Cocktail Hour
Our wedding reception. Wearing my second dress for the night and token bunny ears.
For those of you married, do you ever dream of what you’d do differently if you had the opportunity to plan your wedding all over again? I was never one of those girls who dreamed out my wedding day for hours on end. To be honest, I’m still surprised myself that I met the love of my life when I was 26—I would’ve predicted a much older encounter. At any rate, I love the way my husband tells it as something like me strutting across the CNN newsroom and him checking out the goods squeezed into skinny jeans. To which I pulled the trump card several months later, the ol’ I’m too tipsy to drive home, we’d better go back to your place. Well played. By both of us.
But, I would do it differently. My wedding, that is. We got married October 18, 2003 and planning was stressful and I was a nightmare to be around, I’ll admit. For starters, I’d maybe not handle everything in the wedding department as an afterthought, since I was planning it with my mother four states away just after Shock and Awe began in Iraq, and well, I didn’t give two-you-know-whats about chair covers, dress alterations, and programs then. At that time I was making sure producers on our show’s team were getting outfitted with flack jackets and I was working 12 hour shifts for months on end. But, boy I care now.
Chocolate Chip Cheesecake
My husband’s birthday was on Sunday and I surprised him with an iPad 2. It’s a splurge, but considering he’s the last of anyone he knows that works in television to have one (so I heard), I’d say he earned it. We spent the idea of his perfect day pouring over “The New York Times” while drinking coffee and watching Manchester United play.
He really doesn’t ask for much, even when it comes to his birthday dinner, it’s all quite simple. For my birthday I want a restaurant that’s symbolic, which translates as a meal that’s likely expensive, requires a reservation, and is stretched out over several courses. For three years running, we went here for his birthday. I think there were a couple of celebrations here, and there was a memorable meal here, after which neither of us could move for hours from eating so much. This year we went here—I think you can see the trend he’s got going on.
Quiche Eater
Like most cities across the country, Atlanta is hot in August. It’s summertime, folks, and that means scorching days, which in my house translates as, I don’t want to be stuck in the kitchen stirring a pot of something over an open flame for hours (actually that wouldn’t happen, no matter the season).
Besides a ton of grilling that occurs at our house this time of year, my favorite go-to meal that requires very little effort is quiche. Growing up I couldn’t grasp what quiche meant, as it always held a double entendre. My father, when my twin sister and I would play with our Barbie dolls, would tell us that Ken was a quiche eater. We’d laugh and insist that he wasn’t, not knowing at the time he was implying that Ken most likely didn’t want to date Barbie, but, perhaps a fellow named Bart would’ve been more his type. I assure you, my father was not as closed-minded as this statement would seem, but instead of making me ask what was wrong with Ken, it begged the question, what was wrong with quiche?
Quiche has become one of my weeknight staples of late. The French do many things right with this dish—it’s versatile with the time of day it’s served, as well as, what happens to fill within the bounds of the pastry crust—it’s limitless (and an excellent vegetable and cheese bin cleanout).
I’m the sort of person who even when it’s 95° outside, will sit in front of the television wearing wool socks and a sweatshirt under a blanket, so I don’t mind the slow and low time it takes to bake one of these gems, as most recipes do take a bit of oven time to cook. I just check every 15 minutes or so, let cool the rest of the day, and serve at room temperature that night.
When I’m feeling particularly ambitious, I’ll make my own crust. If not, I buy a pre-made one at the farmers market that is just as good. Epicurious has several recipes with fantastic combinations (mushroom and Fontina or ham, leek, and three cheese) if you need suggestions. Mine is pretty basic—just four or five eggs, a bit of milk (yes, I know, I use skim instead of cream, which is very un-French) and whatever is in the meat, vegetable, or cheese drawer, all baked around 325° for about 45 minutes. The one I made this past week used rosemary, parsley, and a tomato from our garden with spinach, and goat cheese. Add simple greens and a glass of wine and it’s a meal filling enough for both Barbie and Ken—respective partners included.
Tomato, Peach, Caprese
Right now I’m up to my elbows in both tomatoes and peaches. The first, because I planted four different varieties in our garden this past spring and they are just beginning to turn from pale green into a vibrant red relatively at the same speed (minus the one shining star ready for picking). The second, the peaches, because I bought a half peck in south Georgia en route to Atlanta from Florida.
