Steak Salad with Roasted Tomato and Burrata Flatbread

I'm still getting the GOOP newsletters - you know, those little mental nuggets that Gwyneth Paltrow puts out every week. I think that they're appropriately called nuggets of wisdom, that GOOP.

The thing that is so delightfully removed from reality about them is that Gwyneth seems to see herself as existing in an environment that is wholly suspended from the rest of us. I call it Celine Dionism. Once, long ago, my mother and I were watching Celine Dion talk about being a mother. At the time, if you remember, Celine was pretty much the top diva in the world. And she was talking about having her son, what a joyful experience it was, how it transformed her, made her even better and stronger. And my mom looked at the TV and said "You'd think she was the first woman to ever push a kid out."

Gwynnie suffers from basically the same problem. This week's newsletter was about all the great restaurants you can take your children to without having issues. Now, granted, yes, this is helpful information. I had to laugh out loud, though, when the first place on her list had a four course prix fixe menu for children. I find it personally hilarious to think that a four course prix fixe meal might be balled up tightly into a little fist and thrown into Gwyneth Paltrow's hair. Sorry, Gwyn. I had to.


Now of course the problem is that I want to go to these restaurants now. It's the serf hearing about the palace from the princess, and of course I want to climb out of my mud hut and see it for myself. So while I may be somewhat of a hater, I'm a conscious hater. Not even really a hater, more like a critical skeptic. A conscious one, though.

Last week, the GOOP newsletter put out some ideas for an antipasta dinner. Again, grill some vegetables, that's an antipasta dinner. But she got me stuck on one idea - that of roasted tomatoes. They're pretty amazing, aren't they? With big grains of fresh ground black pepper on them, bits of basil and just the remains of your extra virgin olive oil? I mean, you could eat them on toast, you could simply eat them plain. You could eat them all.

I mentioned burrata cheese, and I actually found it at the mercato. It's ridiculously amazing - I need a video camera to show you just how gooey this cheese is. I put it on some pizza dough and served it with a steak salad. We ate it on the roof with a bottle of red wine while watching the sun dip over the last of the buildings. The conversation that started out about work turned to plans for the weekend and finally a recognition of the good life - a full belly, free entertainment in the form of a sunset, the rest of the night to go and get ourselves in trouble. Because we're obviously the first people to ever have a good meal.


You can see Gwyneth's recipe here, and from the looks of it, she actually pairs them with Burrata!!! Mine did not take 3 hours to roast, but that might be my oven. I did follow this recipe, putting dried basil flakes, sea salt, and black pepper on them before they roasted.

TWD: Chocolate Cream Tart

First of all, where is Kim of Scrumptious Photography? Can someone find her so that I can give her a massive bear hug??? THANK YOU. This recipe made me swoon. I want to get into a serious relationship with it and call it Sweetcheeks.

I mentioned earlier that I was in LA over the weekend with my friend Kim. Kim is a ridiculously talented marketing executive, and she is highly inspirational because she is one of those people who puts in a great amount of high quality work, no matter what she does. But she has a lot of the same concerns as I do, mainly "Why am I sitting here at the office at 8pm doing someone else's work?" Kim mentioned that she had read a very decent pseudo self-help book, called "Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office," and that it had given her some insight into what common mistakes businesswomen make.


So of course, right up there was "don't be the office baker."

Because, you know, being the one who consistently brings in cookies is no way to get yourself taken seriously when the shizzle hits the fizzle. You don't want to be Tammy Tollhouse.

So I thought about this. And kind of sighed, and realized that it's probably the right thing to say. Women get themselves stuck into stereotypes that they themselves promulgate by doing mindless things. And if I'm going to have any role in the office, I'd much prefer it to be Duffy Who Knows her Shit rather than Tammy Tollhouse (all apologies to anyone whose blog is called Tammy Tollhouse).


But it sucks, right? Because #1, I really like baking. #2, I really enjoy bringing in these things to my coworkers. #3, I really don't want to have the responsibility of eating an entire chocolate cream tart land solely on myself during The Real Housewives of Manhattan. Where does the line between being a recreational baker and being taken seriously get drawn?

As I thought about this dilemma, I realized that I am basically up a creek without a paddle in some senses. I realized that I cook a lot of dinners for people who don't take me out to them. I buy a lot of toilet paper. I wash a lot of dishes. And my dog? Do you know how much poo I put into little plastic baggies? Not to mention the fact that she constantly needs food and water. Scoop and pour, scoop and pour, all day long. What. A. Freeloader.

