Just about now...

50 years ago, I was just new.

31 years ago, I fell, unknowingly, for the love of my life.

19 years ago, I was counting down to a due date*.

Six years ago, I started this blog**.

Four years ago, I grieved and raged in the mountains of Peru.

A year ago, I came clean.

Six months ago, we lost Blackjack.

Two weeks ago, we made room for Juneau and all the lovely chaos.

Long, long ago, whenever my mother felt overwhelmed by big events and life's dramatic twists and upheavals, she would go to the stove and begin stirring chocolate and sugar and butter together in a pot.  She would stir and stir and then there would be fudge. Creamy, just a teeny, tiny bit grainy, tender, and cocoa-sugar-salty. Magical.

Until recently, it was elusive, this salve for the extraordinary emotional milestone.

Just a few days ago...
Just in time...

...there was fudge***.

You should have some. Just about now.

Go easy

Breathe.

Thanksgiving, in all its oven-hogging, prep-for-days, button-busting glory, is over. You did, or didn't, shop yourself silly for 72 hours straight. The pile of emails waiting for you when you got back to work is (barely) manageable again. Yes, Christmas is coming, but not just yet.

Breathe.

You can think about that later. Now is the time be with a friend who found cancer in her body. Now is the time to clasp her lightly about the shoulders, because there are tubes in her chest where her breasts used to be. Now is the time to imagine how much fear she has carried alone.

They got it, she says, with hope and a little awe at the odds of it having been found at all.  Her mouth twists and she holds her thick black hair in her hands. It is not over yet. 

You breathe, together.
Then you both breathe a little more easily and begin to talk again while you eat.

Now is the time, the perfect time, for a gentle lentil salad and some peace.

Spontaneous Pumpkin Cream Cheese Hand Pies

The plan was to make soup and salad for dinner tonight.  Then I went to Trader Joe's and this happened*.

No. Wait.

Hand Pies. I meant Hand Pies happened.

Slumber Party

I just got back from a slumber party with my girlfriends*.

The view from our slumber party locale

Aside from the improved scenery, things have definitely changed since I was my daughter's age.

What we ate then:

Pizza
Potato chips
Cheetos
Soda
Cupcakes with sprinkles
Candy that makes your tongue turn blue and/or red, preferably in powder form from a stick
Bubble Yum, all flavors
More soda, even though mom really wanted you to stop jumping around and go to sleep
Jiffy Pop popcorn, burnt on one side where the foil got too hot
Stacks of pancakes, bacon, sausages and extra syrup the morning after

What we ate now:

Oreccehiette pasta with kale and lean chicken sausage
Carrot sticks and raw peppers
Cashews
Blue cheese, salami and rosemary crackers
Fennel soup
Butter lettuce salad with shallot vinaigrette
Burrata burgers with heirloom tomatoes and pesto
8 bottles of chardonnay
2 bottles of pinot noir
2 six packs of beer
Half a bottle of gin
Dark chocolate covered marshmallows**
Several rounds of cocktails with names like "The Recovery" and "The Reef"
Strong, strong coffee the morning after

The aforementioned burrata burger

But a lot of things hadn't changed at all.

There was an inordinate amount of giggling, inappropriate language, and gossip. Grown-ups shushed us, and at one point during lunch we all had to hide our faces, dying of a combination of embarrassment and hysterics. We talked about boys we liked***, danced around in our pajamas, watched videos, and played games.  Somebody snuck a cigarette. Plans for the weekend and the rest of our lives were given serious consideration and debate. We stayed up way past our bedtimes****, wore sweatpants and fuzzy socks, and made fart jokes. And when it was time to leave, we couldn't believe how fast the time had gone.

Don't get me wrong. I loved a good slumber party when I was a kid. But I have to say, the adult version is a gazillion times better.

And tastier.

