Just between us...

First, I want to appologize for so few entries of late.  I've been dealing with moderately severe carpal tunnel syndrome for a long time now, and after being on the computer all day at work, getting on the computer at home was just painful and would result in a night of no sleep.  The good news is, I had surgery to correct it about a week and a half ago. While typing with a banaged hand is not ideal, I can mange for short amounts of time. Worse, I've had to resort to a lot of pre-prepped meals! Cooking with your dominant hand out of commission is challenging, at best. One handed baking is next to impossible!

With that said, I would like you to know that I am on the road to recovery and should be able to share some fantastic summer recipes very soon.  The stitches come out next week and it's all downhill from there.  Until then, have a great holiday weekend and unofficial kickoff to summer!

Forbidden Fruit

Growing up, spring was always announced with the pungent aroma of thousands of sweet smelling orange blossoms. Their fragrance would fill the air with such intensity that I felt like I was walking through a perfumery. Everything would smell of neroli—clothes, shoes, hair, skin. It was an exciting time of the year as we, my whole family, knew the arrival of summer and the grand, thick-skinned, juicy navel oranges were coming soon. Walking home from school, their cool dark green leaves would beckon refuge from the unrelenting sun. Hidden within was the prize. Gleaming like gold coins in a pirate’s chest, I was drawn to their glistening flesh. Giving in, I would steal my bounty, hoping not to be betrayed by the rousing of the branches that were sure to give me away. They would almost yell in protest to my actions, but they would soon quiet and I would be far away. Ah, those hot summer days were tempered when that first bit of sweet skin was broken, the encapsulated life force spraying a mist over everything, enticing me with the temptation of what was hidden inside. As I cut open the skin and peeled it away, discarding the fragments haphazardly wherever they may fall, I tried unsuccessfully to withdraw from the mist that both delighted and irritated me. The challenge that made the reward so much sweeter was to peel away the exterior without becoming blinded for life by the escaping oil, all the while being pulled in further by their intoxicating aroma. Hurriedly, I would break apart the golden globe, revealing the treasure. That first taste exploded into an orgasm of the senses. Cool, sweet juices overpowered my tongue, rested on my lips, and ran down my chin. I didn’t care. I only wanted more. With abandon, I would eagerly devour each wonderful segment until the only thing left was fulfillment. I would resolve to licking my lips in search of those last few drops. Satisfied, I would run off to my next adventure until once again I was drawn by the familiar wafting perfume on the gentle evening breeze tempting me to sin once more.

The Best Gift of All

The holiday season has passed by once again and I am amazed at how quickly it went. The best part of the season is not the gifts, the shopping, or the craziness. It's the extra time that is spent with family and friends. Even though I try to make time for it throughout the year, the days on the calendar between Halloween and New Year just seem a little more special. When we have the opportunity to spend one of our most valued commodities, time, with those we love, it makes the world a better place. At the center of most of these gatherings is food. Food brings us together and unites us in a way that rivals all others. Be it sweet or savory, large or small, the act of partaking in eating together breaks down barriers, evens the playing field, and allows everyone to be at peace, if only for a little while. This is what drives me. This is what makes me yearn for November 1. This is also what makes me a little sad on January 2. The lights and decorations get put away for another year; the routine of work and life come back into focus; the "holiday spirit" is tucked neatly into a drawer or closet or other safe haven to be forgotten until it is time again to take it out for display.

Perhaps this is why I love to have people over throughout the year. Barbeques, pot lucks, cookie swaps, or girls night--I look forward to all of these celebrations and more with the same anticipation of a child waiting for Santa to visit. I shop and prepare, hoping beyond hope that every recipe--even the tried and true--come out just perfect; waiting for the best gift of all...the happy sounds of joy at every taste. I could go without a single store bought gift if I am surrounded by the people I love and get to hear their murmors of happiness. This for me is the ultimate moment of the holiday season...and how I like to celebrate the holidays all year long.

As part of the celebratory festivities, I was fortutate enought to have the time to make rich dark chocolate fudge, spiced walnuts, light and tender potato gnocchi, beef braised in beer and onions, and cardamom bread in two varieties. While the recipe for the beef can be found in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, I will post the others within the next few days. My heart and home has been filled with those I hold most dear, so my computer has been a distant memory. Like the decorations and the songs, those days must be put away for a spell and life must return to "normal".

I hope you had a wonderful end to 2009, filled with memories of loved ones brought close.

Violent Cooking

I’ve been under a lot of stress lately and all signs point to that stress continuing for the foreseeable future. Now there are many ways that I could choose to deal with said stressors…the usual remedies include getting friendly with my wine supply, exercising, becoming a hermit, becoming delusional, eating more, eating less, retail therapy, yoga—ok, maybe not yoga—that takes a level of patience I seem to lack. So, what is my therapy for stress? Cooking. Baking. Playing in the kitchen. I play A LOT. I do a lot of visualization to go along with it. What kind of visualization? Well, I visualize being a psychopath with violent urges that cannot be released in any other “conventional” ways. If you think about it, cooking is quite violent. Let me explain…



If you read any recipe, you will start to see the makings of a Hollywood blockbuster horror flick. Yes, you read correctly. Let’s take some simple, common, mandatory procedures in example. You need to know how to chop, dice, mince, smash, pulverize, puree, whip, and slice. I have recipes that call for throwing raw meat after squishing it with breadcrumbs and egg—now that is particularly therapeutic! Steam, broil, boil, simmer, sauté, fry, grill, bake, and bar-b-que…When it’s done, plunge it in an ice bath, wrap it tightly removing all air, put it in the freezer …the list goes on.


I enjoy taking my frustrations out on unsuspecting vegetables… and meat. Ripping off the skin and pounding a chicken breast…ahh, now that’s happiness. Chopping onions with abandon…who would’ve imagined that wielding a sharp instrument while crying could be so good for the soul and not have to worry about jail time to go with it? In fact, the better you become at violence directed toward food, the more people want you to be violent…I mean, cook. I imagine chefs to be very happy people even with their stressful and demanding jobs.


It surprises me when some people say they just can’t cook at the end of a very trying day. They are too wound up to focus; too tightly strung to pull anything together. I say, hey, make a pot of soup! It really doesn’t require A LOT of thought (ok, it requires SOME thought, but you have a lot of leeway), and you get to utilize a lot of violent actions. If you make too much, do what they do in the movies…freeze it (insert evil and menacing laugh here).


Baking is an especially good way to relieve stress. Bread is particularly therapeutic. How often do you get to punch something, more than once, and get praised for it? Hey, it says so in the directions “let rise til double in size. Punch down.” Just visualize that person in your life that is an overinflated blowhard and punch him/her down. Wait a couple of hours…and do it again. Then bake ‘em! Happiness. Pure happiness. At the end of it all, slather a big slice of heaven with butter and eat. You might even want to dunk that blowhard, I mean bread slice, in a cup of really hot beverage before the proverbial “bite me” moment. Smile. Smile some more.


Perhaps this is part of the reason I have an insane collection of cookbooks. I start reading them and get caught up in the directions. Sure, the pictures are a huge draw, but I read cookbooks like novels. I can see myself making certain recipes. Sometimes, just reading the directions make me feel better. At the end of the day, no one gets hurt, I feel better, and everybody wins.


I feel better already.