after that, I passed him again while picking through the locally grown tomato and pepper area in search of ingredients for my rice. I felt like maybe I should say something else to him but instead I just pondered what he had been up to the night before to make his voice so raspy and full. Maybe glugging beers, smoking cigars and yelling at sports on television? All good things.

So this meeting in the pork aisle was a very brief and fairly insignificant interlude, and yet for some reason it made my day. Thick slab of pork, well-dressed man with a great set of vocal chords, talking to me emphatically about food... my, my, my. I know I am not exactly Venusian in my looks, but for some reason I left the store feeling more attractive and kind of spunky. And some may say, "Wow, that's pretty sad" but to me this is the stuff of life. Please sir, may I have some more?

So, I got home and improvised a delicious brew for the pork to steep in for the next 5 hours. First I seared the pork with some onions, then transferred that to the crock pot and added a dollop of molasses, a generous squeeze of honey, a glug of apple cider vinegar, a small can of tomato sauce, a squirt of hot sauce, and some salt and cayenne pepper. Then my dad dropped in to visit and sat around chatting with me and my mutal food-loving dude while I prepped the ingredients for fresh salsa - piles of diced tomato, onion, cilantro, green peppers, fresh lime juice. My dad was apparently so impressed that he repeated what he saw to my mom who became fascinated to know the outcome of this inspiring culinary effort. And I know in her head she was thinking, "She gets it from me!" which perhaps I do.

After the crock pot had become a bubbling cauldron of sweet and tangy, falling-off-the-bone tender meaty goodness that permeated the house with a hearty, drool-inducing aroma, my fellow did his part by cooking up a side of white rice and warming some mini corn tortillas. I popped some pre-soaked, fresh corn on the cob into the oven, husks still on, for about 20 minutes and then we laid the whole presentation out on the table, picked up our forks and nearly lost our minds over the whole thing. My dad had left by then but I know he coveted our meal.

And that's the whole pork story.

Dina at Wordfeeder.com Copywriting and Marketing

What I Eat When the S.O. is Away

I'm finally getting around to answering the question that Cynthia posed back in February: What do you eat when the S.O. is away?

First, it's truly rare that my significant other is not here. But there was a short period of time when I did not have a significant other to brighten my days, stick my ice cold feet on under the covers, and commune with over delectable homemade creations - and I didn't have roommates, either. At that time, I discovered something interesting about myself. That is: without other people, I'm No Fun at All. I don't know how to relax unless I'm doing it for the benefit of another person.

During my brief solo career, I ate like a Spartan - one-pot, gruel-like concoctions that I'd cook on a Sunday, store in a Tupperware in the fridge and slowly work my way through as the work week wore on. Sometimes I'd even eat said gruel for breakfast.

Yep, I'm incredibly boring without a partner, or even another person or small group of people to bring out the Lighter Side of Me and help me watch a good movie, kick back with beer and perhaps divulge a few sordid tales from my wilder days. The truth is, that when I'm alone, I'm a grim, workaholic curmudgeon who can't make the time to treat myself to fun and frivolity, and eating fancy meals is included in that category.

Here are a few samplings from the Single Dina Menu - the Dina who will not shut off the computer because there is nothing to pry me away from work:

• lentils, rice and onions
• split pea soup, with or without ham bone or pork butt (okay, who am I kidding here - when do I have a ham bone sitting around if it's just me?)
• chicken soup with brown rice (works as a nice Penicillin to cure what ails ya)

I guess I do eat other things besides soup, but not with the fanfare that I would if cooking for a crowd or even the S.O. as Cynthia refers to him.

So, I'm lame, and that's the story.

:)

Dina at Wordfeeder.com Copywriting and Marketing

Scorn for Scones

Okay, I know I'm being a total hypocrite here, but just allow me to rant about American-style scones for a moment.  This morning I bought a humongous American abomination of a scone that belonged more in the cupcake family than the scone family.  Much to my horror (and perverse delight), this thing had frosting on it!  So as I sat in my car, guiltily devouring this "scone" where no one would see me, it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe I was being a bit of a hypocrite. 

Anyone who knows me well patiently hears me out while I rant about the "wrongness" of flavored coffees, ridiculously large American portions, Vermont restaurants who serve maple creme brulee, and trendy "vitamin" water and sports drinks.  Yes, I can pontificate about food like nobody's business, believe it or not.  Most of my friends bear with me because they know we all have our little foibles...and because I sometimes enjoy large portions and American takes on traditionally European recipes, though I never admit it in public. 

So, as I sat there in my dirty Honda, shoving an orange frosted "scone" into my face, crumbs flying willy-nilly, I looked in my rear view mirror to inspect my teeth.  And that's when it hit me:  my shortbread is an Americanized version of traditional Scottish shortbread.  It's slightly chewy and contains a filling of jam, chocolate, nuts, or lemon curd.  Would a self-respecting traditional Scottish cook make it the way I do?  Probably not.

Oooops.  Maybe I'd better look at my own shortbread before I start spouting about other specialty food products.  Or maybe not.  It's kind of fun to be a food curmudgeon about OTHER PEOPLE'S FOOD. 

Okay, I'm a dork.  I LOVED the orange "scone".  I will go back for more.  I will stop putting quotation marks around the word "scone" to highlight my sarcasm.  I would hate it if someone talked about my product as "shortbread".

I'm not a mean person, I swear.  Forgive me for my scorn...ummm...I mean my scone. 

Ann Zuccardy, A Woman Sconed

Rice Pudding

This lemongrassgirl is back and writing about food with new passion and vigor.  Seems as though since I was laid off from my technical writing job, the world has been spinning with opportunities:  shortbread, food writing, copywriting, my new position on the Board of Directors for the Vermont Specialty Food Association, learning about radio jingle production: it's nice to be wanted. 

There's something about writing about food, telling the story or the memory behind the meal that excites me more than all other types of writing I do.  There's something about it that calms me on a Sunday morning when the anxiety of all the work I have to do today threatens to bury me. 

Rice pudding soothes.  Writing about rice pudding heals. 

