Pink of Perfection

When for awhile you exist in the land of bounteous buffets that offer your heart’s desire — say, on vacation at a resort or on a cruise or at a Sunday brunch smorgasbord — you learn quickly what you would eat when handed the world on a plate. My husband gravitates towards steak at every meal: steak and eggs to start the day, steak and french fries at noon, and ribeye for dinner, juicy and rare. I, apparently, just want to eat homemade tortilla chips and fresh, spicy, pico de gallo. Plate after plate, at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it is one of my most favorite meals. Add a paloma and I’m in heaven.

But the thing about Brooklyn tomatoes in December? Not looking so hot. In fact, it would be an exercise in disappointment to try to recreate the luscious flavors of a ripe tomato-filled pico de gallo. But a girl who needs her fix and is willing to make compromises will perhaps look around to see what’s in season and will find apples — tart, sweet, and crisp. I served this apple pico de gallo alongside sliced rare steak, black beans and rice for a meal that satisfied needs of both husband and wife.

When meal time comes, what do you crave again and again? Cheese and crackers? Peanut butter and saltines? Big salads? Soup and bread?

Continue reading “Non-Equatorial Pico de Gallo” »

September means back to school, which for me signifies a return to my grand diplome course. No, I didn’t forget about it, but truth be told, I’ve been hung up on the cake lesson. Who in their right mind, without a birthday to commemorate, wants to bake something like this on a hot summer day?

The September issue of Everyday Food with its recipe for a plum cake, however, got me in the mood. There is just something about plum cake that seems to have a hold on people’s psyche. Just the words sound anachronistic to my ears, like an antique baking tradition in which brunettes with twin braids in long, calico dresses carry hot baked goods to the prarie neighbors after picking the last of the season’s plums. Or something.

Whatever the connotations, there is an undeniable bit of cozy magic at work. Because everyone I mentioned this to got a dreamy, far-off look in their eye, remembering plum cakes of days gone by. Meanwhile, I had never had one in my life. Plum tarts — sure — but not a cake. And even still, there was something so dear about just the idea of it, like a treat Mama Bear would pull out of the oven to serve with a tiny china cup filled with weak, milky tea.

I served it instead to the man I’m going to marry in 52 short days, dusted with powdered sugar, and chased with a small glass of whiskey (it had been a rough day). The reviews were raves, and the wedding’s still on.

Continue reading “Super Moist Plum Cake” »

The first time was on a sunny, Saturday morning, sitting on a green window seat cushioned with tapestry-covered pillows. The restaurant was at the crossroads of two meandering county highways. The floors creaked. I had an omelet filled with pesto and heirloom tomatoes, but it was the strawberry jam that really had me. I spooned it out of the glass jar and spread it thick on my sourdough toast. It was so sweet, a salve to wounds of other disappointments I had that morning, a bright spot in a teary breakfast.

The next time was the following Saturday, and by then I had a taste and was happier. After browsing a used book store, we settled in to a little table set next to the wall in a little bistro. The walls were painted a pale yellow the overhead fan were whirring wildly, and I feasted on toasted baguette with strawberry jam. For the cool air on a sticky day and the sweet jam, I was in heaven.

The big surprise here is that I always thought of myself as a bigger fan of the orange preserves: marmalade, apricot, peach. But sometimes just what you need presents itself to you, like discovering a cookbook author with the kind of frank, witty voice that makes you swoon, or a glass pot of strawberry jam, ready to sweeten your morning.

Continue reading “Quick Strawberry Jam” »

My interest in smoothies was short-lived, at best. It started with sipping off my mom’s Orange Julius at the mall when I was little and stopped soon thereafter. Having to haul out the heavy machinery, and then clean carefully around the blade afterwards lest you’d care to lose a finger — it all seemed like more trouble than it was worth, especially when the results seemed so uncertain. I was, you see, at a smoothie impasse.

But when a friend was moving and wanted to unload his blender as well as a gigantic rice cooker, I took both begrudgingly at Sebastian’s behest. Cabinet space was at a premium at our house, and the last thing we needed was seldom-used specialty equipment hogging precious real estate. Both the blender and the rice cooker, it turns out, have changed my life. The rice cooker, though, is another story for another day.

What I’m about to share is my recently discovered secret of the universe. It is a secret many of you may already have discovered, but much like learning that the burn of heartache is worth the pleasure that precedes it, it’s a life lesson each must arrive at on her own terms, and at her own time: making a smoothie is like taking candy from a baby, and they turn out as well as the $3.50 variety at the mall, every time. Better still, there are no mysterious sugary syrups or questionable powders going in there — just fruit, ice, some liquid, and a couple tablespoons of milled flax seed if you’re feeling fancy.

I’m not as crazy for fruit as I am for veggies, so this is a great way to get a few servings of those seeded fellows. Another trick I’ve learned in the smoothie biz: when fruit is starting to turn, throw it in a freezer bag and save it for a smoothie. I’m heavy on the bananas cause they’re so darn affordable. Any other cheap-o fruit combo ideas? Now, without further ado, my three current faves:
Continue reading “Smoothie Crazy” »