Recipestories

I've started a new blog

2007-08-05T12:44:00.000-05:00

For those of you who visited here from time to time (you've probably given up long ago) you realize that I have not been the most prolific blogger. Well I hope to change that with my new blog at http://www.lulu.com/briancummings. Most of my energy over the past nine months has been taken up with a project I've been working with Atmos Energy. It's a new recipe website www.atmosenergycooks.com and it officially launches this week.

Since the web site is loosely based on my two books, I thought it would be easier to blog about food and other things in one place, thus this blog is coming to an end (though I'll leave it up for awhile) and I'm making a committment to keeping the new one a little more current and a little more interesting.

Visit me at my new place.

Eat Well.

Brian

A New Cookbook by Yours Truly

2006-10-01T14:30:00.000-05:00

I've finally finished my second cookbook. I thought it was just what the world needed. After all, a search on Amazon for cookbooks only turns up 46,829 results. If I bother to get an ISBN number, there will be 46,830.

The book is called "Get This Cookbook First: It Has All the Kitchen Stuff Your Mom Tried to Teach You." Why this book? Well, as I explain in the introduction:

It’s been rumored that while people in their 20s and 30s appreciate good food, they haven’t the foggiest idea of how to cook it. I disagree. They do have the foggiest idea. That’s the problem. They never really paid attention to what Mom or Dad did in the kitchen—if Mom and Dad did anything at all.

It will teach you how to cook things you can eat. It won’t make you trendy. It won’t introduce you to food exotica or fusion cooking. But it will give you the skills you need to put together a meal that will leave your guests smiling in contentment.

Cooking and eating together is making a comeback, especially among men. Browse through on-line dating ads. There are a lot of folks that list “cooking” as a favorite pastime. In fact, in Japan, cooking is the number one hobby for young men. Worldwide, membership in an organization that celebrates the idea of slowing down to enjoy food—aptly called Slow Food (www.slowfood.com)–is enjoying steady growth.

The organization is dedicated to—among other things—“the revival of the kitchen table as a center of pleasure, culture and community.”

Despite our continued connectedness via mobile phones and instant messaging, sitting shoulder to shoulder (or toe to toe) and sharing a meal is, well, nice. Real nice.

The book is divided into four sections. The first, “What to Get after You’ve Found the Kitchen,” is a handy reference guide with everything you need to know about kitchen equipment, basic ingredients, cooking methods, cooking techniques and food safety.

The second section, “Some Things You Can Eat with Your Fingers (and Some You Really Can’t),” is full of easy recipes for hors d’oeuvres, soups and salads that you can serve your guests as a prelude to a great dinner party or mix and match in any combination for an evening of grazing.

The third is called “The First Course: Soup or Salad or Both.” It covers pretty much what the title says—soups and salads. Not the kind of soups you would have for a main course (they’re in the next section), but the kind that you sip delicately before dinner. There are also several recipes for salad dressings—including one for that the dressing turned condiment, ranch.

The fourth section is called “The Protein on the Plate.” Here, you’ll learn everything you need to know about putting a great meal on the table. There are tips on how to grill, sauté, boil and roast your favorite kind of protein. There are recipes for one pot stews, chili and soups, for pasta as a main course and some simple, step-by-step guidance on making the kinds of sauces—from gravy to barbecue –- that add the fine to fine cooking. I think this section is the most fun.

The next section is called “The Next Most Important Thing on Your Plate: The Starch” that covers the things that go with the protein or just after it; side dishes like potatoes, grains, pasta and rice.

Then comes the section on things you may still not be willing to eat called “What You Didn’t Eat as a Kid: Vegetables.” It has several recipes for things that made your mother so happy when you ate them. You still don’t have to eat them, but it wouldn’t be a cookbook without them.

Finally, there is a section that makes the book even more useful. It’s is called “Menus and the Wines That Go with Them,” which is pretty self-explanatory.

Each recipe is followed by a shopping list to make it easier to pull together all the ingredients you might need. Folks who have read the pre-publication edition like the shopping list a lot.

Like my first cookbook, which I am now "publishing" on my wiki, this one will be available on Lulu within the next week or so. I should have the test copy this week, make any changes next weekend (a few folks have caught a typo or two and I found some some recipe errors) and offer it up for sale. I'm going to keep it around $15. An e-book version will be available through the same folks who bring you The Seductive Chef for something under $10 probably.

So stay tuned. While you're waiting, try this recipe. And do it with the garlic salt.

Cauliflower Popcorn

Serves 4
Preparation time: 15 minutes
Cooking time: 45 minutes

Popcorn’s not just for dinner anymore. Now you can have a version as a healthy snack. What a great way to get in a serving or two of vegetables. The long roasting caramelizes cauliflower’s natural sugars and makes it sweet. Most recipes call for 60 minutes in the oven, but mine burnt at 60. 45 minutes seemed to work well. But maybe my oven thermostat is off.

1 head cauliflower
¼ cup olive oil
1 tablespoon salt (great with garlic salt too)

Preheat oven to 425°F.
Trim head of cauliflower into bite sized florets.
Toss the florets with the olive oil and salt.
Spread them on a baking sheet and bake for about 45 minutes or so, turning every 15 minutes until the florets are golden brown.

The shopping list

1 head of cauliflower
Olive oil
Garlic Salt

Recipes

Cooking

Cookbooks

They're right: Chicken and Balsamic Vinegar Go Great Together

2006-09-09T14:48:00.000-05:00

A recent piece I read somewhere (maybe the NY Times?) talked about how well chicken goes with balsamic vinegar, and how often the combination turns up in Italian cooking. They really do. I stumbled on that fact the other night when I needed to perk up a rather bland sauce that I made for two sauteed chicken breasts we were having for dinner.

I splashed in some balsamic vinegar with the idea that it couldn't hurt and, wow, it was great. Here it is, without the story.

Oh, by the way, I'm continuing to add stories and recipes to my wiki, so pay me a visit there and add one of your own. The story doesn't need to be long. It just needs to be real (or imagined.)

Chicken Breasts with Mushrooms and Balsamic Vinegar
Serves 2
Preparation time: 15 minutes
Cooking time: 20 minutes

2 skinless chicken breasts
¼ cup flour
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
2 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoon butter
¼ cup white wine
½ cup chicken broth
2 tablespoons chopped shallot or onion
½ pound of mushrooms sliced
3 teaspoon minced thyme, or 1 teaspoon dried
1tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon corn starch
¼ cup cold water

First: On a plate or a piece of waxed paper, mix flour with a generous amount of salt and pepper. Dredge each breast to coat both sides. Shake off excess.
Second: Pre-heat a heavy sauté pan on low heat. Add the oil and butter. When the foam subsides, add the chicken and increase the heat to medium. Cook about 3 minutes, turn and do the other side for 3 minutes as well. Both sides should be browned.
Third:Transfer to a plate and keep warm in the oven.
Fourth: Sauté the mushrooms in the remaining butter and oil, adding a little more butter if needed, for about two to three minutes. Add the shallots and sauté for another minute or so.
Add the chicken broth, wine and thyme and stir, scraping up the brown bits on the bottom of the pan.
Fifth: Return pan to medium-high heat, add the chicken and cook for another 10 minutes or so.
Remove the chicken to the dinner plates.
Sixth: Add the tablespoon of balsamic vinegar. Mix the cornstarch into the cold water and stir the slurry into the mushroom broth mixture. Cook stirring for one to two minutes until the sauce thickens.
And finally: Serve, spooning the sauce over each chicken breast.

Visit my Wiki

2006-09-04T17:35:00.000-05:00

Thought I'd try something new. Since I don't get around to posting all that often, which means I don't get much (read any) traffic, I thought I'd try a Wiki. Maybe no one will go there too. I put up the whole breakfast chapter of my book. But it could encourage other like-minded folks to add something like a story or a recipe.

