Category Archives: Food

When I was in kindergarten there were a few activities that kids got to do during free time. One of these was in a small kitchen area, where a table held a large vat of soapy water and dishes. Kids could go there and pretend they were cleaning and washing their dirty dishes, and I always wondered who in fuck would want to play at that? There was one girl, I don’t remember her name, who was consistently using it, splashing about in the water with big rubber gloves, happily going through the motions of post-dining duties. I never joined her, because, again, who in fuck would want to do that? The other night though, I made this virgin attempt at meatloaf and when it came time to mix it all with my hands, I thought back to that girl, and felt a little childish thrill at making somewhat of a mess in the kitchen. It turns out I can still rediscover a lost childhood, one dish of raw meat at a time.

As for the meatloaf, it was my first try and it came out pretty well. I shaped it myself instead of putting it into a loaf pan, so it went a little wider than hoped, but meatloaf isn’t supposed to be perfect. This recipe called for part beef and part pork sausage, a minced leek and red bell pepper, some parsley, and the other typical meatloaf ingredients. (The odd addition was some freshly-grated nutmeg.) Then it gets covered in tomatoes before going into the oven, which helps keep it moist and flavorful. Meatloaf is one of those delicious fall dishes that I’ve only recently started to enjoy as an adult. I don’t have any specific memories tied to it, other than the happiness of having a husband who makes this on occasion, and that’s enough.

The tallest door I’ve ever opened lets Suzie and I into the handsome interior of the Blue Duck Tavern, where a divine dining experience awaits all who enter here. With some nuanced twists and decadent turns in a few traditional dishes, this is more than worthy of repeat visits to sample all the glorious offerings on hand, but for our first night there was only so much two people could order for one sitting. This was recommended by Pati Jinich when I tweeted her requesting dinner options for a quick night in DC – and Ms. Jinich did not disappoint. 

We started with the squash – which is actually a tour of double duty, coming with a topping of pickled delicata squash atop the hubbard, which gets a spicy coating of fall-like warmth and sunflower-studded pesto sparkle. In keeping with the autumnal glow of the October evening, I ordered the duck – the leg and breast perfectly cooked to a succulent but not the least bit chewy or fatty brilliance. Even better was the braised short rib, fall-apart tender and so delightfully flavored that it gave credence to a favorite motto that more is definitely more.

The fries are a work of art inside and outside, presented as a cluster of miniature skyscrapers, perfectly crisp on the outside and firm yet tender within.

A bulky book of wine and cocktail selections provides any and all libations one might want. Service was exuberant and instructional, a brilliant balance of providing the basics with panache and knowing when to step back. The atmosphere manages the tricky feat of turning such high ceilings into a space that feels warm and intimate.

One minor (perhaps major) gaffe had nothing to do with the food or our particular server. While washing my hands in the bathroom (with some gorgeously-scented soap) I watched as one of the waitstaff emerged from a stall and rushed out into the restaurant without washing his hands. I’m hoping it was a quick cel-phone break or something, but even if it was I’d have felt better if he had washed his hands before returning to dole out dishes. I pushed the idea from my mind and focused on walking off my happily-full belly, which had no room for dessert. Perhaps next time.

Pati Jinich has provided a number of recipes that warm the stomach, heart and soul, and this Tortilla Soup is one of the best, and easiest, to bring a little heat into the cold fall nights. The magic is in the guajillo chili peppers, which are a secret ingredient that should be in the arsenal of every casual cook’s kitchen. They keep forever, and with a little rehydrating they bring flavor, heat, and an earthy layer of goodness that reminds me of how important our connection to food is. The full recipe may be found on Pati’s site here. 

When I made it most recently, we were in the midst of a chilly and rainy Sunday night – I was exhausted and tired, so I left out the fun details and garnishes, but the basic gist was there, and it was more than enough to warm the heart. 

PS – Check out this insanely good chipotle pasta chicken dish that Ms. Jinich shared – it’s game-changing. Her website has lots of delicious treats like this. Very much worth a visit. 

This watermelon-jalapeno appetizer was part of our summer-ending brunch more fully depicted here. It gets its own post because it deserves it. When we were last in Boston for my birthday, we had lunch at the revamped restaurant of the Museum of Fine Arts. Amid such elegance and splendor, we ordered an appetizer of Sous Vide Watermelon. I didn’t know what it was, but the ingredients sounded good, if a little unorthodox, together. However, having fallen in love with a watermelon jalapeño margarita at Masa many years ago, I was game for the combo. It was a good call, as it was a delicious roller-coaster of taste and thrills. As we ended the summer, I looked for a refreshing appetizer to make for brunch and recalled this one. Here’s what I did to approximate it.