So here goes.  A post about a humble rice pudding. 

My mom made rice pudding when I was growing up.  I suspect she used Minute Rice because that's what we ate back in the 60s and 70s.  Mom threw a handful of raisins in her pudding and the tiniest sprinkle of nutmeg and cinnamon.  Creamy, thick, slightly sweet...rice pudding nurtures me. 

Last night, after an impromptu steak and broccoli stir fry (which was a tad too salty), I found myself with a couple cups of leftover organic brown basmati rice and decided its nutty, chewy texture would compliment the creamy custard of a perfect rice pudding which would satisfy me after my salty dinner.  I decided to try this without a recipe.  (I'm honing my skills by NOT following recipes lately.) 

Into a saucepan with the rice, I poured some 1% milk and a splash of Half and Half.  I also tossed in some sugar...not much, maybe a handful?  Then I set the pan to simmer for a long time, stirring occasionally.  I lost track of time, maybe a half hour of simmering?  As the already cooked rice absorbed the milk, I added more milk every 10 minutes or so.  Kind of like making risotto - you just keep adding liquid and the starch in the rice releases making everything oh-so thick and creamy. 

When the rice mixture was cooked to milky perfection, I tempered one egg in separate bowl with some of the milk mixture from the rice (the egg would scramble if I threw it right into the hot pan, thanks Mom and Grandma for teaching that piece of culinary knowledge!).  I tossed the tempered egg mixture back into the pan and continued to stir over the lowest flame as the mixture turned into a pale yellow custard with beautiful flecks of brown rice invitingly peeking through.   

When the custard phase was done, I added some vanilla extract and poured the whole batch into a large bowl for cooling.  I sprinkled the top with a tiny amount of cinnamon and nutmeg just like Mom and Grandma did.  No raisins for me this time - I wanted a creamy experience and didn't feel raisiny.  After our salty meal, sweet and smooth was just the ticket.   

As the bowl cooled and thickened on the counter, my daughter and I dug in to the warm pudding.  Slightly sweet, a little chewy, but simultaneously smooth, we ate the entire bowl in about 20 minutes.  Now there's a dessert I feel good about giving my child!

It's been a bit cold and damp these last few days so rice pudding on a Saturday night with my daughter was more than just a pig-out fest.  It made me think of loose teeth when I was 8 and the only food that was easy to eat - rice pudding.  It made me think of snuggling on the couch wrapped in an afghan watching the Wonderful World of Disney on a Sunday night (after Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, but right before bed). 

I found myself dreaming of new ingredients to add to my next rice pudding.  Orange peel came to me in my sleep.  Hmmmm...

Ann Zuccardy, Shortbreadpreneur and now....puddingpreneur 

Powdrell's BBQ

My mom was in town this weekend and brought about 5 pounds of Powdrell's BBQ - it was delicious. There is something fantastic about the meat - it is moist and flavorful. I am not a big meat eater - and am a sometime vegetarian, so my fondness for this beef bbq is worth noting.

Dear Mum also brought a big container of their sauce - which was fine. Really, the best sauce for BBQ comes from the Shell Station on Main St. and River Road in Boerne - fantastic sauce.

There is something unusual in the south - getting good food in gas stations - it always makes me giggle - however, ALL visitors to our house make the short, 6 mile drive to the Chevron station in Comfort, TX - where you will be treated to AMAZING breakfast tacos, posole, and menudo for those who indulge in spicy tripe stew.

A final thanks to my sister, Kathy Schrieber, who told mom about my memories of Powdrell's and thus instigated the meat-fest.

Cynthia
************
Cynthia McKenna, LPC, NCC
Counseling

What Do You Eat Part Deux

We're getting a lot of airplay on the topic that fellow Lemongrass Girl Cynthia McKenna err, brought to the table. The question being, "What do you eat when your S.O. is Away?"

This response was submitted to our happy little blog by "Debbie." Thanks Deb, for giving us a chuckle today!

Debbie Writes:

Too funny.... When Ken leaves on a river trip and we are apart for about 3 days to a week, I start my foraging by eating fried chicken  from our local Popeyes..... not because I necessarily like that chicken  from Popeyes, just because it is a taboo food that he would not approve of.....

Not that he is such a healthy eater but he would scoff at my total disregard for fat content..... all the while he has candy wrappers floating on the floor board of his truck........

and I eat this chicken while I watch some chick flick that he would never watch in a million years.....My ritual of eating the fried chicken while watching a chick flick (in my pajamas) is a total rebellion thing.....

then the dinner for the next night will be a huge..... and I mean a huge bowl of macaroni and cheese..... Now that is my comfort food... I totally melt with that food.... And if my mother makes it, it is orgasmic.....

I have two comfort foods.... well maybe 3 if I count mashed potatoes.....and I guess I should since we are confessing here....

But my other comfort food is a huge, and again I mean a huge bowl of buttered popcorn with a gigantic glass of cold, cold milk.... When I eat that, I can go into a drug like stupor.....

Growing up, every Sunday we would have a huge afternoon dinner..... so That night, we would all gather around the TV and watch Walt Disney and just Eat buttered popcorn and (so we were doing a healthy thing), drink milk......The whole family..... no responsibilities, no worries..... And so if I am totally freaked out about something, I can eat popcorn And  drink milk and find nirvana and become so relaxed, you would think I had just had half of my brain removed.....

For some reason and perhaps  the root of my weight problems, it is not Just the comfort food itself but the quanity that I need to injest.... which could also merely be the fact that I over exaggerate my need for the comfort food, believing that my stress is so large that it needs to be matched with the correct size bowl.....

Ken will be leaving on March 18th for a week long river trip..... I have joined Weight Watchers (lost 17.5 pounds so far) and it will be interesting to me to see how I will react..... Through WW, I am trying to manage my quanity problem..... and am more aware of my mindless, continual grazing..... For some reason, I don't feel like I will go off the deep end when he leaves..... but then I don't know...

The great thing about WW is that it doesn't actually forbid you to eat certain foods, you just learn that if you HAVE to have something, you just learn to adjust your points to take it in.... More like a normal eating habit..