Try it.

2006-08-15T16:14:00.001-05:00

Technorati Profile

Lets Marginalize the Fringes

2006-06-18T15:10:00.000-05:00

The habit of Republicans and Democrats to run to the right or the left to capture their party's base and its nomination for whatever elected post is coveted, has marginalized most of us who sit somewhere slightly to the left or right of center.

I think its time to marginalize both party's bases.

I'm getting fed up with being disenfranchised. I hover around the center. A social liberal, a fiscal conservative.

I happen to believe less government is better, but the poorest of us--economically, educationally, and intellectually--need bootstrapped, sometime forever.

Tax cuts are nice but not at the expense of a balanced budget.

For believers, God can be part of American life, but there's more to Him than Genesis and Jesus. And if you're a believer, seek out like-minded people in places other than public schools or government buildings. Try your church.

We made a mess of Iraq for all the wrong reasons, but can't just walk away.

Pro-life and pro-choice are not mutually exclusive.

Unfettered capitalism and globalization are not inherently good. They are amoral economic systems that need to be controlled and managed by moral people.

But if I run to the Democrats for leadership as my parents did, there's a whole bunch of shit to embrace (or at least silently acquiesce to). Never-ending entitlements to more than just the truly needy, partial birth abortions and abortion-as-birth-control, political correctness run amok and a constant ambilvalence that fears to offend.

If I run to the Republicans--as I did with Reagan (much to my father's dismay)--there's yet another ration of shit with which I must at least not disagree. Never ending entitlements that enrich the enriched under the cover of economic stimulation, the criminalization of an intensely personal decision that is best left to a woman and her God, the demonization of others who don't look or talk just like us (or at least like we do now, two or three generations later) and a certitude and righteousness that ignores reality.

A pox on both your houses.

I'd like to see a new party begin that is firmly anchored in the middle where the vast number of us are. A party for people who are equally put off by the vitriolic spewing from both the left and right. A party for people who resent being simplified into red and blue then transparently manipulated in the name of God, 9-11, Social Security, health insurance or the poor. A party led by someone who does not use pollsters, consultants and advisors to find then cynically pander to our dark side.

If we were the base for a party like that, just think of the kind of government we might have.

Let's start a new party and marginalize the fringes for a change.

In the meantime, since this blog is supposed to be about recipes, here's one that is American as apple pie.

Mom's Apple Pie
Makes one, two crust pie

For the crust
2 cups flour
3 cup shortening
1 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons ice cold water

For the filling
6-7 apples: Choose a firm fleshed apple like a Golden Delicious or a Granny Smith, although a Granny Smith is slightly more bitter and may need more sugar, depending on your taste buds.
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 tablespoon flour
¾ cup sugar
One egg white beaten with a tablespoon of water.
Three strips of aluminum foil to cover the edge of the crust for part of the time

First: Pre-heat the oven to 425°F. Using a pastry cutter, blend the flour, salt and shortening until the mixture is the consistency of small peas.

Second: Slowly incorporate the three tablespoons of cold water until the dough gathers up into a ball. Avoid overworking the dough or you'll end up with a tough crust.

Third: Split the dough into two equal portions; cover the unused half with plastic wrap to keep moist; and using a lightly floured rolling pin, gently roll out the other half into a large circle on a floured, smooth dishtowel. Hold a nine-inch pie plate upside down over the circle to ensure that it's about two-inches in diameter wider than the pan. Lift up the dishtowel and flip the dough into the pan, gently pushing the dough into the corners.

Fourth: Core and peel the apples, slicing them into bite-sized pieces. Pile them onto the pie pan; sprinkle with cinnamon, flour and sugar.

Fifth: Roll out the other piece of dough to about the same size as the first. Use the towel to gently lift it and place it on top of the apple-filled pie pan. Trim the overhanging dough, leaving a ¼ inch all around.

Sixth: Crimp the top and bottom crusts together using your thumbs and index fingers to form little ridges, or press the tines of a fork around the edge to seal. Trim off any excess dough. Using a knife cut four, one-inch slits into the top of the pie to vent the steam.

Seventh: With your fingers or a pastry brush, brush the beaten egg white and water onto the crust. Crimp the aluminum foil strips around the outer edge of the crust to cover.

And finally: Bake in the 425°F oven for 15 minutes. Lower the heat to 350°F, remove the aluminum foil and bake for 30 minutes more.

Another Thing The French Got Right

2006-04-02T17:13:00.000-05:00

It's their onion soup. I forgot how good it is until I made it again last night. The occasion was a joint celebration of my son’s re-assignment to Fort Gordon, Georgia and my son-in-law’s 39th birthday.

The soup was followed by Michele’s salad (named in honor of a friend who concocted it) beef tenderloin with béarnaise, twice baked potatoes, green beans with slivered almonds and a raspberry chocolate cake from Central Market (which is sort of like a Whole Foods or a Trader Joe’s for those of you not from Texas).

It was a great dinner in honor of two great people—my son and the guy who keeps my daughter happy and my grandchildren enjoyable.

My son’s departure for Ft. Gordon is his reward for re-enlisting in the Army—that and a $20,000 re-up bonus. He spent the last two-and-a-half years with the 1st Cav, a year of it in Baghdad, where he earned a Bronze Star and an Army Commendation medal—both for valor—and two purple hearts. We're all verry proud of him.

He was facing the prospect of another tour come October and wisely decided that re-enlisting for three years for a guaranteed (insofar as the Army can guarantee anything) tour of duty in Georgia for at least two of them was a better option that getting re-acquainted with the Mahadi Army. Too many close calls the last time.

Assuming the elite in Washington (whoever they happen to be at the time) don’t go off on another pre-emptive misadventure in the name of promoting democracy, oil, Christianity or capitalism; or protecting America from real or imagined weapons of mass destruction; or changing one rabid regime for another, he should get out of the Army alive albeit with memories that make mine of Vietnam the stuff of daydreams.

Over dinner, he was talking about going back to Fr. Hood this week (he’s on leave) to get with his buddies for an April 4 reunion marking Black Sunday, which was described by one general as “the biggest gunfight since the fall of Baghdad.” That’s when he got his Bronze Star. It was just a few days after they arrived in country and marked the start of the longest year of our lives.

That’s we all cheered when he said he was re-enlisting to avoid another trip back to a pointless hell and why we all gathered for dinner to send him off.

Although Brian isn’t leaving for a week, schedules were such that we had to move his celebration up a week, colliding with the planned celebration of Todd’s birthday.

That’s one reason beef was the main course. It’s Todd’s favorite. He comes by his beef bias naturally, having been raised on a ranch. In fact, the picture that has been in his wallet the longest and was only reluctantly moved behind my daughter Kim’s, is of a youthful Todd with a massive prize winning bull.

He’s now the head of IT for a Dallas bank and lives in the suburbs, and although he avers that he’ll never go back to ranching (too hard, he says) he still wants to raise a cow now and then. During his and Kim’s brief “ranch phase” –when they lived on eight acres in the country and had a horse—he did raise a rather tasty cow we called T-Bone. Shortly after T-Bone was snugly resting in butcher paper in our freezers, Riley, grandchild number one, was born and the moved back to civilization commenced. It’s tough to push a stroller along the side of a dusty dirt road.

Future cow raising (which I'm certain will be part of my grandchildren's upbringing) will have to be done on someone else's ranch.

But when his next cow graces our table, we'll be sure to serve it with French Onion Soup.

Here’s the recipe for the French Onion Soup.