Worst Supporting Freezer Nominee

Tonight, when other people in this town are gliding down the red carpet in Dolce & Gabbana, dripping with Fred Leighton jewels amid the frenzied screams of paparazzi and the glare of the spotlights, I will be lying on the floor of my kitchen with a blow dryer and an ice pick in a vain attempt to resuscitate my Sub Zero refrigerator from hell.  

I can't even make a good drinking game out this.  Why?

Because I HAVE NO F@%#ING ICE to put in the F@%#ING DRINKS!!!

Is it possible for an appliance to be a drama queen, because if so, this...this...overpriced, over-rated, over-the-hill diva has just frigging NAILED it.
Bring on the golden eunuch.
It wins.

Don't feel sorry for her.  I'm the victim here.  My shelves are groaning with all the leftovers and Trader Joe's crap and sausage meat and frozen corn (six packages of frozen corn, really?!?)  that no one in this house will ever eat.  How am I supposed to circulate air when there is literally not an inch of open space anywhere? It is my fault that my coil has completely frozen over from neglect?  Why doesn't she get a competent repairman in here, or just put me out of my misery and replace me already? Go ahead, ask her. You'll see. 

What's that?  Why don't I just get a new fridge, like my husband so generously offered as a Christmas gift after the last incident?

Um.

Because I thought that if we had to replace the fridge anyway, we might as well tear down a few walls and remodel the kitchen while we were at it.

So I have to interview a few architects first.

Craziest wife in a lead role. 
Bring on the golden eunuch. 
She wins.*
And somebody better get that ice pick away from her.

If you happen to have a functional freezer, and can grab a few amazing Cara Cara oranges from Trader Joe's** or your local market, I'd highly recommend making this.  These oranges are a gorgeous blush pink inside, and are extra sweet with a hint of berry flavor.  I've made marvelous mimosas with them, but love this sorbet even more.  It's bursting with orange flavor and the addition of ginger and mint gives it that little hint of elegance that a special evening like this deserves.

For most people.  I'll be having something made with defrosted corn.

Keeping the pounds on for you

Humor via George Takei's facebook page

Crispy little chicken wings, via my oven

Given what we ate on Sunday*, next year's Super Bowl will be watched at the gym.  Meanwhile, I just hope the lights go out when I have to put on my jeans.

A humble brand of fabulousness

There was not much love lost for Michael Chabon's Telegraph Avenue when I hosted book group today.  It was a big, over-written slog of a novel, ripe with good intentions and populated with an unlikely but ultimately interdependent tribe of memorable, flawed, striving characters buried under an avalanche of similes and metaphors and weighty authorial preening.  Like Fifty-Eight, abandoned in death, we collectively longed to escape to a loquat tree and never look back.

Here is an example of what Michael's editor should have done:

There was not much love lost for Michael Chabon's Telegraph Avenue when I hosted book group today.  It was a big, over-written slog of a novel, ripe with good intentions and populated with an unlikely but ultimately interdependent tribe of memorable, flawed, striving characters buried under an avalanche of similes and metaphors and weighty authorial preening.  Like Fifty-Eight, abandoned in death, we collectively longed to escape to a loquat tree and never look back.

The book was way too long.  The author was clearly full of himself.  There was a parrot that got away.

Lucky parrot.

There were small flashes of comic genius:

"Then a hatch in the side of the gondola sighed and swung open, divulging the airship's secret cargo: a basalt monolith, the very thing to set half-apes dreaming of the stars.  Black knit polo shirt, skull polished like the knob on an Oscar.  Gold-rimmed sunglasses, gold finger rings, black Levi's, Timerland loafers.  Pausing at the top of a fold-down stair for a display of freestyle looming, brother looked like a celebrity golfer or as if perhaps he had recently eaten a celebrity golfer."

Freestyle looming is going to be my new thing.

I loved this, too:

"The cakes and cookies at Neldam's were not first-rate, but they had an old-fashioned sincerity, a humble brand of fabulousness, that touched Archy in this time when everything good in life was either synthesized in transgenic cyborg vats or shade-grown in small batches by a Buddhist collective of blind ex-Carmelite Wiccans."