But in the mountain of obstacles, it's best to take on the molehills. So I started with the TWD. That chocolate tart was NOT going into the office. They would have to get their 3pm fix somewhere else, and by somewhere else, I meant NOT MY DESK. ONLY COME TO MY DESK IF YOU WANT TO BE GIVEN A VERBAL LASHING AND A LEGITIMATE APPRAISAL OF YOUR IDEA OF THE CORPORATE CASUAL WARDROBE.


I didn't make any friends.

And the tart? Well, honestly, you can't give a chocolate tart away in this town. At first I tried calling the local hospital. Would they want to give some chocolate tart to some patients? Perhaps there's a child with cancer whose day I could make with a big helping of delicious chocolate tart? And I could feel good about myself in the process? Turns out hospitals don't want random strange women bringing over baked goods. Yadda yadda yadda security screening, swine flu and lactose intolerance. Those nurses can be such bitches.

So then I tried giving the chocolate tart to a few homeless guys who were scrounging around the neighborhood at a very late hour. The weather's been lovely lately, and so there have been more vagrants in the park, hanging out, drinking a little sumpin' sumpin.' I went over, introduced myself, offered my tart to them because they obviously must be starving. But hey - turns out they weren't homeless at all. They were just some retirees playing dice and drinking grappa. They screamed at me in Italian, threw a bacci ball at my head, put a Sicilian curse on my family and kicked me off the playground. Which is such a shame, because Dixie loved going poo there.

I brought the tart back home to the roommate and the dogs, a little dejected, a little humbled. Breaking down the gender barrier is tough. We discussed the trials and tribulations of our role in society while eating chocolate tart, watching The Real Housewives. I love that Ramona.

And just a note. I really want to write an open letter to Sasha and Maliya Obama about the canine mess they've just gotten themselves into. Girls, take it from me. You're the first family - get Cesar Milian on the phone and have him whisper to your puppy for the first year of its life. But to wit - here is a picture of Brady, my roommate's Portie puppy, eating the cardboard wrapper from the chocolate I bought for the tart. Because, you know, if there's anything a dog loves, it's refuse.


And just some notes. Obviously my chocolate cream didn't come out as custardy as I had hoped. You all know my experience with milk. And after reading the Ps and Qs, I decided to go ahead and separate the cream from the custard. This made more of a pie, but truth be told, I tried making this once and it came out so hard, it broke my ceramic tart pan. Finally, I used the shortbread crust rather than the chocolate one - heaven. The orange on top was inspired by the shortbread and lime cookies from a while back, and I highly recommend them. I loved this recipe.

Planes, Trains, and Catamarans: The Maiden Voyage of BADASS!!!

I haven't posted in what seems like forever, but I've had a busy weekend. I went out to California to see His Holiness the Dalai Lama speak at the University of California at Santa Barbara. I would love to tell you all about it, but on some level it mixes work with my blog, something I am loathe to do. But I do want to say that I've never been in the presence of an individual who was so captivating and so charismatic - a man who has the ability to inspire millions in the face of his own personal adversity. I've struggled with the conflicting emotions ever since I heard him speak, but I can say that I'm more committed to him, and my faith, than ever.

I flew into LAX on Thursday night. My flight was pretty chill, despite the fact that I sat next to a Christian nun. Now, normally I would find this fascinating and want to talk to her about her experiences. But unfortunately I had taken the five-hour flight opportunity to bring alone some magazines to help me find a bikini for this summer. I'm pretty sure that the poor nun spent her flight praying for the tattooed tramp sitting next to her. Meanwhile, I found a supercute one-piece.
I find airports really fascinating. If you consider all the businesses that would fold if not for airports, it's staggering. I mean, who would drive a Kia if we didn't have the airport rental agency? Who would read Newsweek if not for the airport news kiosk? I could live without those ridiculous (yet supportive) neck pillows and Smart Carts, but it's hard to imagine a world without completely irrelevant driving maps of Greater Los Angeles. If you've ever noticed, the whole point of those irrelevant driving maps is to show you where all the different airports are.

I spent Thursday night in Venice, with my friend Kim. She and her boyfriend live a stone's throw the boardwalk, and since I got into town early, I spent an hour walking up and down the boardwalk. I was psyched - I found some American Apparel clothes that conveniently "fell off a truck in East LA," so I picked up a dress and two tank tops for under $30.