Serves six to eight

5 cups onions, which is about 1½ pounds thinly sliced or about three fist-sized onions. This is where a mandolin comes in real handy.
3 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon sugar
3 tablespoons flour
2 quarts of beef stock
½ cup dry white wine or vermouth
Salt and pepper
3 tablespoons cognac
1 cup each parmesan and gruyere cheeses, grated and mixed together.
Croutons

First: “Sweat” the onions slowly in the butter and oil in a covered four-quart, heavy bottomed pot for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Take your time. Don’t rush this step or the next.
Second: Remove the lid, add the salt and sugar and raise the heat to moderate. Cook for 30 to 40 minutes, stirring frequently until the onions turn a golden brown. Be sure to watch them closely so they don’t burn. Again, don’t rush this part. It’s what makes the soup so good.

Third: While the onions are cooking, heat the stock to boiling.

Fourth: Sprinkle the flour onto the onions and stir for three minutes.

Fifth: Off heat, combine the boiling stock with the onions. Add the wine and salt and pepper to taste.

Sixth: Simmer for about another 45 minutes skimming any scum that rises to the surface.

And finally: Just before serving, stir in the cognac. Pass the croutons and the grated cheese.

A Blogger Cookbook Fundraiser

2006-03-28T21:45:00.000-05:00

I was honored to be asked and even more honored to be included in the new book, "And They Cook, Too" a fundraiser for Doctors Without Borders, that was compiled and edited in record time by Ginger Mayerson and Kathy Flake. I haven't seen a copy yet, but the table of contents looks inviting.

There are more than 75 recipes including four of mine (pancakes, vinaigrette dressing, roasted chicken and cream puffs) and some sexy excerpts from my good friend Ginnie Bivona's book, "The Seductive Chef."

But, as Ginger explains, the book is "not just a step-by-step collection of wonderful dishes that will grace any table, but the varied and beautiful voices of some of the best bloggers online. Some of these recipes tell a story, some explore the idea of food, some just tell you how to cook it, but all of these recipes have been blogger tested, tweaked, and perfected, sometimes for years."

Can't wait to get my copy.

A Taste of The Oscars

2006-03-05T23:33:00.000-05:00

Moms were out in force tonight.

I didn't count the number of times that Oscar winner thanked their Moms, but I did count the times they mentioned their Dads. Once. And it wasn't even a thank-you. Someone--I didn't note who--said hello to his 83-year-old Dad.

Dozens of Oscar winners thanked their Moms. Philip Seymour went on and on about his. I'm sure she deserved it. Wonder what happened to Dad?

His Dad, like most, are unsung heroes to their kids and most of the world. Agreed, some are shits. But wouldn't you think that out of all of those winners, a few had Dads worth mentioning? Moms always get the credit. Ever see an NFL player mouth "thank you Dad' into the Monday Night Football camera?

That's where my head was at during the Oscars. Unsung heroes. Dads just became the most obvious. I dwelled on the people who weren't getting awards. Here we had 40 million people watching hundreds bestow awards on dozens for doing make believe. I'm not criticizing those were nominated nor those who won. It was a ceremony to celebrate one--albiet a visibile one--of the professions that men and women undertake to put food on the table.

And that's what you and I do every day. We trade our time and our skills for money that we use to satisfy Maslov's hierarchy of needs and buy beer. But what we do is less than heroic. Admit it. One awardee--again, I didn't write his name down--nodded toward all those people who"take risks with no cameras rolling." But he was talking in global terms about things like human rights, starvation, global warming and free speech. Things you and I don't get to be heroes about. We're barely getting Maslov fed and the cameras aren't rolling while we do it.

No microphones get thrust in our face when we find the right words to make fractions come alive to our grade schooler, or when we nail it in a memo recommending a new marketing strategy to the boss, or when we get ready to harvest the first crop of tomatoes from our backyard garden.

Life is unsung for you and me. That's not bad. It just is. But why do I feel pangs of resentment for those people who garner fame and money for doing their job as well as I do mine. Jealously? Probably. Did I pick the wrong job? Maybe. Am I measuring success by the wrong metric? Surely.

I have a wife who loves me, kids ask for my opinion, and grandkids who light up when they see me. Probably a better metric than saving pagan babies.

Reese Witherspoon, in her acceptance speech for best actress, quoted June Carter's philosopy as being "just try to matter." I think we should go one step furhter. my philosophy is " make this a better place than you found it"...even if the cameras aren't rolling.

And since this is primarily a recipe blog, let me finish with a recipe of my Mom's. It's for her apple pie. I'd love to do one of my Dad's but he was old school and wouldn't set foot in the kitchen. But I still owe him thanks. And he loved Mom's apple pie.

Mom’s Apple Pie: The Recipe
Makes one, two crust pie

For the crust
2 cups flour
2/3 cup shortening
1 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons water
Ice cold.

For the filling
6-7 apples
A firm fleshed apple like a Golden Delicious or a Granny Smith, although a Granny Smith is slightly more bitter and may need more sugar, depending on your taste buds.
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 tablespoon flour
¾ cup sugar
One egg white, beaten with a tablespoon of water.
Three, 2”x12” strips of aluminum foil to cover the edge of the crust for part of the time.

First: Pre-heat the oven to 425°F. Using a pastry cutter, blend the flour, salt and shortening until the mixture is the consistency of small peas.
Second: Slowly incorporate the three tablespoons of cold water until the dough gathers up into a ball. Avoid overworking the dough or you’ll end up with a tough crust.
Third: Split the dough into two equal portions; cover the unused half with plastic wrap to keep moist; and using a lightly floured rolling pin, gently roll out the other half into a large circle on a floured, smooth dishtowel. Hold a nine-inch pie plate upside down over the circle to ensure that it’s about two-inches in diameter wider than the pan. Lift up the dishtowel and flip the dough into the pan, gently pushing the dough into the corners.
Fourth: Core and peel the apples, slicing them into bite-sized pieces. Pile them onto the pie pan; sprinkle with cinnamon, flour and sugar.
Fifth: Roll out the other piece of dough to about the same size as the first. Use the towel to gently lift it and place it on top of the apple-filled pie pan. Trim the overhanging dough, leaving a ¼ inch all around.
Sixth: Crimp the top and bottom crusts together using your thumbs and index fingers to form little ridges, or press the tines of a fork around the edge to seal. Trim off any excess dough. Using a knife cut four, one-inch slits into the top of the pie to vent the steam.
Seventh: With your fingers or a pastry brush, brush the beaten egg white and water onto the crust. Crimp the aluminum foil strips around the outer edge of the crust to cover.
And finally: Bake in the 425°F oven for 15 minutes. Lower the heat to 350°F, remove the aluminum foil and bake for 30 minutes more.

Vegetarianism Could Save The World, If Only You Don't Weaken

2006-03-01T22:40:00.000-05:00

The flavors are bold in this quickly prepared dish. We first made it using sun-dried tomatoes that were given to me as a gift by guy who worked for me. The tomatoes came soaked in olive oil and were the first I had ever tried. They were superb, and the recipe was pronounced a winner. The employee is another story. We ultimately parted company and he sued me for discrimination—he was gay, but who knew? Better yet, who cared? He lost the suit, but we still make the dish.

Just don't get sued. It really sucks and can be awfully expensive, even when you're right.

But more about the recipe. It's vegetarian (Petra take note) and one of the few in my repetoire. It's not like I'm a rabid red meat guy. I eat fish and chicken more oftern than beef. But I don't know if I could live my life on soy protein.

My daughter, Carey, tried. When she and her friends rented a big house on St. Charles Street in New Orleans in their junior year at Loyola, she (and the rest of the house) decided to become vegetarians, primarily for economic reasons. Meat, after all, can be expensive. When she announced this to us, rather than protest—which was always useless with Carey (and the rest of the kids come to think of it)—I loaned her my copy of “Diet for a Small Planet,” which has a lot of real good vegetarian recipes.

My wife just rolled her eyes. The book also has a hard-edged political slant that advocates a grain-based diet as the salvation of the world. My wife, in her wisdom, knew that the book would quickly turn what was an economic decision on the part of a half-dozen, socially awakening young women into a political one.