I enjoyed your article.... Been there.... thanks for sharing.... debbie

What do you eat when your S.O. is away?

My partner travels a lot, and when we are together, we eat beautiful, healthful meals. When I am home alone, I eat – well - junk.

Sometimes I don’t eat much at all – not quite pining away for my love, but more not pining away for anything at all.

The week at home alone almost always begins with a trip to Taco Cabana for some Bean & Cheese Nachos with a side of Guacamole. I don’t really like the tortilla chips that TC uses, but the nachos are definitely a comfort food, and they are filling. And since my appetite is usually down, I can get 2 or 3 meals out of them.

Once the nachos are gone, then I move to pizza.

Sometimes it is an Ultimate pizza pizza from Little Caesar’s (without pineapple and anchovies) and sometimes it is a frozen cheese pizza from our foo-foo grocery, Central Market.

Once pizza = about 4 meals.

Now, if I am still batching it by the time the pizza is gone, then I move on to hamburgers and fries.

I live right around the corner from a funky, down-home style restaurant called PoPo’s – it has a giant red neon sign that says, ‘EATS” The walls are covered with those little commemorative travel plates you can buy in truck stops – you know the ones with little scenes on them with the state flower, state motto, etc.

Besides travel dishware décor, the Restaurant has pretty good food. They make the best hamburger in town, and have these spicy French fries that I love. So I call them up and order a cheeseburger, cooked medium, and fries. They say, “It will be ready in 15 minutes” That is kind of the mysterious part about PoPo’s, 15 minutes is sometimes 7 minutes, and sometimes 35 minutes. So I take something to read and sit in their small waiting area while I watch the regulars sit at the bar and talk about sports and enjoy adult beverages. The wait staff hangs out with them, chatting while they wait for their orders to come up. It is a very friendly place, and they have really delicious homey foods that are dependably good.

Back to my burger, I get it home, add the mustard & ketchup plus all the lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, etc., and enjoy. Please note, this is the first fresh veg I have had in a week.

It is a pitiful cycle, but very predictable.

This week, it was nachos + chili con queso from Chaco’s – a really good fast food Mexican restaurant in San Antonio. Last night the nachos were gone, and I wasn’t ready for pizza or hamburgers, so I ate some naan type bread with copious amounts of a good sharp Cheddar Cheese.

When I was a child, my father had terrible allergies and illness that required bland food When he traveled for business, my mom and sister and I would load up on pizza, spaghetti, and barbeque (from Powdrell’s in Albuquerque). It occurs to me that my current eating habits might be tied to these early forays into forbidden food.

I also try to eat very healthfully in my day-to-day life. We are both good cooks and enjoy delicious meals on a regular basis – but now and then, I cross over to the dark side.

Contributed by Cynthia McKenna
http://CynthiaMcKennaCounseling.com

Bed and Breakfast

I have been blogging and writing copywriting articles like a maniac all evening... and I daresay I've nearly run out of steam for the food blog here. But not before I post a few photos from the lovely Bed and Breakfast I stayed at with my honey over the weekend.

Here's bed...

Here's breakfast...

And here is... me decorating the tree (!)

Tomatoes!

Well, I am about 3 weeks late, but I am starting my tomato plants today.  I grown mostly heirloom tomatoes, with seeds purchased through Seed Saver's Exchange and other organic sources, as well as seeds traded with other tomato lovers.

Isn't it a bit early to be talking about tomatoes?  Well, actually no.  In Texas, the growing season is short - we have until about the end of June to get good fruit set, then the plants wait until August to start setting fruit again - the July sun and temps are too intense for the pollen to survive.

So lots of people started their tomato seeds on Boxing Day, but with the renovations at home, I just couldn't get it done.

However, today is the day.  I am heading to Home Depot to pick up seed starting mix and by tonight, I'll be happily incubating some tomatoes.

I can't quite explain my love of tomatoes -it is a deep and true devotion.  You know how it goes, you see a lush tomato plant at a friend's house, or maybe your neighbor shares some of the largess of their crop...you taste that warm tomato flesh, and you want another...

It is absolutely an addiction with me.  I promised myself "no more store bought tomatoes" and only gave in one time this winter -

Store bought tomatoes are not the same creatures as home grown - I might even suggest they are a different species!  The varieties are selected to withstand transit and still have a perfect tomato shape.  They are also cultivated to withstand long periods of storage.  they are picked green, and then ripen, if that is what you call it, along the way in cardboard boxes and grocery refrigerators. 

I do not like store bought tomatoes.  I think we should all grow our own tomatoes, or support local farmers and farmer's markets and buy up all their lovely tomatoes.

Heirloom tomatoes are different than hybrid tomatoes. 

Hybrids are cultivated to select for desirable properties - like really big tomatoes, or tomatoes perfect for sauces and canning.  there are some great hybrid varieties - Sun Gold and Early Wonder come to mind.  Hybrids are cross pollinated and then the seeds are grown out over several generations to make sure the crossing is stable (so if you are looking for Sun Gold you actually get that delicious little golden tomato - not red, not yellow)

Heirloom tomatoes are grown from seeds that have a history.  They often have stories like, "variety grown by my Russian grandfather" or "saved from tomatoes my Aunt Sue got from her husbands mother."  They have names like Earl of Edgecomb, Aunt Ginny's German Green, Mortgage Lifter, Brandywine, and Pink Ping Pong.  They don't come out perfectly shaped, some need to be eaten almost as quickly as you pick them because they don't store very well.  But oh my, are they delicious!  They even have a bit of a pedigree.  The seeds can be traced back to the person that had them first - that always amazes me.

Here is to the tomatoes of 2007 - I can't wait to taste them!

Just in case you want to know more about heirloom tomatoes, check out Tomatoville - and tell them I sent you!

Cynthia
*************
Cynthia McKenna, LPC, NCC
www.cynthiamckennacounseling.com

What's in Your Cart?: Ann Follows Up to Dina's Last Post

Dina, Your last post is a lovely commentary on many levels, but you touched on one topic that is near and dear to my own heart - cultural biases about feeding children.

