Tomatomania makes even me look good

I am such a crappy gardener that last year I actually paid a farmer to grow vegetables in my own back yard for me.

My farmer's name was Anthony, and he was awesome.  I had beautifully tended raised beds of exotic produce, and bumper crops of squash and eggplant.  I also had a husband who informed me that I needed to stop hanging out with my girlfriends who were doing things like hiring farmers.  

So this year, I was on my own.  

Consequently, my carefully selected* baby heirlooms from the good people at Tomatomania, planted lovingly back in April in neat rows and tied up with string, are now a massive jungle of crazy ass tangled up tomato plants.  Plus, there's a scraggly patch of sage and some sad, leggy basil bushes with holes in all the leaves, probably from some kind of icky bug.  Anthony would know, but I'm not allowed to call him anymore**.

Amazingly, the tomatoes are thriving under my policy of complete and utter neglect, and the thicket is spewing out fruit like there's no tomorrow.

I can't take any credit for the crop, but I will take credit for all the delicious food we've been having as a result***.

Heirloom Tomato Pie

Big Easy Balls*

Thinking of having some souvenir t-shirts made up.  Let me know what size you want.

Then we had a little lamb

With deepest apologies to the nursery rhyme version*:

Came home with some ground up lamb
(ground up lamb! ground up lamb!)
Came home with some ground up lamb
Inpsired to make meatballs

Added feta in by hand
(in by hand! in by hand!)
Added feta in by hand
with herbs, an egg and salt

Then I baked the balls of lamb,
(balls of lamb! balls of lamb!)
Then I baked the balls of lamb,
'Til they were round and plump

Served the meatballs to the fam
(to the fam! to the fam!)
Served the meatballs to the fam
Who gobbled them all up!

The End

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.** 

Spaghetti-less Meatballs

My kids:  What's for dinner?
Me:  Meatballs.
Them:  But what's all that green stuff in them?  And where's the pasta? And the sauce*?
Me:  These are Asian meatballs.  We're having them with rice and the sauce is right over there.  It's teriyaki sauce. You like teriyaki sauce, right?

They stare at me like I'm from another planet.
What is with that?

The cure for naked ice cream

Q:  What do you do with a bowl of naked ice cream?
A:  Dress it up fancy.

Note:  Definitions of fancy may vary.

My daughter:  Sprinkles and gummy bears.  LOTS of gummy bears*.
My son:  Naked ice cream!  Heh heh heh.  Mom said naked.  Hey, does it count if I put the naked ice cream on top of a warm brownie.  Still naked, but on top?   Get it?  Heh heh heh.  I'm a riot.
My husband:  Just strawberries.  I'm really very full.  And maybe a tiny bit of that whipped cream.  Oh, OK, pass the hot fudge, too.

My husband's actual plate, the night we took the ice cream sundae bar to a friend's house. Note bowl of gummy bears in foreground.  At end of evening, none will be left.  My daughter is the prime suspect, but she was definitely not working alone.

A Sundae Bar's Worth of Ice Cream Dress-Up Sauces
The nice thing about naked ice cream is that it just gives you so many options.  Like a blank canvas, really.  The even nicer thing about these ice cream dress-up sauces is that you don't actually need the ice cream to enjoy them. If you have a naked spoon, you're good.

Heh heh heh.

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.  

Harvest Day

We picked these from our backyard.

I had this for lunch.

And made this for later.  For when I want to remember exactly what today tasted like.

Roasted Summer Tomato Sauce

Based on a recipe from Mark Peel & Nancy Silverton Cook at Home, a must-have cookbook which seems to be out of print at the moment.

2 lbs. or so ripe summer tomatoes
3 Tbs. olive oil
2 tsp. finely minced garlic
1 Tbs. fresh rosemary
1 Tbs. fresh thyme
1 Tbs. sugar
1/2 tsp. coarse salt
1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1 6oz. can tomato paste
2-3 tsp. brown sugar, to taste

Pre heat oven to 300.  Cut tomatoes in half, and remove stems. Combine olive oil, garlic, herbs, sugar, salt and pepper in a mixing bowl.

