Flour. Lots & Lots of Flour.

I know. I know. You must be thinking when will this chick finish her book proposal? Where are the recipes? What is she thinking? Has she forgotten us, in our kitchens, longing for something to make for dinner tonight?

Oh well, I'm sure other people have that covered for you...

But I'm happy to report the proposal is nearly finished. I have a bit more to do on the sample chapters and then, an overall tweaking with David as my editor, but I do see the proverbial light and thank you for hanging in with me.

I have a great recipe for a Thai-inspired seafood curry that I whipped up this weekend, but I won't get it to you for a few days, I'm afraid. Until then, I want you to take a look at these articles, just for something to chaw on.

The first is a New York Times magazine piece by Peggy Orenstein called The Fat Trap, which does a smart job of talking about the importance of moderation in our body mass index-obsessed culture. Moderation, not fanaticism as a food culture and ethic, wow, brilliant.

Then, go here to read Foodie Angst: Are My Children Food neurotics? about foodies making their kids nuts over food. You'll be puzzled and shake your head a lot, I promise. You'll also be quite happy that's not you.

And then, when you are done reading, you can check out the photos of Lucy and Edie playing in flour this weekend. They've been chomping at the bit to get at my flour pot, always sticking their hands in when I'm not looking, and this time, I didn't want to stop them. I just wanted them to have fun, remember that food is fun, real, accessible, tangible, imperfect, messy, simple, that it can be many things to many people, that it can be many things to them.
































xo YM

PS: If you are one of the two people out there who hasn't seen Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, do it. Then, go to his site and sign the petition to get better food for our kids in schools.

Continue Reading...

Artichokes on Toast with Ricotta, Garlic & Parmesan

Just to recap from my last post, we did boycott Thanksgiving and had a very low key holiday this year. My plan for complacency and family togetherness worked. Bwah ha ha..I am an evil genius.

We played old maids and go fish, baked a rather imperfect cinnamon-laden pie, sewed doll clothes, filled and put out all the bird feeders, which the birds and squirrels nearly finished in like two days. Birds are pigs.

We did some embroidery and started work on the girls playroom. I played with my new camera and irritated everyone with my picture taking until they refused to smile and put sheets of paper over their faces and now I have a hundred pictures with frowns, googly faces and serious poses.


We also babysat "Peek" and "Boo", Edie's class pets...



That's right, they're hermit crabs. And I spent half the five days, leaning into their terrarium wondering why they weren't moving and imagining having to tell Edie's teachers that I killed the class pets. I spent so much time poking them and bathing them trying to get them to move around that I'm pretty sure they are relieved as hell to be back at school.

Crabs are stressful, man. That's all I'm sayin'.


Now, I'm ready for Christmas. Sometimes Thanksgiving wipes me out. Not this year. I'm pumped.

I am making all the ornaments for the New Paltz Christmas tree. We are baking Christmas cookies this weekend and making the rounds to all the neighbors in the country to introduce ourselves with takeout boxes filled with homemade goodies. And I have a great gift idea for the kids in Lucy's class, teachers, my cooking class, which I will share after I shoot them. Okay, after I actually make them.

David will take the kids to the woods to get our tree for the country house. He will have a saw. God love him, he is so freakin' butch.

And there will be holiday-themed cooking with the kids in Lucy's class. There is the tree in Rockefeller Center. Our tree in the NYC apartment and the little mini-tree with pink lights and pink balls in their room. There is much decorating to do. And somewhere we must have a sleigh ride, with horses and jangling bells. And snow. Thick, puffy, billowing, cottony layers of it. I insist.


I feel light, and ready and excited. Santa is coming. We all still believe. And it feels magical.

xo YM
___________________________________________________________________________________

And I have a delicious winter snack or light supper for you to kick us off...for those nights you want something filling without all that fussing and sitting at the straight back chairs in the dining room...

I was puttering through Michaels looking at their 100 kinds of Christmas Cookie Sprinkles and wondering whether David would care that I was going to blow $100 on sprinkles and cookie cutters, when I spied a Martha Stewart Cookbook - no recall on the exact title - but I happened past this recipe as I was flipping pages and thought it would be a perfect casual supper with a salad or paired with an assortment of cheeses or charcuterie.

As I suspected we ate it and the cheese and a sizeable chunk of duck liver pate with a bottle of wine, standing around the kitchen, leaning on the counters and telling stories about our day. It was quite nice. I adapted this a lot from Martha's original recipe - forgive me Martha - but I believe both are along the same vein.


Artichokes on Toast with Ricotta, Garlic & Parmesan

Ingredients

2 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced thin
8 slices rustic bread, about 1/2 to 3/4 inch thick
2 olive oil for drizzling
One 12-ounce jar marinated artichoke hearts, drained but moist and chopped
1 cup fresh ricotta cheese
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper
Shaved Parmesan cheese
Parsley, for granish

Directions

Thinly slice 1 garlic clove, and set aside. Rub the other over the bread slices and then, slice that thinly as well.

Brush both sides of bread with olive oil. Toast slices in a skillet over medium-high heat until golden and crisp on both sides. Or you can toast these in the oven or on a grill. Transfer to a serving platter, and set aside.

Heat a tablespoon olive oil or so in a medium skillet over medium-high heat. Add garlic and artichoke hearts. Saute until golden, 3 to 4 minutes. Set aside.

Spread ricotta onto toast. Season with salt and pepper. Spoon artichoke mixture onto ricotta. Season again with salt and pepper. Shave fresh parmesan over the top of each. Drizzle with olive oil. Finish in the broiler for about a minute or two. Garnish with chopped parsley.

Continue Reading...

Roasted Onions with Gruyere & Croutons

Dear SaintTigerlily,

Thank you for coming to our "country house" this weekend and blessing us with your urban presence. I hope the carpenter ants and the ladybugs hibernating in the windows didn't bother you too much. Finding bugs in your bed is really the country experience. We just wanted it to feel "authentic" for you.

And speaking of country living, the tutus you hand-made for the girls are absolutely divine, they adore them and they keep asking if you can be their mom, so I appreciate that and all, but maybe next time you should wear underpants under the tutu when you take the garbage down to the road. I mean, you have a really nice ass and the neighbors really liked your vagina showing (You go with that Brazilian, girl!) but you know, this is the country and people are a bit more under-stated, practical...boring here. They like to wear pants.

They keep the beaver under wraps. It's beaver politics. Very sensitive. So for future reference, Tigerlily, pants = good.

And it was good of you to bring Ross and Gillian, Ross makes a mean Manhattan and since he was dolling them out like candy at the party Saturday night, I think we can say that it was a huge success because every grown-up was completely two ass cheeks to the wind by 8pm.