The whole thing about toddlers being picky eaters, hating veggies and spicy foods is totally made up by food-fearing Americans.

I remember a friend's reaction of horror that I was feeding my toddler a spicy Indian dish when she was 2. She was concerned that my daughter's "delicate" digestive system would be upset. (Mind you this kid also ate anchovies at age 2 because she had no preconceived notion that anchovies are considered "yucky" by many people including her mother.) I responded with, "Well, duh...what do you think Indians feed their kids?" I believe it's a completely made-up belief that kids do not like spices or vegetables. I believe that most parents foist their own food prejudices on unsuspecting kids.

Here's another thought about kids and food tastes. I have no scientific evidence for this, but I would guess that breast-fed babies tend to be more adventurous eaters than bottle fed babies. Why? Well, a mom's breast milk changes in taste, texture, color, and nutrients depending on what the mom has eaten and what her child needs. You see, nature just knows the right formula for babies! Formula-fed babies however, get the same thing all the time...how boring. I would guess that breast-fed babies learn at a very early age on a physical level about different tastes. New tastes and textures are not scary to them - they're just part of life. Some they find pleasant; some are not...but the bottom line is, these babies try many different experiences from an early age! I am convinced that Mother Nature knows best how to feed babies and adults. Taking our cues from nature and adding a bit of human whimsy and creativity, we can debunk many commonly-held beliefs about nutri tion and health and raise a new generation of children who embrace mental and physical health as a lifestyle, rather than with the drudgery I see all around me.

Now that my daughter is a teen, I see other food behaviors that she picks up from her friends creeping in, but she's still a good eater with no big food and body image hangups that often plague teenage girls. I compare her food tastes and body image behavior to that of my step-daughters and I see a HUGE difference. It makes me grateful that my daughter has grown up in foodie households.

The notion that children do not like vegetables and need to be tricked into eating them is total bunk. The notion that it's a difficult chore to eat healthily and to live a healthy, natural lifestyle full of variety and balance is total bunk.

Thanks for posting this. I'd love to see you turn it into an article for a parenting magazine. (And thanks for getting me all hot and bothered about one of my favorite topics on a snowy Saturday.)

Love,
Anniezee
Vermont Shortbread Company

What's in your cart?

You can tell a lot about a person simply by taking a gander at what's in their shopping cart. Me, I recently had a male cashier tell me, "Wow, you eat good," upon scanning and bagging my groceries. And yes, I do "eat good." I enjoy food of all kinds including many "healthy" things that sometimes get the upturned nose or wrinkle of disgust from more finicky eaters... but that's not what this story is about.

Yesterday at about 3: 30 p.m. I left the offices of Wordfeeder.com Copywriting and Marketing to run out for some soymilk and a few other assorted items. (You can do this when you work for yourself). While on the express checkout line, I encountered an unattended cart and a young woman off to the side, jouncing a baby about while attempting to soothe and shush it. Two pretty little dark haired girls weaved about the woman's kneecaps and the general area. I asked if the person whose cart it was would return soon - she said it was her cart, and after a few moments handed the baby to the woman in front of her. (I had thought they were together but they weren't.) This made sense - the baby, with its yellow-fuzz topped head and protruding ears, looked nothing like this woman, who had dark eyes and hair and olive skin, as did the two little pixies who evidently belonged to her. She said, "Oh, I offered to hold the baby because it was crying and didn't want to be in the carrier."

After the woman returned to her spot in line, I began to notice the items in her cart. A cluster of 3 or 4 purple beets with their deep green and red-tinged leafy tops. Bright orange carrots, and a knob of fresh ginger. A clump of flat-leafed parsley and a bundle of red swiss chard with its red, rhubarb-like stalks. A few other items, maybe spices, that indicated she, like me, was "a good eater."

So then I took note again, of this lady and her children. She wore no makeup, but her features were attractive and her eyes bright and alert. Her skin glowed and dark hair shined. When she smiled, her teeth lined up in her mouth the way that a set of good, healthy teeth should. Her jeans were baggy, but you could tell that she was trim and fit, and probably carried no extra belly bulk. Her girls had large, dark eyes fringed with long lashes, and Kewpie-doll faces. I started imagining all these wonderful leafy greens and whatever other good things she likely ate, working through the systems of this lady and her family, slightly in awe of our Good Earth and its beauty-and-life-giving properties.

So then I asked the woman, "Your girls eat their vegetables?" And she said, "Well, yes, I'm pretty strict about that." (Even as one of the kids had dropped to the ground onto her back, and was doing her best Human Floor Buffer impression for us. I noted a well-dressed woman glance at the child and make a face of disapproval as she swished by us... guess you can be "strict" about some things, but not others?). For a few moments I flashed back to all my friends with children, shaking their heads and saying things like, "I just can't get him to eat broccoli." "She only eats pasta if I serve it plain, with butter." "He refuses to eat potatoes now." And then I imagined how many children in war-ravaged Afghanistan push away their bowl of rice (answer: not many, I'll bet). And THEN I thought of Dr. Spock, who I recall dispensed the advice, "If your children refuse to eat their dinner, just take it away and tell them they will have to wait until the next meal until they get to eat again (and then break out the same plate of food) - or at least that's how I remember it, don't know, I read Dr. Spock when I was thirteen or so.

But anyway, back to my grocery store tale. If all this good food wasn't enough to impress me, the Au Naturale woman then procured three cloth sacks with handles from the depths of her handbag, and then proceeded to transfer her items into these bags, the leafy beet tops poking out for a last look around. Of course, I asked her about the bags too - and she said she had found a company online that sells reusable bags for grocery shopping, because she felt guilty about all the plastic and paper she had used up in the past. I thought it was a noble effort.

I don't really have anything else to add here. For some reason I was just really into people-watching yesterday at the supermarket. Since you're here, I'll tell you what was in my cart: Dannon La Creme Yogurt (vanilla), a bag of Mi-Del ginger snaps, a carton of unsweeted soymilk from Silk, a box of frozen Stouffer's French Bread Pizza with Extra Cheese, frozen samosas from Tandoori Chef, and a bag of organic oats from the bulk bin. It wasn't vegetable day for the Wordfeeder.