Surprise, surprise, it did. My daughter and her friends became righteous advocates for a way of life that repudiated animal protein as a waste of land, grain, water and energy, while celebrating a grain-based diet as the salvation for the millions of people who die of hunger every year.

I think some of her friends remain vegetarians to this day. Carey, truth be told, fell off the wagon one cold Alaskan night as she was driving home in the frosted, fog-shrouded darkness after a day of counseling AIDs victims in her Jesuit Volunteer Corps job in Fairbanks. (My kids are altruistic. They get it from their mother.)

“I saw the Kentucky Fried Chicken place open, lights blazing in the night,” she said (or roughly that), “and my car pulled into the parking lot. I got out, went in, and gorged on fried chicken and mashed potatoes. It was wonderful.”

Beef was not far behind.

It was probably the beginning of the death of a knee-jerk liberal.

When she returned to the lower 48, she tried to stay true to her altruistic roots taking a job in Fort Worth counseling the same kinds of folks who drove her to chicken in Fairbanks—this time with a focus on strippers who needed health care.

But the lure of chicken and beef (with all their conservative overtones) proved to be too strong. Law school followed and now she spends her days litigating for insurance companies and her nights eating steaks, roasts, hamburgers and beef tacos. Although she maligns Bush at every opportunity, she actually said something nice about McCain the other day. So dies a liberal.

One of her favorite vegetarian dishes in college and while she was living “in community” in Fairbanks was tuna roll-ups, a dish her mother served, but only when I was out of town.

The recipe is simple and the meal is ghastly.

Open a can of mushroom soup. Mix a few tablespoons of soup and a handful of shredded cheddar cheese with a can of tuna and spread the mixture on crescent roll dough pieces. Roll them up and place them in a casserole dish. Ad some milk to the mushroom soup and heat on the stove. Pour cream of mushroom soup over the roll-ups and bake for 30 minutes or so. It’s a poor man’s crepe, with abominable taste, but loved by children and desperately poor college students.

For a truly interesting vegetarian dish, try this.

Pasta with Sun Dried Tomatoes
Serves four

2 large cloves garlic , minced
¼ cup onion, finely chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil
2/3 cup chopped sun-dried tomatoes
½ cup chicken broth
¼ cup Kalamata olives, pitted and sliced
1/3 cup fresh Italian parsley, chopped
3 ounces of mild goat cheese
Ground parmesan cheese
½ pound of your favorite pasta

First: Sauté the onions in the olive oil over moderate heat until soft (about five minutes). Add the garlic and sauté for about a minute more. Add the tomatoes and chicken broth and simmer until the liquid is reduced by a third.
Second: Stir in the olives and parsley. Add salt and pepper to taste. Keep the mixture warm.
Third: Bring a pot of salted water to the boil and cook the pasta until it is al dente, which is Italian for “cook it long enough for it to be firm but stop before it gets too soft.” Drain the pasta, reserving about two cups of the cooking water.
Fourth: In the serving bowl, whisk together the goat cheese and about a half-cup of the reserved cooking water until the cheese is melted. The mixture should be smooth and somewhat water. Add the sun-dried tomato mixture to the cheese and water mixture. Toss the sauce with the pasta. If the sauce is too thick and the pasta clumps up, add more of the reserved water.
And finally: Serve with grated Parmesan cheese.

Eat Well in Under 20 Minutes

2006-02-23T19:42:00.000-05:00

Petra, the very first person to post a comment to my blog, seems to suggest (albiet obliquely) that perhaps the recipes I've added so far are too complex. She indicated was looking for something in the make-it-in-20-minutes range. So, here's one. It's from a new book I'm working on called "Gourmet Real Simple: What You Should Have Learned When You Lived With Your Parents. Smart tips on how to be a gourmet cook without trying."

I worked on it about a year ago and had some of my kids and their friends review it for difficulty. It received fair marks from those who took the time to read it, but they wanted even more simplifed recipes and suggested that I add menus with wine suggestions as well. So I'm working on those updates now. Once I finish it--with luck within a month--I'll make it available as an e-book, probably through the same folks who are bringing you "The Seductive Chef." In the meantime, I'm plugging away on the menus and drinking far too much wine.

Here's one that is a meal unto itself. I'd accompany it with a California Syrah, an Australian Shiraz or a French Côtes du Rhône. They are all made from the same grape. Parallèle “45” is a good Côtes du Rhône for under $10. If your tastes run to Australian wines try a Rosemount Shiraz. If it’s California you want, Fetzer and Beringer are good bets.

Get a good loaf of crusty bread and have at it. By the way, another feature of the recipes is a shopping list at the end.

Sirloin Steak Salad
Serves 4 (or two generously)
Preparation time: 15 minutes
Cooking time: 10 minutes

This recipe is schizophrenic. It could have gone in the salad section. But since the key to it is a fast sauté, it’s here instead. And the dressing is actually more of a sauce than a dressing. But it’s good and fast, just the perfect dish for easy gourmet.

Salt and freshly ground pepper
½ cup flour
1 pound of sirloin strip steak about an inch thick
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
½ cup water
2 or 3 green onions sliced thinly
¼ cup heavy cream
½ cup blue cheese crumbled
Bag of salad, any kind you like

Salt and pepper the steak on both sides.
Put the flour in a shallow bowl or on a piece of waxed paper. Dredge the steak in the flour.
Pre-heat a heavy sauté pan, preferably non-stick. Add the oil and butter.
When the butter stops foaming and begins to turn brown, sear the steak over high heat, about two minutes on each side. Remove the steak from the pan; cover with foil and let it rest while you make the dressing (sauce).
Reduce the heat to medium and add the water and vinegar. Stir to loosen and dissolve the browned bits.
Reduce the mixture to about half, add the cream and the onion and return to the simmer for a minute or so.
Pour cream and onion mixture into a small bowl to cool.
Slice steak thinly at an angle and set aside.
Dump the bag of salad and the blue cheese into a salad bowl.
Add the dressing (sauce) and toss.
Heap the salad onto the plates and top with steak slices. Serve immediately.

The shopping list

1 pound of sirloin strip steak about an inch thick
Flour
Butter
Olive oil
Red wine vinegar
A bunch of green onions
Half pint of heavy cream
Package of blue cheese crumbles
Bag of salad

Next Time, It Will Be the Food

2006-02-18T12:38:00.000-05:00

It worked.

I'm now the proud owner of two new stents--the best drug-eluting stents money can buy says my cardiologist--and two newly cleaned stents, which he did while he was in the neighborhood. Good for another 100,000 miles, or so I quip to the inquisitive. The artery, it turns out, was 100 percent blocked. That's what usually causes a heart attack and at times, death. I barely had twinges. So instead of looking for my insurance policies, Maureen is busy planning a champagne and cake get together for this evening to celebrate my son's engagement to our future daughter-in-law.

It's been a busy week.

He proposed last night, dramatically on bended knee in the middle of our favorite romatic restaurant, The Old Warsaw, the grande dame of the ever-changing Dallas restaurant scene. He had originally planned to ask her after dinner at The Mansion--home of small portions of Southwest cuisine on large plates and one of the city's see-and-be-seen gathering spots.

We talked him out of the Mansion and into the Warsaw.

The Mansion, we said, would relegate him--even in his medal-bedecked Class A's--to the outer regions where the not-so-glittery gawk at the glittery. The Old Warsaw's outer edges are reserved for romantic moments. And, I told him, the Old Warsaw is one of Ross Perot's favorite places.

That fact did little to impress him until--swear to god--the former independent presidential candidate and Saturday Night Live staple, sat down with him and Wendy, jokingly claiming they were at his table, and drew Brian out about his experiences fighting the Mahadi army in Sadr City. Brian tells us he was as easy to talk to and attentive as a long-time friend. And, on his way out, he picked up the tab, his way of thanking our soldiers one at a time.