I bet that's why I found the grown-ups and the kids together playing with Playdoh on the kitchen floor at 10pm. I didn't want to mention this before, but the kids thought maybe things got out of hand when the adults started pitching Playdoh balls at them. I mean, they're just kids, not space invaders. Not for reals anyway.

And the way Ross and The Boss (Hey, how cute! That rhymes!) were cackling maniacally before pelting them with Playdoh submachine gun fire, well, that might have been a little scary. But other than frightening the children, and undermining their innate sense of security and safety, something we have been nurturing every day for the last 5 years, well, that whole completely inebriated stupor thing worked out for everyone.

That said, you guys are all a hoot and The Fosters had an awesome weekend. I'm including here the "Roasted Onions with Gruyere and Croutons" recipe from Bon Appetite that we made for the dinner party. This dish went nicely with the roasted leg of lamb that the butcher said was boneless but wasn't - butchers lie, they are evil in meaty white coats - and the roasted root vegetables and salad, which I mistakenly dotted with fat lumps of goat cheese, much to the chagrin of the vegans. I really, truly suck at this hostessing, pleasing people thing.

Tigerlily, thank you for prepping all these onions and being a friend in and out of the kitchen. It is so fun and such an honor to cook with you. And to also see how great your tits are up close and personal every morning. They really are awesome natural wonders and seem to stand up one their own without a bra. It's like they are oblivious to gravity and all other rational and scientific forces on earth....um, hope that's not too much in the sharing department.

xo YM
_________________________________________________________________________________

This recipe from the December 2009 issue of Bon Appetite is easy to make, can mostly be made ahead and is the perfect hearty side dish for a big dinner. Leftovers are also wonderful in frittatas or topped with cheese and bacon on a bagel and fired in the oven. You could totally add this to your Thanksgiving repertoire since you could prep and caramelize the onions the day before and just throw the pan in the oven for 20 minutes before dinner. I bet they're better if you make them the day before anyway.


Roasted Onions with Gruyere & Croutons

Ingredients

12 white pearl onions, peeled
12 red pearl onions, peeled
8 large shallots, peeled, halved through root end
6 large green onions, dark green tops trimmed
2 medium sweet onions (such as Vidalia), peeled, cut into 3/4-to 1-inch wedges through root end
1 large red onion, peeled, cut into 3/4-to 1-inch wedges through root end
1 brown-skinned onion, peeled, cut into 3/4-to 1-inch wedges through root end
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
3 cups coarsely torn 1/2-inch pieces rustic bread with crust
1 cup low-salt chicken broth
6 ounces Gruyère cheese, coarsely grated (about 1 1/2 cups packed)
Sea salt flakes or crystals
print a shopping list for this recipe

Preparation

Preheat oven to 450°F. Combine all onions and shallots in large bowl. Drizzle evenly with olive oil, then sprinkle with thyme, coarse salt, and pepper; toss gently to coat. Spread out in single layer on large rimmed baking sheet.

Roast onions until tender and beginning to brown in spots, 25 to 30 minutes. Scatter bread pieces on another rimmed baking sheet. Bake bread until golden brown, 7 to 8 minutes. Cool bread on baking sheet. Arrange onions in single layer in large casserole dish. DO AHEAD: Onions and croutons can be made up to 1 day ahead. Cover onions and refrigerate.

Store croutons in airtight container at room temperature. Bring onions to room temperature before continuing.

Preheat oven to 400°F. Spoon broth over onions to moisten. Scatter croutons over; sprinkle with cheese. Bake until heated through and cheese is melted, about 20 minutes. Sprinkle with sea salt flakes and serve.

Continue Reading...

If a Couple of City People Open a Wine Bottle in the Woods & No One is There to See it, Did They Really Open The Bottle?

So, the moral of this post, before I even get started, is "When you buy a house in the country - and you can't run across the street to the bodega to buy a corkscrew or go knock on the door down the hall at 11pm to get your half-naked, nearly-asleep neighbor in his underpants and black socks to open your bottle - make sure you buy a freakin' corkscrew or your only chance of having a nightcap is going to be to lick the rubbing alcohol bottle in the bathroom."

I just had my heart set on a glass of wine. David was not going into to town to buy me a corkscrew. I was too damn lazy to even consider it and I'm afraid of the dark so being outside with all the rabid raccoons wandering around ready to pounce on me was out of the question.

And I was pissed that I actually went to the trouble to buy a bottle and was now only able to stare at it on the kitchen counter. The bottle mocked me.

Then, I had a thought...Surely, we weren't the first people dumb enough not to own a corkscrew. I mean, there are, like, millions of idiots in the world, right?


And this is where You Tube comes in. I search the site for "How to open a wine bottle without a corkscrew" and I learn that there are a bunch of good ways to go about doing this. One of which involves a tree if you are ever without a corkscrew at say, a romantic picnic in the woods, and you're trying to get laid, so going back to civilization will cramp your plans for heavy petting in the bushes.

I filmed this method below which was perfect for middle aged people who just tore out kitchen cabinets and had a bunch of tools laying around. Romantic picnics are for wusses anyway and I prefer to do my heavy petting indoors, thank you. I'm leaving the tree method for you youngsters.

Notice how McGyver my husband is on this video and how excited that gets me. And notice how cool and laid back David is while I act like he had performed a Pope-certified miracle. I showed him the video and he decided that he looked like a complete jerk and he remarked that now that I have this Flip Video Camera, nothing is scared or safe from public viewing anymore.

Er, yeah, something like that, Sweetie.



Did you notice the kids are watching the You Tube Video that taught us this great idea (which I would've linked here but I couldn't find it again)? You can hear it playing on the computer. And since they watched it like 36 times, start to finish, they actually are the only preschoolers in the tri-state area who can now recite all the steps for opening a wine bottle with a hammer and a screw.

My kids are so cool.

Lucy plans on doing a full demo at show and tell. The Mommies at preschool are gonna lurve me now.

And please don't ask me what's on Lucy's head. I have absolutely no idea.

xo YM

Continue Reading...

Separation Snappper (Baked Whole Red Snapper with Herbs)

This post is called "Separation Snapper" because Lucy was doing this awesome job going to school, barely looking back to notice us, lots of new friends, every one has been invited to our house to play. It's been ecstasy for all of us. I saw blue skies ahead. Life was freakin' great...

And then...BLAMO!....David goes on business trip and we interrupt her school routine, where David takes her to school on the bike, and Lucy just freaks out.

