Category Archives: Food

Forty-seven years into this life it’s difficult to find any revelations that profoundly shift the make-up of the man I’ve become in all that time. Every once in a while, however, there comes a situation that does shift everything I thought I knew, and on Friday night that came from a discussion with Suzie about eggs. Apparently it makes me look like a complete and total ass (I’m paraphrasing Andy) but that sort of jolt is good for a perfectionist Virgo who up until a few years ago genuinely believed he could do little to no wrong. My how times have changed…

All my life, I’ve assumed that eggs just came in one basic size. I’d only half-noticed the large and extra-large and Grade A markings on the cartons, and to be honest I just thought those were marketing strategies, like ‘World’s Greatest Butter’ or ‘Extra-large pumpkins’. Whenever I saw a recipe that called for one large egg, I would simply open the fridge and look for the largest egg I could find and use that. It always worked. 

Imagine my shock to find that ‘large’ and ‘extra-large’ were two very different and distinct egg sizes/weights, and there were more too, like ‘medium’ and ‘jumbo’. Perhaps you can’t imagine such a thing, because neither could Suzie. In fact, when the topic came up, there was a good five-minute period of wild confusion, as she was talking about ‘large’ eggs in the apparently traditional sense, while I was talking about large eggs as eggs that happened to be on the large size. Finally I blurted out, ‘What do YOU mean by jumbo eggs?’ and that’s when we realized my folly. Forty-seven years of thinking eggs came in one size came screeching to a stunned halt. 

Immediately, I texted everyone I knew with the simple ask of “What is a large egg?” Some would rightfully wonder if I’d started drinking again. One told me to go to bed. Most didn’t understand the question, because all of them had learned, not sure where, that eggs were sized and labeled differently. Small consolation came on social media, where most people thought I was kidding, a few thought I was ridiculous, and just a smidge said they were on my side and always thought eggs came in one size too. 

Suzie and I were trying to figure out how I could have baked so many things without incident (more or less) over the years, and I said in exasperation that I’d only ever seen a recipe call for large eggs. I’ve never seen one that used jumbo eggs or medium eggs – had I noticed that I might have made the connection. But unfailingly, all the recipes I’ve ever made required ‘large’ eggs. The reason it always worked, as we found out, is because Andy has only ever stocked the fridge with ‘large’ eggs. Another happy accident that avoided unhappy accidents. 

Suzie and I drove along the rainy, dark roads in shocked and shook fashion, each trying to wrap our heads around things for different reasons. The next day I stopped in the market to confirm it, and there they were – all differently sized and labeled – medium and jumbo and extra large and small. 

I’m still processing… 

They make it look so easy on those Instagram reels and TikTok dreams, but when I try something like this ‘super simple’ French omelette, it sticks to the pan, burns to the consistency of a rubbery frisbee, and tastes like French bulldog shit. There is a Sunday morning lesson here (aside from not walking away from eggs to check your text messages) and it comes with the posting of these decidedly-imperfect photos. 

The vast majority of posts that go up here are highly curated and edited, cropped within an inch of their lives (and sometimes my dick) to the point that everything looked deceptively pretty and enchanting – even the darker stuff. Well, that’s not really true to life. It’s true to the spirit of this site, and the idea of aspiration, but I never liked to sugarcoat, so in the ongoing quest to embrace and accept our inherent imperfection, this post shows that failure is part of the game. 

I will try this again – though not for a day or two given the price of eggs. I ate this one, most of it, because it was edible, just not very good. There another lesson there too: accepting what’s good enough rather than tossing it out and trying to achieve something great. 

Bon appe-fucking-tit. 

When I first moved away to Chicago to start a new life with a relatively new boyfriend (both of which clearly didn’t work out to last) my Mom gave me a cookbook of recipes that were supposed to be quick and easy. One of them was titled ‘Chicken Curry in a Hurry‘ and it was decidedly misnomered, as that recipe took my about five hours to make. New to cutting, prepping, measuring, and cooking, it was a trial by fire, and while the end result was decent enough, the time and effort it took to create that one dish was not worth it. 

Years later, after honing a bit of my kitchen skills, I can take a recipe that the New York Times published (their chickpea, coconut milk and curry dish) and roughly make it my own. In this instance, I diced up an onion and some carrots, then cooked those down in a bit of olive oil and generous helpings of curry and turmeric. Once soft enough to my liking, I added a can of coconut milk and two cans of chick peas, rinsed well.

Once the garbanzos were warmed, I modified the salt and pepper (lots of both) and piled the pot high with kale and spinach. A whole bag will wilt down into the manageable mix you see here.

Finally, I added some chopped fresh cilantro and a sprinkling of fresh lime juice, and the meal was ready in a matter of minutes. It’s a wonderful centerpiece for a meat-free Friday dinner, for those of us guilty Catholics who are still hedging our bets on making it into heaven. 