The thing about the Venice boardwalk is that on one hand it seems super sketch. There are bums running all over the place, lots of people with Rastafarian locks and tattoo parlors everywhere you look. I was walking down there fresh off a flight from the East Coast, so there I was, pumps and blazer, the Corporate Casual uniform of the masses. To say that I did not fit in is to say that the new Pope is more cuddly than the last Pope.

But I was there as the boardwalk was shutting down, and it was so fascinating because the guys I had heard talking in Jamacian accents and asking for change were suddenly highly intellectual. I heard them discussing the stock market with eachother. I saw a Blackberry get hauled out. It was a little insane.

Kim and I had a late dinner at a restaurant in Venice, and I went to bed pretty early. I got up at 5:30 to make sure I was in Santa Barbara in time, driving up the coast of California on the PCH. It was a gorgeous drive, lots of huge bluffs and great ocean views. Unfortunately it was totally overcast, but the sweeping scenes weren't lost on me.


The UC Santa Barbara has to be one of the most gorgeous campuses in the country. The above picture was taken right inside the campus gate, so you can imagine waking up to this every day of your life. Heaven. The students all ride around on skateboards and huge vintage beach cruiser bikes, and while I was there I totally scratched my head and wondered why anyone took my high school guidance counselor seriously.

On my way back to LA, I stopped at the infamous In n Out Burger. After hearing about it for the last 10 years, I had to try a hamburger, despite the fact that I wasn't hungry in the least. I ate half of it, and honestly, that's what I think should sum up my feelings on In n Out Burger. If it had been revelatory, I would have eaten the whole thing, because we all know my appetite. But I only ate half. Good, but not o-face worthy. I have not, however, in my entire life seen a group of fast food workers so ridiculously friendly and happy to be at work. Plus One for In n Out. And I also loved the fact that their menu was so simple. No toys, food, promos, dollar anythings.


I made it back to Santa Monica on Friday night to see my little cousin, who is doing ridiculously well as a 20-something LA'ite. She already knows to match her bag with her outfit, something I never learned to do. I'm pretty sure that while we were out to dinner, she was thinking the same things my mother thinks every time I see her: Oh Duffy, if you would only try...

Saturday I was back with Kim wandering around Venice. The city itself was developed by Abbot Kinney, who modeled it after Venice, Italy. Canals were cut throughout various neighborhoods, and many still exist. We wandered around, checking out the canals and other celebrity homes (and the Millionaire Matchmaker's Office!!!).














That night, we had an awesome dinner at Gjelina, the restaurant where Kim's BF works. Dinner was ridiculously delicious - they served small plates, all New American fare. We had roasted brussel sprouts with bacon and figs, sauteed mushrooms with truffle oil on toast, and my favorite, a burrata cheese and heirloom tomato salad. This kicked the pants off any fresh mozzarella salad...ever. Honestly, burrata is the shit. I'm already phoning the mercato boys to see if they have it. It's a fabulous hybrid of fresh and regular mozzarella: milky white and fresh, but stringy and chewy like the regular. I do realize that James Joyce calls cheese the corpse of milk, but let me just say: that was one sexy corpse. Expect to see some burrata recipes popping up on Old Lonely Sidecar.














I took a redeye home Saturday night, and got into town at 10am. That was just enough time to head down to Rhode Island and launch Badass, the World's Most Awesome Hobie 16. Isn't she gorgeous? I know you can always tell when I'm happy to be on a boat because I'm paying absolutely no attention to anything other than the sails. For example:

Although she technically doesn't belong to me, I take my First Mate duties very seriously and am already outfitting her with all the cutest Hobie 16 accessories I can find on ebay. A new pink rudder, a supercute flashy trampoline, a glittery jib sheet. I love the boat.


We put her away and grilled some ribs, watching the sun set behind us. All in all, I was so happy to be back on the East Coast, although I had such a great time in LA. Bi-coastal living is where it's at.

Bikini Meal #3: Creamy Italian Pasta

I've already bragged that I live near a cute Italian grocery store, ahem, mercato, that sells San Marziano tomatoes, goat cheese hybrids that melt like fresh mozzarella, and pasta that's been made that very same morning. It's hard not to run in there every night after work, grab a $7 bottle of Montepulciano and a baguette, meet the roommate on the roof for some girl talk. I say "hard" but really I mean it's now one of my favorite things about life. Even better is that when you're identified as a local, or regular, the men behind the counter take special care of you, passing you cheese to try before it goes into the case, pulling the best sopressata for you, telling you which olive oil is going to knock your socks off.