So what's in your cart?

Soup Saga: The Pot is Nearly Empty :-(

I blogged about my colorful, inexpensive gypsy soup on Sunday.  And now, the soup saga continues.

On Monday, my daughter came home from school and asked for some for a snack.  How often does YOUR 12 year old ask for homemade vegetable soup for an afterschool snack?  I think this is a first for my kid.  It's that good!

Today I finished the soup for lunch.  I noticed it had thickened quite a bit from being in the fridge and from the starch in the potatoes.  Rather than add water, I added a splash of red wine while I was reheating the soup in a small saucepan.  I topped the hot soup with a handful of freshly grated parmesan which added body, gave it a nutty flavor, and made it almost stew-like.  I am pleasantly warmed. 

Autumn and winter are my favorite cooking seasons with soups, stews, and crockpot creations abound.  Comfort food.  I'll be making gypsy soup regularly during this cold Vermont winter. 

Ann at Vermont Shortbread Company, your best source for Thanksgiving and Christmas desserts

Ann's Cheesy Adventures

No meal is more satisfying and nurturing to me than cheese, cold meat, a crusty loaf, and perhaps some fruit.  Ann's version of the ploughman's lunch is a daily occurrence at many an Anniezee lunch and dinner. 

Tonight , a dreary Sunday night with the cold rain on the verge of snow all day and darkness settling  early, I dined on the following: 

• Gypsy Soup - from the first Moosewood cookbook.  Gyspy soup is a Spanish style vegetable soup spiced with paprika, tumeric, a dash of cinnamon, cayenne, and basil.   I used potatoes, broccoli, peas, and a can of chickpeas in tonight's batch, but you can use any veggies you have laying around the house. I ate a big bowl and froze the rest. 

• A large wedge of Great Hill blue cheese - blue cheeses are best served at room temperature.  I left mine out for about an hour before eating. Great Hill is a non-homogenized, raw milk cheese made in eastern Massachusetts.   I'm a big fan of raw milk cheeses - so much more flavor than the mass produced grocery store varieties!

• A hunk of one the delicious baguettes I make at home.  I was in the shortbread bakery all day today, so why not throw some bread in the oven while shortbread is baking?  I mixed the bread in the bread machine which is a great time saver when I'm busy working, but I completed each rising and loaf shaping by hand.

• A big handful of Craisins - very nice with the tangy blue cheese and bread. 

• A glass of Bogle Petite Sirah - great taste and value for little $$.  I like Bogle wines. 

Stay tuned for the ongoing adventures of this cheesy shortbread gal. 

Ann Zuccardy
Cheese Chick and Vermont Shortbread Company President

The Reluctant Gourmet

I wouldn't call myself reluctant about gourmet food. Nope, not reluctant to try it, not reluctant to cook what some consider "gourmet" fare. And I'm not the least bit reluctant about making my newfound foodie home-away-from-home online at http://ReluctantGourmet.com.

The Reluctant Gourmet is an ex-Wall street professional-turned-cook/writer. Whew, now that is what I call a winning combination of intellect/personality traits and someone who must surely be a fascinating storyteller and conversationalist.

I happened upon this website while doing food marketing research on Google. I wasn't looking for cooking advice for myself, but that's what I found. Jackpot! Soup pot! Tucked away in this man's little corner of the web lie the answers to every culinary question I ever had but didn't think to ask. Last night I learned how to keep myself from slicing the tip of my thumb off while chopping onions. This morning I discovered several new techniques for cooking  chicken cutlets on the stovetop without letting the meat become rubbery and overdone. I always overcook my chicken breast sautees. I mean I always DID. Thanks to the Reluctant Gourmet, my chicken scorching days are over!

Dina at Wordfeeder.com -
Copywriter, Marketer, and Avid Student of the Internet's Greatest Chefs

Mon Dieu! Brie May Be Abdicating the Throne

According to this article in the National Association for the Specialty Food Trade's online food magazine,  SpecialtyFood.com, soon brie may no longer be the queen of cheeses. 

Please say it isn't so! 

This writer of the article featured in the 10/23/06 email digest version of the publication believes that as the cheese industry grows and Americans become savvier cheese shoppers, they crave more flavors and types of cheeses from all over the world. The name "brie" is unprotected (and thus I do not believe it's a proper noun - I see it init capped as Brie in some places and brie in others - how's a grammar nerd to write about it?!?).  There are many brie wannabes out there that have come to be known to many of us as brie, even though they're not true Brie the way God intended (I won't even pretend to understand the official French Brie rules and designations right now).  I think it's kind of like Kleenex, which has become a generic name for "facial tissue" or Thermos, which has become the generic name for "insulated thermal container".  So has brie become the generic name for many soft ripened cheeses. 

The bottom line:  Brie is slowly losing its coveted position as the queen of cheeses because the specialty cheese industry is growing so quickly.  Read the entire article here. 

While there are many soft cheeses I prefer over brie (Italian Toma comes to mind as a brie soft ripened cousin), I am rooting for brie.  I cut my cheese teeth on brie back in the 1970s when Velveeta was the only "soft" cheese available in my house and memories of brie as an exotic treat linger like Limburger of the mind.   

Long live the cheese queen.

Ann Zuccardy, Queen of Shortbread and Cheesy Analogies

P.S. I've also heard Brie referred to as le roi du fromage (the king of cheese), but I prefer to think of it as feminine. 

3 A.M. Truck Stop Ruminations

Well, it's 3:00 AM here on the East Coast. This Director of the Future is not able to sleep, so here I am, blogging at 120+ WPM. Don't YOU wish you typed as fast as I do ... ;-)

The little town I now call home shuts down around 8:00 PM each night. Oh sure, we've got some stores which are open late -- Price Chopper is 24/7 and Wal-Mart is open til 10. Still, most of this town (though they do call it a "city") gets boarded up nice and tight around the 8 o'clock hour.