He'll get my vote if he ever decides to run. Unless he's running against Kinky Freedman. That would be a tough call.

All of this has nothing (or everything) to do with food. But when Maureen and I go to The Old Warsaw, I like to start with steak tartare (hmmm, angioplasty and steak tartare... I may need to rethink). I don't have the Old Warsaw's recipe, but here's one you can make as you listen to your arteries clog.

According to legend, the dish was invented by the Tartare tribes, who were so busy pillaging and looting as they moved west out of Central Asia, that they didn’t have time to stop and cook their food. They just kept raw meat under their saddles where it was tenderized, and later spiced and eaten on the go. When they got to Germany, the local decided they liked the tenderized meat, but liked it even better cooked, creating in the process the world’s first hamburger. But that's another story.

This recipe is best uncooked.

Steak Tartare
Serves Four

A 16 ounce filet steak, ground or chopped to a hamburger-like consistency. Use a meat grinder, a food processor or, if you’re good with a knife, dice the meat until its near the consistency of hamburger.
1 egg
½ cup of diced onions or shallots
½ teaspoon Tabasco or other hot sauce or more to taste
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon capers
3 tablespoons finely chopped parsley
1 tablespoon brandy
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground pepper

Mix all the ingredients together, roll the mixture into a ball and refrigerate for 30 minutes or so to allow the flavors to blend. (You can adjust the seasonings to taste.)

Divide into four portions, surround with extra chopped onions, capers and parsley (or not) and serve with toast points. Remember, ground meat that reaches room temperature becomes a Petri dish for bacteria, particularly when it’s mixed with a raw egg. So don’t dawdle.

It's Not Always the Food. Is it?

2006-02-13T09:16:00.000-05:00

My horoscope says to proceed with caution. Maureen's says that if something can go wrong today it will. Funny how a breakfast diversion consumed with a side of Dilbert, the Far Side and Peanuts, can become ominous four houors before angioplasty.

It appears as if another one clogged up. At least that's what the CT scan said is causing the random attacks that felt remarkably like my old ulcer acting up again. They started before Christmas during one of my 6:00 a.m. power walks. The first few times I just walked through the pain, relieved when it subsided and confirmed to my hopeful mind that it was not my heart but my stomach that was at fault. It didn't happen every day, but often enough so that the morning walk became something to avoid, easy with the holidays approaching.

Christmas morning, unloading the presents from the car in front of my daughter's house, it struck again. Thoughts of a rush to a nearby emergency room were dismissed. Why screw up my granddaughter's first real Christmas--she had just turned 2.

So I pushed through it with a silent promise to see the doctor right after the holidays. Although hindsight tells me that it would of been a Christmas to be worked out in therapy for her had I keeled over dead in an ocean of wrapping paper.

Two weeks later I was at my doctor's still hoping it was my stomach. I even convinced him to give me a prescription for Nexium, in exchange for a promise to go to a cardiologist. I did and two tests and three weeks later, I'm steeling myself for what will be my third and possibily fourth stent.

Of the two I already have, one seems to be clogging up again, but I'm not sure if anything will be done about that on this trip. The doctor was somewhat vague about that. There will definitely be an attempt at stenting the left anterior descending artery as well as one of its branches.

That's where the aprehension starts. If the good doctor can't stent them, then it's open heart surgery, which frankly terrifies me. I remember my father commenting on his and how it felt as his rib cage slowly mended. I envision my chest laying open, my heart stopped and a machine nearby providing oxygen to my blood in quantities that just might hasten the feeblemindedness that is approaching fast enough on its own. I can't even watch CSI.

I asked my doctor why, when all my numbers--cholesterol, triglycerides, blood pressure--were good and when my excercise program was payin off in lost pounds, did this happen. Was it something I ate?

Not really, he said. There are two basic reasons--my father and 20 years of cigarette smoking--neither of which I could change at this point, even though I stopped smoking 20 years ago.

At least he didn't say food. Because here is one recipe that could share the blame.

Linguini and White Clam Sauce
Serves 2

Some people use whole clams. I like the minced clams better. It’s your choice.
This is a quick and easy meal that can be on the table in under 30 minutes. It goes well as a side with a main fish course, too.

2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 tablespoons peeled and finely chopped shallots
3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
¾ cups dry white wine
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
½ teaspoon dried oregano
½ cup chicken broth
2 6.5-ounce cans minced clams, drained and juices reserved
Salt to taste
½ pound Linguine pasta
Parmesan cheese, for grating over the pasta

Bring four to six quarts of water to the boil. Add salt and then add the pasta and cook until it’s al dente. If it’s dried pasta, it will take about 10 minutes or so. Fresh pasta, maybe five. Bite into a strand. If you get just a little resistance when you do, it’s al dente.
When it’s done, drain it in colander and return to the pot. Add a pat of butter and stir to coat. Keep warm.
Open the cans of clams and drain off and save the juices.
Mince the shallots and garlic and chop the parsley.
Heat a very large skillet over medium high heat. When hot, add the olive oil and butter.
When butter is melted and bubbling, stir in the minced shallots and sauté until softened and fragrant, about 5 minutes.
Add the garlic, and sauté until softened, about 2 minutes.
Stir in the oregano, black pepper and chopped parsley. Add white wine, chicken stock and reserved juice from the clams and bring to a boil.
Reduce heat to medium and simmer, uncovered, until sauce is reduced by a third, about 8 to 10 minutes.
When sauce is reduced, stir in the minced clams and salt to taste and heat through, being careful not to boil.
Pour over the pasta and toss. Serve immediately.
Top each serving with the freshly grated Parmesan cheese.

The Steelers are back. Next stop Detroit.

2006-01-22T21:28:00.000-05:00

Today was just like re-living the Terry Bradshaw days. The Broncos put up just enough fight to be interesting, but not heart stopping. Sundays back then were always interesting, and sometimes—like the game against the Colts last week--heart stopping.

It was the 70s and the Steelers ruled the NFL. Dallas was the enemy. We lived in Pittsburgh then. We live in Dallas now, and—sad to say—the Cowboys’ only enemy is Jerry Jones. Back then, though, on fall and winter Sundays, if we didn’t have tickets or the game was out of town, we either hosted or attended a day-long celebration of Steelers football that started with brunch; continued through a boozy, hor d’oeuvres and cheer-filled afternoon; and ended with early evening nightcaps that had us home by 10 p.m., tipsy, apologetic to the baby sitter, and—when the Steelers won—content and satisfied that all was right with the world.

In Dallas we have few opportunities to cheer on the Steelers (or the Cowboys for that matter). Unless Pittsburgh is playing Monday night, we don’t see much of our favorite team. Until the playoffs, that is. Watching the sixth-seeded team climb its way to a Super Bowl berth was like a trip back to the 70s, when swinging the Terrible Towel overhead was what Sundays were about.

Today, we initiated our two-year-old granddaughter Riley into the ritual. By the end of the first half we had her saying “Go Steelers” and swinging her Terrible Towel over her head, sort of. She was actually more interested in double (and triple) dipping in the dips that accompanied the potato and corn chips.

She already knows that for great football games, the food is a critical part. For this AFC Championship game, we had the requisite chips and dip, but unlike the old days, we skipped our traditional brunch and instead went with chili after the game. A 2 p.m. start time doesn’t lend itself to brunch.

But being the AFC Championship, we couldn’t have just any chili. This one needed Joe Cooper’s Chili.

Joe’s packs a heat that grows on you. When you first try it, you’ll follow your first bite with a sip of water (or red wine) and a mouthful of corn bread, wondering if you made it too hot. But with each bite, you’ll like it better and better. In fact, the second time you make it, you’ll add a bit more chili powder. It goes well with a heavy red wine, probably since its history is shrouded in the mists of alcohol.

