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.

Tomato How To's

How to grow tomatoes:

Buy them*.
Plant them.

Ignore them.

Harvest them by the bushel.

Done it twice now.  So I'm kind of an authority.

Note:  Does not work for any other living thing.  Especially basil plants and those cute little flower pots from Trader Joe's.  For them, Sharon = Death.

How to eat tomatoes:

Straight up is good.  Really good.

Or, you can make the big ones into tomato jam.

Recipe from Fine Cooking, modified not at all.

The jam is fresh and sweet and tart, a little spicy, and perfectly tomato-y.  Don't be tempted to add onions or garlic or herbs or fancy vinegar.  Let it be, and it'll taste exactly like summer. Amazing on burgers.  Like, ridiculous.  

You might attempt Gazpacho.  I did.

This recipe, a riff on one from Alton Brown, needs more work.  The flavors were spot on, but the texture was a little too much like salsa.  I should have followed along with this great video, from Judy of Two Broads Abroad, or tried making this recipe from Serious Eats.  Next summer!

With full confidence, I can recommend that you make the baby ones into warm tomato vinaigrette.

Tangy, bright and wonderful, I made this last year and it's now in permanent rotation.  The very simple recipe is over at Bon Appetit. Ladle it over roasted potatoes, grilled fish, a steak, or a frittata at breakfast.  Or be like me and slather it on top of fresh focaccia bread.

I insist you try this salad/salsa number with feta cheese and mint. (Recipe follows)

Despite the onset of September, there's no sign of summer slowing down around here. Instead, it seems to be getting hotter, if such a thing is possible. That means there are still a few juicy, ripe tomatoes to be had**.

Find them.
Eat them.
Enjoy!


Don't forget, you can always check out the Recipe Box for even more tomato ideas.

Fortune favors the prepared

That quote is attributed to Dr. Louis Pasteur, circa 1854, where he supposedly said something along the lines of, "When it comes to observation, chance favors the prepared mind" during a lecture at a French university.

I remember it much better as stated by Edna Mode in The Incredibles:

Edna: I didn't know the baby's powers so I covered the basics.

Helen: Jack-Jack doesn't have any powers.

Edna: No? Well, he'll look fabulous anyway.

Edna: [on Jack-Jack's suit] I cut it a little roomy for the free movement, the fabric is comfortable for sensitive skin... [a sheet of flame erupts in front of the suit]
Edna: And it can also withstand a temperature of over 1000 degrees. Completely bulletproof... [four heavy machine guns appear and open fire on the suit, without effect]

Edna: And machine washable, darling. That's a new feature.

Helen: What on earth do you think the baby will be doing?

Edna: Well, I am sure I don't know, darling. Luck favors the prepared.

So true! I've discovered that in order to avoid future exchanges like this:




Edna: [to Mr. Incredible] My God, you've gotten fat.

...fortune favors me having a prepared fridge.

Joining my now-permanent stash of minted jicama in my fridge this week:

Utterly refreshing and oh-so-good-for you tabbouleh salad...

...and a killer Creole lentil soup with andouille sausage and shrimp.

With any luck, I'll be able to fit into my Supersuit in no time.

There oughta be a law

...against this slaw:

Image of Popeye's coleslaw from wikimedia.org

Whoever thought putting mayonnaise and cabbage together was a good idea should be shot.
Twice.

I, on the other hand, should be knighted or something.

Carpool Wars: Cease Fire!

WE INTERRUPT OUR NORMALLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING TO BRING YOU THIS IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT.

Anchor:  There has been a startling development in the long-running South of the Boulevard Carpool War hostilities.  For more details, we go live to our reporter on the ground.  Are you there?

Field Reporter:  Indeed, I'm here in Encino, where we have learned that a cease fire has been declared by the warring Carpool Moms.  The impetus for this radical shift in the tenor of the dispute was, I am told by my sources, bacon.

Anchor:  Would that be Kevin Bacon? I had heard that both John Kerry and Hillary Clinton have Bacon Numbers of 2 . Given his relatively close connection to those diplomats, is it possible he was involved?

Reporter:  They are not ruling that out, but for the moment, it appears that regular, smoked bacon is responsible.



Anchor:  Can you give us some background here?  How did things reach this critical juncture?

Reporter:  If you will recall, during the most recent skirmish over the braising title, the combatants vowed to take up their oven mitts again, waistlines and livers be damned. Ensnared by the spatula-wielding women and the promise of yet another outstanding meal, innocent children and husbands chose to remain in the thick of the conflict as well. It certainly seemed that there was no end in sight to this dire situation.  In fact, the stakes were raised even higher when it was suggested by a bystander that the next confrontation be focused, not on a particular dish, like bolognese, steak, or tacos, the type of meal, or even a proscribed preparation method, but on just one, single ingredient.  That ingredient? Bacon.

Anchor:   There is precedent for this on the Food Network, I believe, but that battle is massively edited for television, and they have trained staff with them in the arena. These brave women probably had no idea of the danger they were setting themselves up for.

Reporter:  That's exactly right. The whole plan was fraught with peril.  But, as we know, bacon does exert an uncanny power over the human brain.  Experts now believe that just the idea of a bacon-based meal somehow created a unity of purpose in the minds of these former enemies. Instead of pitting their bacon creations against each other, in an unprecedented step, they agreed to collaborate on the dinner.

Anchor: What about the coveted "taste" prize? This is one of the most divisive issues of the whole campaign, is it not?