One thing that they do have is a huge jar of fresh anchovies. I love anchovies, and have been stealing them off my friends' Caesar salads for years. I'll put them on a flatbread pizza with some goat cheese and arugula, or lay them flat on a slice of bruscetta with a roasted red pepper and some olive tapenade. These anchovies, unlike the boney ones that come in tins at the supermarket, are cured in vinegar and are meaty, fleshy. They smell of lemons and saltwater, and every time I saw them staring back at me, I knew this recipe was bound to come about. Then, however, I would generally shrink back to my order of a baguette and a sausage, mulling over the idea forming.


As you can imagine, sopresatta, cheese, and bread aren't that fantastic on your waist line. This doesn't mean that you can't have them, but it does mean that the time you spend doing sit ups on that little bouncy ball will be exponentially increased. I hate that ball. I really do. It takes all the seriousness out of my workouts. I feel like at any second my mother is going to scream at me from across a mesh fence that it's time to leave the McDonalds play land.


And I'm meeting with a trainer now, so I'm watching what I eat to get the best results each week. I'm back to thinking about food as fuel, which although I hate doing, really actually works. But being a person who loves a good meal, and especially loves a good plate of perfectly cooked pasta, this can be hard.

I'm not huge on alfredo sauces, or carbonaras. They're always too salty and bland for me. Italians know how to appreciate and savor every flavor in their bounty, and so when you cook Italian food, you really need to do just that: let flavors speak for themselves. This means that you can incorporate different things to compliment each other: an anchovy paste for a briney kick, garlic and lemon for the bang on the front of your tongue. I think that's why I shudder when people brag about "5 minute tomato sauce." You want things to incorporate, and you can't rush that process.


A while back, the good people at Stonyfield Farms sent me some info on their products and some rad coupons. So I stocked up on their Greek yogurt, which is actually the only organic Greek yogurt on the market. I've been tinkering around with recipes for a while, trying to find the best one to put on the blog. This one definitely takes the cake.


If you're craving a fresh plate of pasta that is creamy and garlicky, try this. It's not overly cheesy, although I added about 2T of parmesean to it for my roommate's serving. I used dried basil, but fresh herbs would be excellent, as would some flat leaf parsley.

Enjoy.

Creamy Pasty with Capers and Anchovies

1lb pasta
6 anchovy filets, fresh if possible
2T EVOO
2 cloves garlic, minced
1t dried basil leaves
1/4t sea salt, more to taste
1t lemon juice
1/2C Stonyfield Farms Organic Greek Yogurt (Oikos)
2T capers

Put pasta on to boil.

In a large bowl, mash anchovies, garlic, and EVOO with a large spoon or pestle to make a paste. Add salt and basil, stir thoroughly to incorporate, making sure that all the olive oil has melded with the anchovy paste. Add lemon juice and yogurt. Once pasta has cooked to al dente, drain and pour into the bowl with the anchovy cream sauce. Mix, and sprinkle with capers and/or parsley.

Tuesdays with Dorie: I'm Sorry - it Simply Was Not Meant to Be

Let me apologize PROFUSELY to all the bakers who are heading over here today. I didn't bake the bread pudding, even though I really wanted to.

See, it was Marathon Weekend in Boston. And if you've ever participated in any running event, or supported someone who ran in a marathon, you know how one can go from seemingly normal tea party to nuthouse crazy in only about seven seconds. And the Boston Marathon has about 60,000 people in it, and they bring all their friends and family to town. Open the asylum doors and let them run free.

I liken this to 60,000 brides coming to town. Because although your wedding day is possibly the greatest day of your life, many runners will attest that running the Boston Marathon is an extremely close second. If you had a drunken groomsman who puked on your dress before making out with your Aunt Stephie, a priest with an unfortunate erection, and a mother-in-law who called you a tramp during the recessional, then the marathon might just get it in the end. But runners plan and plan and plan on the marathon. They have countdowns: 100 days to Boston, 50 days to Boston, etc. They arrange to have family and friends come in from all over the place to see them run past them. They make dinner reservations for carbo-loading months in advance. Marathon Monday is a day that the entire city of Boston takes off from work, not to celebrate, but to avoid using public transportation. The bridal parties can be fierce, and numerous.