So, what's a hot Virtual Assistant to do when she's hungry, it's pitch black outside and the thought of cooking makes her want to throw her laptop through the window? Silly goose, she's goes to the 24-hour truck stop. Of course!

My 24-hour truck stop -- and yes, it's all mine and my little corner of the world -- is one of those classic greasy spoons. The menus are always a little sticky and the short order cook dings the bell when an order is up. Scores of 18-wheelers are parked in the back lot and you see their drivers shuffling about. Inside the restaurant the waitresses scurry about, calling all the truckers either "honey" or "sweetie" as they make idle chit chat. (I've noticed these terms of endearment are a bit more syrupy and bright when the waitress is waiting on a Big Tipper. Naturally.) Some of the waitresses remind me of Flo on Alice, with the hair teased just a tad bit too much and the makeup just a tad bit too garish. Still, I dig this place with all its characters and the din.

Are you a people watcher? Boy, I sure am! I suppose that's yet another reason why I dig my truck stop. The old timers mind their own business and enjoy their meal, while the young guns like to make an entrance. And when a pretty girl walks into the place, she's noticed immediately, by the old timers and young guns alike. What kills me is (1) none of these truckers are women and (2) everyone has a mobile phone. I suppose the latter shouldn't surprise me, but for some reason it does. Quiet conversations of "how are the kids, honey?" and "I miss you" and "I'll be home soon" drift through the air. Sometimes I feel sad for these men when I overhear their conversations. I can't imagine how they must feel and how they go through their lives, day to day, so far from home.

Tonight was a good night at my truck stop. I had the chicken fried streak, creamy mashed potatoes and a huge salad. It must be said that was THE best CFS I've ever consumed; mind you, that statement is coming from a lady who's lived in 13 different states (including Kentucky and Tennessee). I got a corner booth, grabbed my book out of my leather backpack and thoroughly enjoyed the meal and the view.

Yes ma'am, it was a good night ... at MY truck stop.


- Contributed by Lori Davis of Davis Virtual Assistants

The little town I now call home shuts down around 8:00 PM each night. Oh sure, we've got some stores which are open late -- Price Chopper is 24/7 and Wal-Mart is open til 10. Still, most of this town (though they do call it a "city") gets boarded up nice and tight around the 8 o'clock hour.

So, what's a hot Virtual Assistant to do when she's hungry, it's pitch black outside and the thought of cooking makes her want to throw her laptop through the window? Silly goose, she's goes to the 24-hour truck stop. Of course!

My 24-hour truck stop -- and yes, it's all mine and my little corner of the world -- is one of those classic greasy spoons. The menus are always a little sticky and the short order cook dings the bell when an order is up. Scores of 18-wheelers are parked in the back lot and you see their drivers shuffling about. Inside the restaurant the waitresses scurry about, calling all the truckers either "honey" or "sweetie" as they make idle chit chat. (I've noticed these terms of endearment are a bit more syrupy and bright when the waitress is waiting on a Big Tipper. Naturally.) Some of the waitresses remind me of Flo on Alice, with the hair teased just a tad bit too much and the makeup just a tad bit too garish. Still, I dig this place with all its characters and the din.

Are you a people watcher? Boy, I sure am! I suppose that's yet another reason why I dig my truck stop. The old timers mind their own business and enjoy their meal, while the young guns like to make an entrance. And when a pretty girl walks into the place, she's noticed immediately, by the old timers and young guns alike. What kills me is (1) none of these truckers are women and (2) everyone has a mobile phone. I suppose the latter shouldn't surprise me, but for some reason it does. Quiet conversations of "how are the kids, honey?" and "I miss you" and "I'll be home soon" drift through the air. Sometimes I feel sad for these men when I overhear their conversations. I can't imagine how they must feel and how they go through their lives, day to day, so far from home.

Tonight was a good night at my truck stop. I had the chicken fried streak, creamy mashed potatoes and a huge salad. It must be said that was THE best CFS I've ever consumed; mind you, that statement is coming from a lady who's lived in 13 different states (including Kentucky and Tennessee). I got a corner booth, grabbed my book out of my leather backpack and thoroughly enjoyed the meal and the view.

Yes ma'am, it was a good night ... at MY truck stop.


- Contributed by Lori Davis of Davis Virtual Assistants

Figs: They're Not Just for Newtons Anymore!

Allow me to tell you about the snack I'm craving today. 

Because it's so simple, it's outrageously elegant and classic.  I first tasted this combination at the beach in Connecticut at my parents' summer home.  I think the only figs my mother ever served came in the Fig Newton package.  I had never had a virgin fig prior to the fig story I'm about to tell today.

One afternoon a couple years ago when I was visiting with my parents, a neighbor (whose name escapes me) brought over a plate of perfectly ripe cut figs with small dollops of marscapone on each.  I devoured the entire plate, relishing the not-too-sweet fruity ripeness of the figs with the almost savory, tiny bit of marscapone with the most delicate hint of sweetness. 

Marscapone (mahs-car-PO-nay) is an Italian cream cheese.  Most commonly sweetened and used in tiramisu, it is also often added to savory dishes as a thickener. 

Real figs (not the ones from the Newton package) are a good source of flavonoids and polyphenols.  I have no clue what that means, but it sounds healthy.  If you want to read more about this ancient miracle fruit, visit Wikipedia.  I guarantee you'll learn some figfacts you never knew! So I'm thinking this sounds like a pretty healthy snack, albeit a bit pricey.  Not that I care, food is that important to me.  I'll save my pennies elsewhere. 

Recently my BNI pal, Miles Scully, (the water guy who knows everything about water so if you live in Vermont and hate your water, call Miles NOW and tell him Ann Zuccardy sent you), suggested a fig shortbread as a recipe idea to add to the Vermont Shortbread product line.  I don't know enough about baking with figs to know how to do that, but Miles may be on to something here.  Customers could heat up a slice their fig shortbread in the microwave and top it with a tablespoon of marscapone and enjoy it with an espresso (or in Miles' case a big glass of ice-cold chemical-free water).  If I ever do follow up with this idea, I'll have to name it the Scully Shortbread Special in honor of my figgy shortbread muse.