Next thing I know she's standing at the street corner screaming and crying refusing to take one step closer to school, while I am deprived of caffeine, toting a half asleep Edie, who is pissed I've gotten her up early three days in a row and would rather be in bed undisturbed by the whole early morning school routine. And then, Lucy spends most of her school day mournfully drawing monotone pictures of her and her dad with smiley faces and dolphins and wild flowers, and the other kid's parents pat me on the back, shaking their heads, and say things like, "Having a hard time at drop-off, huh?"

Um, yeah, brainiacs. Thanks for the keen observation.

And the afternoons also blew while David was away because that was the week Edie started a small preschool alternative program two afternoons a week and she has been adamant that separation is not, nor ever will be, in the cards. (Thank you extended breastfeeding) She pretty much spent her first two days of school clutching my knees and refusing to take anything that was handed to her unless I touched it first and gave it to her. Once, she tried to take off her underpants. And she laid across the table while some kid tried to put together a puzzle. She whispered "home" in my ear about 30 times. It was painful. For everyone.

Then, David came back.


Angels sang. Harps played in unison. Church bells rang. And all of a sudden Lucy liked school again. She loved all her friends. She skipped down the sidewalk on the way to school. She started picking out cute little dresses to wear and black Mary Janes. She hummed while she got dressed in the morning. She let me run a brush through her hair. I put a damn barrette in her hair. It was like cooperation central.

And Edie, in what can only be described as the single biggest turn around in the history of the world, decided to take her teacher's hand and go to the roof top playground at her school to play with the kids. Alone. Without clutching my legs like a koala baby hooked to its mommy in the Outback. She didn't look back. The gymnastics teacher said she was a ball to have in class. It was like David's return made everyone feel safe and secure. All was right with the world again.

David is never allowed to travel without us again.

And basically what I figured out is, it's me. I'm the freak that disables my children and makes them go in reverse. (I told my friend Tamara this and she said, "Yes Kim, its you.) I bring out their need to come home, to have home-made soup in bean bag chairs while reading Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and then, spending the next four hours with meat on our hands making meatballs together in the kitchen. I bring them home. Pull them in close. I also make very good accents when I read books. My Strega Nona/old-Italian-woman-accent is legendary.

David pushes them out, empowers them with big responsibilities, gives them adventure, makes them try new and different things and gets them on planes to countries all over the world. He applauds them when they face the fear and persevere anyway. I say dumb things like, "Oh honey, if you're scared to ride that horse, it's okay, you don't have to."

But David, he inspires them to do it, to face things head on and with a gentle, loving nudge, they are on the horse, a little scared at first, but also a little excited, and the next thing you know they are laughing, smiling, full of themselves, trotting down the trail, out of reach, wanting to do it again, only this time by themselves. And there I am, stuck at the paddock, biting my knuckles, imagining the horse running off with a small child bound up in the reins, terrified, in peril, alone, out of my reach (my mind goes there. alot) and craning my neck to find out when they hell they are coming back.

So, my children would never leave the house if it weren't for my husband and I'm grateful to him. He's back now and everyone loves school. No more morning tears. Or whining. I don't have to drag anyone down the street to school. We're all together and everything is all good.

And today's our anniversary. So, even better.

_____________________________________________________________________________________


So, Separation Snapper...Lucy picked this out for supper after one our harder days without David. She wanted "pink fish with eyes", which is a whole red snapper. Fish with it's head on always makes Lucy happy. Running around Whole Foods gathering up the ingredients for this dish took her mind off her rough day and allowed the three of us girls to reconnect. This is what we threw together when we got home.

When you order the fish from the market or fish monger, get them to clean and scale it. If your family would prefer the "no eyes" variety of fish, you can use fillets just as easily, (and bake them for about 25 minutes) although the whole fish makes a more dramatic presentation. You can also have the fish guy separate the head from the body, so you can cook it and present it with the fish and then whisk it away if someone freaks out about it (Ewww the fish has eyes!) or let them play with it. We always end up playing with the fish head. No shame in that.


Separation Snapper (Whole Baked Red Snapper with Herbs)

1 2-to 2 1/4-pound whole red snapper, cleaned
1 tablespoon finely minced garlic
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice or a few generous squirts from a lemon
5 or 6 sprigs of lemon thyme
10 chives (uncut)
Parsley minced and used at the end for presentation
1/4 stick butter, cut into pieces
2 lemons, cut int wedges (save a few for presentation)
Salt and pepper

Preparation

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Use a good size baking pan. Butter the pan a bit to keep the fish from sticking. Wash fish, pat dry with paper towel and place it in center of a pan.

Season cavity of fish with garlic, salt and pepper, and lemon juice. Dot cavity with butter. Arrange some lemon wedges, lemon thyme sprigs and chives inside cavity. (You really can use whatever herb combination you like - I won't yell at you) Season outside of fish with with salt and pepper. Squeeze lemon over outside of fish. Salt and pepper the outside. Top with a couple lemon slices, if you like.

At this point, you can store the fish in the fridge for up to a day. If you can prep the fish ahead, dinner is just putting a pan in the oven. Simple.

Bake fish in oven until cooked through, about 35-40 minutes, depending on the size of the fish. Transfer fish to platter. Serve with a sprinkle of parsley and a generous little pile of lemon wedges.

Continue Reading...

Don't Mess with Mama (Or How Roasted Tomatoes Make Everything Better)

So, this was the kind of day I had yesterday:

There was only one plastic case that holds all the princess toys. This was a problem because Edie wanted one and Lucy wanted one. So, I got creative. I explained to them calmly that we only had one princess case, but that I could find another for Edie that was just as good. This was just fine with Lucy who was happy to have full ownership of the princess case.

That is until I procured a plastic bag from a fancy pet store with a big paw print on the side. Well, that was great for Edie who set about loading all her princess supplies into the very cool paw bag. But Lucy cried and demanded I find her a paw bag. But of course I only had one.

So, I got creative again. I went to the gift wrapping bin that I hide under the bed and found a gift bag with a garden of flowers all over it. Lucy likes flowers. I knew I was in.

Tears dried immediately. Lucy was elated. But, oh yeah, this sucked for Edie who was left with the crappy plastic paw bag. And the water works began. And not just water. There was wailing, high-pitched, crazy-ass, someone-call-social-services-a-child-is-being-misused wailing.


That is until I found, in the bin, a bag with a cat on it and knowing Edie loved cats - like, lurves the cats - I proudly raised it up so Edie could see it. And she beamed from ear to ear. Beamed, I tell you.

I was the Goddess of all Mothers. Healer of the world. Mender of disputes. I was Mother Theresa, only fatter, less wrinkly and more fertile. And liking sex a whole lot more.