Now, I had my lunch theme:  Food with a humble brand of fabulousness. And no blind Wiccans.

Tricks and treats

Charlie Brown got a rock.
My kids got tie-dyed underwear and the seven hour Collector's Edition of Titanic*.

The rest of you get Candy Bar Cookie Bars.

Of course, if you are battening down the hatches because the storm of all storms is crashing down all around you, having some extra underwear around, regardless of what color it is, may be a blessing in disguise**.  As are these treats.

Cook my Mailbox Weekend IV

That whole fall thing?
First it was kinda happening.
Then it was 99 degrees outside.

I took this as a sign that someone up there wanted me catch up on my summer reading, and retired to the hammock. I made excellent progress* on the July issue of Bon Appetit before I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I made this for dinner.

The steaks were melt in your mouth amazing, which I took as a sign that someone up there wanted to reward me for taking the afternoon off.

Bacon Jam, A Fable

fa·ble/ˈfābəl/

Noun:

A short story, typically with animals as characters, conveying a moral.

Bacon Jam, A Fable

Once upon a time, there was a middle aged Encino housewife Toad who got a mysterious jar in the mail from her friend, Tracy Frog. Toad was very excited about this jar because it had the magic word, "Bacon", written on it.  Toad was right to be excited, because inside the jar was the most amazing treat in the whole wide world:  Bacon Jam.

But Toad was selfish, and did not share the Bacon Jam with any of the other animals in the swamp.  She did not even share the Bacon Jam with Mr. Toad.  She saved it all for herself, hidden in the way back of her fridge.

Then one day, when she went to get just a bit to put onto on her fried egg sandwich, the little jar was gone!  The helpful hedgehog that kept Toad's house clean had thrown it out by mistake.  Toad was  furious.  But the fridge was a lot cleaner and hedgehogs can be prickly, so she held her tongue and bided her time.

Soon enough, Toad went to visit Frog.  Because she was a kind and generous hostess, Frog took Toad to the Skillet Diner, where that astonishing little jar had come from in the first place*, and treated her to lunch.  Naturally, Toad ordered "The Burger" with Bacon Jam, arugula and creamy bleu cheese, and when it came she almost died with happiness, the burger was so delicious.  Instead of offering to split the heavenly burger with her friend Frog, Toad was selfish and gobbled up most of it all by herself.  In fact,  she only gave Frog one tiny little bite. To be polite.

Months passed, but Toad never forgot about the marvelous Bacon Jam.  While she and her colleague Badger were on a business trip in Frog's neck of the woods, she began scheming to herself.  Toad made a sly plan to take Badger to Skillet Diner.  She planned to have The Burger, and to convince Badger to order one of his own, so she would not have to share even a tiny little bite of her meltingly scrumptious Bacon Jam.

Seeing right through her plan, Badger, being a kind, wise, and generous guest, ordered the Ultimate Grilled Cheese with Bacon Jam, because he could see in Toad's greedy little eyes exactly how much she wanted to try that, too.  And when the food came, he let her have the first bite, piping hot and crispy, dripping with cheese and that incredible Bacon Jam.

Toad was profoundly moved, and more than a little ashamed of herself.  She cut her burger in half, and passed one half over to Badger.  Grinning, they each took a bite of the other's dish.  Closing their eyes, they groaned and mumbled with their mouths full:  "Oh. My. GOD.  This stuff is so GOOD!!"

Then they BOTH almost died with happiness.

The End.

The moral of the story is:

Never keep the wonders of Bacon Jam all to yourself.  But if you do, make sure you get to it before the housekeeper does.** 

Just a hint of fall

We've been waiting very patiently.

Sunscreen containers almost empty.
Sweaters freshly dry cleaned.
Boots polished.
Cozy pashminas organized by color.
New fuzzy socks.

But frigging summer has just been hanging around, laughing.