I’ve thought of all sorts of things to do with both … there’s a tomato jam recipe (here) that I’d like to try, and the peaches will be good in just about anything (an oat-crusted crumble, piled on top of homemade vanilla ice cream). But, I keep coming back to the caprese. The simple Italian insalata trifecta of sliced tomatoes, basil, and buffalo mozzarella drizzled with good olive oil, a pinch of salt and pepper—perfection.
I’m certain I could eat this daily for a great length of time for lunch or dinner and never tire. Then, I stumbled upon a recipe (here) for peach caprese, and well, wow!
Wishing I would’ve bought another peck.
Oregano Limoncello
My in-laws visited us last month for Easter, and they brought with them a bottle of Limoncello from Italy. I’ve always had a strong relationship with anything citrus, specifically lemon … scented hand soap, or accompanying seafood and vinaigrettes; I love this fruit in all its freshness and burst of happiness. It is a happy thing, isn’t it? And quite in your face about it too, I might add.
Limoncello is a no-brainer because it’s all that, plus, I can fully support a recipe that only calls for a mere handful of ingredients, especially when one of those happens to be vodka, yes sir. I used a recipe from Giada, found here, but the herb addition is all mine. I wish the oregano inclusion was because I’m just that creative, but to say my garden at the moment is overrun with it is an understatement. The infusion of this earthy herb was done more out necessity than anything else since the rosemary, mint, and basil are getting jealous of its abundance and planning a turf war revolt along the lines of no pesto for you this summer.
It all worked out well; oregano floating around drunk in a pool of lemony goodness, now, that’s cin-cin toast-worthy, and a much better fate than a screaming match with parsley.
Writer’s note–I intentionally left out the finished product image. The nicest way to put it … Limoncello can pass for a sample Lohan and Sheen have to randomly provide their parole officers. It’s delicious, but unfortunately not at all photo friendly.
Key Lime Pie
When a meal ends I generally cap off the occasion with a glass of wine or coffee. I’m not a huge dessert person, but there are several treats I go gaga for … coconut, carrot and red velvet cake, to name three, well, maybe I am a sweets person. But, the dessert I adore above all others is Key Lime Pie. Tart, tangy, creamy, cool, and generally reserved for sun-scorcher days or ordering in a somewhat tropical place. I love everything about this pie including that it screams spring to me with its pale yellow hue topped in white clouds of whipped heavy cream.
I remember making it as a teenager at my parents’ house in Kansas, it seemed so exotic, and even though I could never find key limes, a bottled variety found at the commissary could curb my cravings. It’s pretty obvious I’m not terribly picky when it comes to this pie, as I’ve even been known to eat the basic supermarket variety. I’d never made it from scratch including the buttery graham cracker crust, but I decided to do just that this past weekend. This treat requires ridiculously few ingredients and is relatively easy to make, to which the recipe found here will attest.
Springtime in Atlanta is in full bloom and I’m thinking this will become just the thing to officially kick off the warm weather season at our house.
Forks Over Knives
I’ve been thinking about accountability a lot, especially when it comes to food. A couple of weeks ago I went to the screening of Forks Over Knives, a film about eating a mostly plant-based diet. Then, immediately following the documentary my girlfriends and I gabbed over wine, risotto, and trout at Kevin Gillespie’s pork-laden haven, Woodfire Grill. Such is my balanced life. All kidding aside, the arguments brought up in the film are solid when talking about the benefits of reversing the effects of most degenerative diseases including heart disease, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and some forms of cancer.
The core message delves into responsibility and accountability. It explores owning up to how we treat our planet and ourselves and not just taking a pill for whatever ails you. It proves that you can actually come off heart medications just by changing your diet … significant findings for a nation obsessed with prescriptions for everything.
For now, I’m trying to get past the gluttony and the all-or-nothing notions of our culture and fill my body with things that make me feel good. That includes, eggs, and yogurt, fish, and well, steak (all of which they don’t suggest). You can take the girl out of Kansas City but obviously it’s pretty tough to take the KC out of the girl!
I do think we owe it to ourselves to know what makes us feel good and figure out what makes us feel bad when we eat it (I’ve OD’d on Kettle salt and pepper potato chips before and never want be there again–vomit). Forks Over Knives hits theaters in May and will make you look at the foods you eat, portions, and why.