Since we don’t have a way to vacuum seal cubes of watermelon, they didn’t get such fancy treatment. I cut it up instead and topped it with a cucumber. Watermelon and cucumber are a delightful match – we’ve served both of them floating in water and on the hottest summer days that’s quite a delight. 

To this I added a dollop of whipped feta (equal parts of feta and cream cheese mixed in the food processor – the feta first, and the cream cheese at room temperature). The tanginess and creamy aspect is necessary to offset the final ingredient. 

A sweet pickled jalapeno slice is the topper, and provides the heat that gloriously contradicts the cool sweetness of the melon and cucumber. That whipped feta brings it all together, and the end result is a culinary version of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. Try it and see. 

If it’s good enough for Food & Wine it should be good enough for me.

Such was the challenge put forth by this article on the hot dog and peanut butter craze that ran wild a couple of years ago. I just happened upon a post that showed a sad hot dog smothered in peanut butter and someone proclaiming it was time for their yearly treat. Aside from the poor manner in which it was photographed, I was intrigued.

When it comes to food, I’ve always had an open mind. Maybe it traces back to a visit to the Philippines wherein I ate goat bile soup, snake blood, and balut. (And didn’t hate any of them – well, ok, the goat bile soup was a bit tough to stomach, but I held it all down.) Since then, the occasional oddball recipe is usually met with curiosity and, at most, a dramatically arched eyebrow, before I dig in.

The peanut butter and hot dog idea was actually not that surprising to me. Peanut butter has been making appearances on hamburgers in all sorts of restaurants. (At least those that feature a bar scene.)  I also grew up on peanut butter and bacon on an English muffin for breakfast – which is still something so simple and miraculous that I urge everyone to try it, even if you can’t stomach the whole PB and hot dog scene. And if you can’t, you are not alone. No one I work with thought it sounded good. But let’s take a moment to think about this rationally and with some reason. I know a bunch of people who love hot dogs. I know a bunch of those people also love peanut butter. And I’m almost positive that 99% of those people love bacon. But that does not necessarily mean that those items will go together, because I also know people who love chocolate ice cream and blue cheese dressing and I don’t think they would work together. However, at the core of this is a question of compatibility.

When you have a hot dog, what do you like on it? Mustard? If so, is it the savory aspect of those two items that works well together? Some people like sweet relish on their dog. In that case, it’s about the combination of sweet and savory then? Which is not far from where peanut butter is coming from. And bacon, well, almost everything goes with bacon, even ice cream. (Think of the miracle that happens when some of your pancake syrup finds its way to the bacon on your breakfast plate.) So what is it that’s so polarizing? Open the mind. Open the heart. Open the mouth.

Food & Wine added bacon and shallots to their version, and this sounded good. For the first endeavor I grilled the hot dog and buttered roll, slathered it with creamy peanut butter, and sprinkled it with bacon and chopped shallots. On one hot dog I added some shredded cheese (a cheddar combo). I went in expecting to experience an unstimulated oral orgasm and was profoundly disappointed. It was all right, but nothing I would call amazing. It tasted decent, but nothing I would attempt more than once. Once again, the build-up did not live up to the result.

I didn’t understand why everyone loved this – and why I didn’t. The individual ingredients were favorites (with the possible exception of the hot dog) and I thought for sure I would enjoy them together. It was the sharpness of the shallots that pushed it into a territory that I didn’t love. In the same way I’m not find of raw onion, these were overpowering the rest of it for me. Purely personal preference, but that’s what food mostly is.  I waited a few days and worked up the appetite to try it again, this time with scallions in place of the shallots, and the difference was dynamic. Suddenly, I could see a glimpse of the glory, I could taste a hint of the awesomeness, and I could experience what all the fuss was about. Is it a game-changing dish for me? Not really. Would I try it again when a hankering for a hot dog comes up once every six months or so? Perhaps. Did I convince my husband to try a bite? Not a chance.

Up until this month, I have never seen the appeal of eating ribs. From what I recalled, they were no more than a thin silver of tough and dry meat against a bone, and even worse they were messier than a Donald Trump speech. All that messy effort left more meat and flavor on my hands than ever got into my belly. As an adult, I have never ordered ribs in a restaurant, and I probably haven’t tasted them in two decades.

That all changed when we joined in a Southern-inspired meal at Missy and Joe’s. When she brought the ribs in from the grill, the meat was falling off the bone, perfectly flavored, and, best of all, substantial enough that three were enough to fill me completely up. They were, to put it mildly, a revelation.