Until this week. The mornings were gray and cool and the wind was picking up a few stray leaves here and there.  The night air coming in through the open windows in the kitchen had me reaching for a sweatshirt as I wrote this.

Yes, it was still 80 degrees at noon, but here (finally!!!), was just a hint of fall.

Carpool Wars: Battle Taco!

Given how intense this thing is getting, I clearly need to update the "Feud" entry on Wikipedia:

"A feud (ˈfjuːd'), referred to in more extreme cases as a blood feud, vendetta, faida, or private war, is a long-running argument or fight, often between social groups of people, especially families or clans.

Famous blood feuds

The Hatfield clan in 1897.

• Three Kingdoms period, (184-280 AD) feuding Chinese warlords during the fall of the Han Dynasty.
• Njál's saga, an Icelandic account of a Norse blood feud (960-1020; Norway, Ireland and Iceland)
• The Mackintosh-Cameron feud (1290s-1665)
• The Battle of the North Inch, Michaelmas, 1396, Scotland; the battle is fictionalised in the novel The Fair Maid of Perth bySir Walter Scott
• The Percy–Neville feud (1450s; England)
• The Wars of the Roses (1455–1487; England)
• The Talbot–Berkeley feud (1455–1485; England) (concurrent with the War of the roses)
• The Gunn–Keith feud (1464-1978; Scotland)
• The Campbell–MacDonald feud, including the Massacre of Glencoe (1692; Scotland)
• The Regulator-Moderator War, (1839-1844, Republic of Texas)
• The Donnelly–Biddulph community feud (1857–1880; Ontario, Canada)
• The Lincoln County War (1878–1881; New Mexico, USA)
• The Hatfield–McCoy feud (1878–1891; West Virginia & Kentucky, USA)
• The Clanton/McLaury–Earp feud (see also Earp Vendetta Ride), also known as the "Gunfight at the O.K. Corral" (1881; Arizona, USA)
• The Pleasant Valley War, also known as the "Tonto Basin Feud" (1882–1892; Arizona, USA)
• The Capone–Moran feud, including the St. Valentine's Day massacre (1925–1930; Chicago, Illinois, USA)
• The Castellammarese War (1929–1931; New York City, USA)
• The Great Mafia War (1981–1983; Sicily, Italy)
• The Feud of Scampia (2004–2005; Naples, Italy)
• The Maguindanao Massacre (2009; Ampatuan, Philippines)"
• Carpool Wars (2011-2012; Encino, California, USA)

Carpool Wars: Battle Taco!
The latest skirmish between the carpool clans was brutal, as usual.

First, the battle lines were drawn:

A taco, by definition, is a tortilla folded around a filling, so that's the basic limit. 
Tortillas can be corn or flour, homemade or store bought. 
The filling can be anything -- meat, veggies, combination, etc. 
The tacos themselves can be fried or not, rolled or soft. 
Because condiments are such a personal thing, I'd suggest we each have a "recommended" configuration (including specific toppings, if any), but allow the judges to customize their own if they choose from your available condiments.

Available condiments?
Try five different homemade salsas, freshly chopped mangos, various types of crumbled and grated cheese, quick-pickled onions, shredded lettuce, thinly sliced radishes, chopped cilantro, ripe tomato wedges, sour cream, dill cucumber spears, olives, diced white onions, and fresh avocado.

Now picture them rigidly separated into four distinct sections of a big table, and pity the fool that tried to put one woman's cotija cheese on another woman's chicken taco.

Smack!

The tacos themselves?
Two fried, two not.

The tortillas?
All corn.  Some grilled, some freshly heated on a cast iron griddle.

The fillings that could be anything?
Shredded chicken.
Grilled swordfish.
Slow roasted beef brisket.
Smoky sirloin and chorizo.

Homemade guacamole and chips, in a gorgeous authentic molcajete.
Caesar salad.
Seasoned refried black beans.
Fresh Hibiscus tea.
Margaritas, too.
Juicy watermelon.
Mexican bread pudding and salted caramel shortbread bars.