Pizza, Pizza
Pizza really is the great equalizer of food. It’s a rare exception when one doesn’t love it, especially when it’s homemade. The problem at our house is I’ve always been weary of dough. I’ve written about my mother’s incredible talent for breadmaking here, and it didn’t stop with just white loaves of baked goodness. It branched into bagels, crusts, yeast rolls, and sweet breads.
This Christmas I got a pizza stone. I’d been wanting one for ages, blaming the cookie sheet as the problem for me wrecking Trader Joe’s already-made whole wheat dough that’s a staple in our freezer. Taking on the challenge of making dough from scratch, I’ve been playing around lately with perfecting crusts and topping combinations. I’ve been using the crust recipe here, from Smitten Kitchen; it’s basic, good, and is the perfect base for piled-on toppings.
Pizza is the quickest, tastiest dinner I can whip together that everyone loves. From a last minute dinner party, to a weeknight meal, it can be as healthy and as satisfying as you want. Another thing I love—it’s timeless. No matter the season, you can load up a pizza on the spot to match what’s fresh. Summer—the classic Margherita’s my favorite with all the basil from our herb garden. I might even sub out tomato sauce with homemade pesto, a trick I got from a dear friend. Winter requires something a bit more substantial; the pie pictured in this piece was loaded with salami, arugula, spinach, and three different cheeses (goat, ricotta, mozzarella).
Happy noshing.
Good Fortune
I was going to write a piece this week about good fortune foods. The spread on New Years Day laid out with promises of abundant wealth, health, and prosperity in 2011. You know, Southerners have the ritual of Hoppin’ John, that I swear by. No joke, I made this exact recipe a week before my husband got his job offer this past summer because I thought, “Hell, it can’t hurt and we’ve gotta eat, forget that it’s June.” And by gosh, within a month he was a badge-wearing employee again with a direct deposit paycheck that arrives every two weeks. So, start soaking those field peas.
I make Hoppin’ John the way my mom makes Mississippi Caviar—a relish laced with black eyed peas piled on crackers every January 1. Italians have chiacchiere, gorgeous pillows of pasta-fried dough drizzled in honey, and in many parts of Spain it’s custom to eat exactly twelve grapes at the stroke of midnight. I was going to explore the ancient cultural and religious significance behind these foods and their relevance in modern times. Sounds fascinating, doesn’t it?
But, I got buried in writing deadlines, shopping, cooking, wrapping, traveling, and so, well, eff it … basically take your pick at eating pork, fried dough, cakes and breads (possibly with a coin baked inside, or nuts, or dried fruits), herring, cod, soba noodles, black eye peas, or collards, and call it a year brimming with possibility.
Instead of this well-researched gem of a piece, will a cocktail recipe do? What’s ringing in the New Year without a little booze, after all? And I particularly like the walk of shame this drink recipe is alluding to, I mean–what’s New Year’s Eve without a bad decision?
Here’s to 2011!
Redhead in Bed
Adapted from Food & Wine
Makes 10 drinks
3 pounds strawberries, hulled and coarsely chopped (use frozen this time of year)
2/3 cup sugar
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons citrus vodka
1/4 cup fresh lime juice
Ice
1/3 cup chilled Riesling
In a bowl, toss the strawberries with the sugar and let stand, stirring occationally, until the strawberries release their juices, about 10 minutes.
In a blender, combine half each of the strawberries and their juices, the vodka and lime juice with 1 cup of the ice and puree. Pour into a pitcher. Repeat with the remaining strawberries and juices, vodka and lime juice and 1 more cup of ice. Fill 10 Collins glasses halfway with ice. Pour the drink into the glasses, top each with ½ tablespoon of Riesling and serve.
Whoopie Pies
The cupcake trend is officially over. Finished. Dunzo. Here to take its place … the whoopie pie. I keep seeing recipes for these suckers. My top two reasons why:
1. One could call them rustic, which loosely translated means they don’t require the skill set of Martha Stewart and a gazillion kitchen tools to make. Sweet, creamy filling piled between two soft cookie-ish pillows trump stale cupcakes any day of the week.
2. People like saying the word “whoopie.” And like it with the word “pie.” It doesn’t hurt that it looks and tastes like a revved up Oreo (sans the lard-laden vanilla filling).
At any rate, my lovely sister-in-law made these for us at a holiday party she hosted, and everyone gobbled them up. Her version had chocolate cookies and a vanilla filling that she rolled in peppermint. They are tasty, simple to whip up, and will be an instant nostalgic hit in your dessert repertoire.