And Lucy saw the cat bag and all its awesomeness and then, looked down on her own dilapidated, sorry excuse for a garden, flower bag, that I had the audacity to give her, and fell into a crumpled heap on the floor pointing to the great and awesome cat bag and mouthing the words between gulps of air.

"I...w-w-w-want...c-c-c-cat...bag...waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

And this is why mothers often feel compelled to drink vodka at 10 am.

So, I picked them both up - and they were both wailing by this time and had thrown their bags to the floor in disgust and horror - and I carried them to the sofa in the living room and looked into their sad, pathetic, bagless eyes and said in the most compassionate voice I could muster: "I love you. You are good girls. But you're driving me bat shit crazy. If you don't pick a bag and like it, we'll stop everything and I will...WASH. YOUR. HAIR.

They were panicked. Wide-eyed. They stopped crying. The room turned cold and silent. God, how they fear the clean. I freaked 'em out.

"That's right. I'll wash your hair." I say to them. I am bolstered. Empowered. The control has changed hands. They are wondering why their mother had turned on them. Years from now, they will discuss this moment in therapy.

"And I'll use conditioner. We may have to rinse TWICE."

"Um, we don't want to play with bags anymore." Lucy says definitively and Edie nods in agreement. They both slide off the couch, happy to get away from me.

And I, my friends, do "The Naked Dance of Glory" around the living room and celebrate that the balance of power has been restored. And I still have the magic. The mojo. The bling. I can do anything.

Bring it on, toddlers of the world. You are no match for me. Hear me roar! HAAAAA!

___________________________________________________________________________________


Okay, this is exactly the dish you need after securing enough paw bags to keep every one of your kids freakin' blissed out.

This is actually two separate recipes I adapted from the August Gourmet. Separately, they are nice. Together, they are insane. This was devoured at Edie's birthday party by crazy toddlers and adults alike. It also has the distinction of being vegan, if you have a vegan guest coming to your next gathering, this will satisfy them. But really, after a crazy day with the kids, you'll want to just eat the whole bowl of these things by yourself. With a box of wine.

The first is a recipe is for Garlic-Oregano Pita Bread, which is basically just a grilled pita drizzled with warmed olive oil that has been infused with garlic and oregano. And the second is slow roasted tomatoes that have been drizzled with olive oil and flecks of garlic and roasted in the oven on very low heat for 8 hours.

Cut the pita into triangles and serve on a platter next to a bowl of the roasted tomatoes and let people scoop it up themselves. Or make little pizzas. Whatever, but both take little active kitchen time and yield bold results.

Here they are:

Slow Roasted Tomatoes

Yield: Serves 4 to 6
Active time: 15 mins
Total time: 6 to 8 hr

Ingredients

* 4 pounds tomatoes, in fat wedges
* 6 garlic cloves, minced
* 5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil


Preparation

Preheat oven to 200°F.

Put tomatoes, cut sides up, in 2 large shallow baking pans. Combine garlic and oil and spoon over tomatoes. Season tomatoes with salt and pepper and roast in oven 6 to 8 hours (tomatoes will be reduced in size but will retain their shape). They will also get loose and light aromatic sauce will pool around the soft tomatoes. It will be just the right consistency to lop up all the goodness with a thick pita round.

Cooks' notes 1: Roasted tomatoes keep in an airtight container, chilled, 2 weeks. Bring to room temperature before using. They are better on day 2.

Cooks notes 2: I started roasting these the night before for 4 hours. Then, I covered them and put them in the fridge and popped them in the oven 4 hours before I needed them. Came out perfectly and all the sitting around over night, really set in the flavor.



Garlic-Oregano Grilled Pita Bread

Yield: Makes 6 servings
Active time: 20 min
Total time: 30 min

Ingredients

* 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
* 2 garlic cloves, smashed
* 2 tablespoons finely chopped oregano
* 6 (6-to 8-inch) pocketless pita bread rounds
* Kosher salt to taste

Preparation

Heat oil in a small heavy skillet over medium heat until it shimmers. Cook garlic, turning once, until pale golden, about 1 minute. Discard garlic and remove skillet from heat, then stir in oregano.

Prepare grill for direct-heat cooking over medium-hot charcoal. I used a cast iron fry pan on a medium-high flame indoors.

Grill pitas, 2 or 3 at a time, covered only if using a gas grill, turning once, until grill marks appear, about 2 minutes total per batch. Transfer to a cutting board and cut into wedges. Put pitas on a platter and drizzle garlic-oregano oil over them. Be generous. It's just fine if it's a little sloppy in the bottom of the dish, people will be soaking it up with pitas before you know it. They are scrumptious. Sprinkle with salt.

Continue Reading...

Fear of Swine Meatballs

I'm back, people. And here to tell you I am not afraid of Swine Flu. I am, however, afraid of swine, um, I mean pork.

Or at least I was until a few years ago. I come from a world where mothers and grandmothers and generations of women before them believed that a single piece of under-cooked pork could fell an entire village. If one of the women folk saw any pink - perceived or otherwise - in a piece of pork, she would throw herself in front of my plate, as if she was saving me from on-coming traffic. And God forbid you had a little stomach ache after eating at the neighbors house, one of the women folk would get all worried and start calling the doctor, "It was Patsy's pork. I knew I saw some pink in my piece...For cryin' out loud, that woman's gonna kill someone with her pork butt."

Swine was never to be messed with. It was the meat that could kill.

From the time I remember, I believed that pork was a dry, tasteless meat that was akin to eating a sneaker. I never loved anything pork-related - except bacon, of course, which is like food of the Gods and if it didn't exist would make, I believed, killing a pig for food absolutely unnecessary.


Pig as I knew it, was served after a good hearty incineration in the oven until it was bone dry and throat-closing. You'd have to be drunk to eat this stuff and believe it didn't taste like shoe laces. I never had really succulent, juicy pork until I was well into my adult years and definately by accident because I would never have ordered it from a restaurant on purpose.

Think I'm nuts? If you don't believe me, all you need to do is go to a BBQ joint where there is always a disclaimer on a prominently-placed sign saying that pink meat is just fine in BBQ/smoked meat and is not a sign that your meal is underdone or that you will have to be admitted to the ICU several hours after paying your bill. Every BBQ joint has one of these. And there is a reason - someone from my family might be eating there.

So, when I was reading Matthew Amster-Burton's new book "Hungry Monkey: A Food-Loving Father's Quest to Raise an Adventurous Eater" - a fantastic and funny book that will give you some great ideas about cooking for and eating with your kids - he was going on and on about pork meatballs and I thought I would give them a whirl.

