I spent the past few days with my son, doing the Parents' Weekend thing at his school. Officially, there were campus tours, a football game to watch, long lines at the bookstore where everyone had some variety of sweatshirt in hand, a speech by the university president to be inspired by, not-so-subtle references to upcoming capital campaigns, opportunities to chat with professors and sit in on classes, and a slew of other activities designed to reinforce the wisdom of entrusting this place with our children.
Unofficially, we were there to get an extra large pizza for leftover purposes, provide transportation to the haircut place, and go to Target and pay*.
Taken last year, but literally, we just bought this exact same stuff yesterday.
I totally get the idea that sometimes you need food, fast**.
I just have a very different idea about what that should look like.
Thursday marked the start of the Lunar New Year, and like many other people sitting in the bathroom that morning, I heard the lighthearted story on NPR about the varying English translations of this year's animal.
I, of course, would have left it there, but in the comments on that story, there was a link to a super cool website that is having people vote for the representative animal candidate of their choice.
I voted for Goat. He's a rebel*. The creators of the site are making donations on all behalf of all the animals to Heifer International, so every vote really does count. Go vote, and let me know who you picked!
So I'm now fully in the spirit of the whole thing, and had some time on my hands because it was raining in Los Angeles and we were all confined to our homes**. I decided to celebrate the Lunar New Year by making homemade Chinese shu mai dumplings and potstickers.***
Ram they were good.
In fact, they were baaaaaaantastic.
Goat thing this celebration only happens once a year.
I think my husband is going to take the radio out of the bathroom now****.
My food writing class ended a while back. I didn't mind.
Class turned out to be both more and less than I expected* Recovering from the initial anxiety, I showed up at a stranger's home and read my piece, Consider Chopped, out loud. Six pairs of eyes stared at me blankly. No one, it seemed, had ever watched the show.
WTF?
At least there was wine.
But then, despite their evident confusion and concern about why I was stifling a case of the giggles as I spoke, they gave me feedback that made my work better**.
I think it was kind of like that for everyone. The range of sensibilities in the small room was huge, and it was an effortful thing, the writing about food. Talking about food, though, was easy.
It makes perfect sense then, that almost as soon as class ended, someone planned a five course dinner party reunion.
With wine***.
Jess' spectacular cool, creamy and spicy avocado soup (recipe below)
Amelia's light and summery Arugula Salad with Parmesan, heirloom tomatoes, homemade croutons, and lemon vinaigrette.
Keitha's meltingly tender Pan-Seared Salmon in a Sorrel Cream Sauce (recipe, from Daniel Boulud's Cafe Boulud Cookbook, is here)
We may never write together again, but I sure hope we get together again.
* More earnest reading about oysters and making dinner out of weeds, and a lot less snacks. I did enjoy Consider the Lobster, by David Foster Wallace, and the one week we had cake. The best part for me was the directed short in-class writing time. Most of Cherry Blossom Picnics was written during a 15 minute exercise on food memories.
** You can read it here.
*** Keitha, our hostess and a wine aficionado herself, invited a fellow wine expert Alexander, of The Maverick Palate, to do pairings with the meal. Words like "chalky" and "zingy" were used by many people (Not me. I used, "yummy"). Alexander has posted the wine list, some great photos, and notes on the evening here.
There was definitely a randy Irish slave owner somewhere in my family tree*, and my husband's pale-faced lineage has many an O'Brien in the not so distant past. My kids have a disturbing overabundance of the Gift of the Blarney**, and my son did leave his recent SAT test with just one reward in mind: A large Shamrock Shake.
The three of us that were old enough to see it thought The Guard was pure genius.
In other words, we may not have greeted the day with green bagels and beer, but there was no reason for everyone to be such a hater when I brought up the idea of making a traditional Irish dinner yesterday.
My husband: What? Like corned beef? No. No way. I draw the line at corned beef.
Me; You draw the line at corned beef? Since when?
My husband: Everyone should draw the line at corned beef. It's a given.
My son: Hold on. What would be for dinner?
Me: I was thinking about a nice Guiness Beef Stew. I saw few recipes online the other day and...
My son: Well that's just a terrible idea. I hate stew, and you know it. Let's just go out for fish and chips. Man, I could totally go for some fish and chips right now. That sounds amazing. And super Irish. If you want, we could even go to a pub with Irish people in it, and get fish and chips there. Problem solved.
In the end, I compromised***. No corned beef. No stew.
Fish.
Chips.
And chips on top of the fish.
Because it's super Irish to go heavy on the potatoes.
Problem solved.
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.
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**.
Holiday lunch with a whole bunch of cousins.
Dim sum.
It doesn't even matter whose relatives they are. My family. His family. Vastly different groups of people who otherwise have literally nothing in common (except being related by marriage to one of us).
They all love dim sum.
They will patiently wait quite a long time* for dim sum. They collectively ooh and ah over the har gow and the bao, the shu mai and the rice noodles. Dip the dumplings in the hot chili paste and mustard, pour tea, and send one of the cuter little kids to chase down the potsticker cart. That's always the crowd favorite, and seems to be perpetually on the other side of the football field-sized dining hall. After eating themselves silly, they even get takeout dim sum for later**. Yep, everybody is all about the dim sum***.