Reporter:  Stunningly, that was thrown out completely. There was no vote. I repeat, there was no vote, rigged or otherwise. They just happily stuffed themselves and went home.  I spoke with one of the diners on condition of anonymity, and she said it was a tremendous relief not to feel disloyal for voting against her mother, and also that the bacon potato things were really good. Apparently, the new mantra here at Carpool headquarters is, "Everybody wins when dinner is full of bacon."

Anchor:  Incredible. How long can this cease fire possibly hold?

Reporter:  I have it on good authority that Carpool Wars, as we know it, is no more, but that we can expect many more Carpool Truce dinners in the months and years to come.

Anchor:  I think I speak for all of us when I say, "Phew." Thank you.  We'll be following this story closely, very closely, in case they have leftovers, and will bring you updates as we have them.

THIS HAS BEEN A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT.



Carpool Wars:  The Bacon Accords

We did, indeed, come together and lay our Le Crueset cookware down for greater glory of an entire meal honoring bacon.  It was a moment for the ages.

The appetizer course was Christy D.'s drool-worthy and addictive Bacon Wrapped Potato Bites with Spicy Sour Cream Dip.  Recipe from The Kitchn.

Christy F.'s tender, smoky bacon-braised chicken dish.   Find the recipe from Fine Cooking here.

Christy D's spectacular BLT salad with Feta, Candied Bacon and Cherry Tomatoes. 

My Mac & Cheese with Bacon, after two teenagers had been through and helped themselves.  

And yes, there was bacon dessert.

Maple Bacon Sugar Cookies 

And the over-the-top Vanilla Ice Cream Sundaes with Pecan Bacon Crunch* and Fleur de Sel Caramel Sauce.

Peace out.

Do as I say, not as I do

In May, I'm going to be co-hosting a cooking class called "The DIY Dinner Party"*. In the school auction brochure, the tagline for the event is, "Impress without Stress!"**

During the class, I plan to give the attendees some helpful tips for making that simple but compelling statement a reality:

1. Don't use a dinner party as a place to experiment with a new recipe.  Go with something tried and true, so you have confidence in your food.
2. Keep the guest list manageable for your menu.  If you are planning a series of plated courses, for example, make sure you have elbow room and comfortable seating for the group around a dining table.  For larger groups, go with a buffet and allow the guests to spread out among several tables.
3. Expect people to offer to help, and have simple jobs ready for them to do.
4. Pour plenty of wine and cocktails for the guests, but keep your own consumption to a minimum until the dinner is firmly under way.
5. Above all, prepare as much as you can ahead of time, so you can enjoy the festivities yourself.  Sitting down and eating with your guests is the most impressive entertaining accomplishment of them all!

I should totally take that class.

On Monday, I sent my husband an email.

To:  myunsuspectinghusband@gmail.com
From:  youroverambitiouswife@gmail.com
Re:  Birthday dinner party

Can I throw you one on Sunday night? Was going to invite [list of six people].
xxoo

From: myunsuspectinghusband@gmail.com
To: youroverambitiouswife@gmail.com
Re: Birthday dinner party

That sounds nice.  Are you cooking or catering?

From: youroverambitiouswife@gmail.com
To: myhusbandwhoasksgoodbutsillyquestions@gmail.com
Re: Birthday dinner party

Cooking!

[Silence]

On Tuesday, I sent out an evite.

I meant to invite those six people, but then I remembered a few more people he really likes and that we hadn't seen in a while and I thought how it was actually really short notice and a holiday weekend so most people would probably say no so it would be better to ask a few too many than not have anyone show up because how sad would THAT be for a birthday party, right?  So I emailed 16 people instead of 6.

On Wednesday, I pulled out a bunch of cookbooks and spent hours drooling over photos and recipes. I literally had stacks of them all over the family room. I jotted down ideas for a multi-course gourmet meal, complete with passed appetizers.  My husband had requested a whole fish be in there somewhere, even though I'd never cooked a whole fish for him in my life.  No problem!  In fact, that could be, like, the theme of the dinner:

On Thursday, I checked on attendance.
10 people had said yes, four had not replied and two said no.  I texted another couple and invited them, too.  Note: our dining table seats 8.

On Friday, I went to the liquor store.
Because of course, the only recipe I bothered to test ahead of time was the cocktail one.

On Saturday, I was on a roll.  I shopped. I made dip, salad dressing, and Parmesan crisps. I made the vanilla ice cream, the caramel sauce, and the puddings. We had carrot cake and presents and celebrated my husband's birthday as a family until the kids ditched us.

On Sunday, I realized I was about to serve bacon-wrapped fish to an observant Jew and a vegan.

I had another, much larger, test version of the cocktail, opened up some wine, put out the appetizers, answered the door, and hoped for the best.

The Mixed Tuna Carpaccio

The (fortunately) vegan-friendly mixed green salad

The salmon was good, but the mashed potatoes were AMAZING!

They loved it all. My daughter, bribed to be my sous chef, turned out to be a master of carpaccio creation and a plating genius. We squeezed into 15 folding chairs around the dining table, and no one seemed to mind the bumped elbows and interludes between courses.  Food disappeared and glasses were filled, then filled again.  Once the party started, I was too busy to take photos****, but not too busy to catch up with old friends.  We told stories and laughed and mocked my husband a little before wishing him happy birthday with a single red candle in a bowl of hot, molten chocolate decadence.

And somehow, even though I pretty much ignored all my own advice, I did manage to impress.  The stress part still needs some work.

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.

Vacation's over

I've gone from this:

to this:

Fortunately, I made this:

in about the time it took to do a (huge) load of whites.

A last little burst of summer vacation on a plate.