Joe Cooper’s recipe came from my first boss at Rockwell International, Bill Van Dyke. Bill was one of the old hands from North American Aviation that made the trek to Pittsburgh when Rockwell Manufacturing bought North American Aviation back in the late 60s and turned a lot of Californians into Steeler fans.

Bill claimed that an old friend of his from Oklahoma developed this recipe. Who could doubt a boss who would periodically take his young staff out for lunch that could last well into the early hours of the evening? That was in the early 70s when a drink for lunch was de rigueur; two drinks the norm; and three drinks a guarantee that Bill would keep us away from our offices all afternoon.

The original recipe for Joe Cooper’s Chili is written as a narrative. Some excerpts worth are repeating and including in your technique:

“Meat should be good quality lean beef; preferably fore-quarter (chuck); I prefer neck meat (if you could get it off of a 3/5 year-old fat bull, it would be the best)…If you like bay flavor (it is good), 2 leaves 15/20 minutes at start…Too much suet in chili produces unpleasant back-fires…Don’t shy at the large amount of garlic. It is hard to use too much. As with onions, there is no regurgitancy from cooked garlic…Never cook beans with chili. If you want beans, cook them (pintos) separately, with no seasoning except salt…If you like tomato flavor, add ketchup at the table.”

Even if you’re not watching an NFL playoff game, this is one chili worth trying.

Joe Cooper’s Chil
For six generous or eight ample servings

3 pounds of lean beef preferably from a three- to five-year-old fat bull.
¼ cup olive oil
1 quart water (distilled or bottled if your tap water is off)
2 bay leaves
6 tablespoons chili powder
3 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon red pepper
1 tablespoon sugar
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
3 tablespoons flour
3 tablespoons water
6 tablespoons corn meal

First: Cube the beef into ½ inch cubes or have the butcher coarsely grind it. Heat the olive oil in a six-quart pot until it is almost smoking. Add the meat and sear over high heat stirring constantly until gray, not browned.

Second: Add the quart of water and the bay leaves and cook at a simmer for one-and-a-half to two hours. Skim off the scum that rises to the surface. Remove the bay leaves after about 20 minutes. Add additional water as necessary to keep the meat covered.

Third: Add the other ingredients—except for the flour and cornmeal—and cook for 30 minutes more at a simmer. These ingredients will make a fairly hot chili. If you like it hotter, add more red pepper. Don’t use Tabasco or other pepper sauces.

Fourth: Mix the water and flour together in a shaker and stir into chili. Add corn meal a tablespoon at a time until it reaches a consistency you like. You can omit the flour and water and just use cornmeal (or vice versa) if you like.

And finally: Serve garnished with chopped onions and accompanied by a good full-bodied red wine. And don’t forget: chili is always better the next day.

A Memorable Dinner

2006-01-19T21:40:00.000-05:00

I first did this dish for a gourmet dinner, but the most memorable time I served it was the Sunday before my son, Brian, joined the Army. Carey, daughter number two, made it home for spring break from law school; and our oldest, Kim, and her husband, Todd, made the drive in from nearby Poetry. It was a bittersweet evening. Our President and his Cabinet were telling the Butcher of Baghdad that they were going to send our sons and daughters over to root him out, and I was sitting across the table from quite possibly one of them.

Actually, I agreed Saddam needed to go and cheered when he did, but on a visceral level I resented the fact that a man who avoided the war I went to (as did his Democrat predecessor) found it so easy to ask our kids to do what he and his key advisors hadn’t.

Today, Carey is a full-fledged lawyer, practicing law in Pittsburgh, where the family’s roots were planted two generations before mine. Kim and Todd have moved in from the “country” and are the stewards of our two grandchildren—Riley, age 2, and Ian, age 6 months. And Brian Jr. is back from Iraq with two purple hearts, a Bronze Star and an Army Commendation medal—both with the “V” device. He was and is a medic with the 1st Calvary Division. He and most—but not all—of his buddies made it through a hellacious year as did those of us who watched and waited.

It was a long year. We all aged, Brian more than the rest of us.

He supports the war, as he must. The rest of us do as well, if only to honor his sacrifice, even as we hope that history will harshly judge those who used the horror of 9/11, flimsy intelligence and Christian righteousness to drag us into a crusade to revenge a failed assassination attempt and re-elect a Republican.

But the dinner to mark the start of my son’s journey to maturity and PTSD, was Prime Rib, one of the best ways to harden your arteries that God put on earth.

The celebratory meal was a family affair. I made the Prime Rib, Brian made his salad dressing; Maureen got the cake from Central Market (one of the seven wonders of the culinary world); and the other three pulled KP afterwards. The dinner took most of the evening and the jokes and stories flowed freely.

Here's what you'll need.

A four-rib standing rib roast (about 8 pounds)
2-4 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons white peppercorns
2 tablespoons green peppercorns
2 tablespoons juniper berries
2 tablespoons fresh thyme
2 tablespoons flour
3 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1½ teaspoon salt
2/3 cup dry red wine
2 cups beef broth
1½ tablespoons cornstarch
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon water

First:. Preheat the oven to 250°F. Heat the olive oil in the roasting pan on top of the stove until nearly smoking. Pat the beef dry and brown on all sides, about three to five minutes on a side. Remove to a cutting board.

Second: With a sharp carving knife almost completely separate the rib bones from the meat, leaving them barely attached at the bottom and exposing the back side of the meat.

Third: Crush the peppercorns, juniper berries and fresh thyme in a pestle or, better yet, grind them in a coffee grinder. Combine with the flour, butter, Dijon mustard, brown sugar and salt to make a paste.

Fourth: Spread the meat with the paste, making sure the bone-side meat is well covered as well. Tie the rib bones back to the meat and return to the roasting pan, rib sides down.

Fifth: Slip the roast into the oven and let it slowly cook until it reaches an internal temperature of 110°F, approximately 30 minutes per pound.

Sixth: Increase the oven temperature to 500°F and continue cooking until the internal temperature of the meat reaches 135°F, about 30 more minutes.

Seventh: Remove from the oven and let stand for 20 minutes on a cutting board, loosely covered with aluminum foil. The temperature will rise to 140°F.

Eighth: Skim most of the fat from the drippings in the pan. Deglaze the pan with the wine, simmering the wine to reduce it by half. Transfer the liquid to a saucepan or a saucier. Add beef broth and simmer for five minutes.

Ninth: Dissolve the cornstarch in the Worcestershire sauce and water and add to wine/beef broth mixture, whisking to combine. Boil for a minute or two more until thickened. Season with salt and pepper and keep warm on the stove.

And finally: Remove the string from roast. Cut off the rib bones, and carve the meat into ½ inch slabs. Arrange on a warm serving platter. Cut rack into individual ribs and arrange them on the platter for those of us who like to gnaw on the bones (the closer the bone etc.). Garnish with sprigs of fresh thyme.

Of aging, sportscars and tits

2006-01-12T20:19:00.000-05:00

I'm four months too old to be a baby boomer. For the math challenged, that means I was born in August of 1945. Depending on your age, 1945 is either just emerging from the mists that envelope the 20s and 30s--my parents heyday--or it's progressively buried more deeply in antiquity. By any measure, those of us born then are old. With today's expanded life expectancies, we can reasonably hope to get older--20 even 30 years older--but we're old. 60 is the new 40 they say. Right. I'll take 40. Actually I'll take 35. Because 36 marked the year that I was weaned from my immortality.

36 was the most traumatic of birthdates. It pushed me over the cusp--72 was really old then and I was halfway there. I bought an MGB. It was red and spent as much time in the garage as it did on the road. I also started spending more time visiting doctors. I wanted a complete physical. Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it. They did, but I didn't. They still do, and I'm getting better but still transgress.