In the past, I have been faithful to Rocco DiSpirito's mom's recipes for meatballs, which involve a veal, pork, beef combo with breadcrumbs. (For the record, I also often make a variation of her marinara, which is both easy to make and lovely to eat.) Matthew suggests all pork and as filler, bread and milk in his meatballs.

He even brazenly says that the secret to good meatballs is more filler/less meat, which I had never even considered, so I tried out his theory and discovered that more filler, gives a lighter, fluffier meatball and the milk/bread filler is way easier to work with than the breadcrumb one.

The meatballs were awesome, but working with ground pork makes me a little crazy. There is always a child around here that needs to be held or breastfed or comforted or needs a juice just when I am up to my elbows in killer meat. And so, I was going to the sink a lot to wash my hands, which is fine except I kept getting raw pork meat all over the handle of the faucet and so, I'd have to wash my hands and then reach over to turn off the water, only to remember that I turned the faucet on with my swine-covered hands and I had probably reinfected myself. I washed my hands and the faucets, like 30 times.

I also kept having utensil issues. I kept forgetting which utensil I used on the raw meat, so I kept having to go in the drawer and get out a new one to use for the other food. I used about 30 different spoons, forks and knives just for the preparation of this one meal. I had to re-wash flatware just to get through dinner service. And even then, I wasn't sure that some of the swine hadn't lived through the surge of hot tap water and soap. I would've felt better running them through the dishwasher, but there was no time.

And then there was what happened to the gigantic wedge of parmagiano that we bought at Costco. I was adding the cheese to the meatball mixture when I realized that I grabbed the wedge with my hands all porky and probably contaminated the whole thing. I was horrified because (a) it was our only parm and (b) it was so huge and so expensive that to throw it out was like throwing cash right in the bin.

I was flumoxed. I kept staring at the infected edge wondering what to do: throw it in the bin or wash it off and hope innocent parm-eaters don't perish. It was a real toss-up - throw it in the bin, kill people. Throw it in the bin, kill people.

This should have been a no-brainer.

But I couldn't throw it away. It looked perfectly fine and I was bound and determined I would figure out a way to scrape off the bacteria and make it a viable hunk of cheese again. Surely 100 other people have googled this, right?

I did this neurotic dance as 4 children and 4 adults waited for their lunch - Bin. Death. Bin. Death. There's me, frozen, holding a contaminated wedge of cheese. I was a mess. Finally, I washed the cheese in hot water and stashed in a plastic bag in the fridge. I could deal with this later after the guests left. I had more than enough cheese in the meatballs. I still have no idea what happens to parm when you wash it. I'm too afraid to look in the fridge this morning.

As I write this, I'm pretty sure there is a spot on my counter harboring live and active raw pork bacteria, just waiting for me to touch it and infect everyone around me. Every once in a while I walk into my kitchen and just spritz the counter for good measure. I'm sure it will stay there for weeks. I'm contemplating having David rip up the counters and build me a new kitchen.

So, forget the swine flu. That's for amateurs. I have my own swine issues to deal with. Cooking with ground pork turns me into an obsessive-compulsive mess. It's in my genes, written into my DNA.

Still, the meatballs were great. But at least with veal I can pretend to be a sane person. I give you your choice here. Enjoy!

xo YM


PS: And thanks for all the e-mails gently telling me to get off my ass and post something. I love you all.
_________________________________________________________________________________________


Matthew Amster-Burton's Pork Mini-Meatballs
(Also known as The Yummy Mummy's Fear of Swine Meatballs)


2 slices of white sandwich bread, crusts, removed torn into pieces (or just a quarter loaf of the skinny Italian loaf, which was all I had)
1/2 cup milk
1 large egg, beaten
2 ounces grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (Not sure how much I got in before I contaminated the wedge)
2 tablespoons minced fresh oregano (I usd dried because it was what I had on hand)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 pound or so of ground pork

1. In a bowl, combine the bread and milk and mash with a fork until it forms a paste. Stir in egg, Parmigiano, organo, garlic, salt and pepper. Add the pork and mix (hands work well)until well combined.

2. Heat the olive oil in a large non-stick (or cast iron) skillet over medium heat. Drop 1 tablespoon dollops of meat mixture into the skillet. (The meat mixture will be soft, but don't worry about that, the meatballs hold together nicely.) Working in two batches, brown the meatballs on two sides, about 2 minutes per side and transfer to a plate.

Make your marinara (either Matthew's from "Hungry Monkey" page 142-3 or Mama's or your own favorite) and bring a large pot of salted boiling water to boil. Add your pasta and cook until al dente. Drain. Combine the pasta, sauce and meatballs. Serve.


Mama DiSpirito's Meat Balls

1/3 cup chicken stock
1/4 yellow onion
1 clove garlic
¼ cup fresh Italian flat-leaf parsley, chopped fine
1/2 lb ground beef
1/2 lb ground pork
1/2 lb ground veal
1/3 cup plain breadcrumbs
2 eggs
1/4 cup Parmigiano-Reggiano, grated
1 tsp red pepper flakes
1 tsp salt
3-6 cups of Mama's Marinara or your favorite marinara sauce
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil

1. Place the chicken stock, onion, garlic and parsley in a blender of food processor and puree.

2. In a large bowl, combine the pureed stock mix, meat, bread crumbs, eggs, Parmigiano-Reggiano, red pepper flakes, parsley and salt. Combine with both hands until mixture is uniform. Do not over mix.

3. Put a little olive oil on your hands and form mixture into balls a little larger than golf balls. They should be about ¼ cup each, though if you prefer bigger or smaller, it will only affect the browning time.

4. Pour about 1/2-inch of extra virgin olive oil into a straight-sided, 10-inch-wide sauté pan and heat over medium-high flame. Add the meatballs to the pan (working in batches if necessary) and brown meatballs, turning once. This will take about 10-15 minutes.

5. While the meatballs are browning, heat the marinara sauce in a stockpot over medium heat. Lift the meatballs out of the sauté pan with a slotted spoon and put them in the marinara sauce. Stir gently. Simmer for one hour.

6. Serve with a little extra Parmigiano-Reggiano sprinkled on top. Serve alone or over spaghetti (in which case, you will need 6 cups of marinara).

Yield: Serves 4 as antipasto or over spaghetti

Continue Reading...

"Mommy, You Make The Best Chicken Fingers"

Okay, that's actually what Lucy said about my chicken fingers tonight. And I tell you this not to brag because I suffer much humiliation at my kitchen table. Sure, I can cook, but little good it does me, most of it ends up on the floor, mashed into the rug or smushed into someone's hair.

This week, Edie hid a lamb chop under the couch. I knew I was down a bone, but I'll be damned, it took me days to find it. It was way back there wedged behind a Barbie doll and a deflated balloon.