Never one to poo-poo an unorthodox food idea until I’ve tried it, I shall keep an open mind to the Ranch Ice Cream being released in a few days. First thought on this idea: abhorrent. Second thought: while not a ranch fan, I’m more open to this than the dill pickle ice cream that ran its course a couple of years ago. Third thought: I didn’t hate peanut butter on a hot dog, so why not? Ranch ice cream it shall be. 

(If I end up hating it, I’ll just serve it to our next dinner guests without telling them what it is. That’s the kind of host I am.)

Viva Empanadas is one of the delicious vendors at Galleria 7 Market in Latham, and I introduced Suzie to their glory at dinner last night. I first tried these empanadas this winter, on a quiet Saturday before Andy woke up. I was going to save one for him, but they didn’t make it. The filling and the sauces were just too good. 

Suzie and I ordered a variety of four each – I’d only had a dry turkey sandwich that day, or so I justified it. A plate of three would have sufficed, but some dinners should be an excess of goodness, especially at the end of winter. It wasn’t difficult to finish them all. Suzie managed to save one. 

A bottle of guava soda recalled summer mocktails and poolside lounging, planting a seed for the months to come. 

Billed as one of the bestsellers in stores that sell such items, the Billionaire Brownie comes in many variations. For my first attempt, I used a recipe from the Magnolia Bakery cookbook, which uses a brown sugar shortbread as the base, a layer of caramel, and then a brownie on top of that. They said more caramel could be added on top, but I’ve never been a big caramel fan, so I veered away from that – and honestly there was more than enough in the middle layer (a whole cup).

The results were spectacular for what was a rather simple recipe. The only time-consuming part was making the shortbread base and letting it cool before all the caramel and brownie mix can go on top. I was worried about double baking the shortbread, but it didn’t burn at all – and the brownies actually had to bake for fifteen minutes longer than the recipe time indicated before they were done (I lost track of how many dirty toothpicks gave their lives for this enterprise).

These sorry photos don’t do the sweet goodness half its due justice. 

The last time I made Jello was for a much more celebratory moment, as this post on the ‘Cathedral Windows’ dessert will hopefully illuminate. Today’s jello moment is the result of a stomach bug that has me unable to hold food of any sort, so I made this wobbly batch of strawberry jello to get something fluid-like in my system (I don’t know how much more Pedialyte I can drink at this point). 

Coupled with a few popsicles, this is the food of the sick, which is a land I’ve not had to visit in four years. I did not miss it, and I’m more than ready to leave. It would be so much nicer to make a jello dish of this sort. Happy holiday memories…

Fruity food gimmicks have always fallen flat with me, and I have no patience for giving cute names to something like citrus (looking at you, Cutie, and judging you, Halo). So when I first heard about cotton candy grapes, I ignored them until I saw Pati Jinich use them in this recipe, and a co-worker brought some in and I got to try one. 

This shit is the real deal – and it tasted like… wait for it…. cotton fucking candy. Not in an annoying, cloying way, but very much like a sweet echo and approximation of the cotton candy sweetness, grounded in a bright grape. 

As we prepare for summer recipes (I do like to plan ahead) this variety will prove a fun twist to any grape dish – and a highlight of any fruit salad. Pop a few in your mouth and see what you think. It was enough to transform even a skeptical non-believer like myself. 

My attempts at cooking certain things have proven some of the most fertile grounds for learning to embrace the imperfections inherent in daily life. Multiple pancake disasters, a few bad run-ins with the rising of yeast, and a spilled pan of candied yams here and there have conspired to chip skillfully away at my desire for perfection, forcing a valuable lesson in accepting defeat, and embracing the notion that the quest for perfection is a losing one. 

With that in mind, I present this plate of folded eggs, which looks a bit of a mess and fright but is actually one of the easiest and most delicious breakfasts I’ve made in a year. I was idly swiping through my phone to pull myself out of some social media cooking/recipe hole I’d plunged into thanks to Babs, and I lazily paid scant attention to a folded eggs idea which was just scrambled eggs that weren’t stirred as much, left in an-almost runny state. I got the gist of it then fell not-so-promptly asleep (as one does when scrolling through the phone while in bed). 

The next morning I remembered the basics of the recipe, and decided to give it a try. For this version, I used four eggs, a couple of thinly-sliced scallions, a small bunch of chopped parsley, a smaller bunch of chopped cilantro, some dill weed, salt and pepper. Then I added a few tablespoons of half-and-half and whisked it all together. I heated a medium-sized pan, and dropped in three generous pats of butter – once they melted and started bubbling, I poured the eggs in and let them sit. Turning down the heat, I gently began pulling the cooked bottom layer around so the liquid parts could reach the pan. Repeating this carefully until it was all just barely runny (I turned off the heat completely once they were getting close) I then rolled the whole thing onto a pretty plate. (For scrambled eggs, I would have been more vigorous and regular in my stirring.) It wasn’t meant to look pretty, as the goal was a rustic but delicious dish, and I went into it expecting and desiring a bit of that imperfection. The end result delivered – more for the mouth than the eyes, and that’s what matters. 