And after all that work?
The verdict was perfectly split, four ways.

Yep, this this particular vendetta may go on for years**.

And now....The Battle Taco contenders!

Gooey Butter Cookie Butter Cakes

Hint: Contains butter.

Domo Arigato, Lomo Saltado*

On the one hand, it's pretty disappointing that an absurdly expensive private high school would stoop to re-using curriculum.

On the other hand, I love this assignment.

Now that we are in Spanish 3, it was instructive to note that at least one of us has matured substantially since the fabled Cuban Dinner Crisis of Spanish 2. 

He chose the dish he wanted to make, before I even had a chance to give him some of my ideas all by himself ahead of time*.  I stayed out of his way until I couldn't help myself and grabbed the knife before he lost a finger he asked me for help. The dinner was delicious, the dessert was even better, and he did all the dishes and cleaned up the whole kitchen except for the half-empty Vitamin Water bottle that was left on the coffee table that he said was his sister's from before and therefore was not his problem afterward.

I gave him an A+ anyway.

 

Mother Lovin' Sauce

In classic French cooking, there are so-called "Mother Sauces", dating from the 1800s.  They have fancy names like "bechamel" and "veloute", and were one of the first things they taught us to make in our pro chef class.   Once you know how to make a mother sauce, you can get creative.  If you add tarragon to hollandaise, you get bearnaise.  If you add gruyere cheese to bechamel, you get mornay. There's even one where you add veal bone marrow to espagnole, and get something equally incomprehensible.

That's all fine.  But when the family's hungry on a Tuesday night, I don't turn to the Mother Sauces.  I turn to the Mother Lovin' Sauce:

I (the mother) open a jar (of sauce), add stuff (see below), and get dinner in 20 minutes.  (Lovin' that).

Mother Lovin' Sauce - A Rough Guide
There's not really a recipe here, more of a general concept.  Endless variations of the MLS are possible, and then there are, in turn, a slew of possible applications of the MLS*.

MLS basics:  Ground meat (should include sausage if at all possible), an onion, fresh or dried herbs, veggies you want your kids to eat without knowing it, a jar of starter sauce, and a "kicker" sauce to add another layer of flavor.  As you can see, it is extremely helpful to live near a Trader Joe's if you will be doing this often.  Not shown: garlic, red wine, olive oil.

Chop your onions, mince the garlic, and then chop or shred the veggies.  Rule of thumb:  the more reviled the secret veggie is, the finer you will need to chop it so they won't catch on.  Carrots blend.  Zucchini does not.

Start by browning the meat in a large pan.  Did I mention you should definitely include Italian sausage if possible?  It'll really help the flavor of your sauce.  When it's brown, drain most of the fat, and put the meat in a bowl on the side.

Add a splash of olive oil to the pan.  Give it a minute to warm up, then add the chopped onions.  I like onions, so I usually add at least a cup, maybe more.   Let those soften for a few minutes, then add the garlic.  Give that a few minutes, then stir in the veggies.   Add a good sprinkling of salt and freshly ground pepper, and a few spoonfuls of dried oregano and basil.  Note:  At this point, people may start coming into the kitchen and asking when dinner is.

Stir the meat back in, then add the jar of starter sauce.  You probably have a favorite, but if not, try a few until you do!   Add the kicker sauce, too.  This could be a tub of purchased basil or sun dried tomato pesto, or (in this case) pizza sauce.  Blending these in makes it even more "homemade" tasting, because the flavors are more complex and layered. Start by using just  half the jar/tub of kicker sauce at first, then add more if you like.  Add a generous splash of red wine.  Taste, throw in more of anything you like, then allow the sauce to simmer for a few minutes, or even longer if you have the time.  It gets better if you do.     

You can serve it immediately, on top of cooked pasta.   Really good way to go.  Or, if you feel inspired, say by a blog post with photos that made your mouth water as you were reading, you can go a step further and make a baked spaghetti dinner.