Cut to our Fourth of July festivities, when Andy and I tag-teamed our own rib-feast for a quiet dinner with Mom and Dad. The preparation and execution could not have been simpler. (Andy said it was easier than hamburgers and hot dogs.) One of the tricks we were told was to use country style, or St. Louis, ribs. The baby back things are too small and don’t carry enough meat for my liking.

I took care of the first part, applying a generous rub of spices (at this point in my rib-novice learning curve, any pre-made rub would do), then tightly wrapping them in foil. Placing them on a foil-lined baking sheet (yes, all that foil is necessary, because a lot of juice will come out) I slid it into a 275 degree oven and cooked it for three hours and some change. (I’m told you can do 300 degrees for two-and-a-half hours, but I also read that slower cooking leads to more tender meat. I don’t suppose there’s that much of a difference to my taste buds, but if you’ve got the time, why not slow it down?) Soon the kitchen began to smell really good. When it was done, I pulled it out and let it cool for a bit so it wouldn’t fall completely apart for the grilling part. (Some sources claimed it was fine to refrigerate them at this point if you wanted to grill the next day, and that this also helped keep the meat together. We didn’t have time for such nonsense because it had to go in my belly at the first opportunity.)

Now it was Andy’s turn. On a grill set to high, he placed the rib racks (we cut each in half to make for an easier handling process) and painted each side with Sweet Baby Ray’s barbecue sauce. It only took a couple of minutes and an equal number of turns to get a nice color to them, and then they were done.

Paired with a bourbon peach sweet tea and some macaroni salad, these ribs are my new favorite thing. Your waistline may hate you, but your mouth is going to be supremely happy.

A gin and tonic with lemon is Andy’s twist on the classic summer drink. I like to add a sprig of lemon thyme just because I’m precious that way. Back in the days when drinking was a means to an end, garnishes and preparation was less important to me. Now, it’s everything. A cocktail is something to be savored, not gulped or swallowed whole. This one makes integral use of its lemon thyme leaves, tying in the lemon twist with the herbal aspect of the gin.

Having one or two of these for brunch, however, can be risky business. Best to pair it with a stomach-filling plate of a tomato and cheese omelet and some roasted potatoes with some goat cheese and fresh oregano. This was less a result of careful planning and more of an impromptu meal made from whatever we had on hand. It worked out. That’s what Sundays are about: improvisation, casual cocktails, and leftover ingredients given new life with a few herbal accents.

Summer demands the dish of simplicity, where slaving over a hot stove or baking in a hot oven are just gauche. To that end, we turn a healthy eye to ingredients that are fresh and in season. It’s a little early for tomatoes, but I couldn’t wait, and these heirlooms were so sweet and ripe, it worked out rather well. Trimmed with some white balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and a bit of salt and pepper, the meat of the matter was the tomato itself – its golden flesh both tart and sweet, balanced with the vinegar and the pepper, tempered with the virginity of the olive oil. If you’re feeling adventurous, add some fresh basil and/or mozzarella beads. Summer likes to keep things simple. 

This Japanese hot pot hodge-podge dish was my first encounter with kabocha squash and daikon, and it was glorious. Having previously avoided the Japanese hot pot craze, this also marked my first foray into that vaunted territory, so this initial trial was amateurishly executed, but the results tasted so good I must have done something right.

After trying out this miso soup from Candice Kumai’s ‘Kintsugi Wellness: The Japanese Art of Nourishing Mind, Body, and Spirit’, I aimed for something a little more complicated with her take on a Japanese hot pot. With its miso base and healthy ingredients (kabocha, tofu, and kale) it is a power -food stew particularly well-suited to the winter.

My favorite part was easily the kabocha squash, whose nutrient-rich skin is also edible once cooked a bit. I microwaved it for about four minutes before it went in the stew, which made for a more pliable gourd. After cutting it in half and scooping out the seeds, I chopped it into chunks, keeping the skin intact. (Have faith and go with it.)

This was also my virgin brush with daikon, which I peeled, cut in half, and sliced into little half moons. Tasting one, I relished the distinctive radish bite – the perfect contrast to the mellow, buttery nuttiness of the squash. Based on these two ingredients alone, we were well on the way to something good, but more flavor was coming.

The base of this is a decent sprinkling of toasted sesame oil, a thinly-sliced yellow onion, some freshly-grated ginger, a hefty helping of miso paste (see if you can find a low-sodium version) and an ample dash of mirin for deglazing. There is a big bunch of kale in the version I made (the original recipe says collard or mizuna greens can also be used) and a cup or two of super-firm tofu chopped into little cubes. It doesn’t get much healthier than that.  For additional earthy flavor, there’s a heaping pile of shiitake mushrooms. Taken together, the ingredients turn about six cups of water into a golden stew. The kabocha skin softens into something firm but yielding – a most interesting texture that never veers into anything tough or crunchy. Try it out – if you really don’t like it, leave it off (along with all those extra vitamins ensconced within the green skin).

