Pink of Perfection

If you are due for a treat in your life––perhaps work has been brutal or you can’t remember when you last had your friends over for a meal––or if you just want to celebrate spring by eating something really delicious, I really do think you should make this pizza. I know it’s not particularly healthy, and that it seems like gilding a carbohydrate-laden lily to put potatoes on a pizza, but you’ll just have to believe me. It’s worth it and, as I like to say, woman cannot live on lentils alone.

It could have also been the scene that made me think this wonderfully rich recipe was so outrageously good. It was a Sunday night, and already dark outside. I sank into the couch with a single slice, a scary movie, and my love by my side, and thought that Laura Ingalls Wilder was right: the simplest moments do often seem the sweetest.

Continue reading “Asparagus, Fingerling Potato & Goat Cheese Pizza” »

There was once a restaurant in our neighborhood where I loved to go on snowy days. Inside, it was what I imagine a Swiss ski lodge is like — all dark wood, tall paned windows, and a roaring fire. I would sit on the wooden bench, wrapped in a scarf, and order a bowl of their French onion soup. At brunch, a basket of sweet, yeasty breads and orange-scented butter would come out first. And then the soup would arrive, crusty with just enough melted cheese to make a point (but not create a stomachache) and I would break the surface and dip down into a rich brown broth. It was, until the restaurant closed a few years ago, one of my favorite weekend lunches.

I don’t think I’ve ever met a friend or foe who didn’t care for French onion soup. It’s one of those foods that’s pretty delicious even when it’s not it’s best (though I’ve never been one to grumble over too much cheese), and it’s blissfully simple to make. I confess I’ve gone into a bit of a panic in the last couple weeks over all the wintery foods I still want to make before the first asparagus crops up. There is the truffle mac and cheese beckoning and the fondue (and do I see a fromagey theme here?), but what I would say to you is: this should make your winter short list. If you’ve never made French onion soup it’s absolutely worth a whirl, and such a comfort on a snowy night when you are hunkered down on the couch this weekend watching Doctor Zhivago.

Continue reading “French Friday: Onion Soup Gratinée” »

Let’s do some free association, shall we?

Ham and cheese. Charles Bukowski. Grilled cheese. Tomato Soup. Goldfish. Rainy day. Cartoons. Arthur. Heather Has Two Mommies. Elementary school library. Green carpet. Reading nook. Heavy wooden chairs. Dewey decimal.

Serrano ham. Salty. Spain. Gwyneth and Mario. Blondes. Convertible. Windy road. Mountain vistas. Snow-capped. Majesty. How do you solve a problem like Maria?

Petit Basque. Best friend. Semi-soft. Soft-serve. Summer. Sundresses. Patio. Cobblestones. Rickety chairs, wobbly table. Cold beer. Splinters. Hot Dogs.

Quince paste. Adam and Eve. Soufflés. Cheese plate. Gorgonzola. Katy. Vintage dresses. Wedding dresses. Lace. Ribbon. Hot pink.

All of this together? The best ham and cheese sandwich, ever.

Continue reading “Ham and Cheese, All Grown-Up” »

Wine and cheese are ageless companions, like aspirin and aches, or June and moon, or good people and noble ventures. –M. F. K. Fisher

Is there any happier appearance at the end of a meal than that of a three-tiered cheese cart?

Since I wrote that sentence, several minutes ago, I have sat here in a hard wooden chair pulled right up to a desk, poised for productivity, but instead only staring off into the distance, thoughts of Tête de Moine filling my head. Cheese cart revelry not only makes me happy, but apparently brain dead.

So how about a story? On Sunday, I had the pleasure to sit in what can only be described at the Anthropologie of restaurants. Filled with antiques and quirky, weathered visual delights, it was the sort of restaurant in which you want to linger over a bottle of wine, buy the homemade potted quince jam, make friends with the owner when she puts her hand on the back of your chair, and stay all afternoon with a great friend or two. So that’s what we did. The restaurant was filled with the rich, heady scents of truffles, the cozy smell of souffl&eacute batter and melting cheese, and when I took the first bite of bleu d’Auvergne with a small, seed-filled dried fig, I could have died right there, I was so happy.

But cheese carts, even in fine restaurants, don’t come along as often as I’d like. No matter, as fine restaurants won’t be coming around as often as I’d like in the coming months, either! And anyway, why go in search of a cheese cart when the cheese course is perhaps the most easily replicated thing in a restaurant?

Continue reading “The Beauty of the Cheese Cart” »