Line the bottom of a baking dish with a layer of your MLS.  In a large bowl, combine the remaining sauce with the pasta (should be undercooked by a minute or two), a generous amount of grated cheese (a combo of Trader Joe's shredded mozzarella and their Quatro Fromaggio mix works great), and some more chopped fresh basil.   Turn that mixture into the baking dish, and cover it with more shredded cheese.  Cover like a blanket.  That's how much cheese.

Bake at 350 for 25 minutes or so, until it's all gooey and bubbling.

Allow to sit for 5-10 minutes, then serve**.

* For example, Bereavement Pasta.  The sauce in that recipe is one of my favorite variations of MLS.
** If you want to move from making your family very happy to making them your slaves for life, serve The Bread on the side.  Of course, you will also then have to up your health insurance coverage, due to the extreme amount of cheese and butter involved.  

The best 20 minute meal you'll ever make

 Step 1:  Go to Trader Joe's and buy four things*.

1. Salmon
2. Trader Joe's Island Soyaki Sauce
3. Trader Joe's Frozen Organic Jasmine Rice
4. Asparagus

Step 2:  Put the salmon into a dish and pour about 1/2 the bottle of sauce over it.  Cover and put into the fridge for at least 15 minutes and up to an hour or so.   Read your mail, yell at the kids, feed the dog, etc. Whatever the normal evening walk-in-the door routine may be at your house.  When you've just about had it with everyone, come back and start dinner.

Step 3:  Set your oven to broil, and move an oven rack into the top position.  Cover a baking sheet with foil, set a metal cooling rack on top of it, and coat rack with non-stick cooking spray.   Take salmon out of the fridge and place on top of the prepared pan.   It is more than OK if some of the sauce is still on it.  Put the salmon under the broiler and set the timer for 12 minutes.  Keep an eye on it, but you actually want it to get pretty brown.

Step 4:  Rinse the asparagus and trim the ends.   Coat lightly with olive oil and a healthy sprinkling of kosher salt.   Get out a large frying pan, add a couple more tablespoons of olive oil to the pan, and heat over medium high heat.

Step 5:  Take out a bag or two of the frozen rice.  Read the directions if you want, but I can tell you it's pretty much open the microwave, put the bag in, cook for three minutes, take the bag out.  The rice will then be fluffy and perfectly cooked.  It's like a miracle.

Step 6:  While the rice is cooking, add the asparagus to the hot pan and stir fry for 4-6 minutes, depending on how thick the stalks are, or until crisp-tender.   Ideally you'll get some nice char on parts of it, almost like grilling.   The rice will be ready right in the middle of this, but don't worry.  You can just leave it in the microwave until you're done with the asparagus.

Step 7:  About two minutes before the salmon comes out, heat up some more of the Soyaki sauce in a small sauce pan.    Add about 1 Tbs. of butter and a handful of minced green onions, if you like.   Stir until the butter is melted.  It's done.  You can easily do this while the asparagus is cooking.   Trust me, I do it all the time.

Step 8:  Take salmon out of the oven.  It should be caramelized and nicely browned all over.  Check to see if it's done to your liking.  If it needs more time, place it on a lower rack in the oven for a couple more minutes.

Step 9:  Serve this delectable salmon, rice and asparagus to your stunned and delighted family.   Tell the cat to get down from the table.  Pass sauce alongside.

Step 10: Say a prayer of thanks to that most holy and blessed patron saint of harried mothers everywhere:  Trader Joe's.



BONUS TIPS:

1. This exact same plan works great with almost any kind of firm-fleshed fish.  It's awesome with swordfish, for example. 
2. You can sub in a salad or Trader Joe's yummy "steam-in-bag" sugar snap peas for the asparagus if you don't want to deal with a frying pan.
3. You can cook rice from scratch if you're so inclined.  Just start that cooking before the salmon so the timing comes out right. 

*This will cost you less than $20.