I am humbled by Lucy's complete intolerance for anything that is a sauce, comes from a sauce, looks like a sauce or is sauce-like in its appearance. She has also recently decided that pizza should never have tomatoes, since this is an evil cousin of the "the sauce". Tomatoes apparently can turn into "the sauce" in the oven. And you can't pick "the sauce" off the pizza very easily, so it is despised. Edie loved sauce and tomatoes until she heard Lucy chanting "No sauce" over and over and she joined in and chanted and that was so much fun, she too refuses to eat tomatoes or "the sauce".

Now, they ask for "cheese on bread" which is not actually cheese on bread. It's cheese on dough. Not cheese on a pita or something. It has to be dough. Because it's pizza. Kind of.


And if you are keeping up with Lucy's lifelong, love-hate relationship with the egg, well, we stopped eating three fried egg whites a day, as I reported a few weeks ago. Like, over night we were egg obsessed. Another night, as if the egg were "the sauce", the love affair was over. Go figure.

And then, there's what's been happening lately - you know, when they leave my house and other people feed them things and they experience things they've never had before. Like the night we were at a friend's house and she served the kids plain twisty pasta heated up in the microwave with a little butter and salt. Lucy looked up and said, "Mommy, can you serve us our pasta like this every day?"

My colon sort of spazzed up a little in that moment.


There was also the night before last - we were invited to a neighbors house for dinner and they made meatballs and macaroni and cheese for us, you know, out of pity because my husband has been gone for like, ever, and everyone knows I am a pathetic basket case without David's calm, serene, Bhudda-like presence.

And Edie is kind of a meatball-aholic and ate, like 20 meatballs and the kids stunned the crowd with their ability to wield knives at the dinner table and nearly impale the people around them, but when asked if she wanted some mac and cheese (which was completely awesome mac and cheese) Lucy refused and informed our host - in the most authoritative voice I think I've ever heard from her - that she only liked the best mac and cheese in the world, which is the kind of mac and cheese they serve at her school friend's house.

Now, I know about their mac and cheese, these people. It's the box. It's organic sure. They are organic people living in their organic brownstone in their organic section of town. But organic crap is still crap. I don't mind her eating it at her friend's house or once in awhile someplace other than our home. But what I hate about it, is that it is so mind-numblingly, palate-killing that simply having it only occasionally at a play date has inspired her to turn up her nose at anything resembling homemade mac and cheese. She won't even try it.

The box is a drug. It is crack for children.

And then, Lucy infected Edie. Just as she was about to stab a fork full of pasta, Edie heard her sister's box-mac-and-cheese-dining-room-manifesto and said, "No pasta," and dropped her fork. And asked me to promptly remove it from her plate, as if it's very presence could somehow infiltrate her system through osmosis. She went back to her meatballs.

I went back to blushing a lot and wondering why I write a food blog in the first place.

Which brings me to why I am thrilled that Lucy gave me this incredibly generous compliment - cause I don't get them a lot. Or ever. I cannot compete with pasta re-heated in a microwave with a pat of butter and a shot or Morton's. I am being bludgeoned by box macaroni and cheese. And cans of Pringle's at kid eye-length at the store. And Dora hawking candy. And Kool Aid masking as juice. And the sheer amount of processed food sitting on any shelves in any market and how unbelievably ubiquitous those foods are in the hands of every kid on the playground.

See? I'm being bludgeoned with my very own boxes of uneaten organic kale. So, the compliment rejuvenated me. A lot.

And what you will love about making these chicken fingers is how ridiculously easy it is. So simple. The trick is to use Panko bread crumbs, instead of your standard Italian ones. I'm sure you know about Panko and where to get them, but for those who don't...they are Japanese bread crumbs made from crustless bread, which gives them an airier, lighter feel that makes them get super-crispy when they are cooked.

You can buy Panko at Asian specialty store, large supermarkets and in many fish markets (that's where I buy mine). You can get all fancy with these strips, using mustards and spices to ramp up the flavor. But this easy way did the trick for us.

And got me one of the best critiques from one of my harshest critics ever.

xxoo YM

PS: You can make a little dipping sauce for these. Maybe a chive mayo. Or a tomato sauce. Or a honey dijon sauce. I would've but, you know, we have issues with "The sauce".
_______________________________________________________________________


"If Lucy Loves it, You'll Love It" Panko Chicken Fingers

•3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into strips
•3 eggs
• Panko bread crumbs
• Olive oil (as needed)
• Salt, pepper (you can add dried herbs/spices to your liking, like paprika
and thyme)
• A small handful of chopped Parsley
• One lemon cut into wedges

Wash chicken and pat dry with a paper towel. I skillet fry these in a cast iron frying pan in olive oil (cause I embrace the fat), but you can bake them in oven. If so, preheat the oven to 350F.

Mix the eggs up in a bowl. Put about 2 cups of Panko in a bowl. Salt and pepper the chicken. Dredge the chicken in the Panko first. Then, dredge it through the egg. Then, back in the Panko. Put the chicken strip on a clean plate (if frying) and a baking sheet if it's going in the oven.

Bake for about 15-20 minutes. Or saute on each side for roughly 5-7 minutes on each side, depending on the size of the chicken strip. Plate and sprinkle with chopped up Parsley and a spritz of lemon. Use lemon wedges as a garnish on the side of the plate. Serve with a little herbed mayo or honey dijon sauce (if you are not sauce-challenged.)

Continue Reading...

Sauteed Edamame & David Plays, Um...The Flute

Okay, I'm fine. Breathe, Kim.

So, David left on Saturday and I am enduring night number two without him. The first night, I had a major panic attack around 8 o'clock in the evening, after the kids were asleep, which involved all kinds of chest heaving and tears and freaking out(on the inside) and didn't really get better until I drank a half bottle of wine.

That did the trick.

Then, I cleaned the house top to bottom. Finally, I just fell into bed exhausted and pathetic. I didn't even have time to imagine ghosts moving the furniture around in the living room while I slept. Good thing.

Last night, I went to bed late and ended up watching Keith Urban concert footage on YouTube. I do this when David goes away. Maybe because Keith has long hair like my husbands or because he's Australian too, or because he sings all these great "love gone wrong" songs when I'm feeling all abandoned or maybe just because if David's home and he hears me listening to Keith Urban, he makes fun of me.

Better to do these shameful acts in the privacy of my vacant apartment.

David arrived safely in OZ and is right now visiting his mum and heading off to meetings. Okay, I wrote that last night. Right now, he's sleeping. It's night there. The kids are doing fine. I've packed their schedules with play dates, school and parties this week to keep them busy. Or, you know, to keep me busy. Lucy and I were cuddling while she was going of to sleep last night and talking about David and she looked at me and said, "He better miss us while he's in Australia."