So the blushing brides came to town. You could tell because starting on Saturday, a whole 48 hours before the marathon occurred, there were people all over the place wearing running garb. You know. Spandex. Lots and lots of spandex. And they'd carry around their Runners Expo bags as if they were the New Purse. You couldn't get on the T without having a map shoved in your face, someone asking you the quickest way to Framingham. And don't get me started on the North End, or Boston's Little Italy. I think that in any other situation, if you walked through the North End and saw a whole group of Day Glo fitness enthusiasts waiting outside a nice Italian bistro, you'd think Richard Simmons was inside on a tirade against tiramisu. But no. They were just waiting for the next available table. Because, you know, there's nothing wrong with going out to a lovely restaurant wearing something that shows every single bulge in your pants. Everyone can appreciate that.

There was also a hockey playoff game, a basketball playoff game, and a baseball game, which made things even more hysterical. The train that runs from the North End into Boston also goes right past the Garden, so there were a bunch of unfortunate meetings of Highly Drunken Sports Fans with Highly Anxious Runner/Tourists. Did I mention the spandex? Let me tell you - that was one hell of a meeting of the minds. Runners might be in the greatest shapes of anyone, but they are no match for Ricky from Southie, Bruins Super Fan Who Has Been Hoovering Sam Light and Steak Tips for the Last Seven Hours. He and his legion of tracksuit-wearing cronies managed to put fear in the hearts of a whole team of Arizona runners. The Scottsdale Sprint Club will never be the same.

My cousin ran the race, and she's wholly sane, so there was no humiliation anywhere. She also kicked ass, coming in under 4 hours.

So all this is to say that no, I didn't bake any bread pudding. All the spandex finally got to me.

His Voice is Such a Turn-on...

I grew up in this teensy little town in Northern Michigan, Charlevoix. I'm sure you've never heard of it, but it's a wonderful place. The people there are all kind and loving, and they take care of each other. It's the kind of place where when one person catches a cold, the whole town gets sick. People know to care for each other when it happens. So when I saw this, I knew that I had to repost it.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

CEiMB "Lamb" Stew

I don't eat lamb. I never have. Veal either. I have serious reasons for not eating veal, but lamb, not so much. I think it's mainly the fact that my dog is about the size of a little lamb, and she's so cute, and...


So obviously the day on which you want me to eat your famous lamb should come on the day that my dog has an accident, or starts barking at one of my coworkers, or (gasp) decides to eat an entire bag of Hersheys Kisses, wrappers and all. On that day, I'll probably try some lamb.

I thought about putting some beef in the stew, to give it that hearty texture that any stew really needs. But then I started thinking about the movie Moonstruck. It's a fave of my mom and me, and we're both known to reference it in various conversational settings ("What do you mean you can't drive a stick shift? YOU'RE A WOLF. A WOLF WITH NO PAW!" and "Who's at the door? It's Jonny Cammeraaaaaari!").


We need to get out more. I know.

Moonstruck is seen as a love story between Cher and Nicholas Cage. And it really is - nothing of their present selves is obvious in the movie. You watch it and don't think to yourself "He's going to marry an 18-year old waitress and name his son Kal-el, after Superman." Or "Her fourth retirement tour is going to be HUGE with the gays." All you see is this beautiful relationship that forms along to the music of La Traviata. It's lovely.

But there is a scene stealer in every movie. And in this movie, it's Olympia Dukakis. She plays Cher's mother, and is dealing with a philandering husband while her somewhat-spinster daughter is falling in love with her fiance's brother. In one of my favorite scenes, Olympia Dukakis goes into a restaurant where she eats almost every night. The waiter's name is Babbo, and she orders her regular, a bowl of minestrone. I sometimes think of her when I'm traveling and I have to eat alone. I go in, say hello and make small talk with the waiter, then order a bowl of soup. It just seems like such a chic existence.


So instead of cooking lamb stew this time, I gave the animals the night off and adapted this recipe to accommodate some of the better qualities of minestrone. I know we're all avoiding "white foods," so I skipped the pasta. I kept the garbanzo beans, but added half a bunch of rainbow kale. Instead of chicken broth, I boiled the rind of a parmesan block with some orange peels. If you've never tried this, you're in for a treat. The broth is salty and briney, with little bits of cheese scattered throughout.


And if there's anything I can make and make you come back for more, it's cheesy grits. Or polenta, excuse me. I am the cheesy grits queen. I never have any luck with that stuff that comes in the tubes, and it's so easy to make myself, I just whip it up quickly and stick it in the freezer to solidify. While the soup is finishing its final moments of simmering, I cut it into triangles, dredge it in flour and egg whites, and flash fry it in some olive oil. I think this was probably the selling point of the dinner - think of cheesy French toast that melts in your mouth. While everyone loved the soup, we were all counting how many triangles had been eaten by each other.