Add tomatoes and stir gently to coat completely.

Place tomatoes, cut side down, on a shallow baking sheet.

Roast for 35-45 minutes, until tops have shriveled and bottoms are slightly caramelized.   Cool.

At this point, you can just serve these as a side dish, put them on toast with a smear of pesto sauce, chop and add to hot pasta, put on pizza, eat them...the list goes on.   But at least once, I recommend you keep going.

Place tomatoes into the bowl of a food processor and puree for several minutes until smooth.    Take a taste.   It will be pretty darn delicious, but wait!  There's more.

Get out a medium pot.  Add the tomato puree, the tomato paste, and a spoonful or two of brown sugar.  Heat over medium low heat for 10-15 minutes.   Now taste it again.   I told you, I told you, I told you!  SO GOOD!!!

When it's just right, remove from heat.  Strain the sauce to remove any seeds, herb bits and skin that remains.  

Store, covered, in the fridge for a week or in the freezer until the tomato plants have all died and gone away.   Use as a base for pizza or pasta. Stir into risotto, add to a soup, spread it on bread...you name it, you've now got summer in a spoon anytime you want.  

Onion variation:   Add one sweet onion, peeled and cut into wedges, to the olive oil mixture with the tomatoes.    This version is DELISH!

Family Gathering

Thanksgiving dinner is my all-time favorite meal to cook. Something about preparing this dinner brings deep and intangible joy to my heart. There have been years when we've eaten great turkey, rich stuffing and sinful desserts that other wonderful chefs have prepared: terrific evenings where we enjoyed every bite and every minute. And yet, when that's happened, I've often succumbed to the compulsion to cook the whole thing again the next day*, not because I was craving my own food, but because I was craving the marvelous feeling of making this meal.

As I was puttering contentedly around the kitchen the last few days, I suddenly understood, at least a little. Instead of cookbooks, I was pulling out notes that had been hand written, e-mailed, or dictated to my scribbling. Every single recipe came from someone I love, who loved me back. With each tablespoon of sage or sizzle of sausage, they gathered around me, my family and friends. They were all here, filling the room with memories from childhood, from a rag tag gathering of refugees in my first apartment in NY, from long distance phone calls home for help, from dinners that welcomed me to a new town or a new family. While things were baking, I was unearthing wedding china**, silver from great grandparents, decorations the kids made in preschool, and wine from a cousin's ranch.

Before the doorbell ever rang, before grace was spoken, before a single dish was served, I was surrounded and embraced and profoundly elated by this gathering from the past. The comfort of hands clasped around the table and the rush for second helpings later just made my Thanksgiving overflow.

For this feeling, and so much more, I give thanks.

Specific credits to:
My mom, for the cranberry sauce and homemade rolls
My sister, for the secrets to a great brined turkey***
My business partner and his wife, for the mashed potato souffle
My husband's aunt, for the pumpkin pie and my brother-in-law, for requesting it
My NY roomates, for the gravy
My husband, for the stuffing
My niece, for the inspiration to make cheesecake on top of everything else.

Mom's Ridiculously Easy Cranberry Sauce

1 bag of cranberries
1 1/2 c. of sugar
2-3 Tbs. apricot or cherry jam

Preheat oven to 350. Rinse and dry the cranberries. Pour into 9 inch round baking dish. Cover with the sugar. Bake for about 45 minutes. While still hot, stir in the jam. Pour into a pretty bowl. Cover and refrigerate, then serve whenever you like.


* No one in our house ever complained about eating it again, mind you.
** From three generations of weddings: Mine, my sister's, my husband's parents' and his grandparents'.
*** I strayed from her tried and true method to try dry brining this year, swayed by the glowing reviews in the LA Times. Not a disaster, but I should have stuck with the one I love.