Except, of course, our children.
My daughter: I'll have plain white rice**** and a coke.
My son: (texting and not looking up) I brought my own grapes. Just a coke.
Adapted from The New Basics Cookbook by Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins. The original recipe calls for the salmon to be grilled**, but as tasty as that is, the process can be really messy with this marinade. I find broiling to work wonderfully instead.
8 Tbs. (1 stick) butter
1/3 c. honey
1/3 c. packed brown sugar
2 Tbs. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tsp. liquid smoke flavoring
3/4 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
1 center cut salmon filet (about 2 lbs), skin on, in 1 piece
Combine the butter, honey, brown sugar, lemon juice, liquid smoke, red pepper flakes and salt in a saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring every so often, until smooth, 5 to 7 minutes. Allow to cool to room temperature.
Arrange the salmon in a shallow rimmed dish. Pour all but 1/3 cup of the cooled marinade over it. Let stand for 30 minutes. About halfway through sitting time, stop by and spoon marinade on the side back over the salmon again.
Preheat broiler. Cover a baking sheet with foil, spray a cooling rack with non-stick spray, and set the rack on top of the baking sheet. Transfer the salmon to the rack. Broil for 10-12 minutes, watching carefully. Because the marinade is full of honey and sugar, it will tend to caramelize quickly and burn easily. If this happens before the full time is up, move salmon down to a slighly lower rack, and add a few extra minutes to the cooking time.
While salmon is cooking, rewarm remaining marinade. Just after salmon comes out, drizzle the extra marinade on top. Serve immediately.
For an entertaining history of the word "shellacking", click here***.
* Hopefully, like Mr. Obama, the salmon will absorb the lesson and achieve surprising legislative victories during the lame duck session, or at least make all of the picky eaters in your family happy for once.
** Now with the grilling? Is there no end to these absurd partisan attacks?
*** To be fair to the Bush administration, I suppose I should work on a recipe that would involve a good thumping. Will keep you posted.
C is for Cries of joy all through the house as gifts fly open, and for my Complete Shock when I discover what this entire Crew has been up to for weeks**.
And for the Criminal Cruelty of my mother, who refused to keep any of the gifts her grandchildren brought to her bedside, on the grounds that she had no need for them in her condition.
Curse your Condition. Be Compassionate. For a Change.
C is for Curative Crab Cakes with a Curry-Cayenne Condiment,*** Chauteubriand**** for dinner and Cheesecake for dessert.
C is for the Comfort that being together today has brought, in the face of all the Confusion, Consternation and Concern.
C is for Contented. And Cherished. And Chubby.
That's MORE than good enough for me. That's Christmas, 2010.
Crab and Shrimp Cakes with Curry-Cayenne Mustard Sauce
Based on a recipe from the Fog City Diner Cookbook
1 lb crab meat
1 lb cooked shrimp, chopped fine
¼ c. each minced red, yellow and green bell peppers
1 ½ inner stalks of celery, including leaves, minced
¼ c. red onion, minced
½ jalapeno chile, seeds removed, minced
¼ c. combo of cilantro and basil, finely minced
2 tsp. Old Bay Seasoning
2 large eggs
1 Tbs. Tabasco sauce
1 ½ tsp. Worcestershire sauce
½ c. mayonnaise
1 1/2 c. panko bread crumbs
About 1 1/2 c. of peanut oil, for frying
Make sure crab/shrimp is really drained (no moisture). Place in large mixing bowl.
Add in all the minced stuff, then stir in the Old Bay, the eggs, sauces, and mayo. Add bread crumbs until mixture is a consistency where you can form cakes that hold their shape.
Form cakes about 2-1/2 inches in diameter, and ½ inch thick. I usually make these a few hours before we eat them and keep on a cookie sheet with layers of waxed paper in between in the refrigerator.
Heat peanut oil to 375. Fry cakes 2 min. on each side. Drain on paper towels and serve immediately with the Curry-Cayenne Mustard Sauce.
Curry-Cayenne Mustard Sauce
1 c. mayonnaise
2 tsp. curry powder
1 tsp. cayenne pepper
1 Tbs. finely chopped basil/cilantro mix
2 Tbs. Dijon mustard
Juice of ½ lemon
1 Tbs. Sherry vinegar
Blend together, adjust seasonings to taste and serve with crab cakes. Best if made at least an hour ahead.
* Bonus! B is for the Bacon (Peppered and Apple-Cinnamon Smoked), we ate with the Cinnamon Rolls, thanks to the BaconFreak Gift Pack that arrived on my doorstep a few days ago. Bless you, Marie!
** All orchestrated by the most incredible husband on earth.
*** Actually, Curry-Cayenne Mustard Sauce, but that's much less alliterative.
**** Made possible and delectable by the gifted gentlemen of Huntington Meats in the Farmer's Market, who provide us a perfectly butchered, melt-in-your-mouth cut every Christmas.