My roommate and I ate this while sitting on the couch, sharing a bottle of red wine and talking about boys. It was one of those nights when you put your feet up and think you have everything just so damn good, if it were any better, you'd feel awkward. And I thought about Olympia Dukakis having to go into that restaurant and see Babbo, eating her minestrone by herself and trying to figure out how the hell she got there but still making the most out of the situation.

Lonely Sidecar Minestrone

4T olive oil
1 onion
4 cloves garlic, minced
4 stalks celery
1/2 bunch of kale
2 carrots, chopped
2 turnips
1 can garbanzo beans
3/4C red wine
Rind of parmesan
Rind from one orange
4C water
1 large can tomatoes, diced
4T tomato paste
Juice of one orange
Salt and Pepper to Taste

The only thing you should know about this recipe is that when cooking kale, chop the stalks, or stems, first, adding them to the onions. Otherwise, unless your soup is going to sit forever, they won't cook thoroughly. I added the leaves to the soup about 15 minutes before I planned on serving it, and simply put the lid on it and let it rest.

Lonely Sidecar Fried Polenta (Cheesy Grits)

1 3/4C water
1C corn meal
1T dried basil
1/4C fresh parmesan
1/2C buttermilk
2T butter
Salt and Pepper to taste

Bring water to a boil, and add corn meal. Whisk until all is incorporated, do NOT stop stirring. Add in basil and butter, cheese, salt and pepper. Switch to a wooden spoon or spatula, but keep stirring!! Add the buttermilk and let cook on low for up to 10 minutes, stirring regularly so as to avoid lumps. Remove from heat and place in a low bowl or tupperware. Refrigerate or freeze until polenta is solid, yet somewhat spongy.

Create a station with a bowl of egg whites and one of flour. Cut frozen polenta into squares or triangles. Polenta should be delicate but solid, not crumbly. Dredge in flour, then egg whites. In a non-stick skillet, heat 6T of olive oil. Place polenta into skillet and cook until browned. Serve immediately.

Chili for a Crowd

Some things are meant to be done in moderation.

Chocolate chips, for instance. When eating them straight out of the bag, practice moderation. Otherwise, you will quickly find yourself waking up with chocolate chip-stained sheets in the morning. You will find chocolate chips in your bra. You will have permanent markings on your hands which make your friends question: is that chocolate...or poo?


I think that moderation also needs to be enforced when watching the channel Bravo. If you don't check yourself for over-indulgence, you can easily find yourself six hours into a Law and Order:SVU marathon, thinking with giddy excitement about the three hours of The Real Housewives of Manhattan to come, followed by a sneak peek at the Real Housewives of New Jersey. Before you know it, you find yourself stuck to your couch at 2am, telephone in hand so order up a once-in-a-lifetime offer on a Snuggie, having completely disregarded your family for the last 12 hours not necessarily because of Bravo's stellar programming schedule but the fact that they play no commercials on the hour.


I speak with experience here, people.

But chili? Chili is not a moderate meal. It's a dish that gets better the longer it sits, either in your fridge or freezer. It's one of those meals that will tie you to a hot cook top for hours, so you can tell people that no, you can't help them clean out the garage - you're busy simmering. It's one of those meals that you make when you need to feel a little better - when the weather outside is just cold enough to make you put on a vest, and it's still getting dark early enough in the evening to make you want to sit on a sofa under some low lighting, reading a good book.


I think Lindsay Lohan needs to eat some chili, don't you?

So we made chili this weekend. We were in Rhode Island, where the weather was cold, rainy, and windy. Exceptionally windy. The kind of weather that makes you cold immediately, and then keeps you cold for days. Wind and rain pounded us all day long on Saturday, and on Sunday, when the sun finally came out, we were all too bitter to really enjoy it.

The chili helped.

Adapted from a recipe found here, this makes upwards of 40 servings (unless you are hungry, cold sailors. Then it makes 20).


Chili For A Crowd

1/2 C olive oil
1 3/4 lbs. onions
2lbs sausage (the recipe calls for regular Italian sausage, we used hot)
8lbs high quality ground chuck
1 1/2 T black pepper
2 12oz cans tomato paste
3T cuminseed
4oz chili powder
1/2 Dijon mustard (we used Grey Poupon)
4T dried basil
4T dried oregano
4T garlic powder
4T salt
6lbs whole canned Roma tomatoes (just look for the huge cans - they're 6lbs) drained
1/2 Burgundy or other red wine (we used more like 1C)
1/4C lemon juice
1/2C chopped Italian parsley
3 cans kidney beans
4 cans black olives, either whole or chopped

Start with your onions and olive oil, cooking until translucent. Add the beef and sausage, crumbled (note: we grilled the sausages first, cut them into quarter-sized pieces and then added them). Drain the meat of any extra fat. You'll put more liquid and flavor back into the dish - don't worry about trashing it.