I'm getting carried away. 

I adore figs and have written a short poem in their honor:   

In a Newton,

On a plate,

With soft cheese,

Figs are GREAT!

Ann Zuccardy, Vermont Shortbread Company, CP (Chief Poet)

P.S. What the heck is "figgy pudding" in the Christmas song (bring us some figgy pudding...)?  Dina?  Cynthia?  Meri?  Help! 

Baking with Love: Lazy Daisy Oatmeal Cake

Recently my husband celebrated his 46th birthday.  Recovering from knee surgery, he was grumpy and not much into going anywhere to celebrate his middle age.  When I asked him what would make the day special, he told me, "Lazy Daisy Oatmeal Cake."  His now-deceased mom used to make it for him as a child. 

Ummmm...what?  I don't think we ate that in Connecticut.  Nosiree. 

But hey, you know me, I'm all over food and family history stories and memories.  So I pawed through his mom's cookbooks and found the recipe in an old New Jersey church lady cookbook.  Later I discovered I could have also found it on the internet, but nevermind.  There's something about that connected and nurturing feeling I get using an old cookbook smeared with bits of unidentifiable food from a loved one's past that makes me high. 

Lazy Daisy Oatmeal Cake is a spice cake made with cinnamon, nutmeg, and oatmeal in the batter.  It's topped with a broiled coconut and walnut frosting.  It's simple to make.  The only thing I changed was that I used butter instead of margarine.  Margarine will never find its way into my cooking.  Ick.   

I don't know about others, but there comes a point in my life when I have everything I need so a birthday gift of jewelry or trinkets just doesn't excite me.  Make a special meal, though, and I'm in grateful tears.  My husband is the same way (minus the grateful tears lest he appear too girly).  I know that eating his mom's Lazy Daisy Oatmeal cake was all he really needed this year. 

I'm grateful to be with a guy who feels as I do: there's more to food than fuel for the body.  It's a pure and evocative expression of love.   

Ann Zuccardy, Vermont Shortbread Company President and Lazy Daisy Crazy Baker

The Art and Science of Baking Perfect Shortbread

Let's just get this straight from the start.  I did not grow up loving cooking and food.  I grew up in the 60s and 70s on mixes and processed foods that don't require much imagination (casserole with cream of mushroom soup, anyone?).   My food experience and expertise comes solely from talking to people, trying and failing at new cooking experiences, asking questions, tasting everything edible that comes my way, and most of the time, just winging it without really knowing what I'm doing. 

Such has been my experience as a shortbread chef.  I did not grow up in a Scottish family with an old family recipe.  Shortbread, initially, appeared easy to me.  How difficult could it be to throw together butter, sugar, and flour to create a tasty cookie? 

It isn't difficult.  But, there is some science involved and I'm here to tell you about the science and history of shortbread. Imagine that, a literature and creative writing nerd teaching science...I'm spewing coffee out my nose at the silliness of it all as I write.  Today's post concentrates on the science of shortbread in unscientific language.  My hope is that the insights gleaned from hours of trial and error will be of use to all novice bakers.

Initially I was drawn to baking because it's an exact science.  You follow the recipe to the T and you get a perfect baked good, right?  In the beginning, I could bake a perfect baguette if I followed the directions, but heaven help me if I had to be creative with spices and seasonings for a meal.  When I first started cooking, I never understood how people tasted their work and just intuitively knew what it needed.  Thus, I was drawn to baking.  For this cooking novice, it felt more exact and scientific than the creative art of throwing together a meal from my imagination. 

Originally Vermont Shortbread Company started out as a seasonal business out of my own kitchen.  Back in the mid-90s, I didn't even own a Kitchen-Aid mixer.  I mixed the dough by hand.  And anyone who knows shortbread, can attest to the fact that the dough is very heavy with no liquid ingredients.  Back in those days I had forearms the size of tree trunks from all that hand mixing.  The good thing was I learned exactly what consistency the dough had to be to make the best shortbread.  I learned exactly how much handling the dough could take before it became overworked and made a tough shortbread round.  I learned not only by looking, but by feeling and of course, tasting.

As the business grew and people realized that shortbread was a perfect year round gift for any occasion the call to bake during the warmer months became apparent.  However, summer shortbread did not always look as nice as winter shortbread.  Most people didn't notice, but having baked thousands of rounds by hand, I was not satisfied with my summer shortbread.  It took me a couple years to realize there were four factors at work here contributing to the texture, color, and taste of the final shortbread product:  humidity, oven hot spots, butter temperature, and mixing time. 