After the MGB, I opted for a sedan, but only for a few years. Age drove me into a Supra. Loved it. Fast, sexy. Driving to Dallas to launch a new career, three girls in a Camry gave me thumbs up as I passed them at 70.

In Dallas, we fell in with friends our age. They still are, but they're old too. One of them--who later drifted off to India, then Houston--skewered me with his observation of aging men one day. "Two things men get as they race towards 50," he said one drunken afternoon standing by his grill next to his backyard pool," a sportscar and tits."

I had both. And still do, with the exception of a sportscar. So do my friends. I'm sure he does as well, though I haven't seen him for several years. I'm on his joke list, however, and daily share in the bittersweet reminders of youth that sustain dirty old men.

What's this have to do with food? Well, as my friend was waxing on the foibles of old men, he was grilling a mound of beef that was one of his signature meals. The recipe follows. It's for a dozen or so people.

5-7 pounds of sirloin in one piece (tell the butcher you want a beef loin ball tip roast and see if he understands you)
at least a pound of melted butter flavored with a bunch of chopped fresh parsley and a tablespoon or so of Lawry's seasoned salt

Bring roast to room temperature
Put in on the grill
Baste frequently with the butter sauce
Cook to desired doneness (medium rare is best)
Slice and serve

If you eat enough of it, you won't need to worry about getting too old.

Cheese Blintzes

2006-01-03T23:18:00.000-05:00

Blintzes were a natural next step in the evolution of breakfast skills because blintzes appear to be little more than very flat and thin pancakes wrapped around a filling and topped with a fruit sauce.

Actually, they are quite a little more.

Cheese blintzes have three components—the crepe, the cheese filling and the berry sauce—and each demand and deserve careful attention. Done well, blintzes are the centerpiece of a great Sunday pre-football game brunch.

I got into blintzes back in the 70s when the Steelers ruled the NFL and we lived in Pittsburgh. On game day, if we didn’t have tickets or the game was out of town, we either hosted or attended a day-long celebration of Steelers football that started with brunch; continued through a boozy, hor d’oeuvres and cheer-filled afternoon; and ended with early evening nightcaps that had us home by 10 p.m., tipsy, apologetic to the baby sitter, and—when the Steelers won—content and satisfied that all was right with the world.

My brother-in-law, Michael (now Father Michael), would sometimes baby-sit for us in those days. Although he was in the seminary at the time, some weekends found him in town and we would beg him and my mother-in-law Bunny to come over and watch our two (at the time) kids if we were heading to a Steelers party. It was actually a request that was fraught with danger. You see, babysitting our kids brings out the catastrophes that seem to lurk in the shadows around them when we gave them responsibility for our children.

Like the time that Father Mike went rushing out the door of his mother’s town house to get my oldest daughter Kimberly who was toddling toward the front walk. In his panic, he saw her hurtling towards the traffic, which—at her diapered pace—would have taken some time. As he put his hand out to fling open the storm door, he inadvertently thrust it through the glass. An ambulance ride and some dozen stitches later, he was fine and my daughter had some new paramedic friends.

Then there was the time my mother-in-law was watching our three kids. My wife, our daughter, Kimberly, and I were visiting potential colleges in the northeast so Mom came to the house to mind her grandchildren. A short while into her visit, she slipped on the stairs coming down from the second floor and broke her back. We returned in time to bring her home from the hospital; set her up in bed in our now-converted dining room; and help nurse her back to health. (Part of my contribution was to share a nightly chocolate éclair and a glass of scotch with the poor woman. Both of us ended her convalescence bigger than we were when we started it.)
Even with the risk we knew we were taking with the babysitter, a Steelers game day brunch was worth it.

For about a dozen blintzes

For the crepe batter
1¼ cups flour
1 teaspoon sugar
½ teaspoon salt
3 eggs
1½ cups milk (can use skim)
2 tablespoons butter, melted then cooled for the batter

For the fillings
16 ounces cottage cheese (or ricotta, which is a good, albeit drier substitute.)
8 ounces cream cheese
¼ cup Parmesan cheese finely ground (run pre-shredded cheese through a food processor
2 egg yolks
2 tablespoons melted butter
3 teaspoons vanilla

For the sauce
3 cups fresh or frozen berries Blackberries, raspberries or strawberries work well.
¾ to 1 cup sugar depending on how tart the berries are
1 tablespoon water
½ tablespoon cornstarch

First, Second and Third: Put all of the batter ingredients into a blender and blend until smooth. Adjust the flour and/or milk to get the consistency of heavy cream.

OR: If you’re a purist who likes the feel of dough on his or her fingers, then proceed as follows.

First: Sift the dry ingredients into a bowl. Break the eggs into another bowl and mix until yolks and whites are blended. Make a hole in the middle of the dry ingredients and pour in beaten eggs. Stir the flour mixture into the eggs little by little. You might need to add a little milk to incorporate all the flour.

Second: Add the milk a spoonful at a time and mix it in thoroughly before adding more liquid. When you’ve added about half of the milk, you can add the remainder in two portions.

Third: Add melted butter. Mix again

Fourth: Cover and set aside for at least an hour. Giving the batter time to rest allows the flour to better absorb the liquids. If it’s going to sit for more than a couple of hours, put the batter in the refrigerator. It can be held overnight.

Fifth: Grease an 8-inch skillet with light coating of butter. A non-stick or well-seasoned pan works best. Pour three to four tablespoons of batter into the skillet, turning the pan to coat it. Resign yourself to the fact that it will take at least two, if not three, crepes to get the right balance between the amount of batter and the heat of the pan. Throw the first few away. Fry lightly on one side—for about two minutes, then flip and fry for about 10 seconds on the other. Some recipes call for frying on one side only, but leaving the “flip” side uncooked seems wrong to me. You don’t even need a spatula, just carefully grab the crepe with your fingers at one edge and turn it over. Count to 10 and slide onto a stack, separating each crepe with a square of waxed paper. Repeat with remaining batter. You should get about a dozen.

Sixth: Beat or mix in a food processor the filling ingredients together until smooth. Put about 2 heaping tablespoons of filling in the middle of the browned side of the crepe. Fold the bottom third of the crepe up over the filling first, then fold over the sides, and finally fold down the top to form a small envelope. Place blintzes "seam side" down on wax paper. If you have time, fold wax paper around each blintz snugly and put all of them in the refrigerator for an hour or so to firm up. It makes them easier to handle later. Also, the blintzes may be frozen at this point, and then fried without defrosting.

Seventh: While they are resting, cook the berries in a saucepan over low heat, until bubbling. Mash, using a potato masher. Depending on your preferences, sieve out the seeds. Add sugar, and taste for tartness. Mix the water and cornstarch in a small cup and add to the sauce. Mix over low heat until you’re satisfied with the thickness of the sauce. If too thin, add some more cornstarch and water. If too thick, thin with water or—better yet—a little brandy or a liqueur like crème de cassis.

And finally: Melt two tablespoons of butter in large skillet over medium heat. Fry blintzes seam side down until golden brown on all sides. For a buffet, arrange on a warm platter and drizzle the sauce down the center of the row of blintzes. Serve the remaining sauce on the side. Serve as soon as possible. The sooner you can serve the blintzes when they come out of the pan, the better.

Making Pancakes

2006-01-02T21:08:00.000-05:00

The addition of pancakes to my breakfast repartee raised the esteem in which at least two of my children held me: Kimberly, the oldest, never liked pancakes as a child. Her tastes—at least insofar as pancakes are concerned—improved as she grew older.

I think this recipe originated from one in an old Betty Crocker cookbook that we had around the house when we were first married. The cookbook is lost, but the recipe—simple as it is—has stayed with me. On pancake mornings, I tried to get up before the rest of the house—not always easy when the youngest wanted a 5:30 am bottle—and get the batter ready.