And to this I say, um, yeah, he better.


So, to make myself feel better I'm going to show you a picture of my husband playing what I believe is the least manliest, least butch instrument on the planet - the flute. I had never heard him play before, but there are stories about his prowess in high school band. I got to see the legend in person last week.


Here we are at my friend Lara's house. Lucy is at the keyboard. Her friend Ruby is playing violin and David is wailing on the manly phallus known as "the flute". And there's me in the corner of the picture, hysterical. I'm sorry, but I couldn't stop.

Question: Were there any boys in your high school band who played the flute? Hot boys? Boys who didn't get their butts kicked by the football, uh, I mean cricket team in the locker room, I mean?


My point exactly.

My husband is, like, the hottest guy I know. Hands down. Watching him climb a sheer rock cliff, with assured-ness, strength and elegance, like he knows the rock, is one of the hottest, most manly things I've ever seen and it never grows old. Ever.

This is him hanging off the ceiling of rock at the gym. On the ceiling, like, horizontal in the air. How can that not be hot?


...But the flute?

I don't know why it seems so bizarre but every time I think of him playing I just dissolve into fits of laughter. Ah...brilliant.

So, tonight for dinner I'm throwing lamb chops in the cast iron for a quick dinner. The kids like to pick up the little chops and eat the meat right off the bone. This Sauteed Edamame dish from White on Rice Couple will be the side. I'm posting it here before I make it.

I've been looking for a new way to serve edamame and this looks promising. One thing - the appeal of edamame for little kids (or at least, mine) seems to be actually popping them out of their shells into their mouths. My kids will eat anything they can crack open with their hands. So I will give them the un-shelled soybeans and have them them shell the beans for me and make the dish with me in the kitchen. This will give them another project to keep us occupied and hopefully, if they get to help make it, they'll be open to eating it in its new incarnation. It works this way for us often.

If you make this dish, love to hear what you think...

xo YM
_________________________________________________________________________



The Children are Like Orphans Sauteed Edamame
Brazenly Stolen from White on Rice Couple

Quick and easy, this side dish takes only about 10 minutes. Especially if you buy the pre-shelled soybeans.

Ingredients

2 T Olive Oil
3 Shallots, roughly diced
3 Garlic cloves, mashed or finely diced
1/2 lb Soybeans (shelled, pre-cooked)
few sprigs Fresh Thyme
Sea salt
fresh cracked Black Pepper
1/2 T Soy Sauce

Preparation

1. Over med. high heat, warm saute pan. Add olive oil, then after it warms, add shallots. After shallots soften (@2 min.) lower heat to medium, add garlic and saute for another minute or two.
2. Add soybeans and thyme. Season with salt, pepper, and soy sauce, then continue to cook until soybeans are fully heated (@ 1 min.)
3. Serve warm or allow to cool and serve at room temp.

Continue Reading...

Fried Calamari & David Goes to Australia

I'm up at 4:30 writing you a blog post again.

Not because I planned it that way, but because I was having a small panic attack while laying in bed and I thought it would be more productive to go to the living room and have one. In front of all of you.

See, David is leaving Saturday for a business trip to Australia. For a week. Or "seven sleeps" as Lucy calls it. And I am a big fat wuss when he leaves. It's not that I need help with the kids or that I can't entertain myself alone, it's that, well, I feel trussed to him. He is the one, and perhaps only, really sane, not even remotely hysterical, sense-making person in my life. I think without him I might just fly away in the big hot air balloon of craziness and never be a sane, rational, earth-bound person again.

David holds me here and tethers me to something consistent, predictable and comforting. And that's all pretty nice.

David says it's not about any of that - he says I'm afraid of the dark. And I am. That's true. I have a box of 10 night lights that I'm ready to plug in in every area of the house as soon as he steps out into the hallway with his luggage. I also hear strange sounds a lot when he's gone and then, I imagine those sounds are ghosts and our house is like the one in the Amityville movie and we'll have to evacuate to the neighbor's apartment in the middle of the night as doors open and slam shut by themselves and a howling wind appears in our bedroom shaking our bed and people who haven't realized they're dead howl in agony at me as I try to flee with terrified children draped over me.

(If this has actually happened when your spouse has gone one a business trip, please don't write and tell me unless you are prepared to sleep here for a week. Thanks.)


I also made the exterminator come yesterday and give us a "just in case" once over. I did this because I'm convinced that the mice, cockroaches and waterbugs can "intuit" that David is going on a business trip and that they believe this is the perfect time to stage an infestation. The crazy Australian guy who could and has killed them with his bare hands is leaving. They sense this. It's some kind of pre-historic survival strategy. Truly, the only time we see mice or cockroaches is when David is more that 2,000 miles away from home.

When he's gone, I have to check all the closets obsessively just in case a mass murderer has broken into our apartment during the day and is hiding next to the vacuum cleaner, waiting for me to put the kids to bed and for me to doze off, before he leaps out and butchers us. I do this little ritual every night he's out of town and usually while on the phone, so that just in case I open the closet door and see a stranger hunkered down in there, I can scream and the person on the other end can call 911.

See, I have a plan.

And then, there's the plane. The real reason behind my panic attack. See, I'm okay if I'm on the plane because I think, "Well, we'll all die together." and that seems to make me feel better, but when David leaves without me and the kids and he doesn't take Qantas, which is like one of the super-safest airlines in the world and instead, takes a crap, nearly-bankrupted U.S. airline that has cheaper fares, but probably no mechanics to actually check the plane before take-off or I don't know, enough cash to actually put fuel in the plane for the 14 hour flight from LA to Sydney, well, I get antsy.

I start picturing how hard it will be to tell the kids about the terrible thing that happened to Daddy or how we will have to carry on without him and then, I start to imagine the whole scenario - single mom, children without a daddy, losing the love of my life, my partner, best friend...BLAH!

That's when I have a panic attack the size of Minnesota and end up writing to you at 4:30 in the morning.

So, the girls have been very aware that Daddy is leaving in a couple days and we've been talking about it a lot. Last night, we talked about the trip over a big warm plate of fried calamari, with tomato sauce on the side and a pile of lemon wedges. We sat around the girl's playroom table and without plates or forks, we just talked and dipped our fingers in for more crispy calamari while we chatted. We talked about Poppy and Granny Trish and Granny Ann and where Sydney was on the map and how Lucy rode a camel the last time she was in Australia. The idea of just reaching in and taking your fish without any kind of formality while we talked and told stories was exactly what we all needed.

For, like 2 minutes, I didn't even have a panic attack.