• Humidity:  I don't know the chemistry behind this, but I can tell you that it's much harder to create a perfect shortbread round when the weather is humid.  Perhaps the moisture makes the flour less fluffy...I don't know.  I can only tell you that humid-weather shortbread is not as pretty, golden, and tasty as cold weather shortbread.  For this reason, when I built my commercial bakery, I installed dehumidifiers in the bakery.  So now, no matter what the season, we produce a perfect shortbread every time. 
• Oven hot spots: When I began baking shortbread out of my home kitchen in the 90s, I had only a small household Whirlpool electric oven.  I could only bake three 8" rounds at a time and the production was slooooooow.  I hate cooking with electric and believe that the best cooks use gas, however, I have to hand it to that little oven that served me well for nearly a decade.  All ovens have spots that are hotter than others.  I intimately learned where all my oven's hot spots were and with each batch of shortbread shifted the position of each pan halfway through the baking time to ensure even browning of my product every time.  The Whirlpool electric model was retired to appliance heaven in 2005.  Now with my commercial oven (a big Imperial gas model), I can bake up to forty 8" rounds at a time in an environment with better convection (air flow around the items).  Still, I shift the pans around in the middle of the baking period as I learn where this new oven's hot spots are. 
• Butter temperature:  When I began baking shortbread, I liked to remove the butter from the fridge a couple hours before I planned to use it so that it would be soft.  Remember, I was mixing by hand and wanted to make it as easy as possible.  When I began baking summer shortbread, however, the butter became runny and began separating.  This did not make for a good texture in the final product.  I don't know how to explain this scientifically; I can only tell you how it felt to me.  The final product was dense and too doughy.  What I really wanted was a crisp golden flakiness on the outside with a little bit of chewiness on the inside.  I learned that if I was going to bake in the summer I had to use butter almost directly from the fridge.  If the butter got too soft, I had to toss it in the garbage and start over.  That's when I bought my first mixer with a dough hook to make the job of mixing hard butter easier.  Butter directly from the fridge, not too hard, not too soft is the only way to make perfect shortbread.  Again, I just had to learn by feeling my way how long to let the butter sit on the counter before it was perfect.  Longer in the winter, shorter in the summer. 
• Mixing time: Any dough mixed too long or not enough affects the final product.  With shortbread, you first cream the sugar and butter together.  That's the easy part.  The tricky part is knowing how to incorporate the flour.  I like to do it a pound at a time (remember I am now baking in pounds of flour, sugar, and butter rather than cups).  Once the dough is completely incorporated and forms a ball with no bits of flour on the side of the mixing bowl, I know it's ready for baking.  Now, when I got Trixie (my commercial mixer), I had to relearn the timing all over.  Trixie can mix bricks.  My hands and my old Kitchen-Aid could not.  Therefore mixing time is much shorter now.  Shortbread dough (as with any dough) becomes tough the more you mix it.  The trick, which I learned by trial and error, is to find the exact timing for your dough.  I am not an expert on all dough, but I've perfected shortbread dough. 

You know, the funny thing about all of this learning how to make the perfect shortbread is that I never had any real training.  Now that I've hired a professional baker, she's taught me a few things about making the process more efficient and making the final product more tasty and beautiful.  When I think about it, that's pretty much how I learn: just doing it over and over.    

When science and our imaginations work together, we create food art.  With the holidays quickly approaching, this scientist and dreamer must retreat to the bakery to create new masterpieces.  I hope that this essay provides you with creative insights for your own dough (shortbread or otherwise) and a little peek inside the art and science of perfect dough from a little Vermont company that handcrafts every item with love, imagination, and tender care (with a little science thrown in). 

Ann Zuccardy, Vermont Shortbread Company's CEO and Shortbread Artist and Scientist

Cod with Tomato Sauce and Basmati Rice with Peas

As I descended the stairs this morning, the gray sky and malleable birches dipping close to my house reminded me of the early snow last night.  It felt like Christmas.  Stumbling into the kitchen (pre-caffeine), I was greeted with the memory of my meal last night.  Cumin with just a tinge of tumeric mixed in wafted noseward and made me smile.  You'll never catch me spraying air freshener around my house. I like remembering my meals with all my senses.  Food writing, reading, and learning isn't just about how something tastes.  It's so much more. 

So this post isn't going to be a recipe. It's simply a story about a dish I recreated from years ago. 

I first tasted it about 18 years ago, while in the UK visiting my brother-in-law and his wife.  They had a dog-eared copy of one of Madhur Jaffrey's Indian cookbooks.   I could tell they made this recipe often because the pages it occupied sported a bright yellow finish (tumeric) and a little grease spots (cooking oil).  I couldn't find my copy of the book (I need to clean out the cookbook shelf very soon), so I winged it.  Here's what I did. 

First, I started the rice.  I sizzled some whole cumin seeds in oil and then added onions.  When the onions were soft, I added frozen peas, then organic brown basmati rice, water and salt.  Cover on, simmering, I forgot about it and allowed the flavors to slow dance. 

For the fish, I started similarly with cumin seeds, mustard seeds, and fennel seeds sizzling and popping in oil.  A little bit of my favorite garam marsala blend and cayenne pepper followed and then I poured in a big can of chopped tomatoes.

I seared some cod that I had rubbed with tumeric without cooking it all the way through.  Then I threw the fish and the tomato mixture together into a baking dish to finish.  I baked it for about 20 minutes at 350 and served it with a Reisling (not my wine pick, my husband likes sweetish wine, so I let him pick).  By the time the fish was done, the rice was fluffy and perfect.  Oh, I forgot to mention, when I cook basmati rice, I soak and rinse it several times like Indian cooks do.  It increases the fluff factor. 

It wasn't exactly as I remembered in the UK, but close enough.  I wish I had used whole tomatoes.  The ones I used were a bit too pureed and gave the dish too much of a ketchupy taste, in my opinion.  My husband, however, dug it.  The sauce was spicy without having that vindaloo hotness that makes me uncomfortable.  The sweetness of the wine made it a perfect compliment to the interplay of sauce spices. 

As we ate in the silence of our empty home, we listened to the wind whip the heavy first snow of the season all about the woods outside our home.  We polished off the wine and remarked about our satiated, but not full bellies.  It's easy, and not at all uncomfortable to fall asleep after a meal like that.

When I wandered down the stairs this morning, and I was greeted with the smells of last night's meal radiating from my oven, I was transported immediately back to that full, happy, peaceful feeling I had last night.  I love the way smells can evoke feelings and memories so simply and elegantly.  My grandfather's pipe tobacco comes to mind.  Years ago, I once spontaneously burst into happy tears upon smelling his exact brand in a pipe shop.  Immediately, I was transported to days of puttering through his heirloom tomato garden and learning about organic gardening before it was cool and trendy. I remembered the smell of the golf course green where he played and the feeling of damp grass under my body as I rolled down the small hill in his yard.  All earthy, happy sensory memories...but these are stories for another time.  Their purpose here is to illustrate the powers of our senses. 

What food smells, textures, sights, and sounds transport you into your deepest, fondest memories?  I would encourage you to go prepare those foods and let the memories roll. 

 

Ann Zuccardy, Vermont Shortbread Company's Olfactory Guru and Probably a Dog in a Former Life

P.S. We did not eat shortbread for dessert.  In fact, the meal experience was so perfect and sensual on its own, there was no need for dessert.