I sprinkled a bowl with some bonito flakes and some wakame seaweed (I’ll see if I can upload a YouTube video to give you the magical full-motion effect of those fish flakes). It was so good I didn’t even miss the optional Togarashi that was recommended as a light topping/garnish.

My next meet-up with miso may be the miso chocolate chip cookies that Ms. Kumai raved about in her book. It’s a winter of miso madness, but I’m not mad about it in an angry way. Miso makes me happy.

My days of teabagging it may finally be at an end. Sencha (or matcha) – the pulverized powdered form of green tea – makes the tea bag, the tea pot, and the whole steeping process obsolete. It also retains any and all nutritional value that may be thrown into the garbage via the tea bag – all those antioxidants and minerals remain intact, albeit in fine powdered form. Is this the greatest thing of which I’ve been woefully unaware all these years? Or is it just another way to chip away at the already-dwindling tea ceremony?

As quick and streamline and beneficial as this whole toss-the-teabag revolution is, I wonder if we’re missing the main thing that a cup of tea provides, which is more than flavor or nutrition or simple sustenance: it’s a ritual. Ritual is lost in the modern ways of getting things done in as quick and efficient a manner as possible. While I’m all for efficiency and time-saving, I also appreciate the slower process of tea-making and tea-drinking. Patience is an art – an art largely missing from many generations now.

To make up for the lack of a tea pot and tea bag, another elegant accessory comes into play for the matcha or sencha extravaganza: the chasen. We may be streamlining the tea experience, but we shall never give up an opportunity to accessorize. The fine bamboo stirring utensil looks like a flower itself, lending additional beauty to the intake of tea. 

If you enjoy the undiluted or untampered-with flavor of green tea like I do, this makes for a nice blend on the tongue. So many green teas today are coupled with ginger or lemon or jasmine or other hoo-ha items, and that’s fine. I prefer mine simple and unbothered by such frills. The powdered form here gives a delicate green tea flavor – subtle and soft but distinctive enough to stand on its own. It also seems ideal for making something like green tea ice cream (at least I’m assuming it is, if I were skilled enough to make something like ice cream). I’ll leave that, and the cumbersome frozen canisters involved, to Andy. Not all accessories are pretty. 

When in doubt, simplify. 

That’s the adage of the stark season, when lack of everything has us all a little antsy. Paring down things in early anticipation of spring cleaning has led me to the brilliance of ‘Kintsugi Wellness: The Japanese Art of Nourishing Mind, Body, and Spirit’ by Candice Kumai. Part cook-book, part self-help book, and part inspirational-guide, it’s a beautiful work of art that feels designed to help us get through the winter. Kintsugi refers to the Japanese art of melding broken objects with threads of gold – taking the ruined and turning it into a work of art. Practical and purposeful, it reminds the reader that no matter how broken-down we might feel, no matter what we have gone through in our lives, there is always the possibility to turn every trying event into a learning experience and, ultimately, a thing of beauty. 

There is also a group of recipes in the middle of it all, starting with a couple of miso soup variations, the simplest of which I tried on a recent winter night. The best recipes are those that keep things simple, relying on the best ingredients and the proper preparation. I made this miso with some wakame seaweed, miso paste, and tofu.Ms. Kumai added a cup of root vegetables to her version (I chose carrots), and it was done in a few minutes. Topped with some freshly-sliced scallions, it was the perfect antidote to the dimming of a winter’s day. This will definitely be part of my seasonal soup arsenal.

I like that miso soup can be so subtle. It has a gentle warmth to it. Truly a comfort food. Nothing too sharp or spicy, nothing too hot or bitter. Just a simple calming bowl of sustenance. A bowl made for winter. A bowl to warm the stomach. A bowl to warm the heart. 

This morning marks a culinary and social experiment, wherein we are hosting a virtual brunch with Elaine in Florida, while Suzie and her family, along with my parents, join in person. It’s a hodgepodge of activity, and comes with an equally-quirky list of dishes that make no sense, assembled without rhyme or reason. The whole thing is the sort of flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants action that usually makes me queasy. I’ll try to keep it all down. Here’s the dish list:

• Pennsylvania Dutch Pickled Beets & Eggs
• Señor Breakfast Sandwich
• Harvey Wallbanger Cake
• Fried SPAM (A Filipino classic!)
• Garlic fried rice
• Abelskivers
• Bacon and Egg Quiche
• French Toast with Fruit and Spices

I’ll explain some of these later, or I won’t. We are playing it by ear. 

Where is Van Gogh when you need him?