This dish is also super-economical. Squid is about $4 and change a lb. You could easily make a laid back supper or lunch of salad and fried calamari pretty cheaply or a great TV snack for 6 or 8 for under $10. And these days, that means something. This dish is also very easy and just as good as you can order at a restaurant.

Here you go - I'm going back to rocking back and forth in the corner and muttering to myself.

xo YM



Kim's Let's Hope The Plane Doesn't Go Down Fried Calamari Adapted from a recipe by Giada De Laurentiis

Ingredients

* Vegetable oil, for deep-frying
* 1 pound clean squid with tentacles, bodies cut into 1/3- to 1/2-inch-thick
rings (ask your fish monger to do this for you)
* 2 cups all-purpose flour
* 2 tablespoons dried parsley
* Salt and freshly ground black pepper
* 2 lemons, cut into wedges
* 1 cup simple tomato sauce (I make home-made sauce and always have some lying
around, but feel free to use jarred marinara to save time.)

Directions

Pour enough oil into a heavy large saucepan to reach the depth of 3 inches. Heat over medium heat to 350 degrees F. Mix the flour salt and pepper in a large bowl. Working in small batches, toss the squid into the flour mixture to coat.

Carefully add the squid to the oil and fry until crisp and very pale golden, about 1 minute per batch. Don't overcook the squid. It needs a very short period of time to cook before it starts getting tough.

Using tongs or a slotted spoon, transfer the fried calamari to a paper-towel lined plate to drain. Press out any remaining oil.

Place the fried calamari and lemon wedges on a clean plate. Sprinkle with salt, a few squirts of lemon and parsley. Serve with marinara sauce.
Continue Reading...

The Angry Woman's Chicken With Cherry Tomatoes & Capers & Why Spatchcocking A Chicken Can Be Therapeutic

I should've written a blog post on Monday.

I also should've written one on Tuesday. But I didn't. Mainly, for two reasons:

1. David and I watched the Twilight movie and you know, my head was all up in the pre-pube kissing in the meadow and Edward's poorly-executed glistening, sparkling hairless body.

Not to inflame and enrage all my readers who are fans of the movie, but I thought it was kind of lame. Not totally bad, just a slip of what book one was. It felt kind of Harlequin romance to me. Anyway, it's hard for a movie to ever be as good as the book. And I think this is an example of that.

2. Mostly, it's been a rough couple of days. Not rough like "These last two days of chemo were really rough," just challenging in the way that work can take you away from the kids and the kids can take you away from work. Monday was the worst day of being mom I think I ever had.


You should know, we don't have a babysitter anymore.

With the economy the way it is, David and I decided to go without babysitting and save the $1400 a month. This was a good decision for the family. I could see David get happier the moment we made the decision. That makes me feel good because he deserves a little financial break and this is my little part to play in being more economical. But it doesn't mean I'm no longer working. I still have clients, a blog and partially-written book. It means before i was struggling to get everything done and now, it's just maddening and nearly impossible. I'm writing in the mornings (I am writing this post at 4;30am)and blogging and Twittering and responding to e-mails in the evening (I'm behind - if you haven't heard from me, you will.)

So, here's the good part - I kind of love spending the day with the girls. I'm as surprised about this as as anyone, because even though I adore every little inch of them, I thought they might drive me a little bonkers with their hatred for all things hygiene-related and the way they like to hurl tomatoes at old ladies in the grocery aisle.

"This could be unnerving", I thought, "to do this all day, everyday."

But, no. I am enjoying spending the days with them. I love creating projects with them and organizing a chore chart with them and doing art and I love that every time I tell them we are going somewhere they ask, "Mommy too?" and when I say "Me, too." they beam and get all excited. This is all good. I think a gift, maybe.

But work doesn't always fit tightly and neatly into my allotted work times. Monday, changes came back from the publisher for a client's book. They needed to be reviewed and edited and sent back that same day. The client kept sending back new editions to the text and multiple voices were chiming in about what should be happening with the edits. I had to be present with the manuscript and my clients and that meant just letting the children run wild through the apartment, leaving a trail of debris through the apartment a foot thick, eating grapes for lunch, watching the cat lick milk off the floor from a dropped cereal bowl, letting three meals-worth of dirty dishes pile up in the sink and leaving the kids glued to the television set with full control of the remote, which is a little like letting them live in a chocolate factory, where they sat like pieces of catatonic broccoli on the couch and gazed hypnotically at the 30th incarnation of Dora The Explorer, while I hunched over the computer trying to focus and grunted at them occasionally.

By the time I sent the corrections in, Edie who has almost never had an accident, peed in her pants twice. Once on purpose, when she dropped her pants and stood in the kitchen and said "I have penis. I pee like Daddy" and let a stream of wee run out onto the kitchen floor, like some fountain in Barcelona. Frankly, I couldn't blame her. I was frustrated, too. I was pissed. And by the time David walked in the door, I needed a goblet of wine. And I needed to butcher something.

So, instead of roasting the chicken the very simple Thomas Keller way. I spatch-cocked the sucker, which I recommend for angry women everywhere.


But then I looked at it and the poor bird looked like a naked murder victim, so I cut down the chicken into pieces and made the recipe below.

It was good. And dismembering something made me feel better. But as I looked at my sleeping neglected children, with their unfortunate, grunting mother, and the milk and cereal from the morning all dried out and stuck to the floor, I laid in David's arms and cried. And that's why I didn't write a blog post.

xx YM


The Angry Woman's Chicken with Cherry Tomatoes and Capers
Serves 3-4 people

Ingredients

• A whole chicken cut down into parts
• salt and freshly ground white pepper to taste
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 tablespoon butter
• 3 tablespoons finely chopped shallots (or onion will do just fine in a pinch)
• 1 teaspoon finely chopped garlic
• A dozen or so cherry tomatoes
• 4 tablespoons drained capers
• 1 cup dry white wine
• 1 can of good quality tomato puree
• 4 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley leaves (or you can manage with the dried)
• You can add any herbs that you like (tarragon, oregano, basil, whatever,
I didn’t and the sauce was still lovely)

Preparation

Season the chicken well with salt and pepper.

Heat the oil and butter in a heavy-bottomed skillet. Add the chicken and sauté over high heat, turning the pieces often until lightly browned and crisping up, about 5 minutes. Remove from pan. Scrape the pan of brown particles but leave them in the pan. They will dissolve into your sauce.

Add more butter. Add the shallots (or onions) and garlic. Cook until onions soften slightly. Add the chicken back in and the tomatoes, capers, wine, and tomato puree. Add any herbs.

Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes, or until the chicken is cooked.

Sprinkle with parsley and serve.

Continue Reading...