Add the spices to the meat and onions, along with tomato paste and dijon mustard. Let the mixture incorporate before adding the tomatoes, wine, and lemon juice. After about 30 minutes, add the kidney beans and olives. Cook for another 30-45 minutes before adding in the fresh herbs.

Served with jalapeno corn bread, cheese, and sour cream.

Lebanese Couscous and Chicken

When I was in New York a few weeks ago, my friend and I went to Sahadi's Spice Emporium. I realize this isn't the kind of shopping you expect to do when you're in New York, but it's just HOW WE 30-YR OLDS ROLL.

I've been eating a lot of couscous lately, mainly because it's so easy to make and so versatile. I'm still not on the quinoa wagon, despite the fact that so many people are. I always feel like I'm eating grit. Not grits, because cheese grits are wonderful and a regular staple of the Weekend Lonely Sidecar diet. But quinoa reminds me of just grit. Like the taste that you have in your mouth after your dentist finishes up. Make sense? Thought so.


So while we were shopping around the spice emporium, trying to decide just how much spicy paprika we were willing to lug around with us, whether or not 8lbs of shredded coconut was too much, and if Asian tamari almonds went with everything or nothing. Turns out the answer is everything.


I found this container of Lebanese couscous, or Mograbeyeh, sitting on a shelf looking totally awesome. And I knew immediately what I was going to cook. I'd been thinking a lot about tangines ever since eating at a little Moroccan place in Times Square, but since I don't have a tangine pot, I'd have to come up with something a little more conventional. I have a foodie friend who is more in the know than most, and when I asked him if I could cook something close to a tangine in a dutch oven, he simply shook his finger at me and said "Cooking in wooden shoes is always discouraged. You should know that."

I listened to him about as well as I generally do to my bartender, when he tells me it's not right to pay for drinks using nickels I've found on the street.


This recipe is incredibly simple, and I fed it to non-couscous eaters who seemed to love it. The Mograbeyeh plumps up to pea-sized juicy nuggets, and it's imperative to cook the dish long enough so that they lose the gummy texture. We served it with parmesan cheese on top, mainly because I am in cahoots now with my cheese man and am serving it on top of everything lately (including Asian tamari almonds...delish!).

Lebanese Couscous and Chicken

1 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
4 cups low sodium chicken broth
2C Mograbeyeh, or Lebanese couscous
2lbs chicken, breasts and thighs
1 large can tomatoes, whole
2T paprika
1T herbes de Provence
Salt and Pepper to taste

Sweat the onions and garlic in 4T olive oil. When onions are translucent, add couscous, paprika, and herbes de Provence. Work the couscous for about five minutes, letting it soak up the olive oil. Add chicken broth and cook for another 10 minutes on low heat. Add chicken and tomatoes, juice included.

Leave on low heat for up to 2 hours, checking often. Couscous will be ready when it has lost its gumminess and is instead soft. Enjoy!

TWD: Banana Cream Pie: Better Late than Never!

I feel horrible posting this a day late, but I figured I really should since it was so delicious.

I should know better with these milk recipes, though. Honestly, I should. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. For my first try on the custard, I swear, I just looked behind me for ONE SECOND and the eggs did that whole curdling thing. Down the disposal it went. Second round was only slightly better - for whatever reason it had a chalky texture to the custard. And instead of putting it in a pie crust, I decided to layer it up in some trifle glasses (or Hurricane Glasses, as my roommate calls them). I'm not the biggest pie crust fan, so whenever I can eliminate it from a recipe, I try to do that. But I did sprinkle some cinnamon graham cracker crumbs on the top of the trifle - and then more and more as I ate down it. That was genius. If I made this again, I'd definitely use a graham cracker pie crust.



More to come. I promise.

New Bruno Trailer

Bikini Meal #2

The wonderful, inimitable Kristen at Stonyfield Farms sent me a little care package to try out some of their products we already know are wonderful. And while she specifically asked me to tell you what I think about the only organic Greek yogurt on the market, Oikos, my first Stonyfield meal used just the regular, plain old yogurt we all have in our fridge half the time.