Then, as now, pancake making can be a messy affair, particularly in the heat of battle. As much as I try to clean up as I go, when the breakfast is over, there are more mixing bowls than were necessary; more spatulas, spoons and wire whips than needed; and drops of partially cooked or hardening batter—sometimes in close proximity with sticky syrup—on most surfaces.

But the pancakes are great, so the family lives with the mess and even offers to help clean up at times. In fact, the pancakes are so good, that I used them to compensate for my ineptness in Indian lore during a period of father-daughter bonding with my daughter, Carey, called Indian Princesses. This is where fathers pause each week to dress as white people think Indians do, sit cross legged on the floor and do crafts, while their daughters slowly move off to the other side of the room to play quietly among themselves.

This weekly bonding is punctuated by two or three overnight camping trips where fathers and daughters wander through the woods until boredom sets in before returning to the main cabin where the fathers sit cross legged on the floor drinking beer while the princesses move off to the other side of the room and play quietly among themselves. Indian Guides, which is the father-son version, is much the same; but the boys are noisier. My son, Brian, and I tried that in lieu of cub scouts. As a fun experience, the Indian thing is over-rated (and now apparently politically incorrect); but I must admit, as a bonding experience, it is unequalled.

But let’s return to pancakes and how they enhanced my stature. For an Indian Princess winter overnight camp-out, I was assigned breakfast duties. Since my daughter and I weren’t going to be winning any feathers for tent making or fire kindling, I decided to depart from the usual individual-cereal-servings-in-a-box breakfast and surprise my tribe-mates with something original: I pre-made pancake batter and took it along.

We were the hit of the tribe that chilly December morning. They didn’t make me chief, but we both got extra feathers. And we made as much mess as I do at home, but without the mixing bowls or a reason to bother cleaning up. Here’s what you will need to make about six, 6-inch pancakes.

Pancakes: The Recipe
For about 6 pancakes

1 cup of flour
1 tablespoon of sugar
1 teaspoon of salt
4 teaspoons of baking powder Don’t overdo the baking powder or the bottom of the pancake will burn before the insides set.
1 cup milk (plus two tablespoons) It’s just as good with skim milk.
1 large egg
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
Vegetable oil for cooking

First: Mix together the dry ingredients

Second: Whisk together, in another bowl, the wet stuff.

Third: Mix the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients with a fork. Don’t beat, just mix the ingredients together. The batter should be slightly lumpy. If it’s too dry—closer to dough than batter—add milk a tablespoon at a time to thin it.

Fourth: Let stand for about 30 minutes or so until bubbles form on the surface of the batter. In the meantime, heat up the griddle or fry pan; warm the syrup and make sure the butter is soft.

Fifth: Make sure everyone’s seated then liberally coat the griddle or fry pan with vegetable oil. If it smokes, it’s too hot. Crank back the heat and wait a few seconds.

Sixth: Stir the batter lightly: it should be thick but still be batter. Drop a teaspoon of batter in the oil to test. If it balls up quickly and sizzles in the oil, you’re ready.

Seventh: Pour about a third of a cup of batter onto the griddle or fry pan. When bubbles form on the top of the pancake and a few of them break and stay open (about four minutes), it’s time to think about turning them over. Lift one up and peek under. If it’s golden brown, turn them all over. Let them cook for another three minutes or so, then remove. (If you’re not sure, make a small cut in the center of one of the pancakes. If you see uncooked batter, it’s not done.)

And finally: Serve immediately, smallest kids first. If you’re making several batches of pancakes, they will keep between towels on a warm plate in a warm oven, but they will deflate some.

Breakfast

2006-01-02T21:04:00.000-05:00

My first memory of breakfast is a sock tied around a spigot. That’s what Catholics did Saturday night before going to bed back when breakfast really did break a fast that began at midnight the day before receiving Communion. The sock was to remind us to take nothing by mouth until after Sunday Mass. Gradually, fasting went the way of Latin, Gregorian chant and Extreme Unction. I still miss Gregorian chant.

But breakfast, as one of the two culinary highlights of a relaxing Sunday, still remains. Growing up, breakfasts during the week were catch-as-catch-can affairs since my father, Jack, worked various shifts and was seldom in evidence when we kids were hustling out the door for school. He was either up and had left for the day shift, on his way home from the night shift, or still in bed from the swing shift.

His default breakfast, which he usually had when we weren’t around, was one soft-boiled egg and a slice of toast. That was before eggs and their cholesterol were put on the enemies list and he was forced to give them up, along with his daily pack of Camel cigarettes. Ours was cold cereal and a piece of homemade bread and peanut butter.

But on Sundays when we did have breakfast en masse, soft-boiled eggs were on the menu, but often, there was a platter of bacon and eggs. I always liked bacon and eggs and developed a knack for breaking the eggs in the hot grease with a gentleness that kept the yolk intact for later toast dipping. It’s a practice now deemed dangerous not only because of saturated fat and cholesterol, but also because of more wily species of bacteria that have figured out a way to infect the chicken before it’s an egg. Bacteria weren’t as smart in the middle of the last century.
Breakfast launched my interest in cooking—weekend breakfasts that is. Weekday breakfasts remain as they were growing up and as they are like in most busy homes today: quick and cold. On weekends, though we get to start the day more leisurely: and how better to relax than over a long breakfast, the morning paper and a discussion of what to eat at breakfast’s counterpoint—Sunday dinner.

My takeover of breakfast started with my wife, Maureen, asking me to break the eggs for her. It was a short step from that to taking over the bacon frying. Maureen’s bacon-cooking technique was too disorderly for me. She filled the pan with bacon wily-nily then cooked it, stirring and flipping the strips occasionally until they were all crisp curlicues. I preferred to lay each strip down in the pan barely touching the next one, even if it meant cooking a package of bacon in several batches.

My wife’s bacon arrived at the table more quickly, but mine arrived neater—a fact that illustrates the differences on which our marriage has thrived. So, beginning with cracking the eggs, she allowed me to gradually usurp her morning role, trading cooking for additional sleep time and a more leisurely read of the Sunday morning paper. No fool, that one.

From bacon and eggs, I moved on to pancakes, blintzes, and ultimately that ultimate celebration of an egg—an omelet. All of those recipes will be revealed in due course.

Why Recipe Stories?

2006-01-02T17:00:00.000-05:00

Actually, I decided to spend my last day off before officially beginning 2006 by doing two things--taking down a dormant website I developed for a memoir cookbook I wrote and investigating blogging. I don't think I'll get around to the other job.

I was mostly just curious about blogging before I started mucking about earlier today. "Who," I thought, "has the time for it?" Obviously I do. And I hope to continue. Future blog entries will re-cycle stories and recipes from the book, be about other things cooking related or none of the above. Since I'm working on another cookbook--this one targeting 20 and 30 somethings who never quite got the drift of cooking at home--entries may talk about that as well.

But about the first (and only) cookbook I wrote. It's called 'You Said A Mouthful" and is available at Lulu.com. It was inspired by the thought that every good recipe has a good story behind it. The story may center on an ingredient, where it comes from and what it does to enhance a dish. It may be about the preparation and how the time in the kitchen created a special memory with family or friends. It could be about the people who join you at your table, their relationships, likes and dislikes. Or, the story may root in a past event or snippet of time that was evoked by the food or its ingredients.

Actually, it was inspired by my kids who kept asking me for my recipes. The story idea came later. As I wrote the recipes down, I'd be reminded of a story, so I'd write that down as well. Then, I decided the stories and recipes were too good to keep to myself. That's when I discovered the wonders of self-publishing.

After I published it and told friends and family, it sold quite briskly--until I ran out of friends and family. As one friend told me, memoir cookbooks only work for the famous. However-- in what must be a tribute to Lulu's power-- sales still occur. I do have a website, but since the visitor count has stuck in the 500s for the past year, I don't think it has powered many sales.

I don't have time to get to my second chore today, so I guess the website will stay up for awhile