While some parts of my hometown make me rather sad/mad, there are some that make me incredibly happy, and that was in full evidence when I picked up breakfast for my parents from DomAdi’s Deli. One of the specials that morning was this breakfast wrap, named for Bitsy, so whoever Bitsy is I would like to personally thank them for inspiring such deliciousness. A glorious mash-up of scrambled eggs, bacon, American cheese, and a hash brown, it was the perfect wrap with which to start the day. 

As I was standing in line to order, a gentleman remarked how he kept coming back there because the food was so good. That’s the sort of fabled hometown affability that goes unmentioned and unheralded too often, and whenever I experience it I want to celebrate and amplify the message. It’s also infectious, and as I headed downtown to the post office, the sun was shining through the winter, the sky was blue, and the friendly gentleman taking my stamp order responded as happily as I requested it. No matter where I go in life, and no mater where I’ve been, I’ll always be a son of Amsterdam. 

Back to Bitsy and DomAdi’s Deli – the food was indeed remarkable. For the upcoming ‘A Taste of Amsterdam‘ (Feb. 6 to 12), they will be offering a dinner special which includes a Korean bulgogi sub and slice of chocolate cake for $18.85 (since 1885 was the year Amsterdam was established) – and that combo sounds like my idea of heaven.

DomAdi’s is located right off the Thruway at Exit 27, so even if you’re not an Amsterdam local it’s an easy stopover to pick up a meal. Check out their FaceBook page here for updated daily specials – that’s how I found out about Bitsy’s Breakfast Special Wrap. (And be sure to say hello to the fabulous Elizabeth when you’re there – we went to high school together and somehow she doesn’t hate me.)

From the shriveled to the delectable, this blog day is all about the balls. Here we have a thoughtful and much-appreciated gift from our friends Lorie and Cal, who brought back these mint malt balls from our favorite candy shop in Ogunquit, Maine. It was an unexpected delight on a day when it was badly-needed, and it instantly brought Andy and I back to happy memories of that Beautiful Place By the Sea. 

While we have found similar treats at our local market, the original ones have a decidedly different, and much better, taste and texture to them, so it was with gleeful excitement that I tore into the bag, savoring each ball like it might be the last. The memories returned in giddy and wild form – fall visits and spring stops, cozy meals and romantic moments, peaceful times and breathtaking vistas – it was like a little pill of Ogunquit that suddenly exploded in my brain. 

Thank you Lorie and Cal!

Babs is the nickname for Barbara Costello, whose recipes and TikTok account have taken off thanks to recipes like this Christmas Breakfast Casserole. With the glorious culinary alchemy that results from eggs, sausage, cheese and bread, her Breakfast Casserole is one of the easiest and most rewarding things one can make for a Sunday brunch or special occasion breakfast such as Christmas morning. I tried it out on the twins when they had a sleepover here last weekend, and it was as much assembling it with them the night before as it was eating it the next morning. 

As described, the preparation for this casserole takes place the night before you want to have it, then left in the fridge for all the flavor and ingredients to marry before baking the next morning in the magic way that casseroles have of coming together. It’s perfect as the centerpiece for a more extravagant brunch gathering, as it just needs to be popped in the oven for 45 minutes and then it’s done. According to Babs, it also reheats beautifully – the best kind of flexible dish for when other items like poached eggs or a Hollandaise are more time-sensitive. (Not that I’m doing poached fucking eggs or a GD Hollandaise – this casserole is all I can manage when watching two twelve-year-olds.) 

My Mom is having our family friend Elaine over for a night this week, so I’ll put together one of these for them to bake in the morning. A dish that allows for people to socialize without excessive kitchen effort is a beautiful thing indeed. 

They were skeptical at first, the way they are with every new thing their Uncle Al has ever shown them, but after a dozen years of having their skepticism turn to delight, they were up to trying it. For this dinner on New Year’s day, after feasting at the family’s early lunch, we assembled a hodge-podge of random items after making a hasty trip to Price Chopper to procure whatever additional ideas they each had. Noah chose fruit and Emi chose Cheese – a Vermont Sharp Cheddar.

I told them to try it with a slice of apple. They looked at me as if I was kidding, or trying to get them to do something they wouldn’t like, even though I always end up giving them the best of what I’ve enjoyed thus far. And so they sampled a slice of cheese and apple and marveled at the wonder of them together. The way their eyes lit up, the surprise and delight they genuinely felt as the textures and tastes combined – this was the thrill of raising kids, and I rarely got to see such moments.

This summer, I will introduce them to melon and prosciutto.