The most recent Martha Stewart Living has a recipe for slow roasted salmon, topped with a salsa of orange and tomato and something called Sambal Oelek chili paste. I was reading the magazine while taking the T home, and it was one of those fated moments: we were traveling over the Charles River on the first really sunny spring day, I was looking at this beautiful, pink strip of salmon, and some a-hole was shouting through a loudspeaker NEXT STAHP PAHK STREET, PEOPLE. NEXT STAHP PAHK. It was just lovely. At that moment, I knew I was going to have a big, fleshy piece of salmon on my plate...soon.


I have no idea what Sambal Oelek is, so I figured we'd use Asian chili paste that you can find in all the grocery stores. I made other, simple substitutions to the salsa, which was a good idea. We put in about 2T of cilantro, which I know tastes like heaven to some people and toilet cleaner to others. Use it to taste. And instead of the orange listed in the recipe, we put in half a lovely, juicy Ruby Red grapefruit. That is mainly only because I wanted something pink.

If you haven't bought a mandoline yet, you need to put that on your list of things you'll buy with your next paycheck. Especially if you're trying to watch your weight, because the mandoline will julienne a cucumber in half a minute, making a fiber rich pasta or rice substitute.


Slow roasting salmon is a technique that will give you a piece of salmon that has the texture of a raw piece of salmon yet the fish will be cooked through entirely. Trust me - when I generally order salmon in restaurants, I tell the server that I like the fish to be "just done swimmin." Overcooked salmon takes on the texture of catfood. Not that I'd know, but just that I've heard. But this salmon was in the oven for 25 minutes at 250. I know you're going to have a hard time keeping fish off the grill (especially in the spring!) but this recipe will really convert you, if anything will.

We made a simple yogurt sauce on the side, with spring onions, black pepper and brown sugar. This was mainly a substitution for the sour cream and leek sauce we usually make, and I don't think I'll be going back anytime soon. If this doesn't become your new favorite salmon recipe, please let me know.



Slow Roasted Salmon with Cucumber Slaw and Stonyfield Yogurt Sauce

Salmon

2 salmon filets, roughly 1 lb total
2 plum tomatoes
1/2 Ruby Red Grapefruit
2T cilantro
1T Asian Chili and Garlic sauce

Cucumber Slaw

2 regular cucumbers, julienned
1/2 red onion, sliced thinly
1T rice wine vinegar
1T soy sauce, low sodium

Stonyfield Yogurt Sauce

1C plain, nonfat Stonyfield yogurt
3T fresh ginger, grated (or from the squeeze bottles they sell in the produce dept.)
2T dark brown sugar
3T spring onions, sliced thinly
salt and black pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 250 degrees.

Clean and pat salmon dry with a paper towel, place on a roasting pan. Slice down the middle of the salmon filets, careful not to pierce through the skin, creating a pocket for the salsa. Mix salsa ingredients together, and stuff the filets. There will be some leftover liquid from the tomatoes and grapefruit - reserve this. Put salmon in the oven for 25 minutes.

Place julienned cucumbers and onion in a medium-sized bowl. In a small bowl, mix together rice wine vinegar and soy sauce. Dress the salad and refrigerate.

In a medium sized bowl, whisk together yogurt and ginger until completely combined. Add brown sugar and black pepper, then spring onions.

Pull salmon from the oven. Since it is slow roasted, you do not need to let this rest. Serve overtop cucumber slaw with sauce on the side. Pour the reserved liquid of the salsa overtop the salmon for sweetness.

Enjoy!

Medieval Help Desk

On Monday, my computer slowly but surely crashed. It had been running slowly all day long, to the point where I was using my laptop at work to simply get a project finished. I was being driven slightly mad. And then, at a very convenient point, I received a message on screen that read: YOUR STARTUP DISK IS TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY FULL, YOU IDIOT. ERASE STUFF BECAUSE I CAN'T TAKE YOU ANY LONGER.

I almost cried! What is the startup disk, and what did I do to piss it off? and ERASE things? No way! I have files from 1994 on this computer! They are precious!

I must be everyone's worst nightmare when I do call the help desk, because despite having a blog, I truly am computer ignorant. I don't understand the difference between a flash drive and a hole in the wall, and when people get all excited about the new terabite, I have visions of the Hope Diamond flashing through my brain. Our editorial assistant knows this, and she sent me the following video. Apparently I am not alone. Happy Wednesday, people. We're one step closer to that margarita on Friday.